Author's Note: Well if it isn't time for the 11th chapter! In today's chapter we'll continue where we left off last time and also dig deeper into both Charles and Elsie's thoughts on this whole situation. We've also returned to my ideal chapter length of over 3k words! Yay! This story has come such a long way already and I'm very grateful to each and every one of my readers for showing me their support during this journey! And I'm very proud of myself for gathering up my wits and actually writing something this summer like I had initially planned at the start of my break…Which, by they way, is quickly coming to an end. My school is starting again on next week's Wednesday, meaning there is only a few days of freedom left for me before it's back to business again…Sigh. This is bad news to my stories and to you, since I probably won't be able to write or upload anything in…like, ever. Well, for the time being, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know your thoughts with a little review, if you've just a moment to spare! Stay safe, everyone, and Chelsie on!

She wasn't exactly surprised when the clock struck quarter past eleven, and her husband was still nowhere to be seen. Elsie knew he would never leave things halfway done, and should anything be imperfectly upstairs, he would be sure to fix it before making his way back to her for the night. So, instead of impatiently waiting for him to return, Elsie went to his office to tidy it up a bit for him. Of course, she knew Charles hated when his things were touched and moved - and she knew he would notice if one item on his desk had moved even an inch - but she thought he would appreciate it if she simply put out the fire in the fireplace for the night and straightened the pile of papers on his desk so that it would be nice and tidy for when he would return to it in the morning. Elsie had just lifted her hand to shut the lights after looking around the room one last time to make sure all of the candles had been put out and that the silver cabinet was properly locked (a routine she knew he normally did himself) when she heard steps in the stairs. She stepped into the hallway and shut his pantry door behind her, his coat and hat in hand, as she walked towards the sound of his footsteps.

"I thought you had forgotten all about m—" And before she could finish the sentence, she met gazes with Lady Mary, who held onto her husband's arm. "—Milady, I do beg your pardon."

The housekeeper came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs and instinctively bowed her head politely.

"I'm afraid that's entirely my fault, Mrs Hughes. I held him up," Mary said as she and Charles stepped down the staircase.

Elsie was thoroughly confused as to why the lady was standing in front of her in her dressing gown at this time of night, but, luckily, Charles was quick to answer her silent question by telling her what Lady Mary had told him a few minutes ago.

"I said I would manage on my own, but Carson insisted that he lend me a hand," Lady Mary explained - a part of her hoping this would cease some of the housekeeper's wrath she knew could very well be aimed at her soon.

"Of course," Elsie smiled weakly, knowing that sounded exactly like her husband. "Well, we should head in the kitchen so that all of us can get to bed while it is still dark. I'm sure Mrs Patmore has some eggs and bread left, if that suits you, milady."

"That would be wonderful, thank you."

And so the Carsons and Lady Mary made their way in the kitchen, and whilst the young woman took a seat by the kitchen table, the couple together worked on frying some eggs and buttering a toast, as well as making her a cup of hot tea with some honey and warm milk. Mary watched them closely the entire time - she noticed how the butler's hand found its way to the housekeeper's lower back as he passed her on his way to put the butter back into the fridge and how she let her fingers linger in touch with his when he handed her a clean plate from the cupboard. Their movements weren't thought out, they didn't need to be, as the pair moved about the kitchen in perfect solitude, with only knowing glances exchanged between them at times as they let each other know who would do what. In less than ten minutes, Lady Mary had a freshly poured, hot tea, some scrambled eggs and a buttered, warm toast in front of her.

"I'm afraid neither of us are too good cooks, certainly not on the same level as Mrs Patmore, but I hope it's at least edible, milady," Elsie said kindly as she wiped her hands on a dish cloth sitting beside the sink.

"I'm sure it's delicious, thank you. But now I'm afraid it's already terribly late, and you have to be up very early."

"Don't worry about it, milady. It is not the first time we've gotten little sleep. We'll manage."

Mary grinned at this - the double meaning behind those, however, innocent words from the butler's mouth not going past her.

"Do you want me to carry the tray up to your room, milady?" Elsie asked kindly as she stepped forward.

"That's alright, I'll finish it here and then head back to bed, Mrs Hughes. But thank you."

Elsie nodded her head understandingly. A yawn threatened to escape her mouth, and she hid it behind her hand, "I'm ever so sorry, milady. I'm afraid it's been a long day."

She felt Charles's hand on her back, hidden from Lady Mary's eyes as he spoke, "I believe we best head to the cottage. Are you quite certain you will manage, milady?"

"Quite sure," Mary said matter-of-factly with raised eyebrows."I'll say good night."

It was five minutes later when the Carsons finally stepped out into the cool late summer night, with only the moon and the owls as their company, to make their way home. They had had a long day behind them, that was for sure, and both were eager to get to bed. Sleep would come easy that night to both of them.

"I hope you're not too cross with me for prolonging our evening even more," Charles said as they walked, the chilly wind nipping against his cheeks.

