This story is a follow-up to One Little Word, which followed Mrs. Hughes's thoughts on the day of the Servants' Ball (S2 Christmas Special). If you have not done so already, I suggest you read OLW before you start this one, as there are several references to key events, especially in this chapter. I decided to make this a separate story, though, rather than just adding chapters on to OLW, because this story will have a slightly different theme. I also like the way OLW stands as a one-shot, with or without this continuation.

There was no Servants' Ball to ring in 1921. The house was in mourning for Lady Sybil. Mrs. Hughes hadn't even brought up the subject, hadn't bothered asking Lady Grantham if she'd prefer to cancel it; she knew. At least a few of the servants could usually be counted on to grumble when mourning or war or anything else interfered with plans for the Ball, for it was their one chance at upstairs revelry. This year, however, neither Mr. Carson nor Mrs. Hughes had heard a syllable of discontent. Neither could remember any member of the Crawley family ever inspiring such affection and solidarity among the staff, but Lady Sybil had been special, a sweet spirit. The family and the servants still celebrated the new year separately in their quiet ways, but by one o'clock, they were all in bed, with just a few exceptions. The only two exceptions downstairs walked slowly down the dimly lit corridor together toward the butler's pantry.

"I was tired earlier, but I don't think I could sleep now," Mrs. Hughes said to her companion. "I just keep thinking about all that's happened since this time last year."

"Yes, it seems an age ago," Mr. Carson agreed. "1920 started out very promisingly, but we've had quite a few bumps in the road since then."

"Indeed. The war had us constantly at sixes and sevens, but this…"

He nodded. "I think we'd all be willing to go back to the days of being short staffed and dealing with food rationing and the lot if it meant we could have her back with us." He gestured to his pantry door. "Shall we?"

Mrs. Hughes nodded and entered ahead of him, sitting down to wait for him to gather the glasses - he never let her help - and get the decanter of wine. Before he could pour, however, they heard someone clattering down the stairs quite noisily. Voices and laughter, a man's and a woman's, could be heard. They hurried together out of the pantry and toward the staircase, ready to ring a peal over whomever it was. However, just as Mrs. Hughes opened her mouth to do so, she perceived Lady Mary and Matthew Crawley at the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh good, you're both still awake!" Lady Mary said.

"Milady!" Mr. Carson exclaimed. "Is something the matter?"

"Nothing at all, Carson," she replied. "But we'd like you to come upstairs with us."

"You too, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Crawley said, smiling at the housekeeper and inclining his head toward the staircase he and his wife had just descended.

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes exchanged a quick, questioning glance. Mrs. Hughes gave a tiny shrug and they both turned to follow Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley, who had already started back up. They were led to a smaller parlor, one that was not often used, and Mr. Crawley flung open the door, switched on the light, and indicated that they should all enter.

"Come, Carson," Lady Mary teased him, seeing his hesitation to allow Mr. Crawley to hold the door open while he and Mrs. Hughes entered. "I don't think his lordship will sack you for it, just this once."

Mrs. Hughes laughed inwardly at Mr. Carson's face as he followed her order. He was disconcerted, to say the least.

"Might I ask what is going on?" Mr. Carson said politely.

"It was Mr. Crawley's idea," Lady Mary said. "A surprise for Mrs. Hughes."

"For me!" It was the housekeeper's turn to look perplexed. "I don't understand."

Mr. Crawley had crossed the room by now and was standing at a table on which the gramophone had been placed. "I don't know if you remember, Mrs. Hughes," he said. "But last year I promised you a dance at this year's Servants' Ball."

She smiled. "Of course I remember, Mr. Crawley. But I wouldn't expect you to keep your promise while the house is in mourning. I'd be just as glad of a dance at next year's ball."

"Don't argue, Mrs. Hughes," Lady Mary said, smiling. "He's quite determined. You are getting your dance."

"She's right," Mr. Crawley agreed, grinning, as he placed the needle on the record. He crossed back to her and held out his hand. "Mrs. Hughes, may I have the pleasure of the next dance?"

