Honeymooning, thought Elsie, made one quite hungry.

Pushing back yet another empty plate, Elsie sighed in absolute satisfaction. For the first time in her life, she was absolutely sated in every way.

She and Charles had met each day on their own terms, not rising until they decided, often lazing about for hours at a time alternately making love and napping. Elsie had never experienced such decadence, and she couldn't believe how good it felt to be rested and restored.

The sleep, the food, the lovemaking, the lack of interruptions, to say nothing of limitless time with the man she loved…Elsie never wanted to leave.

She said so, in so many words, a wistful look upon her face.

"Back to reality tomorrow, I suppose." Elsie said softly, the tone of her voice less than chipper.

"Now Mrs. Hughes, it won't be all that bad."

Elsie laughed, making him grin in response. "Oh, we're back to that already, are we? Mrs. Hughes, indeed.

Distracted, Charles unconsciously rubbed at the small spot on his chest as he replayed her words in his head.

A small ache had settled there, raw and sharp, and it wasn't the first time this week it had plagued him.

Her words brought it back, and what had been previously unidentifiable was now shockingly clear. So clear, in fact, that the clarity very nearly took his breath away.

The joy they shared this week, the love they felt, the mutual physical satisfaction, the sharing of secrets…this was Charlie and Elsie.

Not, Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson.

He wondered at the time why Elsie was so resistant to having the reception at the abbey. Why did she chafe at it, make a point of separating herself on that day of all days?

Disgusted, Charles wondered how he had been so blind. For a man of his experience who made a living observing and cataloguing details, to miss something so obviously in front of his face was an unforgiveable mistake.

Elsie might have been Mrs. Hughes, but Mrs. Hughes was certainly not Elsie.

Mrs. Hughes was something Elsie put on in the morning, the persona she affected once the chatelaine was clasped around her waist.

So while his dreams had always meshed the two together, they were in fact very separate beings.

And he had just married the whole Elsie, not simply her position at the abbey.

But what did this mean for him?

It meant, he slowly realized, that to be a butler was to have an occupation. It was a job, nothing else.

And while he was secure in who Mr. Carson the Butler was, Charlie had been gone for so long he feared him lost.

It was his own fault, really. Charles had wholly embraced it, diving into the servants' rigid life of rules and routines after the rowdiness of the stage.

Mr. Carson was safe behind the high expectations of the aristocracy, the black and white guidelines a comfort to him, an easy way to dodge the inconvenience of personal emotions and feelings, which only led to impropriety. To be anything but perfect was beneath his dignity.

But as Elsie had reminded him that fateful day upon Brighton Beach, her small hand nestled in his large one…they were getting on, the both of them.

Just as Mrs. Hughes would retire one day, leaving only Elsie behind, Mr. Carson would be expected to do the same, leaving only Charlie in his place.

But without the walls of Downton Abbey for support, would there be enough of Charlie left to hold him up?

"Charlie?" Elsie said, her worry showing clearly on her face as she tried to get his attention.

"I…yes." Rubbing his chest again, he glanced away for a moment, refusing to meet her eye.

Alarm bells rang in Elsie's head, not understanding what had happened, but knowing the face of her man when he was lost.

Reaching across the table with both of her hands, she grasped his tightly, forcing him to look at her.

"Charles Carson, look me in my face, right this instant."

He did, surprised and a little shocked, her tone making him afraid to disobey. And while he had sat down to dine with Elsie, he knew it was Mrs. Hughes speaking to him now.

"I love you, you impossible man."

Holding his gaze, eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline to highlight the seriousness of her tone, Elsie willed him to hear her.

And he did.

The clouds parted in Charles's burdened mind to reveal to him the only truth he needed.

Now, he was only her husband.

And what he was or wasn't, had or had not been, was no longer of consequence.