Half the Story Hidden

by BorneToFlow

The Dowager Countess is ailing & must finally and fully relinquish the reins of the past to the remaining Old Guard. Chelsie-centric, but this does not start nor end where you might expect. Familiarity with other BTF stories is recommended. Aligns with previously outlined timelines & headcanon post S4. Rating increases to M from Chapter 2. Pt. F- for adult themes&actions.

7. Ch 2 Pt f-Fair Nature's Confounded Base

Half the Story Hidden— Chapter 2, Part f: Fair Nature's Confounded Base

oOOo

Author Note: Please re-read the story descriptor, for this is a chapter where a stronger rating is warranted. It was written in a flurry of creativity long ago, and now I have been deliberating on how reasonable it all is. Hence, the delays with editing it. I have made a decision to present words and sentences in an unusual manner with the aim to capture a certain emotive tone. It made sense to me at the time, but it may or may not work for others.

Oh well, here goes.

BTF.

Continued: August 1927, 6 days later - After the morning funeral and early luncheon in the great hall for the wake of the late Dowager Countess of Grantham.

Chapter 2, Part f: Fair Nature's Confounded Base

Mid to late afternoon: Near The Stable-hand's Stream

oOOo

Even after wringing it out as much as possible, Elsie's skirt is saturated, as are the bottoms of Charles' rolled-up trousers. And, despite her previously flippant approach to this actually occurring, it has now become the most pressing of their many concerns. The light of the day is well past its greatest height and Elsie is starting to shiver a little in the breeze that slides across the barley heads in large sweeping waves. Charles sees her predicament and he quickly sets Lady Frances Grayling aside in a shaded part of the long grass. Then, he pours them both some sweet hot tea from their Thermos flask.

"Here, Love, drink that down quickly," Charles commands before he sees to collecting the second bottle of wine from the string bag at the mud bank.

Their blanket is still in the sunlight and it will warm them up soon enough, but Elsie needs to get out of her wet things. He groans a little in pain as he kneels before her and starts unbuttoning her grey skirt at her hips.

"Charles! What on Earth are you doing! We are outside. Anyone might see!"

"Oh Piffle, Mrs Carson."

"Piffle?"

"Yes. Stuff and nonsense and absolute PIFFLE! The height of the barley will keep us well hidden from view. And besides which, there is no one around for miles! Everyone is still caught up with various wake celebrations, either at the Abbey or in the Grantham Arms, saluting the Noble Dowager Countess of Grantham or wishing the Dear 'Old Bat' good riddance, depending upon their experiences of her. You well know that His Lordship had Anna and Mr Bates open up the bar at the Arms on his account— so there will not be a villager or farmer in the whole county who will not take up that sure gift, I can assure you. AND, we are the only ones smart enough to have slipped away early for our own special brand of reminiscence. Hmm… and 'tis one of the few dubious pleasures of growing older, methinks: being able to feign over-tiredness in the middle of the day in order to get away and do whatever we would prefer to be doing."

"Ha…Don't draw on that card too often, my love, I may start thinking I'll have to pack you off to a health-spa sanatorium or the like!"

"Huph," he smiles as he slows his movements down markedly as the breeze flicks Elsie's sodden skirt tightly against the front of her shapely thighs. "Hmmm," he hums appreciatively, as he runs his hands slowly up the backs of her legs, over the top of her cold wet skirt, making her shiver all over again, until he reaches her waistband underneath the hem of her loose-fitting blouse. His fingertips trace the top seam of her briefs.

"Charles!" Elsie half squeaks out his name in quite some shock he lightly draws her loosed skirt and half-slip down her legs.

"Be-sides which," his longing voice almost whistles like the soft wind swirling through the willow leaves at the river's edge, "we need to get you out these wet clothes, Elsie-Love. They will dry out soon enough in the sun on top of the crop…Oooh," he whispers low "hmmm…sssooon enough. Mmm." He somehow manages to slide a kiss onto the skin of her belly through the small opening between two buttons on her blouse.

"Charles," she warns him with a slight admonishment in her tone, but soon squeaks a little noise deep from her throat as Charles begins drawing her silken paisley shawl lightly over her legs to dry some of the water from her skin. "Charrles," she draws out his name on a slow moan as the silken fabric simultaneously catches and floats across her thighs like the soft breath of her lover. "Charles,…we…Oh…Ch-…I-I know what you are thinking, Charles, …and…and… we can't…" she tries once more to curb his actions.

