A/N: Thank you again to all who have reviewed, followed, or favorited this fic. I plan to thank you all personally when I'm through. I hope you don't think I'm being neglectful. Every review and follow has been a highlight to this process. I know when I read fanfic I get a warm feeling in what can sometimes be a dull or bad day. I hope that happens for you when you read this…the warm feeling part, not the bad day part. Warning there's a touch of silliness and angst in this one.

Word of Mouth

"So are you going to explain that dozy look you've had all day?" Mrs. Patmore asked as she sat having tea with Mrs. Hughes.

"I never have," the other woman replied, with a slight blush on her face.

Mrs. Patmore shot her friend an incredulous look. Ever since the butler and housekeeper announced their engagement the cook noticed the way the couple vacillated—mostly between her happiness to his haughtiness. She knew they would get there in the end, but it still made it damned frustrating and a little amusing to watch. Mrs. Patmore would offer her friend a cup of a tea and a listening ear when they were able to find the time.

"I know the wedding is just over a week away, but you look like a woman who's already enjoyed her wedding night," the cook continued with a chuckle.

Mrs. Hughes shushed the cook, looking at her firmly shut door. "Keep your voice down!"

"Oh my word, you have haven't you," Mrs. Patmore said in astonishment. "I never thought ol' Charlie would have it in him."

Mrs. Hughes gave her friend a stern look and chided, "This is Mr. Carson we're talking about, not Charlie. As if he'd ever be anything but proper."

"So what have the two of you been getting up to in here at night?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well a few nights ago you came out of his pantry, smirking like the cat that got the cream, to fetch him a glass of water," Mrs. Patmore said suggestively. "What had him so parched, Mrs. Hughes?"

Mrs. Hughes could not hide the look of unsettled mirth from her face. If it had been anyone else, her housekeeper persona would have saved her; after all, the stark and stern female head of staff could dial down anyone else daring to dig into her business. But she and Beryl Patmore had been through so much over the years. From their feuding over the store cupboard key, to fears only another woman could understand, to a wandering-handed suitor, to laughs too giddy to be modest, and pushes into futures that once seemed impossible—this pair became allied in work as well as life. Mrs. Hughes simply could not hide some things from her dear friend.

"All right," Mrs. Hughes started, "but you have to keep it between us."

"Who am I gonna tell?!" the cook replied slightly offended.

"Oh you may not tell a thing outright, but I wouldn't put it past you to tease poor Mr. Carson and I'm the one'll have to deal with it," Mrs. Hughes said with reproof.

Mrs. Patmore pursed her lips and nodded. "Ya all right," she conceded.

"Not a word, Mrs. Patmore…"

"Yes, yes. I'll behave myself. Go on then," the cook urged, quite interested.

Mrs. Hughes revealed some of the conversation between herself and Mr. Carson. The gist of which was their marriage would be one of love, and not just in holding hands and sharing bedrooms, but in all manner of activity married couples are sanctioned to enjoy.

"I'm a bit nervous about it all really," the housekeeper revealed. "I mean, how will it be between us? I'm just an old spinster. Old hands, old hair, old…from my shirt to my shift," she said covering her face with her hands in embarrassment.

Mrs. Patmore brought her chair closer to her friend and grabbed her hands to comfort her, "Oh, Mrs. Hughes, don't beat yourself up like that. You've got nothing to fret about."

Mrs. Patmore knew there was no servant more prim than Elsie Hughes. Sure she had a fire in her that shown through now and then with her quick wit and occasional plotting, but at her core she was moral and virtuous. Mrs. Patmore wondered what kind of experience her friend actually had in the physical aspects of things.

"I mean, you've nearly been engaged twice before!" Mrs. Patmore pointed out. "Surely you got up to something interesting for having a man come back and ask you for your hand after he'd been refused."

Mrs. Hughes regretted ever revealing that particular piece of her past with her friend. But it was shared over tea just after the ordeal with Mr. Tufton at the Thirsk fair. Sharing battle wounds seemed appropriate.

"Joe and I didn't get up to anything…well anything like that anyway."

Mrs. Patmore stared at her friend expectantly. "Well?"

"Well what?" the housekeeper asked slightly annoyed.

"What exactly did you and Joe get up to?"

Mrs. Hughes stood. "Mrs. Patmore, I think that's enough for one day. I've got to get back to work. I'll help you clear up," she replied stiffly and gestured to their tea things at the table.

Mrs. Patmore grabbed Mrs. Hughes' hands and yanked her back down to her desk chair. "Elsie Hughes, I am just trying to help." Mrs. Patmore gave her a look normally reserved for silly kitchen maids that burned her broth. "So, let's start again, perhaps with a simpler question. When was the last time you kissed someone?"

"That's you're idea of a simple question?" Mrs. Hughes sputtered.

