He's hurt her feelings.
This is the first time that he has hurt Elsie. The first time that he's gone and really put his foot in it since he placed his ring on her finger and she took his name for her own. His overwhelming sense of love for her has only grown with each day and he still wonders why on earth she agreed to entrust her life's happiness to him. But now, with a single misplaced huff, a disparaging eye, and a suggestion that sounded a little too much like a command, he's wounded her pride, cast aspersions on her role as a wife. And it is the last thing in the world he wants to do because she is all he has ever wanted and rather than her fretting that she's disappointed him, he knows that it is he who has disappointed her.
He's been harsh with Mrs. Hughes many times, called her a woman of no standards, even gone so far as to accuse her of not pulling her weight when he thought she was lagging behind the rest of the staff. He still remembers the weak smile she offered when he told her that he had made up his mind to leave her and Downton behind to run Lady Mary's house at Haxby Park. The sadness behind her eyes haunts him still and he wonders now if she'd felt something between them then, something more than simply the potential loss of a very dear friend.
He's always been the one with harsh words, the one to bluster and posture, to puff out his chest in a pompous display of authority only to have her diffuse his ungallant behaviour with a glance or tsk of exasperation or perhaps a pithy retort. He has always been confident that after the dust settles, she will receive the peace offering he will lay at her feet, the promise of a small sherry and quiet conversation. That he will desperately seek absolution and she will always grant it.
Mrs. Hughes understands him. She knows that most of Carson's bluster and fretting is not directed at her anyway. He is simply working out his frustrations with the house, things that he cannot control and she is there to take the brunt of it. She is the only one who really knows him, knows that his bark is most certainly worse than his bite. After all, he knows that she will never leave him.
However, things are different now. She is no longer just Mrs. Hughes but Elsie, his wife. He is no longer an old bachelor, no longer simply Carson, but he is Charles, husband of Elsie. As his wife clears and washes the dishes from their disastrous meal, he sits in his comfortable chair in the cosiness of their cottage, wondering how he could be so insensitive over something so trivial.
His knuckles turn white as he balls his fist, grinds it into the palm of his other hand. He's not meant to be grumpy, not meant to hurt her feelings when she's been so eager to place the fruits of her labour before him expecting her new husband to acknowledge her efforts. He knows now that he barely acknowledged the busy workings of her hands, the care with which she made sure that everything was within his reach; how she had taken time to prepare one of his favourite meals and laid a proper table to his exacting standards.
There is no butler's book to teach him all of the things that he should know about his new bride. Mrs. Hughes is confident; Elsie needs reassurances. But what had he done? Rather than giving her a kind word, thanking her for her efforts and the fine home she was making for them, he had blustered on about problems at the Abbey. Blustered about things over which he has no control. And she had done what she always does. She listened patiently to his pontificating on how Downton Abbey was changing and not for the better.
He complained of housemaids who are leaving service and that they've no kitchen maids and only one hall boy. He is pleased for Anna and Mr. Bates, knows that they have wanted a family for so long, but that means they will likely be leaving service as well. Lady Edith is courting that young man and Lady Mary seems intrigued with yet another dark haired suitor. There has even been talk of Poor Old Molesley leaving to become a schoolteacher. And Sergeant Willis. He has become such a regular visitor to the house, that Carson wonders who he will arrest and take away next. And now the family is planning to allow the public into the house. They will pay a fee to enter by the front door so that they can gape and gawk and allow their sticky fingered children to touch priceless antiques. He does not like any of it. Is it any wonder he has come home wound up?
Charles scrubs a hand across his face and through his hair and he knows what he must do. He must make things right, admit that he was upset about other things and beg her forgiveness.
He makes his way from their sitting room into the kitchen where she is sorting dishes and washing up. Her back is to him and he is glad because he is nervous; she makes him feel so many things now. She has opened him to so many thoughts and feelings, emotions that he has previously kept locked away and if he is honest, it is equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.
"Elsie," he asks quietly. When she does not turn, does not really acknowledge that he has spoken to her, he moves cautiously closer. "Elsie, I wanted to say….ehm….I wanted to say that I shouldn't have spoken out of turn. I was so upset about the changes at the house….."
His voice trails off as he hopes that she will turn, face him with kind eyes and a bright smile, and tell him that she understands, that there is nothing to worry about. But her silence is all the more telling than any pithy remark or exasperated sigh followed by "All right, Charles." He knows that she is not going to help him out of this one, that it is his mess to clean up.
He plucks up the courage to speak again, when he notices how she lifts her hands from the dishwater, sleeves rolled to her elbows, she pushes a strand of loose hair back from her face and then continues on her task. He wishes that he had been the one to push the loose tendril away from her face and to then tilt her face upward and place a gentle kiss to her lips. If only his apology could be that simple.
"Elsie, I never meant to suggest that you weren't…well, when I suggested that you ask Mrs. Patmore for some advice, I never meant to hurt your feelings."
No more did the words pass across his lips than he saw her shoulders collapse in on themselves. He watches her shake, a hand reaching for a dishtowel and then covering her mouth. Rushing to her side, he takes her in his arms and turns her toward him burying her face against his chest.
"Oh, Elsie, I'm sorry, you know how I get when I'm worried and upset. I didn't mean to sound so harsh," he whispers against her ear. "I shouldn't have taken my frustrations out on you."
Just when he is about to pull her closer, beg her forgiveness, reassure her that she is everything that he wants and that he is a foolish old man who speaks before he thinks, she pulls back and looks up at him with glistening eyes. His stomach sinks knowing that he has disappointed her, that he has been the one to make her feel disparaged in some way.
"It was horrible," she manages solemnly, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth.
"Yes, what I said was horrible," Charles adds as he tucks a tendril of hair behind her ear. "I don't have the right to….."
Putting her hand to his chest and patting, laughter overtakes her once again. This time he sees the merriment in her eyes and tears emerge once again from amusement not anger.
"You misunderstand me, Mr. Carson. I didn't say that you were horrible," she laughs. "I said that it was horrible. That was the worst roast lamb I've ever eaten. And for the record, I think I will have a word with Mrs. Patmore tomorrow."
"I am sorry, Elsie," he offers again as he places a reverent kiss to her lips.
"I know, Charles," she replies returning his kiss with a little more fervour.
"Ehm, the dishes can wait. I'll do them in the morning before we leave for the Abbey if you'd like to ehm," he stumbles. "That is if you would like to retire early this evening."
"I don't know how, but you managed to make that sound a little risqué," she teases as she threads her fingers through his hair.
"And if I did? We're getting on Mrs. Carson you and I. We can afford to live a little."
Thank you for reading. I'd love to know what you think. Thanks to Hogwarts-Duo for her helpful suggestions.