Glances … part one

She steps into the ballroom and surveys her surroundings. She is new to the area, new to most of the people in this room. It is something she relishes. She was able to leave Scotland behind, leave Joe … the kind and caring farmer, leave the hard life that would have pushed her into an early grave. Her hard work and determination have afforded her the reward she has been given this evening. She has been invited to a ball at the Crawley family home, Downton Abbey.

As she looks around at all the new faces, the glittering jewels and the men in fancy attire, her blue eyes land on one man standing off to himself in the far corner of the room. He, like herself, is observing the attendees, making mental notes of what he's seeing and hearing. His eyes finally land on her and she can almost feel them boring into her soul, even at such a great distance. Suddenly, everyone and everything around her fades into obscurity as they study one another.

His hair is black, a little shiny no doubt from the pomade he has used in his hair. She is certain that under different circumstances, though, it would be wild and untamed, thick and luscious. Her fingers itch with a sudden desire to caress the nape of his neck, to slide those fingers into his wavy locks which have been tamed for the evening, allow her nails to gently scratch his scalp.

She also notices his bushy eyebrows. She is almost certain that they have expressions all of their own. Most likely, they have the ability to communicate deep emotions, both joyous and mournful, with the slightest shift up or down. If his brow was furrowed, she is positive she would feel worried, anxious, or angry alongside him. But, this evening, they are simply … there. And, like his hair, they are manicured. Not a single hair is out of place. She can tell simply by this small observation that he takes great pride in his overall appearance, unlike some of the other men in attendance this evening. While the other men in the room are not necessarily unattractive, she simply regards this man as captivating.

Just below those impressive eyebrows are two dark colored eyes. From this distance, she cannot tell the exact shade of them, but she is certain they have the ability to be soft, understanding, kind, but also stern, masterful, hard. The way he held her gaze earlier sets the hairs on the base of her neck on end. It is almost like he is looking straight through her, probing her mind, learning her secrets without ever asking the first question. She is positive, even from just these brief moments, that she would enjoy being lost in those very same eyes, would enjoy having them explore her, perhaps in more intimate ways.

He has a prominent nose reminding her of marble statues she's seen once or twice in her travels. While it is large, it suits his face, and perhaps his personality, perfectly. She wonders if any of his lovers have ever trailed her finger down the slope of his nose and tapped the end of it playfully, perhaps after an evening of lovemaking or flirtatious fun. It's something she would do if given the opportunity.

She slowly moves closer to the man monopolizing her attentions. She speaks to people along the way as she crosses the room in an effort to see him better. She doesn't linger long with any particular person. She does not want him to think she is spoken for or has a keen interest in any of the bachelors vying for her time. No, he has captivated her attention, though she doubts he would notice at all.

From her new vantage point, she falls deeper in lust with this man, though she still knows little about him or his life. His lips and the cleft of his chin are silently begging to be kissed, to be nibbled, to be sampled and savored like a fine wine. Her eyes slip closed as she imagines doing just that … tasting a Margaux from his lips and tongue. Instantly, she begins to feel a heat rising to her chest and face as her mind begins to wander. She cannot remember the last time she has been so affected by a man, especially a complete stranger, though she refuses to deny the pull he seems to have over her.

The tie at the base of his throat looks terribly restrictive, almost painful, though his face shows no signs of discomfort. She knows he is accustomed to this attire, these sorts of gatherings. The dinner party scene may be new to her, but she has no doubts that he has endured countless evenings just like this one. Part of her wonders if his friends have invited him in the hopes of helping him secure a female companion, introducing him to his future wife. She has noticed that during her few moments of observation, he hasn't spoken to anyone aside from the hosts and a few gentlemen who clearly are acquainted with him. Her heart sings a little at the prospect that he is here alone, just like her.

Broad shoulders beneath that black jacket and the overall height of this man send shivers down her spine. She is not a short woman, but he would easily tower over her. It is easy to imagine standing on the tips of her toes and stretching to her full height to kiss his lips. It is just as easy to envision him leaning down, his impressive frame enveloping her as he steals kisses from her rosy lips. She wonders if he would be shy and tentative at first or if he would sweep her off her feet in a wave of passion. Either way, she wouldn't mind. Not with this man. He is so unlike Joe Burns and all the other lads who have tried to woo her and to gain her affections.

Her study of this mysterious man is interrupted by another gentleman. The moment he touches her elbow, she bristles. Something about him instantly puts her on edge, makes her shiver in a completely different way than before. She answers his questions as politely and succinctly as possible, hoping to send him on his way, though he does not take the hint. She is new to him and, unbeknownst to her, he has been making a study of her as she has been with the handsome man across the room. Compliments fall from his lips as water droplets in a waterfall. One look into his eyes tells her all she needs to know. This man, Mr. Horace Bryant, sees her as a new conquest, some trophy to add to his collection. She has seen his kind before. They were not successful and neither will he.

When she has rid herself of his presence, she turns back towards the dark and captivating man she has watched from a distance. However, he is not there. He has disappeared from her sight. Quickly, she scans the room, finding no trace of him. Her heart sinks and curses at the same time. She hopes and prays she has not missed her chance for an introduction, at least a brief moment spent in his company. With the same breath, she curses the Bryant man for dividing her attention, for interrupting her study of this fine specimen of a man.

She steels herself as she prepares to make another round through the room. If she's lucky, she will bump into him, renew her optimism, gain a second chance. But, before she can take the first step, her heart leaps in her throat as a deep, rich voice sounds beside her ear.

Every nerve in her body cries out in reaction to the voice. His words rumble through her body like an earthquake, shaking her to her very foundation. His cologne is masculine, very appealing, and intoxicating. A deep breath and she commits the scent to memory. With each word he utters, her legs grow weaker and weaker. She does not wish to appear that way in his eyes. She twists her upper body slightly and is thrilled to find it is the man of her dreams. He is standing a breath away from her and she is not disappointed by the closer vision of him.

His eyes lock with hers and so many words are spoken though never uttered between them. Yes, he is single. No, she is not engaged or walking out with anyone. He has watched her watching him. She's apologetic that she was not bolder, did not approach him sooner. They both silently agree that Mr. Bryant was a little too close for her comfort and for his.

His long fingers are bold as they glide along the inside of her arm near the bend of her elbow. Her breath hitches in her throat at the contact and the heat rising within her. She marvels at how reverent his touch seems to be and how it awakens her in ways no other has ever done before. He leans down until his cheek is nearly touching hers, and she can feel the warmth from his breath across her neck. And then he speaks.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Charles Carson."

A name! She smiles at the way he has chosen to introduce himself to her. Her heart and her body approve of his method.

"Good evening, Mr. Charles Carson. My name is Elsie Hughes."

And with that introduction, they both understand that their fates are sealed, their lives are intertwined forever. And all it took was one glance.

The End

A/N: This was written in response to the Chelsie Prompt of "Glances" and the photo used for inspiration for this story can be found on my Tumblr (Chelsie Carson). Thank you for reading, and if you have time, I would love to hear your thoughts on the story!