A/N: It's baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack. Once again, I must warn you that there will likely be a long time gap before another chapter is posted. But it's been a long time, and Mistressdickens asked. I can never say no to people who ask that nicely. It also helped I've had an idea for this chapter for ages, so it was just the little matter of actually writing it.

A couple of things – this begins with a flashback, then goes directly into the present part of the story (which actually takes place in the future, if that makes any sense at all).

Tsuro is an actual game that I've played numerous times. I hope I've described it well enough not to confuse you all.

Also, a shout-out to ealga21, who inspired a little snippet of this chapter. Your story made me cry with laughter. If my take on it is at all amusing, I've succeeded. Thank you!

I hope you all enjoy this. It's been such a long time since visiting this Chelsie that I rather doubted my ability to get into their heads (and erm, other bits of them) again, but I do love them so!

Please review if you have time. And, as always, I do not own Downton Abbey, M/Smut alert, NSFW, along with a healthy dose of fluff. Because I love eeeeeettttttttt.

I can't write angst all the time, ya know?


September 2015

The sound of jazz floated through the park. The crowd clapped as the pianist finished the song with a flourish, and the drummer tapped the cymbals. Families and friends picnicked on blankets, while children chased each other in the still-warm evening air.

A man and woman seated beneath a large oak tree were too engrossed in each other to notice the music.

Charles slipped his fingers through Elsie's hair, then along the curve of her face. He heard her hum as they kissed. It turned into a low moan when he slid his tongue slowly over hers.

She loved – she loved him kissing her. It was moments like these that felt as though time had stopped completely, that nothing existed except the two of them. She ran her hand from the back of his neck into his silver hair. He murmured against her lips.

Shouting, a small girl ran past them, breaking their private interlude.

Charles grinned, sighed, and sat up. He glanced around to see if anyone had been staring. They both were private people, and neither often indulged in public displays of affection. But since they had begun a physical relationship, it was more and more difficult to keep their hands off each other.

Except, of course, at Carson, Crawley & Bates.

No one there knew they had been dating each other since January.

Seeing no one look their way, he turned his eyes back to Elsie. The vision of the woman before him made him catch his breath.

She leaned on one hand, the evening light streaking through the reddish tints in her hair. It was decidedly untidy, thanks to him. There were red spots on her face, and her lips were swollen.

But it was the way she gazed at him that made his heart tremble.

Her blue eyes sparkled, starry-eyed.

She leaned forward and caressed his face. Her lips parted to kiss him again.

"We should go," he rumbled as softly as he could, catching her hand with his own and kissing it. His own self-control was hanging by a thread as it was.

"Now?" She raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure? I don't want you to feel like we have to make an early evening of it. I know how much you love jazz." Her eyes twinkled.

"I've heard plenty before, and I'll hear more in the future," he said, gathering up their empty champagne glasses and plates to put back in the basket. "But there are other ways to spend an evening with the woman I love."

As they walked to her car, she felt as though she could either laugh or cry for joy. This man, her man, so stoic and reserved for so long, was a hopeless romantic when it came to her.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.

If it had been anyone else, it would have frightened her, the depths of her feelings for him. For Charles. But she was sure of his love for her, as much as he was sure of her love for him.

They were quiet on the drive back to her condo.

She wondered if he would be offended if she tore his shirt off the second they got inside.

They had made love numerous times since June. Too many to count. She smiled, her face growing warm.

With one exception, though, it had all been rather repetitive. Kissing at her place or his, foreplay in the bedroom, bliss in bed. Sex with Charles was not bad, not at all. It was by far the best she'd ever had. It was just…predictable.

She knew she'd have to bring it up. Somehow. She doubted he would.

She squeezed her thighs together, thinking about that delicious moment in July when he'd propelled her against the door in her city office and had taken her right there. She sucked in a breath, remembering the desperate need they both felt, the heat in his eyes. He hadn't held back, and his open lust for her had been, up to now, the single hottest moment she could remember. She thought he knew how much she had enjoyed it, but understood why there hadn't been a repeat. His back had ached for weeks.

He gazed unseeing out the window as the highway flashed past. He cursed silently, wondering what had possessed him to take Elsie to the Jazz Festival.

If we had stayed in town, instead of going to the city, we would have been home by now.

In bed.

He was well aware she was aroused. Her flushed face, her hands clenching the steering wheel. He just wished his body could hold out long enough, that he wouldn't have to make her wait for him to catch up.

Like he knew he would once they got back to her place.

I hate getting old.

He wondered what she'd do if he unbuttoned her blouse in the main entryway. He had a vision of her taking off her clothes there, but was convinced she'd never do something like that. Not even for him.

Stupid.

They got back to her condo and carried the blanket and went inside. By the time she set the basket on the counter, she'd lost her nerve to seduce him. He seemed tense, and she didn't want to spoil the mood.

He put the glasses in the sink and rinsed them, his mind racing. He wanted to try something different. Something…fun, for lack of a better word. But what?

What would SHE like? What would she think was fun?

She was a modern woman. Not like him. It was one of the reasons why he loved her.

He could simply ask her what she wanted, but he didn't want to spoil the mood.

Then his eyes fell on a familiar box on the corner of the counter, and something clicked in his mind.

Make the suggestion. If she goes for it, good. If not…well, hopefully she will.

