A/N: Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews. They have helped me keep the story going. There are a few of you to whom I cannot reply personally. Please know that I read and appreciate your reviews so much. Again, I do not own The Carsons, because, let's be honest, we all know they are married...
He is the first to wake; it's dark still. He guesses it must be around 4:30. Between habitually rising early for most of his life, and, it must be admitted, nerves over facing the family at breakfast, he's woken even earlier than usual. Elsie is still sleeping soundly; she's had less trouble adjusting to rising later. He's tempted to lay beside her; she is warm and soft and he feels the early morning chill outside the blankets, but it would be best to rise now. Perhaps, if he is very lucky, he can catch Donal (and avoid Moira) at early morning chores. He moves carefully, quietly, rolling out the other side of the bed, gingerly testing his back and leg muscles. So far, so good. He's near enough to the bed that he can grasp hold of the post and pull himself up. An involuntary grunt escapes him as he rises; he turns his head (in spite of his stiff neck) and glances at Elsie, who is still mercifully asleep. No doubt she would want him to stay with her this morning, but he feels strongly that it would be best to talk with Donal first. He moves soundlessly throughout the room, changes clothes, gathers his toiletries and quietly lets himself out of the room.
*CE*
He assumes, correctly as it turns out, that Donal will be in the barn. He managed to avoid Moira this morning, a fact for which he is exceedingly grateful. With any luck, Tavey will be occupied somewhere else. It will be difficult enough to talk to Donal, a man roughly his own age and equally as taciturn. Tavey is young and full of life and prone to teasing. Charles could do without that this morning. He makes his way stealthily to the barn and creeps about, looking for Donal.
"Need anything, Charles?" chirps a bright voice behind him. Tavey. Damn and blast. He groans inwardly.
"No, no, that is, I was just looking for your father this morning. Is he about?"
"Aye." Tavey cocks his head in the direction of the barn. "He's in there."
Charles smiles in thanks, and Tavey grins back. "Terrible loud crash last night, Charles. Hope you and Auntie Els weren't disturbed by it." There's just the trace of a smirk, which belies the innocent tone in Tavey's voice.
Charles is saved from replying by Donal. "Tavey lad, there's work to be done."
"Aye, Da. That there is. See you both at breakfast," he says cheerily and turns toward the house. Charles can't be sure, of course, but it certainly seems that Tavey's shoulders are shaking with suppressed laughter. Damn and blast. He turns to look at Donal.
"Thank you for that."
Donal gestures dismissively. "'Tweren't nothing, leastways not if you compare it to what breakfast'll be like."
Charles looks fixedly at a spot in the barn just about Donal's shoulder. "As bad as that?" he croaks.
Donal laughs and claps him on the back. "What are you out and about so early for, anyway? Can I do something for you?"
Charles scrubs the back of his neck with his hand, fidgets from one foot to another. As a butler, he was trained not to reveal his personal feelings, to show any emotion whatsoever, but here he finds he can't summon that reserve, that distance. It all means too much to him: Elsie's feelings, the family's good impression of him. He feels like a young lad called in front of his lass' father. This will never do. He takes a deep breath, steels himself to look squarely in Donal's eyes and say what must be said as calmly and clearly as possible.