"I'm not asking for details, just a general time or place. Surely you can share that with me," Mrs. Patmore said now equally annoyed. "It doesn't matter how long ago…or how recent," the cook said suggestively.

"That's just it," Mrs. Hughes said quietly.

The cook had a mischievous grin and said, "Oh, so Charlie boy's been snogging-"

"Mrs. Patmore, if you call him Charlie boy or anything of that ilk again I'm going to-"

"All right, don't get your hackles up."

Mrs. Hughes took a deep breath. "I cannot answer your question."

"Why not?" the cook asked, exasperated.

Mrs. Hughes shrugged her shoulders and revealed, "Because I've never kissed anyone, not on the lips anyway."

Mrs. Patmore was taken aback. "But that man came back for you?"

"Well, I think Joe was rather fond of me. I mean he wanted to marry me after all. Isn't that enough?" Mrs. Hughes replied simply. "But we only ever held hands and shared a few dances. Nothing sordid."

"And what about you and Mr. Carson lately? You can't tell me nothing's been going on."

"Well not nothing. I don't live in a sack" Mrs. Hughes chided. "I mean there's usually a kiss to my hand or my hair when he walks me up the stairs. And last night, well, he managed to kiss my cheek," she said airily.

"I see," Mrs. Patmore began with a slight eye-roll. "You know wars have been fought and won in less time it's taken the two of you to get to it."

"Oh, I shouldn't have told you," Mrs. Hughes said aggravated with the cook.

"Now calm down. I'm sorry," Mrs. Patmore replied. "I am. I said I was going to help, not make you cross." She paused for a moment then continued, "So, you've never been kissed on the lips, and Charl-"

Mrs. Hughes gave the severest look possible.

"And Mr. Carson," Mrs. Patmore corrected, "hasn't quite landed on the mark yet either."

The two women sat quietly for a moment, each lost in thought. One debating whether she was happy or sad that her fiancée had not kissed her properly; worried that when they did it wouldn't be everything either hoped it would be. The other thinking of a rather simple solution.

"All right, let's have a go then," the cook said abruptly, scooting her chair closer to her friend.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Mrs. Hughes said leaning back.

"It's no big deal," Mrs. Patmore said exasperated. "When I was a young kitchen maid and someone actually got to walk out with a boy, well, it was quite common to practice this sort of thing on each other. I assume you housemaids got up to it too?"

"We did not!" Mrs. Hughes said vehemently.

"Maybe kitchen maids are more handsy?" Mrs. Patmore looked thoughtful. "But never mind all that. You're worried about that kiss with Mr. Carson, and the other things. I'm just saying, maybe it would help if you knew what it was like. The kissing that is, the other things you'll have to figure out on your own."

Mrs. Hughes was always good at sizing up a situation quickly, but this revelation had her stymied. On one hand, kissing another woman…she heard the vicar in her head going on about brimstone at the suggestion. But at the same time, Beryl was her friend and she did trust her. After all, the woman had already felt her breast in her hour of need; this seemed somewhat inane compared to that.

"All right," Mrs. Hughes replied.

There was a silence in which neither woman seemed to breathe. Mrs. Patmore knew as this was her idea she'd have to make the first move as it were. Best just get on with it then, she thought to herself.

The cook suddenly thrust forward and planted a quick kiss to her friend's lips. Mrs. Hughes leaned back not expecting Mrs. Patmore to just lunge at her as she did. It was more of a face banging into another than a kiss. Nevertheless, the deed was done.

"Well?" Mrs. Patmore asked.

"Well…I don't see Mr. Carson attacking me quite like that," Mrs. Hughes said with a smirk.

"Well then he's not doing it right," the cook shot back, causing both women to giggle.

Mrs. Hughes thought about how silly this all was—the wedding, the nerves. She never had a problem sharing things with Mr. Carson, why these things all of a sudden? Then again, this was different. Mrs. Hughes could always handle Mr. Carson, but Elsie wasn't sure she could bare everything to Charles. But oh she wanted to. She wanted to know his lips on hers and everything thereafter. This thought brought her back to her current interactions with her friend.

Emboldened she asked with a hint of hesitation, "Could we try again? Just a bit slower, mind you. I'd like to keep my own teeth thank you very much."

This time, both women leaned forward and very sweetly and chastely kissed. Nothing hurried, nor passion-inducing. It just was.

"Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson said, suddenly entering her parlor. He came up short on the sight before him.

The two women hopped away from each other into their chairs, matching mortified expressions on their faces. Mrs. Hughes brought a hand to her mouth with a sharp inhale, afraid of the butler's reaction. Meanwhile he just stood there trying to process what he just saw.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Mrs. Patmore stood and gathered the tea things. She shot Mrs. Hughes a worried look unsure if abandoning her friend was the right thing to do, but if anyone was going to survive Mr. Carson's fallout it would be the housekeeper and not the cook. Mr. Carson seemed frozen as she walked past. He only shared the briefest glance with Mrs. Patmore showing his disbelief and a touch of anger before she ambled away to the safety of her kitchen.

