A/N: Hello! Thank you very much for all your wonderful reviews, I'm so glad you haven't grown tired with the 'Improper' stories yet! Sorry it took me so long to update it—a tiresome business trip got in the way, and then I conjured a (hopefully) clever way to combine the plot of this story with 'The Finer Things', which took up some of my time. That said, you should probably catch up with TFT before you start reading this chapter; it will make just enough sense if you don't, but the other story might provide you with a helpful insight into the past…

Oh, and yes, this chapter is slightly on the angsty side, and there's a scene in it that makes it not exactly suitable for reading at work, or a college library.

Reviews are love, and make me write faster!

Chapter 2, or: When Past and Present Overlap

A soft, warm touch to her shoulder woke her up; she blinked, disoriented, and realized she'd fallen asleep on the top of the covers of Robbie's bed, half-sitting with her (now painfully sore) back against the headboard and only her shoes removed before she'd moved into that position.

How did she manage to get herself into such a state? Oh, yes: the young rascal demanded a bedtime story, and another, and another—and all she could possibly do to prevent herself from falling off a chair was to sit next to him. And then he started to fuss and didn't want to be left alone, so she took off her shoes and hugged him, humming lullabies until, as it turned out, they both fell asleep.

She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity, grabbed the shoes from the floor and quietly followed Anna out of the room. "What time is it?" she whispered as she soundlessly closed the door.

"Almost six. I thought you might want to leave before Daisy came in to stock the fireplace."

"Quite right. Thank you, Anna. And I'm sorry for leaving you on your own last night."

The younger woman smiled, following Elsie down the stairs. "It was a quiet evening. Only his lordship came back, and Miss O'Brien went over to the Crawley House to assist the ladies. There's no telling when they might be back."

As they entered a slightly better lit corridor, Elsie took a moment to contemplate Anna's face. She didn't follow Lady Mary to the Crawley House after the wedding, opting to stay at the Abbey, but she certainly had many warm feelings for her. "Don't worry, she'll get through this. She's a strong one, Lady Mary."

Anna nodded and sighed. "I know she is. It's just… first there was nothing for almost two years, and now she's in so much pain. What if she couldn't have more children? What if…"

What if it's a girl, Elsie finished the sentence in her head and reached out to pat Anna's hand reassuringly. "We will cross this border once we come to it. It's too early to speculate now."

"You're right, Mrs. Carson, of course you are. I'm only getting… emotional, I suppose."

"Nothing a good cup of tea wouldn't mend. Would you make a fresh pot and bring it to my office? I'd like a word with you before everybody gets here."

She watched Anna's back as she walked away in the general direction of the kitchen, and sighed. She had been planning on having this conversation with her sometime soon, yes—but was today of all days the right moment for it?

Yes, she reasoned with herself, taking the pins out of her hair to brush it out after the night. It was yet another thing there was no right moment for—and it had to be done, sooner rather than later, judging from the easiness with which her strength seemed to exhaust itself recently, and the time it took her to get it back. She could probably cope well enough with her housekeeper duties, but if Mrs. Branson expected her to take care of little Robbie on top of everything else, the situation might easily slip out of control.

It was time to stop thinking, and start to actually make things happen.

Fortunately, 'making things happen' was one of the things Elsie Carson was best at.

"I believe we should talk, milord."

Lord Grantham put his teacup back on its saucer and gestured towards one of the long, low sofas standing in the middle of the library. "I think we might both want to sit down for this."

So sit they did, on the opposite ends of the sofa, looking at each other with respect, understanding, and gravity. Sitting here like this brought some memories on—not the happiest ones, but very important all the same. Elsie held Lord Grantham's gaze with the same calm, courage and composure she had mustered fifteen years ago, when she took it upon herself to establish the impassable boundaries of their mutual relationship. His eyes were full of warmth and consideration: if he still harboured any inappropriate feelings for her, he took care to hide them deep in his heart. Elsie seriously doubted this was the case, but felt a surge of gratitude all the same.

She looked down at her hands, fingers twined, knuckles turning white as she pressed them firmly together. She had everything planned, every word, every argument, yet she found herself at a complete loss over what to say.

He helped her out, smiling gently. "Is this about your future, Mrs. Carson?"

She nodded, relieved to know he understood. "Yes, milord. I think it's time I reconsidered your kind offer of a cottage for my husband and myself, should you still wish to provide us with one."

Robert nodded and surprised her to no end by reaching out and covering her hands with one of his. "Consider it done. There's one particularly nice place right around the corner; I have kept the potential tenants away in hope Carson and yourself might change your mind someday."

"Thank you, milord, that is very kind of you—" She paused as his fingers tightened around hers, making her blush ever so slightly.

"And is this change of venue the only thing you wished to discuss with me?"

She shook her head, biting her lip and pleading silently for his understanding. The decision has been made, but she still wasn't ready to say the words out loud.

He looked down at their hands and nodded, rubbing his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his free hand. "I feared the moment would come one day, and it seems that it has."

"None of us can stay young forever, milord. The change comes to us, whether we want it or not."

"I fear the truth in your words, Mrs. Carson. And yet, I cannot do anything but grant you your wish."

