The next morning was torture for Mr. Carson. At breakfast Mrs. Hughes fixed his tea for him and buttered his toast, something he didn't think she had ever done before. He looked at her questioningly, but she just smiled, a soft, rueful, sympathetic smile, and he wondered how he could have looked at her every day for the last twenty years and only just now been stricken with the realization of what a beautiful person she was and that he loved her. He felt a fool, and knowing he would have to leave her left him lower than he could remember ever feeling. And yet he had to continue on as though nothing were amiss, as though the epiphany he had experienced the night before had never happened. The news that he was leaving Downton would get about soon enough, but the news that he loved Mrs. Hughes would never get about, for he would never tell a soul, not even her. What would be the point? If she returned his feelings, parting would be that much more painful for both of them. Even if she were willing to leave Downton and live a life of leisure as his wife, he could not think that Lady Mary would find the idea of a married butler quite proper. And if Mrs. Hughes did not love him in return, telling her would only make their parting more awkward. Perhaps she would not even come take tea with him at Haxby, or invite him to Downton for tea on his half-day. He would then have lost her friendship in hopes of something that probably could never happen anyway. There was no solution for this problem. He would love her in silence and perhaps going to Haxby, away from her, would eventually ease the ache. Mr. Carson felt very deeply the irony of this terrible timing. If he had known just a few days earlier that he loved Mrs. Hughes, he would not have agreed to leave Downton, but it was his decision to leave that had brought on his realization. His loyalty to Lady Mary could not have drawn him away from Mrs. Hughes once he knew his own heart, even if he never told her, never loved her openly, but once he had given his word to Lady Mary he could not go back on it. It was still true that, of the two, the younger woman needed him more, especially if she were to be the wife of Sir Richard Carlisle, so he could take some comfort in the fact that he would likely be doing some good in his favorite's life. Mr. Carson could not like the man, and he worried for Lady Mary's happiness, and even occasionally her safety. He had a sense that there was a threatening, coercive element to Sir Richard's character and he feared he might have to protect Lady Mary from this hidden menace. It was not a pleasant thought.

Pleasant thoughts were reserved for the woman who sat to his right at every meal. He tried to be discreet, but his eyes kept returning to her. She was talking to Mr. Bates now, and she smiled at something he said before turning back to Mr. Carson.

"Are you quite all right, Mr. Carson?" she asked, her brow puckering with concern.

"I'm perfectly well, thank you, Mrs. Hughes," he answered briskly, picking up a piece of the toast that lay untouched on his plate. "I've a lot on my mind; that's all."

"And no wonder," Mrs. Hughes said in a low tone. "You'll be leaving the place you've called home for many years. That will take some getting used to."

Mr. Carson scrutinized her face as she looked into his. "Indeed, it will," he answered gravely. It would take them both some time to get used to his departure from Downton. They were friends, good friends, and friends miss each other when they are parted.

Mrs. Hughes smiled reassuringly, if a little sadly. "But we will get used to it," she said firmly.

He nodded slowly. "Yes. But Mrs. Hughes," he began.

"Yes, Mr. Carson?"

He spoke in a low voice to keep the others from hearing. "I know you've not much time to yourself, but I hope you'll take tea with me, when you've an afternoon to spare."

"Certainly, I will," she answered. "I'm glad Downton is not so very far from..." She looked around for eavesdroppers and discovered that Miss O'Brien was shamelessly staring at her, listening to every word she said. She turned to Mr. Carson and a knowing look passed between them. Mr. Carson seemed to come to a decision.

"Right," he said decisively. No need to put it off any longer, and better to come out with it to everyone than let it become a trickle of gossip, a story that changed from one telling to the next. There was no knowing how it could end up. In any case, he didn't wish Miss O'Brien to be the first to know. Mr. Carson cleared his throat and the staff at the table quieted. "You all should know that Sir Richard Carlisle has offered me employment as butler at Haxby Park, whenever he and Lady Mary are married, and that I have accepted this offer. I will be leaving Downton at some time in the future, but I prefer not to discuss the matter any further at present." He gestured toward the food on the table. "Please continue."

This news certainly gave the other servants something to talk about, but Mr. Carson's request not to discuss the matter kept their chatter at a moderate volume as they returned to their breakfasts.

"I was going to say that I'm glad Downton is not so very far from Haxby, but I'll go no further if you prefer not to discuss it," Mrs. Hughes said.

"I don't object to your bringing up the subject, Mrs. Hughes," he said. "And I agree. I'm glad I won't be losing my friend entirely when I leave Downton, though it will never be the same as it is now." He sighed heavily.

