A/N Because someone asked for it, because enough reviews fed my ego and because these two kept going in my mind, here is a continuation of the beach scene... Series 4 SPOILERS are discussed below.

They walked along the path of huts that ran parallel to the shoreline enjoying their frozen treats. Carson had bought himself a caramel custard. Mrs. Hughes had decided to try the lemon ice which she was now consuming with the assistance of a small wooden spoon. Since she needed both hands for this operation, she had looped her arm through his.

"Now, about those trousers…" She reminded him, playfully.

"I believe I saw a clothing stall further up." He answered seriously, pointing with his cone of custard. He relaxed somewhat when he looked down at her. "Are you enjoying the ice?"

"Very much."

"Is it as good as Mrs. Patmore's?"

"Judge for yourself." She stopped walking and held the spoon up to him with a healthy dollop of the ice.

He hesitated for a moment and looked around quickly. Seeing no one from Downton about, he allowed her to feed him the spoonful before they continued walking. "Hmm. It's good. Though, it's unfair to compare it to Mrs. Patmore's."

"Why is that?"

"Extenuating factors certainly make this one preferable."

She smiled to herself and settled more comfortably on his arm. Soon, they came to a hut displaying hats and umbrellas and bathing costumes. "This is the one." He said. She discarded the empty cup and the wooden spoon. He had finished his custard.

"You can't think they sell trousers here."

"There's a pair of shorts. They might have long trousers that are not on display."

The old man running the booth finished selling a pair of tinted glasses to a customer and turned to address Mr. Carson. "And 'ow may I be 'elpin' you, sir?"

"Have you any trousers for sale?"

The man stared at Mr. Carson, open mouthed. "Wha'? Trousers, you say?"

"As you can see, I've gotten mine wet and I'd like to purchase some dry trousers."

"I don't have no trousers. We do sell bathing costumes, but people generally want those before they gets wet." The man pointed out logically. Mr. Carson did not find his observation humorous.

Mrs. Hughes sniggered at the thought of Mr. Carson in a bathing costume. "What about those shorts?" Mrs. Hughes asked. That would be almost as good.

Mr. Carson was becoming flustered by the situation. He looked ridiculous with his legs and backside wet, but he would look even more ridiculous in those shorts. "I have not worn short pants since I was a lad."

"Oh, those aren't short pants. They are Bermuda shorts. All the rage now, they are." The old man explained. "Would you like to try them on? There's a curtain, just there you can change behind."

Mr. Carson stared blankly at the man as he pointed towards a wire with a thin piece of worn cloth hanging from it. He refused to accept the offered shorts and shook his head. The prospect of riding home on the train in wet trousers and undershorts was beginning to dampen his happy mood. The thought that he might actually return to Grantham House with his clothes in this state was appalling. "Well, are you buying somefing or not?" The old man pressed.

Fed up with the whole situation, Mr. Carson asked crossly, "Do you by chance have anything that would help a woman keep her hat on her head?"

Mrs. Hughes huffed at him and started walking back the way they'd come, leaving him with the perplexed salesman.

" 'Ow bout a nice scarf?"

Mr. Carson looked after her. He had not meant to be so rude. "Yes. Yes, that one, there."

When he caught back up to her, she would not take his arm, which disappointed him greatly. "I am sorry for my behavior just now. Please don't let that ruin an otherwise lovely day." He offered her his arm again. Hesitantly, she took it. He placed his free hand over hers, covering it with a linen scarf adorned with a peach, pale blue and ivory floral pattern. "Please accept this as an apology."

She did not seem to have seen the scarf and he was beginning to despair when she sighed and shook her head. She tied the scarf fetchingly around her neck and took his arm again. "Apology accepted."

They walked a bit further before Mrs. Hughes commented, "I believe you should congratulate yourself. Everyone has enjoyed the outing immensely."

"You needn't look so smug." He smiled down at her.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You think you brought this all about; the trip to the seaside."

"I don't know to what you are referring." She replied, with exaggerated innocence.

