The weeks following their engagement were cumbersome.

They felt as if they were walking blindly into the foggy mist. They stayed in stride with one another, along the slim hallways and corridors, as they always did. There was no denying the buzz of attraction they felt for one another. Magnetic, it pulled them to each other. Elsie thought it to be tricks of her imagination when she would catch his gaze on her during meals or when he'd smile at her a little longer during their evening wine. Although, when they would speak of his property (she dares not think of it as her own), it would be about business. They spoke about the name of the inn, how many pairs of linens they would need, how they would fill the rooms, and such.

But they never spoke of their marriage.

Elsie was aware that she had gotten herself into this arrangement with Mr. Carson when she knew was not willing to participate in their frigid nuptials. She was near determined to call the whole thing off. She did not want to fall into this loveless marriage with abandon – she had wanted him to say something, anything that would be of significance. Her vain heart convinces her that she could coerce him into wanting her as a real wife, to have a real marriage. She waits for him, thinks he's just shy, or he's waiting until they are bonded by law to express his feelings. But she feels that surely if he wanted something with her, of that nature, he would have given her a sign or said something regarding that way of life. Elsie doesn't expect him to be vulgar about it, just wants him to speak clearly so they have an understanding between them – so she knows what to expect. Of course, she never brings the subject up herself. She fears the embarrassment of broaching the topic of sexual relations with him, and can vividly see his bewildered expression, beet red cheeks with a hard-scowling frown.

She would be ashamed of her wantonness.

No. She wouldn't want to shock him.

So, it stayed the same, long after the Christmas decorations had been stowed away in their boxes and placed in the attic. It was nearing the end of January and they had decided on finally revealing their secret. Charles was brimming with pride, could feel it bubbling within him. He was more than ready to let the world know that they were going to run away together – to build another life. He was nervous to speak to the family, did not want them to be aghast with their superior staff's want to marry and retire. Mrs. Hughes had spoken of their replacements and had persuaded him to the idea of Mrs. Baxter and Thomas running the house.

He had been appalled by her suggestion. Thomas Barrow? Butler of Downton Abbey? He was not as severe on the idea of Mrs. Baxter; she seemed a bit meek in the eyes of Charles, but he did not doubt if trained properly she'd be a fine housekeeper. Elsie had spoken of how if given advice and encouragement, Thomas would thrive in a higher position. If Mrs. Baxter were to be the housekeeper, then the duo would get along together and their teamwork would uphold the house, as it should be. It had taken weeks of arguing with one another until Charles had finally yielded and agreed with her. It was easier to train from within the house than to place an advertisement and interview strangers.

He was not keen on letting just anyone serve the family.

But he was quite keen on leaving. Quite keen, indeed.

After the seaside, a day he thought of often, he knew that something had to be done. He had saved his money over the decades, hardly touched it, and watched it grow as the years passed. Charles knew he wanted a home with her, a cottage, a place to call their own. Oddly enough he had approached Tom Branson about the subject, he knew the man oversaw properties of the Abbey and wanted his advice on where to look. Charles also knew that Tom could keep silent, he did not want to raise suspicion amongst the staff and family. Mr. Branson referred him to an agent, someone who could work with him to find the perfect home for him. Charles took his half-days and visited the properties alone – some were small, big enough for two, others were extravagant like the one he ended up purchasing.

He thought of her everywhere he went. Thinking if she'd like it.

If she would want to live there with him.

He thought of what their life would be like, how they would rise in the morning and sit at the table sipping their tea and eating the breakfast she prepared for them. How would they fill their days in retirement? Perhaps she would get bored, bored of that life and him. Charles mulled over the thought of marriage frequently, he thought of her reaction to the idea.

Then … he began to wonder.