Mrs. Hughes laughed a little and took his hand as the music started. "You may, Mr. Crawley." As they began to dance, Mr. Carson looked on, still a little astonished by the situation, and thinking how lovely Mrs. Hughes looked when she laughed. Laughing was not something he saw her do very often, but it suited her.

"Carson, I believe it's customary for the gentleman to ask the lady to dance," Lady Mary prompted, from where she stood at his side.

"I beg your pardon," Mr. Carson said, coming out of his reverie. "Lady Mary, may I have the honor?" He held out his hand to her and soon they were circling the room alongside Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Crawley.

"His Lordship and Mr. Crawley both have mentioned what a fine dancer she is, Papa more than once," Lady Mary said, nodding toward the other couple.

"She is, milady," he answered, looking in that direction. He watched her dance and laugh with Mr. Crawley, and marveled at her grace.

Lady Mary watched him speculatively as his eyes followed Mrs. Hughes. She almost teased him for his inattention to his own partner, but she thought better of it. She didn't want to embarrass him. "I don't think I've ever seen you dance with Mrs. Hughes, Carson," she said, drawing his eyes back to her. "Have you?"

"Once, milady," he answered. "It was before you attended your first Servants' Ball. In my younger days I sometimes danced with a lady's maid or the head housemaid. But I have since come to believe the dignity of my current position requires that I dance only with the family, not the staff."

"I see," she said, nodding. "Well, I am rather enjoying Mr. Crawley's little impromptu ball. You're quite light on your feet as well, Carson."

Mr. Carson smiled for the first time since they'd entered the room. "As are you, milady. Did the family enjoy its celebration of the new year?"

"Yes, we did. It was rather subdued, but we were able to enjoy the festivities." She frowned. "Tom went to bed quite early, though, poor man. We all miss her terribly, but he seems more oppressed by it than anyone else, save perhaps her ladyship."

"I suppose any man would be, who'd lost his wife so suddenly," Mr. Carson mused.

"Yes."

They were both silent for a while, lost in thought, until Lady Mary's attention was caught by her husband's laughter. "He can be quite a flirt when he wants to," she said, smiling fondly at him. Mr. Crawley caught her looking at him and gave her a little wink before returning his attention to Mrs. Hughes.

"He loves you very much, milady," Mr. Carson said.

"Of course he does, Carson," she laughed. "I hardly thought he was considering abandoning me for Mrs. Hughes." Lady Mary paused, then watched Mr. Carson's face as she continued. "She may be an excellent dancer, but I think she's already spoken for."

He met her gaze very seriously, but did not answer. Lady Mary tried to read his thoughts, but his face revealed nothing. They danced in silence until the song ended and another began. Mr. Carson turned around when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"May I cut in?" Mr. Crawley asked.

"Of course, sir." He stepped aside and the gentleman whisked his wife into another waltz. He held her very close as they circled the floor, eyes on each other.

"I think we can leave these two to themselves, don't you, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Hughes said softly, smiling at the pair.

"I do," he answered. "I daresay they won't notice we've gone."

They made their way downstairs and, by unspoken agreement, back into his pantry. Mr. Carson poured them each a glass of wine and they sat down together.

"Well, I never!" Mrs. Hughes said, merriment showing in her eyes.

"That was quite a pleasant surprise, wasn't it?"

"Yes," she agreed, then looked at him inquisitively. "You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"

"No, I did not," he said. "Unless you count the conversation I had with Mrs. Crawley at the ball last year that led to his asking you to dance in the first place."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "No, that was an entirely separate act of kindness, Mr. Carson."

"Oh, it was nothing," he demurred. "The work of a moment."

She shook her head. "It was not nothing. The work of a moment, perhaps, but I appreciate your thinking of me."

"Mrs. Hughes," he said, then paused. "Do you remember our conversation at the ball last year? About dancing?"

"I think so. I told you about how I had practiced dancing with Mr. Watson before my first Servants' Ball as housekeeper because I was nervous about dancing with his lordship. Is that the conversation you mean?" she asked, looking at him curiously. She remembered that conversation quite well. She had said rather more than she had meant to, but at the time she had not yet admitted to herself what she now knew to be true.

