Quite a lot of dialogue in this one but hopefully still enjoyable! Thank you for all the lovely comments and reviews, I really enjoy reading what you've got to say on the story.

Day 9

He woke feeling frustrated. The bed beside him was empty and he reached across it, missing her warmth. Turning onto his back he stared at the ceiling, listening to the ebb and flow of the tide. He wondered what the day would bring, where it would take them, and then he wondered just when it was he'd become so lazy. It used to be, only a few weeks before, that he woke and was up out of bed, immediate, washing, dressing, on with the day. Now he longed to stay in bed with his wife and let the day do what it wanted without them.

"Good morning," she said as she came in, closing the door to their room behind her.

"You're out early."

"I couldn't sleep, thought I'd get some air and I bought your paper. Thought you might like to read it over breakfast."

"I suppose I best get up."

"I suppose." She sat beside him on the edge of the bed and leant down to kiss him, "I'm hungry."

He took hold of her hand, rubbing her wrist with his thumb, "I missed you, this morning."

"Were you awake long?"

"Not really, but I missed you nevertheless."

"Silly thing," she turned his hand over in her lap and stared at the lines on his palm.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes," she smiled, though half-heartedly, and shrugged, "a little. I slept some despite the strange bed and someone left me with a loving sentiment to reflect on."

"I'm glad you appreciated it."

"I always appreciate your literary knowledge, you're very well-read you know, thought your Scottish accent is lacking a little."

"Perhaps you'll take me there and teach me."

"Perhaps." She sighed and squeezed his hand, "well then, you get up and ready and we'll go have breakfast. The sun is out," she got up and began laying out his trousers on the bed, "and I think it will be warm so I thought we might go for a walk along the shore, before the tide goes too far out."

"If that's what you'd like."

"I would."

"Then I'll get ready."

"I ate too much at breakfast," he complained as she rolled up the hem of her skirt and slipped her shoes into the bag she carried.

"You did not," she glanced over her shoulder at him, "well, maybe you did. I told you not to have more toast. And three cups of tea."

"I'm rather regretting that too now."

"Don't be a spoilsport." She stepped down onto the warm sand and audibly sighed as it sank between her toes.

He watched her for a while, sitting himself down on the grassy bank and taking off his shoes and socks as she made her way to the shore. He thought how beautiful she looked, framed by the sea and the sunlight. Then his stomach groaned and he thought how hot it was and that she was right about the toast. His life always seemed a constant reminder of how wrong he often got things. Not with her though, not anymore, ever since his proposal everything had been right and he was astonishing himself by how far he'd come since then. 'Leaps and bounds', he kept hearing in his head, reminded of a teacher at school when he learned arithmetic and made the most progress. He often felt like he was wallowing in affection now, she'd given him that, and trust and pride and comfort and support; life would be nothing without her.

"Hurry up," she shouted back over her shoulder to him and he was glad it was still early and the beach not yet full.

Tucking his shoes under his arm he set off to join her.

"Isn't it glorious?" She said, watching the clear water tickle her toes.

"A relief," he breathed, closing his eyes, "it's so hot already."

"I know, take your jacket off, nobody will mind, and roll your shirt sleeves up."

He shook his head as he carried out her instructions, "Quite bossy aren't you Mrs Hughes."

"Why do you think I've been so successful all these years?"

She took his shoes from him and put them in the bag alongside her own then draped his jacket over the top of it with hers. "Shall we walk for a while?"

"Yes, but I'll carry that."

He took the bag from her, and she hooked her arm over his as they set off.

"How far shall we walk?" She asked, looking at the distant lighthouse. "Think we'll make it there?"

"I think we can just about manage it."

She squeezed his arm and they set off.

"It will be good for my expanding waistline anyhow," he said chuckling.

"Next week you'll be back to your normal routine, it's just a treat."

"Everything feels like a treat at the moment, I'm concerned I'll wake and it will just be a dream, 'Too flattering-sweet to be substantial'."

"Now I know that one," she bit down on her lip, "don't tell me, even if it takes all day."

"I won't."

