Denial
"I don't think Mona quite understands the way you want her to do the laundry." Charles stood in front of his cupboard surveying the stack of shirts that had been neatly pressed and stacked on the shelf below where his trousers hung.
Elsie looked up from the book she was reading in bed, "What do you mean?"
"I mean she is doing something wrong when she does the laundry. My shirts are drawing up."
"Drawing up how? Are the sleeves too short for your arms?"
"No. The sleeves aren't the issue. The neck doesn't fit right and the buttons are beginning to pull across my middle."
Elsie bit her bottom lip as she noted the stripes of Charles' pajamas seem wider, the fabric pulled taught across his back. It was true his clothes didn't fit him as well as they used to, but that had nothing to with Mona. "I haven't noticed a change in any of my clothes."
"Well, you wouldn't. You just cinch your corset tighter and you don't notice a difference."
"But in my night gowns. I don't notice any change. I can see that your pajama top is snugger than it used to be."
"And the waist band. I can hardly make a bow, the tie has shrunk."
"What about your trousers?"
Charles slowly turned to look at her, "What about them?"
"I noticed you moving the button over on your tweed trousers and coat the other night. Mona doesn't launder your suits, Charles. You take care of that."
"I have not put on weight."
"I didn't say you had."
He stared at her for a moment, frustrated by the conversation, "Oh, just read your book."
"Very well," she fought a grin as she lifted the novel a few inches off her lap, keeping her arm extended as she scanned for her place.
Charles gruffly shut the cupboard door and slumped into bed. She could feel him holding his breath, sucking in his stomach as he lay on his back next to her.
"You'll have to breathe sometime, darling."
Charles sighed, both of their eyes going to the hill of belly that had extended with his exhale.
"You aren't any better."
"I beg your pardon!" Elsie took great offense at his insinuation. She knew for a fact she had shed a few pounds over the last few weeks, cutting back on her portions and taking extra trips up and down the stairs to make up for the fact that she was no longer making countless trips through the stairwells and corridors of Downton Abbey.
"I don't mean your weight. I mean your eyesight. You need glasses."
"I most certainly don't. "
Charles turned on his side, propping his cheek against the palm of his hand, "Read to me."
"You don't like Jane Austen."
"Just read to me."
She sighed before beginning:
"You are too sensible a girl, Lizzy, to fall in love merely because you are warned against it; and, therefore, I am not afraid of speaking openly. Seriously, I would have you be on your guard. Do not involve yourself or endeavour to involve him in an affection which the want of fortune would make so very imprudent…"
She turned to him in triumph, "Happy?"
"Now hold it here and read to me." Charles reached over with his hand and pushed the novel within eight inches of her face.
"I have nothing…. to say against him; he is a most ….interesting young man; and if he had…"
Charles pulled her hand down. "No. You don't need glasses."
"Ugh!" She tossed the book onto the floor, unable to deny she had squinted at the tiny script, her hand pushing against Charles' to create more distance between her eyes and the page the whole time she had read. "So where does this leave us?"
"Fat and blind, apparently."
She couldn't help but laugh at Charles' flippant answer. "Well, I'll make you a deal."
Charles reached over and took her hand, "I'm listening."
"I will go see the optician in Ripon next week if you will join me in taking a walk either in the morning or afternoon each day. And I will stop making so many heavy cream soups and sweets. Do we have a deal?"
"I can still have a sweet every now and then, can't I?"
"Of course. I promise an apple tart at least once every two weeks."
Charles offered his hand, "Deal."
"I'd rather kiss on it."
He put his arms around her, "I'd rather kiss on you."