Somewhere in those hours between evening and morning, Carson stirred and blinked his eyes open. Fragments of a dream, a good one, flitted around in his mind before fading away. He grinned and nestled further into his sheets and pillows as he savored what was left of it.
It was hazy, but he could recall Elsie in his arms, her legs wrapped around him, his mouth nipping at her milky skin, her hands pulling his face to hers and crashing upon him. They were a blurry tangle of limbs. And she spoke so sweetly into his ear. He could not recall the words, but when he woke, he had the distinct impression of being loved. Adored. Cherished. It left a pit in his stomach and an aching desire further south.
Rolling over, Carson threw the bedsheets off of him and huffed. The other side of the bed was empty, as it had been for many years, even before his divorce. It had been just as long since he'd had a dream like that one. Here he was, squarely in middle age, perhaps leaning ever slightly past it, and he found himself longing for someone with a ferocity that startled him.
There had been temptations when he taught at Cambridge, of course. Every year, young women filtered in and out of his office, all bubbly and bright and perky, their doe eyes and pouty lips enough to entice even the sturdiest resolve. Yet, he never once gave them more than a passing glance. This became easier as he aged and their collective ages remained fixed at twenty or so. What could he have in common with some young thing fresh from the nursery? Other faculty invariably gave them more than a passing glance and it always seemed to become a topic of gossip once they were found out. A consummate professional as he was, Carson wouldn't dare allow himself to be the object of ridicule, not for a cheap, fleeting thrill. Of course, that he had been married was a factor to consider, yet it never seemed to be his primary motivation.
Staring at the ceiling, Carson wondered if he were alone in his longing. It had been a week since he'd told Elsie of what brought him to Downton, of the wreckage that was left of his professional and personal lives. And in that time, while she had been sweet with him, perhaps even tender, there had been no repeats of their clandestine kiss in the corridor of the British Museum, no nights spent sleeping in each others' arms on the sofa in the sitting room, nothing more than a gentle kiss on the cheek here or there.
Of course, they still spent their afternoons traipsing about Yorkshire in his Triumph and their evenings dining together and sharing a glass of port. But Elsie made no mention of their kiss or The Incident or anything else about that day. Carson hoped she would, ideally the former more than the latter, but after a week, he was desperate enough to have settled for the latter. Their kiss became like an enigma, a faint memory that he thought might have been a dream.
He cursed himself. He should have told her sooner. Whatever had been budding between them before their trip to London was surely squandered now that she knew the truth about him. Closing his eyes, Carson tried to remind himself of what she'd said to him out by the stone pillars on Downton's east lawn, her voice low as if she were confessing something close to her heart. You make me feel seen, Charlie.
The words repeated in his mind over and over until he started to believe them. Eventually, he fell into a dreamless slumber and slept soundly until morning found him too soon for his liking.
"What utter rot!" Carson sighed heavily. He threw his pen down in a huff, frustrated with the rubbish that now passed for his writing. It appeared that most of his skills, not just social, but his academic ones, too, had atrophied in the long months since he left Cambridge in June. His article about suffrage in the upper classes was in a terrible state and he was too distracted to even know where to begin.
As he stewed at his usual perch in the main library, a fortress of books and notepads surrounding him, he heard a chuckle from the corner of the room. Peeking around a stack of textbooks, he saw Elsie with a smirk on her face. He blanched at the sight of her.
"Oh, dear," she laughed as she approached his desk. "Trouble in academia?"
"Something like that," he mumbled. The laptop lid was shut with a thud. He didn't want to discuss his academic woes for a single second today. Instead, he asked, "Is it quitting time for you?"
Elsie nodded. "I've just finalized the essay selections for the spring conference. Twelve presenters in total. It should make for some lively discussions. I'll go over it with John and Anna, but if they're both on board, the invitations will go out next week."
"Congratulations, then," he told her. "I know how diligently you've been working on that." He envied her ability to be productive these days. All capacity for that had left him.
"Thank you," she said, smiling. "I'm glad it's behind me. Now, I just have the logistics of planning for eighty scholars to attend! Though, to be honest, that's the easy part." Carson noticed her eyes dart around his desk and the mountains of paper he had assembled. "Are you close to wrapping up for the day?"
"I am," he lied. Little headway had been made despite a day spent locked away in this room. "What's the plan for dinner?"
