I know, I know…. Not too long ago I hinted that I'd stop writing altogether. As an explanation for why I haven't, I would like to quote the Dowager: I am a woman. I can be as contrary as I choose.

I'd like to thank all of those who wrote me lovely messages after my last story.

This story was inspired by chelsiefan's list of Christmas prompts (which can be found in bold in this story) and is therefore dedicated to her as a thank you for all she has done and is still doing for this fandom – and for being so wonderfully kind.

I know that chelsiesouloftheabbey has written a story that has made similar use of the prompts. I've written to her and she was very kind about it. What's more, she has been incredibly supportive and encouraging and I cannot thank her enough.

Finally (I promise I'll shut up after this), this is a Christmas story. I don't know about you, but real life has a tendency to kick your butt often and hard. So this time, I chose to write a story that is nothing but fluff. Not to be taken too seriously but rather a bit of light fun. I'm afraid it rather ran away with me length-wise… I hope you are not too put out because of that but I didn't want to split this up into separate chapters.

December 3rd, Thursday

Elsie Carson paused outside her husband's pantry, her forward motion halted by the angry grumbling permeating through the half-open door. Mrs. Patmore hadn't exaggerated when she had told her that she'd better check up on him before he did himself or someone else an injury.

"Irresponsible…. incapable… little…!"

She swiftly pushed the door open before her husband had the chance to finish that particular part of his furious tirade.

She would have laughed at the sight of him – all angry pacing and ruffled hair – if she hadn't been so acutely aware of the fact that his anger was little more than a front masking his very real upset.

"No luck then?" she asked carefully, her eyes drawn to the splintered parts of a cricket bat he held in his hands.

"No, Mr. Molesley has made good work of wrecking it," he grumbled in reply. The angry red hue of his cheeks would have fooled most, but she noticed the way he gently cradled the broken pieces of wood in his hands. How his eyes glanced despondently at the treasured keepsake.

"Maybe if you bring it to Mr. Royce? He's always taken expert care of his Lordship's equipment."

Charles Carson sighed deeply before putting the leftovers of what had been his grandfather's and father's cricket bat onto his desk. "It's hardly worth it. It's likely I'll never be able to play again, anyway."

Before Elsie was able to say anything else, her husband straightened his shoulders and slipped back into his butler's persona. "No, let this be a lesson to myself. Never trust Mr. Molesley with anything dear. We should take it to the cottage tonight and use it as firewood. At least that way it will still be useful."

The Housekeeper's forehead crinkled in concern as she watched her husband striding out of the room. For a moment she stood in the middle of his pantry, undecided, before she turned towards his desk. She carefully examined the broken bat. It really was only broken in one place – with some splinters where the wood had burst –surely it couldn't be too difficult to mend it.

She remembered how her father had once managed to fix up the old rocking horse that Becky had loved but effectively ruined in one of her more violent outbursts when they were children.

With the greatest care she picked up the pieces, a plan already forming in her mind.

*C~E*C~E*

"Oh Mrs. Hughes, let me help you with that." Mr. Molesley bustled over when she made her way through the Servant's Entrance. The icy wind blowing behind her forced the door wide open and caused her to struggle as she tried to balance her basket and the various bags she was carrying.

"Dreadful weather," the footman-turned-part-time-teacher observed as he pushed the door shut.

"You can say that again," the Housekeeper agreed, shaking her head a little to remove any excess rain from her hat. Days like these made her long for Scottish winters. While equally cold, she found the snow much easier to endure than the icy rain that gales of strong wind ruthlessly blew into her face when walking along the Yorkshire countryside.

"Do you want me to help you put away your bags?" Mr. Molesley asked and Elsie had to bite down on her lip to stop a smile from breaking out.

Poor Mr. Molesley really did feel awful about accidentally destroying Mr. Carson's Cricket bat. All day now, the man had tried to do each and everything in his power to please the Butler or by extension her.

She quickly declined his offer but handed him her umbrella to put into the laundry room to dry.

She carried her shopping into her sitting room and deposited the bags near her desk.

Shivering a little as she removed her drenched hat, she made her way towards the fireplace, intent on catching a bit of warmth before she had to go upstairs to start on her rounds. Her frozen fingers fumbled with her damp coat when her door was pushed open and her husband entered.

"Mrs. Hughes, I need…." He broke off when he noticed the state she was in. "You are dripping all over the floor."

