A/N: Thank you so much for all of your support for this story. The holiday season is a busy time for everyone, and I appreciate all the kind words of review and the folks who are reading and enjoying this. Unfortunately, reviews are being wonky and I cannot reply individually this morning. But please keep leaving them! I'll catch up as soon as they're back up and running.

This is definitely another of my top five favorite chapters that I wrote for this fic. It stars a character I struggle writing for and yet have fun with at the same time. Go figure. I hope I've done him justice. Xxx

CSotA

Charles is flabbergasted. He certainly wasn't expecting anyone to show up at the house today, least of all Mr. Molesley. And to arrive unannounced is very unlike the man. Charles knows it must be important; his feeling has always been that Joseph Molesley has chosen to avoid him unless absolutely necessary.

Showing up on his doorstep, therefore, does not necessarily bode well, and Charles has a fleeting fear that perhaps Elsie has suffered a fall or something similar, but he realizes immediately thereafter that someone would more likely have picked up the phone to ring him as opposed to sending a messenger on foot.

"Mr. Carson," Joseph utters, clearly nervous. "I'm so sorry to intrude on your day."

Charles takes a deep breath and straightens himself to his full height, stepping aside and waving an arm to indicate his welcome. "Please, come in, Mr. Molesley. I must say, it's quite a surprise to see you."

He rethinks that, imagining what Elsie would have said. "Not an unpleasant one, mind. Just a surprise. We've never had a chance to welcome you to our home."

Joseph's eyes widened. "Wait-" He looks around. "We? Mrs. Hughes - I'm sorry, Mrs. Carson - except she's Mrs. Hughes up the big house ... of course you know that, why wouldn't you? ... She's not here, is she?" By the time he managed to take a breath, his somewhat wheezy voice had climbed to a considerable squeak.

Charles's own eyes narrow just a fraction. "No," he says slowly. "Is that a problem, that she is not here?" He watches as Joseph lets out what appears to be a huge sigh of relief.

"No! No, that's fine. That's wonderful - I don't want to see her! That is ... Oh, that didn't sound good." He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, lets it out, and begins again, making his way very slowly through his words. "What I mean is that it's you I've come to see, Mr. Carson."

Charles nods slowly; he'd surmised that much several words ago, and he needs to at least get the other man more than three steps into the house. "Just come in, Mr. Molesley," he says calmly, stepping aside so that Joseph can pass, "and I'll take your coat. And then I can close this door, because it is quite cold out, isn't it?"

"Oh! Oh, my, yes. Yes, it is." Joseph practically jumps out of the way, and he manages to calm down enough to remove his coat and hat. He's not sure what to do with them, however; he certainly doesn't want Mr. Carson to feel like his butler, although it's the Carsons' cottage and he doesn't want to be presumptuous ...

"Here, just give those to me," Charles says kindly, and he removes the coat and hat from Joseph's grasp and places them on the hook next to his own. "Why don't you go on in, hm?"

Joseph walks through to the living area and stops short, examining all he sees before him, clearly surprised by this first glimpse of the Carsons' cottage. His countenance immediately softens as he looks around and Charles notices a smile on the man's face now, and something he thinks might just be akin to wonder.

"It's not much, mind, but it's ours."

"Not much?" Joseph is clearly astonished at the choice of words. "Mr. Carson, it's perfect."

Charles feels himself puff up a bit, full of pride. He watches Joseph as he meanders around the room and appears to examine each and every item in it: photographs on the mantle, the Christmas tree, books on the shelves. The man seems to find something wondrous in everything, and it gives Charles a sense of happiness - a very welcome feeling, given that he'd first thought he might end up being quite uncomfortable at the thought of welcoming Joseph Molesley into his home, particularly without having Elsie there as a buffer.

"You caught me in the middle of preparing some hot cocoa," Charles says. "May I get some for you?"

Joseph looks up. "Cocoa?"

Charles can't help but chuckle. "With a dash of peppermint," he clarifies, eyebrows raised. "I don't indulge that often, mind you, but it's bitterly cold today and it seemed like a good idea when I had it."

"Well, that's very kind. I'd love some, Mr. Carson. Thank you."

