Finally, the war had ended. They had all thought that when war was finally over, they would be able to celebrate its ending, but that was now not possible. It almost seemed as if Downton Abbey would never be able to celebrate again.

The shadow of death hung over the house.

William was dead, shot down dead during the last month of war with the name of his sweetheart on his dying lips.

Daisy.

Downstairs, Daisy felt as if it was she that was being carved up for dinner. She knew that she could never escape the fact that she had never loved William, and although it was irrational, she felt guilty for it. How could she not have loved that dear, sweet boy who had gone to war willingly and died for his country? She should have loved him, but she never had; and the guilt of this was tearing her apart. Her only consolation was that he had died believing she loved him, and she could only hope that that had been enough.

The whole house was stunned into silence by the terrible event. The staff tried, for Daisy's sake, to continue normally, but they were shaken. Carson and Mrs Hughes visibly struggled to retain their composure; Mrs Patmore sobbed into the roast chicken when she thought nobody saw and Anna couldn't prevent the tears from emerging despite the presence of her beloved Mr Bates. Even Thomas and O'Brien were subdued.

Upstairs, despite the sadness for their lost footman, the relief that it wasn't Matthew was almost palpable. It was something that Mary couldn't stop repeating to herself: He's alive. She could live; she could learn to move on if she knew that somewhere he was alive and happy, even if it meant that he was happy with someone else. And as it happened, tonight he was coming to dinner and bringing Lavinia with him, and she was determined to be pleased for him. After all that he had been through, he at least deserved that. Anyway, Sir Richard Carlisle would also be there and it was important to give him a favourable impression.

A decidedly red-eyed Anna came to help Mary dress for dinner; forcing Mary to reflect more sombrely on the end of the war. Not everyone was lucky enough to come back alive. Not every woman was lucky enough to have her love come back alive. The thought of that poor kitchen maid downstairs (Daisy, wasn't it?) brought Mary out of her reverie. Yes, she was lucky that Matthew was alive. She couldn't ask for more than that.

Meanwhile, in another room down the hall, Sybil sighed at herself as she examined her reflection in the mirror. Tonight would be another one of those awkward mealtimes because Branson would be serving as a footman since they had outside guests. She knew without doubt that she would spend the entire dinner trying to concentrate on not looking in his direction. It had always been so easy before to pretend that the footmen were invisible at dinner, but with Branson it seemed as if all the boundaries were blurred. She still couldn't work out quite how she felt about him, but she knew in her heart that it was a far stronger affection than the laws of propriety would allow an earl's daughter to have for the family chauffeur. She shook her head to banish all thoughts of him. She would pretend, just for one night, that there was nothing between them. She would have to pretend.

It was an hour later, and the family was assembled along with Sir Richard Carlisle, waiting only for Matthew, Lavinia and Isobel. Mary's heart was pounding so desperately when Carson entered and announced Matthew's name that for a moment she didn't notice the change in the room's atmosphere, the reason why everyone suddenly sat up a little straighter and stared at the door with interest. Matthew and his mother came in dressed in their best, and it was then that Mary noticed. No Lavinia. And was she just imagining things, or did she detect a certain sadness in Matthew's manner?

It was Violet who broke the silence.

"And wherever is Miss Swire? Not ill, I hope?" she said and smiled with polite acidity.

Matthew's face was almost expressionless.

"I thought it best, under the circumstances, not to bring her along to dinner," he told Violet. "I apologise for not giving more warning of her absence."

Violet seemed about to speak, but Robert interrupted: "Don't mind about that, my dear boy, but is everything alright? And under what circumstances?"

Matthew looked down to the floor for a moment, as if to gather courage, and Mary felt as if all breath was rapidly deserting her body.

Then Matthew looked up, and his honest eyes were filled with disappointment. "I have broken off the engagement between myself and Miss Swire. It would seem that during the last few months of my absence she has reaffirmed an old attatchment, shall we say, for a former friend of her family, and she wished to be released from our engagement. I believe she is to marry this friend in the spring."

Mary hardly heard her father's consoling words, or saw her mother and grandmother's knowing smiles in her direction. All she could think about was hope. She decided in that moment that she wouldn't accept Sir Richard's proposal; she would win Matthew over again, try her best to make him love her if she could. She would never let him go again if she could help it. She could never be herself without him; she could never be happy without him. And if he was free, she could try to make him hers again.

For the first time since his entrance, Matthew allowed himself to meet Mary's eyes. The truth was that he had been relieved to have a valid reason to break off his engagement, as he loved Mary and had known it ever since the day of the concert when he had walked into the room and seen her face, and felt as if he was flying with happiness. The truth was that he never felt complete without her by his side. The truth was that just looking at her now, like this, even from across a room full of her family, made him want to run to her and take her in his arms and never let her go. But how to know if she felt the same? Who knew what lay beneath that calm exterior?

Sybil couldn't help herself. She had begun to view Matthew as the brother she had never had, and she knew he thought of her as a sister. He was the one person she wanted to tell about Branson; about the confusion that he made her feel. She couldn't tell her parents or Edith, much less her grandmother, and Mary was appalled at what she already did know. She'd probably die of shock if she knew that Sybil was actually considering her feelings towards the chauffeur. Matthew was the only one she could tell.

Matthew was thinking the same thing. Sybil was the closest sister to Mary, she was the most likely to know if Mary felt the same way. He could talk to Sybil, he could explain his feelings to her and trust that she would never tell. She would help him. He felt, for the first time in a long time, that everything was going to work out alright.

Robert was saying something to him in a murmur.

"If you need anything to help you get through it, I'll be here."

Matthew looked at this man who had become his father figure.

"Thank you. For everything." The sincerity in his voice was clear as a bell.

Embarrassed, Robert told him "I've done nothing. If you've got through so far, it's all down to you."

"That's where you're wrong. I couldn't have got through anything without you, without any of you," Matthew replied, looking round the room. "The war was long and hard, but I survived. And it's down to you all for giving me the strength to carry on fighting, and to Mary, for this," and he held up the toy dog she had given him, that he always kept with him. "Others didn't have the luck that I had." They were all silent for a moment, thinking of William.

"The concept of life is to draw from the strength of others to carry on living. Just something that one of the officers used to say," and he shrugged.

The sentence hung in the air, the truth of it filling the hearts of everyone in the room. The concept of life... And for now, Matthew was back and he was the strong one. Now that he was here, they could all carry on. Nothing really mattered but that. For now.