A/N: Wowsers, you all are awesome! I'm glad I wasn't the only one pining away for these two. A shout out to Brenna-Louise, who inadvertently gave me the name of this fic. At the end of Managing Love, she said if I was "inclined to revisit this lovely AU in the future, I'd love to see some little scenes from Charles and Elsie's married life…". I named this fic before remembering she said that, so I take no credit for the name. So please keep reviewing, and I'll use one of your comments for future use!
Of course, I don't own Downton Abbey, but you all knew that already. The music that inspired this chapter is "Tempest", by Jesse Cook. Flamenco guitar. Yum.
Text from Phyllis Baxter to Elsie Carson, July 27, 2016, 7:38 am
Did I remember to give you a copy of the agenda from January's meeting? Wanted to make sure you had that.
EC to PB, 7:42
Y. You put it in the file with the minutes. Thank you!
PB to EC, 7:43
Oh good. I've been worried that I forgot that.
EC to PB, 7:45
No need to worry. You're very thorough, Phyllis. Charles says he never knew how he got along before you took over!
PB to EC, 7:46
He's had you for most of his career. I'd say you have more to do with his success than I do!
EC to PB, 7:46
Well, that goes without saying…:) But don't underestimate yourself. You've been his best secretary by a mile.
PB to EC, 7:47
Thank you! I hope the meeting goes well. Tell May Joe and I said hello.
EC to PB, 7:48
You're welcome, and I will. See you tomorrow!
The doors closed behind her, and Elsie sighed in relief at the feel of the air conditioning. Even before eight o'clock in the morning, the summer air was heavy and stifling.
The biannual meeting of office managers was held in January and July at the Merton Law Firm. On the same days, local partners also met at Merton. Elsie had missed the January meeting earlier in the year due to the situation with Vera Bates. Then, Phyllis had gone in her place.
"Ah! Elsie! It's good to see you!" May Bird was talking to the receptionist. "We're right in here. You remember it, I'm sure."
"I certainly do," Elsie stepped into the large conference room with a smile. "It's known as the fishbowl for a reason!" Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the room on three sides. "Oh, thank you for seating me with my back to the doors. That should help me to stay focused." She set down her satchel next to her chair.
"That's a detail that comes with experience, as you know," May grinned. "I had to get the secretary to re-do your name plate," she gestured at the paper card. "She forgot and typed Elsie Hughes the first time."
"I'm still getting mail with that name on it," Elsie laughed, sitting down. She pulled out her laptop and the file with Phyllis's notes. May went to direct other managers into the room. Elsie waved distractedly at various people as they came in, including Ethel Parks.
She opened her laptop and found a Post-It stuck to the screen. Pulling it off, she read his handwriting.
My beautiful darling,
I'll see you at lunch, even if it's just a glimpse. I hope I didn't destroy your concentration completely this morning. I know I'll have a hard time keeping my attention focused.
I miss you.
Love,
C
Elsie's face grew warm as she turned her computer on. The windows to the lobby were hardly the reason she would struggle with her focus.
She couldn't blame him for that. She had started it.
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His eyes began to glaze over barely ten minutes into the meeting. What Dickie Merton had to say was, of course, important, and worth listening to.
But the memory of his vixen of a wife straddling him earlier that morning just wouldn't leave his mind.
They had been married for nearly three months. Charles didn't know why he had been expecting a change in how they felt about each other. Perhaps it came from listening to too many unhappy men who slept alone.
Not that either he or Elsie were complaining. If anything, marriage had inflamed their mutual desire even more.
She had woken before him, before sunrise. She lay on her side and watched him sleep. A soft smile on her face, she felt slightly unnerved by the sudden urge to wake him to make love. She bit her lip. Maybe it was unnatural, wanting him like this. They weren't young.
He snuffled against the pillow before his eyes opened. He grinned at her sleepily.
"Good morning."
At the sound of his voice, she made up her mind all at once. She slid a leg over his and shifted onto him. He wore shorts, but the summer heat meant his chest was bare. His stubble scraped her face when they kissed. Teasing his tongue with her own, he gasped in surprise. His eyes opened wide. Running a lone finger down his nose and across his lips, she smiled, rocking her hips slowly.