Charles leaves Joseph to peruse the contents of the bookshelf. Back in the kitchen, he adds a bit more milk to the pan on the stove and turns up the heat, then prepares an extra mug - with a very small amount of peppermint schnapps for Joseph. When the milk begins to simmer, Charles adds the chocolate - nearly all of what they have left. He adds chocolate to the small list he keeps on the table for the shopping, stirs the contents of the small pot until the chocolate has melted completely, and takes it from the burner before turning down the fire.

His hand begins to shake a bit when he goes to pour, but it's not bad and he's thought to remove the mugs from the tray beforehand, so a quick wipe with the cloth takes care of the dribbles. He manages to get the tray back to the parlor without incident, and Joseph takes his mug.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson," he says, inhaling the sweet fragrance. "This is quite lovely, I must say. Here I am, come to ask you for some help, and you're waiting on me!"

Charles knows he has to put the man at ease if they are ever going to get around to the topic of conversation he had in mind. "You're a guest in my home, Mr. Molesley." He lifts an eyebrow and smiles. "That's generally how it works."

"Yes, I suppose. I'm just not used to that." Joseph looks over at the mantle. "Those must be your parents?" he asks, deftly changing the subject for the moment.

Charles moves closer and reaches out for the picture he knows Joseph is referring to; it is, indeed, his parents' wedding portrait. "Yes. My grandparents gave them this portrait as a wedding gift," he says. "My mother was so proud of it. It may have been her favorite possession, now that I think about it. Most people didn't have one done back then, because of the cost of the sitting."

"It's lovely that you have it. I don't have one of my parents where they're together," Joseph says. "For much the same reason, I imagine. They never had much to speak of in the way of money when I was a boy, and probably less before I came along and Dad got work up at the big house."

Charles looked at his visitor, feeling a new and unexpected sense of kinship. "My father started at Downton as a groom in the stables. Did you know that?"

"No! Did he? I had no idea he'd worked in the stables! I presume that's how you ended up working there, though. At the house, of course. Unless you were a stable boy before that?"

"I started as a hall boy, but then I ended up with a bit more schooling before moving up to footman," Charles tells him, conveniently leaving out the bit about his time treading the boards. "Ma insisted that I have more education than the other hall boys. She had dreams for me, you see."

Joseph smirks. "Well, those ended up coming true then, didn't they!" He laughs. "Butler! You can't go much higher than that, can you?"

"I suppose not," Charles replies. He watches as Joseph's gaze lands on a different picture.

"Is that Mrs. Hu- Mrs. Carson?"

"It is." He sees the question coming and adds, "Those are her parents, and that is her sister, Becky."

It's clear from the photograph that Becky suffers from some affliction or other, even at the tender age she was when the picture was taken. To his credit, Joseph doesn't even flinch.

"I never knew she had a sister. That's quite lovely, innit? I always wished for a younger sibling of my own. I'd have cherished a sister, I think."

Charles moves away from the mantle. "Let's have a seat, Mr. Molesley, and you can tell me what's on your mind."

"Oh! Right. Yes, that's a good idea." He follows Charles to the sitting area and settles himself on the settee, not feeling quite right taking what he assumes is Elsie's chair. He takes another sip of his cocoa.
"Peppermint," he murmurs. "I'd never have thought to add that. It's quite nice."

"A little treat for a cold day," Charles says. "Warms you from the inside."

"Indeed."

They sit in silence for a few long, relatively uncomfortable seconds.

"Well," Joseph says. "As I said before, I'm in need of a bit of help - well, no, not help really. Advice. That's it! I need some advice." He furrows his brow. "I wasn't sure where to go, I'll admit. It's the sort of thing one asks a friend about, 'cept I haven't really got any of those ... well, perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Bates - but, no ..."

"So you've come here."

"Yes, I have." He looks up, and for once his eyes are clear and focused, and the trembling in his hands seems to have stilled. He takes a deep breath, and his words come out in a rush. "I need to know how to propose marriage to a woman, Mr. Carson."

Charles sits back, astonished. "Do you?"

"It's Miss Baxter," Joseph clarifies. "I mean, I have the woman in mind, and it's her. It's not just any woman! Not a stranger or ..." His voice dies in his throat.

