They were alone, finally, at last, blissfully alone in their house. Charles counted in his head the doors and the miles that stood between them and the nearest soul who might interrupt them. The reality of their isolation almost overwhelmed him. Could he remain a gentleman in the face of such temptation?

Her lips tasted even more wonderful than he'd imagined. They didn't taste of the apple cider they'd just shared, but of a richer sweetness. Her tongue rolled against his as if she were softly saying his name, caressing the consonants with her trilling brogue. He was lost in the depths of her breath.

It was impossible to know whose hands began to wander first, but wander they did. From his chest, her fingers crawled up his strong neck and into his hair. His hands dropped from her corseted waist to her round, firm derriere. Afraid that he was crossing a line, Charles moved his hands back to her waist and tried to pull away. Elsie emitted a tiny whimper of protest and dug her nails into his scalp insistently but not painfully.

When they broke apart he looked lovingly down at her. Her arms were still reaching up towards him. The light surrounding the two isolated lovers was golden. She wore a circlet of spring flowers in her hair which flowed down over her shoulders in velvety auburn tresses. Her dress was light silk and her corset was gone. She was a vision; a dream.

Only a dream, he realized with disappointment. But as she continued to gaze longingly up at him, Charles remembered that dreams have at least one advantage over reality. He didn't need to remain a gentleman in his dreams.

Since she was costumed as Juliet, Charles decided to play the part of Romeo.

"Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged," he breathed huskily.

"Then have my lips the sin that they have took?" His Elsie/Juliet inquired exactly as he knew she would.

"Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again!"

He enthusiastically dove back towards her waiting mouth. Unencumbered by the proprieties of the waking world, Charles grew bolder. Soon, he was cupping one of her breasts, mesmerized by how perfectly it fit into his large hand. His lips wandered from hers and descended towards her neck and lower.

"You kiss by th' book," she panted.

"You can drop the Shakespeare, lass," he grunted as he felt his hunger for her growing exponentially by the second. This fantasy was no longer about the niceties of courtship.

There was a large, canopied bed in the room. Because, why not? He laughed to himself. It's a dream.

She weighed nothing and his back and legs felt no strain as he swept her into his arms. He lay her gently in the soft, almost fluid, silk of the bedding. Just before her joined her, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he was astonished to find himself face to face with Mr. Carson.

"That's far enough, Charlie boy," the grim faced butler warned.

"It's just a dream, Mr. Carson," the would-be Romeo argued.

"I'll not let you disrespect the woman we love, even in a dream," Mr. Carson insisted. "Or are you such a randy old goat that you can't wait four weeks?"

"But…" the eager lover protested. He looked down at the willing, wanton woman beneath him with lustful greed.

"That's not our Elsie," Mr. Carson said with a sad, almost wistful sigh. "She's waited just as long as we have, Charlie. Just wait a few more weeks and this can be something real."

"I can't even win an argument with myself," Charles groaned and rolled away from the siren in the sheets. He knew that Mr. Carson was correct.

"I'm sorry, lass," Charles muttered. The butler nodded satisfactorily and began to walk away.

The walls around them dissolved and the bed became a blanket in a field of grass under a summer sky.

"Try one of these," Elsie urged and pressed a strawberry to his lips. He was reclining and she sat beside him wearing a lovely and tasteful skirt and blouse. She was still beautiful, but she was no longer dressed like or acting like an immodest woman. She was his Elsie again.

He bit down on the offered strawberry and felt juice slide down his chin. She quickly wiped it away with her thumb before popping the remainder of the strawberry in her mouth. It was simultaneously innocent and sensuous. Charles sighed, knowing he must be content to watch for now. He didn't want that annoying butler to show up again.

"I'm so happy, Charles," she smiled down at him with transparent joy. Her tongue fondled his name behind her lovely teeth and tempting lips. He noticed that she was wearing a wedding band.

"As am I, love," he answered with an honestly contented sigh. "As am I."

-00-

When morning finally broke, Charles Carson reluctantly left his chaste picnic with his beautiful wife behind. Unfortunately, a potentially problematic effect from his dream lingered into the waking world.

It will go away by the time I'm dressed and ready, Mr. Carson told himself as he started his morning routine. However, the problem was still very much present as he combed pomade into his hair.

Damn and blast, he cursed himself. He looked at his watch. He was due downstairs in less than five minutes. Mr. Carson was beginning to panic. This was not something he could keep hidden from the scrutiny of the staff. There was only one solution. It was distasteful to him, but he had to fix his problem or risk giving away Mrs. Hughes and his secret.

