A/N: Thanks so very much for all your kind reviews! I'm overwhelmed, truly.

Much love to the AWESOME silhouettedswallow for setting me straight as to the layout of the servants' corridor (a.k.a. the hallway) – I was happy to discover I'm not losing my mind. She's also made my words nice and concise. (This is a remarkable undertaking, as you can see from notes such as these.)

Special shout-out to deeedeee, without whose request this chapter would never have happened. I'm ever so glad for it, though, as it was tremendous fun to write! xx

Spotify has a list for all music - Username: CheslieSouloftheAbbey, playlist is "Music of the Heart" (makes sense, no?)

We are fragile, we are human,

We are shaped by the light we let through us.

We break fast, 'cause we are glass …

~"Glass," by Thompson Square

December 15

"Um … a letter for you, Mrs. Hughes," said Charles, handing her an envelope from the morning mail delivery.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson," she replied, her brow furrowed. Who on earth is writing to ME?

Elsie took the envelope he held out, ever-so-carefully not touching his fingers. They'd learned weeks ago – the day after she'd returned from Argyll, in fact – that any form of physical contact just couldn't happen in front of the staff; it was, they now knew, the one thing that flustered them to the point where one or the other would have to leave the room.

Not that there's a great deal of touching when the staff ISN'T present, Elsie thought, but she knew that was for the best. If they ever crossed the bridge from hand-holding and soft, lingering kisses to more intimate touching, or even to another searing kiss like the one she'd received that first night back, there would be absolutely no returning to normalcy. As it was, they were holding on by the thinnest of threads. The evenings they spent sequestered in his pantry gave them something to look forward to, though; those evenings, where their love could at least exist out in the open, alive in their looks and words and soft touches, seemed to be saving what was left of their sanity. For now.

Elsie wondered how long they could go on like this, but then she would shake her head at her own silliness. That precious time alone, holding hands and sipping wine, was already so much more intimate than what they'd experienced in the past, and she was grateful just to know that she had his heart securely wrapped inside her own. She was content with the way things had to be between them. For now.

Charles, meanwhile, was staring at the envelope in fear, as if it would spontaneously combust in her hand before his very eyes. He had, of course, recognized the handwriting immediately, and was terrified about the reason Elsie would be receiving any sort of correspondence from the Dowager Countess. She barely ever had the opportunity to speak more than two words to Elsie, perhaps at an event such as the Servants' Ball or at Christmas, but even those words were not always what one could consider overly friendly.

This cannot be good.

To make matters worse, he couldn't even ask about it, couldn't warn her before she headed to her sitting room and slipped the letter opener underneath the flap to release the contents. And then, in utter horror, he realized that wasn't her intention at all. Blast! She's tearing it open right here! Quaking in his seat, he hoped no one else was watching. Realizing that he was staring, Charles looked away, suddenly unable to finish his meal without choking.

Elsie saw Charles's strange reaction, saw the trembling and the flushed cheeks. What on earth is HIS problem? Shaking her head and sighing imperceptibly (almost), she tore open the envelope with a burning curiosity. Elsie didn't expect any mail now that Becky was gone and wondered from whom it had come. Unfolding the note within, she glanced at its scant contents. She sat back hard in her chair, feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of her.

The note was quite succinct:

The Dowager Countess of Grantham requests

that you join her for tea

Thursday, the 15th of December.

Please present yourself promptly at half four.

Elsie huffed. She read the note twice, and then once more. The nerve! Shooting an exasperated look at Charles, she simply said, "Mr. Carson, it appears I'll be away from the house for a bit this afternoon. I hope it won't be an inconvenience?"

Charles sputtered on the tea he'd foolishly decided to sip. "Of course not, Mrs. Hughes." He could see that she was ready to fly off the handle, so he quickly rose and dismissed the staff from the table. He headed to his pantry in the hopes that she'd soon follow.

She didn't.

Elsie was furious. She didn't work for the Dowager, she never had. She didn't appreciate being invited – no, summoned! – to attend tea. The note was obviously not a simple social invitation.

After the anger subsided, Elsie was left confused. She'd no idea why the Dowager wanted to see her. Well, that's not entirely true, now is it? She could have one thing she wishes to discuss with you, lass. One very tall, grumbly, liveried, lovely thing.

