Forgive me, my dears. It's been a long while since I've written anything, so I'm a little rusty. Just getting back into the swing of things. Hopefully this will be spicing up in later chapters. Of course it will be, who am I kidding? ;) Here is my payment, klswhite ;) ... Mona xoxo
The lights of The Great Hall are shimmering brightly against the priceless artwork and antiques. Every candle is lit, a colorful bouquet gracing each table. The fireplace flickers it's light along the gleaming wood floors while the family and staff spin happily across the great expanse of the room. It is the night of their annual ball. A gift from their family. His family. Having performed his customary dance with her Ladyship, Charles Carson stood solemnly in the archway, his gaze upon the woman who, for quite some time now, had been occupying his every thought. He watches her, so beautiful tonight, her curls looser and moving softly as she glides across the floor. Mr. Branson holds her in his arms, guiding her around the room and talking animatedly. She smiles brightly, and he can almost hear her laughter rise above the smooth melody being played by the band. Her dress is new, a silken dark green that flows gently over the curve of her hip, lays tightly against the swell of her breast, flutters softly about her strong and graceful legs. He really should stop staring, but she is enchanting. Elsie Hughes is as beautiful to him as the first time he saw her nearly thirty years ago. He was already Butler by the time she came to fill the position of head housemaid. He was rigid, restrained, and still mending a broken heart. Elsie was smart, eager, and more lovely than any woman he had ever seen. She held herself with pride, dignity, and professionalism, making her all the more appealing to him. She was a force to be reckoned with, all wrapped up in a spirited and beautiful package. He had avoided those feelings and pushed his regard for her aside. He kept himself steady on his own, never knowing the true steadiness that could be found by simply taking her hand. He smiles to himself as he watches her. It's funny to him now, that he once thought he'd never fall in love again, when he knows she's always had the keys to his heart. She has always been the only one for him.
She catches his eye as the song comes to an end and she thanks Mr. Branson for the dance. Charles realizes he is smiling soppily at her, and he doesn't think he minds at all. Not when she's looking at him so intently, her lovely lips curled slightly in a half smile. He clears his throat and pulls at his waistcoat as she approaches him. Without a word, she stands at his side, their arms pressed gently together. Always so close now, and yet he finds it still not enough. He's not even sure he would know how, he only knows he'd give up forever to touch her, to taste her, to have her breath upon his skin. They had come so far, yet he had still not made a declaration, had not told her the feelings that were in his heart. It was incomprehensible to him to think simple words could express what he felt for her. Just a year and half ago, her hand in his was almost his undoing. She had meant to steady him, but instead had turned his world upside down. Or had she righted it? The predictable life that thrived on style and show, order and restraint, had now found itself coming second fiddle to his heart. He braved a glimpse down at her to find her staring back up at him. He feels the weight of her stare, the sparkle in her deep eyes almost daring him to speak. He thinks she would be a fool to not know what was in his heart, and Elsie Hughes is no fool. He smiles back and hopes that she can see right through his now paper thin walls.
He pulls himself up to his full height and bravely offers her his hand. Something he's wanted to do each year, but had never thought it proper before now. Or was it that now, he could not find it in himself to care what the others would think? All he knew was that he would not let another year go by without asking her. "Shall we live a little, Mrs. Hughes?" He attempts to hide his smirk when her eyes widen in shock.
Elsie quickly finds herself and smiles softly as she slides her delicate fingers into his waiting hand. The warmth of his palm only a touch of the fire burning so strongly between them. It's not like her, being unable to find the words. She always has a witty response waiting. Part of her armor, she thinks. Yet another way she saves the fragile heart that beats beneath her stern exterior. The walls that have been slowly tumbling down between them, are now dust beneath their feet as they approach the floor hand in hand. He stops and turns, pulling her close and wrapping his arm around her. His touch is warm against her back and she inhales sharply as a shiver runs down her spine. In his arms, and eye to eye, they need no words to pass between them. He raises their joined hands to his lips and tenderly kisses her fingers as they slowly begin to move...