A/N This story is for olehistorian. Chapter 11 of her February Chelsie Challenge, "Prepared," really got me thinking. In it, Charles at first thinks he might be ill, but he soon realizes he's not physically sick, just lovesick, and the only cure is Elsie. I mentioned to olehistorian that I found the comparison between actual sickness and lovesickness very compelling. She kindly agreed to allow me to expand on her idea. This is the first chapter, with two or three more to follow. I have good portions of those chapters written, but they still need some work. I can't promise when they'll be ready to post, but I hope it will be no more than a few days.

Special thanks to evitamockingbird, whose advice on this story proved invaluable. Her suggestions have made and will make this story far better than it would have been without her help. Also, Chapter 23 of her Carson and Hughes, from A to Z, "Work," in which Charles receives a letter from a butler-friend of his that describes how his housekeeper is not nearly as compassionate as Elsie, made me think that not every housekeeper just waltzed so easily into and out of her butler's sickroom. That's something unique to the Chelsie dynamic. The following chapter is my take on the first time Elsie cares for Charles when he's ill. Future chapters will entail Charles's coming to the realization that he's in love with Elsie.

January, 1905

Charles Carson lay ill in bed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been confined to his room: it had been several years, at least. Dr. Clarkson had examined him just that morning and assured him it was only a nasty cold, but the good doctor had also admonished him to rest and to take care of himself, lest it develop into something far worse.

Currently, Charles was waiting for one of the footmen to bring him his dinner. He was therefore surprised when instead, the newly promoted housekeeper arrived to deliver his meal.

"Mrs. Hughes!" he exclaimed upon seeing her, and he sat up, pulling his bedsheets and blankets up to his chin. "You shouldn't be here! This is highly irregular! Surely, a footman … Why, old Mrs. Davies never – "

"I am well aware that my predecessor never set foot in the men's corridor, Mr. Carson, and while a footman might be more appropriate to attend to you, I do not believe that any of those lads possess the necessary wisdom, experience, or common sense to take care of you as I will," she stated firmly as she set the tray on the nightstand next to his bed.

"But … But … " Charles was too shocked to form any sensible objection.

"You don't feel feverish," she remarked, touching her hand briefly to his forehead. "That's a good sign." Taking from the tray a small vial and a spoon, Mrs. Hughes poured out the proper amount of elixir and held the spoon out to him. "Now, open, please," she instructed.

Still reeling from disbelief at her boldness, he couldn't even think to object. Lowering his sheets and blankets just a bit, he obediently opened his mouth, and she gently inserted the spoon. He closed his lips around it, and she removed the spoon. As he swallowed, his face contorted.

"That is positively revolting!" complained Charles. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? If I weren't already sick, that … medicine would make me ill!"

"I can see you're going to be a difficult patient," observed Mrs. Hughes, handing him a glass of water, which he accepted gratefully and drank immediately. She took the tray from his night table and arranged it on his lap. "Mrs. Patmore has sent you some beef stew and bread. It's very good, as always. I'd suggest you eat well; it will help you recover your strength. Now, I must be going, but before I leave, is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?" As she said this, she adjusted his pillows and bedclothes slightly, and her forwardness and proximity made him most decidedly uncomfortable. Mrs. Davies had never so much as peered into his door to check on him when he was ill, and now this presumptuous woman was touching his bed linens! While he was lying in them! He wasn't sure whether he should be affronted or appreciative, but he was undoubtedly embarrassed.

"Erm, no. I'm quite fine," he managed to utter.

"Well, then. I'll let you get some rest now and come back to check on you later." And with that, she departed, leaving a disconcerted butler in her wake.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

While he ate, Charles pondered what had happened.

Since he'd entered into service, the few times he'd been truly ill and restricted to his room, it had always been a footman or hall boy who had attended to him, bringing him what he'd needed and taking away what he hadn't. And those lads had never lingered or done anything beyond the delivery and removal of items and the transmission of messages. But now, a woman – a woman! – had come into his bedroom and had seen him in his pajamas – in his bed! She'd touched him and rearranged his bedclothes around him. She'd given him his medicine. No one had done anything like that for him since he was a young boy, when his mother fussed over him. He couldn't help but be unsettled by the intimate nature of it all.

Soon enough, however, Charles's good sense returned, and he realized that Mrs. Hughes was doing him a great kindness. She had plenty to do without having to look after him, and his absence downstairs left her with an even heavier burden. Yet here she was, making even more work for herself by seeing to him. She was also exposing herself to his illness, thus risking becoming infected herself. Regardless of the impropriety of it all, he knew that he should be thankful for that.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sometime later, Mrs. Hughes returned to collect the tray and to check on him.

"How are you feeling? Any better?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," he answered. "I believe you were correct: the stew and bread have done me some good."

"I'm pleased to hear that. You'll be up and about in no time." She rested her hand tentatively on the back of a nearby chair. "I've a little time before I must get back downstairs. I can keep you company for a few minutes if you'd like," she suggested.

Charles thought for a moment. "I'm … not sure that would be … entirely proper," he said hesitantly.

"Of course," replied Mrs. Hughes. "I understand. I've no desire to impose – or to make you uncomfortable. I'll just be on my way."

He noticed a faint look of hurt in her eyes. It touched him unexpectedly, and he sought to remedy his offense. As questionable as it might be for her just to sit and visit with him in his bedroom, her offer was a kind one, and he would enjoy her company. "But I suppose you might tell me about what's been going on in the house," he offered in conciliation. "I'm afraid I'm rather in the dark."

She smiled, pulled the chair close to his bed, and sat down in it. For the next five minutes, they spoke of household business. For an hour after that, they chatted about anything and everything, both inconsequential subjects and matters of great importance. He found her to be quite a pleasant companion; his initial discomfort eased considerably, and he was pleased to note that her presence no longer agitated him but soothed him instead.

When the time grew late, Mrs. Hughes rose from the chair, returned it to its place, and retrieved the dinner tray and used dishes. "Well, Mr. Carson, I'd best be on my way. Is there anything else I can get for you? A book perhaps? Some more water?"

"No, thank you. I've got a newspaper to read, and my pitcher is nearly full. I think I'm settled for the evening."

"Very well. I'll say good night, then." With a smile and a nod, she turned and headed for the door.

"Just a moment, Mrs. Hughes," he called to her.

She stopped and spun around to face him. "Yes, Mr. Carson? Is there something you need?"

"I … I want to thank you. I do appreciate everything you've been doing for me, and in future, I'll try to be more agreeable. I'm sorry I've been so gruff; I must seem terribly ungrateful." He paused before looking down, ashamed, and explaining quietly, "Only … I'm not accustomed to having someone care for me in this way."

"That's quite all right, Mr. Carson," she told him with a warm smile. "But you must grow accustomed to being cared for, because I don't intend to leave you to manage on your own. And you're most welcome. I hope you'll be well again soon."

"Thank you. As a matter of fact, I'm feeling quite a bit better already."

A/N Please review if you can spare a few moments. I would like that very much.