A slight change of pace but it had to happen didn't it!
When he dwells on it now, the previous days' events, it seems inevitable that at some point they'd hit a wall… or trip over one. And, again when he thinks on it, it was always bound to be he that caused proverbial wall. She was, ninety-five per cent of the time, the most easy-going person you could ever hope to meet. He, well, he wasn't.
It had started relatively well. He'd been up early again, old habits and all that, and had gone out and done a few jobs leaving Elsie sleeping. He'd come home to the delicious, welcoming fragrance of home baking – and there was bread cooling on the table and scones just being taken from the oven as he came in.
"Morning," he said watching her fuss with the oven.
"Morning…" then she glanced over his head to where the clock stood, "it's almost lunch."
"My walk must have taken longer than I thought."
"I didn't know where you were."
"I didn't realise I'd be so long."
Most husbands would have taken the warning shot and appeased their wives now. Charles, missing the subtle signs of annoyance, didn't. Instead he sat down, reached for one of the cherry scones she'd just set down to cool, opened out the steaming well of goodness and proceeded to butter it, whilst asking, "Any tea?"
To her good grace she'd bit her lip and made a pot of tea before sitting down across from him.
"So, you're not having lunch then?"
He looked up astonished, "Just a snack, couldn't resist."
She bit her lip again, nodded her head and narrowed her eyes as he returned his gaze to his paper.
"I suppose I'm making it."
"What are we having?" He never even looked up.
"Salad." She said, perhaps a little too keenly.
He grimaced, then thought better of it and continued munching on the sweet goodness in his hand.
"And do I get to know where you've been since 6:30 this morning, or needn't I ask."
He glanced up now, "Why, what do you mean?"
"Well either you have that 'glow' because you've found yourself a younger woman or you visited Downton."
"Don't be absurd, younger woman…" he chuckled, turning the page on his paper.
She drummed her fingers on the table top, "So…?"
"So?" He looked up again, "Oh, everything's fine there."
"I never doubted it wouldn't be. That wasn't my point"
"I bought the mail too; it's in my jacket pocket and Mrs Patmore sent some chicken casserole."
"Did she indeed. Did you look like you were starving?"
He let the question go unanswered and finished his scone.
She sat back, stretching out her legs, trying to rein in her annoyance, "Why did you go?" She asked as casually as she could.
"I was just passing, at a loose end, thought I might as well."
"Because we've only been married five days, you know that don't you."
"Why would I forget?"
She shrugged, "Priorities."
He leant back in his chair, looking at her properly for the first time since he'd come in, "Have I annoyed you?"
"Have you?"
"It seems I have yes, somehow, what did I do?"
"If you don't know…"
"Don't play that game Elsie, we're not children. Tell me."
"Forget it."
She stood up, removing her apron and getting herself a glass of water, it was unbearably hot in the kitchen today what with the summer heat and now the ovens and she wasn't at all used to the baking. She didn't tell Charles her first two rounds of scones had burnt and the birds had enjoyed a feast in their yard.
He opened his paper again and began to read, tutting at some of the stories he saw there. "Daisy, would you believe, was only doing the books at the servants' table."
"Which books?"
"The accounts, 'helping out' she said."
"And what's wrong with that?" She stood leaning against the sink watching him.
"It's not her place," he assured her, in that patronising tone she'd encountered on many occasions.
"Whose place is it? If she can help, why can't we let her? She's worked hard enough to get to this point."
"But she shouldn't have done that neither."
"And why is that?"
He folded his paper, "Because… it's ridiculous, why can't she be happy, settled?"
"Maybe some people don't want to settle."
"What does that mean?"
She shrugged again, "Nothing, but your refusal to acknowledge her hard work and capability is what's ridiculous."
"You would say that, you're a woman."
He knew the second the words left his mouth he was in for it. He expected a tongue lashing, severe criticism, the sharp end of her Scottish vocabulary.
What he got was worse still. Silence. An entire day of it. And no lunch.
And now, thinking on it, he should have read the signs and stopped it before it got to that point. She was clearly agitated and he had steamrolled in. But it was too late after the fact to shine a light on those particular things.
Still, he couldn't help it. He'd spent most of the night awake, lying beside her as he had before, only this night no cuddles, no kissing and certainly no marital bliss.
He folded his hands on top of the bedsheets, on top of his stomach, and tried to ignore the sweet warmth beside him. The fragrance he'd grown so intoxicated by for the past few nights.
After the 'words', as he was now referring to them, she'd gone to hang out washing and then disappeared into the parlour. He'd left her alone for almost two hours, pretending to find things to do in the house to distract him from the coil of bad temper that seemed to have originated in the kitchen and was now curling its way around their home.
Starving and frustrated he'd put the casserole in the oven (in retrospect perhaps not the wisest move) and then he'd made a pot of tea and taken it into the parlour.
She was sitting in the rocking chair when he went in, sewing he thought but he couldn't really tell. She never even looked up. He placed the tea on the table by the chair, fumbled with the words in his mouth wanting to come out but in the end saying nothing.
