For lsgrimm91 on tumblr who wanted a Chelsie something with traditional Scottish wedding vows (thanks guest). It being me, this ran away with me and became this 3K+ ficlet. The vows are first, because they should be read!

You cannot possess me for I belong to myself
But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give
You cannot command me, for I am a free person
But I shall serve you in those ways you require
and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand.

I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night.
And the eyes into which I smile in the morning.
I pledge to you the first bite from my meat,
And the first drink from my cup.
I pledge to you my living and dying, equally in your care,
And tell no strangers our grievances.
This is my wedding vow to you.
This is a marriage of equals.

A Marriage Of Equals

Surprisingly, it's the Dowager who raises the question first.

The family are together in the library, enjoying tea and sandwiches when the topic of his wedding is brought up.

Mr Carson has, unfortunately, become almost used to this by now; Lady Mary having taken a surprising interest in his upcoming nuptials. Although, Mrs Hughes claims that it's surprising to no one but himself.

Still, the young Lady has pulled him aside quite often these past few months, suggesting the use of the ballroom for their reception, informing him that she had spoken to Mr Travis and arranged for the church to be booked instead of the registry office he and Mrs Hughes had settled on. She had also attempted to recommend some dishes to be served at the reception, but it had been Mrs Patmore that put her foot down there, claiming to Mr Carson that she had a better idea of their tastes than any of the Ladies upstairs, having cooked for them both for decades now.

Lady Mary had simply smiled her agreement when Mr Carson had thanked her later and suggested that they leave Mrs Patmore to devising a menu, and had brought up her idea for the floral arrangements instead.

Lady Edith had suggested that perhaps he could spend the night before at the Dower House, to avoid seeing his bride before the wedding and even his Lordship had enquired once, if Mr Carson would be meeting with any of the male staff for a drink and a 'proper send off' from his bachelor's life.

Lady Grantham had only asked him if Mrs Hughes was happy to have so much outside input into the arrangements, to which Mr Carson could only answer yes, due to having received no objections from the housekeeper at any stage. He feels fairly sure that if she had an objection, he would certainly know about it by now.

Lady Rose had offered to send Mrs Hughes a dress from New York for the occasion, causing both he and Mrs Hughes to respectfully, yet vehemently, decline the well meaning offer. She had settled instead for sending a comb for Mrs Hughes's hair, one picked out by Miss Sybbie before she and Mr Branson had separated from the young couple for Boston, and thus one that Mrs Hughes had no heart to refuse.

So it is that he has found himself the subject of many conversations over tea and dinner between the family since he made his announcement just after the new year.

"Isobel tells me you're to have a traditional church wedding, Carson."

Mr Carson pauses at her elbow, leaning over to top up the tea in her cup as he agrees. "Yes, milady. Lady Mary kindly arranged it with Mr Travis."

"I see, and Mrs Hughes has no objection to that?"

His confusion at the question, the reason for it being voiced, slows his answer enough that Lady Mary has time to answer in his stead.

"Why would she object, Granny? She goes to church and she's almost as traditional as Carson!"

Which, whilst true enough, does have Mr Carson biting back a smile; his wife-to-be may understand and even respect many traditions, but their liveliest of disagreements have always regarded his adherence to 'the way things are done' and her insatiable excitement for the modern world and change.

Still, even knowing her mind as he does, he can't imagine why Mrs Hughes might take issue with the service, and especially why the Dowager considers that she might.

"Yes, but it is a traditional English service, yes?"

Mr Carson nods his agreement, still working to unravel what the Dowager can be getting at.

She smirks at him then, reminding him of nothing so much as her younger self, when he was employed for the second time by she and the late Earl.

"It may have escaped your notice, Carson, but Mrs Hughes is Scottish."

He knows this, of course he knows this, he has a very deep appreciation for Mrs Hughes's ancestry and origins, in particular the influence they have on the way her tongue curls around the 'r's in his name of an evening in his pantry.

"I'm sure he has noticed that Cousin Violet." Mrs Crawley smiles at him in sympathy, but he can see that she has already begun to realise what is now becoming quite obvious to him.

"Surely that doesn't matter, Granny. The service can't be that dissimilar."

Had this topic arisen in any other way, at any other time, Mr Carson would have agreed with Lady Mary. Their religions are the same, after all, and so surely a marriage service, is a marriage service. However, the Dowager would not have raised the question of Mrs Hughes's objections, had she not honestly thought the housekeeper to have grounds for them.

The Dowager ignores her granddaughter, instead fixing Mr Carson with a searching eye.

"I'm sure you've spoken to Mrs Hughes on the subject, of course. I'm afraid Mr Travis would have a hard time with a full Scottish service, with only Mrs Hughes and Doctor Clarkson as a reference, but I'm sure you've discussed any details she may wish to include from her own traditions."

