She cannot do the dishes now without flushing. She still can't believe they did that there. What in the world had come over them? Over her? She's not some young lass mooning over the boy one farm over. She's a grown woman, a mature woman, past that stage of life where her body is ruled by desire. And yet, he has tapped that wellspring of passion that she buried so deep for so long; now it's gushing forth and she's not got control of it. She thinks of him at the most inappropriate times: while she's haggling at the market, during choir practice, church even. She wouldn't have him know this for the world (he does have an ego, after all), but she takes great pleasure in secretly watching him in the garden. His muscles bunch together so strongly as he spades and weeds; the wind plays with his hair and he looks younger, softer. Always such a dignified man, it's a great treat to seem him a bit mussed, a bit undone. How can she help but think of him when he's truly undone? He whispers beautiful nonsense words, words of love, endearments when they lay together. It sends shivers up her spine to remember them. It's harder for her, even though she feels it. She feels it desperately, but it's so hard to say the words. She murmurs to him, rubs his back, his face, hopes she's able to communicate through touch what she can't with words. But this is all nonsense, foolishness. And not getting the dishes done. She sighs as she ties her apron strings. He's due back from Dr. Clarkson's at any moment; her heart clenches unreasonably. If there is anything to chill this sudden spring in her life, it's fear of a lingering illness, or worse, death. The Almighty couldn't be so cruel as all that. They waited so long, certainly they are overdue for some happiness. But, she chides herself, there are many who expected long and happy loving lives only to be cut short even before they reached their prime. It's foolish, blasphemous to expect more happiness than she has at this moment. And this moment, catching sight of her man whistling his way up the walk (whistling?), is one that is overflowing with joy.
*CE*
Another lovely afternoon, so they decide to take a stroll through the grounds of the Abbey. Just to see how far they can go. There is nothing for them to do at the cottage; chores have been done, the back garden's been tended to. The boy they hired to look after the front bit for them has come and gone. They've got some leisure time; why not walk awhile and see where they end up? He's pulled her arm through his, tightly, and they walk slowly, enjoying the warmth of the sun, the gentle breeze. The trees are in bud and the flowers are beginning to bloom. It's a lovely time.
He looks down at her fondly. He likes these new hats; he can see more of her face now, when they walk. Her face is like the sky; her expressions change so quickly now. She doesn't have to hide, to censor herself. Nor does he. He likes that as well. He can see how they've changed, become different since they married. Or maybe, he muses, they are simply remembering the people they were before they entered service. Certainly he has become more relaxed, less rigid. Those standards, while still important, are not most important. Not anymore. He can be encouraged, very easily encouraged to lay some of his older (possibly ancient) restrictions down. He is glad to be living in the 20th century, glad to have been able to marry the woman he loves, glad he is able to love her.
"And what are you grinning about, Mr. Carson?" She has caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eyes and is pleased to see him looking so relaxed, so happy (there's no other word for it).
"Your hat."
"My hat?" exclaims Elsie incredulously. "And what do you find so amusing about my hat?" She reaches up a hand to pat it down self-consciously.
"It's a lovely hat," he reassures her. "Very becoming." He trails off. "I can see more of your face now. Not like before," he mumbles.
"I didn't know you were so attuned to ladies fashions, Mr. Carson." She draws the r out a bit for him. He has confided to her that he likes the way his name sounds in her mouth.
"A good butler must always apprise himself of the latest trends."
"Certainly, certainly. Especially those of the lords and ladies, but I would have thought the fashions of lowly housekeepers and such would be beneath the great man's notice."
"Not at all. It's merely prudent to ensure that the staff is as well turned out as possible, so as not to bring disgrace to the family."
"Ah, an excellent point. So, careful attention to detail, such as the size and style of the housekeeper's hat, is merely part of the job description."
"Indeed. What separates a good butler from a great one is attention to detail. Certain junior members of staff might be excused on some points, but the housekeeper, due to her importance to the household, must be scrutinized more carefully than the rest."
"In other words, the butler of a very fine house might be expected to look after the housekeeper? To be sure she upholds the highest standards of the house?"
He nods playfully. "The very highest. The butler can be excused from any suspicion of tender regard because he is only performing his duty. He would never be suspected of maintaining personal feelings."
"I see. And what if such a man did maintain personal feelings towards a staff member?"
"He would hide them away from the world, only daring to think on them when he is completely alone and free from scrutiny himself. Perhaps at night, while trying to lull himself to sleep. He would never reveal his true feelings on such an important topic as that. He would wait until the opportune moment presented itself before broaching such a delicate subject."
"And what would he say then?"
"Well, he'd be no poet, but I should think he could find the right words to woo such a fine, spirited woman who has excellent taste in hats." He grins, just a little. She is very spirited, after all.
She looks up at him, catches the small grin and laughs aloud herself. He takes her hand to his mouth and kisses it gently, then rests it on his arm again. Now to finish their leisurely walk, eat a good supper, spend a companionable evening, then retire together for the night. Yes, he has much to be thankful for.