Her hand tucked into his elbow, they walked into their new home. After the initial thrilling newness of putting their coats and hats away in a home of their own, they sat at their dining room table and set about eating Mrs. Patmore's lovingly-prepared wedding dinner. They chatted happily about the few final things that needed to be arranged. If that chair might be better here, if the curtains in the kitchen should be lighter, if the set of china (which she had had to talk down from sixteen place settings to eight) should be put in this cupboard or that.
They didn't discuss the fact that they'd both put their things in the master bedroom.
Many of their trips to the house had been alone. It was difficult to leave the abbey at the same time. So she'd put her things in the largest bedroom, and, on a later trip, he'd done the same. Their talk grew sparser as they washed the few dishes. Total silence was heard as he dried the last dish and she took the cloth from him to dry her own hands.
It was completely dark outside when they both walked slowly to their sitting room with the overly large furniture. But they sat in separate chairs. Looking at the fireplace that contained no fire, they both felt like fools. It had been so easy to plan for and prepare a new home. Their well-honed efficiency and intimate knowledge of the workings of a household made the task pleasant child's play. Not so easy, however, was taking the risk of being the first to speak of their feelings for one another. Being so busy for the past few months had been a convenient excuse for pushing aside that most important conversation that should have happened long ago. And so there they sat, each entirely unaware of what was on the other's mind. The awkwardness was excruciating and they both tried to work up the courage to say something. Anything. But it was so very difficult. Years and years of not saying what was on your mind was not overcome lightly. Especially when there was your own heart at risk. And now, for better or worse, they were together until the end of their days.
She felt panic start to settle in.
What had they done? It had seemed so reasonable until this moment. No one knew her better than he did, but they were still strangers to one another. She'd no idea how deep his feelings for her ran. After three foolish months, she still hadn't a clue about what he really wanted from their marriage. Not knowing that his thoughts mirrored hers, she took calming breaths. She philosophically admitted to herself that nothing would be settled tonight, nor did it need to be. Plenty of married people slept — and only slept — in the same bed. It didn't have to mean anything. She rose and said as normally as she could,
"I'm off to bed, then." She started toward their bedroom. "Good night, Mr. Carson."
Concerned with having just the right amount of cheer in his voice, he quickly responded, "Good, night, Mrs. Hu — Carson."
She stopped. She'd already walked far enough past his chair that her back was to him. It would have been hard to say who was more disappointed. The very first time he'd called her by her married name — his name, and he'd ruined it. He cursed himself for a fool. He'd been so worried about how the night would go, it had just slipped out. In shame, he listened to her footsteps begin again and recede to their shared bedroom.
In a near panic, he thought wildly about what he should do now. He knew for a fact that he needed to give her time to get ready for bed. But how long? Ten minutes? An hour? His heart beat wildly as a new and terrifying thought came into his mind. What if she didn't even know his things were in there? After all, he'd put his things in that room after she had. At the time, he had pushed away the thought that she might want the room for herself and allowed himself to feel slightly pleased that she might want to share more than a room with him. Now, he felt bile rise in the back of his throat at the thought of walking into that great bedroom and her not expecting it. He sat stock still in his chair, his breathing was rapid, and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.
In the end, he watched the clock tick by nearly an hour before pulling his stiff body out of the chair. There was nothing for it. He couldn't sleep in one of the other rooms, fully clothed. All of his things were in the master bedroom. He'd have to go in there eventually.
As a man walking to the guillotine, so walked Mr. Carson to the bedroom where his wife lay. His hand hovered near the partially open door. Should he knock? Say something? Make a ruckus before entering? What if she was asleep? The hot night and his nerves sent a trickle of sweat down his back. He pressed the door open slowly and it gave off no noise. Stepping quietly into the room, he saw her lying on the far side of the bed, her back to him. It wasn't clear if she was awake or asleep. As quietly as he could, he dressed for bed, noting that she'd opened the windows. Since the air was overly warm and humid, he was glad of the cross breeze. It was one of the reasons they had chosen this house. Situated snugly in the back of their home, the master bedroom had two large windows that allowed for a welcome flow of air.
Sitting down on the bed, he grimaced at the noise and movement. He prayed he wouldn't wake her if she was asleep. Slowly, he lifted the sheet under which she lay and joined her in bed. It was utterly foreign for them to be settling in bed for the night together. Her eyes were wide, for she was most definitely awake. She thought she would never be able to rest with him right next to her. However, the exhaustion of the day and their anxious thoughts made them both fall quickly asleep, back to back in the same bed.