A/N: So, here it is: the rest of what I'd dreamt last weekend. I hope you like it.

(There will be another chapter, as I have obviously woken up too early.)


Leslie was right. It is a holiday.

Lady Rosalie keeps mostly to herself. In the first week of her stay, she only goes down to dinner twice, each time impeccably dressed, but cold and silent. She writes many letters though, all addressed to a 'J. Lavesham, c/o Mrs. William Campbell, London'. (Elsie only knows it because she always asks her to post them separately from the family's correspondence.)

Sometimes, Lady Rosalie rides: always alone, although Lady Mary is quite a capable rider for her young age, and one who usually enjoys having some company on her escapades. Elsie isn't sure whose decision is it to keep them separate; she only knows that Lady Rosalie takes pleasure in the exercise, and in the complete exhaustion it leaves her with.

In the evenings, Lady Rosalie often goes to the old nursery and plays the piano. Mozart, Brahms, a little Bach—at least that's what it says on the covers of sheet music. She takes her hair down herself most of the times, although she lets Elsie brush and braid it for the night. She's quiet, calm, and never makes any unreasonable requests.

All in all, Elsie has absolutely no idea why everybody seemed so appalled by the very idea of having her stay at Downton, or tending to her, for that matter.

She tells Leslie and Mrs. Rogers that much when they ask her, suspiciously gently, about her new work, ten days after it'd begun. "I think she's a perfectly fine young lady," she says firmly, and stands up as the bell rings for the green room.

The others exchange worried glances, but say nothing. Prejudice, if I ever saw it, Elsie thinks and walks briskly towards the stairs.

She cannot help but feel protective over Lady Rosalie, in a way one would feel about their younger sibling. It's highly unprofessional, perhaps bordering on inappropriate, but she feels genuinely sorry for the poor girl.

"Miss Hughes?"

She turns and gives Mr. Carson a warm, if a little distracted smile. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carson, but Lady Rosalie's just rung—"

"It will only take a minute," he interrupts her, the very tips of his ears turning pink. "I simply wanted to ask—are you planning to go to the fair tonight?"

Her heart flutters a little, and she brushes imaginary hair off her face. "I think so. Provided that Lady Rosalie doesn't need me…"

"Would you mind walking with me, if you do?"

There's the flutter again, and she scolds herself mentally for acting like a girl half her age. "I don't see why not. I will let you know."

"Very well. I shan't keep you from your work any longer."

When she opens the door to Lady Rosalie's room, the smile still hasn't gone away from her face. "You rang, milady?"

"Ah, Elsie," Lady Rosalie closes a book with a smile, "we're going to Haxby for dinner, so I won't be needing you tonight. Were you planning on seeing the fair at the village?"

"Yes, milady—if you didn't need me, that is."

"I'm glad not to be standing in your way, then," Lady Rosalie quips, giving Elsie a know-it-all smile. "And am I right to suppose that you shall not walk alone…?"

It must be something on her face, making her feelings clearly visible to anyone who cared to look, Elsie decides as she bit her lip, trying to focus on gathering the clothes to be laundered. "Actually, somebody did ask if they could accompany me," she answers carefully, not sure what Lady Rosalie's views on the staff 'socializing' with each other are.

The young woman's face is a perfect image of innocence. "And would that 'somebody' be Mr. Carson?" She laughs dearly at the horrified expression on Elsie's face, and sheds her afternoon dress, getting ready to be fitted into her corset. "Don't fret, Elsie, I have absolutely nothing against my brother's butler escorting the head housemaid to a fair. And I believe Carson is a fine man. Wouldn't you agree?"

Elsie sighs and shakes her head, putting the lace through loops and around hooks. "I could never say anything against him, milady—but there are other matters to consider. You may not find the house staff socializing abominable, but should Lord Grantham be of a different mind, such a liaison might put an end to both of our careers. That is, if there was a liaison to talk of in the first place," she feels compelled to add hastily.

Lady Rosalie sighs, her breasts rising a little as the corset pushes them up. "It would seem that we are not so different from one another, Elsie. We both need to think twice before we give our hearts away."

"I beg to disagree, milady," Elsie smiles as she finishes lacing the corset and reaches for the dress. "Should you desire to marry, it would only serve to strengthen your position in the society, whereas for someone like me it would mean the end of—well, of everything: the career, however insignificant, the hopes for the future…"

"And yet," Lady Rosalie interrupts, meeting Elsie's eyes with the saddest look she'd ever seen on her face, "I do not desire to marry. And to me, it means the end of all these things."

"Perhaps you haven't met the right person yet, milady." This is as lame an attempt to comfort her mistress as there ever could be, but Elsie feels lost, not knowing what to make of the blush rising up on Lady Rosalie's cheeks as she tries to stop herself from crying, or of the way her eyes darken as they lock with hers.

"I believe I have," she whispers so quietly Elsie can hardly understand the words. "And that is the whole problem."

To which there are no words Elsie could possibly use as consolation, so she remains silent as she finishes dressing this young, beautiful, terribly sad woman, putting her hair up and clasping a heavy ruby necklace around her neck.

She's a perfect picture of silent sorrow by the end of it.

"Elsie," Lady Rosalie says as they exit the room together, stopping her in the shadowy corridor, "I really appreciate everything you do for me."

"Thank you, milady, but there's no need to—"

"There is every need," Lady Rosalie touches Elsie's wrist, and her fingers are cold, so cold they almost seem hot. "Especially since you don't seem to realize…" She pauses and looks down, the delicate flicker of an oil lamp illuminating her face like an old painting. Elsie waits for her to continue, but she doesn't so she simply stands there, unmoving, hardly breathing at all.

Silence stretches out between them, until Lady Rosalie sighs in exasperation, and reaches out to ghost her fingertips over Elsie's cheekbone, and place the most chaste of kisses right outside the left corner of her mouth. It's so quick and delicate that, for a moment, Elsie is sure she'd dreamt it.

There's still silence, but a very different one, underlined with sudden understanding, awe and fright.

Finally, Lady Rosalie steps back, brushes the same hand she'd touched Elsie's face with down her neck, and smiles nervously, not meeting her eyes. "I hope you shall have a pleasant evening at the fair," she says, and every word she speaks seems to be a plea for understanding.

"Thank you, milady," Elsie says hoarsely and watches as Lord Grantham's younger sister, so beautiful, so kind and so unfortunately in love, descends the stairs to join the family that despises her.

And then she turns, and takes the stairs up to her room, to get herself ready for a walk of which, had they known, the Crawleys would probably despise just as fervently.


TBC…