At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea...

- The Waste Land, T.S. Eliot

Scarborough.

On their first evening as Mr. and Mrs. Carson, they walked along the edge of the main, crescent-shaped beach, keeping to the pavement. Their wedding day had been long, but they couldn't miss a chance at venturing closer to the sea. The look of serenity each found in separate glances as they breathed deeply of the sea air had made their journey worth it. They had made it, in more ways than one.

Shortly after, they ate heartily in the hotel restaurant. As newlyweds of any age are prone to discover, the little they ate of their actual wedding breakfast hardly sustained them. The combination of being preoccupied by the sheer enormity of their commitment and the need to visit with all those that came to share in their moment kept the bride and groom going through the afternoon. It was no wonder that each morsel was a culinary revelation that evening.

When their hunger was finally sated, other primal instincts competed with each other in the fading light of their rooms.

A pleasant chill went down his spine as he slid the lock into place. Turning to eye her walking slowly across the sitting area, he chuckled.

It was not a sound she expected to hear as she removed her hat and gloves. It was something she'd never quite heard before - not amusement, but something else. Rather, it was disbelief that bubbled forth, for they were finally alone. And upon seeing all her fine curls framing her face, his shining expression was softly extinguished by a loving gaze.

Her upturned hand was quickly filled by his own upon his crossing the room. And they soon found themselves standing rather closely before the rather sizeable settee. But it's inviting confines were lost to them. It could not compete with expensive velvet, with soft wool and warm skin.

The warm weight of his right hand upon her cheek was something from which she would never tire. But he did not linger there long. He sought out new pursuits, instead.

It was rather amusing to her, to see him stepping away, bowing his head slightly to take her left hand in his right. But her amusement melted at the overt act of his lips upon her ring finger, brushing against the shining, cool metal.

He could not stay away from her, not from her lips that allowed a gasp to tumble forth at his actions. And soon they were knotted together loosely, his hands slowly exploring the still chaste territory of her corseted back, the warm sliver of exposed skin between her curled locks and neckline.

She hummed her satisfaction as her lips slowly slid across his. His tongue soon faintly tasted hers, and the ambrosia of savoring the wine they shared over dinner only increased her fervor.

The urgency in the embrace, the rush of breath between them as they parted for a moment, startled them both.

But it was the intense gaze from husband to wife, dark and longing, that caused an unfamiliar ripple through her entire being. And the intensity of it sent her reeling.

He could feel as much as see a gathering of nerves descend upon his wife (his wife, at last). And while he knew there was so much to say to her over the coming lifetime - words of desire and devotion - he knew her well enough to simply look at her with all the quiet and calming deference he could muster.

That she seemed to recover in that moment, to let her hand rest upon his forearm and squeeze in acknowledgment, proved the new husband right.

"I think I'll freshen up a bit," she declared breathlessly, not knowing how else to move along the evening while allowing herself to feel some shred of comfort. Despite having been witness to a myriad of emotions across her husband's face all day, emotions that conveyed he did indeed find her beautiful, she was still nervous.

It was an odd vision - her opening her luggage on their bed. He hadn't actually looked past her once they entered the room. And while he considered her every move, he did not think to envision her changing out of her wedding attire. All he saw was a vision of domesticity he had never imagined but was overjoyed to witness. And the realization of it lit his face with an easy smile warmed by his twinkling eyes.

Even when imbued with the purpose of wanting to wed this woman, no imaginings could quite encapsulate all that he sought. The combination of solitude and intimacy they now enjoyed together was everything - and yet, just the beginning.

There was still the matter of the final intimacy - increasingly present yet somehow a little less daunting now that they were alone and free to be just Charles and Elsie. And it was that companionable solitude that led her to continue them down the path to a moment that had caused her great unease.

"I think I'll have a bath."

A nod of the head in acknowledgment. Anything else seemed improper to him, or worse - held the potential of being misconstrued.

He made quite a show of seeking out his own suitcase as she gathered her things and headed for the ensuite.

"I'll put away my things, then."

