When Mrs. Hughes awoke hours later she felt both cozy and extremely uncomfortable. It took her a few moments to understand her precise physical position, but she knew where she was and had a clear memory of exactly what she had done. She could not say why she had done it. The only alcohol involved had not actually been consumed by either of them, with the exception of that one drop of Bordeaux that Mr. Carson had licked from her chin before he stripped her naked. She must have been mad.
It was dark, but Mrs. Hughes didn't need light to know that she was still naked, as was the large, warm man she was nestled up against. Where her body touched his, she was cozy. But lying on the floor was rather uncomfortable, in spite of the blanket spread out beneath them. She shifted a bit, but it didn't help. She hoisted herself up on her elbows to test her strength and a groan escaped her lips. She was able to move normally, but she was sore in all sorts of places. Mrs. Hughes sat up and tried to decide what to do next. She had no idea what time it was, but she knew it was imperative that she and Mr. Carson get upstairs to their own rooms. Pondering her own insanity could wait until later.
Mr. Carson was stirring now; he reached for Mrs. Hughes. She did not shy away from his touch, but she did not allow him to pull her back to the floor. The temptation was there, but she felt she'd given in to temptation quite enough for one night. It was time to be practical.
"Mr. Carson, I've got to get dressed," she told him calmly.
He sat up slowly. "Now?" he mumbled.
"Yes, now. I need to get upstairs. It might be dawn soon."
"I suppose I ought to get dressed myself," Mr. Carson commented reluctantly.
"Nonsense," Mrs. Hughes scoffed. "You're going to stay right here while I fetch your pajamas and dressing gown. I'm afraid your shirt, tie, and waistcoat are probably ruined." She fumbled around in search of a lamp and when she found one she hesitated for a long moment before switching it on. In the lamplight there would be no hiding from what they had done. With a click, she flooded the room with light. All of their clothing was scattered about the room, not a stitch of it left on their bodies. Mrs. Hughes exchanged a glance with Mr. Carson before she began gathering up her clothing. She only hoped no one saw her in this dress now; it was crumpled almost beyond recognition. She dressed quickly, her face burning. She knew Mr. Carson was watching her, but she couldn't return his gaze. She picked up her stockings and stepped into her shoes.
"I'll be back as soon as I can, Mr. Carson. While I'm gone you should try to think of a way to quietly dispose of those ruined clothes." She finally met his eyes briefly before slipping out of his pantry. He was looking at her very seriously.
Mrs. Hughes made her way quietly down the corridor. She wondered if she could manage to take a bath before morning; her body was sticky with sweat and... other things.
After she had removed her shift, he had kissed and caressed her tenderly. Certainly his tongue must have touched every inch of skin on her body. He nibbled her earlobe, he kissed her neck, he tasted her nipples. She had been surprised when his fingers found their way to that secret spot. When he kissed her there, she thought she must be going mad. It was a marvelous sort of madness, however, that led her to something too beautiful for words.
Mrs. Hughes almost groaned when she mounted the stairs. Her muscles were sore and thinking of how they had gotten that way was enough to bring a blush to her cheek again. Falling asleep on a blanket on a hard floor had done her no favors, but that was not all, nowhere near all.
He was a careful lover, not simply taking his own pleasure, but giving her pleasure as well. It was sweet and slow, and she had never experienced anything like it. However, after they had slept for a little while, sweet kisses and gentle touches became urgent kisses and grasping hands. They came together again, his whispered encouragement emboldening her to engage with him in a play for dominance. She felt powerful, even when his weight pressed her into the blanket. He was hers.
With each step toward the attics, Mrs. Hughes felt his teeth on her shoulder, or her fingers grasping at his hair, or the thrusts they shared as she hovered over him. Yes, she was sore now and she would certainly be stiff in the morning.
