To Imestizza! (as she is known on Tumblr. On FanFiction she is Mestizaa.)

Happy Christmas! I hope this tale finds you well. Many thanks to you and VoyICJ for organizing. May all your Christmas wishes come true.

Chelsie On!

From: Chelsie Dagger

-A Chelsie Gift Exchange-

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Hughes," Anna leaned into the housekeeper's office. She had just arrived at Downton from their cottage.

"Happy Christmas, Anna, Mr. Bates," Mrs. Hughes returned cheerily as John hung the couple's coats by the backdoor. It was certainly good to have Anna back at Downton. The shadow of her time in custody was almost completely gone. Christmas was sure to banish it completely, Elsie thought.

Christmas was always a special day at Downton. Though the staff still had their work to do, they went about it with a lighter step than on any other day of the year. Maybe it was the promise of wine and Christmas crackers at luncheon. Or maybe it was the abundance of mistletoe that had sprung up downstairs. It was widely acknowledged that the senior staff were more lenient on Christmas Day; Mr. Carson was a little less gruff, Mrs. Patmore yelled a little less and Mrs. Hughes played Father Christmas for everyone below stairs.

The cumulative effect of all this indefinable seasonal joy was undeniable. Everyone smiled just a little easier and laughed a little bit louder. In fact, Mrs. Hughes could already hear a good deal of laughter coming from the servant's hall as she greeted the Bateses.

She glanced at the clock on her mantle. "Goodness, is that the time?"

Mrs. Hughes had been at her desk for almost an hour, trying to get a head start on the day. She'd been so intent on her work that she must have missed hearing Mr. Carson coming down though she'd tried to listen for him. It struck her as unlikely that he was not yet down and unusual that he had not stuck his head into her office to bid her good morning.

"Mrs. Hughes," Anna stepped into the office and lowered her voice. "I think there might have been a mix up."

"What do you mean?"

"I opened my gift from you this morning and…" Anna held up a small box containing a pair of silver cufflinks with a cursive initial 'C' engraved on each of them.

"Oh dear, those were meant for Mr. Carson. I must have put the wrong tags on the gifts," Elsie exclaimed and then blanched as the realization hit her. "Mr. Carson must have gotten your gift!"

Elsie turned towards the servant's hall with a sense of dread. Yesterday she had been adamant that Charles wear her gift to him to breakfast. Surely he hadn't…Suddenly, the laughter down the hall made more sense. Elsie grabbed Anna's hand and dragged her towards the sounds of mirth.

"That's quite enough, Mr. Barrow," Mr. Carson's voice boomed. His voice was strained, but she could hear that he was trying not to be cross on Christmas. "One should be appreciative of a gift. It's Christmas Day, after all. Surely even you are not devoid of Christmas Spirit."

"Oh, I've got the Spirit, Mr. Carson, but clearly not as much as you," Thomas laughed. Elsie could hear the rest of the staff trying to stifle their laughter with varying success.

As Elsie and Anna approached the hall, their sightline into the hall was obscured by Daisy and Mrs. Patmore standing side by side. Beryl turned and came running out of the servant's hall in search of Elsie. Beryl's face was even redder than usual.

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes, oh, Anna, oh," the cook laughed breathlessly. "I've never…oh, God…It's a bleeding Christmas miracle, is what it is."

Elsie bit her lip, knowing exactly what she would find in the servant's hall and knowing she could not laugh, no matter what. She took a deep breath in through her nostrils and rushed into the servant's hall.

"Happy Christmas, all," she said sensibly.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Hughes," they all answered in unison. The glee emenating from the staff was palpable. Elsie bit her lip and prayed for the strength to endure the next few moments. "Oh, Mr. Carson, I'm afraid there was a mix up; Anna received your gift by mistake."

Mr. Carson had pushed back and stood as Mrs. Hughes entered the room. The rest of the staff followed suit but Elsie did not notice them. She only noticed the flustered and oddly relieved butler in front of her. He was dressed in his day suit, fully prepared for the day except for what Elsie had dreaded.

"Is there any chance you received hers?" She asked innocently.

"There is every chance, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson answered, obviously unconvinced of her innocence. With an amenable smirk, he pointed to his feet. Mrs. Hughes almost lost her composure as she observed his feet, clad in black socks and inadequately shod in a pair of pink and fluffy slippers with large, red bows. His heels hung at least five inches over the back of the petite slippers. With a face as red as the bows on his feet, Charles bent down and removed the offending footwear. "I hope I've not ruined them, Anna."

Admirably, Anna managed to repress her laughter long enough to accept her gift and say, "I'm sure they'll be fine, Mr. Carson."

"I shall replace them if they are too stretched out for you to wear," Mr. Carson assured her seriously. "Continue your breakfast; the bells will begin ringing soon," he instructed the rest of the staff before making an almost dignified exit to his office.

As soon as the door to his office closed the hall erupted in laughter. Even Mrs. Hughes allowed herself a small giggle before she followed him.

