Epilogue for an epilogue. Because I didn't grossly misjudge the length of a fic. Again. I felt absolutely emotionally hammered after writing this.

She sat down on the settee rather heavily, playing with her handkerchief in her clasped hands, crying quietly now. Her head was bowed but he could tell nevertheless. There was no way for him to get around what he knew: she had been there and she was crying. It was very likely that he was the cause of her tears. Cautiously, he sat down beside her and, almost tremulously, put a hand around hers to try and comfort her. In the movement, he was very aware that she might want to snatch her hands back straight away. He waited a second and when she did not pull away it was an undeniable relief.

"Your hands are freezing," he told her, "You must have been mad not to have had a coat on."

She was quiet for a second- a quiet that he got a definite feeling of dread from.

"I had a coat on the last time I went to the orchard," she reminded him, "I-... I didn't want it to feel too familiar."

But it evidently had, he thought, otherwise why would she be crying? He clenched his jaw a little; he had never in all the time he'd known her, even before he'd know he loved her, been able to watch her in pain. He didn't know what to say; he was convinced now that she was remembering that day, and he knew that now they had started they would have to talk about it for the first time in over fifteen years. But he didn't know where to start; equally convinced that there was no easy way on earth to go about it. So he waited until she was ready.

"You do remember, don't you?" she asked hesitantly.

Remember! The days he didn't relive it were few and far between. Not that he tried to, it would have been more than convenient for him to be able to forget all about it. Just the sight of her brought it back sometimes; the way she stood, the way she sometimes gazed off into space when she wasn't concentrating. Little innocuous things in her manner could bring back the stinging memory of how she'd left him that day. And thus it had never really got the chance to heal.

"Yes," he replied, wondering if his voice conveyed how much of an understatement that was, "Yes, I do."

Apparently, it did, and she heard it. She blinked at him a little, as if she felt rather foolish. There were still tear tracks on her cheeks though it looked like she had stopped crying.

"I'm sorry, Charles," she whispered, "I never meant to hurt you for one second; though I know I did. I truly didn't want to leave you, I just, I didn't think there was any other way."

"I know," he assured her, tracing her knuckle gently with his thumb, "I know. You did what was best."

"No, I didn't," she replied flatly, "I should never have left you. I've regretted it all these years, and today-..." fresh tears sprang up in her eyes, but he was ready to wipe them away as they fell down her face, "Going there brought it all back and I felt so awful. Can you forgive me, Charles?" she asked, her voice wavering dangerously.

"I already have," he told her, "I promise. I know you had your reasons and I always respected that. No matter how much it... hurt."

With the word, her breath hitched into a new sob, about to cry again but he beat her to it. He planted a soft kiss on her damp cheeks, the best way he'd ever known to comfort her, kissing the familiar skin as tenderly as he knew how, kissing her face again and again, steadying it with his hands which a second later were covered by hers.

And he could not stop kissing her, over her forehead and down the other side of her face, finally to her lips; where he was glad to say she responded. They broke apart resting their brows against one another and another flicker of devastating familiarity flew through him.

"I've missed you, Elsie," he confessed, "I know you've still been here for me as a good friend, more than good in fact. But I've missed you as a lover."

There: he'd said it. The thought that had been there like a lump in his throat since that very day finally past his lips. Her eyes, having been calmly closed, flicked open, looking into his own, more boldly than she done up until now.

"I still am your lover, Charles," she told him, then, as if he might want an explanation as to why, "No one else ever came along."

Now that wasn't quite true, he thought. There had been plenty of footmen who would have gladly taken over from him. But then, that wasn't quite what she meant. In spite of all of the emotions- not all of them completely happy- floating around in him, he could not quite help but smile at that.

"And I'm still yours."

Then she kissed him. Softly at first, then demanding more. She was different, she was not as bold as she had been all those years ago, but he still knew her. He still loved her.

"I love you, Charles," she murmured, their trains of thought oddly synchronised, "I couldn't stop it. Goodness knows I tried."

He smiled against her skin.

"I think I can forgive you for that," he remarked. He took her head firmly in his hands and kissed her brow. "I couldn't stop either."

Please review if you have the time.