I don't own Downton Abbey, nor would I lay any claim to it. [insert standard 'don't sue me, it's only fanfic' message here]
It's been a right while since I've turned out anything resembling a new story, instead, I keep regurgitating Elspeth's till everyone's sick to death of the coffee shop AU. Anyway, I thought I'd start something new and different, completely AU and speculative, but with elements of our normal Downton universe as well. Just think of it as my brain going mad on a hamster wheel of doom.
A Moment of Indulgence
by ScintillatingTart
I:
There was nothing to be done for it; the young Lord Robert needed a valet and thus, Charles Carson was pulled from his post as under butler and dressed to look a fool instead. He was irritated that Lady Grantham had been so pointed as to insist on their lovely nature of companionship and easy demeanor as a virtue in the line of work, and instead prayed that it would be over soon as the young master had found a bride and married.
Of course, that had been over a year ago, and nothing had changed. Lord Robert was digging his heels in, flirting with every pretty woman, pretending he didn't have the missive of money hovering over him night and day. Nearly every eligible woman of wealth had already turned down his impeccable pedigree with a gentle rebuke of, "Downton Abbey is so draughty." They were not fools, nor were they to be suffered as such.
It had been suggested that, if the Season did not produce a worthwhile match, Lord Robert should be sent to the wilds of the United States of America in order to secure 'new money'. Charles was not looking forward to that journey, any more than he cared to spend so much time rushing up and back over London.
He was tired of the endless, relentless money hunting, the games and the primping with purpose. He was tainted by association –
And he was tired of it. Everything. He was tired of everything. It had been entirely too long since he'd had a lick of freedom – not that singing and dancing on the stage was particularly pleasing to him. But a chance to breathe the air and be one's own man… it had been far too long since he'd been Lord Grantham's creature.
He wanted the love of a woman – good or otherwise. He did not care for prostitutes, the lifestyle, the way they did not care for themselves between men in many cases, and he did not care to service his own needs, except in the direst of circumstances. The vicar's beady eyes made him feel such shame whenever he did, so he refrained.
There had been two women in his life – Alice, a fellow performer, and Lily, a soft-spoken housemaid who had died from pneumonia several years before. Alice had been a right mistake, and he and Lily had made plans to leave service when the time was right, going off to work in a factory and make a family together.
She had been a dear woman, his dark-haired Lily, with her grey eyes and her easy smile. But he kept her hidden away in a small box beneath his bed, their meager courtship nothing more than a painful memory now.
Charles finished airing Lord Robert's waistcoat – it had been suffused with acrid smoke and whiskey from last evening's gathering – and readied it for dinner. They were having a small party to dine, including the young Lady Ida Westbrooke, daughter of Viscount Traille, who it was rumored had nearly 80,000 a year in income from her father's estate – it was not entailed, as Traille had only sired the one daughter and the end of the line was at hand.
But he wasn't meant to speculate on such things. Visitors meant visiting servants, and it was said that Lady Westbrooke's maid was a fair, spritely sort of a woman. He would be entertained, at the least, if she was not as vulgar as many indiscreet lady's maids were.
Lord Robert breezed into his dressing room and said, "Carson, we must be sure to impress tonight – Mama is of a mind to ask Lady Westbrooke to stay, assuming she is willing. I must absolutely give her no reason to doubt my voracity or interest."
"Yes, m'lord," Charles said gravely. "You will be cut and polished as a diamond."
Elsie Hughes smiled and touched up her mistress's hair. "Now, Ida, love, you mustn't encourage Lord Grantham straight out," she said softly. "No matter your Da and his parents have seen fit to throw you two together as a good match."
Ida flipped out her fan and fluttered it with a frown on her lips. "Aunt Elsie, must men only see money when they look at me?" she sighed in dismay. "Just once, I'd like a kind man to just smile at me for being lovely and kind, rather than expecting me to turn out my pockets to please them. There is more to life than just money, you know. So much more."
"Aye, I know," Elsie agreed with a small smile. "Although I've never known a day where money could not purchase everything my life is lacking."
Ida giggled and said, "Really? How shocking – would it purchase the services of a man to… treat you kindly?"
