GETTING MARRIED
DISCLAIMER: I do not own, nor do I profit in any way from the use of, the characters, settings, suggested plot lines, or ideas drawn from Downton Abbey. It all belongs to Julian Fellowes.
Chapter 13 The Regret*
Mrs. Hughes stood in the middle of her office, looking around. Nothing would change here. Tomorrow, as she spoke her wedding vows, it would be exactly the same and a week from tomorrow, when they returned from their...honeymoon...it would be the same still. She told herself that she would be the same, too. She was only getting married, not having a personality transformation like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Now, there was another one of her awkward allusions. Well, never mind that. The point was that she would be the same person.
But it was a momentous event in her life and she would not be exactly the same. For one thing, from about ten o'clock tomorrow morning she would be Mrs. Charles Carson, from then until death did them part, and ever afterward besides. And she could not deny that the honeymoon would change her, too. After six decades of a solitary existence, she was to be joined with another human being, legally, spiritually, and physically, and that had to have some kind of an impact. The first two were probably the more important in the long run, but the last would make for the greatest immediate change. She would look at things - she would certainly look at Mr. Carson - differently after that. A little thrill ran through her at the thought. She was pleased that it was a sense of elation, not dread.
As much as that kept drawing her attention, she was distracted by a few more concrete considerations. It seemed she'd spent the last few months thinking of nothing but this wedding. And yet now that it was upon her she worried that she had not given it all the attention it deserved. So here she was, on the eve of the event, fretting about it. She was startled from her reveries by a quiet knock at the door and looked up to find Mr. Carson stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.
He felt the same sense of excitement and anticipation that came over him before every great event at Downton, only magnified a dozen-fold. He had never been at the centre of things before - ever the director, never the performer. And...he relished it. As much as he abhorred the thought of his dance hall past, he had enjoyed it in the moment and the most appealing aspect had always been the exhilaration - and the challenge - of holding the audience's attention. He conceded that the bride was really the star of any wedding, but a few eyes would turn on him, too, and he was ready for it.
In this moment of heightened feeling, he wanted to see Mrs. Hughes, sought her company knowing that merely being in her presence would temper the giddiness he felt. But he did not want only to experience her steadying influence. This was about them, as she had so rightly pointed out, and he wanted to share with her the emotions stirring in him and to know hers in return. This was what it was about, marriage - becoming one. And that did not mean the absorption of one into the other, a diminishing of the weaker in the face of the stronger, of the woman into the man, but rather the blossoming of something infinitely greater. They would be more, with each other, not less.
He was having a full day, notwithstanding Mr. Barrow's assumption of some of his usual duties, on top of the diligent oversight the underbutler was giving to the organizational details of the following day. Despite himself, Carson was impressed with the man. He had seldom seen Barrow so committed. He was grateful for this, as he had things to do - extraordinary things associated with the wedding - and then there were the unexpected moments like his walk with Lady Mary.
But it was Mrs. Hughes's company he craved. The fact that they would be together for the next week and have more time together - alone - than they had ever had did not diminish his desire - his need - to see her right now. So he went to her sitting room.
She seemed distracted, and then flustered at his appearance, as though he did not often visit her here. But then, these were special circumstances and, he realized, she was caught up in the same whirlwind as he. And he gave way to his own excitement and stood there, clasping and unclasping his hands in nervous agitation. When he caught himself at it, he stopped and then could only hold his hands awkwardly still and wonder, in passing, what he usually did with his limbs.
"I...uh...just want to make sure everything is under control." He ought to have managed to say something sweet, something reflecting the emotional character of the events in which they were enveloped. But all he could do was to fall back on his usual concern - organization.**
She gave him a quick smile and responded in kind. They were, neither of them, accustomed to expressing their emotions to each other, and were both in the grip of wholly novel sensations.
"I think so," she said, her voice sounding much calmer than she felt. "Mr. Brook's bringing the flowers and the foliage in the morning. And Mrs. Patmore's on top of things."
He realized that now he was swinging his arms back and forth in that artificially hearty manner of one of those unlettered village youths awkwardly sparking a local girl. He pressed one fist into the other hand in yet another attempt to quell these outward signs of inner delirium.
"Are you nervous?" he asked, exposing his own heightened feeling in a slightly higher pitch to his usually unruffled baritone.
