The usual disclaimer that the characters aren't mine.
I hope you enjoy reading it. This storyline bugged me to no end for days now, not allowing me to write anything else.
Honourable
Mr Carson stood in the middle of the upstairs drawing room and desperately wished for a chair to appear behind him so he could sink into it. All the strength in his legs seemed to have vanished, leaving his knees as wobbly as jelly.
"I beg your pardon, M'Lord?"It was all he could rasp out, rather hoarsely at that.
"You have to marry Mrs Hughes, Carson, for the honour of Downton. If she is to remain here, there is no other option available." Never before had Lord Grantham's voice sounded more determined and more apologetic.
Behind him Charles could hear a sob issuing from the woman he had secretly loved for longer than he could remember. "I'm sorry, Charles," she whispered brokenly and he felt as if his heart was being ripped out. He clenched his fists by his sides and swore to God that he would never cause Elsie a moment's heartache ever again. He would marry her to protect her good name and virtue … to give her his name … and to somehow right the wrong done to her.
Lady Grantham got up from her seat next to her husband and slowly walked past Carson to take a seat next to the distraught housekeeper. Her eyes were the softest shade of blue, the look she usually reserved for her three daughters. Charles had to swallow at the sincere sympathy he had seen in the Countess' eyes. Of course, he knew that Elsie was highly regarded among the staff and from the family upstairs, but to see actual proof of it …
It was like that night this whole nightmare had started. He remembered well that Lady Grantham had not left Elsie's side throughout the night, that Mrs Crawley had quietly taken care of her while Dr Clarkson had softly inquired after Elsie and given advise, and that Lady Sybil had been inconsolable until her mother had let her into the room. The family had done their level best to support her and help her. In the last weeks Elsie's view of the family had changed. She still wasn't as devoted to them 'upstairs' as she accused him to be, but she agreed that the Crawleys were all kind, good and generous people. And now this. It really was too much for him. Elsie had recovered physically, but the wounds on her soul would certainly need more time to heal … if ever they would, now that she …
Charles' eyes closed and a sigh shuddered from his lungs. He tried to rally his usual, professional composure and make his answer, start making things better. Before he had a chance to gather his wits about himself, he felt a large hand clasp his shoulder hesitantly. Opening his eyes in surprise, he came face to face with Lord Grantham. The younger man looked as sympathetic as his wife. No one, not even mother or wife, had seen the Earl that enraged as he had been during the arrest of the accused. Charles could not fault His Lordship for that; he himself had only held on by a thread of his self-control to not throttle the bastard and watch him die slowly.
"My dear fellow, I can understand your hesitation …"
And for the first time in his career he forgot one of the most important rules; he interrupted His Lordship. "I'm not hesitating, M'Lord," (thank God, he hadn't lost all respect), "but I wonder if it were possible to give Mrs Hughes and me a few moments alone to talk about this … so that it is less of a forced marriage, adding to her … trauma." It was the most delicate term he could come up with.
Lord Grantham looked taken aback and rather appalled, but more at his own actions than Charles' request. "Of course," he spluttered and moved towards the sofa. Leaning down a little he addressed Elsie in a soft voice. "My wife and I will go through into the library. We will be close by, but won't interfere unless it seems necessary …" Charles looked highly affronted by Lord Grantham's words. What did he take him for? He would sooner cut of his right arm then bring harm to Elsie! "… only to give you a feeling of safety," Lord Grantham reassured gently, casting a glance at Charles to let him know that it was not personal. Charles nodded curtly; he now appreciated His Lordship's thoughtfulness. Of course, he would never intentionally scare Elsie, but he had to admit that unintentionally he might very well frighten her … especially lately.
As the two aristocrats left the room to afford their servants some privacy, Charles felt the tension in his shoulders dissipate somewhat. Elsie's head was bowed and her hands lay knotted in her lap; she refused to look up, meet his gaze … or she felt she couldn't anymore, wasn't worth it any longer. He wasn't sure what it was. He needed something to do with himself. Right now he felt like a big, looming scary thing and he loathed that feeling. Up till recently they had always been able to talk freely about almost everything. How he longed to go back to that easy camaraderie! But he wasn't foolish enough to believe it would happen without some ground-breaking changes, some softly whispered promises and gentle touch of healing power. They had to rebuild it together. Maybe if he threw her a line …
"Would you like some tea, Mrs Hughes?" he asked her gently, not raising his voice over what was necessary for her to hear him. 'Don't scare her off,' he thought almost desperately, repeating it like a prayer over and over. 'If you mess this up, you will lose her forever.'
