A little Thanksgiving gift for Crazy Mary T and a distraction for me.
There was nothing for it. She was going to have to go to him. The entire day had been wasted trying to avoid this embarrassment, but by now she just wanted it over. He would almost certainly scold her. The fact that in this particular instance she almost certainly deserved it didn't make it any easier to accept. Frustrating man.
Sighing, she glanced down the hall and saw that all the lights were off except for the one spilling from under his door. She took a moment to be angry at Beryl for retiring early and leaving her at his mercy but knew that wasn't fair. She would never have asked Beryl to do this for her. If she was honest with herself, and she always was, she trusted him above anyone else to deal with something like this. Hesitating only one more moment, she lifted her hand and rapped sharply on his door. His grunted invitation to enter didn't do anything to ease her nerves, and he must have been on edge as well because the door was jerked open just a moment later. She was glad to see the look of irritation on his face quickly replaced by one of pleased surprise.
"Mrs. Hughes," he said, opening his door wider in invitation, "Do you need something?" Then he glanced down at the box in her hands, "Is someone injured? Would you like me to call the doctor?"
She stepped or rather limped through the doorway, and his hand was instantly on her elbow. The warmth of his concern and touch tugged at her heart.
"I think the doctor would be a bit much," she said, "It's your help I need, Mr. Carson."
"Mine?" near panic evident in his voice as he guided her toward a chair which he pulled closer, "But you know that I don't like…That is, you are always the one who deals with these minor injuries. I wouldn't have any idea how to begin…"
Sinking gladly down into the chair, she cut him off sharply, blaming her tone of voice on the pain in her foot, "It's only a splinter, Mr. Carson. Surely even you could deal with that."
He bristled and the muscle in his jaw twitched before he sighed and spoke, "A splinter? How did you get a splinter in your foot?"
And this was where the embarrassment began, but she thought she might try one last time to put it off, "From a piece of wood. Isn't that where one usually gets splinters?"
The muscle in his jaw twitched again and he said, "In my vast experience that is usually true, but doesn't one usually have one's shoe and stocking between one's foot and wood?"
She sighed, "One usually does. Unless one has decided to come down to the kitchen for a late night snack and didn't want to bother with one's robe or slippers."
"You came downstairs in nothing but your nightdress?" he asked in a hoarse whisper, "What if one of the lads had seen you? Your virtue wouldn't have been safe. That was highly inappropriate, Mrs. Hughes."
A snort escaped, "Mr. Carson, I doubt that seeing one tired old woman in her nightdress would elicit unbridled passion from either Alfred or Jimmy."
He opened his mouth, no doubt to argue more but she cut him off once again, "Could you please scold me later and help me now? This splinter has been bothering me all day."
"Very well," he drew a chair opposite her and lifted her foot into his lap. "It's not um, bleeding, is it?"
If her foot hadn't hurt so much she might have laughed at the queasy look on his face. "It wasn't when I checked it earlier. I have been trying to deal with this on my own, but I just can't quite see it."
He smiled as he loosened her shoe and removed it, "Elsie Hughes admitting that she needs help. I'll have to mark it in my diary."
She rolled her eyes at him, "I admit it every time that I need help. I just seldom do."
His hands moved to the edge of her skirt, but he hesitated, "Um, perhaps you should…I don't think it would really be proper for me to…Your stocking," he finished helplessly.
She bit back a smile at his discomfort and leaned forward to lift her skirt and roll her stocking slowly down her leg. His sharp intake of breath and quickened breathing would have been very gratifying if she wasn't so distracted by the scent of soap, peppermint, silver polish, and Charles that emanated from him.
When her stocking was off he took her foot in his hands and said, "Now let's see if I can find…"
She watched the top of his head as his fingers caressed the bottom of her foot, amused by the curl that fell over his forehead. It amazed her that this man who had complete control and command over every part of himself could never quite manage to tame that one curl which always escaped. It made her wonder what would happen if the rest of him ever managed to get free.
