A/N: Pushing the rating here a bit, but not quite an *M* (yet).

Um … this is the chapter you've been waiting for, I think! :) Well, most of you anyhow. I do hope the person who wished for things not to go this way doesn't hate me for it. It's been written this way for a LONG time, though, so I didn't want to change it.

Let me know what you think! xx

CSotA

As Charles pulled the car up to his house, Elsie just stared open-mouthed at the property itself. She'd seen the house from the beach side on her many late-afternoon walks, and she had glimpsed it from the road, but she'd never trespassed down the driveway to get a closer peek. From the back, the house was rather impressive indeed; from the front, however, it was truly breathtaking.

While not immense in overall size, the attention to detail was extraordinary. The façade was stone, with a columned porch. The lower half of the porch was walled-in, giving shelter from stormy weather. There was a swing on the porch, a glider built for two where one could sit and read and, no doubt, watch the sunrise, and there was also a rather large and comfortable-looking sofa, set against the wall so that it would be quite well protected from the elements. The windows above and to the side of the porch were numerous and large, and Elsie knew that the sunlight pouring in them would mean that very little artificial light would be needed in those rooms during the earlier parts of the day.

But the detail that she found most beautiful of all was the enormous bay window. It jutted out to the right of the porch and she imagined a rather lovely window seat on which Daisy could read and draw. The window made her think that the room would be like a solarium in the morning hours, and from the faint lamplight that shone from inside she could make out a rather large shape. Wait … what's that? Oh, a piano.

"It's stunning," she said, bringing herself out of her reverie as Charles shifted the car in park. "I never knew. I mean, I've seen it from the beach side, but didn't know there was all this lovely stonework."

Charles smiled at the look on her face - simple awe, as though she were only a young girl. "Yes, we're quite lucky to be here. And you're right, you'd never expect the stone work when seeing it from the back."

He got out of the car and quickly moved around to get Elsie's door, taking her hand to help her out and trying to focus on the conversation they'd been having and not on her toned legs or shapely figure. "The back deck was redone about ten years ago, and the exterior of that portion of the house was resided to make it more resistant to the salt from the ocean. I spend most of my time out there as opposed to on the front porch, actually - the sunsets from that side are absolutely amazing."

"I can imagine," Elsie murmured, realizing that he had not relinquished her hand until after he'd unlocked the door and motioned for her to go through before him.

"I'll fetch us some wine. Why don't you wander around a bit?"

"I'd love to, thank you," she replied, smiling shyly. She would have been embarrassed to have presented herself as somewhat of a gawker had Mary been there, but with Charles the invitation was merely kind; he was clearly as impressed by the home as she was.

Charles made his way into the kitchen, his mind half-focused on the sound of Elsie's heels clicking across the tile floors as she made her way to … ah, good, the sitting room. Confident that's where he'd find her, he focused on the task at hand. He removed a bottle of his favorite white wine from the cooler and uncorked it, then retrieved two crystal glasses from the hutch and headed off to find Elsie. About ten feet from the sitting room door, he stopped dead in his tracks as the sound of the piano made its way through the house.

Charles just stood there, speechless - it was a miracle the goblets and wine didn't go crashing down onto the floor. After a few moments he managed to remember how to walk, and he made his way to the doorway where he stood leaning against the door jamb, his jaw on the floor.

Elsie was an absolute vision. Her hands flew up and down the keys as she played, her eyes closed. The emotion of the music was conveyed in the expertise of her playing, but it moved across her face as well. Charles, an aficionado of all types of classical music and an attendee at countless performances in the past, was simply amazed at the unexpected gift that she possessed. After about three minutes, he realized she was out of focus … only after blinking a few times did he understand that she'd moved him to tears.

Elsie seemed to have no idea of his presence, and Charles loathed the thought of interrupting her. He simply stood watching, entranced and moved by the music until the last, lilting notes echoed in the room; only then did he venture to move forward.

"Beethoven," he whispered. "The Moonlight Sonata … It was playing in your office that day."

"Oh! Charles, I'm so sorry," she said, jumping up from the bench, seemingly ashamed.

"Oh, please, don't be," he assured her. He set the wine and glasses down on the side table and moved closer to her. Only then did Elsie realize his cheeks were damp; she reached out slowly and wiped his tears, then tucked her chin and looked at the floor, realizing that looking into his eyes was making it unbelievably difficult for her to keep her sanity.

"That was incredible," he added. "I'm not sure I've ever heard anyone play like that. You've truly got a gift, Elsie."

