Hey guys, you know that thing about courtly love and all that nonsense? Yeah, no, this is smutty.
III:
"Well, say something, Aunt Elsie," Ida said hesitantly.
Elsie had already fumbled her mending, so she attempted to hide her surprise – but failed miserably in the process. "Well, you two certainly don't waste any time at all, do you?" she said.
Ida blushed. "Yes, well… it's the way of the thing, isn't it? Either you… and become with child, or you don't," she mumbled. "Are you… are you upset?"
"No, not a bit of it," Elsie said. "Just… surprised. We'll have to summon a dressmaker to begin letting out your seams soon – and create some new gowns before you need them."
Ida nodded and said, "Robert is pleased beyond belief – he's proven his manhood by attempting to propagate the succession or some nonsense. I'm… utterly terrified."
"I've never been through it, so I've no words of wisdom to offer," Elsie said; this time, hers was the cheek that was blushing. "I remember the day your mum was born – I was three and Mam was the midwife, so she took me along to the big house to help. I always told myself that it would never be me laboring in a big bed – not after Lady Allenby died right in front of me. Mam almost couldn't save your mum. I've never been more frightened in all my life."
"It is a hard work, but the effort is usually well-rewarded," Ida said. "It's what everyone expects – you get married, make sons, and grow old."
"Not everyone," Elsie murmured.
"You'll be godmother, of course –"
"Don't make promises you cannae keep," Elsie said, patting Ida on the cheek. "Your mother-in-law will have many things to say about that idea."
"She can say what she likes," Ida said forcefully. "You are the most trustworthy woman I know and it would be an honor to have you care for my child as you've done for me." She leaned in close and added, "Besides, it will make the old bat turn purple with rage when she realizes I won't budge. Isn't that worth the price of admission?"
Elsie laughed and said, "You are a terrible person sometimes –"
Ida grinned at her. "To be completely honest, I'm hoping for a little girl – a boy would be taken from me and swaddled and coddled and turned into another stuffed-shirt, swaggering peacock… but a little girl will be all mine to adore and dote upon."
Elsie warned, "Be careful what you wish for, dearest."
"Spoilsport," Ida said. "Now… let's change the subject. How are you getting on with everyone? Blake speaks highly of you, as does Mrs. Hicks. Are you getting on well with Mr. Carson?"
"Yes, I've no complaints – nor do I have any right to have any," Elsie said firmly. "It is your household…"
"It's Violet's household, aside from you," Ida sighed. "Which is why I must make certain you are happy, Aunt Elsie. It is very important that you be happy – maybe not as much so as I am, but…"
"I would never presume to put my own needs above yours," Elsie sighed. "I am… content."
"But not happy," Ida said worriedly. "Is there anything I can do?"
"No," Elsie murmured. "It's just the way of the world. I've no right to pretend to deserve any happiness at all. No right at all."
Ida hesitated. "Because you're in service."
"No, because I'm a lord's by-blow," Elsie muttered.
"That's not your fault – you deserve happiness just as much as anyone else," Ida declared. "What would make you happy, Aunt Elsie?"
Elsie hesitated, then looked away from Ida. "It doesn't matter," she said very quietly. "Now, if we're quite finished with this rather depressing conversation, I've got to make my way to the shops to pick up the trim for your gown."
"Elsie, will Carson make you happy?" Ida interjected.
"Don't be ridiculous," Elsie muttered. "You're seeing castles in the sky and happy families where none will ever be, Ida. Let it be."
"He's quite besotted – Robert says so."
"Forgive me saying so, but Lord Robert would do well to mind his own business matters instead of poking his nose into others'," Elsie snapped. "There is nothing untoward between Mr. Carson and myself. There will never be anything of that manner."
"But you care for him."
"He is my friend," Elsie said simply. "We all care for our friends, m'lady." With that, she left the room before she could say anything else that might lead to unpleasantness.
"Why ever do I get the impression that you're not happy to take tea with me?" Margaret Carson teased her son as he fiddled with his cup.
"Don't be ridiculous, mum," Charles sighed. "Of course I want to take tea with you on my half day. We do it every three weeks."
"You've been itching to leave since you got here," she pointed out. "This wouldn't have anything to do with that pretty lady's maid of Lady Ida's, would it?"
He felt the blood drain from his face. "Mum, please don't interfere," he pleaded.
