Hello, here's a sweet little OS, I hope you like it. I've written one with a jealous Elsie which will come a little later.

I thank Pixie for the time she spends proofreading and correcting my mistakes and French reflexes.

The butler's jealousy

1907

He didn't like it, not at all, and it made him even more grumpy than usual. He had been grateful when Her Ladyship had made the generous offer for the servants. After all, a whole day off for everyone while the family enjoyed a quiet day visiting the Marquess of Flintshire, who had all the staff necessary to look after them, was not to be denied.

He had mentioned it to Mrs. Hughes, who had thought it an excellent idea, and had suggested a picnic by the river.

"I don't understand why we should have to go so far to find a spot of water when we have a beautiful lake on the estate, which would be perfect," he had argued.

"Come now, Mr. Carson," the housekeeper replied, "we shall be off, but if we stay on the estate, what's the use? It will be a pleasant walk, and we shall be able to take full advantage of a quiet and relaxing corner so that everyone can find something to do and have a good time."

Her arguments were good, he could not find a way to contradict her.

And here he was, putting up with this... this oddball with his blond hair, blue eyes, wry smile, slender build, tiny nose and perfect eyebrows. He still wondered why he had joined them, he wasn't even part of the house.

He heard her laughter, and it irritated him even more. She didn't usually laugh in such an open and relaxed way in front of the staff, she only laughed like that with him, and now...

He slowed his pace so that he could hear the source of Mrs. Hughes' mirth. He was no more surprised than that to find that it was that Mr. Norris again. That man was definitely going to ruin his day.

Why did I agree? Why? Because she asked you to, you dumb man. That's why. She asked you with that pretty smile, and like an idiot you couldn't say no.

She had arrived in his office, out of breath, slightly dishevelled, her cheeks flushed, a few beads of sweat at the edge of her hair, and some falling down her neck. She had just been on an errand in town, it was very hot, and obviously she had to hurry, but she was smiling, a big beautiful smile, and he had thought she was very pretty indeed.

As soon as she entered the room, she had started talking about "that charitable florist" she had met while shopping in town. He had kindly offered to accompany them to the river with his cart and donkey to carry the picnic baskets, thus relieving those who were tired.

Charles had hardly listened to her, absorbed as he was in contemplating the path of the beads of sweat that were sliding down her neck and disappearing under her dress.

And now he had to listen to this man's antics as he puffed his chest out to make himself look good, and endure Elsie's laughter as it fell straight into his stomach.

Why had she gotten on that cart? Of course he had put her right next to him, that kind of bastard.

"Ah, Mrs. Hughes, Elsie? May I call you Elsie? And you, of course, will call me Frank. Elsie, I love to hear your laugh. You mustn't have much chance to laugh in this big house, with the taciturn people in it."

He had then pointed to Mr. Carson with a nod, a small mocking smile on his lips.

"Then it's an honour for me to hear you laugh, it's a very pretty sound, Elsie. Here's a flower for a pretty flower," Frank had said to her, handing her a beautiful white peony which he had taken out of his basket of victuals.

"We'll leave it to Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Norris, please. And you'd be surprised, Mr. Norris, not a day goes by that I don't get a good reason to laugh at Downton Abbey. But I've enjoyed this cart far too much, I'm giving up my seat."

She was about to dismount when she heard Mr. Carson's deep voice scolding the young footman who was close to her.

"Well, Thomas, are you so paralysed that you cannot help a lady off the carriage? Hurry up and give Mrs. Hughes your arm. Or would you rather go home and polish the silver?"

And he had resumed his walk as if nothing had happened.

Young Thomas, ashamed, gallantly held out his hand to the housekeeper so that she could lean on him and get down more easily.

She shook her head and smiled, he would never change.

"Yes indeed, good reason to laugh, Mrs. Hughes, I can see that!" the florist laughed.

Elsie smiled politely at him and quickened her pace to catch up with Mr. Carson, she noticed he had slowed his pace so that she could catch up with him. He always did, he always matched her steps, naturally.

"Mr. Carson, poor Thomas didn't deserve such a reprimand. I am perfectly capable of getting off a cart without help, you know. I'm not a lady, I'm a farm girl."

"As long as I am in charge of the house, you will be treated as a Lady. All the staff will address you with the respect due to you and your position."

She smiled at him, a genuine, unadorned, unvarnished smile. He really liked to see her smile. He quickly turned back when he saw the peony in her hands.

"You're so serious today, Mr. Carson! I hope you'll find something to amuse yourself. Anyway, thank you for your thoughtfulness. Shall we walk together?"

He didn't answer her, just nodded and she could see the shadow of a smile appear.

Once at the picnic site, the big man continued to make a spectacle of himself, drawing women to him.

Even Mrs. Hughes joined in his courtship. She looked at him smiling with her pretty laughing eyes.

After the meal, while the florist entertained the ladies, the valets and waiters, no doubt feeling threatened, joined him, and Carson witnessed what he would later call a 'cockfight'.

It was up to the one who would impress the women the most. Whoever dived from the highest, whoever did the best cartwheel, whoever did the best ricochet, whoever made the best joke and made the girls blush.

"This is ridiculous," muttered Charles. He could also do impressive things, he could do things that required work, skill and precision.

He could dance and sing, of course, but he hated it now. He could juggle very well and he was a good magician. He used to amuse the girls of her ladyship and his lordship with his juggling tricks and put stars in their eyes when they were very small, with his magic tricks involving origami flowers or birds. Yes, he too could do things that would probably impress her. But he didn't understand the point of putting on a show like this. He would never allow one of their girls to go out with that... that... that damn florist. Especially not her.

As he continued to grumble his displeasure, he had grabbed two small pebbles and was mechanically manipulating them, making them disappear in one hand and reappear in the other.