To pass the time, to not let his mind wander to the bath, to the sound of the pipes engaging and disengaging, he took great care in emptying his luggage.

His took his nightclothes with him to the settee along with another item that proved to be a suitable distraction.

Perhaps Mrs. Patmore would frown if she knew Charles Carson, proud groom to his wonderful bride, Elsie Hughes, brought a novel with him on his honeymoon.

But literature had brought the butler and housekeeper together over the years, quite innocently and also quite intimately so. Truth be told, the novel he brought with him was a late addition to his packing.

It was with a wry smile he realized that they were, finally, far from the madding crowds of Downton and their fellow seafarers in Scarborough.

Shaking his head at his own absurdity, he thought back to the recent memory of him trekking down stairs in the middle of the night before his wedding to acquire the book from Mrs. Hughes' sitting room.

There was something delightfully intimate about borrowing someone's book. And given his unique insight into her severe financial circumstances, every book she managed to purchase on her own was a dear thing, indeed.

Opening the book with care, he thumbed through the first few chapters. Instinctively, he found the passages that compelled him to abscond with her novel and bring it to the seaside. Over and over he read them, flipping through each page, flattening out the parchment with his finger under every word that resonated.

That is, until he heard her moving to exit the en suite. The sound of the door opening masked the tell-tale thud of the book being closed and placed upon the settee.

He was on his feet, moving to grab his nightclothes to distract himself from her new attire. It's not that he didn't want to look. He was more afraid of not being able to look away. Somewhere in the periphery, he registered a robe he'd never seen before - lighter in weight and hue, seemingly softer to the touch. Then there was her hair, loosely plaited and beautiful.

He kept to her eyes when he promised, "I won't be too long," before shutting the door behind him. If he had given her the chance, she would have discerned a significant swallow, one that could not be stifled once he spied her plaited auburn hair resting atop the delicate yet understated details of her creme robe.

Part of him thought two baths in one day for himself was an absurd, off-limit luxury. But this was no ordinary day. So used to remaining clean-shaven with two passes of the blade each day, he felt rather unkempt as he contemplated himself in the mirror. But it wasn't only his stubble that made him so. It was the entire day, the first day of being married to Elsie Carson. He began his ablutions in earnest with an absentminded smile.

Chewing on her lower lip, she surveyed the vast and challenging terrain of their suite. Glancing at the bed made her pause - countless memories of imaginings of them together resurfaced in earnest. And with several breaths pressing through her pursed lips, she regained some sense of equilibrium as the bed loomed before her.

She was nothing if not decided in not getting into bed on her own. While the evening had become less daunting in her psyche, she could only cross the Rubicon hand in hand with him.

The settee would have to suffice, she realized with a forced exhale. In fact, it would fare too well, her new husband would discover after he emerged bathed and dressed for bed.

Slow blinks brought some clarity to her hazy vision. The windows towards the sea was to her right, but that wasn't what mattered most.

It was the man seated next to her, patient and amused simultaneously.

And in a state of grogginess, she brought them closer together still. With her head resting squarely on his shoulder, they both sighed in silent pleasure. The inviting, cleansing warmth of their baths made them teeter on the edge of consciousness and the relief that would come with succumbing to the exhaustion of the day.

Eventually, he disturbed the quiet peace of their new haven with a whisper. "We should be asleep in bed."

A murmur was all he received in response for a time, the reality of his solid presence beside her, closer than they had ever managed before, set off a battle inside. But remorse eventually surfaced, for a clear winner had emerged from the battle between her fatigue and the amorous effect of her husband on the evening of their wedding.

"I'm sorry," she lamented. And he had the wherewithal to discern her apologies were not just about falling asleep on the settee.

"Nonsense. It's been a long day for us both."

Sighing at that, they both gathered themselves before embracing once more.

This time, it was so very different - the soft curve of her hips, her breasts pressed against him - were the first of many revelations.

Her fatigue was still persistent, he discerned from the sweet, sleepy face that gazed back at him. And he found it best to bring some levity to the situation if only to distract his own primal instincts.

"There is one thing that we might resolve if we're up for it," he mentioned before trailing off.

