A/A/N: Reposted with less errors, as I can't say they are all gone., but enough that my sanity couldn't bear to have it living out there as it was. Thank you to Edward Carson for helping me.
A/N: SPOILERS for S6E3 and E4. Apologies in advance, as this is more a collection of scenes with little cohesion written in the course of a very busy week. I hope you enjoy ramblings!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. ITV, Fellowes, Carter, Logan, et al are the best. This is just some fangirl fun.
Mrs. Carson's Musings
"Mrs. Carson."
"Hmmm."
"Are you ready to go up?" Mr. Carson asked his wife with an outstretched hand.
She beamed up at her husband. "Yes, Mr. Carson, I'm quite ready," she replied as he helped her from the couch in their parlor.
Husband and wife, hand in hand, made their way up the small flight of stairs to their bedroom. Walking up, she couldn't help but think on how lovely it felt to hear him call her Mrs. Carson here in their home, their own space, for the very first time.
"After you, my dear," he said as he ushered her into the bathroom.
This was how it was in Scarborough as well, settling into somewhat of a routine. After they ate dinner and lazed about, he would give her time to change into her night things in the bathroom while he changed in the bedroom. It was quite sweet, considering modesty was irrelevant after the intimacies they'd shared. But it was their way, and that's what being Mr. and Mrs. Carson was all about—their way.
Mrs. Carson … Mrs. Carson … Mrs. Carson. It was funny how two little words changed everything. As Elsie changed out of her dress and corset to don her nightgown, she thought of the many ways this name had been said and the impressions it left in her and others.
-CE-
Mrs. Carson thought back to her ladyship faltering over the new designation in the receiving line at the wedding reception. The bride was still embarrassed by the whole business with the coat to think on it too much. Everyone else who came through didn't use the moniker, simply offering a congratulatory sentiment. It did not surprise her that her ladyship would make an effort. Mrs. Carson, is the only way to politely address her now; and though Cora Crawley does not detest much, she does not abide poor manners, particularly in herself given the apology she bestowed the bride on the eve of her wedding.
When Mr. Barrow handed her a glass of punch later on, the gesture passed so swiftly that the new bride barely noticed. She was so nervous to hear her husband's speech that she only muttered a quick 'thank you' to Mr. Barrow before turning away. It was odd the he should be the one to remember and acclimate so quickly, for it was said without a stumble and without his usual sarcasm. In fact he said it with quite a smile. Mr. Barrow may not have known much kindness in his life, but from time to time Mrs. Hughes had showed him she did care. He was truly happy for them…well, maybe not Mr. Carson. But for Mrs. Carson, Mr. Barrow was quite happy.
As the reception went on and the hooley began, Mr. Branson prominently addressed her as Mrs. Carson upon approaching her for a dance. Although she smiled at his invitation, by this time she had several glasses of wine and it would not have mattered if he called her the Dowager Countess. She was so excited at being a part of such a lively gathering, with the people she considered family; she couldn't care for a name, just for the feelings of joy around her.
They scrambled to make their train, despite Mr. Carson's urgings they not be late. The couple had the car to themselves and Mrs. Carson took the opportunity to snuggle up to her husband. She threaded her arm through his and looked up at him adoringly. He returned her gaze with such warmth and cheer as the train finally moved off; its last two passengers aboard. He could tell she was quite worn out from the business of the day and no doubt the emotional upheaval of the past several days as well.
"Rest now, Mrs. Carson. I've got you," he said, as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it soundly.
She never thought she'd be this close to him. It warmed her heart to know that she was his, and he was hers. And this thought carried her away to sleep, along with the train leading them away from Downton.
*knock*knock*
Mrs. Carson was interrupted from her musings at the sound of her husband's light knocking on the bathroom door. Another part of their routine was his way of letting her know he was well and tidy on the other side. She pulled on her robe and gathered her things, keen to spend the evening with her husband.
-CE-
"I'm just going to check the downstairs," Mr. Carson said to his wife as he opened the bedroom door.
"We're not at the Abbey, Mr. Carson. Everything is locked up and everyone is in for the night, I assure you," she teased from her vanity.