"Good morning."
He doubted he'd ever seen anything so sexy in his life. Her hair wild from sleep, one side of her sleeveless nightgown off her shoulder. His body woke up all at once.
Cupping her face in his hands, he traced a line of kisses across her forehead, dropping one on her nose before plundering her pretty mouth. He elicited several short gasps from her. She attempted to take off her nightgown, but he grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands down to his mouth.
He kissed her fingers, sucking each one. He lightly nipped the tip of her ring finger when she pressed it into his mouth. She didn't expect it when he abruptly dropped her hands and shifted her up, so that he lay against the pillows with her head slightly above his. Her lips were parted.
He slid his hands from her hips to her breasts, palming them through the thin fabric.
"Charles…" she breathed. She wiggled her hips, feeling his erection through his shorts. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her down to him again.
He sucked her nipple through her thin nightgown, hardening it to a peak.
She cried out. He lavished her other breast-
Dickie dropped his pen on the table. "That's why we have to approach the issue of forum non conveniens from a different perspective-"
Robert blinked heavily, half-asleep. John glanced at the managing partner out of the corner of his eye, an amused smile on his lips. Charles quickly sipped some water.
He let out a long breath and loosened his collar. The room was very warm, he thought.
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She had succeeded, mostly, in keeping her mind on the work in front of her. May's voice never changed. The second hour of the meeting began.
Elsie drifted away.
He responded to her cries, swirling his tongue against the side of her neck. She dug her fingers into his hair. She kept trying to move again, to kiss him, but his big hands held her firmly in place.
His mouth and lips teased her higher.
Finally, he let go of her to let her move again. She yanked off his shorts, untangling them from his feet, and sank onto his hard flesh with a long sigh. Her nightgown rode up, bunched between them. Neither of them bothered to do anything about it.
They moved together. He altered the angle of his hips.
She keened, the tone of her voice changing, like a singer jumping an octave. Rocking against him, she chased the wind.
He thrust into her again. Deep, shallow. Shallow, shallow, deep.
She shattered in ecstasy. It felt so good, he was so good, every time they moved-
He roared her name in her ear, the sound mingled with her cries. She spurred him on. He did so, increasing the pace. She loved the feel of him inside her, his hands on her hips. His strong fingers caressing her legs, then her bottom. The metal of his ring against her skin.
She came undone once more.
There was nothing but him. Her man, them together, where he ended and she began, she didn't know-
"Fancy a walk? You're probably tired of sitting." May Bird.
Elsie blinked, cleared her throat. "Yes." She took an enormous breath and tried to get her mind back into the present. Around her, people were getting up and stretching. "A break sounds nice."
And dunking my head in ice cold water.
It's like I've gone backwards forty years.
Still, she wasn't sorry. Although she hoped she hadn't missed anything important.
She and May walked to the kitchen through a maze of cubicles. "I haven't seen so much foot traffic past the fishbowl in years," May commented. "The January meeting was nothing like it."
"Oh?" Elsie asked, grateful her seat kept her ignorant. You wouldn't have noticed even if you had been able to see through the windows. "What was going on?"
Ethel held the door into the kitchen open for them. "I think people were trying to get a look at you."
Elsie jerked her head at the young woman. "Me? Why do you say that?" She leaned against the counter.
Caroline Anstruther was in the corner, stirring her coffee. "Well, a lot of people wanted to get a look at the woman who caught the Silver Fox."
The what!?
"I beg your pardon?" Elsie didn't want to be rude, but the comment caught her completely off-guard.
"Surely you knew," Caroline said, tapping her spoon against the lip of her cup. "Informally, that's the name Charles Carson has been known by. Oh, it's nothing serious, dear," she trilled when Elsie opened her mouth in outrage. "Many attorneys and staff in the county – mostly women, but a few men as well – have called him that for years."
"Is this true?" Elsie turned to May. The hope that Caroline was simply exaggerating died when she saw her friend's face.
