Author's Note: When I completed An Exceptional Love, I thought that would mark my last canon era story ever. As is often the case, a writer cannot choose his inspiration, and the concept for this story works better in canon period than in modern AU. I do not expect this to be as long as my other sagas, but we shall see how it proceeds. Please mind the rating. This is an M-rated story.
The story is set in a Series 2 AU and takes place a year after the Series 2 Christmas Special. The key background facts and canon divergence points that you will soon discover are that while Mary told Matthew about Kemal Pamuk, she proceeded to marry Sir Richard Carlisle anyway because of Matthew still being damaged over Lavinia's death, as well as uncertainty regarding Downton's future. They live together at Haxby, the property neighbouring Downton Abbey. Sybil married Tom and moved to Ireland. Edith married Sir Anthony Strallan and moved to Loxley Hall. Robert died of a heart attack, making Matthew the Eighth Earl of Grantham well before his time. Within that context, Mary and Matthew are resigned to having lost their chance to be together, and with Mary no longer at Downton, their interactions are essentially non-existent. Matthew thinks that all is lost, but he will find out that everything is not as it seems.
To Claim His Prize
Chapter 1:
Haxby Park, Yorkshire, England, October 1921
"Lord Grantham. Lord Grantham. My Lord, I beg your pardon."
Matthew Crawley, Eighth Earl of Grantham, blinked and shook his head slightly, feeling as if his brain was still asleep. The sound of the dealer's voice cut through the haze over his bleary eyes and shook him from his apparent reverie. He was seated at a large rectangular table covered in green velvet. An empty Cognac snifter sat poised against the black runner that framed the table, and neat stacks of poker chips were arranged in front of him. A set of cards sat face down beneath his hand.
His mind slowly caught up to the situation and the apparent predicament he found himself in.
He looked up at the dealer in confusion and realized that all the other players and many of the immaculately dressed guests standing around the large table were staring at him expectantly. Some watched him with concern, others with indifference. One man, in particular, the host of the evening's festivities, did nothing to disguise his smug, condescending smirk.
Sir Richard Carlisle wore a mask of bored indifference at the best of times, but whenever Matthew was in his presence, he seemed to become more animated, as if he was a jack-in-the-box that had just been wound up and unleashed. His eyes turned bright and cunning, his teeth were bared like an animal wanting to display its fangs in a show of aggression. All during the game, he would look around and observe each of the players cautiously, trying to discerns their tendencies and tells. However, when he found himself matched up against Matthew, as he was now, he seemed to take greater interest in the hand, almost approaching it with relish.
"I apologize," Matthew mumbled.
"The bet is to you, Lord Grantham," the dealer repeated. "Sir Richard has raised to 500 pounds."
"Right," Matthew muttered. He glanced down at his cards once again before putting them back face down on the table. After a slight pause, he reached for the stacks of poker chips and selected a particular colour.
"I call," Matthew announced, clearing his throat. "500 pounds."
Richard smiled and kept his eyes on Matthew as the other players and the small audience looked on in anticipation. Richard's aggressive betting had forced everyone else to fold their cards for this hand. Everyone except for Matthew.
"Two players," the dealer declared. "Sir Richard."
It seemed as if the room stood still waiting on Sir Richard to show his cards. Servants who spent the evening keeping the drinks of the players and their guests refilled and their cigars lit, all stopped what they were doing in concert. The small band in the corner who had been playing the new fast-paced music of the new decade grew quieter. All eyes focused on the two remaining combatants, and the coming reveal to see who would win the pot of over 1500 pounds.
Sir Richard kept his eyes on Matthew as he reached for his cards. He flipped them over with a flourish, his smile never wavering.
"Two pair – Aces and Eights," the dealer announced, bringing Sir Richard's cards into the centre for all to see.
Everyone was already looking at Matthew before the dealer turned to address him.
"Lord Grantham," the dealer prompted him.
Matthew frowned for a split second, looking at Carlisle's cards in disbelief. He quickly resumed his neutral expression, silently berating himself for having shown any reaction to his opponent. Poker had once been called The Lying Game ages ago, for the essence of the game was to only reveal what one wanted, and to manipulate the opponent into believing what one wanted him to believe. Giving Carlisle any information, particularly unprompted, would be disastrous.
Reaching for his cards, Matthew pursed his lips, his voice tight and quiet.
"Well played, Sir Richard," he said quickly, passing his cards to the dealer without turning them over.
The other players all exchanged impressed glances over Sir Richard's victory. Mild applause rang out from the guests. All at once the mood in the ballroom lightened. The band picked up the song once again. The servants resumed their tasks. Richard collected his winnings and leaned back to take a sip of his Scotch, his smile even wider than before.
"Your Cognac, my Lord," a servant stated politely, placing a freshly filled snifter next to Matthew.
"Thank you," Matthew muttered, nodding before taking a longer sip than he ought to have.
A valet came over to collect Sir Richard's empty glass. The man leaned in and whispered into his Master's ear for a moment before departing to fetch him a new drink. No one else noticed the exchange, least of all the Earl of Grantham sitting across the table, stewing in his most recent defeat at the hands of his rival.
"Sir Richard raises to 200 pounds. The bet is to you, Lord Gillingham," the dealer called.
Anthony Foyle, Viscount Gillingham, did not hesitate. "I call, and re-raise," the tall dark-haired man replied, pushing his chips forward. "300."
"Lord Gillingham raises to 300 pounds," the dealer confirmed, taking the chips and adding them to the growing pot. "The bet is to you, Lord Grantham."
Matthew glanced over at Tony, wondering what cards the man could be holding to justify such an aggressive maneuver. As usual, Tony had a silly sort of smile on his face, his large nose making him look anything but intimidating. Tony seemed to play rather loosely throughout the evening, just as likely to bet when he had nothing as he was when he held the strongest hand. His bravado was generally all for show, whether it was playing at cards or bragging about how he had negotiated a settlement with the government to save his family estate. The man loved to crow about his own accomplishments and conveniently ignored the underlying failures that rendered them virtually meaningless. It was difficult to tell whether he was being reckless or deceptive, and Matthew tended to think that with the amount of money at stake, even Tony wouldn't rush headlong into a foolish bet without cause.