"Perhaps so, Mrs. Carson, but the peace of mind in being sure is worth the walk," he said heading out into the hall.
She smiled and shook her head as she plaited her hair. She remembered similar sureties they shared on their honeymoon. It seemed like another lifetime, and in a way it was; for that was where Mrs. Carson blossomed.
When they arrived at Scarborough, the hotel registrar was signed as Mr. and Mr. Carson, so no one knew her as anything else. No one stumbled over it, nor emphasized it in a show of remembering. She was simply Mrs. Carson, the new bride in suite 302 that sent a maid down with a request that dinner be brought to her room because she did not think she and her new husband would make it down to dinner.
Thinking back on it, that was quite risqué. Perhaps not for a blushing bride, but at her age it wasn't quite a blush as it was a splotch. But the maid did not bat an eye at the request and even said, "It's already been seen to, Mrs. Carson. We tend to take the liberty with honeymooners, if you're not offended by the sentiment."
"No, I'm not offended," Mrs. Carson replied with a shy smile. "I thank you for thinking ahead."
The maid walked out the door and turned back. "No worries there, ma'am. But if you wouldn't mind waiting to get comfortable for another five minutes or so, I'll be back up with it," she said with a grin and slight nod.
The meaning was not lost on Mrs. Carson and at first she thought to be upset with the maid's cheek. But then again, the maid knew they were newlyweds, and she probably has said the same to brides of twenty or two hundred over the years. She was treating Mrs. Carson the same as she would any new bride, not as a spinster made matron. And something about the maid's smirk and knowing look reminded Mrs. Carson of Beryl Patmore, which actually put her at ease. So, she simply nodded to the maid and went about following her husband in unpacking.
-CE-
Mrs. Carson was jostled again by her husband as he returned from his rounds of the cottage.
"Everything is in order," he said as he headed to the bathroom. "I'll just be a moment."
Mrs. Carson had spent so much time reminiscing she was nowhere near done with her plait. "Don't rush, I'm afraid my hair isn't very tidy yet," she said getting back to it.
Her husband looked at her from the half closed door. "If it's all right with you, Mrs. Carson, I hope it won't stay tidy for long," he said, his voice low.
"My my, Mr. Carson, that was almost indecent," she replied suggestively.
"I was going for improper, I'm sorry if I overshot the mark."
"No, I think you were spot on," she replied with a smile, earning her one from her husband in return as he closed the bathroom door.
As she finished her hair, she though over some of the bold statements she shared with her husband on their time away.
Over the course of their stay by the sea, there were many mutterings of Mrs. Carson from the hotel manager, the restaurant maître de, and the bellhops. She felt very comfortable being addressed as such because it usually meant her husband was not far behind.
Mr. Carson held his new bride close throughout their honeymoon. Even when they made it down to the shore and took the opportunity to paddle in the sea, he was right there. In fact, this time he was the one that offered her, not only his hand, but his arm.
"In case you need to feel steady, Mrs. Carson," he said with a smile.
"Suppose I fall over?" she teased.
"I'll make sure you have somewhere soft to land."
"But what if I get my skirt wet?"
He leaned in close, "I would say we can do without it, but that would be very improper."
"I don't know, Mr. Carson, I think a woman is entitled to some improper attention from her husband now and then," she said with a gleam in her eye.
The sound of her husband gurgling in the bathroom brought Mrs. Carson out of her thoughts. She glanced at the mirror to look over her work and noticed how flushed she was having thought upon her brazenness; to have said such a thing, in public at that. But they were newlyweds after all, surely a bit of suggestive conversation is par for the course. With that reconciled she smiled warmly, as she also remembered they didn't tarry long at the sea after that.
-CE-
Mrs. Carson sat up in bed awaiting her husband. She patted at the blankets, smoothing invisible creases. The trepidation of their marital intimacies subsided over their honeymoon as they exercised that particular part of their vows. With my body, I thee worship, weren't just words to Mr. Carson, much to his wife's good favor. Earlier nerves gave way to thrills that seem to consume her, just like the first time.