"Oh… I think you will find that we most certainly can, Mrs Carson…" he murmurs out as he places another warm kiss on the front of her briefs. "Hmm…Have you not… mmm… ever wondered, my Love?"

"No…I…I…most certainly have n-not," but her answer is sounding rather non-committal. She actually feels alive with their recent joy and success together in the river… it made her feel lithe and young again as she learnt a new skill so deftly under her husband's guiding hands. She still has the warmth of those large hands imprinted upon her hips as she swayed calmly through her angler's movements like a practised dancer. She feels sensuous and vigorous and the glide of her shawl upon her drying skin is like a featherlight static charge. "…No…Oh… Ch-…"

"Mmmm… Oh love," he breathes heavily onto her and drops once more to a seductive low whisper like the breeze itself rustling through the fullness of the verdant carpet of green that encircles them. "Have you never wondered just what it might be like… Out here?" He looks up at her and gestures with a sideways flick of his eyes and head and a rakish lift of one eyebrow as a puckish smile plays about his lips, "with the light breeze playing all around us and the sweet sunshine kissing your delicate skin."

My beautiful poet lover, she thinks and almost swoons as he lifts her blouse a little and his ruffled hair tickles her skin as he dusts feather-soft kisses onto her belly and hip bones while his hands keep smoothing over the back of her silky cotton briefs, making her shiver in an entirely different way now. "MY Lo-ove," he breathes hotly onto her rippling skin.

"Cer-certainly…n- not…Oh…Ooh… Oh!" She steps clear of her pooled skirt and sighs as the cool breeze dries the remains of the water still clinging to her skin. She angles her hips towards his wanting lips that he has placed firmly against the waistband of her briefs once more as he blindly tosses her skirt over the top of the nearby barley heads to dry. "Charles…" she whispers feebly again.

"I seem to mmm…" he hums long and oh-so-low onto her as he delightedly inhales the scent of her lush warmth and runs his hands back up and down her milky pale thighs and calves—so soft… so very, very soft… She squeaks a small sound of deep want low in her throat as he circles her ever sensitive inner ankle bones with a light touch of his fingertips before journeying slowly back up the inside of her legs—held taut with only semi-determined restraint—then he grips and fondles onto her fleshy hips once more as he nuzzles deeply into the surety of his wife. He feels so heart-thuddingly alive and just plain good, for the first time in weeks now. "Oh, Elsie," he kisses just above her deep warmth and his hot breath seeps through the sheer fabric of her briefs onto her curls. It makes her breath hitch inside her chest. It is all so incredibly risqué—to be out here in the open… It is utterly intoxicating. Her knees feel watery and, seemingly of their own volition, her hips continue to sway towards him—closer to all of that sure and solid him-ness—her one and only Charles Carson.

"Oh …Charles… Love…"

"I seem… mmm— oh dear sweet Lord—I-I seem to recall…" feeling suddenly parched, he swallows hard "I recall that I have already had to give up playing cricket full time, my Love — and 'tis clearly a complete fool's game when compared with this, pretty…pretty Elspeth… ' he sighs breathlessly low once more, "…and so, I feel …mmm-oooh … I feel it is only fai-air" he murmurs hotly onto her and it tickles into the dip of her navel, "that I now should spend as much time as I possibly can out in a green summer field with you instead, my dearest one… oh my Love.. my sweetest …swee-eetest love" he keeps whispering onto her as she subtly dances to close the gap between her warm flesh and his searching lips. "Live a little with me now….Please, a Chagair" as he ducks his head lower to kiss the silkiest of her soft skin at the juncture of her thigh and the lower seams of her briefs.

"Huh-AH-mmew!-d-Do you honestly… Oh Cha-arrles …do you honestly th-think…you… you will live..oh Dhiol!… … live to tell the tale? A Chagaaaiiir," she breathes out lustily, but with a wicked arch still tickling at her brow as he brushes his closed lips in soft sweeping passes once more across the planes of her stomach—back and forth. Back and forth "Oh! Oh MY! My …Oh! …my dear… Mr Carson…. Ohh..hmm…" she sighs heavily as he moves lower again and nuzzles into her lush sweetness once again.

"Oh God, Els-ssiie— not ever to tell of it… but please, Lord, let me just live to at least repeat it all again someday, as he draws her briefs down her legs and kisses the silky white softness of the inside of her thighs once more.

