This is a closely related, but non-sequential partner to another story of mine called "The Burdens We Carry". I came close to posting this as it's second chapter, but figured I had lost that right after my 6 month hiatus...

Enjoy.

The coffee was especially bitter this morning. Charles cringed slightly at the first sip. Perhaps Elsie was using a new blend. If he loved her any less, he would ask that they go back to tea in the morning-A true English breakfast, for a true English house. Well...cottage. Instead, he trailed along on his beautiful wife's quest to expand their horizons, smiling broadly. Just last week they had enjoyed Asian noodles peppered with an assortment of colorfully, tangy spices. Elsie had acquired the ingredients and a slender, confusing recipe book from an exotic shop in Ripon. This delicacy was but one of the many foreign treats their pocket money was now set aside for. Hobbies were few and far between for the couple now that they were weaning themselves from the big house. Besides the few hours a day each spent training the Bate's to replace them, the hours were long and rather dull. Boredom often swam in Elsie's blue pools (When they weren't locked on Charles that is-In which case contentment weaved with undying love there). So, if spicing up their meals put the twinkle back in her eye, a few antacids were a small price to pay.

The bacon sizzled and Elsie's robe swished around her ankles as she moved between the pan it cooked in and an electric toaster that always managed to burn her breakfast. While watching intently, the sudden and inexplicable urge to disrobe her overcame Charles. He folded his paper back, setting it neatly on the placemat before him. Although such desire rarely waned, this morning was different. The intention was not lovemaking—though the prospect wasn't unappealing. No, this morning he craved to watch her. To trace this goddess with his eyes as she bustled about. To watch her muscles flex and ease back. Stretching up on her toes would accentuate the elegant curve of her back, the pucker of her navel sucking in slightly, her ample breasts falling forward, her dainty feet curving at the arch like a skilled dancer.

When Elsie did stretch in a such a manner to reach a high cabinet, she was—regretfully—still clothed. With a high stack of generations-old Carson family china nestled against her bosom, she carefully shifted back to average height. Bending back against the weight, the Scotswoman turned to set the plates on the opposite counter. Caught halfway by the sash of her dressing gown on a knob, she lost footing and the stack wiggled. The top three plates broke free, jumping from her arms to shatter on the floor.

"Oh, dear!" she cried, tip-toeing carefully around the mess to set the salvaged china on the safe, steady counter-top.

"Elsie!" He rose from the table, towering over her instantly, "Have you any idea what you have just managed to demolish?"

"Lest my eyes fail me, they were plates, Charles. I hardly think the world is crumbling around us!" His tone was matched by the sharp bite of her witty tongue (after this long, he should have expected no less).

"Perhaps the world is not crashing down, but if you have any say in it, all of my heir looms shall!"

"Well, God help us all if something is out of place in the butler's pantry! I can be sure that is what this is all about, is it not? Things going amiss-being untidy? Well, perhaps you should ring your dutiful maid and have her clean it promptly, your Lordship!" Her arms were waiving about and her eyes were pure fire, burning holes straight through him.

"Do not mock me, Elsie Carson!" His hands flew up as well, "I am unsure what has gotten into you lately, but I would advise…" he carried on with a hand waving about much too close to her face, not realizing how similar this speech was the one he gave the staff. That is, until he noticed something else flash in her eyes. Fear.

Hunkering down slightly, Elsie was helpless to the silent tears rolling down her face, as her husband shifted before her eyes...shifted into a memory of her father. Squeezing her eyes tight, she began backing away, begging, "Please, please. I'm sorry. I did not—I apologize—I just ca—Please. Oh, please!"

The room dropped to an eerie silence, minus the choked sobs of the normally strong-willed as she curled into herself against the counter top.

"Elsie...?" Charles took a step forward, with his arms out, only to retract them when he saw her wince slightly. "Elsie, my girl. What is this? What's going on?"

All she could offer in way of response were whispered apologies, so he tried a different tactic. Grabbing her softly around the waist, Charles held her to him, despite her shivers of resistance. Swaying her back and forth slightly, he soothed her sobs.

"I'm sorry, Charles. I don't know what came over me...I apologize." Trying to make light of the matter, she forced out a fake giggle.

"No, I'm sorry. You could break every piece of china in this house and I would have no right to raise my voice." Cradling her chin in his palm, he titled her face up to match his, "But that's not what this is about, is it?"

Elsie shook her head and bit her lip, letting another tear fall before resting her head back on his chest.

"I would never hurt you. You are aware of that...aren't you?"

"Of course," she whispered into the front of his robe.

"Then how could you ever think I would lay a hand on you?"

"I don't..." her sniffles of composure were muffled against his tall frame.

"Be honest, my love." Charles whispered to the top of her head before peppering kisses there. "Do I frighten you?" His speech was hesitant and hushed-fearful for the answer.

"No. No, you don't frighten me, Charles. I just...it's...I can't explain."

"Might you try? For my sake?"

After a period of great silence, Elsie began, "It is not you that frightens me. It is the idea of a husband..."

"My darling, you must stop speaking in riddles and tell me what this is all about,"

"My-my father..." She calmed herself with a deep shaky breath. "My father was not a pleasant man. He fancied the drink, but the drink didn't fancy him. Most nights, my mother would have my sister and I in bed before he came home from the pub...but when he took his whiskey at home by the fire, no one was safe. Mother was able to shield us from most of the bouts until I came into my teenage years. She fell ill, and his aggression turned on us. That's why I went into service at fourteen."

Charles wrapped his arms impossibly tighter around her and pressed a gentle, loving kiss to her forehead. He held her close, rubbing soothing circles over her back, content to remain silent until she calmed. When her sniffles silenced, and she began rocking along with him, he leaned back to take her small face in his large paws.

"My darling, darling girl." A short curl escaped from the braid she hadn't bothered to pin up, and he swept it behind her ear with a touch so tender she quivered. "You shall never have to fear so long as I live-not of any man and especially not of me. My only goal in this life is to cherish you, and nothing more." Charles bowed to rest his forehead against hers, searching her eyes for some response. "So please...tell me how I can help?"

Elsie's brown eyes crinkled at the edges with a weak, but genuine smile. "Oh, Charles. My sweet, sweet man—I love you so." She brought a hand up to the back of his neck, scratching through the hair there tenderly, "You have helped more than you could ever imagine...but..." the blush that painted her cheeks was terribly becoming, and a sign that perhaps the worst was behind them.

"Go on..." He prompted with a low half-chuckle, running the pad of his thumb against her cheek.

"A kiss wouldn't hurt." She dropped her eyes demurely, her smile brightening to it's regular blinding luminosity.

"A kiss!" Charles' sarcastic gasp earned him a quick slap to the forearm, and frothy giggles from his wife. "My, my... How scandalous you are, Mrs. Carson."

"Oh! Shush, you cheeky devil!" Having her fill of banter, Elsie stretched onto her toes and pulled him down by the nape of his neck to join their lips. It was a long, tender kiss—displaying fear conquered and hope anew.

When they finally broke apart, Charles lifted Elsie by the hips, setting her down on the counter-top gently. With the few added inches, he was able to pepper her face with kisses more comfortably.

"You are forever safe in my arms, my love." Charles whispered huskily between kisses.

Reviews are second only, in my mind, to Jim Carter's errant curl.

...Happy New Year!