Chapter 25: It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year (Y is for Yule - Merry Christmas!) Only 12 days late! Sorry! LOL! Hopefully this chapter will make up for the delay. If you think it's too soppy, watch 6.1 again. That Carson… *happy shippy sigh*

"Merry Christmas, Elsie."

Elsie checked the time. He was correct. It was after midnight now and Christmas Day.

"Merry Christmas, Charlie. Santa came?" she asked cheekily.

"He did indeed," Charlie said, keeping his tone prim despite her teasing. "Perhaps we should check your stocking again."

She pretended to be shocked. "Again, Mr Carson?"

He chuckled. "I meant for something other than the envelope from the solicitor."

Last night, Charlie's pre-Christmas gift had been papers he'd drawn up with Murray and Sons.

Sitting on the edge of their room's bed, she'd read the documents through, trying to sort out the main points.

"You've paid for Becky's care?"

"I've paid for the next five years. And set up a trust for the ones after that. I believe it should be enough to pay for another twenty years, taking into account inflation and potential changes in government benefits. It's attached to some investments also. So the money could increase."

"Charlie, I can't… I don't understand."

"Every cent you earn from now on will be yours to spend as you wish. On yourself."

"You can't afford-"

"Yes, I can. I haven't worked in finance this long without learning a few tricks. Even if Granthams closed tomorrow I have my fingers in enough pies that I should never be picking food out of a skip."

"Then why work at all?"

"Because I like it. That's what the heart attack proved. I like the company too."

He meant the people's company he shared? Or the company as in Granthams? She stared down at the paperwork again and noted a date on one of the pages. "Charlie? This is dated April."

He nodded slowly. "I had originally planned it as a birthday gift. Then, things went from bad to worse at the store, and Anna had her miscarriage, and..." He waved his hand around. "It just never seemed like the right time. I thought we had loads of time. Alice and my health pushed me along."

"Charlie, I can't accept."

"It's not up to you to accept," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "Becky's care facility was quite happy to take my money, let me assure you."

She exhaled a short huff at his arrogance. Then an alarming idea rushed into her mind. "You did this…" She frowned. "You did this so I would have to marry you," she accused. "I couldn't say no to the man paying for my sister's care, after all."

As if she'd physically hit him, his head snapped back. "What? No!"

The papers rustled as her hands shook. "You can't do something like this - this is thousands of pounds - for just a friend."

He puffed out his chest. "You're more than just a friend, Elsie. But I won't force you to marry me because of this. It's not a threat or a payment for services rendered. It's going to give you financial freedom to make a choice. Whether your choice is to stay at Granthams or go on a cruise around the world or go into business with me, you at least have a choice."

"Did you-"

She was cut off when his mobile started ringing. He frowned at the screen for a moment before shocking Elsie when he apologised in advance, "Sorry, I have to take this."

She stared at him, flabbergasted at just what could be so important that he'd need to interrupt their conversation to take the call.

"Yes," he growled as he swiped the screen of his phone. She had assumed it was a business call, the real estate agent calling about an appointment to see Velvet Underground perhaps, but surely he wouldn't speak with such a harsh tone to any business contacts.

He eyed Elsie as he listened to the caller.

"Yes. Yes. I was trying… No. No!"

Then, she realised he must be talking about her. "Yes, she is. Yes, I asked her. What do you mean, how?" He looked so angry his nostrils were practically flaring. "Of course I want her to marry me for companionship, doesn't everyone who marries?"

That grabbed Elsie's attention.

"She thinks it's what? No! It's nothing to do with the shop."

Elsie bounced in the bed, struggling to stand but now finding she was stuck within its depths.

"I want her to be financially secure enough to make her own decisions regarding her career. I thought maybe I was railroading her and I wanted her to know I'll accept whatever she wants."

She stared at the documents, guilty. She'd known Charles Carson for over twenty years. He'd never used his position at Granthams to act in an inappropriate way. Nor would he with this offer of financial support for her sister.

"Friendship? Yes, she's my best friend. What do you mean? Of course I want-" He broke off mid-sentence and turned beet red, to the tips of his ears. "Yes," he rasped. "She's lovely, don't you think? Funny, clever and sexy. It's a potent combination and I worship the ground she walks upon."

Elsie had to look away from Charlie as he huskily uttered these words. She clumsily folded and tucked the documents back into their envelope.

"What the… I've thought about nothing but for so long, I doubt anything I've done for the past couple of months would make sense to anyone."

Elsie looked up then, as Charlie continued in a low tone: "Even when I'm receiving a letter from the queen on my hundredth birthday I'll want to make love to her."

She blinked, wondering if she would soon taste blood from biting her bottom lip.