The only way to get that ridiculous smile off his face was to be a grouch to everyone he met this morning. That would serve the dual purpose of hiding his merry mood and scaring away prying eyes. With all the wild fluctuations in temperament he'd had over the past few days, the staff must rightfully think him mad. It would be a great relief to admit the truth after Mr. Branson's departure.

As Mr. Carson arrived at table, he mumbled something about being very busy. He grumbled his way through a quick breakfast, studiously avoiding speaking to anyone, especially Mrs. Hughes. He made his apologies and escaped upstairs as soon as he could. Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore exchanged puzzled looks.

"I think he's becoming unhinged," Mrs. Patmore whispered to Mrs. Hughes as she followed her into the housekeeper's sitting room.

"He isn't very good at keeping secrets," Mrs. Hughes defended her man.

"Isn't that the understatement of the year?" Mrs. Patmore chuckled and scampered off to check on the kitchen maids preparations for luncheon. She also had a picnic to pack, which she planned to do personally.

-00-

The door to his pantry was closed which was odd for the hour. He'd just returned downstairs from family breakfast and usually kept his door open for general household business until servant's luncheon.

Mrs. Hughes knocked and entered. Mr. Carson peered at her from over his wine ledger; a pair of stormy eyes and menacing eyebrows.

"Oh, it's you," he said with relief and lowered the book. The smile on his face transformed the formerly threatening glare into a loving gaze.

"Mrs. Patmore said you growled at Andy," Mrs. Hughes accused him as she shut the door behind her.

"I might have done," he admitted. "But it was a grunt, not a growl."

"She said growl," Mrs. Hughes teased, enjoying arguing semantics with him on such a silly subject.

"She wasn't there," Mr. Carson insisted stubbornly but continued to grin.

"Be it a grunt of a growl, it's unacceptable," she chided kindly.

"I've no wish to be so surly, Mrs. Hughes, but Mr. Molesley caught me coming down from family breakfast."

"Caught you?"

"With this fool grin on my face." He gestured infuriatingly towards his visage which she had to admit could only be described as a 'fool grin'. "I didn't see him until he commented that I was in a fine mood today and asked why I was smiling so."

"So you grunted at him?"

"What was I to tell him?" Mr. Carson asked in desperation. "That I'm in love and so insanely happy that I can't stop smiling like an idiot?"

"Is that why you've been hiding?" Mrs. Hughes laughed.

Mr. Carson nodded. "It isn't fair," he pouted briefly before his smile returned. "If you show up to breakfast with a smile on your face, no one thinks anything of it. But if I show any sign of a good mood, it's met with nothing but suspicion."

"I doubt Mr. Molesley was suspicious. I'm sure he was just trying to be friendly."

"Well who asked him to be?" Even through his exasperated frown, the ghost of a smile still lingered on Mr. Carson's face.

Mrs. Hughes understood Mr. Carson's frustration. It wasn't fair that he couldn't be in a good mood without the staff commenting on it. Even if Mr. Molesley wasn't suspicious, Mr. Barrow certainly would be.

It was largely Mr. Carson's fault, but he was hardly to blame. Mr. Carson had cultivated a stern persona in order to maintain discipline in the staff. It was necessary, but it kept the staff from seeing him as he truly was. Sometimes Mrs. Hughes felt sorry for the staff that they could not know the real Charles Carson. Usually, she felt privileged to be one of the few who did.

"I've been thinking, Mr. Carson," she began cautiously. "Perhaps we should tell the family about our understanding sooner rather than later."

"You don't think that would be disruptive?" Mr. Carson asked, obviously liking her idea but fearing the inconvenience it would cause.

"No more so than you abusing the footmen for the next week," Mrs. Hughes teased. "It's either that, or you'll have to fake an illness until Mr. Branson leaves."

"Don't think I didn't consider it, but there's too much work to be done," he joked back. "Do you really think we should?"

"Lady Mary already suspects and I wouldn't mind being able to accept Mr. Branson's congratulations in person."

Mr. Carson nodded in agreement. "We can tell them at tea," he declared, clearly relieved to have a plan.

"And let the chips fall where they may," Mrs. Hughes approved. "What time should we leave to catch the bus?"

"I'm ready whenever you are," Mr. Carson answered. "I doubt anyone else will be brave enough to venture a visit this morning."

"I need ten minutes to give some instructions to Madge and then we can go," Mrs. Hughes said as she started to leave. "Try not to assault a footman while you wait."

He chuckled to himself and hid his face behind the wine ledger until the door closed behind her.

Eight minutes later, the two heads of staff left Downton Abbey with their heavy picnic hamper and a pair of matching fool grins.

TBC…

AN/ Spring break is here! Sorry for the long delay, but it was a long weekend of yard work and egg hunting. This wasn't THE Kiss, but I felt like we needed A kiss.