A/N: Ever since Mrs Hughes said 'we'll be doing things your way for the next 30 years' I've been having plot bunnies about how to show them (as well as conversations with various people about how old they would be, and all of that). This finally seemed like the right time to commit those thoughts to paper. My thanks go to CSoTA, DaniiShep and Dibdab for their cheering from the side-lines, and Dibdab for her beta work. May I offer my sincere apologies to those on tumblr for basically being a fic tease for this whole week. There are occasional nods to other works of mine in terms of references to things that have happened (the most obvious being 'Valentines are for the young' and 'Happiness tastes of champagne'). My head canon follows the rule that they got married on 12th April

Also, I feel like I should point out now that the other chapters I have planned probably won't be as long as this one. This is what happens when you leave something to percolate in your head for months. Quite by chance, this turns out to be my thirtieth Downton story

Year 1: Paper (1926)

Charles and Elsie Carson had faced many firsts together over their years of service, but the shift in their personal relationship had occasioned some experiences neither had ever thought to have. As 1926 began, bringing with it more upheaval and change through Mr Carson's retirement, further firsts were presented to them. The best of these arguably being their first wedding anniversary.

As the year progressed, Elsie found herself wondering if the anniversary might have come sooner had they managed to communicate better. His valentine's present (a book of Shakespeare sonnets inscribed 'To my one and only Elsie, with love from Charlie') brought a wry smile to her lips as she remembered the strange mixed signals from the year before, and he had surprised her one morning in early March by waking her from a deep sleep with kisses all over her body. When asked for an explanation (which she didn't really need) he lightly replied that he was checking for warts. She entirely missed the staff breakfast that morning.

But she was glad, in a way, that the anniversary of their marriage was not until April. The traditional gift was paper. Try as she might, she could think of nothing more original to give him than some monogrammed stationery. Not very romantic.

She was still pondering the problem a week before the event, when the solution presented itself during her catch up meeting with Lady Grantham.

'I'm sorry the luncheon on Friday prevents you taking the whole day off Mrs Hughes. The first anniversary is such a special occasion.'

'Please don't trouble yourself Milady.' Elsie smiled warmly at the other woman. 'Mr Carson and I will celebrate quite well enough in the evening.'

'I'm sure you will, and you must take the Saturday for yourself. That way you can stay up to celebrate as long as you wish.'

Elsie inclined her head in thanks, but could not stop the rosy flush of her cheeks as she caught the underlying double meaning. Lady Grantham smiled knowingly at her, although she blushed slightly too.

'I'd like to find the person who suggested paper as a good theme for first anniversaries though' said Elsie, casting desperately about for a change of topic. 'I'd give them a stern talking to!'

'Oh I know' sympathised Cora. 'But it can be a chance to be more creative. Lord Grantham covered the entire bedroom with pink hearts he'd cut out himself!'

'Oh!' Elsie exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with an idea. Cora looked intrigued and she hasted to explain.

'Your story put me in mind of something Milady. I won't be making paper hearts, but I do believe you've solved the problem – thank you.'

The only question, she thought as she returned to her sitting room, was whether she could find the item in question without her husband being aware of her search. A brief scan of the sitting room confirmed it wasn't at the Abbey. Perhaps she could creep around the spare room that evening.

Friday, and their anniversary, rolled around swiftly. It pained her to get up early and dress in the semi darkness, receiving only a sleepy kiss and a mumbled 'I love you' as she did so. She knew he had not forgotten, as they had shared a glass of wine the night before and regaled each other with how they'd spent the eve of their wedding, both of them admitting they had wished to break with tradition more than once. She had finally revealed the full story of the coat to him, and he'd kissed her passionately, attempting to make up for the distress he'd be unable to dispel the year before.

The memories of the previous evening warmed her as she made her solitary way to the Abbey, but she could not rid herself of the wish that she could withdraw from her duties – a surprising thought, and one which she tucked away to look at in greater detail on a later date.

The luncheon was a success, as of course it would be with herself and Mr Barrow in charge, but the rest of the downstairs family appeared to be suffering the day from hell and constantly threw their problems in her direction that afternoon. Even Anna presented her with baby William to tend for a full half an hour whilst she went on some vague errand for Lady Mary, and she found it impossible to leave any earlier than she had planned. In fact it was past five when she finally managed to gather her things and leave. Even then she was called back by Mrs Patmore, but the short tempered reply died as the cook presented her with a grand apple pie, an entwined C and E picked out on the pastry, and accompanied the gift with a saucy wink and an order to enjoy herself.

She walked briskly up the lane towards the cottage in the gathering dusk, her eyes shining with anticipation, wondering what the evening would hold, and whether he would be pleased with his gift. The trees in the lane came to their abrupt end, revealing the cottage and she stopped short, unable to take another step as she gazed at the building. At every window, including the ones in the eaves, and at the front door, hung a coloured paper lantern, a little flame winking within them. A deeply warm light illuminated the windows of the sitting room, but, she noted as she stepped closed to inspect the source, the room was carefully concealed by tightly closed curtains.

'I knew you'd try to peek.' He stood in the doorway at the other end of the cottage and she hurried to greet him, giving him a quick kiss before stepping back to look up at him.

'Have you been lurking in the doorway for long?'

'Not really – my spies alerted me to your imminent arrival.'

'Your spies? Do you mean to tell me I've been bombarded by trivial annoyances at your request?'

He had the grace to look a touch ashamed, but his merry grin won out as he responded. 'How else was I to make sure you didn't suddenly turn up in the middle of my preparations? I do confess to using Anne for my own gains – Mr Barrow rang to say you were almost ready to leave and Andy was still halfway up a ladder putting the final lantern in place!'

'Well, I'll not deny it was lovely to spend a little time with William. Am I to be allowed into my own home now?'

'Be my guest' he replied, stepping back and indicating the way with a butlerish flourish of his hand. She rolled her eyes at him, laughing a little as she moved into the hallway, nothing that the door to the sitting room was firmly shut. It appeared to be adorned with the big paper heart someone had unearthed on their return from honeymoon.