"You sit with her in church every Sunday," she pointed out. "Tongues will start to wag –"
"Nothing is happening between us," he said softly, clearly. "We are friends, companions in our work – nothing more."
"Charles, you are my son and I know –"
"I love her," he said. "You know that just by looking. That is enough, and that is all it can be."
"Does she know?"
He sipped his tea and sighed. "Yes."
"Why haven't you done anything about it?"
"What makes you so certain the fault is mine?" he countered irritably. "Please stop interfering, mother."
"I want you to be happy –"
"If wishes were horses, mum."
Margaret sighed and took a bite of her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. "You know, it's not too late for you to leave service – you could take a job in the mill or use my savings to buy a shop –"
"I'll not leave without Elsie, and she would never leave Lady Ida if it was in her power," he countered with a scowl on his lips. "They are devoted to one another, though I hardly know why. Lady Ida allows Elsie a level of impertinence that is beyond the pale, well into sass."
Margaret smirked. "Lo, and my son has fallen victim to a woman of her own mind –"
"I've not fallen victim to anyone," he huffed. "We are friends. Nothing more."
"That, my dear boy, is what your da said for seven years until I finally took him out into the woods and showed him that where there's affection and love, there's always a way," Margaret said pointedly.
Charles looked down into his cup. "And what about Lily?" he asked. "Am I so fickle as to… to forget her entirely?"
"Of course not! But she is dead and you are not. She would understand that," Margaret said, reaching over and holding his hand. "I am sorry; it never quite heals, does it? I suppose you're feeling very guilty for –"
"For falling in love again? Yes. I am," he said in a clipped tone. "Moreso because I am not what Miss Hughes wants for herself."
"I think you'll find that she does," Margaret said with false cheer.
He glumly looked into the bottom of his empty cup. "She has already refused me," he said. "I don't… I don't have the courage to try again."
"She never has! What an uppity minx, getting above herself – when you have such prospects ahead of you! For shame!" Margaret gasped furiously. "How dare she –"
"She is right," Charles said firmly. "We cannot be together. It is against the rules."
"The rules are bloody stupid."
"I am not going to argue with you about this. We are friends, and anything else is impossible," he muttered. "Now, will you cut the cake or shall I?"
They sat together on the small sofa in the servants' hall, close as you like, thigh to thigh, Elsie darning holes in the toes of Lady Ida's woolen winter socks, and Charles mending the hem of one of Lord Robert's dress shirts. The silence was companionable, even comfortable, as if they shared something much more profound than a seat together.
"I got a letter from me mam today," Elsie said softly. "She's housekeeper at Bradley Castle; she's thinking about retiring." She inhaled deeply and murmured, "I cannot think she would be happy after leaving what's amounted to her home for nearly twenty years."
"Does she have enough set aside to –"
"She's retirin' to the farm," Elsie said. "It's enough." She looked up at him, then murmured, "She's offered me a position as head housemaid before she goes. Maybe a promotion to housekeeper in a couple of years when Mrs. Harper retires."
"You're not seriously thinking about taking her up on it, are you?" he asked.
"And what if I am?" she shot back. "Lady Ida won't need me soon; she has a husband and she'll have a passel of wee bairns to keep her company."
"You would leave Downton?" He stared at her blankly, as if she'd betrayed him. "You would… you would leave me?"
"I've not made a decision yet if I'm even going," she murmured. "And we've no… no understanding, you and I."
"Because you've made it abundantly clear that I am beneath your dignity," he snapped.
"What?" she said. "No – you're an honorable man, and if anything, I am the one beneath your dignity," she said, looking stricken. "How you could care for me, knowing who I am –"
"You are Elsie Hughes –"
"I am Lord Allenby's bastard," she said bluntly. "My mam is his mistress and he's finally turning her out into the cold. I make no apologies for what I am, because there are none to give." She stabbed herself with the darning needle and cried out with the sharp pain.
"Here, let me," Charles sighed, grabbing her hand and examining her finger. When nothing more than a bruise presented itself, he kissed her fingertip and murmured, "Better?"
"Better," she squeaked.
"You are Elsie Hughes," he said again, "and you are the most wonderful woman I've ever been privileged to meet." His voice dropped an octave as he leaned in closer and murmured, "I am quite in love with you and your confession does not alter that fact." He paused. "Will you leave me?" he asked.
