Chapter 1

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes." That was all he was able to say in the midst of his intoxicated shock when the candle was lit and he could admire her features shaded by the dim light.

The question was: how could he have been mistaken to that point and gotten there? From all the places he could have gone to, why there? He tried for a moment to remember the events of the evening, but either the cold or the wine had left him slightly confused. "Drunk, Charles, you are slightly drunk," said a voice in his head, in fact his own voice, with an tone of absolute disapproval. "You're drunk and about to make a fool of yourself."

As he recalled, the night had passed without problems. Mrs. Patmore shouted a bit at Daisy as usual. O'Brien and Thomas remained in their corner talking in whispers and Anna ate oblivious to everything and everyone with her thoughts on her husband. Mrs. Hughes, at his side, glanced at him from time to time while keeping her left hand closed, pale and cold.

He was tempted to lay his hand on hers and rub her fingers gently to warm them, but he restrained the urge and his concentration returned to the bowl of soup in front of him. He also tried to keep his attention on the others, subtle and disguised, catching snatches scattered in the air, until his attention was again drawn to her. He felt the rustle of skirts brush his ankle and he threw Mrs. Hughes a curious look, but she looked absorbed in her own thoughts at that moment.

The family dinner was soon finished without any incident. He had gone downstairs quietly after and stopped at the open door of her parlor. She was trying to sew carefully, her eyes focused and her lips narrowed, as if it took all her strength to hit the point. Charles knew that her problem was not the point itself, but her vision was no longer the same at night, especially in the half light.

"Mrs. Hughes would you like to join me for a glass of wine later?" he had asked, giving her a small smile.

"Absolutely, Mr. Carson. The wine will be very welcome tonight!" the answer came accompanied by her friendly and receptive facial expression and he caught himself thinking as he made his night rounds, how friendly and welcoming she could be. Thoughts totally inappropriate for someone like him, especially with respect to someone like her.

Mrs. Hughes was his friend, his best friend, and he wasn't entitled to have these thoughts about her. Regardless of any other feelings that he could nurture for her, it was more than inappropriate. It was disrespectful.

When he finally returned to her parlor he brought the leftover wine from dinner and two delicate glasses, holding the tray carefully.

"I thought you would take longer to come downstairs. I'm almost done." She announced, throwing him a quick glance before turning her attention back to the seam.

"The family went to bed earlier this evening and LordGrantham said that I could go to bed myself. He stayed behind reading in the library."

"Seems someone was not invited to his own bed tonight…" Her tone was light, almost mocking.

"I should say so." He smiled at her and put the glasses on the small coffee table between their chairs. He poured a generous amount for each of them before settling into the seat facing hers.

The fire in the fireplace was high, yet the room was not warm enough; cold, cold, cold and colder. He sipped the wine slowly, enjoying the taste and vision of Elsie Hughes before him, ending her sewing carefully.

Regard, fellowship, friendship, affection, love... He swallowed the last word. Deep wrinkles appeared on her brow, and Elsie bit her lower lip, concentrated on completion. Outside it might have been completely white, frozen and no warming, but entering her parlor he felt enveloped in the atmosphere of her warmth, he was gently heated. Not his body, but his soul.

"What are you doing?" Charles asked at last when she studied her work carefully. A large cream rectangle of wool and patchwork borders in shades of blue and green hid her from his vision.

"A new blanket for Charlie." Elsie laid the blanket on her lap, briefly admiring her own handiwork, before looking sharply at him, as if she challenged him to say something against her conduct in helping Ethel and the poor boy. Charles said nothing, just nodded and leaned back in his chair. "I thought that his blanket was very small for him now and that Ethel could use a new one in case she goes out with the boys somewhere, in this cold there is never enough."

Elsie carefully folded the blanket until it became a small and fluffy rectangle. Charles noticed that it had a smooth appearance and the boy would certainly like the texture. She's always worried about others, caring for everyone. And who took care of her? He, he assumed. He should take care of her.

"You are fond of the boy." That was not a question, it was a statement.

"Do you think that I crossed too many barriers?" She asked, leaning toward the table and taking her glass of wine. She raised it to her lips and took a sip before turning her attention to the man in front of her.

"At first yes ,but now..." Charles sighed. "It was wrong of me to judge you for helping Ethel, even if you did it secretly. I would never expect any other conduct from you than helping your maids when they need it. You were always their mother, more than anything else. I just never conceived a situation like this." He gave her a shy smile, almost a new apology for his conduct; startling dimples on his face.

"She took me by surprise too, I must admit, Mr. Carson. But what would you do in my shoes? Let a pregnant woman starving without a place to stay? Let the child go hungry? However wrong that Ethel was the boy is not guilty." There was no accusation in her voice, just a bit of provocation, a challenge that he was inclined to ignore.

"You know my personality and my principles well enough,, Mrs. Hughes, in order to know that I would do the same."

"And yet you judged me." A touch of sadness took the colors of Elsie's face for a moment. A subtle sorrow shone in her eyes and blurred her features, but when he tried to study it closer it was gone.

"For a moment I felt..." Charles stopped for a split second and continued: "betrayed somehow, overlooked. We never had secrets between us; at least that's what I always believed."

"Certainly we do not keep secrets from each other, but we have things left unsaid between us."

Their eyes met, this time not for a moment, but for countless long seconds; a thousand meanings, a thousand explanations, a thousand confessions and no words. In their mutual understanding and silence, they shared sad smiles and turned their attention to their wine glasses. Charles asked himself if he would ever have the courage to say it, if it would be an appropriate time to do so. Elsie wondered how long they would have to wait.

"You kept it secret that you were helping Ethel."

"It was not my secret, Mr. Carson." and her eyes deviated from his, from his face and turned to focus on a point in her lap or on the glass of wine perhaps.

Charles pondered whether to let the conversation die and start a new topic or whether it should continue. He hadn't apologized to her, not exactly. He gave her no explanation, and perhaps it what was missing at the moment, he thought, a failed attempt to deceive himself. She needed so much, he needed so much more than that little they allowed themselves.

"Now I understand. I understand your help and understand your affection for the boy. How could I not?" He said finally, in a low voice, without looking at her directly. He was unable to observe her for fear that his face or his eyes would more than they should, more than was appropriate.

Appropriateness. He lived in an appropriate manner, he spoke as appropriate, he showed feelings appropriately. With age his patience seemed to be decreasing and not increasing as might be expected.

"Lady Mary." Elsie said, demonstrating an understanding of what he meant. "You still are affectionate for her."

Charles just nodded and watched her head slightly lower. Elsie squirmed in her chair, changing positions between sips of wine. Her eyes wandered along the wall opposite to her and he knew enough to know that this gesture was a form of preparation. Something was coming.

A sigh escaped her pink lips, softly colored by red wine; soft, charming and dangerously attractive, even for someone like him, wary and worried. Appropriate, it had to occur as appropriate.

"Have you ever wished that she were yours, ? Your daughter, I mean. Have you ever wished that Lady Mary had been your child or have you ever wished that you had had a child of your own? "

Charles paused, trying to remember. What had he responded to this? He remembered that they said a few more things and Elsie had a sudden fit of laughter making him extremely uncomfortable, but what?

"Only if my child was yours as well." Had he thought about it or said it to her?

"Mr. Carson!" Elsie, in the present, drew his attention with urgency in her voice, despite the cautious low tone. "What are you doing here at this time and..." Charles noticed her eyes running over his figure, making him blush violently. She heaved a heavy sigh, blinking a few times. "like this?"

TBC...