Sobering, her breath caught in her chest. "What's that?"

"On what side would you like to sleep?"

She froze for a moment, caught off guard by the question. But her expression soon melted. "Why don't we chose one tonight and see if we like it," she offered before marveling at his indulgent smile.

"Very sensible, Mrs. Carson."

A moment of shared recognition - Mrs. Carson - led to them sorting out their places for the night. She was unaware of his own marveling stare at her, now in only her gown, now with her before the bed in which they will learn to live as closely two people can.

One lamp cast a pleasant glow on the scene, the darkness beyond its reach a welcomed shroud around their marital bed. And with their eyes upturned to the ceiling, their hands were soon entwined as they learned to let each other in. Decades of nighttime rituals were obliterated that night, after all.

Her head rolled softly towards him, his outline now more defined as his chest rose and fell. There was a moment of intrigued clarity amidst her fatigue.

"A book of mine was on the settee. How did it make its way to Scarborough?"

He smiled bashfully, unable to quite respond.

A false jest came to mind, but still she was playful in her sleepiness. "Were you worried you'd be bored of me?"

It wasn't a complicated question, jest or otherwise. But still he pursed his lips, gathered his thoughts. "It was more to distract me from thinking only of you. It failed."

Her stomach tensed, and without a corset, it was much easier for him to discern. Her eyes trained across the room, the latest words of adoration somehow landing a greater blow given the many wondrous things he'd uttered all day.

"I have to get used to you saying things like that."

He did not disturb her solitude with his intent gaze, her confession a gift in itself. "I hope you never will."

Her eyes were downcast, smiling prettily as she squeezed his hand. The back of the settee came into focus as they continued to recline silently.

"What struck me was the particular book you borrowed."

"I thought it was time to focus on a new chapter," he confessed to her puzzled face before rising to quickly snatch the book from across the room.

When he returned, the dynamic shifted still, their backs now resting against the headboard.

His hand gently caught her left, leading it towards the now opened book. And they burrowed closer to each other as he followed the passages with an outstretched finger.

The novelty of it tickled her until she reached an unforgettable exchange of dialogue between Gabriel Oak and Bathsheba Everdene.

"I shall do one thing in this life-one thing certain-that is, love you, and long for you, and keep wanting you till I die."

A quick, cleansing breath fortified them both.

"For a long time, this stuck with me, and poorly," he confessed. "When I was younger, it gave me hope for Alice that only soured. And with you," he started before summoning memories of the recent past. "It seemed to injure with greater force than I could ever imagine."

Her apologies were not what he required, and he kissed her temple and imbibed on her intoxicating scent to quiet her protests.

He was not finished, she could discern as he flipped towards the end of the novel with his free hand.

He brought them to the end of a chapter she could not finish reading all those months ago.

"They spoke very little of their mutual feeling; pretty phrases and warm expressions being probably unnecessary between such friends. Theirs was that substantial affection which arises (if any arises at all) when the two who are thrown together begin first by knowing the rougher sides of each other's character, and not the best till further on, the romance growing up in the interstices of a mass of hard prosaic reality. This good-fellowship-camaraderie-usually occurring through similarity of pursuits is unfortunately seldom superadded to love between the sexes, because men and women associate, not in their labours, but in their pleasures merely. Where, however, happy circumstances permits its development, the compounded feeling proves itself to be the only love which is strong as death-that love which many waters cannot quench, nor the floods drown, beside which the passion usually called by the name is evanescent as steam."

He waited until he was sure she read through it all, taking pleasure in the way she absorbed each and every word with her beautiful face.

"And yet, this passage, until today, was what mattered above all and I didn't even know it. Not until I sat there on the settee and realized…"

Their eyes connected, words suddenly incomplete vessels for all that they needed to convey.

Hopeless, sweet kisses made bitter by mingling tears - embraces that hardly registered the soft shapes yet to be explored when not a shred of clothing between them - eyes brimming with competing emotions wrought the final battle with fatigue that relinquished therm to slumber soon enough.