"Oooh…Ohh, Chaarrless," she sighs breathlessly—helplessly. "Please…Oh Charles, yes, yesss… please."

Charles looks up at his wife with such pure adoration and devotion that her eyes prickle with hot tears of gratitude for her great good fortune. She runs her fingertips through his wind-ruffled hair. Then she reaches down a little and starts seeing to his Argyll tie and shirt buttons. "We'd best be getting you out of those wet trousers then, my Love."

Charles never knew his old and damaged clicky knees could move so fast at such a directive, especially after the bruising damage he wrought upon them earlier on the rocks by the river bank. He gleefully tosses his sopping trousers out over the tops of the thick barley heads as Elsie lowers herself into the sundrenched pocket of private space he has made for them within the sea of barley. Charles' whole body and breathing stops short at the sight of his darling wife luxuriating gloriously amidst this swaying lush field of green. The pale skin of her legs are a glowing beacon to him-drawing him home. And, despite all of the traumas and uncertainty that he has faced today, he cannot help but think that he is the biggest, darnedest and luckiest of all the happy fools in the entire world right now. In this sweet hot minute, she looks like pure sunshine itself — warm blushed and pretty and soft and just so blindingly beautiful and life-affirming that he feels tears of utter gratitude fill his eyes as he lies down next to his wife to slowly stroke his reverent hands up and down the lithe length of her legs —again and again— and then he slowly starts toying with the buttons of her pale blue blouse.

Brighton.

Warm.

Brighton.

Warm Brighton.

Warm… so very, very warm. Soft and warm— and steady.

She just glows with life for him.

Dear God! There is just nothing better than living life right next to this woman!

"Elsie. My Elsie… My one truth. "He whispers into the skin of her neck as he slowly removes her blouse and kisses onto her silky brassiere and then swiftly removes it with an adeptness born of vast experience in such matters now. His hot breath tickles her through the cool breeze that licks across her very being as the warm sunshine kisses her bare skin and flitters across each of her dew-kissed nipples in turn as she moans for him to be ever closer to her now.

"Oh, my Charles .. always my one-Charles. Be with me. Oh, Lord…Be with me now…Now. I am always here, you are always mine, Love. Always. My love."

And her legs hook around the backs of his to draw him towards her, for she just does not want to wait. She just wants to feel. She knows that she can be ready for him quickly when she sees his need and desire fighting so strongly within him. It is as if all of their trials this afternoon have drawn out all of their heightened senses to swim across the surface of their skin—ever closer to one another- for there is nothing else today that has mattered so much to them both, within this new and uncanny landscape of their lives, than for them to always remain close. But, more than anything she just wants to feel — feel all of him—to assure herself that he is still her Charles, despite everything that has been sent to crush him, she needs to feel the full weight of who he is now. All at once—right now in this sweet hot moment.

Charles almost howls with pained delight as he enters her warmest embrace and he can see once more that fleeting wave of utter bliss alights upon her very being at the initial touch of their purest connection. It flutters over her eyelids like the whisper of a thought trying not to be seen, only to settle in the faintest blush upon the skin on her fair face. He feels sure it always mirrors his own expression in that most singular and blessed moment.

So close…so very, very close. Always hold me Elsie-Love. Please! Always hold me, his eyes tell her through the heaviness of his grieving heart.

Always, Love. Always, her eyes return.

As he moves steadily above her, he still cannot believe that he can be there with her in this and in every other way—held so safely inside of her. One of his hands begins to stroke her sides and over the soft mound of her breast. But soon, he is clutching feverishly at her softness. Holding on. Tight. He not even pretending to caress her anymore as he moves more and more frantically, for he just needs— needs all of her. Needs her to hold onto. And he desperately needs her to hold onto him right now because he just cannot hide from the fact that he simply is not the man he thought he was this morning— not at all—not anymore and not ever again. All of Life has crashed over him—entirely. Everything has changed—everything—so rapidly—all around him today. It has all changed and he just needs. Needs. Needs…needs-needs-needs, Need…. just need…just need...need...need you need you need you need you need you need you, ELS. ELS. Need you. Hold me. Need you— hold me Holdmeholdmeholdme. Hold onto me. Hold onto me. I've got nothing else. Nothing else, Els. Nothing, Els. Nothing. Nothingnothing. I'm nothing. Not me any-more. Not me any-more. NotmenotmenotMeNotME. NOT ME! NOT ME!

