A/N: Okay, so this chapter is kind of oddly Rosamund focused - and SUPER LONG. There's Chelsie, yo. As promised.

"Hello, my darlings!" Rosamund said, removing her gloves as she strode through the front door. She was dressed warmly, but glamorously — her coat, mink-lined around the neck, was a deep forest green and it set off her shock of red hair. Hearing her voice, the girls leapt up from where they had gathered impatiently beneath the Christmas tree and ran to the front door to greet her. She knelt down, her skirts bunching, and held her arms open to them. As usual, Edith landed in her embrace first — and held on tightly.

Robert and Cora rose lazily from their cozy post by the fire and rounded the corner to greet her — they were visibly surprised to see Rosamund alone.

"Whatever have you done with Marmaduke?" Robert said, stepping toward her to kiss her cheek in welcome. Rosamund laughed, waving her other still gloved hand at him dismissively.

"Oh, silly man! He's coming up in the motor. He sent me on the train for comfort, but we simply had too many gifts to bring!" She clapped her hands together excitedly an the girls nestled into her skirts.

"He's bringing the motor up in this weather?" Cora said, kissing Rosamund's cheek. "That seems very brave."

Rosamund gave Cora a look, "Brave, I think not. He's incorrigible."

"Auntie, come see what I got in my stocking!" Edith said, reaching up for Rosamund's embrace. She smiled, bending down to pick her up, propping her against her hip with the ease of a woman who was natural around children. She pinched Edith's cheeks lovingly and held her hand out to Mary, who smiled, leading her into the parlor.

"When do you suppose he'll arrive? Mama will be here for diner at 1 o'clock sharp and you know she won't be pleased to wait on him." Robert said, following them down the hallway.

"He left early this morning— got quite a head start on me. I'm actually a bit surprised he isn't here already." The girls lead her to where their gifts were stacked beneath the tree, imploring her to sit. Without hesitation, she joined them, plopping down on the floor.

"Oh, Rosamund, do have a seat by the fire. You don't want to muss your lovely gown!" Cora said, gingerly lowering herself onto the settee.

"I won't muss it," Rosamund said, "Besides, how am I suppose to see their trinkets from all the way over there?"

Robert shook his head — Rosamund had no concern for propriety, not in the least when it would prevent her from playing with her nieces. He joined Cora on the settee and reached for his teacup. He saw Cora watching his sister closely from the corner of his eye, and he knew she was going to ask — he thought about stopping her but figured he'd better let her now, before Mama arrived.

"Rosamund when are you and Marmaduke going to have a family of your own? You're so natural with the girls."

Robert thought he saw Rosamund reveal a tiny smile before she straightened her back and gave Cora a shrug.

"Aren't we a Miss Nosy Parker."

"Cora, you know how you despise it when Mama inquires about our plans, now surely you'll spare poor Rosamund?" Robert said, giving his sister a teasing glance.

"Don't poor Rosamund me, Robert!" She said, a small laugh escaping her. She hoisted Edith onto her lap and hugged her close, "For all you know the answer might be coming sooner than you think."

She held Robert's gaze, and Cora's eyes brightened, "Rosamund do you mean to say you and Marmaduke may have an announcement for us this Christmas?"

Making a show of miming locking her lips and tossing the imaginary key over her shoulder, Rosamund grinned.

Nanny came in, just then, Sybil waking from her nap in her arms.

"Here we are, m'lady." she smiled, passing her off to Cora who had opened her arms expectantly. Rosamund practically floated up from her spot on the floor and scutted over to the settee.

"This would be your newest niece." Cora cooed, rocking Sybil gently.

"Robert, the description in your letter does not do her justice-you merely said she was pretty—but this baby is perfect!"

"Would you like to hold her?"

"Oh, Cora love, I might burst if I don't!"

Passing the baby to her, Cora watched as Rosamund's face dissolved in wonder.

"My goodness." She breathed.

"Pardon me, m'lord?"

Everyone looked up to see the butler, Anderson, standing in the doorway. He was preparing to retire and his normally worn face looked particularly stark and lacking in holiday cheer.

"Yes, Anderson, what is it?"

The old man swallowed, lowering his gaze, "There's been a telephone call for Lady Rosamund. Concerning Mr. Painswick."

Rosamund perked up, Sybil cooing in her arms, "Has he gotten himself stuck, then? I suppose we'll have to get a carriage to pull him out."

"Not stuck, Lady Rosamund."

There was a heavy silence. Rosamund stiffened, slowly handing Sybil back to Cora so that she could stand and go to him.

"Anderson?" Robert said, rising to follow his sister.

"M'lord—" he hesitated, "I'm afraid there's been an accident."

"An. . .accident?" Rosamund sputtered, "Well, is he alright?"

Anderson sighed, "The motor has been recovered but I'm afraid Marmaduke was not in it. It was in a gulley, overturned — the policemen who phoned thought it likely he had gone off for help or, perhaps, been picked up by someone passing by."

