A/N: Since the first story in the series ended with Charles and Elsie getting together, and the second with their pre-wedding night, I thought it only fitting to end this one on the day when they move in to their new house.

Thank you for staying with me until the end, and I hope you enjoyed it at least as much as I did. I'm quite sure my Muse won't let me leave Charles and Elsie alone, so you may expect me to be back, bearing gifts in the form of fics, sooner rather than later. Stay safe!

PS. As a farewell present, I made this chapter VERY unsuitable for work/public libraries/the likes. Or perhaps any place with people in it. Ye be warned.

She was still half-buried in the wardrobe when the sound of light footsteps crossing the kitchen alerted her to somebody's presence. Must have been Robbie, whom she'd sent outside (upon his insistence to help) to fetch her hatbox. "Would you put it on the bed, dear?"

"Of course, Mrs. Carson."

Oh, curses. "Lady Edith," she said breathlessly, pushing a strand of hair that escaped from the chignon off her cheek. "I'm sorry, I thought it was young Robert—"

The younger woman smiled and shook her head. "Please don't worry about it. It is I who should be sorry to barge in uninvited—I brought you something from Mama."

Elsie took the proffered package, most probably containing the set of moss-green curtains she'd admired a few years back; now, having gone out of fashion, they were no longer fit for the big house, but would do more than nicely in a cottage of the soon-to-be-ex-butler and his wife. Obviously a hand-me-down, but one she really appreciated. "Thank you, milady; please give my thanks to her ladyship—that's very considerate of her."

"Nonsense," Lady Edith shook her head, looking around the small room with unmasked curiosity. "You have done so much to us... I only wish we could have done more to thank you for everything."

Elsie smiled affectionately, gesturing for Lady Edith to sit down, which she did, on a low stool in front of an old vanity (a gift from Lady Mary). "Milady, your family has given me a house to live in with my husband, which is the greatest token of your gratitude possible; and you let me take care of young Robert, which only serves to confirm the trust you have in me: what more could I possibly ask for from you?"

Lady Edith frowned, apparently not entirely convinced. "But would it be enough for you? After you have worked in such a big house, supervised so many people... wouldn't any other life seem boring after that? I remember how I felt when the war ended—so empty, so useless..."

Elsie smiled and sat down on the bed, dropping the dust cloth to the floor. "But you no longer feel that way, do you, milady? There's sir Anthony, and your articles—would you have given it up to have your 'nursing' job back?"

Edith bit her lip and shook her head, looking at Elsie with wide, awed eyes. "Not for the whole world!"

"And why is that? How does this new life make you feel?"

There was a longer pause before Lady Edith finally answered, but when she did, she looked positively radiant. "Real. It makes me feel... real."

Elsie nodded, giving the young woman a bright smile of her own. "You see, milady—being here, married to Mr. Carson, makes me feel real. If you had asked me about it two or three years ago, I would have told you that working as Downton's housekeeper was the most significant role I had to play in my life: but when I look at my life as a whole, I know it wasn't. Sometimes you have to wait for quite a while before the 'real' meaning of your life is revealed to you, but it always is—and when it happens, everything you've ever done, no matter how important or satisfying, no longer counts as important. And you start wondering how you could have ever lived without the thing that made you feel so complete..."

The floor in the kitchen squeaked, as if somebody snuck up close to the bedroom door, and stepped into the small study. Lady Edith seemed not to have noticed anything, her whole attention fixed on Elsie as she practically drank the words from her lips. "Mrs. Carson, that... that is probably the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me," she said after a long moment of silence, her voice trembling just so. "Thank you."

Elsie smiled, and gently touched the young woman's shoulder. "Don't forget to keep looking, milady, and you will surely find your own happiness."

Edith smiled at her and nodded eagerly as she stood up. "I will remember that. Thank you, again—and forgive me for having taken up so much of your time. Good day, Mrs. Carson."

Elsie waited until she heard the cottage doors close, and bent to pick up the discarded cloth. "Will you come out now?" she asked, her back to the door, as she placed the cloth on the window sill.

The floor squeaked again, and again, louder this time, and very soon a set of warm, male arms embraced Elsie from behind. "You heard me come in, then?"

"Of course I did. You shouldn't have eavesdropped, though, it's not very gentlemanly of you."

"I believe we established long ago I was no gentleman to begin with. You didn't seem to mind it at the time..." He bent his head and nipped playfully at the nape of her neck, making her moan in appreciation.

"I still don't m-mind... Charles, we cannot possibly..."

"Why not? We're at our own home; I got the rest of the day off on account of the moving; everybody's gone back to the big house—do you have any other objections, wife?" Even as he asked her that, his lips continued to assault her skin, and his nimble fingers started to work on the fastenings of her dress.

"The door is open, somebody could come... oh yes, just there... Charles!" she jumped as she felt an unmistakable pulling of her skin, and turned around in his arms to glare at him. "You're going to leave a mark, dear."

"I already have," he admitted proudly, ghosting his fingers over her neck. "May I remind you that you don't have to care about such things anymore, since you're no longer working in service, my dear?"

