AN: Um, hi! I'm coming out of lurkdom to post a wee fic(let). I've never shared any fanfiction before, so I'm slightly terrified. This takes place the morning after the final scene in 6x01. It's not much, but I wanted to contribute something to chelsiefan71's unofficial Downton Abbey season 7. I have so enjoyed everyone else's contributions!
Just before the first blush of sunrise, Mrs. Hughes stirs in her bed. For once, she doesn't notice the stiffness in her joints or the catch in her shoulder as she stretches. She brushes her lips with the pads of her fingers and smiles. Memories of the kisses she shared with Mr. Carson the night before make her feel quite warm in her chilly attic room. Yet not so warm or so safe as she'd felt in his arms, with his cheek pressed against her hair. The celebrations in the Servants' Hall meant that hidden away in Mr. Carson's pantry, they'd been blessedly uninterrupted. She knows that will not be the case for her this morning. Much too soon, the maid knocks at her door, and she must rise to begin her day.
For the first time in many weeks, she doesn't dread her time before the looking glass. This morning, she won't be tempted to examine every line, every wrinkle, silver hair. She's just wakened from the best night's sleep she's had in ages, and studying her image in the glass, she thinks it's done her some good. Her eyes appear brighter and her cheeks are tinted with a rosy hue. She takes considerable care pinning up her hair, assuring herself of its tidiness. This morning she feels…
Not quite beautiful.
No, she won't go that far. Although Mr. Carson apparently will, she thinks, knocking over a bottle of hand lotion.
She's got no illusions about beauty, but she does feel loved.
And that makes quite the difference.
"Good morning," she says as Mr. Carson takes his place at the head of the table.
"Good morning, Mrs. Hughes."
He returns her smile with a stiff nod. She pours his coffee. They discuss household matters and it's a morning like any other. Until the hallboy, Billy, makes an impertinent remark and Mr. Carson's voice rolls down the length of the table, putting the boy firmly in his place. She can't help but contrast his gruff tone with the soft rumble she heard as well as felt the previous evening, when he spoke of his love as they embraced.
Fearing that someone may notice the blush in her cheeks, she looks down at the table. A poor decision, because Mr. Carson's hand rests there, his fingers curled into a fist. Naturally, it follows that the sight of the butler's hand brings to mind the heat of his fingers pressed so gently against her cheek and hair and...neck. She takes a generous sip of tea. Too generous. She nearly strangles on it.
"Are you quite all right, Mrs. Hughes?" Mr. Carson asks.
"Fine, thank you."
She stifles a cough and holds his gaze a little longer than necessary, before her eyes flit down to land at his…lips. He's frowning now, but last night she felt those lips curve into a smile against her own. She shakes her head the slightest bit to clear it. Best to leave such thoughts to the solitude of her bedroom.
Mr. Carson sits ramrod straight, the picture of dignified calm as he sips his coffee and she almost allows a tiny sigh to escape. Then she notices the buttons of his waistcoat and smiles behind her teacup. He's missed one. She'll have to tell him before he goes upstairs.
Or perhaps, she thinks rather boldly, she'll button it herself.
Breakfast passes without further incident, and as bells begin to ring and the staff disperses, Mr. Carson stops her in the doorway of her sitting room.
"Mrs. Hughes." He's standing so near she catches the faint scent of pomade and shaving soap.
"Yes, Mr. Carson?" she says, as he lightly touches the back of her hand where it rests just above her chatelaine. She hopes he didn't notice her breath catching on the last syllable of his name.
"…don't mean to press you…"
He's pressing her hand.
"…fixing the date…"
Glancing up at him, she sees the tension in his shoulders and says the first thing that comes to mind.
"Tea!"
His eyebrows disappear into his hairline.
"In my sitting room. This afternoon. We'll discuss it then."
She gives him a quick smile and nod, and his shoulders relax. Then, his eyes flicker down to their hands, and he pulls his away to grasp at his waistcoat.
"Right. Very good, Mrs. Hughes," he says, clearing his throat and turning around so quickly that he nearly knocks Billy over.
Mrs. Hughes shuts the door to her sitting room and leans her weight against it, allowing herself a moment to catch her breath. Once seated at her desk, she shakes her head and releases a small chuckle. A couple of old boobies, the pair of them, that's what they are, and perhaps she should feel foolish for behaving like a silly young maid.
Only she doesn't.
Because she's a woman in love, and that makes all the difference.
Thank you for reading! I'd love a review if you have the time.