In this Downton Abbey story, I have made some changes to canon, can you see what they are? I have probably made MORE changes, since Series 4 hasn't been shown here in the U.K yet, and will probably be radically different to this story.

The House of Grantham: The War Years

Disclaimer: Downton Abbey, all related concepts and anything you recognise do not belong to me, I am merely borrowing them to bring you this story - and for my own personal enjoyment - as they actually belong to Jullian Fellowes. Any OC's and things you do not recognise, however, are copyrighted to me, KingdomHeartsNerd.

Rating: M; this story is listed as a 'T' in the Downton Abbey section on so that people can see it - there is a warning of the status in the small summary.

Pairings: Mary/Matthew, Reginald/Anna

Genre: Romance/Drama

Warnings: This story is an 'M' as it contains sex and may contain bad language; if these offend you, do not read this story.

Story Summary: When the Second World War is declared, The Crawley Family find themselves having to live through the departure of their son, Reginald, to fight in the war and have to deal with the events of the war affecting their lives and the return of Edith and Sybil - along with their families - after nearly twenty years. With all three sisters under one roof, and Matthew having to keep the peace, can he fix his relationship with his middle son, or will he lose him forever? And will Reginald - and his cousins Tom Branson Jr and Anthony Strallan Jr - all survive the war?

Thank You: Thank you to Lady Eleanor Boleyn for brainstorming with me in the last stages of writing this chapter. If you like this, then go and read her stories. They're brilliant!

Chapter I: Declaration of War

September 3rd, 1939: 11:05pm

"I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at 10 Downing Street. This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final Note stating that, unless we heard from them by 11 o'clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany."

Reginald Robert Crawley, eighteen years old, tall and thin, with a layer of muscle, dark hair and piercing dark eyes, could still hear the words of Neville Chamberlain declaring that war existed between England and Germany. He knew that he would be off to war before the end of the year; he'd signed up for the army months ago, back when he and his wife had merely beeen betrothed.

Glancing over to his wife, he couldn't help but let a smile creep over his face; Lady Anna Crawley, Viscountess Downton, née Miss Anna Napier - daughter and heiress of Evelyn Napier, Viscount Branksome, and his wife Marianne - was a day older than her husband and the two had been married for just over a month; Anna was shorter than her husband by a good three inches and blonde, with kind saphire blue eyes and a petite build.

"How are you feeling, Reg?"

Smiling gently at his wife, he pulled her close and sighed into her hair. "Unsurprised." She looked, confusedly, up at him. "Papa's been going on about the coming war since the beginning of the year; I knew I'd have to fight eventually. It just seems my time has come."

"And you're not scared?"

"Terrified." He replied, reaching out for a glass of wine that Douglas, the thirty five year old butler, was holding out for him. "Just don't tell Henry, or else I'll never hear the end of it. And you? Are you frightened, Anna?"

"Yes." She replied, gently taking his hand. "But not for me. I'm safe here at Downton; it's you I'll worry about. Out there, being bombarded by bullets, bombs and whatever else they throw at you."

"We're going to throw it right back, Anna." Reginald assured her. "Don't worry; I'll be safe - I promise."

"That's not a promise you can make." She replied, staring at him, a frown marring her beautiful face. "So don't make it. Just... Just be careful."

"I will be." He gently kissed his wife, momentarily restraining himself from going any further with her, and, releasing her, allowed her to trott off in the direction of her sister-in-law, Violet.

As he watched her go, downing his glass of wine as he did so, his eyes lingering for slightly too long on her pert bottom, he couldn't help but catch sight of a figure sat in a chair on the other side of the room; the almost sixteen year old Henry Alexander Crawley, who was tall, smart - though less smart than Reginald - moody with an attitude - to which anyone would attest to - and rather plump with less common sense than his elder brother, was staring at the wall.

"Something wrong?"

Reginald sat down opposite Henry and took a glass of wine from the tray; Henry nearly jumped; staring at Reginald he merely gave a smile and relaxed into the chair. "Not really. I'm just worried. You and I both know I'll have to go off to war as well in two years."

"A year - if you conscript early, that is."

"No." Replied Henry. "I'll leave the early stages of the war to you. Besides, you know Mama's intent on getting me married too."

"Ah, yes." Smirked Reginald, tipping his wine glass slightly. "R.C.. So, when will I meet her?"

"Mama doesn't know of her yet."