"I fold," Matthew said slowly, passing his cards to the dealer.
"Sir Richard," the dealer continued, looking at the newspaperman.
"Call," Richard nodded.
Tony didn't wait for the dealer to ask him to show his hand.
"Kings," Tony grinned, turning over his cards and revealing his high pair.
Richard's eyes narrowed as he saw his opponent's hand.
"It's yours," he sniffed, tossing his cards dismissively to the dealer without showing them.
No one bothered to applaud as Tony collected his winnings. The drinks were refilled and the sound of music and conversation picked up again. Matthew took up his Cognac and smiled, almost as pleased to see Carlisle lose a hand as if he himself had won.
As before, the same valet came over to whisper in Sir Richard's ear before the next hand was dealt. Everyone either ignored the conversation, or assumed it was something innocuous, such as the kitchen running low on hors d'oeuvres. Once the cards were passed out and the new hand began, no one even remembered the servant had spoken to Sir Richard, or the fact that such private talks were happening with strange regularity throughout the night.
"It's called Head of a Woman. This is believed to be the first sculpture of the Cubist period, and certainly one of Picasso's earliest works since launching the movement that has shaken the European art world. What is so remarkable about this piece is how it is transformed whenever we move our own eyes and look at it from a different angle. The contours, the shapes, we can see where Picasso placed his very fingers into the plaster."
Matthew frowned and sipped his drink, keeping to himself a short distance away from the small crowd raving over Sir Richard's most recent purchase. He had already seen it when he first arrived, and read about it extensively before finding out to his dismay that it would be displayed at Haxby. When he first heard about Cubism, he was intrigued, as stunned and overwhelmed by the movement as anyone. He liked how the paintings and sculptures of the style challenged one to consider looking at things through different perspectives, and search through the jumbled mess for the individual components that made up the subject. It always started out as a strange morass, vague and messy, but eventually the mind sifted through it all and clarity came in an eureka flash of realization where the important parts were distinguished and the rest left behind.
If Head of a Woman was put on display in London, he surely would have gone to see it. Now that it would call Haxby home, he could barely bring himself to look at it.
His annoyance was made all the worse by having to endure such a familiar voice rave about it.
"Sir Richard was able to obtain it through his contacts in France for a quite exorbitant sum, but he tends to be rather reckless when it comes to fine art. It's quite a coup to bring such a masterpiece to England. He's already been in touch with the National Gallery to discuss staging an exhibition. He believes that this is seminal work should be shared with as many people as possible."
Matthew clenched his teeth as the guests spoke glowingly of their host's generosity. He prayed that this intermission in the poker game would end promptly and he could go back to the table. These interludes were designed to allow the players to stretch their legs a bit and mingle with the guests. Matthew preferred actual exercise to standing around, and he had no interest in mingling with anyone here, so to make him wait out the ten minutes was akin to a slow torture.
Particularly when he had to hear the most brilliant woman he knew parrot a speech about the magnanimous Sir Richard Carlisle like a glorified tour guide.
A servant appeared before him and collected his empty glass. Matthew took the opportunity to walk around the large ballroom, hoping that by moving about he would avoid anyone trying to talk to him.
Like the rest of the immense country home, the ballroom at Haxby Park was renovated by Carlisle to the point that it barely resembled its former self. His numerous changes included installing electric lighting everywhere and hanging gaudy crystal chandeliers from the ceiling. Paintings and sculptures from Italy and France were brought in and put on show as if they were badges of honour, evidence that Carlisle had the money and status to belong in Society. The walls were painted blue with pillars and mouldings in white, and gold accents everywhere. There were mirrors all over the place, large shining sheets of glass mounted to capture everything that was going on in the large space.
He circulated about slowly, taking it all in. A few of the ideas and touches weren't so bad. There were rooms back at Downton Abbey that were similarly appointed. It was how Carlisle had piled them all into one room, though, that obliterated any sense of subtlety. The room screamed 'look at me' from every corner.
"Are you hiding, or brooding?"
He blinked and looked up, seeing her reflection in the mirror in front of him first. Her hair was cut short in keeping with the new styles from Paris, the dark brown tresses now stopping just past her ears, held fast by a gleaming diamond headband. Her gown was silver, and seemed to shift and undulate as she moved. The skirt fell just above her ankles, the slightest sign of bare flesh daringly visible through the black fringe. She looked exactly as she was supposed to – the sophisticated and elegant hostess, dressed in the latest fashions, ready to entertain.
"Mary," he nodded, turning away from the mirror to face her.
"You didn't seem particularly interested in my presentation of Head of a Woman, Matthew," she noted. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No, you covered it all, I think," he replied.
"Well, I did omit to mention that the model was Fernande Olivier. She was Picasso's lover, you know. They had a rather passionate affair at the time he created this," she continued.
"They went to Spain together in 1909," he nodded. "He painted her numerous times. However, when they returned to Paris in the autumn, their relationship became strained. He produced that sculpture around the same time. It's survived far better than its model did. Their relationship ended in 1912."
Her eyes narrowed. "Why do you think that was?"
"Apparently they fell in love over a shared addiction for opium," he stated, looking at her pointedly. "I imagine that once they came down from their constant highs and the veil was lifted, they saw each other rather differently. Reality can be rather harsh for some people without the prism of love to maintain the illusion."
She arched her eyebrow, the cold glare that he knew so well overtaking her. "Possibly. However, I was informed that he grew frustrated with her. You see, she was more than just a model. She was an aspiring painter herself, with ambitions to make something of herself, to become respectable. She wanted to be known as more than just Picasso's lover and muse. Sadly, rather than support her growth, he became aggravated by it, and promptly took up with another woman – Eva Goeul, a friend of Fernande's – who I understand was described as small, sweet and submissive."
