Author's Note: This was mainly written before any of Season 3 aired, and I'm not revising it! So it is AU to a certain extent. It also begins after an AU character death, in case that bothers you. Takes place a couple of years after Mary and Matthew's wedding. It is a 4-5 part story, already 95% written, that I'll publish over the next several days. Hope you enjoy!

The Countess of Grantham ate her breakfast alone with her husband for the first time since they had inherited their titles. Two weeks ago her mother had declared their mourning period was at an end, and the day after she had left for Grantham House in London. It was there that she would begin her true bereavement, Mary suspected. Edith had travelled with her, solemn but peaceful in a manner that was not Edith-like at all. Her mother had made clear before she left that Mary was to make the house her own, and now she sat in silence contemplating what she would change. It was impossible really, to examine critically the house one had been born in, raised, disciplined, pulled into adulthood. It was her father's house, crafted by her mother into a home. She could switch all the art on the walls, update the moldings in every room, paint it all anew. It would never truly be hers.

Matthew was busy too, beginning a modernization of the estate's finances and searching for a way of investing the portion of Cora's fortune that was not tied up in the estate. He'd been in meetings in London and Ripon for most of the last week, and Mary surprised herself by how jealous and forlorn it had made her feel, those first days as the solitary Countess of the house.

She looked over fondly at Matthew buttering his toast and intently scanning the post that Carson had recently brought in. "Anything interesting?"

"Something new, at any rate." He put the bills and legal correspondence to one side, and held up a single handwritten page. "It's from my mother's sister, Sarah Teaford. You met at the wedding."

"Briefly," Mary acknowledged. She had met a lot of new relatives when they married two years ago, and she wasn't sure she could have picked out Mrs. Teaford if she had suddenly materialized in front of them.

"Well, she's asked if they could stay for a few days." Hearing Mary's noise of displeasure, he hastily added. "In a roundabout way. Her husband has business in Ripon, and she mentions that they're looking at inns to stay at, but it seems silly with us being so nearby."

"When?" She couldn't prevent the sharpness in her voice.

"Late next week, something unexpected came up."

"That's not very convenient." Mary's head was automatically beginning the calculations required when guests were expected. Would the first footman be up for serving as valet? Which of the guest rooms could be prepared with the least nuisance? Could they spare one of the motors to deliver Mr. Teaford to appointments in Ripon? She sighed, already exhausted. "Can't they delay it a bit?"

His brow furrowed, and Mary thought perhaps that he thought she was being unreasonable. "It doesn't sound like it. Look, if it's a problem I suppose I could ask Mother if they can stay in our old rooms at Crawley House."

He said it so casually, as if it would cause no inconvenience and as if he was being entirely accommodating. She shook her head shortly. "No, with Molesley and Anna back here now, that would be a big strain on Mrs. Bird. I'll get Anna to freshen up one of the guest rooms. What day will they be arriving?"

"Friday," he said, happily, as if everything was settled.

"What is she like, your aunt? I hardly remember her."

He hid a slight grin behind the post. "Rather like Mother, actually. So if they are on opposite sides of an issue they fight like wildcats, and if they are united they are unstoppable."

"Goodness," said Mary drily. "And him?"

"Uncle Jack is an alright sort. Very keen on economics, he's in the wool trade. Grew up in Bradford."

"Well," said Mary with an air of finality. "I hope that Granny is otherwise engaged for dinner next week."

Matthew chuckled absently, his eyes back on some of the ledgers Murray had most recently given him. "Murray's been asking me about the barns."

"What about them?" Mary didn't bother hiding the sharpness from her tone. She would have been quite happy to seek legal counsel from other quarters, but Matthew had been hesitant to let Murray go before he was brought completely up to speed with the estate. It didn't make her any happier to hear the name of the man whose presence she associated with bad news.

Matthew examined Murray's tiny script awkwardly. "He's suggesting that we keep one barn for the mounts we intend to keep, and consider converting the other one into flats or renting it to one of the tenant farmers."

"And which horses does Murray think we should keep, exactly?"

He looked up and responded to her defensive posture. "Your father did have rather a lot of horses for a man who hated to ride, dear, and Sybil's horse only gets ridden by the groomsman. I'm not suggesting we sell all the horses, but it might be worth considering scaling back."

Her tone was all outrage. "Sybil loves Peony! She'd be devastated if she came for a visit and couldn't ride her."

"Matthew inclined his head with a sardonic smile. "But will Branson ever leave her in a condition so she's able to ride?"

Mary snorted despite herself. "If she's always pregnant and teary-eyed, she'll be all the more furious if we've sold her horse. No, dear, I know Murray's put you up to asking me, but I'm far more sentimental than he realizes. And where would the horses go, anyway? Most of Papa's horses are twenty if they're a day. No one reputable is going to buy them."

"Mmmm," Matthew agreed noncommittally. "We don't have to decide anything about it now, there's no rush."

"No," Mary retorted, trying to tamp down the frustration welling in her. "I think I have decided." She felt suddenly trapped in this room full of inexorable plans, and decided she'd finished her breakfast. Standing, she made her retreat with forced lightness. "I'll go tell Mrs. Hughes about the arrangements for the Teafords. See you later, dear."

His looked up from his papers, and his expression turned suddenly solicitous. "Are you sure, darling? Have you eaten enough? I worry you're wasting away before my eyes."

"Nonsense," replied Mary firmly. "I'm quite full." With a determined smile, she strode from the room.

Her path was automatic, and brought her to the library, where she rang the bell for Mrs. Hughes and settled herself with her book of the hour, This Side of Paradise, which Sybil had sent her as a present. It took her out of Downton, into the romantic trials of a self-absorbed Princeton student. She wasn't sure she liked the main character much, but his problems were not her own and it made them feel remote. She had only read a few pages by the time Mrs. Hughes entered, but it was enough to settle her, enough that she described the planned visit with equanimity and didn't seem overwhelmed by the imposition.