"Yes. I wondered why you had asked Mr. Watson for help and not me. You said you didn't know."

"Perhaps I thought that practicing with a mediocre partner might boost my confidence in my own skills. I knew you were a far better dancer than he, so I hope your feelings weren't hurt on that score," she teased, and was surprised when he continued in a serious tone.

"You weren't... intimidated by me, were you?" he asked, looking concerned. "I know I can be stern at times, perhaps even harsh, but I can assure you that if you needed a boost in confidence I would have helped you with that dance. We were always good friends."

"Mr. Carson, you're taking this far more to heart than you should!" she exclaimed. "Of course I wasn't intimidated by you! I know you have always been my friend."

He seemed to relax a little. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I am glad."

"I recall a few minutes later asking you the same question, Mr. Carson. You were commiserating with me about my lack of dance partners."

"Yes," he said. "And you wanted to know why I didn't ask you myself. You know I only dance with the family now, Mrs. Hughes."

"That's not what you said when I asked," she reminded him. "You said you didn't know."

Mr. Carson was silent for a while. Then he put down his glass and stood up from his chair. "Since you're questioning me about why I didn't ask you to dance then, presumably you won't object if I ask you now." He came to stand in front of her chair and held out his hand to her.

"What?" Mrs. Hughes looked at his hand, then up into his face, startled.

Mr. Carson smiled, a hint of playfulness in his eyes. "Why should Mr. Crawley have all of the fun?"

Her eyes widened. Was he flirting with her?

At her continued silence, he spoke again. "But if you're tired, of course I understand." He began to withdraw his hand, but she quickly reached out and took it.

"I am tired, Mr. Carson," she said, smiling back. "But not so tired I'd turn down another opportunity to dance." She stood up from her chair, still holding his hand, then bit her lip thoughtfully. "You've forgotten something, though."

"What's that?"

"Music, of course."

He dismissed this idea with a wave of his hand. "I'll sing."

"Very well." Mrs. Hughes took a deep breath. This could be treacherous. The last time she had danced with Mr. Carson she had not been in love with him. Now she was. It felt so good to hold his hand that she was afraid dancing with him might prove quite overpowering.

Similar thoughts were crossing Mr. Carson's mind as they took their positions. He had known for some time that he loved her, but had decided to leave things as they were. He really felt he was a lucky man. He had a job that was important to him, working for a family he respected, and the woman he loved was at his side every day. They stuck together and took care of one another, though he had to admit she probably took more care of him than he did of her, and he thought that she loved him, too. Telling her would probably not make anything different, and it could make things a great deal worse if he turned out to be wrong about her feelings.

She laid one hand lightly on his shoulder and they moved together as he sang. She had sat beside him at church every Sunday for years, so she knew he could sing, but his voice still surprised her tonight. From the first note she was entranced. There was something different about hearing him sing hymns as part of a sea of droning worshippers than what she was listening to now. It was a love song, and he sang with a degree and softness of expression that captivated her. He looked into her eyes as he sang, and she felt like he might be looking right into her soul. She almost thought he might not really be Mr. Carson, he seemed at the moment so unlike the man she knew. But his voice, and the way he moved, and that heavenly smell of his told her that it must be him. She didn't think at all about her feet as they danced together, but she didn't make a single mistake as they circled the floor of the small room performing a tight little waltz. Her skin burned in the places he touched her, but she was barely aware of the rest of her body, only his. He filled her senses. She saw him, heard him, touched him, and smelled him. She thought if she could just cut off one of those senses for a while she might be able to calm her breathing and the pounding of her heart, but there was no way for her to do that inconspicuously. She could only stop touching him if she pulled away from him, but the song wasn't over yet. If she closed her eyes to avoid the sight of his dear face and his deep, dark eyes, she might give herself away. Of course she could not close her ears, so that voice of his continued to assault her heart. And to block that intoxicating scent, she would have to hold her breath, which of course could only last for so long. She tried to do it by breathing only through her mouth, but somehow she could still smell him, aftershave and soap and Charles invading her lungs. Perhaps the only sensible thing to do in this situation would be to run from the room and lock herself in her bedroom, mad though she might appear, but she was mesmerized by him and she stayed where she was.

