A/N: Okay, this one took a little longer because, well...it's as long as all the other options put together! Please leave reality and any and all knowledge of the peerage system at the door, and take a fantasy trip into the final chapter of Lady Elizabeth's endings. Thank you everyone for all of your kind words and comments. I adore reading them. I know this one is so terribly unlikely, but it was fun to imagine! As an aside, and because I never actually wrote it into any of the Lady Elizabeth stories, I've always imagined that she did indeed start out life as a famer's daughter, but that on her father's death (her mother having died in childbirth) she was taken in as a ward of a Lord and Lady who felt they owed something to her father. She was given the schooling and backing of a Lady, the rest, well...it's Elsie Hughes; what Lord wouldn't be charmed by her?

In which Lady Violet plays matchmaker and Lady Elizabeth might just get her happily ever after.

_If This Was A Fairy tale_

"Oh, good you're here, come along I have news." Violet hurries into the ballroom and then back out if it at a speed Elsie hasn't seen from her in some years.

With an apologetic nod of her head to Lord Sinderby, she follows after her friend, catches up with her just before the library.

"Violet, whatever's the matter with you?"

The woman seems anxious, fairly vibrating with tension. "Nothing, nothing. What gave you that impression?"

Stepping up to her friend she resists the urge to shake her through force of will alone. "Tell me what's going on; you're as twitchy as young George when Mr Carson has the sweets out."

"Funny you should mention him."

"George?" Her forehead crinkles in confusion.

"No, Carson. Honestly."

"What about Mr Carson? Violet you're not making an ounce of sense."

"And your accent is slipping, my dear." Violet arches an eyebrow and leans on her cane, her free hand flat against the library door. "Although I've always suspected he rather enjoys it."

"Who does?" She flushes lightly, but has to ask. "Are you still talking about Mr Carson?"

"Of course. Now if you'll just step in here, I have someone I'd like to introduce you to."

"Someone-Violet!" But she has already stepped into the library. "I could hit you some days." She mutters beneath her breath before fixing a smile on her face and slipping through the closing door.

"Ah, there you are. Lady Hawthorne, I'd like to introduce you to-"

"Mr Carson?" For it is Mr Carson who stands before them, looking as uncomfortable as she has ever seen him before. He has his hands clasped behind his back, which serves to emphasise the cut of his suit; an evening one of good material and not at all like the livery she is so used to seeing him in.

"Lord Milton, actually, Elizabeth. Isn't that a lark?"

"A-Mr Carson, I-." She stutters before pulling herself together. "Excuse us Mr Carson, we won't be a moment." She smiles at him, grasps Violet's elbow and drags her quickly back into the hall.

"Really, Elizabeth. You're being unforgivably rude. Carson has been waiting in there for you for some time now."

The gall of the woman. "I'm being rude? How could you do this?" She can feel tears gathering in the corners of her eyes and she swallows quickly to fight the lump in her throat. "And to drag Mr Carson into it."

"I didn't drag anyone into anything." She tugs her arm from Elsie's hand, glares at her pointedly; "That seems to be your department, my dear. And I thought you'd be pleased; our old Carson brushes up quite nicely, don't you think? But then I remember you've always thought that."

"Do you find this funny, Violet?" The tears are still coming and she blinks them back, knots her hands together in front of herself. "Using what I told you in some elaborate and cruel joke? I told you that because I trusted you."

"My dear, you told be because you had been quite free with Dickie's scotch whisky, trust had nothing to do with it."

"And a good thing too, if this is how you'd betray it." A single tear slips from her eye despite her best efforts and she brushes it away quickly.

"Oh, do get a hold of yourself Elizabeth! You're behaving ridiculously. I haven't betrayed a thing and if you spent a little more time in proper society and a little less cavorting about the continent like a nomad, you would know that recently the third in line to the throne found himself in a, shall we say possibly fatal situation, from which our own Mr Carson rescued him. For his trouble, the Royal family has granted Carson a title of his own. I suppose he just had it laying about unused."

She can't..."I can't believe it."

Violet smirks; "No, I rather thought you wouldn't. Have we finished with the histrionics now? Might we return to the man in there, hmm?" She gestures to the Library and Elsie can't help it, a smile starts to form.

"I was hardly hysterical, Violet, but yes, let's get back to Mr...er, I mean Lord Milton, I suppose."

Violet reaches out and pats her hand. "It does take some getting used to, doesn't it?"

"It does." She agrees, but she thinks she'll manage.