She set down her basket to shrug off her coat, but he was immediately behind her, pulling the fabric away, somehow managing to touch every inch of her shoulders and arms as he did so. She sighed, remembering the way he'd removed that other coat a year ago. He moved away momentarily to hang it next to his and then he was back, standing behind her. She expected him to lay a hand on her shoulder as he had done on that previous evening, but instead he cradled the back of her head, still covered by her hat, and slowly removed the pin which held it firm.

He did not move away to put the hat down, but instead stepped impossibly closer to her and curled his free arm about her middle so that there was not the tiniest space between them. His face seemed to bury itself in the side of her hair and he breathed in the scent of lavender and Pear's soap that had always been part of his association with her, but now brought him happiness as well as comfort.

Her hat fell to the floor as he brought his other arm about her and spread his hands over her middle, so that they seemed to cover her midsection entirely. Occasionally one of his fingers moved lightly, wanting to caress even a small part of her. She relaxed completely into him, lifting her hands so that they covered his, her thumbs finding the inside of his wrists instantly. They did not speak, but the thoughts communicated were crystal clear. 'I love you, I miss you' his touch told her. It was something he rarely admitted, the fact he felt lost at times, but she knew it well enough, because she felt it too.

She heard his steady breath in her ear as he continued to hold her close and thought how completely right this closeness was. They had spent a lifetime together, separated by formality, and that made this newer intimacy that much more precious.

One of his hands, she realised, was moving upwards slowly, and although he could not properly feel the start of the swell of her breasts, because of her corset, both of them knew how it would feel if she were less clothed. The pressure of his hand became firmer, her head rolled to the right a little, and finally, finally, his lips touched the pale skin just behind her ear. They both expelled a breathy little sigh of relief at the contact.

'Why did I think it was a good idea to involve so many people planning tonight.' he murmured against her neck. She gave a little tinkle of a laugh as she caught his true meaning, the regret that he could not just sweep her upstairs to their bed, given the band of helpers who would expect a full report when she returned to work. She gave his hands a squeeze and turned in his arms, looking up into his eyes. 'Later' her own eyes seemed to promise as she regarded him seriously and moved her hands to his shoulders.

They stood, gazing at each other, in the hush of their home and each of them wondered at the way fate had brought them together. His kiss was soft, tender and all too brief for her liking. He drew back and brought her hand up to his lips, kissing the top of it, and moved to open the door to the kitchen.

'Happy anniversary my love.'

The part of the kitchen she could see from the door looked much as it usually did, but as she properly entered the room, the table at the end caught her eye and she turned to stare at him in disbelief.

'Does the Abbey have any of its silverware to use tonight?'

The dining table was set up as if it were expecting royalty, with a large candelabra in the middle, whilst every other available space in the room was covered with single candlesticks so that the room was filled with golden light. She noticed with a tug of her heart that the two settings were at right angles to each other, so that he would be to her left, as he had been throughout their time at the Abbey, rather than all the way across the other side of the table.

'Andy assured me Mr Barrow said they wouldn't be missed.'

Elsie smiled fondly at this pronouncement. The new butler was rarely mentioned in their home, and any complaints she might have were generally expressed to Mrs Patmore, but she could see how flattered he was to have had his support in this matter.

'He's truly a credit to you Charles, as well as to his own determination.'

Charles did not really answer this, although he sent a warm glance in her direction and managed to brush her arm with his hand as he moved past her to a silver bucket which stood by the table.

'Would you like some Champagne?'

'Very much.'

She watched as he moved to lift the bottle from its place and noticed the infinitesimal hesitation as he reached for the glass.

'Would you like me to pour?'

It was not that his palsy had increased of late that caused her to make the offer, indeed it had been barely present in the last few months, but she had learned to recognise the situations which provoked the shaking. Stress was always a largely contributing factor, and whilst this evening could hardly be called stressful, the heightened sensitivity between them had clearly had an effect. She had felt the slight tremor in his hand as it skimmed her body in the hallway and decided that the offence the question might cause was a better dampener to the evening than broken glass.

He stiffened as he heard her, but his eyes were soft as he turned to look over and shook his head. 'I'm fine. Ask me again in a few years though.'

She smiled and turned away slightly as he returned to pouring so that he would not be put off by her supposed scrutiny.

Moments later he was by her side, passing her a glass of wine. She could see the fine haze of bubbles pop at the top of the glass and hear the faint fizz as they did so. She turned so that she faced him fully, holding the glass whilst one finger ran around the rim, making it sing in a clear note.

'Thank you. What exactly are we celebrating?'

She'd asked this with practically no expression on her face, her eyes looking up to his unblinkingly. He caught the humour in her voice, however, and his own eyes sparkled with the shared emotion as he replied.

'We're celebrating that this old curmudgeon can still be assured of the love of a wonderful woman, even after a year of marriage.'

She smiled broadly and raised her glass to clink it against his, before they both took a sip of their wine, their eyes remaining connected throughout the process.

'Never doubt it ….'

The rest of the sentence faded from her lips as she realised he was moving closer to her and looking at her in a way that suggested only one thing. Their shared lightness shifted to something deeper in that instant and as he continued to look at her, she saw that his eyes were darkening, turning to that deep smouldering charcoal which signalled his rising passion. He still held his champagne glass, as did she, so he could not take her face in his hands, as he so dearly wished, but he did manage to lightly brush her cheek with his fingertips before he finally caught her lips between his and kissed her gently.

It was, she thought idly, only their third kiss since that morning, and it was like water to a thirsty man. It gave beautiful solace but made her desperate for more, and he was already drawing away, moving from her, and her hand clutched at his sleeve to keep him near. She barely noticed that he removed the glass from her hand until he pulled her close, so close, and there was no obstruction to their proximity. His lips, when they returned mere seconds after they left, were firm and insistent as they tasted her. She opened her mouth to him, gasping as his tongue touched hers (a sensation she would never tire of) and his hands pressed against her back, pulling her nearer, whilst simultaneously supporting her as their shared passions made her tremble and her knees weaken.