For his part, as soon as he had her in his arms, Mr. Carson's feelings about the way he lived now changed completely. It no longer seemed sufficient to work by her side every day without ever telling her how he felt or enjoying any of the advantages of openly loving her. Holding her like this made him more forcefully aware of his desire for her, but that was nothing new. He had been dreaming of having her in his bed for years. What he hadn't thought of as much were the small, everyday intimacies, and thoughts of those burst on him as well. If she were really his, he could hold her hand as they walked to church and he could lean down and whisper that he loved her as they sat listening to Mr. Travis. He could squeeze her hand or touch her shoulder to encourage her on a particularly trying day, and he could steal a kiss when she came to his pantry in the middle of the afternoon to tell him she'd changed the dessert service. All of these things suddenly seemed so much more important than they ever had before. He wanted to tell her, but he wasn't sure if he ever would. With all of these thoughts crowding his mind, it was a wonder that he kept singing and dancing, missing neither a note nor a step.

"You've quite a voice, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said lightly after a few minutes. "Perhaps you ought to go on the stage." He stiffened, and his smile suddenly seemed a little forced, which naturally she observed. "What's the matter?"

"What do you mean?" he said, trying to evade her.

"I complimented your singing voice and suddenly you turned to stone," she explained in mild exasperation. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

He sighed. "I knew I'd have to tell you one day."

Her eyes widened. "Heavens! Tell me what?"

He paused for several seconds, then spoke quietly. "That I've been on the stage."

Her mouth dropped open.

"I'm almost surprised you haven't found out already, considering that three people in this house right now became aware of it some years ago. You always seem to know everything."

She laughed. "Sometimes more than is good for me. Who are these three individuals who have kept a secret from the all-knowing Mrs. Hughes for so long?"

"His lordship, Mr. Bates, and Anna. They were here when my old song-and-dance partner turned up at the house to make trouble. So was Lady Sybil. She was quite young and must have found it all very amusing, but it seems she kept quiet."

"And you may be sure I'll keep quiet as well, Mr. Carson, but I'm afraid you'll not escape without telling me about it."

So he told her the story, as they continued to waltz around the room without music. He told her everything, more than just the bits his former partner had revealed, from his youthful foolishness on the stage and the hand-to-mouth existence that went along with it to Grigg's reappearance and attempts at blackmail years later. She took it well, as he knew she would, responding to his tale with words and smiles that soothed his bruised dignity.

"Would you sing me another song now, Mr. Carson?" she asked when he had finished. "I interrupted you before."

He nodded. "You're tired," he said. "Rest your head on me."

She didn't argue, and he thought he heard her sigh as she laid her head on his chest and he began to sing again, this time more softly. Mrs. Hughes felt alternately lulled and thrilled by his voice. She was very tired, and the sound and vibration against her ear was soothing, but she was kept alert by an acute awareness of his nearness, of his breath lightly tickling her neck.

Mr. Carson felt all at once that he was as happy as he had ever been, while at the same time wanting so much more. The urge to tell her rose again, but he suppressed it. He did not have a plan. He might tell her that he loved her, but then what? What exactly did he intend to do about it? He could think of no greater honor than being her husband, but he did not know for certain how she felt or what she thought, how the family would react, or whether he should suggest retirement, for one or both of them. Where before it had seemed an impossibility, it now appeared that there might be a way, but there still were so many obstacles. He would think about it later. For now he would simply concentrate on how lucky he was to be holding her. When he had finished singing the longest song he could think of, as slowly as he could possibly sing it, they broke apart and bid one another good night. Upstairs, the couple they had left dancing earlier separated as well, the gramophone long gone silent.

One pair held hands as they made their way to the large and luxurious room they shared. The other two made their way up separate staircases to separate rooms. In just a few hours, the new year would be in full swing.

To be continued...