It is the end of the night, Charles has shoo-ed the staff off to bed with empty threats of early morning tasks. He walks into her parlor bearing a tray and after pouring two glasses, he sits next to her on the settee. "There was only one serving of the Crepe Suzette, will you share with me?" He holds the fork out such that she has to lean in to receive the bite of crepe. Caramel sauces drips down her chin and she giggles as she reaches up to wipe her chin with her finger. What happens next?
He doesn't often get to see her carefree side, he feels privileged she is so at ease with him. At home. Comfortable. When she swipes the drip off sauce from her chin with the tip of her finger, he sees so much more than a Housekeeper, a servant. He sees the young woman she used to be - he has known her for so many years, has dreamt of her for that long minus a day. To him she has not changed all that much.
She can see him staring at her. She is suddenly well aware that his stare is not one of disapproval, but of endearment. She licks her lips, the taste of the crepes still on them and she briefly wonders if his would taste the same.
They spend most evenings together, discussing matters of the house, the staff. Sometimes it turns more personal. She tells him of her girlhood in Scotland, he speaks of being a stable lad and they can both imagine the other young and bright, filled with ambition and taste for life.
Strong and beautiful. Her rosy cheeks, his cheeky grin.
He dreamed of a life outside the limits of a grand house, she of the safety of a roof over her head and food in her belly that service would bring. He returned bitten, disillusioned, throwing himself into the rules and regulations and workings of the system, she found a new step on the ladder luring her into staying.
So they stayed in service, he with the Crawleys, from footman to butler, she coming to them later as headhousemaid, then promoted to housekeeper and that is how they came to share leftover wine, cheese and as it happens: crepe suzette.
Far too grand for the likes of them, they agree on that. Both indulging, relishing, appreciating the sweetness, the depth of flavour, the hint of orange. The orange liqueur that has not completely burnt off in the flambe.
Maybe it's the boozy sauce that does it, but before she knows it, he has reached out to her with his napkin, gently wiping away the remnants of the sauce she has missed and she cannot help but smile.
"You take good care of me, Mr Carson." She says, her voice warm.
"I always try to, Mrs Hughes. I'll always try to." He responds.
A/N: Short and sweet! I want to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has been reviewing so far: YOU ARE ALL FANTASTIC! Also thank you so so much for following and even favouriting! Please know that I really appreciate it. (of course this is where I also beg for more reviews - bad form? sorry)