A/N This is a one-week-late birthday gift for the lovely brenna-louise. When I asked whether she had any special requests for a birthday story, she told me that her favorite type of fanfic is period canon Chelsie fluff, and she suggested "maybe some of the cottage fluff you'd hope to see in the film." This was originally intended to be a timely birthday present with an early Valentine's Day theme, but it's taken me so long that it's now a late birthday present with a timely Valentine's Day theme. My apologies to the birthday girl.
February 14, 1926
Elsie woke and rolled over to kiss Charles and wish him a good morning. "Good morning, love. Happy St. Valentine's Day!"
He hummed sleepily and opened one eye. "Is it? Oh! Imagine your remembering that and my forgetting it! Who would have thought such a thing?"
"Indeed," she replied, not letting on that she knew – or at least strongly suspected – that her husband was plotting something.
"Well, you must allow that since we've retired there's little need to keep careful track of the days of the week and the dates of the month," he explained. "I do know it's Sunday today because we're going to services, but as for the other days of the week … Well, it's hard to tell one from another anymore. They're all more or less the same for us these days, as you know. And now that we're not in charge of the family's schedule – no dinner parties or houseguests or outings – I don't keep a formal calendar, and so I rarely pay attention to the date of the month, either. And I find I rather like it that way." He shifted his position and kissed her forehead. "But you're not upset that I've forgotten St. Valentine's Day, are you? We're too sensible for all that frivolity. It's fine for the young maids and footmen, but we're a respectable married couple of a mature age. There's no need to go through all that trouble," he finished pompously.
"Oh, yes. We're much too old and far too practical to be carrying on like that," she replied, waving her hand dismissively while trying to keep a straight face. Clearly, he'd spent some time devising and rehearsing his excuses – even if his delivery proved less than convincing. During the nine months that they'd been married, Elsie had seen ample evidence of Charles's romantic nature. And even the year prior, when they'd been merely engaged and not yet married, he'd treated her well on St. Valentine's Day; he'd given her flowers and chocolates and had taken her to dinner at the Grantham Arms. But she refrained from reminding him of those things and decided not to point out the inconsistency in his current logic, for fear of ruining whatever surprise he was planning. "I'm not upset," she further assured him. "Besides, Mrs. Patmore has invited me to join her this afternoon to do some baking. I hope you don't mind that I've told her yes. I'm sorry I forgot to mention it to you before this, but I hope it won't inconvenience you. I'll be back in time to make us dinner."
"No, no. That's quite all right," he told her, agreeing far too readily. "I won't mind a quiet afternoon here on my own. I've a new book I've been meaning to read."
"Well, then. That's rather convenient," she said, hiding a smirk. "Now, we'd better get moving so that we're not late for church." And she kissed him and rose from bed to get ready for the day.
The truth was that Elsie had suspected something all week. Charles had been acting strangely, and when Mrs. Patmore had awkwardly invited Elsie to spend an afternoon in Downton's kitchen, Elsie's suspicions were confirmed. The affable but transparent cook was, in all likelihood, the world's second-worst liar; her abilities at deception only marginally bested Charles's nearly non-existent aptitude for pretense. In light of such evidence, Elsie was all but certain that her husband had enlisted the help of their dear friend … and that the two were conspiring to bring about a surprise for her. Elsie herself, however, was quite skilled in the art of subterfuge, and so when she played along with their ruse, neither Charles nor Mrs. Patmore ever imagined that she might be aware of their plans. Furthermore, Mrs. Patmore's fortuitous invitation would provide Elsie with the opportunity to prepare a little surprise for Charles.
And so, later, after church services and a simple lunch at their cottage, Charles walked Elsie to the big house. He went inside with her and lingered briefly, only long enough to greet their friends. Before leaving, he promised to return for her in a few hours, but Andy and Daisy said they would walk Elsie back home on their way into the village later. Charles kissed Elsie goodbye and headed back to the cottage.
Elsie spent an enjoyable afternoon baking with Mrs. Patmore, and she even made Charles's favorite treacle tart to surprise him. It was perhaps not quite as good as Mrs. Patmore's, but since it was made under the advice and supervision of the veteran cook, Elsie's finished product was certainly a respectable effort.
Just before dinnertime, Daisy and Andy saw Elsie safely to her doorstep and then continued on their way into Downton Village for their date. Elsie entered the cottage, set down the treacle tart, and removed her hat and coat. Then she called out to Charles and heard some noise coming from the kitchen. She took a few more steps into the cottage, and a surprising sight greeted her in the kitchen. Through a faint haze of smoke, she spied a large puddle of water on the floor near the sink, traces of flour scattered about the counter, an array of pots and cooking utensils left abandoned on the stove, several towels discarded haphazardly in various places … and her husband … seated at the table in a rather pathetic state. The poor man had bandages on two of his fingers; his forehead sported a small gash, to which he gingerly held a cloth; and he'd propped up one bare foot, whose big toe was swollen and bruised.
"Oh! Elsie! You're back!" he said by way of salutation, and he shifted in his chair.
"Charles! What have you done to yourself?" she cried, rushing to him and crouching down next to him. Not knowing which injury to examine first, she placed one of her hands on his shoulder and the other on his knee.
"Oh, I'm all right," he sighed. "I'm not hurt badly. I'm just clumsy and useless in the kitchen … and I've gone and ruined the surprise I was planning. Not to mention that I've made a right royal mess in the process."
Elsie took his hands carefully in hers and kissed his forehead. "I don't care about a ruined surprise or a bit of a mess, but I am concerned for my husband. You're certain you're all right?"