He left. Cooked the casserole and ate alone at the kitchen table.
Elsie turned in her sleep, mumbling something as she flopped over on to her back, her arm hitting him as she turned.
If he just touched her now perhaps she'd snuggle against him and all would be forgotten. Perhaps if he just turned and slid his arm over her stomach, his hand could slide up to the delicious ties on her night robe that kept her breasts covered. And he'd kiss her neck, her shoulder blade, the pink bloom of her breasts.
She mumbled something again and turned her back to him once more. Clearly her night's sleep was going as smoothly as his.
As the day wore on he forgot about the atmosphere in the house and moved outdoors, fiddling with his planting, tidying the hedgerow that surrounded the garden, picking berries that had grown so ripe they mostly burst in his fingertips staining them inky purple. He recalled his mother making jam and picking berries with her, coming home with a sticky stained mouth and a swollen tummy.
He was busy doing this as Elsie came outdoors, her hat on. She must have stopped on the path to watch him a while because he turned suddenly feeling her stare on his back. He stood up, meaning to speak but his voice got lost and she walked down the path, through the gate and off out of sight.
The sun was setting by the time she returned and he'd been pacing the garden, the kitchen, up and down the hallway waiting for the sound of the door. Then she was there, removing her hat as he lurked sheepishly by the parlour entrance. She went directly upstairs, he heard the filling of the bath tub and noted how she'd shut the door this time, no chance of reconciliation in there.
He sat downstairs eating the now cold scones and drinking a glass of beer, he wished they were sat outside in their garden watching the golden glow paint the sky. Holding hands, talking freely, drinking beer together.
He'd wondered about where to sleep. Would she even welcome him into her (their) bed? He didn't want to make things even more awkward than they already were. When he did venture up to change, deciding he'd take the rebuke on the chin and sleep in the spare room if it came to it, despite it still being dusty and full of furniture, she was sat up reading in bed.
So he decided to do the same. He changed, fetched a sherry and slipped into bed beside her reading until his eyes were heavy and his head lolling to one side.
He must have fallen to sleep because the next thing he knew was waking with a full bladder and dashing to the bathroom. It was black as black in the bedroom and he tripped on her slippers by the door. It didn't occur to him until he climbed back into bed that she must have taken his book and removed his robe and settled his pillows for him. The thought gave him hope.
He stared at her back again, it was ridiculous, he wasn't even sure what they'd fallen out over. And if he didn't know how was he meant to fix it? They never behaved like this at Downton; she'd never behaved like this – freezing him out. Usually they had cross words and then carried on.
No. Usually he said cross words and she patiently bore it and allowed it to move on.
How many times had he barked at her when in a foul mood and then found she was still there, pouring him tea after dinner and adding just the right amount of milk, just the way he liked it.
He turned onto his side and stared at where her hair curled at the base of her neck, he'd wished she'd wear it loose more purely for the fact he could bury his fingers in the sublime texture.
Night was ticking on; he could hear early morning birds twittering away in the tree that stood proud not far from their bedroom window. That milky light that dawn brings was sliding around the room and he could make out more of her now; the outline of her shoulder, where the sheets dipped at her waist, how soft her face looked on the pillow's surface.
Reaching forward he took a chance, delicately manoeuvring his fingers down her arm, from shoulder to elbow, and then he leant forward and slid his hand over her body, resting tentatively on her stomach. He lay like that for several minutes, breathing deep and heavy, uncertain.
"Do you want to talk?" She suddenly said and it cut through his sleepy reprieve causing his fingers to tighten and curl, bunching the bed sheet on her stomach.
"Yes," was all he managed to say.
She waited, silently, and it wasn't until then that he realised she meant for him to start.
"I'm not sure what caused it. I have an idea; you didn't like me going to Downton–,"
"It wasn't that." She said sharply, then turned onto her back, leaving his arm lying over her like a useless dead weight.
"Then what? What I said about Daisy, I didn't mean to sound harsh it's just the way I see things."
She sighed and closed her eyes against his words.
He screwed his face up at her reaction; he was getting this all wrong.
"I'm sorry." He simply said.
She opened her eyes and looked at him, "Finally."
He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.
"You only had to say sorry. At any point during the day if you'd just said sorry to me."
"I didn't realise I'd been so rude."
"You insulted women Charles, and a girl I'm very fond of."
"I am too."
"Then try not to be so damned judgemental. The hell with old ideals and beliefs, we're moving forward, fast, and you have to try… I'm not saying change, I love you for who you are, but just try sometimes to see things through another's eyes, through mine. Your comments hurt me."
"I'd never mean to do that, never."
She sighed again, "I know. And I know I was in a bad mood anyway and you going to Downton… it just seemed you went the first opportunity you could. I know that place is in your bones but… I can't explain, it just stung a little. Then the casserole comment."
"I wasn't trying to upset you or make a point." He blew out the breath he'd been holding. "Marriage is hard work. I simply don't understand women."
She smiled at that, "I doubt many men do. Sometimes you just have to let us have our little moment and try not to aggravate it even further."
"You won't leave will you?"
