The eve of their wedding arrived and Mr. Carson found himself oddly placid. There was nothing left to plan or worry about. He suspected he would feel nervous in the morning, but as he lay in his bed, his room now bare of nearly everything but the suit he would be married in, he could not sleep, but he was calm. He closed his eyes and let the images in his mind brighten and sharpen.
They were standing on the beach. Well, she was standing in the water; he was the one on the beach, fretting. "Come on. I dare ye." She had certainly challenged him on numerous occasions over the years, but he wasn't sure she had ever done so quite as directly. It was a light challenge; her manner was easy, her smile warm, and she answered his anxieties with an amusing blend of practicality and teasing. "If ye get them wet we'll dry them... Suppose a bomb goes off? Suppose we're hit by a falling star?" And then came the moment when she stepped right over that line that separated them. She'd been flirting a bit already, but here she surprised him. "You can hold my hand. Then we'll both go in together." He had shocked himself by accepting her offer almost immediately, but now he kept thinking of her words. Together. We'll both go in together. Together together together together. The word took on an enormous meaning in his mind. It was about more than just living and working in the same house and now it even meant more than being close friends. This new kind of together would bind them to one another in every way one person could be bound to another. It was not too late to be a little risqué, not too late to live a little. It was not, was never, too late to love.
Mr. Carson wondered what life and Mrs. Carson had in store for him. He finally drifted off to sleep with a smile on his lips, replaying that conversation in his mind and dreaming of living a little, hand-in-hand with that smiling beauty on the beach.
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Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Branson stood just outside the church, arm-in-arm, waiting for the ceremony to begin. The wedding guests were gathered in the sanctuary; Mr. Travis would appear at any moment.
"You're sure you couldn't get used to it?" Mr. Branson was saying. "Now that you're retired?"
Mrs. Hughes, smiling and flushed with the excitement of the day, shook her head. "No, I don't think I could," she answered. "Even when you were the chauffeur, I called you Mr. Branson. Why should it be any different now?"
"Just try it once," he persisted teasingly.
"Very well, Tom, you look very fine in your morning coat," Mrs. Hughes replied before shaking her head again. "No, I'm afraid I just can't do it, Mr. Branson."
"Never?" Mr. Branson asked.
Mrs. Hughes looked at him and relented. "Probably never," she told him. "But ask me again in six months. Two weeks of retirement have changed me more than I would have expected. Who knows what the future may hold!"
Mr. Travis appeared at the front of the church and the organ began to play. Mr. Branson and Mrs. Hughes exchanged a smile and made their way together down the center aisle. Mr. Carson, in his best suit, stood at the front of the church waiting for his bride. His back was turned to her at first, but after she had taken a few steps in his direction he turned to meet her gaze.
Mr. Carson looked very dignified. His face showed no obvious change when he saw her. He stood tall and proud, an imposing presence. When their eyes met his chin lifted almost imperceptibly. His shoulders, already broad and magnificent, straightened just a bit. Mrs. Hughes looked at that impressive expression and saw what no one else did. He was not simply the figure at the door, the butler who held the Crawley honor so high. He was a man, one who lived and had loved and lost and loved again. When the others looked at him, they would surely see an excellent man, a handsome one, and they might even detect the faint flush in his cheeks, but she could see that much and more. She could see the smile and the love that he could hide from all but her. He was a man of flesh and bone and a beating heart. Her man. Her heart. Mrs. Hughes felt her own lips curling into a smile. She was happy and she was proud. She was proud of him and proud of them - who they had been, who they were, and who they would be. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. Charles and Elsie. Mr. and Mrs. Carson. Friends and now lovers. She reached the front of the church and took his hand.
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The Carsons planned a brief wedding trip, but they would not leave until a few days after their wedding. Their first night together was to be spent in their cottage. Until today it had been Mrs. Hughes's cottage, but now it was theirs together. They had not spoken of it, but privately they each preferred the idea of spending their first night together in their own home, rather than at an inn or hotel.