They could have continued this display of passion indefinitely, the significance of the day meaning that they both had an unspoken need to relearn every inch of their partner. The physical parts of them not connected to love had other ideas, however, and they drew apart in amusement when her stomach rumbled loudly.

'How unladylike!' she laughed, moving back from him slightly, delighted that his arms continued to hold her. She reached up to play with the curls on his forehead, twisting one around her finger a little, and rose up to press a warm kiss to his cheek.

'Mrs Patmore didn't send me home with anything other than an apple pie, so we'll have to make do with whatever is left over from the larder.'

He squeezed her waist and shook his head at her, before turning her around to face the range at the other end of the kitchen, which she now saw was laden with pans, one of which was gently steaming.

'Do you honestly think I'd ask you to cook tonight?'

She stepped forwards a little and then turned back to him, amazement clear on her face.

'Do you mean you've cooked as well as all the rest?'

He laughed and shook his head again, reaching for his champagne, taking a sip before he answered, silently delighting in her little huff of impatience as she waited for his explanation.

'As nothing is burned, it would suggest not. I've done nothing but prepare some vegetables for Daisy.'

'Daisy did this? But …. when? I mean, I would have noticed if she'd been absent from the kitchens.'

'I would imagine it was when you were in the linen cupboard sorting out the mess Miss Sybbie and Master George had created.'

Her eyes flashed fire with momentary anger at the waste of time her husband's cunning plan had caused her, but then she remembered the gleeful look the children had shared as she had sunk to her knees to sort out the linen they had strewn about, and laughed a little. 'How ever did they come to be involved?'

Charles breathed a sigh of relief as he watched her anger dissipate and moved to the range, lifting the lid from the pan which sat upon it, and gave a stir to whatever was inside. 'Lady Mary brought them to visit a few weeks ago. She'd come to deliver, er, something to help with my idea for your present. Paper is a ridiculous source of inspiration.'

Elsie laughed, 'I had the same conversation with her ladyship. I hope whatever Lady Mary brought was useful?'

'It was, but that's the only answer you're getting for now. I can be mysterious as well Mrs Carson.'

She looked sceptical but did not press him further. He replaced the lid on the pan, turning to look at her, taking in every inch of her as he continued talking.

'We were discussing my plans and she mentioned Mr Crawley had strewn their room with paper hearts.'

She couldn't help the peal of laughter that rang out, and he raised an eyebrow in query.

'It's a Crawley family trait it seems' she explained.

'I might have guessed. Anyway, Master George was listening as he and Miss Sybbie examined the photographs in the sitting room, and he asked if he could help. He came up with the idea of the lanterns. Miss Sybbie was the one who pointed out the need to keep you more occupied than usual. So, with their help, Daisy was able to escape and prepared our supper.'

Elsie was extremely touched by the lengths to which the entire household had gone in order to ensure their evening was a special one. She cast her eye about the softly lit kitchen once more, taking it all in appreciatively.

'And what are we to have?'

'There's vegetable soup to start, which is ready the moment you wish, and salmon with asparagus and new potatoes to follow. Daisy brought a note from Mrs Patmore which thankfully I didn't open until she'd gone, which said the salmon would do just as well cold if we were, ahem, otherwise engaged and forgot about it.'

'Mrs Patmore seems to think she can take the entire credit for our physical relationship' grumbled Elsie.

'She's not far wrong, is she?' he said as he moved back towards her, placing his hand at the base of her neck, lightly stroking the skin below her ear. 'When I think of how I almost let you go, how I almost missed knowing you in every way …'

She reached for the hand which caressed her skin, the light touch of his fingers causing her heart to quicken, and brought it to her mouth, placing a kiss to the centre of his palm, maintaining eye contact with him throughout.

'But you didn't, Charles, because I wouldn't let you. I'd been so worried by the unknown that I forgot the one thing that was certain – and that was my love for you. I finally realised, just at the moment I could have lost you, that none of it mattered, because I wanted you just as you wanted me.'

He wrapped her in his arms once again and kissed her forehead as he had done countless times before, but each remembered the satisfaction and relief of that evening in his pantry and both sent up a silent prayer of thanks that they had not missed the chance to properly love one another.

They remained entwined until Mrs Carson's stomach once again betrayed her, and laughing, she moved to the table whilst he filled two dishes with soup and served her with great style. They sat, elbow to elbow, talking about nothing and everything, indulging in the occasional touch of a hand as they did so. His knees pressed against hers for much of the time, no table legs getting in their way as they had done in the servant's hall. The salmon, when they got around to eating it, was indeed cold, but neither minded.

The clock in the kitchen chimed eight times as he cleared the dishes and poured her another glass of champagne. He did not retake his seat, but instead moved to one of the cupboards and withdrew a package from within it.

'I think it's time for your gift my love.'

He handed her a rectangular parcel, wrapped in brown paper and secured by a blue ribbon which he'd chosen, unbeknownst to her, because it was the exact colour of her eyes. He hovered slightly nervously as she held the gift, running her hand over it, and then sat as she looked up at him and directed him to his chair with her eyes.

She undid the ribbon and peeled back the paper to reveal a book bound in fine red cloth. Paper, she thought. A book would be the obvious choice. The Just So Stories was embossed in gold on the spine and she gasped in happy surprise.

'Oh!' she exclaimed, smiling at him briefly, before looking back at the book. 'One of my favourites. It's something I love to go back to.'

'I know. You have in fact read it twenty-four times.'

'How on earth do you know that?' she asked, looking totally flabbergasted at his knowledge.

'The item Lady Mary brought me – it was the sign out log from the library. When you were rereading Persuasion the weekend I retired, it gave me an idea, and looking at the log showed me you have in fact borrowed it every year since Lord Grantham purchased a copy in 1902.'

She smoothed her hand over the cover and shook her head slightly at the care he'd taken to choose something so personal. She lifted the cover and found his writing on the flyleaf. His inscription brought a lump to her throat.

'I may be as slow as the tortoise, but I won eventually. Happy first anniversary Elsie. With all my love, which grows every day. Charles.'

She took a deep breath to steady herself and looked up to him, her eyes shining. 'Thank you my love. It's a beautiful gift.'