But it did not keep them from each other, from the simple pleasure of chastely learning of each other's unencumbered bulk, reclining in their marital bed.

And as they slowly sunk further into the the sheets, they did not pay any mind to that single lamp still burning as they slipped into a deep and satisfying sleep.

On their first morning, they heard the gulls outside their window as they woke, their hands touching sweetly across the large bed.

He hadn't pressed her under the dusky glow of a single bedside lamp burning. But his delighted inhale of her plaited hair conveyed his devotion. Her touch upon his pajama-clad chest confirmed her adoration. And inside their haven of joy, of love, of absolute perfection, each embarked on the most peaceful slumber each had ever known.

But the morning brought additional time for reflection. He had observed the eastern sky shine brightly into their room - a suite gifted to them by his lordship - before settling his eyes on the captivating dip of her waist beneath their bedclothes. Before long, she turned on her side to face him, and the vision before him outshone the rising sun.

Her gaze was steadfast, taking in this man, her husband. His unkempt, soft hair and piercing eyes, his moistened lips nearly twitching as he regarded her. And every insecure thought vanished as her awareness sharpened in the growing sunlight.

When their bodies fully awakened to the reality of their seclusion, they heard the waves crashing below them as they embarked on the first stages of a full marriage.

On their second evening, they gained their sea legs, once again.

They paddled along the main beach, to and fro, towards the direction of the castle and back. Pondering the growing twilight, the sand beneath their feet sunk slightly. But they were far from unsteady.

They were content to hear the gulls that dive and ghost across the surf. They were enamored by the warmth at their hands that kept the chill in their toes but a minor thought. And they were distracted by the memories of their morning, learning of each other amongst the crisp sheets of their marital bed.

For all her worries about baring herself to her husband, she hardly minded their roomed bathed in filtered sunlight from their shuttered windows overlooking the sea. It punctuated her alabaster skin underscored by freckles acquired here and there. She knew he found them, was fascinated by them as his eyes turned darker, the back of his fingers trailing paths along her hip, her upper thigh as her breath hitched.

And with each touch, each sigh, each intense culmination of devotion and desire, the once persistent question on whether they would please each other in a full marriage was a distant, faded memory.

The day was growing short on their second day. The sea air kept them barefoot in the sand for a long while, but it was time for them to make their way along the long ramp towards the road hugging the shore. Before the Spa Bridge, he intended to cross the street. He wasn't one to touch her in public, a privilege he only now thought he might deserve. But now he couldn't help himself, the long fingers of his left hand finding purchase on her right elbow. Her hair was ablaze with the fading sun behind her, ducking under the tall bridge.

"What is it," she wondered with alarm. Cars were traveling quickly next to them. But as she found him staring at her with a mix of shock and awe in the alluring shadows of his hazel eyes, such thoughts quickly quieted.

After months of misinterpreting his expression, she knew exactly what was to follow as the distance disappeared between them. But such knowledge only enhanced her anticipation. Her breath quickened in that last second before their parted lips finally met in a moment of delicious promise.

No one minded their halted progress on the pavement. But the occasional onlooker smiled upon the couple so obviously enamored with each other as their sweet kiss eventually ended.

Her eyes were bright, laced with the hues of amusement, desire, and sublime pleasure in the man beside her. Though moments future insecurity might plague her - the inevitable outcome of her disbelief in her own desirability - she reigned the shoreline that evening as an assured, compelling goddess of the sea.

His right hand lingered at her elbow, the need to touch her again making it tremble before rounding around its soft edges.

He thought that the longing, the aching he'd felt for her for longer than he remembered would cease upon them becoming one, in spirit and body. But as he caught her there, eclipsing the brilliant sunset behind her, he found himself resoundingly mistaken.

The longing would never cease, only grow until they could be together again. The winding path up the hill to their hotel was never longer than in that amber-turned-violet hour. But, in the end, it hardly mattered.

Wherever they walked was homeward bound, now that they were together.

The end.

It took a while to get here, but I hope it was worth the journey. Please let me know if you enjoyed it or if I'm forgiven for all I put them through to get to this point.

Thank you all for reading.