Rosamund exhaled, "Well then, he's probably fine. Right?" she turned to Robert, "He's fine, isn't he Robert?"

"The motor was found about halfway between London and Downton — the policeman couldn't determine how long it had been there. He could be on foot."

"On foot? He'd have frozen to death by now." Rosamund huffed, wringing her hands. She looked at Robert, "We've got to go look for him."

"We'll send a carriage out — I'll as Carson to go. Perhaps he's been picked up by someone in the village."

Rosamund nodded. Robert took her hand and pat it reassuringly, "I'm sure he's fine, Rosamund. We'll go rescue him." He lifted Rosamund's gaze, "And of course we'll surely tease him about this for years to come."

Turning back to Anderson, Rosamund blushed, "Perhaps it's horrid of me to ask, but did the policemen recover any of the children's gifts from the motor? I hope it wasn't looted."

"They didn't say, m'lady. I can inquire."

"Thank you, Anderson." Robert said. Dismissing him, he led Rosamund back over to join Cora. The girls had grown quiet, their faces expectant.

"Girls, it'll be alright. Don't worry."

"Is Marmaduke okay?" Mary asked, hugging her stocking closer to her.

Rosamund sniffled, quickly wiping a tear from her eye. "I'm certain he is, my dear. Only running late." She looked up at Robert. "Sadly, I don't think Mama will be terribly offput if he does not arrive in time dinner."

Cora was secretly grateful that the holiday was unusually quiet this year. Of course she worried for Marmaduke's safe return, for Rosamund, but she was still so sore and exhausted from Sybil's birth that the thought of entertaining for a long day and night had plagued her for weeks. After dinner, and the children's gifts, everyone sat together in the parlor, the girls playing on the floor, Edith practically asleep upright, and Robert pouring himself another glass of brandy. Cora shot him a warning glance but, of course, it was Christmas.

"Rosamund, my dear, Marmaduke is surely a far more rugged man than you give him credit for. He certainly wasn't brought up grasping a silver spoon. If there's anyone fit to face the elements it's a man like him." The Dowager Countess teased, lifting her sherry glass to her lips. Rosamund stiffened, her eyes red and moist from holding back tears all day. It was growing late — and had been dark for hours now. They had still not heard of Marmaduke's whereabouts and she had grown increasingbly uneasy as the day had worn on. Cora worried for her, especially after she rounded the corner to the sitting room earlier and found Rosamund standing by the window, alone, one hand pressed lightly against her abdomen.

"Mama, I hardly find your castigation of my husband reassuring." Rosamund said, her voice trembling.

"Castigation? Rosamund don't be overdramatic. I thought myself rather generous."

"You would think it." Rosamund sneered, getting up from the settee. She went over to Robert and kissed his cheek. "Good night, dear brother." She turned to look at the girls, whose heads snapped up as she glided across the floor toward them, her arms outstretched. "Goodnight my little angels, Happy Christmas."

Edith clung to her, nestling her face in the sweetness of her aunt's neck. "Love you, aunt Rosamund."

Mary reached out and somewhat awkwardly placed a hand on Rosamund's shoulder, "I'm sure Mr. Painswick will arrive tomorrow." she said. Rosamund smiled, appreciating her eldest niece's attempt at empathy.

She took Mary's hand and kissed her small fingers, "Thank you, pet."

Setting Edith down, she brushed off her skirts and leaned down to kiss Cora on the cheek. She purposefully ignored Violet.

"I'm going up."

"Shall I have Hughes take care of you tonight?" Cora said.

"Not tonight, I don't think. But perhaps ask if she would bring up a tea tray for me in the morning. I don't think I'll be joining you for breakfast."

She nodded once more to Robert and turned, moving soundlessly out of the parlor.

Violet huffed once her daughter had retreated, lifting her sherry glass. "Her podsnappery around that young man will be her undoing."

Exhaustion abound, both above stairs and below, the house was quiet at last — the little ones having tuckered themselves out playing with new toys, everyone else weighted down with drink and worry over Marmaduke.

Mrs. Patmore sat, half-asleep, at the kitchen table as Elsie placed a mug of cocoa in front of her.

"Come now, lass, you haven't taken a breath all day. At least have something to drink — warm the cockles of your heart!"

Beryl chuckled, rubbing her eyes. Lifting the mug to her mouth, she inhaled deeply, "Oh, what a nice scent — you've got a secret cocoa recipe you aren't shared with me?"

"Aye, me mum taught me. Can't tell you unless you swear to take it to the grave."

Sipping the cocoa, Beryl threw her head back sighing, "You're a woman of mystery if there ever was one, Miss Hughes."

"I thought I heard voices in here." Boomed a familiar voice from the doorway. Elsie turned around and saw Mr. Carson, his face hanging with fatigue, too.

"Have a cuppa this magic!" Beryl said, pointing to her mug, "Her cocoa's bang-up!"

Carson furrowed his brow, "Competition for you, Mrs. Patmore?"