But why? According to Charles, the Dowager had encouraged him to come forth with his (their) story, and Elsie assumed that meant the woman would be supportive of their happiness. Actually, Elsie had wondered at first if it was a push from the Dowager that gave Charles the confidence he'd needed, but she never asked him about it. She huffed again, annoyed that, despite their ages, their futures seemed to lay in the hands of the Grantham family. She and Charles were forced to toe the line between their servant personas and being able to live as independent adults and, while that had never been an issue before, it was certainly becoming more annoying as they approached retirement age. We are adults! Not children!

Reading the note once again, Elsie thought about the woman who'd written it. Perhaps there wasn't exactly the animosity Elsie had read into it at first. She knew it was the way things were done, and it was most certainly the Dowager's way – summoning and being listened to without challenge, so used to controlling everyone around her. There's no point in wasting any more time thinking on this, Els. It's not like you've got a choice. Realizing she'd have to rein in her feelings in order to get through the rest of the day, Elsie tucked the note into her pocket and headed up to make her rounds, hoping in the process to catch Anna and let the girl know she'd be out for a while.

As the afternoon wore on, Charles was dismayed to not have seen Elsie again, but with the Christmas holiday fast approaching and the house to be decorated he knew her time was becoming increasingly occupied. He did glimpse her once at the opposite end of a hallway, but he'd been heading into the library and she disappeared around a corner without a glance in his direction. He felt lost without her, without those little looks he received in passing, without snippets of cheerful greetings and acknowledgements as they made their way through the day. It was so terribly lonely and made him dread the idea of spending another day without her by his side. The fact that the Season was mere months away was unthinkable to him. He'd never make it then, surely; if he couldn't make it through two hours without seeing her, he'd never survive months of only a letter a day and a phone call once a week.

Time to do something about that, old man.

Charles remembered Elsie saying that she wasn't ready to retire, but he began to wonder if they could simply retire at different times. It was only a couple of months ago that he couldn't imagine retirement without her, couldn't envision spending a day alone at their cottage awaiting her return each night, but now those thoughts were infinitely better than the idea of months with him in London and her left behind here. No, he'd have to make some progress, some kind of change, before the Season arrived. He felt confident that she wouldn't turn him down, but he'd have to speak to His Lordship to ensure there would be no … snags. The last thing he would do was jeopardize her job.

Before heading for the staff dinner (which we'll obviously have to hold without her if she's gone much longer) Charles headed into the butler's pantry, closing the door behind him. He sat at his desk and removed the old, wooden box from his desk drawer. Opening it slowly, he was startled to note that the contents were wrapped in an old handkerchief. He didn't remember ever having seen that particular one before but, then again, it was a long time ago since he'd laid eyes on any of the things it contained, either.

Charles peeled away the corner of the cloth, letting his fingers brush across the contents. He was suddenly lost in a myriad of memories and it was a true struggle to bring himself back. He extracted the items he needed and wrapped them in the handkerchief before carefully closing the box once again. He tucked the box back into the desk drawer with a deep sigh and placed the miniature bundle in his waistcoat pocket.

Christmas Eve, you'll ask her then.

An extra spring in his step, Charles patted the soft lump he'd placed in his pocket and headed to servants' hall.

Having met with Anna (who was looking decidedly better these last couple weeks, thank goodness), Elsie made her way to the Dower House. She was grateful that there was no snow yet and she enjoyed the walk despite the chill in the air. It gave her time to organize her thoughts and clear her head. Realizing she had no idea what she'd be walking into once she arrived, Elsie simply decided to focus on her love for Charles and on the trust that the Dowager seemed to place in him – and in you, if she asked him to tell his story. It didn't even occur to Elsie that Charles might not be the reason behind the visit; after she'd thought about it, she knew that's exactly what she'd have to discuss. The thought made her cringe inwardly; she could barely think of him when she was in the hubbub of the servants' hall without flushing. Goodness knows how she'd survive the Dowager's piercing gaze.

She understood that the Dowager had known Charles almost his whole life and she knew this had probably made the old woman the first to see his feelings for Elsie, perhaps long before he even acknowledged them himself. The woman was ever so perceptive, her age masking a keen eye and even sharper mind. Was it possible that she felt she was fulfilling her promise of long ago by seeing Charles married off, cared for, before she died? How absolutely … none of her business.

The thought had barely settled in her mind before Elsie realized it was unfair. Charles's life most certainly was the business of this formidable woman, even now. Allowing him to return to Downton all those years ago was the best thing she'd ever done, in Elsie's opinion, because it secured the status of the estate in the eyes of the country. Downton was well-known for its impeccable presence, both in Yorkshire and far beyond. Its reputation was without question, and Elsie knew that regardless of the behind-the-scenes work she herself had done to contribute to that status, no house became truly great without an outstanding butler. Yes, the Dowager did indeed owe a great deal to Charles Carson. Perhaps ensuring his happiness was her odd way of repaying him. And if she found Elsie to be worthy of his love, of his life? Well, then … bully for her, she thought with a smirk.