For a while they walked in silence, enjoying the splash of the water around their ankles, the warm sun on their backs, the contentedness of a couple who know each other so well they don't need words.

"I'm sorry about this morning," she suddenly said.

"Why? You mean you're going for a walk without me?"

"I meant you waking to find me gone, and not… well, you know."

He glanced at her confused, "It isn't a daily requirement."

She blushed, "No but, well you seem to enjoy mornings."

"You don't?" He asked with a chuckle.

"Of course I do, that's not what I meant." She shook her head, "I shouldn't have brought it up, I'm embarrassed now."

"I thought we could talk of anything."

"Some things perhaps shouldn't be discussed."

"Like you believing it was somehow written into our marriage vows that you shouldn't neglect your 'wifely duties' even for a day?"

"Well, I'm not much of a cook!"

They both stopped, paused, looked at the other and then laughed loudly.

"Oh stop it," she pushed at his chest, "stop laughing."

"You stop laughing."

She giggled again, looking away from him, pulling him forward to continue the walk, "It's Shakespeare." She said when her giggles died down.

"Which play?" He smiled, proud, amused, happy.

"I think Romeo says it after he first meets Juliet, you took us to see it in York once, years ago, with the other servants."

"And you brushed away tears at the end."

"I thought nobody saw."

"I don't miss a thing."

"That's true. The amount of silver cloths I've had to purchase from over-use."

"Don't mock me," he squeezed her hand, "I realise now there are more important things than polishing silver."

"Such as?"

"Wifely duties," he said deadpan and she laughed again, heartily, covering her mouth to keep it in.

"If you tease me you won't be the recipient of any."

"Then I promise I'll never tease again. How about family ties, they're important."

She stiffened slightly, looked away and then back at him, sadly, "You want to ask more about them?"

"Not if you don't want to tell."

"There isn't too much more to tell." She bit her lip again, "My sister blamed me for my parents' deaths; my father died within a year of my move to Yorkshire, my mother three years after that. And I wasn't there. And she was. And I'll never know how hard that was for her."

"Just as she'll never know how hard it was for you to not be there."

"I expect not." She leant her head against his upper arm, seeking his comfort, "I never feel guilty though, never, I know it was the right thing for me, I couldn't have stayed there, I would have dwindled and died."

"You flourished at Downton, so quickly."

"I know. And I'm proud of that fact, even if it makes me selfish."

"It doesn't, you're the most unselfish person I know. And the most patient. And forgiving…"

"Ahh, so we reach the point of your flattery."

"I think we should go. For one thing I'd like to meet this 'Jack'."

"For one thing you want to try her pie!" She chuckled, stopping and facing the water. "I don't know."

"It will do you both good, part on good terms not unhappy ones. You cried last night over your soured relationship with her; I want you to leave here feeling satisfied if nothing else, that you at least had a try."

"I forget how wise you can be."

"And foolish and inconsiderate and ridiculous."

She placed her hand on his chest as she turned to face him, "Never," and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, feeling dwarfed as she stood barefoot before him, "My husband would never be those things."

"I love you Mrs Carson," he whispered by her ear, "don't forget that."

She smiled as he kissed her forehead, aware suddenly of others on the beach and what they must think of a couple their age behaving in such a manner.

"Come on, I want to see the lighthouse and we need to be back for eleven to get the bus if we're going to make it there in time for lunch."

They took flowers and chocolates this time, though Elsie fretted the entire journey that they'd melt on the hot bus. She was fussing over how tight Charles was holding the flowers as they made their way up the drive only to be greeted by a screaming four-year old boy racing down towards them in shorts and wellingtons.

They stood to the side as he whizzed past chased by an older man with a shock of white hair.

"Jack?" Elsie called after him, it had been so long since she'd seen him but she'd recognise his heavy Northern drawl anywhere.

He scooped the screaming boy up into his arms, swinging him round as he spun to face them.

"My goodness, Elsie Hughes." He still dangled the giggling toddler in his arms as he came towards them. "But it's not now is it; this is your husband, Mr…"

"Carson." Charles held out his hand and Jack waggled his little finger with his own, the only part of his hand not full with a squirming child.