"I thought you knew," May said, her eyebrows raised. "I figured you heard it from someone years ago."
"No," Elsie replied. She felt stunned. How have I not heard this? "I was under the impression he had a reputation for being rather boring."
"Oh, certainly," Caroline sipped her coffee, wrinkling her nose as if it weren't to her taste. "Traditional. Professional to a tee. But there was always a great deal of speculation that his reserve held back, shall we say, a rather passionate heart." A smile quirked on her lips.
"When Mr. Carson got married, it seemed to prove it," Ethel said. "At least, that was the talk at my office, at Palmer."
"And the fact that his chosen bride was you only confirmed that speculation," Caroline said, her eyes beady. "After all, you must be aware over the years that you acquired a certain reputation."
"And what reputation is that?" Elsie asked, not bothering to hide her disdain.
"I'm sure Caroline didn't mean any disrespect," May said, stepping in. Elsie repressed a snort. Caroline was unfazed.
"Of course I didn't, Mrs. Carson," she said, emphasizing the last name. "It's no secret after all – there was Steven Russell, then Pete Halton from Haxby. Oh, and before them, Martin Dye from Jones Day. I also heard once that Richard Carlisle tried to make a move on you, but you brushed him off completely. I completely understand that one, dear," she nodded at Elsie in sympathy. "Even I have my limits."
Elsie went bright red. It was all in the past (distant past), but somehow her relationship history sounded worse coming from Caroline Anstruther.
The Merton attorney sipped her coffee once more. "People wanting a glimpse of you is more a reflection on Charles than on you. Years ago, if someone said he would be married someday, many people would have thought he'd marry some frigid woman. Someone who looks like your mother. Or the stereotypical librarian."
What she didn't say hung in the air. Not someone like you.
"People are curious, that's all," Ethel said, a small smile playing on her lips. "I suppose they feel like there's a whole other side to Mr. Carson that they never saw. And you must have another side. After all, you married him."
Elsie was immensely grateful that several women chose to enter the kitchen at that moment. She slipped out and headed back toward the fishbowl.
How appropriate.
She was devoutly grateful that none of them had any idea what their home life was like.
It sounded like people talked about it. Too much.
The Silver Fox? A "passionate heart"? My "reputation"?
It unsettled her. It reminded her a little too much of Edna Braithwaite, and the knowledge that much of her and Charles's relationship prior to marriage had not been nearly as private as they had thought at the time.
And now everyone's watching us. What do they expect? That we'll start going at it in public?
If she had heard of it from Beryl or Thomas or anyone at Carson, Crawley & Bates, she would have laughed.
It's different there. I don't mind a bit of teasing or knowing looks there. Everyone there knows us. They're like family. They are family.
She went back into the empty conference room and looked at her scanty notes, under the pretense she was working.
Why does it bother me? This is nothing like the situation with Edna. Caroline's a gossip. She talks about everyone.
And Ethel wasn't being rude, or even nosy. She told the truth. People are just curious.
The Silver Fox?
That bothered her. But she couldn't articulate why. She scribbled aimlessly on a notepad, marshalling her thoughts.
The thought that other attorneys and friends talked about her didn't faze her; these weren't malicious rumors put forth by Edna or Mr. Bates' psychotic ex-wife. But it irritated her that her husband was talked about as some kind of…object of physical attraction.
Then it hit her, and she almost laughed out loud at the absurdity.
She was jealous. And protective of her man. My curmudgeon.
…
Well. He is a silver fox.
And he married...me.
She felt a surge of pride.
I wonder if he knows about the kind of attention he attracts. Other than random women at Pedro's trying to pick him up.
She laughed under her breath, and read his note again fondly.
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Somehow Charles managed to concentrate enough during the rest of the morning. By lunchtime he felt exhausted from the effort.
Retirement sounds better every day.
He was waiting in line to pick up his lunch in the kitchen, his thoughts filled with Elsie, when he thought he heard his name. A nearby cubicle of secretaries were eating their lunch. They were hidden by a room divider, but could clearly be heard.