"No one but you would be brave enough to post something on my bulletin board. At my eye level. Did you think you were being subtle or clever?" She did not answer. "You know, I asked for your opinion and you could have told me from the start that they'd prefer the sea to any museum."

She knew there was no point in dissembling any further. Sighing, she admitted, "I didn't want to hurt your feelings, you were that excited. And there was a chance that some of them might actually like your ideas."

"Well, they did not. Though I still don't understand that. There is next to no culture available to them in Yorkshire. I should have jumped at the chance to visit such fine institutions when I was a young man."

"Then you must have been a singular young man." She only half joked.

"I certainly liked to think so." He was rewarded for this bit of self-deprecation by a smile and a laugh. "But I'm still surprised they'd choose playing football in the sand over anything else London has to offer."

"They work inside day in and day out surrounded by beautiful things that they don't own. A day at a museum isn't very different from a normal day; except they don't have to dust the artifacts."

"But the Crystal Palace is an engineering marvel..."

"First of all, it's been at the 'new' location since before any of them were born. And secondly, a building made entirely out of windows? All I'd be thinking is, how long it must take to wash them all." She raised her eyebrows at him, willing him to see her point.

"But it's a war museum just now." He argued.

"Oh, more fun yet." Her sarcasm finally convinced him to stop defending his position.

"Fine, but they can get plenty of nature at Downton on a normal half day. The grounds are very nice, rolling green meadows and the moors close by. At the beach, it's just sand and water. The sand gets everywhere..." He shifted uncomfortably, as if proving the point. "And the water…well, it doesn't always cooperate."

She nodded her agreement. "That is true, but they don't seem to mind."

"Nor did I, I suppose; when I was younger."

"You've been to the Brighton before then?"

"There are several very nice theatres here. Grigg and I worked a few of them off and on during the Seasons we were together."

"And did Alice and her sister work here with you?" She asked before she could think any better of it.

He paused before answering. "Not that I can remember, but it was a long time ago."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry."

"Nonsense. Prying is in your nature. You are who you are, Mrs. Hughes, and I would not ask you to change. Indeed, I am trying to learn to be flattered by the interest." He tried to joke, but it fell flat. He knew he was just trying to avoid answering her further. But something moved him to continue talking about Alice. "Since you insisted I put her picture on my desk, I've come to realize that all these years, she was never an actual person to me. When I knew her, I was over forty. I knew if I wanted a family, I had better start one soon. She was pretty enough and seemed kind and gentle, so I decided she was the one. You didn't really have much more to go on back then, other than looks and demeanor.

"Over the years, she came to represent something that had been taken from me. It was easier to blame her or Grigg than to accept what I had given it up willingly. It's not as though Alice was the only likely girl in London."

He knit his brow seriously for a bit before relaxing his countenance. "Do you know, I cannot remember a single conversation with Alice? Not one. All I have is a picture and a playbill. If I didn't have those, I'd probably have long since forgotten her."

"I doubt that."

"Well, she wouldn't have held such a place in my imagination without them." His steps had been slowing and now he stopped.

Mrs. Hughes followed his eyes. They were approaching the jetty where the others had set up the picnic basket and blankets. She felt his arm pull away from her. "There now, Mr. Carson. There's nothing wrong with two old friends walking arm in arm."

"No, of course not, but they might think…"

"They'll not think anything of it if we don't make anything of it." She reassured him. "Just act naturally."

"Right." He steeled himself. She could almost see the mask labeled 'butler' being slipped back on. "Though, perhaps you shouldn't lean into me quite so much. They might misunderstand."

"Well, we wouldn't want that." The sad tone in her voice caught him off guard. He started to say something, but she had already begun to walk briskly towards the jetty, pulling him with her.

TBC...

A/N I've ideas for a few more chapters, but not many. I've other projects I need to focus on. The longer this carries on, the more out of character they are likely to become and the more speculative the plot. What I've gathered from Series 4 is he's willing to thaw and she's becoming bolder.

Historical note, Bermuda shorts were developed for British troops at the turn of the century. They did become popular with British tourists in the 1920's, just not sure of the exact year.

Thanks for reading. Reviews matter.