Beryl scoffed, "Mr. Carson, beg your pardon but did you happen to see the feast you slung upstairs today?" She beamed with pride, eyeing Elsie, "You have a knack for melting chocolate, but a feast like that'd send you to your maker."

Their eyes heavy with sleep, the three chuckled at the reprieve. None of them had spent the holiday with family of their own, but at the end of a day, the festivities having gone off without a hitch, even if they had been tinged with somber concerns, and their shared pride bonded them as colleagues and, perhaps, friends. Clinking their mugs together, they celebrated their first Christmas together at Downton — as a team.

As Elsie teetered down the servant's hallway to her room — exhausted and already dreaming of the soft linens of her bed—she paused by the window to take one last look at the snow falling outside. Oh, how it reminded her of those nights running through the trees back home with Glenna. She put her hand against the cold glass, damp with precipitation, and and closed her eyes. When they'd reached the threshold, it hardly mattered who had gotten there first, who was to be the year's harbinger of goodness and light, because her ma would have warm cocoa, with her secret spice, for each of them. They'd huddle up by the fire in the afghans her mother had made, her father would lift his fiddle under his chin and play the long, lilting notes of Auld Lang Syne, which they would all sing.

In the hall, her palm grown cold, she hummed softly to herself. She was so lost in the memory that she didn't hear Carson approach her. But she heard, a moment later, a deep, rolling hum joining in. Her eyes flickered open and her hand snapped back from the glass.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said quietly. He cleared his throat and then sung softly,

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne

Elsie exhaled, looking up at him. She wiped her damp hand on her skirt.

"That's not the way we sing it," she smiled, "You know it's a Scot's tune."

He nodded, "A poem, I think?"

She took a step toward him, speaking softly the rhythm of the words she knew well:

"The flames of Love extinguished,
and fully past and gone:
Is thy sweet Heart now grown so cold,
that loving Breast of thine;
That thou canst never once reflect
On Old long syne."

They were standing so close to one another that she could have sworn she heard his heart threatening to beat out of her chest. He held her gaze steady, smiling at the words she'd said. As she inhaled, she looked up — perhaps to ask for strength—and puffed air out in a hard laugh when she saw what was above their head, placed there no doubt by lovelorn maids, in the rafters.

Carson followed her gaze upward, a small chuckle escaping his pursed lips. He carefully reached up, spotting a bright red berry in the bow, and plucked it ceremoniously from the branch.

"Lucky," he whispered, "That appears to be the last berry upon the branch."

Elsie narrowed her gaze, "You'll have to help me to understand, Mr. Carson. I'm not familiar with the tradition."

Carson rolled the bright berry between his finger and thumb, "Well, Miss Hughes, if you stand beneath the bow with another, and there are berries upon it, then you are granted a kiss. But once all the berries are gone, no more kissing is permitted."

He looked up at her, smiling devilishly. He held the berry out to her and she slowly opened her palm to receive it. Clasping her hand shut around it, she worried her lower lip.

"What am I to do with it, then?" she whispered, taking another impossible step in toward him.

Carson reached up and brushed a stray wisp of hair away from her face, leaning closer. She let her eyes fluttered closed and allowed him to kiss her softly on the lips. Unable to help it, she felt herself relax and smile against his lips. She could feel his lips pull apart in his own wide grin, and she reached up to wrap her hands delightfully round his neck. He brought one hand down, wrapping it around her lower back and pulling her in closer, the other reaching up to caress her face.

He turned her slightly, pushing her up against the wall. In the darkness and silence of the hallway, all that could be heard was the faint howl of the winter wind and a soft gasp from Elsie as he tightened his grasp around her waist.

Her head was spinning — oh, I mustn't let this go on! She thought, but still, her hands reached for him in the dark. It was as thouh her body was up to mischief all on its own, and her mind could only watch.

She felt his hand tentatively slide up her side, along her rib cage, until he hovered just above her breast. He broke the kiss long enough to look at her, his eyes asking. How desperately she wanted to say yes.

But she couldn't.

Pushing past him suddenly, terror pounding in the pit of her stomach, she hurried down the long hall away from him. When she reached the door to her bedroom, she paused, leaning her head against the dark wood. A few hesitant steps came down the hallway after her and as she reached for the doorknob, she heard him call to her. At the sound of her name being carried by his voice, she softened. Turning to him slowly, her eyes welling up with tears, she put her arm out — she couldn't be so close to him again. Not now.

"I'm sorry Mr. Carson. I can't."

He swallowed hard, his brow perspiring, bottom lip trembling.

"I really don't know what's gotten into me," he said his voice high pitched and nearly desperate, "I swear to you I have never behaved like this." He shook his head, "I have been in love, deeply in love, with a girl for many years and —" he looked to Elsie for understanding but she was simply too frightened to offer him anything, "—I think the excitement of the day, the last few weeks really, it's . . ." he reached for words, "Miss Hughes, it's damaged me in some way - this, desire."

Elsie eased, "No need to steek your heart, Mr. Carson."

