AN. I would like to thank all those who showed their interest and kindly reviewed or sent messages of encouragement to continue. As a result, An Impossible Situation, becomes an on-going story of several chapters.

An Impossible Situation Continues.

I do not think I have ever in my life experienced such fear and helplessness as I have in these recent dreadful days. The depths of my stupidity have tormented me day and night and worse I have been living in complete terror of my shame being exposed to the entire world. It is bad enough that unwillingly yet through outright necessity my utter helplessness forced me to involve my maid Anna, and my dear Mama in this dreadful mess. Consequently, it fully exposed the pair of them to the complete knowledge of my shameful, grubby exploit, and complicit in removing the evidence of my disgrace and thereby forced to carry the burden of this scandal of mine for the rest of their lives.

What a fool I have been. Though I would like to blame someone other than myself, I cannot. I must accept the consequences of my recklessness and deal with it.

Goodness knows what I was thinking. Heady with the attention I suppose from the exotic attaché from the Turkish embassy, Kamal Pamuk; my rather full of himself cousin, Matthew Crawley, and the honourable Evelyn Napier, son and heir to Viscount Branksome. I felt as though I were the honey pot and they the bees. Edith was positively writhing with envy at the attention I was receiving that evening from these handsome men, her expression sour, as though she were alternately chewing wasps or sucking lemons. I was enjoying myself immensely. However, Pamuk stole my full attention. He was undeniably handsome, though a little too fleshy-lipped and wide of mouth that possessed far too many teeth that was natural; he had the darkest of eyes and a mane of hair that was just shy of rakish. Though he was foreign, he neither looked nor sounded it, though his cologne could not completely disguise his fondness of garlic. He was bold and exciting and though his etiquette and manners were impeccable, I was soon to discover when alone with him that it was in fact a very thin veneer.

He possessed a passionate, arrogant confidence in himself that made him quite refreshingly daring. He was irresistibly captivating and exciting and it did not seem that any woman in the household was not completely unaffected by him. Yes, I did flirt with him, I am used to flirting with gentlemen, and I suppose I was showing off that it was I who had the sole attention of this dashing, romantic-looking, dark hero. I took it for granted I would be safe. That the entrenched custom of courteous polite manners would protect me when alone with Pamuk. How wrong I was.

At the time, it seemed reckless and exciting, wild even. With him bursting into my bedchamber late that night - I have still to discover how he knew which was my room - I was outraged at his audacity. Nevertheless, his daring soon thrilled my rebellious nature and I rapidly succumbed to his well-practised seduction techniques. With him wearing nothing other than a silk robe, he was soon kissing me in a way I have never been kissed before and - bizarrely, all I could think of was...Carson. I wanted to experience what I wanted from Carson - through Pamuk. I knew Carson's rigid sense of loyal duty was such he would rather fling himself off the roof of Downtown, than touch me in that way, let alone kiss me. I know he is very fond of me, he even admitted only a day or so ago that I was his favourite, yet I cannot envisage Carson ever having any physical desiresfor me as I have for him. The thought would not even enter his mind, nor would he let it. A butler, at least thirty years my senior, and I, the daughter to Lord and Lady Grantham. It would be utterly unthinkable to him. But the self-awareness of my body and sexuality having been unknowingly woken by Carson, was becoming more frustrating and urgent each day in my struggle to deny it. The reaction of my body when I was finally driven by an unrestrained need, led me to self-exploration and its overwhelmingly powerful conclusion resulted in making matters far worse, rather than better.

I am young, ripe, ready for the taking, and yet the man I desire and need, rules of society dictate I cannot have. It was little wonder I quickly succumbed to the dark-eyed, handsome Pamuk: my substitute Carson. But I was foolish. Foolish to think Pamuk could be Carson. The two men were completely different. Carson would not have thrown me to my bed and just simply sought his own pleasure. And it was his own pleasure - I think. Laying atop me as I struggled and tried to enjoy, tangled as I was in my long nightgown, he panted and slathered over me like an enthusiastic Isis for a matter of seconds. As he unfastened his robe and assuring me my virginity would remain intact for my future husband, he frantically rubbed a curiously hot and hard part of himself against me a few times before he cried out, his face contorting in pain, as a warm wetness suddenly spread upon my nightgown over my abdomen, and then he collapsed upon me.

