A/N: Once upon a time—or, to be exact, last week—I had an anonymous question on Tumblr, regarding the existence of Robert/Elsie fics, and the possibility of such a pairing.
As since I found myself without any fics in progress, and looking for inspiration to write some more, I decided to give this idea a go. The challenge in its full form requested Robert having a crush on Elsie, and Charles being jealous over the fact. So here goes.
Let me know if you'd like to see some more of it.
The Finer Things
Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, believed himself a connoisseur of the finer things in life.
There was nothing altogether surprising about the fact. When one happened to grow up in Downton Abbey, home of all things exquisite, one learnt how to appreciate beauty and finesse of both inanimate objects and living creatures.
It started with the house and its contents—furniture, paintings, small sculptures and exotic plants adorning the rooms and corridor. Then there were the clothes, his and those of his family: perfectly tailored, made from the best materials and according to the newest fashion. Cufflinks, snuffboxes, ties and handkerchiefs: all of the accessories that, contrary to a popular belief, did make the man.
Horses he enjoyed at their best, and dogs, too: graceful creatures with flawless pedigrees, impeccably kept and taken care of by professionals of the best sort.
And then, last but by no means least, there were the women.
He married Cora Levison not only for her money, but also for an image she'd planted in his head: this slender, dark-haired beauty walking through the corridors of Downton as its rightful lady, adding her natural charms to its splendid grandeur. Love to her came with time, and made her even more stunning to his eyes—a fact that he heartily approved of.
His daughters were amazingly beautiful to him from the moment they were born, and the fact managed to dim his disappointment at the lack of an heir. He watched his girls grow with love and pride, and by the time Sybil turned six, Lord Grantham came to believe himself one of the luckiest men in England. There was nothing else in the world he could have wanted, or hoped for. He lived in a great house, surrounded by a happy family, and many a beautiful thing.
His life was complete.
That is—it had been so until the warm, spring afternoon of 1902, when his butler opened the drawing room door, and announced in his deep, rich baritone, "Miss Elizabeth Hughes, the new head housemaid".
He didn't know what he'd expected her to be—but whatever image he had in his mind, she surpassed it easily.
She wasn't a young, fresh girl he'd got used to seeing around the house, no—she was closer to him in age, perhaps even a couple of years his senior. She held her head high, back straightened proudly; her hair, neatly pinned up, catched the glimmers of the afternoon sun that made it look like a halo of fire. Her blue eyes met his with confidence that had nothing to do with defiance: she was respectful, yes, but she also knew her worth, and wouldn't be deviated from the path she'd laid out before herself. This was a woman of character, of strength and strong moral backbone—and even in her black maid dress and a starched apron she looked more like a lady than many an aristocratic woman Robert came to know in the course of his life.
He wasn't sure what to say—fortunately, he didn't have to, not with Cora by his side.
"Elizabeth," she said with a smile, putting down the book she'd been reading, "Please come forward. Mrs. Reynolds has been telling me about your impeccable references—you were an under-housekeeper in your previous post, correct? This job must feel like quite a demotion."
"On the contrary, milady. I believe working in such a grand household shall prove to be quite a challenge, and I am looking forward to it."
Robert dearly hoped his feelings upon hearing her speak did not show on his face. She was Scottish! And she spoke with a lilt that made him want to close his eyes and listen to whatever she had to say, as long as she didn't stop talking…
This wasn't good. He needed to control himself. Fortunately, he wasn't the only one affected by Miss Hughes' manner of speech: in all the years he knew him, he had never seen Carson look so mesmerized by a housemaid.
Even more the reason to stop thinking these ridiculous thoughts, he told himself. After all, he wasn't all that sure he'd survived a physical confrontation with an enraged butler, unlikely as such an occurrence might have seemed.
Cora was speaking again. What was that she said? Oh, yes: "I hope your wish will be fulfilled. Now, may we have some tea?"
"Certainly, milady," Elizabeth Hughes answered with a curtsey, and left the room to fetch the tea trolley. Carson remained, waiting for additional instructions.
Once again, Robert was saved from speechlessness by Cora, who seemed completely at ease, and not at all affected by the new maid. Robert decided he preferred it that way.
"She seems quite capable, doesn't she, Carson?" Lady Grantham's voice carried no actual interest in the reply as she reopened her book and laid back on the chezlong. The butler, Robert noticed with a typically male understanding of such matters, clearly thought that 'capable' was an understatement of Miss Hughes' qualities.