He has resided in agony toying with the idea of a real marriage with her. He compared their life now to the one he fantasized about. How different it would be, how close they would become. He'd sit on the edge of his bed, late in the evening after their sherry, and wonder what it would be like to go to bed with ... her. Would she even want that? Charles would then convince himself that after years of sleeping apart, years of not doing it that way, it would be best if they left it as it was. It was all for naught, anyway. She wouldn't want him.

Some nights, he'd undress and look at himself in the mirror. He would know, at that moment, when he glanced upon his own body that it would never be a marriage between lovers. He couldn't possibly show himself to her, he couldn't possibly please her. Charles remembers the teasing in his youth, the mockery of his features, and how even when he outgrew the rest of the boys, no girl would notice him. When they did, they never had a second look. Then he had met Alice, in that smoky dance hall on a side street in London and was certain that she was the one. He had felt something akin to love with her, but it was swiftly ripped away when she eventually glanced elsewhere. Charles did not do well with a broken heart, he promised himself that he would never again be such a fool. They were of a certain age now, it showed in his grey hair and round belly – the spots of time marking his body. She wouldn't want that, no. Neither did he.

The idea of an inn came from these musings within his bedroom. He felt unable to love, unable to receive love. It would be best if they remained as they were, colleagues – partners. It was the only proper option for them in retirement, it was the only way it would work.

He had found the house on his eleventh half-day.

It was a long walk from the village, near a half-hour, but the view of the glen where it was located was worth the long journey. He walked down the lane, shaded by the trees that lined the edge of the road until he reached the edge of the property. It was surrounded by a wooden fence and a matching gate with an iron latch. He looked at the house and thought of her (a ritual as it were), wishes she could see it with him. The houses' foundation was surrounded by a lush landscape, tiny wildflowers bloomed amongst the blades of grass. There were flower hedges lining the front of the house, underneath each pair of windows. A small gravel path led to the front door and as he unlatches the gate, he can imagine her walking towards him from their home. He can see her coming around the corner from the back garden to greet him as he comes back from the village or the Abbey. He can see her plain as day, living in this stone building with him. It was private, secluded by trees. The perimeter of the house was free of shade and the light shined down from the opening in the treetops. Charles reached the front door (a French door of all things) and opened what was soon to be his business and home. It was perfect, everything he had imagined. It needed work, the previous owners had maintained the exterior but, the shell of the house needed some maintenance. He explored at his own pace and made notes in his head of what he needed to fix. He hadn't purchased yet but, he knew… he knew this was it.

That evening, when he returned, he called his agent and scheduled a meeting to buy the house in full and sign the deed. When he did and the house became his, he waited. Waited for the right moment to ask her to retire with him and run an inn – together. Months later on Christmas Eve, he chose to reveal his scheme. He thinks it to be ludicrous now, asking her on a holiday of Christ but he can't reverse time.

On the morning that they were planning to speak to His Lordship and Her Ladyship, Charles pulled Elsie into his pantry. It was their first contact since his proposal and while it was a mere tug of her dress, she felt aflame with emotions from the touch. He lets her go and swiftly shuts the door behind them. Charles lets out a long sigh and turns to her, she sees how tired his eyes are. They had avoided each other's eyes, as usual, at breakfast this morning. How saddened he looks that he must face the inevitable scrutiny of his high esteemed employers, that she must be the reason for his sorrowful parting from his home and family.

"Are you alright, Mr. Carson?" She goes to rest her palm on his forehead (perhaps he was feverish) but, he jerked back from her touch and shook his head. Elsie, wounded, clasped her hands together resting them at the front of her belly.

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine." He tugs at his waistcoat, "Just didn't sleep very well last night."

Elsie looks at their shoes and bites her lip, they only stood a few feet apart. How she wished they would just close the gap between them – end this agony she was in.

"Perhaps, we should wait a bit longer."