"I uhm," Mr. Carson started, "I'm going to Ripon for a few errands. I may not be back for the gong and informed Mr. Barrow."

Mrs. Hughes nodded in return then moved to stand. "Mr. Carson," she said quietly, "what you saw…well it was-"

"I know what I saw, Mrs. Hughes," he interrupted, his tone giving way to his ire. "There's nothing you can say to explain away what I just saw."

Mrs. Hughes took a few steps toward him and put her hand out to take his, "Please, let me try to-"

But the butler moved away from her, now standing nearly into the hall. "I think not, Mrs. Hughes. Not right now. I'd better get on. I told his lordship I would be back for the dinner service and some of us have to keep our word around here."

His comment cut her deeply. She was stunned as he turned to leave. She couldn't move even though her body was aching to run after him. When she did find her feet she rushed to the back door but he had already made it out of the yard. She ran to the wall and looked down the path. The wind whipped at her face as she saw his form barreling toward the village.

"Mr. Carson!" she cried out. "Charles, please!"

But he just moved further and further away. Mrs. Hughes leaned heavily against the stone wall and covered her face as tears sprang to her eyes. She focused on him, willed him to look back. Sometimes when they were in a crowded room one could feel the eyes of the other, somehow sending a message that the other was needed. She just watched him stomp away, wishing he could hear her as he had all those times before.

He did not turn around.

-CE-

Mr. Carson was angry and confused. He turned the scene over and over in his mind. Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore were kissing. It was unreal. Why? When? Is this the first time? He was sure his fiancée was keen to growing intimacies between them, so why would she be kissing someone else, and a woman on top of that? Unsettled, there was no other word for Mr. Carson's state but unsettled. So much so that he passed the bus stop as he charged down to the village, missing the first available bus.

So now he trudged through Ripon an hour behind and looking for this establishment Mr. Barrow hinted at as having potential as a whiskey supplier. He finally came upon it down a side street, very out of the way. Not a smart place to put a business, Mr. Carson thought.

Upon entering, Mr. Carson walked in to find a large man standing behind the bar setting out glassware.

"Excuse me," Mr. Carson said getting the man's attention. "I'm here to see the proprietor."

"You're a bit early aren't ya, mate," the man replied gruffly.

Mr. Carson shot the man a look letting him know he really wasn't in the mood for bandying about. "I believe I have an appointment and I am actually slightly late. A Mr. Barrow made the arrangement."

"Barrow, eh," the man said with a smirk. "Oh you're that one. You must be something special."

"I beg your pardon," Mr. Carson shot back. "Can you kindly show me to the office of someone in authority?"

"Upstairs, first door on the left," the man said with a smirk. "You'll find her office there."

Mr. Carson noticed a staircase just behind the bar and went up. He couldn't tell if the conversation with the barman was off somehow or he was still in a bewildered state from earlier. Perhaps a bit of both. Reaching the landing he noticed several doors and made his way to the left.

He knocked on the first door and heard a woman's voice from within say, "Come in."

Entering the room, Mr. Carson experienced a moment of disorientation. There, at a desk with her back to him, sat a woman with deep auburn hair neatly pulled back and wearing a black dress. She was apparently scribbling in a ledger of some sort. The sight was all too familiar, having walked in on Mrs. Hughes in a similar way many times.

Without turning around, the woman spoke again in a Scottish accent, "Come in Mr. Carson. I've been expecting you."

Mr. Carson was rooted to his spot just inside the door and made no move to enter further. When the woman didn't hear his footfalls, she turned around. The woman was slight and fair as his Mrs. Hughes, but this woman wore quite a bit of coloring on her lips and cheeks. Her eyes were dark as well, not like his Elsie's.

Mr. Carson returned from his stunned state. "I beg your pardon. I must have the wrong office," he said, turning to leave.

The woman stood and walked toward him. "As I said, Mr. Carson, I've been expecting you. Mr. Barrow said you'd be here at three o'clock, and that you were a punctual man. So I am a bit surprised as it's near on half an hour later and here you are. I thought you changed your mind."

Mr. Carson looked a bit ashamed at that. "Yes, well I missed the bus earlier. If you'll forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive, Mr. Carson. May I take your coat?" she asked moving behind him to close the door.

"No, actually, I am afraid I'll have to cut this appointment short. I have to get back to the house. So if we could just get down to business that would be best."

"Mr. Barrow seemed to think you'd need convincing, Mr. Carson. But if you insist on just getting to business…" the woman said as she moved in front of the butler and started undoing the top buttons of her dress.

Mr. Carson was overrun with shock, from his jaw to his eyebrows. "What on earth are you doing?"

"You said you wanted to get on with it. Well then I won't need this dress. Though why your friend thought you'd prefer me in black, I'll never know."

"Prefer you how?"

