Late again, but a bit longer to make up for it.

Disclaimer: Don't own them and earn nothing from them. Mean them no harm and will return when finished.

Charles had hardly drunk any of his tea and only nibbled on one of the sandwiches. He was too busy drumming his fingers on the table and watching Elsie move around the room. If he wasn't mistaken, she was being very determined in staying away from him and not looking in his direction. He tried not to be concerned, but Molly was sending pitying looks his way and Anna spoke quietly to him when she brought his tray, "We were that worried about you when you didn't come on time, but I told Molly that you'd be here. Mrs. Burns's fellow isn't one to disappoint. That's what I said."

He nodded his appreciation of her trust in him and tried to look around her to see if Elsie were still mad. If the way her hips were swaying was any indication, she was furious. Perhaps he should make her angry more often. Kissing her on the cheek had probably been a bit much, but he had been so proud of the way she'd put that man in his place that he couldn't help himself. She could be fierce and stubborn, and he found that side of her immensely attractive. One more reason to be angry at the man who'd spent years squashing that down.

Finally, she ushered Molly and Anna out the back before turning the card in the window. He rose, grateful to finally be alone, and took up his teapot and cup while she was making her way to his side.

"Well?"

"Well what, woman?" he asked.

"Well, are you going to tell me why you were so late?" she asked, clearly frustrated.

"That's a fine welcome for your fellow," he teased, setting the pot and cup back on the table so that he could put his hands on her waist to draw her close, "No 'I'm terribly glad to see you' or 'I've missed you so much my heart has ached' or even 'How's your ankle, Charles?'"

"I am terribly glad to see you or I wouldn't be upset you were late," she answered, grabbing the lapels of his jacket to pull him down to her level, "I don't know about heartache, but I've thought about you every morning and every night and multiple times in between. And as for the last, if the way you sauntered out of the kitchen is any indication, your ankle is fine."

Then she covered his lips with a fierce and possessive kiss. He pulled away, breathless, after adding a few kisses of his own, "I have missed you, Elsie dear, and I've thought of you every night and morning as well and many, many times in between. Actually, I have a confession to make."

She looked at him quizzically, and he pulled her tight against his chest before bending to whisper in her ear, "I can't bear to launder the pyjamas I wore that night because they smell of lavender and lemons. As long as I sleep in them, I can pretend that you're there with me or I'm here with you."

He felt her smile against his cheek, "My pillow still smells like you. I pretend every morning that I'm waking up with you."

His hands wandered over her back and he couldn't seem to stop kissing her. Every time he was ready to move away he felt that he needed just one more kiss, one more caress. She finally pulled away and shook her head, laughing softly, "Charles, love, you've kissed me till I'm dizzy."

He relaxed his hold on her but didn't completely release her, "We can't have that can we?" His lips twitched upwards, "We've got apple tart to share. Nice and cozy-like."

She slapped at his chest, "You'll never let me forget that will you? I was already under great distress and that man is unbearable at the best of times, far too familiar."

His teeth ground together, "I don't like that, but I think you handled him brilliantly. My woman can certainly put a man in his place." He finished by smiling at her proudly and was gratified to see her return his smile.

"If we're going to share your apple tart, you'll need to let me go. We can't walk into the kitchen like this."

"We have a dilemma then, because I do not want to let you go," he frowned and pretended to think hard, "Perhaps if you would let me walk behind you…"

He answered her confused look by whispering into her ear, "You are lovely when you're angry. You sway quite nicely."

She blushed and swatted at his arm, but when she walked away, he noticed that her hips were swinging back and forth. Yes; his woman was a fine lady indeed.

They managed to make it to the kitchen, wash the few remaining dishes, and sit down with their apple tart with a minimum of touches, quick kisses, and brushing of hands. As they started to eat, with chairs pulled beside each other so they could share, he wondered how married couples ever got anything done if they constantly wanted to touch each other as much as he wanted to touch Elsie. That thought brought him up short when he remembered Elsie was still married, and to a man whose touches had stemmed from anger not love.

His hand tightened on the fork for a moment before he laid it beside the plate. Elsie looked at him in concern and asked, "The tart isn't to your liking? Or is it something else?"

"No, no, the tart is just as good as ever. Give Mrs. Johnstone my thanks for guarding it," he was quick to reassure her. Then he cleared his throat, "I should probably tell you about my business this afternoon."

"That sounds ominous," she put her own fork down.

The fingers of his right hand began to tap out a rhythm on the table, "Not quite as bad as that, I hope, but not entirely good news either."

She was watching him cautiously and then covered his hand with her own to stop the tapping, "Go on."

He cleared his throat, knowing that he had overstepped his bounds a bit, "You know that the heir to Downton is a solicitor?"

