I was blown away by your lovely reactions to the last chapter and I sincerely hope that this chapter will not come as a disappointment. I'm also not quite sure how wise it is to post this today – after the night we all had – but I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer.
The biggest thank you of all times to my wonderful beta, Kouw! She's makes this story so much better with her kind comments and her wonderful improvements.
Well… here it is... the talk.
Elsie Carson slammed cupboards closed and pots and pans onto the worktop as she prepared dinner. She was fuming and glad of it. White, hot anger was preferable to the despairing humiliation she had felt hours before. Anger meant that she was in control, far from helpless. Anger meant that she didn't have to deal with the question of how desperate Charles must have been to feel the need to unburden to Lady Mary – a member of the family.
She furiously salted the soup that was to be their dinner. She didn't feel like preparing a lavish meal for him, not after what he had done.
She was startled out of her menacing thoughts by his arrival at their cottage. She had expected him to come home of course. What she had not expected was the front door being thrown closed or his heavy footfall that indicated that he was upset. Normally when they had a disagreement, he was happy to ignore the situation, hoping for it to go away without having to be addressed. At the most he sported a sheepish look and tried to be extra careful around her. He had never actually fought back in all the years she had known him – he had blustered and made cruel comments, but he had never actually shown his anger to her.
She squared her shoulders before he entered the kitchen.
"Dinner is ready," she informed him coldly, effectively taking the opportunity from him to say something to her. He gave a jerky nod in response before stalking out of the kitchen again. He didn't offer to carry the serving dish; he didn't take the bread basket or pick a wine for their meal.
Elsie felt her anger subside as uncertainty took its place. What reason could she have given him to be this distant to her? She shook her head in annoyance. She shouldn't let him unsettle her like that. She had every reason to be cross with him. Still, her anger wouldn't flare again; instead a large ball of dread began to form in her stomach as she hesitantly made her way to the dining room.
They didn't talk during the meal. Both quietly eating the meagre soup (that was entirely too salty), the bland bread. She kept her eyes focused on her plate. The only time she did look up, she found him studying her with hard eyes before he lowered his eyes to his own plate again.
When they were done, she went into the kitchen and retrieved a tray, convinced that he wouldn't help clearing the table.
Charles observed his wife as she carefully cleared the table. How dare she blame him for speaking to Lady Mary when she had happily discussed their troubled marriage with Mrs. Patmore? He had reached the end of his tether with her; he was tired of dealing with her rapidly changing emotions, with her constant underlying look of dissatisfaction.
The plates rattled as she put them on the tray. He noticed that her hands were shaking slightly. She wouldn't look at him but she bit down on her bottom lip so firmly that he was afraid she'd draw blood.
He supressed a sigh as his vexation with her gave way to compassion and an overwhelming feeling of helpless fatigue. She looked as unhappy as he felt and no matter how bad things were between them, he could never want her to suffer because of him. He startled her when he suddenly got up from his chair and walked around the table. "Give it to me," he said quietly, his hands reaching out to take the tray from her.
"There's no need, I can do it." She fought to keep the tray steady.
"You've cooked, I can clean up," he replied firmly and she let go of the tray. "Why don't you sit down in the living room," he suggested in a flat voice and she nodded numbly in return.
Elsie sat down on the little settee, which stood facing his old armchair. She hadn't protested when he had insisted on bringing it with him from the Abbey. It probably reminded him of old times and decades of use had moulded the old leather to perfectly fit his form. She studied the chair and couldn't help noticing the parallels to its owner. Rigid, steady, slightly worn yet comforting.
She heard him potter about in the kitchen and closed her eyes in exhaustion as she allowed a wave of self-pity to wash over her. What had she or her husband done to deserve this sorry mess they found themselves in and why on Earth couldn't she manage to steer them back unto the right track, like she always had when they were still working together?
Her eyes flew open again as something nudged her shoulder. He stood before her, two glasses of sherry in his hand.
"Here," he offered quietly and she took the glass with a nod of thanks. He sat down opposite of her and fixed her with his solemn glare. "I think we need to talk."
Her hand tightened around her glass, desperately attempting to conceal the panicked shaking that had taken hold of her at his words. She forced herself to continue looking at him, biting the inside of her cheek to find an outlet for her overwrought emotions. She tasted blood.
"I gather you have spoken to Mrs. Patmore," he began softly and her eyes widened as she understood the reason for his earlier ill humour. "From what I hear and observe you must be terribly unhappy." Addressing his greatest fear took more strength than he had anticipated. He felt his own shoulders droop as he lowered his eyes to rest on the glass of sherry in his hands.
Elsie felt tears brimming in her eyes. How unfair it was for them to even have this discussion – after things had been going so well for a few weeks. Still, she knew that he was right. It was time to open up about what was between them. "I have been for a while," she admitted quietly.
It broke her heart to see him nodding despondently, hunching over even further in his seat. "Please believe me when I say that none of it has been your fault," she felt the overwhelming need to reassure him.
He raised his eyes again, studying her for a moment. "How can it not be when it all started with our marriage?"
She had to avert her eyes from his probing gaze, letting them wander over their living room taking in the little knick-knacks that had accumulated and that had made it their home. Her eyes finally settled on their wedding picture, which stood over the fireplace. How stiff they both looked, barely a smile on their faces.
Before she was able to formulate a reply, an explanation for her feelings of discontent, he spoke again.
"I hope you know that I've never wanted you to be unhappy." She nodded almost eagerly but he was too caught up in his desperate sadness to notice her reaction. "I've been a coward long enough, placing my happiness before yours."
