"I believe it is customary for the groom to carry his new bride over the threshold." Charles said, the two of them standing before the front gate of their cottage. Elsie threw her head back and laughed, looping her arm through his. Above them, the night sky was dark and all enveloping. There was just a slight nip in the air. He moved toward her- presumably to lift her up-and though she began to protest, he suddenly swooped her up into his arms.

Pushing through the front door, he turned sideways so that she could survey their new space. The gas lamps were lit and glowing dimly in the corners of the room. While small, it was rustic and certainly cozy - the fire already lit and crackling across the room. She cooed approvingly, and the sound rose up into the rafters. He gently bent to set her down, but took her hand and stepped into the room with her, pulling the front door to.

"Welcome home, then." She said softly, turning to him. He smiled down at her, somewhat in disbelief. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, and together they stood there a moment in the dark, shrouded in their shared reverie. The quiet was broken by Charles' stifled yawn.

"Time for bed?" Elsie said, reaching up to stroke his cheek. There, she let her hand rest for a moment, her eyes falling. This night, this very moment, they had not been yet able to speak of - yet, they were desperate for it.

He picked up a gas lamp from the kitchen table and led her down the hall to the bedroom. Though it was small and sparsely furnished, it had a warmth about it that made her feel especially at home — having grown up in a cottage just this size in Argyll, it was familiar and delightful to her. Perhaps it did not have the furnishings or glimmer of Downton, but it had Charles. And pushed up against the far wall of this bedroom — their bedroom—was a large bed. That was all that mattered in the world to her at that moment.

"I'm not sure what I'm to do," Elsie said, gesturing toward the bed. She was thankful for the dimness of the room; he couldn't see how fiercely she was blushing. He shifted uncomfortably next to her - neither one wanting to be the first one to disrobe, neither wanting to be the suggestive one. She felt a nervous laugh bubble up in her chest.

"Well - I," Charles said, turning to her, his face illuminated by the honey colored light of the gas lamp, "I suppose - perhaps - we could get undressed."


When Charles came in and crawled into bed, Elsie forced herself to stay perfectly still — she didn't want him to know she was still awake. They didn't row very often, but they were both stubborn so fights had the potential to drag on for days once they'd been started.

As he rested his head against the pillow she felt his weight in the bed, his hands reaching toward her, soft upon her back. She stiffened to his touch, rebuffing him. His hands froze against her a moment, then, they disappeared.

"You know neither of us will sleep until we've resolved this," he said, rolling on to his back. She held her breath, but quickly released it, giving in and rolling over toward him. Both of them on their backs, staring up at the ceiling, there was a moment of tense quiet until she finally broke through it with a sigh.

"Charles - why do you insist on comparing her to the young ladies?"

"I wouldn't say I compare them."

"You stack her up against them all the time!" Elsie hissed, "As if to say she's less than they are —" She sat up and eyed him in the darkness, "And don't you dare even think about suggesting that she is just because she doesn't have a title before her name."

Carson sat up abruptly, nearly jostling her off the bed.

"I would never, Elsie. How could you even suggest that?"

"I'd say you're doing a fine job of suggesting it!"

"Why, because I want her to have proper table manners? Because I want her to be well-behaved when she's at Downton? Why is it so troubling to you that I want our daughter to be polite and courteous?"

Elsie rolled her eyes, but, in the dark, didn't get the benefit of seeing his response, "No, Charles—because you behave at times as though Lady Mary is who she ought to be aspiring to be."

He didn't respond, and she continued, laying in to him a bit harder than she anticipated, but once her Scottish temper reared its head she was wont to stop it.

"The Crawley's can give their daughters anything in the entire world — they'll always have enough — more than enough. Those young ladies, sweet as they are, won't have to work a day in their life. They can afford to spend all their time and energy on needlepoint and table manners." She drew in a sharp breath, "So unless you're expecting to receive some great inheritance from the Dowager Countess in repaymentfor all your hard work, I think we ought to focus on teaching Aoife how to live in the real world — not the world of Downton Abbey."

As soon as it had all tumbled out of her mouth, she wanted desperately to take it back. Even though she couldn't see him in the dark room, she closed her eyes, trying to will herself to truly disappear into the night. The longer the silence went on, the closer she came to tears. She was about to speak when a small voice piped up from the darkness.

"Ma?"

At some point during her tirade, Aoife had tiptoed into the room. Squinting into the darkness, Elsie could just make out her little face at the edge of their bed. Charles' hand was gently stroking her hair.

"Aoife, love, why aren't you in bed?" She said, her voice shaking.

"You woke me up." She said, almost accusatorily. Climbing up onto the bed, she clammored over Charles' lap and pressed herself against Elsie.

"Oh, love, I'm sorry. Your Da and I are having a talk —one that, I think, it'd be best for you not to overhear."

She felt Aoife grasp her nightgown, "Are you mad at me?"

Elsie's stomach turned, "Aoife, love — oh, God no. No. I'm not mad at you." She pulled her daughter close, blinking back tears. Next to her, she felt Charles wiggle toward the edge of the bed — after a few moments, a dim lamplight swelled through the room. He turned to face her and she could see his face properly now. His cheeks were red and tear-stained. He pushed his hand across the bedspread towards her. She reached down, covering it with hers.

"Your mother and I cherish you dearly, Aoife." Charles said, looking at his daughter. Elsie looked at him and waited — and after a moment, he glanced up at her. She smiled apologetically and his eyes softened. "You're the most precious thing we have; worth more than anything money could ever buy."


A/N: Aw, shucks. Thank you guys so much for the lovely comments and votes of confidence about this story! I'll keep writing so long as you want to keep reading - and who doesn't love a little Chelsie in their day? Also I'm really enjoying writing Aoife - it's fun to have more creative freedom and she's darling, isn't she? Don't worry- for all the angst there will be some proper smut in the future. . .:) xx