Traditions Old and New

A/N: Since it has been a while since an update, I have included a bit of the last chapter at the beginning.

"They want a working draft of the script in three weeks," Thomas says quietly. He watches Elsie let out a deep breath.

"Elsie, you know that you can do it. Just lock yourself away and get to work. Go home to your mother's farm like you do when you are on the final push and…" Beryl begins and then brings her hand to her forehead, "Oh, lord." Beryl knows that Elsie doesn't want to leave especially now, now that she has Charles and this uncertain thing between them that is building. She can see it written on Elsie's face, the way her lip is worried, and Elsie is lost in thought. Beryl knows that when Elsie kept quiet earlier, refused to give any details about her 'love life' with Charles that she's serious, in it for the long haul.

"It'll be all right, love," Beryl soothes, reaching out to take Elsie's hand. "Go visit with his mother this weekend and talk with him about it. Something will work out. I promise you it will."

She will never admit to it but she is anxious, her fingers curl into one another as her hands rest in her lap. He is taking her to meet his parents and she is telling herself that the trip to country is for her to interview his mother for the new book and that Adeline Carson is just one of dozens of women that she will interview. But Elsie Hughes is no fool and no matter how much she tries to let the rational voice in her head take the lead and drown out the louder, irrational one, she knows that Adeline Carson will be the one doing the interviewing. Elsie knows that Mrs. Carson will be sizing her up, to see if she meets the mark, if she is good enough for Charles; Elsie wonders what she thought of Alice, wonders how much Charles has told her about Alice and Grigg; about her. He is such a private man after all. She is close with her own mother, was closer with her father, but doesn't confess everything to her and cannot imagine Charles getting all confessional with anyone let alone his parents, especially in matters of the heart.

Elsie wonders what Charles' father is like, wonders if he is the one to ally herself with if things go badly with his mother. She knows that John Carson is Downton's postmaster, that according to Charles, he keeps a tidy garden and is partial to hunting small game. He has told her that his mother Addie is the Dowager's event coordinator; that she plans all of the large events, corporate gatherings, and coordinates the myriad of community fetes and charity events that Violet Crawley hosts every season. Elsie knows from her own acquaintance with Violet that any woman who works for or with Violet Crawley must, herself, be formidable or she would not last a day and Charles mother has worked for the Dowager for decades. But Elsie has never shied away from a challenge and she has been called formidable a time or two herself. As they pull into the drive leading to Charles' parents' house, Elsie smiles, realizes that she is probably worrying for no reason.

Charles is happy and he cannot help the smile that he is trying so hard to control. He does not want to jinx this visit back home to Downton. Doesn't want to think about what could go wrong so he focuses on everything that is right. Elsie is sitting beside him and the car drive from London has been pleasant; they have chatted about her new book and his return to the television screen in two months when his forced contractual hiatus is over. He cannot stand to listen to the drivel that Grigg and Spratt dole out and hopes that his new on-air partner is nothing like either of them. What with Grigg and his brash backslapping style and joke telling and Spratt with his uppity remarks and nasal delivery, they make him cringe. Spratt never even played sport and Charles wonders how he's even qualified for his job. However, he isn't thinking of that now because all he is thinking of is the woman beside him and how he wants to show her off to his parents, wants their approval even though he is forty-one years old and doesn't need it. His mother couldn't stand Alice, had her sorted from the first time that she met her (she's a good judge of character) and he hopes that she and Elsie hit it off. He thinks of the similarities they share. Neither suffer fools gladly; both have a nip to their tones when exasperated, both know how organize people and things. Charles sees their strengths as an attribute; he hopes that they do as well.

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"Charles, why don't you nip down to the post office, walk home with your dad," Addie Carson asks without asking; it is more of a statement but Charles instantly recognizes the tone in her voice. "Elsie and I have things to talk about. After all she's come for an interview." Addie's phrasing isn't lost on Charles nor Elsie and with a raised eyebrow, he looks at his mother. He does not intend to leave Elsie alone so that his mother could interrogate her. They've only just arrived an hour ago and made the most basic of small talk. Discussed the weather, the congestion of London, the beauty of the Yorkshire countryside. Charles is not certain that leaving Elsie on her own so soon after their arrival will leave him in good stead but when he looks her direction she gives him a tight smile and a wink. Go on then, I'll be fine she seems to say.

"Be nice," he whispers to his mother, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"I always am," Addie replies coolly.