Elsie couldn't help but smile at him in her tired state, "I am not. It is sweet how you take care of her, I don't blame you for it. Though I'll be happy to finally get to bed."

He hummed his reply.

Elsie continued, changing the subject as a thought struck her, "What were you thinking about earlier today? You said you would tell me later."

It took him a moment to understand what she meant, "It's nothing terribly important."

"Even so. Tell me."

"Well…I was only thinking about what Dr Clarkson said."

"I haven't had the time to entirely process what Dr Clarkson said if that's what you mean."

"Yes, no I gathered that," he shook his head, and she could see it from the corner of her eye.

"But we don't have to talk about it tonight, do we?"

"Of course not. But I hope you'll still give it some thought, Elsie. And make the decision soon."

Elsie turned to gaze up at him, "It's not entirely only my decision to make. We shall make it together. Soon."

"Alright," he said and flashed her a smile.

They could see their porch light in the distance as the cottage came to view behind the tree line.

—

The following days

The morning had gone rather smoothly, or as smoothly as it could go in a house this big - she had done her rounds around the house, cleaned a stain from the dining room carpet after Lord Grantham had spilt wine on it last night (how he had managed that was a complete mystery to her) and given a proper talking to her maids, who seemed to have no clue on how to dust properly. She had eaten lunch in her sitting room, but the meal had been left almost untouched when a hall boy, young Albert, had managed to hurt himself when carrying wine crates from the cellar, and Elsie had been called to his aid as she was the one who had the first aid kit in her office. She had patched him up and listened to her husband's reprimanding voice telling the boy that he should be more careful and that he could have easily dropped the wines whilst he was at it…From there on, she hadn't really been listening to him, her thoughts already circling around the next task she needed to complete.

And that was where she was now, going through the household accounts in her sitting room. A cup of tea had been left sitting beside her on her desk, it growing colder and colder by the minute, as she concentrated on the numbers on the page. She cursed herself for her…absentmindedness…on the days before — she was now running behind on her books and would have to tackle three days of work in one to get back on track. It was not that she minded really, no. A part of her was glad that she was able to keep busy, else her thoughts would surely return to her health and the visit to the doctor and how she needed to make decisions on how to go forward from here after her diagnosis. It was a big decision, one she didn't want to make, for the outcome would surely determine the rest of her life, however long or short. It frightened her, even if she didn't want to admit it to herself and even less to her husband. She wondered if it had been on his mind this entire time, whether he had been able to put it aside while he concentrated on work. He probably had been, but then again she doubted it. Would he prefer she do the surgery? She wasn't entirely sure, she didn't know the answer to that question herself. They hadn't talked about their options yet, but she thought he would definitely bring it up soon if she doesn't do it first. The very idea of surgery scared her but would the thought of letting the cancer spread inside scare her even more if she were to let it happen? It was all so complicated. She didn't want to die. Not now, when she was so utterly and completely happy. When he had finally gathered enough courage to make her his wife, and had given her the opportunity to love him and be loved in return by him. He made her so happy, and the mere thought of their life together coming to an end was terrifying.

The sound of the dressing gown being rung brought her back to reality, pushing away her thoughts for a moment. She still had a lot to do, and it wouldn't do to dwell on her worries instead. With a wavering breath, she continued where she had left off before her thoughts had interrupted her.

—

He had been watching her, searching for any signs of sickness or pain. He had not found either. She certainly looked more tired, older, in a way. He doubted anyone else had noted it, though, doubted they had even paid her so much attention to even be able to notice if something was amiss. It was rather sad — to know how important she was to so many around her and yet they had no clue as to what was going on inside that mind, what she was going through. But he knew everything. He knew it must never leave her mind, not when she sleeps, not when she works. Last night he had woken up to her wriggling beside her, clearly fighting some inner monsters in her sleep, and had gently pulled her in his arms and soothed her. Eventually, she had calmed down, and he had gone back to sleep, knowing she was now resting calmly beside him. It broke his heart to know she was troubled. He wished it was all just a nightmare from which they would both soon wake up to realize everything was back to how it had been before. The painful truth was that it would never happen and that his worst nightmare had become their reality.

He worried about her. She has been working too hard. Perhaps it was her way to keep her own worries at bay, he thought. But if she keeps this up, she'll end up in a casket long before her time is. She has barely slept, and he knows her meals have often gone untouched, even if she has tried to hide it from him. But of course, he has noticed. She was tired, but she was doing her work as she had always done it, well and determinedly, and he could barely think straight. Was she well, was she in pain…All his thoughts were about her and how she was feeling. People must have noticed a change in him, he thought, he hadn't been able to hide it too well. Lady Mary certainly has, perhaps his Lordship too. He is surprised Mrs Patmore hasn't said anything, but perhaps she has been blinded to the things happening under her watchful eye when Elsie had lied to her about her diagnosis and said there was nothing to worry about. How would she react if she knew? How would any of them react if they knew? Now he thought he understood Elsie's want to keep it between them. He understood what she had meant when she said she wanted to enjoy their ignorance for a little while longer.

