A/N This is the first in a series of stand-alone ficlets/drabbles/stories/poems(?) that I hope to post throughout the month of December. This collection was inspired by an alphabetical list of Christmas prompts that struck my fancy. I hope they strike yours, too. If you'd like to see the entire list, please check my tumblr page.

A – Advent

December, 1920

With Christmas approaching, the staff began decorating the house. Mrs. Hughes directed and supervised the preparations. Mr. Carson walked about, nodding his approval and occasionally giving instructions. Upstairs, elaborate swags of greenery were draped over the fireplace mantelpieces in the main rooms, about the archways between the rooms, on the railings along the balcony, and around the banisters on the stairs. Wreaths were mounted on doors and above fireplaces. Mistletoe was suspended in doorways. Floral arrangements were displayed on nearly every flat surface. Candles were placed everywhere. Figurines and other trinkets were situated on tables, shelves, and mantelpieces throughout the house. Only the tree was not yet put in place.

Downstairs, the decorations were more modest, but no less festive. There were evergreen boughs in the servants' hall, some very pretty winter flowers in the kitchen, a wreath on the back door, baubles here and there, and a lovely holly-and-ivy centerpiece in the middle of the servants' table. The small tree for the servants would come later.

When everything was complete, Mrs. Hughes praised the staff's efforts. She sent her maids off to perform other duties and turned the footmen and hall boys back over to Mr. Carson's direction. Then she sequestered herself in her sitting room, where she set out a few of her own trinkets, some candles, a vase of flowers, and a few small sprigs of holly and ivy. Satisfied with her efforts, she sat down at her desk to look over some papers. Before long, she heard a clatter and a commotion in the corridor. Leaving her sitting room to investigate, she found Alfred and James hanging mistletoe in the downstairs doorways. Alfred needed no additional height to reach the tops of the doorways, but James was being very noisy with the wooden crate he was using as a step-stool, and apparently, that was what had attracted Mrs. Hughes's attention.

"James … Alfred … Just what do you think you're doing? You know that Mr. Carson will not approve of such nonsense. He doesn't allow mistletoe downstairs. It gives you young ones ideas, he says."

"But Mrs. Hughes – " began Alfred.

"No 'buts,' Alfred. Take it all down at once," she commanded, interrupting him. "I'll not have Mr. Carson huffing and bellowing when he sees it."

"But Mrs. Hughes – " tried James with no more success than his counterpart. He was cut off just as summarily.

"I'll have no cheek from the two of you! Now, do as I say, and then go about your business. Quickly, now! If you know what's good for you, you'll not let Mr. Carson catch you out." And she returned to her sitting room, expecting her orders to be obeyed.

Ten minutes later, as she reviewed some kitchen invoices, Mr. Carson knocked on her door and entered.

"Mrs. Hughes, will you kindly explain to me why you object to a little bit of mistletoe? What do you mean by ordering my footmen to remove it from all the doorways?" Mr. Carson demanded with feigned sternness.

"What? Why I object to mistletoe? Are you in earnest? Mr. Carson, during the entire time I've been here, you've never allowed such a thing downstairs!" Mrs. Hughes was at as loss.

"Nevertheless, I've asked the lads to hang some this year. I don't see the danger in a bit of harmless fun."

"Harmless fun? Are you joking?" cried Mrs. Hughes. "With two lovesick young lads like Alfred and James chasing poor Ivy and Daisy? Not to mention the rest of the lot! Hall boys and housemaids … That's just asking for trouble. You know you'll regret it."

"We shall see. We shall see … Can we agree, at least, to a trial period? Perhaps we can leave it up for today, and see what happens? At the first sign of mischief, I'll have it removed."

Mrs. Hughes could only shake her head in wonder. "Very well, Mr. Carson," she conceded. "But on your own head be it!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I think you might be surprised." And he strode from the room, leaving Mrs. Hughes thoroughly perplexed.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Mr. Carson was correct. Throughout the first day, the downstairs mistletoe caused little enough disruption. Aside from Mr. Bates and Anna stealing a quick kiss underneath the sprig in the servants' hall doorway, the pervasive plant bore no other romantic fruit. Most of the maids were wise enough and cautious enough not to be caught standing in the doorways by randy footmen and hall boys, and the few footmen and hall boys who did catch the maids were wise enough and cautious enough to claim no more than an innocent peck on the cheek.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

That night, as Mrs. Hughes sat at the little table in her sitting room, talking with Mr. Carson and sipping her nightcap, she admitted, "It seems you were right, Mr. Carson. The mistletoe has done no real harm yet."