Charles cups Elsie's elbow and gently tugs her close. He places a tender kiss to her cheek and whispers into her ear, "You'll do fine." Elsie knows his words have a double meaning, just as his mother's did.

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"I've pulled out some of the old family photograph albums. I thought we might start there," Addie remarks as she motions for Elsie to take a seat at the kitchen table. Elsie finds a number of photograph albums and several boxes scattered neatly about. "Some of these have some photographs of me as a young woman, when I was in service as a land girl."

Elsie sets out her tape recorder, fishes in her bag, retrieves a note pad and pen, and records several stories of Addie Carson's experiences as a young woman in the war years, of her life experiences. Elsie is mesmerized by this woman who sits just beside her. A tall elegant woman with a shock of neatly clipped white hair, and piercing blue eyes, Addie Carson is what she had expected. Strength and fortitude, elegance and poise. In her carriage and comportment, Elsie thinks that in another life Addie could have been the one living as the mistress of the Abbey.

Charles makes his way to the Downton Post Office and not much has changed since he was a boy. In fact, the building has not changed since his father's father was a boy; the stone edifice is the same and the notice board is neatly peppered with flyers noting village announcements. Charles stops to look at them; this is one of the things that he misses: the notice board with its colorful flyers announcing church fetes, boys looking for all around work, the notice that the village fair will be coming soon. Sometimes he longs for the quietness of it all, the ability to walk for miles through the countryside and listen to the stillness, to dine on what one has just caught or gleaned fresh from the garden. Downton seems never to change and it comforts him.

He spots his father behind the same desk that six Downton postmasters and postmistresses used before him. Charles's father has held the post for three decades and is, himself, as much a landmark as the pigeonholes that line the wall and the heavy wooden desk behind which he sits. "I was sent to walk home with you while Mother and Elsie get to know one another," Charles calls from the front of the room.

John Carson turns, smiles broadly, and laughs. "Sizing each other up without a referee?"

"That's about it, but Elsie's more than a match for Mum," Charles replies as he makes his way to his father, extends his hand and claps the other along his shoulder. "I'm glad to see you Dad."

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Addie opens the cover of a photo album and flips through a few pages. She allows Elsie the time to scan the pages, watches her as she takes in the faces of the members of Charles' family. Both women know that they've gone past talking about the material for the book; Elsie hit the stop button on the recorder half an hour ago. She'll have Miss Baxter transcribe it for her after all the business with the Queen and Country is done and over. Now, the real business of the visit begins. Elsie senses that she is in the ring with a heavyweight, wonders if the punches will be quick jabs coming in short flurries or if one, strong upper cut will be the one that does it. The one that finishes the match before it has begun.

Addie notices Elsie smile when she sees a picture of Charles on a bicycle, all long arms and legs, a bushy head of jet black hair. Reflexively, Elsie runs a finger across the picture, smoothes it across Charles' smiling face.

"His first real bicycle," Addie tells her. "He was eight and as proud as he could be." She watches as Elsie pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and wonders what the young woman is thinking. If she only knew that Elsie is wondering if a son of Charles' will look like the lad in the picture?

"So Charles tells me you've never married, that you have no children." Addie slips the statement in, an attempt to catch Elsie unawares. So, Elsie thinks, the first punch is a jab; a soft one at that. Elsie takes this statement as it is intended, a question, in her stride. She knows why it is asked, knows that Mrs. Carson is on a fishing expedition, wants to know why a woman in her mid-thirties hasn't settled down, found a husband, and started a family. She doesn't fault her for the directness of the question, not after Charles has wasted years on the likes of Alice Neal. Though Adeline Carson has herself been a working woman, she is traditional in her sensibilities of the roles of men and women; husbands and wives; fathers and mothers.

"Yes, that's right," Elsie begins softly. "It's simple, really. The right man hasn't asked and marriage is a long business and not to be entered into lightly. And as for children…children deserve two parents who love and respect one another and who are devoted to the child and each other." If this is a prizefight, Elsie feels that she has absorbed the first blow admirably taken it on the chin. Addie Carson, tilts her head, considers Elsie's answer a moment.

"Are you Church of Scotland or Roman Catholic?" Addie volleys back before adding, "I mean to say are you religious?" Another jab, a little harder this time, Elsie thinks.

