I'm SO sorry this has taken me so long to update. Life got in the way aka work and moving house. Then I lost my muse! Maybe it was because the Christmas episode was so beautiful that I felt I couldn't live up to it. Anyhow, I've enjoyed reading many wonderful Chelsie fics whilst not writing them, so haven't been totally absent.
For those still reading - thank you.
Day 12
"Good morning," he almost purred, wrapping his arms around her stomach and pulling her close against him.
"Good morning, you're happy. What time is it?"
"Would you believe already after 10."
"I would, we were talking until almost 3 this morning."
"Your fault," he kissed the back of her head. "And I'm always happy waking with you, and spending all night talking with you." He pressed his hand against her stomach.
"I'm not used to such flattery. Mornings usually involve trying to make the best of it. And I'm certainly not used to you being so flattering..." She turned over to face him, "Though I am growing used to it."
"You know what I'm enjoying the most?" He asked closing his eyes and snuggling against her.
"Do I need to?"
"I'm not being vulgar," he chided, kissing her head. "Your name, using your name."
"Didn't you always?"
"Not Elsie, not like this." He kissed her again. "Elsie."
"Are you going to keep saying it?" She smiled, tapping her fingers against his arm.
"Elsie. Elsie."
She laughed, "Now you can stop." She rolled out of his embrace.
"Don't go."
"I'm going to make some breakfast, before its time for lunch."
"I'll help," he moved to get up.
"No it's fine, stay here, I won't be long."
She brought up tea and toast and they sat on top of the bed eating and flicking through their mail – letters and cards, well-wishes still arriving.
"So, what shall we do today?"
"I thought you had plans..."
She glanced over sheepishly at him, "I rather can't believe I said that yesterday." She felt her cheeks flush. "Not like me."
"Not like either of us," he sat back on the bed, stretching out his legs. "We've done things this past week I never dreamed I would... it's rather wonderful though isn't it." His face broke into a wide smile, "I feel I'm discovering something completely new about myself with you."
She reached over and held his hand, "I feel that too, and yes you're right, it is wonderful. There's so much we still don't know about each other, isn't that odd? After all these years together."
He turned her hand over in his and kissed the back of it, settling back against his pillows and closing his eyes as she settled in against him, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Who was your first love?" She said gently, trailing her fingers across his palm, listening to the sound of his deep and even breathing beneath her ear.
"That's a rather forward question Mrs Hughes." He said lowly.
She smiled, "Does that mean I don't get an answer?"
"I was six, she was eight, she lived two doors down and she never knew I existed."
She laughed again, squeezing his arm, "Charles, that was your first real love?"
"Absolutely, I loved her entirely. And what about you?"
"Hmm, I was rather fond of a young man when I was fifteen. His name was Jimmy and he was incredibly handsome."
"I hate him."
She laughed harder, "He was lovely."
"You only said 'fond', not love."
"That's because it wasn't love." She said gently, nuzzling his arm with her chin.
"Ahh, then you're not playing the game."
"I am, I asked who your first love was."
"And I told you..."
"...that was not a real one." She insisted.
"It was too! Maisie holds a very special place in my heart."
"And Alice?"
He breathed deeply, feeling her hand warm in his. "Different. That was different. Jimmy – was he like Alice?"
"Goodness no. I've only been in love once in my life."
She shifted, moving her head down to lie against his chest, closing her eyes.
He listened to the sound of her breathing, opened his eyes to watch the sunlight casting shapes across the bed, the summer breeze lifting the curtains.
"Is that me?" He finally asked, watching a delicate smile cross her face.
"Of course it's you. Silly old fool."
He paused for a moment thinking, "You asked for first loves..."
"Mmm."
"Not true love."
She took a moment before she turned over to look up at him, her heart full, "Charles."
He brushed his fingers across her cheek, "Do you enjoy using my name too?"
She shook her head smiling, "You're incorrigible this morning, but yes I do, I'm rather enjoying the word 'husband' also."
"And how I've come to adore the word wife."
She flopped onto her back, her head in his lap in order to look up at him; there was a thing of simple joy in being able to have these light hearted conversations, "Other favourite words?"
"In the past – dedication..." He mulled on it, his fingers tapping against her upper arm. "Posture."
"Posture?!"
"You did ask."
"That's awful."
"Can I have 'Elsie' as my favourite word now?"
She smiled, "No, I think you should think harder."
"Bedtime..."
"Charles!"
He quickly tilted his head pressing a kiss to her lips, "I am nothing if not honest Mrs. Hughes."
"No," she whispered, her hands circling up around his shoulders. "Nobody could accuse you of that. Just one of the reasons I love you, my dear, dear husband."
Charles Carson had never considered the fact that as his point in life he'd find 'firsts'.
He was a man of routine and rigour, he knew his mind, he knew his likes and dislikes. So it was a shock to find himself still capable of discovering new truths about himself. Such as, despite years of early mornings and late nights and being grateful of the little sleep he got, he now found he liked to sleep in – preferably with his wife curled beside him. He liked long baths. He enjoyed his garden. And there was nothing, absolutely nothing, like the sound of Elsie moaning his name in pleasure. He had come to believe that he could quite happily listen to that sound for the rest of his life without complaint.
And so he took great delight in causing that delightful sound. Watching her face as she swam through the delicious joys of their intimacy. Watching her body responding to his touch. Perhaps this was what she had in mind the previous day when she'd made her uncharacteristic statement, just enjoying each other, pleasing each other. The simple joys that came with being married.
He was knelt between her legs, the air around him warm and still, thick, silent... apart from the soft murmurings coming from her mouth. Sweet words, sighs of pleasure. Her eyes were closed and his felt heavy as he watched her, his hand exactly where she wanted it – needed it – he was getting better every time at finding exactly the right spot, the right pressure, the right moment.
