Committed
In which Mr Carson does not quite believe it just yet.
Nitpicked at, not beta-read. Fluff caution.
I was a billion little pieces
'Til you pulled me into focus
Astronomy in reverse
It was me who was discovered
I thought I'd never find you
When suddenly I saw you.
— Sleeping At Last, Venus
Her eyes remind him of a blue-green sea, gleaming under a warm summer sun. Colours dance above waves as they break into white foam. It almost blinds him, yet he is not compelled to turn away.
The thump of her shoes on the hardwood floor pulls him back to his pantry, and he swallows a slight shock. She is a step closer to him than she had been earlier.
"Of course," — her brow creases in faint amusement — "I'll marry you, you old booby!"
He does not feel the surge of euphoria he expects. Instead, he feels trepidation.
"I'm appreciative, really, but I cannot accept."
He thinks then that his mind is deceiving him. Has put words into her mouth that he so wants to hear. Perhaps this is but a fleeting fancy, to be cut off by the knock of the hall boy come six o'clock tomorrow.
Or perhaps, she is indulging him. Pitying him, even. That it is the eve before Christmas and it won't do to refuse him, to break his heart today of all days.
It is the cottage business all over again. A little dream.
Only this time, it is short of a nightmare.
He waits for her to withdraw, but she does not. Has not played it off as a tease.
The amusement in her eyes is gone now, replaced by a different sort of sheen. Her lips curl into a small, honest smile.
"I thought you'd never ask," she says.
He hears the slight tremble in her words, sees her hand reach to squeeze his arm. He tries to say something but does not get around to it. The warmth of her touch distracts him.
His thoughts stop their downward spiral.
A calloused hand — his — settles over hers. His thumb traces her skin, and he returns her smile.
"Thank you," he mumbles after some time. "I wasn't entirely sure you'd accept if I'm honest."
She huffs softly. "Oh, Mr Carson."
He remembers something then, and he is both pleased and a bit exasperated that his plans have changed yet again. A broken chuckle escapes him.
"I'm sorry. I've not done this properly, have I?" He moves to set their glasses on a table, then reaches inside his pocket.
"Whatever do you mean?"
The mirth in her voice fades at the sight of an engraved silver band. He takes her right hand and kneels, despite the quiet protest from her and his joints.
"Ms Elsie Hughes," he starts in a practised tone, "the past thirty years I have spent alongside you are a privilege I am lucky to have been granted. You were my first true friend, and your friendship, your benevolence even to those who might not have deserved it — least of all, me — has made you dear to us, indeed.
But more than that, in your prodding for me to move past assumptions and move with the times, you have reminded me that, perhaps, there is more to the butler than what the livery has defined. Somehow, it has made me feel a bit steadier."
She giggles. It's neither prim nor proper, a series of short gasps muddled by a sob. Almost like a young girl.
His face tinges pink.
The sound is quite endearing.
"And in the midst of all that," he continues, "I have grown to be fond of you. Grown to love you, ever so much. If you would give me the chance, I would like to do the same for as long as I am able. I would like to grow to love you more each passing day. I would like to steady you if you need it, and you shouldn't have to ask.
Ms Hughes, if it so pleases you, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
Some of her tears spill. So do some of his, he realises with a start.
"Daft man," she says. "I will, Mr Carson. I would like to, very much."
They both beam as he slips the band on her finger. She helps him to his feet, though the pain does not bother him for now.
He feels grounded now. The band makes their engagement more definite, somehow.
"I do love you, you know." She wraps her arms around his chest, buries her face in the crook of his neck.
Eyebrows raised, he almost asks her if she felt this improper. But she does not move, and he stops himself.
At this point, propriety seems to be neither here nor there.
Instead, he cradles her head and kisses her crown.
"For which, I am most blessed."
Jun-E: So uh, I don't know what this is? I just wrote because it was three in the morning and I haven't a wink of sleep yet.