Violet
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You remember your husband telling your only son that he needs to marry a woman with a lot of money. And soon.
You remember watching your only son looking for a wife when he had just turned 18.
You remember watching him struggle.
You remember him saying that he did not want to marry 'some shrew like Cousin Susan'.
You remember seeing him dance with THAT AMERICAN.
.
.
An American you thought. The worst possible choice.
You fought with your son about her. "An American?" you asked.
"She's got the money we need. And she is not a shrew," he said.
You met her and found her wanting. She was nice and good looking.
But she was not a future Countess.
And then you watched your son make her one.
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You thought she was in love with him when they returned from their honeymoon.
If you think about it, you are pretty sure that she was in love with your son before the wedding.
Pretty sure. That's her influence.
You watched her struggle with it all. With being a lady.
And you made it as hard for her as possible. You hated that American who destroyed your son's life.
And then you saw him lose his footing.
.
.
You knew he was about to fall when he yelled at you for being unfair to her.
You knew he had fallen when you saw him dance with her at a ball given by your best friend.
He held her too closely.
Far too closely.
And then he led her of the dance floor holding her hand.
And instead of making you happy, it made you jealous.
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You have been taking care of like that only once.
And not by your husband.
And so you turned even more against her. And thereby against your son.
You watched them have their first daughter.
And their second daughter.
And their third daughter.
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There was no son.
And still your son loved his wife. And daughters.
And you fell for each of those girls in turn.
And your husband kept nagging for a boy.
And so did you. Although you thought those girls were perfect.
"I couldn't be happier. I love my daughters. And my wife," your son used to say. And you believed it.
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You watched your son's wife when he went to war. And you watched her take care of your granddaughters.
You watched your youngest granddaughter almost forget her father.
And her mother trying to keep him alive in her memories.
You watched your daughter-in-law and her girls suffer for two years.
And you suffered too. And so did your husband. Although he did not say so.
And then your son came back. And was blissfully happy. For two months.
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And then your husband died.
And it made your son the earl.
And that American wife of his a countess.
The Countess of Grantham, an American.
You watched them struggle with their new roles.
And you watched them succeed. And it made you proud of them. Both of them.
.
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You watched them fight.
Against the sorrows of losing James and Patrick. And their only son.
Against the sorrows of the war.
Against near betrayal in their marriage.
Against the sorrows of losing their youngest daughter.
Against the sorrows of losing a very beloved son-in-law.
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You watched them become whole again.
Turn their marriage into the happiness it once was again.
You watched them become even more affectionate.
Kissing in the entrance hall to greet each other.
Holding hands in the drawing room.
They were blissfully happy. And you weren't jealous anymore. You were happy for them. For both of them.
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And you cannot believe it when you see them fall apart again.
You think it is your son's fault. You want to smack that boy on the back of his head.
Especially when you meet Prince Kuragin. And rethink your own marriage.
You want to tell your daughter-in-law off for flirting with that art dealer.
He obviously is far more interested in the countess than in the family's art.
But you can't. You know what being neglected by your husband means. So you try to tell your son.
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And he does not listen.
He keeps ignoring his wife. After 34 years of a happy marriage.
He takes her for granted and you know what being taken for granted feels like.
And your daughter-in-law does not deserve that.
You know they fight. You hear it and you feel it.
Mary complains about her parents. And Edith whines. And Tom looks as if he couldn't believe it.
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You cannot believe it when your son confesses to you how he injured his hand.
And secretly you are proud of him. For having beaten that man.
And having fought for his wife.
But contrary to what you believe, he isn't sure that Cora really did not want that Bricker in her room.
And so you watch as he keeps ignoring her.
And so you watch as he hurts her more each day.
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Your granddaughters tell you that it seems to be getting better. A little every day.
And you hope that it is true.
You stay with them at their house in London and you can't help but overhear.
You can't help but overhear your son telling his wife why he wants to sell that dreadful painting.
And then you see her smile at him, smile a smile full of love and devotion.
And you know that they are deeply in love and very happy. And it makes you wonder.