This was, again, written out of a mixture of two prompts. Hope you like it. Happy Christmas x
She saw him looking a little downcast at lunchtime, but before she could sit down and ask what was the matter her Ladyship's bell rang. For a moment, she hesitated, wondering if there was time for a quiet word before she went, but she lingered a moment too long and earned herself a pointedly disapproving look from Mr. Carson, and had to make her way swiftly upstairs.
By the time she had finished attending to her Ladyship, though, she had plenty of time. She was about to make her way back downstairs, wondering where she would find him, when she caught sight of a familiar walk along the other side of the gallery.
"Joseph," she called out without thinking.
He stopped and turned at the side of her voice. Hurriedly, she made her way around to the other corner of the gallery to join him.
"Her Ladyship's just said she's taking a nap," she informed him, "And here I am, shouting my head off."
He gave her a smile, but it was, she was sure of it, a dispirited one.
"Joseph," she asked him gently, "What's the matter? You looked almost forlorn when I saw you at lunch. Is something wrong?"
"No, not really," he told her, "Just Mr Carson being in a funny mood, that's all."
"Yes, I noticed he was," she agreed, "Did he say something to you?"
He nodded.
"What?" she prompted him, when he did not tell her what it was.
He shook his head gently.
"Go on," she told him softly, touching his hand gently with hers, "It's only me."
When he spoke it was in a low mutter.
"Not worthy of the name of footman, in this house," he murmured.
"Oh, sweetheart," she murmured softly, reaching up and touching his cheek to comfort him, "That's awful. He shouldn't be saying-…"
"He had reason to," he told her, "I knocked over the orange juice at breakfast onto Lady Rose."
"Oh," she said softly, "That's not so bad. Did Lady Rose mind terribly?"
"She was very good about it," he told her, "But Mr Carson-…"
"Took it as the eighth cardinal sin?" she finished for him.
He nodded glumly. He looked so downcast that she could not help but reach out to him again.
"Oh, darling," she murmured, as her hand touched his face, "Sweetheart. Mr Carson has no idea what you're worth, or he wouldn't speak to you like that."
She pressed her lips gently against his, regardless of whether or not they were standing in the gallery, where they could be seen from all directions.
She knew that they could not stay here together for long, but nor did she want to leave him either, she did not want to surrender him in his sadness back to the servants' hall.
"Have you got anything urgent to do?" she asked him quietly.
He shook his head. A smile settled on her lips.
"Come with me," she told him, taking his hand firmly, whisking him into one of the several empty bedrooms that stood along the gallery.
As the door closed behind them both, his eyes flickered in surprise, in disbelief. She met his eyes steadily, hoping she could pressure him.
"Put a chair under the handle," she told him calmly, confirming her intention to him.
He shuddered visibly, but did as he was bidden. He positioned the chair with meticulous attention. She watched him carefully as he straightened up and turned back towards her.
"What did you have in mind?" he asked her.
Her lips quirked into a smile.
"Showing you how much you mean to me," she told him softly.
She reached for him, and he came to her immediately. Their arms held each other tightly and they kissed each other passionately, deeply, slowly.
"What happens if we get caught?" he asked her as they broke apart for a moment.
"That's what the chair is there for," she told him, "And I've been caught doing far less forgivable things than this in the past."
He looked at her in a mixture of passion and awe, sinking his lips against hers once more. Careful not to topple him over, she pulled him in the direction of the bed. They kicked off their shoes and lay down side by side. His hands were in her hair, making it fall loose around her face as he kissed her, she would have to redo it later but it was worth it. Gently pushing his shoulder down against the bed, she rolled on top of him, smiling at his surprise, looking down at him. He looked up at her, tucking her hair behind her ears, stroking the lines of her face, her cheekbones, looking into her eyes, taking her in. Pulling her down towards him and kissing her slowly again. She let him do so for a moment, for long long moments before carefully pushing herself up a little so that she could undo his belt.
It was a shame to waste this really; this was the first time they had shared a bed intended for two people, and here they were, not even fully undressing, but it was the middle of the day and he was already in the bad books. But in the end, it didn't matter. Not really. Not compared to the sounds he made as she freed him from his undershorts, cupped him in her hand, took him into her mouth. His hand on her head, he gently asked her to stop.
"I want you," he told her breathlessly.
She smiled, pulling his lips into her mouth. Her dress was already undone to the waist and she was able to slip it easily off her shoulders. She sat astride him, took him inside her, rode him, wearing her thin cream silk slip, her hair falling around her shoulders. He sat up, clutching her to him, thrusting up into her as much as he could.
They collapsed together in an untidy heap of shaking limbs and clothes. They would have to pull themselves together soon, but she was determined to hold it off for a few more moments. He had pulled her against him, her leg still latched over his hip, their foreheads resting together and his arm tightly around her.
"I'm sick of hiding," he told her at last, "I love you too much," he whispered, shakily.
"What do you mean?" she asked him.
"I'm asking if you'll marry me. Please."
She gave a gentle, breathy laugh. She pressed her lips briefly against his.
"Yes," she murmured, her hand stroking his cheek, "Of course, yes."
End.
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