Mrs. Hughes was up early Tuesday morning. She dressed herself and paced her bedroom floor until it was time for breakfast. After breakfast she shut herself in her sitting room and paced some more; she couldn't keep still. She was relieved when the time came for her morning rounds, for then at least she had a productive outlet for her nervous energy. Mrs. Hughes wanted to meet the two-thirty train at the station, but she knew she couldn't. The car would be full of luggage on the way back and even if it would not be, she had no good reason for going there - no good reason she could admit, anyway. She would send two of the hall boys off in the car to help with the luggage. She wondered if Mr. Carson would ride with the luggage or walk back from the station, but she tried not to think about it. She tried to focus on three-thirty, when she would be ready for him with a tray of tea and biscuits.

As the time of his return approached, Mrs. Hughes felt a hint of panic. She was not ready. After Mr. Carson's visit a few weeks ago, she had found herself in an unusually flustered state, but it had not passed as she had expected it to. No, her hands still trembled, her heart still pounded, and she was afraid she would not know how to meet him or what to say to him. When she had first realized years ago that she was in love with Mr. Carson, he wasn't away for the Season. She saw him every day and was able to moderate her own behavior because his did not change. This summer had been something extraordinary. On the day by the sea, Mr. Carson had twice taken her hand and waded with her in the water. That evening they had drunk champagne together and the next morning he had seen her off from the house. Then they had embarked on a correspondence that was at turns flirtatious and at turns serious, something entirely new for them. How on earth would she behave? There was no precedent for any of it.

Mrs. Hughes was made of stern stuff, though, and she knew she could do it. After a few minutes of manic worry in her sitting room, she calmed herself and sat down at her desk. She could easily remember the end of every previous Season and how they had each acted when they came together upon his return. All she had to do was repeat her behavior from those occasions. She was always glad to see him, but aside of a smile a bit wider than usual, and a nice long chat over tea, it was like any other day. Mrs. Hughes had kept many secrets over the years for others; she could now keep her own. Thus, she was calm when the back door opened and she heard Mr. Carson's step in the corridor. She thought briefly of staying at her desk and pretending that she had not noticed his entrance, but she rose from her seat and walked to her doorway to greet him.

"Hello, Mrs. Hughes," he said softly, smiling at her.

"Welcome home, Mr. Carson," she greeted him with an answering smile.

"The others are taking care of the luggage."

"Then you can change if you like," Mrs. Hughes told him. "It's not quite time for our tea yet."

He nodded. "I'll be back soon, then."

Mr. Carson came back downstairs promptly at three-thirty, where Mrs. Hughes was ready with tea and biscuits in her sitting room. He entered the room and closed the door behind him. They both sat down at her table and Mrs. Hughes prepared tea for him and then for herself.

"How was your journey?" she asked.

"Oh, it was fine. Very ordinary, no delays."

"Good."

"I'm sorry for such short notice on everyone's return."

"Oh, it wasn't a problem. The house is ready now."

They sipped their tea in silence. Mr. Carson stole a glance at Mrs. Hughes, who seemed to find the bottom of her tea cup very interesting.

He cleared his throat and spoke. "How about the um, the vase, Mrs. Hughes?"

"The vase?"

"The one in the drawing room. Her ladyship's favorite? Nothing has happened to it, I hope. Your girls were careful dusting it?"

"Of course. The vase is perfectly fine. Why should you suspect my maids of carelessness?"

"I don't. Of course I don't."

"And at Grantham House I remember a stain on the carpet, after Lady Rose's ball. Was Mrs. Bute able to get it out?"

"Yes, she managed." Mr. Carson frowned and poured another cup of tea. This was all wrong. Why were they talking about vases and carpet stains? His homecoming after the Season was usually a day of easy and pleasant conversation. He wondered what was going on.

"My maids beat every carpet in the house while you were gone."

"Very good. I hope they used proper technique." He glanced up and saw Mrs. Hughes frown and hastened to correct himself. "But of course they did. I know they are all well-trained."

"Yes, they are, Mr. Carson. And I do hope Mr. Barrow and James can manage Grantham House for a day in your absence." There was a hint of sarcasm in her tone, but Mr. Carson let it pass. He probably deserved it.

"I'm sure they can, Mrs. Hughes."

Mrs. Hughes was confused and mildly irritated. She hadn't known quite what to expect of this conversation after the charming smile Mr. Carson had greeted her with, but it certainly hadn't been this ridiculous, stilted talk, not to mention his questioning the skill of her staff. She poured a second cup of tea. Mrs. Hughes found herself wishing, possibly for the first time ever, to escape a conversation with Mr. Carson. But they were in her sitting room; she couldn't very well throw him out. She could, however, stay silent. He could either make conversation or he could take the hint and leave.

In the end Mr. Carson left, very regretfully, but not knowing what else to do. "I need to check with Mr. Molesley on a few things, Mrs. Hughes," he told her. "I'll see you later."