"Oh Charles, you didn't," she said, eyes wide.

He nodded shortly, "Mr. Crawley, that is, Mr. Matthew Crawley has an office here in Ripon. I felt that we, that I, needed a clear understanding of what we're against." When he saw her worry, he was quick to reassure her, "Now Elsie, I used no names, and I only asked in a relatively general sense for a friend. He's not an entirely stupid man. I'm sure that he perhaps guesses that my inquiries were of a personal nature, but he doesn't know and didn't pry."

"And what did he have to say about your friend?" she sighed, not nearly as upset as he thought she would be.

"Much the same as you," he answered, eyes fixed on the pattern of the tablecloth, "He did feel that any scars you might have would prove cruelty, but…"

She cut him off, "You told him about my scars?"

"Only the one on your face," he said, and then added in a lower tone, "and your shoulder."

"Charles!"

"Elsie," he defended himself, "it would be important to prove a pattern, over time."

"I see," she said stiffly, "There was something else?"

He took a deep breath, "We would also have to prove infidelity which would likely require a private investigator and not be certain, or there is another option."

"Another option?" she asked flatly, and he wondered if she could guess.

"Mr. Crawley told me that it is not unheard of for some men and women who are wishing for divorce to set up proof of infidelity on the woman's part. That is far easier to prove than cruelty, and only requires agreement by both parties and someone willing to be named as co-respondent. He thought it might be possible to, well, to bribe your husband." The words left him in a rush and he kept his gaze fixed on the table.

"Either way would be very expensive," she said.

"It would," he agreed, "Although Mr. Crawley has indicated that he would take on the legal aspects for a greatly reduced rate if not free."

She looked at him sharply, "I thought you said he thought it was 'for a friend'."

"I told you he's not an idiot, Elsie," he answered wryly, "His exact words were, 'Of course if this friend were to happen to know a solicitor, that solicitor might be persuaded to be flexible in his rates, especially if this friend of yours is indispensable to the solicitor's family.'"

Elsie laughed softly, "I suppose that is vague enough."

Charles agreed with a grim smile, "And there is a third option. We can go on as we have been and hope for a particularly painful farming accident or, if for some reason he does find out about us, we hope he sues for divorce. I would gladly be co-respondent to get you away from him."

"Charles," she said softly, "I don't think he would sue for divorce. He is," she paused and a shudder ran through her, "possessive. If he finds me, I believe that he would take me back to the farm or…"

Charles shuddered himself. He wanted to reassure her that he would protect her, but how could he when she was so far away?"

"Elsie," he looked down at their joined hands, "Would you consider coming to Downton?"

Her hand clenched, "Would you put me up in some abandoned cottage as your mistress? Stealing food from the house for me?"

His shoulders shifted uncomfortably. That was just a bit too close to what he'd done to hide his embarrassment a little over a year ago, and he was certainly not embarrassed by Elsie. "No; as housekeeper. Mrs. McDonnagh has given notice. If Mrs. Beeton would give a reference, I believe I could assure a glowing recommendation from the butler." He held up his hand to still her protest, "If I did not believe that you could do a fine job, I wouldn't recommend you. So don't refuse on that account."

"Why?" she asked, "Why would it be so important for me to be there? Surely, it would be more difficult in many ways. More eyes would be watching. Our privacy very limited."

"I have thought about this thoroughly for the past week, ever since Mrs. McDonnagh gave her notice. We would have to be careful, but if you were there I could protect you," he finished in barely a whisper, "Do you have any idea what it would do to me if you…? If he found you and harmed you or worse?"

She removed her hand from his and held his cheek, turning his face up to look at her, "Do you have any idea what it would do to me to cost you the job you love? It would be one thing if you left of your free will, but if you were forced out, shamed, because of your relationship with me."

Those same thoughts had troubled him, but he gave her the same answer he'd given himself, "It would be far worse to live out my days without you. Don't underestimate me, Elsie. I am not a child."

She looked at him very seriously for a long moment, and he could see the workings of her mind. Once she'd come to a decision, she said, "There would be one very large problem with this arrangement."

"And that would be?"

"I would have to take orders from you," she smiled.

He puffed out his chest, "Of course, the butler is king of his domain."

She rolled her eyes at him, and so he added, "But I would think that if I boss you in public, I would need to be obedient in private. And vice versa, of course."

She looked at him speculatively, running her fingers under his shirt cuff, "So if you, for instance, ordered me, in public, to share a piece of apple tart with you, then…"

His breath left him at the delightful, tingling sensation on his arm, "Then I would think you could make demands of me in private."

She leaned toward him, and he put his arms around her waist to steady her, "We are in private now."

"We are, so demand away," he said and leaned toward her to kiss her, thanking his lucky stars for that piece of apple tart.

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