In honour of chelsie fan's birthday - A Few Too Many Part II! Be sure to go wish her a Happy Birthday and thank her for electing to share her present with all of you!
Part II – The Next Day
Pain was Mrs. Hughes's next reality. The sunlight streaming through the window made her head throb something awful. She groaned and nestled herself closer, hiding her face in Mr. Carson's chest.
Wait. What?
Cautiously she blinked her eyes open, becoming more aware of her surroundings. She was sprawled on the floor with Mr. Carson's arms around her and oh how her back hurt! She pushed herself up into a sitting position, trying to wrap her head around what had happened. As if in response, he grunted and rolled over. She stared at him incredulously for a moment. What...how...?
There was a glass of water on the table and her mouth was so dry. She forced herself onto her feet to retrieve it, trying to ignore the seasick feeling it induced. Happily she gulped down several swallows. She turned back to the sleeping butler sprawled on the floor.
"Charles!" she hissed urgently. "Mr. Carson! Wake up!"
"Eh?" He awoke with a bit of start, clearly as disoriented as she had been. He put a hand to his forehead. "Ohhhhh"
"Here," she said, handing him the glass of water. She sunk back down onto the floor beside him, her back pressed against the desk. She tipped her head back, wondering at what point the room would stop spinning. Her dress was wrinkled and she could feel her hair coming down in places. She thought she must look an absolute disaster.
Mr. Carson blinked slowly, the light clearly bothering him. "What time is it?" he asked.
Mrs. Hughes glanced at the clock. "Still early," she reassured him. "Just before seven."
Her dress smelled faintly of orange juice, as some point she must have gotten some on it, somehow. Memories of the night before shot through her mind. Spilling the pitcher, dancing, falling to the floor because he'd...
...kissed her. Her hand flew to her mouth and a dizzy intoxicated feeling engulfed her. She dropped her head into her hands. That's what they had been doing on the floor, kissing. And it had been wonderful.
"Mr. Carson?" she asked shakily. "Are you quite alright?"
He sat up properly now, fully awake. "I think so," he said straightening his hopelessly wrinkled shirt. "My head feels terrible."
Her hands were trembling somewhat. "Do...do you remember everything? From last night?" she asked.
His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach as he remembered how perfect she'd felt in his arms, how soft her lips had been pressed to his. How could he have done such a thing!? "I believe so," he admitted shamefully. "Do you?"
"Yes," she whispered, not able to even look at him, her cheeks flushed in mortification.
He owed her an apology, he only prayed she would be able to forgive him. "Mrs. Hughes, I am so sorry. It was...completely appalling and inappropriate to-"
"No, Mr. Carson," she interrupted. He was not going to take the blame when it was just as much her fault. She would not let him do that to himself. "I think the kiss might have been my idea."
"The second one," he corrected, thinking of how he had been the one to bend down and kiss her first.
"And the third, fifth, seventh-"
"I lost track," he mumbled. "But your point is made." He finally was able to look up and met her eye.
She looked back apologetically at him. "So we're both to blame."
He nodded slowly, trying to absorb this new fact. Both to blame. Both to blame for what they did because they had both wanted...
His heart leapt from the pit of his stomach up to his throat so fast he almost sputtered. Taking a few deep breaths he composed himself. "Am I to understand, Mrs. Hughes," he said nervously. "That such actions were not...unwelcome?"
There was such hopefulness to his last word; she didn't feel quite so embarrassed about the truth, despite blushing furiously. "No, Mr. Carson. They were not unwelcome."
"Thank goodness, because-"
There was a sharp knock at the door and both of them scrambled to their feet, knowing that it was likely not locked and whoever was behind it might waltz right in on them.
"One moment!" called Mrs. Hughes, hurriedly pinning up the loosest pieces of her hair. As she finished she gave him a questioning look and he shrugged. It would have to do. "Come in."
It was Daisy, dishtowel in hand. "I came to tell you breakfast will be a bit late since everyone is sleeping in the extra half hour," she said, looking at them curiously. "In case you'd forgotten." This was, naturally, the only reason the assistant cook could imagine they'd be awake and downstairs by now.
"Right. Thank you, Daisy," said Mrs. Hughes primly.
"Since you're up, would you like me to get you anything to eat?"
Mrs. Hughes stomach churned and she didn't think she could handle food. She was about to turn down the request when a thought occurred to her. "Is there any coffee?" she asked optimistically.
