He found her where he thought he would. She was sitting in the boot room, attending to her Ladyship's shoes.
She smiled as she saw him in the doorway.
"Hello," she went on with her cleaning, smiling at the heel of the shoe in her hands as much as she did to him, but he recognised this in her. She couldn't know that this meeting was anything out of their ordinary way.
"I thought I'd find you in here," gently, he closed the door of the room gently behind himself, "I was wondering if I could talk to you. Before you have to go up to get her Ladyship ready for dinner."
"Is anything the matter?" she asked him.
"No, no, everything is fine," he told her, pulling his livery a little straighter before sitting down on the stool beside her, "There was just something-… I wanted to say to you."
She put the shoe down, and wiped her hands on the cloth before her.
"I'm listening," she told him.
"I wanted to say this to you today. Or before today," he told her, "Today is-… would have been, my dad's birthday. I promised myself I'd have worked up the nerve to do this by today, or I don't think I'd ever have done it."
"You of all people shouldn't have to work up a nerve to talk to me," she told him. Her smile was reassuring.
"I know," he replied, "And you're the only person I've ever contemplated saying this to, seriously that is."
She was smiling at him. Something in her look, a glint in her eye.
"Maybe you already know," he wondered.
"I won't know anything until you say what you need to, Mr Molesley."
She certainly knew.
"Joseph," he told her, "Please call me Joseph."
"Alright," she replied, "Joseph."
He took a deep breath.
"Phyllis," he told her, "I do feel as if you already know what I'm going to say. Ever since you got here, well, I don't know. Things have been different, for us all really, but particularly for me. I used to think," he continued, "That maybe I'd get through my whole life and I would never meet anyone who made me feel different. But then, you. And I feel," his courage faltered, just a little. Enough to silence him for a second. But her hand slipped tentatively into his, wrapped their fingers together, stroked the back of his hand, gave him courage, enough to look up into her face and tell her, "I love you, Phyllis Baxter. And I want you to marry me. So I can look after you, and spend my time with you. You say that my life is worth something, well, you've only seen what it's like when you're there. I'm not sure it is without you."
She was holding both of his hands. Tightly.
"Joseph," she murmured, "I don't know what to say," her eyes were shining, "You are worth so much-…"
He wasn't sure how to reply.
"Well," he asked, a little uncertain, and if he was honest, non-plussed, "What is your gut feeling?"
She broke into a smile.
"My gut feeling?" she asked, "Yes, of course, you silly man! A hundred times, yes. But what will we do? We won't be able to stay on here."
"We don't know that," he told her, "There's Anna and Mr Bates."
"But I thought that was because Bates knew his Lordship from the war?" she asked him.
"Well, then," he told her, bolstered by her response, "We find other jobs. There's some money left over from what my dad left me, and the rest is in the bank anyway. We'll be alright. I'll be alright if I've got you."
"And I know I'll be alright if I've got you," she smiled at him, "If you equate marrying me with looking after me, then this has already been a very long engagement."
His thumb brushed over the back of her hand.
"Are you saying yes?" he asked her.
"Yes, I am," she told him softly, tugging her hand from his grasp, raising it to his cheek.
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