I tried so hard not to make them too romantic but it's just so hard NOT to do. Please let me know in your wonderful reviews that that was acceptable. Also, the timing of the season is never really described (well, I've never seen it) so I did some research. Based it off the garden party that was thrown in season one (July 28, the announcement of WWI) and there was, I think, two weeks before they threw it… where Carson came home and where Cora infamously took her hat off. I'm still off two weeks though, forgive me.

Chapter 7

The rest of the day went by in a blur. Mrs. Hughes was much too busy with her own crisis. One of the maids, Kate, had been using the ladder to dust in the library and had apparently fallen, striking her head on the mantle of the fireplace. It knocked her out cold and after getting Alfred to carry Kate to her room, she had to deal with calling Doctor Clarkson, one of the last people she wanted to see. He only asked her once if any decision had been made and her icy glare had shut him up. He gave his instructions about Kate and left quickly.

Dinner wasn't spent in silence, as breakfast had – although Mr. Carson was still silent. Mrs. Hughes tried quietly asking him what happened. He shook his head, eyes pleading with hers – Later. Ask me later.

It was later. He was staring into a large glass of whiskey. She was busy tracing the lines on the armrest of her chair.

"I take it you're going." She began timidly.

"For two weeks." Her head snapped up.

"Two weeks? What on earth for?"

"Because, I apparently deserve some time off."

"Well! That will be a nice treat."

"You know I have too much to do before the season for any sort of break! What the hell am I going to do with myself?" Mrs. Hughes knew he was taught as a boy to never swear in front of women. He had shared a story with her once – of him, when he was quite young; looking at the supper his mother had made and called it 'shit.' He didn't know what the word meant; only that it was used in association with disdain (at that point in his life, he disliked shepherd's pie) and that the older boys used it. His father had promptly beat him for its use and ordered that he never use that word again. He went hungry that night and it took him years to fully learn what the word meant.

To this day, he had only broken that rule a handful of times in front of her. She knew he was at his wit's end when he swore. She wouldn't hold it against him. Besides, if she recalled correctly, she's sworn in front of him much more than a handful of times. Recently, too.

"What do you want to do?"

He turned his attention back to his drink. In that moment, she knew he wasn't sure what he wanted. He seemed to be torn about this whole ordeal. Poor man. What he really needed was a good night's sleep and it didn't appear he'd be getting it with the amount of stress and work that was unexpectedly thrown his way.

"I don't know. I don't want to go under these circumstances. Going because of Grigg and all. But I do want to get away. Far away – from… I don't know. All of this."

"Oh! Well then, I'll say goodnight." She was wearing a mischievous grin on her face as he reached over to place his large hand over her small one.

"No. I didn't mean you. Never you, Mrs. Hughes."

My God it's hot. Why on earth did I feel the need to make a fire? I know it's the beginning of March, but…

She stared at their hands for a moment before finding the courage to meet his gaze. His expression was so serious, so beautifully proud and serious. Her mind went blank. She should be saying something. Something equally beautiful or moving to compliment his expression.

"I was only joking, Mr. Carson."

Not your best, girl.

His gaze didn't falter. She watched his lips slightly push together. What was he thinking?

He ever so gently tugged on her wrist. She wasn't used to this, didn't understand this gesture. Did he want her to move? To get up? Go stand next to him? Kneel before him? Sit in his lap? She blushed energetically at that last thought. Don't be ridiculous.

She gave him a confused look and watched him smile. He slowly moved his chair. They were no longer sitting across from each other but next to each other. Very much next to each other. So close that their shoulders and arms touched. He replaced his hand on top of hers and slowly pushed his fingertips down between her fingers. He was becoming quite talented at locking their hands together.

Her cheeks were burning. She couldn't remember the last time she had blushed so hard. The last time she was made to feel like this.

They hadn't spoken a word during this exchange. There was no need for words. That was the foundation of their relationship. They read cues from each other, understood what the other was saying by their actions, their expressions. It was something they both came to rely on, in a place where one must be very careful about the selection and the meaning of the words they uttered. Asking to see each other at the end of the day could mean all sorts of things. Now it meant even more things – things that Mrs. Hughes had never thought of before.

"It's only two weeks." She tried.

Silence.

"You'll have fun." She was mentally cursing the hoarseness in her voice and her inability to clearly speak her mind. So many words and phrases were rushing through it, words and phrases she had only ever read in novels. Those people never had problems saying what they felt. Then again, those people never had to worry of rejection. His thumb started rubbing along the side of her hand and her mental barrage stopped.

He leant forward and rested his forehead against her temple. "I may, but I'll miss you."

