II:


"You've changed your tune, then," Elsie said softly as she corrected the way Ida's bustle lay, tugging at the tapes with brutal force better put to use on something other than clothing. "A few days ago, you were lamenting how dull and stupid Lord Robert Crawley is."

"Perhaps I did rather jump the gun," Ida murmured. "He is quite intelligent, though he takes great pains to hide it from everyone – especially his dear Mama."

"I would not call her dear anymore than I would call a spider a pet," Elsie said with a delicate shudder. "She is quite –"

"Aunt Elsie, he has proposed marriage and I have accepted, pending Papa's approval," Ida said. "So it is quite fixed now." She peered at Elsie sideways as she was helped into her many layers of skirts. "And you must, of course, stay with me until we're quite settled –"

"Of course," Elsie agreed, feeling her heart sink. They'd been at Downton Abbey for nearly a month, and she had been accepted – finally – by the downstairs servants, but her primal reaction to Mr. Carson still concerned her, as it raged through her out of control like wildfire. "You've quite made up your mind."

Ida smiled and said, "I could be quite happy here."

"Of course, petal," Elsie said softly.

"I will be happy here." It sounded like a mantra.

"Are you quite certain?" Elsie challenged. "Are you?"

Ida faltered, then nodded, obviously not trusting her own voice.

"Then I must do everything in my power to support you, love," Elsie promised gently.


During dinner, Mr. Carson leaned over and said, "I suppose you've heard the good news."

"I've heard the news, but I wouldn't go so far as to say it is good for anyone but Lord Grantham," Elsie muttered under her breath. "I'll not explain – it would be beneath you to have a woman lecture you on rights."

He cleared his throat and mumbled, "I've got to run into the village in the morning – will you accompany me, and we can expound on this fascinating discussion then?"

"Mr. Carson, such an invitation is rather untoward," she warned.

"You've packages to collect for your lady, yes? You can leave ten minutes behind me and we'll meet along the road."

She hesitated, then sighed. "I give in – yes, I will," she agreed quietly.


"Carson, I think you should be among the first to know – I've proposed marriage to Lady Ida and my suit has been readily accepted by the young lady," Lord Robert said with a small smile on his lips. "We will be moving into Crawley House as soon as the wedding is past, and I should like to keep you on as valet."

Charles's hands stilled for a moment; valet over butler – he felt increasingly let down by life, and he took a deep breath before saying, "If your Lordship means the offer, I should be pleased to accept."

"Of course I mean the offer – you've done me proud, man," Robert said with a grin. "And you've helped me land the most beautiful woman I could ever have hoped to wed."

"I would certainly say so, m'lord," Charles said gravely. "Will Lady Westbrooke keep Miss Hughes on as lady's maid after the wedding?"

Lord Robert turned at eyed him for a long moment, then grinned. "Ah, I see – you've a bit of lust for the Scottish Dragon, then?"

Charles cleared his throat indelicately. "M'lord, such questions are beneath your dignity. We have become friends over the last few weeks – that is all."

"Friends as in discourse of a type or friends as in take her out to the stables and find out if her thighs are as strong as her words?" Lord Robert said, sipping on his brandy and smirking.

"M'lord, the latter is a dismissible offense," Charles said, his face heating up with mortification. Of course, he would not tell Lord Robert that he'd dreamt about Elsie Hughes, smiling and naked as the day she was born, beckoning him straight down the garden path into dark sins that he would never repeat. He'd been unable to sleep without bringing himself to release for two weeks, spilling his seed with her name on his lips – god help him.

"But you've been thinking it – hell, I've been thinking it. Miss Hughes is a prime bit of Scotswoman if ever I've seen one," Lord Robert said. "But she'd never allow me the liberty and I wouldn't force it on her. Not when I'm to wed her Lady."

Charles felt faintly ill – how could Lord Robert sing praises of Miss Hughes and then degrade her in the same breath? "M'lord, I do not think that this conversation is at all appropriate," he said. "Miss Hughes is a woman of your future wife's employ, not a trophy."

Lord Robert laughed and clapped his shoulder. "My dear fellow, when you finally bed her, you'll have to tell me if her pussy is as tight as it might be," he said with amusement. "Because I've no doubt you'll come home to roost far sooner than you think."

Carson's face was furiously red as he left Lord Robert's chambers, though whether from lust, rage, or embarrassment, he could not say.


"I'm from Argyll originally," Elsie said with a small smile as she walked in step with Mr. Carson, never touching him, nor coming close enough to infer anything if anyone happened to see them. "My mother was in service to a great household – eventually becoming housekeeper. That's how she met my Da." She neglected to elaborate any further on that score, partially because it did no one any good to know that she was a bastard – least of all her.

"My family has been in service at Downton for the last 200 years," Carson said proudly. "My father was Head Groom, and my mother has only recently retired as head cook."

She smiled and said, "I should like to meet your mother – I would like to think she is as kind a woman as her son is a man."

His smile faltered. "I am not a very kind man."

"Aren't you? You've been quite generous to me since I arrived," she said, looking down at the basket in her hands shyly. "Not many would be so kind to a perfect stranger."

"But we're friends, not strangers now," he pointed out. "Or, I should like to think we are –"

"We are," she conceded.

"Then as a friend, allow me the liberty of saying that any man would be very lucky to be gifted your affection, Miss Hughes," he said very softly.

"Oh, Mr. Carson," she breathed, "please don't –"

"That is all I will say on the matter," he said simply. "I will remain, as ever, your loyal friend, should you need one."

"Ida plans to keep me on," Elsie said, clearing her throat and trying to push back her tears. He felt for her in the same way she felt for him – lust, pure plain and simple lust that would get them both dismissed without reference or care. It was almost too much to bear, but she was built of stern stuff. "After the wedding, I mean."