"Charlie, I –"
"I would ask you to marry me, but you would not accept."
"No," she agreed softly, "not today." She set aside her work and reached over to shyly hold his hand. "But soon. If… if you really want."
"All I want right now is for you to stay," he whispered.
Her lip quirked up into a bit of a smirk. "Really? And here, I was hoping you'd want a kiss."
"I do," he agreed. "But it would be very ungallant of me to just take one. And I might not be able to stop at one."
She squeezed his hand. "I quite understand," she murmured. "And we must, of course, be discreet."
"Of course," he agreed.
They heard someone coming and abruptly pulled away from one another, trying not to look guilty as the butler and housekeeper blustered into the hall, loudly discussing something.
She awoke to her bedroom door opening with its soft, characteristic creak. She was about to cry out and ask who was there when Charles's hand came over her mouth. "Shh," he breathed, "it's just me."
"What are you doing in here?" Elsie exhaled. "What if someone hears –"
"It's past one in the morning – who would be up?"
"This is the opposite of discretion," she pointed out.
"I don't care," he replied, putting a finger over his lips in the darkness to signify the importance of silence. And then he kissed her.
Kissing in the dark was nothing like kissing on the stairs or along the side of the road; this was something altogether foreign and forbidden. His tongue ran over the crease of her lips, gently opening them, and that was when everything changed. This was something far more intimate than just a kiss, opening a new world to them both; Elsie listened to the tiny sounds they both made, paid attention to every movement. She'd been kissed a couple of times – Joe Burns had insisted – but those chaste kisses were nothing compared to the raw power of what she and Charles were sharing.
"I don't know –" she exhaled. "I've never –"
"Shh," he breathed.
"Charlie," she breathed, "ask me now."
"Marry me?"
"Yes," she choked out. "Yes." The kisses grew in intensity until she was dizzy with the sensations, and he had worked her nightdress up around her hips, baring her sex to the whole world if anyone walked in. She had no shame, grinding against his hand as he stroked her intimately like she'd done so many times before to make those sinful feelings stop. But he was causing so many more sinful desires; his index finger slid into her wet heat, and a tiny, panicked gasp left her lips. He kissed her again, gently working his finger in and out of her until it was as far as it could go. He had gentle hands, calloused with work, but not unkind, and she gave in to him, knowing he would not hurt her.
Charles Carson was an honorable man and he had offered her marriage, even knowing who she was.
She kissed him deeply, mimicking the motions below as he added another finger, then another , manipulating her, letting her rock against his hand, seeking something dark and forbidden. He brushed his thumb against the tiny nub at the apex of her sex, and she came apart at the seams, heat and incredible pleasure bursting through her like an explosion. His fingers left her most intimate place, and she whimpered, hating the sudden emptiness.
The tip of his manhood pressed against her entrance only seconds later, and she bit her lip – the only thing she knew about sexual relations was that it was painful when a man took you the first time. He kissed her until she relaxed, then pressed against her until the head was inside her. Everything after that was small movements, thrusting up and back, causing frissions of unexplainable pleasure up her spine. He coaxed her legs up around his hips, and surged forward until he was completely filling her, swallowing her startled cry as her body spasmed around him. He lifted her hips, pulled back drove home, kissed her into utter silence as they moved together. The mattress squeaked and groaned beneath them, and he slowed his movements, listening for any sign of anyone else up and about.
Her whole body tensed and released, stars forming in her vision as she came down from her ultimate high. He pulled out and grunted, turning away from her and stroking himself into a handkerchief. The look of utter bliss on his face as he stiffened and spilled into his hand made her feel proud; she had done that to him – a plain woman on the cusp of middle age had made a man so undone he'd been forced to…
He stroked her face, kissed her sweetly with no trace of the all-consuming passion of before. "Elsie," Charles breathed, "you've made me the happiest of men –"
"Shh, someone will hear you," she murmured.
"I love you."
She blushed and smiled. She was sticky and hot and slick with sweat and it really was the most glorious thing, being with him. Resisting him had been futile – from the start. "I love you, too," Elsie whispered.
They held each other long into the night, only breaking away an hour or so before the scullery maid came up to wake them. Elsie couldn't remember a night where she'd felt so amazing, despite lack of sleep.
