Waking the next morning on the settee in her pantry she was a little dismayed to find herself alone but at least she knew it hadn't all been a dream from the very fact she was there rather than in her bed. She hadn't been kissed like that in years, she thought to herself in the servants' hall. Had she ever been kissed like that? Wanting to smile rather mischievously, she bit her lip to prevent herself; the last things she needed was for someone to ask her why she was grinning like an idiot at the breakfast table. She should be doing the rounds on the first floor, checking that everyone was doing as they should be but she couldn't bring herself to, she was too content by far to sit at the table replaying last night's events in her mind. Not that they were sordid- far from it- he had been the perfect gentleman for the most part. And suddenly she felt like a lovestruck school girl. How on earth was she going to get through breakfast sitting beside him?

Miss O'Brien, looking her usual chirpy self, all but threw herself into the chair opposite. Oddly, it made Elsie all the more cheerful; though perhaps it was because the lady's maid seemed to be in a particularly fowl mood rather than her presence.

"Have you seen to her Ladyship, Miss O'Brien?" she asked pointedly and received a very brusque answer.

"Yes."

Heavens, Elsie thought, she's glowering at me even more than usual! She reached forward for her cup of tea and surveyed her colleague over it.

"Anything the matter, Miss O'Brien?"

Why she was consciously trying to wind up such a tricky creature, she had no idea, but she was enjoying it immensely. She received another contemptuous stare.

"I'm fine. Thank you."

Someone had decidedly but a bee in Miss O'Brien's bonnet, she thought. It made quite a change to be the smug one in a conversation such as this.

"Spoken to Mrs Patmore lately?"

Dangerous, dangerous territory, Elsie. Miss O'Brien's head snapped up at the question. Although Elsie tried to organise her face into a neutral expression as if she hadn't overheard the conversation between the two women the previous morning, she probably didn't manage it. It earned her all the deeper a frown.

"Just now," The lady's maid seemed sour at the thought.

Didn't she believe you? Again?- Elsie thought.

"How is Mr Carson, Mrs Hughes?" The question was asked with the force of a smack.

Only when she was brought firmly back down to earth did she realise how elated she had been moments before. I probably deserved that, Elsie reflected, wondering how on earth she was going to answer to that one without accidentally giving too much away. Once again, Miss O'Brien held the power to be smug between the pair.

2.

Things only got worse from there. Put down from her good mood by Miss O'Brien's snappy retort, she went about the business of the day in a much more sober frame of mind, thinking, for the first time really, just what was happening between the butler and herself. Laid out in cold prose it sounded rather ludicrous: in a moment of madness she had asked him to dance and they had been caught out in a compromising position; leading to them eavesdropping on colleagues in a very confined space; which, one way or another, lead to them kissing on her settee that same night. It all sounded very... well, hasty for one thing. Lying all but beneath him last night she had hardly had any complaints, but now she realised things seemed to be going very fast. She could not remember a single word being said about their feelings for one another. She suddenly felt very old indeed.

And what did she feel for him, anyway, if the question came up? She thought back to when she had seen him standing in the library. She had seen him looking sad and it made her feel a soft tinge of sadness too, and she had wanted, somehow, to reach out to him. That she knew for certain. But what more than that? They stuck up for one another whenever either was challenged, yes, and they often liked to spend a quiet evening together. She liked his quiet sense of humour, it differed from yet matched her own. She purposely sought him out when she knew they were both taking an afternoon off. They even knew when the other wanted to be left alone, seldom though it was. She like the way he had kissed her. Very much.

Oh no, she thought suddenly, I can't! I'm far too old to have gone and fallen... She groaned to herself a little. Yes, she thought, too old by far.

But then, her mind wandering back again to the night before, lying very very close beside him, him still kissing her softly on the neck. He'd have only had to ask and she'd have... A bit a brandy in her and she'd have probably had his shirt without him having to give her an invitation! And it frightened her. Not her her lack of inhibition under the influence of brandy, but her lack of inhibition under his influence. She had certainly never felt like that before.

Then the image of Miss O'Brien's contemptuous face from that morning at the breakfast table swam before her eyes. She hadn't only detected Miss O'Brien's displeasure that someone other than herself was being happy. It wasn't only the threatening edge to her tone, although that should probably be her biggest worry. One casual word from Miss O'Brien and her Ladyship would know and even if she, like Mrs Patmore, chose not to believe her maid, she may become curious and that could lead to all manner of trouble. No, what really spooked Elsie was the mocking in the girl's tone. It couldn't be plainer that Miss O'Brien found the idea of the whole... affair utterly ridiculous, and it couldn't be denied that it hurt her, though why she was letting Miss O'Brien's opinion get to her she didn't know. She supposed she could see her point; it was rather ridiculous that people as old as them were thinking off-... But perhaps it was only her who was seriously thinking of it.

What seemed to have developed during the course of her thoughts, rather than any of the desired clarity, was a great void of potential for her to get hurt. It was a harsh contrast to the safety of the hold she had felt, swaying backward and forward in his arms with The Carnival of Venice humming in the background. Until she was more certain in her mind of which course of action, if such an expression was correct in this case, there was only one thing she could really do. And that was something she really didn't want to.

3.

That night she retired early. She did so quietly, not wishing to declare that she was "off to bed", not wanting to seem to be even more forward than she'd already been, not thinking she could quite stand the raise of Miss O'Brien eyebrows that the remark would doubtlessly earn her. She left the table as she usually did with little ceremony, but instead of going to her sitting room went straight up the stairs and turned out her light as soon as possible so as not to leave doubt in the mind of anyone loitering in the corridor that she didn't want to be disturbed. It took conscious and driving effort but she managed it. And she managed it every night for a week.

You probably all think I've gone mad, don't you? Don't worry, I will start to depress myself if I make things go too badly for them, so things will probably be looking up next chapter. Please review.