Feeling a flush of schoolboy shame rise to his cheeks, Mr Carson finds himself unable to meet the Dowager's eye any longer.

"What traditions, Mama?" Lady Grantham saves him from the need to answer, as the Dowager turns fully to the Countess.

"It has been some time since I attended a Highland's wedding, you know, but I distinctly remember how different the vows were."

The vows. Mr Carson feels a little relief at that. So far, he and Mrs Hughes have not discussed their vows. He had assumed this to be because they are fairly standard in the service, and even Mrs Hughes is not so modern in thinking that she would expect him to write his own as is becoming the latest fashion. Now he wonders if they haven't discussed it because Mrs Hughes has been trying for a good time to raise the subject.

He wonders just how different they can be. He had always imagined she might take issue with the bride's requirement to 'obey' when the groom is held to no such vow, and had intended to allow her to skip over it, or perhaps even to add it to his own; she has always been his equal – as staff since she became housekeeper and in their friendship – and he would have them enter into marriage in no other way.

However, perhaps this is something that he should address more closely. Mrs Hughes has been overwhelmingly patient in letting the family have so much influence on their wedding plans, and she has allowed Mr Carson much more leeway on their living arrangements at the Abbey following their marriage, than he had expected.

And he does feel like a cad now, not to have taken Mrs Hughes's nationality into account at all, not even to have wondered what type of weddings she might have attended as a young girl in Argyll.

The Dowager breaks away from her discussion of kilts and long socks – and Mr Carson has a moment of indecision, concerned that opening this Pandora's box with Mrs Hughes, might lead to him bearing his knees to all and sundry on his wedding day, so perhaps it would be better not to bring it up at all, after all, Mrs Hughes hasn't and surely she would not want him to face Mrs Patmore's relentless teasing – to eye him again and Mr Carson straightens under her knowing gaze.

"You must ask yourself Carson, what are your limits when it comes to your wife's happiness?"

He nods as she turns away again without waiting for an answer, though he would have given her one had she pushed him, no matter the embarrassment he might have suffered.

Perhaps his knees are not so knobbly.

The next day, Mr Carson approaches Mrs Hughes's parlour with their tray of sherry glasses balanced on one hand, and the fingers of the other wrapped tightly around the book so generously lent to him by the Dowager.

She'd had one of the village lads run it to him after her return to the Dower House the day before and he had feigned exhaustion and an early start to cut his evening short with Mrs Hughes – although it had pained him to do so, but needs must and he had wanted to talk to her at the first opportunity, but not without the knowledge the little book would lend him – so that he could take himself to bed and read the thing in its entirety.

As such, he has had little sleep and is aware that his fatigue has made him rather short with most of the staff today.

He has begged a few of Mrs Hughes's favourite pralines from Mrs Patmore too, as he is afraid he might have been sharp even to Mrs Hughes when she tried to ease a situation between himself and Mr Barrow.

He knocks briskly on her door and is relieved when her voice sounds happily for him to enter.

The door closes behind him just as she closes her ledger, capping her pen and turning to him, her smile bright on her face.

He can feel his own features lifting in kind, though he has little doubt that his smile is anything as contained as hers. He fears daily that his every thought and emotion shows clearly on his face when he looks at Mrs Hughes. Certainly her smile widens and her eyes brighten at his expression.

"Whatever have I done to deserve pralines, Mr Carson?" She asks, once the tray has been lowered to the table and they have taken their usual seats to the sides of it.

She takes the glass he holds out for her and he indulges himself with the touch of his little finger to her own before pulling back.

She seems genuinely surprised by the chocolates – but not the touch he notices with warmth, he has perhaps not been so subtle with taking such liberties as he thought – and he wonders if he imagined his brusqueness to her. But no, he remembers how she turned on her heel and left he and the under-butler to it, but perhaps it isn't so serious a matter that he cannot joke;

"For turning your cheek on me this afternoon, Mrs Hughes and not the sharp edge of your tongue."

"As you rightly deserved." She prompts him with a laugh.

"As I rightly deserved." He agrees with not entirely false humility.

"Well then, you're welcome." She pops a chocolate in her mouth and taps her glass to his, lightly swatting at the back of his hand when he reaches for a praline himself. "I'm sorry, Mr Carson, I thought these were an apology."

"Quite right Mrs Hughes." He strikes again as she sips at her sherry, successfully stealing the smallest chocolate. Mouth atrociously full, he delights in her affront.

"Mr Carson!"

"I'm sorry Mrs Hughes." He says, and nudges the plate of pralines closer to her elbow. "Please accept these as a token of my sincerest apologies."

She quickly moves the plate to the desk behind her, far out of his reach and he chuckles, leaning back in his chair, the book held neatly to his lap.

"And here I thought sharing was a foundation of marriage, Mrs Hughes."

He sees her keen eyes catch the book in his lap then, though she makes no mention of it. "There's nothing of the like in our vows, Mr Carson and I think exception might be expected for a lady's chocolates if there were."