She squirmed on the bed at one particularly keen touch, gasping in the heady summer air. He shifted, moved his hands to her hips and pushed up the nightdress she wore, slow and languidly over her body, skimming her skin with his thumbs as he did so. Eyes still closed she lifted her head to allow him to slip it off.
Her skin was flushed; pink roses colouring the paleness of her chest, her breasts pushing up, curving into his palm as he drew his hands back down her body. He kissed her chest, her neck, down to her breasts, his mouth lingering on her nipples until she was moaning again, her hands creeping up his back, warm thighs pressing against his legs.
"How I love you Charles Carson," she whispered by his ear. She felt wanton, free, a new feeling; a feeling even five months ago she would never have imagined being part of her life. Touch, love, pleasure, had never been features of her vocabulary. And now his name seemed eternally upon her lips – a reverent, blissful sound.
He was silent as he moved over her body; his declaration of love came through in the tenderness in which he touched her.
It appeared to her, when she thought on it, that young people had gotten it all wrong. It wasn't at all about energy and speed; it was about languidness, delicacy, tenderness. That was what love-making was about; still they never told you any of those things in books and she'd certainly learnt naught of that on the farm. Coupling and reproduction yes, the cycle of nature, the cycle of life, but never that passion could come in this form.
And she'd worried before the wedding that she'd be too old for it.
After, naked bodies entangled, they lay in silence, drifting in and out of sleep, the gentle caress of birdsong, the breeze whispering to the trees.
"I wish life could stay like this," he said mid-afternoon, just waking. "Forever summer."
She pressed her face against his chest, breathing in his scent, kissing his skin.
"You have a choice." She mumbled sleepily.
"We have a choice," he corrected. He kissed her hair, wrapped his arms tighter around her.
"Shall we eat in the garden?" She whispered, watching the curtain flap in the breeze. "Make the most of it, there's a pie."
"Of course." He rubbed her back, an odd feeling settling in his stomach.
It was rather ridiculous that at almost four in the afternoon she was buttoning up her dress and tidying her hair into a neat bun as she made her way downstairs.
The kitchen smelt wonderfully of cooking pastry and Charles was already outside setting up a table for the two of them.
She set about chopping tomatoes and making a salad, a simple dressing, it was all that was needed.
"You're rather enjoying that aren't you?" he said as he returned to the kitchen.
"Don't sound so surprised, I can be domesticated." She bit her lip before looking over to him, "but yes, I am. It's relaxing, now I've settled a little. I was nervous at first."
"Of me?" He put down the chair he was holding.
"Perhaps. Of this, us, being a wife. As you know I've never done it before. I didn't want to get it wrong, to let you down."
"As if you ever could."
She shook her head, "Go and finish setting up else we'll have nowhere to sit and eat."
"What's this?" She asked as she spread her napkin across her lap and watched him fill her glass.
"Cider, nothing better on a summer evening."
"Goodness, I haven't had cider for years."
"I remember having it as a boy, the odd nip or two from my father's glass." He held his glass towards hers, "A toast, to a rather perfect day."
She nodded her head before taking a drink, "My, that's very good."
"It is, I'll have to thank Mr Nielson, a very nice wedding gift indeed."
She fiddled with her glass as she watched him begin to eat, "Do you think we're past being the subject of idle chatter yet?"
"Perhaps. Though I'm sure the village has rather more interesting things to occupy their time."
"Really? More interesting than a butler marrying the housekeeper, you do realise they'll think we've been… you know… for years."
"Let them think what they will think," he swallowed, "this is a very good pie Elsie," he cut off another piece. "We know the truth, that's all that matters."
"I suppose. Though I'm rather surprised at you taking it all in your stride."
"I'm a changed man, I'll freely admit it, a happy man is a changed man. Are you going to eat?"
She smiled, "Yes," and took another sip of the cider before starting on her own meal.
They remained outside until the sun started to set, sitting side-by-side in their back garden, finishing off the bottle and sharing a small bowl of strawberries.
"I think I'm rather tipsy," she admitted, her cheek pressed against his arm. "It's gone right to my head."
"I know what you mean. And my body clock is all out of sync, these late nights…"
"…And late mornings." She laughed, squeezing his leg.
For a while they enjoyed the companionable silence, nothing but the bristle of leaves in the breeze, the odd bird, the creak of the bench they sat on. Her body was curled up against his, warm and soft, and he lifted his arm up and around her so she could snuggle in closer still.
"Earlier, you said it was my choice. Why not ours?" He said lowly.
She breathed, sighed, rubbed his leg again, "Because it's always been your choice. If you wanted to leave tomorrow I'd agree, if you want to stay another year I'll stay. I've told you before, I don't wish to rush you, or push you. You've always been far more attached than I have."
He swallowed, his blood suddenly pumping in his ears. "I think I might want to leave." He could scarce believe he'd said the words.
"If that's what you want." She said finally, gently.
He sensed something in her tone, "But you don't think it is?"
"I think, if I'm honest, that we've had the most wonderful two weeks away from it all, from normal life, and it's easy to be seduced by that. So perhaps making a decision yet is a little sudden."
"A knee-jerk reaction."
"Maybe." She sat up, easing out the tightness in her neck from the position she'd been in. "We should go back, give it a month or so and then decide. I want you to be sure."
He covered her hand with his, "I'm sure of this. I'm sure I love you."
"I'm sure of that too." She turned her hand over and folded her fingers with his. "Shall we go in, I'll make some tea and we can curl up and you can read to me. Because to be honest my eyes are far too hazy to manage it."
"I never thought you unable to hold your drink." He laughed.
"I've never been plied with cider before by my very own handsome butler." She placed a quick kiss to his lips. "Now help me up, else I might fall."