"No," Charles replies, bemused. "I wouldn't think it would just be anyone. I did presume she was the woman in question."

"Right. Well, what I need to know is ... How do I do it? I mean, I know what I need to say. For words. But how do I know when? And ..." He swallows, embarrassed, and looks down into his cup of cocoa. "How do I make sure the words come out the right way?"

Charles sets his mug down on the side table and takes a deep breath, resting his hands on his knees. "Truth be told, Mr. Molesley, I'm not sure if I'm the right person to answer that."

Joseph's head snaps up. "Oh, but you have to, Mr. Carson! I've got no one else!"

And, in that instant, Charles feels as if his heart skips a beat in his chest. He blinks once, twice, and suddenly sees the man before him with fresh eyes. He thinks back on Joseph's claim that he has few, if any, friends, and Charles knows it to be true. They'd lost Bill Molesley a year ago now and it had been a huge blow to everyone at Downton, but Charles tries to imagine just how much of a blow it would have been to Bill's only son who was suddenly left very, very alone in the world, save a few servants at a country home ... and one in particular among them.

"I didn't mean that I won't try to help you, because I will." He pauses.

"But?"

Charles sighs. "I've never actually told anyone about the night I proposed to Elsie," he says quietly, using her first name as a way to put Joseph more at ease. "It was, I'm ashamed to admit, nearly an utter disaster."

Joseph is shocked. "What?" He can't imagine anything Charles Carson does as being anywhere near 'an utter disaster.'

"It's true," Charles says, nodding. "I was absolutely terrified, and nothing came out right at all. I'd rehearsed what I wanted to say a hundred times, planned it all out perfectly, and it all went bottoms up as soon as we were facing each other. At one point I was shaking, and I felt as if time had slowed to a near standstill."

"Bu- but," Joseph sputters. "But you're married now! So surely you did something right!"

Charles thinks back, trying to remember, but it's all sort of hazy in his mind. "I imagine I did," he says. "We did, as you've pointed out, get there in the end."

"So what do I say? I mean, I assume at some point I need to get down on one knee and actually say 'Will you marry me?' Or maybe it should be 'Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?' Which of those is better? Does it matter?"

Smiling, Charles shakes his head. "It doesn't matter at all. I don't think I managed to get anything like that out. I recall declaring that I was asking her to marry me, and I wasn't quite sure she said 'yes' at first because she seemed a bit ... well, shocked."

"Oh, my god," Joseph says, and the color drains from his face. "What if Phyllis - I mean, Miss Baxter - what if she's shocked, too? She might not even answer! I never even thought that she might not answer!"

"She'll answer," Charles reassures him. "Now, listen to me very carefully."

Joseph sips his cocoa - a rather large, fortifying gulp - and settles. "Right."

Charles licks his lips, contemplating just how much he wishes to reveal. He's very private, as a general rule, and Joseph knows that. But the poor man has come to him for advice, and Charles's mind replays all of the false starts and misunderstandings of his early days negotiating a proposal and engagement, and he realizes he has a good deal of decent advice he can give. And if he and Elsie have learned anything over the past few years, it's that clear communication is crucial at times such as these.

"Do you love her? That's most important. It's not a marriage of convenience, I presume?"

Joseph's pale face flushes. He diverts his gaze to something just over Charles's shoulder. "It's not like at that all, no. At least ... At least, not for me." He remembers back three nights ago, to when he'd given Phyllis a kiss on the cheek, only to receive a rather quick and sneaky one back from her. "No, I don't think it would be for her, either."

"Good, because that's an important thing to make clear. You want to make a life with her, and not just have a companion to take care of you."

"Oh, no. Not at all! It's more that I want to take care of her." He sits back against the settee, a soppy grin on his face. "She's spent so much of her life taking care of other people. I mean, it's our job, I know that. But she's never had a moment's peace, not even when she was small. She deserves that."

"You've not had it any easier, I'd wager," Charles reminds him.

"No, Mr. Carson, that's true. But I love her, and I want her to feel loved and cared for." He looks around. "I want her to have a home like this someday - someday soon, I hope! Full of the things that make up our lives. A comfortable place to retire at the end of the day."

