A/N: Thank you once again for your support. I am used to writing more angsty fics with cliff-hanger endings to chapters etc but I decided I just wanted to write a happy fic this time, to combat the dissatisfaction I am left with after every episode. I thought you might think it too soppy so I am thrilled you seem to like it x
Chapter 11
"Well at least we'll not run out of ice for your ankle!" Mr Carson joked, as he walked through to the sitting-room with a towel filled with compacted snow, as well as two newly-filled glasses of Scotch.
Mrs Hughes was lying on the sofa, her ankle resting on a cushion. It looked a little swollen but nothing serious.
"I still don't know how I managed to walk in completely the wrong direction … don't ever take me on an expedition to the North Pole will you …" she laughed.
"I'll try not to Mrs Hughes … I think you and I should steer clear of the Arctic!" he chuckled.
"There is probably less snow at the Arctic than outside this cabin … it's gotten worse Mr Carson, I couldn't see a thing," she said.
"I know, it has not stopped falling since we arrived … hopefully it will ease off soon," he said, standing beside the sofa.
"Let's hope so … there's only one more tin of corned beef in that cupboard!" she cheered.
"Here, have this … it will warm you up," he said, handing her one of the glasses of Scotch.
"Thank you, there can't be much of this left now?" she said, happily taking a sip.
"Not too much … perhaps a couple more measures …" he smiled.
"Umm … I had forgotten how good this tastes … we maybe need to swap our nightly sherry for this," she suggested with a smile.
"That's a good idea and there would be an additional bonus …" he began.
"Oh? And what is that?" she asked.
"Mrs Patmore doesn't like Scotch," he winked.
Mrs Hughes laughed despite herself, shaking her head fondly at Mr Carson. She loved the Cook dearly but she had started to intrude slightly on the Heads of Staff's nightly drink and chat; they barely got a minute to themselves.
"Here … let's see what we can do with that …" Mr Carson said confidently, pointing to her ankle, as he sat at the end of the sofa, moving the cushion onto his knee.
Mrs Hughes lifted her leg slightly as he sat down and then replaced her foot on the cushion.
Mr Carson's initial confidence took a knock when he suddenly realised that he was sitting with Mrs Hughes's naked leg resting on his lap. Not only that but he needed to remove her woollen sock.
"Uh … uh-hum …" he coughed.
Mrs Hughes bit her lip, wondering what to do.
"I … umm … I … we … we need to remove your sock," he stumbled, gazing down at her lovely leg and swallowing hard.
Mrs Hughes felt palpitations in her chest but she reasoned that the best way to deal with such awkwardness was outright sass.
"Well it won't remove itself!" she replied cheekily.
Mr Carson let out a murmur as he looked at her with a panic-stricken glance.
"Shall I remove it?" he asked shyly.
Mrs Hughes smiled warmly at him.
"Yes please," she said kindly.
He took a deep breath as he began to slide the sock down her leg, his fingers sliding down the smooth, warm skin.
Mrs Hughes grasped the sofa with her hands and bit her lip with force to stop a whimper escaping. His touch was so gentle as his strong hands delicately slipped off her sock. She could feel her heart racing in her chest.
Mr Carson felt a huge sense of relief as he finally removed the sock but he realised that his relief was premature as he now faced an even more complex issue; her pretty, lovely ankle now needed an icepack on it. He gulped as he gazed at the soft, shapely leg on his knee, realising it had been decades since he had been this close to a woman's naked skin.
"I'll just put the ice on your ankle Mrs Hughes … it may sting with the cold a little at first," he sighed, exhaling loudly in anticipation.
"Ok," she replied, her voice more high-pitched than usual.
He looked at Mrs Hughes as she lay back on the settee. She had tied her flowing curls into a loose knot, the pyjama top rested a little above her knees. She had the most enchanting smile; her cheeks a little pink from the cold and her lips rosy red. He knew that she wasn't wearing any sort of corset or brassiere; he had felt her warm skin through the pyjama top as they had danced. Good god Charles, how dare you think of something so risqué? Show some respect; Mrs Hughes is a respectable woman who deserves better. Yet he could not take his eyes from her, as one hand held her ankle gently, his other hand holding the towel filled with ice. As his gaze met hers, he became lost in her eyes, the most stunning eyes he had ever seen.
"Penny for them Mr Carson?" she asked with amusement. She could see he was off gathering wool.
"Uh … uh-hum … I was simply day-dreaming Mrs Hughes ... it was nothing …" he smiled, as he looked down at his knees in embarrassment.
"It didn't look like nothing … you had a blissful smile," she said softly.
"Did I?" he asked nervously.
"Yes you did, now won't you tell me what made you smile so wonderfully," she asked.
Why not just tell her? he thought. You have nothing to lose and there may never be a better time to tell her.
He looked Mrs Hughes directly in the eyes, and took a long, steadying breath.
"I was thinking how beautiful you are Mrs Hughes, how utterly beautiful you are," he breathed, his heart clenching in his chest as he waited for her reaction.
She looked astounded.
"Me?" she gasped.
He let out a snort of laughter at her genuinely surprised expression. Intelligent, beautiful and modest, he thought.
"Yes you," he beamed.
