In Response to Guest Reviewers: To the guest who confirmed it was a Poirot reference, I haven't stopped grinning since reading your review. And though I cannot allude to anything tangible I can say I am very curious to hear your reaction to this chapter.

Author's Note: I cannot begin to explain how dang happy I am to be getting this out; it's been a very long two days.

One mammoth chapter, coming right up!

"Right." More wretched silence. "Now, please, correct me if I'm wrong. But I can't help but wonder if Allison's father wouldn't happen to be––" He normally would have trailed off by now. But the man remained determined, even as he whispered, "Well, me?"

Perhaps it was foolish to think he wouldn't have guessed the truth. Then again, she'd already been proven a fool for thinking this would work. Still, she wasn't a coward and she wouldn't lie and so she gave a nod.

When he said nothing in response, Elsie spoke up once more, "I understand if you're upset."

"I'm not upset." He paused, "That is to say, I'm shocked you never told me. But given that I had never reached out, that I didn't even think to––"

"Ch––Mr. Carson," Habit begged to call him by his given name. But given the shock he had to be experiencing, to pretend as though nothing had happened would only upset the man. "Kindly stop casting blame on yourself when nothing was your fault."

He quieted down, giving nothing away in his countenance. At least, nothing she could read.

Eventually, however, "I disagree,"

Why am I not surprised?

"But I would prefer to get to the point."

Elsie arched an eyebrow, "And what is 'the point?'"

He stopped once more, struggling to maintain his composure. Really, he didn't have to pretend to be fine. Having this sort of unexpected burden had to weigh rather heavily.

But he didn't speak of any burden. Rather, "Why did you never tell me?"

"Well," Did she have to be entirely honest? Couldn't she beat about the bush like normal? Deflect the subject, bury the truth in a throwaway comment? Why did he prove to be her exception in every sense of the word?

He brought her back to reality with a tentative, "Yes?"

"Well," Elsie breathed the word out once again, looking down. "I did try. Once. But you were still out of the country."

"Oh." He took this well, all things considered. "And that's when you realised you wanted nothing to do with me."

"Not at all!" At the time, she had debated returning back to London again. She'd wanted to hear it from him rather than let someone else speak on his behalf. But that had been desperation talking, not a respect for his needs.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Elsie wished the air wasn't so stuffy, her hands clasping together from the discomfort. "You see, when I'd found out you were still out of the country I realised I really had been wrong about what you wanted."

His face asked the question he didn't dare to voice.

She shook her head, unwillingly smiling, "You were still gone. That only confirmed everything that happened in the lobby. There could be nothing else for it."

No response.

She went to speak but paused. What else was there to say?

Still, she had to try something, "Well,"

Silence.

Elsie took in yet another blasted breath, not knowing what was best for this. When he stuck to keeping hushed, she made her mind up: "I'll leave you to it then."

She had her back to him by the time he spoke again.

"Wait," That quiet tone from before resurfaced, the one she could never truly read. "Please."

Elsie could do that. She would not ask him to share his life with her again. She refused to force him into a role he didn't want. But she could wait. And she would listen to whatever he had to say.

"What happened in the lobby?" Really? That was his question?

She glanced back at her former fiancé, wanting to gauge his mood. She found she wasn't quite able to bite back her smile. He looked lost, a look that newfangled technology, screaming children, and Martha Levinson tended to invoke.

God, she'd missed him.

He continued to wait, furrowing his eyebrows and expressing his befuddlement without saying a word. Well, it wasn't as though he was there, now was it? Perhaps he simply wanted to know how his message was delivered.

Mind, she wasn't quite ready to share that. But there were easier things to say.

"When I was informed of your decision to leave and your wish to call things off," Elsie paused, not proud of how she handled that day. There had been better ways to manage things, she could see that now.

Still, he wanted the truth.

"Well, I realised that it was wrong of me to keep pushing you toward marriage. Certainly not if you felt you had to keep that a secret. So, I thought it best to leave quietly before you could deny the truth. And then, when I'd returned only to find you were still gone, I knew that staying away had to be for the best."

He said nothing. Quite honestly, she wasn't sure he'd registered the words.

"Charles?" She kicked herself for slipping back into familiarity. She'd gotten too attached, acting as though they were still engaged. She leapt back into the manners that were required, withdrawing in sentiment and tone, "My apologies, Mr. Carson. I forgot myself for a moment. It won't happen again."

"Elsie, please," Her head drew upward at that tone, her eyes wide. "Forget yourself more often."

