23 December 1924

Mrs. Hughes peered up at the mistletoe hanging above the doorway to the servants' hall and sighed.

"Is this your doing?" she asked Madge and Lily, who were more engrossed in their chatter than their sewing.

"I don't know anything about it, Mrs. Hughes," Lily said innocently.

Mrs. Hughes had her doubts about that. Well, Christmas came but once a year and she would let the maids have their fun. As she was about to head off to her sitting room to begin the final preparations for the Christmas festivities, Mr. Carson appeared, pausing beside her in the doorway. The maids began to giggle, and even Mrs. Hughes had to bite back a grin.

"What's this?" he asked, his tone rife with disapproval.

Mrs. Hughes ignored him. "Madge, Lily, haven't you work to do? Those sheets won't mend themselves."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," the maids replied in unison, stifling more giggles as they passed the butler and housekeeper.

Mr. Carson's eyebrows continued to show his confusion. Rolling her eyes at him, she gestured to the mistletoe above their heads.

He glared at the offending greenery and harrumphed under his breath. Although she couldn't be sure, Mrs. Hughes also thought she detected the faintest hint of redness in his cheeks.

"Don't fret yourself," she soothed him. "You're under no obligation. Although they do say it's bad luck to refuse."

"Refuse what?"

"A kiss. Although I suppose that's one tradition you aren't interested in keeping."

She stared at a spot just above his left shoulder after these words, her face burning. What on earth was she doing, hinting that she wanted a kiss? It was all foolishness, and she ought to beat a hasty retreat to her sitting room. When she looked at him again, however, his eyes flickered over her face, landing briefly on her lips. His expression was not one of shock as she had expected, but of interest.

"Not as a rule," he said finally, clearing his throat. "But I think I can make an exception in this case." The chain on his pocket watch bounced as he brushed his hand over the front of his waistcoat. "If you're agreeable?"

"All right, then," she said softly.

Before she knew what was happening, she found herself gripping the sleeve of Mr. Carson's livery as he placed a chaste kiss against her cheek.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Hughes," he said, his voice as soft as she'd ever heard it.

"Happy Christmas. And the very best of luck, Mr. Carson." She thought of his newly purchased house.

"Thank you," he replied, before disappearing inside his pantry.

Mrs. Hughes stood alone in the doorway, her cheek still burning where his lips had brushed it.

Although it lingered in the back of her mind for the rest of the day, Mrs. Hughes avoided thinking about what had taken place in the servants' hall. Until that night, as she sat at her mirror, freeing her hair of its restraints, and her worries began tumbling free as well.

As she began to brush through the tangled locks, she shut her eyes, and took deep breaths. Unbound from its confines, her hair let off a pleasant scent. The lavender soap she used contrasted greatly with Mr. Carson's familiar scent earlier in the day, so pungent with his close proximity she could pick out each individual element. Shaving soap, pomade, with just a hint of silver polish and sweat. She swallowed and set down her hairbrush with a clatter.

It's bad luck to refuse. She huffed. Why had she said it? The comment had no doubt given Mr. Carson little choice but to kiss her out of politeness. Quickly, she began to plait her hair, tying a string around the end of the braid when she was finished. She then snatched her book, and slipped beneath the icy cold sheets with her hot water bottle. She only expected to read a few pages of her old, worn-out copy of A Christmas Carol, but she found she couldn't concentrate on the familiar tale. She was much too distracted by the book's cloth covering. The texture reminded her of the fabric of Mr. Carson's livery, which she had felt when she had foolishly clung to his arm as he kissed her.

Slamming the book shut, Mrs. Hughes lay back against her hard pillow. She pressed her toes against the hot water bottle, a small comfort in the frigid attics. As the chill seeped into her bones, she thought of a warm cottage bedroom, with a double bed, and his arms about her on a cold winter's night.

She pressed a hand to her cheek and shut her eyes. Mr. Carson had certainly never given any indication that purchasing the house would lead anything more intimate than their present relationship. Anything more had been an assumption on her part, and in the end, he had purchased the house without her.

She was pleased for him.

But while he would likely retire in a few years' time, she would remain to haunt the halls of Downton ever after. Alone.

She swiped at the tears that rolled down her cheeks and turned over to put out the light.

