A/N This story is my contribution to the Chelsie gift exchange. It's for downtondownstairs/onmyside, and it comes with my warmest wishes for a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! It also comes with a heartfelt thank you for all her wonderful gifsets, photosets, and other edits we all enjoy so much on her tumblr blog. I hope she likes it!

This little one-shot also represents what I hope we will see happen shortly in the CS, short and sweet!

A Very Happy Christmas, Indeed!

Christmas, 1924

It was late Christmas night, and Mrs. Hughes sat in Mr. Carson's pantry, waiting for him to finish sorting things upstairs. The family had gone to bed, and Mr. Carson was completing his rounds. She'd sent all the servants to bed and now sat waiting with two glasses of punch.

As she waited, she pondered the shift in her relationship with Mr. Carson over the last several months. He'd become much more accommodating and amenable. He'd told her many times how badly he wanted – needed – for them to be "in agreement" or "on the same side." It had been obvious how uncomfortable he was when their opinions differed, and how pleased he was when they were in accord. She'd noticed how hard he'd been trying to see things from her perspective and to respect her views on matters, even when he didn't agree with her. On a few occasions he'd even flirted with her. When Mrs. Patmore bought a cottage, he'd asked Mrs. Hughes if she ever thought about her life in retirement. Finding it too difficult to answer him truthfully, to tell him that, yes, she dreamed of retiring with him, she'd brushed off his question. But then, he'd asked if she'd like to invest in a property with him, as a business venture. He'd spoken of saving up for retirement. She'd been too shocked and overwhelmed and uncertain just then to reply properly, so once again, she'd deferred her answer. Later though, when she'd recovered, she'd told him that she would like very much to be his business partner. At the time, she hadn't been sure – and still wasn't certain now – exactly what he was suggesting, but she hoped it was more than just a financial arrangement. Since that time, they'd looked at cottages together and had narrowed down the choices, but had not come to a final decision. It was her fervent hope that after renting out the property for a few years and saving the income, they would retire, marry, and live there together, and she wondered if Mr. Carson entertained the same hope.

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Upstairs, as Mr. Carson finished his final checks – locking the front door, turning off the lights – he thought of Mrs. Hughes. She was downstairs waiting for him, and he was torn between wanting to rush to her as quickly as humanly possible and wanting to delay as long as he reasonably could. He was both eager and apprehensive, and these conflicting emotions caused him no small amount of inner turmoil.

Over the last few months, he'd become painfully aware of how much she meant to him. He'd always had strong feelings for her, but only recently had he mustered the courage to act on them. At first, it had been little things: telling her how he hated to be at odds with her, trying to appreciate her way of thinking, even flirting a bit in his own way. Then, Mrs. Patmore's cottage had provided the opportunity for him discuss retirement with Mrs. Hughes and to suggest their buying a cottage together. These were practical matters, and he'd said nothing of his feelings and aspirations, but he hoped she'd understood the implication. He hadn't yet been able to state his intentions outright, but now that they were so close to the actual purchase, the time had come for him to make himself clear.

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When Mr. Carson returned to his pantry and closed the door, Mrs. Hughes stood, holding two cups of punch, and offered him one.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," he answered, tugging at his waistcoat with one hand while clenching and unclenching the other at his side, "but … I don't think I should."

"Go on! It's Christmas!" she urged him.

"No, it's not that. I don't mean … Well, it's just that … " he trailed off and sighed in frustration, looking extremely agitated.

"What is it, Mr. Carson?" said Mrs. Hughes gently. "Everything's sorted now. We've made it through all the chaos of the day, and everyone's gone off to bed. There's nothing left to worry about. It's just the two of us now."

"Yes. Nothing to worry about. Just the two of us," he replied softly. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Mrs. Hughes, before we do anything else tonight, I'd like to tell you something – to ask you something."

"I'm listening," she assured him.

"Recently, we've talked of retirement, you and I. There was a time I thought I would die polishing silver, and I would have been content to do so. But now I find that prospect abhorrent. I actually look forward to retiring. We're looking at cottages, and we're going to buy one together. I never imagined I would own a property, had no reason to invest in anything, but now the thought of planning for the future pleases me immensely. And do you know the reason my outlook has changed?" He looked at her pointedly, but she said nothing, just waited for him to proceed. "You, Mrs. Hughes. I don't simply want to invest in a property. I don't only want to retire. I want to buy a cottage with you. I want to retire with you."

Still holding the cups, she smiled at him brilliantly and asked expectantly, "What are you saying, Mr. Carson?"

He took the cups from her and set them aside on the table nearby. Then he stepped closer to her, reached for her hands, held them both delicately in his own, and looked into her eyes with an earnest vulnerability.

"I am asking you … to marry me," he whispered.

Mrs. Hughes let out a small breath, smiled affectionately, and laid a hand on his cheek. "You look as if you aren't certain I'll say yes."

"I'm not," he admitted timidly. "And until just a moment ago, you looked as if you weren't certain I'd ask."

"I wasn't," she confessed.

"But I have asked," pointed out Mr. Carson.

"Yes, you have. And I'm saying yes," she told him.

He smiled with equal measures of joy and relief. She raised herself on her toes to kiss his cheek, while stroking the other with the fingers of the hand that still rested there. When she lowered herself back down, his face followed hers, and he rested his forehead against hers. They beamed at each other radiantly.

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Carson," she whispered.

"A very Happy Christmas, indeed, Mrs. Hughes," he murmured back.