"Truly?" inquired Reginald, the glass of wine pausing inches from his lips. "You've managed to keep a girl from Mama for this long? It's nearly a year now, isn't it? Well, you did better than I did. Mama found out about Anna within two weeks."

"That's because you were careless!" laughed Henry.

"Maybe so," replied Reginald, shoving his brother's arm affectionately. "But I still commend you. Keeping a girl from Mama for a year is very impressive."

"We speak on the phone - in the evenings, when everyone else goes in for dinner - have you never wondered why I am always late?"

"So, who is R.C. anyway?" asked Reginald. "She must be some girl if you've been able to hide her from Mama for so long."

"R.C.?" inquired a voice; Anna settled herself into the third chair, refused a glass of wine - which made Reginald frown for a moment - and glanced to Henry. "You don't mean Rilanna Cremark, do you? The youngest child and youngest daughter of Richard and Penelope Cremark, the 16th Duke and Duchess of Cremark?"

"I do." Replied Henry, staring shrewdly at his sister-in-law. "But how do you know of her?"

"Rilanna is from an old wealthy Grecian family." Replied Anna, waving a hand to show she only knew the basics. "Somehow they managed to avoid the guillotine during the revolution and survived to spawn a whole brood of nasty little aristocrats just like her. She has a taste for exotic fashion like a lion has a taste for meat - using combined animal furs from the creatures her father has shot to create new kinds of fashions to sell to her high-society friends - and an extensive knowledge of Ornithology."

"A bird expert?" inquired Reginald.

"Exactly." Anna replied. "I've known her for years; never liked her - I merely tolerated her while Mama and Papa tried to create a betrothal between me and the eldest son of the Duke and Duchess. Thankfully, nothing came of it and their eldest boy married his first cousin three years ago... the youngest boy did too, come to think of it. There hasn't been a marriage out of that family since 1831 when Catherine Cremark, the youngest daughter of the Ninth Duke, married the Earl of Trentham - their only child was, according to Mama, stillborn. They're intent on keeping the Grecian blood flowing in the veins."

"Then I'll be the first person to marry into the family who isn't a Cremark."

"You're actually considering marrying her?" wondered Anna; reclining back into the chair, she said, "Good luck to you then, Henry. Good luck, indeed."

September 4th, 1939: 01:05am

Reginald reclined on the bed, the quilt over him; Anna, behind the screen, was changing.

"When will you have to go to war?"

"The beginning of October." He replied, watching his wife's form behind the screen; licking his lips he groaned and said "We-We ship out on the third."

Anna paused for a moment, knowing that her husband could see her. Then, smiling slightly, she picked up her nightgown, sighed sadly and said "Do you have to go? Can't someone else fight the war while you stay here?"

"And do what?" he inquired. "Help Papa with the running of the estate? I already know how to run the estate - Papa's drummed that into me."

"Well, I'll think of something to get you to stay." Anna seemed confident in her statement.

"Oh, will you, now?" Despite his wife not being able to see his features, Reginald couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as he replied.

"Yes." She replied, appearing from behind the screen; Reginald was off the bed in a moment, reaching her, his hands around her waist and his lips against hers. While initially shocked, she soon put all of her force into the kiss. Snatching passionate kisses from one another the two stumbled backwards to the bed, Reginald leading, his hands snaking their way down her body to lift up her nightgown.

As they collapsed onto the bed, her hands pulled open the button on Reginald's sleepshorts and she pulled them down. Seizing his chance, Reginald flipped her over, pinned her to the bed, and lowered himself down. As she felt him penetrate her and begin the ritual movements, she couldn't help but groan in pleasure, especially when he groaned and snatched more kisses from her as her hands clasped his shoulders firmly.

September 4th, 1939: 10:30am

Mary Crawley, Countess of Grantham, was not a woman to be lied to. The previous evening she had seen her eldest two sons whispering together behind her back, and was determined to get to the bottom of the situation. With her daughter-in-law ill and in bed, Mary knew that disturbing her wouldn't be a good thing to do at the moment; she would check on Anna later, after Reginald had left her side.

With her daughters in the library, her youngest son at school and her middle son tending to his horse in the stables, Mary took her chance and headed upstairs, entering Henry's room. Henry's room, which contained a four poster bed, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a dressing table and a shelf of books, was slightly smaller than Reginald's room and had a different air to it; Reginald's seemed a place of love, while Henry's seemed a place of anything but love.