"I've heard the same, yes," he said tightly.
She smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "So, I suppose the question is who was truly delusional – the man, or the woman?"
"Does it matter?" he asked. "They were together and it all fell apart in the end. Regardless of who is to blame, there's nothing left of them, is there?"
"No, there isn't," she agreed. "They went their separate ways, and are likely to have nothing to do with each other for the rest of their lives."
"That's probably for the best," he stated. "A complete ending is often the cleanest."
"It is," she nodded.
"Your Ladyship."
They both turned as a footman approached and bowed respectfully.
"My Lord, the game will resume shortly. Sir Richard asks that everyone take their seats. Your Ladyship, Sir Richard requested that you visit the kitchens before retiring."
"Thank you," Mary nodded.
The footman bowed again and took his leave.
"You're not staying for the remaining hands?" Matthew asked.
Mary looked at him and for a moment her eyes seemed to grow tired, the sharp lines of her cheeks seemed to soften, and her shoulders appeared to sag. She resumed her elegant air again so quickly that he wasn't sure if he imagined the loss of composure or not.
"Richard prefers that I go up early," she said evenly. "My hosting duties are coming to an end for the evening and he believes that a poker game is no place for a woman otherwise."
He looked at her carefully. "I see. Well, I shall bid you a pleasant evening now, then, Cousin."
She smiled and nodded politely. "And to you, Matthew. Try and not lose everything in the remaining hands. I should hate to see my family's silver ransomed to pay off your debts to my husband."
It was meant to be a joke, and he would have taken it as such, just as he had for years before. They used to joke with each other. They used to trade barbs and cutting remarks, laugh together at the expense of others and themselves, and even exchange insults without any malice given or received. That old spirit, that old rapport between them would have resurfaced again in a tender moment of shared empathy if not for her mention of Carlisle at the end.
"Don't worry," he said drily. "Even if I were to lose everything, you'd still be here in this lovely home without a care in the world."
Her eyes widened for a second, but before she could say anything, he nodded his head and left, walking back to the table without a second glance.
"Gentlemen, this will be the final hand of the evening," the dealer announced. "Pursuant to the House Rules of Haxby Park, there shall be no limits on betting."
Matthew sipped the last of his latest glass of Cognac and set the snifter aside. He took a deep breath, the liquor warming his throat and chest. Throughout the evening, he had managed to slowly build his winnings back up, such that now with the final hand looming, he had the third most chips at the table behind Tony in first place and Sir Richard in second. The gap to the first two was substantial, but Matthew was confident that he would be leaving tonight having not lost too much money. He had set aside a large sum to play with, and he hadn't gone beyond that amount. Taking Carlisle's money would have been a brilliant result for him, but given how the evening had gone, limiting his losses would do well enough.
After Mary went up just over an hour ago, the remaining guests slowly began departing. While the poker game was amusing entertainment for the audience, this final hand would determine the evening's ultimate winner, and Matthew discovered that surprisingly Carlisle did not want a crowd watching over them. Everyone was sent away with a nod and a smile, such that only the players and the dealer were left now.
As the dealer shuffled the cards, Matthew's mind wandered to the remainder of his evening. He would go home to an empty house. Carson and the staff would all be asleep by now. Mary's mother, Cora, was still in America until Christmas and her sister, Edith, was in London for another month with her husband, Sir Anthony Strallan. He could spend the last hour before going to bed finishing his letter to Mary's youngest sister, Sybil, he supposed. She had written to him last month and he had neglected to reply until this past week. Really, he ought to have declined Carlisle's invitation and stayed at home. Writing to Sybil and reading a good book would have been far more enjoyable than playing poker with this lot. A part of him wondered why he even bothered to show up. Another part of him knew the answer before the question was even asked.
"Lord Grantham. It is 100 pounds to proceed to the next round," the dealer called.
"Call," Matthew replied, tossing his chips into the pot without a second thought.
The hand progressed through several more rounds of betting, with most of the other players dropping out, either to preserve their winnings or limit their losses. Once a player folded his cards, he was promptly shown out after sharing a handshake with Carlisle. No one protested or asked to remain. This wasn't the first time that Carlisle had hosted an evening of poker, and it seemed that everyone wanted to stay on his good side to ensure they were invited back.
Matthew couldn't help but think that they were all dismissed as a punishment also. He knew that if Carlisle had his way, everyone would see the hand through to the end, with the winner taking everyone's chips from the entire evening. To fold early was an act of cowardice according to Carlisle, and he had no patience for people willing to come and gamble during the evening and refuse to risk it all at the crucial climax at the end. Really, Carlisle was just angry that he wouldn't have the chance to rob everyone of their money, and so he banished the escapees for the night, sending them on their way with a bottle of champagne as he plotted to vanquish them next time. It was a wonder the man didn't make that part of the House rules. Nothing about the arrogant bastard would surprise Matthew now.
He blinked, a sudden jolt of recollection making him sit up straight. Keeping his cards turned down, he glanced around the table as the dealer went through the players who were still alive in the hand. The servants were milling about, moving back and forth from the poker table to the bar to take care of everyone. Pretending to look over at Head of a Woman across the ballroom, he spied Carlisle's valet standing a few paces behind him, his eyes darting back and forth as he surveyed the scene.
Returning his gaze to his stacks of chips, Matthew took notice of where some of the other servants were standing and for the first time all evening realized that while there were staff in constant motion attending to the players, there was a group of footmen who never left their positions surrounding the table. They had been hidden before when the other guests were here and gathered around the table, but now with the ballroom almost empty, they became far more noticeable. He looked back down at his chips, his brow furrowing with this new information.
"Lord Grantham," the dealer called, looking at him.
"Two cards, please," Matthew asked, sliding the top two cards in his pile across the table and taking two new ones in return.
By the time the final round of betting arrived, it was down to Carlisle, Tony and him. As the player with the least amount of chips, Matthew would likely be an observer to a duel between the other two. He didn't have enough money to cover the amounts available to his opponents.