Elsie knocked and entered without waiting for an invitation. She shut the door behind her but it did not completely shut out the joyful sounds from the hall. Charles was in a chair by his fire tying his shoe. He did not look up at her. She knew that asking him how he felt was the wrong approach. It was a question that usually made him close down tighter than the Dowager's pocketbook.

"Charles?" They'd only started using their Christian names in private this year. Once they started shopping for cottages, it seemed ridiculous to maintain meaningless formality between them away from the Abbey. Even though the occurrence was no longer novel, Elsie still felt a shiver when he used her name; a name only he and Beryl ever used. She didn't feel any shiver when Beryl called her Elsie.

Not that they'd done much shopping for cottages lately. They had found the perfect property while the family was away for the grouse but another couple had been there before them. After that, most of the cottages they'd toured had been so inferior as to be unacceptable. After months of frustration, in November they'd decided to suspend their search until the New Year. Elsie had worried that Charles was having second thoughts about their shared investment, but he still mentioned it frequently enough that she wasn't too afraid. If she'd been unsure of his feelings, she would have insisted they buy the first property available to them, but Elsie wanted to be sure they bought the right property. She did not know how to tell them that what had made the cottage they'd missed out on so perfect was that she could truly picture them there, together.

"Charles, I wanted to give you your real gift." He did look up now as Elsie held the cufflinks out to him.

He took the box and opened it as she sat in the chair opposite him. "Much more appropriate than the slippers, don't you think?" She joked lightly.

"Yes, much more appropriate," he smiled crookedly at her. His ears and neck were still pink. She knew he was still embarrassed by the scene in the servant's hall but trying to put a good face on it for her sake. "Thank you, Elsie, they're lovely,"

"I'm glad you like them." She allowed him a few moments to appreciate the gift, but eventually she asked gently, "I have to ask, Charles; what on earth were you thinking, wearing those slippers to breakfast?"

"You'd said I must be sure to wear my gift to breakfast," her reminded her. "So I did."

"I appreciate the rare display of mindless obedience on your part, but you should have known those weren't meant for you," she said reasonably. "What made you think I would buy you fluffy, pink slippers?"

"I thought it was odd, but then, I don't always understand you," Charles admitted. "Your exact words were, 'It might seem silly, but it would mean a lot to me if you would wear what I've bought you to Christmas breakfast.'"

"I did say that, but I meant it was silly for it to mean so much to me, not that what I was asking of you was silly."

"I thought you were trying to teach me a lesson in humility."

"I would never ask you to make a fool of yourself," she assured him.

"I'll confess, I almost didn't wear them, but I finally thought, 'What's a little humiliation in pursuit of a noble cause?'"

"What noble cause could be served by wearing fluffy slippers to breakfast?"

"The cause of making you happy," he answered simply.

Elsie flushed and felt suddenly hot under the collar.

"There," he answered her involuntary smile with a broad grin of his own. "That smile was worth any amount of humiliation. It was even worth the smirk on Barrow's face for the next two weeks."

"Get away with you," she said breathlessly.

"No, I mean it; your happiness means everything to me, Elsie. There isn't anything I wouldn't do to please you. I hope you know that." His declaration was simple, honest and earthshattering.

Elsie tried to regain her emotional footing, but it felt as though the ground were falling away beneath her. They'd been more open with each other recently, but this was overt flirtation on his part. She knew that she should say something, but her mouth was dry and all the air had left her. For one terrible moment, she felt very close to fainting. Scotswomen don't faint, her inner voice brought her back around.

Charles took the cufflinks out of the box and began replacing the pair he'd put on that morning. He admired the shiny, silver links with obvious pride. "Thank you, again, Elsie, they're perfect."

She wanted to tell him that she'd noticed that he hadn't had a new pair since just after the war when Lord Grantham wanted to show his appreciation that Mr. Carson had not left for Haxby. She wanted to say that they'd look very nice with a new suit for a special occasion; a very particular special occasion. Elsie took a deep breath and started to speak, unsure of what she was about to say, but they would neither of them know what she would have said. The phone on his desk began to clatter and shattered the moment.

"Who could be calling on Christmas?" Charles frowned. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes."

She nodded and rose to leave. As she opened the door, he called out to her. "Oh, Mrs. Hughes, I've not given you your gift. Could you join me for a sherry tonight?"

"Have I ever said 'no' to such an invitation, Mr. Carson?" She asked rhetorically and exited his office with a smile as he answered the phone. As if she would ever say 'no' to him.

-00-

Mr. Carson's peculiar attire at breakfast was still the main topic as the staff assembled for luncheon. Tale of the mixed up gifts had even reached the family upstairs. Mr. Carson accepted the gentle teasing from all sides with remarkable aplomb, but he had been reserved most of the morning.

"Daisy, you and Mrs. Patmore have out done yourselves this year," Mrs. Hughes gushed as she observed the spread of food on the table. Elsie was not surprised to see that many of the dishes were Anna's favorites.

"I think Mrs. Patmore has opened her Christmas Port early," Mr. Carson noted wryly as yet another serving dish arrived festooned with red bows.

"Let her have her fun," Mrs. Hughes whispered to him and patted his hand. "It's Christmas, after all."

