A/N: Elsie receives a letter, Bea on the other hand receives something… else.
"Have you seen Char… Mr Carson, Anna?" Elsie asks, hardly looking up from the letter in her hand.
"He's upstairs, Lord Grantham wanted a word." Anna smiles and Elsie blushes.
"It takes a bit of getting used to." Elsie apologises and Anna nods, the corners of her mouth twitching.
"I don't expect you to call him Mr Carson in the privacy of your rooms, Mrs Carson." Her new name sounds unfamiliar, but fills her with happiness. She nods.
"Will you tell him I would like to see him before luncheon? I'll be in my parlour. I don't know how it's possible we have gotten three different invoices for the last coal delivery, but it does need a good going over."
Lies. She will be in her parlour alright, but she will contemplating her letter and she'll be thinking of Charles and how he had woken her this morning. She can still feel his hand on her breast, his lips on the back of her neck. How he slipped inside her so easily and if she was blushing before, it's nothing to the heat that rises to her cheeks now. Thankfully Anna has already turned around.
Elsie hurries to her parlour, closing the door carefully. She stands before the open window - open ajar, it won't go any further - and breathes in the cool air. She needs to settle down. She has been with Charles countless times before, the only difference is that people know now (if they didn't before). The letter rustles in the draft. Elsie rereads it yet again.
Beatrice has asked if Charles and Elsie will meet Greg. They are invited to a dinner Greg's father is hosting. Very small: only the two betrothed and his father and then Charles and Elsie.
Elsie can read between the lines it's not so much a request as it is a plea.
The weeks have flown by since Beatrice Matthews came into her life and so much has changed, she can hardly grasp it. She's married Charles, she is letting go more of the walls she has put up between herself and Anna. She writes Beatrice candidly, answering questions, giving advice. And now she is being asked to join a dinner that will celebrate a wedding she would not have dreamt of attending two months ago, knowing neither bride nor groom.
She doesn't know the groom now, but she knows of him. Bea is no giddy schoolgirl; her descriptions of Greg are honest and intense. Bea writes of his calm demeanor, his sense of humour, his care. According to the girl, Greg Wilmot* is tall and fair haired, with sparkling blue eyes. Elsie had laughed a bit when she read about the boy's eyes, feeling the description was directly out of a penny dreadful. But Bea also tells of how careful he is with money and how he makes her feel safe and secure and how he somehow makes her feel lighter and free.
Glorious terms. Elsie thinks it looks like Beatrice Matthews has found herself a man who is ridiculously like Charles Carson.
They have been looking for a place 'to set up home' and Elsie's heart had beaten a fair few times out of rhythm. She had wondered if she should have warned the girl about the temptation that is a man who loves you, a man who wakens desires in you that you never held possible. But she hadn't, hoping Beatrice was clever enough not to give herself before time. Elsie had not wanted to overstep the fragile boundaries of her relationship with the girl.
The door opens and her own handsome, tall, calm husband enters the room, smiling happily.
"Anna says you called for me?" He sounds like he is addressing Lady Grantham and Elsie chortles.
"I did indeed, Mr Carson."
"Did you indeed, Mrs Carson." He teases.
"We've a letter from Bea." She announces and he sits down.
"Anything special? Well, must be, if you cannot wait to share it until tonight."
"She wants us to meet Gregory. We've been invited to have dinner with him and Beatrice." She pauses briefly. "And his father."
"Why would Gregory's father want to meet us?" He asks, being as reasonable as ever.
"I don't think he does. I think Beatrice would like to have us with her because she is not very confident about this dinner party."
"And us being there would help?" He sounds a bit gruff, but Elsie sees how his chest puffs up with pride that tiny bit. She wonders for a second how she could possibly love this man any more than she does in that very moment.
"I think so." She doesn't say that she is frankly dying to meet Gregory.
"Do you think we could? I mean… the both of us away at the same time, for two half days…" She can see him calculating.
"Perhaps Mr Barrow can manage in our absence, with Mr Bates and Anna to support him."
"Hmm…"
And that's when she knows she'll be dining in the city and suddenly she worries about an appropriate dress. She must write to Beatrice immediately and ask Anna for advice.
"We must really stop doing this." She says, but doesn't move.
"Must we?"
"It's only a question of time before one of the servants finds us." She reasons.
"They are never up here this time of day." He says, his fingertips tracing the inside of her wrist, going up to the inside her her elbow.
"How do you know?" She asks.
"I work from home, dearest." He kisses her temple, her cheek, rolls her back against the pillows. He touches her upper arm and shoulder with featherlight fingers. His lips tenderly nip at her skin, his tongue darts out to trace her nipple as it comes alive under his ministrations and she presses against him wantonly.
"We'll be married soon…" She manages to say.
"Not soon enough…" He replies, his palm on her other breast, squeezing softly.
"We've still to decide where we'll live." She wants to concentrate on the matter on hand, but it's hard when his hand runs down her belly to part her legs and starts to pleasure her. She arches up against him.
"Mr and Mrs Carson will be joining the party." She manages in between pants.
"Good…" Gregory kisses a path from her breast to her belly, licking the edge of her belly button and then lower and lower.
"God…" Beatrice moans and she forgets they are playing with fire.
He licks her in a place she did not know the existence of six weeks before but has been an increasing source of constant joy and her hands are in his hair.
"I need you…" She says breathlessly and pulls him up, tasting herself on his lips and he obliges happily.
"You'll be my wife in three weeks." He whispers in her ear. "You're perfect."
Bea wraps her legs around her man. "Glad to hear it."
* Gregory Wilmot. Hmmm... Where have we heard that before?