"I'll bet everything," Tony announced, smiling as he waved his hand across all of his chips.
Richard frowned at Tony petulantly before nodding his head. "Call."
"You don't have enough," Tony chuckled, nodding towards Richard's chips.
"One moment, gentlemen, please," the dealer interrupted them. He turned to Matthew. "Lord Grantham?"
"Call," Matthew nodded.
"Lord Grantham calls. We, therefore, have two separate pots," the dealer declared. "One comprised of Lord Grantham's total chips and the equivalent amounts from Lord Gillingham and Sir Richard, and another consisting of the remaining chips between Lord Gillingham and Sir Richard. Gentlemen, if you would please…"
"Wait," Richard stopped him, holding up his hand. He sneered at Tony. "Care to make it even?"
"How?" Tony smirked. "Shall I keep the difference for myself?"
"No," Richard scoffed. "I shall add to my bet so that we are even."
"From what?" Tony asked, frowning in confusion.
"This is the final hand. There are no betting limits. House rules," Richard smiled. "I'll ensure that the pot has equal value from both of us."
"What about Matthew?" Tony asked, not even looking over at him.
Richard turned and smiled darkly at Matthew. "It's up to you whether you wish to extend him the same offer."
Tony contemplated Richard's suggestion before eventually nodding his head. "Very well. Shall we have the dealer count my chips to start?"
"No, we're all gentlemen here. There's no need to waste our time," Richard replied. "All debts will be settled at the conclusion of the hand without exception."
Tony frowned. "With all due respect, Sir Richard, I've played many hands of poker, and quite simply, though I hold a man's word in utmost esteem, I do not accept promises to pay as sufficient collateral."
Richard frowned, his lips curling into a snarl.
"I agree," Matthew chimed in, immediately drawing a glare from Richard as well. "Why should Lord Gillingham go along with your terms? He has more to lose in this scenario. If you wish to compel him to risk the remainder of his chips, I should think that the mere promise of money is not enough."
Richard did nothing to disguise his contempt.
"Matthew's right," Tony said, emboldened by the unexpected support. "As it stands, if I lose this hand, I still keep the difference between our chips. Why should I risk anything more than what I have to?"
Richard seemed to be grinding his teeth, his eyes full of rage. Silence fell upon the table as the two remaining players waited for him to answer. The dealer and the servants pretended not to be paying attention lest they find themselves the poor targets of their Master's fury.
"Very well," Richard said finally, a frightening sneer filling his face. "It sounds to me as though you require an incentive, Lord Gillingham."
Tony smiled. "Precisely."
Richard looked at Matthew before continuing. "So be it. I shall provide you with the collateral that you seek. I shall pledge something of value that is beyond reproach."
Tony frowned. "Such as? A pledge does not give me any further confidence, Sir Richard. I would much prefer if you were to write me a cheque for an amount that would…"
"To match your chips, and even exceed it," Richard smiled. "I shall bet a weekend with Lady Mary."
"What?" Matthew exclaimed, his eyes bulging out of his head.
Richard grinned devilishly. "Do be quiet, Matthew. This doesn't concern you. It's a side-bet between myself and Lord Gillingham."
Matthew's hands balled into fists as Richard turned back to a stunned Tony.
"If I lose, which I won't, you can have my chips, as well as a weekend in my wife's company, to be decided at your convenience," Richard declared. "You will agree that such a pledge is almost priceless, particularly given the history between your families and your own personal history with her."
Tony swallowed audibly, appearing entirely dumbfounded. Eventually, he found his voice and nodded several times. "Yes, I agree. That would certainly be a sufficient incentive."
"Excellent," Richard nodded cheerfully. "We have terms, then."
"Sir Richard, I strongly object!" Matthew protested, rising to his feet. "Mary is my cousin and as Earl of Grantham, I have a duty to uphold her honour. I cannot allow you to so cavalierly refer to her as…as…chattel! I am quite certain you have more than sufficient funds available to you to satisfy Tony for this last hand. Simply write him a cheque and…"
"Sit down, Matthew," Carlisle commanded, his eyes narrowed in a fierce glare. "Don't you dare raise your voice at me in my home."
Matthew glared right back. "I will not sit back down until I am satisfied that…"
"Sit down now, or I will have you removed from this game and this house and Lord Gillingham and I will finish our dealings without your presence," Carlisle snarled.
Matthew leaned forward, his fists shaking at his sides. Keeping his stare on Carlisle, he slowly sat back down.
"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Carlisle said lightly. "Now, your cousin Mary may be, but she is my wife. I trust I do not need to remind you that her duty, her sole duty, is to me. She does as I command, and while there is very little risk of her having to follow through with my wager, she most certainly will, for unlike you, she knows her place. Therefore, those are my terms, and Lord Gillingham has wisely agreed. You can either fold your hand and take your chips with you or set your chips aside and you will see which one of us ends up winning them."
Matthew looked down at his chips, his pulse racing.
"Don't act so aghast, Matthew," Carlisle pressed him. "It was actually your idea in a way. If you hadn't emboldened Tony by suggesting that I needed to give him an incentive, I never would have mentioned it."
As absurd as Carlisle's logic was, it felt like a punch to the gut to Matthew.
"One moment, there is another option," Matthew struggled. "I am within my rights to try and match the same incentive."
Carlisle laughed at him. "I suppose that is correct, but what could you possibly pledge that is anywhere near comparable?"
Matthew tried to calm his breathing, his mind a cacophony of thoughts and emotions colliding against each other.
"I must say, Matthew, I agree with Sir Richard," Tony said, sounding a bit more sympathetic. "If he's not pledging money, then what could you come up with to match?"
Matthew looked at Tony and calmed down a bit. The sight of someone looking back at him not nearly as harshly as Carlisle steadying him a little.
"Tony, all I have to match is the concept of an incentive," Matthew explained. "If I pledge sufficient funds to have you agree to let me compete for the entire pot, that is all that is required."