"It pains me - that it cannot be, you know. Perhaps if we'd met under different circumstances."

Elsie looked down, scuffing her foot nervous across the floor. "Another time. Another place, perhaps."

He stood up a bit straighter and gave her a practiced, reverent nod of the head. "Happy Christmas, Miss Hughes."

Offering her a small smile, he moved past her down the hallway toward his room.

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Carson." She said in a hush — so quietly she supposed he hadn't heard her at all. As she turned to open the door to her room, she felt a small pinch against her palm. Opening it, and bringing it up closer to her face, she saw the holly berry —crushed by her grip.

The next morning, Elsie rapped lightly on Lady Rosamund's door, tea tray in hand. There had been no news of Mr. Painswick overnight, and she was not surprised that when she entered the guest bedroom, Rosamund was already up, seated by the window, looking as though she had not even undressed for bed.

"Any news from the village?" Rosamund said, turning toward Elsie.

Shaking her head solemnly, she set the tea tray down on the small table beside Rosamund. "I'm afraid not, m'lady."

Rosamund sighed, reaching for the tea pot. "Thank you, oh" She looked up at Elsie, "Hughes, is it? I'm terribly sorry."

"Yes, m'lady. Hughes. Not to worry, you've bigger things on your mind this morning."

Her face contorting in a sudden grimace, Rosamund pushed away the toast that Elsie had brought up along with the tea. After a moment, the feeling seemed to have passed, and with a long, slow exhalation, Rosamund lifted her gaze and poured her tea. "You're from Scotland, yes?"

Elsie nodded, "Argyll."

"Cora is delighted with you." Rosamund said, "She said she only hoped I'd find someone as lovely as you for a lady's maid."

"Kind of her to say, m'lady." She glanced around the room, looking for Rosamund's dressing gown, "Would you like me to draw a bath for you?"

Rosamund shook her head, blowing on her tea, "Oh, no that's quite alright. I can do it myself later on. I thank you for the tea. Please let me know if there is any news from the village." She slipped her tea — the tiniest of sips, before setting it down in her lap. She suddenly looked more ill than tired, and Elsie thought perhaps she recognized the look.

"Might I stay and help you dress?" She took a cautious step toward Rosamund and saw, then, that as she held the teacup in her lap, she ever-so slightly, almost absentmindedly, ran her thumb along her lower stomach, just beneath her navel.

"Pardon me Miss Hughes but you'll find I am not as interested in the finery of my brother's life. Though it pains Mama deeply, you'll notice that I do not travel with a lady's maid — because I do not have one."

Elsie blinked in response.

"And I do not have one because I do not want one. Please don't take any offense."

"None taken, m'lady." Elsie said, trying to hide her smirk, "If you need anything don't hesitate to ring. I'll let you know at once if there's any word."

Rosamund looked away from her, out the window. "Very good, then."

As she headed back downstairs, she saw Charity in the parlor, picking up spatterings of Christmas paper and ribbon from the floor. She hovered in the doorway a moment, watching the girl run a long strand of silky gold ribbon through her hand. Not wanting to startle her, she gently rapped on the door frame.

"Charity, might I ask a favor of you?"

Looking up from the mess of paper and decoration, Charity smiled to see Elsie walking toward her.

"Anything at all, Miss Hughes."

"I'd like you to save a piece of Mrs. Patmore's Christmas cake for Lady Rosamund. I know she's to serve it at luncheon today, and I don't suspect Lady Rosamund will be joining everyone." She gave Charity a small wink, "I do think, though, the poor lass could use a piece of that cake."

Charity smiled, "I shall, then." She looked down at the ribbon, stuffing it into her apron pocket "I hope her husband is found safely."

"Aye, me too, jo." Elsie sighed, "Out of the fryin' pan and into the fire with that one."

"How so?"

Elsie shrugged, "Call it a woman's knowin' but. . . I think she's expecting."

Robert decided to let Cora sleep — she'd been up several times in the night with Sybil, who, perhaps as a result of the excitement, didn't seem the least bit interested in sleeping. He slowly sat up in bed, looking down at Cora's mop of dark hair, which was tucked under her chin in a messy braid. He loved their quiet mornings together like this — he had the freedom to stare at her as long as he pleased, carving out her beautiful features and running his hand gently along the curve of her hip. She always slept with her mouth just slightly parted — her lower lip looking perpetually kissable. He wanted to, but he knew she needed to sleep. He thought about getting out of bed, but another wave of sleepiness washed over him and he lowered himself back beneath the blankets. It was Boxing Day, he needn't ring for Carson so early — he hoped that everyone below stairs had enjoyed the treats he'd ordered for them. Certainly, he thought, Mrs. Patmore, the new cook, would have kept them well fed with her delicious offerings.

He only knew that Cora hadn't slept well because he hadn't either — he was worried about Marmaduke. Or, he supposed, mostly worried about Rosamund. He hadn't approved of Marmaduke Painswick anymore than their parents had — he often thought that his father's death had been hastened by the marriage of both his children to people he did not respect. Of course, Cora was welcomed far more than Marmduke — afterall, it was her money that saved Downton. Mr. Painswick brought no money and no title — though, as far as Robert could tell, he did bring Rosamund joy, so he supposed that counted for something.