"I hoped you'd make it, she wanted you too you know."

Elsie nodded, "And I'm glad we came, if only to make the acquaintance of this young chap." She bent slightly, dropping her head round in order to see the child's face. "Hello, my name's Elsie, and who are you?"

"Who are you?" He copied.

Jack turned him the right way up, his wellingtons squelching in the mud as he put him down. "This is your…" he smiled at Elsie, "your Aunt in a way, I guess."

The boy stood in front of Charles and looked from his feet all the way up his body to the top of his head.

"Hello young man," Charles said, his deep baritone causing the boy to step back. "And how are you today?"

The boy stared at Charles for a moment longer before holding his hand to his head and mock-saluting him. "My name is Charlie." He said firmly.

"He's into soldiers at the moment." Jack whispered.

"Ah," Elsie smiled down at him, his little hand wobbling as he saluted, "pleased to meet you soldier Charlie. This is Charles."

She nudged Charles' arm until he coughed and saluted back, "At ease soldier."

The little boy smiled gleefully, "I'm Charles," he stated before racing back up to the house and chasing the chickens away from the door.

"This could be confusing," Charles said staring after him.

Jack clapped his arm, "Good for you, marrying Elsie I mean, she always was a fine woman. If it wasn't for her sister snagging me first I might 'ave…"

"Now don't start that," she interrupted, she looking at Charles' worried expression, "He's joking, he should have been on the stage not a farm. He loved Mabel from the first moment he clapped eyes on her at the Christmas dance."

"In a barn on a crisp winter evening." He chipped in melodramatically. "Nothing wrong with a bit of romance," he added, "Well, now you're Mrs Carson you'll know."

She was shaking her head after him as he chased the boy again.

"He's loud," Charles whispered.

"You'll get used to him," she took the crook of his arm, "come on."

Inside Mabel was walking the length of the kitchen with a crying baby in her arms.

"Oh, thank goodness, help has arrived. Here, take her," she plonked the baby in Elsie's arms. "Why my daughter would think it's acceptable to lumber me with two young uns at my age. I need to serve the potatoes before they're nothing more than a pile of mush."

Elsie balanced the baby, sliding the box of chocolates onto the table and glancing around at Charles who looked lost amongst the chaos.

"This is farm life," she assured him, "hang our coats up and clear the table will you."

He put the flowers down, took her coat off as she rocked the baby and hung it in the hall alongside his own.

"Can you get the pie out?" Mabel asked when he came back in, her back to him as she drained pots and pans.

He looked at Elsie and mouthed, "Out of where?"

"The oven," she mouthed back, pointing at it and then at a dishcloth on the side.

He did as requested and set it down on the table, it smelt divine and for a second he forgot the noise and chaos of a hot kitchen and two children under five.

"There, there," Elsie cooed, tickling the baby's chin as she rocked her. "What's her name?"

"Sarah. Just eight months, doesn't like the heat."

"Scottish blood," Elsie added, smiling blissfully down at the warm weight in her arms, "yes you have, and you don't like this sticky summer weather do you? And neither do I."

Charles watched her as she moved, walking back and forth, calming the child, speaking nonsense to it until it's crying finally ceased and it hummed gently.

"I think she's asleep, should I put her down?"

"Please, there's a cot in the next room, its cooler in there."

"I'll find it."

She left the room and Charles couldn't help but feel a little deserted; he turned back to Mabel, "Anything else I can do to help?"

"Set the table perhaps," she chuckled, "I bet you know how to do that well."

He smiled, "I have had some practice yes," he took hold of the flowers and handed them to her, "we brought these for you."

"How kind, thank you."

He shrugged, "You're making dinner, and it smells wonderful."

She chuckled again, whispering, "She never was much of a cook, even as a child. But always bossy."

"You're whispering about me," Elsie said as she came in and closed the door. "Don't ruin his impression of me."

"I'm not sure I could," Mabel said watching the look that passed between them, he looked at her with such adoration, such focus. She remembered being a newlywed and how very wonderful it was.