"…can't believe Mr. Carson's married. Ugh, it was too good to be true! The one single man left worth looking at, and now he's taken-"
"Did you see her? In the fishbowl this morning? Me and Stacey walked by to get a good look at her."
"Do you think she could feel the death stares through the window?" A couple of women laughed. The first woman sighed.
"Maybe it's fitting that he ended up marrying Elsie Hughes-"
"Yeah, because she's his office manager!"
"Well that, plus because of her nickname. Years ago, when she dated Steven Russell, he used to call her the Red Fox."
"Huh. The Red Fox and the Silver Fox. I never thought of that, Linda!" The group giggled.
Charles could not believe what he was hearing. He felt indignant, appalled and embarrassed. Right in front of him in line, Prudence Shackleton raised her eyebrows, trying not to laugh. She tugged on his jacket sleeve and gestured to the kitchen. He let out a huff as soon as the door was shut.
"I can't believe them, talking about Elsie and I that way!" he took the offered tray from his old friend. "Thank you. Talking about me like I was a…a piece of meat or something! And what were those names they called us?"
Prudence's eyes danced as she forked some salad onto her plate. "Really, Charles, are you telling me you didn't know half the attorneys in the county called you the Silver Fox?"
"Yes, I knew," he said, his voice gruff. "I always thought it was a joke-"
"You should take it as a compliment," she said smoothly, handing him the salad tongs. "I had heard Steven's nickname for Elsie back when they dated. I suppose it stuck."
"But…but…why talk about us that way? It's none of anyone's business!" He picked up a turkey sandwich without mayonnaise and put it on his plate. Prudence laughed, shaking her head.
"You're absolutely right. But when has that ever stopped people from talking? My dear Mr. Carson, whether you like it or not, you and your wife are the objects of interest. At least for a while," she grabbed a napkin. "Perhaps you've forgotten how many attorneys were present at your wedding. I always knew you had a softer side, but you took many of your colleagues by surprise."
They headed back to the conference room to eat. Charles searched through his memory of the wedding.
What did I do that was so shocking? Other than get married? He remembered getting emotional during the ceremony, but that seemed normal to him.
Maybe dancing with Elsie was a surprise. Not that he remembered anything of their first dance. All he could remember was the feel of her in his arms, the way she looked…
He focused on holding his tray steady, so as not to spill his food. Staff and office managers were mingling by the table of drinks. His breath caught before he could stop himself. Open-toe silver sandals with a short-sleeve crocheted blue dress, accentuated by the curve of her hips.
Damnit. She really is the Red Fox.
He hoped his body wouldn't embarrass him.
Elsie turned from the table with her iced tea. Her face flushed at the sight of her husband. Broad shoulders, grey suit with a light green tie. For some reason, she couldn't take her eyes off his collar, the skin above.
They stood staring for a full four seconds before both spoke.
"Would you-"
"I've-"
They laughed quietly. She picked up a bottle of water. "Would you like water, Mr. Carson? Or something else?"
"Water is perfect. Thank you, Mrs. Carson," he replied, loving the color that spread down her face. She set it gently on his tray, along with a tiny folded piece of paper.
"Well," he said awkwardly, keenly aware that they had an audience, and that he had a tray of food in his hands, "I must get back." He wished he could set the tray down and kiss her.
She repressed a shiver at the sight of his eyes flicking from hers to her lips. Husband, perhaps it's best we're forced to be professional right now. "Yes," she agreed. She went to walk past him. "Have a good afternoon."
"You too," he said, turning his head. She couldn't resist. She went up on her tip-toes and kissed him, sliding her hand down his jacket sleeve. He watched her go, his eyes soft. Then he shook himself from his reverie and returned to the attorneys' conference room. He ignored the sudden surge in conversation as he left the room.
He was halfway through his salad when he remembered the slip of paper. It was the Post-It he had put on her laptop at home when she was in the shower. She had written a reply.
A ghraidh,
I miss you, too.
I must admit that my concentration was absent for much of the morning. Doubtless it will be elusive this afternoon as well.
Thoughts of the Silver Fox keep me from my work.
I wouldn't have it any other way.
Love,
The Red Fox