His dear sister. They were often cross with one another, as siblings could be, but he did love her. He may not have approved of Marmaduke but he would never wish any ill-fate to befall him. He knew, from Rosamund's heavy heart yesterday, that whether or not he thought Marmaduke worthy of any claim to the Crawley's, he had certainly laid claim to Rosamund's heart.

"Robert?"

A tiny voice from the pillows — he opened his eyes and turned his head slightly. Cora's cobalt eyes greeted him through a haze of sleep.

"Goodmorning, darling." He said, kissing her. "Did I wake you?"

Cora yawned, "No, no. I was restless all night."

"I know."

"Did I keep you awake?"

"No, not at all I just —" he sighed, reaching along the covers to let his hand come to rest in the dip of her hip. Her figure, always very slender, had pleasantly rounded out from her last pregnancy, and though his hand was normally met with the rather angular curve of her hip, he was delighted to find a softness there he hadn't felt before.

"You're worried about Marmaduke."

"I suppose — but mostly worried about Ros," he snuggled in closer to her.

She pulled herself in closer to him, tucking her fists beneath her chin and resting her head against his chest. "She doesn't look well."

"She's worried herself sick,"

"No, I mean. . .even before they found the motor I thought. . .doesn't she look as though she could use a bit of color? She looked terribly drawn when she arrived."

"I'm sure it's just the weather, darling. Perhaps their flat in London is draughty."

"Robert if I didn't know better I'd say that she was expecting."

"Darling, you dreamed a dream for my darling sister but —"

She pulled away from his chest and looked up at him, "I am nearly certain that she is with child, Robert. Under normal circumstances this would be cause for jubilee, but what if something has happened to Marmaduke?"

Robert considered this. If Cora was right. . .

From across the room, Sybil mewled. Their baby beckoned for Cora, and she gave him a halfway apologetic look, then climbed wearily out of bed. Wrapping Sybil in a soft blanket, she returned and sat on the edge of the bed, unbuttoning her blouse.

"You must ask her."

"Why me?" Robert said, sitting up, "Far better it come from you."

Cora lifted Sybil to her breast, "Well, perhaps we could both approach her. If she is, and . . .oh, I mustn't think it."

"Think what?"

She didn't look at him, instead, focused her attention on Sybil's tiny hands, "If she is and Marmaduke. . .does not return. . .she will need us. She'll need Downton."

Robert watched as Cora stroked Sybil's fingers. He was plagued momentarily by the thought of his sister — a tiny baby in her arms, and alone to care for it.

"Let us see what the morning brings for news," he said, reaching over to stroke Sybil's cheek as she suckled, "I haven't lost hope."

Downstairs, the servants pushed in around the table to gobble up all the treats from the night before, as well as the breakfast Mrs. Patmore had prepared for their boxing day. His Lordship always took very good care to make sure everyone had something for the holiday in thanks, and many of the younger maids and footmen had packages from home. As Mrs. Patmore bustled about, making sure that everyone had something to eat, Elsie watched from a chair in the corner, tea on her lap. She hadn't yet seen Mr. Carson today and wondered if, perhaps, Boxing Day was the one morning in a year he permitted himself to sleep late.

No sooner had she thought it than he appeared in the doorway. He'd come in from outside and his hat was dusted with snow. With his flushed cheeks and bright red nose, she felt that she had to strain to keep herself firm in her chair — rather than rushing over to warm him up.

Elsie wasn't sure where he was returning from, but when the others saw him, their excitement quieted. Anderson, the old butler, staggered over to where Carson stood in the doorway. For the first time, Elsie noticed that Carson's face wasn't frozen from the cold — but the lines etched deeply from concern — she might even venture horror.

"Mr. Carson?" Anderson said, resting on his cane. He never used it but downstairs, and only when the cold air bothered his aching joints.

Carson removed his hat, seemingly lost to words. He bit his lip and gently shook the snow from his coat. When he did look up, he found Elsie's gaze.

"It seems that the police from Yorkshire have found Mr. Painswick," he said, not taking his eyes from Elsie. The room was choked with silence, and the sound of Elsie setting her teacup down, the clinking, was so loud that she saw a few of the maids jump. She stood and slowly moved into the crowd that stood motionless around the table. Seeing her come through the throng, Carson continued. "It appears that he attempted to make some progress on foot after his motor overturned. He was injured. His body was found just off the roadway."

There was a chorus of sharp gasps throughout the room. Elsie felt her hand come to her mouth.

"Does his Lordship know?" a voice said.

Carson shook his head, "I don't believe so. I went into Yorkshire myself this morning to inquire — and while I was there, the call came in to the inspector." He looked helplessly at Anderson, "They will be calling on Lady Rosamund shortly. I hesitate to suggest that I know for sure whether I ought to give his Lordship the news, or allow the inspector to do it."