At first I was shocked, confused and then became increasingly annoyed and disappointed. Was that it? I felt cheated, disillusioned and knew intuitively that there should have been more. My annoyance quickly evolved into anger as his heavy body lay still upon me, a dead weight. Then to my horror I quickly realised that is exactly what he was. Dead.

Thoughtless acts more often than not end in either tears or complete disaster, mine ended in both and the worst of it is it may never be over. The consequences of my irresponsibility will hang over me forever and could, were the scandal ever leaked, quite simply ruin me. Immediately I would become the social outcast, a leper, the family name would be dragged through the mud, and I would figure in social gossip for months; the object of ridicule, the butt of viscous dirty jokes, my undoing, my downfall, my destruction. As for the servants, oh what a meal they would make of it and Carson. I closed my eyes and pressed my hand to my aching forehead. Carson. All he knew was that a dignitary had inexplicably died of natural causes. It was strange that a man so young and apparently healthy could be struck with a heart attack, but life is so precarious. That was all Carson and everybody else knew, and I prayed that was all he would ever know.

I looked out from my bedroom window, at the serenity and beauty of the grounds. The acres of carefully manicured lawns, the swathes of majestic woodland, and beyond that, though out of sight from the house, the farmland, worked by our tenant farmers. If my scandal were to be exposed all this would be irrevocably damaged beyond any hope of repair. My family and myself would be the laughing stock of all society. My chances of being married would be completely lost. The humiliation my parents would have to endure would be unbearable, particularly if my disgrace were made known to any of the newspapers. Whilst aristocracy would often close ranks when there was the slightest whiff of scandal, with a scandal of this magnitude I know I would be standing alone. This was not a silly secret affair exposed; it was a dirty little one-night escapade that resulted in death.

Suddenly there was a gentle rapping at the door, and dabbing at my eyes I turned and called to enter. In walked Carson, as always fresh and immaculately dressed in his black, long tailed coat, his waistcoat and wing-tipped shirt brilliantly white as was his tie, his fine pinstripe trousers were pressed to perfection, and his black leather shoes were polished to an almost mirror like shine. His black hair, cut short with its narrow straight parting, was slicked back, the macassar oil making it shiny and flat upon his head. Carson simply radiated a natural refinement and he walked toward me with his arm outstretched, holding out an envelope. He came to a halt before me; his long, broad face seriously set as it was most times, his eyes concerned. He could see I had been crying.

"A letter has just arrived for you My Lady." He announced in his strong deep voice. "Anna was going to bring it to you but she has been waylaid."

I smiled distractedly and took the envelope from him. I really did not want Carson to see me like this. It was bad enough he found me in Pamuks room the evening after the dreadful event. Then he gave words of encouragement, completely oblivious of my disgrace, announcing I had the support of not only himself but also the entire household staff. Poor man, he was under the impression I was not only crying over the death of Pamuk but the continuing injustice over the entail.

"Oh Carson," I sobbed and to my utter surprise and delight he stepped forward closing the space between us, his arms enfolding me to him and immediately I feel encased in a sense of calm.

"My Lady," he murmured gently, placating, "You are much too hard on yourself."

I sob again thinking how I am deceiving this good and decent man. If he were to know what a slut I was, would he be holding and comforting me now? I feel his arms imperceptibly tighten and despite of, or perhaps because of my confused and vulnerable state, I welcomed the move, rather than question it. In actuality he was overstepping the mark, but what did I care. At this moment in time he is not one of the house staff, the butler of Downton Abbey, he is Carson, a dear loyal friend I have known all my life. Despite feeling so wretched, I am conscious of that familiar awakening, a response to his holding me, a need not just emotionally, but physically also. I want him. What on earth is the matter with me? Isn't my life complicated enough as it is?

