Day 7

There were still things he was getting used to, despite the fact he'd known her for well over twenty years, getting closer to thirty than he'd like. It both surprised and delighted him to find that he could still discover new things about her. Her passion – that had been a surprise (a wonderful one), he'd never once doubted her fierce streak of independence and joy for life, but to find that intimately she held so much passion for him, well, that had brought an unexpected enchantment to his life.

There were other things too. Sometimes she got up as much as three times in the night to pee; it disturbed him every time, despite how quiet she tried to be. She preferred to sleep on the left side of the bed and often curled on her left side to sleep, facing the door, her back to him. He could have taken it as a rebuff but no, it was simply her preference and she didn't seem to mind in the slightest when he snuggled up behind her and held her against him. She liked to be quiet first thing in the morning, she prayed then, before breakfast. And she hated her corset; preferring to read in the parlour in the evening in her nightgown and robe, no underwear, and lie back against him on their couch as she did so. She claimed it made her feel 'free'. Having no such experience of such garments Charles accepted her claims without comment.

Of course he was quite sure there were things she was discovering about him. That he liked baths, especially before bed. He snored in the early hours of the morning as dawn approached. When he was reading he would suddenly laugh-out-loud at a particular line, even if he'd read the book before. That he had become obsessed with the curve her breast made when she lay on her back, how he let his fingers wander along the underside of it appreciating the warm weight and the smooth, silky curve it made.

He shouldn't think of such things on a Sunday.

It was the first morning he could remember where they hadn't woken and made love to greet the day. They'd slept in after a late night spent talking, and then fussed around trying to get ready for church. He'd cut himself shaving in his haste, the first time in many, many years, and she'd applied cream to the stinging line on his jaw.

Now he couldn't fix his tie, his head felt heavy and he wanted to go back to bed. How quickly his body had adapted to the 'easy life', he'd thought as he'd stared at himself in the mirror.

Coming downstairs Elsie carried her hat into the kitchen and set it down on the table, she stared at it for a moment; it was time, perhaps, that she had a new one. Or brightened it up. She thought of her wedding flowers in the vase in the parlour and went through, returning with a couple of flowers and pinning them to it. She wondered just when it was that she started to care what she was wearing and how her hair was pinned, when she worried about him noticing her. She was in the process of trying it on in front of the mirror when Charles blustered in.

"We're going to be late."

He was flustered, she found it amusing as she watched him struggle with his cuffs.

"No we aren't. We have time."

"One can't be late for the Sunday Service."

"Oh no," she moved to help him with his tie, "one most certainly can't."

"Are you mocking me?"

"I wouldn't dare. There, all done. You look terrifically handsome."

"I don't feel it," he took a deep breath; "I hate to be rushed."

"You shouldn't have slept in."

"I shouldn't have slept in? What about you?"

"I was awake, just enjoying my cuddle; you were the one snoring against my breast."

He waved his hands at her, "Pure speculation."

"Was it indeed."

He watched as she pulled on her coat, standing back and smiling at her.

"That's your blouse."

"I should hope so."

"No, I mean, that's your wedding blouse."

"It is." She smiled coyly. "I told you I don't want to put it in a box and forget about it."

"I agree, especially when you look so lovely in it."

He moved to hold her, his hands on her hips, "This is our first trip to church as a married couple."

"Yes. After the wedding of course."

Smiling he bent to kiss her, "Almost a week of having you as my wife."

"And have you enjoyed it?" She whispered, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"Enjoyed doesn't come close."

She smiled warmly, "We should go, or we really will be late."

A week earlier

It was incredibly warm for Yorkshire. Framed in the door leading to the backyard Charles shielded his eyes from the high afternoon sun, cradling a cup of tea in his other hand. The usual high-activity of the day had dwindled down, for today was different, for him more than most. And yet, standing there as he did, he felt unusually calm.

In less than two hours he would be a married man. Soon he'd be heading to the village church awaiting the arrival of Elsie who he hadn't seen since the previous evening. Today, the focus hadn't been on serving, today the focus had been on them. There was a time that would have unnerved him but not now. He felt almost serene as he finished his tea and thanked God for the beauty of the day.