So that's what this tea is, then. It's a test. But why now? She was sure enough before to let me find out her story.

It was strange, but the idea of being examined to see if she was truly good enough for Charles was actually more comforting than the unknown dread of being summoned to take tea with the Dowager Countess of Grantham. At least it showed that the old woman cared for Charles – enough, at least, to take tea with a housekeeper, which was a monumental occurrence for the ever-proper woman. Elsie took a moment as she stood on the doorstep to gather herself; she hoped she'd be good enough to pass muster. Then she remembered she was not a child anymore but a sixty-two-year-old woman, and reassured herself that Charles did, indeed, seem to want a future with her outside of the Abbey … someday. She reached out toward the servants' door and knocked, waiting for an answer.

It came in the form of Miss Denker. Sigh.

"Mrs. Hughes," she said, curiosity clearly written all over her face. "What can I do for you?"

"The Dowager Countess is expecting me for tea, I believe," Elsie said with a satisfied smile. Nice to keep this one on her toes, isn't it?

Miss Denker's eyebrows rose as high as they could go. "Indeed? Well, I'll have Mr. Spratt show you up."

It was all Elsie could do not to roll her eyes, both with disdain for Miss Denker and in anticipation of the agony of spending a moment in Mr. Spratt's presence. Upon his arrival, however, Mr. Spratt did not say a word except for "Follow me, Mrs. Hughes," and he led her upstairs to where the Dowager was waiting.

Elsie entered the room with her head held high, determined to neither be intimidated nor concerned about the conversation that would take place. You've nothing to fear from her, Elsie. Have faith in Charles and the fact that he holds her in such high regard. After all, except for you, this woman is the last person on this planet who would willingly cause him heartache. That thought alone was what gave her the ability to speak when addressed.

"Mrs. Hughes, thank you for coming," came the Dowager's voice.

As if I had a choice!

"Milady," she said, giving a small bow of her head. "Good afternoon. Thank you for inviting me."

"Please, be seated," the Dowager replied, indicating the settee.

Elsie took her seat and watched as Mr. Spratt poured the tea. He handed her a cup, barely holding in his curiosity and disdain at serving a fellow servant. He held out a plate of small cakes from which Elsie accepted a lemon one, graciously thanking him.

"Spratt, please leave us now," said the Dowager. "I will ring when your presence is once again required."

"But, Milady … surely I should remain? The tea?" he stumbled.

"Spratt, Mrs. Hughes is perfectly capable of refilling our teacups as needed. Now go."

Elsie watched bemusedly as a red-faced Mr. Spratt gave a small bow before scooting out of the room, securely closing the door behind him. She took a bite of her cake, more curious than ever at what she was about to hear.

"Mrs. Hughes, I am sure you're wondering why you're sitting in my drawing room."

"Yes, Milady, I am quite curious indeed," was Elsie's reply.

"Please be at ease, if possible. I only wish to discuss certain … things, with you." The Dowager took a sip of her tea, delicately placed the cup back on its saucer, and set them aside. She looked Elsie directly in the eyes.

Elsie returned her gaze fearlessly. "Things such as … one butler, I presume?" After a pause, she added, "And I think it safe to say I am not referring to yours."

The Dowager laughed out loud, the sound echoing throughout the room. "Well, cutting right to the heart of the matter! I do appreciate your directness, Mrs. Hughes, and your sharp wit. Yes, I wish to discuss Carson. I understand he has confessed his feelings to you at long last?"

Elsie was taken aback briefly. Wait a minute … did he actually DISCUSS them with the Dowager? But then it dawned on her that he likely never did. The man truly was a horrible liar, and if the Dowager had asked even once about a glance she'd observed, or a kind word she had overheard, it would have been futile on his part to deny it.

"Yes, he has," was her only response. Better to see where she's headed with this.

"And has he given you the box?" she asked.

Elsie tilted her head in confusion. "The … box, Milady? No … he has not." The box? WHAT box? Unless … Visions of a velvet-lined, smallish ring box flitted through her head. Oh, surely not.

The Dowager sighed loudly, seemingly frustrated. "I see," she said. "I'd hoped he'd have done so by now, but Carson never was one to make decisions quickly. Moves at more of a glacial pace, I think."

