1925 had been quite a year, to say the least. It had seen the death of his father, the death of Mary's father, the passing of a bill he had co-authored in Parliament, and the dissolution of what many in their circle had referred to as the world's longest engagement. In May of 1921 Evelyn Napier proposed to Lady Catherine Elwood, daughter of the Marquess of Dorset. He and Catherine had known each other as children, but had drifted apart as time went by. She had been engaged during the war, only for her fiancé to be killed on the Somme. This would be the second go-round for both of them—Evelyn had been engaged to Sarah Semphill, daughter of Baron Semphill shortly before the war before breaking it off. He and Catherine got along well, and there had been an attraction, but he wasn't sure either of them could have called it a passionate love. Nonetheless, he was a practical man, and knew that he would have to marry at some point.
Besides, he had grown to accept that love in their station was a luxury, not a guarantee. Mary Crawley had been one of the lucky ones, at least until her husband had passed in a car crash. He had been devastated for his friend and had written a heartfelt condolence letter as soon as he heard the news. They had not spoken in person since during the war, when he had been convalescing with a bad leg at Downton. Unexpectedly, her response shifted into a renewed correspondence, something they hadn't done consistently since they were much younger. He realized how much he missed her letters, and he treasured them more now without the burden of his adolescent feelings for her. The subject of their letters varied from books to London gossip, to eventually the subject of running a country estate. Evelyn had some practice, since the Viscount Branksome rarely involved himself in Grimsby Park's day-to-day anymore, and he was conducting a survey of the country's landed estates for the Home Office. He offered to share his findings with her so that she could implement any changes she deemed necessary at Downton, and she responded with an invitation.
He had taken Mary's enthusiasm to see him as simply an appreciation of the familiar, when so much of her life had been cruelly ripped away from her. Still, their friendship was rekindled through countless hours in the Downton library with Mary and Tom, the former chauffeur turned brother-in-law turned agent with an impressive knack for the agricultural business. The estate had been nearly crippled by the death duties after Matthew Crawley's death, but Mary had been a quick study, and had a will like iron. Within three years, it was turning a profit.
His visits to Downton were a welcome respite from the London bureaucracy and running his own estate in the South. The subject of his marriage seemed to be the only thing on his father's mind, as neither he nor Catherine had settled on a date in the three years since he first proposed. Evelyn's excuse had always been that he wanted to ensure that England was back on its feet after the war that had nearly wiped out his generation, and then would he turn to his own affairs. He supposed he knew that the truth had something more to do with an Earl's daughter in Yorkshire. He and Mary had been out riding when he received word that his father had died.
It was a total shock. Of course, he knew that he would one day have to deal with the responsibility of being Viscount, but he had hoped rather irrationally that it would have been years away. Grimsby's advances into modernization and the industrial empire the Napiers had built helped defray the taxes in the wake of the elder Lord Branksome's death, but keeping both streams of income going kept the younger busier than ever. The marriage was once again postponed.
"Have you seen him?"
"Who?"
"Lord Branksome."
"The old codger from Dorset?"
"No, his son—he just inherited!"
"That makes him one of the most eligible bachelors in London."
"Not very eligible—he's engaged. And they say he was having an affair with an Earl's daughter."
Mary nearly choked on her champagne, and had half a mind to interject that Evelyn Napier would never do such a thing, when the man greeted her. "Mr. Napier—or Lord Branksome, sorry. It still takes some getting used to. I'm so sorry."
"Please—just Evelyn." he answered, shaking his head. He looked tired, but his smile was genuine as ever all the same. "Thank you—I received your letter as well, I'm sorry I haven't responded to it. Everything has been rather chaotic of late."
She nodded in understanding. "Are the wedding plans going well?"
"They're in a sort of limbo." Evelyn confessed. "At least until things settle down. I'm just sorry that Father won't get to see it. It's all he ever wanted." It was no secret that there had been a rift between him and his father, but Evelyn had never told her why, and not wanting to pry, she had never asked. "How are things up north? How's George?"
