Chapter 1 – A Midnight Clear

Early December 1927

A/N: I've been gone awhile, guys, and it's really nice to be back. No matter what, I love returning to these characters, this writing, and most of all, this fandom. This is, of course, a little epilogue to A Yorkshire Summer, revisiting all of our favorites a few months later as the Christmas season approaches, the first for many of them together as couples! I've not forgotten about "A Little Unsteady" and plan on updating that soon as well!

Happy happy and merry merry, everyone!

~CeeCee

He wasn't really paying attention to the book he was holding, and the typeface blurred before his eyes, as hazy and unfocused as his thoughts. He knew Elsie would be home late this evening, what with today's arrival of the Marquis and Marchioness of Hexam at Downton for the duration of the holiday season.

He pondered Lady Edith for a moment, how changed she was, from the gawky girl always in her pretty, charming sisters' shadows, to the rather needy and desperate young woman she had been, for so long, to a woman who'd been both jilted and abandoned by different men, like an afterthought.

But how changed she was, now. Somehow, seamlessly, spanning the enormous gap between modernity and tradition. She outranked them all at the great house yonder but somehow, also ran several successful newspapers throughout England.

Life changes us, you know that, you old fool, he thought, glancing up at the wall clock. Nearly midnight. Elsie ought to be back by now. He wasn't worried about her, not quite yet, but he would be soon, if she didn't make an appearance.

He stood and stretched, giving up his book for good. He grabbed two wine glasses from the kitchen, humming along with the Victrola, thinking of all of the late-night drinks they had shared over the years, and simply grateful that these glasses, tonight, would be shared in their living room, together.

As he crossed the kitchen back to the cottage's sitting room, he heard Elsie's teasing voice coming up the short walk to the front door. A low rumble confirmed what he expected and appreciated: Thomas Barrow had walked her home. He set the tray down and met them at the door.

"Well, hello there, Mr. Carson," Elsie teased, and jumped a little. She was grinning up at him, the tip of her nose pink with the cold. Thomas Barrow stood at the end of the walk, grinning and squinting past the plume of smoke from his cigarette.

"Thank you, Mr. Barrow, for walking Mrs. Hughes home," he nodded at the younger man. Talk about a change. Thomas Barrow was nothing like the man he'd been, not even a year prior. He knew much of it had to do with his…friendship…with that fine haberdasher, Mr. Holmes. The less I know about that, I believe, the better. But good luck to them, I suppose. Something in him couldn't unknot the situation any further than that, but he couldn't deny the vast improvement in the current butler's demeanor, and he did, grudgingly, care for the man. It was impossible not to after knowing him so long, he supposed.

That, or he was getting soft. He grinned in response to his wife. That's definitely it.

"Yes, indeed Mr. Barrow, I thank you for your company through the wilds of Downton proper and village," Elsie's eyes were twinkling, sliding back and forth between the two men. He noticed Thomas was fighting the urge to grin at his wife, something he'd given up on a long time ago. "And thank you for the stimulating conversation, as well."

And now Thomas Barrow did laugh, out loud. "Any time, Mrs. Hughes."

"Stimulating?" He furrowed his brow at both of them, but he, too, was fighting back laughter.

"Inside, Mr. Carson, ye're not dressed for the chill in the air," she flapped her hands playfully at him. "I hope ye've got a glass of wine waiting, I'll certainly need it after the evening we've had, am I right, Mr. Barrow?"

"Indeed, Mrs. Hughes. I, for one, am certainly glad that all and sundry are well-settled for the evening," he replied.

"And now, off for your own drink, Mr. Barrow, before you must return to the fray," she smiled at him. "Please do give my regards to Mr. Holmes, and remind him, he's to bring dessert to dinner on Sunday."

And with a smile and a nod, she pushed Charlie back inside and shut the door.

oooOOOooo

Elsie wiggled her toes inside of her favorite socks, the thick wool ones Charlie had gotten her their first Christmas together, complaining bitterly how cold her feet were as he did. She padded into the sitting room, where he was waiting in his dressing gown with their wine.

She didn't, as a general rule, change for bed upon arrival at the cottage, but it was so very late, and she, so very tired. And her socks were so warm. She laughed.

He looked up at her and smiled. "How was it today?"

"Madness and mayhem, but they'll settle in, and not rub against each other too much, I expect," she smiled back and took the glass he proffered. "Ye ought to be in bed, Charlie. It's late, love."

"You say that, Elsie, as if I could sleep without you beside me," he stood, and her heart rolled in her chest, the sound of such things still so wonderful, so novel, even after two years and more of marriage.

"Aye, ye did just fine for years without me there, Mr. Carson," she retorted, but stepped towards him, wrapping her free arm around his middle, taking any sting out of the words.

"Did I, though?"

"Yes, ye did, well enough, as did I," she gazed up at him. He took her wine from her, set it on the side table by their worn red velvet sofa.

"You always did well, Elsie. But me? I'm not so sure..." his eyebrow went up, but so did the corner of his mouth.

"Well I am. 'Twas nothing wrong with us before, despite everything being so right in the present," she replied, and his hand found her braid, sitting on her should, and began unraveling it. She leaned into the movement of his fingers, and wiggled her toes again, warmly ensconced in her wool socks.

Nothing wrong at all here, she thought, then pulled her husband's face down to press her lips against his.