"Will you shout them in too Elsie, otherwise we'll never eat and he needs to wash his hands."

"Jack or the boy?" She teased.

Charles appeared to have made a new friend over lunch. Charlie insisted on sitting next to him, in having the same portion of pie, in placing his chair so close that he was squashed up against Charles' arm and wobbled every time Charles lifted his fork to his mouth.

"Sing a song," Charlie said his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his hands and he gazed sideways at his new hero.

"Well, I don't think dinner's quite the time."

Elsie smiled, "Oh go on, indulge him."

He glared at her cheeky smile, "I can't think of one."

"We'll sing after dinner," Mabel said, saving him, "you can sing with Grandad when you go out to feed the sheep."

"Can I have my wellingtons back then?"

"Yes. They were just too muddy for the kitchen."

"Good." He returned his focus to Charles. "I'm only feeding sheep if you do. We can march there."

Charles' eyebrows almost met in the middle, "I don't have any wellingtons," he said hopefully.

"Take Grandad's." The little boy leant in whispering conspiringly, "he has two old pairs in the shed."

Jack laughed loudly, "You're free to borrow them old man, though I feel your feet may be slightly larger than mine."

"Maybe Joe's will fit," Mabel said, "he always had big feet, even as a child, like two flippers on the end of his legs."

Elsie laughed along with them, relishing the easy-going nature and warm atmosphere in the room.

"Maybe," he looked down at the young lad, "maybe we'll try them and see."

She wanted to hug him then.

"Thank you so much for lunch," Elsie said, "it was lovely, I'd forgotten how good a cook you are."

"You're welcome, we'll clean up whilst they go shall we?"

She nodded, "Of course."

"Do they hurt?" She watched as he wiggled his feet about in the rubber boots, they were in the next room, the baby soundly asleep in the crib, and he was sat on the couch attempting to tuck his trousers into the boots.

"They seem fine, a fraction too small but it isn't going to be too far is it?"

"I should hope not, you're not cut out for it."

"I can walk." He stood up. "I have energy."

She giggled, "I know that," she placed her hands on his chest. "Thank you."

"For?"

"Being you," she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him very gently on the mouth. "The kindest man I've ever met."

"I'll remind you of that next time I do something you disapprove of."

"Do. Remind me of this moment. Thank you for this trip, thank you for making me come back here. I feel I've made something of amends with Mabel, or will have by the time we leave. I don't want her to be unhappy."

He slipped his arms around her waist, "I don't care about anyone else. I just want you to be happy."

"And you too."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive."

"Charles Carson are you telling me than your happiness is dependent on mine?"

"What I'm saying is I think the two are very closely linked."

She smiled before kissing him again, then whispering, "I hope our train doesn't get in too late tonight, I'm looking forward to being back in our own bed."

"Lord above don't fill my head with such things." He squeezed her waist before quickly letting her go at the sound of a young boy racing past the door, "Come on!" he squealed as he passed.

"You best get going, your new fan awaits."

"He looks rather severe," Mabel said as she rinsed the plates and Elsie opened her mouth to respond before Mabel cut her off. "But," she said strongly, "he's a lovely man. I think you've chosen well."

Elsie wasn't sure she'd 'chosen' at all, her feelings for Charles had blossomed light years ago, she'd just been waiting for him to catch up – an entire lifetime it seemed.

"Thank you," she said in response. "And your family is lovely too, I'm happy for you, very happy."

Mabel paused and looked at her younger sister, "Thank you. I'm happy for you too, you made the right choice, we both did."

Elsie nodded, they didn't need to say more, it was enough and she was glad of it.

"Will Jane have any more children?" She asked, changing the direction of their talk.

"Oh who knows, I tell her not to, two is enough. Four was probably too many."

"But you love them all, and it's nice to have such a big family."

"Not when they're all here at Christmas with their racket."

They both laughed, "Like having a house full of young maids and eager footmen."

"I bet he keeps them in line."

"I keep them in line!" Elsie emphasised, "And then I keep him in line too."

"That I can believe. It's going well then, marriage?"