Tony blinked before nodding his head in understanding. "Ah. Yes, fair enough. That's tidy, then."
"Wait," Richard huffed. "There are three of us here. You need not only satisfy Lord Gillingham. You must satisfy me as well to allow you to participate in the full pot."
"I expected you to say that," Matthew nodded. "That is why I am prepared to pledge as my part of the pot – the Crawley family lands abutting Haxby."
Tony blinked.
Richard's mouth fell open.
"The parcel of land that runs along the border with Haxby would fetch more than enough funds to have Tony agree to the bet. And as for you, Sir Richard, I'm sure you would love nothing more than to own a part of my family's property, particularly as it would expand your own holdings so nicely," Matthew continued.
"Your lands run with your title, though," Tony pointed out.
"Yes, but part of them can still be sold, so long as the majority of the original estate remains in the family and subject to the entail established by the sixth Earl, Mary's grandfather," Matthew replied. "Besides, as I currently do not have a son, and no surviving male relatives, the Earldom would perish upon my death, and the lands sold in any event."
Richard considered his answer.
"I am confident that once the land is transferred to Sir Richard, he would be more than capable of ensuring that it remained in his control, regardless of what anyone else might say," Matthew finished.
Richard smiled at that.
"That's acceptable to me, yes," Tony nodded. "If it can be sold, that parcel is worth a small fortune."
"It is," Matthew confirmed. "Which is why I want terms."
Richard frowned. "Pardon?"
"Tony's chips are sufficient to cover his part of the bet. From you, Sir Richard, I will require more. You have pledged Mary's company for one weekend. I want a month," Matthew stated firmly.
"A month? Out of the question!" Richard snapped.
Matthew smiled coldly. "So predictable. All of your beating your chest over how you have a superior hand to Tony, and when you're pushed to back up all your talk, you fold. If there's so little risk to having to actually pay out your debt if you lose, why do the precise terms of the collateral matter? You're clearly content to put Mary forward as part of all this. Whether it be a weekend or a month, what is the difference?"
"You're asking for me to allow my wife to go and live with you for one month?" Richard exclaimed.
"And in return, if you win, I'm giving up a part of my family lands that goes back centuries," Matthew retorted. "You, of all people, know the value of land, Sir Richard, both in terms of money and status. If your hand is as strong as you believe, you'll have your parcel and Mary will never have to set foot in Downton. Beyond that, I expect a story about how you won a valuable piece of property from the Earl of Grantham in a poker game will make you quite popular at Season parties."
Richard looked at him closely before he glanced away for a moment. When he returned his gaze to Matthew, a dangerous smile spread across his face.
"Very well. One month. I have business in India and am leaving for six weeks shortly, so the timing is convenient. When I win, you will sign over the parcel of land abutting Haxby to me, and you will agree to have no further dealings with my wife or my family unless I am to permit it," Richard declared.
"Mary will want to still be able to visit her Mama, Granny and sisters," Matthew noted.
"And so she will, under my conditions, and without your involvement," Richard stated.
"Fine," Matthew said tightly.
Richard grinned. "Perfect."
They all looked towards the dealer, who cleared his throat and tried to keep his detached demeanour.
"We have terms for a single pot, winner-take-all," the dealer stated, his voice catching. "Lord Gillingham, as the original bet was made by you, it is to you to show your cards first."
Tony nodded and turned over his cards.
"Two pair – Tens and Eights," the dealer called, bringing Tony's hand into the centre of the table. "Sir Richard, you called the bet."
Richard was already smiling at Matthew. He turned his cards over, not even bothering to look at Tony.
"Three of a kind – Jacks," the dealer nodded. "Lord Gillingham is eliminated."
Tony frowned and shook his head.
"Lord Grantham," the dealer said, looking at Matthew.
"You can't beat three Jacks with a pair of Kings," Richard said gleefully.
Behind Matthew, the valet smiled.
Matthew nodded. "You're right, Sir Richard. A pair of Kings doesn't beat three Jacks."
He turned over his cards.
The blood drained from Richard's face.
"Full house – Nines full of Kings," the dealer mumbled. He seemed to recoil away from Sir Richard as much as he could while still staying seated. "Lord Grantham wins the pot."
Richard looked at his valet, then back at Matthew's cards, his face frozen in shock.
"Well played, Tony," Matthew said, rising from his chair and shaking Tony's hand.
Tony got up from the table and returned Matthew's gesture.
"Sir Richard," Matthew called.
Richard did not bother standing up. He could only look up at Matthew, his usual dismissive sneer obliterated by complete incredulity.
"Good evening," Matthew nodded. "Inform Lady Mary that my driver will arrive to collect her one week hence."
Richard said nothing. All he did was continue to stare.
"Your winnings, Lord Grantham," the dealer muttered, offering Matthew the cash box that everyone had deposited their payments into at the beginning of the night. The players that were previously eliminated were paid their respective shares when they left, leaving only the contributions of Tony and Carlisle in addition to his own.
"My driver will come to collect it shortly," Matthew nodded.
With that, he turned and walked briskly from the ballroom and down the hall to the front foyer. He did not bother looking up at the immense staircase or the lavish gallery above as he headed for the door, nor did he glance in the direction of the upstairs bedrooms where Mary was asleep, completely unaware of what had transpired.
When Matthew came outside, his driver got out of the car and came around to open the door for him. Matthew preferred to drive his own car, but since he knew he would be drinking heavily tonight, he allowed the chauffeur to take him. As he approached the car, he was glad he had someone with him. He was in no condition to do much of anything.
"There's a cash box inside with the dealer. Go in and get it, please," Matthew said quickly gesturing behind him to the door.
"Yes, my Lord," the driver nodded. He left swiftly to head inside.
Matthew went around to the back of the car, out of sight of the grand front doors of Haxby. He shot out his arm and grasped the boot, leaning on to it for support as his other hand went to his stomach. Bending over, he gasped before groaning and vomiting all over the ground.