She smiled and shook her head, but he reached out and tilted her chin up until she was looking at him again, then intensified his gaze and only insisted, "You do."

God help her, she almost kissed him.

"That's a Steinway," she blurted instead. "I mean," she added, closing her eyes and shaking her head, "how foolish of me - you know that. I just … I've never actually seen one in person."

"That it is." Come on, Charles. You're standing here like two old fools! "Would you like some wine?"

She nodded, and tore herself away from him, making her way to the sofa. She slipped off her shoes and sat sideways, legs crossed, and draped her arm over the back of the couch.

Charles flipped the switch to start the fire in the gas hearth, then poured the wine. He handed her a glass and joined her on the sofa … not too close, he warned himself … facing her, mimicking her posture without allowing their hands to touch.

Elsie sipped her wine and contemplated the man before her ... this tall, beautiful man, who was clearly so very strong, and yet she was sure he was one of the gentlest souls she'd ever met. She felt the need to tread very carefully knowing that, despite the physical strength and intelligence he exuded, he was clearly still coming to terms with the changes life had thrown his way … something Elsie understood only too well.

"What?" he enquired, furrowing his brow and smiling at her. "What are you pondering so deeply, Elsie Hughes?"

"You," she blurted without thinking. Charles saw the blush creep up her cheeks as she added, "I presume you play as well. The piano, I mean."

His soft laugh echoed throughout the room. "No, I'm afraid I don't - it's Daisy's, really."

"It's Daisy's? You're kidding!" Elsie saw the shadow flit across his face and instantly regretted her words. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "how rude of me. I didn't mean for that to sound judgmental. I just didn't realize she played. It's quite a piano for a child."

"It's alright," he said with a sad smile. "It was originally Alice's piano - a gift for our wedding, if you can believe it."

"Let me guess, from the Crawleys?"

"Yes. Alice used to play the piano beautifully when I met her, was the star of the recitals and such, played the organ in the chapel on Sundays when they needed someone to fill in. I brought her to one of the Crawley family gatherings once and she happened to make an offhand comment that she'd always wanted to play a Steinway baby grand. Violet overheard her," he shrugged, "and that was that. The day we moved into our first home, piano movers knocked on the door."

"Unbelievable," Elsie just shook her head. "It was very lucky that you had room for it!"

"She knew we would," he admitted, "as she'd come with us to look at the place. We were just starting to be successful in our careers. Violet helped with the purchase of the house."

"You're quite close to her, then? I know very little about her, only what Edith has said."

He hummed, trying to find the words as he sipped his wine.

"Violet is like a second mother to me. I met her when I started at university, where I met Robert - Edith and Mary's father. My family always had money, but … well, not like the Crawleys, I suppose."

He paused and tilted his head, whether or not to go with his instinct and trust the beautiful, caring woman who sat beside him. But Elsie just looked back at him fondly with a small, encouraging smile playing about her lips, and he made his decision.

"My childhood was not a happy one," Charles said quietly, staring into his glass as he twirled the stem between his fingers, swirling the wine back and forth. "My father was an exceptionally successful surgeon. My mother didn't work, but she was a raging alcoholic. My father couldn't handle that; he couldn't see that it was his fault, really, because he was always working … or with one of his mistresses," he said darkly. "They always made sure I had everything I needed physically, but …"

"But there was no love," Elsie said sadly, the story one she was all too familiar with from all the years she'd spent peeping into the home lives of so many families.

"No, or very little of it anyhow. My father died after battling cancer halfway through my first year at uni, and my inheritance was in a trust until I would turn twenty-five. My mother paid my university and law school costs, but that was basically it – I rarely went home to visit, and I rarely ever heard from her. Alice and I married young, and by that point I'd spent so many holidays at Robert's that I was more a part of his family than my own. Violet took an interest in me - to this day I'm not sure why. She promised to help me out until I turned twenty-five and came into my trust."

"'Help you out?' I'd say," Elsie muttered.

"Just so. Violet doesn't do anything by halves," Charles smirked. "But she did allow me to pay her back when my twenty-fifth birthday came, for everything but the piano. That, she said, was a wedding gift."

"I'm sure Alice appreciated it very much," Elsie said kindly.

"Actually, she almost never touched it. Not after the first few months, anyhow."

"You're kidding!" Elsie exclaimed. She shook her head in wonder, then drank her last sip of wine, allowing Charles to refill it before topping off his own.

"No. Her career had taken over her life at that point …" His voice trailed off, and Elsie could suddenly see with stark clarity what his life had been like from that moment on.

"And her marriage?"

Charles looked up suddenly, shocked by her question.