He smiled, but surprised her by standing and offering her his hand. 'The other part of your present is in the sitting room.'

'There's more?' she questioned as she placed her hand in his and stood. The only answer she received was a kiss to her fingers and a meaningful glance as he pulled her towards the other room. She dimly registered the basket with its apple pie which still resided where she'd deposited it hours before.

The sitting room was warmed by the fire which glowed from the embers behind its guard. Charles moved to put a couple of logs on it, to make it blaze again, and she glanced around the room. She was surprised to note that the bookcase was covered by a sheet and moved towards it, before she paused to glance at Charles, still positioned by the fireplace. He nodded and gestured towards the sheet. Barely able to breathe, she tentatively tugged at it, standing back as it pooled about her feet, gasping as she realised that a great transformation had taken place.

The shelves that had been sparsely populated with their meagre collection were now completely filled. Her hand came shakily to rest over her mouth as she fought to keep her emotions in check and her eyes roamed over the shelves as she took in the tittles. A full set of the Bronte's, Middlemarch, Cranford, The Woman in White next to A Room with A View. There was the full collection of Jane Austen's works, and she inhaled sharply as she stared at the spine of Pride and Prejudice, which had Peacock feathers embossed between the title and author's name. Not even Lord Grantham had a complete set of the Hugh Thomson illustrated editions, which had first started to appear in 1894. The bounty of this gift was beyond comprehension.

'I'll be back in a moment' he said quietly, not entirely sure if she had heard him, and went through to the kitchen, extinguishing all the candles that were scattered about the room. It was a simple task, using the little candle snuffer, but one which brought him some peace. He'd been anxious that his gift please her, and the evidence before him declared her to be beyond that emotion.

She continued perusing the shelves, spotting a copy of The Turn of the Screw and smiling at the memory of the first time she'd read it, when she discovered it on the library shelves. She'd not been able to sleep for days. She could hardly think clearly as she stood in quiet contemplation of the shelves, and knew that if she tried to thank him now, she would not be able to fully express herself. All her most loved books were there, even the stories she had read the young ladies on their occasional visits to the servant's hall were among the hoard. There was A Little Princess, standing quite strangely next to Frankenstein. She reached for the latter and opened it, laughing as she read the inscription. 'Just don't read it aloud when it's dark. Charles.'

'I've inscribed them all' he told her as he returned to the room and saw the book in her hands. He stood to one side of her, taking in the emotions that flitted over her face as she continued to look over the shelves in wonder.

'There's no Dickens' she observed, not bothering to turn, still absorbed in discovering the delights he had given her.

'Of course there isn't'

'But you love Dickens.'

'You don't though, and this is your gift.'

She finally turned to him, her eyes shining with unshed tears as the significance of the gift overwhelmed her. 'The ledger' she said, accurately assessing how he had picked so well.

'Indeed. I went through it from the year you arrived and made a note of anything you'd read more than three times. Then I scoured the second-hand bookshops of Ripon. Mr Branson rang one morning, very excited, having stumbled across the Austen in York, Lady Edith sent The Age of Innocence from London and Lady Grantham suggested The Railway Children. She said Lady Sybil would sit enthralled for hours when you read it aloud.'

'She would indeed', she smiled a little sadly at the memory and then moved towards him, reaching up to press a soft kiss to his lips. 'This is amazing and a bit overwhelming. It makes my gift look slight in comparison.'

'I'll be the judge of that. Just so long as you've not strewn the bedroom with paper hearts.'

'No, I'd not be so silly. But I do need to pop upstairs for a moment. Could you pour me some more champagne and take a seat? I'll be right back.'

She climbed the stairs quickly and entered the spare room, reaching under the bed for the box she'd placed there earlier in the week. Extracting the item she sought, she took a moment to gather her thoughts and returned to the sitting room.

He was sitting on the sofa as she had directed, two glasses of champagne twinkling and fizzing on the table by his side. She took a seat next to him, but continued to look at the little package in her hands. His gaze lowered as well, wondering why she was suddenly so shy and obviously anxious about what she was planning to give him. The object was square and bound by a length of green ribbon.

'Elsie, are those …. letters?'

She glanced up at him, grateful that he had recognised the packet so swiftly and nodded carefully.

'They are' she confirmed quietly. 'We always wrote during the season, but these … these are the things I could never say to your face, and never thought to send. But I want you to have them now. It's really all I have to offer.'

She looked up and made sure her eyes connected with his as she presented them to him. 'Happy anniversary Charlie.'

He smiled at the use of the name she only uttered in moments of extreme love, and took the treasured packet from her. The upper envelopes, he noted, were slightly brown and brittle with age, whilst the last in the pile was crisp and white. There was a pencilled note on the top. 'Haxby' it said.

She saw his intake of breath, and where his eyes had moved to, and hurried to explain.

'I thought about transcribing them onto fresh paper, but couldn't trust myself not to edit things, or throw them away in embarrassment. Most of them are undated though, so I wrote on the envelope the situation which brought me to write them.'

He nodded and untied the ribbon slowly, setting it down on the table next to his glass. He rested the pile on his lap and lifted the top one, carefully manoeuvring the single sheet of paper from the envelope. He started to read and then shook his head and looked up at her.

'Would you read them to me?'

'Oh! No … surely ….'

'I can imagine your voice perfectly well, but why bother when I have you right by my side. Please?'

She sighed. Somehow this was worse than just sharing these letters with him, but then he had been so open, given so much of himself, she had to grant his wish. 'Very well', she agreed. 'But you'll forgive me if I don't look at you.'

She reached for her glass, taking a long sip of wine, hoping it would fortify her, or at least take the edge off what she was sure was going to be a tortuous experience. She took the letter from him, and, breathing deeply, she began to read.

Dear Mr Carson,

You have made up your mind. You are going to leave Downton to serve at the pleasure of Lady Mary. You are to move to Haxby. I hope I managed to be generous when you told me, but I cannot begin to understand how you could consider working for Sir Richard after all these years at the Abbey. I suppose I should not be too surprised, you always have been devoted to Lady Mary, and her wishes take precedence, no matter that you might be abandoning your friends.

