Chapter 6
Marriage was a revelation. He thought he knew women. He thought he knew her. He flattered himself that he knew Mrs. Hughes pretty well, better perhaps than anyone, save Mrs. Patmore, and in his secret heart of hearts, he always felt that he understood Mrs. Hughes in a way that the fiery cook never could. He could comprehend now, though, precisely how foolish and arrogant that thinking had been.
A dozen little intimacies to observe and cherish, and all those before breakfast! He often woke before she did, and he took great pleasure in watching her sleep, finding her face as active and endearing in repose as it was in wakefulness. There seemed to be no end to the fascinating secrets he beheld and he felt glad and very fortunate to be the man to witness them.
Their life together had fallen into a very satisfying routine. She knew something of cooking, though admittedly less than a typical woman of her age, so she applied herself with diligence to Mrs. Beeton's guide in order to provide them with some type of sustenance. Her earliest endeavors were not terribly successful, but her ability to laugh at herself coupled with her husband's heroically ironclad stomach saw them through the worst of it. After six months, she had developed a repertoire of several faultless meals; they certainly wouldn't starve.
She applied that same diligence to their marital bed. Her obvious relish of their intimacy and her ability not to take herself to seriously made her a very apt pupil. Lately, she had taken to initiating certain activities; he'd thought the mere act of making love to her could not be surpassed, but he'd had no idea the distinct pleasure he could derive from knowing his attentions were wanted.
Another unexpected pleasure was reading in bed together. Together they had a small but not insubstantial library, having given one another various books over the years, and of course his Lordship had generously extended them the courtesy of visiting his library any time they chose, and while they did so infrequently, it was a comfort to be able to change books from time to time. Charles would try to surreptitiously study her face as she read, the soft glow of the light emphasizing her cheekbones and plump lips, but she always caught him at it, which generally disrupted their reading time. He'd given up trying to maintain his previous rate of reading, as he discovered he had more pleasant demands on his time.
*CE*
Moonlight streamed in through a gap in the curtain, making a ghostly pattern on the counterpane. He'd not pulled the curtains tightly together, but he'd been in too great a hurry to make love to his wife. He smiled as he stroked her back and listened to the steady rhythm of her breaths.
They'd been up to the Abbey earlier, taking tea with Mrs. Patmore and Daisy. They'd had a quick word with the Bateses, as well as Mr. Molesley and Miss Baxter. Of course Mr. Barrow was far too busy to attend to the likes of them, but he managed a somewhat pleasant greeting as he went about his tasks. Charles shook his head; he'd never considered Mr. Barrow butler material, but he had to admit the man was performing better than expected. Though they'd visited the Abbey on occasion during the last six months, something about today's visit made him pensive. He'd brooded most of the way home.
"Don't tell me you miss it?" asked Elsie, with a reassuring squeeze of his arm.
He looked at her sharply; she was teasing, of course, but there was an undercurrent of…pity? Fear? He couldn't say. "No, I don't miss it," he replied emphatically.
"It would be understandable if you did," returned Elsie mildly. "After all, we spent a lifetime there."
"Yes," he muttered, "a lifetime."
"It sounds awful when you say it like that!"
"Like what?"
"Like it was all a very grave mistake."
"Perhaps it was."
Elsie stopped abruptly along the path that led to their cottage. "You can't mean that."
He turned to face her and her anger melted the moment she saw his face. "I don't. Not like that. It's only…I found myself watching Molesley and Miss Baxter today. He seems quite keen on her."
Elsie waved her hand impatiently. "I know that." She started walking toward the cottage, and Charles fell in beside her.
"You do? How?"
"I have eyes, Charles, and they work perfectly well. He's been showing an interest in Miss Baxter very nearly since she arrived."
"I never noticed that."
Elsie laughed. "Well, you wouldn't."
"What do you mean?" Charles was indignant.
"I mean that the signs wouldn't be obvious to you."
"Is that your way of saying I'm an unromantic simpleton?"
She laughed again, a delicate peal that never ceased to delight and amaze him, excepting those times when he was the cause of that laughter. "Certainly not. I only meant that you were very focused on your work, Charles. You didn't concern yourself with the private lives of your subordinates. You simply assumed they didn't have any."
"That's precisely what I mean."
"What? I don't follow."
"Looking at those two today, well…" He stopped, reaching out to grasp her shoulders and turn her toward him. "They put me in mind of us, and it got me thinking." He sighed. "I've loved you for a very long time, Mrs. Carson, but I was too afraid to admit it. What if… what if?"
"What if a bomb goes off?" She gently teased him. "What if we're hit by a falling star?" She reached and stroked his cheek. "We have now, Mr. Carson, and for that I'm quite grateful."
"Are you? Truly? Do you never wish-"
"Not anymore," she interrupted firmly. "Not when my dearest wish has come true."
Tears sprang to his eyes and he gripped her more firmly. "I wish I could kiss you."
"We're not far from home, Mr. Carson," she said, looking up at him through her lashes. Gods above, this woman. He felt himself rise to her as he hastily turned them toward home.
As soon as he ushered her through the door, he gathered her in his arms and kissed her deeply.
"I love you, Mrs. Carson."
"And I love you."
He kissed her again, then took her hands and pulled her toward the stairs.
"But Charles, my hat and coat!" she protested.
"I'll put them away later. Come with me."
"Alright."
He felt like taking the stairs two at a time. He couldn't say why he felt such urgency for her, only that he did. He had to show her what she meant to him in a language he couldn't muddle.
He shut the door behind them and began removing the pins from her hat.
"Charles, the window."
"What?"
"Close the curtains."
"In the daytime?" he teased.
She fixed him with that imperious look that threatened to bring him to his knees. He closed the curtains with a snap of his wrist, then gathered her closely to him.
"I love you," he whispered. "I love you."
A sort of sacred hush fell across the room as Charles continued to delicately remove each layer of his wife's clothing. As soon as there was nothing left between them, he turned the counterpane back and gently laid his wife in the bed, taking a moment to admire her form. He recalled how embarrassed she'd been when he first looked openly at her body. She was lovelier than he could ever have imagined.
"Come to bed, Mr. Carson," she said, and reached up for him.
*CE*
"We've slept through dinner, I'm sure, Mr. Carson."
He smiled and stroked her back. "Perhaps, but overall I'd say it was worth it. Don't you agree?"
She lifted her head and grinned at him. "I do. I hadn't planned much of a meal tonight anyway."
He laughed and squeezed her. "Have we some bread and cheese? That would do for me."
"Aye, we might at that, and I recall someone was going to hand my coat and put away my hat."
"At your service, m'lady." He shifted out of her embrace and got out of bed. He'd taken to hanging his dressing gown on the bedpost. Handy, that.
"You know, Charles? I don't think I could have appreciated you before now."
He turned to look at her. At times he could hardly believe they were married, but it was easier when he saw her lying beneath their sheets, hair mussed and skin flushed and rosy from… He was certain he couldn't have appreciated her; he knew, to his shame, that he hadn't, not completely at least, until very recently.
"What's that look for?"
Charles shook his head. "Only thinking, my dear, of the various ways I might show you my appreciation. Perhaps that bread and cheese could wait?"
"Perhaps it could," and she smiled as she lifted the sheet.
The End
A/N: It has been nearly impossible for me to settle down after the delights of the Christmas special. We've waited a long time for this, Chelsie shippers, but it was so very worth it. Chelsie is real! (And we knew it all along!)