"A little," Mrs. Hughes admitted, and then sighed. "And I'm sad about my dress," she said, a little mournfully. "I wish I'd made more of an effort, but it's too late now."
And this was the truth of it. She might have been more nervous about other aspects of the wedding, but the dress had taken control of her mind and regret over it had been growing in her all day. Mrs. Patmore had had a point and she, in her pride, or frugality, or whatever it was, had made a mistake. She'd let those feelings obstruct her appreciation for Mrs. Patmore's good sense and helpful hint about ordering a dress from a catalogue, claiming that in doing so she was staying true to her own nature. Now she could see that she simply hadn't been thinking straight.
Clinging to her resolve about the brown day dress had not been an accurate reflection of her nature. She liked pretty things, too. And Mr. Carson would expect her to have made an effort. He'd probably been polishing his shoes for a week. She owed him at least as much consideration. And then she'd been so sensitive about how he would view her and yet had set herself - and him - up for failure by not attending to this as she should have.
She could tell, looking at him - at that face, and those eyes that communicated his feelings so clearly to her - that he was excited. Not anxious, but excited. He was happy. He might be nervous, but it was a joyful anticipation, not the sense of regret that was sweeping over her. He'd prepared properly, in that exacting way he had, and he could indulge himself now in pleasurable exhilaration.
He did not know what to make of her wistful tone. It wasn't regret or reluctance about the marriage, not at this stage. They'd surmounted that challenge and there was not a fragment of doubt in him about her love and desire for him. But there was something. He could only respond to the cues she gave him.
"I'm sure you'll look wonderful," he said, his great eyes brimming with the adoration that filled his heart. He said the words automatically, thinking that brides liked to be told that they were beautiful on their wedding day. And he said it with confidence and sincerity. But in his mind it was a superfluous, for she looked wonderful to him right now. To him she was innately beautiful and it did not matter to him what it was she was wearing. He wished he had the words to say that to her more directly.
She felt her heart constrict. He was going to be so disappointed in her. "Well, I'll look tidy," she said, grasping at the shreds of her pride.
"What about tonight?" he said. "We mustn't see each other tonight."
This brought a smile to her face, despite her inner turmoil. It was so like him to embrace superstitious ritual. Her pragmatic mind was less consumed with the need to make such observances, although she had no difficulty indulging him and entering into the spirit of them herself.
"Well, you'll be out, and I'm going to have a quiet evening in here with Anna, Mrs. Patmore, Miss Baxter, and Daisy. They'll check the stairs before I go up to make sure we don't meet."
He exhaled in relief. He was a passionate adherent of rules and regulations and even the slight, and sometimes silly, conventions of wedding practice were encompassed by this compulsion. And he was slightly...well, if not superstitious, then at least cautious. When it came to his marriage and his life with Mrs. Hughes, he wanted to do everything right. They didn't have the time to make mistakes.
They had exhausted the practical considerations that might concern them and still he did not want to go.
"I just...wanted to see you," he said simply, and then stared at her, drinking in the radiant vision of her, filling himself up so as to sustain him until tomorrow morning. When he turned away from her now, he would not see her again until they stood together in the church, and that seemed an aching eternity away. "I'm so looking forward to marrying you," he added, his tone hushed, as if in awe of the very idea.
She stood very still for a moment, just looking at him. He was a lovely man. Oh, she knew he wasn't perfect, but he was, too, in all the things that counted to her. She made a shooing gesture with her hands. "Oh, go away with you, Mr. Carson, before you make me cry!" She spoke sharply and a frown creased her face, but he saw the glistening of gathering tears in her sparkling eyes and he smiled and did as she bid him. He went away with his heart full.
Closing the door behind him, she slumped against it. She was looking forward to marrying him, too. It was the novelty of the thing that was overwhelming her. She'd never done this before and she had wanted to get it right. But she'd spent her energies in some arenas, as in the struggle over the reception venue, and overlooked the more personal element of her dress.
It was too late now. It wouldn't be the end of the world, of course. Mr. Carson would love her anyway. And she knew she would get over her own regret. Eventually.
A/N1. Mr. Fellowes left us with very little here. I couldn't do much with it, but I couldn't quite see leaving it out.
A/N2. The italicized portions are dialogue drawn verbatim from Season 6, Episode 3.