She broke off with a laugh. 'Good heavens. I'd forgotten how bitter I was. I'm not sure this is a good idea Charles!'

'It's the past Elsie. You're showing me the other way. The other life we could have ended up suffering through.' He leaned forward and placed a kiss to her cheek. 'Please continue my love.'

She nodded and looked back down to the paper.

I've always know that this would be my last position once I'd become housekeeper. I would be a fool to look elsewhere, and in a world of change, the one thing I thought I could rely on was you. We have forged a strong bond you and I, and I wonder if it will hold when you move. Will it survive the distance, or will it snap, like Mr Rochester suggested the one he and Jane shared would. Except he loved her and that …

Well. That is quite the epiphany to have late at night. I've been turning the thought over for about ten minutes and find it is actually the truth. I love you, and whilst I'd been tempted to give you this tomorrow (I've never been afraid of expressing an opinion) I no longer plan to do so. It would be unfair to tell you. It might be considered blackmail and I'm certain you don't feel the same way. I will not be loved out of a sense of obligation.

Your friendship is precious to me, so it will be no chore to live with that alone. Just so long as Haxby does not make you forget me. It will be a hardship to work without you after so many years, but you must go where you think you are needed. Live well Mr Carson.

Love

Elsie Hughes

She finished speaking and willed herself to look up. He was staring at her in such a way that her heart skipped a beat, and then another, as he reached out to cup her cheek.

'Thank heavens Sir Richard turned out to be so devious.' he said, before shuffling a little in his seat so that he was nearer to her, leaning forward to kiss her deeply. 'I love you with every fibre of my soul.' He looked down at the bundle in his lap and picked up the next envelope. 'This says 'Flu'.'

'Oh no, I'm not reading that now. I wept when I wrote it and I'd rather not relieve that tonight.'

'Very well. This one says 'my health'. I'm assuming that your health? Oh.' His eyes widened as he realised what it might contain.

'I might cry when I read that one too, but I think I owe it to you, after shutting you out at the time.'

Knowing it would not be easy for her, and hearing the sigh she gave as she steeled herself, he shifted in his seat once more, leaning back against the sofa. 'Would it help if you didn't have to look at me?'

She glanced at him in surprise and saw he had held his arm out so that she might nestle against his side.

'It would actually.' She bent to remove her shoes and then moved into the offered space, tucking her feet under her as she began to read.

Dear Mr Carson,

Tomorrow I am to see Dr Clarkson and find out if things are as bad as I have feared. I have not admitted my ill health to you, although I rather think you have winkled it out of Mrs Patmore. She has been so very kind to me, but I know she thinks I should have told you weeks ago. I cannot do that, because I cannot bear for you to treat me any differently than you have always done. You have been so caring, and I know it was you who told Lady Grantham, but that treatment is special and it hurts me, because all I want is to go on as before. I cannot cope with all this kindness. I've also kept silent because if I told you I might die, I would surely reveal my deeper feelings for you as well. I have managed to live with my love for you for some time. I am used to living with that pain, and I do not seek to alter our friendship.

I cannot bear to be anything less than you expect of me, stalwart and always to be relied upon. If I am to die, I will do so without your pity. If I told you of my inner feelings now, you would feel obligated to something about it. I would rather live with your friendship than die with your attempt to return my love.

I may be about to die and if I am, I trust in the strength of your friendship to help me meet my end.

With love

Elsie Hughes

P.S. I am not dying! I don't have cancer – still I could not tell you myself, having to pretend I was unaware of your concern, and allowed Mrs Patmore to have that honour. But I heard you sing as you went about your duties. You never sing, except in church, and there you were! Almost skipping about your pantry. You sang for me. I've never been happier. Is it possible to allow myself to believe you might actually care in the way I do? I don't know if I dare, but seeing you this way allows me to hope there might be some sort of future. I won't test you right away, let nature take its own course. I've got the time after all.

'You never did test the waters' he murmured, dropping kisses into her hair and wrapping his arm more firmly against her side.

'No, I didn't.'

'Why not? What happened?'

In answer, she reached for the next letter in the collection and brought it up so he could read the pencilled note.

''Lady Sybil'. Oh my love. You know, you are so brave and quiet, I forget you have suffered.'

She heard the way his words caught in his throat and moved away to look at him, gasping as she did so. 'You've been crying!'

He leaned into her hand as she wiped away the traces of his tears. 'Can you blame me? Your voice cracked when you declared yourself well. You're reliving it all for my sake, and the pain is so great. I'm just so thankful I'm here to support you now.'

He leaned forward, his tears forgotten, and peppered her face with light kisses, whilst his hands moved into her hair and expertly found the pins holding it in place. He started removing them, and then all at once she felt the weight of her plait tumble down her back. He drew away and pulled the long, bound, strand over her shoulder and deftly started to unwind it, the practice he had gained over the year coming into full force.

'Charles' she whispered, astonished by his look of concentration. 'What are you doing?'

'I'm making you dishevelled' he said as he finished undoing the braid and placed warm kisses to her neck, his fingers finding a new task as he undid the first few buttons of her blouse, spreading the fabric wide so he could nip at her collarbone.

'I could be a lot more dishevelled if you took me upstairs my love', she said, blushing slightly – self-conscious even now of the strength of her desires.

'Mmmm' he mumbled, even as he kissed her neck, and the sound he made reverberated against her own voice box so that she felt the vibrations deep within herself, even to her very core, and felt that delicious tightening she had grown so very used to when it came to their lovemaking.

'Believe me when I say I want to take you upstairs and make love to, and with, you. My beautiful wife. But I also want to hear the rest of your thoughts. Indulge me?'

'Just this once' she smiled and leaned forward to give him a searing kiss, a promise of things to come.

'But I'm not going to read all of these now. Some can wait for another time. Think of it as the gift that keeps on giving.'

'Mmmm – much like the rest of you', he said, wetting his lips slightly as he undid yet another button of her blouse, revealing the swell of her breasts as they were pushed up by her corset and her heavier than usual breathing.