Elsie had to laugh. "You're certainly correct there, Milady." The two women shared a smile, and Elsie refilled their cups.

"He has told you of his childhood, I presume?"

Elsie nodded. "Yes, Milady," she said softly, "he has." Then, after the briefest pause, "I wish to thank you for trusting me with that story. It was quite touching to hear that, despite losing his parents at such a young age, Charles was … loved." Elsie was so moved by the emotion that was playing out over the older woman's face that she didn't even realize she'd slipped and referred to him by his Christian name.

"Yes … he was indeed," came the soft reply. "I intend to make sure that he always will be. That is, as I'm sure you've guessed, the reason I asked you here today. But I can hear in the tone of your voice, and see in your eyes, Mrs. Hughes, that I have nothing to fear on that score."

Elsie was touched, truly touched, that the woman would so keenly see and appreciate her feelings for Charles. "No, Milady, you've nothing to fear whatsoever." She looked down at her hands, trying not to twist them into a knot. "I've loved him for a very, very long time," she almost whispered, knowing full well the Dowager would hear her nonetheless.

"I'm glad. Please do see that he gets around to marriage eventually, won't you, Mrs. Hughes? I don't think the man should die in livery, despite his claims in the past. Do you?"

Not knowing what to say, Elsie sipped her tea in silence. How do I answer that? How do I tell her that we fear for our jobs, for the security we could lose if we chose to marry and were unable – not allowed – to remain in service? But then she knew, she knew without a doubt that, if she told Charles tomorrow she was ready to leave, he'd retire alongside her, job be damned. And it could happen, just like that. They could afford it if she sold the farm. Oh God, it could happen before he's ripped away from the house for the damned Season!

Of course, she made no mention of that to the Dowager. "Milady, I think his hesitation has to do with the tradition of butlers and housekeepers remaining unmarried," she said, "and also his concern that I'm not quite ready to retire." Even if I am.

The Dowager let out a frustrated huff. "The two of you run that house, Mrs. Hughes, make no mistake! Even my characteristically short-sighted son is aware of that fact. If you did choose to marry, and were not ready to retire, I've no doubt that you'd be allowed to remain in service until you wished to do otherwise."

"Truly?" The answer slipped out before Elsie could think to keep it in, and she blushed slightly.

The Dowager only chuckled. "Yes, I'm fairly sure of my influence in this family, Mrs. Hughes." Then, more quietly, "It's time for you and Carson to make memories for yourselves that do not involve the Crawley family. Memories that, instead, are built upon the family that you are creating. Fix up the cottage and, for heaven's sake, set a date to be wed. There's really no question in your mind, is there?" she pushed.

"No, Milady," Elsie replied with a wide smile, "not one."

They chatted on about the cottage and, specifically, its garden. Charles had mentioned that it would be full of beautiful flowers in the summertime, and Elsie learned that those flowers were of the same varieties as those in the Dowager's own garden. They discussed the approaching holidays, and Mr. Branson's departure and how it weighed heavily upon Lady Mary. Elsie was grateful to have forged a more comfortable relationship with the eldest granddaughter, allowing her to honestly say kind things to the woman's grandmother.

After a surprisingly pleasant visit, the women finished their tea and the Dowager rang for her butler. "Mrs. Hughes is ready to leave, Spratt. Please show her out. The front door, I think."

Elsie started to protest, but was cut off immediately. "Thank you for coming to see me today, Mrs. Hughes. I do hope we have a chance to visit again soon."

"It was my pleasure, Milady," said Elsie. And, oddly enough, it WAS.

Barely sparing a look for Mr. Spratt, Elsie proceeded through the door and headed back to the Abbey, more hopeful than ever that a retirement by Charles's side was near.

Heading down the corridor toward the servants' hall, Charles couldn't help but be concerned. Where is she? Why is she not back yet?

Just then, the servants' entrance opened, and in walked Elsie Hughes.

"Where have you been?" Charles demanded quietly.

Elsie was taken aback by the forcefulness in his voice. "I beg your pardon? You most certainly know where I've been, Mr. Carson," she answered testily.

"But you've been gone for hours! We're just about to sit down to dinner."

"Yes, I suppose I have been gone awhile. Is that a problem?"

Charles started to sputter, unable to fathom why she couldn't see he'd been worried. "Surely you know that I was worried when I saw the note … "

"And why would it worry you? The Dowager had some things to discuss with me." Elsie was being purposefully vague now, her temper starting to rise as she thought of the gall he had in questioning why she'd not returned in what he'd determined to be a reasonable amount of time.

