Chapter 20 – Married, for Good
A/N: Far be it for me to tell you what to do, but if you've not read AHoM, you may want to simply read Chapter 25, so you know a little more about the little blue cabin by the sea. ~CeeCee
April 1929
She woke, immediately knowing it was too early, really, to start the day. But she also knew, even before she reached a searching hand behind her to find the smooth, empty expanse of cool sheets, that Charlie wasn't with her in their bed. He was always very careful, when the tremors simply wouldn't let him rest, to rise quietly, lest he disturb her.
But her body always sensed his absence.
She swung her feet to the ground, pulling on some woolen house socks, but not bothering with her dressing gown. The days were getting longer, and warmer. Spring in Yorkshire was a touchy, flighty thing, but it was here at last. She padded out to the sitting room, yawning.
He was sitting at one end of their red velvet loveseat, reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose as if they were about to go flying off it, perusing a letter written in close hand she didn't recognize. His shaky hand rested fitfully on the knee of his dressing gown. He observed her over the edges of his spectacles.
"I dislike disturbing your sleep, especially considering you've a full day of work ahead of you," he sighed, resting his letter on the other knee.
"I've thrown my lot in with yours, I suppose; there's naught to do about it now," she stood over him, stroking the silver hair at his temple. "We're in this life together, Charles Carson. I suppose this old body can handle being a little tired for the day."
He said nothing; captured her caressing hand and pressed it to his mouth. "I'll make us some tea." He took his glasses off, set them aside. Made to heave himself up and towards the kitchen. But she pressed him down.
"I'll not turn down that offer, but there's no need to rush," she joined him, sitting. Tucked herself close against his side. "One of the benefits of being an early riser." She smiled at him, and she was glad to see him return it. She was proud of him, for handling his disability, most times, with grace.
But she also knew it was difficult for him, especially when he had bad stretches, like the one he was in now. And his docent responsibilities at Downton picked up when the weather became pleasanter, and she knew he was most self-conscious about his palsy during the public tours.
"What are your plans today then, Charlie? Whilst your wife is working her tired fingers to the bone?" She ran her hand through his hair.
"Flowers, actually, Elsie," he retorted, and his eyebrow went up at her gasp of surprise. He'd been promising, off and on, since they moved into the cottage, to "spruce up the front garden" in his own words. She'd not held her breath, for good reason. It never seemed to happen.
"Well, if I were standing, you could knock me down with a feather," she teased.
"Never mind you and your incredulity," he answered, kissing her then standing, headed for the kitchen and the promise of tea. "I've already arranged for the elder Mr. Molesley to come and advise me. He's bringing roses, lavender, daisies, and I've no notion of what else, but there'll be a garden upon your arrival home this evening, Elsie."
She followed him, grabbing the mugs they used especially for these early morning teatimes. "The pair of you aren't doing it ye'selves?" The elder Mr. Molesley was indeed elder, at least ten years older than Charlie. And, while most days, minus the blasted palsy, neither Carson felt much worse for the wear, given their years, Elsie was very aware they were no spring chickens.
"Again, I'll ignore your incredulity," he retorted. "And merely tell you that, no, not on our own. The younger Mr. Molesley, once the school day is over, – along with Miss Baxter, I believe – will be doing the actual planting."
"Well, that's fine then," she nodded her approval, as he handed her a steaming mug. "Tis her half-day today. I'll be sure to have Mrs. Harkness pack you all something nice for lunch, send it with Miss Baxter."
They settled themselves back on to the couch, sat for a few moments in companionable, cozy silence, sipping their tea.
"She'll continue working, then, Miss Baxter, after they're married?" Charlie asked.
"I believe so. Both of the ladies rely on her very much, and like her very much, as does the entire staff," Elsie grinned, thinking of the still-reserved but very noticeably contented ladies' maid.
"I suppose there won't be an expanding family or aged infirmity getting in her way," he answered, and sighed.
"Don't go feeling sorry for yourself, now, Mr. Carson," she leaned over, kissed him again, lingeringly. "And no, suppose the time for a family has passed by Mr. Molesley and Miss Baxter, but at least he didn't wait until he was as old as the elder Mr. Molesley before proposing."
"Is there a chastisement hiding in that comment, Mrs. Hughes?"
"Not in the least," she responded. "Good things come to those who wait, I believe is how the saying goes." She settled against him, part of her wishing she could stay there, until the sun was high in the sky, but the rest of her, the practical part of her, knew she'd have to start getting ready for her day at Downton shortly.
"Speaking of," he cleared his throat, and she caught his gaze. He was holding the letter he'd been reading earlier. "Our wedding anniversary is coming up."
"Indeed it is," she grinned up at him. "How have we managed to put up with each other in the same house for nearly five years?" She teased.
"We did it for over thirty years prior to that, if you'll recall, Elsie," he responded. "Without any of the particularly pleasant benefits of marriage." He raised his eyebrow at her again, his eyes going dark and his voice husky. The long-sleeping feeling in her lower belly, which they'd awoken together these past few years, raised its head up at his hungry gaze. Again, she wished for more time in her days.
"In any case, as you've noted, our fifth wedding anniversary is coming up," he again waved the sheaves of paper in his hand. "And I've been corresponding, both via letter and briefly, by telephone, to arrange for your gift."
"Charlie, you do tend to outdo yourself with anniversaries, certainly." She was curious, but he was smiling, waiting. He leaned over and kissed her, a far more lingering kiss than any they'd shared as the sun came up this morning.
"Don't you have to start getting ready?" There was mischief in his eyes.
"Ye better spill yer surprise, Mr. Carson, since ye've brought it up, or ye'll be sleepin' outside tonight, amongst the roses."
"Very well then," he cleared his throat, and began speaking in his docent voice. "As you may or may not know, the gift for a fifth wedding anniversary should be one fashioned of wood." He paused dramatically, then continued. "Yes, made of wood, just as that cabin by the sea in Scarborough was."
She gasped. Her honeymoon had been a magical, heady experience, for so many reasons, but his revealing their surprise lodgings had been one of the sweetest memories of all. She had felt so loved, so known by this man in that moment, when they'd walked into that lovely, simple blue-and-white seaside cottage, a temporary refuge of their own, everything they needed in those first lovely, strange, exhilarating days of marriage.
"Ye never did," she breathed.
"I have," he replied. "And I've already spoken to her ladyship about the time off, for you. We'll be in Scarborough for five days, at the beginning of June."
"Charlie – I – "
"You're pleased, Elsie?"
"Pleased? Of course, I'm pleased, ye daft man," she swallowed the lump in her throat, resisting the wave of sentimentality that started to wash over her. But she couldn't stop the surge of love, or the burst of lust, not if her life depended on it.
She sat up on her knees, pressed herself against him. Took his face in her hands, kissed him deeply. His shaky hand found the hem of her nightgown, pushed it upwards, rested on her thigh, its warm weight lovely and distracting.
"I don't suppose you have to get ready to leave quite yet," he muttered.
"Not quite," she answered. And laughed.