"Mr. Carson," Elsie said. She was as surprised by her voice as everyone else. From the back of the crowd, she stepped through, "I know he'd rather hear it from your mouth than a stranger."

Murmurs of agreement rumbled through the kitchen. After a few moments, he looked at Anderson, who nodded solemnly.

A small tinkling was heard from across the room. Heads turned to the bell wall and then, Elsie felt the heat of twenty or so gazes upon her.

Her Ladyship had rung.

"I've to go up, Mr. Carson" she said, "Why don't you come up with me."

Surprised at the sight of his valet and Cora's lady's maid hovering in the doorway, Robert let out a small chuckle, "Hardly expected to see both of you up here! Tell me, Carson, did the downstairs staff receive their trinkets."

Next to her, Elsie felt Mr. Carson tense — he was trying to hide the fact that his hands had been shaking since they ascended the stairs.

"M'lord, I've news from the village." he spat out, startling everyone with his booming voice. Sybil fussed in Cora's arms.

"Oh," Robert said, rising from bed, "Have they located Marmaduke?"

Elsie bit her lip and turned her head to look up at Mr. Carson. For a man normally so statuesque and strong, something about the frown he wore made her want to wrap him up into her arms like a child.

"I'm afraid . . ." he cleared his throat, "M'lord, the inspector will be this morning to . . ."

Robert studied his valet carefully — it was so unlike him to be wishy-washy and hard-pressed to find his words. He felt his stomach drop at the realization Carson's hesitance could only mean one thing.

"Dear God," he murmured, almost under his breath. From the bed came a small cry, and Elsie wasn't certain if it was from Syibl or Cora.

"We thought the news might come softer from Mr. Carson than the inspector, m'lord." Elsie said, wanting desperately to put her hand on Mr. Carson's arm. At the sound of her voice, he seemed to soften a bit.

"Very much so, Hughes." Cora said, still somewhat aghast, "Robert, you must go tell Rosamund at once. You can't let her hear it from the inspector."

"Hear what from the inspector?"

They all looked toward the door, Carson and Elsie turning in unison to face the voice that had come from the hallway. Rosamund, still in her dressing gown and with damp hair, stood shaking in the corridor.

Elsie knew that tonality of that scream: it was agony, fear and misery stretched out in a long, sharp chord. She was the first one out the door as Rosamund collapse in the hallway, her dressing gown pooling around her. She knelt down and drew her close — propriety be damned, they were all human weren't they?—and felt, for the first time, just how slight a woman Rosamund was. Her birdlike arms shook as they pressed into Elsie's chest, which served only slightly to muffle her anguished sobs.

Elsie had held her sister like this the night Ma died. Glenna had cried this way, her voice curling into long, tortured moans. Da had cried too, but it had been a soundless cry — if she hadn't known the reason why, he almost could have been laughing. Elsie had used all her might to pull Glenna off her Ma's body, which had grown so weak and small from her sickness. As their Da ran out to the barn, his agony threatening to come out from his fists, Elsie had lifted her hands under the candlelight and saw Ma's blood, bright red like crushed berries.

"Hughes, help me lift her. We'll take her back to her room." Robert said, kneeling down beside her. As they hoisted her up, Elsie felt wet warmth on her palms — when she glanced down, her gasp was so loud it was audible even over Rosamund's wails.

"Carson!" Robert barked when he saw it himself, "Ring for Dr. Clarkson at once."

"Lady Rosamund has had a miscarriage," Dr. Clarkson said, closing the door to the guest bedroom softly behind him. In the hallway, Robert had been pacing for more than an hour, fearful that the shock of her husband's death may have been more than his ster could bear.

"A . . .?" he stuttered, "She was . ..?"

Dr. Clarkson nodded, "It was very early. She may not have even known it yet."

"She knew." Cora said. Both men turned and saw her standing in the doorway to her bedroom. She held Sybil close to her.

Dr. Clarkson cleared his throat, "I've given her something to help her sleep. Leave her for the afternoon, she's had quite a shock. I've left the remaining sedative on the bedside table. You may want to administer it for the next few days. She should not leave bed until I've had a chance to examine her again. Certainly she is not to return to London straight away—"

"Of course not, we'll care for her here"

"Very good then." Dr. Clarkson nodded, "I'm terribly sorry for your loss, M'lord."

Robert nodded and waited until Dr. Clarkson had begun to descend the stairs before he turned to Cora, who was still standing in the doorway to her bedroom.

"Come away, Robert." she whispered. "Let her rest."

Torn between the two women who needed him most, he opted instead to give Cora a quick kiss and head downstairs to the library where he would have a drink and try to figure out what they would tell Mama.

She felt his warm hands on her neck as he pulled her close to him. Twirling her around and pressing her into a corner of the long hall, she gasped against his mouth.

"Stop it," she whispered, "We'll be caught."

