Thank you Kouw – for everything!

And thanks to all of you for the love for the first chapter and your guesses on who found the gift.

There's a small bow to olehistorian's wonderful fic 'Voices' in this (meaning that I stole a formulation I really loved). See if you can catch it.

After her impromptu tea break with Mrs. Patmore, Mrs. Hughes was running late with her preparations for the dinner party. She hastily scribbled some last minute notes for the menus, making sure that the maids knew exactly which plates and cutlery to give a good, final cleaning. She still needed to make her rounds to ensure that the rooms were ready before the first guests arrived in the late afternoon. When there was a short knock on her door, she sighed before turning and calling for the person on the other side to enter.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Mrs. Hughes," Miss Baxter spoke softly.

"Not at all, Miss Baxter. What can I do for you?" Elsie's eyes were drawn to the small, beautifully wrapped parcel in the Lady's maid's hands.

"Well, I'm not sure what I'm doing is exactly right but it's your birthday and I thought you should…."

"Miss Baxter, it certainly wasn't necessary for you to get me a gift!" Elsie interrupted the maid. She was in equal parts confused and touched by the younger woman's gesture. While she thought that she enjoyed a good working relationship with Miss Baxter, she certainly hadn't expected it to warrant an extra gift. She had seen Miss Baxter's name on the card, she had already contributed to the hat.

"I didn't," Miss Baxter clarified and smiled when she saw the Housekeeper's eyebrows lift in confusion. "I more or less found this gift in one of the hallway wastepaper baskets."

"You found the gift among the waste?" Elsie asked in disbelief.

"It's the most apt description of how I came into possession of this parcel," Miss Baxter replied. "I'm sure the gift was intended for you, it being your birthday and all. But even if it isn't, you as the Housekeeper should check who it belongs to or who it was intended for. It seems too pretty to be thrown away. Maybe it was an accident."

Elsie nodded, thoroughly bewildered by the exchange with the Lady's maid.

"I suppose so," Elsie agreed hesitantly. She took the gift when Miss Baxter held it out to her and thoughtfully studied the wrapping paper adorned with intricate floral designs. "Why do I get the feeling that you've only told me half the story?"

Miss Baxter lowered her eyes for a moment before looking back at the Housekeeper. "I have told you everything I could."

Mrs. Hughes nodded slowly. "I will look into this."

Miss Baxter simply gave a short nod in return before leaving the Housekeeper's parlour again, firmly closing the door behind her.

It took only another moment before her curiosity caused Elsie to carefully unwrap the parcel in her hands. She took special care not to tear the beautiful wrapping paper. As she had suspected, it revealed a book: Poems of Today.

She opened the first page, hoping to find an inscription, a dedication – anything that might reveal who this gift had been intended for and most importantly, who it was from.

She couldn't think of another person downstairs with a similar proclivity for poetry as she had. No one except Mr. Carson maybe.

Her heart started beating quicker in her chest as that last thought flitted through her mind. She leafed through the book to see if there was a card or anything hidden inside but there wasn't.

She sighed in frustration, momentarily unsure of how to proceed. Her finger twiddled with the ribbon bookmark before she impulsively opened the book on the page on which it was placed.

Sonnet 29

I think of thee!—my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there 's nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better! Rather, instantly
Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee
Drop heavily down,—burst, shattered, everywhere!
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee—I am too near thee.

Elisabeth Barret Browning

She was well acquainted with Barret Browning's poetry and although she'd never admit it out loud – it wouldn't do to appear overly sentimental – she held a special place in her heart for the author's poetry on love.

She carefully ran her hand over the pristine page in the book, wondering whether the ribbon had been placed on this page deliberately. She had noticed right away that the bookmark hadn't rested in the middle of the book as it was customary. Was the placement of the silky blue ribbon a hint? Was the poem supposed to send a specific message to the receiver of the gift? Could Mr. Carson really have made such a grand gesture? And what then had made him throw the book away if he had indeed been the giver?

She groaned in frustration; she knew that this mystery wouldn't leave her alone until she had figured it out.

Her treacherous heart began whispering sweet little words to her, made her create pictures of Mr. Carson declaring his love for her in her head.

She shook her head firmly, trying to dispel her ridiculous fantasies. She had played the guessing game over Mr. Carson's intentions and gestures too often not to know better. Still, she'd have to talk to him and see if she could gather some information from him. Otherwise she'd never manage to get her emotions under control again.

