A/N A Little Bit of Chelsie for all of us who love them. Since it seems we can expect no joy from our dear Mr. Fellowes, we're left to our own devices to bring these two together in our own little fanfiction world. Disclaimer: Of course, I don't own it or them!

Chapter 1

Charles was in agony. Last night, he had made up his mind finally to ask her. He hadn't slept a wink. He had paced around his room so many times that he had been sure he must have worn a track in the wood of the floor. He had tried to read a book, but after having read the same few sentences twenty times, his tortured mind still couldn't make sense of the words. He had gone downstairs and had a glass of milk, but that hadn't helped, either. Finally, he had given up even trying to sleep and just gotten washed, dressed, and ready for the day.

This morning was no better. Charles had decided to talk to her this evening, after everyone else had gone to bed. He didn't know how he would get through the day. Even if he tried to avoid her as much as possible, he would still have to sit beside her at meals, exchange pleasantries when they met in the corridors, and discuss the business of running the house. As it happened, he wasn't able to avoid her for very long at all.

He was sitting in his pantry before breakfast, trying to tot up some figures, but Charles found that he couldn't pay attention to the numbers in his ledger. He was ready to throw his pen down in frustration when her familiar knock sounded at his door.

It took a colossal effort for him to force an even tone when he said, "Come in."

"Good morning, Mr. Carson," said the object of his consternation.

"Ah. Mrs. Hughes. Good morning," he answered, as calmly as he was able.

She gave him a curious look, and Charles was seized with sudden terror, fearing that, like so many times before, Mrs. Hughes knew exactly what he was thinking. But she only said, "I just came to see that everything is in order for today. Is there anything we need to discuss before things get too busy?"

"I believe everything is well in hand, Mrs. Hughes," he responded formally, with all the composure he could muster.

"Very well, then. I'll leave you to it," she told him, just as formally.

She was ready to leave, but paused instead with a look of concern and said, "Mr. Carson, you're looking unwell this morning. Is something the matter? Are you feeling ill?"

He knew that Mrs. Hughes could always tell when something was bothering him, and so the question didn't surprise him.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you," he lied. "Only I had some trouble sleeping last night. It was much too warm in my room. It's nothing, really. I'll be right as rain after some breakfast."

Charles knew also that, while she didn't believe him for a minute, she wouldn't press him. She accepted and respected his need for privacy. When he said, "I'm perfectly fine … It's nothing," she understood him to mean, "I'm not at all fine. Something troubles me, but I don't wish to speak of it."

Saying only, "If you are quite certain … I'll see you at breakfast," she started to walk away.

"Er, Mrs. Hughes," Charles called after her, getting up from his desk.

"Yes, Mr. Carson?" she said, turning to face him again.

"There is something … something I'd like to tell you … rather, something I want to ask you …" he faltered. "That is to say, there is a certain matter I wish to discuss with you later, if you would be so kind as to spare me a few minutes. May I bring some wine to your parlor this evening?"

"Of course, Mr. Carson," she returned. "Only I'm rather concerned now; this 'matter' sounds quite serious."

"It's nothing to fret about, Mrs. Hughes, just a small … erm … well, a slight alteration of routine that I hope you'll find agreeable. Not to worry," he tried to reassure her.

"All right, then," she said, nodding. "We'll talk this evening."

"Very good. Thank you," he replied, turning back to his desk.

As Mrs. Hughes closed his pantry door, he felt relieved that he had at least been able to ask her to speak with him later. He was still terrified, however, at the thought of asking the question he planned to put forth to her this evening and positively petrified at the prospect of receiving an unfavorable response. This is going to be one very long day, thought Charles, groaning softly.