-x-x-x-

"I am sorry , Mr-Lord Milton." She says as the car takes them to the station. "I'm afraid you've been quite bullied into this."

Mr...Lord...oh! He has been Mr Carson to her for too long to think of him with another name now {except for the few times, late at night or first thing in the morning, when she considers him Charles}. Mr Carson offers a small smile and pats at the front of his coat. "It's no matter milady. I appreciate you opening your home to me at such short notice."

Her home. She hasn't had a chance since Violet made the 'suggestion' to really think about it yet. That he will be in her house; not as a servant as she had long thought would be the only way to have him there, but as an equal; a guest.

"Nonsense, M-Lord Milton." Had she just called him 'milord?' "And I think, given the situation, you might call me Elizabeth now." She hopes he will accede, but she suspects-

"I couldn't milady." -yes, it couldn't possibly be that easy.

"Lady Hawthorne then. It will only confuse the staff otherwise and you will have to get used to it sometime." This is after all why Violet forced then together like this. One of her reasons, anyway.

"I suppose I will." He looks out of the window and she knows that he is not happy; and it is not that he is leaving Downton, it is not her insistence that things will change; it is that they have changed and no matter what happens next he can never go back. She suspects that Mr Barrow would not be struggling so much with that.

She wants nothing more than to make him more comfortable, to touch his hand where it rests on his knee, clasp his fingers and show him that she understands.

Perhaps one day she will be able to do that, but for now she watches his reflection in the window. "You'll have to forgive me, but I'm quite sure I'll slip up myself from time-to-time, Mr Carson. You'll simply have to get used to that too."

Her heart thumps in her chest at the smile he doesn't know she can see.

-x-x-x-

"We'll take some tea in my sitting room I think, Mr Crane. And if you could ask Mrs Blye to make up the London room for our guest?"

Mr Crane raises his eyebrows a little higher at her words, but it is not as though he won't have already suspected the gentleman at her side of staying, there had been luggage to bring in after all. "Of course, milady. Would you like Mrs Jones to adjust the menu for tonight's dinner?"

Oh, she had forgotten that. She turns to Mr Carson and has to blink. Despite the clothes, he looks more of a Butler than Mr Crane presently, somehow still folding himself into the shadows even standing in the middle of her entrance hall.

"Do you mind stew at all, Lord Milton? It's rather a tradition whenever I return unexpectedly from a trip away, you see. Mrs Jones keeps a pot going for me and it's quite the most amazing thing; takes me straight back to-" she cuts herself off just in time. She has always wondered what he would say if he knew of her childhood. Now is really not at all the time to find out. "Well, I'm sure we could have some fish instead if you'd prefer?"

Mr Carson seems to have picked up on her near slip, but of course says nothing of it. "The stew will suit fine, Lady Hawthorne."

She can see how terrible this is for him and though she really does have little way to ease that but give him time, she can perhaps provide him with something to disapprove of; something to distract him.

"Splendid, Mr Crane if you could just let Mrs Jones know that we'll be two for dinner of course. And then we can continue on as usual." She knows he will understand.

The eyebrows rise higher - is it something that good Butlers are born with, or something they learn, this ability to flex their eyebrows to such extremes they can convey entire conversations with just one twitch? - but Mr Crane nods and turns to leave. "Very good ma'am."

She can feel Mr Carson tense up beside her.

"Right then, shall we go in?" She steps towards the sitting room, holds the door open for him. It takes him a moment to get moving, his eyes following after Mr Crane as he slips down stairs to the kitchens. "Mr Carson?"

She takes a seat on the settee, gestures that he should sit too. She cannot deny that there is a thrill in knowing that after all these years, he will finally share tea with her. It is not quite how she had hoped he would eventually give in, but if she is right in thinking that he has felt something between them all these years; that it was their differing societal positions that has held his tongue, then perhaps this way of it is better than any she could have imagined.

He takes a seat in the armchair opposite, perches at the very edge and grips his hands tightly together in his lap. There is a very disapproving frown on his face.

"Please say it, there's no ceremony here."

"So it would seem." She blinks, startled and then laughs, a sharp bark of it she is too late to cover with her hand. He looks far too shocked himself to have meant to speak that aloud.

"Oh do forgive me, Mr Carson. But I've wanted to hear what you really think abut things for so long, and that fit quite perfectly with what I have imagined."

"Indeed." She finds her cheeks flushing at the long look he gives her and sets about straightening her skirt.

"Yes well, never mind that. I believe you were about to lambast me for the relaxed nature of my staff?"

