Chapter 43

A/N: A tasteful M, I think.

Their room was in darkness, the heavy drapes blocking the light of the winter sun. Charles waited for his eyes to adjust the light. After a few moments he noticed that Elsie was wearing her dress; she must have removed her coat while she was searching out his pajamas. She'd not had a new dress made; she wore her Sunday best, a dress she knew to be one of his favorites. It was dark green with a matching coat. He'd always loved her in green. She'd worn a fetching blue scarf that beautifully accentuated both the green of her dress and the blue of her eyes. Briefly he wondered where it had come from; he hadn't remembered seeing it before, and he prided himself on knowing her various outfits, few though they were. He swallowed again. Good lord, his mouth was dry. Why was he musing over her clothes anyway? Couldn't he take a step forward? He'd managed to make it to the door and close it behind him, a needless precaution. He'd already taken care to lock the door of their sitting room. He would endure no further interruptions tonight. If only he could make his legs move. What was she doing now? She was rifling through the cupboard, pulling out…he stared. What was she pulling out? Two wine glasses and a bottle of… well, it looked like champagne. Where on earth had she gotten a bottle of-

"Before you ask, I did pinch this from your personal stock." She set the glasses on a small table.

"But how did you…when-?"

"While you were serving dinner a little over a week ago. I thought perhaps we might appreciate a glass of something nice this evening." She took a step closer. "Do you approve of my selection?"

He squinted in the darkness, then took a step forward. It was the 1888 Perrier-Jouet, an astute choice. He had planned to open it to mark the occasion of their first wedding anniversary, but this was better. "I do," and the husky sound of his voice surprised him.

She smiled as she expertly twisted the neck and popped the cork. It made a loud report, causing both of them to jump. She poured them each a glass and handed one to Charles.

"I fear for this bottle of champagne."

"Why?"

"Because last time we drank champagne, we finished only half the bottle."

"We were busy, as I recall."

"We were at that." Charles raised his glass to her. "A toast to my bride: I have loved her ever since I saw her, and still I see her beautiful."

"Charles," protested Elsie laughingly.

"No? Then how about this? O ye gods, render me worthy of this noble wife!"

"Certainly not!"

He ventured closer.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,

Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,

When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Elsie felt the tears spring to her eyes and she hastily dashed at them with her free hand. "Oh you daft man. You lovely, daft man."

"My words are too poor to describe you, Elsie. My words are bare, cold, like the rough winds-"

"Oh Charles, you couldn't possibly-"

"But just now, I think we may be talking too much."

He took her wine glass in his hand, set both of them on the table, and gathered her in his arms.

*CE*

His large fingers fumbled clumsily with buttons of her dress.

"Charles, wait." He looked at her confusedly. "I…I want to change."

"Oh, well. Very well then." He made to leave the room.

"Don't forget your champagne!" He turned to look at her quizzically. "We can't have it go to waste."

He nodded and took the champagne glass into the next room. He walked around a few moments, idly sipping his drink. Bloody hell. He'd expected his nerves, not hers. Perhaps he ought to have reminded her to finish her champagne! Perhaps he would at that. Any more delays and he wasn't certain- What? He wasn't certain he could wait? Wasn't certain he could succeed? He wasn't sure. He sighed. He might as well get into his pajamas as well.

*CE*

He'd disrobed carefully and lay everything neatly across the back of a chair. He was in his undershirt and shorts, trying to decide whether he should forego all underclothes when the door opened. He turned suddenly.

Elsie had loosened her hair, and she was wearing something very soft and flowing; it looked like silk. His mouth was agape and he felt a fool in his underclothes, but nothing could prevent him from approaching her. She had a curious smile on her face, at once innocent and tempting. The material clung to her curves in a way her dresses, since she'd discarded her corset, had only hinted at. He walked toward her, arms outstretched. Wordlessly she took his hands in hers and led him to their bedroom.

*CE*

She had already turned the bed down; gingerly she sat down on the edge and waited for him to join her. He was momentarily flummoxed. Should he remove his underthings now or wait until they were in bed together? The book had mentioned nothing like this. Perhaps he should remove his undershirt at least. He pulled it over his head and noticed that Elsie looked away. He moved to the other side of her and pulled the bedclothes further down.

"Should you like to get in, love?"