NO! NO! Her eyes drive into his. You are Charles! Charles Ernest Carson! Charles Ernest Carson from Downton Abbey Yorkshire — My Charles. "My Charles! Charles. Charles. Charles Carson! Charles Ernest Carson. Always- My-Charles. Always-my-Charles-my-Charles," she realises that she is chanting it aloud to him in between the spaces of their movements. It is a harsh rhythm as his weight forces short sharp breaths out of her lungs. It finally registers to her that it is not just her wildly screaming it all out inside her own mind and via the look in her eyes, which are still drilled into his, as she wrestles with her own fear that all of this today might mean that they will lose sight of one another and that they will no longer be who they are together— who they need each other to always be.

And his head and heart feel thick with it all as he continues to see-saw through all of these wild and raw emotions. He rocks into her and tries to hold onto her as all of the logic and reason with which he had just been able to discuss such matters with her are now just pale and insignificant puffs of air across the skin of his back. It is all falling. Falling away. Falling away. All. All. All of it! It is all falling away again and he is flailing and feeling lost and overwhelmed even as his hand keeps trying to hold onto her softness—his one rock in this life—the only sure thing that he has left. And his knees are in complete and utter agony right now and there is only pain left. Only pain. Pain. Pain—for everything—the mother he never had, the family that was not his—not one of them—all of them–all of it. All that he has been. All that he has ever given. All that he could have been and never was. He could have been a free man, he might have been a rich man. He could so very easily have been a dead babe or a street urchin living in France somewhere. He feels so utterly, utterly lost again. So lost. So lost So lostlostLostLOST—even in this most closely known and intimate and safest of all embraces, he still feels so totally lost. Lost lost Lost Lost LOST! Drowning in a sea of confused despair, he does not know his real name anymore! He knows not who he is or who he should have been, nor who he can possibly BE from now on. His life! His long, long life—ALL OF IT!—built upon a lie. A lie a lie a lie A LIE! I am a FOOL! I am a farce! A TOTAL farce! My life is a FARCE!

And Elsie sees it. She sees it all—all inside his fevered eyes. And she feels it— in his desperate, hard grip upon her breast as he ploughs erratically through the infinite fields of his distress—pounding into her body—trying to chase after something that he cannot quite name. But, it is him. It is him. Him trying to find himself, but he just cannot.

Cannot. Cannot. Cannot seem to see himself within her anymore. He is no longer quite reflected back at himself the way he once was— in her—through her. And he can see that she is scared for him. And he is scaring her now! And that hurts him—It hurts him. It is a visceral thing. Raw. Slicing. And this cut is the deepest of all the blows that he has taken today. She is scared. So scared. His Elsie-Love is scared for him. No! She is scared of him. Scared of him. She is scared of me! SCARED of me! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!

Scared, Charles. I'm scared. So scared. So very scared. So scared. Don't you lose yourself, Charles. Don't you lose yourself, Charles. Charles Carson, don't you DARE lose yourself! Don't you dare! DON'T YOU DARE! Don't you DARE Ever Not ever Never ever "Ever. Ever Charles always Charles always Charles. Charles. My Charles. My Charles. Here—with me, Charles. Always be here with me, Charles. Charles, STAY! Stay with me. Stay. Stay. Stay! Say! Say! Say IT! SAY IT! Say it for me, Charles! My man al-ways my man." Her teeth grit and her determination and voice rises along with her body's drive towards a blinding climax that she knows she cannot ever reach without him right there with her and feeling everything that there is to feel along with her—her man. "You are no one else right now, Charles—No one else but my man. My man. My lovely Charles—You are My Man! That is YOU! That is who—you—ARE!" She is growling and shouting at him now as she clasps at the sides of his head and holds his gaze solidly. She is angry, fearsome and frustrated in her fervour, which cannot possibly reach its peak without him properly with her in the friction of this agonising bliss—she just cannot go there without him knowing exactly who he is. The ground is hard and unforgiving beneath her back but she needs to call him back to himself. She needs to hear him. HE needs to hear himself so that he can find his way back to himself—back to THEM! "YOU ARE CHARLES ERNEST CARSON! Say it!"

"Don't...be…sil-ly…Els," he pants out in between his grinding staccato movements.

"SAY IT! Say who you are! Tell me!"

"Can't. Don't…know…Els."

