I got up this morning and this happened. I just had to find an outlet for all the feels.
She didn't see him again for the rest of the evening, which was good. It gave her the time to wipe the silly smile off her face, to stop the occasional mad giggle from escaping.
At dinner she forced herself to behave normally. She spoke to the other servants, happily recounted their viewing of the cottage to Anna and Mr. Bates. She didn't dare address the Butler to her left; was afraid that it would destroy her carefully crafted composure. That a conversation between them would expose her as the woman helplessly smitten with the man next to her that she was.
Mrs. Patmore retired early that night and Mrs. Hughes was grateful. For all the interruptions by the Cook lately, her friend had an uncanny intuition for when she'd better make herself scarce.
She sat in her parlour for an hour, waiting for him, before her patience ran out. Surely they'd have to discuss matters further if he wanted their 'joint business venture' to go ahead.
Elsie Hughes briefly checked the looking glass, rightening a strand of hair that had become loose during the evening, pinching her cheeks to get a rosy complexion. She stopped short of reapplying her lipstick – it wouldn't do to appear overly eager.
Her heart was pounding loudly in her chest when she knocked on his pantry door.
What she found inside was definitely not what she had expected.
The Butler sat at his desk, a brooding look on his face, a tumbler of Scotch held tightly in his right hand. Upon her entrance he tensed visibly.
"Is everything alright, Mr. Carson?" she asked hesitantly.
"I've been thinking, Mrs. Hughes," he began gravely and Mrs. Hughes felt her stomach clench. The Butler invited her to take a seat opposite his desk and she hated it. Absolutely hated the distance he was creating between them.
"I'm afraid I overstepped the boundaries today when I suggested our little business venture. I can see that I've made you uncomfortable. You probably had other plans for your retirement, a move to Scotland or closer to your sister. So I'd like to spare you the unpleasantness of having to decline my offer by retracting it. I don' even know what I was thinking," his voice was flat, emotionless. His eyes stayed trained on his left hand that rested on top of his desk.
Elsie Hughes couldn't help the snort of exasperation that escaped her. He had been the one to start this game of implications and subtext between them. She had merely played along. She still couldn't be exactly sure what it was he had suggested. She had an idea, was almost certain that he had proposed in his own, convoluted way – but he hadn't said the words.
This game had to end - once and for all.
She straightened her back and fixed him with a stern look. "Mr. Carson, do you love me?"
His eyes flew up and he looked at her in shock. "What?" he croaked.
"Do you love me? Because if you don't, then you're right, it were better if we forgot all about buying a cottage together." She held her breath as she continued to look at him, as she watched the myriad of emotions dancing across his face. She only hoped that he realized that the time for vagueness was over, that she needed a clear declaration now.
"I do," he answered softly, fighting to keep looking at her, to not avert his eyes.
She felt the sudden rush of tears, blinked a few times to dispel them. "Well, that settles it then. We'll buy a cottage together. There are a few available in the vicinity of the Abbey; I've already made inquiries. I'm sure we can find one that will appeal to both of us." She waited a few moments for him to react but when it became apparent that he was too shocked to respond, she smiled at him softly.
"I must say that this has been a very interesting and productive day, Mr. Carson. I think I'll say goodnight now," she exclaimed, getting up from her chair. Before she was able to leave his pantry though, he scrambled up from his chair as well.
"Mrs. Hughes, I believe you haven't yet told me what your intentions were. Surely it wouldn't make sense to buy a cottage if…," he began, bumbling, blustering. Frustration evident on his face about his disability to express himself.
"I love you too, Mr. Carson," she interrupted him – revelling in the elating feeling of finally being able to speak the words freely.
They stood opposite each other in silence for a few moments before the most dazzling smile she had ever seen broke out on the Butler's face.
"Maybe we could go and look at the cottages on our next halfday," he suggested softly. "We might even have time to share a cup of tea in the village."
"I'd like that, Mr. Carson," she replied just as softly, smiling gently at him.
"Goodnight, Mrs. Hughes," his voice was pure velvet.
"Goodnight, Mr. Carson," she smiled at him once more before turning around and leaving his pantry.
The words of her mother came to her mind, swirling around in her head as she allowed a stupendously happy smile to spread over her face. What a diff'rence a day makes indeed.
For the sake of historical accuracy I should point out that the song "What a diff'rence a day makes" wasn't published until 1934 but it fit too perfectly to not be used for this. I hope you liked it and if you did (even if you didn't), please leave a review!