1. Beginning

"Of course I'll marry you, you old booby — I thought you'd never ask."

Charles Carson – ever the epitome of stoicism — could not prevent his face from crumpling into a sentimental heap as she said the words. Thought he'd never ask? That meant she'd wanted him to. All this time he'd been so worried that he'd insult her by asking when she'd been waiting; he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

She gently placed a hand on his arm, giving it a tiny, reassuring squeeze. She smiled up at him, raising her eyebrows slightly.

"All this cottage talk," she said, swallowing back a knowing smile "It wasn't really a "business venture" was it?"

He laughed, his eyes damp with tears. "I felt I needed to test the waters a bit before revealing my true intentions."

"You didn't think I'd say yes?" she said, giving his arm another squeeze.

"I hoped that you would — I thought, perhaps, over the years you'd come to feel the same way."

"It has been years, hasn't it?" she said, looking down at where her hand grasped his shirtsleeve, "You can't have known how many nights, sitting in your pantry, I've wanted to reach over and do just this."

He placed his palm atop hers, feeling the warmth of her tiny hand beneath his.

"I think, perhaps, I can."

For a moment, they only stood there, alone in his pantry. Upstairs, Lady Mary had stopped singing and applause rang out in the ballroom. Remembering suddenly where they were — and that sooner or later they'd have to rejoin the rest of the world — she looked up at him with an apologetic smile.

"They'll wonder where we've run off to." he said quietly, "I suppose we'd better rejoin them."

"Wait—" she said quietly, taking a step closer. They couldn't have been any closer in that moment; he could smell just a hint of rose water. She must have put on a dab behind her ear before the evening had started. He held his breath as she gently tugged her hand out from under his, letting it rest gently against his chest. He hoped that she couldn't feel how fast his heart was beating beneath his livery. "You already put my name on the deed?"

He swallowed hard, "Yes, well — as I said, I didn't see the point in changing the plan we'd made —"

"What if I hadn't accepted your proposal?"

"I — well, I —" he looked down at his hands, then raised his eyebrows, a small smirk breaking onto his lips, "I'd have hired you as my housekeeper."

At this, she laughed, reaching up to gently touch his cheek. When she felt that it was damp with tears, her lips parted just slightly as she realized just how much courage he'd worked up to ask her. How truly afraid he'd been that she'd say no. She rose up on her toes, mindful of the glasses they still held in each hand (how funny, she thought, that she'd been holding two glasses and he'd asked for her hand in marriage! She hadn't a hand to give him until she'd passed a glass to him— and in that moment, she'd accepted wholeheartedly, though he'd yet to realize it). Just before her lips touched chastely to his, she let her eyes flutter closed. The kiss was brief, their lips touching only a moment — but the touch held so much promise. She pulled away, her face hot, cheeks pink and eyes glistening. His face, too, was rosily colored. He smiled goofily, then cleared his throat.

"Here," he said, raising his glass. She hesitated, and he nodded for her to raise her glass in kind.

"What are we toasting?" she said, echoing his earlier inquiry.

He laughed, reaching his hand over to gently caress her shoulder.

"That I can still be in receipt of a Christmas kiss — at my age."