Charles looks around the room, seeing it all through the eyes of someone who lives alone, surrounded by the ghosts of his parents but with nothing else - no one else - to give him comfort in his solitude.

"Then tell her that. All of that, or at least as much of it as you can remember at the time."

"I'll never be able to get all that out, Mr. Carson," Joseph scoffs.

"No," Charles agrees, "probably not. But there is something you should keep in mind, something I hadn't even considered when it was my turn."

"And what's that?"

"You should remember that, unless you've got the situation very, very wrong - and I'm quite certain that you do not, having spent some time with the both of you prior to the commencement of my retirement - she loves you, possibly as much as you love her. She'll end up helping you through it if you should falter."

"Is that what happened to you?" Joseph's question is frank, but by now Charles expects it.

"It is." He shifts a bit in his seat, gets more comfortable. "Do you have a date planned?"

"For the wedding?!"

Charles can't help it; he chuckles. "No, Mr. Molesley. Let's not put the cart before the horse. Do you have a day planned to propose to Miss Baxter?"

Joseph rolls his eyes. "Oh, of course! That date! Erm, well, yes. I was hoping to do it on Christmas Eve. So ... in about a day and a half. Before I forget everything you've said, I think!"

He watched as Charles's face softened. "Really?"

"Yes." A horrible thought occurred to him. "Unless that's not done? It seems like a special time, though, and she loves ..."

Charles looks up at him. "Loves the special feeling that Christmas can bring? The feeling of hope?"

Joseph smiles. "Yes, exactly. But how did you know that?"

"It was the date I chose, too, for that same reason. Exactly two years ago."

"Well," Joseph replies, "perhaps that'll be my good luck, then." He drained the last of his cocoa and put his mug down on the table. "Thank you, Mr. Carson. You have no idea how much this has meant to me."

They make their way to the door, and Charles notes with some worry that the wind has picked up, that it's whipping the snow about, and he worries that Elsie will be walking home in it alone. He should have kept his eye on the clock, perhaps, and thinks if he heads out soon he might just catch her before she leaves.

But he has nothing to worry about, for just as Joseph is donning his hat and tightening his scarf, two illuminated spots appear on the roadway, and Charles recognizes them as the headlamps from Lord Grantham's motor.

"Mr. Molesley!" Elsie exclaims as she alights from the vehicle. She pokes her head through the door to thank Tom Branson for running her home, then dashes over to the doorway. "What brings you here?"

"I came for a bit of advice, Mrs. Carson, and I certainly came to the right place. Now you should get inside. It's freezing out here!"

He looks over and sees the car still sitting in the roadway and hears Tom shout something out the window.

"Yes, please!" he calls back, and he turns to the Carsons again. "It looks like I've been saved!"

Charles extends his hand to the younger man, and Joseph shakes it firmly.

"You were wrong, Mr. Molesley," he says quietly. "You do have friends, you know. And you're always welcome here."

Joseph feels a lump grow in his throat, and while he tries to swallow it, it remains. "Thank you for that," he says quietly. "And now I mustn't keep Mr. Branson waiting."

"Good luck to you," Charles calls.

"Thank you!"

Elsie and Charles duck back into the cottage and she shuts the door firmly. "What was all that about?"

"He needed a bit of advice, and I gave it to him."

Elsie pulls off her scarf and hangs it with her coat, and Charles takes her hands, warming them in his own. "You're freezing," he mutters.

"Just my hands," she replies, bussing his cheek, and he keeps hold of one of her hands as he draws her into the dining room.

Elsie spots the ornament on her plate instantly, and she lifts it from the box.

"It's lovely, Charles," she breathes, holding it up to the light and examining it. She walks to the tree and hooks it in the perfect spot, then turns back to find her husband close behind her. She snakes her arms around his neck and gives him a slow, deep kiss of thanks.

"Mmm," she murmurs. "You taste of chocolate and peppermint."

"It was a cold night," he replies, touching his forehead to hers. "And do I have some news for you."

Elsie thinks back to the new ornament on the tree at the Abbey. "I'm sure you do! And after you tell it to me, I have quite a story for you as well."

TBC - *hands over hankie if you need one* X