She shrugged, "So far, very well. It's hardly a dramatic change; we've practically been married for years…" She held up her hand at Mabel's wide-eyed expression, "Not in that way thank you. I mean we already know each other so well, I can predict his reaction before an event happens. Whatever he does or says doesn't shock me. And I'm comfortable with him, does that sound dull?"

"Not at all, I think being comfortable with someone is probably the heart of a marriage. That and trust."

Elsie nodded.

"And friendship," Mabel continued, "and probably a good dose of fun too – if you get my meaning."

"You can stop now."

Mabel chuckled, emptying the soapy water from the sink, "Always the prude."

"I was not."

"You were too."

Elsie shook her head, "Just cautious."

"No. Not really." Mabel looked her over, "My brave little sister, that's what we all thought, heading out into the world."

"Yorkshire, I didn't manage to get very far."

"Far enough it seems. Don't they say everything happens for a reason."

"I'm not sure I believe in that."

"Neither do I, but it sounds good." They both laughed, "Shall we have a sherry before they return?"

"Yes, I'd like that."

Elsie slept on the train; she was practically asleep as soon as they sat down, her face pressed against his shoulder. He figured she'd hardly slept the previous night. He fought to stay awake, afraid if he dropped off it would be for the night and they'd miss their stop.

It was late when they reached the station; he had to hold her tight as they stepped down to the platform, she was still wobbly with sleep.

"I'll get a taxi; you wait here on one of the benches."

"No, let's walk, I want to walk, it'll clear my head."

"It's late, and dark."

"Not too dark," she took hold of his arm, steering them towards the exit. "Unless you're too tired."

"No, you're probably right it will do us good, sat too long on that thing, my back's stiff."

"You're sure that's not from chasing a four-year old in a muddy field."

"I was not chasing!"

She chuckled as she looked at his face.

"Well, maybe a little. He's quite convincing."

"I think you made a friend for life."

They nodded good evening to a couple as they passed, "we ought to stick to the main paths, I can't do fields in the dark," he admitted.

"Do you ever regret it?" She asked softly, enjoying the cool summer air on her face.

"What?"

"Not having children. Doing all the things we see couples do."

"Perhaps, at times, but I've always been content with my lot. And now…"

"And now?" She teased. "You're beyond content?"

"Beyond everything I ever dreamed."

She smiled, "Flatterer, you'll make me blush."

"Wait," he paused and put their case down. "Can we swap arms?"

"Oh of course, should I carry it for a while?"

"Certainly not."

Shaking her head she moved from his right arm to his left, "Stubborn fool."

"You could put it down to my being caring."

"I do. And stubborn."

They walked in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of summer as the last signs of sunshine disappeared and the inky blue of night time surrounded them.

"Do you ever regret it?" He finally asked. "You looked so comfortable with those children."

"Like you, perhaps, at times. Then I see Mabel's life and realise that's what mine would have been and I don't, not for a second. Children might have been nice but I've had more than enough young people to take care of over my life. And as you said, I have you." She squeezed his arm, "I don't need more."

He felt his heart lift at her words; she still had the ability to do that to him. He'd never realised he even had the ability, or capability, to love somebody as he did her.

In the cottage he sat on his comfy chair in the kitchen as she made tea and lit the fire, "You're sure you don't want me to help?"

"No, it's fine, you rest. I already slept."

He took his shoes and socks off, wiggling his toes and unbuttoning his waistcoat as he listened to her.

"Would you like some sherry, or port?"

"How about a drop of that whisky, we haven't had any since…"

She smiled coyly at him, "Since we first made love, you can say the words Charles; I think we're far past bashful now."

He blushed nevertheless.

She retrieved the whisky from the parlour, poured him a healthy measure and then returned to pouring the tea and finding out a slice of wedding cake for him.

"Hard to believe how much has changed since then," he said, his eyes closed, "not so long ago and yet it feels I've lived a lifetime." He yawned. "I wonder how you had the patience to stay with me all those years, waiting."

She tutted, "I was hardly pining like some love struck adolescent."

