A Chelsie Christmas
Q – Question
December 17th, 1926
It started with a question, that wintry morning.
The windows still frosted over, the room only a degree or so above outdoors. And Charles reluctantly rolled out of bed with the intention of relighting their fire. Only the moment his feet touched the floor his bladder came to life and he headed into the bathroom.
When he came back Elsie was lying on her back but cuddled beneath the sheets. He smiled, and bent to the fireplace. It was her morning off. He had her to himself.
"Shall I make tea?" He asked as he got to his feet again and her eyes were closed as she hummed her response.
He disappeared downstairs, put the kettle on to boil and lit another fire to warm through downstairs. He carried the tea upstairs on a tray with a few shortbread rounds, because if there was something Elsie could make well, it was shortbread.
"This is like having my own butler," she said gently, as he placed the small tray on the bedside table and got back into bed. "Oh, and biscuits too, how very decadent."
"Well, it isn't often I get to spoil you."
Her eyes widened, and she flopped onto her back stretching her arms and shaking her head – Charles Carson, wanting to spoil her.
They sat side by side in bed sipping their tea, she munched her way through one shortbread, Charles devoured three.
"I wondered if you would like to have lunch later, before you return to work."
"That's quite a treat… unless you mean at home with me preparing it."
"I rather thought the Grantham Arms, if it's quite suitable an establishment."
She finished her tea, "Oh I think if it's good enough for Mr. Carson then I can probably lower myself to it." She chuckled as she handed her tea cup across to him. "I suppose I best get up and get started on the day."
"Oh? Not just yet, surely?"
Her eyebrows rose again and she pursed her lips, "Oh…? Did you have something else in mind?"
"Just a… a cuddle… maybe…" he blushed and she chuckled again, sinking back beneath the warm bedsheets and fixing him with one of her knowing looks.
He moved down beside her, his arms circling her waist as he pulled her to him, kissing her forehead and holding her closer. He closed his eyes, rested his chin in her hair and sighed happily.
Elsie held him in return, a hand to his chest, one pressed against his upper arm. The sound of his heart beating, his breath in her hair, lungs expanding, blood pumping. Outside the defrost as the sun found its way.
A brush of lips to her forehead again, to her hairline. His fingers on the back of her neck, oh she was delicate there, if he tiptoed the pad of his fingers down the back of her neck she would sigh happily.
He used a hand to brush her hair back from her face and kissed her temple, her cheek, beneath her chin. She lay back against the pillows, and he rearranged himself, bending to kiss her collar bone. The hollow at her neck. That dear freckle. She smelled of shortbread and home; warmth in winter.
She noted the change in his breathing, closed her eyes, let her hands wander into the thickness of his hair as he worshipped her with kisses. When he moved back to the pillow beside her she turned immediately and sought his mouth, a whisper of a kiss at first, that still same restrained nervousness but beneath it all – perfection.
"Would you mind," he whispered, heavy hooded eyes as he took in the sight of her. "I mean, rather, I would really rather like." He licked his lips and she touched his face, moving her other hand to open the top of her nightdress. Whatever he wanted, she didn't mind, she never could. He kissed her again instead, deeper this time, catching her breath.
"Would I mind what?"
He thought of all the questions he could ask her, a flash of such time and the inconveniences of life, the bits you let go when you shouldn't. The things you fear and so walk away from.
He leant closer to her ear, "Would you mind very much if I kissed you… your body?"
She smiled ruefully against the side of his neck, pressing a kiss to the pulse point there and nodded her head, "I wouldn't mind."
She let him undress her, he seemed to like doing that, she had learnt that very quickly. And then he took his time, in the icy blue light of that morning. A winter day. A week until Christmas and nothing else mattered but how it felt to be with her.
His mouth on her chest, one hand bravely cupping her breast. Lips gentle in their tiptoeing over the flushed pink of her nipples and then she arched her hips and he knew he was doing something right. Exploring together was the most wondrous part of married life. The freedom that came with it.
