The day before
"Are you nervous?"
"A little," Elsie admitted, "And I'm sad about my dress. I wish I'd made more of an effort. But it's too late now."
"I'm sure you'll look wonderful."
"Well, I'll look tidy," she conceded.
The wedding day
Tidy. That word kept coming back to him as he watched her from across the crowded room, her face alight with her broad smile and bright, wide eyes.
He shook his head. Tidy. What a word to use about a woman as beautiful as her. He fancied he could think of several that were far more suitable, and decidedly more accurate.
He frowned. A recently sorted cupboard was tidy. A bed property made with tight corners was tidy. A newly cut hedge in the garden glinting in the low evening sun was tidy. His wife? Certainly not.
And then, as his bemusement threatened to turn to anger that she could ever think such a thing about herself, her gaze found his and suddenly no thoughts could distract him. Her smile widened, if that were possible, and for a moment the room fell away and it was just them, connected by an invisible thread.
"Um, Mr Carson?"
"Yes," he replied sternly as he turned towards the voice, and then hurried to push down his frustration. "Yes, Mr Branson?"
"I'm sorry to interrupt," the young man said apologetically, "Only I thought I'd take the liberty of driving you and Mrs Carson to the station," his eyes darting in the direction of where the same said woman stood.
Charles followed suit. Elsie was no longer looking directly at him, her attention now taken up by Mrs Taylor from the Post Office, but her expression wasn't quite what it had been. The smile was there but it was faded, jaded even.
"If it's not presumptuous," Tom muttered quietly, just loud enough for him alone to hear, "I'd say your bride is as ready to leave as you are."
Charles turned back to stare at Tom and for a split second considered a brusk retort. But his eyes wandered back to his wife and instead he nodded slowly.
"I believe you are right, Mr Branson. Our departure is perhaps a little overdue."
What followed could only be described as a flurry of goodbyes and good wishes, everyone wanting to shake their hands or, in the case of Mrs Patmore, offer an uncomfortable but appreciated hug as she held back her tears. The bouquet was thrown and caught by a red-faced Daisy to hoots of laughter from some of the farmhands who'd gathered to admire the car and somehow thought that entitled them to get involved. But none of that mattered a minute later as they were half bundled into the car, Tom started the engine and they were off, the sound of cheers quickly fading into the distance.
"Well, I never thought we'd need a rescue, Mr Branson, but I'm ever so glad you had the foresight to think we might."
"My pleasure, Mrs Carson," Tom chuckled from the driver's seat. "But as much as I'd like to take all the credit, it's her Ladyship you need to thank."
"How so?" Charles asked, his interest piqued.
"I was pretty nervous on my wedding day," he confessed, "Well, you'd expect that, I suppose. But I remember Lady Cora coming up to me, just before the service started, and whispering something like 'the wedding's just the bit you have to get through before you can start figuring out what sort of marriage you're going to have'. I guess it stuck with me and, if it's not too bold, I figured both of you must be pretty keen to get to that. After all, with all the looking after you do of everyone else, I can't imagine they've let you have much time to yourselves."
Charles went to speak, his defences rising at the presumptive assumption as to the state of their courtship, but something stopped him. The cool touch of her hand on his, her fingers wrapping themselves around his and giving them a gentle squeeze.
"Well, however it came about, we're grateful. Aren't we, Charlie?" she said, her eyes indicating he should say something kind.
"Indeed," he nodded begrudgingly, "Very grateful."
Two weeks earlier
Her heart raced as she let it all out in a torrent of jumbling words that for all she knew were barely in the right order, let alone were something he'd be willing to try and understand. But it had to be done and she'd well and truly done it now. She paused for breath and dared to look towards him, his face set into a dark frown against the white stone of the temple. He didn't respond and suddenly she felt too weary to say anything more. She'd laid her cards on the table and it was his hand to play.
"Mrs Hughes," he began, then correcting himself, "Elsie. Do you really think that? That I've not given any thought to what comes next? Because I assure you I have."
"Have you?" she asked, "I know you've put a good deal of thought into the wedding, but what about everything else?"
"The honeymoon is pretty much planned and his Lordship has spoken to me about his plans for where we'll live."
"And?"
"And what? We've lived under the same roof for years. I know how you take your tea and," he paused to give a small smile, "That you think a slice of shortbread solves everything."
"And so it does," she countered, "But that's not what I mean, and you know it."