He had a point there... "What about the door?"

"I put the lock in place after Lady Edith left. Does that comfort you?"

"Not nearly enough," she purred, reaching up to push the jacket off his shoulders and loosen his tie, "but I know what would..."

It was certainly the most liberating feeling: to know that she no longer had to bite her lip to stifle the sounds rising in her throat, but could simply throw her head back and moan right into Charles' ear, feeling his body arch against hers as she did. She never realized how much the way in which she verbalized (well, not exactly...) her pleasure excited him, too, but it seemed to have been having the most appreciated effect on hm.

She also hadn't been aware of the extent to which Charles liked to mark her with his teeth. She most certainly didn't mind—but if the things progressed the way he clearly wanted them to, she'd be forced to wear a scarf around her neck for weeks.

Oh, well. There were things she wanted to try out for quite some time now, and since his lordship's present for their new household had been a large, sturdy bed, she intended to test quite a few theories while she had the opportunity.

A well-timed lick on the edge of Charles' ear distracted him enough for her to make a good use of her leg muscles, perfectly toned during years and years of climbing endless flights of stairs, and roll them over (such a decadent feeling!) so that she could straddle his hips and sit up, spreading her hands across the wide plain of his chest. Charles smiled at her, surprised but not complaining, and reached up to take the last few pins out of her hair. She shook her head, letting a wave of curls fall across her shoulders, and leaned in for a slow, languid kiss.

"You're always so beautiful, my wife," he told her in a deep, husky voice, his fingers travelling up and down her back in long, delicate strokes. She arched her back, sighed happily and circled his nipple with her tongue, making him groan, the sound reverberating against her cheek. Yes, now she understood—hearing him made her even more impatient to have him than she could have ever imagined.

"Give it a few more years, and you shall change your mind," she murmured, busying herself with kissing a path down his torso, over his gently rounded abdomen, down to a small scar over his left hip: he told her he'd fallen off a fence as a child, and landed on his uncle's rake. She traced her tongue over the white, slightly puckered flesh, making Charles utter a sound she'd never heard from him before.

The one that he made a moment later, as she tasted him and made an even better use of her tongue, was even more wonderful to her ears.

When she was a young, innocent under-housemaid, she'd overheard some of the older girls talking about such a form of physical gratification—and although their opinion of it was mostly negative, bordering on finding the experience utterly degrading one for a woman to participate in, she had ever since wondered what it would be like to… Of course, for the greater part of her life these musings were absolutely theoretical (and Elsie wouldn't have had it any other way), but after 'coming to an agreement' with Charles she decided to indulge in that little fantasy of hers, and have a taste of things—in the most literal sense.

Unsurprisingly, given his caring, tender nature, Charles protested vehemently against participating in such an activity, as long as he was not the active party. Elsie didn't oppose of him having his share of herself, as it were, but demanded equal rights in the bedroom. After much protesting and grumbling about the 'undignified position' she would undoubtedly find herself in (as if it was the only one that came to mind…), he finally yielded: only to find that, despite his initial doubts, they both enjoyed it immensely.

Elsie thought there was nothing more overwhelming, in terms of lovemaking, than to perceive Charles' arousal not only through the sense touch, but by sight, smell and taste as well: and yet, when he loudly voiced his budding ecstasy, it added a whole new layer to her experiences in the matter.

It was as if they'd lost all of their inhibitions, their serious, professional selves, and any sense of propriety and gravity as they bolted the cottage doors and shaded the windows.

Perhaps they had.

After all, this was their house, a point in time and space where and when they could be themselves—and they could do whatever they wished with it.

It turned out quite soon that, as much as he enjoyed his wife's attention, Charles had slightly different plans of the evening. He pulled Elsie up gently, kissing every inch of her face from the line of her hair, over to her eyelids, the tip of her nose and finally her lips, which still tasted of the promise of his release. They smiled and held each other's gaze as Charles rolled them over, clearly as appreciative of the extra space in bed as Elsie has been, and entered her, setting a slow, yet satisfying rhythm.

There was no need to hurry. No chores to run off to. No overly inquisitive servants pressing an ear against their door. No rules of propriety to be obeyed.

"Elsie," Charles breathed into her hair, caressing her breast with a skill than made her moan, "thank you… for what you said… earlier. To Lady Edith. It was… oh, Elsie—"

She leaned up and kissed him, hooking one leg around his hip and urging him on, feeling the white, hot coil of desire wind up inside her, tighter and hotter and more beautiful by every second. "It was the truth," she answered breathlessly, framing his face with her hands, committing each and every detail to her memory, as if forgetting him was even an option.

Charles kissed her again, more urgently, more passionately, pulling her a little higher, closer to that wonderful brink he would always help her cross with sure ease. "Always had been," he murmured against her lips, "always will be."

She felt a sudden urge to cry—happy, carefree tears—and did just that, burying her head in his shoulder and letting him feel rather than hear the last articulate word either of them would utter in some time,

"Always."

The End