A/N: This is for ClassicVintageWithATwist.

Charles sniffed experimentally. Lavender. Definitely lavender. He can't imagine what he's done to deserve such treatment from his wife, but he is thankful. As soon as they'd arrived home from the train, she had prepared a light supper, which they'd eaten together, Elsie's knee resting quite companionably against his leg. Then she informed him that she would draw him a bath directly after supper.

"You must be tired, Charles, from the journey. It would be nice to wash a bit of the travel off you, wouldn't it?" in that way she had, that way of asking a question without requiring an answer. "I've already started the water. I'll call you when it's ready." And that's how he ended up soaking in a steaming bath scented with lavender. Instead of the harsh electric light, Elsie had lit a few candles. That was a lovely thought. He leaned back in the water, his neck resting comfortably against the rim. It had been a tiring day; the journey was long and bittersweet. They'd both looked forward to returning to their routine, yet they were both curiously reluctant to leave Scotland. It had become home for them both.

Moira had hugged Elsie goodbye fiercely, then turned to hug Charles and give him a sisterly kiss on the cheek. Moira packed them a lovely basket for the train: biscuits, preserves, even an apple tart for Charles' sweet tooth, and she pressed it into his hands without a word. He stepped back to give Elsie room to say her goodbyes. He watched her swallow hard as she kissed Tavey and Janet, then knelt down to hug and kiss little Donnie. He could see unshed tears gathering at the corners of her eyes as she rose; he had taken her elbow and she almost sagged into him with relief. It was so difficult to say goodbye. Elsie had hugged and kissed Donal goodbye at the station; he'd shaken hands with the taciturn man he'd come to regard as his brother.

The journey itself was tiresome; the train was crowded, and they'd had to share a compartment with others, much to Charles' dismay. He discovered that he was very eager for time alone with his wife. Very eager indeed. He could only hope this bath would be the precursor to other activities.

He let out a contented sigh and closed his eyes. He might have drifted off, but only for a moment; the water was still warm. He had that curious sensation that he wasn't alone. His eyes flew open and he saw Elsie standing before him, her hands on the ties of her dressing gown.

"Would you care for some company?"

He jolted up, nearly sloshing water over the sides of the tub. His mouth was ridiculously dry and, quite possibly, acting as a fly trap. He tried to croak a reply.

"Only I thought," she began, clearly flustered, "only it seemed you wanted, that is, you seemed as if you, but of course I can-I'll just" and she makes to leave. Oh gods he can't let her leave. He starts to rise, but fumbles back down into the water. He doesn't want her to see him, well, he doesn't want to expose himself to her like that. It wouldn't be proper. Gods damn it, man, just say something!

"Yes," he croaks. "Yes, I would, that is, if you want, I-" he sighs in exasperation. "Yes. Yes, please." And he scoots back in the bath so she can see that there is plenty of room. She smiles that lovely sideways smile and peers down at him through lowered eyelids. She takes a deep breath and unties the dressing gown, letting it fall to the floor.

*CE*

He's experienced moments like these before, moments where time seems to stop, almost as if the world is holding its breath. He felt it first as he waited for her answer to his proposal of marriage. On occasion, he'd felt it happen when he was making love with her, those times when the reality of her beneath him was at once exquisitely familiar and shockingly new and they moved in perfect synchronicity. Now is another of those times. She is standing in front of him, the candlelight wavering against her hair and skin, lighting this part of her, then another. He feels his mouth is in the shape of a perfect O, but he is powerless to do anything about it. He can only wait, suspended, until she breaks this spell and weaves another by stepping into the water.

*CE*

Standing in front of Charles (her man) naked as a bairn, well and who would blame her for taking a wee dram of whisky to fortify herself? She'd been fairly confident that he wouldn't reject her; after all, he had nearly tugged her into the bath with him at Moira's. Of course he'd had several wee drams that night, but still. It must have been in his mind for him to act on it then. She'd thought of little else since then; the desire to surprise him, to please him, by doing something unusual (at least she thought it unusual. Perhaps other married couples? But she dismisses that thought.), something that he clearly wanted but was too polite (too afraid) to ask of her. This, like their experiment the other night, gives her a curious sensation of power. She feels young and beautiful again, though she realizes this is foolish in the extreme. But judging by the look on his face he's more than pleased by what he sees. It's that look of love and awe (and desire) that gives her the confidence to loosen the robe, let it fall, to step into the tub with him. She hears his sharp intake of breath, almost as he does (invariably) when he enters her, that warm breath in her ear, the sound of desire and fulfillment.

She lowers herself into the water, cursing the sound of her knees creaking as she settles herself in. It's a bit of a tight squeeze; this tub wasn't really meant for two and my man is a strapping one, she thinks proudly.

"And what are we grinning about, Mrs. Carson?" Charles has recovered his power of speech and he lets the words rumble out in a smoky velvet tone (his wife confided to him that she thrilled to the sound of his voice).

She puts a tentative hand to her face; she hadn't realized she was smiling so broadly. "Perhaps I'm just happy to be home alone with my man. It's been a long while since we could be" and here she drops her voice (he confided to her that the sultry lilt of her voice delighted him) "alone."

Now it's Charles' turn to smile, to grin wickedly. "And what should we do, my dear, now that we are alone?"

"Anything we like, my man. Anything we like." And she leans forward to kiss him.