She flings a stricken glance in his direction, then puts a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. Stupid cow. You never used to be soft. Stiffen your spine, girl, and send him to the couch. Or worse.
Charles sighs deeply and scrubs his face with his hand.
"Elsie, I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean it." No response. She continues to toe around the floor, searching in vain for her missing nightgown.
"Elsie, please look at me." Still searching.
"Elisabeth." He says it quietly, commandingly, and it is different enough, shocking enough that she turns to face him. "Forgive me," he says quietly, simply. And how can she refuse? She takes a step toward him and he meets her halfway, folding her in his arms and rubbing her back. She begins to cry now in earnest. "There now, Els," he says, still rubbing soothing circles along her back. "It's not as bad as all that, is it?" He hears an undignified hiccup from the vicinity of his shoulder. "Come along, love. Chin up, eh? We can't be the first couple this has happened to."
"But at our age. With my sister next door! She trails off, uncertain. "And what must you think of me?" she whispers.
He pulls back, fixes her with a piercing stare. "What do you mean?"
She takes a step back, wrings her hands, stares at a fixed point on the opposite wall. "It was my doing," she gestures to the bed, then continues to wring the skin right off her hands. "I…you must think…"
"Elsie," and the way he holds her name in his mouth is an endearment, a caress. "Elsie, do you trust me?"
"Well yes, but…"
He holds up a hand.
"Then will you trust me now?" She is staring hard at the floor, but he sees her head nod almost imperceptibly. "Els, I love you. I love all of you and tonight was…" He exhales loudly; how can he tell her without embarrassing her, without relying on those phrases that are either too obtuse or too pointed. She looks up, afraid. "Well, all I can say is that I hope we can try that again when we get home. I'll just have to check our own bed slats beforehand." She laughs shakily and he smiles. "Give us a kiss, eh?" She moves toward him and he holds her gently, places a kiss on her cheek. "You're beautiful," he whispers. "A beautiful gift I never hoped to receive. I love you, I love you." He punctuates his words with gentle kisses to her cheeks, her temples, a soft final kiss to her lips. She hugs him fiercely to her and burrows her face in his shoulder.
"I love you, Charles."
They break away from one another, wordlessly pull the mattress to the floor, straighten the sheets, find the counterpane. She spots her nightgown, goes to retrieve it, change back, but Charles puts a hand on her arm. "In for a penny, love. Leave it." And she smiles, a real one, even a bit wicked and his heart lifts. They lower themselves gently onto the mattress, spoon into one another and soon they are warm, relaxed.
"What about tomorrow, Charles?" Elsie asks sleepily.
He squeezes her hand. "We'll face the firing squad together."
She laughs and pushes in closer to her husband, her man, and goes to sleep.