"Of course not. I don't know what your objection has been all these years," he teased.

"Nor do I, Mr. Carson," she played along. "I suppose I've been wrong the whole while."

"Indeed you have. Let the youngsters have their fun. As a matter of fact … I have a sprig right here," he said, shifting in his chair and pulling a small cutting from his waistcoat pocket. "I thought I might hang it in here for you, if you feel so inclined."

"Really, Mr. Carson," she said dismissively. "I'm far too old for such frivolity."

"Nonsense. Please, Mrs. Hughes. Allow me. I'll put it someplace inconspicuous. It will be our secret," he pleaded.

"Oh, all right," she capitulated, wondering what on earth he could possibly mean by all this.

He stood and made a show of looking about the room, though she suspected he already knew where he wanted to hang it. "Ah," he said, finally bringing his gaze to rest in a spot right above where she was sitting. He stood over her, and using a piece of string he'd brought with him, he affixed the small clipping to the light fixture protruding from the wall above her head.

"There," he declared when he'd arranged it satisfactorily. "No one else will even know it's there." What he said was true. It couldn't really be seen from the doorway, and the only time she ever sat in that chair beneath it was in the evening – with him.

He remained standing there, seemingly waiting for something, and she felt bold enough to ask, somewhat breathlessly, "It seems you've caught me under the mistletoe. Do you intend to claim a kiss?"

"Only if you're agreeable. I don't want to make you uncomfortable," he answered.

"It would be unusual … but not unpleasant, I think," she told him.

Having been granted permission, he bent down, grasped her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it sweetly. Then he smiled down at her, still holding her hand. "I hope you didn't find that too disagreeable, Mrs. Hughes."

"No, Mr. Carson. Not at all." She smiled back up at him.

"Good. I think I'll say good night now. I'll see you in the morning." He released her hand slowly, sliding his fingers softly over hers.

"Good night," replied Mrs. Hughes dreamily, as Mr. Carson gathered the glasses and decanter and took his leave.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

For the next several days, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes did not meet under any mistletoe during the day. It would have been difficult to say whether it was simply coincidence or they were careful to avoid the sprigs that were hung in the common doorways, but the reason was unimportant, because they found themselves under their own, secret mistletoe in the evenings. Every night, after their ritual chat, Mrs. Hughes allowed Mr. Carson to claim his good night kiss, and the kisses followed a gradual but definite progression.

The second night, he kissed her hand again, but this time, he opened her hand, placed a tender kiss to her palm, and closed her fingers over it, as if giving her something precious to keep. On the third night, he kissed her knuckles, then turned her hand over kissed the place where her palm met her wrist. By the fourth night, he'd grown brave enough to draw her up from her seat and kiss her cheek, far back, near her ear. On subsequent nights, his kisses ventured incrementally closer to her mouth.

They never spoke of these kisses; they simply indulged in them. Even though Mr. Carson had revealed nothing of his intentions in words, his actions spoke volumes. Mrs. Hughes could tell that he was building towards something. She was unsure exactly what that something was, but with the calendar rapidly advancing on Christmas and his lips gradually advancing on hers, she was certain she would find out before long.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

On Christmas Eve, Mrs. Hughes made it through the day on nervous energy alone. The previous night, Mr. Carson's kiss had fallen so close to her mouth that she could almost taste it. The tension was thrilling, tantalizing, and maddening, all at once. She'd slept only fitfully, her waking thoughts of Mr. Carson's chaste kisses warring with her sleeping dreams of more passionate embraces. Between the family's festivities and the staff's simple but meaningful observances, the day was full of activity. By evening, when the family were all sorted and the staff were finally shooed off to bed, she was exhausted but also very excited.

It was quite late when Mrs. Hughes finally assumed her usual position, seated beneath the mistletoe in her sitting room, and Mr. Carson assumed his, at the other side of the table. While they cheerfully recalled the day's events and spoke of the next day's planned activities, they drank a special bottle of wine that Mr. Carson had saved for the occasion.