She went to her own room first to change into her nightgown and dressing gown. That would make it easier to explain away her nocturnal wanderings if anyone came upon her. She couldn't sleep. She was on her way to get a drink of water. Nothing out of the ordinary. Mrs. Hughes changed into her nightgown and brushed and plaited her hair, which hung loose. Her pins were in the pantry; she would fetch them when she went back down. Their clothing had been left all over the place once they were naked together, but Mr. Carson had taken every hairpin out carefully and kept them all neatly together. Mrs. Hughes put on her dressing gown and hastened to Mr. Carson's bedroom, where she quickly found him a clean set of pajamas and took his dressing gown from the hook on the door. It occurred to her that she ought to bring him some clean undershorts as well. It took a bit of courage for her to begin looking for them, but the search was mercifully short - she found a pair almost immediately. She hurried out of his room and down the corridor, the bundle of clothing under one arm.
The undershorts were the very last thing to go - after she was naked, her hairpins removed, and her body trembling for him. When she first saw him completely bare, she drew back, but he whispered, "trust me" and she did. It hurt at first, but not in the tearing, burning way she'd imagined. She was simply being stretched to fit him. It was a more natural thing that faded with each passing moment, and could coexist with this new pleasure she was learning.
With every stair step, her mind flashed to a different moment of their lovemaking and she blushed again and again in the dark. Mrs. Hughes shuddered to consider how she would get through breakfast in the morning.
When she opened the pantry door, Mr. Carson was sitting in his desk chair, still wearing nothing. His clothing, however, had been neatly folded and stacked in the armchair. She approached him and offered up the bundle.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." He took it from her and began to dress hurriedly. She averted her eyes.
"You're welcome," Mrs. Hughes replied. "Now I'll say good night."
"Won't you stay a little longer, Mrs. Hughes? There's something I want to talk to you about."
"If you wish," she answered. "But we can't stay here too long. We must get back to our rooms before anyone comes down."
"Of course," he agreed. "But it's just half past two. We have some time."
"Half past two?" Mrs. Hughes was surprised. "It feels later."
Mr. Carson was dressed now, but Mrs. Hughes still thought him devastatingly handsome. Her conviction that she had lost her mind did not make him any less attractive to her.
"Will you come here, please?" he asked softly, beckoning to her with an outstretched hand. Mrs. Hughes had intended to keep her distance, but at this first test her resolution failed and she went to him. She took his hand and he pulled her gently into his embrace. She wrapped her arms around him and relaxed, her ear to his chest. He rested his chin on her head. They let out simultaneous sighs.
"I think I had better marry you," Mr. Carson said quietly.
"Oh? Do you feel it's necessary?"
"I would never disrespect you by taking from you as I've done and then not making you my wife. What kind of man do you think I am?"
Mrs. Hughes drew away from him. "You're a good and honorable man," she told him without hesitation. "I'm more concerned about what kind of woman you think I am."
"The same kind of woman I've always thought you," Mr. Carson responded with a small smile.
"Which is?" She couldn't hide the tremor in her voice.
"You are no 'kind of woman,' really, because there is no one like you. You are good and kind and honorable. You are sharp and sweet and lovely. And I do not think any worse of you now than I did yesterday, in case that concerns you."
Mrs. Hughes paused for a moment to take it all in. He said I'm lovely. "So you think we should get married?"
"Yes."
"You're probably right," she remarked calmly, though her mind was anything but calm. She couldn't believe what had happened or what was now happening. A few hours ago she had done precious little thinking, but it had all seemed right. Now that she was thinking again, things seemed entirely wrong.
Mr. Carson sensed her disquiet and spoke. "Elsie."
Mrs. Hughes flinched in surprise at his use of her Christian name. It was the first time he had called her that since she was a housemaid. Even when they were making love, he hadn't called her that. Neither of them had spoken the other's name at all.
"I think I've gone about this all wrong," Mr. Carson began. "Let me start again." Her eyes questioned him and he reached for her hand and held it in his. He took a deep breath and continued. "I'm both sorry and not sorry about what happened between us last night. I'm sorry, because it was improper and disrespectful of me to give in to my urges and take you when you had not the protection of my name or even a promise of respectable marriage." Gently, he pulled her again to his chest. He spoke quickly, a long string of nervous words pouring directly from his heart. "I'm not sorry because it was even more wonderful and glorious than any of my many imaginings and I love you and I want to marry you so we can be together all the time and take care of each other and make love whenever we like." He waited for her response, patiently impatient.