His maudlin tone, the vacant expression in his eyes began to make her nervous. She didn't think he was drawing the right conclusions from this. "What do you mean?" Her voice shook ever so slightly. He gulped down the rest of his sherry. "I'm sure we can come up with something. You could go to your sister; say that she needs your help. People will stop asking awkward questions eventually."
She gaped at him, horrified at what she was hearing. "You're cutting me loose?" she asked, incredulous that he could become so caught up in his own notion of the truth that he didn't even pause to ask for her opinion on the matter.
"I think it's for the best," he spoke quietly, flatly. He got up from his armchair and made to head outside but her sharp voice stopped him.
"Charles Carson! Stop right there!" His defeatist acceptance of the failing of their marriage had given her strength. And wasn't that what made them who they were? When one faltered, the other showed courage. "Look at me!" she commanded and was gratified when he turned around to face her again, his eyes wide with disbelief at the tone she was taking with him.
"Don't you think that I deserve to have a say in this?" she challenged, her eyes on fire. All he could do was nod numbly. She took three brisk steps until she stood right in front of him, looking him straight in the eyes. "I will not go to my sister. I will not go anywhere. When I said that my unhappiness has nothing to do with you, I was speaking the truth. I don't like it when you doubt my word!" she exclaimed forcefully.
She saw him wince slightly and suddenly dread began to infuse her again. Doubts crashed over her like tidal waves. What if he was simply being a gentleman? What if he actually was the one that wanted out of their strained marriage and her perceived unhappiness afforded him the chance to fulfil his wish? She quickly took a step back again, clasping her hands tightly in front of her.
"Unless you want me to go. Then I will abide by your wishes because I wouldn't want you to be unhappy either," her voice had lost its earlier vigour; the brief resurgence of her former strength quenched again.
He watched her pale face, her white knuckles, her lips tightly pressed together and in that moment he knew that there was only one response he could give that would end this unbearable discussion one way or the other. With one large step he was in front of her. Before she had the chance to escape, he had taken her by the shoulders and crashed her to him, his lips claiming hers in a fierce demonstration of his feelings. He heard her squeak in surprise and she freed herself from his tight hold. He was afraid that she might push him away, but she only used her hands and arms to pull him tighter against her, intensifying their kiss, making him breathless. The kiss was nothing like the gentle worshipping he imagined he'd bestow upon her if he ever got the chance. He wasn't tender as he hungrily nipped at her lips, as he eagerly explored her mouth with his tongue.
Elsie was unable to form a coherent thought. She was swept up in a hazy torrent of relief, lust and passion. Only when he started kissing his way along the side of her face, down her jaw and then gently sucked at her pulse point, did she find the whole experience too much to cope with. She pressed her face tightly against his chest, hoping to dispel the tears that had gathered in her eyes.
Charles noticed the change in her posture almost instantly. He stopped his hungry ministration of her body and enfolded her in a loving hug, tenderly cradling the back of her head as he pressed a gentle kiss to her hair. Elsie felt as if she was wrapped in a blanket of security and belonging. After a few moments, simply enjoying the closeness of the other, he put two fingers under her chin and lifted her face so that she was looking up at him. For the first time in the last months he didn't feel troubled that he couldn't identify every single emotion that was reflected in her clear blue eyes.
"I love you," he said softly. She gasped quietly, tears beginning to cloud her vision. He used his right hand to cup her face. "I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner."
"You have," she replied gently. He raised his eyebrows in confusion and she pressed her face into the hand cupping her face before she continued. "When you were ill you said you loved me. Just before you fell asleep on that first day. I was convinced that you didn't know who I was… that you had me confused with someone else in a feverish dream."
He brushed his thumb over her cheek as he looked at her intently. "There's only ever been you," he declared in a thick voice. She rewarded his admission with a brilliant smile, effectively dispelling her tears.
"Do you want to know what I told you that night?" she asked and he detected the faint notion of mischief in her eyes. He nodded and she pushed herself up, steading herself with her hands on his shoulders as she leant in closer, her mouth near his ear as she whispered. "I love you, too."
He crushed her to him for a second time, hugging her close for a few seconds before leaning back and recapturing her lips. This time he was slower, gentler, making sure that he carefully explored the contours of her lips as he peppered them with tiny kisses. His hands were running down her back while she snaked hers into his hair. He was spurred on by her heavy breathing; by the way she seemed to melt into him.
Charles wasn't sure how long they stood in the middle of the living room, kissing, when his wife suddenly tensed in his arms. He drew back in confusion. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she replied quickly but he noticed how she couldn't look at him. He thought he understood what might be the problem.
"My love," he marvelled at being able to address her in this way and even more at her instantaneous reaction to it as her eyes returned to his. "I'm quite tired and tomorrow is going to be a long day. Would you mind terribly if we went to bed now?" She shook her head but her teeth began worrying her lower lip again and gave him the confirmation he needed of why she was this tense all of a sudden.
"Do you know what I've always dreamed of?" he asked, making sure that his voice was soft, loving. She shook her head again. He encircled her waist with his arms and drew her a little closer. "Falling asleep holding you and waking up with you in my arms." This time two tears escaped her eyes at his gentle, innocent admission.
"I'd like that," she whispered. He smiled softly before taking her hand and leading her up the stairs. He knew that their talk wasn't finished yet, that they still had a lot to discuss, but for now he'd revel in the elating feeling of having the woman he loved, loving him back.
Well, this is sort of the centre-piece of the story. So please, leave a review and tell me what you thought. I love hearing from you!