With my thanks to chelsie fan for the beta work.

The first Christmas day Charles and Elsie spent as a married couple would prove to be an enjoyable one. For the first time, the moments of silence were more comfortable than uncertain. Church in the morning ran perfectly smoothly, and afterwards, a time when the servants were usually rushing back to the house, Elsie found herself approached by Mr. Barrow, who invited them back to the Abbey for luncheon.

"You're certain now?" Elsie had asked the new butler, standing in the back of church as he helped her into her coat. Charles had chosen to stay back, frowning at Mr. Barrow as Elsie spoke with him. Whatever could that man want?

"Your presence would be welcome," Mr. Barrow assured her, his voice strangely vulnerable to her ear.

"Is everything at the house all right?" They had thrown the organization of the house into a bit of chaos by having the housekeeper and the butler leave so suddenly. Elsie had not thought of how poorly that might have gone until just then. Perhaps they needed a bit of help.

"It is, actually," said Mr. Barrow, considerably more sharply. "I just thought some of the staff might enjoy your company, but if you have a previous engagement, then-"

"Mr. Barrow," said Elsie, gently stopping his diatribe. "I meant no offense. Your offer is very kind, and I appreciate it. We would be quite happy to accept."

"Well, I'm pleased to hear it," said Mr. Barrow, straightening up slightly.

"Twelve thirty, as usual? We'll be sure to get out of your way as soon as it's over," said Elsie.

"Twelve-thirty," confirmed Mr. Barrow. "Now if you will excuse me, I'd best be getting back."

He tipped his hat, despite the gesture going unseen by her. It did not go unseen, however, by Charles, who took it as his cue to cut in. Once the new butler was well out of earshot, he leaned in to whisper.

"What on earth was that all about?"

Elsie turned to her husband with an amused expression on her face. "It seems, my dear, that we have a luncheon invitation."

"He's got something up his sleeve," grumbled Charles, as he and Elsie made their way towards the Abbey. "I'm sure I'm the last person he wants to see today."

"You make it sound like some horrible trap," she scolded.

"He's a horrible man. Why should he be kind now?"

"He is not horrible," she insisted. "He's just very…"

"If you say 'misunderstood,' then I'm going back to the cottage," huffed Charles.

"I wasn't about to," said Elsie quickly. "But he's not some kind of villain, Charles, and clearly he is managing the household all right or we'd have heard about it by now."

"I still don't like it. Mr. Barrow is never kind without a self-serving reason."

Elsie frowned. "I think, on this we will always disagree."

"You give that man far too much benefit of the doubt, Elsie."

"And you give him far too little," she objected. "He's doing us a kindness by inviting us. The least we can do is to show him some respect in return."

"Coming from the woman whom he called 'bloody useless,'" Charles grumbled.

"And I put him in his place for that, wouldn't you say?" said Elsie, with exaggerated saccharinity.

"I suppose you did," he admitted.

"It is for me to be offended by that, not you, Charles," she pointed out. "And I have forgiven him, so I suggest you do the same."

"I still don't trust him as far as I can throw him," grumbled Charles.

"It's Christmas," said Elsie brightly, squeezing his arm. "Whatever he does, kindly refrain from throwing him."

The servant's luncheon proved to be surprisingly pleasant for all. While Mr. Barrow was not about to relinquish his seat at the head of the table, Mr. and Mrs. Carson had been set places of honour on the left hand side, and all had been delighted to see them. It seemed Mr. Barrow had kept the invitation a secret and won himself considerable points with the staff when it was made clear whom the extra place settings were for.

The conversation was loud and overlapping, making it slightly difficult for Elsie to follow as she might once have. Discreetly, Charles cut her turkey and poured her water, so she might have less trouble. If anyone noticed, no one commented. She couldn't help blushing when she had difficulty with a forkful, but there was so much excited chatter that it didn't seem to draw attention. Eventually, she almost felt easy about it, even teasing Mrs. Patmore about the pudding. This had once been her home. Not everything had changed.

Several hours later, Charles and Elsie found themselves taking a meandering walk back to their cottage. The din of the house had faded from their minds, and after so long away, it was startling at how abrasive all that chatter could be.

"I never thought I could relish life being quiet so much," commented Elsie.

"Just so long as it's never silent again," said Charles distantly.

The minute he said it, he wished he could take it back. He couldn't help it; somehow a little bit of hurt had come out at the most unexpected time. They both stopped dead in the middle of the road, holding on to each other, frightened and steadily growing colder.