He was entirely serious, until it dawned on him what he had said. After that, he was a babbling mess: "That is to say––well, rather, what I meant to say was––"

But she was chuckling at him, reaching out to grasp yet another familiar sight. He always did get rather flustered when tactless words slipped out. "It's all right. I know what you meant."

Elsie gave a start as she recognised what she'd been on the verge of doing. Leaning over to take his hand as though they were still involved? He may be willing to stick to their given names, but by no means did that mean everything was patched up.

The daft man looked to be disagreeing yet again, reaching out to return her silly gesture. Obviously he was too shocked by her audacity to think. Her eyes closed briefly, but there was no need to debate the matter. She was already doing what needed to be done.

But that wasn't to be the end of it. Unfortunately. "Elsie, might I ask another question?"

"You may." Mind, I'd rather you didn't.

"I know I've already asked this. But, really, what did you mean? Earlier, that is." He clarified, "In the lobby."

"You already know what happened." When he looked on, no comprehension in sight, Elsie repressed a sigh. Instead, she turned away. Perhaps it would be best to recall a small, insignificant detail, "I knew something had been wrong when you were late for lunch."

"What do you mean?"

Her face was much too indifferent to be neutral, "I suppose it's best to start from the beginning."

Closing her eyes for a moment, she succumbed to that sigh that'd been dying to escape. She also gave into a weary smile, still keeping her gaze away, "It was that day. The one where––you know."

Elsie bit her lip. But she had to carry on, "I knew you were going to finally tell me your decision about the trip." She looked back at him, a sharpness returning to her, "Before I go any further, I'd like to add that I was never going to make you choose between me or work. I've never cared for ultimatums, certainly not when it comes to careers.

"But," The woman faltered again, her hands clasping together once more, "I was unsure of where we stood. I needed to know what your priorities were. Had you come to see our engagement as an obligation? Were you struggling to speak up? Were you trying to escape an affair you'd come to find pointless and draining?"

She closed her eyes, "Suppose you'd come to realise that, if you got trapped in a marriage––in a family––you'd never have another chance for those business trips? Suppose you also realised that you needed those trips? That way of life?"

She went back to staring at the pavement outside. Every time her lips started to worry, she was harshly snapping herself out of it, forcibly moving on, "I went to the lobby of Crawley Industries. I knew your schedule by heart," I still do, not that that's worth mentioning. "So, I knew you'd be down soon."

"But I hadn't shown."

"No. You hadn't." She shook her head, casting her gaze downward. "But he had. And he was kind enough to tell me everything. Made the whole thing simple, really."

"'He?'"

"And the rest is, as you know, histor––" A heavy raindrop smacked into her, stunning the woman into silence. She looked up, just now recognising that there had been a storm brewing throughout the entire discussion. One that was seconds from bestowing them with the coldest of rains.

Well, wasn't that just lovely?

_._

Normally, a rainstorm in March would prove nice. But given that the circumstances, suffice it to say, Elsie wasn't happy about the matter.

"There's a––" He spoke up, wincing as a frigid droplet exploded on him. "A suitable tree over there, if you want to take shelter."

Elsie opened her mouth to protest, not wanting him to go to any more trouble on her behalf, "Fine by me!"

She inwardly scoffed, seconds from mending her mistake when––when he took her hand.

Elsie gaped at the gesture, much too astonished to dismiss the gallantry. In retrospect, the whole thing made sense. In an effort to safely get to the tree in question, they had to hold hands. Oh, and given that the rain was picking up, that meant they had to run. Obviously, it was a matter of efficiency. It couldn't be anything more.

And yet it was wonderful.

Her breath had actually caught, the absurdity of everything finally reaching her. Here they were, two dignified adults, scurrying through the sodden grass like they were back in their twenties. Holding hands and everything. Given the circumstances, it should have been impossible.

Yet it wasn't.

The tree came into sight, the pair slowing down. He nearly lost his footing, slipping on a particularly wet patch of grass. But she was there to catch him, making sure he was safe and sound from the rain.

Wasn't that what anyone else would have done? It didn't mean a thing.

She looked away at the thought, staring up at the sky

"El––that is, Miss Hughes," She turned back, confused by the pain in his tone. "There is just one more thing,"

"Mr. Carson!" And just who are you? Elsie ignored the silly urge to scowl at the stranger who was sprinting through the rain. There was no need for such irritation. "That is you, Mr. Carson! Isn't it?"

Huffs and puffs caught up to them, the stranger unwittingly cutting the interrogation to bits. Elsie didn't recognise the man, wondering who he was and how he knew Ch––Mr. Carson.