In an act of impulsiveness driven by answering that need I put my arms about his big body at his waist and pull myself even tighter to him as though wishing to dissolve into his stout frame. I could sense by his sudden frozen posture that he was as taken aback with surprise and uncertainty by my action, as I was by my boldness during the depths of my misery right now. But Carson I know is my salvation, my rescue. His integrity, honour and sincerity would cleanse me of my filth.

Though his hold on me remains just as tight, I feel his posture relax and he is no longer feeling awkward by my sudden move. The side of my face resting against his solid chest I feel the cool smoothness of his jacket against my cheek and breathe deeply. Carson, unfortunately smelling faintly of carbolic soap - but what choice does house-staff have but the basics in anything their meagre wages could afford. Besides Carson was not a vain man, not for him expensive fancy smelling colognes.

"Unfortunate as it was with this poor man passing away; the doctor said he had a heart attack. He obviously had some defect of the heart, a weakness, and it was going to happen sooner rather than later."

"I know but..." I mumbled into his jacket.

"Now, now." He interrupted, his hold on me remaining tight. "Stop punishing yourself over something that was inevitable. To put it somewhat crudely my lady, his time was up."

I frowned and relaxed my hold on him. I felt his arms relax a little but he did not let go and I leaned back a fraction so that I could look up into his face. This is the closest, physically, I have ever been to Carson for many, many years, certainly since I was a child, and for a moment I was overwhelmed by him and those heavy features in his kind face. I had not realised until now just how large his high bridged nose was, how deep-set his beetle-black eyes were nor how heavy and dominant his thick black eyebrows were, or the thin, serious almost grim line of his mouth. I felt a tenderness bloom inside me and once again, those physical yearnings starting to ache for him. Yearnings that I had wanted to explore, and resulted in my downfall.

"What do you mean?" I queried.

I could see that his concerned eyes lightened, those heavy brows lifting slightly, and the ghost of a smile played about his mouth, softening his normally somber features.

"I mean that whether he was here, or at the Turkish embassy, or even sitting in his bath, his heart was going to give up sooner rather than later," he replied gently in that deep, no nonsense baritone. "It was, however, inconvenient that it had to happen here," he added dryly.

I could not help but smile at that wry sense of humour he would occasionally reveal and was rewarded by a smile in return.

"That's better Milady. Neither you, nor anyone else could have possibly altered that poor gentleman's fate. Nature had decided his time had come."

I quickly buried my face into his jacket again fearful he might read the guilt in my eyes. I couldn't help wonder what he would say if I admitted to perhaps having sped up nature's course for Pamuk. I squeezed myself to him tightly again, my mind mulling over what he said when suddenly I felt the strength in his arms increase and for a few infinitesimal seconds I was certain I felt the pressure of his face against the top of my head; and then it was gone. I stopped breathing, my heart hammering wildly in my chest. Had Carson just kissed me?

All of a sudden there was a brief knock on the door before it was opened and I heard Anna's voice.

"My Lady, I...oh..."

"Ah Anna." Replied Carson in his clear deep voice. I felt his arms slowly release me and he stepped back unhurriedly. "It's just as well you're here. Lady Mary as you can see is rather upset. Though I can provide the shoulder, I lack the delicacy. I think you are more qualified dealing with these sensitive matters."

"Yes Mr Carson."

I looked up at Carson and though his smile was both warm and gentle as he looked down at me, there was something in his eyes, but there so briefly, and just like the kiss, I thought I had imagined it. There was such an intensity, a smouldering heat that it shocked me. But as quickly as I saw it, it was gone. With his chin raised proudly, he once more was the poised and professionally strict and efficient Mr Carson, butler of Downton Abbey.

With a graceful inclination of his head, he excused himself and left the room, closing the door quietly behind himself.

"Mr Carson. He really is a big softie."chuckled Anna fondly.

I stared at the closed door, my heart pounding whilst experiencing for the first time in days an emotion far stronger than despair.

"Quite frankly Anna, I really do not know what I'd do without him." I murmured, more to myself than as a reply to my maid.