"I'm just off, Mr. Carson." Mrs. Hughes was standing in the pantry doorway.

"According to the wine book, we should still have six dozen of this, but I'm beggared if I can find much more than four."

"Look again, before you jump to any nasty conclusions."

Mr. Carson looked up. "It's a long time since you last took a night off."

"You don't think I ought to stay, do you?" she asked, concerned.

"Certainly not. Be off with you."

"And Anna's in bed with a cold. So I'm afraid it's all down to you."

"Go." Mr. Carson shooed her out and she made her way quickly to the back door and was on her way. He laid down his pen once he heard the door shut behind her. He wondered where she might be going. Certainly not farther than into the village, considering what time it was. Was she meeting that friend she mentioned, the one who had written a few weeks before? Mr. Carson couldn't help wondering if her friend was a man or a woman; she had never specified. She had looked very nice just now. He wasn't sure if she was wearing anything new, but she had looked very pretty as she slipped on her gloves and told him not to jump to conclusions.

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Mrs. Hughes began her walk back to the Abbey. She could hear the others a little way behind her on the road, but she did not slow to join them. She had known the likely purpose of Joe's visit, but now that he had proposed she had to think about it in more than just vague terms. She had a choice before her and it was important that she make the right one, because such a choice wouldn't come around again. She could accept him and leave behind her life in service to be a farmer's wife or she could stay at Downton Abbey, a spinster for life. Both options appealed to her in different ways, but at her age she was sure she would never again receive an offer of marriage. If she wanted companionship in old age, this was her last chance. She was rarely lonely at Downton, but she had no connection to anyone there that would hold for life. If Mr. Carson, her closest friend there, chose to take a position elsewhere, he would go, and she could have nothing to say about it, except to wish him well and perhaps correspond with him. The younger staff, some of whom she was very fond of, would marry or move on to other jobs. They might write her a letter from time to time, but none of them were bound to the place. Still, Mrs. Hughes took pride in her work and in the fact that she had risen to her position entirely based on her own merit and hard work. She was not defined by whose wife or whose daughter she was.

When Mrs. Hughes entered the house, Mr. Bates and Miss O'Brien were in the servants' hall. The valet came out to ask her if she'd had a pleasant evening. She wished him and Miss O'Brien a good night. She'd glanced into Mr. Carson's pantry as she passed, but she didn't see him, so she made her way upstairs to get ready for bed.

Mr. Carson was in his pantry, however. He had been just out of sight, crouched down in the corner trying to find something he'd dropped. He heard her footsteps in the corridor and, shortly after she had gone up, he heard the noise of the others in the corridor outside his door. He had found his pencil and laid it on his desk.

"I was right when I said she was looking sparkly-eyed," Thomas gloated.

Mr. Carson emerged from his pantry. "I beg your pardon, Thomas."

Thomas straightened up and kept silent.

The butler stepped back into his office, but he couldn't help listening to the rest of the conversation.

"He can disapprove all he likes," Thomas remarked. "Mrs. Hughes has got a fancy man."

"Him? A fancy man?" Daisy asked doubtfully.

"Don't be so nasty, Daisy," Mr. Bates reproved her. "It doesn't suit you."

"I reckon there's a job vacancy coming up." Thomas continued. "Miss O'Brien, d'you fancy a promotion?"

"Very droll," Miss O'Brien scoffed. "If she's got a boyfriend, I'm a giraffe."

The group outside his pantry dispersed and Mr. Carson was left alone with his thoughts. So she had been meeting a man. He wondered if there was any way to ask her about it. He worried that there might be something serious going on between Mrs. Hughes and this friend of hers. She had mentioned that she was a little surprised that he had sought her out after the way they had parted. Could he have been a former suitor? Was there some chance that he hoped to rekindle an old romance? Or was his interest more practical? The man might simply be in need of a wife. Mr. Carson could admit to himself now that he was jealous. This man who might be courting Mrs. Hughes was free to declare himself, whether he was in search of a wife, any wife, or if he really loved her. Mr. Carson couldn't decide if he was more angry or glad that Alice had shaken the cobwebs from his heart, just so he could realize that he loved another. It was certainly inconvenient, but he couldn't be sorry. He might not be able to marry Mrs. Hughes, or ever tell her he loved her, but he had already spent years by her side. If she turned this fellow down, they would likely have many more years together. Mr. Carson wanted to know just what had happened that evening, but he could not ask her. He had no right to know any more about her private life than she chose to tell him. If Mrs. Hughes seemed out of sorts or upset in some way, he might try to find out what was the matter, just as she always did with him. Otherwise, he must be content with hoping she had no plans to leave Downton. He didn't know how he would do without her.