Whatever was going on, she was sure the mystery would be solved soon enough.

"Yes, it's me, Mr. Moseley." Her former fiancé turned tersely, "What remains unknown is why you are here."

"Oh, right." Mr. Moseley wheezed, cutting an abnormally comical character. "Phyllis––that is, my wife––suggested that I tour the area in advance of my transfer from Manchester to Blackpool."

"That's a sensible suggestion." Elsie interjected as gently as she could, trying to regain cordiality.

The younger man nodded rather enthusiastically as he exclaimed, "She's actually keeping the car warm, if you'd like a lift somewhere."

"That would be wonderful." Well, it wouldn't actually be wonderful. But it was kind. She supposed.

"Of course." Mr. Moseley endeavoured to be endearing as he guided them through the storm and toward his car. But his charming air did little to ease the situation.

So much for putting this all to rest.

_._

Charles Carson was confused. Bewildered. Possibly perturbed. Definitely vexed.

But none of that was directed at Elsie.

See, he had spent the last thirteen years or so believing that he had inadvertently driven her to leave him. That in the last year of their engagement, his need for a career had ruined any chance of happiness with her. He'd been hurt she gave up on him, but he wholeheartedly believed every bit of his misery was deserved.

And then he had learnt of a third-party who had somehow sent the woman packing. Someone had spoken on his behalf and apparently told her that he wanted nothing to do with her.

Perhaps everything really was his fault. He hadn't bothered to talk to her. He'd allowed her little note to be the messenger. He hadn't questioned a thing, running off before anything else could be said.

But someone else was involved. Someone had intervened. He was hoping it had been idiotic ignorance, but he suspected something darker. Either way, he was displeased with the matter, for their sake as well as Allison's.

If only things were different. If only they could get to the heart of the matter. But Elsie was much less confident with him. Discussing the past scared her for some reason he couldn't possibly understand.

He would have preferred to get to the truth here and now. He would have liked to have kept pressing the subject until it gave way. But that wouldn't solve a thing.

Thankfully, Mr. Moseley's gesture of goodwill hadn't ruined their conversation. Charles had taken it upon himself to make sure Elsie was dropped off first. When the group found out his car was in the opposite direction, she'd offered to take him the rest of the way.

Now, if only he could muster up the necessary questions.

As it was, the moment he was sat in her car, Charles lost all conviction to speak. What right did he have to ruin the life she'd made for herself? Why did he crave to presume the whole truth when she was opposed to discussing such a thing? Shouldn't he leave it at that?

"May I ask," She stole his reverie away at once, "What was that 'one last thing?'"

Charles paused. He looked at her, debating the matter.

There were several one last things coming to mind. Originally, he was going to ask her why she kept insisting he was the one who wanted to call it off. But that was a conversation that required more time than the precious minutes they had.

Instead, there was another idea coming to mind. One that filled him with more excitement and nerves and happiness and trepidation than he thought possible. Maybe there was a way to fix some of this misfortune.

"I would like to get to know Allison better, to help her in some way."

She frowned, "I know you mean well, but I don't know if that's wise."

"And letting her believe her father willingly abandoned her is?" Charles closed his eyes at the thought, "No child should ever feel abandoned."

"It's true that no child deserves to feel abandoned. However, I might add that sometimes life gets in the way of what 'should be.' That doesn't make it anyone's fault."

She really was far too kind. "Thank you for that."

Well, that should be the end of this, wasn't it? His car was only a block away.

And yet. And yet: "I know I've asked far too many questions as is. But there is something that bothers me."

"What is it?"

"Do you want me to become involved?"

The car stopped. Her eyes blinked, widening. Her hands froze on the steering wheel, unsure of themselves. Her lips parted, unconscious hope forming an adorable gape. Her head made its way down the path of agreement as blue irises softened.

The mother shook herself out of it at once, returning to that tiresome neutrality. The one he could now see cracks in, the one that didn't suit her in the least. When she spoke, it was with a clipped cadence, "Mr. Carson, what I want does not matter."

Her face contorted, a scowl forming as she pressed her car forward, "What I mean is, you've got your career to focus on. You don't need to add us to the mix."

She huffed out exasperation, continuing to get worked up as she tacked on, "I might add that Blackpool's not a stone's throw away from London!"

Charles would not smile. A smile was tactless and would only serve to confuse her. Besides, he didn't dare hope until he obtained all the facts. The true facts, this time. "That's not a real answer."