Returning to the eerily quiet kitchen he sat down for a moment at the head of the table. The maids, he knew, were either already on their way to church or dressing upstairs. Anna and O'Brien remained to help the Ladies dress and would no doubt rush and prattle to get there on time. His Lordship had offered the car but Carson had insisted he walk to church, the fresh air would soothe any nerves.

It was something he was unaccustomed to. Never one for romance or dalliances, he'd hardly been the dashing young man and somehow relationships had passed him by, despite a few lustful moments in his twenties when he'd forgotten himself entirely with a fellow performer. He remembered now the two of them rolling in the long summer grass of an evening, warm and sweet, her ripe with youth. It was a lifetime ago and had never amounted to anything lasting. She'd moved on. He'd stayed still.

He once told Elsie life changed you, and it was a good thing, he truly believed that. Life had changed him in many ways, he'd never been cut out for a life in shows, and was thankful for the day he entered into service. Quickly realising it was something he was good at; he excelled and rose through the ranks. Downton had been his home for many a year and Elsie his companion; he trusted and respected her as housekeeper, the keeper of the keys he'd often thought as he'd sat in his office listening out for the jangle of the chain she wore at her hip. For years they'd sidled by together, offering support, someone to talk to, their friendship had grown, trust deepened until they were the others only true confidante. And then came war and something changed between them, the axle upon which the world turned seemed to shift ever-so-slightly and with it their relationship. Intimacy crept in to friendship, the odd touch became longer, lingering, more pronounced. Until he found his waking thoughts filled with her, deep longings he'd forgotten could even exist.

"Mr Carson," Bates said softly beside the door, "shall we lock up?"

Charles glanced down the empty table, the faces he knew so well imprinted in his mind, they'd all be there now, filling the pews. Her chair empty beside him. He scraped the tiles with his chair legs as he pushed back from the table, rising to his full height, straightening his jacket.

"Yes, Mr Bates, let's."

The walk to the church was a familiar one. The village quiet in the Sunday morning lull of reflection. They were late; she ignored his stiffness as they approached the gate and heard the first hymn being sang. He hated making a scene.

She took his hand, "We'll stay at the back, nobody will notice, just start singing." She smiled as she led him up the path, awash with the brightness of the summer blooms. The church was always radiant.

As she'd predicted they crept in unnoticed and settled into a pew at the back, mouthing 'mornings' to those sat beside them. Though Charles was almost giddy when several moments later a young family came in late and he sang the last verse that little bit louder.

She was surprised by how emotional she felt being back there, staring up at the altar recalling her own nerves the previous week. How her hand had shook as she'd taken hold of her flowers and took the slow walk towards him; how calm he'd seemed in comparison. It was a surprise, usually she was the one stoic and tranquil, he was the worrier.

Glancing at his face as they sat she reached over and momentarily squeezed his hand, fleeting before anyone could notice, but enough, enough to say what she needed to in that moment.

An hour later they came out into glorious sunshine, they were one of the first to shake hands with Travis. Charles remained standing by the church watching as Elsie said hello to those she knew who were gathered along the path, and she knew most, she was bouncing a baby and he was smiling at how happy she looked, and how loathed she appeared to be to give the little lad back.

Putting on his hat he took a slow stroll down to where she stood, resting his hand lightly on her back as he stood behind her. Instinctively she leant back to him, and he wished the family a good morning and continued exchanging pleasantries with other villagers he knew. It was getting warm as it approached midday and he longed to take his shoes and jacket off, most of all he wanted to be alone with her again, how silly after all the times he'd been in that very position over the years and thought nothing of it.

As the congregation thinned he was glad to be heading home, they would take the main route direct through the village and once again he absorbed the pride that came with having her hold his arm.

"Are you all right?" He asked, concerned at her sudden silence.

"Very much so," she squeezed his arm, "Just thinking, it was nice to see everybody." They passed by the memorial he'd had a hand in organising and paused for a second, remembering. "Do you think anyone will remember us?" She asked quietly before looking up at him. "I suppose it doesn't matter really, does it?"

"No, I suppose not. As long as we make the most of being here now." He lifted her hand to kiss the back of it, "Which I finally am."

