It wasn't like before the war, much like everything else. The musicians played a greater range of tunes, including boisterous compositions to which Charles Carson had no interest in dancing. Instead, he kept to the predictable beat of a waltz, a foxtrot, and others.
The first dance was soon over – an elegant waltz. Lady Grantham had been gracious and capable, as always. She found it her duty to make him smile each time they danced at the Servant's Ball. He would get there, eventually, perhaps too jauntily. But tonight it was with great surprise that it took no effort to put him in good spirits. He was already there, an easy smile about him. Something was decidedly different, freer. Whatever the reason for his good humour, it suited him, she had reasoned.
It heartened Cora Crawley to see the man that captained their ship looking content after all these years. It brought a smile the lady of the house, one that went straight to her cerulean blue eyes. It was a look that had captivated her husband dancing a few couples ahead of her during the opening waltz. The feeling was contagious, Lord Grantham had surmised when he observed the diligent housekeeper in his arms.
There was something about Mrs. Hughes. Radiant, Robert Crawley hypothesized. He didn't interact with Mrs. Hughes that often during the course of any given day. But there was something decidedly different about her throughout the past year. She seemed younger, lighter in spirit in a manner that brought a lively spark to her deep blue eyes.
Despite Tom and Sybbie's departure, it had been a fortuitous year for the entire Downton household, right down to the woman who made the house spotless and inviting. At that thought, Lord Grantham preened quite proudly, letting the music carry him forward with confidence. His good mood lasted well beyond his opening dance with Mrs. Elsie Hughes.
The housekeeper had chatted amiably with a few tenant farmers and their wives as she slowly made her way through the tables off to the side in the Great Hall. She made sure to give her regards to Mr. Drewe, who was present despite his wife apparently at home caring for one of their children that had taken ill.
Now she stood surveying yet another successful evening. The refreshments were well stocked and the guests in good spirits. She was free to observe the couples circuiting about the Grand Hall. Mrs. Patmore was bobbing along with Mr. Aldridge, who was gamely embracing the traditions of the Crawley-MacClare family. He was a cheerful, quiet soul – a perfect complement to the boisterousness of Lady Rose.
And then there was Mr. Carson.
Mrs. Crawley had approached him in that straightforward way of hers a few minutes before. Years ago, he had been taken aback by her forwardness. Truth be told, he still found the process jarring despite knowing she would inevitably find him amongst the throng of partygoers at one point during the evening. Tonight had been no different.
Mrs. Hughes smiled as she watched on, knowing what was about to occur. She had averted her eyes quickly after he began looking about as he walked regally towards the makeshift dancefloor with Isobel Crawley in tow. She knew he would look her way with those soulful, hazel eyes that could turn spellbindingly dark.
Despite the exhilarating feeling of him looking at her so freely in his pantry earlier this evening, she was desperate to not lock eyes with him – not now.
Save for her dear sister Becky, their entire world – personal and professional – occupied the Great Hall. And this world of theirs was not yet privy to the reason both exhibited the outward manifestations of finding inner peace. Not even Mrs. Patmore knew officially that Elsie Hughes and Charles Carson had reached an understanding – about a house or a hand in marriage.
There would soon be a time for them all to know. Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes would allow them into the front garden of their sanctuary of inner peace, perhaps their front rooms. Some would gawk like curious onlookers through the windows. Others would scoff. Some would rejoice with raised voices of glee. And perhaps there would be some to shed tears of joy, just as they had done on that fateful Christmas Eve.
Until then, their nearly-realized dreams–of a life and house of their own shared together–would remain their own. That is, if they could survive the night and the next few days until they finally broke the news.
With a steadying breath, Mrs. Hughes smiled at the man approaching her. Dr. Clarkson had caught her eye and had begun to walk over to her resting spot. For different reasons, both wished to be momentarily distracted from the couples dancing happily about the Great Hall.
His dance with Mrs. Crawley finally over, Charles Carson had checked off one more thing on his mental list for the Servant's Ball. He had happily relieved his underbutler and footmen from their duties temporarily to allow them a turn on the dancefloor.
In truth, Charles Carson was grateful for the distraction–his need to serve. He had felt so delightfully off-kilter in his pantry and he was loathed to allow that feeling to be squelched by overseeing the evening's festivities. Months before, he would have berated himself for thinking so unprofessionally. But now he knew that his life in service, while providing him with purpose and relative wealth, was but one aspect of his life.
When he realized he thought of it that way–as no longer his sole purpose for being—it has been a transformative moment. After several long nights of looking backwards and forward in consideration of his life, he had come to that conclusion. How he got there, he could only reason, was her doing.
He had been enraged and defensive at first, at the way she poked and prodded into his past. It was meddlesome and completely out of bounds. But later, when the air had cleared, his young love shared, he had been grateful. He remained so.
It was in that heady haze of gratefulness that he ventured to spot her in the crowd. Technically, he always knew where she was that evening from the moment he turned to first gaze upon her in his pantry. But as for drinking in the sight of her, basking in her glorious presence, he had resisted the temptation since they left his pantry earlier that evening.
His fiancée was now dancing with Dr. Clarkson to a more boisterous tune and she was gamely twirling about. All of the dancers looked quite desultory in their efforts, and he was amused to find her a part of it.
He tried to not let his eyes rest too squarely on her, tried to maintain a sense of decorum and a scanning set of eyes. But the way her cheeks flushed and her muted smile brought wonder to her entire visage made his task quite difficult.
Charles Carson could do many things, a man of discipline and grace. But he could not keep the traces of a prideful, indulgent smile off his face as he caught sight of the twirling skirt of his fiancée among the dancing throng.
If he stood there much longer, he would give in to temptation to stride across the Great Hall and cut into the dance between Dr. Clarkson and Mrs. Hughes, regardless of the silly song playing. Rules of decorum and the shroud of a cloaked secret would be cast off unceremoniously in the process. As unthinkable as an act it might have been a year ago, Charles Carson was increasingly becoming impatient with tradition.
Swallowing, he stood watch a few moments more with chin slightly bent towards the dance floor.
Lady Mary Crawley had risen from her table after conversing with Granny, feeling the simultaneous sensation of a sting and soothing balm from her strong yet secretly loving grandmother. Neither woman made it particularly easy for any person to love them. But fortunately, Lady Mary did have supporters who stood with her despite her many faults.
As a gaggle of outdoor and indoor staff headed to the punch table, Lady Mary had just spied her most steadfast supporter standing alone.
Rather than his normal look of dignified aloofness, Carson had the oddest look on his face. His eyes were slightly lowered, seemingly lost in thought.
She took a leisurely path towards the butler, not wanting his countenance to change on account of her approach. She slowly crept behind him, trying to see whatever it was that possibly caused his unreadable expression that looked as if he was simultaneously pleased and anxious.
"Has something struck your fancy, Carson?"
To be continued.
A/N: I am simply blown away by the reviews, follows, likes, reblogs, and such on here and Tumblr. Thank you all so much for welcoming me back from my writing hiatus! Share your thoughts if you have the time. I'd love to read them and respond as quick as I can. Thanks again.