A Moment Together

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

He was going to cry. He certainly felt the tears welling up in his eyes and had not the slightest inclination to attempt to stem them by drawing on his considerable reserves of self-control. This was not a moment for restraint. Let the tears flow. They would convey with more eloquence than words ever could how profoundly grateful he was to her and how very much he adored her.

Undemonstrative by nature, Mrs. Hughes was mesmerized by the raw emotion on Mr. Carson's face. She could speak her love, though words seemed wholly inadequate in this instant. But she could never express herself so vividly with only her eyes. How much she loved him! She tightened her grip on his arm and did not blink lest she miss one second of this rapture.

Remarkably, they still held their glasses of punch.

"Well!" Mrs. Hughes declared, raising her glass. "To us."

Mr. Carson smiled weakly and echoed her gesture, the crystal ringing as they each took a sip of the punch. Neither could recall anything else ever tasting so sweet.

There was a heightened sense of anticipation in the air around them. Mr. Carson's intense gaze became, if anything, more acute. And then he spoke.

"May I kiss you, Mrs. Hughes?"

Mrs. Hughes reached for Mr. Carson's glass, took it from him, and turned to put them both down on his desk. She did so a little hastily, the punch in one of them sloshing onto the desktop. Well, they could clean that up later. And then she was facing him again, moving right up to him, if not exactly into his arms. It seemed that Mr. Carson did not really know where to put his arms. But as she reached up toward him, he lowered his head to hers and in the next moment their lips met.

It was an exquisite pleasure for them both.

"Just so you know," Mrs. Hughes said a moment later, a little of her usual matter-of-fact tone emerging to dim the breathlessness she felt, "you don't have to ask for permission to kiss me. Not ever."

Mr. Carson's serious demeanour did not fade. "I think," he intoned in a grave manner, "that if men asked for permission more often, there would be fewer misunderstandings in the world."

She smiled at his deliberate thought processes. No one could accuse Mr. Carson of acting precipitously. "Well, I agree with you there," she admitted. "But all the same, you've asked now. You needn't do so again."

As though in agreement with this principle, he leaned over her again and pressed his lips to hers, bringing his arms round her as he did so, tentatively at first and then a little more firmly. Already his confidence was improving.

There was nothing more to say just then. It was clear that neither wanted to go anywhere, but both knew they must return to the celebrations, if only to give themselves time to digest what had just passed between them. The corridor and staircase were as empty on their ascent as they had been earlier when they'd come down, blessedly so, for they were then able to hold each other's hand until they reached the green baize door.

Mrs. Hughes felt quite overwhelmed. He had bought the house for them! He loved her more than she ever could have imagined. And Mr. Carson, the most professional butler in all of England, and Downton's foremost advocate of the way things always have been, had thrown tradition to the wind and asked her to marry him! Although she was a champion at concealing her inner thoughts, she was certain that the moment they stepped back into the great hall everyone would know. With her heart thumping so loudly and her nerves all aflutter, she would betray their understanding without uttering a word. She could not remember ever having felt so completely out of control. She hardly dared look at Mr. Carson who wore his heart so overtly on his sleeve in the least of things. If she were an open book, he would be a "War-Is-Over" newspaper headline in six-inch type.

But Mr. Carson defied these expectations. As he reached out to open the door that would usher them back into the sparkling world of a Downton Christmas Eve bash, he felt an extraordinary calm settle over him. He had been agonizing for weeks over what he would say and how he would say it. He had practiced endlessly, supplied her responses across a whole spectrum of possibilities, and formulated counter-arguments until everything had sounded clichéd and foolish and hopelessly inadequate. At this moment he couldn't even remember what he'd actually said. But it didn't matter any more, for she had said Yes! - or, rather, some convincing variation of it - and from that moment he had been consumed with such relief and joy that he might have accepted the gravest of calamities - a dictatorship of Labour, the disappearance of the footmen from service, or a wine market restricted to New World vintages - with equanimity. Nothing else mattered.

He pressed his hand flat against the door.

"Might we manage a few minutes together at the end of the evening?" he murmured, leaning over to speak quietly into her ear.

His soft breath on her cheek, sweetened with the aroma of the punch they had sipped, was intoxicating. And the promise of a reprise of those enchanting moments below stairs made her heart skip a beat. "We might," she said lightly, in a tone that belied her excitement. "Let me know when."

At The End of the Evening

They were the last of the staff to retire.

"Mrs. Hughes. Might I have a word about the morning's schedule?" To the untutored ear, Mr. Carson sounded as he always did, his voice betraying with only the subtlest of inflections the exhilaration that lay beneath the words.

