Written as part of a challenge for The Servant's Hall. I hope you enjoy. I always have trouble with challenges.
Disclaimer: Neither owned nor leased by me.
Charles had often thought about their first kiss, or perhaps it would be better to say that he had planned it. Actually, he had been planning it for years, wanting to make it as perfect as possible. Sometimes, his imagination could steal up on him. As a matter of fact, the thought usually came to him at the most inconvenient times, accompanied as it was by mental distraction and physical reaction. While it could be inconvenient, it was not necessarily unwanted. He did wonder at times if so many cold baths were entirely healthy. Unfortunately, he had been imagining and planning for so long that he was afraid that reality could never match his dreams.
For instance, he had thought of kissing her upon his departure for the London Season each year. He could picture it quite clearly. She would nag him about over-working, as usual. He would sigh and remind her to write. She would ask him to bring her one or two items that could be obtained more easily in London. He would assure her one last time that he had indeed remembered his tooth brush, shaving soap, and razor. She would stand on her toes to straighten his tie and brush an imaginary bit of lint off his shoulder. He would hold her arm to steady her. She would tell him again to be careful, and he would detect the faintest catch in her voice. He would chide her for her mothering and then dip his head to touch his lips lightly to hers with a promise of more on his return.
During the long months of the Season, he spent many restless nights imagining greeting her with a kiss. She would be standing just outside the door waiting anxiously for for his return, although she'd never admit to it. Her smile would warm his heart while he re-memorized the face he missed so acutely while he was away, trying to detect any change. Their eyes would meet, and the smiles would melt away before he scooped her close to his chest and kissed her deeply, drinking her in, whispering his love against her lips, pressing closer and begging for a response.
Other times, he thought he might like to kiss her goodnight. One of those evenings when the house was dark and quiet around them, and they relaxed in his pantry or her sitting room, too tired to talk above whispers and too exhausted to seek their beds. Sometimes she would loosen her shoes, and he would unknot his tie. He imagined leaning forward and brushing his lips over hers, letting his tongue dart out to taste the last of the wine that lingered there mixed with her own unique vintage. Then he would let his hand trail down her arm to grasp her hand and simply hold it in his, reveling in her strength.
But on second thought, it might be better to kiss her good morning; some day when they were both up early, ready to attack their jobs with vigor. She complained about last minute house parties or being short-staffed, but he could see the shine in her eyes, the way she loved to plan and direct 'her girls'. In truth, he was certain that she relished the challenge. She was always at her best when pulling off an almost impossible task, and he enjoyed watching her efficient actions and rapid-fire directions. One of those busy days, he would grasp her waist and tug her into his pantry, surprising her with a happy kiss filled with all the joy he felt in knowing her.
He had wanted to kiss her when Lady Sybil died. Her heart had been broken at the loss, but still she had reached out to him, giving and receiving comfort. He forever wished that he had lifted the hand she had placed on his elbow to his lips and kissed each finger with reverence before gathering her in his arms to lend her what strength he had left. Their lips and tears could have mingled and healed and buffeted each other through that terrible night and the days that followed.
He was most tempted, however, when she was angry. When her eyes flashed and her hips swayed, he was nearly undone. She thought she knew him so well. She could talk circles around him with her thickened brogue and tie his mind up in knots, at least in part because he was fascinated with the way her tongue rolled over the 'R's of his name. At times like that, he wanted to grab her shoulders, press her against the wall, and invade her mouth with his tongue just to show her that he could still surprise her. He wanted to kiss her in such a way that she would forget her name and his and that they worked at a place called Downton that made it impossible for them to be together. He wanted her to melt in his arms and give herself freely to him but would gladly give all of himself in return.
In the end, their first kiss was like none of these daydreams. They were returning from church, delayed by her conversation with the vicar's wife. He waited patiently while the rest of the staff left them far behind. It was a late autumn day with a decided chill in the air and when they had finally started toward Downton, she had shivered. He had tucked her arm in his elbow and drew her tight against his side. Looking down at his hand covering hers on his arm, he could almost imagine that he was walking out with her; him just a groom and her the girl from the farm next door. When she protested that he should have gone ahead, he made a feeble joke about never leaving her even though all warmth had long fled. She had laughed at his attempted humor and then met his eyes. He had been unable to resist tasting her mirth, and she had welcomed his lips on hers, grasping his shoulders with her strong hands to draw him closer. They had lingered long enough that they were both shivering from the cold and excitement by the time they walked through the door to her sitting room.
Many more kisses followed that first unplanned, unimagined, and unimaginative one; angry ones, comforting ones, happy ones, sleepy ones, hellos, and goodbyes. The only thing he could say was that each was better than the last, and he looked forward to the next kiss with as much eagerness as he had hoped for the first. Reality was much better than his dreams.
Reviews are welcome as always