She briefly stopped her attempts at unbuttoning her coat to fix him with her glare. "You know, sometimes even I have to wonder why it is that we are married."

His mildly disgusted expression immediately changed to one of contrition. Quickly walking up to her, he gently pushed her hands aside as he made quick work of the buttons, his hands free of tremors at the moment. He pulled the wet garment off of her and hung it on the back of the chair near the roaring fire.

"I'm sorry, it's been a hectic morning," he apologized and she fondly shook her head at him.

"Was there something you wanted?"

"I just needed the finalized guest list for the dinner on Saturday. But it can wait… are you sure you shouldn't change out of that dress? It looks uncomfortable."

She had been fidgeting with some of the damp spots on her dress while he had been speaking. Looking up, she found him studying her intently – his gaze fixed on a part of her dress that was decidedly not clammy.

She felt her cheeks infusing with colour – with warmth that had nothing to do with the fire.

"Well Mr. Carson, you managed to make that sound a little risqué," she teased and couldn't help laughing when his cheeks flushed as well. "It's not that bad, though. The coat caught most of the rain. I'm sure the dress will dry soon enough. Besides, all my clothes are at our cottage and walking there and back in the rain would defeat the purpose of changing in the first place."

"Why did you have to go out in this weather anyway?"

"I had some business to take care of," she explained evasively, resisting the urge to glance towards her basket to make sure that its content was still securely covered.

Before the Butler had the chance to question her further, Anna stepped into the room and quietly asked for the Housekeeper's assistance with getting some fabric out of one of the linen cupboards.

Throwing her husband a quick smile, she followed the Lady's Maid out of the door – for once grateful for Anna's timely interruption.

*C~E*C~E*

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked away quietly, its gentle noise something she had long become accustomed to.

She enjoyed these quiet evenings in their cottage. The silence surrounding her.

She briefly glanced at the clock and was reassured to know that she still had a bit of time before her husband came home. They had planned to enjoy dinner at their cottage but then the bell for the library had rung and of course her husband had been unwilling to let Mr. Barrow answer it. Some last minute requests from Lady Mary had finally caused him to send her ahead alone.

Usually she would have waited for him regardless of his instructions, but tonight she was eager to be home – especially as it allowed her a few moments without him present.

She carefully took the little blue box that she had removed from the small storage next to their bedroom and opened it. Her fingers tenderly caressed the simple yet elegant piece of jewellery nestled inside.

For a moment she imagined she could still hear her mother's voice as she recounted the story of the luckenbooth. Of how it had been her grandmother's – a wedding gift nearly too fine for a farmer's daughter.

She carefully removed the delicate brooch from the blue velvet that had protected it for so long. The silver was slightly tarnished but the flames of the fire still reflected in it.

With a start she realized that this was the first time she had looked at the luckenbooth since her mother had fallen ill.

Staring into the flames, Elsie thought back to the day the fateful telegram had arrived during her first season at Downton. Her panicked trip home and her fear that she'd be too late.

Her mother had been a mere shadow of her former bright and lively self when she had finally seen her. Sinking down onto her mother's sickbed, her throat had closed up at the realization that her mother would not recover.

Her mother had softly rebuked her for the sorrow on her face before pointing her oldest daughter towards the chest of drawers that stood in the far-corner of the bedroom. She told Elsie to remove a small box from the bottom drawer.

When Elsie had opened it at her mother's bequest, she had been surprised to find the brooch she vaguely remembered gracing her grandmother's Sunday blouse on the way to church.

"My darling lass," her mother's voice had been brittle in light of the tears that had gathered in her daughter's eyes. "I know it is a heavy burden I leave you with but I have no doubt that you'll do well for yourself and your sister."

The elder Mrs. Hughes had weakly reached out and covered her daughter's hand, which still held the luckenbooth. "If times get rough, if you someday don't know how to provide for yourself and Becky – then you will have this to sell. It is a fine piece; it should provide enough to get you through the worst of things."

Tears had trickled down Elsie's face as she understood that this was her mother's last attempt at providing for and protecting her.

For 36 years the luckenbooth had laid untouched in its casket, unworn – but still providing some comfort during dark times. Reminding her that there was a last resort, a last, desperate step she could take if she ever ran out of money.

She had briefly considered wearing it to her wedding but now she was glad that she hadn't.

Because now this little piece of jewellery would allow her to give something back to the man who had taken over the role of her protector. The man who did everything in his power to make her feel safe and secure. Who had quietly reassured her that he had plenty saved, even if the worst came to pass and his shaking hands forced him to retire earlier than they had planned.