That was a strange request for her. Daisy frowned, "I'm afraid we haven't any left. Oh, I know! There is some orange juice if you like?"
"NO!" came the emphatic answer from the pair of them. Daisy blinked.
"I mean, no thank you Daisy. I think we'll wait for breakfast," said Mrs. Hughes weakly.
"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," said Daisy, skipping away, letting the door fall shut with a bang.
Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes stood in silence for a moment. "That was close," she remarked.
"Far too close," agreed Mr. Carson.
There was an awkward pause. Both felt like they deserved to be reprimanded, neither able to find the right words to smooth things over. He watched as she repined her hair properly, thinking that despite his pounding headache all he wanted was to pull her into his arms and kiss her again. He took a step towards her, but the room spun and he was forced to sit down right where he stood. She collapsed back onto the floor next to him, what little energy she had already spent.
Mr. Carson sighed. Any other time he would be mortified to be sprawled on the floor, but he couldn't manage it. "Mrs. Hughes, how old are we?"
"Too old for this let me tell you."
"Are you alright? I feel dreadful and I've got several stone on you."
"Yes, but I hold my liquor better than you so I figure it evens out."
He opened his mouth, presumably to throw a witty retort back at her, but quickly closed it as his stomach roiled. There was a basin stored in the bottom of the cupboard within arms reach and she handed it to him. "Don't go proving me right now," she warned him.
"Thank you," he managed through gritted teeth. "We ought to talk about this," she said practically.
He didn't dare open his mouth so he nodded, clutching the basin tightly. Another way of nausea hit her and she contemplated snatching it from his hands.
"But later," she groaned, pressing her forehead to her knees. How in God's name could drink make one feel so terrible? She'd had a few too many glasses of wine once in her youth and it had loosened her tongue and made her dizzy, but it hadn't made her feel half so awful as she did now.
"Agreed," said Mr. Carson, finally steady enough to relinquish the basin. He placed it at her feet. "Tell you what. I won't be ill, if you won't be ill."
She looked at the basin resolutely. "Mr. Carson, you have yourself a bargain."
They sat in silence for a short time, trying to keep their promises. In her mind she knew that she should be thinking about the consequences of last night, about the feelings of the man beside her, but she couldn't. She felt too terrible. Eventually she realized the exercise was pointless. "I'm going to wash up," she told him, picking herself up off the floor.
"Good idea..." he said absently. "I'm going to...sit here for a minute."
"I'll see you at breakfast?"
"Yes, breakfast," he said. Clumsily she took a few steps and squared her shoulders. Today was going to take considerably more resolve than usual.
There was slightly more chatter than typical at breakfast, what with the whole staff back together again. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes could barely abide by the usual quiet scraping of cutlery on plates, but they could hardly ask them to stop without drawing attention to themselves. He refrained from buttering her toast like he usually did, instead passing a dry slice that she nibbled on it gratefully. He sipped his tea very slowly and both of them passed on the eggs. No one else seemed to notice the rather sparse breakfast the two of them had, or if they did they kept their observation to themselves.
There was much to be done that morning so like it or not they were both thrown into their jobs, stomachs and minds still very much whirling from the night before. Mrs. Hughes didn't know which was worse: her headache and nausea or the worried knot in the pit of her stomach. They had been unwell when they'd woken up; he probably didn't even know what he was saying. She certainly wasn't entirely sure what she'd said to him. But she knew exactly what she wanted. Last night had given her a taste of what it could be like to be Charles and Elsie and she wanted very much to feel that way again. Though possibly less inebriated the next time around.
She found a Beechams powder for herself after breakfast and snuck into his pantry to place one on his desk for him while he was away serving the upstairs breakfast. Later she returned from her rounds to find a scrawled note – two words: "Thank You, -CC" and a plate of digestive biscuits and a glass of water on her side table. That was when the knot in the pit of her stomach started to unwind somewhat. He was still the Charles Carson she'd always known; this hadn't changed everything for the worse.
In fact, she thought as she munched on a digestive and considered the unusual signature on his note, it might just change everything for the better.
It would be almost six hours later before they managed to have a moment alone together. He went to her sitting room after luncheon because he knew she usually looked over the household accounts then and assumed they were less likely to be disturbed.
"Are you well?" he asked, after ensuring the door was properly closed.
"Better than this morning," she said grimly. "Not sure I would say 'well'" She stood up from her desk and took a seat beside the side table, gesturing to him that he was welcome to sit down. "And you?" she asked, looking him over. He looked a little green, but she doubted she would have seen it if she hadn't known to look.