It is a rare occurrence that a conversation with Mrs Hughes go in any direction that he plans, and so he is thrilled that tonight should be one such occasion where everything has gone to plan.

"And honeycomb, Mrs Hughes, would that too be an exception?"

He can see that he has caught her attention, although he is sure she hasn't found him out just yet.

"Since when have you a taste for honeycomb, Mr Carson?" It's a fair question; as much as he might indulge in a sweet dessert pastry after dinner, and has been known to steal a chocolate or two, he does not often eat sweets.

"Since it was brought to my attention that such a thing might be sweeter coming from your hand."

He can see that she is beginning to understand, and that he has shocked her and he feels a thrill at that; so often he is the one shocked.

"Mr Carson?"

She places her glass back on the table, leaning closer to him as though eager for him to continue.

"You see, I was recently informed that I am to marry a proud Scotswoman." He states, and whilst he has described her as such, it is his own chest that he feels puff out with pride as it has every time he has made the announcement of their intention.

Mrs Hughes bites her lip as her eyes sparkle with mirth. "And this came as a surprise to you, Mr Carson?"

"No, Mrs Hughes." He adores her all the more for playing along. "You see, I'm afraid your accent rather gave you away some time ago."

"Oh dash!"

His thumb rubs across the embossed title of the book and he lifts it from his lap to rest beneath his hand on the table.

"The Dowager was kind enough to lend me this book, Mrs Hughes, so that I might have a better understanding of the traditions of Scotland."

Mrs Hughes reaches for it and he surrenders it to her easily. He watches her flick through the pages as he sips at his sherry, the occasional laugh bubbling from her lips as she reads a passage. Her smile slips a little as she caresses one of the pages and despite his curiosity, he is loathe to break the hush that has fallen over them. She moves on quickly enough, her expression brightening again.

Eventually she closes the book and looks up from the cover. "So, might we celebrate Burns night next year, Mr Carson?"

There is something in her regard that sends a wave of heat throughout him.
"We might, Mrs Hughes. However I had thought a closer tradition first, to break me in."

With careful fingers he opens the book to the wedding pages, the page numbers easily memorised last night. Turning them to her, he holds the book up so that she can read them.

A moment later she exhales his name, he fancies it sounds like a prayer. "Do you mean this?"

Even though he knows what she is asking, he looks at the page anyway, pointing to a line. "Perhaps not my first bite of meat, Mrs Hughes, not if Mrs Patmore has cooked her beef roast."

Mrs Hughes laughs, her eyes glistening with tears as she takes his hand in both of hers, pressing it to her chest and dipping her head down to touch her lips to the bend of his wrist.

"Heaven forbid, Mr Carson! I know better than to keep you from Mrs Patmore's roast even for a single moment."

She keeps a hold of his hand, though she does let it fall away from her chest to rest on the table beside their glasses, her fingers slipping between his to tangle with them.

"I hope you know that I do appreciate this, Mr Carson." Mrs Hughes says some minutes later, breaking the lull that had settled between them. Mr Carson pulls his thoughts from the feel of her skin against his and the images that have arisen in his mind of the things he has to look forward to upon their marriage.

She looks at him with seriousness and – he can see it now for what it is, the softening of her features he has seen for years but not understood – such love.

"It is nothing, Mrs Hughes, certainly a very little thing compared to your allowance of the family to have so much say on your day."

"Our day, Mr Carson." She says with a gentle squeeze of his hand. "And I appreciate the family's enthusiasm, they care for you and I believe we simply share the same desire to see you happy."

"And you?" He prompts, because she will have her Scottish vows but he wants to be sure that there is nothing else about the arrangements that she would like changed.

"I wish to marry you, Mr Carson." She says simply, though he can see the flush that rises to her cheeks. "I was aware that I am marrying an Englishman, Mr Carson, and all that that entails. I would have been content with your service."

"And now?"

"And now I am happy and surprised. Happily surprised." She adds. "And very relieved; I'm afraid I feared I might stumble over the 'to obey'."

Mr Carson laughs, pleased to be proven correct in his assumption; he does know Mrs Hughes well.

"I feared you might want me in a kilt." He says, a laugh still in his voice.

Her eyes glaze a little before focusing on him again. He recognises that look; that look has lead to Mr Molesley's hiring, the trip to the beach, his eventual praise of Daisy's efforts to better herself. He sobers, raising his free hand as though to defend himself. "Now, Mrs Hughes…"

"Mr Carson, what a splendid idea!"

Later he will relate to her his conversation with the Dowager in the library, will discuss the other traditions he has read that intrigue him and listen enthralled as she tells him stories of her youth, but for now he concentrates only on keeping his defences against her high.

Although if they do fail him, he will insist the entire party be dressed as such; perhaps the thought of His Lordship's knees will put her off.

End.