Finally the end of this journey into an alternate universe. Thank all of you for your reviews, favorites, etc. I have greatly appreciated and been encouraged by them. I wish I could keep writing these two forever, but all things must end.

March 19, 1914

Charles paused when he came within sight of the cottage he shared with his wife. There had been a smile on his lips since he'd started his walk from Downton, and it had only gotten wider as he approached home. Home. Home because that is where Elsie was. Home because that is where he really lived. For years he had thought contentment and fulfillment were to be found in the work that he did, but now he knew a deeper contentment that revolved around her. It was what they were together that truly fulfilled him.

With a shake of his head at his own sentimentalism, he started walking again and with a quicker pace. No need to dally when he had three full days together to spend with his wife, and not just any days. This was a special occasion. He wondered if she remembered the importance of this date. If she didn't, he had every intention of reminding her.

He pushed open the door to see that she wasn't in the front room, although her coat and hat were here. So she was in the bedroom. That was a good sign. Setting his small package down on the table, he turned to remove his own coat and hat so that he could steal into the next room as quietly as possible. A voice behind him surprised him out of his plans, however.

"Will someone else be joining you or do you need a table for one?" A soft Scottish burr asked.

He turned around to look at her with an amused smile but decided to play along with just a minor alteration in the script, "I am alone, but as I have nothing else to occupy myself this afternoon, I was hoping to entice you to join me for a bit of company."

"Well, sir," she said, smile tugging at her lips as well, "I don't know if that will be possible. I am a very busy woman."

He stepped closer to her and leaned forward but kept his hands clasped behind his back, "And there's nothing I could do to persuade you?"

"Well, you do seem like a kind gentleman," she said, studying his eyes, "Perhaps I might be able to find a moment here or there."

He reached around her for the box from the table and said, "So if I were to ask you to share this piece of apple tart with me over a cuppa, nice and cozy-like, you wouldn't object?"

She dropped all pretense as a laugh escaped, "You'll never let me forget that will you? Of course I'll share that with you, but I hope you're hungry because there are three of those to share."

He grinned, "I am hungry but not for apple tart just yet. And how did we come by three of them?"

She walked over to the kitchen window and drew the curtains closed, the thick curtains. He admired her swaying hips and cleared his throat. She turned to smile at him over her shoulder, and he could see that she clearly knew the reaction she was causing.

"I presume that is Mrs. Patmore's?" she asked, attention back on the window. His mind was so preoccupied that it took a moment to register that she was asking about the tart. He nodded dumbly and walked toward her, determined on his path.

She let out a small cry of surprise when he grasped her hips and drew her back against him. He bent and placed gentle kisses on her neck just below her left ear.

"Mmmmm," she tilted her head to give him better access and then said, "Mrs. Johnstone sent one today as well. She remembered."

He grunted. "One what?" he whispered against her neck as his fingers searched for the fastening of her skirt.

"An apple tart," she said in exasperation and then guided his hand to the buttons on the side of her hip.

"Ahhh," he sighed in satisfaction both in the answer to his question and in finding his destination. He started to work loose the buttons of her skirt. "But that only makes two."

She leaned back again, pressing her bottom tighter to his groin. "Do you have no faith in my skills?"

His arm went around her waist and his free hand brushed the underside of her breast, "I have every faith in your skills, but I did not think those skills extended to making a crust."

She turned around in his arms and stretched her arms lazily around his neck before pressing her lips gently to his. When she pulled back, she whispered, "I've been practicing."

He chuckled softly and pressed his lips and his body tighter to hers. After a few more moments, he said, "Practice does make perfect."

Her hands dropped to his tie, working it loose and expertly pulling the studs from his collar. "It does indeed, and I've had an excellent teacher."

A small surge of pride welled up in him, but she popped it with a brisk addition, "Mrs. Bird has been most helpful."

"Mrs. Bird?"

"With my crusts," she clarified smugly.

"Ahh. I was talking about a different type of practice," he said, looking at her with a frown.

She pressed her hips toward him and pulled his face closer to hers, "We'll have plenty of time for that this afternoon. I think it's going to rain."

"Rain? Surely not," he smiled, pressing her against the counter, "The sun was blazing as I came home. Not a cloud in the sky."

"I think it's definitely going to rain and us with no umbrella," she said, stretching up to meet his lips.

He bent to bring his lips closer to hers and forgot all thought of apple tart or rain or anything but his beautiful wife for the next few hours.

The End

Reviews are welcome as always.