Just a wee bit of angst, but the 'girls' won't let it go on for too long.

Charles was glad that it was just Lord and Lady Grantham and the Dowager Countess for dinner that night. It meant that he wouldn't have to spend too much time upstairs. Lord Grantham would go through fairly quickly to sit with the ladies in the drawing room, not wanting his wife and mother to spend too much time alone. Unfortunately, any time that Lady Grantham and the Dowager Countess were alone together was a chilly affair. For once, Charles found dinner in the servant's hall to be even chillier. He nearly had frostbite after sitting next to Elsie through three courses. She was polite enough to him, but there was certainly no pleasant conversation.

Catching her alone for a moment in the china closet, he made his first attempt, "Elsie, I need to explain…"

"Mr. Carson, I assure you that I understand the situation perfectly," she said stiffly, "there's no need for you to explain anything."

"Obviously there is," he said wryly, "if you've reverted to Mr. Carson."

Looking down quickly, she said, "I just think it would be best if we stayed strictly professional with each other."

Crestfallen, he found himself speechless at the thought. She took the opportunity to leave.

Once he'd seen Lady Violet into her carriage, Lord and Lady Grantham retired early. He supposed so that his Lordship could soothe his wife's bruised feelings. He made his rounds to ensure that the house was secure, all the fires were banked, and lights extinguished. Descending the steps to the servant's hall, he hoped that Elsie would give him a chance to explain. Seeing a light under her parlor door, he felt just a smidgen of hope. He hesitated for a moment over what to do. This was either going to be a very short conversation likely ending with bruises somewhere on his person, or he hoped it would be a very long conversation. Deciding to be positive, he went quickly to his pantry to lock up the silver in anticipation of a long conversation. Returning to her parlor, he was disappointed to see that the light was out. She must have been listening for him and went upstairs after he'd come down. Walking back wearily to his pantry, he slumped down in his armchair and thought of what a colossal mess he'd made of things.

The next two days and nights were no better. Elsie was coldly polite and formal. He tried to find the opportunity to speak with her alone, but she avoided any chance contact with him and retired early each evening. The staff of course noticed that their former ease with each other was gone. They likely thought they were arguing over some household matter. Charles understood why she was angry or at least he thought he understood, but he couldn't understand why she would not at least allow him to explain himself. This situation was what he'd feared would happen. It was the reason that he'd never attempted to deepen their relationship before. He valued her friendship enough that he was willing to forgo the romantic relationship he had always wanted, until they'd gotten those blasted notes that is.

The third day following their picnic found him sitting in his pantry working over accounts. He could see no way to clear up this situation if she would not at least allow him to talk to her. As much as he would like to corner her and force her to listen to him, it was against his nature to do so and also exceedingly difficult in a place where privacy was very hard to come by. He was surprised by a light knock at his door and looked up to see Miss Mary standing in the doorway. Standing quickly, he beckoned her to enter, "Miss Mary, what are you doing here? You should have rang if you needed anything."

She smiled a little nervously and looked down at her hands, "We came down to get some food from Mrs. Patmore. Miss Jenkins said we could. Sybil wants to pretend we're going on an expedition. We've got to pack provisions."

Quirking his eyebrow at her, he asked, "An expedition?"

She rolled her eyes at him a little and smiled, "Just in our rooms upstairs. I think she and Miss Jenkins are hiding things for us to find."

Smiling back at her, "Well, it's very kind of you and Miss Edith to play along. Did you come here because you need my help in packing?"

"No; I—"she began, "that is-, we wondered if you and Mrs. Hughes are cross with each other?"

His smile tightened just a little, "Why would you think that?"

"Well, you aren't talking to each other like you usually do, and she seems to be a little sad."

Clearing his throat, he said gently, "You have it partially right. She is a little cross with me, but don't worry yourselves about it, we'll sort it out given time."

"Why is she cross with you?" she asked.

"Because I've done something that unintentionally offended her," he said shifting his shoulders, and then in an attempt to end this uncomfortable discussion, "Shouldn't you be getting along to your 'expedition'?"

Unwilling to let this go, she asked curiously, "Why don't you just apologize to her?"

This was really becoming too much. Clenching his jaw, Charles answered tightly, "At the moment, Mrs. Hughes is cross enough with me that she won't talk to me. Now, really, Miss Mary, I am quite busy, and …"

"Mr. Carson, I'm very sorry if we caused trouble for you," she said with her head down, "We only thought that, well, you liked each other, and it would be nice…"

Anger softening, he thought, "Poor girls, they think they've caused this." Then he said, "Miss Mary, you girls had nothing to do with our disagreement. Although, perhaps you shouldn't send any more notes to Mrs. Hughes or myself," he finished with a small smile and raised eyebrows.

Looking up at him gratefully, she said, "We won't cause any more trouble for you, and we won't try anymore to find anything out. I promise we'll leave you alone. I'll take care of Edith, but I can't make any promises about Sybil."

He chuckled, "I doubt anyone can 'take care' of Miss Sybil. Now, go along and sort out your provisions. I believe I know where there is an old spyglass in the attic that might help you on your 'expedition'."

Smiling she turned toward the door and then paused, turning back to him, "Mr. Carson, just one more thing. It certainly seems you know a lot about Mrs. Hughes' likes and dislikes."

He nodded his agreement, a little confused.

"Maybe you should tell her about that instead of us," she said and then walked out the door.

Watching her for a moment before he went off in search of the spyglass, he shook his head with a smile. She was going to make a formidable countess one day.

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