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921
"I beg your pardon, my Lord?"
Matthew sighed and tried to control his mounting anger. Carson, the venerable old butler continued to look at him in confusion, which was entirely understandable, but which made Matthew's task no less simple.
"Lady Mary will be spending the next month with us, Carson. She will be arriving in five days and staying here while Sir Richard is in India on business," Matthew repeated.
"My Lord, Lady Mary has a full complement of staff at Haxby Park," Carson noted. "Why she should need to come here is difficult for me to understand."
"Carson, you need not understand," Matthew snapped, his patience waning. He would sooner die than tell Carson, or anyone, the full story of why Mary was coming to Downton Abbey after leaving years ago. "I have invited Lady Mary to stay with us for the coming month. I expect your full support and assistance in making her stay as enjoyable as possible. Can I count on you, yes or no?"
Carson blinked before snapping to attention. He raised his head and stood as rigid and stoic as always.
"You may rely upon me, my Lord," the butler declared. "It will be an honour to have Lady Mary back with us."
"Good man," Matthew nodded in relief. "Now, we should reopen the Family Wing, and Lady Mary's old bedroom in particular. Please have Mrs Hughes deal with bringing it all back to life. I'd like for Mrs Patmore to arrange a menu that is familiar for Lady Mary, including the dishes that she loved best in her youth. I'm sure that you remember them. If you need it, I can fill it in for you."
"Yes, my Lord," Carson nodded. "The house will be renewed in time for her arrival."
"Thank you, Carson. See about having the Outdoor Staff go through the Rose Garden and attend to whatever is necessary there. I know five days is very little time, but have them do what they can," Matthew continued.
"Yes, my Lord," Carson confirmed. "If I may make a suggestion or two, my Lord?"
"Yes, of course, Carson," Matthew nodded. "What is it?"
"Lady Mary might enjoy taking a stroll across the grounds and sitting on the bench that she used to frequent so very much," Carson advised. "I would recommend that we bring it back out of storage, my Lord."
Matthew frowned and looked down at his papers on the desk. "I don't know if you'll find it in very usable condition, Carson."
"Be that as it may, my Lord, I believe that any damage can surely be easily repaired with some paint and polish," Carson said.
"Go on then," Matthew agreed, letting himself smile a small bit.
"I also should think that a few familiar faces might help Lady Mary feel more comfortable during her stay, my Lord," Carson suggested gently.
Matthew's eyes widened. "I doubt that they will want to be in the same house as me after the way I behaved, Carson."
"I think that with the right amount of cajoling, including an apology from Your Lordship, that could change," Carson urged.
Matthew sighed and looked to the large windows and the fields beyond.
"I believe that Lady Mary and Anna could use some time to become reacquainted, my Lord," Carson continued. "And Mr. Bates was quite fond of you at a time."
"A time long ago, Carson," Matthew said quietly.
"Much has changed, my Lord, which is true. And some for the better," Carson remarked.
Matthew swallowed and looked at the butler. "Very well. Invite them up to the house."
"Yes, my Lord," Carson nodded, bowing his head and taking his leave.
Matthew got up from his chair and went over to the window. He placed his hand on the cool glass and looked outside.
"What have I done?" he whispered.
Haxby Park, Yorkshire, England, October 1921
Mary groaned and crumpled the paper up into a ball before tossing it into the bin with all the others. She got up from her writing desk and crossed her arms over her chest, heading over to the window to stare out into the direction of her family home at Downton Abbey.
Her mind was still a mess three days after that fateful morning when her husband came to her bedroom as the maid was bringing in her tray. She expected that Richard had some instructions for her pertaining to some important business contact they would be hosting or some other nonsense. She hated his morning visits as they tended to ruin her mood for the rest of the day. Being reminded of what she had to wear, how she must act, and who she needed to be friendly to, was maddening, to say nothing for how horrible a reminder it was of the fate she had bound herself to for the rest of her life.
She closed her eyes to try and clear her head, but it only made her flashbacks and unwanted thoughts all the more vivid. In the beginning, she had tried. She honestly could tell herself that she had made a real effort to make this sham of a marriage work. Being with Richard, and most importantly, being away from Matthew, was healthy for her at first. For all of his faults, Richard was a brilliant man, ambitious, witty, and charming in his own way. She had been seduced by his power and drive, but also saw traits of him at Cliveden that intrigued her. Marriages of convenience were not so terrible, she told herself back then. Her parents had one at first, didn't they? She never pretended she would ever love Richard, but she could make a viable partnership with him. They could be a good team, as he often said, and for the first few months, they were.
There was no shame in admitting that she enjoyed those early days. It was exciting to be on his arm when they attended functions and he introduced her to politicians, bankers, businessmen and other power brokers in London. As more and more aristocratic families fell and his newspaper empire expanded, she felt she had made a wise decision in choosing him. The spectre of her scandal with Kemal Pamuk was no longer a threat. Matthew knew the truth, as did all of her family, but she saw no future at Downton. She made a choice for herself and early on, it seemed she had chosen right.
When Papa died and Matthew was elevated to Earl, she suffered in more ways than one. Losing her father so unexpectedly was crushing, but seeing Matthew have to forge on alone was heartbreaking. Still, by putting aside sentiment, she was more resolved than ever that her life had to be away from Downton Abbey, and away from him. He was still haunted by the loss of Lavinia and showed no signs of ever shaking it. Though she never spoke to him about it directly, as it was no longer her place to do so, paying Papa's death duties must have crippled the estate. To stand by and watch her home crumble all around her would have been too much to bear. At Haxby, with Richard, she could build something new, something worth having, and no matter what became of Downton, she would survive.
She opened her eyes and looked out the window once more, shaking her head at the bitter irony of her situation. Everything changed when she learned the truth.
She never expected Richard to be a gentleman. That could be taught. She never expected Richard to be a romantic. That wasn't necessary to her or even wanted. She never expected Richard to be scrupulous. He dealt in bribes, threats, payoffs and intimidation to get his stories and work his influence. Thousands of upstanding and well-meaning aristocrats were now penniless and bankrupt. She wouldn't be one of them.
