In Response to Guest Reviewers: To the guest who thought the last chapter was lovely, thank you!

Author's Note: Shenanigans, Series 1-6 references, conversations that mirror canon (and actual dialogue!) –– we've got it all here, folks!

As a heads up! I like to switch up POVs from time to time, sometimes without warning. That is especially the case in this chapter, particularly in the beginning.


Charles Carson couldn't help but hold to a sense of delight as he took his customary place at the head of the table. Although yesterday's trip to the fair had begun on a tumultuous note, he found it had turned into quite the celebration. It more than made up for their official anniversary.

If only we could do that sort of thing more often–– the man paused in his thoughts, stunned the suggestion came so freely. He was content with the way things were, there was no reason to risk it on a whim.

"Mr. Carson?" Leave it to her to notice his perturbation, minor it may be. Was there anything that got past his wife?

He doubted it. "Perfectly fine, Mrs. Hughes."

Her nod was equally doubtful, the housekeeper well aware something was on his mind. Well, it wasn't as though he could turn to her and calmly say, Elsie, may I ask a question that you will undoubtedly find foolish but I ask you consider, nonetheless: have you ever had second thoughts about our decision to keep our marriage a secret?

Oh, yes, that would go over splendidly at breakfast. What with Thomas and Miss O'Brien unabashedly eavesdropping only a few seats away, there was no question about it. They would find themselves without positions in days, Becky Hughes would be left without the financial support she needed –– all in all, a brilliant plan.

It wasn't as though he minded keeping everything a secret. Personally, he liked not being the subject of gossip. Not to mention everything else that had led to the decision. 1899 had proven to be quite the year in those last two weeks alone.

Still, there was something to be said for being able to step out into the world as man and wife instead of, say, colleagues. Not having to concoct excuses to pop by her sitting room for the last decade, not needing to wait for the whole staff to retire to––

That's enough of that. If he continued to neglect his toast, she would become even more suspicio–– curious about his thoughts, and everything would be given away. Instead, the butler tucked into his breakfast much like he would've any other day, before moving on to take in the talk of the table.

And what a talk it was! Anna had started to ask the others how their night went but Miss O'Brien put a stop to that at once –– glaring at any mention of the fair she'd deemed herself so unfortunate as to miss. Luckily, Thomas had decided not to push his luck and risk the lady's maid ire. Resentment and turmoil were two things they never needed in the house.

Well, as necessary as it was to keep an eye on the staff as a whole, Charles didn't see a need to maintain too much focus. He'd gauged the situation, took stock of every subordinate at the table, found nothing to be too out of the ordinary, and decided it was time to do what he really wanted: share a lovely conversation with his wife.

Turning his gaze to the housekeeper–– how long had she been biting her lip? Why hadn't she touched anything on her plate? How could he have ignored this?

"Mrs. Hughes?"

Elsie blinked, coming back into awareness. Why did her husband sound so concerned?

She looked back at the man questioningly, wondering what he was on about. He then eyed her plate as though the meaning of life were contained within. She then realised she hadn't touched any of her food and now his worry was much more understandable.

"I'm afraid I'm not very hungry, Mr. Carson." That wasn't the whole truth, but it was a part of it. She wasn't terribly hungry, merely distracted by endless thoughts about yesterday. She thought sleep would've cure her of this silliness, but that had been in vain. Last night had been filled with tosses and turns, not to mention some rather stupidly impertinent dreams.

"Really?"

Inwardly sighing, knowing there was no point to mentioning her thoughts, Elsie gave a faint smile and nodded, making an effort to eat. To do otherwise would be to invite his curiosity. Granted, that was something she suspected had already been aroused–– that was a terrible word to use if she wanted to stay focused, silly it may seem.

Inhaling patience, trying to regain her composure, the woman turned her attention to her food. With any luck, she would manage to be rid of these ridiculous thoughts before the end of the day.

"I understand." You do? "I myself hope there's an explanation." Her husband muttered, looking to be a bit distracted himself.

"'An explanation'?" What was he on about? But Charles couldn't possibly know about these silly thoughts of hers. He had to be alluding to something else.

