Chapter 3 – It's All in the Timing
Boxing Day, 1925
Timing was everything.
He mused on this as he headed into the village on his own, to eat a quick midday with his father, being in love was very distracting. So was figuring out the best place and time to declare that love. And, well…
…he wanted her. Truly, completely, honorably, of course, but still, sometimes, it was impossible to even think of her without being driven to distraction, let alone being around her, every day, and not knowing exactly when and how he'd see her.
Working once again at Downton was tortuously intoxicating: he could bump into her at any random moment, sit next to her at breakfast, have a quick cup of tea with her in the servants' hall in the afternoon, and, sweetly, on Christmas night, lightly, oh-so-gingerly, take her hand as Lady Mary sang "O Holy Night". As he did, he thought back to the year before, when he'd not quite gotten the courage to do so.
And now he felt both greedy and sobered. There was so much more, to all of it, love, desire, courtship, then he ever imagined. He wasn't about to declare himself to her with the audience of the entire Downton staff at any given time somewhere nearby.
It was amusing to consider, but his independence, his singleness, away from his former life of service, had allowed them to grow closer the past few months. They could take tea or lunch in the village on her day off, he could leisurely walk her back to the big house, then be on his own, to digest it all: a look, a smile, a laugh they had shared. He had needed that time, alone, he thought now.
But now I want to be with her. Permanently. We two. He grinned as he approached his father's front door. The sledge at the top of the hill teetered just a bit more. He could feel it in his stomach, and high up in his chest.
He didn't even have time to knock before his father threw open the door.
"I heard you coming!" The elder Mr. Molesley exclaimed with a grin, patting his son's cheek, then looked confused. "And where's Miss Baxter, then? Weren't you going to bring her along, Joe?"
"That I was, Dad, but it's all madness and busyness up at the big house," he shed his coat and hat and followed his father into his tiny dining room. "I can only stay for a quick meal myself, unfortunately, and Miss Baxter and Mrs. Bates are up to their chins in all sorts of wedding finery that needs tending to, I'm afraid. I suppose it's not often that one becomes a marchioness." He laughed a little. He had bid both lady's maids farewell on his way to the village; they'd been in one of the work rooms, surrounded by so much half- and nearly-finished finery he was afraid to set foot inside it.
The two men sat and tucked into the luncheon his father's maid-of-all-work had set out for them, including the goose from the Jenkins farm. It was with real regret he looked across at the third place setting, as he'd sorely have liked to share this meal with both his father and Phyllis Baxter, who took great pleasure in each other.
He'd even thought that perhaps, on their walk back to Downton after the Boxing Day meal, he might gather up the courage to –
"It's a pity they're working you so hard this week, Joe," his father interrupted his wandering thoughts. "You and Miss Baxter both, the lot of you. As if you didn't put enough time into your teaching already."
"Ah, Dad, I don't mind helping out, they're a good lot up there," he shook his head, thinking of how warmly he'd been welcomed back by Downton's staff. It had felt good, like visiting a place he'd not known was home until he'd left. "And the extra wages can't hurt, that's for certain."
"I suppose they can't, especially if a man has plans, and I'm beginning to think – to hope – that you do, Joe." His father put his fork down, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and looked closely at his son's face.
Joe's heart sped up; if he spoke his wishes, his desires, aloud to his father he'd have to take action on them. It would make them less ethereal, less like half-remembered dreams. He sighed, then smiled.
"I do have plans, Dad," he finally spoke, and the words were a relief, easier to say than he expected. That surprised him. "Plans regarding Miss Baxter."
"That's my boy!" His father's face opened up with such joy and excitement, he felt a lump catch in his throat. He was a dear, dear man, his father. "I've something for you, in that regard, Joe – wait a tick."
The older man jumped up from the table, in his haste leaving his napkin tucked into his trousers. Joe felt giddy and lightheaded. A bark of laughter escaped him. He was whooshing downhill now, wasn't he?
His dad returned, his left hand closed around something. He pressed it into his son's palm, and Joe opened it. On his palm sat a ring, a slim gold band set with a small glimmering oval stone, which looked like how he felt about Miss Baxter: not just one color, but many. Otherworldly, but real. He closed his fingers around it.
"That was your Mum's," his dad sat across from him, and now he pulled his napkin up, blew his nose with a loud honk. "I'd not enough to propose with that, you can be sure, but I gave it to your mother on our tenth wedding anniversary. Janie was well-pleased with it, I think, and so will Miss Baxter be, I hope."
"Dad, I –" he couldn't get any more words out. He brushed his tears away brusquely, thought of his mother. How well his father had loved her. He was beginning to understand it all, finally.
"Save your words, Joe, for the lady in question," his father patted his hand. "And when they finally stop running you ragged up in that yonder grand house, you find a quiet moment, and you tell her – and ask her – what you will. Then, you both come see me, and we'll have a proper meal together, the three of us." His father began eating his lunch again, grinning over at him.
"Thanks, Dad. I mean it," he composed himself, carefully placed the delicate ring in his inner coat pocket. He picked up his fork, finishing his meal without really tasting it.
When they said good-bye at the door a half hour later, his dad patted his shoulder.
"You've always been good, lad, but she's made you better. She's made you want to be better. It's as plain as your face in front of me, Joe. And it's more than most people get in life, even if you had to wait for it, m'boy."
"It was worth the wait, Dad. Every second of it."
oooOOOooo
When he got back to Downton he felt an eerie sense of peace wash over him. He entered the organized chaos of the downstairs with a small grin on his face. He had to change back into his livery presently before -
"Ah! Mr. Molesley, you've returned. I hope you enjoyed your lunch, but I'm glad you're back. Andrew needs some assistance with the dining room before dinner time," Mr. Carson's voice boomed out from his study.
"Indeed Mr. Carson, I'll just change and head up then, shall I?" He smiled as two young housemaids rushed by, linens piled in their arms. He passed the room the lady's maids had been working in before he left and looked in.
There she was. Bent over some elaborate headpiece, humming to herself. His heart was content. She felt his gaze, and glanced up.
"Mr. Molesley, welcome back," she smiled at him. "I hope your father is well? I was sorry to miss lunch with him. I hope you passed on my regards."
"I did Miss Baxter, and he was sorry to miss you, but invited us back after the New Year," his hand wandered of its own accord to pat the small pocket where the ring was nestled. "We missed you at lunch."
"I missed being there," she held his gaze, even as her face flushed. "There's not enough time, in these busy days, is there?"
"I suppose not, but things will settle down, in a few days. There'll be a moment, for a deep breath or two, Miss Baxter. I'm sure of it."
"I think you're right, Mr. Molesley."
They gazed at each other, for just a moment longer, a moment that glimmered like the tiny hidden gem pressed close to his heart.