"I'm sorry," she added quickly, embarrassed. "I can't believe I said that."

"No, no, it's fine," he told her. "It's just … well, not many people care enough to ask. To answer your question, yes; I can admit now that, after about two years of being married, our relationship was no longer Alice's number-one priority. And then, many years later, Daisy came along - rather unexpectedly, which was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back."

"Alice didn't want to be a mother?" She furrowed her brow, simply unable to imagine how that could be.

"No, not really. She went through with it for me. I think she truly believed that once Daisy was born she'd feel differently. Alice always felt … broken, somehow, I think, because she never wanted children the way that so many women do. I think she felt that once the baby was born she'd feel some sudden, maternal rush – that overwhelming desire that Robert's wife, Cora, felt the day Mary was born."

"And she didn't," Elsie said sadly.

"No. She tried, truly, but after two years she went back to work. My own career allowed me to work from home, and I became the primary caretaker – physician's visits, then play dates, library, that sort of thing."

"Of course," she smiled, "which helps to explain why you Daisy are so very close. Although I'm guessing that happened the day you knew a bairn was on her way," she added softly, a loving kindness in her eyes that matched the tone of her words, the lilt of her accent tugging at his heart.

"Quite so." He was almost embarrassed by the softness in her voice and in her eyes, some deep feeling in there somewhere … something that he didn't believe he deserved.

"I don't tell you all this so that you'll feel sorry for me, Elsie. It's just the way it was. My wife simply fell more in love with her job than with her husband … and her daughter. But although she was rarely present in our lives anymore, she never made Daisy feel unwanted or unloved. Daisy always knew her mother cared for her."

"But not as you wished she would? Not as … well, not as many mothers would," she said sadly.

"No, and it broke my heart," he admitted, then shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, I don't know where all of this came from. You must think me very foolish," he asked sheepishly.

Elsie extended arm a bit, allowing her fingertips to become interlaced with his.

"No," she said softly, slowly, allowing herself to look deep into his eyes at last. "I think you're the most wonderful man I've ever known."

The next thing she knew the wine glass was being removed from her hand. As she followed Charles's movements with her eyes, she saw the light from the flickering fire bouncing off his silver locks; before she had time to regret what she'd said, she felt his lips on her own. His kiss was soft, tentative, not pressing or pressuring at all, as though he were testing the waters. He backed away after mere seconds - much, much too quickly, Elsie thought - and looked her in the eyes again, the silent question in his own.

She sat forward and slowly reached her right hand up to his shoulder, using the angle to pull them closer together. She ran the fingers of her other hand over his lapel, examining it as she steeled her nerves … then moved her fingers up his chest and over his neck, allowing them to land in the curly hair at the nape of his neck as she gave up the last of her reservations, looked deep into his eyes, and kissed him back firmly. He made some type of sound between a soft moan and a sigh, and her heart started beating more rapidly – something she'd not have thought possible seconds before.

Charles's head was swimming, lost in a sea of wonder and passion, his own heart pounding forcibly in his chest and his pulse loud in his ears. After a few moments, he managed to break away from Elsie's kiss, but only just.

"Elsie," he whispered breathlessly, "what are we doing?"

"You kissed me," she said simply.

He smiled at her then, and caressed her cheek with his thumb, realizing only then that he'd been running his fingers through her gorgeous, auburn locks. "Yes, but then I stopped, and the rest was your fault," he gently argued.

She licked her still-tingling lips. "Alright," she conceded.

"And that brings us back to my original question." Charles sat back, feeling they needed a bit of distance as they discussed what this was that was happening between them.

"I'm … I'm not quite sure what you want me to say. I thought that you … well, it seemed that …" she trailed off, at a loss for words, a feeling that she found neither familiar or comfortable in the least.

Charles saw her hesitation and clasped her hand in his, trying to assuage her fears. "No. I mean, yes …"

She laughed at that. "Oh, yes, that clears it up."

"Elsie," he added, finally in control of his words, "I have so much more than just a passing interest in you." He took her hand in his again, looking down at them and smiling at how his dwarfed hers, at how soft and gentle her skin was, at how her perfectly-manicured nails gave no hint of the hard work she did day in and day out.

"And I, you," she said softly. "But is this a very good idea, Charles? What about Daisy? Surely she's not in a comfortable place for anyone else coming into your life in this way."

He sighed, sitting back but refusing to relinquish her hand. "I know, but she likes you very much." He looked at her then, squeezed her hand, and added, "I like you very much."

