"There's no need to get sentimental, Mrs. Hughes."

Nothing changed. Not really.

They weren't any easier on each other.

He was furious. Raging and hollering to bring down the roof. He had walked in on Alfred and Jimmy — James, he mentally corrected himself, though privately he had to admit Jimmy did often suit the boy more than James — just as James had been poised as if he were going to… toss… a small silver platter to Alfred, who was standing ready to catch it. Toss it! Like a discus! The boys insisted they would not have actually done it, that they were simply joking with one another and letting off steam, James pretending that he would throw it, Alfred going along with the joke. Truthfully, he believed them. If he actually believed they intended to played catch with the silver trays, he would have fired them both on the spot. But that was not. the. point. It was about respect. Respecting the work, and the property of the house that was in their care. Not using it as props for jokes and...

"Mr. Carson… MR. CARSON!"

She was standing in the doorway with that look on her face. Oh, for God's sake, must she interrupt him now? He was just building up to a solidly-delivered, booming lecture.

"WHAT."

"I need to speak to you. Now."

He blinked. Made an audible huff.

"Please."

A pause as he quickly studied her face and read the steely look in her eyes. No, whatever it was, it wouldn't wait.

"Right. Fine. We will continue this later. In the meantime, the two of you can reflect on your actions while you polish the rest of this. And I assure you I will be inspecting every inch of your work. And after that, I have another task for you that will keep your hands productively occupied for the rest of the evening."

"Yes, Mr. Carson."

He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. She was already most of the way down the hall. Eyes narrowed and his face set in a scowl, he followed her to her parlour and closed the door behind him.

She turned to face him, looking positively ferocious. Well, sod that, he was feeling ferocious himself.

"Was it necessary to undermine me like that? They need to learn, Mrs. Hughes. They will never do that if you intervene on their behalf when I am trying to teach them."

She met his look head-on and directly. "The only thing you were teaching them, Mr. Carson, is to never get caught again. But that is not why I pulled you away at such a crucial teaching moment."

His eyebrows raised. That sounded ominous.

"Apparently…"

She hesitated. That was definitely a bad sign. She only hesitated like that when she was preparing to tell him something he did not want to hear.

"Yes?"

"I spoke with her Ladyship earlier. Apparently we will be receiving the gaggle of guests anticipated for next week sooner than expected. I was waiting for you to finish with James and Alfred before I told you, but I'm afraid it can't wait any longer. Lord and Lady Ashburn and the family will be arriving a week early. Their plans were changed."

Carson's eyebrows shot through the roof. He seemed unable to make a coherent sound.

"We need to have all the rooms ready for them and their not inconsiderable staff by tomorrow, and there will be significantly more people and formal dinners this week, not next week."

All he could do was sputter out, "Surely you are not serious."

That remark deserved an eye-roll, and he got one. "Don't shoot the messenger, Mr. Carson. I don't like it any more than you do. Possibly less, I'd wager."

He huffed. "Did you… impress upon Her Ladyship the position that puts us in? We'll have to…"

"Her Ladyship was appropriately apologetic, but the situation is out of her control. Still, that changes little as far as we're concerned."

He sighed heavily.

"What I told her Ladyship was, and I quote, that 'We are in the business of making miracles happen, so what's a few more?' And you'll be pleased to hear I said it with a smile."

He straightened, regaining some of his customary composure. "I'm sure your restraint was appreciated, Mrs. Hughes, even if it was expected."

"And then I redid the schedules, worked out assignments for the maids, and pulled seven rooms of spare linen out of a hat. In another hour, which will include one short argument with Mrs. Patmore, I should have the supplies order revised and ready to go."

An argument which you will win, he mentally replied.

"What I need from you, as soon as you are able, are the things on this list. It should only take about an hour. Of course, there are still the menus to print, and breaking the news to the rest of the staff. And barking orders at everyone to corral the chaos once they arrive, but I daresay you'll probably enjoy that."

He was, once again, speechless. He took the list from her. She was right, it would only take him about an hour.

"For those things, though, this afternoon is fine. That should still give you a good 30 minutes to finish ranting at James and Alfred, then your minimum one hour in the wine cellar before the dinner gong. I know you like to have at least twice that long to breathe down their necks under these conditions and ninety minutes downstairs, but I'm afraid needs must."

"Mrs. Hughes, I…"

"And now that you've had a moment to step away from the boys, your return will only be more ominous for them. I believe they've had just enough time to properly stew in anticipation of what you have in store for them next."

He met her triumphant look with one of pure admiration. There was hint of a smile as his eyes flicked over her, top to bottom, in silent appraisal.

"You really are magnificent, you know," he said, a with a touch of affection. There was a noticeable pause before he added, "At your job."

"My goodness, Mr. Carson. Coming from you, that's a compliment for the books."

"Indeed. If I thought for a moment you'd accept, I'd ask for your hand in marriage this very instant." His tone was as formal as ever, but his eyes were twinkling with merriment.

"Foolish man. Careful what you wish for." The blush spread from her dimples to her ears. "Off with you, then. Back to scolding the footmen. Channel your frustrations, you'll feel better after. I do hope there is brandy left over tonight. I've a feeling it will do us both good."

"I'm sure something can be arranged." He wasn't even trying to hide his smile at this point. He turned to leave.

"And Mr. Carson?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do try not to propose to Mrs. Patmore as you shower her with effusive compliments about her cooking tonight. I know you adore her roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, but after the experience with Mr. Tufton, she might well bean you over the head with a skillet. And then I'd have to redo the schedule again to give someone time to clean up the blood."

He expertly composed his features back into the stern facade. "Very well. For the sake of your workload and my own safety, I will try to keep my sentimental tendencies under control. At least during dinner."

He thought, briefly, on the walk back, that there were perhaps better ways of channeling some of his frustrations, but for now, this would have to do.

For now.

After all, she hadn't laughed at him. And she hadn't thrown him out of the room.

God, that woman, he thought. Magnificent.

Nothing changed, but life changes us, if we let it.