"I have a confession," he said.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You were sick to your stomach."
"In the second floor servants bath."
She hesitated for a split second before adding her own confession. "In the potted plant in the East hall."
He showed no sign of surprise, but he wasn't finished. "And once in the gardens behind the large oak tree."
"Twice," she added.
"Twice?"
"In the potted plant," she clarified. "It was that or an antique vase."
"Ah. A wise choice."
"I thought so. I've had it cleaned up already."
"As have I. At least we are efficient."
There was a beat. If the emotional situation they found themselves in weren't so terrifying they likely would have burst out laughing. Instead she gave a pained smile. "We are a right mess, Mr. Carson."
He smiled despite himself at the memory of her slurring those exact words the night before, gripping his shirt, her hair slipping from it's bun. "A right mess indeed," he agreed. His own unprofessionalism astonished him. His indiscretion appalled him. But she wasn't cross with him and this confused and excited him no end. He looked at her across the table, her clear blue eyes watching him back.
"Elsie..." he said slowly, for it were Elsie he wanted to have a conversation with. "What should we do?"
She had as good as told him his affections were welcome, but she was not entirely certain he'd truly meant them. She'd tried to tell herself that she would be alright if it had just been a spur of the moment thing, if it hadn't mean anything to him and he wished to forget it. She was certain after his behavior that morning that they would be able to carry on as friends, but she knew in her heart she would be devastated if that were what he wanted.
"Charles...I understand if you think it was...a mistake."
"It was a mistake."
"Oh." Her eyes cast to the floor.
"No!" he said quickly, catching her expression. "Not like that. It was a mistake...Elsie." He needed her to look at him and apprehensively she did. "It was a mistake for it to come out like that. That's all."
"For it to come out like that?" She thought she knew what he was getting at, but needed to hear him say it. She needed to hear him say it in the cold light of day, without any mitigating factors, to be absolutely sure.
Mr. Carson took a deep breath. There was no point in pretending otherwise, practically every line had been smashed to smithereens anyway. "That I love you. It was a mistake for you to find out that I love you like that."
Mrs. Hughes bit her lip, almost shyly. "Charles, I do not believe you ever told me that you loved me last night."
He realized with a start that she was right, he hadn't. There had been no declarations, no promises, no intentions stated. He just kissed her. How terribly backward all of this was! He closed his eyes in dismay, thinking she deserved so much better than that, so much better than him.
"I've done this all wrong. Elsie I'm so sorry," he said, looking abashed. "I wish I could turn back time, do it all over again. I imagined this moment so many times and it was never like this."
The fact that he had imagined it at all made her stomach flutter, and not in the unpleasant way it had all morning. She smiled at him.
"So do it again the way you wanted. You as good as know how I feel," she said. Her eyes sparkled and his heart swelled with affection. How he had come to deserve her he would never know. She knew he was deeply unhappy, if not with what had happened at least with the manner in which it had. While she was simply happy just hearing him say that he loved her, no matter how 'backwards' he thought it was she knew he would never be satisfied. Why not invite him to say it again?
Mr. Carson considered the kindhearted woman sitting across from him for a second, hardly daring to believe his luck. He stood up and walked over to her chair, towering over her, holding out his hand. She took it and let him help her up, her body inches away from his, clasping both his hands tightly. He looked down at her adoringly, and she could feel her heart beating noticeably faster in her chest.
"Elsie Hughes," he began in his deep rumbling voice. "You are the most beautiful and extraordinary person I've ever met, and I have loved you silently for far too long. I know that I've no right to say such things, but I cannot keep them from you anymore. I love you."
"Oh, Charles," she said, blinking back the happy tears that crept up unexpectedly on her. "You have every right, I love you."
A lump formed in his throat as she said this, while she looked caught somewhere between laughter and tears. He cupped her face in his great hands, warmth radiating through every part of him She loved him. She loved him. He'd always thought, always hoped, maybe even known on some level, but to hear her say it brought him unprecedented joy.
He bent his head to kiss her, his lips moving closer and closer, but just before they were to meet hers he stopped. Froze. She looked deep into his eyes, questioningly. He stroked her cheek gently with his thumb. "May I?" he whispered reverently.
Feeling his warm breath upon her cheek, being close enough to inhale his scent made her quiver with anticipation. She smiled softly at him. "Of course."