His voice was equally hoarse and so much lower than his usual baritone. Mrs. Hughes felt a strange need to pull away. This was too much. It was everything she'd ever wanted from any man, especially him. He nudged his nose up a bit and his mouth was now dangerously close to her neck. Why on earth was he doing this now? When we've spent nearly twenty years performing such a delicate and controlled routine with each other? She tightened her grip on his fingers as he lowered his mouth and she bit her lip before she made any sort of noise that would be most unsuitable for her sitting room.

There was a knock at the door and they jolted apart instantly. Whoever is on the other side of this door better have a pressing matter or they would be feeling a wrath previously unknown to anyone in this house. She didn't even have time to make for the door before it flew open and Alfred staggered inside.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Hughes but its Kate, she's awake and she's screaming in pain, the entire floor can hear her, she woke everyone up and Mrs. Patmo – are you alright?"

She nodded mutely, eyes wide. I must look a mess – my face must resemble someone with scarlet fever. Alfred shifted his gaze uncomfortably between her and Mr. Carson.

"Right, I'll – I'll bring her medicine." Alfred nodded and bid a hasty retreat.

They stared at each other.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carson."

He raised his hand and smiled. "Don't be. If they weren't coming for you, they'd be coming for me."

She wanted to tell him that what he did was wonderful. Instead, she mirrored his smile before rushing up the stairs.


Mrs. Hughes assumed Mr. Carson must have been suffering from a terrible headache as he asked her for powder no more than four times before breakfast. She had reminded him that he couldn't just take more powder until the pain stopped – that wasn't how medicine worked. After the third time, in which she told him a bit more forcefully, he locked himself in his pantry. Today was the day of his departure. He had only had three days in which to do the work that usually took him weeks to accomplish and Mrs. Hughes was convinced he hadn't gone to bed once in those past three days. Instead he had polished the silver. Sorted through the wines. Checked and re-checked his books. Placed orders for everything under the sun. Packed his things away. And then, as an added bonus – wrote down everything for Thomas to reference. Mrs. Hughes had a sneaking suspicion his work in that area would go unused.

His train was leaving in an hour and she hadn't seen nor heard him for nearly two. She gave her two customary knocks before entering his pantry. He was face down on his desk, clutching his ink pen with invoices and notices piled all around him. He looks like a schoolboy.

"Mr. Carson?"

She watched his eyes squint and he clutched at that pen a bit tighter, before his features relaxed. As much as she hated to wake him, he only had about fifteen minutes before the car would be leaving for the station. She walked to his side, laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Carson?" She patted his shoulder.

He slowly opened his eyes. Blinked once, twice. A sleepy smile appeared on his face.

"Does your head feel better?"

He nodded.

"Good. Because you need to leave soon. You have about fifteen minutes before the–"

He practically leapt from his chair. "Why didn't you wake me an hour ago?!"

"I didn't know what you were doing and I didn't think I needed to monitor your every move!"

He groaned, ran his hand over his face and looked about the room.

"Can you ask James or Alfred to load my things into the car?"

"Certainly. Don't worry; you've done more work than I ever thought you could. I'm sure we are now more than prepared for your absence."

"I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or insult."

"Can we not disagree before you leave?" She was already out searching for one of the boys.

Alfred and James were not far away and Mrs. Hughes escorted them to the car that was waiting out the front door. She was uneasy. She didn't usually get like this, even when he left for the season. Assuming it was because of the difference in situation and his reluctance to go, she tried to calm her nerves as he appeared on the other side of the hall.

"I still wish they would have brought the car to the servants' quarters."

"The car cannot get anywhere near that door, you know that."

He looked down at his shoes. "I wanted to thank you. For how effortlessly you've run this house the past three days while I've been trying to get everything sorted."

"It was no–"

"And, for everything you've done with Grigg... and me. I know I've been grumpy and unkind at times and I know it may have not ended the way you, or I, wanted. But you have a good heart, Mrs. Hughes. And I greatly appreciate that, and you."

Has the rug always been this intricate?

"Will you… if you don't mind – I would like you to…"

Write me. Tell me you love me. Take my hand. Kiss me.

"Come with me to the station?"

"Yes. I'd like that very much."

It was cold. It was gray and cold outside and the car wasn't keeping either of them warm. Both Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes sat close together as the car sped along the streets to the station. She couldn't meet his eyes, even if she wanted to. She knew she was acting ridiculous. But sometimes one just had those feelings of… foreboding. She was sure it was an overreaction. Letting his mood reflect on hers was always one of her weaknesses. She shivered. Was it the nineteenth of March yet?

