(Un)familiar

The Dowager had just made a snarky comment directed toward Mrs. Crawley as Carson refilled Lord Grantham's glass of Château Margaux. The family moved on, as did Carson. Molesley and Andrew journeyed around the table, dutifully serving the family; Carson set the wine down and observed the scene on his designated mark. All seemed well, not a livery misshapen nor a footman out of line. And then Anna entered the room with William in tow, both holding a tray of food. Carson suddenly felt his heart go into a slight panic. William, dressed in his military uniform, nodded at him and then smiled before they both quietly began circling the table. To his surprise, they went unnoticed by the family and the conversation continued. He decided to save his scolding for downstairs—such behavior would not be tolerated. He heard Mrs. Hughes mumble something beside him, and then a snore. He turned his head to look at her, question why she was there and what she was doing, but he could only hear her, not see her. The conversation at the table moved to the London season. Lady Grantham questioned where they might go to find Lady Sybil's dress. Branson sat beside Lady Sybil in his chauffeur attire. No one seemed bothered. In the corner of his eye, he spotted Mr. Beet, Butler at Thrushcross Grange when Carson was just a boy—he too observed the scene; rarely did the stern man smile, but he did for Carson in that moment. Mrs. Hughes' voice echoed in his ears...

Carson's eyes opened, now half awake in his darkened room. His mouth tasted dry and bitter; he licked his lips to moisten his mouth, his dream still in his memory. Mr. Beet must have wanted a quick word, and he needed to find Mrs. Hughes and speak with her as well. William needed to know the importance of his livery, and Anna need not be up there at all.

His eyes adjusted to the dark quickly, but something about the night air felt off, unfamiliar. His room felt bigger somehow, less compacted and more comfortable. He wondered the time, hoping he at least had a few extra hours of sleep before the livery came on. Daylight had yet to peak through the curtain and disrupt his nighttime comfortability, but that meant nothing to a servant. He was up before light most days, anyway. His neck, with his body following slightly behind, twisted to check the clock, but—he stilled, holding his breath at the sight of the sleeping figure beside him. Her bare back faced him, the thin white sheet draped just above her bum. She mumbled something softly and then let out a fierce snore. He realized quickly who she was... Mrs. Hughes, in all her beauty. He retracted in a panic as she turned to him, her breasts on full display, afraid of the repercussion he might receive for staring, for simply being there beside her. He fumbled out of bed and fell onto the hard wooden floor with a loud thud, nearly taking the nightstand and a picture frame down with him.

And she jerked awake at the crash, a gasp escaping her as she searched for him in the dark. "Oh heavens, Charlie," she said with great concern. She found his naked form sprawled out on the floor, no doubt looking more than a fool. "Are you all right?"

The dream was fading now and reality was setting back in: they were married, two weeks now—and he had loved Elsie's body for all two of those weeks. He stumbled his way back up, embarrassed and bruised by it all. "Yes, yes," he told her as he climbed back into bed. "I... fell out of bed is all."

"I figured as much," she said. He settled back beside her. She had yet to recover from his fall. "Should I fetch Dr. Clarkson?"

He kissed her cheek and then her lips, simply because he could. "No. I'm all right—I'm sorry I woke you."

Her hand rubbed his chest. "What time is it?" she asked him quietly.

He glanced at the clock on her side of the bed. "We still have an hour," he told her. His head found his pillow and her head found his shoulder. He stroked her hair while her hand moved to rest on his stomach. "You can go back to sleep."

"My heart's still racing," she said, and he could feel her heartbeat against his skin, "I'm not sure I'm able."

"I'm sorry," Carson said, and she snuggled closer to him. He felt her leg wrap around him. His body awakened. "I'm sure we can think of something to occupy us for the next hour or so."

Her leg rubbed against his own. "I'm sure we can."