He'd opened the door for her as he always did. She stepped slowly past him and waited as he followed her in. Once inside, he reached for her jacket, but her usual efficient movements were not present. She seemed almost to have forgotten how to remove her coat. She was thoughtful after their walk through the village. After he'd taken a few moments to put the kettle on, he looked back to her. And found that she was simply standing there.

Looking at him.

She hesitated before taking a breath and asking,

"Charles?"

"Yes?" he said, walking over to her. Something about her deliberate manner made the corners of his mouth turn down with concern.

"Who was that woman you were talking to in the shop?"

"Oh," he said with a relieved smile. She must have been trying to place the woman. "That was Mrs. Smythe. You remember, her husband passed away before the war. She has a young son."

"Oh, yes," she said, frowning as she sat down to the table.

"What were you speaking about?" she tried to keep her tone level.

He joined her at the table.

"She was telling me that her son is interested in going into service and wondered if I might have a word with him."

Elsie was silent for a moment, recalling the younger woman's smile as she spoke to her husband.

"Really," she said. It wasn't a question, but rather a flat statement.

"Yes," he got up to tend to the whistling kettle. "In fact, she wants me to come over tomorrow evening and speak to the lad."

Silence again as she processed that remark.

"I have choir practice tomorrow evening," she stated deliberately.

"Yes, I know," he said, slightly confused. "That's why I thought you wouldn't mind. Since you'd be gone anyway."

"You agreed to this?" she asked calmly. "You're going to this woman's home?"

"Well, yes," he answered. "Why wouldn't I?"

She stood slowly. She looked hard at him and seemed to be willing him to say something. He looked at her with wide eyes and couldn't fathom what she wanted him to say.

"I'm going to bed," she stated and walked out of the room.

She left him, kettle in hand, to stare after her.

As she lay in their bed, she tried to reason with herself. It was entirely possible that the woman was telling the truth.

No.

No, it wasn't.

It was as transparent as it could possibly have been. The woman had offered Mr. Carson an invitation of a certain kind and he'd accepted. She struggled to convince herself that he was too thick to understand what he'd done. Anyone could have heard him accept her invitation. Anyone else would have known what it meant.

Even though she was certain…fairly certain… that he would never…

Tears pricked her eyes as she imagined the scene the next night: the far lovelier woman, at least twenty years her junior, smiling and laughing with her husband in the comfort of her own home. While Mrs. Carson was conveniently occupied with her commitments so that there would be no chance of his wife tagging along. She imagined the woman offering him sweets, looking at the clock, and exclaiming, "Little Johnny must have forgotten!"

Her stomach clenched painfully as she thought of how her husband might react to a younger, beautiful woman throwing herself at him. It was highly unfair, she thought, that after finally grabbing a piece of happiness for herself that it could be torn so quickly away.

He came into the room and put on his night clothes. Silently, he climbed into bed and put a hand on her hip.

She stiffened.

His heart flipped over in his chest. She'd never rejected his touch before. He didn't understand at all what he'd done wrong. He had very little practice in mending disagreements. He was never very good at it, especially when he hadn't a clue what the disagreement was about.

"Elsie?"

"What?"

"Will you tell me what's bothering you?"

She turned abruptly and sat up, facing him.

"Why should I be bothered? My husband has received an invitation to a woman's house and he has accepted. What could be wrong in that?"

"But, it's her son…"

"Charles Carson, you are an idiot."

He looked at her blankly for a few moments. And then a thrilling, previously unknown sensation sprang to life in his belly and unfurled warmly through his entire body. She could see the realization dawn on him, and she turned her face away, embarrassed for a reason she couldn't name. He began to smile.

"You're jealous," he stated slowly.

"I am not!" She turned her flushed face to him again.

"You are! You're jealous. Why, Mrs. Carson, you're worried that another woman will turn my head!"

She thought about denying it further, but tears came to her eyes, and she begged him,

"Oh, Charles, don't! Don't joke about it! That's absolutely why she wanted…wanted you…" she couldn't finish and buried her face in her hands, weeping.

