Elsie placed the last of her hairpins on the vanity, and savored the sensation of running the brush through her hair. She thought of Beryl, and how worried she herself had been over nothing. Of course Beryl was stronger than that, of course she would never let a man break her down. Elsie so admired Beryl for the way nothing fazed her; she simply brushed off any possible complication. She envied her deeply, because lately she was scraping the bottom of the barrel for strength.

She kept forgetting herself around Mr. Carson, kept forgetting that in spite of the intimate friendship they shared he would never want to be truly close to her. She set the brush down and looked at her reflection. Her hair looked greyer today, and her wrinkles deeper; she looked the way she felt. She was sad and she was tired. She was so very tired of loving such a stupid man. He may not be in love with her as she was with him, but she would appreciate it if he wouldn't be so unkind about it. She knew he didn't mean to be unkind, that he was just not the type that dealt well with these sorts of emotions, but his coldness hurt just the same.

He would open up to her, and let her see his heart, and then when she tried to move closer he would snap shut again and reprimand her. Thinking about it now, in the quiet of her room, it made her furious. How could he be so very contrary? Could he honestly not know that it hurt? Could he really be oblivious to her affection? She laughed and nearly sobbed, because she knew that the answer was yes; yes he could be. She didn't know if he was, but he most certainly might be. He was a silly old-fashioned fool; it wouldn't surprise her in the least.

She had bought some dried lavender at the fair so that she could put it on her bedside table; the scent soothed her, and she would need that tonight. She looked though her pockets, but didn't see it. She stopped when she remembered that she had taken it out downstairs, and it was sitting on her desk. She sighed with disappointment, as much she didn't want to go downstairs, she wanted her lavender even more. Small comforts were everything on a night like this. She mustered the willpower to make the journey, and got up and left before she changed her mind. She was so determined in her goal that she forgot her dressing gown on the way out.

In her white night gown she made her way down the many flights of stairs, and to her sitting room. She picked up her little package of lavender and lifted it to her nose. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, taking a moment to luxuriate in this small pleasure.

"Mrs. Hughes?" came a very surprised voice from the doorway. Her eyes snapped open. She felt somewhat embarrassed to have been caught indulging so deeply.

"Yes, Mr. Carson. Is there anything I can do for you?"

He stood still, looking quite embarrassed, and wearing nightclothes himself, looking rather less dignified in a dressing gown.

"What on earth are you doing down here in such a state of undress?"

She was about to be offended until she realized that she was standing in front of him in only a sheath of thin white fabric. She was fairly confident that it wasn't see through, but all the same it was not enough to be proper. She felt her cheeks flush, and found that she had no real reply to that. She simply looked down at herself to double check that the fabric was as opaque as she thought it was (yes), and looked back at him, waiting now for the incredulous statement she knew he had ready.

"What is someone had been down here? What if one of the footmen had seen you?" She nearly laughed out loud at the thought

"What a terrible shock it would have been for them. "

"This may be funny to you, Mrs. Hughes, but I assure you that a woman's modesty is no laughing matter. I shouldn't have thought I'd need to remind you of that."

"Oh, Mr. Carson, you can calm down, I'm not looking to corrupt anyone. I just forgot to grab my dressing gown on my way out of my room. And besides, I didn't think anyone else would still be up."

"Well do try not to forget again. We don't need anyone thinking Ethel got her ideas about alternative employment under your instruction."

She meant to roll her eyes, to sigh in utter exasperation, she meant to do anything but sob. She heard the sound before she knew she had made it, suddenly her face was burning hot, and her vision obscured by tears. She clapped a hand over her mouth instantly, in attempt to stifle her sounds. She hadn't felt the rush of emotion building up, but it crashed over her now like a tidal wave. She was so very angry with him for his thoughtlessness, for his pigheadedness, for his utter stupidity. And she was so very embarrassed; she was embarrassed to be standing in front of him in so little clothing, to be the punch line of his crass commentary, and to be in love with a man who now seemed to think so little of her.

She could not make it stop so she quit trying. She was past the point of no return, she was humiliated, and he had been the one to do it, and now he would bear witness to it. She did not care how uncomfortable her lack of composure would make him. He'd made a mess of her, and she could sense him cringing because of it. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, but she knew that he'd be standing in the corner, trying to find a delicate way to tell her to suck it up. Trying to make ridiculousness clear to her and yet spare her inferior, woman's sensibilities from further harm. She began to hate him as she stood there. It had been not quite a minute that she'd been standing, facing away from him, clutching her desk with one hand, and her face with other, trying to steady herself somewhat when she felt his hand.