And you just might get to have your fantasy, too.

It's not like she wouldn't get anything out of it, either.

"Would you like to play a game?" he asked.

"What?" She blinked, wondering what he meant.

"A board game. Instead of watching a film. Unless you'd rather do that…" He trailed off.

"No, a game sounds fine," she said. Honestly, she'd much prefer him take her back to the bedroom, but she was intrigued by his tone.

And the sun had only gone down during the drive home. They had plenty of time.

He went over to the box and lifted the lid. "Tsuro?*"

She relaxed, smiling, and cleared off the small table. "I wonder why you thought of that one in particular."

Tsuro: The Game of the Path was a new favorite of Becky's, though not on the same level as Candy Land or Uno. It was simple, not requiring any reading ability, or much explanation. The object was for each player to form a path on the board, using cards with lines going in different directions; some straight, some curvy. The goal was to form a path that would not take a player off the board. It was inevitable that a path would do so – but the last player to remain on the board would win.

It was also a short game, barely taking more than fifteen minutes.

Charles set the board on Elsie's small kitchen table. It was a slightly higher table, with only two chairs. He didn't like to think about the many evenings she'd sat there alone.

"Would you like something to drink?" Elsie asked. He shook his head, stacking the cards next to the board so they both could reach them. She sat down and picked up the yellow rock. "This one's mine, then."

"And I thought you'd pick red," he teased, and they smiled at each other. "You'd hardly get the chance otherwise." Becky always picked the red one to use.

They began the game with their rocks on opposite sides of the board. Elsie determined to take up as much space as possible, choosing cards with lines that took her on a zig-zag course. Charles began in a straight line until he got to the other end of the board, when he turned and started going another way.

He huffed out a sigh. "You're in my way."

She laughed, studying her cards. "That's my plan." Now that they were playing, she was enjoying herself.

Raising one prodigious eyebrow, he surveyed her with a serious expression – other than the twinkle in his eye. "That's not very considerate of you, Mrs. Hughes."

"I aim to win, Mr. Carson." She raised her own eyebrow as she laid down another card, grinning wickedly at him.

He let out another exasperated sigh and sat back against his chair. Turning the cards in his hands, he looked at the board and mentally placed them down, trying to see where they could fit that wouldn't result in him losing.

"It seems I will win," she murmured gleefully, glancing at the two cards she had left. He sat forward again.

"We'll see," he said gravely, setting down one card and moving his rock. "He who laughs last, laughs best."

"Don't you mean, 'she'?" She set down her card quickly. "You can only move there, or there, and either way, you'll be off the board-"

"Unless I do this," he set down his second to last card. She glanced down at her one remaining card, then up at the board, then back again. Her eyes widened.

"You-you blocked me!"

He let out a laugh. "If you can use your last card to get you out of trouble, then you have nothing to fear."

They both knew she didn't.

"Well," she set down the card and dutifully traced the squiggly line with her rock until she'd reached the end, sailing off the board. "You bested me, Charles. What is your prize?"

"Oh, I think we should play more than once, don't you?" He gathered up the cards and shuffled them again. "You very nearly beat me that time."

"Fair enough," she laughed, shaking her head, leaning her cheek against her finger. "The best two out of three?"

"There's a start. But I do think there should be a prize," he said, stacking the cards.

"I agree," she nodded.

"All right." He met her eyes and couldn't help the smug smile that appeared on his face. "The loser of the game has to take off an article of clothing."

Her mouth dropped open in shock. But there also appeared a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes. "It's convenient you say that after you've already won."

"Maybe," he said, drumming his fingers on the table in delight. "But I had that idea before we played, and if I'd lost, I still would have suggested it."

She laughed under her breath and turned sideways in her chair, unbuttoning her shirt. "I suppose I could take off one sock."

"That would be cheating, Elsie."

She was beyond thrilled he'd thought outside the box.

Three games later, she was clad only in her underwear, and his shirt and tie were draped over the sofa.

"Your turn," she bit her lip in a vain attempt to keep back a smile as she picked up the cards.

He sighed dramatically and stood up, unbuckling his belt. "There's no need to look quite so pleased." Dropping his trousers, he draped them over the back of his chair.

Both of them had an exceptionally difficult time concentrating on the board during the next game.

Seeing her sitting there, calmly deliberating over her next move.

Topless.

The way her hair fell against her neck and bare shoulders, her pale skin occasionally dotted with freckles, the rosy pink nipples of her breasts.

He cleared his throat to keep from groaning aloud.

She pinched the cards between her fingers, forcing herself to breathe. The way that errant curl of his fell on his forehead, the broad slope of his shoulders, the soft grey hair that covered his chest.

She ached to touch him, to kiss him, to feel his body against hers.

"You're blushing, Mrs. Hughes."

His calling her by her professional name, considering the time and place, not to mention their lack of clothing, caused her cheeks to burn anew. He sounded exactly like he did at the firm.

"Am I?" She croaked, her tongue feeling heavy. "I'm not embarrassed, not really. You've seen me like this before."

"What are you thinking, then?" he asked, curious. He glanced at his cards, glad they were nearly finished.

"I…" she bit her lip, but a bold smile slipped past her anyway. She raised her eyes to meet his. "I was thinking of what people would say if we played this game like this in your office, instead of in my kitchen."