"I think that a person can be religious about a great many things, but I believe that you are asking if I am a person of faith, a believer? And yes, I am. I was brought up Church of Scotland," Elsie replies evenly. She notices the pleased look and the same slight hint of a crooked smile that Charles has pass over Addie's face. She wonders if it is because of the witty nature of her answer of because she confirmed that she is indeed a believer, suspects that it is both.

"Faith is quite important to our family and to Charles," Addie is sure to add.

"I do hope that you are pleased that Charles and I have attended, together, some services," Elsie informs her. "But if I can be direct with you and I haven't mentioned this to Charles," she notices Addie's shoulders stiffen and Elsie knows that it's because Addie thinks that she has already begun keeping things locked away from Charles but it isn't. The fact is that this is simply difficult to speak about, she tries not to think of it, but if she is to assure Mrs. Carson that she is fit, that she is a serious contender for Charles' affections, she must share it. Must lay her burden bare, let Mrs. Carson in, show her that she wants her as a friend.

"Only a few people know, my mother, my minister, and my best friend Beryl, but I did have a crisis of faith once," Elsie begins. "Not that I lost faith in the idea of God but when I was twenty I watched my father waste away and die from cancer. I wondered how a loving God could allow a kind man, a decent man, not perfect, mind, but a good man suffer for so long and die in such a horrible way. I stayed away from the church and I was angry. But after a while, I realized that there are things that we do not understand, that we are not meant to understand, and that through my father's suffering he showed me an example of strength that I build on every day. It was part of his legacy to me." Elsie looks down into her lap for a moment. She hasn't spoken about her father's death in years.

"Well," Addie says quietly, her tone decidedly softened. "We may have something more in common than you think. Let me show you something." She turns the page in the photo album that sits in front of them and they come to another series of pictures.

Elsie recognizes Charles right away but in one of the pictures, there is a young girl with him, a lovely little thing, a slip of a girl with a slight frame and dark curly hair. Charles is dressed in a suit and tie and Elsie thinks that he appears to be around ten or eleven and the little girl doesn't look to be more than five and she is dressed in a pretty dress and patent white shoes. She asks Addie who the little girl is and notices the woman breathe in deeply.

"The little girl is Mary, Charles' sister," she answers quietly.

Elsie's eyes narrow slightly and she shakes her head slightly. "Charles hasn't mentioned that he has a sister." She can't believe that he hasn't mentioned Mary, but then she hasn't mentioned Becky either. She hasn't found the right time, wants to make sure that they are on the firmest of footing before she opens that book, draws him into that story.

"He wouldn't," his mother answers, "because she died the year after this picture was taken." Addie lifts the picture from the page, studies it. "Charles and Mary were very close. He was very protective of her. And when she was five, she became quite ill. We took her to doctors and specialists. Like your father, she was diagnosed with cancer. When they found out, the Crawleys were generous. They helped us to provide the best care, but nothing worked. So, we brought her home and made her comfortable. Charles sat by her bedside, held her hand, read her stories, told her jokes, made funny faces. He even performed magic tricks for her. He even took fruit from the bowl in the kitchen and taught himself to juggle. Anything to make her laugh. If another person could will someone to live, Charles surely tried."

Addie looks up to Elsie whose eyes are filling with tears. "And when she died, I was despondent but Charles, he did the same for me. He sat by my beside, held my hand, told me stories, jokes, anything he could do to will me to live." Addie watches as Elsie reaches into her bag, retrieves a handkerchief, and wipes her tears away. "Charles was like that. He is like that. Always a heart for the lost cause. Bringing lost puppies home, nursing birds that had fallen from their nests….. nursing broken hearts. Always trying to make something better. Beneath that big man is a soft heart. Maybe that's why he stayed so long with…."

"…Mrs. Carson," Elsie picks up, places her hand atop the hand of the woman sitting beside her, "we are both forthright women and I want you to know that I am very fond of Charles, very fond, and I will never intentionally hurt him. He is a good and decent man. And whatever Alice was or whatever she did, I am not her." Addie reaches out, rests her hand atop Elsie's. A moment of understanding passes between them.

Charles and John enjoy their walk home from the Post Office and for them it is reminder of when Charles was boy, walking home with his father after school. John always asked about Charles day, quizzed him on his maths while they walked, talked about the local cricket team. John Carson is a friendly but quiet man, circumspect with his words. Many say that his wife is the one for conversation, the one with whom to discuss politics or village affairs but Charles knows better. Knows that his father is keen to sit back and observe; to listen to those around him and then when he does speak, his words are worth listening to not idle chatter filling up space. John is much less likely to be drawn into a war of words over village politics or such; Charles sometimes wishes he had more of this trait, less of his mother's penchant to bluster when upset or pushed.