The woman looked at the clearly flummoxed man with curiosity. She dealt with nervous customers before, but this man was downright skittish. She spoke slowly and carefully. "Mr. Carson, what sort of business did you expect to handle here?"

"Mr. Barrow said you had good whiskey at a fair price, and we might consider using you as a supplier."

"I see," the woman said as she smiled kindly. "Well I do think we have a fine selection of whiskey, but that's not really the inventory I am known for."

"Oh?"

"My name is Madame Mills, and as congratulations on your engagement, your friend paid for an hour of my time." The woman hoped this would be enough to hint at her dealings.

Mr. Carson, having been shocked too many times today, wasn't quite catching on. "Time for what?"

The woman took the butler's arm and turned him slightly to get a full view of the rest of the room which included an armoire, ornate chairs and wall hangings, and of course a rather large four poster bed with gauzy curtains surrounding it. "Mr. Carson, this is a brothel and I am the matron. This is the business I am in."

Mr. Carson's eyes shot about the room. "Oh good Lord," he muttered as all color drained from his face.

Then, everything went black.

-CE-

Mrs. Hughes locked herself in her sitting room after coming in from the yard. Mrs. Patmore knocked but was met with a firm dismissal. Things obviously went bad, but the cook wondered just how bad; had she messed up her best friend's chance for a happy ending? Mrs. Patmore went back to her kitchen and shared some worried looks with Daisy before telling everyone to get back to work.

The servants went about their duties unsure why the butler stormed out, the housekeeper strangely shut herself away, and the cook was as tense as an overdone chicken. The mystery actually made everyone work extra hard; because despite not knowing what was going on with their senior staff, accidently getting caught in the crossfire would be quite unfortunate.

The afternoon became later and the servants flitted in and out of the hall for their tea. Daisy came back into the kitchen and walked apprehensively up to Mrs. Patmore.

"Uhm, Mrs. Patmore," she said.

"What is it, Daisy?" the cook responded irritably as she sat at her desk.

"It's just, I heard Thomas saying something, and well, I think he's planning to play a joke on Mr. Carson."

Mrs. Patmore jerked her head up. Thomas sticking his foot in the mix of what is an already strained situation would not help. "What's he up to?" she asked.

"I don't know exactly," Daisy replied gripping her apron. "I heard him tell Andy it had something to do with him sending Mr. Carson to Ripon."

"That boy had better hope it's nothing too crass or I'll have his head," Mrs. Patmore said as she stood and rushed to the hall.

Mr. Barrow noticed the annoyed cook upon her entrance to the hall. She walked over to him and Andy, hands on hips. "Out with it, Thomas, I haven't got all day," she said sternly.

"Why Mrs. Patmore, whatever to do mean?" he asked with faux innocence.

"You know what I mean," she said her face reddening.

"Actually I don't. I have just been here taking over Mr. Carson's duties while he's off doing Lord knows what in Ripon," he said with a smirk.

"The Lord may know, but so does a little weasel like you, so out with it!"

Mr. Barrow merely sat there and took a sip of his tea.

Seeing that she was going to get nowhere with the underbutler she set her sights on the new footman. "Listen here, boy," Mrs. Patmore said leaning over the lad, "I am in no mood for antics or shows right now. I have a knife collection that needs sharpening and your hide will do just as fine as any strap."

The look on the cook's face was too unnerving for the footman and he broke under her gaze. "He sent him to a brothel in Ripon!" he blurted out.

"What?!" Mrs. Patmore roared, turning on Thomas; the underbutler shaking his head in disappointment at his protégé's lack of nerve.

This caught the attention of Mr. and Mrs. Bates who were sitting at the end of the table across from Andy.

"What's this?" Mr. Bates inquired.

Mrs. Patmore leaned over and whispered, "Thomas thought he would put a lark on Mr. Carson and sent him to a house of lust."

Mr. Bates shot the underbutler a disapproving glare while Anna gasped.

"You sent Mr. Carson to a…place like that," the young lady whispered harshly. "The poor man probably had a heart attack."

"Come now, Mrs. Bates, they would have telephoned by now if that'd happened," Mr. Barrow said slightly cheerful. "What surprises me is why he isn't back yet. It's nearly four o'clock. I expected him to have a shock and ramble back here to throttle me. Yet, he's not returned. Perhaps he's got himself a bit sidetracked."

Mrs. Patmore was incensed. With unsuspecting agility, she flipped the scheming man's teacup from the saucer, hot tea spilling all over him and running down the front of his pristine livery.

"You'd better hope nothing sordid is going on or I'll have his and your head," the cook threatened while Thomas struggled to get out of the chair.

"Maybe I should go retrieve him," Mr. Bates said. "After all, he had several errands to run for his lordship on my behalf. He may not have made it there yet."

Mrs. Patmore waived off the valet. "No, I'll go."

"You?" Andy said skeptically.