When they could no longer choose to ignore their mutual fatigue, Mr. Carson rose from his chair and said, "I think it's time we should say good night." He pulled Mrs. Hughes gently from her chair to stand before him.

"Yes, I suppose we should," she agreed.

As he held her hands, he leaned towards her and lowered his head to hers. She closed her eyes. As his lips neared her cheek, he paused briefly, and she could feel his breath tickling her skin. Her own breath she held, for fear of making unladylike noises if she were to release it. Then, at last, his lips touched her face, coming to rest partially on her cheek but also covering a portion of her mouth, where they remained for a delightful moment. When he withdrew, she opened her eyes to find him smiling down at her.

"Good night, Mrs. Hughes," he said and kissed both her hands before letting go.

"Good night, Mr. Carson," she replied weakly.

Mr. Carson collected their empty glasses and the decanter and turned to leave. Just as he reached her door, the little clock on her shelf chimed midnight. He looked over his shoulder to face her again.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Hughes," he offered as he left.

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Carson," she returned.

Mrs. Hughes began to put her room in order for the night, a whirlwind of thoughts racing through her mind and a flood of emotions welling up in her heart. She very nearly jumped off the ground when she turned from her desk to find that Mr. Carson had reappeared in her room.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," he apologized. "Only I have something for you. I wanted to give it to you tomorrow – or rather, later today, that is – but I find can't wait another moment. And since it is already Christmas now … "

"All right." It was all she could think to say, and her voice would hardly cooperate.

"Will you sit back down with me, please?"

She nodded, and he took her by the hand, led her to her usual seat, and then occupied his own chair, still holding her hand across the table.

"Mrs. Hughes," he began, looking into her eyes very seriously, "before I give you this gift, there's something you should know. You see, all this mistletoe and kissing … The young ones think nothing of it. They see it as a harmless bit of fun and attach no special meaning to it. A young lad will jump at the chance to kiss any pretty girl who comes his way, even if he doesn't know her name; and the girl most likely will welcome his attentions, even if she's just met him. But I have a different view.

"Kisses are not to be offered and accepted so freely. A kiss should be an outward expression of something much deeper. I don't believe a man should kiss a woman unless his intentions towards her are both honorable and serious. I would never dream of kissing a woman unless I intend to devote myself to her fully. But I do dream of kissing you, and you should know that my feelings run deep and true, and my intentions are noble.

"I could say, 'I love you,' and it would be true. But 'I love you' hardly begins to describe what I feel for you: my panic when you're late returning from the village or when you're ill; my pain when you're upset or troubled; my joy when I see your smile or hear your laughter; my contentment at just having you near. You see, the word 'love' is inadequate, but I don't know a better one."

The whole time he spoke, Mrs. Hughes dared not move, breathe, look away, or even blink. Now that Mr. Carson had paused, she was able to speak, albeit feebly.

"I love you, too, Mr. Carson. Truly, I do. But more than that, I admire you, I respect you, I adore you, and I … desire you. I don't know how to put it into words, either, but you should know that this sentiment which neither of us can describe fully … I feel it, too – just as keenly."

"I can't tell you how happy it makes me to hear you say that."

"Likely, just as happy as it makes me to say it."

"Then allow me to continue. When a man … loves a woman … or … regards her as I do you … there is only one proper course of action." He lowered himself on one knee and drew from his waistcoat pocket a simple gold band. "Mrs. Hughes, will you allow me to love you, comfort you, honor you, and cherish you – to spend the rest of my days by your side?"

"Oh, Mr. Carson! Yes!" she cried, sniffling and weeping.

He slipped the ring onto her finger, rose, and drew her up with him. As they stood beaming at each other, he remarked, "Now that we understand each other, I hope my bride-to-be will allow me to give her a proper kiss."

"Your bride-to-be would like that very much," she assured him, laughing joyously.

"Happy Christmas, Elsie," he whispered as he lowered his lips to hers.

"Happy Christmas, Charles," she murmured just before their lips met.

And a very happy Christmas it was.

A/N Originally, I had hoped to post a longer, multi-chapter, modern AU this month, but real life has happened, and now I don't think I'll have the time or mental energy to devote to it. Since a series of one-shots is less daunting, this happened instead. I hope you enjoy. Please leave a review if you can spare the time for a few words. Thank you.