"So, this Miss Hughes," his father begins, "how do you feel about her?"

Charles looks down at his feet, shoves his hands deep into his pockets. A smile tugs at his lips as he answers. "Dad, she's so very different from Alice. She's lovely inside and out. She's clever, funny, very pretty, but down to earth. She's just….well….I can't wait for you to meet her."

John checks his words carefully, doesn't want to spook his son but he doesn't want to see him hurt again either. "I hope that you aren't rushing into anything," John replied. "Just make sure that you aren't using her to get over Alice. You were with her a long time, Charles."

"I'm taking things slowly, Dad. I wouldn't want to hurt her for the world," Charles answers. John claps Charles on the back, tells him that he cannot wait to meet the woman who makes him smile so.

When the two men reach the Carsons' cottage, they find the sitting room abandoned. Boxes and photo albums are open and photographs and letters scattered on the table. Elsie's notebook and pen are sitting atop the table and her purse is nearby. Charles wonders where the women could be, knows that they haven't gone far because familiar smells from the kitchen are beginning to fill his senses. His dad points to the kitchen and the men tiptoe quietly to not give themselves away. As they approach the kitchen, they hear the sounds of women talking, laughing, sounds of pots and pans clattering. When Charles and John peek around the corner to find Elsie and Addie preparing supper together, being easy with one another, Charles is almost overcome. Elsie looks up from her task and just catches Charles eye, she smiles, and Charles knows that everything went well, that Elsie has held her own.

While John and Addie clear the dishes and wash up, Charles and Elsie cuddle together on the sofa looking through a box of pictures and mementoes from Charles' youth. "This couple. Are they your grandparents?" she asks, studying the picture of the older couple carefully. Elsie is astonished. It is as if she is looking at Charles in black and white, dressed in a stiff white collar, white tie, and tails. The man's expression is serious, glum looking even, but the brows are the same, the nose, and the cleft chin. Elsie finds the woman dressed in black, intriguing, a stern expression with the hint of a smile. Her eyes are piercing, yet kindness is there.

Charles leans into her, over her shoulder, so that so that he can better see the picture. "No, that is a picture of my great Uncle Charlie and his wife Margaret. They were the butler and housekeeper, years ago at the Abbey. I am named for him."

"They must have been very special to your family," Elsie replies sweetly.

"They were," he confirms. "I don't really remember Uncle Charlie. He died when I was two but Dad tells me he was very fond of his namesake." Charles settles back, puts his arm around Elsie. He's pleased that she's interested in his family, his past. Alice was never interested in anything about his family. Charles tells of the butler and housekeeper who fell in love and married later in life, bought a cottage nearby on Brouncker Road and operated it as guesthouse for several years. "Dad says that Uncle Charlie sat in a large leather chair by the fire. And when I was little I would crawl into his lap. He read nursery rhymes to me while I played with his pocket watch." Charles pats his trouser pocket, touches the watch that rests there. "The watch I carry is his."

"You said that you don't remember the butler but do you remember the housekeeper?" Elsie asks.

"Oh, yes," Charles answers with a smile. "I remember her quite well. I was nine when she died. I would often stop by to visit with her, help her with things that she needed. I loved her every much. She always had a chocolate biscuit or a piece of shortbread for me," he chuckles.

"Shortbread?" Elsie asks, her curiosity piqued. "Was she Scottish?"

"She was. Perhaps she's the reason I lo….I have a particular fondness for Scottish lasses called Margaret. Elspeth Margaret," he teases, with a waggle of his eyebrows and a kiss to Elsie's cheek.

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Charles helps Elsie with her bag, helps her settle into the room she has rented at the Grantham Arms for the weekend. The day has been a good one, the day spent with his parents gone well. They have made plans to meet Sunday, church and then lunch. Charles and Elsie will have the day to themselves tomorrow, all pretense of the interview for the book gone and forgotten; all the weekend plans are sorted. Elsie cannot remember when she's felt so welcomed and at home. Joe's parents lived away and he wasn't close with them but the warmth of the Carson clan reminds her of her own family, so far away it seems.

"I hope that Mum wasn't too harsh," Charles says putting her case near the bed.

"No, she wasn't," Elsie assures him. "She and I found that we have several things in common."