"Actually," Elsie began, "I got a call earlier from Daisy. She's caught whatever cold is going around and she's unable to bring over dinner tonight. Perhaps for the next few days. We could go to the village, but the weather forecast looks like we might get some ice later tonight."
"I suppose we could fast," he joked half-heartedly.
She chuckled at this and he was glad of it. "It won't come to that, Charlie." He was even gladder for her use of his nickname; it never sounded sweeter than when he heard it in her Scottish accent. "I may not be Beryl or Daisy, but I'm not completely inept in the kitchen. I think I could manage a spaghetti sauce without poisoning the two of us."
"I'm sure it will be wonderful," he told her. "Would you like some help? A sous chef?"
A nod was all he needed. And he was grateful when it came. "That would be most helpful."
He felt himself smile. "Wonderful. Let me run upstairs and change and I'll meet you in the kitchen soon."
"Change? Into what?" she laughed quizzically.
Carson looked down at his bleach white Oxford shirt, gesturing to it. "Into something that isn't a magnet for red sauce."
At that, he departed upstairs, already feeling lighter. That wreck of an article had been forgotten as soon as his feet touched the stairs, replaced with the promise of something with her. His white Oxford was discarded hastily, his fingers fussing with the buttons with such anticipation that he almost yanked the damned thing over his head. A navy sweater took its place and he all but ran down the stairs towards the kitchen.
When he arrived, Carson heard the sound of bossa nova music piping through a portable speaker on the kitchen island. Lazy guitars and sultry Portuguese echoed off the walls, and as she gathered ingredients for their sauce, he noticed her swaying to it. Oblivious to him yet, her hips moved in time ever so slightly, her shoulders following behind, her body as soft and gentle as the music.
He gulped and stepped further into the kitchen. "Where would you like me, chef?" he asked.
At the sudden interruption, Elsie stopped her swaying. Had it not been for the endearing shade of rose her cheeks turned as she realized she'd been caught, he would have been more inconsolable at this. "Oh, um, how about you brown the meat? I'll dice the onion."
Carson did as he was told. They worked side by side, largely in silence, save for the languid tunes of Astrud Gilberto filling the kitchen. Chopping, dicing, peeling. It was very cordial and had none of the flirtatious features of the weeks that had preceded it. A mood had shifted between them, he could tell, and it was not to his liking. She was far away.
So, as he minced some garlic cloves, Carson set his knife down and whispered, "I've missed you."
Her blue gaze shot up to meet his. "I–I'm sorry? I haven't gone anywhere."
He gulped again for a very different reason. "That's not what I meant. It's just that things feel different since I told you about why I'm here. If you're having second thoughts about anything –about me– I won't begrudge you for it."
Without wasting a single moment, Elsie abandoned the herbs she'd been chopping and stepped closer to him. Her hands found his and pulled them into hers.
"You dear man, is that what you think? That I'm having second thoughts?"
He nodded solemnly.
She shook her head, heaving an exasperated sigh. "I was trying to give you some space, Charlie," she told him, pulling their hands closer still. "You'd had a good shock the other night. Not to mention the subsequent morning after telling me about what happened in Cambridge. I–I didn't want you to feel overwhelmed by it all. I've not had any second thoughts, not one."
As she explained this, Carson felt a weight he didn't know he'd been carrying slide off of him. And as he stared at her small frame tugging at his hands, he felt a profound gratitude for her. Where had she been all these years? All his life?
"I can't say I'm not relieved," he confessed, a nervous little chuckle escaping him without his consent. "I was imagining…" The words trailed off, but she finished the thought for him.
"The worst?"
He reluctantly nodded.
Her hand moved to his cheek, stroking his skin gently. "You don't need to worry about those sorts of things anymore, Charlie. Not with me."
Carson nodded again before stepping closer, taking her hand from his cheek and grasping it in his own, weaving his fingers through hers. Without a second thought, his lips were on hers. This kiss, unlike their first in that cramped corridor, was not tentative. He had known what her kisses were like now and he craved more of them. It was ironic, he thought as he felt her hands wrap around his back: the last week without her kisses seemed an eon longer than the first sixty years without them.
The spaghetti sauce was abandoned entirely. Carson's hands had a mind of their own, pulling her waist closer to him, running under the fabric of her sweater to savor the precious skin of her back, weaving through her hair. They were all over her, eager to sample every inch of her. He pulled away and peppered kisses down her jaw and neck, tracing the same trail back up until he found her mouth once again. A low moan left her at this and something primal in him took over.
