This is just a little stand alone one-shot attempt at humor. It could come after either "Hands" or "The Last Will & Testament of Charles Carson" (which is where I imagine it). Pure silliness.
Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes began their new relationship with a relatively small amount of gossip. It seemed that no one really noticed that they were spending more time together for the simple fact that they were not. They had spent most of their free time together for years, albeit not this closely. That is with her closely snuggled between his legs with back against his chest while she did her mending and he read a book.
Leaning over to retrieve another project from her sewing basket caused her hips to shift against him, rewarding her with his low groan. "Elsie, that's a little distracting."
"What is?"
"That," he said pushing up against her bottom just a little.
"Well, that," she said pushing her bottom against his groin, "is distracting too, although I should say it's not little. You should do something about that, if you ask me."
"As I recall, I did ask you and you wanted to get some mending done," he replied dryly.
"No," she corrected with a smile, "I wanted to wait until everyone had gone to bed."
He glanced at the clock; 8:30. Not much chance everyone would be in bed yet. "We could be very quiet," he suggested hopefully.
"Charles, just be patient," she said a little exasperated, "It won't be much longer. You act like a randy young man."
He snorted, "No; I'm a lecherous old man. Elsie, I was never this lucky when I was a young man," he added as he bent his head to nuzzle her neck, trying a different tactic.
Her eyes closed and she sighed as his lips found the skin behind her left ear, "Lucky?" A very small part of her wished he hadn't found that spot. It was distracting, and he knew it.
"Lucky enough to have a beautiful woman snugged between my legs doing her mending."
Laughing a little, she said, "Charles, I'm glad you think I'm beautiful, but my parts aren't quite what they used to be."
Serious now he paused in his attentions to her neck, "Do you think I am a very stupid man?"
"No, I don't," she said puzzled, "but I don't see what that has to do with this."
"Only a very stupid man is attracted to a woman's parts and not the woman," he said firmly, lifting his hand to caress her breast, "although your parts are quite lovely, if you ask me."
"I rather like your parts, too," she said with a smile as she pulled his hand to her lips.
He pulled his hand away and said with a sigh, "Finish your mending."
"Why?" she asked a little disappointed.
"Because there's no way I can be quiet tonight," he replied grimly.
They both continued with their separate activities for a little while longer until Charles glanced down and saw that Elsie's mending looked suspiciously familiar.
"Elsie, what is that you're mending?" he asked quietly.
"Your undershorts."
"My undershorts!" he exclaimed voice rising a little in pitch.
"Yes; Charles, your undershorts. Why are you squeaking?"she asked surprised.
"I am not squeaking!" he replied, "Don't you think people will be suspicious if you're mending my, um, my private laundry?"
"I don't see why. I've been doing this for the past fifteen years," she replied dryly.
He was clearly astonished, "You've been handling my undershorts for the past fifteen years?"
"You needn't look so shocked. It's not as though you were in them at the time," she replied clearly amused, "How did you think they got mended? Fairies?"
"Well, no, I just assumed one of the laundry maids, I guess," he answered, "I never really paid much attention."
"You'd rather one of the laundry maids mended them?" she asked amusement increasing.
"Well, no, I suppose not," he answered calming a little, "It just doesn't seem appropriate somehow that you should have, when we weren't…"
"Charles, when I took over as housekeeper, the laundry maids came to me with this dilemma," she explained, "It seems none of them were comfortable with this," with a wry twist of her mouth she said, "You'd have thought your undershorts were the Holy Shroud. Anyway, I took the job on. I felt sorry for you at the time. I thought you were too poor to afford new ones. Now I've found out you were just too cheap."
"Frugal," he corrected.
"Frugal, then," she agreed exasperated, "The laundry maids bring them to me, and I mend them. When they get too decrepit, I buy you new ones."
"You've actually bought them?" he asked incredulously.
"Well, no, I order them. I use the 'Uniforms' account," she smiled, "It wouldn't do for my butler to be out of uniform. Somehow, I just never could screw up the courage to come and tell you that you needed new ones. Honestly, Charles, did you never notice that you didn't purchase undershorts for fifteen years?"
"Well, I just didn't think about it. I always seemed to have an ample supply that was in good condition," he answered, smiling himself at the thought, "You could have written me a note."
Rolling her eyes at him, she said sarcastically, "Oh yes! Written evidence is such a good idea."
"Well, when you put it that way…" he said a little offended.
"If you want I can stop mending them, although that might raise questions as to why I've stopped."
"No; I rather like the idea now," he answered with a wicked grin.
Seeing that he'd calmed down, she went back to her mending. Mischievousness took hold and she said quietly, "I use the same thread that I use to mend my shifts."
He glanced down at her sewing basket, "You mean your shifts and my undershorts have been together in there all this time?" he asked with raised eyebrows.
"Sometimes, yes," she replied with a smile.
"Lucky undershorts."