She briskly knocked on the door to his pantry; giving neither him the chance to deny her entrance, nor herself the chance to let her nerves get the better of her.

"Mr. Carson, have you got a moment?" she asked in a business-like tone. He looked up from the ledger he had been working on and managed to suppress a sigh, schooling his expression into an emotionless mask. He nodded and indicated with his hands that she should take a seat in front of his desk.

"You see, Mr. Carson, I find myself faced with a bit of a mystery and I had hoped you might provide some assistance," Elise opened the conversation, her eyes focused on him. Upon his hesitant nod, she continued. "I got a gift today."

"That hardly qualifies as a mystery. It's your birthday, is it not? I would assume a gift nothing out of the ordinary," he scoffed.

"You're right of course. But I wasn't exactly given the gift," she explained patiently.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," Charles replied, puzzled.

"Apparently the gift has been found in one of the wastepaper baskets. It would seem that the giver has decided against making his present at the last moment," she studied him intently, trying to find any hint in his reaction. She was disappointed. He didn't even move a muscle as he returned her level gaze.

"And you are sure the gift has been meant for you?"

"Well, I can't be one hundred percent sure of course, but as you've pointed out, it is my birthday. And I can't think of anyone else in this household who would enjoy this kind of gift as much as I do."

"What is that mysterious gift then?"

"It's a lovely collection of poetry. I wonder what could have discouraged the giver," she continued probing. This time she saw the muscle in his jaw twitch. It gave her courage.

"Maybe the giver had doubts whether you would appreciate a book filled with dreadful poetry," he replied gravely. His eyes now boring into hers.

"To come to this conclusion, the giver would have had to listen to a private discussion between me and Mrs. Patmore, though. A conversation that was made in jest I might add. I can't imagine the giver stooping to this kind of behaviour," she gave back, her eyes twinkling as she fought to keep a teasing smile off her face.

"I think the giver would find it quite hilarious that you of all people would criticize him – or her – for snooping," he remarked drily.

"Perhaps," she concurred. "From the way you speak I get the impression that you may know who my mysterious giver might be."

"What makes you think that?" he asked, lowering his eyes when he couldn't bear the intense look between them anymore.

"Well, for one, you're an excellent butler. Not much that is going on in this house escapes your notice."

He looked up sharply, disbelieving that she would tease him about this. Not when they had spent weeks trying to move past this sore topic. (He still couldn't believe that he had missed it all – Anna's desperation, Mr. Bates' anger, Mrs. Hughes' burden. He couldn't shake off the unsettlement about her secretiveness, about this whole litany of secrets she had kept to herself, the many facets of her he didn't know at all).

When he looked at her though, he was almost relieved to find her worrying her bottom lip, her eyes downcast in shame.

She hadn't meant to bring this up. Their conversation had been going so well, why did she have to take it too far? "Mr. Carson, I apologize, I didn't mean…," she began but he quickly interrupted her hasty apologies by putting up his hand.

"It's alright, Mrs. Hughes. So if what you surmise is correct and I do know the person who wanted to give you the gift, how can I help you with that mystery? Surely you don't expect me to divulge the identity of a person that wishes to remain private."

"Of course not. I was simply wondering if you could deliver a message?" she felt back on firm ground now, grateful for his understanding.

"I think that should be possible," he nodded.

"Thank you. Would you please tell the person that I have never received a lovelier, more appreciated gift in my life and that I will treasure it always." Blue eyes bore into brown as she hoped that he realized how serious she was about what she had said.

He continued to hold her gaze, taking in the way her eyes had softened during her last words, the way they crinkled slightly at the edges as a soft smile spread over her face. He swallowed and simply nodded in reply to her request, not sure he was able to speak.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson, I truly appreciate your help with this." She got up and was nearly at the door when she turned around again. "I hope I will not appear impertinent, but… could you ask the giver a question when you talk to him?" she asked hesitantly.

"I will if I can."

"Would you mind asking him… or her if the position of the bookmark was chosen deliberately?"

He inhaled and exhaled deeply before nodding. She turned around again to leave when he held her back.

"Mrs. Hughes?"

"Yes, Mr. Carson?"

"I think I was remiss in not saying it this morning. But please allow me to wish you a happy birthday now," he said softly, almost gently.

She unexpectedly felt tears rushing to her eyes. She blinked a few times before smiling brilliantly at him. "Thank you Mr. Carson." With that she turned around and left him alone in his pantry.