"We don't need to have it all figured out now."
"No?"
"No, I don't think so," he said resolutely, "We've faced far greater challenges together than being married. I've got no concerns and nor should you."
The remainder of the short journey was taken in relative silence, with only the politest of words exchanged about the ceremony and Tom's regret that he'd not quite made it in time. He helped them with their luggage, with their two small suitcases only passed into their hands at the last possible moment, doffing his hat as he wished them well and opened the train door. It seemed he'd promised to see them safely away and it was only the guard's whistle that had him slamming the door shut and walking swiftly away. Finally, they were alone.
Charles fell back against the seat, his eyes closing heavily as he let out a long sigh. It had been a long day and he suddenly felt all of his years. He'd not slept as well as he'd hoped, his nervous anticipation causing him to fall into only the lightest slumber, his mind worrying him awake at frequent intervals. By the time exhaustion had finally taken hold enough for him to sleep, the alarm clock on his bedside table had rung out all too sharply and all too soon.
"Am I allowed to know where we're going yet?" Elsie asked, causing his eyes to open and instantly focus on her.
"Scarborough," he replied easily, "I thought you might enjoy the sea air."
Elsie nodded, her smile brightening. "Might be too cold for a paddle."
"Probably," he conceded gruffly, "But I'm willing to try it if you are."
She looked as if she wanted to say something but then seemed to change her mind, choosing instead to settle herself back against the seats' rough fabric. He watched on as her gaze darted to the carriage corridor, and then to the world which was beginning to hurry past the window. Steam from the engine blocked the view every so often but mostly it was a blur of green and brown, with the occasional smear of grey buildings that sat close to the railway line. At length, her attention moved back to him and he waited expectantly.
"It's nice that we have the carriage almost to ourselves. A bit of quiet goes a long way."
Charles glanced at the couple sitting three rows away; a casually dressed man and woman in the late thirties who seemed entirely relaxed with one another. Jealousy surged through his veins as he saw their convivial smiles and discerned her light laughter at some comment or other that the man had just made. He wanted that, desperately, and in many ways he had it. Outwardly he agreed with Elsie that it was nice to be alone, but truthfully it was panic he felt, the sudden realisation at how much was riding on the next few hours and quite how easy it would be to stick his foot in it.
"You looked lovely today," he started, his voice quieter and more hesitant than he intended. He cleared his throat and tried again. "That is, you do look lovely."
Elsie smiled warmly. "As do you."
"Lovely?" he scoffed as he unconsciously brushed barely visible lint from his sleeve.
"Handsome then," she offered instead, her eyes glancing briefly up to where their luggage was stowed, "And I'm sure you'll look as smart later as well."
Charles could feel his cheeks reddening as he gave a curt, silent nod in response and turned back to the view. He wouldn't let himself think about that, not yet anyway.
Elsie took a deep breath inwards. It was now or never.
"So, you're not worried then? Not even a little bit about the honeymoon?"
"It's a hotel, Elsie. I think I can be trusted to manage the necessary arrangements," Charles replied smartly.
"Well, of course," she agreed, "Only I didn't mean the ...um, logistics," her voice lowering even though there was no one to overhear them, "But rather what might happen in the hotel."
He shifted awkwardly. "We've discussed this."
"No, you and Mrs Patmore have discussed it. Anna and I have discussed it. Even Mr Bates has offered his help in the matter. You and I haven't discussed a thing. In fact, I'd go as far as saying we've both been avoiding it."
Charles bristled and withdrew his hand from where it had become nestled with hers. For a moment she thought about refusing to let go, to force contact between them but that wasn't really her style. She knew it and so did he. Any physical contact between them was usually at her encouraging but firmly on his terms. And she didn't mind, not really.
"I don't like the idea of being the subject of ridicule, Elsie."
"Oh, don't be silly…" she began.
"Silly?!" he exclaimed, "I don't think it's silly not to want to be the subject of gossip, everyone talking about me, about us, as if we were a spectacle."
"It wasn't like that," she protested gently, "They know us..."
"They don't know me.." he interrupted.
"Of course they do," she said dismissively, her eyes creased in mild amusement, "We all live too much on top of one another not to." She paused as Charles made a sound somewhere between a huff and groan but then took up again. "And maybe they don't know everything but enough to know you're scared and...and that I'm...well..."
"What?" Charles demanded, "You're what, Elsie?"
