A/N For Week 4 of S8, I offer you the beginning of a new multichapter story. The prompt for the story comes from royal-lover, who posted it on tumblr months ago. I found it compelling (I've been thinking about it ever since I came across it), and I asked if I might explore the idea. Royal-lover kindly agreed. I'm putting the prompt in an author's note at the end of this chapter so as not to spoil anything. Just so you're aware, there's some mild angst at the beginning, but it's nothing terrible. I can promise you that things will get brighter soon enough and that the tale will end happily.

December 24, 1924

On Christmas Eve, after the party, the butler and housekeeper sat in the butler's pantry, exchanging gifts after everyone else in the house had gone to bed.

"Mr. Carson, I'm very appreciative. Really. But I can't accept," said Mrs. Hughes.

"Why not?" Mr. Carson wondered.

"It's far too generous," she explained. "We've always exchanged small tokens for Christmas, but – this!" She waved the paper and envelope in the air between them. "This is too much!"

"Nonsense, Mrs. Hughes," he argued. "We are friends, are we not? Good friends? And when one friend finds himself with the means to do something kind for the other, should he not do it for her? Please, Mrs. Hughes. Allow me to help you in this way."

"But I've given you a set of handkerchiefs!"

"A lovely set of handkerchiefs on which you have elegantly, painstakingly embroidered my initials and some other details and flourishes. A precious set of handkerchiefs whose value goes beyond any monetary worth. A most thoughtful gift from a cherished friend. A gift that I shall treasure all my days."

Mrs. Hughes blushed and looked away. "I'm pleased that you think so highly of them … and of me. But still … "

"'But still' nothing! I insist that you allow me to do this for you, and if you try to refuse, I shall make the arrangements myself. I shall purchase your train ticket and reserve a room for you at a suitable inn, and then you shall have no choice in the matter."

"Ridiculous man!" said Mrs. Hughes, shaking her head; but grateful tears sparkled in her eyes, and a fond smile adorned her lips.

"Right, then. It's settled," declared Mr. Carson with a satisfied grin.

"As I've been left with no say in the matter, I suppose it is settled!" she chuckled. "Very well."

"Excellent," he said with a nod and a smile.

The clock chimed the hour, as if to remind them how late it was.

"That's our cue, I believe. It's late. We should go up," suggested Mr. Carson.

"Yes, it's well past time," Mrs. Hughes agreed.

"You go on ahead," he offered. "I'll just close up down here before I go."

She nodded. "All right, then."

They stood, Mr. Hughes holding her note and Mr. Carson carrying the box with his new handkerchiefs. They remained facing each other for a moment before Mrs. Hughes spoke.

"Mr. Carson, before we say good night, I mean to say … That is, I want you to know … " She stopped speaking, looked down, and took a deep breath. Then she took a step forward, looked up at him with a smile, rested her free hand on his chest, and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Thank you, Mr. Carson. You're a very dear man."

For a moment, Mr. Carson was so moved that couldn't form an appropriate response. But then he managed to collect his wits enough to whisper, "Thank you. And I hope you know that you're very dear to me, as well. More than you know." He smiled and squeezed her hand. They gazed at each other silently for a few seconds before she turned and left.

After putting things in order downstairs, then going up to his room and getting ready for bed, Mr. Carson sat in his bedroom, looking at the ring, lamenting the tragedy of it all. It had taken him twenty years to realize how much he loved Mrs. Hughes, five more to convince himself that he could and should declare his love to her, another three to determine roughly how to proceed, and a further two to gather enough courage to act. But after thirty long years, things had finally been falling into place, and everything had been going so well. First, he'd proposed his "business venture" with the house, and Mrs. Hughes had seemed happy about the prospect. Then, even though she'd told him about her sister and admitted she couldn't go in on the project with him, she'd seemed sad about it … even told him she wished she could have … called it "our little dream." Her frank confession and heart-wrenching vulnerability had made him brave: he'd bought the house anyway and registered it in both of their names. He'd decided to propose and had even bought a simple ring to offer her. But fate had had other plans. As Christmas approached, he'd noticed the first tremors. At first, he'd tried to persuade himself he'd imagined the episodes, but soon he could no longer deny that they were, in fact, real. Then, he'd tried to attribute the instances to nerves or stress, but that ascription hadn't been very convincing. Finally, he'd been forced to accept the certainty that he would be plagued for the rest of his life with the same palsy that had afflicted his father and grandfather, and he'd resigned himself to the fact that he could never profess his love or marry Mrs. Hughes. He had hoped to take care of her, but if they were to marry, she would find herself caring for a helpless invalid, a useless husband. He would never burden her in such a way.

And so on Christmas Eve, instead telling Mrs. Hughes of her stake in the house and proposing marriage, as he'd previously hoped and planned, he'd given her a sort of promissory note: a letter stating that he'd like to buy her a train ticket to visit her sister at a future time of her choosing and, further, that he'd like to give her some money towards her lodging and meals during her visit. She'd tried to refuse, but he'd been insistent, and she'd eventually relented, agreeing that when she could find a convenient time to visit, she would allow him to pay for her train fare and accommodations.

It wasn't as much as he wished he could do for her, but it was the most he could offer her under the circumstances. He intended to figure out a way to use the income and the equity from the house to help her in whatever way he could. She probably wouldn't allow him to give her any money towards her sister's care, but he would think of something, some way to ease her burden. When Mrs. Hughes had kissed his cheek earlier, Mr. Carson had been sorely tempted to take her in his arms and declare his love. He resisted, though, because it wouldn't have been fair to her – not when he had nothing to offer her except financial security. Still, if money were all he had to offer, he could do that without burdening her. He had only to persuade her to allow him to do so. She was a proud, independent woman, he knew, but he would find a way. His love, given his condition, might be a burden to her, but his money would not.

Mr. Carson once more examined the ring in his trembling hands. He was well aware that life was not fair. He'd long ago stopped expecting any justice in matters of fate. Mr. Carson believed in a benevolent God, but he also knew that for reasons beyond his own understanding, that same God sometimes allowed people to experience heartbreak. Still, it seemed an exceptionally cruel trick that such happiness should be snatched from his grasp just as it fell nearly within his reach. He exhaled heavily and wiped a single tear from his eye. Then he placed the ring back in its box and tucked the box away in the drawer in his night table. He took one of his new handkerchiefs in his hand and turned off his bedside lamp. The handkerchief, pressed to his face, with Mrs. Hughes's scent lingering on it, was both a comfort and a sorrow. And with a troubled heart, Mr. Carson lay down to face a night of fitful slumber.

A/N The prompt was as follows:

"Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes are not married. Mr. Carson retires because of the tremors in his hands, and he sees his plan to marry Mrs. Hughes going away. He doesn't want to be a burden to her. But she doesn't give up on him so easily. Every night, she visits him in his cottage. What happens next?"

Many thanks to royal-lover for the excellent idea and for allowing me to expand on it.

I don't expect this story to be a 30-chapter monster, but I'm guessing it will take maybe 8?, 10?, 12? chapters to resolve things satisfactorily. If all goes well, I'll update every Sunday for the rest of S8 and then whenever I can after that.

And thanks to my youngest daughter, my faithful proofreader, who looked over this for me.

Oh, and thank you to everyone who read "More Than Words." Special shout out to guest reviewers, whom I can't thank personally.