She felt his gaze on her. He reached out and took her hand. She had never held it so tight.


Doctor Clarkson and Mrs. Crawley were already at the station with Grigg when they arrived and they exchanged their pleasantries.

"Why don't we allow Mr. Grigg to board the train first, so we can make him comfortable?"

Mrs. Hughes heard Mr. Carson sigh as he and Mrs. Crawley made their way with Grigg to the train. That left her with Doctor Clarkson and she wasn't in a mood to chat. It was too cold and dreary for that. A few moments passed.

"Has the house prepared for Mr. Carson's departure?"

She sighed. "It has, as best as it could, given the circumstances. Though it's never the same when he's not there."

"Of course."

Mr. Carson made his way off the train, straight to her.

"Might we, speak somewhere more privately?" He asked, eying Doctor Clarkson.

She nodded and they made their way near the ticket window. Mr. Carson took her hand. She didn't care that there were people around. That Doctor Clarkson and Mrs. Crawley could still plainly see them. That Grigg was probably plotting his next revenge as he stared at them through the window of the train.

"It's only two weeks." He repeated her words. "I'll write to you, if you'd like."

"I'd like that very much, though I don't want to take away from your holiday fun."

"More of a nuisance than holiday, really."

"Get some rest while you're away. And try to make some fun for yourself."

The train conductor called for all aboard. So much she wanted to say. Isn't that how it always is?

"Take care, Mr. Carson." She gripped his hand tight.

"You as well, Mrs. Hughes." He matched her grip and stared at their hands for a long moment before finally letting go and boarding the train.

It rained. It rained all the way home to Downton and she didn't give a damn.


Mrs. Hughes stormed down stairs and slammed her sitting room door. Only a bloody week had passed and she had just been informed that the family would be leaving early for the season. Not in three weeks, the first week of April, but the middle of March. She knew what this meant. He wouldn't be back. He would have to stay in London and meet the family there. There'd be no point in his returning, as he packed plenty to sustain him. She put her head in her hands. He would only be gone an extra month, she shouldn't be this upset. But, there it was.

She pulled out her stationary and a pen. Tried to calm herself to compose a letter. A letter that would somehow tell him how she felt about this latest development, without completely embarrassing herself. She didn't even know where to begin. Five minutes passed. Five more. Fifteen. Sighing, she got up and went to the one room that had been her sanctuary.

His pantry. She didn't allow Thomas in here during the evenings and she was thankful he didn't want to go over the day, as they had. As she entered, she switched on the light and made her way to his desk. She stood there, softly running her hand along the side of it. She had never, in all their years here, sat in his chair. Taking a seat, she smiled. Leaned back, like he did when he was tired. His desk was better than hers. There was more surface space, although you wouldn't know it from all the clutter that was currently occupying it. She turned her attention to his phone.

You shouldn't.

Maybe he doesn't know.

Of course he does.

Still.

She picked up the receiver. A wave of anxiety washed over her – she had never used this before. How hard could it be? If he could use it, then so could she. There was a voice over the line, asking if she'd like to place a call. She hesitated, then blurted out Lord Grantham's House in London. The operator told her just a moment and she was amazed that they knew where she was referring to. That they could connect the two of them through a wire and receiver.

She desperately wanted this device in her room now, too.

There was a kind of ringing that went on for far too long before she heard a low baritone greet her and she lost her voice for a moment. What if he was angry with her for calling? What if he was busy and didn't have the time to chat?

"Hello?"

She cleared her throat, "Mr. Carson?"

"Mrs. – Mrs. Hughes?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carson, I didn't mean to tear you away from anything important."

"You haven't torn me away from anything. Are you – are you in my pantry?"

"I… yes."

She heard his smile in his voice. "Did you need something?"

"Did you speak to her ladyship today?"

"I did. I suppose you know about them coming to London earlier than expected?"

She frowned. "Yes. Will you be needing anything else of yours?"

"I don't think so. But I can always telephone."

There was a long stretch of silence. She wanted to tell him so much. How the house hadn't burnt to the ground as he so often imagined, but that didn't mean it was running smoothly. She wanted to tell him how Thomas was getting on, that he wasn't as nasty as they both believed, but that she's put him in his place several times. Tell him that his precious Lady Mary was growing more cheerful, though he'd notice that himself in London. Tell him–

"I miss you."

Her eyes were suddenly very blurry and she rubbed them furiously. Even many miles away, he could still read her mind.

"Do you… want to talk?"

Her voice hitched. "Yes, please – if you've the time."

Of course he did.