Her trip into town today had revealed that mending her husband's old cricket bat was going to be more expensive and complex than she had initially thought. Mr. Royce had shaken his head in pity when she had presented the broken pieces to him. He had, however, given her the address of a specialist in York who might be able to help her. The man's skills came at a hefty price, though.

Elsie gently tightened her hold on the luckenbooth and closed her eyes, two tears which her reminiscing had produced escaping her eyes and tracking down her cheeks.

Maybe spending this amount of money on an old, broken bat was a foolish idea. Maybe her husband would even reproach her for spending unnecessary money, especially now that their future seemed so frightfully uncertain.

She was startled out of her bleak thoughts when the door to their cottage was thrown open and Charles bustled inside. It had stopped raining earlier but the wind was still biting and his face was red from walking in the icy temperatures.

Elsie had just enough time to hide her grandmother's brooch back in its box and tug it away in her mending basket while he hung his coat.

She met him in the kitchen where she had put the pie Mrs. Patmore had given her into the oven to keep it warm. Before she was able to open the oven door, he grabbed her and pressed his lips to hers in a quick kiss.

"Charlie!" She protested, although the twinkling in her eyes belied her stern tone.

"Wouldn't want there to be bad luck," he commented with a shrug and pointed to the little sprig of mistletoe he had pinned above the oven some nights before. Mistletoes had been the only decorations he had contributed while Elsie had decorated their cottage with garlands of holly and ivy and straw stars in preparation for the first advent. Although to be fair, Elsie thought, he had pinned quite a number of mistletoes to all kinds of places in their home.

When she had laughingly confronted him about it, he had merely informed her that it might be highly improper for him to kiss her under any of the mistletoes at the Abbey, but that he'd make absolutely certain that he'd not miss out on this particular tradition now that he had a lovely wife to kiss under the mistletoe.

"Is everything settled?" she asked as she put the pie in front of him.

"Yes, Lady Mary had got into a dispute about the wines with his Lordship and they wanted me to settle the matter."

Elsie simply nodded, for once not caring to make a snide comment about Lady Mary and her timing.

"Oh, I've been meaning to ask you, have you seen the broken cricket bat? I wanted to collect it earlier but it was gone."

She took a sip from her wine glass before answering carefully. "No, I haven't. Maybe one of the hallboys put it away?"

"I wouldn't put it past Mr. Molesley to have thrown it away. Probably thought he was doing me a favour too," he mused, chewing slowly. "Oh well, nothing to be done. It was beyond repair anyway."

She studied him silently, noticing the fleeting look of melancholic sadness on his face as he tried to convince himself that he didn't mind the old bat having been thrown away.

He looked up from his plate and for the first time noticed the slightly glassy look of his wife's eyes, the pallor of her face. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, putting down his cutlery.

"Just a little tired," she reassured him.

"I should have insisted on the chauffer taking you home to our cottage to change after you were caught in that dreadful rain today," he fretted.

She reached out and tenderly covered his hand with hers, feeling the slight tremor running through it. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and smiled at him. "I'm fine, no need to worry."

He turned his hand around so that their fingers interlaced. "Good. I wouldn't want you to be ill for our first Christmas together." With a soft smile he removed his hand and continued eating.

Elsie, however, needed a moment longer to swallow her tears, her love for her husband briefly threatening to overwhelm her.

Her mind was made up. She would make sure that her husband, this caring and darling man, got to keep his treasured keepsake – even if it meant giving up hers.

December21st, Monday

Elsie angrily fluffed the flat pillow on her bed for what seemed like the hundredth time and still she failed at finding a comfortable sleeping position.

Lying quietly in the dark, she mused that pride really came before the fall. How clever she had thought she was this morning when her Ladyship had called her up to the library and asked her to go to York to pick up some dressmaking supplies and fabrics. Miss Baxter had not been feeling well and Her Ladyship had been very apologetic about disrupting the Housekeeper's already chaotic schedule – what with Lady Edith's wedding and all the last minute events that had to be planned.

Little had Lady Grantham known that she was actually doing her Housekeeper a big favour. For a few days now Elsie had tried – and failed – to come up with a plan that would allow her to travel to York to pick up her husband's restored cricket bat. When she had brought the bat to the shop, the restorer had assured her that it would be finished in time for her halfday on the 16th. However, when she had called to confirm the appointment, he had informed her that due to unforeseen complications with the restoration, he'd need a few more days.

