A/N: It's been rather a long time since I put the 21st century equivalent of pen to paper and wrote anything, so firstly I should thank OrangeShipper for her beta skills and her encouragement. Without her this story wouldn't have gotten past its atrocious first draft... I also owe all those over on the Downton Abbey forum who offered encouragement and for providing a place where we can all while the hours until series two with idle speculation.

Mary - "Has Mr Crawley left?"

William - "Yes, my lady."

Mary - "But what about the car? Branson can't have brought it round so quickly"

William - "He said he'd rather walk my lady."

Mary - "Thank you."

Mary stands at the window watching the back of Cousin Matthew retreat in to the night. Her mind whirls, her thoughts are fleeting like leaves in an eddy, whisked away before she can seize on them. It leaves her her nauseous and infuriated with herself. The only constant is the echoing of 'why' inside her head, why had she allowed Edith to goad her so, why had she been so glad to be seated next to him at dinner, so eager to turn and talk with him and why should she care that her heart maybe changing? Without forewarning she raises her hand and knocks on the window. She watches, holding her breath, as almost imperceptibly the figure of Matthew fleetingly halts before carrying on.

The preternatural though barely coalesces in Mary's mind before she sharply turns away from the window. Blindly she rushes into the middle of the hallway, colliding with a dumbstruck William. She can't even recall if an apology was said out loud or merely thought of as she flings open the light glass door. She hears it still reverberating on its hinges as she fumbles with the larger, heavier, solid wood door. It seems to take an age to open, to make her fingers cooperate and open the door, and all the time she's conscious of time the other side of the door rushing away with Matthew into the cool night air.

Making it outside into the evening Mary barely evades tripping down the stone steps. Hurrying, she feels her heels slip on the damp gravel of the drive way, her long dress hobbling her every step as Matthew strides further and further away. Mary hears a voice call Matthew's name over and over with pleading desperation, and for a moment her head whips round to look for the source with incredulity before realising the calling voice is hers. Turning back she sees him falter to a standstill, his body slumping.

Stopping a few steps short of Matthew's subdued silhouette they find themselves standing for an eternal moment. Mary feels the fire that spurred her on her pursuit of Matthew suddenly leave her, the humming of her skin giving way to a flood of cold through her heart. Becoming too acutely aware of the evening with its fresh scent of rain on the air and the gentle breeze ruffling through the distant trees, Mary is yet again shocked at the fretful voice of the interloper.

"Cousin Matthew, are you leaving our party so early? Sir Anthony and our guests may not be the quite the sparkling society of Manchester, but surely the not all of us are quite so objectionable you should feel the need to leave with out a word to your hosts?"

The stiffening of Matthew's posture at her words is not lost on Mary, shattering the odd dreamlike reverie of the last few minutes it leaves her in no doubt of the architect of Matthews' grief.

Unable, after her earlier snub, to endure turning to looking at her, it takes a moment before Matthew can school himself to civilly reply.

"My apologies, I had asked Edith to pass on my excuses to your parents but I have rather a splitting headache. Good night Cousin Mary."

Fearful that he will continue to walk away from her a wave of concern over takes Mary, her hand reaching out and softly slipping into his. Yet again, Mary hears the uninvited fretful voice in the evening air.

"Cousin Matthew, please come back inside. Mama would be quite vexed if I allowed you to leave feeling unwell. I'll ask Carson to have Branson the car round, or perhaps it would be best if Branson were to bring your mother here to collect you..."

Mary's voice fades into the air as she searches in desperation for something, anything that would impel him stay a little longer. If she could just get him to stay she may be able to regain the ease they had between them at dinner.

Trying to evade the gentle coercive tug of her hand Matthew's seething anger at the entire evening begins to fracture the polite societal veneer of an heir presumptive. Irritated by her ceaseless bid to assert dominance over the situation Matthew finds himself in incapable of biting his lip, letting his irritation freely show.

"I am more than perfectly capable of seeing myself home, headache or not. And I certainly do not need to be mollycoddled by my Mother! I bid you good night again Cousin Mary'

Sharply wrenching his hand free Matthew breaks free from Mary's hold and with a rigid posture briskly walks away with no intention of waiting on a reply.

Hearing the deafening crunch of Matthew's shoes on the gravel Mary steels herself to close the gap, astonished with the ease at which she finds herself closing the space between them. Before she is aware she finds her hand curled controllingly over his shoulder as she compels him to turn and face her.

"Matthew, if, if I have offended you... I never meant for you to be. "

Matthew, unable to curb his bitter derision of her stilted half apology anymore turns to face her, holding himself upright and ridding himself of her traitorous touch for a second time.

" Heaven forfend Cousin Mary, why would you have such a notion?"

Shocked at the hostility and cutting edge of Matthew's words, Mary is momentarily dumbfounded. After all that she said at dinner, surely he cannot think that her conversation with Sir Anthony was anything more than one of her little droll dinner games.

"Matthew, surely... Sir Anthony was just a guest. I don't... he means nothing. I was...Edith..."

Her elucidation of the evening stutters to a halt, unable to tell him of her little wager with Edith over 'the old booby'. Matthew, having remained antagonistically facing her, tilts his head questioningly, encouraging her to finish her explanation.

Mary struggles to find the words to tell him of her spitefulness towards Edith, by monopolising Sir Anthony even though she couldn't care less for the old duffer, knowing that if she tried to vindicate her behaviour in this way she would see nothing but disappoint and disdain in his eyes. With no other option Mary keeps her counsel, dropping her eyes to the ground as her hand unconsciously reaches to play with her necklace, the other wraps across her chest in futile protection from the cold evening air.

With a resigned sigh Matthew gives up the hope of understanding another of Mary's little 'amusements.' Turning and walking away he feels, perhaps, this time Mary's game has gone a little too far. Yet, he finds himself again unable to be utterly devoid of emotion or shirk his duty of care to his cousin.

'Cousin Mary, do go inside before you catch your death..."

Hardening against his own frailties where the eldest Crawley daughter is concerned he stops himself from wishing her a good night or turning back for one last look, just to see. He settles for silently adding an after thought under his breath.

"...and I have to call my mother for you."

As Mary silently watches him go she momentarily closes her eyes, forcing back a wretched quake of emotion from her heart. Opening her eyes again with a cleansing exhalation the ghost of regret is lost into the chill of the night air "I'm sorry. It was just a game, just a silly girls' game. Sleep well Cousin Matthew."