A/N Thank you for all your kind reviews for Chapter 1! For those of you who asked so nicely, here's the second installment.

Chapter 2

Elsie was at a loss. She waited in her sitting room that evening, wondering what on earth could have Mr. Carson in such a state. He had been unsettled all day. Even His Lordship had noticed Mr. Carson's uncharacteristic preoccupation and asked Elsie if she thought there might be something wrong. She could only reply honestly that she had no idea.

After decades of working as a butler, Mr. Carson had perfected his ability to keep an impassive countenance and bearing, even under the most trying circumstances. But Elsie had worked closely with him for years, and she noticed things that others didn't - subtle things. She took great pride in the fact that she was often able to tell what he was thinking. Indeed, her ability to guess what might be on his mind had proven useful many times with this reticent, stoic man.

At first, Elsie had tried to attribute her uncanny perspicacity concerning Mr. Carson to her training and experience as a housekeeper. After all, a good housekeeper was supposed to be aware of everything that was happening with both the staff and the family. A good housekeeper was supposed to be able to anticipate people's needs, to prevent problems through attentiveness and foresight. It was all part of her job to look out for signs of trouble, offer support and comfort, and to fix things that had gone wrong. And it was only natural that she should take particular care with the butler. The well-being of the head of the staff was necessary to ensure the efficiency of the servants' work and the smooth running of the house, and it was her duty to ensure his well-being. She was, if nothing else, a good housekeeper.

And then, she had tried to ascribe her concern for Mr. Carson to their friendship. They were close in age, of similar temperament, both devoted to their jobs. They necessarily spent a great deal of time together working in their respective positions and naturally gravitated towards each other in their free time. They had more in common with each other than they did with any of the younger staff. It was not surprising that they should be best friends.

But if she were completely honest, Elsie would have to admit that her special attention towards Mr. Carson had less to do with the fact that she was a dutiful housekeeper or a devoted friend and much more to do with the plain, undeniable truth that she had been desperately, unreservedly, inexorably in love with him from the start.

Nothing would ever come of it, of course. She could never act on her feelings, and she was sure that he didn't return them. In fact, she wished that she had never had such feelings. They caused her nothing but heartache. Even so, she couldn't deny them, nor, try as she might, could she abolish them. So she resigned herself to love him in the secrecy of her heart, which belonged to him anyway.

While Elsie waited, impatiently, for Mr. Carson get the family and staff settled for the night, she tried to puzzle out what he might want to discuss. She could only presume that it must be the same matter that had had him so distracted all day. She wasn't aware of any particular concerns or issues with either the family or staff, so all she could do was wait for him to enlighten her.

After what seemed an age, his knock finally came, and she called for him to come in. He entered, greeted her, and placed a decanter of wine and two glasses on her small table. She took a seat at the table while he poured the wine. As he handed her a glass, she noticed that his usually steady hand was a bit unsteady tonight. He sat down stiffly in the chair next to her and sipped his wine.

Elsie inquired, "So, everyone is settled, then?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, they're all sorted," he replied, but his attention was clearly elsewhere.

After they had drunk their wine in silence for several minutes, Mr. Carson still hadn't broached the subject that by now had made her nearly as uneasy as he was. So she prompted, "Mr. Carson? You said earlier that you wanted to talk about something? Something regarding a change in routine?"

"Ah, yes. I did," he said. He paused, took a deep breath, and looked fixedly at his wine glass before continuing, "Mrs. Hughes, I wonder if I might ... That is to say, would you permit me to ... Rather, I'm hoping that you would consider allowing ..."

He trailed off, unable to continue, sighed helplessly, and closed his eyes. Elsie had never seen Mr. Carson so ill at ease. She couldn't imagine what he had to say that could be so awful. She wanted to do something to comfort him.

They rarely touched each other. Truth be told, any physical contact with Mr. Carson elicited feelings that Elsie could hardly control. Now, however, the need to offer him some sort of support overwhelmed her. The poor man was in such distress that she actually pitied him. She desperately wanted to throw her arms about him and hold him close, but she knew that that would only increase his current perturbation tenfold. So she settled for a gesture that she hoped would soothe him: she reached across the table and very gently placed her hand on top of Mr. Carson's.

His reaction was both unexpected and gratifying: he exhaled deeply, relaxed his shoulders, opened his eyes to look at her, and smiled broadly. His immediate and obvious relief made her glad she had decided to undertake such a bold action, but she was happier still when he timidly rearranged their hands so that he was holding hers more firmly in his. As he did so, Mr. Carson looked at her anxiously, silently asking permission, apparently afraid that she might think him too forward. Elsie smiled back, answering his unspoken question, and he seemed to understand that she found this new familiarity acceptable.

Now that he was more at ease, she tried again to get him to tell her what it was that had him so agitated.

"Mr. Carson?" she queried. "Will you please tell me now what it is that's got you all tied up in knots? Whatever it is, surely it can't be as bad as all that."

"Oh, it was worse than all that!" he told her. "But it's better now."

"And what, may I ask, has happened in the last minute and a half that your problem has somehow sorted itself out?" she wondered, now thoroughly confused.

"Well ... this," he answered simply, looking and nodding in the direction of their joined hands. Then he lowered his eyes and explained quietly, "I was trying to work out a way to ask if I might hold your hand."

Seeing the solemn look on his face, she suppressed a chuckle.

"That's what's had you all in a dither?!" Elsie asked in near disbelief. "Goodness! And here I was fearing that you'd tell me Her Ladyship had decided to change the menu and double the number of guests for the ball! I was afraid it was something really awful."

"And so it would have been, if you had said no!" he responded seriously.

"Really, Mr. Carson! You didn't honestly think that I might?" she chided gently, looking directly into his eyes to emphasize her sincerity. "You needn't have worried. You may hold my hand any time you'd like."

He positively beamed at her reply.

"Well, it might not be appropriate at breakfast in the servants' hall or in the main areas of the house when others are about ... But when we are alone together, here in your sitting room or my pantry, while we are talking and drinking our tea or wine, I should like it very much if you would allow me to take this liberty, Mrs. Hughes," stated Mr. Carson, ever so properly.

"Of course, I'll allow you, Mr. Carson. And I hardly consider it 'taking a liberty'! You'll recall that it was I who took your hand first, without asking. I hope you don't think me too bold," she teased.

"Not at all," he said, smiling, and added somewhat sheepishly, looking down again, "In fact, I'm rather glad you did. Otherwise, I might never have got up the courage to ask. I was afraid you'd think me too bold."

"I would never," she told him, grinning.

And so they sat, hand in hand, talking, drinking wine, both more comfortable after the initial apprehension. Even after an hour, his touch still thrilled her, but at least her heartbeat and breathing had settled somewhat. She wondered briefly if he was similarly affected by their newfound intimacy, but decided just to enjoy her present bliss and think on that later.

When the hour grew late, Mr. Carson said, "Well, Mrs. Hughes, I should be on my way. I've had a very pleasant evening, and I hope that we can do this again soon." He raised their joined hands slightly and gave hers a gentle squeeze.

"I'd like that very much," she responded with her brightest smile and a matching blush.

Mr. Carson carefully let go of her hand, pausing when just their fingertips were touching. Then he rose, took the empty glasses and decanter, bade her goodnight, and left Elsie in utter felicity.