He pushed them both against the countertop and in one fell swoop, he hoisted her on top of it. A peel of laughter was his reward.
"Charlie!" Elsie gasped.
He paused just long enough to take in the sight of her, all mussy hair and flushed cheeks and swollen lips. A grin spread across his face, the result of masculine pride at his handiwork, before resuming their embrace.
As he pressed into her, her legs wrapped around him, her tongue slipped into his mouth and her fingers found his hair. Carson knew that if he didn't pull away right that instant, he'd take her right there on the kitchen counter.
With every fiber of self-control he could lay claim to, he broke from her lips. They were both panting, a sheen of sweat covering their skin, a sudden, stark coldness at his abrupt movement. It was too much and not enough, all at the same time.
"Oh, Elsie," he murmured, stroking her arms, desperate for some contact, even just this. "My goodness, I–I'm not sure what came over me."
She licked her lips and chuckled, a low, throaty sound that made him regret pulling away at all. "Well, by all means, let it come over you anytime you'd like!"
He laughed and planted one last peck on her cheek before stepping back and offering a hand to her as she slid off the counter. They both preened their tousled hair and adjusted their strewn sweaters before returning to the abandoned dinner. It was a task in itself, feigning to be interested in dinner when the thought of feasting on something far better lingered in their minds.
Later that evening, after they'd enjoyed the spaghetti they'd prepared, they retired to the sitting room as they so often did. As predicted, the weather took a nasty turn, the sky spitting down ice, the wind howling, the windows rattling at the commotion. Such a tempest made the warm confines of the sitting room all the more cozy. They sipped on their port in keeping with tradition, but this night, unlike others, Elsie was nestled with her back against Carson's chest, tucked under his arm.
It felt serene. That was the only word Elsie could think to describe it. She felt safe in his arms, and she hoped that he understood that he could feel safe in hers, too.
"I never did thank you," he said as he stared into the fire.
"What for?"
"For giving me space this week," he answered. "I didn't want to admit it, but it was a shock, seeing Alice in London. It brought up all sorts of memories I've been trying to run from."
She smiled and snuggled deeper into his embrace. "You don't need to run from them. They're a part of you. But you can learn to live with them." At this, she felt his lips place a soft kiss into her hair. "But I think you're wrong about not thanking me. I, for one, felt very thankful for that display in the kitchen earlier."
Even in the low light of a dying fire, Elsie could see him blush. "Oh, that," he mumbled nervously. "I'm hardly a Casanova. I've no idea where that came from. But I'm glad you enjoyed it all the same."
The fire hissed and popped and the room became darker, still. "I haven't been with anyone since Joe passed," she told him in a quiet tone. Although they were the only souls for miles and miles, still, she was quiet. "I hope I'm not too out of practice."
He startled and she could feel him shifting to get a better look at her. She risked a glance up at him and saw a look of mock indignation. "Out of practice?" he repeated. "Lord, if that's out of practice, I'm not sure I'll survive you in the swing of things."
She laughed, that deep-in-the-belly kind of laugh that had become more common since his arrival at the start of Michaelmas. Her elbow nudged him in the side and she craned her neck to kiss his cheek. "You flatterer!"
"Never. I never lie, Elsie." He returned her kiss, this time to her temple.
Her laughter subsided and the only sound in the room was the sound of their breaths, the patter of icy rain outside the windows, and the occasional squeak from a dying ember.
"I haven't been with anyone either, not since Alice," Carson told her. "And not for a long time either. The last ten years of our marriage were…merely friendly. We had separate bedrooms and rarely, well, enjoyed the other's company."
"Then it looks like we're both out of practice," she joked half-heartedly.
He smiled. "It looks as though we are."
As they sat nestled together on the sofa, sipping on their glasses of port, each contemplating the events of the last two hours, an idea formed in her mind, and the longer it stayed there, the more it grew on her.
"Say," she began nervously. "Would you like to spend the night with me?"
At this question, Carson immediately choked on his port, coughing and sputtering and trying to regain his composure. It took a moment, but when he finally did, he had little color left to him. "I–I beg your pardon?" he managed.
"Not in that way," she explained. "I mean, not yet. But it would be nice to spend the night in your arms. I so enjoyed waking up with you on the sofa last week and I'd like to do it again, but in a proper bed this time. At our age, I think our bodies will thank us for it the next day."