She slid in between the sheets and inched her way over to the opposite side of the bed. Her heart was racing; she cursed herself for not being able to respond to him, to talk to him, for pity's sake! She could only move with great difficulty, like the automatons she'd read about at the Exposition all those years ago.

He eased into the bed after her and smiled nervously at her. What should he do? Should he reach for her? Should he give her time to prepare? She certainly looked nervous. He couldn't keep from fingering the delicate straps of her-

"What do they call this?"

"It's a negligee," Elsie answered in a hoarse whisper. She'd not drunk enough and she was certain he hadn't. Mrs. Jones had said two glasses specifically. Oh they were never going to-

He leaned over her and kissed her, again and again, moving his mouth over her lips, her face, her neck. His hands moved smoothly over the silky material of her negligee, finally resting on her hips. He gently turned her on her back, a question in his eyes. She nodded and he carefully pushed the negligee up and over her body. The darkness made it difficult to see, but he could feel the softness of her skin, the curves and dips that had teased him those very few times he'd been able to persuade her to sit on his lap.

His heart was pounding and felt himself respond to her. He knew to be slow and careful. He positioned himself more solidly over the top of her, then remembered he was still wearing his shorts. He struggled out of them as Elsie stroked his back and arms, straying shyly to his chest from time to time. He paused to look at her face, and, though he could read anxiety there, he read love and desire as well.

He held himself rigidly above her, determined not to cause her a moment's discomfort, but she surprised him by pulling him against her forcefully. He felt himself push against her thigh and he groaned softly. "Should we…do you-"

"Yes, mo gradh," she whispered, and lifted her hips up to meet his. His hands seemed to know what to do instinctively. He steadied himself at her center, then he entered her slowly, as slowly as he could. He stole a glance at her face. She was biting her lip, but she nodded encouragement to him. Gently, he sank into her. "Just…just stay there, Charles, if you can."

"I can," he grunted. He wanted to move, he thought he might die of it, but he kept himself still.

Her eyes opened in surprise. "I felt that," she whispered. She lifted her hips experimentally and he groaned again. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, no. That felt wonderful. It's just, I'm trying-"

"You want to move as well?"

"Whenever you're ready."

"Go on, then."

He moved within her, slowly at first. She murmured, whether in pain or desire he couldn't say. One hand gripped her hip; he was afraid to let go for fear they might break apart. His other hand roamed over her body and he tried to catalogue those areas that seemed to give her the greatest pleasure. She began to move her legs and hips and he began to move faster; he couldn't help himself. "Elsie, I..I, oh my God," he panted. He buried his face in her neck as he experienced wave upon wave of pure pleasure. "Oh, Elsie, oh I love you, love. I love you."

She rubbed his back and shoulders as he quieted. "I love you," she crooned in his ear. "I love you, my man."

He wanted to stay awake, he wanted to tell her how deeply, how passionately he loved her, how glad he was that they finally arrived at an understanding, that it was she who had shared this loving communion with him, but his head was fuzzy from champagne on an empty stomach. He was warm and his muscles were as loose and limp as the spaghetti noodles her Ladyship occasionally entreated Mrs. Patmore to prepare. He knew he couldn't continue to lie on top of her, but she felt so warm and soft, and she felt so good, and she was rubbing such soothing circles across his back.

Elsie smiled as she heard him snore. She would never be able to adequately describe her feelings at that moment, not if she lived to be one hundred, which she sincerely hoped to do, so long as her man remained by her side. She stretched as best she could in satisfied contentment. Yes, it had hurt, but not overmuch. She hadn't experienced all of the sensations described in that little book, but there would be plenty of opportunity for future exploration and experimentation. She smiled a naughty, catlike smile. Yes, indeed. She could see why some of the bolder girls in her charge had smirked and rolled their eyes at her talk. She had disciplined them of course, but then she'd had no way of knowing how incomplete her information was. Of course she'd had to maintain order, no doubt about that. And it was for the girls' own good; one had only to look at Ethel to see that. Without Mrs. Crawley's support there would be no telling where the girl and her bairn would have ended up. She sighed. This was no time for thoughts such as those. For now, she would relish in the feeling of Charles's weight on top of her (for as long as she could stand it), the feel of his skin next to hers, the way his faint whiskers rubbed against her neck and shoulder blade. This, this was what she had been waiting for. She had loved a good man for a very long time. Now she was free to receive his love in return.