She allowed him to turn her, where she would usually have been embarrassed but over a year had passed and those worries were nothing but a memory. Love was as much a part of this as any physical need.
She shuddered when his fingers touched the curve of her waist, he knew she was sensitive there and she always leaned up to him, her skin seeming to shift beneath his fingers. A kiss to each shoulder blade, the thinness of the skin over the bone, the warmth in the middle of her back. He could bury his face there and hibernate.
When she squirmed back over so she could look up at him her face was flushed, his eyes dark, and she lay back and watched as he removed his pyjama top.
So, this was what power felt like.
Her fingernails trailed down the exposed skin, still firm, still strong. And down to his belly. The familiar movement of one body to the other, between her thighs, a tingling of joy as his mouth touched hers. She wasn't passive though, and he would never have expected such; one free hand pushing at his trousers, a foot helping them down and her heated question in his ear, "Do you love me?"
"To my soul."
He was smiling as they walked to the village, holding hands, quite inappropriate for a couple their age but he was happy, content. He nodded to the villagers they passed, unaware that their wishes of well-being were due to his heroic efforts. He was simply proud to be out with his wife, and her him.
"Jack, this is my wife."
"We have met before, Charles," she laughed, shaking Jack's hand. "Though now you appear to be my husband's friend, so perhaps things are different."
"Well, I think of you now as Mrs. Carson," Jack said, "and will Mr. and Mrs. Carson be requiring a table?"
"We will indeed," Charles said, removing his hat. "And do you still have those hot pork sandwiches on the lunch menu?"
"For you sir, I'm sure we can rustle something up."
He was tempted to hold her hand through lunch, though held back; beneath the table her knee touched his and he took pleasure in that alone.
"I want to be alone with you again," he whispered huskily as she poured their tea, spilling a drop or two in his saucer.
"Charlie, really." She glanced up to check nobody was close.
"Won't you take the afternoon off?"
"You're asking a great many things of me today," she smiled kindly, "and it is not at all what I have come to expect."
"You've changed me," he admitted, "and it's wonderful."
She smiled broadly at that, chewing on her lip to try and hold it back.
"You know I have to go, and you have jobs to do. Deliver those cards, perhaps stay here and make firm plans with Jack about Christmas Eve. Then there's the advertising, the word of mouth. You know, you could reply to that nice young journalist who has been asking for an interview."
"Oh tosh, you know how I feel about that. I have no trumpet to blow."
She giggled behind her teacup. "Perhaps not dear, but a well phrased word here and there in the local paper about your initiative might bring in support as well as generating interest."
He frowned. He hadn't considered that, perhaps he ought to.
"You have his card, I popped it into your jacket pocket."
Did she now?
She finished her tea, "Walk with me a little, to the house."
He did as she asked, the sun warming as afternoon neared, almost blinding in the white-grey sky.
"You are quite up to it, aren't you?" She asked.
"Up to what?"
"Those tasks this afternoon, I don't wish for you to over exert yourself, as they say."
"Who says?"
"Nobody. People. Books."
"I always thought some of your reading material a little risqué."
She laughed, "That sums me up perfectly darling."
They paused at the gate, she straightened his tie, stood on her tiptoes to kiss his check and he held her, his hands firm on her upper arms.
"Now, go home if you do feel tired. And stay warm."
"I will. Should you be home late?"
"I hope not but we'll see, there is broth to warm, you could get bread in the village."
"Yes."
"Alright," she kissed him again, flashbacks to being in his arms, naked, riddled with pleasure. "I shall see you later."
"You will," he squeezed her hands before she walked away, unlocking the gate and going through, closing it behind her.
"Elsie," he suddenly called, "I'll miss you."
She smiled, her eyes sparkling.
"You'll be far too busy to."
He chuckled, "Do you really believe that?"
A question she didn't need to answer.