His mouth opened in a round O before he closed it. He nodded, serious, and leaned forward. "I would get no work done if we did. I'd have to keep the door locked all the time." His eyes twinkled. "The staff would talk, and we can't have that, can we?"

"Certainly not." She put her fingers to her lips, ostensibly to think about her next move, but really to gauge his reaction.

He caught his breath. She nearly smiled, but stopped herself in time.

They finished the game in a rush.

"Well," he said while they got up, "You won the best of five games. Not," he glanced down at her in open appreciation, then at himself, "That it would matter now. Whoever lost that last game, would have no more clothes to take off."

"What a pity," she murmured. "I wanted to keep playing."

Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it.

His erection was visible through his boxers. They stood so close she felt his hair brush her chest.

Their lips met, and she was undone.

They never made it to the bedroom that night.


March, 2017

Charles fumbled for the light switch as they stumbled into the hallway. He couldn't find it.

Then again, trying to flip the switch with his elbow and keep both hands on Elsie's breasts was impossible.

She moaned, pressing her back against him. He let out a sound somewhere between a sign and a groan, and gave her a hard kiss on her shoulder, before nuzzling her neck.

"Charlie, for heaven's sake," she gritted through her teeth. She didn't mind his attentions, but she could barely reach around him to throw her underwear and his boxers in the direction of the laundry.

I hope Spike doesn't find it before we do the wash tomorrow.

She fell forward against the wall, mindful enough not to knock pictures off. Charles's hands were everywhere, maddening her with his touch, and she couldn't find the strength to stand on her own.

He brushed his hand across her breasts, feeling the hardened peaks. His other hand slid down her belly and abdomen. Kissing behind her ear, he whispered her name as the tips of his fingers found the soft hair of her mound, then the wetness beneath.

When he dipped one finger inside her, then two, she cried out and arched her back. Her hands were flat against the wall. "Yes, there, just-there, y-e-e-e-e-s-s-"

The slow torment of the last hour as they undressed themselves while playing Tsuro had worked her into a frenzy. Now his breath puffing into her hair and his hands, his fingers, his relentless prodding teasing penetrating her, sent her over the edge not two minutes after they'd been calmly sitting at the table.

He pushed, curled, caressed through her folds, found her nub and circled it with his index finger. He propped his knee against the wall, lending her a little more support – not that she would notice.

The sound of his wife's ecstasy drove his own desire higher.

As did the movement of her body against his.

Gasping, Elsie leaned her head against her hands, her body shaking. Charles gently removed his fingers from inside her, and wrapped his arms around her, letting her rest against him.

"Bed? Or the couch?" he murmured in her ear.

She was still trying to get her breath back to answer him when they both heard a thump from the living room.

"What was that?" Charles asked. They both turned in the same direction. The light from the hallway spilled a little into the room. She shook her head, not able to see much. Then they both made out the dim light of a cat's eyes watching them.

"Spike," growled Charles. "What are you doing in there? Get out of the living room!"

Even as he said it, he knew there was no use. Spike was not Pepper. If their cat wanted to be in a certain room, he would stay there, moving only at his own leisure.

The black cat sauntered nonchalantly from the dark living room into the brightness of the hallway. Elsie hissed, and pulled Charles's hands over her breasts again.

"Don't let him see!" she said, oblivious to Spike's indifference. "I don't want him seeing me naked!"

"He's a cat," Charles laughed. "He doesn't care."

It was one thing for their furry children to see or hear them during sex. If one of the grands was visiting…well, they tended to take extra precautions.

Elsie half held her breath until Spike disappeared into the guest room. She walked quickly to the door on wobbly legs and closed it. "Bed," she breathed, turning back to her man, her eyes dark.

She crawled onto the bed and pushed herself up so she was kneeling on the soft comforter. Charles climbed behind her, his hands on her hips. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the nape of her neck as they moved, their bodies in tandem, her bottom against his groin.

"Elsie," he panted, his hands parting her thighs, "What do you want?"

"I want-I need," she gasped, her desire overwhelming her, "I want you."

"Want me?" he murmured, his fingers dancing close to her center again. "Want me how?"

"I want you inside me," she moaned, "Now." She crawled forward, looking a little like a cat herself. His hazy mind only registered her grace, how beautiful she was. She rested her hands on her pillow.

A moment later she felt him thrust into her.

She couldn't see him, not from this angle, but oh god, how good it felt. She moved her hips back when he moved forward, and smiled at his loud moan. He thrust again, harder, and she keened, feeling him fill her.

Wherever we are, however we join, this is what I long for. For him, for us, for home.

It never ceased to amaze him that she loved him so, wanted him, desired him the way she did. He kept going, listening to her shattering beneath him.

It wasn't enough.

He rubbed her back, pulling out as she quieted. "I need you," he murmured, pleading. She knew what he meant. She rolled over onto her back, and he entered her warmth again, relishing the feel of her breasts against his chest, her hands gliding over his shoulders and down to rest on the small of his back. Her movements were clear.

Closer. I need you closer, mo ghraidh.

The closer they came, the more wild their rhythm, the greater the ache.

My wife, I need you. Let me come home to you.

She thrust her own hips up, and felt his thickness inside her, deep. She reached down to touch herself, him, the place where they joined.