The butler opened his mouth to explain himself but a furtive glance down the table gave him pause. Elsie waited a moment, sure he was going to figure out some way to disguise his question. And soon enough, "I'm simply concerned about a matter of fairness, Mrs. Hughes."

She nodded, churning the words over in her mind. A matter of fairness. A matter of–– fairness. Was he talking about the fair?

But what about that required explanation?

These were the days she wished they didn't have to beat about the bush with coded messages. But these were the days that would have to suffice. The only thing for it was to figure out what was really being said.

Clearly, the man was caught up in thinking about that fair. But seeing as how there really hadn't been anything out of the ordinary, other than his winning her that prize–– was that what he was worried about? Well, that was the last thing she expected! Really, there was no need to worry over such a thing.

But how to tell him?

"Well," The woman kept her eye on her plate but her tone was directed solely at him, "I'm sure I know nothing about whatever's going on. But if I know one thing about fairness, it's that it is a prize to be cherished."

His fork clattered against his plate but no one else noticed, thank heaven. She thought saying that would do the trick, and it looked to have: the man was fighting every effort to smile, decorum tottering off his face in favour of pride and contentment.

Elsie unabashedly continued, acting as though this were a household matter, "Does that help at all, Mr. Carson?"

"Mrs. Hughes, I'm inclined to say it does." He shook his head in what looked to be amusement, turning back to her with what had to be his real question. It would be another code, no doubt. "I don't suppose you have any burning questions of your own? When it comes to fairness, that is."

Burning questions? What a peculiar phrase coming from him, let alone at breakfast. It perplexed her almost as his comment about getting an explanation. Really, at this rate, it would be better to bluntly put the question to him and hang the consequences. She felt like she were back at the fair, only this resembled the fruitless part of the evening where she spent her time waiting for Joe to show up–– that cannot be what he's been on about!

A second look at her husband confirmed it was. Really, was Charlie actually concerned about Joe? A farmer who'd been able to take care of himself since long before she knew him?

Elsie decided she didn't want to hold back a snort at the thought. That, and her answer could be a bit cheeky, "I can assure you: I've no 'burning questions' on my mind, not in the least."

"Really?"

The woman settled for a dry gaze in lieu of elaboration. Yes, she was concerned enough to want to send a letter when she had the time. No, the farmer's unexplained absence did not bother her. Whatever stopped him from showing up, it gave her the chance to spend time with her husband. So long as he proved himself to be alive and well she would be fine.

"I see."

I certainly hope so. The only consolation from this conversation was, other than reassuring Charles she regretted nothing, it distracted her from her earlier silliness.

If only she didn't want to take his hand to ensure he got the message.

So much for proving a distraction. Elsie bit back another sigh, eyeing what was left of her food. At this rate, she would end up cracking in front of the whole staff. Yes, well, it wasn't as though she could take his hand and say, Charlie, do you not suppose we ought to let the cat out of the bag? Leave Downton, maybe go and run a tea shop?

Sure, that was destined to end well. Whatever his answer to the first question, he would certainly have a collapse if she suggested they run a tea shop. He might even say he'd prefer to put to death, the daft man!

Disguising this amusement through a cough, the woman gave up on her food and spent the rest of breakfast trying to busy herself with conversation. She remained confident that these thoughts of hers would be on their way out by the end of the day, if not much sooner.

Oh, yes, a likely story, indeed.

_._

It had been a few days since that conversation at breakfast and nothing had changed. She had written her letter to Joe, she had distracted herself with conversations and work and everything she possibly could. But Elsie couldn't help but keep her little prize in plain sight, grasping the teacup from time to time as she recalled the evening in question.

When she allowed herself such moments, fondness was always in attendance. Much as she wanted to be practical about the matter and box the thing up, the housekeeper couldn't bring herself to do it. She couldn't ignore it, she refused to get rid of it.

Unfortunately, the only thing she seemed capable of doing was running away from it.

But that was stupid. Running away wouldn't solve the matter. She would have to work harder when it came to getting rid of these thoughts, she would need to persuade herself this was not worth considering.