Mrs. Patmore smacked the boy on the back of the head. "Yes, me" she said sharply. Then a bit more soberly continued, "Besides, I think he and I need to talk."

-CE-

Mr. Carson felt a terrible ache from his head to his backside. He tried to remember if he took a tumble after dinner service last night, but no. He had an early night, sherry with Mrs. Hughes, walked her to the door to the women's side of the attics, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. What happened, he wondered, and started grasping for memories.

Kiss. Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore kissing. Going to Ripon. The woman taking off her dress.

The last thought made his eyes shoot open to see the top of a bed covered in elaborate curtains and he sensed he was atop a very comfortable blanket. I'm in a bed…in a brothel!

He jolted upward and a hand shot out to touch his arm. "Careful there, Mr. Carson, wouldn't want you to have a relapse," Madame Mills said gently.

He struggled to rise. "Good Lord," he said as he stood at the foot of the bed, quite wobbly.

"Not that again. Mr. Carson, I love the Lord same as you but he ain't gonna save you from falling over like a dainty damsel in my room."

Mr. Carson looked around the room and it was just as startling as he remembered. He fell into a rather large chair and leaned over, his head between his legs.

Madame Mills brought him a cup of tea to try and steady him. "Here you go, then. Drink up."

"What's this?" he asked still woozy.

"It's tea, Mr. Carson. It'll help you find your legs again," she said kindly. "And if the tea doesn't work, the whiskey I put in will."

Mr. Carson took a long drink and could feel the generous amount of alcohol the matron added. It was very much needed.

The woman retrieved her own tea and returned to sit next to the butler. He noticed she had changed into more risqué attire while he was incapacitated. He gaped as his eyes roamed over the woman wearing nothing but her underthings, stockings, and an ornate robe.

"I'm sure you disapprove, Mr. Carson, but it's about to be evening soon and I've got to don a uniform, same as you." Madame Mills adjusted her robe to cover as much of her legs as possible.

Mr. Carson looked down, slightly ashamed. "Of course, don't mind me. I'd best get back to the house, especially if it's so late."

The woman patted his arm and said, "Finish your drink, Mr. Carson. Let's get you steady first."

Steady. Mr. Carson was anything but steady and had been since he asked his best friend to become his wife. This afternoon's shock was one of several curiosities that have revealed themselves over the past several weeks. Who knew one little question and answer could wreak such havoc? He needed steadiness, desperately. But the only one to ever make him steady was also the person who had him off kilter.

Quite suddenly, there was some shouting outside in the hall and heavy footfalls making their way to the door. In burst Mrs. Patmore followed by the barman from earlier. "And you can kiss my cleaver!" she yelled at the man following her. She looked about the room and found the butler and matron sitting stunned with tea cups in midair. "What the devil are you doing?" she yelled at the butler.

This would not be the first time an angry woman came looking for her man in this bedroom. The matron stood and addressed the irate cook, "You must be the bride-to-be."

Mr. Carson stood with a guffaw. "Hardly."

"Oh, well then how can I help you, Madame?" the matron asked.

"No help needed, thank you very much. Just came to get this oaf home so he can fix the heart he broke!" she roared at the butler.

He raised his shoulders. "I broke her heart?" he countered. "She didn't find me in a questionable position this afternoon."

Mrs. Patmore was not faltered. "What do you call this?" she said looking about the room.

Mr. Carson paused for a moment then said firmly, "A misunderstanding."

Mrs. Patmore was in full form now. "Oh yea, you've been gone a long time, Charlie boy. Barrow thought you'd have run from here by now. But I come here to try and waive you off, but instead I find you getting cozy with this, this…"

"Prostitute," that matron said plainly, clearly not disturbed by the riling woman.

"That!" Mrs. Patmore said.

"Just like the two of you have been getting cozy," he shot back.

"I've never met this woman in my life," the cook shouted.

"Not her," he gestured to the woman at his right. "Mrs. Hughes! The two of you were kissing," he said accusingly.

Mrs. Patmore took a breath. "We were."

"Thank you for not denying it," he said grimly, and moved to grab his coat and hat that lay on a chest at the foot of the bed. "That's that then," he said walking passed the cook.

"Mr. Carson, as you so smartly put it, it's a misunderstanding," the cook shouted, but Mr. Carson did not turn around. She continued, "She was nervous about you finally kissing her proper, amongst other things."

This brought the butler up short. He turned and bore a skeptical look on Mrs. Patmore. "What do you mean?"

"Mr. Carson," she said gently, "you know Mrs. Hughes as this stalwart woman that gets things done in a graceful but quiet manner. A woman who never really complains and never shows weakness, especially to you. Or have you forgotten?"

How could he forget…the cancer scare. She didn't want him to know. She hid it from him. They never discussed why she kept it from him. But thinking on it, it would be for the same reason he would probably never share such a thing with her—to never let her see him so vulnerable, to only have her see him as confident and strong.