"To go where?"
He shrugged, "Back to Downton. Because I'd go first, I wouldn't want you returning to that little room, you can have the cottage…"
She interrupted him, "You think we're ending this? That I'm going to leave you?"
"I hurt you, I handled it poorly."
"For goodness sake Charles we're married, we're going to argue a hell of a lot more than this, and over worse things, I'm quite sure there will be days we'll shout at each other and the whole world will be able to listen in. But that's what couples do, unless they are very, very boring and have no spark."
"Nobody could accuse you of not having spark."
"Good," she placed her hand on his cheek, "Dear man, we'll argue and make up, that's what happens. There will be days I'll irritate you no end."
"But no doubt there will be more days where I irritate you to no end."
"But we'll make up. One or both of us will apologise and move on. Let's try not to make it last an entire day next time."
"I missed you."
"I missed you too. And I'm sorry, because I was short with you, I was annoyed to wake up alone and to know you'd gone there but it's unreasonable of me to expect it to quickly change. I just wanted at least a week alone with you before we have to think about returning to our roles again."
"It's not unreasonable, not now that I know."
She smiled, breathed deeply and closed her eyes.
"Elsie," he whispered.
"Mmm?"
"Can I touch you?"
She smiled again at his question, charmingly uncertain Charles. "I do hope you can," she teased and heard him smile in return.
His hand, more certain now, moved up her body, over her ribcage, pushing the sheets down, lingering over her breasts until his fingertips tickled beneath her chin and he turned her face to his kissing her hesitantly.
"I love you," he said, leaning over her, watching her reaction.
"I love you too," she replied, moving her hands up and over his shoulders and bringing him down for another kiss.
He groaned into her mouth as her hand moved deftly and confidently to his pyjama bottoms, "I've really, really missed you." He breathed.
She giggled in return, "It's not even been a day."
"I want you all the time," he murmured against her lips. "I can't stop."
"Good, I don't want you to." She freed him from his restrictive clothing and pulled his body until he took her cue and moved on top of her, delighting in the feel of her warm thighs, so familiar now, holding him against her.
"I want to feel you," he mumbled, still kissing her, his hands trying to open her night dress.
His desperation for her amused her no end, it had taken such a relatively short amount of time for them to reach this point of complete comfort and ease, not that she'd ever doubted it, they worked so well together over the years – completely in sync – she knew they'd be the same here, if they ever got the chance.
She gasped when his wandering hand moved between her legs, he hadn't done that before and she was surprised by his boldness, she really must have scared him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered by his ear, both her hands clutching his shoulders, guilt rushing through her at the way she'd been all day, freezing him out.
"No, I'm sorry, so, so sorry."
She smiled again at his devotion to her, her heart swelling at the realisation of it. She pushed him back slightly; enough to lift herself up and slide her night dress over her head and throw it to the floor. She lay back and his mouth immediately moved over her, licking down her neck, to her breasts, massaging and kissing until she was moaning in sweet agony.
She needed him as much as he did her.
Hooking her leg around him she pressed him closer to her and he moved back to kiss her mouth, their tongues imitating what their bodies longed to do.
It was growing lighter in the room, milky into golden, and in the distance the sound of summer thunder over the fields.
For a moment she wished she was young, to do this with him when she was at her most fit and healthy, firm and able to bear him children. The thought had passed through her mind years ago, longer than she cared to remember, of having his children and she'd dwelt on it for too long and almost drove herself to depression with the thought it wouldn't happen.
Now it didn't matter, once the chance had gone and he'd shown little sign of romantic interest in her there was scarce point dwelling on such things.
But oh to be young right now.
He rolled them over so she was on top of him, his hands down her spine to rest on her bottom, one sneaking between her legs. She gasped again as he surprised her with it, perhaps he could be daring and modern when he needed to be. She was practically writhing on top of him when they turned again, rolling onto their sides until they faced each other and he held her leg over him.
She nipped his bottom lip between her teeth then licked it to soothe the burn, pressing her abdomen into him making it clear exactly what she wanted. Enough waiting now. Enough foreplay.
He hardly needed much encouragement but he held her face delicately as their bodies joined, holding her gaze, the slight intake of breath at the sensation and then stillness as he stroked his thumbs over her cheekbones and she slid her arms under his to his back, holding where she could feel his shoulder blades.
Her body moved first, gently, easing him deeper inside and then back, softly, steadily, and he watched her face as she watched his. Love and longing. Familiarity. Friendship. Security. Again and again her hips rolled against him until he groaned loudly at the tight grip in his stomach and his right hand rested on her hip, the other coming under her body to lift her slightly higher, driving into her now until she was the one moaning and gasping in pleasure.
Really she should get up and go to the bathroom but she had no desire to move and besides she would have to wake Charles to do so. Instead she remained where she was, on her back, her legs curled around her husband as he slept half on top of her, his face buried against her breasts, his arms wrapped tight around her, possessive almost.
She kissed his head and closed her eyes, it was morning now and sleep would prove difficult but she had little desire to leave him alone in their bed.
Outside it had started to rain.
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