Mrs. Hughes was attuned to this frequency and smiled.

Mrs. Patmore was not and did not. She rolled her eyes at the man insisting on a conference about place settings or linen service at this hour of the night. "We'll all be up again in another hour or two," she said grumpily. When neither of the other two moved, she sighed. "I'll say goodnight, then," she said to Mrs. Hughes. "Don't let him keep nattering on about silly things," she added, with an exasperated glance at Mr. Carson.

"I won't," Mrs. Hughes said pertly.

"Happy Christmas!" Mrs. Patmore declared and then she was off down the corridor.

Mr. Carson closed the door behind her and then turned to face Mrs. Hughes. In the same moment they moved together, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss. This small intimacy came easily to them which surprised them both and at the same time did not surprise them at all.

"I'll speak to His Lordship in the morning," Mr. Carson intoned solemnly, drawing back.

Mrs. Hughes could not contain a mirthful yelp, which prompted Mr. Carson to frown, reflecting in equal parts indignation and apprehension.

"What's the matter? His Lordship's views have a very material bearing on our future."

She waved away his concerns. "It's just the way you said it. It put me in mind of a young man asking a woman's father for her hand." It was silly. She didn't even know why she told him.

Mr. Carson was shaking his head. "I don't need His Lordship's permission to marry you," he responded. "But his reaction is pertinent to when we ... marry." The idea of marriage - she had said yes! - was still a joyful novelty to him, and he paused to smile over it.

Often given to contrary views, Mrs. Hughes tossed her head now. "But it's not really. I'm going to marry you, Mr. Carson, no matter what the Crawleys think about it, and on our own schedule, not theirs." She'd waited a long time for this man and this moment, for him both to acknowledge and express his feelings and to translate them into a proposal. But with this great hurdle overcome, she assumed an equal voice in their future. She looked at him with a bold expression, daring him to say differently.

But Mr. Carson was of no mind to cross her. "Of course," he agreed easily. "I never meant otherwise, Mrs. Hughes. But it is still necessary to speak to him, out of courtesy, if nothing else."

Well, she couldn't disagree with that. "But why this morning? Couldn't we bask in the moment just a little while by ourselves?" She spoke a little wistfully. She had never in her life had such a wonderful secret. She wanted to examine it privately, to take it apart and cherish it in all its lovely aspects, before it became common property.

Mr. Carson closed his great hands over hers and for a long moment his gaze fixed on their hands entwined together. When he looked up at her again it was with an eagerness to please. "It shall be as you wish," he said. But he bit back additional words and his eyes fell to their hands again.

"Tell me," she said encouragingly. "I want to know what you think, too."

This evoked a small smile, but when his eyes came up to hers they were filled once more with the emotion that had gripped him earlier, in the wake of her acceptance, and his mouth had an almost grim aspect about it. "I have denied, and suppressed, and muted my feelings ... my feelings for you... for a very long time, possibly even longer than I realize myself. Having given voice to them tonight, and found them so gratifyingly reciprocated...," - she thought perhaps that the tears might actually spill onto his cheeks, "... I am this moment happier than I have ever been in my life, and I have no desire to contain that joy any longer than I absolutely must. Can you possibly understand that, Mrs. Hughes?"

Almost nothing was more endearing to her than the way he was able to combine their longtime professional, if perfunctory, formality with the expression of his deepest feelings. And she gave way completely to his point of view. "Of course, I understand," she said, gripping his hands tightly to convey her support. "I would not have you wait. I'm not sure His Lordship's going to be in a right state to hear the news tomorrow, though," she added cautiously. Lord Grantham had been having a high time of it all evening and would no doubt be regretting his liberties on the morrow.

"I'll see to that," Mr. Carson said firmly, and with these words a measure of his conventional composure reasserted itself.

"Then may I make another suggestion? I think it would be better if you and I together spoke to both His Lordship and Her Ladyship. I believe the circumstances warrant it."

He nodded quickly and agreeably. "You're right, Mrs. Hughes. I shall speak to His Lordship as early as possible and arrange a time when we can all meet together."

She smiled again, pleased with his easy compliance.

A comfortable silence enveloped them as they stood together, their hands still linked, not really wanting this interlude - this Christmas Eve that had been so magical for them - to end.

"I think we sho..."

"Perhaps it's time to..."

Their words ran together and they broke off at the same time and laughed. And then they moved together and shared a final kiss. Without another word they walked to the junction of the staircases where they had to part.

"Sweet dreams, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said as she reluctantly released his hand.

"No dream can match the sweet reality of this night, Mrs. Hughes," he assured her.