She looked as though she wanted to sigh. Instead, she appeared to be scanning their surroundings. No doubt, she was trying to seek out his car as she commented, "Believe me when I say there's no need to become involved. I'm quite capable as is."

"Your capability has never been called into question."

"Good. Then, if there are no other questions,"

"You still haven't answered my original one." Charles pointed out, pleased by her scoff. An exasperated Elsie meant a much more honest Elsie.

That wasn't to say she lied. Merely that there were things she didn't say.

"Ch––Mr. Carson," There she went, slipping again. He didn't like to push and prod her like this, it wasn't fair. Nor was it particularly gallant. But if she had been fully honest from the start––instead of all these revealing half-truths––he wouldn't have to resort to such tactics. "Surely I have."

"As I said before," He knew repeating his words would only serve to increase her frustration. Personally, he was frustrated they had to talk like this in order to get the facts out. "Your capability is not being called into question."

Her lips thinned, "So you say."

"What is being called into question," Charles carried on, "Is acknowledging what you want." Quickly, before Elsie had a chance to refute him, "And if you can't do that, then ask yourself this: what if I wanted to become involved?"

The woman flinched, "No. I will not let you burden yourself––"

"There's that word again." He felt no compunction in interrupting, not when it might garner him a real answer. "Do you really deem raising Allison to be a burden?"

"Never!" Her lilt dared to slide into something stronger, "I have found nothing to be so rewarding as raisin' Allie."

"Then why can't I share in that reward?" He calmly asked, knowing she was expecting bluster from him, "Is there someone else you'd like to take on the role?"

"Of course not!" But then the whites of her eyes expanded. She stammered, "I really am perfectly––"

"Capable, of course you are. But this isn't a question of capability. This is a question of desire, of what you'd like from me."

She blushed.

He blinked, encouraged to change his tactic, "And if you can't see it as that, then think of it as a matter of fairness."

"'Fairness?'" She questioned, arching that eyebrow of hers.

He nodded, vaguely amused. This sort of cheek was normally beneath him. But seeing as how honesty only slipped out when she was surprised, "It's not entirely fair to keep that sort of reward to yourself, given the circumstances. I did help to bring her into––"

"Charles!" Her cheeks reddened, "I mean––"

"Charles." He readily echoed, "No matter what else comes of this, please, call me Charles. We never did the whole Mr. Carson and Miss Hughes business before. It would be a shame to start now."

She turned off the car, her air incredulous as she properly faced him, "You really want me to call you Charles?"

"I really do."

The woman nearly rolled her eyes, "Fine. I don't know why you insist on it, but I suppose it is what we're used to." Thank God. "Am I to also take it that nothing I say will persuade you not to burden yourself with all this?"

Charles wisely decided not to critique her choice of words, "That's right."

"Well then, I see it's down to me to make some ground rules." He was happy to accept anything, within reason. If she said, There's only one rule: you're not to involve yourself at all, he would have to pitch a real fight.

"What were you thinking?"

"Firstly, I will not risk hurting Allie," Naturally. "So there'll be no mention of your being her father."

Well, he didn't think that would work, considering Allison already knew he was her father.

Oh.

Right.

In all the chaos, he'd forgotten about managing that little detail.

Oh, dear.

How exactly was he supposed to navigate that minefield? It wasn't as though he had expected to see Elsie last week. He'd hoped as much, but Allison hadn't alluded to such a thing. She'd only instructed him to come to Stanley Gardens at the appropriate time.

"Then again," The mother paused, "I'm not sure how this'll work. What reason could we give her?"

When she began to suggest some half-baked ideas, Charles had to interrupt. He could not stand to watch his darling little plotter flounder any longer, "What if instead of ground rules we did a trial-run? A test to see what would happen if I did decide to become involved?"

He closed his eyes for just a moment, frustrated. Couldn't you have just told her the facts instead of adding on to this charade?

"I don't suppose you'd care to explain?"

Charles did a double-take, unsure of what she wanted him to explain.

She clarified, "In regards to this 'trial-run.'"

Oh. Hastily, "I don't mean anything in particular. But perhaps there's something I can help with, academically. Just for a few months, until the school year's up. I'd be willing to privately tutor her in any subject."

Elsie arched that delightful eyebrow once more, threatening to distract him, "Why do you want to involve yourself so badly?"

"Do you really need to ask?" His stupidity may have cost him happiness with Elsie, but surely he could try to fix this?

"No. No, I suppose I don't."

Thank you. But before she could dismiss the matter, he had one last thing he needed to state: "Right. There is something else I need to mention."