"What on earth did the Dowager Countess of Grantham have to discuss with you?" he said, realizing as soon as the words were out of his mouth that they sounded a bit harsher than he'd intended.

Elsie was flabbergasted. She brushed past him in a huff, but then stopped and turned to face him. "Well, that's put me in my place, hasn't it?" she said in a low, quiet voice that couldn't mean anything good. "I'm actually quite hungry, Mr. Carson, so if you don't mind, I'll just be off to have my dinner now!" She shot him a look full of her trademark Scottish fury and stormed into the servants' hall.

Charles was stunned, looking around the corridor to determine if there had been witnesses to her rash display of emotion. How DARE she? He knew he was probably overreacting, but how could she not see that he'd had every reason to be concerned? No one just gets "invited" to have tea with the Dowager. He couldn't believe the "conversation" they'd just had. They'd been on the same page every day these past two months, as if acknowledging their love had ironed out all potential for disagreement. He'd been on the wrong end of her wrath countless times in the past, but he had thought they were past all that now.

Evidently not.

Shaking his head, Charles made his way to dinner. Taking his seat, he motioned for the others to do the same. He noticed Elsie biting her lip, not in fear or amusement but with a look of absolute rage on her face. He didn't know what to say. Helpless, he tucked into his meal, wondering how on earth he was going to fix this. Tonight, you'll talk it through tonight.

But the opportunity never came. After making his final rounds, Charles went in search of Elsie, wondering why she hadn't shown up at his pantry door after finishing her work. When he'd heard her leave her parlour he assumed had some last detail to take care of, but she never returned. Charles headed over to her door but noticed it was shut … and locked.

She's gone to bed, he realized sadly. She's gone to bed without even saying good night. Devastated, Charles headed up the stairs to his own room, steps heavier than usual, knowing that sleep would be elusive. As he entered his bedroom, thoughts started creeping into his head – the loss of her warm touch, a long-hoped-for happiness slipping out of his grasp.

From her room, Elsie heard Charles walking down the men's corridor. She was sitting in bed, holding a book in her lap but unable to see through the hot, angry tears falling from her eyes. Still furious, she'd studiously avoided him the entire night, managing to sequester herself away by inventorying linens and doing her rounds at a different time than usual.

Elsie knew she was being unreasonable, but she couldn't get past the accusatory look she'd seen in his eyes. She'd spent enough time cowering before angry men when she was a much younger woman, and she most certainly would not do so as an adult. Charles had seemed so very angry that she'd been gone so long, which was idiotic enough, but then he'd insinuated that she couldn't possibly have spent time conversing with the blessed Dowager Countess of Grantham. And why not? We had a perfectly lovely conversation, a very nice tea indeed, after which you enjoyed a leisurely walk back to the house. If he only knew … But of course he doesn't, because he couldn't be bothered to ASK.

Slamming her book shut, Elsie put it on her night stand and tucked herself into bed, knowing sleep would be hard to come by.

The next morning brought no reprieve. Neither Charles nor Elsie had slept well. He thought he'd heard her get up in the middle of the night to head downstairs, presumably for some cocoa. He'd almost joined her but decided against it. Now he wished he had; surely she wouldn't have chanced a shouting match in the middle of the night. Probably.

Elsie ate her breakfast in silence. She'd made his tea prior to his arrival, and hoped it hadn't grown too cold waiting for him. He didn't seem to notice either way. As soon as she was finished eating, she stood and left for her sitting room.

Charles couldn't take the silent treatment anymore. Time to offer the olive branch, old man. He finished his own meal and headed down the hall to her parlour. Knocking on the door (which, thankfully, was open this time), he walked in. Elsie was seated at her desk, back to the door, making some notes to organize her day.

"Yes?" I refuse to turn around and face him … not yet.

"Mrs. Hughes …" he began. "Elsie … I am sorry if I upset you last night."

She stopped writing, but stared at the paper in front of her. She spoke so quietly it took him a minute to realize that she'd spoken at all. "You don't know exactly why you've upset me though, do you?"

Charles was stuck. "I know that you're upset that I questioned you when you came back later than expected," he tried.

Oh, the impossible man! "Mr. Carson, that's not what has me upset. I'm very busy at the moment and truly don't have time to discuss this."

That's it then, she's not talking to you. Dejected, Charles only said, "Of course, Mrs. Hughes. I'm sorry to have disturbed you." He exited the sitting room, leaving the door open a crack. He leaned against the wall for a moment, needing to collect his thoughts.