Mrs. Hughes pulled slightly back from his embrace to look into his eyes and nod in agreement, returning his serious expression for a few moments before her face turned a bit mischievous. She bit her lip, trying to hide an impish grin. She said nothing, but slowly untied the belt of his dressing gown. His eyebrows rose and a smile broke out across his face. He began to undress her, too. This time, as they worked to remove each other's clothing, there wasn't a long wait, or any teasing. They kissed, they caressed, they slid out of their few garments, and there were few words.
"Charles," she whispered. "Not on the floor this time, please?"
"Whatever you wish," he agreed. He lifted her to sit on his desk. "Does this suit you?"
"Yes," she replied. "Just as you suit me."
#####
When Mrs. Hughes awoke in her bed a scant few hours later, she felt wonderful. Until she moved, that was. Just as she had predicted, her body was stiff and sore; however, there was a certain delight in her discomfort. She had a secret - a naughty, lovely secret - and those aches and twinges told her that it was real. Mrs. Hughes opened her wardrobe and sighed. Her evening dress was now clean, while the day dress she had worn all of yesterday was at the laundry. If she wore her evening dress this morning, she would end up wearing her morning dress in the evening again and things would stay out of order. She could wear her evening dress all day, but she really didn't like doing that, either. She pushed aside her newer things. She had worn that navy one almost to shreds, but there were a few even older that she might still be able to wear. She pulled out a dark gown with colored embroidery around the neck. Goodness, I haven't worn this in years. It was hopelessly out of fashion, but Mrs. Hughes knew that no one paid much attention to what a housekeeper wore. Fortunately, it still fit and she was dressed and out of her room before long. When she started down the stairs, the muscles in her legs provided sufficient punishment for any sins she had committed the night before and early that morning.
She sat on the edge of his desk, naked once again. The thought flitted through her mind that this particular version of the act did not require complete nudity, only a locked door and two people who could remain silent in the throes of ecstasy. Her legs were wrapped loosely around his hips and she had one arm draped over his shoulder and one hand in his hair. As she opened herself to him again, she suddenly realized that although they had made love twice, he had told her he loved her, and she had accepted his marriage proposal, she had not made her own feelings clear. Her first whispered "I love you" coincided with his thrust and so did the second. The tension mounted. They were lovers; they loved and they made love. She whispered it again and again, in time with the rhythm he set.
"I love you. I love you. I love you. Iloveyou. Iloveyou! Iloveyou! IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou! I LOVE! YOU! I LOVE! YOU! I LOVE-!" She broke off, unable to speak any longer. Her legs went limp and she clasped her arms behind his neck, feathering his neck and shoulder with little kisses as she tried to catch her breath. He was murmuring sweet words of love in her ear and she smiled between kisses. She couldn't think of a time when she'd felt so happy.
Mrs. Hughes waited with the other staff for Mr. Carson to arrive at breakfast. A few people had noticed her dress. "A mix-up in the laundry," she'd told them lightly, and there was no more conversation to be had about it. When Mr. Carson arrived, he nodded to the assembled staff, met Mrs. Hughes's eyes just as he did every morning, and all were seated. Mrs. Hughes was impressed. There wasn't a hint of a blush on his cheek or any sign of embarrassment. Of course, it was much the same for her. There was no telling what might happen once they were in conversation, but she could certainly master her emotions enough to fall under his glance someplace as public as the servants' hall without blushing.
"Good morning, Mr. Carson," she said, giving him a smile.
"Good morning, Mrs. Hughes. That's a new dress, isn't… no, it's an old dress."
"Yes, it's still quite serviceable."
"It was always one of my favorites," Mr. Carson told her, then took a bite of toast.
"Really!" Mrs. Hughes was surprised.
"Are you so shocked that I like it?" he wanted to know. "That little bit of color at the collar is very nice."
"I'm astonished you have a favorite at all, Mr. Carson," she replied.
"Hmmm," he grunted, then murmured so softly she almost didn't hear it, "I'll need help finding all the buttons on it, though."
The end.
I don't know if this chapter can be called "suggestive fluff," but it doesn't really matter at this point. They've had a romp (or three) in the butler's pantry and now they're going to get married. That pretty much covers it, eh?
Thank you for your reviews! Please leave another if you can spare a few moments.