A barely recognizable nod of her head showed him that she had accepted his invitation. He hoped she, too, remembered late nights of relaxing in each other's company over a cup of steaming tea. Gratefully he moved to the little side table where he personally had laid out the tea service before this whole damnable conversation started. Carefully he poured her cup of tea and added just enough sugar to sweeten it a little bit before adding a drop of milk as well. For a moment he was lost in his own thoughts – insecurities, doubts – as he watched the milk lazily form clouds in the clearer, darker liquid of the tea. It was rather nice to watch. The dark but see-through tea representing his life – easy to read, predict – while the white, heavier milk danced through it – like his Elsie … lighting up his life with her ethereal, mysterious beauty. Then her quiet voice broke through his contemplations.
"I can understand your refusal, Charles," she said softly, her voice hesitant and hitching over his name, the fight gone from her soft Scottish lilt. "It must be appalling to marry me now …"
Charles turned around in complete disbelief. "The thought of marrying you was never appalling to me … the opposite, if I may be so frank. I always thought heaven would await me in your arms …" It was out before he had time to think. He closed his eyes and waited for the slap he was sure would come. She had had to endure so much from men lately and here he was adding insult to injury. Secretly he wished that she would slap him, lash out in any way she choose or needed to regain her dignity, honour, self-respect … but she had lost her fire somehow. Nowadays she retreated into herself and tried to become invisible. It was painful to see for everybody who knew her. Her maids worked diligently and behaved exceedingly polite and obedient. Gwen had only once, early on, broken a cup of the tea service and exclaimed loudly. Upon seeing Elsie's wide eyes of panic, she had hurried to apologize. Later Charles had overheard her tell Anna that it had been scarier than to have the famous Scottish Dragon breathe fire at you for breaking the expensive property of the family. It was proof how much her maids loved and respected her despite her strictness. They swarmed around her like a hive of bees. Charles had distinctly heard Miss O'Brien snarl at Thomas to be more considerate towards Mrs Hughes and not be such a prick. And Anna had helped dear William with a special tea tray for Mrs Hughes with her favourite Scottish Shortbread. But it was not the same without her quick temper, easy smile, and kind words. All of downstairs seemed to have lost their mother …
"You can't mean that," Elsie's voice sounded as disbelieving as his had before.
Charles dared to cautiously open his eyes again. Elsie still hadn't gotten up from the sofa. Her own eyes were still fixed on her hands in her lap, but now a frown creased her forehead. Hesitantly Charles moved closer to her, always ready to back up again should she show signs of being uncomfortable. She seemed so small and vulnerable.
"Elsie, please believe me," he pleaded softly, then added in jest to lighten the mood, "I never could lie to you."
It seemed to work for there was a tiny answering smile appearing on her lips. "True enough," she conceded softly. Then she fell silent again. After a few moments of the most comfortable silence they had shared of late, she spoke again, "But this is wholly different, Charles. We are talking about … well, about the rest of our lives. Please, don't ruin your golden years out of a sense of obligation due to our friendship or out of pity. I couldn't bear the thought." Finally she looked up at him and there was such a sad expression in her eyes that Charles threw caution to the winds and took the plunge.
Moving to stand in front of her, his large hands enclosed hers and slowly drew her up to stand as well. "Elsie Hughes, I don't remember a time when I haven't been in love with you or waited patiently to appear in my life. My only regret is that I haven't asked you to marry me years ago. Before you say anything, hear me out. I love you, Elsie. I want to marry you, give you my name … protect you … take care of you …"
"Despite …?" Elsie interrupted meekly.
Charles placed his finger gently over her lips, silencing her mid-sentence. "Yes, despite. This is what I can offer you: my name and my honour. I would never pressure you into anything, never force you to do anything you weren't comfortable with. This is your decision and I will accept it. All I want is to take care of you and your child … if you will allow me."
And with that Charles placed one of his large hands gently on her abdomen, over the tiny swelling hidden under her corset. Elsie's eyes filled with tears, but for the first time in weeks those weren't tears of pain and sorrow. They were tears of relief. She was still worthy of his love, he had said so, and he had finally admitted to loving her despite this horrible nightmare. It had been designed to tear them apart, but in the end it had brought them still closer together. Her smaller hand covered his and she looked up into his eyes, locking her gaze with his.
"Yes … be patient with me, but yes."
Next chapters will be flashbacks and all the questions as to timeframe, what happened and so on will be answered. Please review if you were pleased.