What she needed him to be was what he told her he was – powerful, rich and getting richer.
She learned to her dismay that there were varying definitions of such terms.
He was powerful, no question. After the War, the influence of newspapers and journalists was ever increasing. The government was so tenuous and the spirit of the public so fragile that the right or wrong editorial could sway the country in any direction. Richard was the Baron of Fleet Street, capable of changing lives on a whim.
In return for holding that power, he had enemies, and to consolidate that power, he needed allies, and allies needed to be kept happy. His bribes were far larger than she expected, and he often paid for a story just so he could say he got it first, rather than based on whether it would even sell any more newspapers. The cost of maintaining his image was highly expensive, but that wasn't the worst part. There were several of his contacts, sources and associates for which money wasn't enough.
It started out innocently enough. Be introduced to this Duke or that Minister, smile through their stories, laugh at their jokes, chat with their wives. Was that not exactly what she would be doing if she had married Matthew also? Her Mama had trained her on the art of Society from a young age and she had learned her lessons well. There was no one she couldn't charm.
But Matthew would never ask her to do what Richard had. Matthew would never even think of doing so.
Richard's grip on both the source of his power and the building of his fortune was tenuous at best. His weren't the only newspapers in London and while he controlled the flow of information, he needed his sources even more than they needed him. Put them off, and they would sell their secrets to one of his competitors, and he would be left looking foolish. Whoever broke the story was the winner in his business, and it was a cutthroat affair.
Dinners with politicians and their wives became drinks and dancing with just the men at jazz clubs into the late hours. Harmless flirting at charity functions became stolen kisses in some dark corner at an after-hours club. Being able to rely on Richard for protection, even if it was just as a convenient excuse to extricate herself from a leering banker whose hands had minds of their own, became hosting one of his contacts in the parlour of their home with him conveniently nowhere to be found.
And now this.
She swallowed at the memory of that night. Seeing Matthew had hurt, as it always did. He was dressed impeccably and his blond hair was perfectly set, but there was a sadness in his eyes, a burden on his shoulders that she could not lighten. Even their banter, so long the safe haven they could return to, was missing. It was just a contest between them now, as it had been that very first dinner after his arrival years ago. Who could claim superiority, who could outwit the other, who could inflict the deepest wound with their words?
She went up to bed at Richard's order, resigned to not seeing Matthew again until Christmas, if she would even get the chance then. With Isobel living back in Manchester, he had a convenient excuse to be away for the holidays.
Never did she imagine the night would turn out as it did.
In any other circumstances, she would have been delighted to hear about Richard's crushing defeat. Losing the money was disappointing. There wasn't nearly as much of that as she expected, thanks to his gambling in both business and at home. Still, if his carefully planned strategy to fleece the other players had ended up biting him in the end, so much the better. She would have even had dinner with Tony if that's what it took. Spending a weekend with the man was out of the question, but she was confident she could stop him from doing anything completely deplorable. He was always smitten with her, and she didn't see him as the dangerous type.
Matthew, by contrast, was nothing but dangerous.
Her hand went up to touch her lips, instantly recalling the feel of his mouth on hers when they danced in the Great Hall so long ago. It was wrong. They were both engaged to other people, and his fiancée, Lavinia, was severely ill and resting on the floor above them. Still, she loved every scandalous second of it. Being in his arms, feeling his warm breath on her cheek just before he claimed her lips with his, it was all glorious, beyond her wildest dreams. When Lavinia interrupted them and they broke apart, a part of her wasn't ashamed. Matthew was hers first. He still cared for her. That was obvious. Lavinia was a sweet girl, but the fact was that Matthew didn't love Lavinia the way he loved her. Matthew didn't want Lavinia the way he wanted her. She was sure of it.
A flush of arousal warmed her cheeks. What would have happened if Lavinia hadn't come down at that precise moment? Would they have kept kissing uninterrupted? What about when the Victrola stopped playing and their pretence of a dance came to an end? Would they separate and act as if the moment never happened? She had gone downstairs to be with him. Whether that meant just to talk, to dance, to kiss, she didn't know exactly. But she needed to be with him in that moment, and he needed to be with her.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift back to that time and place. If he wanted to pin her against the wall and ravish her with kisses, she would have allowed it. If he would have wanted her to touch him wantonly through his trousers, she would have done it. If he would have ordered her to come to his bedroom later that night so he could strip her naked and make her his lover, she would have stopped at nothing to obey.
It felt so good to crave him so desperately, to lust for him more than she had any other man. Was that not proof that they were meant to be? Despite all the obstacles in their way, despite all the reasons why they should avoid each other, despite all the horrible consequences if they were to give in to temptation, she still wanted him. Most would call her a slut for having such depraved thoughts about him, but she didn't care. She loved him so much that she would take a single moment of bliss with him if that was all she could have. If only Lavinia hadn't interrupted them, anything was possible that night.
But Lavinia stopped them, then Lavinia died, and everything changed.
She knew they weren't cursed, as he had claimed after Lavinia's funeral. She knew they hadn't killed her, as he declared as he wallowed in the cruelty of it all. Lavinia died of the terrible Spanish Flu, and there was nothing they could have done about it.
But Matthew believed otherwise, and she couldn't be with him if he was resigned to the myth that they didn't belong together. No one would ever call her sentimental, not even Sybil, who always saw the best in her. But as much as she loved Matthew, she couldn't hold them together if he wasn't willing to at least entertain the thought.
She stepped away from the window and went back to the writing desk, still unsure as to what she should write. The idea of spending a month at Downton Abbey with him was preposterous. Being back home would be wonderful and getting to see Carson again would be lovely, but the rest of it was inconceivable.