"ELSIE!" He shouted, spilling into her with a great roar. He panted, shook with exertion, as she held him, the two of them still moving frantically, the friction of him inside her causing her to cry out.

He thrust slower, drawing out her pleasure. She keened, her voice spiraling higher.

"Don't stop don't stop don't stop-"

He held on for as long as he could, giving her what she wanted. What she needed.

"Oh god, Charlie," she moaned, throwing her head back, tangling her hands in her hair. "So good…so good, mo chridhe,"

She gave him equal joy in their shared love. "I love you," he panted, "forever, my Elsie, my bride."

Every day that passed brought them more happiness in each other. After almost a year of marriage, with all its ups and downs, they were closer than ever.

She sat up a little, loving the feel of them together, even as they slowed their movements. Soft murmurs passed between them as they kissed.

He kissed her one last time, reluctantly pulling away from her lips, before separating them. He flopped down next to her, exhausted, finding her hand and pulling it onto his chest, over his heart.

"Why don't we play board games more often?" She muttered after a long time. "You drive me mad when we do…and I mean that, Mr. Carson, in the nicest possible way."

"I'm glad to oblige you, Mrs. Carson," he said, his heart finally slowing. He smiled at the ceiling, feeling very languid. "We should play more…maybe that should be our new tradition. After we get home from Pedro's, of course." They had returned from their Friday night haunt before seven that evening. He turned his head in her direction. "You seemed to like games before our marriage too, if I remember correctly."

She laughed out loud, her ring glinting in the lamplight. "The carpet in my condo was nice enough to walk on, but any other activity was not wise." She reached over and traced his cheek. "I had a rug burn on my back for days."

He turned over, lightly running his fingers over her back. "Is that when you decided you liked to be on top?" he asked, his eyes half-lidded.

"Mmm," she murmured, a smile ghosting on her lips. "I've always enjoyed being on top. It was more out of necessity then. And you were very accommodating. Thank you."

"Anything for you, my love," he said, kissing her hand. "You do the same for me." He lifted his head a little from his pillow. "Did I hurt you? When you were on your hands and knees?"

"No, Charlie," she reassured him, shaking her head. He still worries about that. "The one time it hurt was only because I was too close to the headboard and nearly knocked myself out! I've learned to stay far enough away from it."

"Good," he mumbled on the edge of sleep.

She kissed him lightly on his forehead and ruffled his hair fondly. "Sweet dreams. I love you."

"Love you too," he murmured as she turned out the light.

They both were asleep within minutes.


He woke in darkness. For a moment, he wondered why.

Then he felt her hands on him.

And her mouth.

"Els…" he whispered, not fully awake. Other parts of his body were rapidly coming to life. "Love, you don't have to…"

"Let me," she murmured, her breath warm on his belly and her hands sliding down his thighs. "I want to do this. Unless you don't want me to." She hovered above him, her silhouette barely visible.

"Of course I do," he replied. "I just never want you to feel you have to."

"I don't." Her breath was so very warm. It almost tickled. "This is a gift."

"Oh god," he yelled. His hips jerked forward at the feel of her mouth.

How, how did he get so lucky? His wife waking him in the middle of the night, not only to make love, but to love him, give him pleasure until he thought he'd pass out from sheer euphoria. He was still shaking when she pulled him into her arms, laying his head against her chest.

Her heartbeat was steady. Strong.

The room was quiet, but he knew she was still awake.

"I know why you did it," he said. Her fingers stopped in his hair.

"Because I woke up, and wanted to give my husband a gift," she replied. His heart warmed at the soft sound of her lilt.

"Yes. But there's another reason," Charles did not speak above a whisper. "It's all right. I was thinking of them, too." He sighed. "Carpe diem, as the saying goes. Coming home and suggesting we play a game for the first time in ages – I guess it was my way of coping. And because I know you enjoy it," he pressed a soft kiss to her breast, feeling the scar that was still there.

Tears welled in Elsie's eyes. For the first time since Michael Gregson's death, Marigold was coming to stay at their house. She would spend Saturday with them, before Edith picked her up again at lunchtime on Sunday.

"I used to think that if I woke up, wanting you, that it could wait," she said thickly. "But now – I want to take every opportunity." She brushed a kiss on the top of his head. "I'm serious, Charlie, if you ever do just want to sleep, tell me. I never want to force you."

"I will. I have before," he reminded her. "And you have the right to tell me no when I won't keep my hands off you."

"And I have. It doesn't happen often." They held each other, simply enjoying the feel of their arms around each other.

"What time is Edith coming?" She yawned. He blinked, and rolled onto his side, keeping her against his chest.

"Not until nine. She wanted to let us have a bit of a lie-in."

"Sorry to keep you awake," she murmured.

He pulled several strands of her hair over her ear. "Never apologize for that, Elsie Carson."


Pepper scratched the bedroom door. Charles kept his eyes shut, hoping their puppy was just waking up.

Then she whimpered from the floor, on his side of the bed.

Very reluctantly, he opened his eyes. It was still mostly dark, with only dim light peeking through the curtains.

7:01.

The clocks had gone forward the previous Sunday, so sunrise was later. Not that he wanted to be awake around sunrise on a Saturday at all.

Pepper whimpered again.

He knew that sound.

