A/N: SECOND CHAPTER UP TODAY.
Legal stuff – I did internet research on divorce in a certain state. I'm not sure how accurate it is, but I did not make it up.
She parked, opening the truck door at the same time. She got out carefully, mindful of the slippery gravel. It would not do to worry him by falling.
She hurried up the stairs and found him in the living room, his face in his hands.
"What is it?" she whispered, her hands on his shoulders. "I came as soon as I could."
He wrapped his arms around her thickened waist, pulling her closer to him, and pressed his face into the bump that was their child.
"Your papa is a fool," he said. He raised his head a little, and she saw tears in his eyes. "A stupid, stupid fool." He kissed her bump and sighed. "Alice denied under oath that the marriage is broken. And the judge, instead of looking at the facts and ruling that it is irretrievably broken, instead ruled that we are to have a 'conciliation conference'. Next month."
Another delay. Elsie closed her eyes. Truthfully, she had not expected Alice to capitulate easily. No, she expected you to do that. She bit her lip. "What did Mr. Napier say? Surely he could have argued-"
"He did everything he could," Charles said. He leaned back and motioned for her to sit. She did, their hands intertwined. "But Judge Julian would not be dissuaded. I forgot he was yet another friend of old Judge Neale."
Bristling, Elsie's eyes flashed. "He's a judge. He's not supposed to be swayed by an old friendship!"
"I think he felt guilty about it, he avoided looking at me directly," Charles replied. "Warren Napier is convinced, and I agree, that he will declare the marriage broken. Eventually." He squeezed her hands. "I'm so sorry, Elsie. I should have known she would want to delay things as much as possible." A tear ran down his face, and she wiped it off. "I should have divorced her years ago. If I could, I would marry you right now."
"I know," she whispered, her heart aching. Leaning her forehead against him, she kissed him softly. "There's no use regretting the past. It's done. And I can handle being a figure of curiosity."
"But you should not have to endure the gossip and scorn because of me," he protested. "And don't say you haven't noticed people whispering about you in town. Beryl told me about you crying the other day."
She wanted to deny it, or to say that she'd been hormonal. "True, I was upset," she said thickly. "I should not have let a couple of old women make me feel inferior. Thank God you and I have friends here. We're not alone."
He ran his thumb across her cheek. "Still, it's my fault you're stared at like you're Hester Prynne. I should be the one walking around with the scarlet letter A hanging round my neck."
To his surprise, she laughed quietly. "I'm just as much at fault as you are. You never forced me to do anything I didn't want to do." She kissed his hand, feeling tears coming. "I just worry that our child will suffer because of our actions."
"We could leave," he said quickly. "We've talked about it-"
"And I still say no," she said with conviction. "This is our home. We both love it here. Downton is your place, you've worked most of your life to make it a success. And I'm happy working with Beryl, even if we still occasionally fight like cats over the supply order." She sighed. "Whatever comes, we'll face it together."
He kissed her, loving the way she hummed into his mouth. "I love you."
000000000000
Two years before
He knew he shouldn't.
He tried to think of Alice, as if she was there.
But she's not. She left. Again.
Alice had gone to Atlanta the previous month.
He did not miss her as much as before, and it bothered him.
A little.
He was heading to the cabin that Saturday to paint and to work on the roof. Beryl insisted someone go with him in case he broke his neck.
He wished her nephew Archie hadn't sprained his ankle playing football, or that Beryl didn't have to meet with an engaged couple to discuss menus.
Elsie said she didn't mind coming by. She said she had no other plans for her day off.
We're just friends, he insisted to himself.
A strikingly beautiful friend who wasn't fazed when he was grumpy with staff. Someone who he could rely on. A woman who wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty. Someone who he found himself looking forward to seeing when he arrived at Downton every day.
They could talk about anything, from architecture to Wordsworth.
She teased him. Secretly, he liked it.
There was no one like her.
Careful, he warned himself. You're married.
And furthermore, Elsie didn't feel that way about him. He was just another sad fiftyish man who was past his prime.
000000000000
The morning went by quickly. The weather was dry, and the sun gave off heat that they felt by noon. Elsie was so warm she removed her zippered jacket, leaving her wearing her sporty sleeveless shirt.
Charles stripped off his old sweatshirt, leaving his t-shirt on. "I hope you had enough to eat. I'm not Beryl, by any stretch-"
"The sandwiches and pie were fine, thank you," Elsie smiled, drinking cold water from the thermos. He looked down, scuffing his boot. He hoped she didn't notice his face reddening. The sun brought out the rich colors of her hair and the freckles visible on her bare shoulders.
You have no right, Charlie boy, he warned himself again. Why are you even thinking about that? With effort, he pulled himself back to the present.
"Well, I've got to patch the roof."
"I'll keep painting the porch," she said, getting to her feet. "It isn't bad, especially with that great view of the creek to enjoy. But," her eyes twinkled at him, "I will hold the ladder when you get on the roof. I promised Beryl not to let you break your neck." He grinned.
"I'll do my best not to. I'd rather not end up at the hospital."
"Because your neck's broken? Or because Beryl beat you?"
"Both," he said in his driest voice. She laughed.
She held the ladder steady as he started to climb up. She swallowed hard at the sight of his firm backside and strong legs. For a man of nearly fifty, he was in fine shape. And the way his shirt clung to his chest, she could see the muscles in his back…
Stop it, Elsie, she chastised herself. He's a married man. He wouldn't possibly think of you that way, anyway. You're being silly.
00000000000
He carried the ladder to his truck, his arm muscles bulging as he set the heavy equipment in the bed.
She stood next to her truck farther down the sloping driveway. He walked down to her, his hands twitchy. He put them in his pockets and pulled them out again.
"Thank you for helping me today," he said quietly. "I couldn't have done it without you."
"You should be proud of the work you've done alone," she said, looking into his eyes, smiling. "But you're welcome. I was glad to keep you company."
He intended to shake her hand.
Instead, he leaned forward, aiming for her cheek. Just a friendly peck between friends. Harmless.
They both moved.
Suddenly his lips were grazing hers. Her breath hitched before she could control it. They stepped back.
What have you done? You need to walk away. NOW.
They stared at each other. Guilt. Sadness. Regret.
Desire.
His lips met hers, and this time neither one stepped back. Her arms encircled him. She could feel his heartbeat, the warmth of him. His hands went into her hair, and she gasped, clinging tighter to him. Her knees weakened.
She had never been kissed like this before.
Her scent, and the taste of blackberry pie on her tongue, was intoxicating. Her hair flowed through his fingers, and she fit perfectly beneath his chin. He felt a rush so strong he almost fell over. She hummed into his mouth, and he moaned aloud.
Time passed.
They broke apart, both so overwhelmed they stumbled. He half-tripped over his toolbox, while she fell against her truck. They looked at each other for one long moment. His dark eyes and the bulge in his jeans; her flushed skin, tangled hair, and swollen lips.
"I'm sorry," he said, running a hand through his own hair. He desperately wished – what did he wish? To hold her, to feel her? Or to never touch her again? He felt his ring, tight around his finger. "I'm so sorry," he repeated. "I-I didn't mean to do that. Truly."
He wasn't sorry, and he knew he had meant it.
But there was no way he could say it. Or should. Or want to.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes on the ground. "Um, I'll go now." She got in the truck, started the ignition, backed down the driveway, and disappeared.
He was horrified with himself. Not because he had kissed her despite his marital status. Or because it was categorically wrong.
But because he wanted to taste her again.