He watched her as she exhaled loudly and started worrying her lip again. He didn't want to say anything, would have sat there all night just watching her and holding her hand if he could. He admitted to himself that he'd been fighting this since the day he'd met her, had been telling himself that it was ridiculous that he could feel drawn to a woman he'd only just met, someone he didn't know at all. But the moment his lips had touched hers, he felt like he'd come …

"… home," he whispered unwittingly.

"Sorry?" she asked, looking up at him curiously.

She saw his embarrassment, and decided not to press. Biting her tongue, she reached for her wine glass and downed the rest of the contents. She stood suddenly, pulling him up with her.

"Do you have any music in this room, Charles?" she asked suddenly. "Besides the piano?"

He tilted his head, then nodded slowly. "Yes …" She was just standing there, looking at him expectantly, and so he went over and turned on the sound system. Elsie smiled brilliantly as Barbra Streisand's voice came through the hidden speakers, filling the room with her clear, powerful singing.

"Would you like to dance?" she asked, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He'd thought for a moment that she'd been getting up to leave.

"I'd love to," he answered, standing and offering her his hand.

"To be honest, I think it best to get off the sofa for the moment," she added with a smirk.

She curtseyed, causing him to laugh. He clasped her fingers and pulled her toward him slowly.

"Oh, heavens, I should put my heels back on!" she joked.

"I think we'll be just fine," he murmured, placing his hand at the small of her back. "Do you enjoy dancing?"

"That depends," she answered lightly. "Tonight? Yes. Do you often listen to Streisand?"

"That depends," he teased. "When the average age of the main audience isn't ten? Yes."

The sound of her laughter jump-started his heart once again. Charles couldn't remember ever having held Alice in his arms, dancing happily. Not even at their wedding, really, because she hated to dance. He remembered the obligatory bride-and-groom waltz, stiff and awkward despite their happiness that day, and how he'd danced with Violet and Cora more than his own wife.

But tonight … tonight was a whole new experience for him, and he realized with a start that it felt as though he and Elsie had danced together a thousand times. He noticed how easily she fit in his arms, despite her joking about her height; he noticed how warm she was, how good of a dancer she was, so attuned to the rhythm of the music, how lovely her perfume smelled, how the firelight was bouncing off her hair.

Could the one to save me

Possibly be you?

I was lost, I was blind.

Till I loved you.

Wouldn't see,

Couldn't find someone new ...

"Lovely song," she whispered, looking into his eyes. She wasn't afraid anymore, was ready to give herself so completely to this lovely man she'd met such a short time ago … if only he were ready, which she wasn't sure about at all.

He licked his lips nervously. "It is," he agreed. "You never answered my question," he added.

"I know."

He pulled her closer then, twirling her around the room as the song changed. "I haven't danced in years. You're very good."

"Aw, I do love it," she admitted, "but there are precious few dance halls here in Misty Cove."

"Well," Charles told her, spinning her away and then pulling her back, holding her more tightly than he had before, "I'd say this one is working quite well."

They didn't speak again until the next song ended, when they came to a stop and simply stood together, hands clasped.

"Charles," she finally whispered, "what are we doing here?"

He lifted her hand, placing a kiss to her knuckles and then another to the inside of her wrist. "Well, at the beginning of the night," he said, pausing to kiss each of her fingertips as she struggled to breathe, "I was trying to figure out how to get you to go out on another date with me."

"And now?" she gasped.

"Now," he said, moving his lips to the top of her head and kissing her softly, his next words a murmur against her hair, "I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to let you walk out that door."

She rested her forehead on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

"I know. Charles, nothing like this has ever happened to me. I'm feeling rather overwhelmed at the moment."

"Me, too." He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly and silently rejoicing when she placed her own arms around his waist, her cheek to his heart.

"You're a student's parent, for God's sake! I'm not even sure if this is allowed."

He felt a flutter of hope in his heart as he listened to her. "This? This what, Elsie?"

"This …" she answered, kissing his heart, "this beautiful, amazing something that I feel when I stand here in your arms. You say that don't know how you're going to let me walk out that door. I've got to tell you, Charles ... I don't want to leave."

He rubbed his hands up and down her back, then finally rested them on her shoulders, pushing her away a bit so that he could face her again.

"Then don't," he whispered, kissing her once again.

This kiss was nothing like the first two they shared. There was nothing remotely reserved about the way their lips were pressed together - harshly - the way his tongue slid over her bottom lip repeatedly until she met it with her own, the sensation causing him to moan softly. He moved his lips across her cheek and nibbled on her ear, not noticing how her hands were deftly loosening his tie until she tossed it on the sofa. His lips found a sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder and she let out a little gasp, scrunching up the fabric of his shirt in her fingers.