I don't suppose it's worth it to mention––

Whatever Elsie had been thinking, it slipped off into nothing at the sound of the piano. For a split second, whilst the pianist was in the hall and out of sight, she thought the impossible.

Quietly stepping out of her sitting room, the woman mentally berated herself for today's round of foolishness. Why would Charlie take to the piano again? He hadn't done so in fourteen, if not fifteen years, and that had only been because she'd asked!

A reprimand came to mind, habit dictating that the piece be stopped. But the melancholy, the skill before her, it gave her pause. She couldn't let the lad play forever, but the comfort this gave him didn't have to be destroyed.

"I'd tell you off," Her hand was halfway through the air by the time William skittered around, "But I like to hear you play."

He had no response, which served her perfectly fine.

"Where are they all?" As if she really wanted to know. But finding this out gave her something to do and it also gave her a few seconds away from her room, cowardly the excuse may be.

"Busy, I suppose."

"Haven't you got anything to do?" But the housekeeper was more worried than upset. William still missed home from time to time, and Thomas' poor attitude did not help that. Lingering here at the piano, he looked resembled an abandoned puppy and there was no need for that.

"Yes, I have." Seemed they were both guilty of the same thing, if his avoidant demeanour was anything to go by. "'Course I have."

Elsie hadn't meant to frighten him into scurrying off. And though she felt it best to let him carry on, she couldn't let him slip off without something more, "You mustn't Thomas get you down. He's just jealous!"

William was hesitant to listen. But she hoped he would take her words to heart. If not today, then sometime down the road. "Everyone likes you better than him."

"Not everyone." Ah. She should have known this was the problem. She may like Daisy but she found the girl's affections to rather... misplaced.

And she had no problem saying as such, "Then she's a foolish girl and she doesn't deserve you."

What are you doing? This fair business had apparently stirred up much more trouble than it was worth. Quickly trying to rectify the situation, not wanting the lad to get carried away with himself, "Though why am I encouraging you? Forget all that for ten years at least!"

And maybe if he gave it ten years, he wouldn't find himself caught up in his own secret.

One that grew more painful by the year.

And just where did that nonsense come from? She'd only been battling these foolish thoughts for the last week, not the whole of their marriage. Furthermore, she enjoyed what they had. It wasn't ideal but it was more than she could ask for.

"You're a kind woman, Mrs. Hughes." Elsie looked away at such praise, not feeling anything but foolish. Was it kind to Charles to spend her days wondering about change? She didn't think it kind nor fair. "I don't know how this house would run without you. I don't –– truly."

There's no need for that! "Stop flanneling and get on before I betray to you to Mr. Carson!"

The housekeeper could only hope he didn't take her words too harshly. Yes, as she stood in the doorway, she recognised that could have gone much better –– if she'd only given it more thought and consideration.

So much for being a 'kind woman'. But his words had brought with them a pang she couldn't deny.

One that made her decision far easier.

_._

Charles had hoped to leave his questions and curiosities behind at breakfast, the one from a few days ago. He thought he was prepared to carry on as they always had. After all, wasn't this enough? Couldn't they make do with what they'd been blessed with?

The thing was, this no longer felt like it was enough. He felt pressed to consider what else they could have for themselves. In fact, what he wanted most was a chance to talk the matter over with Elsie. At worst, she would disagree and remind him of why this all works.

And at best?

Charles lightly scoffed, concurring that the best case scenario was one where she wholeheartedly agreed.

But could they talk about this now? Should he wait for a better time? She was so distracted these days, probably worried about Mr. Burns now that she was awaiting the farmer's response. It seemed the best thing to do would be to pop by, test the waters and go from there.

With that in mind, he'd done his best to not rush into it. It had worked up until the moment he was outside her door. He was far too nervous to think about knocking, unwittingly barging in instead, "I've put out the Rundell candlesticks for dinner tonight."

This had looked to be a bad time to talk, judging from the look of things. But when his wife only mindlessly nodded at his declaration, he couldn't leave it alone.

"Mr. Carson?" At least she registered the door closing. "Is everything all right?"