"No one's paying any attention, Ros. They're all staring into their brandy, trying desperately not to ruffle your dear Mama." His hands slid down her front, and she tried to stifle a yelp. Letting them rest at her hips, lips pressed against the curve of her neck, he felt her shudder— and he wasn't certain if it was from laughter or pleasure.

"Ruffle? Darling—mercy upon her if she knew what your hands were doing."

Caught in sleep, Rosamund writhed. She wanted her eyes to open, but they were too heavy. Her voice rested in the back of her throat, nearly choking her, and she felt a hand upon her brow — not Marmaduke's.

"You're alright, lass." A voice rasped, the burr vaguely familiar. She fought to open her eyes, and cried out in frustration. The hand at her brow moved up to sooth her hair. She heard voices — far away, somehow.

"Is she awake?"

"Not quite, m'lord."

With all her might, she tried to form her mouth into words, exhaled sharply hoping that she could produce sound from her lips. She tried to lift her arms but they were ungainly.

"Rosamund, don't fight it. The doctor has given you something to help you sleep."

Robert's voice above her, his heavy hand on hers. She heard a pathetic squall in response and realized it had come from her. Defeated, she let the struggle overtake her and retreated to her memory.

"You look stunning tonight," he said, running a finger along her cheekbone, tracing the line of her blush, "Dazzling."

"Shall we tell them?" she said, her eyes eager.

"That you're dazzling? Darling, I think they can see that."

"Silly man," she chided, flapping her hand against his chest. She fussed with his cravat, "About our engagement."

Elsie made no attempt to hide her exhaustion. She sat at the kitchen table with her head in her hands, an untouched cup of tea beside her. She had spent most of the day tending to Lady Rosamund, who slept fitfully, and had barely managed to help Her Ladyship ready for bed before she felt tears of fatigue stinging her eyes. Though she wanted nothing more than to sleep, she found that she could not, so though it was late and the entire house was silent she sat quietly at the kitchen table in the dark, help captive by memory.

The blood, Lady Rosamund's blood on her hands, upon her skirts. When Elsie was just a girl she had watched her mother die, bleeding to death in her own bed. She had been very sick; the village doctor had shrugged and said it was something incurable. It made her bleed, like her monthlies, except worse—she grew so weak, so filled with pain, that she could no longer rise from bed. As Elsie sat beside her, bringing a cup of warm broth to her lips, Ma had tried to explain to her what was happening— why she would die.

"Inside of me, where you and Glenna grew, is poisoned." She had said. Elsie hadn't understood, had barely comprehended what she meant by "where you grew" — she didn't know about bairns, where they come from, or why. She'd furrowed her brow in response.

"Elsie, my jo. . ." she had said, a small smile upon her dry mouth, "Someday you'll love a man, and you'll want to have his bairns. It'll be a beautiful kind of love. You'll know the feel of his hands and his heavy footfalls coming home. He'll tell you how fine you are to him, and he'll be fine to you."

"How will I know he's fine to me?" Elsie said, nestling up to her Ma in bed, careful not to lay her head too heavily upon her mother's weary breast.

"Jo," she said, soothing Elsie's hair, "Wait for a man who respects you like a sea captain respects the sea. A man who looks at you with awe and reverence but knows you are a force of nature*."

The gentle light of a candle pulled her out of the memory. She turned toward it, squinting into the darkness.

"Sorry to startle you," a deep voice whispered. She had to smile — even his whispers were loud and booming.

"Mr. Carson," she said, "I've left the kettle on, if you've come for tea."

He nodded, "I'll take some tea I think" he turned to her from the stove, "and perhaps a bit of company, unless of course you would prefer to be alone?"

"I wouldn't prefer it," Elsie said, "I can't seem to fall asleep."

Joining her at the table, Carson sighed knowingly, "I can't seem to stay asleep." He studied Elsie's face in the darkness, "I can only suppose you've many horrors on your mind this night."

Elsie let her chin rest on her hand, "Some long forgotten ones."

"Oh?"

"Forgive me, Mr. Carson." She yawned, "Past life musings and nothing more."

"What else is there at this late hour?" Carson sipped his tea. She stirred sugar into hers, somewhat absent-mindedly, as it had long gone cold. She hummed softly to herself, almost hoping she'd lull herself to sleep. Under her breath, she sang the words quietly to herself.

A man may fight and not be slain
A man may court a pretty girl
And perhaps be welcomed back again
But since it has so ought to be
By a time to rise and a time to fall
Come fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all

"I know that tune," Carson said, raising a bushy eyebrow in recognition.

"You do?" Elsie said, cocking her head to one side, "The Parting Glass?"

"Oh yes," Carson said, "Of all the comrades that e'er I had
They are sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that e'er I had
They would wish me one more day to stay
But since it falls unto my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I'll gently rise and I'll softly call
Good night and joy be with you all"

He chuckled nostalgically, "We always closed our shows with it."

"Your shows?" Elsie asked, thinking she'd misheard him. Her eyes were heavy now, and she thought perhaps sleep might finally come.