Elsie's head was swimming as she felt his hands freely roaming the planes of her sides, her back, and lower. She'd managed to undo the top four buttons of his shirt and was placing frantic, open-mouthed kisses to his chest, marveling at the soft texture of the silver hair underneath her fingers. As her own hands started to wander, she found herself grabbing his waist, and pulling his body tightly up against her own, giving her own moan as she felt the results of their passionate embracing pushing up against her.

"Elsie," he warned again, the deep tone of his voice rumbling in her ears, "if you do want to leave, this would be a good time …"

She just shook her head, moving her mouth upward to kiss his jaw. "God help me, but I really don't. I'll have to head out just after dawn, though."

He removed his arms from her body and took her face in his hands, the look in his eyes making her heart skip a beat as he took a deep breath, wanting to get his words exactly right.

"I wasn't just saying that earlier, about this not being a passing interest." He swallowed, thankful for her patience as he tried to explain what was in his heart.

"I've only ever been with one other woman in my life, so this isn't something I take lightly. I need for you to understand that. I realize that I know precious little about you, yet I feel that - for reasons I cannot possibly explain – we'd be so very good together, that we belong together."

Elsie closed her eyes, not wanting him to see any hesitation on her part. She had no real reservations about staying with him, sharing his bed and – hopefully, someday – more. But it was true … he knew precious little about her, about the past that still haunted her, and about how he was the thing she'd been hoping for her whole life, not having realized she still wanted it until the day he'd shown up in her office.

"Oh, Charles, I think I'm falling in love with you," she whispered, opening her eyes to look into his once again. "And, I'll be honest, that's a bit frightening, a bit overwhelming. But it's good." She let out an involuntary laugh. "And it's been a very long time since I've done this myself, and I feel a bit out of my league."

"Never," he rumbled. "You, Elsie Hughes, are the best thing that's come into my life in years. Believe me, it is I who am out of my league. And, for the record, it's been a very long time for me, too."

He leaned in for another kiss, then another, and then just bent down and picked her up in his strong arms. She ran her lips up and down his neck and jaw, her hot breath nearly driving him mad as he carried her to the bedroom, her dress having ridden up somewhere along the way; he passed through and then kicked the door closed behind them.

Charles placed her gently on the bed and lit the lamp on the bedside table.

An old-fashioned oil lamp, she thought. Why doesn't that surprise me?

She scooted to the edge of the bed - grateful for its unnaturally high height - and finished undoing the buttons on his shirt, which he quickly stripped off and tossed (along with his undershirt) on the chair in the corner. He smiled nervously at the look on her face as she raked her eyes over his chest and stomach, well aware that he was no twenty-five-year-old man anymore.

She didn't seem to care, however, and as she ran her hands over his torso she allowed her fingernails to run through the hair on his chest, smirking naughtily as one flicked over his nipple, making him gasp.

He reached behind her and undid the zipper to her dress, his cool fingertips ghosting over the heated surface of her skin. Rather than hopping off the bed, she simply let the dress fall down her shoulders and pool around her waist, exposing the black lace brassiere that she was ever-so-grateful she'd chosen for tonight. She wasn't ashamed of her body, the years of daily work on the farm keeping her nicely toned; however, she'd never been completely comfortable letting a man just look at her.

But Charles was different, the look on his face full of complete adoration and - she could hardly believe it - lust. Clearly he wasn't finding her wanting so far, and the knowledge boosted her confidence. She laid back on the bed and caught her heels on the bed frame, lifting her bottom so that he could slide the dress the rest of the way off.

"Oh, my God," he whispered, running his hands over her breasts and down to her hips, where he fingered the black, matching lace he found there. He looked back up at her face and saw her auburn hair - aflame in the gentle light of the lamp - spread out over the white of his bedspread. "I've never seen someone so beautiful."

She smiled brilliantly at him, and hooked her heels around his knees. "Then come here," she purred, inhibitions finally, completely gone. She reached her arms out and took his hands, pulling him down on top of her until his elbows rested alongside her arms. "Make me happy that I stayed, Mr. Carson."

"Oh, I fully intend to, Ms. Hughes," he replied, and she felt his smile as he continued to kiss his way further and further down her body. "It will be my absolute pleasure, I am sure."

Special shout-out to ericajanebarry, who wrote a scene in her (freaking amazing) Richobel fic, "Worthy and True," that was very like the piano scene here. I had already written this one, but the similarities were eerie. If even remotely ship Richobel, go read her fic, which is just stunning. xx