"No!" He was vehement. "I – I'm sorry. I feel fine, truly. I'll have another spot of tea and be ready to face the music." Charles walks around her, approaches the desk, and sits in his chair with a huff. She's only turned her waist, to watch him leave and the angle she's gazing at him is awkward, but she cannot seem to move her feet. She thinks this will be her last chance to call the whole thing off. Elsie knows that once everyone knows of their engagement, she won't cancel the wedding – she will follow through with all of their plans. She thinks of Alice and the ache that another woman had imprisoned in his heart. Elsie would never want to hurt him like his old love, she would never choose another or walk away from the alter. She thinks perhaps this business of a full marriage really will be resolved once they are alone together.

Surely.

Surely, he had a plan once they were secluded in that property of his. She dreams of them there. How happy they will be flirting as they did in Brighton but with abandon like young lovers. Elsie has thought eagerly of their first kiss, what it was like to press one's mouth to another and meld their bodies as one, touching and tasting. She didn't live in a sack, but Elsie had always thought of herself as virtuous. She had only let Joe Burns kiss her cheek when they were walking out. He had tried many times for her to 'plant' a kiss upon his lips and she just giggled and walked away, having told Joe that the only way he would ever kiss her is if he married her. He had valiantly tried to secure the eldest Hughes' daughter as his bride but, when their father died it was Elsie's responsibility to earn an income for their family. She went away to live her life as a loveless spinster while Joe had his marriage with another lass from the village. Now was her time to experience the joys of being with another person, a person to love and show affection to.

She knew she wanted to. Knew she wanted Charles Carson – if he wanted her.

Elsie turns finally to face him and weakly smiles at him.

"We'll both go up, together."

Mr. Carson's brow lifts. Remembers a moment lost in time.

"That's comforting." He smiles back. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

"Now, let me get you that tea."

He trudges up the stairs before her and as they draw nearer to where their employers sit in the library, his pace seems to slow. Charles falters upon the last step but Elsie catches his forearm and clutches him as he regains his balance.

"Steady on, Mr. Carson!" She looks at him with fright. Thinks he might faint or fall down the stairs. Her nails are biting into his livery and he can feel how tense she is that he has tripped. He presses the tips of his fingers against her hands.

"I'm sorry. I just missed the last step." Charles pats the back of her hand and she quickly removes her grip.

"Let's just-," She steps away from him, putting distance between them, "catch our breath before we waltz in there."

"Are you nervous?" He asks.

Elsie just scoffs and puts her hands on her hips. "Aye. I never thought we'd leave this place."

His brows furrowed as he looks at his bride-to-be. Her cheeks are pink, probably from the excitement of his folly, she's biting her lower lip (a clue that she is nervous) – she does not seem confident in their confrontation with the family.

"Neither did I." Charles lets out a chuckle, a reaction she was not expecting.

"Then …" Elsie tilts her head in confusion, and purses her lip "Why are we going?"

It was an impossible question.

The answer resided deep in his mind; he knew the real reason why they were going. He just dares not speak of it, knows that it will change everything between them. This is why he would rather not reveal it. Charles constantly buries those thoughts of closeness between them during their marriage. He was dead set on the arrangement as co-workers in their inn. He could not burden her with the lustful haze those impure thoughts inflicted upon him.

He lets out another long sigh.

"We're getting on, don't you think Mrs. Hughes?" Charles watches her demeanor completely sway from an anxious woman brimming with tears to a woman who had reached clarity, albeit still with tears in her eyes.

"Yes." She dips her head "We are, indeed." Elsie thinks of how he is nearly a decade her senior. How they have already grown old together. They are nearing their years of being elderly and she knows that perhaps he's grown tired of service, tired of the life they have always lived. She knows that he probably longs for a home of his own as any man does. Although they have worked together for twenty years, she can still imagine another two – or three – decades spent in the company of Charles Carson.

