A/N: Thank you so much for all your kind reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter, for here starts the crackiness, as Elsie's plot begins to unravel… We are also introduced to the Elsie/Isobel friendship, which I'm shamelessly borrowing from the fanon. Oh, and the last bit of this chapter is a VERY strong "T", bordering on "M". Consider yourselves warned…

Let me know what you think!

Chapter 1, or: "Downton would fall!"

Whenever she was surprised, irritated or afraid, Lady Grantham would forget everything she'd learnt about social etiquette while living in Britain, and return to her American ways—which was why she was the first one to react to Elsie's statement, by uttering a sharp gasp of:

"What?"

Bait the hook well, this fish will bite, Elsie thought, keeping her gaze locked on the pincushion in her hands, despite being painfully aware of four pairs of eyes that were, in turn, locked upon her at that very moment.

"But—you can't!" Lady Edith exclaimed fervently. "This… this simply wouldn't be right! What would we ever do?"

Elsie raised her head and offered the girl a smile, carefully measured in order to seem feeble and weak. Lady Edith was a deeply troubled girl, always standing in the shadow of either one of her sisters and desperately trying to get out into the sun, but she surely had her heart in the right place. That she attended her older sister's dress fitting was pure coincidence—but one that proved to serve Elsie's purpose perfectly.

"I believe it's my only option, milady," she repeated in a small, tired voice. "Things are bound to bring shame and scandal to this household, should they continue the way they are now."

"Nonsense," the Dowager Countess huffed impatiently, the silver tip of her cane tapping forcefully on the wooden floor. It would leave a mark, undoubtedly, and a part of Elsie's mind promptly devoted itself to finding a way to mask it before Charles would see… "There shall be no more talk about this, Mrs. Hughes. And rest assured that Carson shall be given something to think about."

Elsie shook her head ever so slightly, trying to look shaken and doubtful. On the inside, she was humming with silent satisfaction.

Had Charles Carson's unwillingness to propose to her been dictated by his worry regarding the family's opinion on the matter, it should disintegrate completely within days. Had it been related to a different matter… oh, well.

She would at least know where she stood.

"You did what?" Isobel laughed, covering her mouth with both hands to stifle a giggle highly unsuitable for a woman of her age and position. Elsie rolled her eyes and gave the other woman a smug grin.

"I told them I was considering leaving Downton, for my virtuous heart had been having trouble coping with the fact that I was living in sin, and could easily bring a scandal upon the family."

"With these exact words?"

"Of course not!"

"Well, I still wish I could have been there, and seen Cora's face. Or Cousin Violet's, for that matter," Isobel sighed, frowning, and put her teacup down. "What are you going to do if they approach Charles head on, and simply tell him to marry you?"

Elsie shook her head in amusement. "They'd never do that. Making him 'realize his feelings, and step up', that's more in the style of the Grantham ladies. There's bound to be serious plotting, and many carefully planted hints before any real action takes place, and in the end I'd be surprised if Charles knew what hit him."

Isobel clasped her hands together and leaned forward, her face a perfect picture of wonderment. "Elsie Hughes! When on Earth did you become such an expertly skilled puppeteer?"

Elsie sighed and rubbed her right temple, brushing a stray strand of hair away. "I didn't know I was one until very recently, believe me! It's just… Isobel, I need to know! Lady Mary had been so sure Charles would ask me to marry him in no time at all, and then he didn't, and I—I would like to understand why. If I thought he's not the marrying type, I wouldn't have pushed the matter, but—"

"...but you believe him to be just the opposite of it. No, don't tell me!" she raised her hands in mock outrage. "Ever since you came back from York, you do nothing but sing praise for the man. And I am glad for that, glad for you—he really makes you happy, doesn't he?"

Elsie nodded, grateful for her friend's understanding, and sighed again. "He does. Happier than I ever thought I could be. We've wasted so much time… and I didn't even suspect—"

Isobel smiled and squeezed the other woman's hand reassuringly. "Which is why you couldn't put the matter of the proposal to rest, correct?"

"I tried to reason with myself," Elsie admitted with a small shrug and yet another nervous tug at her hair, "but I've run out of ideas. I couldn't simply walk into his pantry and propose to him myself, could I?"

"I'm sure any man would appreciate a woman such as yourself proposing to them," Isobel smirked unhelpfully, earning herself an eye roll from a very exasperated Elsie. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I know you only did what you did out of desperation, not spite."

"Even so, I shouldn't be playing any of them. Charles would be so angry if he found out!"

"Let's just hope he doesn't, then, shall we?"

Three hours later Elsie was back at Downton Abbey, her afternoon off having run its course. As the family and the Crawleys sat themselves at the dinner table, the housekeeper sneaked into the hallway just outside the door standing ajar. She could have simply gone into the cupboard and pretend to supervise the work of the two new footmen—but since there was good chance of Charles bumping into her as he picked up fresh decanters of wine, she chose the less obvious spot for a lookout.

That meant, however, that she couldn't see Charles' face as the conversation unfolded, which she came to regret deeply around the second course.

"I've had a letter from Lady Chisdale," Lady Cora remarked casually, referring to the wife of one of Lord Grantham's London friends. "They're going to have a wedding in the house this spring."

"A wedding?" Elsie could almost see the Dowager Countess' frown. "I thought their oldest was not sixteen?"

"Oh, it's not their daughter's! Their butler is marrying Lady Anne's personal maid."

"I suppose it's going to cause quite a mayhem to the household, isn't it?" Isobel chimed in, sounding perfectly innocent to anyone but Elsie. "Will the couple leave after the wedding? I believe most employees are far from encouraging when it comes to inter-staff marriages…"

"On the contrary, Lady Anne's urging them both to stay in service," Lady Cora answered eagerly. "It's so hard to come across reliable household staff nowadays; letting them go would be a great loss."

