A/N: Inspired by two anon prompts on tumblr – 'Do Elsie's reaction when mrs patmore reported what Charles said to her, since we didn't get to see it.' Which I combined with 'How about doing a scene with Mr Carson thanking Mrs Patmore for her help, with maybe some flowers and a kiss on the cheek? Mrs Hughes wouldn't mind, they owe her a lot.' The two seemed to fit together perfectly!

Mrs Patmore emerged from Mr Carson's pantry feeling wrung out, as if she'd had to endure both a battle of wits with the Dowager and been forced to watch Daisy's wedding to William all over again. She had expected the conversation with the butler to be difficult. She had expected him to bluster, be offended, to refuse to answer, even. What she had not expected him to be was honest, nor quite so emotional. To be frank, she had not believed him capable of feeling so deeply. True enough she had seen him cry down the years, but rarely over anything that didn't have a connection to the Crawley family.

But this was different.

She stood in the corridor, pondering what she ought to do next. Would it be too indelicate to rush straight from his room to hers? She snorted to herself – concern of that nature was like locking the door after the horse had bolted in this case. He knew that she knew Mrs Patmore would ask him, and she knew that he knew Mrs Patmore had some business with him more significant than a quick chat and a glass of port might otherwise suggest.

Which was, to say the least, complicated.

If that's what marriage proposals did to your common sense, Mrs Patmore wasn't exactly sure she wanted one anymore.

So, telling Mrs Hughes now seemed to be the only option. She turned towards the sitting room door, only to be waylaid by the voice of Miss Baxter, who called out that the housekeeper had gone to bed with a headache.

'Headache, my eye' thought Mrs Patmore, who had never known a time when illness (aside from the Cancer scare) had stopped Mrs Hughes from foregoing her nightly catch up with the butler, even if it was only for ten minutes.

'Is everything alright?' came the concerned tones of Miss Baxter, who looked at the closed door of the pantry to indicate it wasn't Mrs Patmore she was inquiring about.

'I think so. Or at least I hope it will be. If Mr Carson asks, tell him Mrs Hughes has retired and I've gone to check on her. Only if he asks, mind.'

Miss Baxter nodded solemnly, still looking a touch concerned, and once Mrs Patmore had collected a few items she felt she would need, and ordered Daisy to carry on with the servants' dinner without her, she headed up the long, winding, staircase.

Her brisk knock on the door was answered immediately and Mrs Hughes's eyes grew round as she saw her visitor.

'I brought you this', Mrs Patmore waved a headache powder, smirking, 'but I daresay it's not needed at all, and you'd much prefer one of these.' She brought a box from behind her back.

'Shortbread? You don't usually let those go without a fight. Am I to need the sustenance? Is the shock going to be so great?'

'I doubt it's a shock you actually expect. Might I come in? Moses didn't linger in the desert nearly so long!'

Mrs Hughes rolled her eyes, a little of her fire sparking through the apprehension she felt, but moved aside to let the other woman pass.

They sat in the same arrangement as a few days previous, only this time Mrs Patmore leaned forward to take both Mrs Hughes's hands in hers.

'You're a very fortunate woman' she said, smiling fondly at her friend.

'I don't need you to tell me that! To find someone willing to marry me at my age! It's quite a comfort you know.'

Mrs Patmore snorted at this lukewarm reaction and sat back, looking at the housekeeper in a way usually reserved for incompetent kitchen maids. 'You've got no idea, do you? He loves you, you know.'

'I'm sure he does, in his own way.' Mrs Hughes found her hands very interesting. 'But it's not the love match of the decade, is it, at our age.'

'If you mention age one more time, I might explode! He does love you. He said as much.'

'What? You asked him?' Mrs Hughes was stunned into silence, a look somewhere between bemusement, anger and wonder on her face.

'No, I bloody well didn't ask him that!', exclaimed Mrs Patmore, looking slightly put out. 'Perhaps I'd better start at the beginning.

'You know well enough I couldn't quite find a way to start the conversation. He seemed to twig that I'd not said what I'd intended and he ambushed me – in that gentle way only Mr Carson can.'

Mrs Hughes smiled briefly, knowing all too well the effect of that man's ambush techniques. Before she could lose herself to proposal memories, she pulled her attention back to the other woman, who was looking straight at her.

'I couldn't quite make him understand, probably because I found it so difficult meself. In the end, I had to look away.' Mrs Patmore chuckled to herself, 'we make a mighty fine trio, don't we? The power of the downstairs, but unable to talk about the things that matter.'

Mrs Hughes gave a wry smile in reply, but did not seem inclined to indulge in exploring the question. 'But you got him to understand, didn't you? Else, you wouldn't be here feeding me shortbread as some sort of solace.'

'It's not solace! You'll understand in a minute. I'm not trying to spin it out, but you need to understand the entire set up if you're to accept he actually said what he did.

'So … there I was, not making any progress, his face a picture of confusion, and I had to look away. I couldn't meet his eyes and even then I spoke in clichés. Made a reference to wifely duties.'

'Oh no' murmured Mrs Hughes, bringing a hand to cover her eyes.

'Shhh, it's alright love. The penny dropped then, and although he was stunned, he wasn't embarrassed. He said as much. Said it didn't have a place in something so important.'

Mrs Hughes withdrew her hand and took a deep breath. 'Well that's a relief, at least. Go on, and for goodness sake, get it over with.'

'These type of things can't be rushed', opined Mrs Patmore gravely. 'I asked what I was supposed to tell you. He said, well – he said that in his eyes you are beautiful.'