"Lord Robert has asked me to continue as valet after the move to Crawley House," Carson said. "So we will be in close quarters for quite some time yet."

"The wedding is speeding along – they'll be married here at Downton three days after the banns are final," Elsie said. "So in another month, god knows what our lives will be like at Crawley House."

He held out his hand, wiggling his fingers. She bit her lip, but slipped her hand into his, holding it tightly as they stopped and face each other. "Our lives will be all the better for having each other in them," he said gently.

He leaned in to kiss her, but she ducked her face away quickly. "We can't," she whispered. "Mr. Carson, we cannot."

"Elsie –"

"No," she said firmly. "Friends, yes. That, no. Never that." She pulled her hand free from his and bit back a noise from deep in her throat as she broke the contact. "I have a burden of care for Lady Ida, and nothing must interfere with that. I made a promise to her mother on her deathbed. I will not break my word, Mr. Carson, even for you – even if… if I were to want… that… more than anything else in the world. And we shan't ever speak of this again and nothing must change between us. We are friends and no more." Her voice was heavy, choked with unshed tears.

He turned on his heel and he began to walk again in the direction of the village. She followed his lengthy strides at almost a run, but never did quite catch up with him.

And she began to wonder if she had managed to break his heart in one fell swoop.


"Mr. Carson, I'm sure you're wondering why I've asked to see you," Lady Ida said with a warm smile.

"The thought had occurred to me, m'lady," he said dryly.

"Only, we're to all be in the same household soon, and I should like to know all of the men and women who will be serving us," she continued without taking him too much to heart. "Miss Hughes speaks highly of you, which is high praise indeed – she has all but raised me since I was seven and out of the nursery, and I do so adore her. I am glad, very glad, that she has consented to remain with me as I begin a family of my own." She gestured at an arm chair and said, "Please sit, Mr. Carson, and tell me about yourself. Do you have a wife? Family nearby?"

"I am not married, m'lady, nor should I be if I remain in Lord Robert's employ," Charles said gravely. "My mother lives in the village – she was in service as head cook until recently."

"Why would you be unable to marry?" Ida inquired.

"It is not a prerogative of a servant of a large, prominent household, ma'am."

"But your parents –"

"A groom and a kitchen maid are not a valet and a lady's maid," he said pointedly.

"So you've seen through my cunning ruse, have you –"

"It is impossible, m'lady, even if she were so inclined – which she has told me in no uncertain terms that she is not."

"She is lying to your face," Lady Ida said softly. "She cares for you a great deal."

"I am not ungrateful for your interest, m'lady, but I cannot go against Miss Hughes's express wishes – and the traditions of the household."

"If I gave you my consent –"

"I respect Miss Hughes far too much to allow her to be the brunt of a common scandal," he scoffed indignantly. "No matter how much I might care for her."

"You do care for her?"

He hesitated, then nodded miserably. "I am afraid that I rather love her," Charles admitted shamefully, quietly. "And I've no right at all."

"I'll speak to her – maybe your cause isn't hopeless…"

"Please don't press the issue, m'lady," he pleaded. "I cannot bear to bring Elsie more pain."

"She is quite unhappy – you both are… we must do something to –"

"No," he said firmly. "We must do nothing, Lady Westbrooke. Nothing at all."


The wedding was small and intimate for a society affair, quick and hurried, and the removal to Crawley House done in as short a time as allowable. Elsie felt the smaller surroundings keenly pressing in on her, and Carson's presence seemed to be everywhere.

They chanced by one another on the back stairs on their separate ways, and he reached out to trail his fingertips down her arm for the briefest of moments. "Miss Hughes –"

"Mr. Carson," she murmured, stopping and facing him. "I am so terribly sorry for our walk and the frankness of our conversation. I… did not intend to upset you."

His hands were clenched tightly into fists. "Didn't you?" he countered.

"Why would I want to upset my friend?" she asked gently, putting her hand onto his forearm. "Who I care for so deeply?" The tiny intimacy was compounded by the flush in her cheeks, the ragged tear of her breath. The urge to kiss him and forget everything else in the world for a moment.

He was conflicted; it was painted all over his face, his struggle, the imbalance. And then he inhaled raggedly and muttered, "Even you do not have such malice in your body, Elsie."

"I do," she murmured. "Care for you. Very much. My friend, Mr. Carson."

"Charlie," he exhaled roughly. "Call me Charlie if we're to be friends, then."

She smiled weakly and murmured, "Very well, Charlie – and you must call me Elsie."

He closed his eyes, then opened them and stepped closer and closer to her until they were barely a breath apart. He smelled of pomade and bergamot, and she wanted to bury her face in his shoulder and just breathe him in. Instead, she did not shy from him when he leaned in to press a tender, courtly kiss to her lips.

"Very well, Elsie," he whispered. "I've kept you long enough – Mrs. Adams will wonder where you've gotten to." He began to retreat, but she pulled him back and kissed him strongly, with all of the desire and passion she'd dreamed of unleashing on him. "Elsie – Elsie, no…"

She stared at him for a long moment, then murmured, "I do care for you very much, Charlie, and if… if my life were even a tiny bit different…"

"I love you," he said, "and I am not free to say it or even think it. And neither are you."

"I don't care anymore," she said sharply. "I don't. I'm a tired old spinster who's got nothing to show for her life but service. And my heart won't listen to reason. It's settled on you."

His smile was weary, tired, sad. "No, Elsie. We can't," he said, echoing her words from the road. "No matter how much we want it." He paused. "And I cannot tell you with words how much I want you."

He was gone before she could formulate a reply; and maybe it was better that way.