She didn't see him for the rest of the afternoon and she was glad for it. Upon replaying their conversation in her head, she wasn't sure whether she had really managed to bring her point across.

It was with some trepidation therefore that she called him into her parlour when he knocked shortly before dinner.

"Mrs. Hughes, I bring word from your mysterious giver," he opened and she nodded, swallowing in an attempt to keep her nerves at bay.

"He would like you to know that he is glad that you seemed to enjoy the gift and he wishes now that he had given it to you. Especially as he had bought the gift long before Mrs. Patmore had started planning her surprise," Mr. Carson said, still standing in the middle of the parlour.

"So it was a man?" she asked, her eyes twinkling merrily.

"I think you suspected as much before. Yes, it was… is a man," Mr. Carson replied before turning around.

"Wait Mr. Carson, what about the bookmark?" she asked. She needed to know. She saw his back and shoulders tense before he turned around again.

"He said to tell you that he had originally planned to leave the book mark on page 78, but he lost his nerves and therefore placed it on the page where you found it instead," he replied, his eyes the softest she had ever seen them.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson." She smiled gently. He simply nodded and left.

She waited until the door was firmly closed before she scampered out of her chair and across the room to where she had put the poetry collection in the morning. She hastily skimmed through the pages until she reached page number 78. With bated breath she started reading.

The die is cast, come weal, come woe
Two lives are joined together,
For better or for worse, the link
Which naught but death can sever.
The die is cast, come grief, come joy.
Come richer, or come poorer,
If love but binds the mystic tie,
Blest is the bridal hour.

Mary Weston Fordham

This time she couldn't stop the tears from streaming down her face. She quickly wiped at them, checking her hair in the looking glass before rushing out of her sitting room. She nearly bowled Anna over in the hallway.

"Anna, have you seen Mr. Carson?" she asked urgently and the Lady's Maid looked at her superior in alarm.

"Is everything alright?" the young woman asked, having gleaned from Mrs. Patmore that Mr. Carson had behaved rather unfeelingly on Mrs. Hughes' special day.

"Everything is just fine, have you seen him?"

"I think he's just walked outside. He muttered something about checking up on one thing or the other," Anna explained and was even more bewildered when the Housekeeper didn't say anything in reply, but simply turned around and hastened outside through the servants' entrance.

She didn't have to look for him long. She was easily able to make out his imposing form in the little garden behind the laundry.

"Mr. Carson?" She fought hard to keep her voice even, her face from revealing anything. He turned around towards her. The Butler looked at her with such insecurity in his deep, brown eyes that she wished she could simply reach up her hand and smooth the wrinkles of concern from his brow.

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes?" his calm voice reflected nothing of the myriad of emotions she saw dancing across his face.

"I hope I'll not add to your burden, but do you think you might be able to pass on another message to my mysterious giver?" she asked, looking at him demurely.

"I should think so," he replied gruffly.

"Could you come a little closer? I wouldn't want anyone to overhear what I'm going to say. It's really rather private."

He raised his right eyebrow in confusion – they were far enough from the house for her apprehension to be unfounded – before reluctantly moving closer to her. She took another step towards him as well so that they were almost touching. Before he knew what was happening, she had raised herself up on her toes and put her hands on his shoulders. She pressed a gentle, reverend kiss to his cheek before breathing a soft "thank you" into his ear.

His hands came up to rest on her waist, steadying her, pulling her even closer to him. "I'm not sure I quite understood the message, would you mind repeating it?"

She looked at him in surprise but smiled softly when she caught the mischievous glimmer in his eyes. She leaned forward again, but this time when she tried to kiss his cheek, he turned his head and captured her lips with his.

She melted against him as his arms moved higher, one grasping her middle firmly while the other came to rest between her shoulder blades. She snaked her hands into his hair as their kiss intensified, time standing still as all she could focus on was the feeling of his lips against hers, his smell invading her senses. When they finally, breathlessly broke the kiss, his right hand came up to cup her cheek while his other stayed firmly on the small of her back.

"What did you think of the poem on page 78?" he asked softly.

"I think it is lovely. It will be lovely when the time comes," she replied gently. "Do you think it might be soon?"

"Very soon," he rumbled softly. He kissed her again briefly before resting his forehead against hers. "Happy birthday, Mrs. Hughes."

"The best birthday I've ever had," she replied happily.

"I'm glad," he breathed, leaning forward again to kiss her once more.

There we are, I hope I delivered on the promised fluff. Please leave a review when you have the time. They really, I kid you not, mean so much to me!