Mrs Hughes had been nibbling at her shortbread in an attempt to calm her nerves. Hearing this statement, she inhaled some crumbs and began to cough violently.

'He ….. said ….. I ….. was…' she spluttered, still coughing.

'Beautiful, yes.' Mrs Patmore confirmed, passing over a glass of water she had fetched from the bedside. 'And he meant it.'

The emotion crackled in the room as Mrs Hughes sat, staring at the seam of her skirt, trying to take in this momentous news. She had grown used to the loss of the few looks she had possessed in her youth, had accepted the matronly demeanour. Welcomed it, indeed, as another tool in her housekeeper's arsenal, useful in keeping the maids in line. True enough, she took pride in her appearance, did her hair in ways which highlighted her best features and stretched her meager funds to purchase the best cloth which would flatter her curves.

And therein lay the problem. It was perfectly easy to believe he thought her outwardly beautiful, but once the corset had been removed and nature returned things to their original state …. Despite his words, she still doubted. No use explaining all this to Mrs Patmore, who clearly believed Mr Carson's words would settle every worry she had, and had taken such pains on her behalf.

'Go on, Mrs Patmore', she said quietly, still staring at the seams which held her together.

Mrs Patmore sighed, sensing the words hadn't had quite the effect she (or, indeed, Mr Carson) had hoped, and continued.

'You wondered if he'd prefer to leave that side of things alone' she said, nodding at the bed, whilst wondering whether all the euphemisms were superfluous now. All three of them knew precisely what the others meant, but the actual word still stuck in her throat. 'Well, he doesn't. He wants a real marriage, a true marriage, with, well, with everything that entails.'

Mrs Hughes looked up at her, a blush spreading lightly over her cheeks, and a slight smile twitching the corners of her lips. 'Oh … I see. Thank you for clarifying everything for us, Mrs Patmore.'

'I've not quite finished. He said something else too. Well, he looked at me, seemingly going over a few things in his mind, and then he said … well, I'm not sure if I should repeat it, because I don't think he's said it to your face yet, but …'

Mrs Hughes was regarding her quizzically, blinking in wide eyed expectation and spread her hands out in a gesture which implored the story continue. Words seemed beyond her.

'He said he loved you', Mrs Patmore rushed on past this news, ignoring the gasp that came from Mrs Hughes. 'It was very moving. He said he was happy, erm …. oh, yes, tickled and bursting with pride that you would agree to be his wife. He wants to live as closely as two people can for the time that remains to you on earth. Then, he practically broke his heart in front of me by saying that if you felt you had to withdraw, well, he didn't actually finish the sentence, but he very clearly only wants your happiness.'

Tears had been threatening since Mrs Hughes had heard the three words he hadn't said, but implied every day since his proposal, but spilled over as the rest of his desires were revealed and her own heart broke a little as she thought of the pain he must be going through.

'I would never withdraw' she whispered, looking up at her friend, the truth of the statement blazing in her eyes.

Mrs Patmore felt quite overcome, for the second time that evening, by the strength of feeling she was being exposed to, and felt it was time to leave. She rose, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder. 'You've got a lot to think on, so I'll leave you, but don't make him wait too long, you know he'll be convincing himself of calamity.'

Mrs Hughes nodded, drying her eyes. 'Thank you Beryl, you've done me – us – a great service.'

'It were nothing, so long as there's a happy outcome.' As Mrs Patmore returned to the kitchens, she wondered what that happiness might look like.

OoOoOo

A few days later and Mrs Patmore found herself invited to the housekeeper's sitting room for a cup of tea in the lull between the family's afternoon tea and dinner. This was fairly normal, although the ritual hadn't been performed for some months.

What was not normal, was the fact that Mrs Hughes stood and knocked three times on the connecting wall between the sitting room and the pantry.

'You two communicating through Morse code now?' asked Mrs Patmore, not really expecting an answer, and indeed an enigmatic smile was all the reply she received. The tea was poured and the two sat in silence.

This silence was soon broken by three knocks, this time from the pantry, at which signal, Mrs Hughes rose to pour another cup of tea, the completion of which coincided with the entrance of Mr Carson. Mrs Hughes turned to smile at him, but made no move to hand over the tea, instead she merely raised her eyebrows slightly and gave him a tiny nod.

Mrs Patmore had watched this silent communication avidly and was therefore surprised to find Mr Carson's attention focused on her, and she noted, now she properly looked, that one hand was behind his back.

'Mrs Patmore, Elsie and I' (Mrs Hughes's smile grew slightly wider at the use of her given name) 'we owe you a great deal of gratitude in helping us overcome our … problem. I hope you'll accept these as a small token of our thanks.'

He presented a large bunch of daffodils from his back with a flourish and then leaned down and pressed a swift kiss to her cheek.

'Gracious!' exclaimed Mrs Patmore, casting a swift glance to the housekeeper, whose eyes twinkled in amusement. 'If you carry on kissing women, proffering them flowers and breaking out the Verve Cliquot on the slightest pretext, people might begin to think you've had a thump on the head!'

Mrs Hughes let out a snort of laughter at this and moved to hand Mr Carson his tea.

'Well, love is a bit like being hit over the head' he reflected. 'I do feel a bit dazed', he added and then placed a kiss to Mrs Hughes's cheek too. Her smile was only matched by his.

The slightly stunned, yet content, silence with followed lasted for the time it took them to finish their tea, and as Mrs Patmore returned to the kitchen, she thought that maybe losing your common sense to love wasn't so bad after all, not if it inspired such devotion as she had just witnessed.

A/N: A review or two would be a lovely thing.