"Oh, yes. The only thing seriously injured is my pride," said Charles, looking defeated. "I didn't really forget, you know. I wanted to do something special for you – to surprise you – so I planned a romantic dinner." He pointed to the table. "See? A bottle of wine, flowers, candles … And I tried to cook us a nice meal. Mrs. Patmore gave me a list of ingredients and very specific instructions. She made it sound easy enough, so I thought I could do it. But I should have known better. Clearly, I'm not up to the task. Now the kitchen's a disaster and we have nothing for dinner! Well – unless you fancy making a whole meal of the chocolates I bought you, that is." He gestured towards the small table against the wall, on which sat a neatly wrapped box with a red bow; next to the box was a small envelope, presumably containing a card.
She shook her head. "Oh, Charles! Come here," she said. She rose from her stooped position, and tugged on his hands, prompting him to rise, also. "Do you think you can walk?
"Yes, I'm sure I can … as long as I move slowly and put most of my weight on the other foot. It's not that bad." he told her.
She led him gently to the settee in the parlor and settled him comfortably with two cushions and a quilt.
"Now you just wait here, and I'll be back in a moment," she instructed, placing a kiss on the top of his head.
Elsie returned to the kitchen and spent a few minutes cleaning up the worst of the mess: she sopped up the water from the floor, wiped the flour from the counter, discarded some burnt food, and set the pots and utensils in the sink to soak. Then she prepared a tray containing two helpings of the treacle tart and two glasses of wine, and she rejoined her husband in the parlor. She set the tray down on the tea table and sat next to Charles. While she'd been in the kitchen, he'd stoked the fire and added some logs, and so it was warm and comfortable in the room.
"My darling, I daresay I've never loved you more than I do right now," she said as she took his hands and delicately kissed his injured fingers.
He lifted his eyebrows and looked at her hopefully. "You mean my pathetic, failed efforts have somehow met with your favor?"
"If you mean your heartfelt, selfless, thoughtful efforts, then yes. Of course they have! If those efforts were aimed at making me happy, then they were not 'pathetic' or 'failed.' You have succeeded spectacularly." And to assure him of her sincerity, she kissed him firmly.
Drawing back from the kiss, they both sighed contentedly.
"And I've got something for you," said Elsie as she turned to the tea table and retrieved the two plates of treacle tart. "I'm not especially hungry for a big meal anyway, so perhaps this might tide us over until breakfast. I made it this afternoon at the Abbey. I must admit that Mrs. Patmore helped. She helped a great deal, in fact. I doubt it would have turned out very well if I'd been on my own."
"It looks wonderful!" said Charles as he took one of the plates from her. "And it smells delicious, too."
"Well, as I said, it would have been hard for me to botch it up too badly with Mrs. Patmore watching over me," she demurred.
"Well, it's delicious," Charles insisted once he'd swallowed the bite he'd taken.
"Thank you. I'm glad you like it. Maybe now that I've made it once, I can try it on my own sometime, here at the cottage."
"I can help, if you'd like," he offered. Then he thought for a moment and changed his mind. "No, on second thought, perhaps, given recent events, I'd better not." And they both laughed at his admission.
"Oh, love, you did make quite a mess. I don't understand how a man so graceful could manage to injure himself – " And here Elsie stopped to count the visible wounds. "Four times?!"
He shook his head in mild frustration. "Oh, my dear, it's a long and sorry tale. Do you really want to hear it?"
"I do," she asserted with a fond smile. "Very much."
And so, while they nibbled their treacle tart and sipped their wine, he humbly related to her the tale of his culinary catastrophes: how he sliced one finger with a paring knife and burned another on the oven door; how he allowed a pot to boil over and then dropped it on his toe when he tried to lift it; how he banged his forehead on a cupboard door; how he spilled flour all over the counter; and how he started a dish towel ablaze and then sloshed water all over the floor in his attempt to extinguish the flaming towel. By the end of the story, both husband and wife were laughing heartily.
"Oh, darling! I want you to know how much I appreciate what you've done here today," she said, leaning over and wrapping her arms around him.
"You mean what I've tried to do. I've got nothing to show for my efforts," lamented Charles.
"But don't you see? Even if you had somehow managed to conjure up a first-rate, gourmet dinner, the actual food would mean far less to me than the intention behind it. Look at all the work you put into it! I have a husband who loves me enough to try to do that for me. And that means more to me than you'll ever know."
"I do love you, Elsie. And you deserve every good thing – so much more than I can ever give you! Sometimes, like today, I might not succeed. But I promise never to stop trying."
"I love you, too Charles, and I'll make you the same promise. I won't always be successful, but I do promise never to give up. We're still new at this, but we've got many years ahead of us in which to figure it out. And somehow, together, we'll get there in the end," Elsie declared confidently.
"Indeed we will. Only … the next time I try to do something special for you, I think I should take you out to dinner."
"Now that is a sensible plan! See? We're learning already!"
Charles and Elsie spent the rest of the evening cuddled closely on the settee, enjoying their first Valentine's Day as a married couple. Their thoughts and conversation drifted occasionally to such incidental matters as chocolates and flowers and greeting cards, but most of their attention was focused on something of far greater importance: the joy they derived from simply belonging to one another.
A/N ETA: For the record, I am pointedly ignoring the cooking debacle and Charles's shaky hands. Blissful denial is more pleasant than what Fellowes gave us. La-dee-dah. Everything is happy and fluffy and perfect. See?