The Next Step
He seemed unusually quiet the evening Anna and Mr. Bates announced there was to be a baby—Elsie had her suspicions for a few months, as did half of downstairs, but she didn't want to mention anything to anyone in case something were to happen, nor did she want to spread gossip. Charlie, per usual, seemed oblivious to the changes, mistaken the poor girl's morning sickness for the flu. Elsie had to intervene more than a few times to prevent him from making a complete fool of himself in front of her, poor thing. That night they held a little celebration for the happy couple in the servant's hall. Charlie congratulated them, spent a few minutes mingling with the others, and then excused himself to his pantry for the rest of the night, burying himself in his work once again and no doubt letting all his problems just boil up inside.
"What would you, erm—" He cleared his throat, tugged at his tie as they walked back to their little love nest hours later. "That is…" And he hummed as if forgetting his own words, looking at the darkness that surrounded them.
"Charlie, dear," she told him—gently, for fear of any outbursts or denials—when it became clear he had lost himself once more, "I wish you told me what it is that has you so troubled."
He still avoided her, his head facing down. "I fear you'd think me foolish, my love."
Any words she might have had for him had faded into the night air when they reached their cottage: "I could never think you foolish," she could have told him. Or maybe something like, "We can all be foolish sometimes." But the moment had passed and he was already opening the door, removing his hat. Elsie entered first with him following closely behind.
He was on top of her almost the moment they settled in bed. Kissing her, loving her slowly, as he had done so since their wedding night; he didn't feel different, nor did he do anything special or out of the ordinary, but it didn't quite feel the same. He felt parlous on top of her, his movements more urgent than they had been before. Afterwards, they stayed cuddled in each other's arms, whispering their love for one another in between soft, tired kisses. One of his hands stroked her lower back and bum while the other rested below her sagging breast, his thumb caressing her nipple; it was late and they had an early morning ahead of them, but neither could find the will to pull away. Her own hand found his face, her finger meeting his lips for him to kiss and then suck. His tongue circled the tip of her finger and then his lips dipped down to her knuckle. His head bobbed slowly in motion with her hips, but she stopped him before she became too aroused; she removed her finger from his mouth and settled her hand on his chest. He might not be able, she was reminded, and they truly needed sleep.
Removing his hand from beneath her, he turned both of them—him on his side and Elsie on her back. And his hand began roaming her body again.
"Charlie," she said softly when his tongue began teasing her nipple. She turned to check the clock on the nightstand. "We have to be up in six hours."
"Elsie…" Charlie began as if he wanted to say something more, but stopped himself quickly; his eyes shone in the dim light—and suddenly he was gone again. Blinking, her husband reappeared; he still kept his hold on her. "Perhaps you're right."
Her finger found his lips again and he gave it a few gentle kisses before lowering it back to her side. "You can tell me anything, Charles Carson," she said as he settled beside her. "I hope you know that." He did not respond, but his hand reached for hers beneath the sheet.
"Would you have accepted"—he cleared his throat—"my, erm, proposal if I had asked you thirty years ago?" he finally found the nerve to ask later when her eyes became too heavy to keep open. They lay with their backs turned from each other, their bottoms nearly touching, their hands no longer interlocking.
"Of course. I would have married you in any circumstance," she said without hesitation, though she did not know how truthful she was being. She loved the dear man, but that love blossomed over time—Rome wasn't built in a day, was it? She had declined Joe Burns, twice even. Who's to say she wouldn't have said no to Charlie too, the man she knew only as Butler, in her young state of mind. Heavens, they hadn't even started flirting until she was well over forty. What would her thirty year old self think, she wondered, if she knew she would one day marry that uptight Butler she and the other maids always talked and teased about in private? That she would one day learn how it feels to kiss that stubborn man, to be held by him, to be touched by him? "But I'm perfectly content with how things played out in the end, Charlie," she added. He hummed in response, sounding as if he too was drifting. "Truly."
Thank you so much for reading! I promise I'll return to all my other wips once this fic is completed, but for now enjoy this, whatever this is.
