She loved this time of the morning, relished being alone for a few scant minutes. Before the hustle and bustle of the day. Before the demands of the family and fellow staff occupied her every thought.
A glow of pink and orange began highlighting the beauty of her surroundings. During the warmer months, she often snuck around to the front of the house as the day dawned. To soak up the well-manicured lawns, the sprawling trees, the rounded silhouette of the hedges as they took shape in the faint light.
This morning, however, she couldn't stop thinking of another view. One featuring rocky outcrops, clumps of heather and honeysuckle, untidy hedges of juniper. Where the first demand of the day was not heralded by a bell on a board but from the plaintive low of a dairy cow in need of milking.
She would not be alone in that life either. She would have children and grandchildren. Granted not ones she'd carried in her own womb, but ones she was sure would fill that gaping hole she sometimes tried to fill with the younger staff.
She could fetch Beccy, be the sister she should have always been.
And she'd have a husband. A man who would be her companion, her friend. Her support, financially and solicitously.
She would not be alone if she should accept his proposal. It would be a very different life. To work with a man, dine with a man, lay with a man.
Unsettled still, she slowly made her way back to the 'poor door'. The morning deliveries would soon begin, signalling the end of her peace, and yet she was no nearer to making any decision.
Should she accept Joe? Or should she continue to live alone?
"Good morning, Mrs Hughes."
She started. A lone figure was leaning against a tower of empty crates.
"I hope your walk left you refreshed this morning."
Balanced behind him on one of the crates were two cups, one of which he quickly offered in her direction.
After thanking him, neither of them made any further attempt of conversation, allowing her to continue with her back and forth contemplation regarding the proposal.
Eventually, she glanced up. Her companion was blowing across the surface of his tea, calling attention to his lips.
She touched her own lips, remembering quiet kisses she'd shared with Joe all those years ago. Could they have been classed as passionate? They were certainly tentative, awkward.
She and Joe had been so young. It was difficult to ascertain just how pleasing physical intimacy would be with a man whose only attempt had been a couple of fumbling moments thirty odd years ago.
She glanced back over to the man standing before her. Physically he was very different from Joe. Tall with wide shoulders. Immaculately groomed, even at this early hour. Emanating a comforting aroma of leather and silver polish.
Kisses with Joe had been easy to steal, but to reach this man's full lips she'd have to stand on tiptoes, grip his shoulders for support.
"Here comes young Jock with the newspapers."
She blinked. A bicycle bell and enthusiastic cheerio had Mr Carson waving freely to the young lad. After a short conversation, he tucked the newspapers under one arm and balanced his now empty tea cup as he held open the servants' entrance door.
"Mrs Hughes?" he prompted. His hand floated in the air, ready to guide her.
She touched her lips again, feeling the warmth from the tea, imagining their heat should she be kissed by this man instead of Joe.
Should she accept Joe? She couldn't when the mere thought of another man's kisses made her flush with pleasure.
She would have to continue to live alone.
Thomas and Miss O'Brien chose that exact moment to squeeze through the door, throwing Mr Carson an annoyed look as they passed. Mrs Patmore's high pitched drawl echoed out from the kitchen. Someone, William most likely, was tinkering on the piano.
She laughed, a short tight noise that made his eyebrows wriggle with surprise.
"Thank you for the tea, Mr Carson," she murmured. "I'll return the favour mid morning, if that's alright with you."
"It sounds perfect, Mrs Hughes."
As she walked through the door she brushed against the material of his suit quite on purpose.
Perfect? "Almost," she agreed.
The End