"Right, lass, I'm getting up," he unwound his arms from around Elsie. His wife lay sleeping, her deep breathing peaceful. He tucked the sheet and comforter around her and got up.

Pepper scampered down the hall while Charles shuffled behind her, still mostly asleep. He picked up discarded clothes on the floor and put them in the laundry basket on the washer.

He pulled on his boxers and stumbled across the living room to the back door where Pepper was waiting. Letting her outside, he leaned against the doorframe, not wanting to wake up fully.

The cold March air made him shiver.

Pepper lazily found a proper spot to do her business. He hoped she'd hurry – he wanted to be back in bed next to Elsie.

A loud whistle echoed across the backyard. Charles blinked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Are the Beasleys' grandchildren visiting? The Carsons' next-door neighbor's house was quiet.

That came from the Mikulskis' yard…

A bubble of laughter reached his ears, followed by an unmistakable wolf-whistle.

He turned in the direction of Cathy Mikulski's house. Her backyard bordered theirs. He could see Cathy's deck. Cathy, holding a coffee cup, had just come outside. Her college-aged daughter, whose name Charles couldn't remember, was laughing at something. She stood in between two young men, who looked similarly amused. One of them was Cathy's son – Jeff, he remembered suddenly. The other was her daughter's boyfriend. The boyfriend leaned over, saying something to Cathy, who laughed out loud. Jeff whistled again, an obnoxious sound. The others nearly fell over laughing. Charles frowned.

What's so funny?

Pepper trotted over to a rosebush, and he called to her, hoping she was done. She started his direction, and he moved a little to open the door wider.

In the process, he looked down.

He wore nothing but his boxers.

In full view of the neighbors.

"Shit!" he cried, trying to hustle the dog inside. He reached out his foot to move her along, and nearly fell over. His face burned. Pepper decided to run in between his legs (his horribly naked and exposed legs), and he bumped his shin against the doorframe when he tried to get out of her way.

He slammed the back door shut, trying to ignore the audible sound of clapping from the Mikulskis. Groaning, he covered his face.

He had never felt so embarrassed in his life.

Well, at least Elsie missed it. She'd never let me hear the end of it.

He filled Pepper's water dish and gave her some food before hurrying back to the bedroom. As he climbed back into bed, he was thankful his wife was still sound asleep.


Elsie whistled under her breath, blowing on her tea and reading the newspaper. Charles appeared in the kitchen. His hair was still wet from the shower.

"Good morning," she said. "You must have slept well. You didn't move when I got up."

"Of course I slept well," he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "You were next to me. How did you sleep? Well?"

She gestured to the plate in front of her. "I did. Toast? The coffee should be done in a minute."

He picked up a piece and stuffed it in his mouth. "Thanks. Half past eight already? Edith and Marigold will be here soon."

Elsie glanced at her phone. "Actually, Edith texted me ten minutes ago and said they'd be a little later, 9:30, maybe. Marigold slept in a little longer, and she didn't want to rush her."

Charles nodded, yanking the Arts section of the paper in front of him. "Gives us time for a leisurely breakfast. I'll make omelets in a few minutes, if you like."

"That sounds good, thanks." Elsie blew on her tea, fighting a grin on her lips. She took a drink and felt the heat of the liquid warm her through. Getting up, she went over to the Keurig and poured a little bit of milk into the hazelnut coffee steaming from the cup. Just the way he likes it.

She set the cup in front of him, and he muttered thanks, engrossed in whatever he was reading.

"I let Pepper outside when you were in the shower," she said quietly.

He didn't look up, but clutched the paper tighter. A red flush crept up the side of his neck.

She decided to put him out of his misery.

"Cathy was walking Lucy when I was outside," she said, referring to the Mikulski's dog, a Dachshund. "Of course she stopped to chat. They all were up early this morning because Jeff, Chrissy and Troy were leaving to drive to Florida for spring break." Her eyes danced in merriment. "Apparently you gave them quite a show before they left."

He slumped in his chair and put his head down on the table. "I can't believe I did that," he mumbled, his voice muffled,"…I might as well have walked outside with no bloody clothes on!"

Elsie laughed heartily and put her arms around him. "You weren't completely starkers, Charlie…thank God," she hiccupped. "But as for the rest – well, they won't forget about it any time soon. The proper Mr. Carson, standing at his back door in nothing but his boxers! You certainly opened the young ones' eyes!"

Charles pushed himself up. "Well, that's it," he set his hands on the table. "We have to find another house as soon as possible. I can't live in this neighborhood anymore, not with the humiliation."

Part of him knew he'd get over it in time, but at the moment his mortification was extreme.

"Oh, it's not as bad as that," Elsie said, squeezing his shoulder. "If anything, it made you a bit more human in their eyes. Cathy said she'd hardly ever seen you wearing jeans outside, much less anything less than that. And I hate to pile on, but you'd have to know eventually. Chrissy already posted about it on Twitter and Facebook."

"WHAT!?" He roared, nearly knocking his coffee over. He caught the cup just in time, and winced as a little of the hot liquid sloshed over the rim onto his fingers. "Bloody kids-"

"It's not a catastrophe," Elsie raised her eyebrows, still smiling. "None of them got a picture – fortunately for you," she sat in her chair and sipped more of her tea. "But she did describe it, and the comments are…well. Be prepared come Monday. I doubt many people will say something to you directly, but if you hear laughter outside your office-"

"Right," he growled. "Thirty years of my sterling reputation gone in two minutes."