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Upstairs in her attic bedroom, Mrs. Hughes dressed for bed by habit; her mind was occupied with other things. Joe had not pressed her for an immediate answer, for which she was grateful. It would take some time for her to make her choice. She climbed into bed, but she didn't fall asleep immediately. She imagined accepting Joe and allowed her mind to construct a possible future. She would serve out a month at Downton Abbey while Joe went back to his farm and prepared for her arrival. The farewells would be difficult. Mrs. Hughes had been at Downton for over ten years now and she would miss many of her colleagues. Many of the younger staff were almost like children to her. Even Mrs. Patmore was not at her throat all the time and, oddly enough, she could see herself occasionally missing their arguments. Mrs. Hughes knew, however, that she would miss Mr. Carson more than any of them. He had been her friend since the first day she walked the galleries with keys jingling at her hip. They had supported one another, enjoyed discussions or debates about literature or any number of other topics, and they had sometimes been adversaries, though always coming back into agreement when a situation called for them to display a united front. Within a month or two of the day she became Mrs. Hughes, rather than Elsie, she had not doubted Mr. Carson's respect and professional regard for her. Their friendship had developed further over the years into a close one and, though their life together was still punctuated by sometimes fierce disagreements, they were in harmony more often than not. Mrs. Hughes began to fear she was becoming maudlin in her extended thoughts of how much she would miss Mr. Carson, so she forced herself to move on. She would say her farewells, marry Joe, and move into his home and his life. She had seen his farm a few times and had a vague memory of how the house looked. She saw herself in the kitchen, no longer dressed in black, learning what her husband liked and learning her new life and work as a farmer's wife. Joe would smile at her and occasionally bring her a little bag of sweets or some other trifle. Their home would be comfortable, even cozy, though the work would always be hard. Her sister Molly would visit, husband and children in tow, and they would sit around the kitchen table telling stories well into the night. Mrs. Hughes's traitorous mind showed her images of herself telling stories of her time at Downton Abbey - primarily stories of the impressive Mr. Carson. She had certainly written enough about him in her letters to her sister. Would Molly tease her? Would Joe be jealous? She imagined them all laughing together, after which everyone would retire to bed and Mrs. Hughes would clean the kitchen, remembering her life at Downton Abbey, so different from life on a farm, and missing it. She would miss it, of course, but how much? Would she be an unhappy farmer's wife, pining for a man she could never have? Certainly not, she told herself. She did not pine, for Mr. Carson or anyone else. Her mind returned the present, however, and she had to ask herself just how high her regard for him was. If she really scrutinized her own vague thoughts of the future, the only thing clear was that Mr. Carson would always be a part of her life. What exactly that meant, she could not be sure.

Mrs. Hughes tried to go to sleep. She would re-examine these confusing thoughts tomorrow, when the light of day would drive away the shadowy uncertainties that now had her feeling so perturbed. She would be better able to see what the truth was when she was not so tired, and when Joe's proposal had had time to settle in her mind. She tossed and turned for a little while, but she was asleep by midnight.

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The next morning Mrs. Hughes felt more tranquil, but her feelings of uncertainty had not abated. She sat down to breakfast beside Mr. Carson as usual, and tried to steal a few glances at him when he wasn't looking. Could she really be in love with him? Had friendship turned into something more, so slowly that she hadn't noticed it happening?

"Are you quite all right, Mrs. Hughes?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm quite well," she replied. "Just a bit preoccupied."

His eyebrows drew together in concern. "I hope there's nothing wrong."

She looked into his eyes and smiled, hoping to reassure him. "Nothing at all. But I suppose we're all allowed our moments of distraction, aren't we, Mr. Carson?" she teased, thinking of his own recent bouts of absentmindedness.

He smiled in return. "Yes, we most certainly are."

His smile, which did not often make an appearance at the breakfast table, rendered Mrs. Hughes a little breathless. The answers to her puzzling and speculation were becoming clear.

To be continued…

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