He was stunned into inaction for several seconds. He'd never seen her like this. Not once. In all the years he'd known her and all the tragedies they'd witnessed. But when he merely spoke to another woman, it reduced her to tears. Elation, followed closely by shame flowed through him. It did something to his sense of masculine pride that she would shed tears at the thought of him paying attention to another woman. But how despicable that he should be pleased when she was in such obvious misery at the thought of losing what they had found together!

He gathered her to him and brushed away her tears.

"Elsie, I'm sorry." He held her close and whispered loving endearments into her hair while he waited until she'd stopped crying. He searched for the right words.

"I wish you wouldn't worry. I would never… I love you. Only you."

"But that woman…"

He shook his head.

"I won't go. I won't go. The entire time she was speaking to me, I kept looking around the shop for you. I can hardly be away from you for a moment. I was rather upset when she insisted on the time of your choir practice. You know how I like to tag along and make a nuisance of myself. But I thought I was doing a favor for her son. That's all. I simply won't go. He can come over here if he's truly interested in speaking to me."

A warm rush of blood came to her face as true embarrassment swept through her. Of course he was telling the truth. There had never been anything to make her doubt his love for her. But something about seeing that there were more appealing prospects open to him made her frantic with worry. Losing something that she'd long ago given up hope for having made her wits leave her.

"Charles, I feel an utter fool," she sniffed.

"No—"

But she stopped him.

"Yes. I am. Only…I don't think I could bear it…"

"Well, it's not something you'll ever have to bear. You're stuck with me. All of me for every day of the rest of our lives."

She smiled into his night shirt before lifting her head to kiss him.

Instinctively, he knew how to make love to her that night. It wasn't a time for light-hearted teasing, nor or was it time for trying anything new. Carefully and purposefully, he untied the flimsy string at the top of her nightgown. He helped it along its way down her arms. He pulled her onto his lap and leaned back leisurely against the carved headboard that they'd purchased together.

With his hands, he pulled her close to him. With his lips, he worshipped her breasts. He never tired of her. Her skin was a marvel to him every single time he touched it. She tried to hurry him along, but he simply returned her seductive kiss and went back to nuzzling and suckling at her breasts.

"You know," he said between caresses, "I have loved you for so long that I don't remember a time when you weren't in my every thought."

A single tear answered that declaration. He smiled up at her with compassion in his eyes, letting her know that he was aware of the pain she'd just been in. He continued pressing his lips and his face against her tender flesh as he made more pronouncements of his love and swore again to promises he'd already made her. When her breaths were more soft sobs than quiet breathing, he lifted her nightgown over her head and laid her gently down on their bed.

He undressed himself with a minimum of fuss and settled himself between her legs. He wondered if she felt as profoundly at home as he did when they were together like this. He'd never found such a sense of belonging as he did when he was between her thighs. He told her so just then, hoping she wouldn't find him vulgar or indecent. But she wept her agreement and reached for him.

She'd thought it so many times. That some strange feeling of peace settled over her when he was pressing down on her with her legs wrapped around him. And here he was, telling her that he felt precisely the same way.

He entered her slowly, looking into her eyes the entire time. Not waiting for her usual answering thrust when he'd fully settled inside of her, he never stopped his liquid, steady movements. He rebuffed every attempt she made at hastening his pace, taking her hip in one of his hands and guiding her along with him.

Kissing her constantly but unhurriedly, he moved his lips from her neck to her collarbone to her eyes to her lips.

She was quiet, needing all of her energy to keep herself from sobbing with gratitude and grief. That had been the first night that she'd allowed herself to realize that what she had could be taken from her. Just like that. And while it would never be another woman, there were a thousand ways he could leave her.

In the absence of her usual erotic noises, he knew she came to her release when her eyes squeezed shut and her thighs quivered around him. It took her nearly a full minute to ride through the waves of her release. And when she did, she opened her eyes to the serious face of her husband who had just watched her come apart beneath him. Safe couldn't describe how she felt. Protected, loved, adored...those came closer.

When she graced him with her loving gaze, he knew he'd been successful in reassuring her of her place in his heart. Truly, she simply was his heart; his life. Huskily, he managed to say the words to her as he filled her with his own release.

She held him close and wept quietly.

After they'd rearranged themselves, she had to wipe away a few tears from his face before they fell asleep wrapped in the shelter of one another's arms.