Permission formally granted and finally something feeling somewhat proper again, he captured her lips with his. They were warm and soft, just as he remembered, but it was different. It was so gloriously different. Their kisses the night before may have been earnest, but they had also been sloppy and this was anything but. He kissed her gently, carefully, eventually opening his mouth every so slightly so that he might run his tongue across her lower lip. Her hands made their way up slowly his chest, winding around his neck, pulling him closer. It was a kiss of pure adoration, long felt but never properly expressed until just now.
Eventually they were forced to break apart for air and he pressed her close to him, trying in vain to catch his breath, to control his rapidly beating heart. "Elsie?" he murmured. She'd turned her head to rest her cheek on his chest, delighting in feeling his voice rumbling through her as he spoke her name.
"Yes, Charles?" Being in his arms made her feel exactly as dizzy and elated as last night, but now it was from the certainty of his love for her.
"Marry me?"
"Like you had to ask," she replied, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss him again. He almost lost himself, before rapidly coming back down to earth and pulling away sharply. Mrs. Hughes blinked in surprise.
"Oh, God. Elsie, I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head.
"Whatever for?" she cried. He had moved back two paces and she already missed him. What on earth could possibly have gone wrong now?
Charles looked at the ground. "Well once again I'm completely backwards. I've no ring, I didn't even get down on one knee, hardly a proper marriage proposal."
She would have laughed if he weren't so serious. She took as step closer to him and reached up to touch his cheek fondly. "I give second chances not third ones, Charles. I'm afraid that proposal is going to have to do because I believe I have already accepted."
"What?"
"You heard me."
He looked down at her hesitantly. "You mean it?"
"No, I'm lying to sink my soul, of course I mean it!" She did, she would marry him in a heartbeat if he asked and so he had. But she'd never expected it to happen quite so rapidly. Why twenty-four hours ago she was still waiting for him to return home, hoping they might have a nice friendly chat, and look where they were! Perhaps that was the reason for his confusion; perhaps he could read how overwhelming it all was on her face.
"It's just all a little...sudden," she conceded.
"Yes, I suppose it is."
"Not that I mind," she said quickly.
"Neither do I." A very long time coming, but how quickly it had all tumbled out. The reality of what he was suggesting was only beginning to hit him. When he had been kissing her it had all been so clear, but now all the obstacles started to appear in his mind. Butlers weren't married. Housekeepers weren't married. They were going to lose their jobs.
"What will we tell them?"
She'd seen the gears turning in his head and she knew exactly what he meant.
"I don't entirely know..." She could hear Lord Grantham in her mind already. It just wasn't done.
"It's not done," he said, echoing her thoughts. "Maybe in the London, maybe in certain circles, but here...it's just not done."
He looked at her nervously. "I don't think I'm ready to leave Downton Elsie, not yet at any rate."
"Nor I. Not yet."
He was starting to feel very anxious; he didn't see a way for them to keep each other and their jobs. "If we tell his Lordship we are married, surely we'll both the sacked. Immediately. I love you, Elsie, but we cannot have that."
"No we cannot," she agreed thoughtfully.
He blithered on, working himself into a panic. "It's just not done, there's nothing for it. Either we must leave or we must forget it. Maybe we ought to forget all about it. Only for a little while. What else can we do?!"
"Steady on, Charles! No needed to throw the baby out with the bathwater."
"But, but-"
One of them needed to be calm. Neither of them felt particularly calm, but she was steadier and the more he fussed the harder she worked to bring forth some sort of pragmatic logic to the whole thing.
"Charles." she said firmly. "Do you wish to marry me?"
"More than anything," he said earnestly. He is sure of that at least. She smiled reflexively.
"Must it happen tomorrow?"
"Of course not."
"Then there is no need to tell anyone anything right now."
She had a very good point and he felt himself relax some. "But eventually-" he protested.
"Yes," she said, silencing him with a gentle hand on his chest. "Eventually we will tell them. When we wish. But until then we are simply engaged and I don't see anything wrong with that being our secret. Just Charles and Elsie's secret."
"Just Charles and Elsie's secret," he said softly, placing his hands on her waist, pulling her closer to him. "I think I can live with that."
"I'm happy to hear it," she said, the butterflies back in her stomach at his nearness. He beamed down at her. "Shall we drink to it?"
Mrs. Hughes never did figure out how when she went to smack him for his cheeky remark she ended up kissing him instead.