"She has been working her whole life and never done a questionable thing I can think of," Mrs. Patmore continued. "There's no more dignified a person on this earth, Mr. Carson, except maybe you. She just never had any experience with that side of things."

The matron stepped toward Mrs. Patmore, taking a guess, "She wanted to know what it would be like?"

"Yes," Mrs. Patmore said simply, thankful for anyone's understanding. "She has never kissed anyone, not properly."

"But that red-faced fellow?" Mr. Carson asked.

Mrs. Patmore shook her head. "Nothing more than some hand holding Mr. Carson. Mrs. Hughes is quite innocent."

Mr. Carson took this revelation to heart. He remembered being a young lad wanting to kiss a milkmaid. It was nerve-wracking; pins and needles layered around a knot of uncertainty that formed in his stomach when he thought of how he would go about doing it. Agony. He sat back in his chair deflated.

Madame Mills took this opportunity to get the cook's name and suggested they all sit down and get this sorted over tea. She offered the cook her chair next to Mr. Carson and poured her a cup of tea.

"Kissing a man for the first time is a big deal for a girl," the matron said. "I don't think it matters if you're five or fifty."

Mrs. Patmore nodded. "She's quite wound up about it, Mr. Carson. I mean, she wants you to be pleased with it, with her."

"She didn't know if it would be any good…if she would be any good," Madame Mills offered.

Mr. Carson pondered this. Every touch they shared since their engagement, the kisses he placed on her hand, her forehead, her cheek…which was quite risqué of him. But all these intimacies only stirred him more and more on the inside. Yearning flowed through him from his heart to his stomach, and lately to other places. Why would she think she wouldn't please him?

The butler's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door and the barman entering. "Sorry to interrupt, Madame. But the vicar is here."

"The vicar?" Mrs. Patmore questioned.

"Oh don't worry about that now, I'll go down and sort out Reverend…where did you say you were from?" Madame Mills asked.

"Downton Abbey," Mr. Carson answered.

"Hmm, yes. Well I'll just get the gentleman downstairs squared away," she said as she turned to leave. "And perhaps get him to change his appointment, unless he wants his flock to find out his fancy," she mumbled to herself.

Mr. Carson continued his thoughtfulness as he stared into his tea. If only the answer to all life's questions was at the bottom of a cup of tea.

Mrs. Patmore broke the silence. "Mr. Carson, I'm sorry what you saw earlier disturbed you so much. You know it's not really the norm for Mrs. Hughes or myself to do that."

"It still does not erase the image from my memory. It's quite burnt through."

"But you understand now, don't you?" Mrs. Patmore pleaded. After all, she and Charles Carson had worked alongside each other for decades as well. They may not have always been on the same side, but she cared that she had this man's respect and confidence in her. "I would never want to hurt you, or Mrs. Hughes. You two are the dearest people to me. But between you moving at a tortoise's pace to give her some attention, and her tendency to keep things close to her vest…everyone is wound rather tight," Mrs. Patmore said resolutely.

"Nothing about this engagement has been easy," the butler admitted.

"This isn't like making a bed in a new house or taking over dinner is it? Things either of you really know how to do," Mrs. Patmore offered. "On top of that, it's not like we are young flowers these days. Our bodies are not like that Madame."

"I think she's beautiful," Mr. Carson said musingly.

"That she is, but don't get yourself a wandering eye now, Charlie," Mrs. Patmore countered.

"What? Not her," he said gesturing to the door. "Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson corrected. "And stop calling me, Charlie!"

"Ya, I need to work on that," she replied.

Mr. Carson took all this in, the pieces finally falling into place. "I love Mrs. Hughes. I think you figured that out from before, when she was going through her health scare."

"Yes, it was obvious. But the view outside sometimes can be clearer than the one in," Mrs. Patmore said, very deep in thought. "Besides, we all know you love Mrs. Hughes. But what about Elsie?"

"I don't understand."

"There are times when you and she are not in agreement."

"And that's all right, we manage to get back there," he defended.

"You do, but knowing Elsie, she would never let you be in anything but agreement in the end. She's so giving, so sacrificing. As a friend who goes to her for favors, trust me I know."

Mr. Carson shot her a look. "That's very suggestive."

"Would you get your mind away from that?" Mrs. Patmore said exasperated. "It was practice. If we were young lasses, no one would bat an eye. But at our age, sure, it must be something decadent."

They were interrupted by Madame Mills' return. "My my, it doesn't look like much has changed here," she said noticing the combative nature between her visitors.

"He can't get past me kissing his fiancée, who is my best friend, I might add," Mrs. Patmore said loudly.

"She's my best friend too," he countered.

"She is at that, and she is about to be so much more, Charles Carson. And she's nervous and scared. She's like you. She wants everything to be good between you."