Elsie rolled her eyes and tucked away the last of the hairpins in her niece's hair. "You are incorrigible," she scolded. She had been Ida's maid since the young woman had been little more than a babe in the nursery; as her mother's illegitimate sister by way of Lord Allenby, she must be dealt with somehow, and as a maid was certainly the easiest – or so it was thought. Elsie, for her part, loved and indulged Ida as she would her own child, had she been fortunate enough to have such a thing, and she wanted nothing but the best for her charge. "I have no need of a man sniffing about my skirts; he might not like what's beneath them," she declared roughly. "And, as for you…"
"There is nothing beneath my skirts of any worth, aside from my legs," Ida commented dryly. "And the illusive virtue everyone warns of. I shan't even think of giving that away – even as my legs are quite capable of carrying me in the other direction."
"Very good, but you must be respectable about it and completely above reproach," Elsie warned gently. "Else your father sack me for my rogue ideas."
"He can't sack you," Ida huffed. "I pay you, not he. You are my dearest auntie, and I do so love you – he will do nothing of the kind. Sack you indeed. I never."
It warmed the cockles of Elsie's heart to hear those words; she'd had several proposals (two from the same gentleman farmer) of marriage, and she had denied them all, preferring to do her diligent duty to the young woman she had all but raised when her sister had died. All the years of wondering 'what if' melted away, and she merely smiled indulgently at her niece. "Say what you will, love, but your father will have something to say if you are anything but a properly behaved young lady."
Ida huffed. "He just wants me to marry and carry a grandson to term as quickly as possible to secure the dynasty," she muttered. "He doesn't much care who to; hence why I'm here. Anyone seeking a good fortune must be in want of a wife – as much as any young man of considerable fortune. It is a horrific double standard that Jane Austen would laugh in the face of."
"You are no Austen heroine," Elsie warned her, "and you'll not serve yourself well by harboring these dangerous romantic delusions of yours. When the time comes, a man of good standing will propose marriage and you will accept him. It is the way of your world."
"And what of yours?" Ida asked as Elsie finished clasping her necklace. The girl with her platinum blonde curls and her cherub-like face whirled around and peered at Elsie expectantly. "When I am married, you will not wish to come with me – you must, as such, find yourself a husband and settle down."
"I'm very much afraid, love, that my days of being attractive to any man of good standing are long finished," Elsie said with a sad smile, remembering how it had hurt to be forced to attend Joe Burns's wedding when he had so earnestly sought her hand only months before. "I am far too old to think of changing my ways now."
"Oh, but Aunt Elsie – you've not had very much happiness in your life," Ida said softly. "I would give up most anything in order for you to be happy even for a moment – so, if you ever find a gentleman who will make you happy, merely say the word and I will support you in any way I may… even if it is only releasing you from service and giving you enough money to make a start. You would be a darling mother and I should love it ever so much if you could be one!"
"You are quite ridiculous, and I believe a bit mad," Elsie said with a sigh, "but no one could ever accuse you of a lack of affection."
Ida rolled her eyes and huffed. "I suppose we must leave or we shall be quite late for dinner at Downton Abbey," she commented dryly. "I loathe that you must suffer downstairs with the servants, when I wish you could see as I do the lack of depth upstairs."
"Be careful – people will accuse you of harboring dangerous ideas," Elsie murmured, settling a light fur stole around Ida's shoulders. "The bags are loaded in the coach, in case you are invited to stay longer. I will remain in the coach until the invitation is given, then I will assist in unloading."
"Do you really think the invitation will not be extended? That Lord Grantham would shun me?"
"That depends on if you shoot off your mouth," Elsie warned. "Your father has already blessed a union between you and Lord Robert, should it come to that, so you must at least try."
"Fine, but I shan't like him," Ida said. "He will only care for me because I have money enough to save his estates – he flirts with anything in a skirt. I should not care for a man like that."
Elsie followed her charge down to the carriage, donning her gloves and cloak as they went. When they were settled and on their way at last, she said, "You are not required to care for your husband. You will marry him, allow him access to your body for sexual relations, bear him children – hopefully strong sons – and that will be that. Love does not signify."
"I will only marry for great passion," Ida vowed petulantly. In many ways, she was still a child, and Elsie blamed herself for not ruling her with a firmer hand. But the girl was bright, clever, well-read and it was all she could do to keep her from jumping off the roof of the manor to test her own theories of gravity. She could not wait until Ida was married and settled into respectable mantronage.