The wedding celebration had gone on for several hours and Charles and Elsie had enjoyed the company of their friends, but in the late afternoon they walked home together hand in hand. Mrs. Patmore had already sent a hamper to the cottage, so they would not need to worry about dinner.
Elsie pulled the key from her handbag and went to unlock the door, but stopped herself. She placed the key in her husband's hand.
"I'll let you do the honors, Charles," she offered, smiling. "It's your home now, too."
"Thank you, dear," he said, bending to kiss her cheek before he unlocked and opened the door. "Welcome home, Mrs. Carson." When the door was closed again, the bride and groom stood just inside. They faced one another, very close but not touching, each searching the other's eyes for some idea of what to do next. This was a moment that they had both long anticipated, but had never really discussed. What was there to talk about that either of them would have felt comfortable saying aloud? Right now they could only stare at one another.
Elsie was the first to move. She had begun to feel foolish and turned away from her husband to remove and hang up her coat. When she removed her hat, Charles took off his coat and hat as well.
"Would you like some tea, Charles?" Elsie asked, offering a nervous smile to her husband.
He smiled warmly back. "That would be lovely."
"Why don't you wait on our little settee and I will take care of the rest?" she suggested, turning to enter the kitchen.
Charles frowned at her retreating figure, then followed her to the kitchen doorway, where he stood silently watching her turn on the tap to fill the kettle, set it on the stove, and begin to prepare the tea things. After just a few seconds, he crossed the room until he stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.
"Elsie, you're trembling," he pointed out quietly.
She didn't answer, but continued to arrange the tea tray. She was very aware of her husband's hands on her, and her own hands shook even more, until she dropped a saucer on the floor and it shattered. Charles immediately removed the kettle from the heat and turned off the stove. When Elsie bent to collect the shards of broken crockery from the floor, he stopped her.
"Leave it, Elsie."
She looked up into his eyes.
"We'll clean that up later," he told her, taking her hand and leading her out of the kitchen.
"What about the tea?" she asked.
Charles didn't answer her question, pulling her into the parlor and tugging her down to sit beside him on their settee. He took her face in his hands and kissed her nose. "Now what is it that's got my darling girl so tied in knots?" he wanted to know.
"I've never been someone's wife before," Elsie answered quietly.
"And I've never had a wife," Charles answered.
"I think you know what I mean, Charles."
"You're nervous, my Elsie?" he asked.
"I'm afraid so," she admitted.
Charles let his hands fall away from her, but remained seated very close to her, looking down into her eyes. Elsie could feel the warmth radiating from her husband's body and her trembling lessened. She continued looking up into his eyes and soon felt the sensation of being swallowed up by his intense gaze. Elsie wondered why Charles did not try to touch her; she could see in his eyes that he wanted to. Her worries began to trickle away as her hands itched to caress him, her lips to kiss him. "Charles," she whispered.
"Elsie." His breath was just as uneven as hers.
Elsie realized now that her husband was trying to make her more comfortable by allowing her to take the lead. She closed her eyes and placed her palms on Charles's chest. She slowly pushed them upwards, her hands meeting behind his neck and her fingers running through his hair. She opened her eyes and looked into his for a moment before pulling his head down toward hers and kissing him hard. The moment their lips met, Charles wrapped his arms around Elsie and pulled her close, his hands caressing her back and hips. When Elsie broke away to catch her breath, he moved his lips to her cheek, her jaw, her neck - anything that wasn't covered by clothing.
"Charles." She was breathless.
"Mmmm?" The deep rumble of his voice so close to her ear gave her goosebumps.
"Would you like to see the bedroom curtains now?" she murmured, a smile in her voice.
Charles chuckled. "Indeed, I would."
Elsie extricated herself from his embrace and rose from her seat, then drew him up by the hand and led him upstairs.
To be continued…
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