Too surprised at the lack of denial, she didn't reply. Instead she stared and he stared back. He seemed older somehow, worn out by it. The lines across his forehead more furrowed despite the absence of a frown, the flecks of grey hair more numerous, his cheeks less full. It should have been the loveliest of times and it was, yet there was a shadow.
"I'm scared too, Charlie," she managed at last. "But I can't tell you how better it feels to know I'm not the only one."
They changed at York with just enough time to indulge in a quick cup of tea in the station cafe before they had to catch their next train. Charles efficiently directed them both towards the correct platform, his hand hovering at her lower back. He wished he was brave enough to rest it gently against her coat as he saw other husbands do, to show his love through this simplest of gestures. But by the time he thought his nerves could take it they'd arrived and he was required instead to hold open the train door and usher her inside.
The train was far busier than the last. Young mothers with tired-faced toddlers on their laps mixed with suited gentlemen on their way home from a day at the office. Charles spotted a group of four seats around a table at the furthest end of the carriage and slowly they made their way towards them, a chorus of 'excuse me' and 'not at all' accompanying them as they negotiated themselves and their suitcases down the narrow aisle. And it was only a moment before the guard's whistle sounded and the heavy clunk of the wheels began to turn that they were finally seated.
"Sorry," Charles said, feeling as his hip pressed up against hers and tried to shift closer to the arm rest.
"It's alright," Elsie replied, her blushed cheeks belying her breezy tone.
Suddenly from nowhere Charles felt himself emboldened. He didn't want to wait until they got to the hotel, until they were staring at each other across their room, until they were forced to negotiate sides of the bed and wardrobe space. It needed to be now, when the presence of strangers gave him enough cover to speak, and the rustling of evening newspapers and the high-pitched chatter of children buoyed by the train's gathering speed provided security against being overheard.
"If it's not indelicate to say so," he began almost under his breath, his hand firmly gripping the other as if his life depended on it, "I do have some experience in the physical affairs of the heart."
Elsie's head whipped round and he boldly turned to face her square on. Her eyes were as wide as he'd ever seen them, her cheeks ashen with shock and her mouth moving but without any sound being heard. He decided to press on.
"You gave me every chance to be honest about it at the temple and I neglected to take you up on the opportunity. Instead I sidestepped the matter and told myself I'd done the proper thing. I've regretted it every day since. You deserved…no, deserve to know."
Elsie leaned towards him and spoke quietly. "To know what?"
He sighed. "That I'm not scared as you imagine, only nervous. Nervous to get it right and not hurt you. To get our marriage off to a good start and not one marred by my fumbling attempts to be the gentleman you expect me to be and the one you deserve to have."
"I see," she replied, leaning back again, her eyes focusing on the empty seats opposite. "Well, thank you for telling me."
He couldn't read her tone. A stranger might think it indifferent but that seemed unlikely. Elsie was rarely that. He expected her to be shocked and angry, disappointed perhaps and possibly frustrated. He was ready for any or all of them, and deserving of more. But, as he might have predicted but of course hadn't, her response was entirely different.
She reached for his hand as she had so many times over the last few months, prising it free and encasing it between her own. The plain wedding band on her finger glinted in the sunlight that streamed in between the clouds of steam that puffed past in intermittent waves. His heart swelled at the sight of it. He was married. He had a wife.
"Charles Carson," she began sternly, interrupting his thoughts and refocusing her gaze back on him, "You are a dear, sweet man who should surely know by now that I would really rather know everything over nothing."
"I thought you might think badly of me."
"Oh, Charlie," she consoled, "I should think after all these years there is very little that could make me think anything like that."
He breathed a sigh of relief and, taking a second to look around and reassure himself that absolutely nobody was interested in them, moved closer. He pressed his lips lightly against her forehead and hearing her give the faintest hum of contentment, kept them there a little longer.
"I bought new pyjamas," he murmured darkly, "Though I confess I was given advice on that front. Mr Bates thought it would be a good idea."
Elsie let out a quiet chuckle, squeezing his hand more tightly, "So, I was right. You will look smart."
"I hope so, Mrs Carson. No wife of mine deserves anything less."
Finally, married Carsons! I hope you've enjoyed this exploration of this wonderfully awkward love affair. It's been a lot of fun to let my mind wander as to how their storyline could have grown. There are a thousand more variations, of that I have no doubt. But for now, after thirteen chapters of trying to get them to think about it, I'm wondering what might actually come next…