Her eyes crinkled at his nervous air, "And that is?"

Charles took another breath, feeling out of his depth. But it would never work if he hid this truth, "First, you must promise me that you will not be upset with Allison."

"Why would I––" She studied him, "Charles, what did you do?"

"If you must know," It was his turn to redden, fidgeting, "It wasn't as though I had a choice. She really was quite persuasive, not to mention stubborn. And I was not made aware of all the facts,"

"Charles Ernest Carson,"

"Elsie May Hughes," He echoed, needing her to maintain some semblance of composure. She could yell at him all she wanted. He refused to get Allison in trouble over this. "Do you promise me you will not be upset with Allison?"

"Fine. I promise not to be upset with Allison." She leaned forward, "Now will you kindly tell me what on earth you're going on about?"

"Do you remember how we crossed paths last week?"

"What about it?" Comprehension dawned long before her words did, "Are you trying to tell me that Allison orchestrated the whole thing?"

"Right. Does it help to know that I didn't actually know you were going to be there?"

"It does not!" She sputtered, "How in the world did she manage it?"

"Do you remember her class assignment involving country homes?"

_._

Minutes later, the whole story came tumbling into the air. By this point, Elsie was relieved to have turned the car off. Wasting petrol would not have helped matters.

"Now, you did promise not to be upset with her,"

A garbled noise escaped the woman, her expression very nearly resembling that of a dragon. But in the end, "I suppose I should be grateful she didn't do this sooner, given how inevitable this all was,"

She paused, almost amused, "And I suppose this is better than her having tracked you down in London. Though I'm still not convinced this 'trial-run' will work,"

Charles stilled, needing a moment. "Am I to take it that––"

"That I'll be informing she has a tutor when I see her next? That's right."

He forgot how to breathe.

"Mind, I have half a mind not to mention who it is,"

"Surely not?"

The woman tossed another look at the sky, smiling in spite of her exasperation, "I'm only teasing! Do you really think I would go for that sort of thing?"

Right. Obviously, the wise thing was to deny any such thing.

Unfortunately, she saw through his denial at once.

Several more minutes and one solid chiding later, the tense air had drifted into a solemn one, "Now before you say anything: I know it's silly, but I don't know if I'm ready to tell her everything."

The more she contemplated the whole affair, the worst she felt. Allison had gone out of her way to find Charles. She'd orchestrated a chance meeting between mother and father. When reality came knocking on the door, their girl's spirit would surely crumble to pieces. It was foolish to string everything out, but perhaps she really was a fool.

Elsie gave into another sigh. "What are we thinking? How can we possibly pretend this'll work?"

But they couldn't go back, could they? Not when their daughter thought she knew all the facts. Allison didn't know that her father would always choose his work in the end. Elsie would have to prepare for that inevitability, and hope this little scheme fizzled out long before said inevitability came to be.

"You're right: it may not work. But let's not assume we know all the facts."

She gave an uncharacteristic shrug.

His response? "Let's see if she even wants me to tutor her. She might not actually want me around,"

Really, now? A chance to get to know her father? The wonderful man who'd been missing all these years? "What was that about not assuming the facts?"

Charles rumbled out a sheepish laugh, his eyes widening as the truth came back to him: "Does that mean I can become involved? Properly?"

Elsie felt her heart lighten at those words. Properly involved. Wouldn't that be nice? But one look at his car––a car with an elegance that screamed Crawley Industries employee, always and forever––reminded her of the facts. "I might remind you once more that there is no need to get involved."

"I don't 'need' to get involved." He gave a small smile, "I want to."

Well, that was a nice sentiment, but Elsie knew better. The ending of their engagement had to have hurt more than he was saying. Besides, life with Allison would be vastly different from the one he'd grown accustomed to.

No, she was sure he would crave a chance to focus on his real priorities. Charles could feel guilty about this all he wanted––she'd learnt his career was always going to take precedence. Thankfully, she had come to terms about that. It was Allison she worried about. Even if the girl knew most of the truth, that didn't guarantee things would go well when he finally left them for London.

Of course! I can't believe I'd forgotten: "You may want to get involved, but how do you plan on coming up from London every week?" She knew that sort of trip was unsustainable, even for someone who worked for the Crawleys.

"I don't need to." This time, he was the one looking out the window, surveying the rain as it smacked against the glass, "I had a transfer to the Manchester branch years ago."

"What?"

He nodded, "It's true. It's a much more manageable distance, as you well know."