"Charles," said Elsie, her voice breaking slightly. "I'm sorry that-"

"No," he interrupted. "That wasn't fair to you. It wasn't ever your fault."

"It was," she said, biting her lip and dropping her chin. "Some of it was."

"I'm not going to argue with you. It wasn't, Elsie Carson, and that's the end of it."

She shook her head, trying not to cry, which would surely only make everything worse. Charles took a gloved hand and tipped her chin up towards him.

"Sometimes, no one is to blame," he told her.

"I'm still sorry," she whispered.

"All right," he said reluctantly. "If it helps."

"It does," she admitted. "It wasn't fair to you, and I'm sorry."

"That does not make it your fault," he said. And there, in the middle of the road for anyone to see, Charles bent and kissed her. Softly. Slowly. An apology and his forgiveness all in one.

"All right then," she said finally. "Not my fault."

"Not your fault," he agreed, caressing her cheek and wiping away a stray tear that had escaped despite her best efforts. He bent and kissed her one more time. "Now, might we go home? There's a present under the tree with your name on it."

Elsie smiled, and slipped her arm into his. "Lead on, my man."

"It hardly anything… It's silly, really."

She'd had only brown paper to wrap her present in, nicked from Mrs. Patmore earlier that day, and she wondered now if it weren't all a bit shabby. She blushed as she handed it to him. It wasn't exactly easily to tie up a scarf neatly to begin with, let alone without seeing it in the process.

"Hmm," muttered Charles, in a tone that told her he didn't believe her one bit.

She listened to the sounds of the paper crinkling with bated breath, hoping he wouldn't be too disappointed.

"Elsie, did you make this?" he said, his voice full of surprise.

"Yes," she mumbled, "Anna suggested it. If you don't like it-"

"It's perfect," he interrupted; keen to stop her little litany of dismissive comments. "It's exactly what I've been needing, and…this is really quite incredible, Elsie."

"It's only a scarf," she said, blushing even deeper.

"Made by my wife," said Charles. "Made by my beautiful, talented wife. I couldn't knit a scarf if my life depended on it, and you've gone and made one without ever looking at it."

"I suppose I have," she said, smiling slightly. His wife. How proud he sounded when he said that. "Anna did help."

"That doesn't make it any less impressive," said Charles, still marveling over it.

"All right, then," she said, biting her lip. She had genuinely managed to impress him, and it gave her a little spark of pleasure to know that.

Seeing her lower lip disappear, as it so often did, gave Charles a playful idea. He wrapped the scarf around her shoulders and used it to pull her closer to him, peppering her face with light kisses until she half fell into his lap, half laughing.

"Impressive," he said firmly, letting the scarf drop and wrapping his arms around her instead. "I'm not letting you go until you believe me."

"I've half a mind never to believe you then," said Elsie, still slightly breathless from laughing.

"That wasn't what I was going for."

"And what were you going for?" she teased, her hands on his chest to settle herself more comfortably in his lap.

"This," he said, capturing her lips in a warm kiss.

Every time he kissed her, there was something more wonderful about it. Practice, insisted the logical side of Elsie's brain, but she didn't entirely believe that. Certainly, they were more used to how to kiss each other now, but there was something else to it. The man you love … loves you, Elsie, she thought. Loves you.

And in that love, she was warm and safe…and impressive. To him, she was impressive, and a little piece of her started to believe that. A little piece of light that nothing could touch. She snaked her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer, as if somehow she would be able to see herself the way he saw her if she were close enough.

"Elsie, love, are you quite all right?"

She was surprised by the way he broke off their kiss so suddenly, and then she realized there were tears on her cheeks. When had they appeared?

"Yes," she said, wiping them away. "I'm just…happy."

"You're sure?" His tone indicated that he still had doubts.

"Absolutely," she assured him. She touched his cheek, and the faintest hint of stubble was noticeable. Slowly she traced her way to the corner of his lip, and smiling, she kissed him firmly, pleased to feel him respond by tightening his arms around her. She was happy. Overwhelmingly so. It was still a slightly foreign sensation, oddly, but she was going to revel in it.

When they stopped, neither pulled away, but instead remained cuddled together, foreheads almost touching. He tasted of tea, and smelled faintly like…she couldn't quite name it. Like him, she supposed.

"I've something for you, too," he murmured.

"Mmm?"

"Yes, but you see, I have to get up to fetch it."

