A/N Brenna-louise and I would like to dedicate this story and its accompanying picture to evitamockingbird in honor of her birthday. May she have a very happy one – and many more.

Many thanks to brenna-louise for her lovely artwork. She painted the thumbnail cover image that goes with this story! Isn't it amazing? For a better look at it, you can go to my tumblr page - my handle there is chelsiefan71. I'm sure brenna-louise will love it if you drop her a PM here on this site or visit her tumblr page to leave fan mail and let her know how spectacular her painting is and how talented she is.

Thanks also to Kissman for her help with this story.

This is the third in a series of four fics, centered around the seasons, describing four possible ways our Chelsie could get together. Spring and summer have already been posted. Please check them out if you haven't already read them. Winter will follow when it's ready. Brenna-louise has kindly agreed to illustrate that as well, so you're in for a real treat! Yay!

NO S5 SPOILERS!

Autumn

September, 1923

Downton Village's Michaelmas Harvest Festival was an important annual event. St. Michael was the patron of the parish church, so it was fitting to have a celebration on his feast day, which also marked the end of the harvest season for the estate's farmers. It was the perfect occasion to honor St. Michael for his protection, to give thanks for a bountiful harvest, and to pray for sustenance through the coming winter.

Every year on the twenty-ninth of September, the tenant farmers, village dwellers, the earl's family, and house staff all gathered for a church service to start the day. After the liturgy, at midday, the local women served a meal of roast goose, Michaelmas cakes, and other decadent treats. In the afternoon, there were games of skill and chance and other entertainments on the fairgrounds. The day ended with a concert and a dance in the evening, after which everyone returned home, happy and tired.

This particular autumn day dawned cool and damp. The breeze was brisk, but the bright sun promised to warm the air and dry the ground before long. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes walked to the village together in the morning, along with the rest of the servants. The senior members of staff stayed at the rear of the group and let the younger folk walk on ahead. The butler and housekeeper sat next to each other during the church service. Afterward, they enjoyed the sumptuous midday repast, seated together at the long row of tables under the tents on the village green. Then they strolled about the fairgrounds, watching the others play games, sipping cider and nibbling apple pie, and keeping an eye on their young charges.

Late in the afternoon, the band started warming up on the makeshift stage, and the younger folk gathered in little knots, eager to begin dancing. Mrs. Hughes sensed that Mr. Carson was none too pleased with the band's choice of music or the prospective dancers' exuberance. When the music and dancing began in earnest, Mr. Carson's scowl intensified. Hoping to preempt him before he could scold the footmen and maids for dancing too provocatively, Mrs. Hughes took measures to distract him.

"Mr. Carson," she said. "It's becoming rather raucous here. Why don't we leave the young ones to their fun and find ourselves a quieter location?"

"But someone's got to watch over them. Left to their own devices – " he worried before she cut him off.

"Mrs. Patmore's just over there, talking with Mr. Mason. She'll keep an eye on them for us."

"I rather doubt that, Mrs. Hughes. Both her eyes are markedly set on Mr. Mason right at the moment," Mr. Carson observed astutely, "and I expect they will remain so for the rest of the evening."

"You have a point there," conceded Mrs. Hughes.

"What if I ask Mr. Molesley?" Mr. Carson suggested. "If I don't give him an occupation, I'm afraid he'll dance Miss Baxter right off her feet. She's far too kind to say no, and he's far too obtuse to stop asking. He'll have the poor woman out there for every single dance if we don't intervene. His being in charge will give him some other purpose."

"Why, Mr. Carson! You're very clever. That's a brilliant idea! 'Two birds with one stone,' as they say. Why don't you go and speak with him, and I'll just tell Anna and Mr. Bates where we're going. They certainly won't be doing much dancing, and they'll help to make sure nothing gets out of hand."

Mr. Carson approached Mr. Molesley between dances and impressed upon him the importance of the responsibility with which he was being entrusted. Mr. Molesley looked suitably earnest about his task and quite proud to have been asked, and Miss Baxter couldn't resist a fond smile at the man. She assured Mr. Carson that while Mr. Molesley would concentrate his attentions on the footmen, she would help watch over the maids. Mrs. Hughes went to inform the Bateses, who were drinking cider at a small table situated far enough from the dancers and the band to allow them to hear each other talk, but near enough to afford a clear view of the goings-on. The two readily agreed to help supervise the youngsters and the dancing.

The sun was low in the sky when Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes set off in the lane between the village and the Abbey. They walked slowly, aimlessly, and quietly, both deep in thought. The silence was not uncomfortable, however, because the rustling of withering leaves in the trees and the crunching of gravel and dried leaves under their feet made a most welcome sound. The smells of hot cider, baked apples, and open fire drifting from the nearby fairgrounds also lent themselves to a pleasant atmosphere.

After walking for several minutes, they found themselves out of sight and earshot of the festivities. Mr. Carson stopped walking for a moment. Mrs. Hughes stopped, too, and turned towards him.

"Mrs. Hughes," he said timidly, "I wonder if I might hold your hand again." He'd wanted to ask, ever since that day by the sea when he'd first taken her hand, but only now did he gather enough courage.

