A/N: Thanks for the reviews, especially those asking for more. The next chapter will be from Elsie's perspective.
He woke suddenly, startled by a crack of thunder close by. He rolled over and fumbled for his watch. A quarter to four. The lamp was still on.
Turning over again, his hands met the cool smoothness of the fitted sheet. Alice was not there.
Getting up, he cautiously pushed the bedroom door open. A light was on in the living room. He tiptoed down the hallway and stopped. She slept on the couch, her dark brown hair wild, the few silver strands shining. He pulled the flannel blanket up to her chin before he knew what he was doing.
That's what this – your marriage - has become. Mechanical. Automatic. Feelings not included.
It wasn't always that way.
He could see the moments clearly, all the way back to when they were children, when they dreamed of life outside of this place, away from the mountains. Before they went away to university together, then came back together. Before he ran his family's hotel, the historic Downton. Before Alice left him the first time. And the times after.
Before he walled himself off, to protect his heart.
Admittedly, he had tried less and less frequently in recent times to show parts of himself to Alice. The real side of him.
Or maybe he had just gotten tired of trying, of being shut out.
Of his wife not caring about the things he loved.
Has she ever really cared?
To even think such a question a few years ago would have been impossible.
He didn't think anyone could have penetrated past the defenses he'd built. His friends had been unable to get to him when he'd been at his lowest, not even Beryl, his sister in all but name. His cousin John, who never stopped trying.
You hadn't felt anything for years.
No.
You hadn't felt anything like what you feel for her. What you felt for Alice at the best times was a pale shadow to what you feel for Elsie.
Switching the lamp off, he made his way back to the bedroom, in a futile attempt to sleep again. He knew it was hopeless.
He tried to push aside his guilt, of the searing memories at the cabin. Cling to those moments. They're all you have now.
Paint on her face, and him telling her where to brush imaginary blemishes away, laughing as she marked her face more. Her scolding him, but not meaning it. He knew from very early on, that he could trust her.
Somehow he knew she would never abandon him. She took him as he was, not as someone who she wanted him to be.
Fifty years old, and for the first time, he felt alive.
It began on weekends. Then they snatched nights during the week. Always at the cabin. Their haven. For weeks, months, it was too easy.
Alice had been away. Again.
Even after people began commenting to him how well he looked, how happy, he didn't think of the danger. It was only when Beryl pulled him aside and told him that he had to put an end to it, for Elsie's sake as well as his, that the reality came crashing down on him.
But by then, it was too late. He could not make himself stop. He did not have the strength to leave her.
She didn't leave him, even though he would have understood if she had.
She was a strong woman, stronger than any he had ever known.
The way the color of her hair matched the sunset. This gorgeous woman in his arms, her dark blue eyes half-lidded, her pink lips parted. The sight of her in the flickering light of the kerosene lamp, the handmade quilt falling to expose her bare shoulder, and the freckles that decorated it. The words that fell from his lips as they made love.
I love you, Elsie.
He could feel the shaking of the ground beneath him; he had never felt such joy, or such terror, in his life.
He had thought he had known love before. Until he realized Elsie Hughes had become part of his heart. No. He had given her his heart. Just as she had given hers to him.
He slumped against the headboard, his face in his hands. He was in hell. The past month had been the worst agony he had ever faced. It wasn't everyone in town knowing about the affair. It wasn't even Alice knowing about it.
Being apart from her was like losing an arm. Without anesthesia.
This is your fault. If you had listened years ago to those who loved and cared for you, you wouldn't be in such pain now. Or have caused Elsie such pain.
It killed him, knowing he was the source of her pain. He would do anything to take it away.
But how to fix it? Was it possible?
His hands were wet. A cacophony of voices shouted in his head. Ruby, Beryl's mother, who saw this happening years ago, even though she did not live to see it. His own father, to whom integrity was the greatest virtue. Old Judge Neale, Alice's father and county legend. Mother's quiet voice. Son, you only have one life. Don't waste it.
"Elsie, Els," he whispered. A whimper, a moan of grief escaped from him. He had never heard that sound. Not from him.
He knew what he wanted to do. The question was, was it the right thing? His mind and his heart were at war, one screaming no and the other screaming yes.
If I go that way, how could I tell Alice? If I stay, could I forget Elsie?
Would she forgive me?