AN/ If this is reminiscent of any already existing stories, I apologize, but there are only so many ways to make the whole "cooking fiasco" palatable and vaguely in character. Here is my version…

Elsie felt a twinge of shame as Charles stumbled entering the bedroom. His eyelids were heavy and he looked as though he might have dozed off again while washing his teeth. He was clearly exhausted. She wondered, not for the first time, if she'd done the right thing by going along with Mrs. Patmore's plan.

Well, it is too late now, lass. What's done is done, Elsie told herself. But the lesson was over. There was no need to let him suffer further. Already dressed for bed, Elsie moved to help her husband.

"Here, love, sit on the bed and let me help," she urged gently. She stood before him and began to unbutton his waistcoat. Charles removed his tie and set it on the bed beside him.

"But your wrist," he protested weakly when she pushed the coat from his shoulders.

"I can manage," she assured him with a guilty frown which she hid when she turned to hang the garment. "Your clothes don't weigh as much as pots and pans."

When Elsie turned back, she found Charles wrestling with his braces which he'd somehow twisted in his sleepy state. She untangled the unruly contraption and removed his shirtsleeves while Charles unbuttoned his trousers. Elsie removed his shoes and socks and turned down the bed when Charles stood to remove his trousers. Too fatigued to bother with the formality of pajamas, Charles rolled under the covers as soon as he was down to his underclothes.

Elsie refolded his pants over the valet before crawling into bed after him, not bothering to walk round to 'her side' of the bed. Charles raised his eyebrows at this deviation from routine, but stopped short of protesting as she snuggled into his side.

"My compliments to the chef," Elsie teased.

"Hardly," Charles grumbled. "Tomorrow, please remind me to have a word with Mrs. Patmore."

"What about?"

"About what she's sending home for our dinner. Did she really expect you to cook a chicken from scratch after a full day's work?" Charles was indignant. "Next time-"

"Next time?" Elsie exclaimed in alarm, startling her sleepy husband.

"As I said," a bewildered Charles continued. "Next time, we'll request something simpler; more of a heat and serve dinner."

"Which I'm still expected to serve to your liking?" Elsie finally voiced the frustrations that had been building.

Charles was silent as he processed his wife's words and tone. "Do you not enjoy our dinners together?"

"I enjoyed tonight well enough," she admitted with a huff. "Burnt potatoes and all."

"Because you didn't have to prepare it?"

"As you said, 'After a full day's work'…" Elsie reminded him.

"What if we shared the work?" Charles offered.

"You mean that we should cook the meal together?"

"You would be the cook and could be your assistant."

"You'd hardly qualify as a kitchen maid, Charlie, let alone an assistant cook," she retorted.

"I may have set the vegetables aflame at the end, but until then, I wasn't doing so badly," Charles defended himself. "There were a lot of moving parts and I've done nothing more complicated than boiling a kettle in twenty years. I thought I took instruction rather well."

"You did," Elsie conceded. "But would you really want to repeat this experiment?"

"The point of eating dinner in our own home is to have time together; away from the house. If the price of that is a few burnt fingers and a bruised ego, I'm willing to pay it." Charles kissed the top of Elsie's head. "Surely there's room for us both in the kitchen. Or didn't you like ordering me about?"

"Now that you mention it…" Elsie was softening to the idea. Admittedly, it was nice to have him to herself of an evening. Maybe if he cooked the meal with her he wouldn't be so critical.

"So, what do you think, love?" Charles asked. "Between your raw lamp chops and my burnt potatoes, we just might manage it."

Charles Carson could not have chosen his words more poorly if he tried.

"That's it!" Elsie exploded. "If I hear one more word about those blasted chops…so help me…"

She sprung out of the bed and yanked the comforter with her. Unsure of her plan, Elsie stomped towards the door. The single bed in the spare room wasn't made up, but it would have to do.

"Elsie! Love, whatever is the matter?" Charles sat up and gawped at her in disbelief. Elsie gawped back in kind.

"Are you really so obtuse?"

Charles just shrugged. He knew better than to answer this rhetorical question.

"I wouldn't mind cooking for us so much if I felt as though you appreciated the effort, but all I've heard are criticisms. 'This plate is cold,' 'This knife is dull,' 'Don't we have any horseradish?'" She spat his words back at him.

"I put a perfectly serviceable meal on the table and all you do is judge," Elsie raged. "You nearly burn the house down and I only offer my thanks and compliments!"