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Dinner that evening was no better. In fact, it was worse. They had at least been able to speak to one another in the afternoon. As they ate their dinner, however, several times Mrs. Hughes opened her mouth to speak to him, but couldn't think of anything to say, or had forgotten what she was about to say. Mr. Carson just sat there chewing silently, feeling like a fool and trying not to betray his agitation. Just a few short weeks ago, as he and Mrs. Hughes had strolled the grounds talking, their conversation had been easy and relaxed, even after all that had happened between them in London and Brighton and all that had been written between them during their separation up to that point. Mr. Carson could think of only one difference and it was an important one. He knew now that he loved her. Was it making him nervous? It seemed very possible. But what about Mrs. Hughes? She was rarely at a loss for words, and he thought it would be too great a coincidence that she should have somehow come to a similar realization herself between then and now. Wouldn't it? Mr. Carson now recognized the fact that he had been so busy wrestling with himself over what to do about his newly discovered love that he had thought very little about whether she might love him back, either now or in the future. He thought himself a very foolish man. How could he ever manage living in the same house with a woman he was in love with, but could barely speak to?

Mrs. Hughes noticed his scowl and wondered what was wrong. She also wondered what had happened to the man who had written all of the lovely letters she had secreted away in her bedroom. She had hoped that he would return to Downton today, but it seemed that a very awkward and distant version of him had arrived instead. She wanted to tease him for his speechlessness, but she couldn't bring any of her usual gentle gibes to mind and she was mute herself.

Mr. Carson found the situation intolerable. There must be some way out of it. He could try to begin again, perhaps. "Mrs. Hughes, would you care to have a glass of wine with me this evening?" he asked her.

She relaxed a bit and smiled. "I would, Mr. Carson. Thank you."

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Mr. Carson sat alone in his pantry that night. Everyone had gone to bed, including Mrs. Hughes. She had joined him for a glass of wine and he had tried to be friendly, but their usual cozy banter had been conspicuously absent. He could tell that Mrs. Hughes was trying to be sociable as well, but she failed as miserably as he did. They spoke clumsily on indifferent topics and separated after a short time together. Mr. Carson rose from his chair and paced the room, trying to come up with a solution. He could remember several occasions in the last month or so when he had paced the floor of his office at Grantham House, trying to decide how to respond to one of Mrs. Hughes's letters, and eventually he always found the words somehow. Now, it wasn't as simple as deciding what to write to her. Or was it? An idea formed in Mr. Carson's mind and he seized it, pacing faster as he worked out a strategy. He didn't know if his plan would work, but it was worth a try if there was a chance it might break this odd stalemate of sorts that he and Mrs. Hughes had found themselves in. If he could not find the words to speak to her as he wished to, he would write instead. Before long Mr. Carson was seated at his desk, pulling out pen and paper, along with another item he thought might inspire him to find the words he needed. He hadn't been able to part with the postcard Mrs. Hughes had tacked up in his office at Grantham House, so he had brought it home with him. He had scribbled the date of their trip to the sea on the back of the card and tucked it away in a drawer. Now he pulled it out and laid it on his desk, glancing at it occasionally as he wrote.

Mr. Carson spent almost an hour on the letter, throwing out a half dozen or so sheets of paper and expending a great quantity of ink, but when he finished, he was pleased with what he had written. It wasn't too long or too short, and he hoped it would make Mrs. Hughes smile. He sealed it in an envelope and walked down the corridor. Her sitting room was locked, but even if he had placed it on her desk, there was a chance she wouldn't see it before breakfast. Mr. Carson made a quick decision and put the letter in his pocket before locking up and switching off all of the lights. He assured himself that all was quiet, took off his shoes, and tiptoed up the maids' staircase. Mr. Carson made his way silently down the women's corridor, thankful that there was just enough light for him to read the tags on the various doors. Otherwise, he wouldn't have known which room was hers and would have had to come up with another plan. When he reached the door to Mrs. Hughes's room, he crouched to the floor and slid the letter under the door, before making his way as quickly as possible back down the maids' staircase. He had considered just using the dividing door, but the noise might have awakened someone. Once he was downstairs again, he put his shoes back on and made his way up the proper staircase and to his own room.

#####

Although she was still awake, ruminating over the events of the day, Mrs. Hughes did not hear Mr. Carson's stealthy steps in the corridor. She did, however, hear the letter sliding across the floor. It was dark and she saw nothing, but she couldn't quite convince herself that she was imagining the sound, so she turned on her lamp. Sure enough, there was something on the floor. She got out of bed, picked up the letter, and immediately recognized Mr. Carson's handwriting. How very strange! She went back to her bed so she could read by the light of her lamp.

Dear Mrs. Hughes,

It may seem odd that I'm writing you a letter when I'm back at Downton, but it seems odd to me that you and I have been unable to have a normal conversation since my return. I hope this letter will provide an opening for us to be at ease with one another again and converse in our usual way.

I will start by telling you how glad I am to be back at Downton and to see you again. I have enjoyed our correspondence and had hoped that we might continue to discuss some of the topics we wrote about, both the trivial and the more serious. It is sometimes easier to write than to speak, but I think we will both enjoy such conversations once we have made a beginning.

We had a poor start on Tuesday, but Wednesday morning, we will begin again. At breakfast, I'll ask you if we expect the Dowager Countess or Mrs. Crawley for tea and you may tell me as many amusing stories as you like without risk of a scolding from me. In turn, I will speak to you later of retirement, if you wish, as long as you promise not to try to convert me to your point of view all in one day. I think we can probably muddle along ourselves from there, but if not, we still have pen and paper to help us along.

I look forward to seeing the rest of the staff at Downton when they return tomorrow afternoon from London. It will be good to have our family back together again.

Sincerely yours,

C. Carson

Mrs. Hughes smiled and laid the letter on her bedside table. Now she knew that all would be well, one way or another. She fell asleep almost immediately and dreamt, once again, of letters.

To be continued...

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