Characters aren't mine, no copyright infringement intended, etc.

EDIT: Thanks, all you lovely writers, for your feedback on Chapter 1! Means a lot to me. Hope you like Chapter 2 - (Spoiler: bit of a downer coming, but don't worry, it gets better, I promise!)

They were still in a dream, held together by the sinews of hidden desire. Their second kiss lasted for longer than the first, spurring them to press into one another more strongly. They had let go of one another's hands, hers gradually resting on Carson's chest, and his now holding her shoulders. She loved the sensation of his strong fingers grasping her like that. Finally they parted, and each took a breath.

The sound of the evening crickets returned, and they awoke.

Then Carson saw it. Something had flashed across her weary eyes. The look in them had changed from a moment before, and it made him feel uneasy. He had a dark suspicion that deep within her mind she was calculating, processing. Carson wondered what conclusions she was making about their kiss, and his stark admission that he couldn't imagine life without her. He had never made himself so vulnerable. Just now Mrs. Hughes had said she 'loved' him. His heart had soared at the words, into another realm.

But now he was worried. Her furrowed brow suggested things had inexplicably changed course. He became aware that he was still holding her shoulders, and felt a familiar pang of anxiety. Should he remove them? Did that make her feel uncomfortable?

She was staring ahead at her hands on his chest, a glazed expression on her face. He shifted his fingers to get a different grip on her arms. To his dismay he felt her stiffen, and put pressure on his chest, as if pushing him away. In the moonlight he could see her shake her head ever so slightly. His heart sank.

He bowed his head and gave her shoulders a short, strong squeeze, before releasing them. He let his hands drop to his sides. Now there was a two-inch gap between her own fingers and his chest. She let them hover there for a moment, then let them drop too. He felt embarrassed, confused.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No," she replied. "Don't be." She looked around at the gravel path below, wildly searching for the right thing to say. She sniffed again and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her nose. "This was…"

"This was a mistake."

"No!" Mrs. Hughes looked up. Carson was watching her for an answer, expectant. He seemed lost. In her newly detached state she had an inkling of what she was about to do - hurt him terribly. But that was how things were with Elsie Hughes. That was the bed she had made for herself thirty years before, and now she had to lie in it. She wondered why she had let him kiss her in the first place. Why had she agreed to come out to the garden in the night, and let herself get carried away? Because I love him, she thought.

But he can't know. He can never, ever know.

She folded her arms in front of her, the cliched defence, quickly raised a hand to her mouth, tightened her lips, bit her knuckle. What to say? Her mind was a storm of confusion, and beneath all that an old poison was slowly creeping back into her heart: guilt.

No.

She turned around so that her back was to him and took a step into the cool grass. She didn't want him to see her face. She looked up at the full, bright moon. In her mind she could see him still standing there, his normally broad shoulders sagging, his face broken. She felt his eyes on her. She couldn't-

"Mrs. Hughes." The old, familiar baritone was soft and inquisitive.

She hated herself for having to resist it, and shut her eyes. "Yes." Her voice was tiny.

"I can understand if this is all too much for you. I should not have said… what I said. It was improper."

Mrs. Hughes watched the dark oak trees at the edge of the garden swaying in the breeze, the world of nature so separate and simple compared to man's complexities. It was not improper at all. It was all she had ever wanted, but it was also a dream she could never have. She should have remembered that from the beginning. The thought fortified her.

"I don't want you to think that I don't care about you, Mr. Carson," she said, turning and speaking to the side.

"Right."

"Because I do. Very much."

Carson felt his face go hot. "But you spoke of 'love,' earlier."

"I did."

"So that wasn't true. You didn't mean that."

"No, I did. It's just-"

"Then I don't understand. Did I do something wrong?"

Mrs. Hughes felt her stomach churn at the question, and took a breath. She had to make her decision. No matter what he felt or thought of her, she wasn't worthy of his love. If he ever knew her secret, the one she saw every day within the very corridors of Downtown, he would never be able to look at her. She'd be ruined. She gathered her strength again.

"I think we need to ask ourselves why neither of us has said anything after all these years of working together. What stopped me from saying anything about how I felt to you? Maybe…"

She turned and looked at him, and her heart wanted to break. He looked years older. She walked up to him and took his hand in hers. It was a friendly gesture now, almost commiserative. "Maybe we kept ourselves apart because that was for the best, for both of us, and for the household."

He shook his head, fighting against her words. He had thought about this, long and hard. And he knew she felt the same way. Something was wrong here. "No. No I don't think that's true."

"Mr. Carson. I can't" she said, more strongly now. "I can't do this." She put her hand to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, then turned away. She walked, briskly, back along the gravel pathway, leaving him standing there.

In a few minutes she was back at the wooden door. She stopped for a moment, breathing hard, watching the breath turn into vapor in the cold air. She rested her arm on the brickwork and thought of looking back, to see if she might still be able to make out his tiny figure standing in the shadows, at the edge of the garden. No, she couldn't bear to turn around. She pushed open the door and walked into the thick warmth of the house, passing by the servant's dinning room.

That's when she saw him, sitting alone at the table and reading the paper. The source of her guilt no more than a few feet away, as oblivious to the truth as Carson himself.