"Good." They set off again. "I noticed that nice Mrs Wigan smiling at you."

He screwed his face up, "She talks rather a little too much."

She smiled, that would probably be his final word on the subject and she knew better than to tease him on awkward matters.

As they headed away from the church she glanced back over her shoulder recalling how they'd stepped out onto that path and been covered in white petals. Things had happened so quickly, she'd almost forgotten the beauty of it all.

A week earlier

He was glad of the company as they took the fairly short walk to the village. Taking the well-trodden path through the woods to the church. He was even gladder that Bates had no desire to talk. Content as they both were to simply walk side-by-side.

He wondered how she was. Nervous? No, she was ever in control. Perhaps worrying over the sudden heat this week, ruining the flowers she'd managed to get, the church being too warm, the cake Mrs Patmore had made being a sloppy mess. Later it wouldn't matter. They'd be man and wife and that, after all, was the only thing that really did matter.

He wondered how it would alter things. In the house, between them, would she want things to be different – despite the obvious? They'd spoken of a time when they might leave service, they had a small house of their own now and he could imagine spending their days fiddling with the garden. They were neither of them extravagant and had saved fairly well over the years. He wondered if she'd want it sooner, retirement. But then he had a few years on her, and they always seemed so perfectly in sync.

"You aren't doing anything wrong," Bates' voice stirred his thoughts.

"Mmm." A deep rumble came from his chest.

"It isn't against the law to fall in love, even in service, and you've both proven your worth. His Lordship knows that."

"Hence the fact neither of us was dismissed when we admitted the changes in our relationship."

"You have his blessing. The cottage. The celebration later today. They're all happy for you."

"The odd thing is, I don't feel in the slightest nervous."

Bates smiled, "I think that's wonderful."

At the head of the church he turned, all sound ceasing in his ears as he watched her move toward him. A simple skirt and blouse bought new for the occasion, her hair looser than usual, a hint of make-up perhaps and the earrings he'd saved of his mother's shining so brilliantly in the sunlight.

She smiled and he took her hand as they stepped toward Travis, hands clasped together.

"Hello Mrs Hughes," he said gently, it might be the last time he'd call her that and the moment wasn't lost on her. Her smile broadened, eyes twinkling. "You look beautiful."

She smiled again, but her mouth was firmly shut, he suspected to keep in any emotions threatening to bubble to the surface. It was a private moment between them, their backs to the congregation, only the reverend saw and for that they were grateful. Having a wedding was, after all, as open as they were likely to get with their public displays of affection.

He'd kissed her whilst she was half-way through taking her coat off. Pressing her back against the wall in the hallway, her arms trapped by her sides by the material. She was breathless at it, caught by surprise by his sudden passion.

"What was that for?" She asked, licking her lips.

"I missed you."

"We've been together all day."

"I missed being alone with you."

"Oh I see," she turned to hang her coat and hat, "And am I to expect that at Downton every time I come into your pantry with a cup of tea?"

"Only if you bring biscuits."

She laughed, "When have I ever dared not? Are you going to help prepare lunch?"

"Oh I think I can be counted upon to peel a few potatoes."

"Good, I'll just change."

He put water on to boil for tea, found the beef prepared in the fridge and wondered how on earth she managed to get so many things done. She hadn't been downstairs that much longer than him that morning and yet every surface was spotless and most of their dinner prepared and ready to cook. He put the meat in the oven and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

"Have you started?" She asked as she came down, opening the windows to let in the breeze.

He watched as she tied an apron around her waist, "Making tea first," he said, unable to resist sliding his hands over her hips and up around her waist.

"Don't start that, I'll never get done." She moved to the sink and began rinsing the vegetables, complaining but enjoying his attentions as he pressed against her, his hands wandering.

He kissed the back of her neck, breathing in the scent of her hair, "Do you know how happy you've made me Mrs Hughes."

She smiled, both at his sentiment and the use of her 'name'.

"I think I have a slight idea, but it is rather nice to be told." She glanced out of the window, catching a brief glimpse of their reflection in the sunlit glass, "I won't mind if you keep telling me neither."

He kissed her neck again, down to her collarbone, "I apologise."

"For what?"

