A/N: Season 6 ep 4 spoilers. Basically an attempt to fix a grievous wrong
Mrs Carson. Mrs Elsie Carson. She revels in the way it sounds on her tongue. The strange weight of the prefix that somehow she never felt when she was Mrs Hughes, even though there was prestige in the title. It is different now.
The way he says her name, the way he rumbles through it is thrilling too.
The fact that everyone else seems to be having trouble with wrapping their tongues about it is a source of amusement for them both, at first at least.
A walk along the beach at Scarborough one morning leads to a conversation about their shared memories of the day, and she joking makes reference to the fact that nearly everyone has stumbled when addressing her and wonders if that will continue when they return. He hopes they will, he likes calling her Mrs Carson and he knows she likes hearing it. He does suggest, half joking himself, that if it does prove too much of an effort for the collective memory of the household, perhaps they should keep to the old forms of address.
She agrees, not believing the sacrifice will be needed, and if it is, she'll still be Mrs Carson in her heart and in private.
A week after their return and they have retired to their cottage for the night. It is still a little sparse, but they have time to set it up to suit them.
They go instantly to their bedroom, too tired to indulge in a cup of tea, and it is only when they have changed into their nightclothes and he sees her sitting ramrod straight, even without the corset, at her dressing table, that he senses something might be wrong.
'Mrs Hughes?'
She tenses, and then her entire body sags as she lets out a sob.
'Don't call me that Charles! It's not who I am, and I'm sick of pretending to like the fact that no one seems to be able to properly accept our marriage.'
Before he can move to comfort her, she has risen and crossed the room to him, wanting to feel his arms about her as she finally tells him exactly how she feels.
'I agreed to your suggestion because I never thought it would be needed. But they were all SO relieved. Even Mrs Patmore! I am your wife, body and soul, and I will be until the day I die – and probably even after.'
She has spoken all of this to his chest, but now raises her head to look into his eyes. Those dark eyes which seem to be reflecting only love and understanding back at her.
'I love you', she says, rising upwards to kiss him, 'and I'm your wife. I want that recognised.'
'Absolutely' he says, kissing her deeply. 'We'll discuss how to go about it tomorrow.'
Strangely, though, it is Mr Molesley who gives them the opening they need by calling her Mrs Carson when he asks her to pass the butter at breakfast the next morning. Her look of surprise is nothing compared to the faces of the rest of the table.
'What?' Mr Molesley says, blinking in astonishment at the attention he has garnered. 'I know it's been strange for us to remember, but have you not all noticed the sadness in Mrs Carson's eyes when anyone calls her Mrs Hughes? I just thought it was time we all got used to it.'
For once, Mr Molesley does not say too much, and the quiet smile both the Carsons send him is proof enough that he is correct. No comment is made, but she is addressed as Mrs Carson for the rest of the meal.
Anna – Mrs Bates – stops her as she is about to enter her sitting room. 'I'll have a word with Lady Mary, Mrs Carson. If she uses your new name at breakfast once or twice, it's bound to have an effect.'
True to form, Lady Mary asks her butler how his wife – Mrs Carson – is doing that morning, and within a week the entire household finds that Mrs Carson trips off their tongues just as easily as it does for the Carsons themselves.
It is only a name after all, and what's in a name? Only the Carsons know the answer to that: everything.
A/N: Product of a 3am thought that Mr Molseley seems to be saving the day quite a bit at the moment. I cannot begin to describe how angry everyone's relief at not having to remember a new name made me last night. I'm hoping for a u turn come next episode.