"I agree," Lady Mary put in, sounding slightly bored at the topic of the conversation. "I honestly cannot understand why a couple of people in love, who want to make everything proper between them and get married, should be denied the right to do so only because they work as somebody's servants. Would you let O'Brien go if she wanted to marry someone living nearby, and continue to work for you, Mama?"

"I'd like to think that I'd do no such thing," her mother replied matter-of-factly. "What do you think, dear? Would you dismiss one of the older staff, should they wish to pursue a life in marriage?"

"I honestly cannot see Mrs. Patmore or Carson asking for my permission to marry, Cora," Lord Grantham's slightly amused voice carried into the hallway. Elsie bit her lip to stifle a frustrated groan. This was certainly the conversation she'd hoped Charles would overhear, but the way his lordship answered his wife did not bid it well…

"What about Mrs. Hughes, Papa?" Lady Edith has clearly decided to pull of her bit of the plan. "She's quite pretty for her age—" Elsie banged her forehead against the wood-panelled wall, "—she's intelligent and kind… I could easily imagine her having a serious suitor, and leaving us to get married. Would you let her go?"

Before Lord Grantham had a chance to answer that, there was a loud, clinking sound resonating across the dining room, followed by a few female gasps. "Carson, are you having another heart attack?"

"Certainly not, your ladyship," Charles' deep, yet slightly shaking voice reached Elsie's ears, causing her to chuckle under her breath. "Everything is under control."

"I'm glad to hear it. Well, Robert? Your daughter has asked you a rather interesting question. Would you allow your housekeeper to marry and continue to work, or would you rather have her leave?"

"Mama, please, what a ghastly prospect! Have Mrs. Hughes leave Downton Abbey? The house would probably collapse over our heads within weeks!"

"You'd agree, then, if she wanted to marry, like Lady Chisdale's maid?" Lady Edith pressed on, sounding genuinely interested in the answer.

Elsie held her breath.

"I suppose I would, unlikely as the prospect seems to me—"

The rest of Lord Grantham's words was flooded by a wave of protests and outraged exclamations, but Elsie had already heard everything she wanted to. She turned on her heel and walked away from the door, heading downstairs, a small, yet very bright smile playing on her lips.

She retired upstairs before the family finished their evening cocktail, and was on the verge of falling asleep, curled on her side facing away from the door, when she heard the unmistakable sound of the doorknob being turned. She didn't move, tensed in anticipation, and held her breath to catch all of the quiet noises he made, shutting the door and slipping his robe off, before the mattress dipped beneath his weight and she felt him, all of him—the wonderful, warm body spooning hers as his arms slipped around her waist.

She still hadn't got over the way they fit together: him so much bigger than her, making her feel fragile, breakable, yet perfectly safe at the same time. She murmured, arching her back and pressing it against his chest, leaning deeper into his embrace. He chuckled happily, nuzzling at the nape of her neck.

"I've missed you downstairs after dinner," he whispered, his voice deep and heavy with lust and love. "They'd had a particularly nice red tonight. I thought we'd share a glass before bed."

"Should we get up and go back down?" she asked teasingly, sliding her hands over his as they rose to cup her breasts.

"Not even for that German nectar we had in York," he answered, kissing down her neck as his thumbs brushed her nipples through the fabric of her nightdress, over and over again, driving her mad with need. "No, stay," he protested as she tried to turn in his arms to face him, and one of his hands travelled down her leg, bunching the material and drawing small circles on her skin as it moved back up tantalizingly slow…

She shuddered and moaned quietly when he entered her, one hand resting possessively on her hip, the other wrapped around her torso. He moved ever so slowly at first, whispering sweet nothings into her hair and placing little kisses on her neck and shoulders, until she decided they'd had enough of teasing for one night.

"Charles," she breathed, arching her neck backwards to capture his lips, and clenching her inner muscles in a way she knew was bound to have him come undone. He growled and bit her shoulder, quickening his pace.

From there on it was all breaths and quiet moans, names being whispered and fingers clawing at hot, sweaty skin, and a beautiful, powerful moment when Elsie saw bright white sparks before her eyes and tumbled across the edge, pulling Charles with her.

He never stopped saying her name, not until their heartbeats slowed, and they lay, breathless, motionless and still joined, basking in the afterglow.

"I could spend the rest of my life doing this, and just this, to you," he murmured into her ear, and kissed her cheek. "I love you, Elsie."

"I love you too, Charles," she answered happily, and held her breath, wondering if such a tender admission of his feelings could have possibly been a prelude to something else—asking her a very serious and significant question, perhaps?—but as the seconds passed she realized that Charles' breath had become much deeper and more regular. Surely enough, he soon began to emit the quiet, gentle snores, and she knew he'd fallen asleep.

Elsie sighed, not with disappointment—one could hardly be disappointed when one's bones were still quite liquid from a round of exquisite lovemaking—but with something akin to quiet resignation.

At least he knows where we would stand, should we choose to marry, she told herself, snuggling closer into Charles' embrace. And wasn't that precisely what I wanted?

He made her so happy. Not only by doing what they'd just done, but also by staying with her afterwards, even though it would have been much more reasonable for him to get up and go back to his room now rather than wait until the morning. By murmuring her name in his sleep. By supporting her, or standing up to her, whenever the situation required one of the two. He was so much more than just her best friend, or her lover—he felt like the missing part of her soul.

And one didn't need to marry a part of their own soul to feel happy.

At least that what she'd keep on telling herself from now on…

TBC…