"The potatoes only caught for a bit. I hardly think…"

"No! You don't, do you? You don't think how your words can hurt me," Elsie scolded. "It's hard enough learning to be a wife at my time in life, but to do so in the face of your nitpicking…"

"I'm sorry, love, truly," Charles soothed pleadingly. "It's a butler's job to be critical."

"But you aren't butler here, Charlie, you're my husband."

Charles stood up and approached her cautiously. "I have many more years of experience as butler than as husband." When he reached her, Elsie begrudgingly allowed him to fold her into his arms. The comforter was trapped between them. "Why haven't you said anything before now? If I step a toe out of line as butler, you never hesitate to set me straight."

"Are you blaming me?" She squirmed in his arms, but he held her fast.

"No, the fault is mine. I should have seen that I was being rude to you. I'm only surprised that you, who are usually so outspoken, would keep silent on something that bothers you so. I rely on your guidance; as a butler and as a husband."

"I couldn't mention it before now."

"Why not?"

"Because," she hesitated to admit her darkest fear to him. "I didn't want to know that I've haven't met your expectations of marriage. I couldn't bear hearing that I've been a disappointment to you as a wife."

"A diss… Oh, Elsie, being married to you has exceeded every expectation I ever had. And, believe me, that is saying something," Charles assured her. "The only way you can have fallen short as a wife is in your choice of husband."

"If that's how you feel, then why? Why have you been such an…"

"Ass?" Charles provided when she stopped just short. Elsie nodded. "It just comes naturally, I guess."

Elsie laughed a bit at his self-deprecation.

"When I was at Thrushcroft, the butler, Mr. Beet, saw something in me. He knew I had the right skillset and temperament to be a butler one day. He taught me that a great butler only needs two things; a critical eye and a steady hand." At least I'll always have the critical eye, Charles thought ruefully.

Pressed against him, Elsie didn't see the cloud of doubt that passed over his face.

"I'll have to work on leaving that critical eye at the Abbey, but you mustn't hesitate to put me in my place."

Elsie nodded against his chest. "I have a confession, Charlie."

"What's that?" His low voice rumbled soothingly.

"My wrist isn't hurt."

"I'm glad it's feeling better," Charles answered, wondering how this constituted a confession.

"No, you don't understand. It was never injured." She pushed back to look up into his questioning face. "It was a lie."

"It's not like you to tell an untruth, Elsie."

"No, but I did today."

"Was this all your own doing, or might a certain cook have had her finger in the pie, so to speak?"

"It was my decision," Elsie insisted. She would not throw the blame on to Mrs. Patmore.

Charles surprised her when he laughed. "Perhaps we should schedule a weekly meeting with Mrs. Patmore. We seem to need her help more often than not."

"As worried as I was about some 'wifely duties' before we married, I never thought to worry about the cooking." Elsie teased.

"If we had the choice between struggling in the kitchen or the bedroom, I'm glad things turned out this way," Charles leered playfully.

"It's good to know Mrs. Patmore is available to help us in either case," Elsie laughed.

"That's quite enough talk of Mrs. Patmore." Charles began to guide his wife back to their bed. The scales had fallen from Charles' eyes and a weight had been lifted off Elsie's shoulders. They nestled under the restored covers. Both of them were now wide awake and feeling amorous. Their hands and lips roamed adventurously.

"I'm glad that you aren't injured." Charles panted between kisses.

"Why is that?" Elsie wondered breathlessly.

"Perhaps tomorrow morning you can teach me how to make some breakfast while I'm doing the dishes."

Elsie laughed and kissed her man possessively in answer. "I can teach you an old Scottish trick," Elsie finally said seductively.

"What's that?"

"How to make an omelet without breaking an egg," she winked.

"I look forward to it, but I've had enough cooking lessons for tonight."

And that was the end of that conversation.

THE END

AN/ This was such a maddening storyline that I had to write a rebuttal of sorts. After many seasons of bringing Carson along and making him more human, they had to revert to these cro-magnon ways that are worse than he was in the first season?! Bah Humbug to that!

Sure, make him blissfully clueless, but don't make him downright rude. And don't make Elsie have to resort to shenanigans to 'teach him a lesson'. AHHHH! This is a storyline right out of a 50's sitcom. Please! We have come so far since then and, Mr. Fellowes, I believe you are better than that. **Rant over**