Then maybe, just maybe, Elsie could worry about her own life for a moment.
"Carson, do you believe in love at first sight?" Lord Robert inquired. "I merely ask because I was quite struck dumb by Lady Ida's fair beauty this evening – and such a shapely figure. I wonder if her thighs are as shapely as –"
"M'lord, such a question would be better left unsaid," Charles warned darkly.
"Well, anyway, she has such sparkling eyes and such pale hair – like spun silken gold," Lord Robert waxed poetic as Charles helped him into his pajamas. "I am quite in love with her. Now, she has opinions – quite strong ones – which we will have to nip in the bud before she starts a war with Mama, but I can see her happily ensconced at the Abbey with our bevy of flaxen haired children…"
"My lord," Charles said, "the young lady may not see your suit with similar equanimity."
"Of course she will – I will offer her a grander title than she will inherit, and I will give her the gift of life here…"
"And if such enticements aren't enough?" Charles had seen the dazzling young woman for himself, and had heard every word Lord Robert had reported from the dinner table. Lady Westbrooke was a firebrand, full of dangerous ideas and beauty to go with them. In the same room with Lady Grantham, it was likely to be a combustible situation.
"She will, of course, see things my way," Robert said cheerfully.
"My lord, I would prepare yourself to be rebuffed –"
"Oh, no, my beautiful Lady Westbrooke would never turn me down," Lord Robert laughed.
Charles was far less certain of such a thing. The girl would throw his young master aside, and no joke – the only question was how quickly the inevitable would occur.
Elsie was given a very junior seat next to a very intimidating man who she was told was Lord Robert Crawley's valet. She glanced at him, taking in his stony demeanor, and then looked back at her plate. It was always the same when she ate with the other servants away from home; they looked on her as an object of foreign design and alien ways, and mayhaps they were correct in that assumption. At Innsbroke House, she ranked nearly as high as the housekeeper, who she was great friends with. Here, everyone treated her with suspicion and contempt.
The butler blessed the food and everyone was served a hearty helping of beef shank and boiled potatoes. Elsie ate quickly and efficiently, knowing the moment she was free, she must flee to the room she must share with the most junior housemaid, and rest. There would be much to do in the morning, including ferrying letters to post to Innsbroke House.
The man beside her cleared his throat, and she looked at him, confused. "Pardon?" she murmured.
"I merely asked if the dinner is sufficiently tasty for you, Miss Westbrooke, as you seem to be swallowing it whole," he said, not entirely unkindly.
Elsie set down her fork and bit her lip. "I apologize – it's only, I've so much to do yet before bed," she said softly.
He smiled a little, the dark demeanor leaving his face for a moment. "I understand your pain if anyone does," he confessed. "I am Mr. Carson."
"Elsie Hughes," she introduced herself, then proceeded to tuck back into her food with no more comment.
He was trouble – with a capital T and underscores to prove the point. But she could not help looking shyly at him whenever she could sneak a glance unnoticed. He was tall, broad, and intimidating – but in the way of a man who knew what he was about and would posture until you believed it, as well.
But his voice had done something strangely funny to her insides – she felt flushed and a bit light-headed, just from speaking to him. How was that possible? Or was she more wrought from the journey than she'd anticipated? Perhaps she was coming down with something – yes, that must be it. She was falling ill, she must be.
When dinner was over, she excused herself quickly and retreated to the attics. Ida had decided to undress herself at the evening's end, so Elsie could get some sleep, and she was most grateful for the small kindness.
What she wasn't at all grateful for was waking up in the dead of night in a hot sweat, her hand between her legs. She couldn't recall what she'd been dreaming – aside from that voice in her head, ringing in her ears, pleasure coursing through her body as she awakened to her own sinful touch.
Dear lord, someone was going to think she was anything less than a respectable thirty-two year old woman with no prospects beyond a life of service to Lady Westbrooke! She got up and washed her hands in the basin with shame as she inwardly warred with her desires.
She was not an object of lust and nor ever would she be. She would control herself, and she would not be anything more than the spinster bastard aunt who acted as a lady's maid.
She was worth no more than that distinction.