She supposed she should be grateful that he hadn't decided to increase the price of the restoration because of those complications, seeing as the sale of her grandmother's luckenbooth had only just rendered enough money to pay for it.

Remembering the visit to the pawn shop still caused her cheeks to redden in humiliation. She had been very careful to choose one of the pawn shops away from York's main roads. Nestled in the shadows of the old city wall, it had promised anonymous and quick service. The last thing she needed was for someone to see her and wonder why Downton's recently married Housekeeper needed to take a trip to a pawn shop to make ends meet.

The clerk in the store had spent a long time inspecting her grandmother's brooch before brusquely informing her that he couldn't pay her much – it was, after all, only silver. Furthermore, it was Scottish, which wouldn't endear it to many potential buyers. And no one really wore luckenbooths anymore anyway. Outdated and cheap – Elsie Carson had certainly felt both as she stood in the crammed little shop.

In light of her embarrassed silence the shopkeeper had softened somewhat, had uttered a gruff apology for his harsh assessment and eventually offered her 50p more. While the final price was just what she needed for the repair, all hope of putting something aside for future hard times had been lost and Elsie hadn't been able to shake off the feeling that she was flogging her family's legacy.

With a weary sigh Elsie sat up in her narrow bed and turned on the light, realizing that sleep was not to be found anytime soon. She surveyed the little room around her and couldn't help but pity herself for being stranded there. Who could have known that the trip to York would find an unexpected ending when the weather had turned quite unexpectedly?

Icy rain had caused the streets to freeze over immediately and the bus service to be cancelled on all roads. When she had finally found a phone and called the Abbey, she had been informed that the situation was just as bleak in Downton and that no chauffer could be dispatched to pick her up. Her husband had finally instructed her to find a room in a B&B and pay for it with the Family's money.

It was no good lying to herself, she realized. The reason why she found it so hard to settle down was not that the bed was too uncomfortable or the pillow too flat. It was quite simply because she missed her husband. She missed their nighttime rituals, the reading together in bed. She didn't even have her book with her – the one he had insisted she read because it was on of his favourites and because really, how could she have never read Dicken's A Christmas Carol?

It was embarrassing really. She had slept alone for almost sixty years but after only about nine months of being married, she found herself unable to relax because her husband's arm was not draped loosely over her waist from behind. Because his body didn't warm the bed and his deep, even breaths didn't slowly lull her to sleep.

What bothered her most, however, was that her husband had sounded none too concerned about her spending the night in York when she had spoken to him on the phone. Apparently he had no problems sleeping alone again. Maybe he was even grateful for some time spent alone, in solitude.

The thought did not sit well with her.

With a groan she allowed herself to fall unceremoniously back onto the pillow. She had better push all thoughts of her husband sleeping peacefully in their comfortable bed in their quaint little cottage out of her mind if she was to ever get some sleep.

December22nd, Tuesday

"Mrs. Hughes, you are back!" It was Anna who noticed her first as she hurried into the Servants Hall just in time for lunch. The other servants quickly got up from their seats but she waved them back down again.

"Yes, finally. I trust there have been no emergencies in my absence?" She took her place at the table and was disappointed to see that her husband was still missing. She had been looking forward to seeing him all morning.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Anna replied.

Elsie nodded, reassured by Anna's calm words – at least until she noticed the smirks on the faces of Anna and her husband. A quick glance towards Miss Baxter revealed that the Lady's Maid fared no better at hiding her amused smile behind her glass of water.

Before Elsie had the chance to enquire about the source of everyone's amusement, Daisy entered and put lunch on the table.

"Good to have you back, Mrs. Hughes." The Assistant Cook smiled and Elsie returned her friendly gesture.

"Shouldn't we wait for Mr. Carson?" Elsie asked.

"Oh, he asked to be excused. He said he wasn't very hungry and still had some things to take care of," Daisy replied and her explanation was met by a few giggles from some of the housemaids.

Something was definitely going on and Elsie Carson didn't much appreciate being left in the dark. And what did Daisy mean that her husband wasn't hungry? For as long as Elsie could remember, there had never been a time that her husband had not been hungry. Even when he had been laid low with the Spanish Flu, he had asked for some broth and biscuits to be brought to him. She'd be worried about his lack of appetite if she didn't get the distinctive feeling that everyone else knew the reason for his abstinence and that it wasn't anything to worry about.