Her scolding 'Charles!' was rather more drawn out than it might have been, given the fact his lips had decided to worship the skin he had just uncovered. Her hand found its way into his hair, but it took every ounce of will power she had to exert the pressure needed to move him away from her.

He returned to his previous position without complaint and once more wrapped his arm about her, although she noticed as she nestled comfortably against him that his hand did not stay at her waist as before, but rather inched up so that his fingers splayed over her corset, his thumb making frequent sweeps over the flesh he had been lavishing with his kisses. She forced herself to concentrate, but the sensations he provoked within her were delicious. She made a mental note to get him to repeat this slow seduction at another time.

'The next two letters are quite similar, if memory serves. Lady Sybil's death, and Mr Crawley's so soon after impressed upon me how much you were needed at the Abbey, and I basically gave up any thoughts of a future which involved romance. You needed a friend. That I could provide.'

She sifted through the pile of letters and, finding the one she wanted, drew it out and laid it across her palm. He saw that 'Charlie and Alice' was noted on the envelope and simply tilted her head towards him so he could kiss her forehead. She felt the possessive quality of it and reached to pat his knee.

'It's alright. It's the other Charlie this refers to in any case.' She moved her head away slightly, but only so she could read the letter without straining her neck too much.

Dear Mr Carson,

Throughout this whole encounter with Mr Grigg, we have been at odds. You did not understand my motives behind attempting to help Mrs Crawley through her grief, and I did not do you the credit of believing you would be willing to forget the past. I was astonished when you arrived at the station (although Mrs Crawley seemed to have expected your appearance). You were so stubborn in your refusal, and then, there you were! I have never been prouder of you than at that moment. I feared you would not welcome my presence on the walk back to the abbey, but you were generous in your silent forgiveness.

Tonight you have revealed the reason behind your stubbornness. Alice Neal, who broke your heart, and which injury has been left to fester ever since. You looked at her picture with such fondness. You've never looked at any other woman like that, not even Lady Mary. To know you are capable of such deep feelings is a comfort, even if it gives me even greater cause to doubt that we can share something akin to that. I have an idea of how to help mend your heart further. I only hope it won't break mine a little as I do so.

I remain

Elsie Hughes

He had caught her wry chuckle as she'd spoken of the way he had looked at Alice's picture, and knew she was thinking of the fact he did look at another woman in that way. She had inspired those feelings he had thought buried, and much more besides. He did not mention that the silver frame she had given him now lay in a box somewhere about the house, in amongst a pile of papers he had gathered from his desk upon retirement. That was a story for another time.

'I want you to know', he said, teasing the paper from her fingers and deftly putting it back in the envelope, 'I have never once compared you to her. There would be little point. You've made me happier than I ever would have believed possible. Even when I thought my worst fears had come to pass, and I was about to let you out of our engagement, I never stopped to think 'here we go again'. The only thing that crossed my mind was that I loved you too much to allow you to be miserable. I'm just thankful I have had the chance to love you properly.'

She did not trust herself to speak, could not even bring herself to look at him, and instead brushed an imagined speck of fluff from her skirt. Alice was the occasional spectre which invaded her mind. She never doubted that he loved her, but at times of difficulty she wondered if she could live up to that earlier romance. To know his feelings on the matter was wonderful.

'Thank you', she whispered, bringing his hand to her lips to kiss, before laying it over her heart, where his fingers instantly started stroking her skin. He heard the depth of feeling in those two short words and felt the flutter of her heartbeat, and knew they understood each other.

She fanned the last four envelopes out in her hand and pointed to the top one, labelled 'The Season'. She shook her head as she laughed and explained. 'The season Lady Rose came out. I wrote such a pitiful goodbye and then wept for the rest of the night. I can't think what possessed me. We'd gone through countless separations. It was as if the revelations over Alice showed me all I had missed.' She set the letter down with the others she had read or explained.

'And then 'The Beach' showed you all the possibilities?' he asked, running a finger over one of the three envelopes she still held.

'Something like that.'

'But still you thought I'd never ask you to marry me?'

She moved away from him slightly, swinging her feet back to the floor and turned to him, reaching over to smooth his tie between her fingers – an act he found highly reminiscent of other things, which caused him to become breathless in a matter of moments. She heard the change and allowed herself a little smile, even as she answered him in a serious tone.

'If things at the Abbey had been different, perhaps I might have allowed myself to hope, but events surrounding Anna and Mr Bates were so awful, and I had to keep so much from you. I couldn't allow myself to hope, although when the suggestion of the house came along, I thought we might have a different future to the one I had resigned myself to.'

Her fingers had been smoothing along his tie as she spoke, and now they curled about the knot near his neck. She laid the last two envelopes in her lap and reached up to unfurl the fabric, drawing it out slowly from his collar. She looked up at him as she performed this last action, and saw that his lips were parted as he tried to regulate his breathing.

'Tit for tat my love.'

Discarding the tie next to the length of ribbon that had bond her letters, she reached up to place her hands on either side of his face. They barely spanned his cheeks, as little as they were compared to his large head, but even so, he felt the protection afforded by them, and the desire she felt as she drew his face towards her and kissed him deeply.

She was too far away. He tried to pull her closer, but even as he wrapped his arms about her, he knew it wouldn't be enough. He tugged again, and felt her legs start to rise up over his. He lowered his knees slightly, and there they were, looped over his just as he wished. She seemed to understand his desires, even though he'd not said anything to her, and so when he tugged her side again, she rose up off the sofa a little and moved, almost without effort, into his lap.

'Hello' she said, placing a kiss to his jaw.

He exhaled slowly and held her tightly. 'Read to me about 'Becky' and then we'll go upstairs.'

'There's one more after that' she said, kissing his jaw again and undoing a button on his shirt.

'You can read that to me in bed', he said, his fingers returning to making further light sweeps over the top of her breasts.

'Alright' she gasped, undoing another button and placing a kiss to the skin she uncovered, before working her hand underneath the fabric and placing it over his heart, gratified and touched to feel the beat hammering beneath her fingertips.