"For later, when we get busy and I forget to tell you."

"Am I being forewarned?"

He chuckled, "I suppose so."

She twisted her head to look at him, "Kettle's whistling," she nudged his nose with hers.

"Mmm, I'll make you some tea."

"Thank you." They kissed, slowly and tenderly.

A week earlier

Later, when cake had been consumed and wine drunk on the lawn at the house, the staff had quietly returned to the house and he and Elsie had been called to the drawing room.

"Congratulations to you both," Cora said shaking Carson's hand and uncharacteristically kissing Elsie's cheek.

"Thank you milady," Elsie blushed, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"I suppose you're exhausted." Cora gushed, exuberant in the moment.

"I am, it's been rather a long day."

"…Overwhelming," Charles butted in and Elsie glanced at him, proud, joyful.

Lord Grantham squeezed his arm, "We've been together a long time Carson, I don't believe I have ever seen you so uncharacteristically happy."

Charles straightened his back, his eyes widening momentarily, "Thank you milord."

"You will stay won't you, tonight, I've asked Anna to prepare the best guest room."

Charles was about to protest but Elsie quickly talked over him, "Thank you, yes, we're very grateful for that, as we are for so much."

"You'll find the cottage comfortable I hope," Cora asked sitting.

"Oh yes, we just have a few decorations to add but we're both very pleased with it."

Charles folded his hands together, he was awkward talking about his feelings with just Elsie, never mind discussing his personal life with Lord and Lady Grantham.

"Well then," he said, "we shall keep you no longer."

"No, I suppose they're having quite the party downstairs for you two tonight."

She remembered watching Daisy giggling and dancing in the servants' hall, Charles sitting at the head of the table unable to complain of the noise on his wedding day. She'd stood back for a while, observing the joyful chaos, the wine being consumed, the wonderful food Mrs Patmore had made. And the shining gold band on her hand symbolising so much more than simply becoming a wife. They were whole now, as they were always meant to be.

She stared at it, already she'd become accustomed to it on her finger, she hardly even noticed it now, a plain, gold band. From her position at the kitchen table she could see Charles asleep on the couch, his long legs dangling on the floor, his mouth open. It was what Sunday afternoons were made for.

Getting up she put away the lunch dishes that had been drying on the side, yawning as she did so. She shut the windows, the afternoon was drawing on and she didn't want flies buzzing around the kitchen all night.

Moving the newspaper from Charles' chest and folding it neatly (as he liked it) she bent and kissed his forehead. She'd take a bath, read her book, and leave him to rest.

It was whilst upstairs undressing and waiting for the tub to fill that she decided she couldn't leave him there, he couldn't sleep like that, slumped on the couch; his back would be agony tomorrow. Reluctantly she put on her robe and returned downstairs.

"Charles," she prompted, nudging his arm.

He murmured, rubbing his face in his hazy sleep.

"Charles," she shook him this time. "Sweetheart, let me take you to bed."

His eyes lazily opened, arms reaching for her, "You'll be more comfortable there." She added pulling him up.

"Must have dozed off," he slurred as he leant against her.

"Yes I know, it must have been the lunch."

"It's my lack of sleep at night."

She was laughing at that as they stumbled up the small staircase together, sometimes she forgot his height and how careful he had to be going through doorways in the cottage, he bumped his head as they went into the bedroom and cursed as he flopped back on the bed.

"Oh dear," she smothered her laughter, "come on, take your trousers off."

His eyes were already closed again.

"Charles, you're like a drunken old man." She pulled on his trousers, "Help me, or I'll leave you."

Stubbornly he sat again, unbuttoned his shirt and handed it to her, crawling back to the top of the bed to lay his aching head down on the pillows. She folded his clothes, moved to tuck the bed sheets over him.

"Now you can go to sleep."

He held his arms out for her, "Come here."

"I'm going to take a bath," she said even as he pulled her into his embrace. "Charles."

"Come and lie with me," he pushed at her robe. "You've nothing on under this."

"I was going to take a bath."

"Just lie here with me for a while."