For a moment she thinks he might pursue the other and she leans forward a little in her seat, but eventually he shakes his head and turns his thoughts back, no doubt to Mr Crane's actions in the hall. The frown returns.

"He left before ensuring there was someone to escort you into this room."

"Yes he did. I am capable of opening a door myself, of course."

"That is not the point, milady. A good Bulter would never leave-"

"Ah, but you see that is exactly the point Lord Milton. For much of the year I stay in hotels and villas where there is minimal staff who have a wealth of other guests to see to. I have always enjoyed an independence and when I return home I like to be comfortable. Waiting around while others open doors or pull curtains that I'm well able to do for myself is not the path to the right kind of comfort for me." She notices then that her accent is slipping through again and for a moment she considers reigning it back in, but she had said they were to go about as normal, and this is the only place she has ever had the freedom to loosen the English-school hold on her. "We weren't all of us born with a silver spoon like your old Lady Grantham."

She can see the fire flash in his eyes as he fights with the familiar urge to defend the family he has worked for, for so long, and the rule that he not argue with a Lady.

Ethel brings in the tea before she finds out which side of him will win.

It's going to be an interesting week.

-x-x-x-

"Mr Crane said I could find you here."

She looks up from the lake to greet Mr Carson as he settles onto the bench beside her. It has only been half a day, but he seems to have decided something the night before and she is already noticing a change about him. A sort of acceptance.

{She wonders if it was the dinner that affected the change in him, the quiet ease of it, or the glasses of sherry they shared later in the evening while she coaxed him into conversation by the fire. Perhaps he had a dream last night, like Ebenezer Scrooge. Or maybe he is simply acting for her sake. It doesn't really matter what it is, a true change or a mask; she knows you can go a long way just playing at a role.}

"He must have thought it important; he usually sends whoever's looking for me on a wild goose chase around the grounds when he knows I'm down here." She explains at his confusion.

"Am I disturbing you?" He rises as if to leave again and she holds out her hand, her fingers just barely brushing his sleeve before she pulls them back.

"No please, stay. Tell me why you're looking for me, what I can do for you."

He sits again and she turns away from his gaze, looks back out across the lake; white and frozen up in the cold.

"Actually Lady Hawthorne, I wondered if there was anything I could do for you." She pushes past the many things that come to mind at that and instead takes a deep breath of December air. It's nearly January - they'll be back at Downton just after the New Year.

"If you mean polishing the silver or seeing to the wine ledgers then I'm afraid you already know the answer to that." His shoulders slump almost imperceptibly at her words. "But if you're at a loose end, you could keep me company for a time?"

"If you're sure I'm not disturbing you, Lady Hawthorne?"

She looks at him and he smiles somewhat sheepishly at her, pulling a book from his coat pocket.

"Not at all, Lord Milton." At least not in ways she minds being disturbed by him.

-x-x-x-

"Are you settling into your room okay?" She asks, cutting into her chicken.

"Yes, thank you."

She smiles and takes a bite. They seem to have come to the unspoken agreement that if he cannot yet bring himself to call her Elizabeth, and she really cannot stand to call him Lord Milton, then they will simply call each other nothing at all.

"I thought I might go into town tomorrow." He says and she looks up in surprise; this will be the first time he's left the house since arriving two days ago. "Can I pick anything up for you?"

For a wild, mad moment she thinks to say that she has some delicate purchases at Madame Mills that she hasn't yet sent Ethel for. But she bites her own tongue; George would have laughed at her for it and she thinks that given more time, if he could become more used to her and her humour, Mr Carson might laugh too, but not today.

"Mr Sinclair, at the bookshop - he called to say that he'd put a book aside for me while I was in Italy and I haven't had a chance to pick it up yet, if you wouldn't mind?"

He nods and she returns to her chicken, the fluffy mashed potatoes that she prefers to any of the more fashionable side dishes.

"You could, that is, if you wanted-" Mr Carson begins, faltering.

She wipes at her mouth with a napkin, pushes her plate aside. "Sorry?"

"Of course it's no trouble collecting the book for you, but I would welcome your company, if you thought you might enjoy it. If you're not too busy, of course?"

They are not seated at opposite ends of the long table, but at right angles at one corner and so she can see that his breathing has quickened and a slight flush has crept to his ears. She bites down hard on her cheek to keep in the little sound of delight she feels building.

"I think I would enjoy that. Thank you." His smile is part relief, part nerves and partly something that she can't read.