"No, I do not need Viagra!" Even though Elsie had presumed Beryl was on the other end of the call, this comment proved it. He paused for a moment before continuing much louder: "It's not important how I know, I just do!" Then, he listened with an exasperated look on his face for a moment longer before snapping, "Perhaps you could go tell Bill."

After that comment he pressed the red button on his mobile and tossed it carelessly onto one of the room's desks before turning back towards Elsie. Feeling faint, she still sat on the edge of the bed.

"Now, just in case we aren't clear, Elsie Hughes." He grabbed her hand, dragged her up and off the bed, as if she weighed no more than a feather, so that they stood face to face. "I love you. Not in some platonic work colleague flatmate kind of way, but in a much more basic sense. So, if you don't want to sleep with me, then we should probably break things off now. Don't worry, you can tell everyone you dumped me for-" he waved a hand around vaguely- "whatever you think is suitable in this day and age."

"You want me?" she asked in a tone that emphasised her accent much more than she'd intended.

"God, yes. So much I might just make a fool out of myself the first time I touch you."

He let out one loud puff of breath and then, the room fell silent. She held his gaze for a long time until suddenly his eyes broke contact and they began to meander across her features. He studied her as if he was an artist contemplating how to sketch the contours of her face.

They both shuffled closer. Her nipples hardened by their own volition and grazed against his bulk. She craned her neck, her stomach aching from the way he was continuing to search her face until, finally, his gaze settled upon her lips.

She heard an odd noise in the room and realised it was emanating from her. And then he was bending his head, slowly, until his lips rested on hers, so gently that she shivered. She kept her eyes open, watching him as he closed his. He made a noise at the back of his throat in reply to hers. His fingers skimmed along the delicate skin of her neck, flicking back the loose wisps of hair around her ears as the soft kiss feathering her lips continued.

He disappointingly ceased kissing her and pulled back before sighing with relief. "Your answer is 'yes'?"

She had no idea what he was talking about really (maybe marriage? or purchasing the antiques store? accepting payment for Becky's care? she hoped he meant making love) but she still smiled shyly. "Whatever the question is, the answer is most definitely 'yes', Mr Carson."

He also smiled and his lips descended to hers once more.

He melted into her for this second kiss. She flattened her hands against his chest, checking his heart was still beating steadily. Her eyes remained open as she watched the emotions flit across his features as his lips fluttered against hers, his kiss remaining soft and loving.

If they had another hundred years together, she would probably still never get over the way she was bringing this big proud man to his knees figuratively. Then, an image of him literally on his knees for her made her stomach muscles clench tighter. She clung to the lapels of his jacket in case her legs gave out.

She kept hanging on when he began to deepen the kiss. His mouth widened and he teased her lips, willing them to follow suit. Slowly, her hands crept up to loop around his neck, trapping him close as she obediently opened her mouth and allowed him to taste her mouth. She tasted him in return, the wine he'd drank earlier, the musky tang on his dinner, still a hint of his toothpaste… Him.

He gasped and stepped back a little. Once again the only sound in the room was their heavy breathing.

Eventually, she smiled again, tentatively this time.

He reached out and took her face in his huge hands. His mouth lowered and he whispered a kiss against her nose, her eyes, her forehead.

"Do you think it would be rude if we didn't return to the wedding?" she asked. Between her legs throbbed, and her 'good' knickers would probably already be ruined, she lamented. But it was Mary's wedding, and she didn't want to pressure him into doing something he'd eventually feel very guilty about later. "My purse is still there," she said, giving him a ready excuse to return to the ballroom.

"Ah, so it is." He glanced behind her, to the bed. The envelope still sat on its edge. "I didn't mean it to be a bribe, please believe me."

"I do," she said quickly. "And we have thirty or so years to decide what we'll do with ourselves, work wise, so let's not fret."

He sighed and bent until he rested his forehead upon hers. "My Elsie, always the wise one."

"My Charlie," she murmured in reply. "Just my Charlie," she'd sighed contentedly.

She sighed now, almost four hours later, remembering how they'd slipped downstairs to the ballroom via the servants' shortcut again, giggling and holding hands like a couple of teenagers (so unlike him) the whole way.

Entering via the green baize door, they'd stayed on the dancefloor and in each other's arms for far too many songs to be deemed appropriate, until finally Tom and Sybbie had stepped in to demand a change of partners.

Later still, they'd left the ballroom and strolled together to the main staircase. At its base, when he hesitated, she turned towards him, hands on hips. "Please tell me," she'd griped, "that you won't insist on us being married before you think about climbing these bloody steps."

His answer came as quite the surprise.