"I'm not sure, Elsie." He gently countered, approaching the woman. She seemed so unlike herself lately, certainly now. Were it not for her previous declaration on the subject of fairness, he might think this to be his fault. As it was, he wasn't convinced he didn't have a hand in this, somehow. "Is everything all right?"

Her shoulders seemed to slump at the suggestion but nothing else was given away.

"It's only something silly." As she turned back around to face him, her face painfully blank, Charles caught sight of what she'd been holding. It was their prize from the fair, of all things.

Now he was truly concerned, "I hope you're not regretting––"

Her glare gave him immense cause for relief, "You would be wise to keep from finishing that comment."

Charles gave a weak chuckle, happy to hear it. So, there was nothing to worry about when it came to that. But there was more to be said, considering the fact that she was motioning for him to sit at the table. He had no qualms about doing just that, bringing his customary chair over, wanting to be closer than normal.

"I suppose you ought to know," The man patiently waited for elaboration, quelling any personal concerns. Whatever was wrong, they would face it together as they always had. "Given the circumstances."

She took her time, setting the teacup back onto its saucer, eyeing it for as long as she could.

"The only thing I regret," Her voice was calm but his wife's gaze remained fixed on that prize and that was what gave her fears away, "Is that I want more of it."

What?

She continued to stare down at the thing, unaware of his shock, "Before I joined you that night at the fair, I had seen something."

He resisted the urge to encourage her to keep going, doing his best to listen with impartiality. It was a little hard to do so, when she spoke of something that he craved but thought impossible. Still, he would do his best.

"While I waited for Joe to show up, I'd spotted a couple walking about." Did you now? "At first, I didn't think much of it. I didn't need to see their rings to know they were married and I didn't need to hear them laugh to know they were happy.

"It was touching to see that." She was carrying on, wistfulness dipping into the words. "But then I'd bumped into someone and I'd forgotten all about them, so I carried on and that was that."

Somehow, Charles doubted that was the end of it.

As it was, he was eventually proven right: "But 'that' wasn't that. Because whether I saw them or not, I couldn't carry on. I kept wondering what it would be like. To walk about the village arm-in-arm, to not have to hide the truth."

He watched Elsie falter, unsure of where to go next. And though he knew she could manage on her own, he couldn't help but want to encourage her to continue, "Go on."

"When you won me this," She'd gone back to fiddling with the token and he had to resist the urge to take hold of her hand, drawn to her pain more so than the trinket, "I couldn't stop thinking of them."

"And you realised you wanted us to run away and start a tea shop somewhere we didn't know a soul?"

Charles was only partially joking. As it was, the other night, he'd been unable to get any sleep because of such ideas. Yet there was no need to mention that, not now. Not when his little joke looked to have done the trick: this was the first smile he'd seen from her in days.

"Perhaps we shouldn't run away––" Only, it looked as though she'd been tempted by the suggestion, needing to remind herself, "We definitely should not run away."

He smiled at the thought of her even considering it. Yet her touch of humour was already fading away in favour of something else, "Well, I can't deny I don't have the urge to do just that, if not give the whole tale away. But in the end, that can't happen. In the real world, we can't have it both ways."

"Can't we?" Her hand stilled as his own came to lightly encircle it, the man gradually raising his gaze in a hopeful manner, "Can't we allow ourselves the chance to try?"

Charles watched his wife grasp his hand in turn, despite her eyes looking off to somewhere in the distance. It seemed she had come to a conclusion of her own, "I'd like to say yes. But,"

The woman broke off once more, her grip tightening as if to say, how can we possibly risk it now? After everything? For what feels like folly?

He kept his words to himself, wanting to give Elsie the chance to speak her mind. When it became apparent she had nothing else to say, he found himself unwilling to give up. To hear her unwittingly echo his own sentiments was nothing short of a miracle. Despite her clear doubts, he thought it a sign that they were being given a chance to change–– change.

The idea of change reminded him of an old conversation. It gave him an idea.

And with any luck, today that idea would work wonders.

"Elsie," Because he needed her full attention and saying her Christian name would give him just that, "Would you say, in all the time you've known me, I've never changed?"

She gave a start, "What?"