He lays his own knife and fork against his plate and she stands, pulls at the bell by the wall for Mr Crane to come and collect their dishes.

-x-x-x-

"I don't know what could have possibly led you to believe I'm at all busy." She says later, when they have settled in the library with a glass of scotch. "I know for a fact that you yourself are struggling to fill your days here."

"I will admit to finding the adjustment...trying."

She laughs, sips at her drink. "Surely you know the truth by now? The English upper classes are lazy by nature, my dear. It's why I spend so much time amidst the bustle of Europe. There's always something to sink your teeth into there."

For some reason his smile is gentler tonight and - dare she think it? - even fond.

{It is not until she is changing for bed, her corset half-unlaced that she recalls the endearment. Heat rises to her cheeks all the way from her chest and she stumbles to the bed, collapses onto it as the backs of her knees hit the mattress.

She brings a suddenly cold hand up to her cheek before dropping it to cover her mouth. Oh but he hadn't protested had he?

She laughs into her palm and flops back quite ungracefully onto her bedcovers. Perhaps there is a chance after all, that she hasn't imagined everything between them.

She lays there for some time, staring up at the ceiling, lost in the realisation that it might not only be Mr Carson's life that has changed, but her own future too.}

-x-x-x-

"There was nothing wrong with the book!"

"I beg to differ "

"Yes, I thought you might."

"It cannot be healthy, reading so much gothic literature."

"Dracula is not- oh, I suppose that's a poor example. But the others-"

"Mr Sinclair had them hidden at the back, doesn't that tell you something?"

"It tells me that the authors are underappreciated and that I am reading ahead of the fashion."

"So far ahead, I'm sorry to say I don't believe that fashion will ever catch up with you."

"Oh hush, you're not at all sorry if the smug look on your face is anything to go by."

"I assure you there is nothing smug about my expression, it's simply the unfortunate shape of my face."

"And yet how fortunate that it should suit so many situations, so well."

"Excuse me, ma'am, sir. But have you decided on the apple or the peach pie?"

-x-x-x-

She wanders the grounds that afternoon, young Charlie tugging her along by her hand.

She has only three more days with Mr Carson before they will return to Downton and then he will move on to take over the little House at Milton, and she...well, she hasn't decided yet.

She had intended to stay her for a while, at least until the Spring, but she isn't sure that she can stand the silence she'll return to, the emptiness of evenings alone now that she has got used to his conversation. {Hadn't she always known it would be this way? That he could be relied upon for intelligent opinions and passionate debate, if only he allowed himself to express them. And now that she has had the experience of them, has spent an hour just the night before arguing over Chaucer with him, she isn't sure that she wasn't better off before with only the suspicion of how much fun it could be had.}

"Lady Beth?" She hums at the old moniker, which still sounds more like 'laid'bth' and is exactly how he says 'lady bird' too, much to Mr Crane's not-so-secret amusement. She gets the feeling that the young boy doesn't even notice anymore. She is Laid'bth to him and likely will be until he attends school next September. "You shouldn't be sad."

She looks down at his little blonde head only to find his eyes already raised to hers. "What makes you think I'm sad, Charlie?"

He tilts his head and then wiggles his fingers, gestures for her to lean down to him. She acquiesces easily, kneeling carefully beside him. He reaches out a hand and touches her cheek. Holds his fingers out to her when he pulls back. His fingertips are wet. "Oh."

"Ma says people cry when they're happy too. But you're not smiling."

She swallows, feels more tears gathering. She pulls the lad close, his little arms wrapping right around her waist. "You're a very clever boy Charlie."

She leans back, places her hands on his shoulders. "And see;" she says, her lips curling up as she looks at him. "you make me happy."

"You're smiling." He points out and she nods. "Good. Sad people are boring."

She laughs and rises back to her feet, clasps Charlie's hand in hers again. "Yes, they are aren't they."

{There is movement from amongst the apple trees, likely old Mr Williams tending to them. She doesn't pay any mind to it and doesn't remember that she gave the old gardener the day off.}

-x-x-x-

She is putting the finishing touches on tonight's dessert when he tracks her down. She supposes he has been looking for her, the way that he sighs in relief upon finding her certainly suggests he has been, though he gives no other sign.

"What on Earth are you doing?"

She has her head tipped down as she places the last floret on the top of the cake.

"I'm going to assume that's a rhetorical question."

He takes a seat on the stool beside her, leans forward so that his shoulder brushes hers. It takes a great deal more effort to keep her fingers steady as his breath puffs against he cheek.