"But, of course it will be good." he said firmly. "It doesn't matter if she's never kissed anyone before. Her virtue only makes her more appealing to me. What matters is that it is happening between the two of us. It will be beautiful and wonderful because it's us."

The two women looked at the butler with whimsy, hearing a big stoic man say such lovely things.

The butler stood, carried away with his thoughts and looked toward the matron's desk that reminded him of his fiancée. "And I may not know everything there is to Elsie. But I want to spend the rest of my life learning. And I do love her inside and out. It's taken every ounce of restraint not to follow her up to her room at the end of the night."

"Now who's being suggestive," Mrs. Patmore smirked.

Mr. Carson turned, remembering the company he had with him. "Excuse me. That was most-"

"Proper for a man about to marry the love of his life," Madame Mills finished.

"You should tell her that, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Patmore implored. "Get back home and make your girl steady."

"Yes," he said putting on his hat with a firm pat. "I think I will."

With a quick turn he made to leave, a man with a mission.

"About bloody time," Mrs. Patmore said trailing after him.

-CE-

Mrs. Hughes spent the afternoon between tears and invoices. She allowed herself a good cry when she came in from running after Mr. Carson. She heard Mrs. Patmore wanting to comfort her, but she just wanted to be alone right now. Well alone, but for one person to make her less lonely, and she wasn't sure he would forgive her.

She knew Mr. Carson was a stickler for propriety and rules. The shock he must have felt at seeing her and the cook kissing; she understood his reaction, even if she knew there was nothing untoward going on. She hoped he would let her explain when he returned.

She had not realized how much time past until she heard orders being given in the kitchen…but that wasn't Mrs. Patmore. The housekeep left her sanctuary to find Daisy giving orders to the kitchen maids.

"I said minced," Daisy barked at one girl. "You think Old Lady Grantham can chew through celery the size of a shilling? Be off with you and get those potatoes boiling."

"Yes, Mrs. Mason," the girl said rounding the table.

"What on earth is going on here?" Mrs. Hughes asked, perplexed.

"I'll tell ya what's going on," Daisy said not looking up and taking over the mincing from the kitchen maid. "I've got farm girls thinking they're making pig slop trying to prepare a five course dinner, that's what." The assistant cook was a little unnerved having been left on her own without notice. She was so focused it took her a moment to realize to whom she was speaking.

"Daisy?" Mrs. Hughes asked sternly.

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes," Daisy said looking up.

"Where is Mrs. Patmore?" Mrs. Hughes asked.

"Well she, uhm, uhm, went to Ripon," she replied nervously.

"Ripon? Why?"

"To get Mr. Carson."

"Oh my word," Mrs. Hughes said wringing her hands. "That woman is going to foul this all up."

"Mrs. Mason, should the sauce be this thick?" another kitchen maid asked.

Daisy saw the gelatinous mixture slide off the ladle the maid was holding. "Ya, if you're going to help the chauffer grease down the car," she said disapprovingly. She was frustrated beyond measure. Why was it so hard to make a decent béchamel?

This day felt so unreal from the start, but watching Daisy channel her inner Patmore was too much for the housekeeper. "I think I'll leave you to it then," she said as she backed out of the kitchen, not wanting to agitate the young woman further.

Mrs. Hughes was quite worried for her fiancée and her friend. After what transpired in her sitting room earlier, she wondered if there would be anything left of either of them after they tore into each other. She felt stifled thinking about the result. Tears threatened her eyes again, and she took the opportunity to run out the back door.

She gulped in the evening air, desperate for the coolness to calm her. After a few long breaths she walked to the edge of the yard, to the wall she leaned on earlier when Mr. Carson stormed off in all his rage. Maybe this was all a mistake? There seems to be this or that coming up to worry them or call into question their feelings. Is fate trying to warn them off?

The thought crossed her mind as she noticed two figures walking up from the village—one tall and stout with determined strides, and the other one small and bobbing along trying to keep up. As they got closer she stepped off the wall into the light from the house's lanterns.

Mr. Carson noticed her first and stopped, causing Mrs. Patmore to run into him. The cook leaned over grateful for the respite, then looked to see her friends staring straight at each other.

"Good luck, Mr. Carson," the cook offered.

As Mrs. Patmore walked passed Mrs. Hughes she offered the housekeeper a comforting touch to her arm and a smile. "It'll be all right, don't you worry," she said then continued into the house.

The couple stared at each other motionless, both terrified to speak despite knowing they each had quite a bit to say. The look of trepidation on their faces was mirrored by the other; this was going to be an awkward conversation.

Mrs. Hughes found her bravery first and stepped closer to the butler. The movement roused Mr. Carson from his hesitation and he blurted out, "I went to a brothel."

This stalled the housekeeper's progress an arm's length away from her fiancée. "I see," she said, waiting to see if he would say anything more. When he did not, she asked, "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Not really, no" the butler replied. "I collapsed."