"Carson? Is everything quite alright?" he's brought back to the present moment by the voice of Lord Grantham.

Charles looked at the Lord, slightly confused for a moment, "I do apologize, milord. I'm afraid I was lost in thought for a moment."

Lady Grantham eyed the butler from the other side of the table.

"Oh, no harm done. I was just wondering if I might have some more wine?"

Charles moved to fill the lord's glass with the red liquid. He was unaware of the family's thoughtful looks cast upon him as he stepped back beside the wall.

—

Mary found her father in the library that night, sipping whiskey by the fire. He smiled at her when he saw her, "Have the other's gone to bed already?"

"They have. I'm going up soon, too," Mary said and took a seat across from her father on the other red couch.

"I believe I should too. I doubt I'll be able to go to sleep right away, though."

Mary noticed he looked rather troubled as he stared into the fire.

"What is it, papa?", she asked.

Robert remained quiet for a moment before he stood up and placed his (now empty) whiskey glass on the table beside the window. He spoke to her with his back still turned to her, "Have Carson and Mrs Hughes gone already?"

Mary was puzzled at this but still answered his question, "I should think so. Barrow was just locking up the front door when I came here."

Robert nodded and turned towards her again.

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason, really. You've not noticed anything off with Carson, have you?"

Mary raised her eyebrow, "I do think he's been acting weird lately if that's what you meant."

"He's not said anything to you?"

"Nothing. I did ask if everything was alright the other night when I was ill. He denied anything was the matter, but I'm not entirely sure that's true," Mary told her father.

"I wonder what it is that's bothering him…It's not like him."

"No…No, it's not like him."

A silence fell into the room for a while before Robert spoke up again.

"Well, I suppose if something really is wrong, he'll speak up about it."

Mary wasn't so convinced but remained quiet.

"I'll head up to bed then. I'll say good night."

"Good night, papa."

—

Meanwhile, at the Carsons' Cottage

When Elsie came back into their bedroom from having her bath and brushing her teeth, he was already waiting for her in bed — he had a book on his lap, but Elsie doubted he had even opened it once while waiting for her.

"It's nice that for once we can sleep with the window open," Elsie heard her husband say from his place on the bed. The summer had been surprisingly chilly, and in the late evenings a warming fire was almost a necessity — tonight was different, as the night was warm.

"Mhm," she hummed, sitting down at her vanity to braid her hair.

Charles watched her for a while and then set aside his book, "Elsie, can I talk to you about something?"

She smiled at him in the mirror, "Of course. What is it?"

"Only, it worries me that you are working very hard."

Elsie sighed, annoyed, and he rushed to soothe her.

"I know. It is a subject you don't like."

"Charlie, it's not that I don't like the subject. I simply don't think there is any point in us having this conversation."

Charles scowled, "Don't you?"

"No, I do not. I know my own body, I can look after myself," her voice was firm — had he been one of her maids or the footmen, he would have gone running away.

His voice softened then, sensing that she was only trying to shelter herself from him, "Elsie, you sleep less than before, you certainly eat too little, and you keep pushing yourself way too hard. I worry you'll wear yourself out and get sick."

Elsie stopped for a moment before getting up from her vanity, her hair now braided. She turned to look at him from where she stood at the end of their bed.

"The house won't run itself, Charlie."

"No," he looked at her lovingly.

"And besides, it's not the first time I've gone with little sleep. You said so much to Lady Mary the other night."

"No, but you've not been ill before."

"I know. But I'm not very ill now, am I? Dr Clarkson said I should listen to my body, and right now, I feel fairly good. I'm only a bit tired and stressed."

She did have a point, Charles thought. Elsie moved towards the bed, and he pulled back the covers to let her climb in beside him. He then pulled the covers back over them when she was comfortably snuggled up against his shoulder.

"But Elsie, you hardly ever sit down, and if you do, it's because you are hunched over your desk working on some sums for hours," he said, insistent that she listens to him for once.

She turned to face him, holding herself up with her right elbow, "Charlie let's not do this tonight. I'm tired and so are you."

He was about to say something, but his wife effectively shut him up with a kiss on his lips. When they parted, she looked him pointedly in the eyes and spoke, her voice gentle despite the sharpness of her gaze, "I am fine, Charlie."

Charles wished he could believe that, even for a moment. He forced himself to smile at her, and with one final kiss on his forehead, she laid back on her side of the bed and told him to go to sleep. Reluctantly, he let sleep claim him with his arm still wrapped around her.

And an hour later, she was still watching his chest move up and down with each and every calm breath he took while snoring quietly. She was tired, so desperately tired, but for some reason, sleep seemed to be so far away and out of reach. So instead of joining her husband in his sleep, she stared at the ceiling whilst her thoughts wandered.