"I can't say I like that idea much," she complained, with a half-hearted sigh. Nevertheless, she moved away, so that he might get up, and after a moment of rustling – it seemed Charles really had put it under the tree and everything - he placed a large cardboard box in her lap. She ran her fingers over it, stalling, though she couldn't say why.

"Open it," Charles urged her, and she lifted the lid tentatively.

"It's a dress," he said softly, as she lifted a bundle of fabric out of the tissue paper. "I'm afraid I don't sew very well, so I had to have one made."

"Ohh," she breathed, running her hands over the smooth material, "It's lovely." Her fingers found a round, embellished neckline and tiny little buttons running down the front.

"I was hoping you would like it."

Her hands had held a great many different fabrics over the decades, from rough cotton bed sheets right up to the Countesses' evening dresses. This one was a soft cotton, softer than the rugged, practical cloth she was used to, but not too fragile.

"It's very nice, Charles…You really shouldn't have."

"Well, I have now," he said firmly. "I just hope it fits. The girl at the shop said it should be fairly straightforward for you to put on yourself. You must forgive me; Miss Baxter did a few alterations in the hopes of having it fit you better."

"You asked her about…it fitting?"

"Yes," said Charles, still blushing at the memory. "You're current ones, erm, well, don't quite-"

"Don't quite whatsoever," she interrupted him, laughing slightly. She hoped to save him some embarrassment, knowing how uncomfortable he must have been asking for another woman's advice on her, well, figure. "You're quite right. And I'm sure it will be better for it."

Charles breathed a sigh of relief that she didn't think him offensive for pointing out how her body had changed. It had been positively mortifying to ask Miss Baxter's advice, but if it would help…

Charles cleared his throat. "I just wanted you to feel…I don't quite know."

"But I do know," said Elsie softly. "Charles, would…would you like me to try it on?"

"If you like," he said, trying to sound indifferent and failing miserably. Elsie smiled.

"Then I will," she said, standing. "Give me half a minute."

It took much longer than half a minute, but when she returned to the living room, Charles gave a sharp little intake a breath that was more than audible to his wife. It had a higher hemline than most, but not so much that she didn't feel respectable. It was the fashion these days, and in her stockings, it felt perfectly natural. The material was light, not a dress for the depths of winter, and the sleeves stopped mid-forearm, giving her more freedom than she was used to.

"Well?" she said, smiling at his reaction. "What do you think?"

It would forever be a shame that Elsie couldn't see his adoring look, but she heard it in his voice, perfectly clearly. "I think…I think you look wonderful."

She blushed, smoothing her hands over the front again. She'd once fancied herself a competent seamstress, but this was certainly one of the nicest dresses she'd ever owned. "Umm-"

"You really do, Elsie," he said moving closer to her, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "I promise."

"I believe you," she whispered, reaching for him, needing to touch him. "I cannot wait until it's warm enough to wear it every day."

"Well," said Charles, pulling her into his arms. "That's the other part of the present … if you're agreeable."

"What is?"

He kissed her deeply, and for a moment she almost forgot her question. The dress was suddenly much, much too warm. "I was hoping," said Charles, running his hands along her sides, "that we might take a honeymoon trip? Do things properly for once?"

"That doesn't quite sound like us…" said Elsie. "But I think I'd be agreeable to that."

"Perfect," he said, taking a step back to admire her again.

Being on display was not something that was comfortable for her, this woman who had made a living blending into the background, for whom going unnoticed was the ultimate mark of capability. But this was Charles … and only him. She thought she might be able to get used to, being on display for him.

Another thought occurred to her. "Charles, I don't even know what colour it is!"

"Blue," he said, taking her hands, still mesmerized. "But not dark…sort of something…lighter. And it has a light pattern outlined in cream."

"What sort of pattern?" she asked.

"Overlapping flowers, if you were to examine it closely…here," he traced his fingers across her middle, outlining little leaves and stems for her, tracing around her torso. Her corset dulled the sensation, and it frustrated her so. Time seemed to slow down. He focused solely on his hands painting the pattern for her, and it was all she could do to keep breathing as he did so. All the way down her arms he gently pressed the winding cream-coloured vines into her skin, across her breastbone, and down around her sides. It was tantalizing and frustrating at the same time, and Elsie put a stop to it when she could take her growing want no more.

"Charles," she ground out.

"That's the pattern," he murmured, his hands still on her waist, unable to let go.

"Charles," said Elsie, blushing even deeper. "It's a very lovely dress, but…"

"But?"

"Would you mind taking it off?" she whispered to him.

TBC...