"Oh, well, I. . ." he grumbled, "Just something from my youth."

Elsie yawned, her fingers touching her lips. "A story for another time, then." She took her teacup and rose from the table, "I'm going to try to catch a few winks, Mr. Carson. Should I pour the tea for you before I go?"

"No, no. You've taken care of everyone well today, Miss Hughes. To bed with you."

She smiled at him sleepily from the doorway, "Goodnight then, Mr Carson."

He watched as she disappeared down the hallway, leaving in her wake the musky scent of her perfume. He held his breath, longing to hold on to it for one moment more.

Cora hovered somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, sitting next to Rosamund's bed, her sister-in-law's hand in hers. She had always liked Rosamund; when they had first met, during Cora's first season in London, she was in awe of her mischevious beauty. Rosamund was hardly like the other girls who glided across the ballrooms — she wasn't less glamorous, in fact she was perhaps more so. Rosamund had a look about her — like she knew a secret you were desperate to know. Her fiery hair made her stand out in the dark blue of the night. Men watched her but few approached her — it was almost as though they were afraid of getting burned.

The first time she laid eyes on her, Rosamund was laughing. She held herself in a far more open and unrestrained manner than Cora had been taught — she could never imagine laughing as loud as that in mixed company. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd laughed that hard. She'd turned, then, to the young man she was dancing with and asked if he knew who she was.

"Oh, of course." He huffed, "That would be Lady Rosamund Crawley."

"Lady?"

"Yes, her brother is the next Earl of Grantham."

Cora's interest was piqued, then. She had been displaced all the way across the sea to find a husband — or, as she knew to be the truth—a title. When the dance was through, she excused herself and returned to the table where her mother was perched.

"No dice?" Her mother said, lifting her glass to her lips.

"Do you see that woman over there?" Cora asked, glancing in Rosamund's direction. Across the ballroom she was accepting a flute of champagne from one young man — while making eyes at another.

"I'd have to be blind not too, Cora." Her mother sniggered.

Cora shot her a look, "Her brother is to be the next Earl of Grantham."

Her mother paused mid-sip, "I'm listening."

Cora shook her head, "Well, I don't know I just meant — perhaps I should find out who he is?"

"I doubt that would be difficult," she gestured to a waiter who approached her somewhat cautiously.

"More champagne?" He inquired, leaning down and sticking the tray in Mrs. Levinson's face.

"No thank you—but tell me this—" She eyed the ballroom, "Where is the young man who is to the the next Earl of Grantham?"

The waiter looked up and studied the crowd for a moment and, having easily spotted the face, covertly pointed him out.

"There — one, Robert Crawley."

Mrs. Levinson thanked him and, on a second thought, grabbed another flute of champagne from his tray before he stepped away. She eyed Cora over the rim of it, "Alright, honey—go get him."

Rosamund stirred. Cora reached up to stroke her brow.

"Rosamund," she hushed, "It's alright. You're alright."

Sallow and almost lifeless, Rosamund's face seemed locked in a grimace. She struggled to open her eyes fully but, upon lifting her lashes, recognized that Cora sat on the edge of her bed.

"What's happened?" she asked, her voice cracking. Cora reached for the lass of water that waited on the night table and implored her to take a sip. She helped her to sit up and gently lifted the glass to her lips.

"Oh, Rosamund. . ." Cora said, "Do you mean to say you remember nothing?"

"I feel dreadful, Cora. Perfectly wretched." She blinked, opening her eyes fully, "Where's Marmaduke?"

The look on Cora's face must have given her away, because she saw the grief echoed in Rosamund's eyes.

"Dear Christ," Rosamund murmured, "I thought I'd dreamt it." She tried to adjust her position but winced, surprised by a deep pain in her stomach. Without thinking, her hand flew to her abdomen. She looked up at Cora helplessly; there was a flash of recognition and she realized that Cora must know, of course she did — women always did. Something was different she felt decidedly empty.

"You were carrying a child, Rosamund. Did you know?"

Rosamund sputtered, "Yes, of course —I—" Cora's tense hit her, "Were?"

Cora's eyes dampened and she brought a finger delicately to her face to catch a tear before it fell onto her cheek, "I think the shock was too much,

"No, no. Dear God, no!" Rosamund cried, "I've lost them both?"

Cora wasn't sure what to say —what she could say—so she just moved closer and offered her arms as a sanctuary, where her sister in-law sobbed loudly against her.

"I've lost them — I've lost everyone."

Cora hushed her, blinking her own tears away. "You haven't lost us."

A/N: Hi guys! Phew- huge update for me, now you're all the way current as far as I've written. There just wasn't a great place to break it up - so, here's my Thanksgiving gift to you, hehehe! But since I now have to figure out where in the hell this story is going it might be a while's wait before you get another update!xx

*I can't take credit for this quote, it came from this post on tumblr ( post/61329318359/my-mom-told-me-to-find-a-man-who-respects-you) but it's flawless and I'm sure you'll see it again in other fics, or just LIFE.