Disclaimer: Still not mine.
X
There was none more beautiful to him.
Before her, he hadn't even known there were any women in the house.
Well, he had known, of course. He just hadn't been aware of their existence.
The housemaids, the cook, the housekeeper, they had all been just titles to him. Until she came along. And suddenly, he was aware of every single woman in the house. And was comparing them all to her.
It was inevitable, sometimes even subconscious. As he sat down with the housekeeper every other night to discuss household matters, he would notice the sharpness of her features, the grey in her hair, her empty black eyes. And think about her brown hair, her soft smile and her deep blue eyes.
Not even Lady Violet was immune to it.
(He thinks the way Lady Violet walks is nothing compared to the way she does)
Charles Carson has never been one to let anything get in the way of him doing his work properly.
And he had been just fine on that particular matter until the arrival of Elsie Hughes, the new headhousemaid.
It took him a few months to realize what was happening. Being the practical man he was, he did the logical thing and pushed the idea to the back of his mind to be dealt with it later (never, if possible). Until one day, when it just hit him, before he even had the time to deny it to himself: he was attracted to her. Lusted after her.
The realization of it should have appalled him. It didn't. It was perfectly understandable, human nature, even, for a man to feel this way towards a beautiful woman. Inappropriate, no doubt, given he was her superior, but natural nevertheless. To be fair, he did try to stop himself from thinking such thoughts. And if he sometimes slipped and started imagining the feel of her skin under his hand or how she would look writhing beneath him in bed – well, he was glad his mind was his alone.
He tried not to look as if he was ogling her. Wouldn't want to make the girl uncomfortable. After all, she was a very long way from home – that alone was enough to reduce anyone to a little frightened child. It did take him a while to understand she was nothing like that. Elsie Hughes was nothing if not brave, strong, and bold, even.
And, dear God in heaven, she was also beautiful. He never saw much of her during the day – their paths almost never crossed – but she was all he could stare at during the servants' meals.
And when he wasn't looking at her, he was still seeing her. She was in every cup of tea he served to Lady Violet, in every box of wine he counted, staring back at him from every piece of silver he polished in the evenings.
And then it changed. Slowly, almost imperceptible, and all at once. One day, he was serving wine during dinner and didn't see her hair, but heard her laughter. Later, he sat in his pantry and didn't imagine her lips touching his, but tried to imagine what her voice – and accent – would sound like saying his name. Later, laying down in bed, he didn't think about her sweat dampening his sheets as they moved together – he thought only of her wrapped up in his arms, head on his chest, hair tickling his chin.
Attraction was an easy thing to deal with. As long as he managed to suppress those urges of backing her up against the wall of his pantry, everything would be fine. But love… love was a different matter entirely.
It came to him one day as he served breakfast to the family. It struck him out of nowhere, for no apparent reason, and still, he had known it all along: he was in love with her.
The old, strict butler, in love with the young, bright headhousemaid.
(She isn't that far behind him in age. But housemaids are always young, and butlers are always old)
Inappropriate. As inappropriate as physical attraction, if not more so. But what did it matter, really? Nothing was going to happen. The thought of it never even crossed his mind.
Except those times when he would retire for the night after a very long day, and wonder what his life would be like if he ever left Downton. She always there, helping him run a teashop, a farm, a post office – always beside him. Sometimes he fell asleep thinking about their life together.
Then he would wake up the next day to see her seated away from him at the servants' table, barely even looking at him. And he would retreat to the alternate reality he had created in his mind. A world where she would smile every time she saw him.
All of it did seem something out of a cheesy romantic novel, the kind of which the housemaids liked to sigh about (not her, of course. He knows for a fact she preferres murder mysteries). The serious, reticent, tin man pining over the beautiful woman just out of his reach. Ignoring the obvious, that she didn't want anything to do with him – he believed she didn't even notice his existence most of the time -, there was still the matter of relationships between servants, especially between those of different ranks, being frowned upon by the family. If not strictly forbidden. So pine over her he would.
Maybe she would stick around long enough to become the housekeeper. She would be a fine one, he thought. Maybe he would still be the butler then. He couldn't see himself leaving Downton. (He can, but only on those restless nights, when he allows himself to dream of a different life)
And maybe, one day, they would become friends. After all, the butler and the housekeeper did end up having to spend a lot of time together, working. Maybe one day she would invite him over for tea and the conversation would go from the next evening's dinner to her life in Argyll.
Perhaps she would come to think of him as her best of friends. Maybe one day it would seem like the natural thing to do to just tell her about his thoughts, ideas, regrets, hopes, feelings.
And maybe she would look at him and smile. And he would smile back. That would be it, and all the waiting, the imagining, the pining over, would have been worth it in the end.
Oh, how he longed for the day when she would smile at him whenever she saw him, whenever he said her name. Maybe one day she would. And if she never did, he could always fool himself, thinking that maybe tomorrow would be the day.
Not today, but one day.
But she was not the housekeeper yet, she was still only the headhousemaid. So one day he told himself to forget it. Forget it all for maybe ten years or so. It was no use thinking about it now. Not for ten years, at least. For now, forget it.
So he did.
Well, he didn't exactly forget her – she was never away from his mind for long during the day. He just convinced himself that it was not the right time. When that day came, he would know. It was just not today.
10 years later
He knocks on the door to her sitting room. It is late, and he knows how tired she must be – he had seen her earlier, giving out orders to the maids while barely managing to keep herself from falling asleep on the spot. He almost feels bad for having asked her for a meeting, but the day of the garden party is approaching and there are some things he needs to discuss with her as soon as possible.
"Come in" he hears her say.
He enters her sitting room. She is sitting at her desk, working, her back to him, and at the sound of the door closing behind him she turns.
"Mrs. Hughes" he says her name in greeting.
She looks at him.
Smiles.
He smiles back.
Today.
End.