UPDATED Author's note: Millions of thanks to the tumblr fandom for supporting me, and especially to klswhite, olehistorian and silhouettedswallow for questions answered and beta magic. (I now understand the term!) It's been over twenty years since I've done any sort of creative writing, so be gentle with me. :) I'm still learning the ropes. Not my characters, but really, don't we all think of these two as our babies?

There is a playlist for this entire story. Go to Spotify (free download), find "ChelsieSouloftheAbbey" and select the story name "Music of the Heart." All of the songs for this fic are there.

This starts off with quick, shorter chapters but makes its way into more in-depth ones as the storyline progresses.

Enjoy! Please drop a little review in my Inbox if you feel so inclined. :)

xx

Another day that I can't find my head,

My feet don't look like they're my own.

I try to find the floor below to stand -

I hope I reach it once again...

-Norah Jones, "Feelin' the Same Way"

Charles woke at dawn, as usual. His eyes opened slowly, trying to shake the dream he'd been having. Remnants of it still played in the corners of his mind. Beach … water … waves … warmth … music? Yes … The stirrings of his neighbors in the hallway told him he should rise, but as butler he had a bit more freedom in the morning. He took a couple of minutes to gather his groggy thoughts. The sun was creeping in the window slowly, with all its promise of a new day … of new beginnings. He was already dreading it, because he now knew the sun would only bring one more day of living with the fear that the butler was fighting a losing battle to stifle the man inside. That never seemed to be a problem before, Charles thought. It's a problem NOW though, isn't it?

One benefit of living a life in service was that the days themselves didn't change much. Rise, serve, take wine deliveries, eat, sleep and repeat. The routine was soothing for the butler, but the irony of his situation did not escape him. With all of the repetition life brought, things were changing. The man inside was beginning to realize that his life had been altered, despite how it looked to the outside observer, yet the butler believed he could still control it all. His control had enabled him to build a life from the ground on up, and he was proud of what he'd achieved: a solid career; a family watching out for him even if they weren't his own flesh and blood; respect from those around him near and far; a sizeable nest egg thanks to good investments; and now, a property. A home?

Oh, a home. While the walls of the stately Abbey had indeed been his home for decades, there were times when he still felt he did not belong. He was always aware of a niggling conundrum. This was his only place to be, and as much as he thought he'd breathe his last dressed in livery, as the years progressed the butler realized that, one day, he'd be forced to retire. Perhaps it would be due to the changing economic management of Downton, or perhaps one day he'd find the tray too heavy to lift, the hours too long to remain on his feet. Standards would always need to come before any desire he had to remain past his prime. So the idea of purchasing an investment property that would eventually serve as his home was typical of the butler: it was responsible, intelligent, and well thought out. The actual doing of the deed, he realized now, had stemmed from the essence of the man, from the shaking inside of him that had gone unacknowledged until recently. Charles now realized that the purchasing of this cottage – what it stood for, what it represented – produced an unusual feeling of dread.

After returning from his time on the stage and committing himself to a lifetime in service, Charles thought he knew what he wanted. He craved the structure service provided, and he knew that despite his advancing years he was still meeting the standards of the current Earl of Grantham and wouldn't be forced into retirement quite yet. Decisions about the running of the house were still made swiftly, footmen were polished and professional, and even Mr. Barrow had been kept under some semblance of control under Charles's strong hand. The butler felt that his professional success could be attributed to a keen ability to keep himself to himself. In a profession where even touching another person was highly frowned upon, burying one's feelings had become second nature. Charles certainly had feelings, but expressing them was rarely appropriate. His aloof nature made it easier to deal with staff members and not get involved personally in the lives and feelings of those who served beneath him. But it really did nothing to help with the feelings he had for the one who served beside him …

Charles had come to an impasse, for he had recognized at last that he had a difficult choice to make. He decided to ponder that later.

As he dressed, Charles was pensive. While he took pride in his job – Downton had become one of the best-run homes in all of England under the leadership of himself and Mrs. Hughes – these recent days were ones when Charles didn't know how he'd made it through all the hours of his life. He had been feeling decidedly off-kilter, as though he didn't even recognize himself at times. It had taken him a long time to identify the source of this feeling. Now that he had, he thought the feeling was getting worse. He had the same thoughts this morning as he had every morning in recent memory. Get through the day, give nothing away, just get through the day as normally as possible.

Charles desperately needed a steadying hand but the hand he truly wanted, the one whose touch he felt in the most secreted-away corner of his quietly-loving heart, was the last thing that would actually help in his current predicament. He knew he couldn't pretend for much longer, hence the need for a decision. That hand, offered to help him feel steady on that lovely seaside afternoon, was the very thing that had shaken the butler to his very core. That soft, delicate, warm hand had been the thing that was beginning to make the man emerge from the buttoned-up butler. He could always control himself before in the presence of the melodious brogue, the blue hue of lovely eyes (like the sea itself, deep and mysterious), the contemplative chewing of the lip. But the feeling of the hand itself, with her pulse racing alongside his that day on the beach, had sent Charles into an unfamiliar territory from which there appeared to be no escape. His dreams, once fragmented and short, were now longer and more complex … and that tune that was now always in his head was inexplicable. Charles barely recognized himself, and found that while this terrified the butler, in some ways it exhilarated the man.

He supposed he truly had come to a decision then, because he knew that this internal battle could not go on much longer. For better or worse, he had a plan in place. He'd never had such little faith that things might go the way he wanted, the way he planned. With this dream and thoughts still haunting him, but with the staff breakfast now rapidly approaching, the butler headed downstairs to begin the rest of his day.