She tried to eat at a normal speed – it wouldn't do to appear too eager to seek out her husband – but she was still the first to finish lunch and ask to be excused.

As Daisy said, she found Charles in his pantry, brooding over some invoices.

"I didn't know you were back," he greeted her when she entered his domain.

"I returned in time for lunch. I had hoped to see you there." She came to stand in front of his desk, disappointed that he hadn't got up to greet her.

"Ah yes, I found myself not very hungry and thought I'd get some of the invoices out of the way."

He gave her a brief smile before his attention focused back on the little slips of paper in front of him, which left Elsie standing rather awkwardly in front of his desk. She hadn't really expected any overt outpouring of emotion on his part, but the fact that he didn't even feel the need to kiss her after they had spent the night apart still stung.

"Well, then I guess I had better get back to work as well." She informed him – her voice cold, hard.

He quickly looked up again upon noticing her tone but she didn't give him the chance to say anything else as she hurried out of his pantry.

*C~E*C~E*

A quick round upstairs reassured her that her absence hadn't caused too much of a disruption to that day's schedule and that Miss Baxter and Anna had done a stellar job of directing her maids. Before focusing on her own books, Elsie decided to enjoy a quick cup of tea with Mrs. Patmore.

When she entered the kitchen, she was met with a scene of chaos. While Mrs. Patmore was barking orders at an unfortunate kitchen maid who was obviously doing something wrong with the sauce for tonight's dinner, another maid was busy taking two trays of shortbread out of the oven. Daisy was meanwhile occupied with rolling out another layer of dough, barking her own orders at a third maid working on what looked like a dessert.

"Are you not done with the baking yet?" Elsie asked incredulously. She knew that Downton's Cook usually made sure to have all the preparations for Christmas out of the way before the real Christmas rush began.

"I would have been if someone hadn't decided to spend the night in York," Mrs. Patmore huffed.

Elsie failed to see what her absence the night before had to do with the frantic baking session that was taking place amid the usual hustle and bustle in Downton's kitchen. Her confusion must have shown on her face because Mrs. Patmore finally turned towards the maids and barked another short order before pressing a cup of tea into the Housekeeper's hands and directing her towards her sitting room.

"Now would you explain to me how my unplanned stay away from the house has negatively impacted your cookie supply?" Elsie asked when Mrs. Patmore had closed the door behind them and both women had taken their accustomed places around Elsie's little table.

"Because," Mrs. Patmore began, an impish grin already spreading over her face, "someone's husband has spent the rest of the day after you called looking so utterly miserable and lost that every female and the occasional male servant felt the need to try and cheer him up by bringing him cookies."

"I am sorry, what?"

"I had two boxes filled to the brink with shortbread and an assortment of cookies. Two! Of course no one bothered to ask me for the cookies. Simply sneaked them out of the box in the back, didn't they? And they were all in it too. Daisy, Anna, Miss Baxter – the whole lot. And dozy me didn't notice it until this morning – because when I brought him some of my egg nog and yet another plate of cookies last night, I took them out of the box in the kitchen. As the others should have done. Maybe I would have noticed that he'd already eaten half a box then," Mrs. Patmore huffed – clearly drawn between amusement and exasperation at the staff's antics.

"So that's why he's not been hungry," Elsie concluded, unable to keep the smile off her face in light of her friend's revelations.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he never ate a cookie again in his life," The Cook chuckled.

"Unlikely I'd say," Elsie replied drily and both friends broke into merry laughter.

"I apologize for the state of your cookie supply then," Elsie said when they had both calmed down again.

"Ah, it's nothing. But…," Mrs. Patmore broke off, her expression having turned serious. "Is everything alright with him? He seemed… I don't know how to describe it. Kept clutching his right hand."

Elsie's eyes softened when she listened to Mrs. Patmore's concern. Of course her friend would have picked up on Charles' altered behaviour.

"He's fine for now, Mrs. Patmore. Nothing for which we won't find a solution."

The Cook's face showed that she was only half happy with the Housekeeper's reply but both women had known each other long enough to know that the other would talk if she could. So Mrs. Patmore simply nodded, accepting her friend's vague answer for the moment.

*C~E*C~E*

After the Cook had left again, Elsie stayed behind in her sitting room reflecting on what the Cook had told her. A soft smile eventually spread over her face and with determination she made her way to her husband's pantry.

She entered after her customary short knock and then quickly shut the door behind her before locking it.