They sat in silence for a long while, until Lord Grantham chuckled mirthlessly and let go for her hands. "Look at us, mourning the loss of the past when we should be looking forward to the future!... How soon would you like the 'transition' to take place? And who will be brave enough to step into your shoes?"

"I believe Anna Bates is more than ready to take over, milord. And I hope you won't find me ungrateful if I tell you I'd rather have it done as soon as possible. I would still stay close to the family, albeit in a slightly different capacity…"

"My grandson. Of course. He prefers your company to that of his blood relatives, and I would hate to deprive him of it. And speaking of the young Master Branson: would you care to take him for a walk this afternoon? I could join you and show you the cottage I had in mind; we might determine how long it would take for you to move in."

She offered him a smile and a nod, once more overwhelmed with gratitude. "Thank you, milord, that would be most kind." Seeing that there was nothing else to discuss, she stood up and brushed at her skirt, getting ready to leave.

Lord Grantham surprised her again, reaching out and taking her hand. "You are going to be missed, Mrs. Carson, by everyone—including me. Perhaps especially by me."

"Milord, that is really—"

The door behind them opened with a squeak, and Charles walked into the room with a letter in his hand.

Elsie hoped she managed to slide her hand out of Lord Grantham's grasp fast enough, but given the frown on her husband's face she probably didn't.

"A telegram from Mr. Murray, your lordship," Charles announced, letting a slight bite be heard in his voice. Lord Grantham didn't seem bothered by it.

"Thank you, Carson. And as for you, Mrs. Carson—please be ready at half past two."

"Certainly, milord," answered Elsie, taking her cue to leave the scene.

She hope Charles had some other matters to discuss with his lordship, which would have enabled her to get downstairs and find herself something to do while she thought up a cover story for the whole situation—alas, her husband caught up with her mere seconds later, and he was certainly not amused.

"What was that all about, wife?"

"What was what all about, husband?"

He huffed impatiently, stopping her in the tracks and coming to stand two steps below her, bringing their faces to the same level. "That conversation you'd been having with his lordship. In the library, no less."

"Do you have something in particular against the room?"

"I do, if I walk into it and find you alone with our employer. It brings back memories, and not the nicest ones, too."

She quirked an eyebrow, amused by his antics. "Are you trying to tell me that you're jealous of him? After all these years?"

He seemed rather uncomfortable with the admission, but offered it to her anyway. "Always."

Suddenly Elsie knew exactly how to make her husband forget the whole thing—at least for the time being. "Why, Charles Carson," she purred, sliding her hands over his shoulders and to the back of his neck, "I never knew you could be that possessive." She ran her fingers through his hair and leaned in, nipping at his chin. "I find it rather… exciting."

"Don't think you can distract me that easily, woman," she heard him grumble even as his hands rose to cup her bottom and pull her closer. She grinned and kissed him, massaging his scalp gently, noticing with satisfaction how his body turned hotter under her hands and lips.

"Elsie," he whispered in a thick, lustful voice, brushing her earlobe with his lips, "not that I oppose to this sort of behaviour—but are you sure this is the right time and place for it?"

"The time, yes," she murmured, nuzzling at his neck as she arched into him, pushing him closer to the wall. "As for the place… any ideas?"

Charles kissed down her neck, purring like an overgrown cat when she bit his earlobe and soothed it with her tongue a moment later. "Not the office," he said with surprising sobriety. "Somebody would come looking for us soon enough."

"We could always go upstairs…"

"Thomas went to the attic to sort out some of his lordship's fall jackets. If he sees us, we won't hear the end of it. Figuratively speaking."

Elsie sighed, feigning resignation, and pulled away, leaving her hands on the lapels of Charles' jacket. "Well then, I believe we have no choice but to—" She almost squealed in shock as he pulled her right back, flush against him.

"You are not leaving me now, woman," he growled against her lips. "And I might have just the solution to this problem…"

It wasn't pretty, it wasn't clean, and her body should have protested against being subjected to such hardship—it probably would, in a few hours—but none if it mattered. Not the dust hanging in the air, not the musty smell of the cellar, not the cold wall she was pressed up against…

None of those things mattered, because they were here together, in the middle of the morning when they should have been working, bodies sliding against one another, hands joined on the slightly damp surface of the wall by Elsie's hips, eyes locked, conveying all the emotions, all the truths they both knew so well.

I love you.

Don't make me lie to you.

You can tell me everything.

No, I can't, not yet.

When you're ready, I'll be here.

I love you.

Charles hoisted her up a little higher, changing the angle, but not the force of his thrusts. It made Elsie moan into his bare shoulder and bite the tender skin there—she had never expected herself to be partial to such fierce lovemaking, but even before they married she'd discovered that Charles, tender and attentive as he was, could bring that part of her personality out into the light, make her surrender completely to instinct, undo all of her composure…

Especially when he rolled her nipple between his fingers like this.

She was planning to make her husband forget about the things that came to pass this very morning, but didn't take into account a possibility of herself being just as affected by their actions. It was a very pleasant side-effect.

They went back to their respective tasks a good while later, Elsie's conversation with Lord Grantham completely forgotten by Charles—but not by his wife.

She still had a walk to take, and a cottage to see. And then… Then it would all be true, once and for all, and she would have to tell him.

Then. But not now.

For now, everything could stay the way it was. Even if only for a few hours more.

TBC…