Author's note: Hello! I'm sorry that I didn't introduce myself on my first fic - I really should have done - but it was the first M-rated piece that I had written so I found it a little embarrassing! Thank you for reading it and to those who reviewed - I whole-heartedly appreciated it!

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. If I did, Downton Abbey would be on at a much later time of night!

When Joe Burns, all that time ago, had asked if she ever felt alone, she had told him that she actually sometimes hoped for a bit of solitude. Downton was a very busy household, especially for the servants. Above stairs were a family full of grace and honour. Below stairs were the servants that gave that family their grace and honour. They were the hurried legs of the beautiful swan atop the water.

However, this night, she did not seek solitude. Upon finding Ethel in bed with Major Bryant, her emotions were running high. She had at first felt frustration with Ethel and with herself for not realising this was undoubtedly going to happen, but now a huge amount of loneliness had engulfed her and added an extra ache to her heart. Although she would never admit it, she was slightly envious of Ethel. She wasn't envious of what her and Major Bryant had, she'd never wish for a relationship (if one could even call it such a thing) like that. No, she was envious of the fact that Ethel could so simply, without a second thought, mix her work with her personal life. Where the maid was young and unprofessional, the housekeeper was not. Where the maid would never have known how to mix her professional and personal life successfully, the housekeeper did. This was why, on this night, she did not seek solitude.

He entered her sitting room as he did every evening but this night, something felt different. She was not on her usual seat by the table but stood in the middle of the room. Her face did not occupy her usual soft smile but something more serious, her eyes looking right into his soul. She didn't greet him with the usual "Mr Carson" but with "Charles".

"It has been a long day," She sighed. "I hope you won't mind if I take off my shoes?"

Without waiting for an answer, she moved to sit on the sofa and leant down to slip off her shoes. She picked them up with her left hand and slowly trailed her right hand over her dress, back up her body, before standing and walking to place her shoes by the door. She walked back to the sofa and once again, sat down. This time, her hands disappeared under her dress, but never revealing skin above her knee, slowly taking off one of her stockings and then the other. She didn't place them with her shoes but let them drop to the floor but out of sight, next to the sofa. He wanted to ask what she was doing but simply daren't. He daren't because he worried that she would stop, remembering he was in the room, although the fact that their gazes had never left each other told him that she definitely knew he was there. She wanted him there. She wanted him.

"Are you not planning on staying?" She asked, looking at the space next to her.

The butler cleared his throat and cautiously sat down. Although the only bare skin he could actually see was her feet, he couldn't help but stare at the skirt of her dress, knowing what was beneath. He wondered if she knew exactly what torment she was putting him through.

Of course she did. Elsie Hughes was a wise woman, a very wise woman, and therefore knew exactly what she was doing. You see, when Joe Burns, all that time ago, had asked if she ever felt alone, she had told him that she actually sometimes hoped for a bit of solitude. But you also see, there are different kinds of solitude. She hoped for peace, quiet and a cup of tea after a hard day's work. The solitude that she did not wish for was forlornness. That was the sort of solitude that could eat away at a person. A solitude so powerful that it could leave a person feeling completely empty. A solitude that worked in an unpredictable way; one could be in a room full of people yet still feel entirely alone. Yet, a solitude that could be easily overcome by just one person. And for Elsie, that person was Charles Carson.

She noticed him staring at her skirt and subconsciously moved her hands to her lap. He looked up at her, expecting that she would be annoyed at his wandering gaze but he was met with her warm smile. The different atmosphere still enveloped them both. They both sat in silence for what seemed like eternity. Charles' eyes not leaving the bottom of her dress for more than a few seconds. Eventually he had to clear his throat once again as the images in his mind grew wilder and wilder. How he longed just to reach out and brush his hand over the material of her dress. He hadn't realised he had closed his eyes until he felt her hand on his.

"Charles," She whispered. "Are you alright?"

He didn't answer but just watched as her thumb stroked the back of his hand.

"Charles," She spoke his name again but it was much more hoarse this time.

This snapped him out of his trance. What was wrong with her this evening? Well, not wrong, nothing felt more right, but what had changed?

"Perhaps we have both had long days, Elsie." Was all he managed to say.

She laughed, "Would you like me to take your stockings off, too?"

He joined in with her laughter, "I took them off earlier. They don't look half as flattering on men as they do women."

"I won't ask how you know that!"

"Oh! No! I didn't me-"

She noticed how flustered he had suddenly become and sighed, "Oh, Charles. I know you're an honourable gentleman. I was only pulling your leg." She patted the leg closest to her and smiled up at him, her hand not leaving his leg. If that was meant to cure his state of fluster, it most definitely did not work. He cleared his throat once more and looked down before looking back at her. A different expression now occupied her face. A smirk spread across her features and a blush up her neck. He couldn't take it anymore. He had to ask her what was going on.

"Elsie, wh-"

But before he could finish his sentence, she moved her hand to his inner-thigh. He let his head fall back and rest against the wall as her hand drifted higher. And higher. And higher. He lifted his head to look at her when she started to undo his belt. He saw the glint in her eyes and would not - could not - let this be one-way. He suddenly reached one arm around her waist, the other underneath her legs and lifted her. She laughed into his shoulder as he began to slowly kiss her neck.

"Well, Mr Carson, I can't do much good from up here," She said, after a few more torturous moments, letting herself down and running her hand down his chest and over the sizable bulge in his trousers. She quirked an eyebrow and bit her lip. He could hardly resist her whenever she did that and now he didn't have to. His lips crashed down on hers and she stumbled back against the wall. She moaned at the feel of him pressed against her. She continued her unfinished business on his belt and threw it onto the floor. He laughed and she felt the vibration in his chest.

"You couldn't have taken your shoes off with your stockings?" She smirked.

He quickly kicked them and his trousers off. He leaned against her again, another moan escaping her lips. He bent down, lifting her dress as he finally got to run his hands up her bare legs. It was his turn to moan. How he had longed to do that. He continued up her legs until he reached her underwear. He pressed his hand to her centre. She gasped and almost instantly reached into his underwear and began to stroke him. He pushed her underwear down her legs and quickly returned his hand to where it was. After a series of soft moans and torturous touches, they both lay entwined, sleeping on the sofa.

Never again would she find herself in the hands of loneliness and never again would she turn to tea after a hard day's work.

Author's note: Thank you for reading! I don't think it quite matches the first one but never mind! Reviews are highly welcomed and adored!