Elsie showed him the tweet from Chrissy. "Nothing like seeing Mr. Carson in just his boxers to wake us up this AM! On to FL!" It was followed by several emoticons, including hearts and faces crying with laughter.

He calmed down a little after making omelets. There were so many worse things that could happen.

And thinking about it from the perspective of his younger neighbors, it was rather funny.

A little.

Still, he studied the real estate section with a bit more zeal as Elsie washed up. He had finally gotten to meet Mr. Pelham, and had gone to several house showings in the past couple of weeks. Nothing had really stood out to him or Elsie yet, but they knew as the weather got warmer, more homes would go on the market.

At nine-thirty, the doorbell rang. Pepper clicked her way to the front door while Elsie held her back.

"Come in! Good morning, Marigold," Elsie smiled at the little girl, ushering her gently through the door. Edith followed her daughter, carrying her bag.

"Good morning, Mrs. Carson. Hello, Carson," the Crawley's middle daughter shifted her keys in her hand. "Thank you so much for doing this. My university flatmate Laura has been helping me with the magazine for the last month, and I've decided to hire her as my new editor. She's fantastic, but I've got to get her up to speed on things."

"We're glad to have a visit from Marigold any time," Charles said softly. He was rewarded by a smile from the little girl, who had seated herself on the floor next to Pepper.

"I'm glad to hear you found someone you trust with the magazine," Elsie said. She was heartened by Edith's appearance. The young woman had lost a ghastly amount of weight since December, but she looked like she'd gained some of it back.

Edith nodded. "If I could be Manager-in-Chief as well as editor, I would. But it's impossible." Her dark eyes flicked to Marigold. "I'd never be able to sleep, much less do anything else. But I couldn't-" her breath wobbled, "I couldn't hand over the responsibility to just anyone. Michael worked so hard to make the magazine successful, and I will not let it falter on my watch."

"Of course you won't," Elsie squeezed her arm. "You are looking better, dear."

"Thank you." Edith sniffed and crouched down next to her daughter. "Sweetheart, I have to go. Have fun with Uncle and Aunt Carson, and I'll see you tomorrow, all right?"

"Can I see you tonight?" Marigold asked, hugging her mum. "Before I go to bed?"

"Absolutely. We'll FaceTime." Edith kissed her and stood up. "She's been doing so well, but the rare times we've been apart, she always wants to see me before she goes to sleep. Even if she stays with Mama and Papa."

"Whatever makes her comfortable," Charles assured her. "And happy."

To his surprise, a broad smile appeared on Edith's face, and her eyes twinkled. "I'm glad you both understand. As for me…well, I laughed this morning like I haven't laughed in months. You should let Pepper outside wearing your boxers more often, Carson. It really brightens everyone's morning."

Before he or Elsie could reply, she blew a kiss to Marigold and walked out.


"Could I have orange?" Marigold asked, painting enthusiastically at the table. A little too enthusiastic, Charles thought, seeing paint all down her front and a smudge on her cheek. He was grateful Elsie had thought to put a smock on her before things got messy.

"Orange! Again?" He teased, then set the bright color in front of her. He wasn't sure what the little girl was painting, but it was all bright colors – bright red, orange, vivid blue. He wiped his hands on a towel and hung it on the rack to dry, lunch being over and done.

Elsie continued to draw some kind of complicated pattern on her piece of paper, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I thought after we're finished, we could go to the park," she said, glancing up at Marigold. "The sun's out today. Would you like that? We'll take Pepper with us."

Marigold nodded, humming. They continued working away. Charles took a fresh piece of paper and went to sit down. His phone buzzed. Elsie gave him a look when he answered it.

No law work today! Not when we have a guest!

She got a little more irritated when he got up from the table and went down the hall. But she didn't have long to wonder who had interrupted them.

"That was Mr. Pelham," Charles said, returning to the kitchen. "Apparently there are a couple of houses he'd like us to see. One family's gone for the weekend, so he thought it'd be the right time. The other house just went up for sale," he put his phone in his pocket. "It won't even go on the market until Monday."

"What did you tell him?" Elsie asked. She thought she already knew, and wasn't sure how she felt about it.

"I told him we'd meet him in half an hour," he said quietly. "Neither one is far to drive, and the second house is close to the park. We could see them, and still have time to go there for a good long while. Marigold," he addressed the girl before Elsie could say anything, "Would you like to go and look at houses with us?"

She looked up at him from her painting. "Okay."

Well, she didn't say no outright.

Elsie began gathering up the paints and brushes from the table. "How many houses are there? Two?" She did not think it was a good idea to drag Marigold all over town with them. Surely there would be a better time to go house-hunting.

"Just the two," Charles said under his breath. "I would have told him we'd see them later, but he seemed very enthusiastic. Do you think she'll be all right?"

"I suppose she'll have to be," Elsie sighed. She went to take off Marigold's smock.

Fifteen minutes later, they were all in the car, except for Pepper.

"We can't take her with us, not this time," Charles said. "I'm sorry." He glanced in the rearview mirror at Marigold, who sat quietly in her carseat.