"They're good. He and Sybbie are keeping Nanny busy. He's gotten to the age where he has a mind to go exploring." she explained, brightening at the mention of her son. "And I've met someone that I believe is a mutual friend of ours—are you familiar with a Henry Talbot?"
Evelyn racked his brain for a moment, before nodding. "I saw him at my club a few times. He's a car driver, isn't he?" That was all he ever talked about to anyone who listened to his often tipsy tirades.
"He is. He was wondering if we could all get together for dinner in London—you could bring Catherine?"
Evelyn hesitated, as the idea of spending an evening listening to some car aficionado talk shop wasn't exactly appealing, but it was for Mary… "I don't see why not." Her smile made it worth it.
"And then I circled round the bend, Carter on my heels…"
Evelyn hid his amusement with another sip of his wine. He didn't know what was more surprising—the fact that Henry hadn't changed from before meeting Mary or that Mary had met a man with whom she couldn't get a word in edgewise.
"How exactly did they meet?" Catherine asked him in a low tone, and Evelyn merely shook his head in bafflement.
"I spun completely out of control, and then Carter's car set on fire…"
Evelyn glanced over at Mary, who looked rather uncomfortable. "I think the ladies could do without the theatrics, old chap."
"They're not theatrics—it really happened. Of course, some people can't appreciate the thrill of it." Henry responded with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"I can't understand why you find it so amusing to continue to put your life in danger—and for what?" Mary interjected.
"The excitement. The prize money. The glory!" Henry exclaimed, incredulous. "It's not all that dangerous if you know what you're doing. It's the rank amateurs that end up crashing, who have no business being out here in the first place."
The table grew so silent that one could hear a pin drop. Mary stood up, visibly upset. "Excuse me. I think I need some fresh air."
Evelyn immediately rose, looking after her in concern before turning on Henry. "Are you daft? I told you what happened to Mr. Crawley."
"A rank amateur. Didn't know a gear shift from his own cock. It's sad but it's true."
"Have you no decency at all?" Evelyn shouted, which finally got Henry to stand.
"You know you're a real piece of work, Napier. You lecture me on how to court her when you don't have the balls to do it yourself. If I di—" Whatever Henry was about to say next was interrupted by a swift punch to the jaw from Evelyn.
Unaware of the ruckus inside, Mary exhaled as she watched the cars fly past the restaurant.
"Are you alright?" She turned, surprised to see Evelyn's fiancée, Catherine standing beside her.
"I'll manage. Thank you." She smiled. The two had only met a couple of times before, and her opinion of her was that she was the sort of sweet and decent kind of woman that she would have expected Evelyn to marry. They were a fine match.
Catherine nodded. "I can't imagine what that was like. Arthur died across the Channel. We were supposed to marry on his next leave but…" She shook her head, wiping her face.
"But at least you have a second chance." Mary supplied with an encouraging smile.
"Yes. I adore Evelyn—I do—but the truth is…I know that will never be enough. Not when he's in love with someone else."
Mary looked confused. "I don't understand."
"Don't you?" Catherine appeared as if she wanted to say more, but a disturbance at the entrance to the restaurant diverted both of their attention.
"Get your filthy hands off of me! I'm forty men from an earldom you disgusting little pricks!" Henry slurred as he was carried out by two police officers.
Evelyn watched them take him to their squad car before massaging his knuckles and approaching Catherine and Mary. His hair was askew, his tie was undone, and his tuxedo was torn. "I'm terribly sorry but Mr. Talbot has had too much to drink, it appears."
"What happened? Did he hit you?" Mary asked, her eyes looking him over in concern.
"I'm perfectly fine. I'm sorry the party didn't turn out how you wanted it." Evelyn replied sincerely. "I'll take you both home."
After dropping Mary off at 35 Belgrave Square, Evelyn's car took him and Catherine to Elwood Place, her family's London home. Once at the doorstep, he murmured, "I'm sorry."
