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Arm in arm Mrs. Hughes led him towards the lake. Their path meandered past her favorite flowers, only just beginning to bloom. The March rains sprinkled green buds throughout the pastures as winter warmed into spring.
Still, a brisk wind could catch a person unawares, and so Carson kept her close. At least, as close as propriety allowed.
They talked of the beauty to come in the summer (without mentioning their shared worry that she might not live to see it).
They talked of wine and their favorite pairings.
They talked of dessert.
And finally, as they reached the lake and a cool wind turned their noses red, Carson broached the subject burning a hole in his pocket.
"Are you still certain that when your time comes, your sister will be left to the hands of God?" He asked, restating her worries from a few nights before.
"Not entirely," she said, standing closer, her hip pressed firmly against his own, "I've done several calculations. Lady Grantham has been generous in paying for my medical bills, which has allowed me to send money in advance for my sister's care."
The balloon in his chest deflated a touch at her words, but he soldiered on, "I hope I don't over step the mark by asking, but how long will that last her? And what happens when rates go up, as they are ever want to do?"
"It depends I suppose. The longer I'm able to maintain my position the longer I am able to save - I can't save much mind, but it may be enough to keep her for a year. The Doctor she's with says he won't increase the rates once I've passed," her voice wavered, "but there is only so much money to go around. At some point, her fate will be dictated by God as I will have no say in the matter."
He nodded, warmth shot through him as she squeezed his arm. He said, "And what if I had a say in the matter?"
It was a strange sound. Almost like a hiccup. He had never heard her make such a noise before. It could very well have been a sob. But when he looked at her face, drank in her features, he saw no indication that he had upset her.
"Mr. Carson I know what you're suggesting," she said, "but I don't think I can allow you to carry such a burden."
Pursing his lips to keep from smiling he found a deep pride in himself as he had anticipated this very reaction. He moved away from her slightly in order to pull out a paper from inside his coat. His heart swelled when she didn't remove her hand from the crook of his elbow.
He continued, "I had this drawn up in 1910, and Mr. Crawley helped me make some minor adjustments to it a few years ago."
He handed her the paper.
Her eyes roamed across the sprawling handwriting. His Last Will and Testament. It was all very clear. She would have been afforded everything he owned, every cent he had. When she finally looked up to him he felt what could only have been an electric shock shoot through him from head to toe. The intensity of her gaze overwhelmed him until he forgot where he was, who he was, and could see only her.
She bit her lip and that simple action brought him back to reality.
He explained, clearing his throat, "When it came to...us...I always assumed I would be the first to go. As that's not to be the case let me use what would have been yours to continue your sister's care."
But she already was shaking her head, "It would have been mine only because you wouldn't have been in need of it -"
"I don't need it. I have a lot put by." He said, "And I hate to pull rank but I know the staff figures and I can afford the cost better than you can."
She stared at the lake. Little ripples emerged as the wind floated across it. He could see her own eyes watering. They should be getting inside.
"I don't want to be a burden to you." she said simply.
"You have never been, nor ever could be a burden to me. Every bit of what I have," Every bit of me, he added to himself, "is yours."
"I can't ask you to -"
"You're not asking. I'm offering."
After a moments hesitation, she nodded. He breathed a sigh of relief. Finally he could do something, finally he had something to offer her.
As they made their way back to the Abbey she kept her head down. Her hat obscured her face. It wasn't until she paused, a tug at his arm pulling him from his stupidly happy thoughts that in some strange way she had accepted him, that he saw her face.
She was starring at him. And he allowed himself to stare back. He waited for her to speak but words never came. Instead, she bit her lip as her eyes roamed across his forehead, his large nose, his cheeks, his lips.
He swallowed.
When she'd drank her fill of him she turned and they finished their walk back to the servant's door. He wondered if he should have kissed her, then shoved the thought away. Propriety aside, he felt certain that the last thing she wanted was a kiss from Mr. Carson.