It was the first time that night had been acknowledged by either of them.
"I enjoyed that night, as well," he confessed, a small smirk playing about the corner of his mouth. He almost looked boyish. How she adored it.
"Well?"
In all her life, she had never been this forward with a man. There had been boys in her hometown in Scotland who had caught her eye, but she never made the first move. And when Joe innocently courted her thirty-some years ago, she had never felt any inclination to be so forward. But now, hardly the same young woman she was back then, her body now covered in more wrinkles and silver hair and blemishes than she'd like, she found herself being forward with this man.
Her deliverance from waiting came in the form of a nod and a bashful smile.
"I would like that," he whispered. "I'll grab my pajamas." And with that, they departed for the respective bedrooms, leaving the empty port glasses for another time.
She was floating on a current, she decided. Her legs were not legs anymore, taking one step at a time. Instead, she drifted towards her flat in a haze, waiting for the moment that she would be jolted away from what had to be a reverie.
This had not been on the agenda today, not even close. As soon as she entered her flat, the haze dissipated and she ran about the space quickly tidying it up. It was a blessing that she was ordinarily a tidy woman, leaving her little to do. This enabled her to turn her attention to more pressing matters. Rifling through her drawers, she found a suitable nightgown, one that was flattering without being overtly sensual. It was a sky blue silk nightgown, with capped sleeves and a pattern of small blue flowers covering it. Hastily, she changed into it.
As she stood in front of her mirror to fix her hair, she started to laugh. "My goodness, what did you get yourself into, old girl?" She ran a brush through her hair and contemplated a spritz of perfume before deciding against it. It would be terribly obvious what that implied. "Well, a professional work environment is certainly out of the question now," she chuckled to herself.
She didn't care. The prospect of spending a night wrapped in Charles Carson's arms was perhaps the most appealing thought she'd had in a long time. Certainly since moving here. She was reminded of an old Scottish proverb her grandmother used to tell her: be happy when you're living, for you're a long time dead.
It was then that she heard a soft tap on her front door. On the other side was Carson clad in a matching set of green and navy tartan pajamas and a black robe. He wore a shy smile as if waiting for her invitation to be revoked at any moment.
"Well, don't you look smart?" she teased, gesturing for him to come inside her flat.
"Every man ought to have a proper pajama set," he explained as he inspected her dwelling. "You have a lot of books. Quite a collection."
Elsie thought it was odd, perhaps a little endearing, that he wanted to discuss her book collection as they stood in her middle of flat, both wearing pajamas, the promise of spending the night together looming large around them.
"Thank you. I can't seem to get rid of any."
"I have the same problem."
Silence echoed. Eventually, Elsie said, "If you're having second thoughts, we can just go to sleep in our own beds and pretend this never happened."
"Second thoughts? Never," he insisted. "Err, shall we?"
She nodded and led him to her bedroom. Her duvet cover was already pulled down, revealing crisp, white, linen sheets.
"Lay me down in sheets of linen?" Carson asked in a teasing tone, quoting the famous Elton John song.
"I would follow up with, 'hold me closer, tiny dancer' but no one would ever accuse you of being a tiny anything."
A deep laugh left him and all shyness he'd brought with him to her flat seemed to disappear in a single moment. They climbed into bed and without any hesitation, she found herself nestled on his chest, her arm across his abdomen, his arms wrapped around her. They wiggled and adjusted their bodies until they were comfortable.
"Thank you for indulging my request," Elsie whispered as she traced circles on his chest with her thumb.
"Well, when you make such enticing requests, how could I refuse?" he replied. His lips placed a reverent kiss on top of her head. "Goodnight, Elsie."
"Goodnight, dear Charlie."
Outside the windows of her flat, the late autumn storm raged on, sputtering ice all over the countryside, whipping branches back and forth, blowing leaves in all directions. It carried on like this for most of the night, and all the while, the two sole occupants of Downton slept soundly, Carson pressed against Elsie's back, his hand draped across her, their legs tangled together.
And when morning found them just in this way, it didn't seem too early for either of their liking.
A/N: Thank you all for the fantastic support for the last chapter! I'm so humbled and grateful for you dear readers. After the heaviness of the last chapter, I wanted this one to be a little fluffy and sweet before we transition into more of the plot advancing.
I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know your thoughts if you can spare a moment :)