"I believe so, milady," he answered nonetheless, his face almost perfectly impassive. "Should she prove herself, I believe she might be a wise choice for a housekeeper after Mrs. Reynolds' retirement next year."
Cora nodded distractedly, her eyes fixed on the book. "Just what I was hoping for, actually. I wouldn't like to take on a complete stranger, and Martha doesn't seem appropriate for the post, now does she?" Her question, most probably rhetorical, was left without an answer as Miss Hughes—funny how Robert couldn't make himself think about her by her Christian name, the way he did with other maids—reappeared with the tea trolley, and began to serve the tea, swiftly and silently.
The quality of the brew had obviously nothing to do with the person who served it: and yet, it was by far the best tea Robert has ever had in his life.
He didn't speak to the head housemaid in the following two weeks. There was no reason for him to do so: if he had anything to communicate to the servants, he would do so by means of Carson or Mrs. Reynolds; and besides, after serving them tea on her very first day, Miss Hughes (again with the last name…) seemed to have been sent off to performing other duties, much more fitting for an under-housekeeper than a head housemaid. Mrs. Reynolds, a lovely woman as she was, seemed to be looking forward to her impending retirement, and made sure it was in a pair of extremely capable hands that she'd put the household in after leaving Downton to live with her niece's family.
Robert found himself wondering what kind of a housekeeper would Miss Hughes make. She certainly seemed to be strong enough to carry the workload and the responsibility—but would she be good for the staff? Respectful for her peers? He liked to believe the answers to these questions would be affirmative, but apparently only time could tell.
As it was, his interactions with Miss Hughes were quite limited: until one fine Tuesday afternoon when, upon returning to Downton from inspecting some of the cottages farther away on the estate, he crossed paths with her by the gate leading to the main grounds.
She didn't see him at first, lost in thought, and it gave him a chance to observe her, unnoticed. She wore a deep-green coat and a sensible hat—definitely not something he'd fancied Cora putting on her head—and carried a rather heavy-looking parcel in her arms. Despite the burden, there was a spring in her step and a small, happy smile adorned her face—the kind that made Robert wonder what it was that she was thinking of.
He hurried over to the gate and held it open before Miss Hughes; only then it she notice him and startled a little, suppressing a small gasp that almost made him smirk. "Good afternoon, your lordship," she greeted him pleasantly, giving him a grateful nod as she passed through the gate. "Forgive me for not noticing you earlier—I must have been rather more distracted than I thought I was.
"No need to apologize; and a good afternoon to you too, Miss Hughes," he replied, closing the gate behind them. When he turned back to her, she was watching him with a quirked eyebrow: the expression that made him raise his own eyebrows in turn.
She quickly composed herself, casting a small, apologetic smile in his direction before adjusting the parcel in her arms and continuing on her way towards the house. "It's just… strange to hear somebody call me this, now I'm no longer an under-housekeeper," she explained herself briefly, her eyes fixed upon the Abbey looming in the distance.
Robert felt the strangest of emotions upon hearing her say that. He was feeling guilty of making her uncomfortable: something he'd never in his life experienced in a relation to a servant. He cared about his subordinates, naturally—but he never held them such high a regard as to wonder whether his actions or words could be perceived by any of them in an altogether negative way.
"Would you rather have me call you 'Elizabeth', then?" he asked carefully, still amazed by his own bashfulness. What was it about this woman that made him feel like a schoolboy, caught in a crossfire of algebra questions?
She quirked her eyebrow again: he had to admit this kind of a facial expression, still polite yet bordering on cheeky, suited her very much. "I believe that, since you're the one paying me my wages, you're welcome to call me whether you prefer, milord."
This he did not expect.
Was she flirting with him? Robert darted a quick glance at her profile and realized she was merely joking, her face carrying the same amused expression he'd noticed Rosamund sport many a time when they were teasing as children.
It should have offended him that his head housemaid thought of him in the same way his insufferable sister has—but wasn't she entitled to do so, in a way? She was older than him, confident and experienced in her job, and despite the fact that he was, rightfully, her employer, she seemed to be first and foremost her own mistress.
Not to mention that she was so very, very pretty…
Robert blinked in amazement, not quite recognizing the thoughts that formed themselves in his head. Did he really just think that? About a housemaid?...
"Milord?"
He snapped out of his reverie and looked back at her, in the blue eyes filled with slight concern over him. He couldn't for the love of God figure out what was going on.
"…I believe I shall stick to 'Miss Hughes', then."
At least until I come to terms with all… this.
TBC…?