"You CAN! Tell me now! NOW! I cannot see—I cannot be your Elsie—Mae—Car-son if –you- are not –who- you- are, Charles-Ern-est – Car-son! You- are-my- Charles-Ern-est-Car-son! You MUST tell me it! MUST! Say it! Say it now! Say it! SAY IT! DAMN IT! GODDAMNIT! SAY IT NOW!"

"Charles" He grunts out in between his sweating, heaving, thrusting efforts.

"AGAIN!"

CHARLES!" He roars in utter frustration and grief.

"ALL OF IT! Give me all of you!"

"CHARLES…ERN-EST…CAR-SON!" he grinds out between his gritted teeth.

"Again!"

"CHARLES…ERN-EST …CAR-SON!"

"YES!"

"CHARLES…ERN-EST …CAR-SON!… I…am… CharlesErnestCarson CharlesErnestCarson CHARELSERNESTCARSON! Your husband. Your friend. Always. Always your lover. Always your poet-lover! Always! I am. I am Charles! I am your man. I am YOURS, Elsie Carson your man –your man your man al-ways al-ways yours Yours YOURS YOURS! YOOOURRS! AAUUUGH ! …Hauugh!...Auugh…Ah…hungh…. huh…huh..huh-huh -huh ….Mi-lady … Mi-lady Mi-lady" and she is silent in her rise to climax as he collapses into her completely before she finds her own voice again to cry out and shudder and clench tightly onto him with her legs immovably locked around his back. She meets him right where he is at—in his pain and in his pleasure—right where his hand leaves red marks on her breast above her heart. Her heart pounds out of her chest against the sure bulk of him—right where he still grips onto the truth of her like a drowning man.

"Mi-lady My-Lady... My Lady…" he keeps panting out breathlessly high into her collarbone.

"I am, Charles," she pants out in kind, "I am, Al-ways. Al-ways. Al-ways your lad-y."

"I am your Charles. Only yours. Always yours, pret-ty, pretty El-speth. I am yours," he whimpers out as his whole face splutters out in a sudden flood of uncontrollable grief—for everything. Everything.

"That's exactly right," she whispers into his sweat-drenched hair. "You are. You are," she soothes him as he sobs onto her sopping shoulder and messy hair, caring not that those fine tendrils of silver and sunset russet are trapped inside his mouth right now—bitter with the spittle of his exhausted despair. And his hand strokes ever so lightly now at her breast to soothe himself even as he tries desperately to soothe her, for he knows that he has, quite literally, hurt her and he does not ever, EVER want to be that man. "You are Charles Ernest Carson," she sings low to him and starts rocking their heavy and shattered bodies from side to side as he goes completely limp but seems to still keep pushing his hips down heavily–trying to stay softly within her. He curls into her and awkwardly tucks his head down onto her breast to messily kiss away the damage he is so desperately ashamed to have wrought upon her very bosom. But Elsie can only feel all of his exhausted heat and need and his warm breath upon her nipple that he has just suckled into his mouth in amongst his ragged and uncontrollable sobs and kisses. Her arms lock around his head to hold him right there where he will always be wanted and cared for and safe. Her legs lock ever tighter around him and she holds him even closer in the cradle of her body and rocks him— slowly rocks him. Rocking slowly. "Charles Ernest Carson. Charles Ernest Carson. He is My man. A very fine and good man. An honourable man. A man of integrity. A man. My man. My man… Always... Always." She kisses into his ear as he slows to a whimpering shiver of pale and naked weeping—all of his painful truth released onto her—soft and strong. She holds onto all of the mess of his life and losses and all of the lies—all of it. All of it. Always inside of her. Always. She just keeps carrying on—side to side. Side to side—for him—side to side—side by side. For them. Always. Always for them. She hears the steady breath of a strangely exhausted bliss claim him in oblivious sleep. With one final immense effort, she affects a huge rolling rock that turns them both to their sides. His mouth roots about instinctively to reattach himself to the softness of her breast and nipple. Elsie pulls her shawl over their curled and naked form before she follows him down into heavy and blessed relief. In the clicking warmth of the green summer barley field, they blindly and faithfully hold onto each other. And, somehow, they manage to hold all of this beautiful mess of life together—all of it—together for each other once again.

oOOo

Author Note: This chapter was a risk. Let me know if it worked for you. There will be a short epilogue style chapter section for Ch 2: Fair Nature's Confounded Base, but rest assured, not even half of the hidden story has been revealed so far. There are many places this story will move onto—in time.

Regards,

BTF