"It's a bit more toward the front," she said, surprised at the hoarseness in her voice, although she shouldn't be. Her heel was resting comfortably on his strong, thick, warm thigh. Goodness she hoped he found it soon. Then she nearly jerked her foot from his hand when his nail grazed over the tender area.
"That's it, obviously," he said, gripping her ankle tightly to keep her from moving her foot, "This doesn't look good. Why did you wait so long to come to me?"
She sighed, "I wanted to delay the inevitable scolding for as long as possible."
"Scolding?" he asked, smile tugging the edges of his lips as he carefully studied the bottom of her foot.
She deepened her voice, "Whatever were you about Mrs. Hughes? Walking around out of uniform is beneath the dignity of a house as distinguished and grand as Downton Abbey of which I am the butler, Charles Edward Carson. I am very disappointed in you."
"Mrs. Hughes," he admonished her with a roll of his eyes, "I never use my middle name and you know it."
"Nevertheless, I didn't want to disappoint you," she said softly, "again."
He glanced up sharply from his study of her foot to meet her eyes, "I'm not quite sure that I'll be able to grasp this. Do you have a pair of tweezers?"
She opened the box on her lap and handed them to him, watching him carefully again. In another moment, she felt a sharp pain and he lifted the tweezers triumphantly holding the offending bit of wood. Smiling at his obvious pride, she paused for a moment and then started to pull her foot from his lap.
He gripped her ankle tighter and shook his head, "This wound needs to be cleaned and dressed. Hand me your box."
"I won't trouble you any further," she said, gripping the box tighter, "Surely I could manage that."
He retained his grip on her foot and held his hand out patiently, "Mrs. Hughes."
Their eyes locked, both determined to win this battle. She gave in first with a sigh, in part because she realized that even if she did manage to get her foot away from him, she would have to crawl between his legs to retrieve her shoe and stocking. That maneuver would even be beneath her dignity.
Watching as he cleaned and dressed the wound, she was again fascinated by the feel of his fingers on her foot and his thigh beneath her heel. Almost unconsciously she flexed her calf muscles and her heel stroked his thigh. He groaned and lifted his head. The look in his eyes emboldened her further.
"Have I disappointed you? With my attire last night and tonight I suppose," she asked softly.
"You have never, could never disappoint me, Mrs. Hughes," he answered just as softly and just as seriously.
Her thoughts and her face hardened, "But that has not always been the case." She rose and started toward the door, shoe and stocking forgotten.
He caught her wrist to stop her, "You need to put your shoe and stocking on. I wouldn't want you to be hurt."
Her mouth tightened in a thin line, but she acknowledged his wisdom in this instance. As she returned to her seat he handed her shoe and stocking to her. She could feel his eyes on the top of her head as she drew the stocking up her leg and slipped the shoe back on her foot.
"I'm sorry if I hurt you," he said and then after a few moments, "tonight and then."
She nodded stiffly but kept her eyes on the fastenings of her shoe.
"Sometimes I say incredibly stupid things when I am upset, or worried, or angry."
"Incredibly stupid," she agreed with a short nod.
"Monumentally stupid," he said with a hint of amusement.
"Stupendously," she said with a smile tugging her lips but not quite ready to let go of her hurt yet.
"Forgive me," he said seriously and added softly, "Please."
She looked up to meet his eyes, "You are forgiven."
He smiled genuinely now and stood, holding his hand out to her, "Perhaps I should check that again tomorrow night. I wouldn't want it to get infected."
"Perhaps you should," she agreed, returning his smile.
"Perhaps a bit of sherry might ease the hurt," he said, smile widening.
Her own smile widened as well, "Perhaps it would."
She started toward the door, and he moved to open it for her but stopped her before she could walk out, "You must promise me that if you want a late night snack you will come to fetch me."
"So that you can protect my virtue?" she asked with arched eyebrow.
He shook his head slowly and his gaze drifted from her eyes down to her lips, "Not exactly. Old men's passions can be unbridled as well, Elsie."
"I will remember that, Charles."
Reviews are welcome as always.