This is part of the Chelsie Holiday Gift Exchange. Merry Christmas jabberwockette. I hope you'll enjoy your gift.
Sounds of violins filled the air, lights twinkled around the room. Happy couples filled the dancefloor moving softly to the tasteful music.
The Butler of Downton Abbey watched the scene in satisfaction. Another event perfectly executed.
The reason for this accomplishment stood next to him near the dancefloor in the middle of the Great Hall.
The Housekeeper swayed softly in time with the music, a gentle smile on her face. Her eyes were trained on one couple in particular. He followed her line of vision and saw the Valet and Lady's Maid slowly moving to the music – as much as Mr. Bates' injury allowed.
Although it was unusual for servants to dance with each other at the Servants' Ball, even Mr. Carson had to admit that an exception could be made in this case. Husband and wife deserved this dance after all the heartache they had been through in recent months. Deserved to celebrate their joyful reunion.
"It must be wonderful," Mrs. Hughes suddenly mumbled absentmindedly.
"What is?" he asked in quiet amusement, his attention focussing on her – taking in her elaborate, soft hairstyle, her rosy cheeks, her sparkling eyes.
"To have someone look at you like that – as if you are the only thing that matters in the world. As if you are perfect in every way."
Her wistful words touched him deeply but before he was able to formulate an adequate reply, she shook her head. Smiled a little in embarrassment.
"Listen to me and my sentimental nonsense."
Again he wanted to respond, wanted to tell her that there was nothing wrong with being sentimental from time to time. That he had been an idiot for criticising her about it in the past. But he never got the chance.
"I see that we have run out of punch, but I remember Mrs. Patmore putting a little extra into the larder. Would you like another cup?" she rambled on – obviously trying to cover up her unease about her sentimentality.
He simply nodded numbly, passed his empty cup to her and watched as she bustled towards the green baize door before disappearing downstairs.
He turned back around and focused his eyes on the Bateses again. Watched them slowly making their way around the dancefloor, obviously lost in their own world, their eyes solely on each other.
Saw how Anna seemed to stumble slightly, how Mr. Bates caught her, pressed her closer to him.
Realized with a start that it wasn't Anna who was steadying Mr. Bates.
She might have held him upright, might have allowed him to put some of his weight on her and off his injured leg – but it was he who held her close, protected her from curious glances. He who talked softly to her, who made her smile and helped her relax.
They were only strong because they supported and loved the other, made the other aware of their feelings and their unfaltering support.
Mr. Carson pulled his waistcoat down and with his face set in grim determination rushed towards the servants' stairway.
She wasn't in the kitchen as he had thought. Her found her in his pantry instead, where he saw her righting some papers that the draught must have dishevelled on his desk. He stepped inside his sanctuary and closed the door firmly behind him.
She didn't startle, seemed to have heard him coming. She turned her head around towards him with a smile.
"Ah Mr. Carson, I was just about to return upstairs," she chuckled, amused by his perceived impatience. She turned towards him fully, the two cups of punch in her hand. "I had simply….."
Whatever she had been meaning to say died away as she caught the intense look on his face. "Mr. Carson, what…." Again she found herself unable to finish her sentence.
He looked at her so intensely that her breath hitched, her teeth automatically starting to worry her lower lip.
He didn't look displeased… instead there was a warmth, a gentleness in his eyes that she had rarely seen in them before. They were aglow, their colour a soft, chocolate brown.
He took a deep breath and allowed his shoulders to relax. Focussed all his attention on communicating with his eyes what his lips couldn't. Poured every ounce of feeling he had for her into his gaze.
For a second she thought that there were tears in his eyes. His brown orbs held her blue ones captive and although she was unsure of what it all meant, she was unable to speak… to look away… to breathe.
And then it all suddenly made sense.
Tears rushed to her eyes, a soft smile broke out on her lips. The cups in her hands trembled.
His eyes briefly closed in relief before he stepped forward and took the cups from her hands. He put them onto the nearby table before turning towards her again.
He grabbed her hands firmly (steadied her, him, both of them) and pulled her a little closer to him. He lowered his head and fixed her with his eyes once more.
"Do you understand?" he asked. His voice soft, but urgent, insistent. He needed her to understand.
"I do," she replied. Laughed. Allowed two tears to spill from her lashes.
His right hand came up and wiped them away with infinite tenderness before he cupped her right cheek in his hand, smiled when she leant her head further into his touch.
"I do," she whispered again and this time he had to fight hard to keep his own eyes from leaking their joy.
Steps could be heard descending the servants' stairway, but they didn't jump apart. He took his hand away from her cheek and brought his left hand, which still held hers firmly, to his lips. Pressed his lips against the soft skin of the back of her hand. Revelled in the way she inhaled sharply, flexed her fingers.
"Shall we go back upstairs?" he asked softly, holding his arm out to her.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Put her hand in the crook of his elbow, allowed him to pull her close.
"After all," he began again, "We don't know how many more Servants' Balls we'll get to enjoy."
"Don't we?" she asked, not looking at him, waiting with bated breath for his answer.
"I think this might be the last one," he whispered, smiling down at her in open adoration.
"Then we should definitely make the most of it," she declared with a brilliant smile and allowed him to lead her from his pantry.
"It must be wonderful," the young woman breathed.
"What's that?" Mr. Barrow asked, not really interested in the answer.
"To have someone look at you like that," the new Housekeeper replied, her eyes focused on the couple in the middle of the dancefloor.
The couple that was sharing their first dance at a Servants' Ball. No longer servants but for the first time allowed to dance together at the event.
Lost in each other's eyes, the former Butler and Housekeeper spun intricate circles around the dancefloor, delighting both former employers and colleagues with their happiness.
Mr. Barrow studied them intently, noticed how much more relaxed the former Butler seemed now, six months after retiring. How the former Housekeeper seemed to glow from within.
Briefly he wondered why the family had insisted on inviting them – whether it was veiled criticism of his work. Decided that it was only sentimentality on the family's part.
"Maybe," he replied noncommittally.
But when the new Housekeeper turned around to rearrange the punch cups on the table next to them, the Butler allowed the briefest of smiles to flicker over his face. Maybe – if the old, stuck in his ways Butler and the fierce Housekeeper managed to find such love and happiness late in life – there was hope for all of them after all.