She did as he asked and climbed in beside him, allowing him to push her robe aside and places sweet kisses across her chest before he lay his head down upon it. He was asleep within seconds and she lay there in the still silence of the summer afternoon stroking his hair and listening to him sleep. She wondered just when she'd grown so content with life. No yearning for anything beyond this.

She remembered three months ago, more than that now, in his pantry, it was May and raining outside. Her hair was wet from going into the yard to look for Thomas. She'd made their afternoon tea, their break before the dressing gong. He was shaking as she'd handed him his cup and held her gaze in a peculiar way.

"Whatever's the matter?" She'd asked, genuinely concerned.

"Mrs Hughes," he'd started, then stopped, putting his tea cup down on his desk and straightening himself as he'd looked at her. "The thing is over the past year we've really started to…"

She stared at him for a moment, chewing her bottom lip, "To…?"

"To… to develop our friendship." He settled on, and she had to admire him for trying. Stuffy Mr Carson never found discussing emotional issues easy; he usually left that kind of thing for her to handle with the staff. He had no choice when it was just the pair of them.

"Yes, I really feel that we've grown… much closer." He nodded.

She folded her hands, dug her nails into her palms. She knew where this was heading; there was an inkling of it four days ago when he'd started in much the same vein only to be interrupted by Isis getting loose in the kitchen. Anticipation flooded her and she felt her chest redden, flushed at the thought.

"You see, it would appear to me that after such a long friendship, we know each other's quirks and idiosyncrasies, and I rather enjoy, what I mean is I do enjoy your companionship and after such a long time, all these 'dates' we've been going on, visiting the theatre together and what have you, well it would seem to me that the only right and proper thing to do is to go and get married. Don't you think?"

She smiled slightly, laughter tugging at her lips but she bit it back. "Is that your very-unromantic way of proposing to me?"

"Well I mean." He swallowed, coughed. "It is romantic, it's meant to be," he sighed, shoulders dropping, "I don't find it very easy to say."

"I know." She took a step closer to him, proud by how centred and calm she felt at this very moment.

"But there is affection there…" he paused, licked his lips. "There is…"

His hands were still shaking when she stood directly in front of him, taking his large, trembling hands in her steady ones. "Do you love me Charles?" She asked firmly, confidently.

He nodded first then breathed very gently, "Yes. I love you very much."

"And I love you. So my answer is yes."

He seemed to stumble on her response for a moment, staring into her sparkling eyes, taking in her slowly-emerging smile, the way her thumbs rubbed his hands, how his heart beat loud in his ears.

"Yes?"

"Yes. Of course it's yes."

"Despite my clumsy proposal?"

She laughed now openly, "Both in spite and because of it."

She stepped closer to him still, her chest touching his, "Do you think maybe…" she glanced up at him, letting his hands drop. "…that we should?"

He caught onto her meaning, feeling his heart burst open at the thought. He'd wanted to kiss her for months now; years, and now they were here at the moment he'd waited so very long for. As if in a trance he moved his hands to her upper arms drawing her into an embrace, tilted his head down to meet hers, eyes closed, mouth hungrily moving forward.

That first touch celebrated the promise that had lain between them for a lifetime. A simple, almost chaste kiss. Her mouth pressed back to his seeking more and he'd slid his arms around her back holding her tight against him. She responded in kind, her hands (trembling as well now) wandered over his jacket, around his back, holding him firm and whole against her.

She wasn't sure how long they'd stood there that day, it seemed forever and yet not long enough. When they finally parted the tea was cold and it had stopped raining. Mrs Patmore was prattling about a burnt pudding and Thomas was complaining the dressing gong was late. She walked on air all evening, she was engaged, at her age, she was finally engaged. And more than that, she was sure of his love, whenever they'd gotten close before something had always pulled him back, caused her to doubt the strength and depth of his feelings, now she knew and she revelled in that knowledge. It seemed to have doubled her courage somehow, whatever life threw at them now, whatever the house said about their union, it wouldn't matter, they'd weather it.

She glanced down at his sleeping face, utterly content as he lay cuddled against her. Her bath would be cold but she didn't want to move, she closed her eyes, perhaps he had the right idea – an afternoon nap was most definitely in order.

Once again I hope you enjoyed. Thank you for all your lovely, supportive comments, please leave me a message if you have the time :-)