What would Matthew expect of her? To obey him? Was he looking for a companion, someone to spend time with and talk to? She knew he was lonely. With Mama in America and Sybil and Edith married off, he was entirely alone in that big house. Or did he expect something more? Was she to be his consort? That was her implied role surely when Richard bet her and Matthew agreed, wasn't it? How exactly would that work? Would they share the same bed, or would he merely come to her when he needed his desires to be sated? The very thought that he could use her like that sickened her even now.
She stared at the blank page of stationery. Seven times she had tried to write to him, to call the whole thing off, and she couldn't find the words. If she refused to go along with it, he wouldn't force her, would he? She barely recognized him anymore now, but he was still Matthew. He wasn't capable of being so merciless, was he?
She shook her head. Richard had already left for India. It was just her and the servants in this garish house with its outlandish décor and tacky ostentatiousness. She could call the police, she supposed, claim that Matthew was trying to kidnap her. But then there would be an investigation into what happened, and there were far too many skeletons that Richard did not want unearthed. No, she would have to face Matthew head-on.
A knock at the door surprised her.
"Yes, come in," she called.
"Your Ladyship," the maid nodded and curtseyed when she came into her study. "This was just delivered for you."
She frowned and took the letter. "Thank you. That will be all."
"Yes, Your Ladyship," the maid curtseyed again and left.
Mary cut open the letter and removed the note inside. She recognized Matthew's sharp handwriting immediately.
Cousin Mary,
I trust this letter finds you well and that Sir Richard has informed you of our arrangement. My driver will be attending at Haxby at noon on Friday to bring you here. Luggage shall not be necessary as your needs will be provided for upon your arrival. Do not bring anything with you. Please also ensure that no staff accompanies you here. I have made arrangements for suitable assistance to be available to you during your stay.
Yours very truly,
Matthew.
She read over the brief passage twice and frowned the more she read it. No luggage? No staff? Suitable arrangements? It all seemed so suspicious. There was no mention of any reprieve, or discussion of what would be required of her. Her stay. He made it sound as if she was taking a vacation. Her eyes narrowed as she put his letter down on the desk. Well, she may be required to spend a month with him but if he was looking for a submissive mistress, he was sorely mistaken.
She got up from the desk and left the study, walking briskly down the hall to her bedroom. Once there, she went over to her dressing room and stood in the centre, glancing around slowly at all of her clothes, from her nightgowns and lingerie to her evening gowns and shoes. She smiled as her confidence returned.
"We'll just see who survives the month, Lord Grantham," she proclaimed.
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921
"My Lord, we expect Lady Mary shortly," Anna called, coming into the library.
Matthew folded his newspaper and set it down on the table. He crossed the room and nodded to Anna, following her out towards the Great Hall.
"Anna, I wanted to thank you again for agreeing to come back. You and Bates have been more generous than I could have hoped for," he mumbled.
Anna smiled and nodded. "It's quite all right, my Lord. We never blamed you for any of it. We're glad we can help, though I don't know how much help we'll be."
"You're already helping," he replied. "Seeing a familiar face will do wonders for her, and she'll have someone she can talk to, which will spare her having to talk to me."
Anna laughed. "I should think you wouldn't want her to spend the month gabbing away with me, Your Lordship."
"Honestly, Anna, I don't know what I want," he shook his head as they came into the Great Hall. "The first step is getting her here. We'll just have to take it day-by-day after that. Who knows? We may not say more than a few words to each other the entire time and just keep to our separate areas of the house."
Anna looked at him curiously. "My Lord, if that ends up being the case, then I would ask why you went to all the trouble of inviting her here to begin with."
"I suppose that's part of why she's here for the month, Anna," he said. "To find out why I want her here."
Anna smiled. "Yes, my Lord."
Matthew looked over the gathered staff briefly before nodding to them to head outside. It was slightly cool with Fall coming to an end and Winter just a few weeks away, but everyone lined up dutifully outside the front doors. Matthew took his spot next to Carson at the head of the row and waited.
The motor appeared in the distance, winding its way up the drive until it pulled around and stopped before them. He could see Mary sitting in the back, her eyes avoiding his and looking at the servants instead. Her face seemed to light up and she smiled when she saw Anna and Bates, and Matthew told himself that was a good sign.
The driver got out and came around to open the door for her.
Matthew stepped forward.
Mary emerged from the car and came to him, stopping a respectable distance away.
"Cousin Matthew," she nodded.
"Mary," he replied. "Welcome."
"Thank you," she nodded, glancing around. "It's nice to see the house again, and some friendly faces."
"I'm glad to hear it, and they are glad to see you. You can go inside with Anna and I'll have Carson and the driver take care of your bags," he told her.
She arched her eyebrow. "Your letter said not to bring any luggage."
He nodded. "It did, yes, but telling Lady Mary not to bring clothes with her when she travels is a fool's errand, I suspect. How many bags did you bring? Three?"
She allowed herself to smile. "Four."
He chuckled knowingly. "Well, I trust that at least you left your maid behind and any other staff from Haxby?"
She nodded. "That request I did comply with. I didn't think it necessary to bring part of Haxby here with me."
"Quite right," he said softly, finding her eyes. "For the next month, this is your home."
She met his gaze and nodded.
He stepped aside and Anna came forward, smiling and giving her former Mistress a curtsey.
"Milady," Anna nodded pleasantly.
"Hello, Anna. So good to see you," Mary grinned. "And your uniform still fits, I see."
"I didn't think that I'd ever wear it again," Anna acknowledged, glancing at Matthew. "But I'm proud to make an exception for this next month."
Mary smiled and followed her former Lady's maid into the house.
"So far, so good, my Lord," Bates smiled at Matthew as they watched the women go in.
"We've survived the arrival, Bates," Matthew nodded. "I won't know how well it's going until I see what happens tonight."
The valet nodded and headed for the door, walking slowly but surely with his cane at his side.
Matthew watched as Mary's luggage was brought inside. He looked up at the tall spires of Downton Abbey above him before he headed in. So much had changed since Mary left. So much more was still to come. He took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for whatever lay in store for them over this next month. With deliberate steps, the Earl of Grantham entered his home.