Sometimes, when a friend has a birthday, the muse is unable to produce anything at all. But this one was thought up ages ago, because there was never a question that a birthday ficlet for the lovely kouw would contain 1) Chelsie and 2) cricket. Sort of. Except that I know nothing really about cricket.
I hope you all enjoy this tiny fic. Please drop me a little review if you're able, and then head over to tumblr or PM her here to wish kouw a fantastically Happy Birthday! Then, if you have time, go and devour her amazing writing.
(unbeta'd, so please pardon any errors)
xx
CSotA
The trek back up to the Abbey had been filled with much whooping and hollering on the part of the men and a fair amount of chatter amongst the women. The day was unseasonably warm, but nothing could dampen their spirits after the House team's amazing (and surprising) win at the annual cricket match.
The housekeeper had chosen to walk behind the rest of the crew. Every now and then she stole a glance toward the front of the group, the focus of her attention currently chatting with his Lordship. It was an advantageous vantage point, walking behind the butler for a change instead of alongside or in front of him.
I'll have to remember that, she thought, fond as she was of how his cricket whites fit him just so.
As they reached the Abbey, the group split naturally – the family to one side, where a footman was waiting to open the front door, and the staff to the other, where Daisy had cold lemonade and ale set out beside two plates full of biscuits.
"Thank you, Daisy," Mrs. Patmore said to her.
"The House team won, Mr. Carson?" Daisy asked, and he nodded proudly.
"Indeed we did, Daisy. It was a hard-fought match, but we persevered and the win was well-earned."
"Oh, one can easily see that," Mrs. Hughes remarked with a small smirk and a glance; one flick of her brilliant blues toward his knees saying it all: grass and mud stains were rather out of place on the normally spotless butler. "I don't think I've ever seen you so poorly presented," she added in a murmur that only he could hear.
"Oh, I'm sure that's not true, Mrs. Hughes," he answered.
"Well, regardless, change out of those things and have one of the footmen bring them to me," she said.
"I would think scrubbing the laundry is beneath you now," he commented with a raised eyebrow.
But Mrs. Hughes just sipped her lemonade. "I've tasked my girls to other things today, Mr. Carson. I didn't expect we'd be bringing the field back with us."
"Yes, well …" he said, his voice trailing off as he looked resolutely at his plate.
oOoOoOoOoOo
He headed to the laundry room an hour later, wondering how on earth she was still stuck down there. But they were supposed to review a few things for the following day and she'd missed their appointment completely, so he'd assumed that's where she'd be.
Sure enough, he spied her instantly once he rounded the corner of the doorway … and he stopped dead in his tracks.
She was an absolute vision before him, and she appeared to have no idea he was standing there.
He took a moment to admire her figure – shapely still after so many years of hard work – and noticed how the back of her day dress seemed to be clinging to her back in the heat. He knew that the steam from the hot water in the sink before her couldn't possibly be helping, and he saw that a few tendrils had escaped her tightly-coiffed hair (which he realized she had redone since returning from the match, because the braids were smaller now).
But as he crept up behind her, he noticed she seemed off with the fairies. It was a rare day that he could sneak up on her, and the thought made him smile softly.
Of course, she knew he was there. She'd heard him wandering down the stairway, and something in her mind registered his presence even now, but those things were in the background … in the forefront, however, was the memory from the cricket match, the moment just before the big win when he'd rallied the team and given everyone a rousing, inspirational pep talk.
She smiled at the image of the tall, often-grumbling butler sharing kind words of encouragement with the likes of Mr. Molesley and Andy. It was the thing she loved most about him, really, this tendency to show his kindest side when others needed a bit of encouragement.
She didn't jump as his lips kissed away the bead of perspiration on her neck; she merely leaned backward a bit into his embrace, relishing the warmth of his hands on her hips despite the intolerable heat in the room.
"I thought I'd managed to surprise you," he murmured against her ear.
She tilted her head a bit more, giving him purchase to the skin behind her earlobe that she knew he'd been seeking. "Never," she whispered. "I've been attuned to all of your movements for decades, Mr. Carson. Didn't you know?"
She turned in his arms as a rumble of laughter erupted from his chest, and she placed her hands over his bright white shirt to smooth out an imaginary wrinkle.
"More so these past few weeks, I'd imagine," he said, and she nodded slowly as she looked deep into his eyes.
"Oh, yes, my darling husband," she replied softly, feeling his hands wander just a tiny bit lower. "Most definitely."