Matthew left Mary's side without another word, unable to stay near her for much longer. He was not angry—not at her per say, but at himself for being so foolish. He had dismissed what may have been an attempt at an apology for the previous night as civilly and neutrally as he could muster, tipping his Panama hat amicably and then making the excuse that he had to look after his mother. His mother was all too aware of how he felt about her, regardless of how he had tried to hide how wounded he had been after dinner last night.

He had been naïve—he had thought for a moment that she may have felt…felt something for him in the moments they had been speaking and laughing with one another. He had even thought that it was his attention she was seeking when the whole dinner party had gone into the drawing room, but she had tossed him away and ignored him in favor of the family's honored guest, Sir Anthony Strallan. Today she had explained the incident as a game between her and her sister, but he wasn't going to let her see how it had affected him, nor would he ever let himself get that close to her again.

He could not possibly ignore her for long, since he and his mother dined at Downton at least once every week. Matthew was not a rude person either, and it would be nothing short of rude to shun her just because he had gotten his heart broken—rude and childish. He needed to brush it off like a man and carry on like usual, but he had been brusque with her just now because the pain was still raw. It was almost funny that he was reacting this way because there was a time less than a year ago when the relationship between him and his cousin was barely civil. She had resented him—she probably still did, and this was her way of showing it—for stealing away her inheritance.

It had not been a game to Matthew. He admitted that he had at least been attracted to her ever since Molesley showed her into Crawley House when he was in the middle of complaining to his mother that Cousin Robert would try to guilt him into marrying one of his daughters. It had not been an opportune time for her to walk in, and he was sure that his words had added to her already intense dislike of him. These past few months they had begun to put the past behind them, and he wanted to think that they were at least friends now. Their conversations had evolved from just a simple hello or good morning when passing each other in the village to her explaining that she wasn't really angry with him, but with how everyone around her expected her to live her life.

He in turn earnestly told her once how even though he could do nothing about the entail, it did trouble him to no end because he was upset that the law brushed her aside. He wished that he could give his inheritance to her—she deserved it, even if the law didn't agree…and he still thought that now—and there was a very glaring solution to the issue that he was all too aware of, but he would not even consider it if she didn't feel that way about him.

He was slowly coming to the realization that he had fallen in love with her. He wasn't sure when it happened—when they had grasped hands and stared into the other's eyes in front of the fireplace at Downton for what felt like an eternity, when they were walking together at the autumn fair in the village last year, when she joked with him the previous night—but he was sure that he had fallen, and there was no recovering from it…which was why he had been so overjoyed at the possibility that she might be taking a liking to him as well. Her attention had been devoted nearly entirely to him at the dinner table, and he had considered that the possibility of a life here at Downton, with her, might not be so bad of a future after all.

He had already taken an interest in renovating some of the rundown cottages on the estate, which had made him feel as if he had a purpose there. He had always liked architecture and getting to put his interest to good use had felt wonderful, and he truly felt that he was doing some good for the village and the family. That and the visits he paid to some of his clients in the village had helped him to feel as if he did belong here instead of Manchester, and that this wasn't just a random twist of fate aimed at ruining the life he had only just started to build as an industrial solicitor. He wouldn't have to worry about the Earl bit for quite some time he hoped, and could easily handle being a country lawyer and helping out at the estate every now and then.

As far as marriage went, of course he had thought about it. He wanted a family—he always had, really—a wife that loved him and a few children of his own, but it was important to him that he chose the woman that he was to marry and no one else. He had thought that he would settle down with someone that was also middle class, someone that understood his ideals, that loved him, someone that he could get along with, and yet once he had taken the time to get to know Mary…he found himself irrationally wishing against his will that she too would see that they could have a future together, if she wanted. Last night she had led him to think that she could see him as someone other than the man that would inherit her house and her father's title, that she could take a romantic interest in him, but he had been so horribly wrong.

He didn't know why he even bothered. She hadn't liked him initially and she didn't like him—or even close to love him like he felt he did her—now, nor would she ever. He wasn't going to hang around her to find out because that would only leave him just as hurt as he was now. For now what he would do was carry on, ever the gentleman, but he would never make her the confidante of his feelings, since for her it was nothing less than fun and games. He had never given his heart to anyone, but he had been tempted. In a sense he was grateful to her, because she had taught him a lesson—from now on he would be much more guarded of his feelings so not to have them crushed.