The characters come from the mind of Julian Fellowes.

Dedicated to all the people who at heart see themselves as a Miss Baxter or perhaps a Mr. Molesley.

Miss Baxter Regrets

After midnight, following the most remarkable day of a remarkable year...

~.O.~

The morning had arrived with glorious sunshine, and a constant bustle, so much so that there was barely time to notice the cold.

But everything had come about just as planned, and then they'd all seen Mr. Pelham and Lady Edith – or the marquess and marchioness of Hexham, as they were now, as well as husband and wife – off on their honeymoon, the both of them looking as though they'd just learnt all was right with this mad world after all.

And perhaps it was.

~.O.~

Yet the bustle hadn't been over, not by a long chalk, for Anna's pains had commenced, and the next thing they all knew, half the household seemed to be running about once more, at the astonishing prospect of both Dr. Clarkson and Mr. Bates taking up posts in Lady Mary's room to see the new little one come into the world.

And almost as soon as the baby took his first breath, the old year took its last.

~.O.~

It was Mr. Carson who began the ceremony, just by getting to his feet, and Mrs. Hughes who ended it, leading them in a song she'd have known since girlhood.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?

And all the while Mr. Barrow, looking happier than he'd ever done, was going about filling up the glasses.

But in midst of it there'd been a moment where they'd all stood round that good old table where they'd eaten so many meals and wished each other a happy new year. The moment was over too quickly, but oh, the look on Mr. Molesley's face just then – not the diffidence, the uncertainty she'd seen often enough, but contentment, and a touch of confidence. It suited him, it was endearing, so much so that she might have impetuously leaned in and kissed his cheek or, if she'd been truly daring, brushed her lips gently against his mouth.

How he'd have blushed if she'd been so forward! And then the maids might've noticed, and taken it into their heads to snigger every time he went past in the hallway. She wasn't about to subject him to that.

So there was no kiss, and yet it had been pleasure, not self-denial, that held her back. This was just the one night, after all, and already remarkable enough, with the old year ending and Lady Edith going off on her wedding trip and the Bateses' new baby sleeping upstairs in Lady Mary's room.

~.O.~

But there would come other days, and nights, and if she wasn't going to be coy, neither would she try to hurry things along. Life hadn't been kind, to either of them, and that was all the more reason to savor each bit of happiness, now that things had been put right.

Mind you, it had taken some doing to put things right. He'd done nothing wrong, of course, but she'd come very near to ruining herself, and over a man – a man who hadn't loved her and never would – and if the world so often proved cruel to the kind, and kind to the cruel, it could be downright unforgiving to a woman who dared put a foot wrong.

So she was lucky – lucky that she'd kept her position, even after her ladyship knew everything; lucky that a good man had treated her with respect, and just the beginnings of tenderness.

She'd already spent years paying for her own sins, and regretting her own foolishness, and wasn't about to spoil the pleasure of a new experience. So she would wait. She would wait because she reckoned Mr. Molesley wanted the same things, and she knew could trust him to be kind with her heart.

And she'd be kind with his, for time was precious. The lot of them round the table were proof enough of that – Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, and Thomas Barrow, and Daisy, widowed when she'd been no more than a girl – and those upstairs too.

Phyllis had heard a good deal of talk about Lady Edith - about the spoilt first wedding day, and that handsome and clever gentleman who'd gone to Germany and never returned. To see Lady Edith walking out of the house with Mr. Pelham was to know miracles were still possible, even after a first disappointment, and a second, and perhaps a third.

To rise again, as the sun did every day - that was all, Phyllis decided. That would prove enough.

~.O.~

And now that Mr. Molesley had got used to things going well for him, he'd come round to a decision one of these days and ask her to walk out with him. It wouldn't be long, and until then she was resolved to enjoy each meeting, each moment.

There'd be time enough for surprises and teasing once they were well and truly sweethearts. Strange how she knew they would be – or perhaps not so strange, now that she'd lived enough to understand something about people.

And she'd lived long enough to know something about herself as well: that it had taken confidence, slow as it was in coming, to reach this night.

Confidence was not a luxury, she decided, but as necessary as bread, as air, to anyone who'd a mind to survive. And she had survived it all, even the worst of the humiliations.

But she was done chiding herself for all those missteps. This night - this morning - meant a clean slate, a new year, a fresh start. In a few short hours she'd open her eyes, not with hesitancy but with hope.

It was the courageous who were kind, and the cruel who were fearful; she saw that now.

And the things she'd given herself to before hadn't been enough. There'd been something better waiting all along.

The End

Song lyrics: "Auld Lang Syne" is of course attributed to Robert Burns, the national poet of Scotland, though he claimed to have merely transcribed the words he'd heard sung by another.