Mr. Carson's spirits continued to be subdued as he focused on opening the wine and serving out the food. Mrs. Hughes was relieved that he did not frown on the high spirits around the table. At the end of the meal, Mr. Carson's good sportsmanship was rewarded when he received an entire apple tart of his own, complete with huge red bow and a fork with its handle wrapped in pink yarn.

Despite the hastily decorated fork, the apple tart seemed to improve Mr. Carson's mood considerably. Wearing his paper crown and finishing off his second slice of tart, Charles looked almost childlike at the head of the table. Indeed, he seemed perfectly at ease. He even managed to joke with Mr. Barrow who had tied two of the bows from the serving dishes onto his shoes.

"Do you think we should make an addition to the livery for Christmas, Mr. Carson?" Thomas waved his bedecked shoes.

"If you can get Mr. Molesley to agree, Mr. Barrow, I will not object to you presenting the idea to Her Ladyship," Mr. Carson played along. "Mrs. Hughes, I've changed my mind about sherry this evening."

"Oh, very well, Mr. Carson; if you think it's a bad idea." She could not disguise her disappointment.

"I only meant, perhaps we could enjoy a rare afternoon sherry," he assured her. "We might be too exhausted this evening. Would you care to join me now? I might even be persuaded to share something sweet with you." He indicated the tart in front of him.

"I don't know how, Mr. Carson, but you managed to make that sound risqué."

This elicited the first true smile he'd displayed all luncheon. "And if I did?"

He rose from his chair and waved to the staff to remain seated. "Please enjoy yourselves, but be prepared to resume your duties after tea," he announced before retreating to his parlor with his pudding. "Don't make the family regret their generosity."

Not wanting to be obvious or seem too eager, Mrs. Hughes waited a little while before she followed him. The sherry decanter and two glasses sat on his desk.

"Just a little for me, Mr. Carson, I've had a touch too much already," she said as she entered his office. He saw the proof of her words in her rosy cheeks.

He set a full glass in front of her which caused her to give him a joking scowl. "You don't have to drink it all," he winked.

"I was promised a bit of something sweet," she reminded him.

"If that's what you were promised, that's what you shall have," Charles assured her as he cut a slice of the tart and placed it on a plate. He cut himself another slice as well and sat down beside the fire to join her. The scene felt incredibly domestic and private. It felt right. They both ate in pregnant silence. As was often the case of late, their glances said more than either of them could ever dare voice.

"Have you been good this year, Elsie?" Charles asked soppily when they'd both finished their tart.

"I believe I have been, Charles," she answered coyly.

"Well then, I have something for you." He took her empty plate, walked to his desk and opened the top drawer. He returned with a long, flat box with a blue bow. She opened it with trembling hands. He watched her every move closely, holding his breath.

"An envelope?" She said questioningly as she took the item out of the box. "Addressed to Lord Grantham?"

"It's my letter of resignation; signed and ready for delivery," he explained.

"Why have you given it to me?" She asked, hoping that she knew the answer.

"The Bible tells us that no man can serve two masters. So long as I am a butler here, my loyalty belongs to this household, but were I to retire…" He reached across the space between them and held her hands in his. She still gripped the letter tightly. "…I could be a proper husband, with all my devotion due to you, Elsie, if you will have me."

Elsie wanted to launch herself into his arms, but she maintained her calm. "But are you ready to retire, Mr. Carson? I may very well hand this letter to His Lordship this evening. What would you say to that?" She needed to know for sure before giving her answer.

"I am ready, Elsie, whenever you are," he said breathlessly, hearing the 'yes' implied in her answer. "I am determined that I will either retire from Downton as your husband or I shall die here. I don't want to die here. My future is in your hands, literally."

Elsie looked down at the almost weightless piece of paper in her hands. Had anything so slight ever felt so weighty? She appreciated what he was giving her. He was giving her all the power. He was trusting her absolutely. "Charles…"

The blasted phone rang again but this time, Charles smiled at the cacophonous sound.

"That's for you," he told her. "The second part to your gift."

As if in a dream, Elsie stood and approached his desk. "Hello, Downton Abbey, this is Mrs. Hughes the housekeeper speaking."

She listened for a few moments. "Yes, Mr. Grant…mmhmm…I thought it was off the market…I understand…Yes…Yes, he's right here." She motioned for Charles to join her. She held the earpiece out so that they could both hear Mr. Grant's voice if they leaned closely together. Their faces were mere inches apart. The small space that separated them crackled with tension.

"I'm here, Mr. Grant. Were you able to finalize things?" Charles asked.

"Yes, Mr. Carson, the papers will be ready for both your signatures tomorrow if you are still interested," answered Mr. Grant from his office in Ripon.

"I believe we are," Charles answered. "What do you say, Mrs. Hughes, do you still want the cottage?"

Elsie looked up into his face, so close to hers. Their sherry and apple tart breath mingled in the air between them. His eyes were sparkling with hope but he looked terrified by her silence. His apprehension evaporated when she nodded. "Yes, Mr. Carson. I do."

The End