"Then … don't you think it's time?" Charles is hesitant. He knows that she could change her mind. They could walk back down those stairs and act like he never proposed to her. He was prepared for that - if she changed her mind. He's trying to stay strong for the two of them, although he's fumbled along the way he has not lost sight in their meeting with the heads of the house. Charles would have married her a week after he proposed but she's always been the sensible one out of the two, sometimes he feels ridiculous with her. She knew they would need replacements and time to plan, time to get the cottage furnished. Five months seemed like such a long time for Charles but to Elsie, it felt far too soon, as if time was moving faster now that they have an arrangement.

"I suppose … We should just get it over with." Elsie huffs and makes a motion with her hands as if to express defeat. They are caught in another moment where Charles has sought out her eyes, they are trying to read one another. He looks her up and down and Elsie suddenly feels exposed under his predatory gaze, how slow he moves over her body frame. He suddenly rubs the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut in frustration (she thinks).

"If you've had second thoughts…" Charles shifts his feet and looks away from her, to focus his gaze on a metal ornament that hung upon the wall ahead of him. He can't face rejection from her. If it were only as simple as knowing she didn't want to continue in their little dream. If Mrs. Hughes could give him a pointed look laced with her true desires, he could figure out that he's failed with just a mere glance. They wouldn't have to always awkwardly approach these delicate subjects with such embarrassment.

"N – No. Mr. Carson…" Elsie steps closer to him, they do not touch but he can swear that he feels her breath on him. He wonders if she'll touch him again and waits for the reassuring presence of her hand on his arm. It doesn't come but he does meet her eyes again. Charles thinks he wears his heart on his sleeve and thinks she can see him clearly suffering from the thought of her indecision. She doesn't, of course. Elsie still sees the butler. The man with high morals, a proper man with no time for nonsense. She thinks that perhaps he's upset with her – he's tired and has no time for her ambiguous emotions.

"I've not had second thoughts." She lies through her teeth, "Not one."

Charles lifts his lip in a cheeky grin, his cheeks flush and he looks down at his hand that's been fiddling with the tweed of his vest.

"Neither have I." He rumbles, it's enunciated and spoken with pride.

"Well then …" Elsie places her palm against his bicep, and clutches to it as she's done just a few minutes ago. Instead of her biting nails, he feels her smooth over his coat, and curl her fingers around the dense muscle of his arm. She squeezes the flesh, a comforting pressure that shoots straight to his erratically beating heart.

"Let's face the music together."

"You've what?" Robert Crawley sat in disbelief. He had been writing his first letter to his son-in-law, Tom, who had left for America a fortnight ago when his heads of staff walked into the library for an audience. His wife, Cora, lounged on the ruby sectional behind him, he could not see her, but he imagined his wife was just as shocked as him. Robert could not divert his perplexed gaze from the butler and housekeeper, the most respectable people he's had the pleasure to employ.

"Married?" Cora chimed. She was not necessarily confused about their heads of staff running off together in retirement but, she had not expected Mr. Carson to be so forthright with his emotions. Looking at them now, she does not see two people in love but two extremely confused scared people. When she looks upon Mrs. Hughes, in particular, she does not seem like a near-wife brimming with devotion, she seems meek and unresponsive to the questions asked. Elsie is looking up expectantly to the man beside her, hoping that he will regain his footing and respond for the both of them.

"Yes." Charles straightens again, nervous that they are being scrutinized so harshly. "We'd set the date for some time in May. Mrs. Hughes has already thought of Thomas and Mrs. Baxter as our replacements. The house I've purchased, for us –," He looks at the housekeeper as he speaks, "It's already been paid in full. We'll need half-days together these next few months … to get it in running order. If that is agreeable?"

He does not falter, and Elsie feels so full of admiration for her husband-to-be. He's not asking for permission to leave, permission to retire with her. He's telling them. She wants to wrap her arms around him and shower him with words of praise for his valiant exchange of words with the high and mighty Robert Crawley.

"Of course, Carson," Cora speaks for Robert as he's still ruddy with disbelief. He keeps opening and shutting his mouth as if he is waiting for the words to come out, but they do not leave his vocal cords. "But surely…"

"Surely – this is much too sudden!" Robert finally exclaims.