"I didn't know you were a magician, Mr. Carson."

She had come to him, seen him isolated and sulky, and left him alone for a while, but not wanting to leaving him too long, she had finally left the group to keep him company.

"Ah, have you forgotten that I was once on stage, Mrs. Hughes?"

He had whispered the words as low as his big voice would allow, she was the only one who knew of his past as a performer and he was keen to keep it that way, he knew she wouldn't betray him.

"I knew you sang and danced, but I didn't know about the magic... Can you do it again?"

She had sat down beside Charles, and fixed her eyes on him, she had the look of a little girl waiting for magic to happen. He had no trouble imagining the little Elsie she had been at five. He smiled at her, and repeated his little magic trick with the pebbles, the trick was quick and he was delighted to hear Mrs. Hughes gasp with pleasure when the pebbles he had placed in his left hand disappeared after he blew on them, and they reappeared in his right hand. Her eyes lit up even more and she whispered, "again".

So he'd done it again, and again, trying to impress her with graceful hand movements, choosing to make the pebbles reappear in other places, like his waistcoat pocket or in his sleeve, and he'd made her laugh by making them appear in her hair.

"So that's why the bloody lock of hair never sticks, bloody stones!"

"Hey, Mrs. Hughes, Elsiiiiiiie! Come on, come and have fun, don't just stand there. Come along with those who know how to laugh and dance!"

Mr. Carson tensed at once, his face closed and the serious butler's mask in a second returned. Elsie breathed out in exasperation, this florist may have been nice but he was still far too familiar.

"Go on, Mrs. Hughes, you don't want to stay with a grumpy butler when you have a lively florist to entertain you."

"If I go now I shall find it hard to restrain myself from lecturing him on how he should address me, and I shall spoil the atmosphere for our youth. I am not amused, Mr. Carson. At least not in the way you seem to think. I think he's rather ridiculous, and the reason I stayed there for a while was to make sure none of our girls accepted advances from him. They seem to swoon over him, and I don't understand why at all. "

"Come on, Mrs. Hughes, don't tell me you haven't noticed his pretty face, his gallant ways, his humour?" He muttered something over florist perfect eyebrows without her being able to quite understand what he was saying.

"Oh but I have noticed. I find his humour crude and I announce that tonight at dinner we shall have to lecture our young people about his highly inappropriate jokes. His gallant ways? He has none, he is certainly friendly, and I still say that it was generous of him to offer us his cart, he thus saved us the burden of our baskets. But he is very full of himself. Of course, one can find some charms in him, but his face has no personality, it is bland. I much prefer faces with character. Look at those smooth features, Mr. Carson. No interest." She'd gotten carried away in her tirade, so she hadn't noticed the look Charles was giving her. A look of near adoration and relief.

"I like to hear you talk about OUR girls, OUR young people, Mrs. Hughes. We are a kind of family, and I think I like the idea."

She did not answer, not feeling strong enough to do so without betraying her feelings which she would not allow herself to admit to him. They stood side by side, enjoying the gentle breeze from the riverbank. He watched as she took a large plane leaf, folded it into a thin vase, and then stood up to fill it with water and dip the peony stem into it. She returned to sit beside him and told him about her childhood on her parents' farm in Argyll, he told her a little about his years on the stage and the songs he used to sing with the other Charlie. Then slowly the afternoon moved into the early evening and they asked the valets to pack up.

She was about to stand up when he grabbed her arm to hold her back a few moments longer.

"Wait a minute, Mrs. Hughes, I have one last trick to show you."

He took a single pebble, placed it in the palm of his left hand, closed his fist and brought it up to her looking her straight in the eye.

"Can you blow on it, please?"

Completely mesmerized by his gaze, without breaking eye contact, she blew slowly on his hand making it last longer than necessary. He swallowed and took a deep breath at the sensation of Elsie's breath against his fingers. Her mouth was so close to his hand...

When she pulled away, he gradually opened his hand, lifted one finger after the other, and she was not surprised to find that the stone was gone. She smiled at him, expecting him to hold out his right hand to find the small stone, but it was already wide open and no stone was in it.

"But, where is...

"Shh!" he put his forefinger to Elsie's lips, looked around to make sure no one could see them, and moved closer to her, tilted his face to her neck, and blew just below her ear to the brim of her dress. He noticed her breasts rising more rapidly, and thought he heard her moan slightly. He resumed his original position and brought his hand to the place where he had placed his breath.

"That's it," he said in a low voice.

He pretended to catch something in his fist and while removing his index finger which had wisely remained on Elsie's lips, he brought his closed fist between them.

"One last breath Mrs. Hughes, to open it."

She huffed, more frankly this time, watching Charles' fingers gently open on a beautifully folded pink and white paper flower. She looked up at him, he was already looking at her with a smile and a rather proud look on his face. She looked back at him and Charles was overwhelmed by what he saw.

It was a look filled with admiration, tenderness and... the butler did not dare to analyse further the emotions he saw in Elsie's eyes.

He offered her the paper flower, which she took, and even managed to tie it to her bodice. The return journey was much less painful for Charles, who no longer knew why he had been so grumpy on the way there.

The peony had remained by the river, in its plane leaf case.

It was not Mr. Norris's flower that she wore proudly on her dress, but it was the little paper flower that Charles had carefully folded just before leaving the abbey, it was him that she carried against her heart.

FIN

Thank you for reading.

Reviews are always loved and warmly thanked ^^

In my imagination the florist looks like Orlando Bloom and Willoughby in sense and sensibility.

I wanted Charles to give Elsie a pink and white paper flower because, according to the language of flowers, the combination of white and pink is the most common, and it is a sure bet to seduce ladies on any occasion.