"Lass, do you remember Uncle Carson and I are looking for a new house? One that's better for us and for our family. We need extra rooms for when you and Sybbie, George, Poppy and Sebastian visit, as well as one for Becky," Elsie turned around. They had never been able to have her sister stay overnight. She wanted that to change as soon as possible.

"Uh huh," Marigold said. "And a swing."

Elsie and Charles exchanged smiles.

"Yes, a swing in the backyard is very important."


Bertie was waiting for them when they pulled up. He started to say something from the front stoop, but stopped when Elsie went to the backseat and lifted Marigold out. The three of them walked down the driveway, the little girl in between.

"Ah, I see you've brought an expert set of eyes," the young man smiled. He crouched down to Marigold's level. "I'm pleased to meet you. I'm Mr. Pelham."

"Hello," she said shyly, before hiding her face in Elsie's coat. Charles touched her on the head.

"This is Marigold Gregson, one of the little lights that brighten our days," he said. Bertie stood up and unlocked the front door, letting them in.

"You and Elsie talk about them all the time. It's nice to meet one of them." He followed them inside and let them wander, answering questions as they went.

The house was larger, with a huge family room that had windows overlooking the backyard. There was certainly enough room for guests, as well as space for when they had gatherings, but both Charles and Elsie felt like it was too big.

"It's very nice," Elsie whispered when they were upstairs looking through the four bedrooms. "New. But it's…"

"Sterile?" Charles supplied. He gazed out at the backyard, with its new sod. "And you see that field behind? I'd bet a lot of money in five years that will be filled with houses. So no pretty view of those woods. Except for upstairs."

Bertie took them outside, where Marigold ran around the yard.

"There's no trees," she said bluntly, coming up to the three adults.

"No there isn't," Bertie said. "This is a nice big yard, though – do you like that?"

Marigold turned, spinning her arms, her purple jacket bright in the sunshine.

"Never mind," Elsie grinned. "Don't take it personally, Bertie, they all live in their own worlds at that age."

He nodded. "And her, more than other children," he said softly. "I…didn't want to bring it up in front of her," he lowered his voice, even though Marigold was a safe distance away, "But isn't she Michael Gregson's daughter? And Edith Crawley's?"

"She is," Charles said, crossing his arms. "I wasn't aware you knew them."

Bertie shook his head. "I don't. Not personally. But I've sold a couple of homes owned by employees of The Sketch, and kept in touch. They've been terribly affected by Mr. Gregson's death. I cannot imagine what his widow is going through. I'm very sorry," he said, watching Marigold. "No child should have to go through that."

They walked slowly back to the house, and he answered a few more questions about it. Then they all left to go to the next house.

"Just one more house to see," Elsie said to Marigold as Charles turned onto the cul-de-sac. "Then we can go to the park."

They got out and walked onto the front porch of the house, Bertie right behind them. Pale green siding covered the building.

Charles read the sheet the agent gave him. "The house is only ten years old," he said. "And the seller refurbished the kitchen earlier this year? That's good."

"Lots of windows," Elsie commented, smiling as Marigold sat down on the porch swing. "I noticed the bay window when we drove up."

Bertie smiled. "It's one of the best features of the house. Wait till you see it from the inside."

"Who built this?" Charles asked. "Most of the homes on this street look similar, but this one doesn't."

"That's because it was custom-built," Bertie opened the front door. "There are a lot of features here you don't see everywhere. That's why I was so keen for you to see it before it goes on the market. I don't think it will stay there very long."

His phone rang as they were going in, so he gestured for them to continue on without him.

In the front hall, stairs divided the house. On either side of them, two archways led to the back. On the left side, there was a lovely sitting room overlooking the porch.

"We could put a library in here," Charles commented. He appreciated the built-in shelves. "It would be very cozy, don't you think?"

On the right, French doors led into the master suite. "I don't know about this," Elsie said, perusing the room. Marigold wandered into the walk-in closet. "The sheet said there are two additional bedrooms upstairs. When Becky comes to visit, she'd be alone up there."

Charles nodded. "That's something to consider, of course. But there are advantages to us having a bedroom on the ground floor."

"Such as?"

"Fewer stairs to climb in the future. And," he wagged his eyebrows at her, "It would be easier to get here after playing board games. Did you notice the laundry room is right on the other side of the wall? We could drop our clothes in there on our way to bed-"

"Charlie, shhh!" Elsie reddened as Marigold walked past them and into the master bath. They heard the little girl say something, then laugh.

"What is it?" Elsie asked, poking her head in.

"It echoes in here!" she said, looking around at the tile floor, the large shower, and the even larger tub. Charles leaned in the doorway.

"Yes it does," his voice boomed across the floor. Marigold gave him a toothy grin. "You and all your cousins, including Aunt Mary's soon-to-be born baby, could easily fit in the tub." He also thought both he and Elsie could fit in there together. From the look on her face, she thought the same thing.

They walked back through the French doors and climbed the stairs. To Charles and Elsie's surprise, the space opened up before them, showing a loft. The current owners of the home had already put some of their belongings in storage, leaving the upstairs mostly unfurnished.

"What is this space?" Charles asked, walking forward. Light fell in the bright room. Elsie shook her head in wonder.

"It could be any number of things," she said. "An office, a sewing room-" She thought she might like to take up such an activity once she retired. Her eyes widened, thinking of Becky. "An art room, or maybe a playroom."