She made a noise that was supposed to resemble an acknowledgement. Truth be told, she was too shocked to acknowledge a thing. The woman knew his opinion of Manchester. He repeatedly declared it to be far too dirty and noisy for his liking. Why would he want to transfer there?

It wasn't as though the blessed family would shove him that way. It had to have been his choice. But why?

"So," He broke her train of thought, "Now that's that settled, is there a subject our Allison needs help with? Or would you prefer I call her our Allie?"

"You may call her whatever you like, but you should know she prefers Allison." Elsie ignored how her heart stumbled at the sound of our Allie. She couldn't afford sentimentality. "And if you must know, she has been struggling with her maths."

He lit up, "Maths, eh? Well, I suppose I might be able to be of assistance there. If she is interested, after all."

A huff escaped her, "I thought you might say that." She ignored the happiness his resulting smile brought, turning her face away. "That reminds me," Elsie had nearly forgotten about this part. "If you're serious about this, then I need to know what your rates are."

"'My rates?'" He blinked back his stupor, "You expect me to charge you when it comes to privately tutoring our daughter?"

"It'd hardly be fair otherwise!" She ignored his reaction, "You can consider it my condition: weekly maths lessons in exchange for however much you like."

She went back to avoiding his stare, feeling all sorts of emotions radiate off the man. Instead, "So, Ch––Mr.––" Elsie sighed, giving up on managing that. "So, what are your rates?"

"My rates are simple." Of course they were. A businessman like him knew how to be efficient. "Weekly lessons with my daughter and the occasional dinner with you both. Such a dinner can even happen after the lesson."

What? Droplets slapped the roof of the car, effortlessly matching the beat of her heart.

He continued without preamble, "I have no expectation when it comes to our relationship. But I would like to catch up on all this time. For Allison's sake, if nothing else."

Elsie opened her mouth to barter a kinder condition. Surely after the first month, the weekly dinners would cease to appeal. He really didn't have to go to such lengths. Moreover, wouldn't such a thing only tempt misfortune? Allison would only grow closer to the man and the truth would have to come out eventually.

Well, now. Let's get on with it! "That works for me. Mind, I do wish you'd let me pay for something."

What on earth was that? She was supposed to say anything but that! Now her back was beginning to act up again.

He gave her a look, "If you must pay me, I suppose I'll accept one sixpence for every lesson."

One sixpence per lesson? There certainly weren't many in circulation, if any at all. "Charles, I don't think I even have one sixpence, let alone all the ones needed to pay you!"

"Well then," His measured tone contrasted his playful grin, "I suppose that's the end of that."

"Charles, really,"

But he ignored her frustration in favour of asking one more question, "Is there anything else you'd like to keep in mind for this trial-run?"

Several ideas came to mind. Actually paying him, for starters. But if she could only choose one, "There is something else."

"What is it?"

"I require complete honesty." Blue eyes met brown, far more intently this time, "I really can't stand the thought of you staying here when you'd rather hop on another plane. So, I am willing to give this 'trial-run' a go. But only on condition you promise to be entirely honest."

"Can you promise the same? Entire honesty?"

"Do you not suppose," Well, it technically was fair, wasn't it? Mind, it might prove painful to be completely honest on her end. Then again, he would be forced to tell the truth. So there could be no him doing something stupidly noble––marrying her out of guilt, for instance!

Fine. "Well, I suppose it's only fair."

"Then you do agree to promise me the same?"

Elsie smiled a little at that methodical tone, wondering how long it would take for that business man of hers to come back to the truth. "I do." She then realised what that phrase resembled, quickly throwing in, "Promise to do the same, that is."

"Then I accept your terms."

"I'm glad to hear it." She genuinely was. For Elsie was regaining her confidence. Now that they had promised to be entirely honest with each other, everything would work out for the best.

And, truth be told, it finally would.

Author's Note: Theoretically, I could leave it here. I'm afraid I'm simply going to have to try to answer all the remaining questions––for instance, what on earth happened on November 11, 2005? Will everything be ruined like Elsie frets? So on and so forth.

Oh, and I do suppose I have to write up some Chelsie/family fluff to balance out the angst ;) :) But that's for later.

Oh, and! As someone who has tutored before, I recognize that it's absolutely unorthodox/improper for a tutor to stay for dinner. Since all the characters know the truth and this arrangement is more casual than official, I felt it morally acceptable.

(Jiminy Christmas, I knew writing for Charles would rub off on me, but I didn't think it would be that much!)

In any case, as always, I hope you enjoyed this and that you have a lovely day! 'Till next time.