"You do?" he asks turning toward her, his brows furrowed.

"Mmmm, we do," she answers, her lips purse the slightest bit, her cheeks coloring. She moves close to him, reaches up, tugs at the collar of his shirt, straightens it.

"Like," Charles swallows hard. He places his hands on her waist, pulls her into him. Elsie's hands slip gently from his chest to circle around his neck. For all the late night talks over glasses of wine, the cuddling on the sofa at his place or hers back in London, for all of the slow dancing, with hints of what might be, they are treading in deep waters now.

"Well, you needn't know everything. No one needs to know everything," she teases. "But we both care an awful lot about a certain bear of man," she whispers, her lips grazing his ear lobe. Elsie cards her hands deep into the thickness of his hair. She knows that she is falling in love with this man, has known it for some time now. While she doesn't believe in love at first sight, she knows that what she feels isn't lust, oh there is that of course, but this is so more than just affection, which is what she felt, still feels for Joe.

"Elsie Hughes," He rumbles low, deep. "What's gotten into you?" he asks as he kisses the gentle curve between her neck and shoulder. Whatever has gotten into her, he's glad of it; glad of this tide that is sweeping her out to sea; he wants to be swept with her.

"Oh, I don't know," she whispers hot and slow, nipping at his earlobe. "Maybe it's the fresh country air, being out of the city, seeing you with your family. Us." She feels his lips again on her neck as he works down from the soft spot behind her ear to the pulse point of her neck and she knows that standing here in her rooms is dangerous. The back of her knees are against the bed and it will not take much for her to give in.

She is in his territory now, his ancestral home and today has been nerve-racking and exhilarating and the things that he is making her feel are extraordinary. She longs to taste his lips on hers but he has not granted her that yet, but if he does not stop and stop now, she does not know if she will be able to; she will take him with her into the swirling abyss and she knows that once she falls he will follow. She knows that he's holding back and that he hasn't kissed her lips yet because that is so intimate, so very intimate. That once they start there will be no going back and he doesn't want to hurt her and he doesn't want to be hurt.

"Elsie, I…I want….I need to tell you…" he begins and she can feel his breath, ragged, moist, and hot, the heat radiating between them is an inferno and he wants her. He stops, pulls back so that he can see her, so that he can look into her eyes and she sees it, all of the desire and want and need. And love. She knows that he sees the same thing in hers. She knows that it is up to her to stop this. To stop him, because he is not ready for this, not yet.

"Charles, if we don't call if a night, I'm afraid that your virtue might not remain intact," she laughs sadly with a pat of her hand to his chest. And she has rescued him, rescued them both. He nods, a sad smile tugs at his lips. His forehead rests against hers. He unwillingly takes the life preserver and swims back to shallower waters. For now. He kisses her cheek goodnight and closes the door behind him.

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Saturday's air is crisp around them and autumn is drawing near. Elsie tucks her hand into Charles' elbow, leans into him as they walk. He's shown her the sights, the places of his youth; the lake where he caught his first fish, the cricket pitch where he played as a young man, the school he attended as a boy. Charles is proud to have her on his arm, proud that she is interested in his stories, the tales of his boyhood. But he hasn't told her everything, hasn't told her of Mary, of the true nature of Alice's betrayal. He has kept somethings to himself and he hasn't asked her what she is keeping from him; despite the smile, the sunny disposition, he knows that something is wrong, knows that something is bothering her. He wonders how long she will wait to tell him.

As they cross the village green, Elsie pauses and points, notices Charles' name carved into a slab of marble near a stone monument. Charles smiles, his chest puffs out with pride, and he tells her that yes, that is his name but it his Uncle Charlie's name, really, the chairman of the war memorial committee that erected the monument in 1925. Elsie smiles and comments on the connection between the men. How proud Charles should be to have such a legacy.

Charles brings Elsie to St. Mary's, the village church where he was christened, where generations of Carsons were christened, married, spoken over for the final time. He prattles on about the history of the building, of its medieval roots, and as they pass through the churchyard, for a moment, Elsie wonders if they are going to stop at his sister's grave, if Charles is going to tell her of the sister who died so young. She'll not mention it, not cast an overt gaze looking tombstones trying to find the one with Mary Carson's name. After all, she has not told him everything. Not about her sister, the sweet woman trapped in a girl's mind. And she has not told him that when they return home the day after tomorrow, she will leave for Scotland for three weeks. But she has to tell him that and she has to tell him soon.