On the other side of the wall, Mr. Carson lay in bed, tossing and turning. His heart pounded with as much excitement as it had on the eve of his first day of work at the Abbey. Tomorrow would be the culmination of weeks of careful planning. Longer, if he were honest with himself. He had laid the foundation of these plans many months ago, when he asked Mrs. Hughes to invest in a property with him. Tomorrow, he would ask Elsie Hughes to invest in a life with him.

By turns, he found himself both confident and uncertain of her answer. If she said 'no', he had no doubt that she would let him down gently. And that would be that. His heart broken again. But it was more than a broken heart he risked. Their relationship as it now stood in both its personal and private aspects would be on the line. For months, Mr. Carson had weighed the risks and benefits of laying bare his heart to Mrs. Hughes, and he had determined that he was as certain as any man was likely to be in such matters. The reward of Elsie Hughes as his wife was worth the risk.

After kissing her this morning, he was near giddy with excitement. He couldn't be sure, but he thought she had seemed almost eager for the kiss. It's bad luck to refuse, she had said. She hadbeen teasing him, of course, and it was entirely possible the kiss had meant nothing to her. Yet as Mr. Carson recalled the bloom of color in her cheeks afterward, he was filled with hope.

24 December 1924

Well, this certainly wasn't what she had imagined when Mr. Carson asked if he could have a word with her earlier in the day.

Now that it was settled and she had accepted his proposal, Mrs. Hughes didn't quite know what to say or where to look. Her heart still beat rather too quickly for her liking, and she wondered if his own heart was keeping pace with hers. He certainly looked frightened enough when he had attempted his proposal. She let out a little gasp of laughter, almost a giggle really, and startled herself. With a sharp glance at Mr. Carson, she quickly noted his eyes were warm and kind, if still a bit anxious.

"You're not laughing at me, I hope?" his question sounded as if it were asked partly in jest and partly in earnest.

"Not a bit. Just nerves, I think."

The worried lines around his eyes relaxed now, and a gentle smile settled on his face. "I've already had those."

"Well, you needn't. My answer was always going to be yes."

The tears which had never quite spilled over, reappeared in his eyes. As he stepped closer, she wondered if he was going to kiss her, on the lips this time. He surprised her by placing a soft, almost reverent kiss on her forehead, and then, after a moment's hesitation, pulling her into his arms.

It had been a long time, indeed, since Mrs. Hughes had been hugged. Oh, she had opened her arms many times over the years to housemaids, and even a few homesick hallboys. But no one ever offered their own arms to her. Except Mrs. Patmore several years ago, when she thought she'd been ill, and that had still only been a comforting arm around her shoulder. Now, here she was, wrapped up in Mr. Carson's very warm, very welcoming embrace. She shut her eyes, breathed in his scent, and allowed herself to relax.

"Still nervous?" Mr. Carson asked after a moment.

"Not in the least."

She felt the rumble of laughter in his chest and thought that she wouldn't mind making a home for herself, right here in his arms.

23 December 1925

"We've met here before, I believe," Mr. Carson said, stepping beside Mrs. Hughes in the doorway of the servants' hall.

"Indeed we have, Mr. Carson." She glanced up at the mistletoe which hung above their heads. "Need I remind you that you're under no obligation?"

"Perhaps not, but I wouldn't dare refuse to kiss you. Not when I had such good luck last year."

"How so?"

"You agreed to marry me the next day."

She shook her head at him, eyes sparkling merrily. "I'd have accepted your proposal mistletoe or no, Charlie."

"Nevertheless, it did give me some much-needed encouragement."

He took in the faint blush of her cheeks and the hint of a smile beginning to form on her lips, and his stomach tumbled pleasantly. She was his wife! Even after more than six months of marriage, this fact still brought astonishment. For a moment, he gaped at her in silent adoration.

"You've not changed your mind, I hope?" she asked, interrupting his reverie.

"Never."

And with that, he lowered his head and brushed one of her delicate cheekbones with his lips. Then, throwing a quick look about to ensure they remained unobserved, he pressed a kiss to her lips. Her gasp of surprise at his boldness quickly melted into a sigh of pleasure which lit a familiar warmth in him. He knew that sound, and it did not belong in the halls of the Abbey. Reluctantly, he ended the kiss before he got carried away.

"Happy Christmas, Elsie," he rumbled in her ear.

"The happiest."

Thanks for reading!