He couldn't be positive, but he thought he heard a faint gasp, a tell-tale sign that she was crying.

Damn.

By lunchtime, Elsie was regretting her decision to give Charles the silent treatment. She'd not even seen him at luncheon – he'd asked Mr. Barrow to oversee it and had presumably taken a tray in his pantry. Well, perhaps he's thinking of how best to apologize. But that's not really fair, is it?

Elsie knew it was on her to apologize as well. After she'd cooled down and actually thought about his words, she realized that Charles, in his black-and-white view of the world, truly did not understand why she'd been summoned to see the Dowager Countess. One did not ask housekeepers to tea – it just wasn't done. It wouldn't have occurred to him that the woman wanted to talk about him, about his future with Elsie. Charles had been close to the woman his entire life, but he was still a traditional man. He wouldn't understand why one woman might want to vet a potential spouse for someone she cared about. It just wasn't done in his little world.

She felt awful and decided to find him before afternoon tea to have it out. She'd try to be fair, but he needed to see how she'd been hurt as well.

"Mr. Barrow, have you seen Mr. Carson this afternoon?" she asked.

"No, Mrs. Hughes. I believe he's gone out for the day." She looks awful … they haven't spoken at meals at all ... "He asked me to oversee the staff luncheon and tea, and dinner if he wasn't back by then, but that's all I know."

Elsie thanked him, noting somewhere in her jumbled mind the kind look he'd given her. She told Anna that she was heading out and asked the girl if she could keep an eye on everything for a couple of hours. Anna took one look at the housekeeper's face and agreed instantly. It was highly unusual for Mrs. Hughes to even plan a half-day where she actually left the house, so running out in a rush was cause enough for alarm. Oh, no … I do hope they work this out.

Elsie practically sprinted to the cottage. She felt in her heart that's where she'd find Charles, but when she reached for the door handle she noted that it was still locked up tightly. She headed to the lakeside but saw no one on the bench or anywhere near the water. Angry and frustrated, she began to cry. She made her way toward the bench and sat, racking her brain for where on earth Charles could have gone. He'd not have gone into town, surely? Oh, no … not to see the Dowager?

Then, clear as day, Elsie knew where she'd find him. She wasn't sure how, but she was certain she was right. Standing, she walked briskly up the hill away from the cottage.

Charles stood at the edge of the stall, reaching in to pet His Lordship's prize stallion. The horse whinnied softly, touching on something Charles had kept hidden deep inside for many years. The sound brought to mind warm, happy memories that Elsie had recently caused to resurface.

He reached into his pocket and grabbed a peppermint from the bag he always carried for the children. Children and horses, lovers of peppermints*. He smiled, offering the treat and delighting in the nuzzle he received in return. "You like that, don't you boy?" he said. The horse just looked at him, staring right into Charles's soul with his huge, brown eyes. Charles was grateful for the peacefulness of the moment. In some small way it soothed him but it couldn't keep his heart from shattering.

You've truly messed this up, and need to fix it. Now. The problem was, he wasn't sure she'd give him the chance. She'd been avoiding him, he couldn't deny that. Part of him wanted to hunt her down and force her to talk, but a bigger part of him knew he had to let her be, that she'd come to him when she was ready.

Charles wasn't sure how long he stood in the stable doorway but he knew the instant that Elsie had spotted him. Something between them – their love, their familiar recognition of one another's footfalls, of one another's breathing, something – just told him. He didn't turn but let her approach at her own pace.

Elsie crested the hill and stopped abruptly, watching as her beloved butler had a heart-to-heart with a horse. Daft man, she thought. Shaking her head, she approached him, relief coursing through her that she'd located him at last and that there was no one but the horses to hear them set things right.

She said nothing but slowly moved up to the horse in front of Charles, extending her hand slowly. It sniffed her glove then gave her hand a little nuzzle. "He's very handsome," she said softly.

Charles just looked at her, taking in the flush of her cheeks and the hair escaping from the strictly braided twist that encircled her head. She left without her hat, he thought inanely. His eyes moved from her cheeks to the redness of her lips. He noted the redness of her eyes as well. She wasn't watching him, but he knew she could feel his gaze crawling over her.

I give up. Charles took two steps to his right, slowly so as not to spook the horse, and placed his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into him until her face rested in the crook of his neck. He kissed her on the temple, squeezing her more tightly into his side.

"I am truly sorry, love … and frightened, I admit," he said.

Elsie raised her head, looking him square in the eyes. "Frightened of what?" She had a puzzled look on her face – she truly had no idea what he was afraid of.