Charles was still behind his desk, finishing his accounts before he had to start with the preparations for dinner. He looked up in surprise at her swift entrance and his eyes widened as she walked around his desk to stand next to him. Aware that he had displeased her with his behaviour earlier, he looked slightly wary of what he expected would be a rather severe tongue-lashing.

He was surprised therefore when she took his face into her hands and bent down to press a quick, firm kiss to his lips. His surprise lasted for only a few seconds before his hands encircled her waist and he pulled her down into his lap – now glad that she had locked the door.

"What did I do to deserve this?" he asked quietly, enjoying the way her eyes were level with his in this position.

"You missed me," Elsie replied simply and then had to stifle a grin when he blushed all the way up to his ears.

"Ah yes, that." He lowered his eyes for a moment, fidgeting with her chatelaine.

"No need to be embarrassed Mr. Carson. Shall I let you in on a little secret?"

He looked up again and was touched by the soft smile on her face, her gentle eyes. "I missed you, too."

And with that she leant forward and kissed him again.

December 24th, Christmas Eve, Thursday

His hand shook as he was trying to put the key into the lock. Instead of doing it for him, Elsie pretended to look for something in her handbag. In recent weeks she had learnt that sometimes it was best to ignore his affliction, that he sometimes appreciated her ignorance more than her help.

When he finally succeeded in opening the door and they had made their way into their parlour, she let out a weary sigh. The day had seemed to drag on forever. In an effort to be able to leave the house on time, they had both spent all day working – even forgoing their little tradition of meeting for mid-afternoon tea in her sitting room. She was only glad that Charles had agreed to have dinner at the house to spare her the task of cooking – even if his asking for a third helping of Mrs. Patmore's Christmas pudding had rather delayed their trip home.

"I can't believe you managed to talk Andy into performing as Father Christmas for the children tomorrow," Charles commented as he took her coat from her and went to hang it up.

"Lady Mary and Mr. Branson thought it would be a nice thing for the wee ones. And I didn't think that you would have appreciated it if I had volunteered you for the job. No matter how dashing I think you'd have looked with the red coat and that long beard."

His only reply was an unintelligible grumble and she smiled in amusement at his pretend annoyance.

When Charles entered their sitting room again, he saw the way Elsie winced as she straightened after igniting the fire in their fireplace.

"Do you want to go and change into something more comfortable before we enjoy a glass of sherry?"

"I think I rather would, yes," she replied gratefully.

Charles waited until he heard Elsie's steps on the stairs before hurrying over to his coat and taking a little square box out of one of the pockets. He quickly hurried back to the small Christmas tree they had put up in the corner next to the fireplace and put it underneath. Smiling in satisfaction, he prepared their glasses of sherry before sitting down on their settee in front of the cosy fire.

She rejoined him not long after, sitting down close to him, her shoulder touching his.

"I was thinking," he began after he had handed her glass of sherry to her, "maybe we should exchange our gifts tonight. You know how busy Christmas Day can get. And I'd rather not exchange our personal gifts at the Abbey this year."

She agreed happily, getting up from the sofa again. "Let me just get yours. Father Christmas thought it better to put it somewhere where you wouldn't be tempted to take a peek. Not that it'd have fit into your stocking anyway."

He grabbed her hand before she got very far. "That can wait, why don't you first check underneath the tree what Father Christmas brought you?"

She turned towards their little tree in confusion, very sure that there had been nothing lying underneath it earlier. Seeing the little box there, she made her way over and picked it up with childlike excitement. When she turned back towards her husband, she found him studying her nervously.

She made her way back to the settee and resettled herself back at his side.

He watched her carefully peeling the wrapping paper away and resisted the urge to flex his right hand in an effort to get rid of the nervous energy inside his body. He had never given a woman jewellery before and while he was fairly certain that she had never disapproved of his taste before, he couldn't be sure.

He wasn't reassured by the gasp she emitted as her eyes fell onto the box the wrapping paper had revealed. She hadn't even opened it yet and he already had the sinking feeling that he might have made the wrong choice with his gift. Were there tears in her eyes?

"Go on, I promise it's not too horrible." He tried to make light of the situation but in his mind he was already trying to prepare himself for the hurt he'd feel when she rejected the choice he had made.

She was still staring at the little blue box in her lap, the look and feel of it eerily familiar to her. Swallowing painfully, she opened it only to find her grandmother's luckenbooth inside.