"My my, Mr. Carson," the housekeeper said her ire bubbling. "You must have given it all you had."

"What?" he stammered. "No, it was a ruse. Mr. Barrow sent me there under a guise. When I realized what the business was about, well I…I fainted," he said embarrassed.

Mrs. Hughes was worn and her emotional and mental state had swung from euphoria to despair to confusion all day, and now this. It was too much. She let out a barking sound before covering her face with her hands.

Mr. Carson noticed her body shaking and was scared he'd made her cry. He rushed to her and put his hands on her arms. "Elsie, please, I promise nothing happened. You can ask Mrs. Patmore," he said hoping she'd believe him.

He tugged her hands away from her face to reveal tears and a smile. Then with great bursts of air, Mrs. Hughes laughed hysterically in his face.

"I have to say, this was not the reaction I expected," Mr. Carson said, hopeful but frightened.

Mrs. Hughes tried to calm herself and wrapped her arms around her man. "Oh, Charles," she managed to say between her chortling, "I have to laugh to keep from crying. How ridiculous this whole thing has been!"

Mr. Carson still was not sure of his fiancée's stability and held her tight. "We are a mess aren't we," he offered. "How is it we can manage this house and its cabinet of characters, but you and I seem bound to bumble up something that should be so simple."

"What's that exactly?" she asked into his coat.

He pulled her back and looked her in the eyes. He put his hands on her face to wipe away the tears continuing to flow. "She looked like you, you know," he said.

"Who did?"

"The matron of the…establishment I visited this afternoon."

"Charles, I'm not sure comparing me to a woman of that sort is a compliment," she said with a slight warning in her tone.

"She didn't have your eyes," he said simply.

"What?" Mrs. Hughes asked confused.

"Barrow must have done his homework. He happened to find a woman who was slight and fair, like you. Had similar hair, though not nearly as tidy as yours," he said, gaining him a smile from his fiancée.

He saw this as a good sign and continued. "He had her wear a black dress like yours. Although your curves," he said, sliding his hands down her arms to her waist. "Well it may be improper for me to say, but to hell with that right now. I find your curves much more enticing."

Mrs. Hughes felt his hands grasp her waste and pull her closer, sobering the woman from her earlier hysterics.

"Yes, it was all very well-planned by Mr. Barrow," he continued, his voice getting deeper and softer with each word. "But you see, even if I had found her anywhere near as alluring as you, it would have been for naught."

"Oh," was all she managed to say, mesmerized by her man.

"Your eyes, my dear Elsie, well there is nothing so beautiful, so magnetic as the deep blue of your eyes. Stormy as you are fiery, and as rich as the best Margeaux. And your eyes reveal a soul so true and kind and giving. It's your soul; it's you I'm in love with, Elsie. Not any one physical part of you, but all of you."

Mrs. Hughes smiled gloriously at him, "My dear sweet man," she whispered.

He smiled back at her and sighed. "Mrs. Patmore told me you were nervous, about our getting closer. That's why you and she were carrying on as you were."

"You know, it didn't mean anything, not like that-" she implored.

"I know," he said warmly. "Just as I spent the afternoon in a dubious locale and for which you would have every right to rake me over the coals."

"Quite right, Charles Carson," Mrs. Hughes said in mock condemnation. "I have it on good authority your future wife will not find such antics favorable."

"So long as mine are the only lips she kisses from here on out," he countered, wrapping his arm around her back bringing her flush against him.

"Deal," she said airily with a smile, his proximity filling her with warmth.

"But I want you to know, Elsie, I've not kissed you properly not in spite of my feelings but because of them," he said with sheer honesty. "I desire you very much. So much that if we kiss I fear I may lose all sense of decorum, and I dare not overwhelm you with my lack of restraint."

"Charles, we are to be married," she said simply.

"Yes."

"In just over a week after years of self-prescribed loneliness," she said running her hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder.

"I'm acutely aware," he said, his grip on her waist tightening.

She stretched up to whisper, "Then by all means, overwhelm me."

The words were barely off her lips as his crashed down on hers. The butler and housekeeper have had a slow-burning romance, but nothing could prepare them for the fire that coursed through them at this moment. She let out a whimper as one of his hands made its way into her hair, knocking several pins loose, while the other encircled her waste. He sighed when her hand made it to his neck, pulling slightly to the hairs there as she was desperate to hold onto him.

They broke apart slightly to breathe and Mr. Carson took this opportunity to ask, "Better than Beryl?"

Mrs. Hughes chuckled, "Oh, much better than Beryl."

"Don't you forget it," he said smugly.

"Oh I think I could do with a reminder or two," she countered saucily.

"With pleasure, Mrs. Hughes, with pleasure," he said before seizing her lips again, and again, and again.

-CE-

A/N: So my husband noticed I didn't apologize for chapter three being so long, and with this one being even longer, I don't see the point anymore. I hope you all enjoyed it. Chelsie on!