"Of what? Of the fact that we had a hideous row, and now you don't want to speak to me!"

"Charles, I have every right to be upset. You shouted at me – in the hall, within earshot of the staff – about a personal visit that I paid to a woman who invited, or rather summoned, me to her home. To talk about you, I might add. And then you had the nerve to question the propriety of such a woman meeting with someone as … lowly … as a housekeeper. So yes, I was upset … and, frankly, quite hurt."

Charles was astounded. He never meant any of those things. Well, not really.

"Elsie, I didn't mean that you weren't worthy of taking tea with the Dowager. I only meant that it's so unlike her to … well …" he trailed off, afraid of upsetting her more.

"So unlike her to invite a servant for tea?" she asked. "Yes, it is. But she did have good reason."

Charles cringed, afraid of where this was headed. "Which was … ? If I may ask?"

Elsie looked up at him now, meeting his eyes with her own. "She wanted to be sure I'd be up to the task, I think."

"Up to the task of … ohhh." Understanding dawned in Charles's eyes. "I see. And did you pass inspection?" he asked with a smirk.

"Yes, I believe I did. We had a lovely time, I'll have you know. That woman certainly takes a promise to heart, I can assure you of that."

"I can see that she does," he replied softly. "I'm glad for her approval, but I didn't need it." He stopped then, loosening his grip, and Elsie saw a trace of fear cross his face. "That is, if we are to continue on this … path."

Elsie was taken aback by that. "Charles … are you saying that because of one row you've changed your entire outlook on our future?" She willed herself not to cry again, but the thought of losing him because of a single fight was terrifying.

"No! But … damn it, Elsie, I upset you so easily and didn't know why. Surely that doesn't bode well for us." For marriage.

"Charles, I'm the first to admit that I am uncomfortable when you raise your voice in anger, especially when it's directed at me. It brings me back to times I'd rather not remember. But, that said, have you ever known me to back down from a fight?"

He chuckled. "No, not at all. But ours are not typically this bad, are they? Particularly over these past couple of months … Did you realize we've not disagreed over anything since our time at the cottage?"

"Then I'd say we were due!" she replied, laughter in her eyes at last. "Oh, you silly man … Do you think our future will be free of disagreements and rows? This is us, Charles. We're both so set in our ways and full of emotions of all kinds. And while we share a great many of those emotions between us, we are still different people. We can't always agree."

"But you know I don't like it when we aren't in agreement, Elsie."

She reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Yes, I know. But it's going to happen, and we'll have to get through it."

"I'm sorry if I brought you back to a difficult place, Elsie."

She sighed. "Yes, well, it's part of who I am, just like your past is part of you. We can't just lay those things aside as though they never happened."

After a pause, she continued. "We may have moments of weakness, we will definitely have a row now and then, and we may even hurt one another at times, but as long as we can find our way back in the end then I think we'll do just fine."

Charles looked at her, turning her to face him fully. He nodded, pensive, then cocked his head. "You came after me," he said. "Why?"

Elsie shook her head, laughing quietly. "Why do you think? You ran away from me, and I couldn't let you leave. I'll always follow you, you know, wherever you go."

Charles was startled by that remark. "Anywhere?" he pressed.

She looked him straight in the eyes. "Absolutely."

He took a deep breath and leaned in as if to kiss her. She closed her eyes in anticipation, but before his lips met hers he whispered, "Marry me, Elsie."

Her eyes flew open in astonishment. "What?"

"Marry me … please?" he said, with a look of sweet uncertainty.

She stood there, stunned, even though she'd been half-expecting a formal proposal since the day after she'd returned from Argyll. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, of course, my darling."

Tears in his own eyes now, Charles leaned forward and kissed her soundly on the lips. After a moment, they broke apart, flushed now from warmth instead of the windy cold. "Are you sure?"

She laughed again, and kissed him soundly on the lips once more. "Yes, I'm sure! I thought you'd never ask."

Charles moved suddenly, taking his arms from around her and reaching into his waistcoat pocket. Elsie was puzzled and looked at him with her brow furrowed. "Charles?"

He removed a handkerchief from his pocket – a very old handkerchief, from the look of it – and started to unfold it. He extracted something from within before folding it once again. Realization dawned in Elsie's eyes and she bit furiously on her bottom lip in a futile attempt to stop the tears gathering in her eyes from spilling over. She was incapable of moving, feeling as though the slightest touch would knock her to the ground. "Charles?" she whispered.