"Robert."

"Cora, I will not be silenced in my own home!" Robert stands and watches as the butler and housekeeper tense. "Carson, we thought you'd be with us forever. Mary will truly be devastated by your departure. No – she'll be disappointed!"

Elsie feels Charles falter beside her, she knows that this hurts him. She knows that Lord Grantham has said it to make him hesitate, but she hopes he doesn't.

"That may be. I am very fond of Lady Mary but, My Lord…"

"Can you not simply marry and continue running the house, as it should be?" Robert huffs and paces across the floor, occasionally blocking the view Cora has of the couple in front of them. He looks down at Mrs. Hughes with a questioning raise of his brow. Would she have wanted that? Her eyes are full of fear as they meet with his, she frantically shakes her head. No. No – they cannot just carry on. He's already purchased the house, to go through the trouble of re-selling the property seemed silly. Charles nods his head in agreement and responds with a solid.

"No."

Robert's eyes are wide, he is mystified.

"No?"

"We cannot continue as the heads of staff." Carson firmly states. "We all must succumb to natural changes, My Lord. Now is the time for us to retire. If we were to stay on, it would only be a few years before we would have this conversation again. You cannot stop time, none of us can." He finishes with a sigh that echoed through the library.

For the first time since the butler and housekeeper entered his library, Robert understands. He stops his pacing and finally takes the time to look at them. Carson seems so much older to him; there are hardly any of the sleek black strands in his hair, the veins in his hands stand out to him and the wrinkles near his eyes are prominent even from this distance. When he looks upon Mrs. Hughes, she has aged but with grace. He remembers how comely she was when she had first arrived at Downton nearly thirty years ago and he can still see that young woman in her now. The realization that time indeed has passed between the four of them, more than Robert had initially realized.

"You're right, of course, Carson." Robert sighs and turns to his wife with a grim smile "I am sorry – how silly of me. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, you've been with us for so long, of course, you should feel obligated to retire whenever you please." He slumps back in the office chair by his desk.

"Quite right." Cora adds, "You may tell the staff members whenever you are ready, your secret is safe with us." Cora rises and moves to stand in front of the newly engaged pair. "You will tell us how all your preparations go, if you need any advice or need more time to arrange your new home."

Elsie thinks Her Ladyship has always been so kind, that the smile that resides on the woman's face is indeed genuine. Her soft voice is a much-needed relief after His Lordships' outburst, it instantly calms Elsie.

"Of course, My Lady. We will let you know how everything goes." It's the first time Elsie has spoken since they've arrived.

"I hope we'll be invited to the wedding." Cora's grin widens a bit more, oh how she loved weddings.

Before Mrs. Hughes could respond, Charles speaks, "We were only planning for a few witnesses but …"

"Oh, I hadn't known." Cora dips her head low in embarrassment. Instead of responding to the butler, she looks at the housekeeper with wide eyes, "And is that what you'd both like?" Perhaps it was an intrusive question but Cora did not care.

Elsie flushes a deep red, knowing that maybe she's been caught out with her secret musings for a big ta-da of a wedding. She had thought of a grand breakfast, someplace local, where everyone could come and be filled with food and joy. She even thought of throwing a hooley, a grand party with music and dancing, where everyone would drink and sing and be merry for the union of Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes. She knows she must respond to Her Ladyship's most impertinent question but cannot seem to find the strength.

"Of course, My Lady," Charles responds for her and emphatically Elsie nods her head, so she does not have to speak of her contemplations of their wedding.

"Well. I suppose it's all settled then." Cora clasps her hands together in front of her hips, "Robert and I wish you both jolly good luck."

"Yes. Congratulations."

Meshed two chapters together. Added things and corrected some grammar. I will continue to upload regularly. I also am going into the wild for my birthday in a few weeks, hope to jot down a lot of my ideas and breathe in some fresh air. Life is good. Peace & Love, Lunar.