On that first night together, Mrs. Carson came out of the bathroom in a new robe and nightgown given to her by Mrs. Patmore. She had her head bent down and took hesitant steps toward her husband who stood at the foot of the bed, waiting for her. When she was close enough to see his feet, she stopped and bit her lip.
"Elsie?" Mr. Carson asked gently, as he closed the gap between them.
He took her hands, the strength of which finally allowed her to raise her head and reveal the tears in her eyes.
"Elsie, we don't have to do this," he said kindly. "Not tonight, not if you're not ready."
"No, Charles, I'm quite ready," she said as a couple tears fell. "I'm just nervous. But I promise, I do want to be with you."
"I believe you, my dear. But there's no rush," he said bringing his hands to her face and wiping those stray tears. "I do want us to be together. I think that very awkward conversation with Beryl made it quite clear."
They shared a chuckle at their silly back and forth with their friend.
"But this is not an obligation, Elsie," he continued. "This is not a demand. It will happen, when it happens. When you're ready," he said, placing a kiss on her forehead.
"This body is past ready, Charles," she said with self-deprecation. "Actually it's quite overdone."
He took hold of her shoulders and slowly turned her to face the full-length mirror in the corner of their hotel room.
"I know you're worried about what I'll think of you, when I see all of you that is," he said to her reflection.
She nodded slightly in response and looked away.
He placed a gentle hand to her chin and turned her head, encouraging her to return his gaze in the mirror. "I wish you could see yourself as I do, Elsie. For you lack no allure, from every last hair on your head to each pad of your feet."
She raised her head and smiled at her man's reflection. Love, pure and true stared back. He put his arms around her waist and held her close.
"I believe you, Charles," she whispered, her voice laced with want.
He continued to watch her face as he took the liberty of undoing the tie of her robe. "And do you believe me when I also say your beauty has made it quite difficult for me to maintain decorum these past several weeks."
She giggled slightly. "I had noticed you lingered a bit longer with each kiss we shared in your pantry."
Mr. Carson traced his hands up her arms and gently opened the lapel of her robe, sliding it slowly from her frame and letting it pool at their feet. Mrs. Carson shivered as her husband gently caressed her bare arms, finally resting one on her shoulder while the other was held firmly in hers and cradled at her waist.
He bent his head to whisper in her ear, "That's because I was debating."
She looked at his reflection in shock. "Debating? What could you possibly have been debating during those times?" she questioned a bit riled up.
He smirked as he got the reaction he intended, for his wife never knew her own mind so well as when she was in a fury. "Oh, just this and that."
"This and that? And here I thought I would be the center of your attention while we kissed."
"Oh but you were, Mrs. Carson. You see, this is what I was debating," he said, his lips grazing down her ear to her neck.
"What's that exactly," she muttered, as her breath quickened.
He looked at her in the mirror; how gloriously impassioned she looked with her eyes closed and small gasps escaping her lips. "This," he said simply, before tilting her head to the side and languidly kissed her neck, her shoulder, her collar bone.
Mrs. Carson gasped, in memory and in present time.
-CE-
"Are you all right?" Mr. Carson asked his wife who appeared quite flustered sitting in bed.
"Ye-yes," she said with a crack in her voice. "I mean, yes, I'm fine. Just thinking."
"Good thoughts, I hope," he said as he took of his robe and moved to place it in their armoire.
"Ha," Mrs. Carson half laughed and half coughed. "Oh they were, quite pleasant, to be sure."
Mr. Carson was smiling as he turned back toward the bed when he noticed his wife's robe had fallen to the floor. While they were in Scarborough, he encouraged her to get in the habit of hanging it up when she removed it at night. Tossing it across the foot of the bed may have worked back in their old rooms in the Abbey when she was alone, but given their new activities, it always ended up tangled in the sheets come morning. The lack of rule abiding brought out the butler in Mr. Carson, he even made an appearance on their honeymoon.
It wasn't after the first night of course, or the second as it was equally consuming, but on the third night of their getaway Mr. Carson could take no more. "Mrs. Hughes, must I repeat my entreaty that you hang up your robe," he chided, about to slip into bed with his bride.