Mrs. Hughes's left hand itched to touch him in some comforting way, just to brush his hand or pat his shoulder. He was sad to be leaving Downton, of course, and she was just as sad to see him go, but he looked so terribly forlorn, and there was nothing she could do to ease his pain. With time it would pass, or at least soften, but nothing she could say at this moment would help. He was responsible for his own fate and he knew it.

Mr. Carson sipped his tea quietly, deep in thought. He would let himself wallow in his own misery, a luxury he had not allowed himself for decades, until the end of breakfast and then have done and move on. No good could come from dwelling for long on these gloomy thoughts and even had he been inclined to barricade himself in his pantry to ponder all he had lost during his time on this earth, he considered serving the Crawleys with professionalism to be more important than time spent moping about his own troubles. His personal feelings had to take second place to his work, which was why he could allow himself one melancholy breakfast and no more. He only hoped his brown study wouldn't draw comment from the other staff. Mrs. Patmore would certainly have some unexpected proverb for him to ponder, and Thomas (he still found it difficult to refer to the man as Sgt. Barrow) and O'Brien would likely slink away for a smoke and to hatch some trouble-making scheme. Mrs. Hughes he could not be sure of. He wasn't certain how much of his mood had caught her attention. She didn't miss much, and he didn't want to worry her. He knew she worried about him, and it warmed his heart to know that she cared, even if she often voiced her worry in teasing and light reproofs.

Mrs. Hughes had certainly noticed how little himself Mr. Carson was today. Glancing at him occasionally, she decided she had better keep an eye on him today. He had every reason to feel ill at ease, but she didn't like to see it, and she hoped she might be able to soothe him, and to see him gradually becoming more himself. In truth, she was a little perplexed by his mood. The evening before, when he told her that he was leaving, she would not have described him as happy. He'd said very plainly that he'd made the decision "with a heavy heart." But he had hardly been under the fog of melancholy that seemed to grip him now. She was the one who had had to slip away to her room as early as possible to stare into the darkness and try to decide how to feel. She loved him, and it was a definite blow to find out that he would be going, but she did not dissolve into floods of tears the moment her bedroom door was closed. Though she felt disquieted and miserable, she didn't shed any tears at all until she had been alone for some time. She had known of Sir Richard's offer and known that Mr. Carson might accept it, but that hadn't made it easier to learn of his final decision. Mrs. Hughes was no less heartsore this morning than she had been last night, but she had had her time to let the news sink in, and her accustomed composure had returned. She had been surprised to see Mr. Carson looking so melancholy this morning, but she doubted he had allowed himself the luxury of a few tears before falling asleep. He was always so careful to hold his emotions in check. And to be fair, she must make allowances for his grief being different from hers. Her sorrow was due to love, the deepest and most personal kind of love, but which she felt for one person only. Mr. Carson would not be leaving that kind of love behind at Downton, but he was leaving behind a great many loves of a different sort - the Crawley family as a whole and its individual members, his own history as part of this household, and to a lesser extent the staff. No doubt he wouldn't give a second thought to the loss of Thomas and Miss O'Brien from his life, but there were those he did care about, which she knew included herself. She had briefly thought herself mad for telling him that she would miss him a great deal, but in the end she could not regret it. She had known that it might be the last chance she had to tell him that she regarded him highly. They had few opportunities to speak alone and uninterrupted, and his half-jest had given her what might be her only opening for such frankness. Telling him she loved him would certainly never do, but she didn't want him to go without being assured of her respect and, more importantly, her friendship.

Bells began to ring and the servants' hall was soon empty. Mrs. Hughes went to her sitting room to sort out her accounts, and then to the kitchen for a surprisingly peaceful conversation with Mrs. Patmore. The cook seemed subdued, affected by Mr. Carson's announcement.

"It won't be the same without him," she mused.

"Certainly not. It never could be," Mrs. Hughes replied softly, her eyes dry. She was starting to feel numb now, and she couldn't decide if that was good or bad. Perhaps it was a good thing now, but at some point she must begin to feel again. Sometimes the love she felt was excruciatingly painful, but she would not give it up for anything. For every moment of distress, there was a moment of complete happiness, when she was beside him at the table, when they spoke in whispers in a doorway, and especially when they were alone, talking about troublesome staff or the latest book one or the other of them had read.

"Mrs. Hughes? Are you quite well?" Mrs. Patmore asked.

"Perfectly," Mrs. Hughes answered. "Just woolgathering, I suppose. Well, I must be getting on."

Mrs. Patmore nodded. "And so must I."

Mrs. Hughes quietly left the kitchen and returned to her sitting room.

To be continued...

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