"Oh Charlie," she breathed, the tears finally tumbling down her cheeks as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

"It's a luckenbooth," Charles hastened to explain, "the man at the shop said…" Charles had been rather taken with the brooch when he had seen it in the shop's window while picking up the wines for Lady Edith's wedding in York. Even more so when he had found out the symbolisms that lay behind a man giving a woman a luckenbooth.

She interrupted his explanation by turning her upper body towards him and grasping his left hand firmly. "I know this brooch," she admitted quietly, in an effort to explain her reaction.

"What do you mean?" He asked gruffly, his confusion over her strange behaviour unsettling him.

"It was my grandmother's," she explained, looking down at the luckenbooth lovingly.

"Was it stolen from you?" He asked, puzzled.

She slowly shook her head. "No, I sold it."

"Why would you do that?" And when, Charles asked himself – aghast that he had never noticed a time in which she had been in such dire financial straits that she had been forced to sell what was obviously a precious family heirloom.

"Wait here," she ordered quietly, pressing his hand gently to reassure him that everything was alright.

She returned almost instantaneously, carrying a large parcel. She had hit his gift in the small storage; fairly certain that he wouldn't check there seeing as it mainly housed their linen.

She gave him the gift and nudged his arm to get him to open it.

With his brows still contracted in confusion, he quickly ripped the wrapping paper open. "A new cricket bat," he exclaimed in surprise.

"It's not new," she explained softly, peeling the paper further away.

Charles' eyes widened when he noticed the familiar carvings on the bat's handle. HC – Harold Carson, EC – Edward Carson and CC…. he still remembered how proud he had been when his father had carved his initials onto the handle after he had played his first game for the House team.

"How did you do this?" he asked breathily, his right ring finger softly tracing the carvings.

"Mr. Royce recommended a restorer in York. The man was quite impressed with the bat's quality and tradition. I'm no expert but I think he did a good job mending it."

Charles took the bat into his hands, examining the blade carefully. There was no sign of the breakage and when he ran his hand over it, it felt smooth and even.

"This is amazing. Elsie, it must have cost…," his voice tapered off as his fell onto the jewellery box still cradled in his wife's right hand. All at once the missing pieces of the jigsaw fell into place and his eyes whipped up to hers in disbelief.

"Oh Elsie, oh you foolish, crazy woman!"

She smiled through her tears, not at all hurt by his incredulous exclamations.

"You shouldn't have done this! Elsie, it's not even certain that I can play again. Why would you waste your priceless memories on me?" He looked at her helplessly, altogether unsure how to react to this kind of sacrifice.

Elsie quickly put her luckenbooth onto the table before reaching over and putting the cricket bat down as well. Then she grasped her husband's face in her hands and forced him to look at her. "Because, just like its owner, this bat was only slightly dented. Because a small impairment does not justify throwing away something that has been good and true and precious for so many years."

"I won't be fixed by a little whittling," Charles replied despondently, his hands coming up to cover hers.

"Maybe not," she agreed softly. "But that doesn't mean that you are done for or useless. With a little love and care, a reduced workload, who knows what might happen? Oh Charlie, you've given me so much. I would sell everything I own if it brought you even a moment of happiness," she concluded teary-eyed.

Overcome with emotion, Charles drew her into his arms, nearly crushing her in his embrace. His tears of gratitude dropped onto the crown of head unchecked while his whispered professions of love echoed in her ears.

January 1st, New Year's Day, Friday

The celebrations of New Year's Eve were slowly dying down, the music that Andrew and the others had begun playing shortly after Elsie had finished singing Auld Lang Syne had been turned off and the servants were busy cleaning the Servants Hall.

"Will you wear it tomorrow?" Her husband's voice suddenly rumbled in her ear from behind. She turned around and found him looking at her with soft eyes.

"If you'd like," she replied, reaching out to gently press his hand, to steady him further after everything that had happened that night.

He surprised her by bringing her hand up to his mouth and pressing a tender kiss to the back of it. "You said that the luckenbooth was too fine to wear at the Abbey. But it might be just right to wear it for this different life that awaits us."

A brilliant smile broke out on her face upon hearing his words. "I'll definitely wear it then," she promised before pressing a soft kiss to his lips – blissfully ignoring the whooping sounds the other servants made in the background.

I'd like to wish you all a very merry Christmas and I'd really appreciate it if you left a review. You cannot imagine how much joy your words bring me. Thank you!