Mrs. Carson was taken aback by his tone and his use of her former name, "Oh, so I'm Mrs. Hughes again, am I?"
He closed his eyes tightly. "I'm sorry, it's just a habit."
"Much like me laying my robe at the foot of the bed," she countered.
"Touché."
"Or is it just a habit for you to rebuke the housekeeper? Because I guarantee, Charles Carson, the housekeeper won't be the one warming your bed when we return to Downton," she returned sassily.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Carson," he said calmly, tossing her robe back on the bed. "I know very well, whom I'm sharing this or any bed with for the rest of my life."
He climbed into bed next to her and pulled her close, though she remained rigid. He nuzzled her neck, earning him an elbow to the ribs.
"Ow," he said exaggeratedly.
"Oh please," she said turning toward him. "I could understand his lordship or her ladyship, even the whole downstairs stumbling over my name, but not you," she finished, slightly hurt.
He sighed and slowly took her hand, allowing her the chance to pull away. Lucky for him, she was a giving woman and she squeezed his hand back.
"Elsie, I don't want to disagree."
"But Charles, we are disagreeing and we will disagree. Although we manage to find a common way in the end, as the butler and housekeeper-"
"No," he interrupted her. "I've been thinking, and you tell me your thoughts as it's really up to you. But while we are at work, what if we were to continue as Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes?"
"I see," she replied, not sure how she felt about it.
"I mean, it will be a difficult transition for people, calling you Mrs. Carson," he continued. "And while I do enjoy hearing you referred to as such, I feel it could turn to an irritation after a while when people don't get it right."
"You mean for the family," she retorted.
"And you," he defended. "Think of how many times it's going to take before Mr. Molesley stops stumbling over it, let alone his lordship. And you will have to deal with her ladyship tripping up during your regular meetings."
Mrs. Carson nodded her head. She had thought of some of this. After all, it's not as if she ever got around to calling Anna, Mrs. Bates. So it would be a bit hypocritical of her to expect conformity so quickly.
"It would be difficult and a bit of an annoyance having to correct everyone," she conceded.
"And there's a bonus," Mr. Carson offered, as he leaned in closer to his wife.
"What's that?"
He said looking at their entwined hands. "Mrs. Hughes and I have not always been on the same side. And as different people, I understand that will happen from time to time. But in another way, you and I are one, bonded and whole. I don't think I could bear not being on the same side as Mrs. Carson. Not ever," he said most sincerely.
Mrs. Carson looked at her husband endearingly. "That is either the biggest bit of flannel I've ever heard, or you're the most wonderful man," she said with a smile.
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Perhaps a bit of both. Somewhere in between," he replied.
-CE-
"I see you're still having trouble with this, Mrs. Hughes," he said picking up her robe from the floor and hanging it up.
"Our first night in our own cottage and we're already on different sides?" she questioned teasingly.
"I'm only joking," he said sweetly, sliding into bed.
"I know you, Charles, that's half joking and half berating," she said curling up to her husband.
"Perhaps," he said, earning him a chuckle from his wife.
"You know, you calling me Mrs. Hughes makes me think of his lordship's face when you mentioned he might still refer to me as such," she said with a smile. "He was quite relieved."
"Everyone was relieved," he countered.
"You know the only one who has firmly and with ease addressed me as Mrs. Carson has been Mr. Barrow," she mentioned, her earlier recollections coming to her.
Mr. Carson rolled over to lay atop his wife. "Thomas, nor his lordship are what I planned to spend our evening thinking on," he said with a smirk.
"Oh, what did you have planned, Mr. Carson," she replied, kissing his lips sweetly.
"That from now on, I could remove your robe for you," he said between kisses.
She chuckled. "Only you would use untidiness as an excuse to undress your wife."
"Not an excuse, my dear, an honor," he said, pulling down the straps of her nightgown. "A great honor, I assure you," he said placing a kisses on her collarbone and down her chest.
"My man of integrity," she whispered huskily before her lips were claimed most fervently by her husband.
The End
-CE-
A/N: Chelsie On!