"We promised that we could be honest with each other, didn't we?" Catherine's voice was even, but he sensed that there was more than she was letting on.
"Of course, darling." Evelyn tilted his head.
"Then tell me the truth—are you still in love with Mary Crawley?"
He dropped his gaze, his eyebrows knitting together. "Why would you ask me that?"
"Because I already know the answer." When he looked up at her, Catherine was smiling, though her eyes were tearful. "Tell her."
"It's irrelevant." Evelyn shook his head. "I'm marrying you." Even as he uttered the words, he knew he was trying to convince himself more than her.
"But would you truly be happy with me? When she's out there?"
"But she and Henry—"
"She'd be a fool to go back to him after tonight." Catherine dismissed with a chuckle. "Besides, I saw the way she looked at you."
"I don't know what you're saying." Evelyn insisted helplessly.
"I'm saying that I'm calling it off. For both our sakes." Catherine kissed his cheek before retreating to the door. "Goodbye, Evelyn."
The next time he saw Mary was at Lord Grantham's funeral. He expressed his sincere condolences, but kept the conversation short, returning to Dorset on the train after the service instead of accepting her invitation to stay. Another three months passed. They exchanged Christmas cards, as they usually did, and hers included an invitation to a New Year's Eve gathering—they weren't to have the annual shoot that year, but nonetheless hoped he could be there as she wanted to spend the holiday with her friends and family. He accepted, mentally steeling himself for what he knew he had to do.
"I'm so sorry about your engagement." Mary told him over tea the afternoon before the party.
"I seem to be rather bad at them." he joked with a wry smile, shaking his head.
"When we were in London, Catherine said something about you being in love with someone else."
Evelyn wasn't surprised at all by his ex's boldness—it was certainly part of what had drawn him to her. "Did she?"
"I thought she was mistaken, but then Henry told me that you defended Matthew. Those weren't his exact words of course…"
"He was completely out of line." Evelyn shrugged.
"Yes, he was. I wanted to thank you…and to tell you that I feel the same…if it isn't too late." Mary lifted her gaze tentatively.
Evelyn's eyes widened, before a smile broke out on his face. "Too late? You're just in time." He found himself leaning over the tea table and she met him in the middle with a kiss.
"Three…two…one—Happy New Year!"
Evelyn turned to Mary with a smile and the pair kissed for the first time publicly.
Cora gasped.
"Finally!" Edith rolled her eyes with a smile.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Mary asked, glaring at her sister.
"Only that we were all waiting for you to admit what everyone except you saw all along." Edith explained with a laugh.
Mary's face softened, and she shook her head with a reluctant smile.
"This house could use some good news for a change." Cora stated, beaming.
"Before we make things official, there's someone's permission I'd like to ask." Evelyn glanced over at Mary and she nodded.
"Excuse us." Mary took his hand and the two ascended the staircase.
"Unca Evelyn!" George hopped to his feet excitedly, and Evelyn swept him off his feet with a laugh.
"Hello, George. Happy New Year. I have a belated Christmas present for you." He pulled out his handkerchief and set it on the palm of his hand. Lifting it, he revealed a miniature train engine. He was something of an amateur magician, which the children had found entertaining on his visits to Downton.
George clapped his hands and took the engine. Mary cleared her throat. "What do you say?"
"Thank you, Unca Evelyn."
"You're welcome." He set him down with a smile. "George, there's something I'd like to ask you. I—I love your mother very much, and since you're now the man of the house, I was wondering if you'd be alright with my marrying her?"
George's eyes widened, but he was soon beaming, but then sadness entered his gaze. "If you marry Mama, I can't call you Unca Evelyn anymore. Will we still be friends?"
"Of course—and you can call me anything you like, George." Evelyn insisted.
The boy smiled and hugged him. Evelyn turned around with a smile to face an equally ecstatic Mary as he carried him over to her. "Happy New Year, Mary."
"Happy New Year, darling." she whispered as she leaned up to kiss him.