"Of course, Mr. Carson. I've told you, you can always hold my hand if you need to feel steady." She'd been waiting weeks to hold his hand again, and she was overjoyed that he'd finally asked.

"But I'm not feeling unsteady. What if I just like holding your hand? Will that be all right?"

"Yes, I think that's an even better reason," she answered with a smile, holding out her hand. He took it and smiled back at her, and they started walking again.

As they ambled easily down the lane, Mr. Carson thought about how warm and soft Mrs. Hughes's hand felt in his, and how her touch had always soothed him: when he'd been ill, when he'd been distraught because someone had died, when he'd been angry with one of their charges, when he'd been frightened to take a risk. She seemed to have some magical power over him; no matter how agitated he felt, the simple touch of her hand made all his worry fall away.

Mrs. Hughes, for her part, thought about how strong and sure Mr. Carson's hand felt around hers, yet how gentle and tender. His hands had carried heavy trays and polished the stubborn tarnish from the silver with considerable strength, but they'd also handled fragile crystal and china with great care. She was absolutely enchanted by the way something so powerful was also capable of such delicacy.

After a time, Mr. Carson led Mrs. Hughes off the dirt and gravel in the lane and to a more secluded spot under a partially defoliated tree. He moved to stand in front of her, still holding her hand loosely in his. He gazed ardently into her eyes, and she returned his eager look. When he lowered his face to kiss her, he paused just before his lips touched hers, silently asking permission. She granted permission by closing the remaining distance and pressing her lips to his. It was a brief kiss, soft and sweet and warm, but it was enough to render them both breathless and flushed. When they pulled back to recover themselves, they smiled lovingly at each other.

"When I hold your hand like this," said Mr. Carson after a moment, bringing Mrs. Hughes's hand to his mouth and kissing her fingers, "I can't help but marvel at how well it fits in mine – how right it all seems. And I can't help but wonder if you feel the same way. Does it feel right to you, too, Mrs. Hughes?"

"It does, Mr. Carson. I'd like to think that my hand belongs in yours, that it's meant to be there."

"Did you really mean what you said? That I can always hold your hand? Always?"

"Of course I did. Any time you'd like."

"I do want to hold your hand – always. Not just today or tomorrow, but every day for the next ten or twenty years, God willing. And I think … I'd like … Well, I wouldn't mind holding the rest of you, too. If just having your hand in mine makes me feel so secure, I can only imagine how good it might feel to hold the rest of you in my arms."

"You needn't imagine. I'm right here."

Mr. Carson needed no further invitation. He released Mrs. Hughes's hand and enveloped her in his embrace. She rested her hands and her cheek against his chest. Her shoulders were just the right width to fit between his arms when he wrapped them around her. The top of her head was just the right height for her to tuck it under his chin.

"Just as I suspected. We fit together perfectly," he commented.

"We do," she agreed.

"You know, you'll have to marry me now," remarked Mr. Carson casually into her hat.

"Will I?" Mrs. Hughes spoke against his chest, just as informally.

"Mmm-hmm. You've promised me your hand. If it's to be available to me at all times, I imagine the rest of you will have to come with it."

"Well … I did give you my word. And since I don't fancy the idea of my hand being separated from the rest of my body, I suppose I must marry you. All right, then. I will."

Mrs. Hughes nuzzled in closer, and Mr. Carson held her more tightly. After enjoying the nearness and warmth for a while, he loosened the embrace and dropped his hands to her waist. She in turn looped her arms around his neck.

Looking down into the eyes of his beloved, he finally told her what was in his heart. "Elsie Hughes, I love you."

Beaming back up at him, she revealed her own heart. "And I love you, Charles Carson."

What followed was a kiss that had been decades in the making. All the love and longing, hurt and forgiveness, sorrow and joy, fear and reassurance they had shared over the years were expressed in a way no words could possibly convey.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The sun was setting as they walked, arm-in-arm, back to the fairgrounds.

"You know, autumn has always been my favorite time of year," Mrs. Hughes told Mr. Carson.

"Has it?" he asked.

"Yes, it has. It's always made me pensive. It's a time to look back over the spring and summer and take stock. A time to be thankful for what you've been given, and to look ahead and plan for the coming winter."

"I've never liked winter," he stated flatly.

"No?"

"No. I've always had cold feet."

"Really? Well, we'll have to see what we can do about that once we're married," said Mrs. Hughes seriously.

"Mrs. Hughes!" cried Mr. Carson in surprise, half-feigned and half-real.

"Oh, come now, Mr. Carson. I've already promised to hold your hand; it's only right that I look after your feet as well. It's hardly scandalous for a wife to knit her husband a nice pair of warm socks! Or were you thinking of something else?" she asked, turning up the corner of her mouth.

"Erm … Never mind."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were married a few weeks later. They were given their own bedroom in the house, and they continued to live and work at the Abbey. Several years later, when they left service, the earl and countess granted them a lovely little cottage on the estate grounds, where they happily lived out their retirement. And Mrs. Carson made sure that her husband's hand was never unsteady and his feet were never cold again.

A/N Please leave a review, and don't forget to drop brenna-louise a line and send evitamockingbird a happy birthday message! Thank you for reading!