"Don't ruin my ideas," he smiled opening his eyes. "I rather like the thought of you pining for me."

"Boost your ego does it?"

"Amongst other things."

She busied herself as he ate his cake; made sure the doors were locked, all the curtains were drawn and finally returned to the kitchen, switching off the main light and making do with the lamp.

"Almost ready to go up?" She asked, watching him in his chair, his eyes closed again, head lolling to one side.

"Almost. You haven't drunk your tea."

"I'll have it now, my corset's bothering me though," she stood by the kitchen table fiddling with it. "I think it's just been a long day and I'm tired."

"Take the darn thing off."

"Charles! In the kitchen!"

"Who will know?" He leant forward and refilled his glass. It was warm in the room and his eyes felt heavy, senses dulling with the alcohol.

Through half-closed eyes he watched as she undressed, setting her dress over the chair, removing the restrictive corset, rolling down her stockings.

He swallowed, shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Thank the lord above for such things as stockings," he murmured.

Glaring she moved to his chair, leaning on his shoulders with just her underwear on. "You don't have to wear them," she commented. "I'm going to bed."

He reached one hand forward to slide around her waist, "Stay here with me."

She was already sliding onto his knee as she shook her head, her mouth meeting his in a clumsy kiss, "you taste of whisky," she said huskily, her knees sliding either side of him. "And this chair isn't big enough."

"Just for a cuddle."

"You always said you weren't the cuddling kind."

"Can't a man change?"

"Hmm… maybe." She kissed him again, down his neck, across his shirt-covered chest, breathing in the heady masculine fragrance. Her hands wandering between his legs until he ground out her name and she let her fingers open the fastening on his trousers.

"In the kitchen?" She whispered as she kissed her way back up to his mouth.

He wrapped his arms around her, "I'm a lucky, lucky man."

Somehow, awkwardly, he lifted her up enough to remove her underwear and she wiggled his trousers down just far enough. They worked together unbuttoning his shirt, but it didn't really matter, there in the dusky-warm light of the fire, how long it took or who did what, it just felt good and right.

They were kissing slowly, lazily, enjoying the simple pleasure of it, skin against skin. He sat forward enough for her to wrap her legs around him, unhooked her bra and buried his face against her breasts, gasping when she rolled her hips and pressed against his erection.

She pushed him to sit back in the chair, leant forward against him, and leisurely slid onto him. They set a deliciously slow rhythm, making love out of love, not lust or a selfish search for pleasure, but the quiet joy of having a true companion.

They took their time. Made sure the other was enjoying every second of their union. Touched and stroked and worshipped, until the heat between them pushed them both leisurely to a deep, shuddering climax.

"Have you any idea how much I love you?" He whispered as the firelight died down and the room was filled with long shadows, he kissed her head, tucked beneath his chin.

"I think I have a small inkling," she smiled, her body still humming with pleasure.

"A small inkling? Then I'll have to re-double my efforts to prove it."

She giggled, "You can do that to me time-and-time again if you need to prove it."

"Somehow I don't think that will be a problem. You're falling asleep?" He nudged, then glanced at the clock, almost a quarter to two in the morning.

"Mmm, take me to bed."

"I've dreamt a thousand times of you saying that to me."

She laughed again, "Well, you must have been patient too."

"Hmm," he sat forward, shifting her body gently until she slid back off his legs and stood wobbly in front of him, shivering at the loss of contact. "Or very stupid," he admitted, kissing her stomach.

He stood, lifting her into his arms. She yelped at the movement, caught off guard by it.

"I should have done this on our first night here."

"I don't think I was quite prepared for it then."

"Perhaps not. I don't think I was either."

"Don't pull your back."

"Pretend I'm a young man for a moment and can manage this easily."

"Oh all right," she leant against him, enjoying the sensation of being carried through their home and to their bed.

After all her concerns she'd enjoyed the trip and was glad she'd seen her sister again, keenly aware it may very well be the last time they'd ever see each other. But goodness it felt good to be back in their home. Alone.

Charles went to bed thinking on how the comfy chair would never quite seem the same again.