Dear Charles

She heard his gasp of surprise and chuckled. 'I know – I wrote your name quite without thinking and could not bring myself to cross it out. It was a small comfort to my broken heart.'

He bent to place a kiss over the heart in question and nipped a little at her skin as well, but did not make any kind of verbal response, and so, after a moment's pause to make sure her voice did not falter, she began again.

Dear Charles,

I thought to lose you to another house some years ago, and thought my pain could not be surpassed, but I know better now. This is so much worse than Haxby, because when you leave to go to this other house, you will have retired – something I never thought to see – and there will be no place for me in your new life.

I said I did not know why I'd allowed myself to string you along, and once again I do you a disservice by not speaking the whole truth. I so wanted to believe that this new partnership might grow to something more, given time, that I allowed myself to believe it was possible, that I was free to hope for things for myself alone. I have never regarded my sister as a burden, her mental state is not her fault, and I have always provided for her out of love. But right at this moment, I find I resent her immensely, and that only adds to my sorrows.

You were generous enough to apologise for bullying me, something you never did, although your enthusiasm for the project might sometimes have swayed your natural calm demeanour. You looked so crushed when I told you, that I felt a flicker of hope rekindle, but no – I must put that right out of my mind, for I know now, better than I ever did before, that we are not destined to be.

When you buy that house, as I know you will, I hope you make a success of it, and that on the odd occasion there will be room for a weary housekeeper to rest for a while.

Live well, Mr Carson. You've earned it.

Mrs Elsie Hughes

She fell silent and leaned her head into his shoulder, whilst the hand within his shirt moved upwards to his other shoulder as she clung to him, needing to feel his firm bulk as she relived the last moment she thought him lost to her. They had spoken about Becky after his proposal, when she'd remained firm about her wish to fund her sister's care alone, despite what their marriage vows might say, and she had written to her to share the happy news. But he still had yet to meet her, their work not allowing them that freedom, and the one time it might have been possible, Becky had succumbed to a virulent flu, and the authorities in charge had written to say it was better they didn't come.

They sat in silence as they each remembered these things and comforted themselves with the nearness of the other. The fire had died to its last embers, and the soft glow of the lamps cast shadows about the room, making it seem smaller than it really was. All that really existed in that moment were the two of them.

She was distracted from her thoughts by the feel of his fingers caressing her foot and lightly running up her calf, before they inched up over her knee and started trailing a path across her outer thigh. She nudged his face with her nose slightly and caressed the shoulder she still gripped under his shirt.

'Just what does your hand think it's doing?'

'It's taking off your stocking' he replied, unsnapping one of the fasteners, before lightly caressing the top of her thigh. He repeated the procedure which made her inhale sharply as his fingers found new skin to caress. He swept his fingertips back and forth slowly, until it was almost too much to bear, and still he had made no further progress with the removal of her stocking.

'So help me, Charles, if you do that once more, I'll be forced to ….'

Her threat was cut off mid way as he made her gasp, repeating the action with more firmness, his fingers finding the inside of her thigh this time.

'You'll be forced to what?' he asked, sounding altogether too smug.

'I'll be forced to take them off myself' she declared, shuffling from his lap and standing up. He looked slightly disappointed as she did so, but then she placed a foot on the sofa and, gathering her skirt to one side, expertly undid the rest of the fasteners before rolling the fabric down her leg and pulling it off her foot.

She did not miss the intake of his breath and when she swapped the foot on the sofa for the other, made sure she lifted her skirt slightly higher than was strictly necessary as she repeated her actions with the other stocking.

His hand came to wrap around her ankle as she finished and her gaze connected with his. The desire he felt was writ large in his eyes, the flush on his cheeks, and the parting of his lips. She slowly lowered her leg and held out her hand to him, inviting him to stand. He did not delay and she was in his arms in a matter of moments, his lips at her ear as he kissed and nibbled the sensitive flesh.

She heard his quiet whisper of 'Bed' and answered by reaching down for the last letter before grasping his hand and leading him from the room.

In the hallway they were greeted by the apple pie she had abandoned. She paused, regretting the waste for a moment, but he just laughed, running his hand down the full length of her tumbled hair and lowly said 'we can have it for breakfast, like in The Railway Children.'

'Hmmm – I daresay' she replied, in a passable Yorkshire accent, and they continued on their way to their bedroom.

He shrugged off his jacket as he entered and hung it over the chair of her dressing table, watching her move about the room, seemingly lost in thought as she twirled the letter in her hands. When she absentmindedly moved to unbutton her blouse, however, he stepped forward to place his hands on hers and shook his head.

'Let me, and whilst I do so, you can read me the letter. What did you label this one?'

'First and only', she said, drawing the paper out of the envelope. She felt, rather than saw, him move closer towards her and sighed deeply as his lips came to rest on her collarbone whilst his fingers tugged her blouse from her skirt.

My darling Charles

She had barely got the words out before his lips were on hers, but it was a brief caress, really just an answer to the development of the opening of her letters, and he moved back so that he could concentrate on unbuttoning the rest of her blouse.

I hardly know how I shall sleep tonight, now that I am acquainted with how your lips feel on mine, how good it is to rest in your arms. All my worries and prevarications were swept to one side the instant I realised the danger I was in, that you might act the noble gentleman and release me. When I think of all the barriers that have been in our way, I never imagined that I would be the one to very nearly destroy our chance.

She felt her blouse slowly being pulled from her arms as she read these words, pausing mid sentence at one point to switch the letter between her hands so he could remove the garment completely. His fingers brushed up her body and rested on her shoulders as he moved to kiss the skin he had uncovered.

He undid his own shirt and she paused her recitation completely so that she could place kisses of her own to his chest.

She continued to read, making an extreme effort to keep her voice steady as she tried to regulate her breathing – no easy feat, given the way he was touching her, and the fact he had unbuttoned her skirt, allowing it to pool at her feet, and was now slowly unfastening her corset.

The way you looked at me Charles! You've never looked at me like that before, or perhaps you have and I've been too preoccupied with concealing my love to pay attention. I could have lost you, but God was kind and we are going to be actually married in April.