"I didn't know your hobbies included cake decoration."

The florets placed; she reluctantly sits back. "They don't. I'll have you know I baked this cake from scratch this morning. I thought it would be a nice accompaniment to the champagne tonight. I hope you'll join me as the year ticks over?"

"Is Mrs Jones unwell?"

She crosses her arms over her chest at his disbelief. Honestly, she thought he would have come to understand that she doesn't run this house at all like Downton. "No, although she will be away from the house this evening, as will all the staff that have plans. And where will you be?" She asks pointedly.

He coughs, clearing his throat. "Of course I would be honoured to spend the evening with you. I mean- that is..."

She laughs, she can't help it and her hand rests against his arm. "I understand." She stops short as his fingers curl over hers, squeeze.

"I hope you do."

His eyes are dark, shadowed and she finds it almost impossible to tell what he's thinking, but his hand is warm against hers; smooth and strong.

Suddenly tonight seems a lot more important than the changing of 1924 to '25.

-x-x-x-

He seems nervous later in the drawing room.

After dinner he had suggested they retire here to see in the New Year. He had taken a book and settled into one end of the settee but he has turned perhaps three pages in the two hours they've sat here.

"Is there something on your mind?" She asks when his fidgeting finally gets to her. It isn't until now that she realises just how comfortable he has become in her home, now that he is back to sitting stiff-backed and silent.

He looks to her, seems surprised that she is speaking to him, before he gives a long sigh and shuts his book.

"I think perhaps it will be easier if I just come out with it, as it were."

Well, that's intriguing. She tips her head. "I've never cared much for dancing around a point, certainly."

"No. And I, you see I have always…that is that of course I would never have, before this I wouldn't have even considered, but circumstances having changed as they are, I-"

He stops with a low growl that she feels vibrate through her. The room seems warmer than it was before as he rises from his seat to stand before her.

Vaguely she recognises the sound of the clock in the hall beginning to chime. Midnight.

He holds a hand out to her and she places her own in it, allows him to help her up. There is hardly any space between them as he cups her cheek.

"I'm going to kiss you, Elizabeth."

She locks her knees before they can do more than waver a little beneath her. She isn't sure if it's her name from his lips or the mention of a kiss that starts the blood rushing through her. It could just as easily be his scent, heady around him or the softness of his palm on her face.

"Are you?"

"If you've no objection?"

She wraps her arms around his neck with an embarrassing giggle. "None at all." And then she leans up into him and presses her mouth to his.

She can feel him smile against her lips before he tilts his head and deepens the kiss.

"Happy New Year, Elizabeth." He says as they pull apart, nuzzling into her neck.

"Yes," she agrees, tipping back her head. "I think it will be Charles."

-x-x-x-

They return to Downton two days later.

Violet smiles knowingly at her over her wine glass, even as Robert attempts a stuttered conversation with his former Butler.

Edith sidles up to her as she watches Charles valiantly attempt to resist falling into the familiar role. She is so proud of him and could throttle Violet for making them come here today. Charles is really not suited for this life, but next week they will be in Paris and she cannot wait to hear his opinions on the French. "So Aunt Elsie, should I start calling him 'Uncle Carson?'"

She glares at the young woman, but can't keep it up for long. "When we pass back this way in April, yes, I think you can. If only to see the look on your Father's face when you do."

Charles' eyes seek her out across the room, pleadingly.

"Excuse me dear." She says, and makes her way to stand at his side. He grips her hand tight and behind her she can hear Violet's amused laugh. "Robert, aren't you rather neglecting your other guests."

He jumps at the sound of her voice and nods. "Yes of course, do excuse me."

"Thank you." Charles says when Robert has disappeared into the crowd.

"Anytime. I wish I'd had someone to save me from him at times."

His hand squeezes hers and she turns to him, feels herself soften at the look in his eyes. "Would you join me for a cup of tea, Elizabeth? I know somewhere we won't be disturbed. If you don't think we'll be missed."

She looks away from him not to search out the pairs of eyes she can feel on her back, that she has felt on her since their arrival, but to catch those of her oldest friend. Violet nods and flaps her hand, lifts her chin in the direction of the doors. She smiles back gratefully. "You know, I don't think I care if we are. "

He leads her from the room with a hand at her back and all she can think is that she will marry him soon and somehow she really must convince him to call her Elsie.

The End.

Every end should be followed by great new beginning

Thanks everyone. Thank you. Have a wonderful new year!