"Charles Carson, how nice to see you again," calls a man from near the front of the ancient church.

"Reverend Travis, good morning," Charles calls; his free hand comes to rest atop Elsie's which is still looped across his elbow. He turns them in the direction of the waiting priest. "Reverend Travis please meet Elsie Hughes."

"Pleased to meet you Ms. Hughes."

"Very nice to meet you," Elsie replies.

Charles asks if they can enter the church, he'd like to show his friend the church his family has attended for generations. The good reverend leaves them to it, bids them good day. Charles leads Elsie into the church and they take a seat on one of the wooden pews near the back. He tells Elsie of the church's history, of the ceremonies, christenings, marriages, funerals. He leaves out one funeral; the one held in the summer of 1961.

As they sit here, Elsie knows that she needs to tell him, needs to get it out in the open; he needs to know the truth. Three weeks is not that long she reasons, though the last two days with him, in this place, have shown her that this thing between them is real. That she wants it so much so that she can taste it. But London is too busy, too congested for her to get any work done and it is her routine to return home to finish the project. To wrap herself in the comfortable confines of home.

"Charles," she begins quietly. "There is something that I need to tell you and I hope that you understand." She turns to face him, takes his hand in hers. "I've received some wonderful news. The option for the book was picked up and I am to write the screenplay." She watches as a broad smile spreads across Charles' face, the look of pride in his eyes makes her heart flutter. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth; she hates the part that must come next.

"That's wonderful, Elsie. What good news!" Charles exclaims happily. "We'll have to celebrate. I know just the place," he gushes. "Of course, I know that it will mean a great deal of work but you're up for it, I have no doubt of it."

"Well, that's the thing. You see…." A young couple coming into the church interrupts Elsie before she finishes. All smiles, they are seeking Mr. Travis. Charles points them in the direction of the church office and he and Elsie watch them as they wander off arm and arm.

"Young love," Charles laughs his eyes trailing after them before he turns back to Elsie. "Come on, I've something to show you." He reaches for her hand, tugs her up from her seat.

"But Charles, I haven't told you…."

"…you told me that you've wonderful news. What else is there? Come on, I do have something I want to show you," he adds enthusiastically.

They have been out all day and as Charles happily tugs her through from the church and through the churchyard, she wants to stop him, make him stand still for just a moment and listen. Surely, he of all people will appreciate that she wants to stick to her routine, the thing that makes everything click along, makes everything fall into place. Surely Charles, a man so tied to tradition will understand. They pass several cottages, a shoppe or two, and Elsie wonders where they are going. Charles is humming, a sure sign that he is happy; she's come to recognize this over the time they have spent together.

"Ah, here we are," he says as they come to a stop in front of a nicely appointed cottage. Elsie watches as he pulls a key from his pocket. Charles places the key into the lock and turns it, sighs happily when he hears the bolt slip as it unlocks. He opens the door and then turns to look at her, "Come on, then, lets have a look."

As they stand in the front room, Elsie is mesmerized by the pretty cottage and Charles enthusiasm. Charles takes her from room to room, begins with the sitting room. Points to the old stone fireplace, the roughhewn mantle above it. He points to the mantle clock, tells her that it isn't so dissimilar from the one that sits atop the mantle in her house back in London. Elsie asks about the gramophone that sits on a table near the sofa. Something found in the attic, Charles answers. He takes down the corridor and up the stairs to the bedrooms, shows her each one. One of them is set with a single bed, a bureau, and a chifferobe. Quite serviceable, he tells her. The next room is a study; large desk, heavy bookcases with a few books left behind by former tenants, Charles relates. Elsie is drawn to book, runs a finger across it, an old, vintage copy; she picks it up. Dracula, she reads from the spine. She smiles. She has something in common with someone, somewhere she tells him. They come to the final bedroom, the master. The center of the room is dominated by a lovely, commanding four-poster bed, which Charles tells her is an heirloom, that it belonged to the original owner. That it has always been with the house. Before Elsie's eyes settle too firmly on any of the other attributes of the room, on the fresh blanket spread across the bed, the flowers neatly arranged in the vase on the bureau, Charles whisks her back down the stairs, down the corridor and into the kitchen. He looks positively triumphant. "And just there," he gestures toward the back door, "is a lovely back garden."