"In the seventeen years we've known each other, can you honestly say I've never changed?" Charles repeated the essence of his question, knowing the truth. The man he'd been seventeen years ago was someone he no longer resembled. It could look that way at an outward glance, but he knew he'd grown and change a great deal since then.

"Not exactly, no."

That was all he needed, "And would you say you've stayed the same?"

"If you mean to ask if I'm still that farm girl," Confusion was giving way to a dryer response, the woman straightening up and dismissing that worrying air from before, "I think you know the answer to that."

And that is the point. They'd both changed. And if they've been allowed to change, "Then isn't it possible for life to have changed as well?"

"And if it hasn't? If we're risking our positions for a world that hasn't changed?" She shook her head, that wistfulness from before reinforcing its hold, "We may be different people now. Life may have tried to change us in the last week. But that doesn't mean we have to continue letting it."

"But don't we want life to change us?" She had tried to tell him as such fifteen years ago when he was caught up in regret and shame. Today it seemed it was his turn to pull her out of her own grief.

But Elsie was remaining silent, pushing the man to solemnly confess, "I know I do."

In another life, he might've been afraid of her response to this. He might've thought himself foolish for saying as such, for wanting to mention any of this to her. He might've even blustered off, wanting to say nothing more of the subject.

As it was, in this life, all Charles Carson could do was pray she understood he wanted to take that risk. Life had already changed them in so many wonderful ways, why not let it carry on? Keeping this secret sufficed at the beginning because they deemed it necessary. But now? Now, he wanted more than five minutes at a fair. He wanted the chance to hold her hand at the table.

The man thought he was satisfied with the life they'd made for themselves, but if this week had proven anything it was that he'd never been content, not really. If he was happy to leave Downton if it meant having a real marriage –– a true marriage –– with her, how could he claim to be content?

"You do?"

More than anything. "What would be the point of life otherwise?"

She'd tried to teach him that one. Once, when he was stuck glaring at the piano. He had been content to be rid of the whole thing, wanting to never see it again. But she had quietly sat beside him. And she asked him to play her a piece. It didn't have to be from his time with Grigg, it could be anything he'd heard on the piano.

Well, she had informed him upon his inevitable question, gesturing to the keys, I like to think there had to be something you enjoyed. Something you never unexpected, but you liked to hear the sound of.

Charles forced himself to pull away from those memories, not needing to reminisce. He preferred to study his beautiful wife in today's light. That, and continue to pray she understood his perspective, if only a little.

Elsie wasn't giving anything away in her look but her grasp was tightening. He wanted to take that as a good sign, but couldn't assume a thing. Much like earlier, the man would refrain from asking her to reveal her thoughts. She didn't have to declare her own feelings until she was ready.

A knock at the door startled him, his hand instinctively––

His wife gently kept a hold of him for as long as she could, not wanting to be separated quite yet.

Somehow they weren't caught out, not by the time Anna poked her head in, "You better come: Mrs. Patmore's on the rampage. She wants the key to the store cupboard and you know how angry she gets she hasn't got one of her own."

"Nor will she have! Not while I'm housekeeper here."

The door was open once more. She should have been marching off into battle. As it was her hands were grazing his for a precious second, her voice daring to murmur, "I take it you'd like to try telling them before running off to that tea shop?"

It were as though she'd kissed him in front of the house.

"Mr. Carson?" There was more than a hint of cheek in that address, but the poor man could only dumbly nod in response. Elsie could tease him all she liked, the whole conversation had gone much better than he could have imagined.

"The sooner, the better, Mrs. Hughes." He really wasn't dreaming this up like he had on Tuesday. This was actually going to happen. And, yes, it would probably be more complicated than he would like and there was so much more to take into consideration than he realised, but it was actually happening.

Her smile widened, "I don't suppose tomorrow works?"

Get away with you, Charles couldn't help but think. Because if she didn't, he might very well be the one kissing her in plain view of the house.


Author's Note: I really hope you enjoyed that! It was a treat to put together.

As for the final chapter –– how the house takes the news –– much like a certain butler and housekeeper, I'll try to get that posted sooner rather than later.

In any case, as always, have a lovely day! 'Till next time.