That kiss we shared told me all I need to know. I wonder if you heard that sound I made as our lips touched? I couldn't help myself. I was unaware until that moment that the mere touch of two sets of lips could inspire such feelings!'

She had stumbled over some of this as his hands removed the corset and as she revealed to him how that first kiss between them had made her feel, the garment fell away, and suddenly his mouth was on her, claiming one of her nipples through the shift she still wore, whilst his hands pressed into her back and brought her closer to him.

'Oh Charles!' she gasped, even as her body lost the ability to hold itself upright and desire shot through her. Her knees buckled and she surely would have collapsed if he had not had a firm grip on her.

He half lifted, half guided her backwards until she felt the sturdy bed behind her, and she sat heavily, watching as he moved away slightly to dispense with his trousers. She pulled the shift over her head in one fluid movement and sat, clad only in her knickers, gazing up at him through half closed eyes, both of them breathing erratically.

He reached out to stroke her cheek before allowing his fingers to run down the column of her neck, and then his hand cradled the weight of her breast, whilst his thumb and forefinger swept over her nipple, rolling and pinching ever so slightly. Her eyes closed fully in delight at the sensations he inspired and her head rolled back so that her throat was tipped to the ceiling, an invitation he could not ignore.

He stepped between her legs, pushing them apart a little to accommodate him, and bent forward to lavish kisses to her neck, thoroughly aroused by the deep groans she made.

'There's still a postscript' she whispered, taking the decision to skip the rest of what she had written about that night. 'But it doesn't matter.'

'It does' he rumbled against her neck and then drew back. The loss of contact caused her to open her eyes and he was able to indicate she should move back against the pillows of their bed. He followed her as she did so, tugging at her underwear so that she was fully naked by the time she reached the head of the bed, his own final item of clothing being discarded at the same time.

He lay down on his side next to her, his eyes never leaving hers, whilst his hand ran, feather light over her body. Reluctant to break eye contact she lingered, but finally brought the paper up to read.

We have been married a little over fourteen hours and I am, at long last your wife in every respect. You have fallen into a deep sleep, but as much as I need it, I cannot. I can only stare at the sleeping (and snoring!) form of my husband for so long, so rather than disturb, I write this by the light of the moon.

Any residual fears over what tonight would entail have been dispelled completely. You promised to worship me, and you did, beyond all my expectations. You've told me I'm beautiful, but I only truly believed you when you looked at me tonight. I never thought to share this deep connection, especially not at my age. I love you with so much of my soul Charles, there is none left to protest it. I will love you until I die.

She looked up from the paper and found his face inches from hers. His hands had left their exploration of her body and now came to cup her face as she blinked tears of happiness away.

'I will, you know' she reaffirmed, leaning into his hand.

'As will I, but let's not die for another thirty years.'

She laughed shakily as his hand moved down to her neck. 'You'll never let me forget that, will you?'

'Probably not. And you're not old within your soul my darling. You could never be old to me.'

His hand left her neck and reached for the paper she still held, turning to place it on his bedside table before he returned to her, moving to kiss her deeply, before he pulled her down the bed a little, so that she lay directly beneath him.

They kissed, slowly, languidly, but with all the passion that had been kindled from the start of their evening together.

His hands produced a trail of fire as they skimmed her most sensitive parts and when he, at long last, entered her, they both exhaled in delighted anticipation as the final movement in their dance of love and passion was begun.

As he slipped deeper and deeper inside of her, fitting so wonderfully in that secret part, his breath caught as he briefly thought of all the points she had shared, when they had so nearly come together, only to be prevented. It made their lovemaking that much more precious.

He began to thrust quicker, and she matched his rhythm perfectly. Their eyes connected as they moved together, communicating the powerful emotions they felt and their journey to this moment which had been revisited that night. Both of them offered up prayers of thanks that they should have had the chance to share this love.

As they reach the heights of climax and shattered against each other in heady delight, the sounds of their lovemaking filling the room, they knew that they would continue to share this love and passion for many years.

A/N:

For those of you who want to know, the traditional gifts to give at each wedding anniversary are as follows: 1 = paper, 2 = cotton, 3 = leather, 4 = flowers/fruit, 5 = wood, 6 = sugar, 7 = wool, 8 = bronze, 9 = copper, 10 = tin, 11 = steel, 12 = silk or linen, 13 = lace, 14 = ivory, 15 = crystal, 20 = china, 25 = silver, 30 = pearl. Modern gifts are somewhat different (for instance, 4th now is electrical appliances … I mean come on! Also modern 30th appears to be diamond, I suppose because someone thinks most modern marriages won't get to 60 years, which is a tad depressing).

I should probably state here and now that I'm not going to be doing a chapter for all of them. I have in my mind probably about four more chapters. I highly doubt any of them will be as long as this. They probably won't be M rated either (and the fact that I have now finally written a full love scene is as much a surprise to me as you).

The books …. The ones mentioned aren't the only things given. Some might pop up later. The Thomson Austen are incredibly beautiful and I've posted them on my tumblr.

I have used (or rather slightly altered quotes) from Hemingway ('You are so Brave and quiet') which comes from A Farewell to Arms, published 1929, so just outside of the timeline, and Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing (I love you with so much of my heart). I have also used a line from a song which is used in one of my all time favourite fan vids, by T3andcrumpets (ScintillatingTart on here) – 'There's no age upon your soul' is from Sophie Ellis Bextor's Young Blood, and I'll reblog the video on my tumblr. The idea of his eyes being compared to smouldering charcoal comes from Deedee, through a conversation over my valentines fic.

Another vote of thanks to Dibdab who suggested the point to put out the candles, when I realised I'd not done it, and was worrying that the house would burn down as they slept, although she also gave me a wonderful visual of Charles pulling on his dressing gown after the glow of their passion dims, and going downstairs to secure the house. The lanterns blew out in the wind the minute she went inside (ha).

This is a real labour of love for me, a union of so many things, so many strands, so I hope it touches you in some way. Chapter two will follow soon. A review or two would set me up forever