Charles sat bolt upright in bed, the bedclothes twisted angrily around his legs. As his wedding day grew closer, his dreams were becoming increasingly vivid. He was completely and utterly mortified; he had taken to rising early and beginning his day with a brisk turn about the gardens.

He relied on years of discipline to control his conscious mind. He found he could discuss the most mundane household topics with her and be only slightly distracted by her scent or the curve of her neck. He refused to contemplate her lips or the sound of her voice. Mrs. Hughes seemed to sense his difficulty and made every effort to disturb his equilibrium as little as possible.

At night, however, in spite of being wearier than he ever recalled, he had trouble falling asleep and when he finally did succumb, he was plagued by such realistic dreams. He arose, ashamed and disgusted with himself for picturing the woman he held above all others in such a... vulgar manner. Perhaps this morning he might take two turns around the gardens.

*CE*

"Have you seen your intended this morning?"

"If you are referring to Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes replied crisply, "I have not."

"You've got so many intendeds we have to refer to them by name now, do we?" Mrs. Patmore chuckled expansively. "It's always the quiet ones." Mrs. Hughes nodded curtly, but Mrs. Patmore could see she was amused. "Mr. Carson is in the gardens, walking about as though his very life depended on it."

"In this weather?"

Mrs. Patmore nodded comfortably. "In this weather."

"Are you sure?"

"Saw him come in with me own eyes. Daisy overheard some of the lads talking about it a few days ago, so I made it my business to keep a look out. He came stamping in yesterday morning, said he'd been out for a turn in the gardens." She eyed Mrs. Hughes speculatively. "Everything alright between you two?"

"Of course."

"Only I noticed you don't spend as much time together lately. You go upstairs when I do, no more sherry in the evenings. I wondered."

"I've been rather tired lately."

"Bosh. You're avoiding him. You're avoiding each other. Why?"

Mrs. Hughes got up from her desk and walked to the door, scowling. "For heaven's sake, Mrs. Patmore, lower your voice!" She closed the door. "I shouldn't think you need reminding that the very walls have ears!"

"That's true enough," Mrs. Patmore agreed, lowering her voice to a hoarse whisper. "So you do admit to avoiding him?"

"I'm not avoiding him, Mrs. Patmore. We still have our jobs to do."

"But beyond that?"

"There is no beyond that." At the look on Mrs. Patmore's face, she amended her statement quickly, before the woman shouted her down. "At least not yet."

"And you're worried about the yet?" Mrs. Hughes looked at her quizzically. "The wedding? The wedding night? Has he kissed you yet?"

"Mrs. Patmore, really. Even if he had, you know I couldn't tell you."

"He hasn't, then. Hmm."

"What do you mean, hmm? Mr. Carson is an honorable man-"

"Honorable, yes, but he's still a man."

"It's not as though we're young lovers!"

"But you're not old, not yet anyways." Mrs. Patmore looked at her cagily. "Why do you think he spends his mornings walking about in weather that's likely to freeze his nose off, among other things?"

Mrs. Hughes drew herself up rigidly. "I'm sure I have no idea."

"Don't you?"

"Even if I did-"

Mrs. Patmore waved her hand dismissively. "I know, I know. You couldn't tell me about it. Pity." She paused for a moment. "So you haven't…?"

"Certainly not!"

"Do you think he has?"

"Mrs. Patmore, really! This conversation has gone far enough!"

"That's funny. I don't think it's gone nearly far enough. Are you nervous? You must be, if you're avoiding him. And he must be as well, if he's letting you. 'Course it could go either way. He could be walking because he knows and he's nervous, or he could be walking because he doesn't know and he's nervous. Aren't you curious?"

"No I am not." Mrs. Hughes slumped, as much as her corset would allow. "Our wedding is in a few days. There will be plenty of time to be curious then."

Mrs. Patmore patted her hand sympathetically. "There, now. Ask me anything you like, love."

An hysterical laugh bubbled up from Mrs. Hughes' chest. "You?"

Mrs. Patmore let out an indignant snort. "I was the youngest in a family of six girls. I've plenty of aunts as well. I know everything there is to know! Well, almost everything." She smiled sheepishly.

"Mrs. Patmore, I grew up on a farm. I've trained dozens of housemaids. I may not be a woman of the world, but I haven't lived in a sack!"

"You never kissed Mr. Burns?"

"Of course not! We were never formally engaged to be married. We were only walking out."

"He wouldn't be the first lad to try and steal a kiss. Or something else."

"Mr. Burns was a kind man, decent. He never pushed his attentions on me."

"Even the second time around?"

Mrs. Hughes arched an eyebrow. "Even the second time."

"Well, be that as it may, you are engaged to be married now. We're in a brand new century, for heaven's sake! You could kiss the man, at least, before the wedding."

"Keep your voice down!" Mrs. Hughes hissed. "Mr. Carson has made his desire for professionalism quite clear."

"He desires something, and I doubt very much it's professionalism."

Mrs. Hughes opened her mouth to retort when someone knocked on her door.

"Mrs. Patmore?"

Mrs. Hughes opened her door. "Yes, Daisy?"

"It's just-"

"Yes, yes, I know. I'm needed in the kitchen." Mrs. Patmore turned to face Mrs. Hughes. "Just think about what I said, will you?"

Mrs. Hughes nodded curtly, her mouth a thin line. She closed the door decisively behind them. The cheek of that woman! It wasn't as if she hadn't imagined him kissing her; she had. It's just that she knew he didn't want that. At least not yet. But if it was true what she said…Mrs. Hughes strained her ears as she heard his familiar tread down the corridor. She allowed a few moments for him to settle into his pantry, then she opened her door and crossed the hall.

*CE*

"Good morning, Mr. Carson."

He jumped slightly at the sound of her voice. "Mrs. Hughes! Good morning!"

"You sound flustered. Is everything alright?"

"Perfectly. I…I just didn't expect to see you this early."

"You've been out this morning?"

He pointed to his coat. "As you see?"

"Anything the matter?"

"Not at all."

"It's quite cold for a walk. Frigid, in fact."

"I often walk in the mornings. Clears my head."

"I didn't know that about you, Mr. Carson." She took a step closer. "Perhaps there are a great many things I don't know?"

Gods this woman. He licked his lips nervously. "I'll wager you know more about me than I do myself, Mrs. Hughes."

They stared at one another for a long moment. "May I join you tonight in your pantry? Perhaps we could share a glass of something?" She studied the floor intently. "I've missed our little talks."

She was so close he could smell the scent of her hair. Lavender, was it? Perhaps if he just touched her, this painful longing would ease. It was only days before their wedding, after all. They were in a new century, for goodness sake! But his hand wouldn't move.

"Mr. Carson?"

"What? Oh, yes. Yes. Certainly." He glanced down at her dear, lovely face and softened. "I've missed our little talks as well."

"You have?"

He stepped closer. "I have. I've missed you…Elsie."

She looked up, her mouth in an O of surprise. Gods damn the open door, the staff, the family, everything. He would kiss her. He would.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

They sprang apart, Mr. Carson awkwardly tugging against the buttons of his coat. Mrs. Hughes was the first to recover. "Of course not, Mr. Barrow." She turned to face Mr. Carson. "I'll see you at breakfast."

Mr. Carson watched her glide from the room, her bearing as regal as any lady's, then faced Mr. Barrow, who leaned in the doorway with a smug expression. He'd find something quite unpleasant for the younger man to do.