"Charles, this is a lovely cottage but why are we here?" Elsie finally asks. Of all the places that she has seen today, she has understood the meaning behind each of them. The cricket pitch, the lake, the church; even the school. But this house, while lovely, she's at a loss as to why they are visiting this place.

"Earlier you mentioned my Uncle Charlie Carson," he replies with a smile. "This is the cottage that he and his wife bought when they married. When my aunt died, she left it to my dad and he and Mum have rented it out over the years. The last tenants moved out weeks ago."

Elsie watches as Charles flexes his hands into fists, then spreads his fingers wide again, pats the waistband of trousers. She's noticed this before, noticed that he does this when he is nervous or excited.

"I know that this isn't the same, that it isn't your mother's farm," Charles begins, feels the words tumbling out clumsily. "But Argyll seems so far and three weeks isn't really that long but it seems…..well I don't want to test the adage about distance making the heart grow fonder….so I was hoping that you might…..that you might substitute a farm in Argyll for a cottage in a quiet village."

Elsie stands before him, eyes wide open, mouth gaping. She is stunned, astonished. For someone who is never at a loss for words, she is, at this moment, lost for them.

"Well," he asks quietly, expectantly. And suddenly she realizes that she has not said anything, not a word, and her hand flies to her breast, a beaming smile across her lips.

"It's perfect," she says, happy tears in her eyes. "I was so worried. I didn't want to be so far away and…oh, Charles, this is the most thoughtful thing that anyone has ever done for me." She looks around her and suddenly realizes that everything in the cottage has been cleaned recently, that there are fresh cut flowers on the kitchen table; she remembers the flowers in the vase upstairs, the crisp pretty blanket on the bed. She crosses to the kitchen counter, finds a basket with sandwiches, apple tart, a bottle of wine. She laughs, shakes her head a little. "I thought that you said there'd been no tenants for weeks?"

"There haven't been," he answers as he closes the gap between them. She feels his breath on the back of her neck and he is wrapping his arms around her. Her head spins with the surprise of it all, of the day, of this grand gesture, of his wanting her so close. "The cottage is furnished and I had some helpers while we were taking our little tour this morning. I was hoping that you'd say yes." He is kissing the back of her neck and she is leaned back into him.

"You'd have felt foolish if I'd said no," she teases.

"But you didn't," he growls as his kisses become more insistent, he nips and tugs at the soft freckled skin of her neck.

"No, I didn't," she sighs as his hands begin to roam.

"I told you that I knew just the place to celebrate," he smiles against her skin.

"Charles?"

"Mmmm"

"How did you know about Argyll? I never told you about going to my mother's farm," Elsie asks. She feels Charles' lips leave her skin. She already knows the answer; there is only one answer to this question. She turns in his embrace to find him looking at her, a bit unsure. "I suppose I ought to be angry with the both of you for conspiring behind my back," she says letting him linger for a moment.

"Are you?" he asks sheepishly, his hands still tight around her waist.

No, she answers quietly, a subtle shake of her head, her lip worried.

"You'll stay?"

Yes, she answers, a nod of her head. Then, finally, in stillness of the moment, in the house on Brouncker Road, in the kitchen of another Charlie and Margaret, Charles leans down and kisses her. Reverently, gently, his lips meet hers in a tentative first kiss. Charles has made them wait so long for this, the sharing of themselves so intimately, that she wants to remember every moment. Every soft caress of his lips against hers, the pull of his lower lip between her own. He pulls back for a moment so that he can look at her. So that this moment is forever etched in his memory, so that no matter how long he lives this image of her, all cream and rose and sapphire in one glorious breathing figure of woman, will be what he remembers.

Charles pulls her closer, his hands wandering; her fingers card through his hair as he kisses her deeply and completely. The way a man kisses a woman when she consumes him, when he thinks of nothing but her.

"Charles," Elsie asks, pulling away slightly breathless. "I'd like to stay here tonight."

"Of course. We'll collect your things from the hotel and bring them here," he replies quietly. "You'll have everything you need."

"I already have," she replies. Elsie tucks into his embrace. She is so very happy that this man is taking care of her. For so long, she has taken care of herself and before that it was hard work on the farm and the hard work that sometimes comes with Becky; but Elsie is thankful that someone now is thinking of her, taking care of her.

TBC… well, there it is. They've turned the corner finally. We are not leaving Downton quite yet. Thank you for being patient, for your reblogs on Tumblr, reviews, comments, private messages, etc. If you are inclined, reviews are much appreciated.