She had been far too practical to let herself get attached to any other house before. But she found herself picturing their family in there. Marigold marched around the perimeter of the loft. Charles opened two doors on their right.

"Bedrooms," he said, letting Elsie look in. "Small, but they could fit queen beds at least. Or two twins." A bathroom was on the left, complete with a regular tub and showerhead. Elsie came out of it and saw Charles with a look on his face she couldn't describe.

"What?" she asked. Silently, he pointed to the front of the house. Marigold sat on a window seat in the bay window, humming "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."

Elsie moved to join her, almost in a daze. She sat down near the humming girl and looked outside. Big pear trees, not yet budded, were in the front yards of the homes across the cul-de-sac. She knew once spring and summer came, there would be plenty of green to enjoy.

But the window seat…it was huge. Long enough, and wide enough, for even her Charlie to lay down. She met his soft eyes, her own rather watery.

"The Cottage," she whispered. "My God, it's perfect."

"I know," he said, taking her hand. They both were quiet, remembering the window seat at the cottage on the Biltmore Estate, where they'd spent their honeymoon. Elsie cleared her throat.

"Marigold?" She asked. "What do you think? Do you like the window seat?"

"Uh huh," Edith's daughter nodded, staring at something out the window. "I can see the cars from here!"

The two adults looked to where she pointed, to the main street at the end of the cul-de-sac.

"I see you've found one of the best parts of the house," Bertie said behind them. Elsie quickly rearranged her face into something more neutral. She did not want to be obvious about her partiality.

But she knew, and she was fairly certain Charles did too, that they had found a place they could call home.

"I'm sorry I took so long," Bertie apologized. "Have you seen everything then?"

"No, we haven't," Charles said, helping Elsie up. He turned just in time to catch Marigold, who had taken a flying leap off the window seat. "Whoa, missy! No jumping!" He lowered her to the floor and covered her small head, his fingers draped over her eyes. She giggled. "No jumping off the window seat, is that clear?" he asked in a light tone, though he was serious. She nodded and went down the stairs with them.

On the ground floor, the back of the house was taken up by the kitchen and family room. The kitchen was an open space with an island and three bar stools. On the far side of the family room was a handsome brick fireplace.

"Is it gas?" Charles asked, bending over. He knew the answer before Bertie told him.

"No. It takes wood only. Very old-fashioned," the agent joked, grinning at Elsie.

"So nothing like you, Charlie," she teased her husband, running her hand down his arm.

"Can I go outside?" Marigold asked. She was mesmerized, looking out the patio doors.

Elsie came up behind her and unlocked them. "May I. And yes, you may. I think we'll join you."

The fenced backyard was not large, but there was a patio with nice landscaping around the edges. Two trees marked either side near the back. Beneath one was an iron-rod bench. Hanging from the other was-

"A swing! A swing!" Marigold tore out the door, across the patio, and was on the wooden swing before any of the adults had crossed the patio.

"I think she's excited," Charles said drily. "I don't know that I've ever heard her shout like that. Sybbie and Poppy, yes, but not sweet Marigold!"

Bertie answered a few of their questions, then looked at his phone. "I've got to return a call, so how about I meet you all back on the front porch?" he asked. "Take your time, though. The family's moved out of state, and Mrs. Henderson won't be back here until Wednesday." He walked back into the house.

Charles and Elsie sat on the bench. Marigold had gotten herself moving, and was blissfully swinging across from them.

"It's a narrower yard, but a cricket match could easily be held here," Charles leaned forward, his hands folded. At Elsie's raised eyebrow, he held up a hand. "I know, I know – the batsmen would have to face away from the house. Otherwise, we'd be assured of broken windows."

"Is this it, Charlie?" She asked, keeping her voice low. It seemed impossible on the one hand. They'd only been properly looking at houses for a month. But this place was so right…

He took her hand. "It is if you want it to be. I like it," he shook his head. "No. I love it. I feel like this was always meant to be our home. I never would have looked at it alone."

So many memories rushed through his mind. So many thoughts. Of the lives they had both shared, of their time spent apart. Of the time ahead of them. First his retirement, then when Elsie was ready, hers. Becky visiting, staying overnight. Pepper exploring the backyard, Spike the inside. Their "spirit-children", the lights of their lives, playing in the loft upstairs and outside. Gatherings with friends and colleagues – not colleagues anymore, he thought, not most of them. Family.

Living, really living his life with the woman he adored.

"Charlie?" Elsie touched his face, worried at the tears in his eyes. He smiled, pressing her hand to his cheek.

"You've made this possible," he said, mindful of Marigold nearby. "All of it. I'm so glad you agreed to marry me, do you know that?"

"I do," she leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss. "I thought you'd never ask. But you did. I never wanted to be anyone else's wife. Just yours."

"You've given me a family," he squeezed her hand.

Now it was her turn to get teary. "Oh, you've done your part," she said. "Half of our family was yours before they were mine."

"The Crawley half," he joked, and they chuckled.

"We haven't made a family in the traditional way," she said, snuggling up next to him. "But I am so grateful for the one I have with you." She glanced at the house. "This is home. This is the one I want."

He kissed her as a breeze rustled through the grass, and Marigold sang as she sailed through the air, holding tight to the ropes on the swing.