He just looked at her, and then (oh my God he's actually going to do this) she saw him get down on one knee.

"Elisabeth Margaret Hughes, I would be honored if you would accept this ring as a symbol of our betrothal."

Her nod came before he'd even finished speaking. He grasped her hand in his, sliding the ring over her finger and kissing it where it lay, sending up a silent prayer that it fit.

"Get up, you old booby, before you can't manage it," she said, shaking her head, joy visible in her tear-filled eyes.

Charles complied, raising to kiss her soundly on the lips. "I do realize that you cannot wear this in front of the staff, in front of anyone, just yet … "

Elsie hadn't even thought of that, actually. "But I will … " she trailed off, knowing full well as she said the words that it would be impossible.

"No … hold on … " She watched as he took something else from the handkerchief. "I was rather thinking you could wear it this way, for now … " he trailed off.

She watched as he removed the most delicate silver chain she'd ever seen. It was exceptionally thin and glinted in the sunlight that peeped into the stables. Unable to speak, she simply nodded and removed the ring from her finger so that he could slide it on the chain. She turned and opened the top buttons of her coat, allowing him to affix the chain around her neck, his fingers ever-so-deftly managing the clasp but brushing the nape of her neck. The ring fell to the front of her dress. For the millionth time, Elsie wondered how hands that were so large and strong could manage such a delicate touch, to say nothing of being able to operate the clasp. If his touch hadn't burned her skin each time she'd felt it these past few weeks, she wasn't sure she'd have noticed he'd touched her at all.

"It's time to head back." His voice pulled Elsie from her reverie. "Perhaps we should each walk back alone?"

"Not on your life, Mr. Carson. Half the staff knows I headed out to find you. I don't think they'll be any more suspicious if we return together. They were concerned, you know. You never just leave."

Charles sighed, knowing that his actions as of late were out of character but unable to stop them. "I'm going to have to speak to His Lordship soon, Elsie. It's not fair to keep this from him, and I don't want him finding out from anyone else."

She looked at him then, taking his hand in hers. "I have it on good authority that we won't be asked to leave, Charles. But if that doesn't turn out to be true, you must know that I'd marry you tomorrow if we could. I'd leave it all behind if that's what is needed."

Charles's eyes opened wider. "But you said you weren't ready? I thought … I thought you wanted more time?"

She covered her hands over her mouth and bent forward, shaking silently, and for a confused moment Charles thought she was weeping. Then the sound of her laughter came forth, startling the horses. "Elsie?"

Elsie straightened, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes. "Oh, you daft man! I don't want to stay indefinitely! I was so certain that you didn't want to retire any time soon, and I would never want to leave without you. What a fine pair we are!"

Charles joined her laughter, and pulled her into an embrace. "When, my love?"

She thought for a moment. "Would Mr. Barrow be capable of traveling with the family to London for the Season?"

"Yes, I believe he would," replied Charles. "He's had a great deal of independence recently and has performed admirably. My goodness, I never thought I'd say those words," he chuckled.

"Well then, that would be a sensible time for you to retire. We could fix up the cottage … I think I'd like a bedroom downstairs, for when we're old," she said, a smile in her eyes. "You could oversee the work being done."

She continued, and for the first time Charles realized she'd thought this all out before today. "I believe I'll recommend Miss Baxter for housekeeper, which I'm sure Her Ladyship will approve of without question. I can use the time during the Season to fully train her. Then, as the family is preparing to return, I'd be free to retire myself."

She smiled fondly. "I've always wanted to recommend Anna, of course, but with the bairn on the way the position of housekeeper will no longer be a possibility for her – not that she minds. I'm sure His Lordship would allow you stay at the house while the cottage is under construction. We would be retiring months apart, but we wouldn't be separated at all."

"It sounds as though you've thought this through, my dear," he said to her.

She backed away from him a bit, and looked deep into his eyes. "I have indeed. I won't be able to bear another Season of you being away, Charles. You need to understand that. If this plan is not accepted by the family, I'll resign immediately, so you'd better convince His Lordship when you see him."

"I had the same thought, my dear. I don't imagine too many problems, other than needing to advertise for a new lady's maid. They'll not need to replace Mr. Barrow with another under butler, not with the way things are changing. And if His Lordship doesn't approve of our plans, we'll both resign. Together."

Elsie nodded, hugged her great bear of a man once again, and then placed a gentle kiss to the edge of his jaw.

"Elsie … "

"Yes, I know. Let's go back before we spend much too long in this stable."

A/N: Little known fact: horses really DO love peppermints!