Moving over to the dressing table, Mary noticed a pile of letters; picking up the first, she read over it. It wasn't what she was looking for, but was signed 'from your dear friend, S.'; the second letter, a longer letter, she discarded immediately as it was a letter than Reginald had written while he had been at Eton in the summer; the third letter, signed 'R.C.' took her interest.

Downstairs, the main door clunked, and Henry's voice echoed up the stairs.

"I'm off to change, Douglas - tell Mama I'll be down for dinner."

"Very good."

Mary pocketed her son's letter and left his room, just disappearing around the corner as her son appeared at the top of the stairs. For a moment, he stared at his mother's retreating form, then threw his riding shirt over his shoulder and disappeared into his room. Immediately, his eyes landed on the stack of letters, which had been moved from where he had left them that morning, and his eyes went wide.

She knew.

September 4th, 1939: 21:30pm

"I've received a phone call from Sybil earlier." Said Mary, Countess of Grantham, that night over dinner.

"Oh?" inquired Matthew, taking a sip of his wine. "What does she want?"

"She wants the family to come here for the duration of the war." Replied Mary, taking some sausages off of the tray that was being held out by Bertrand. "So that they're safe. You understand her worry - Tom's record would go against him: the whole business of arson in 1920 would put them all in danger."

"They're welcome to come here if they wish." Matthew assured her, he too taking some sausages. "Thank you, Bertrand. Now, Mary, Darling, the only problem we have is that I cannot pay for it - if I am seen to be helping an arsonist from Ireland I could lose my position in the House of Lords."

"Of course," she replied. "I can pay for it."

"Out of the question." Matthew informed her. "People will just say that I asked you to do it for me. No, we must... find a way to get them over to England without arrousing suspicion."

"What about Mama?" inquired Mary. "Couldn't she do it? People cannot speak against a mother wanting her daughter at Downton for her safety, surely?"

"That might work, but I shall discuss other options."

"What about your father, Anna?" interrupted Reginald for a moment, cutting up his hash brown potatoes. "He's a friend of the family - couldn't he supply for them?"

"Good idea," agreed Mary. "Evelyn has been friends with the Crawleys since 1913. Your father, if I asked nicely, would be able to do it."

"There's no need to ask nicely, Mama," interrupted Anna to her mother-in-law. "I can call Charles and ask him to ask Papa. Papa should be home by now, and if he isn't, then Charles can send a message to uncle Edmund and he could help."

"What of Edith?" inquired Matthew.

For a moment, Mary bristled, inquiring, "What of her?"

"Well, surely if Sybil is coming to Downton then Edith should too? She is your sister after all."

"Would you believe it?" inquired Mary. "You know Edith and I have never got along. You can tell her that she, Anthony and the children can come here, as long as Edith behaves."

"You're to behave too, Darling." Interrupted Matthew. "Your Grandmother is too old to defend you."

"She's ninety-one, Matthew, and besides, when has being old ever stopped Granny?"

Seeing an argument beginning to develop, Reginald chose to interrupt: his words made his four siblings - Henry, Violet, Cora and James - look up from their plates.

"When does Mary get home from Dresden? With this war on, surely she'll be coming home?"

"She should be arriving home tomorrow." Matthew replied. "She wrote to me last week to say that she was coming home anyway. The feeling is rather bad in Germany apparently, especially towards the English."

"Do you want me to drive down and meet her?"

"No." Matthew said, smiling. "No. Jacobs is driving down to collect her from the station."

September 5th, 1939: 11:35am

The doorbell rang promptly at 11:35am the following morning; in the main Drawing Room, Mary gave a sigh and clenched her teeth as Harold opened the door; a woman, tall, red haired and sixty nine years old, was stood outside. She wore a hat with a large feather on the top, a deep purple coat, and a thick white boa was around her neck.

"Good morning, My Lady." He greeted, his voice a deep, yet quiet baritone.

"Good morning, Harold!" greeted the woman, passing him and entering the main foyer of Downton Abbey. "Where's Douglas?"

"He had to go out, My Lady." Replied Harold, answering the woman's question.

"Indeed?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow. "At this time? In a war?"

"Mrs Angus was indisposed." Harold informed her, moving to take her coat.

"Mrs Angus?" wondered the woman. "I didn't think he was married."

"Douglas's mother, My Lady. Her Ladyship's in the Drawing Room; shall I announce you, My Lady?"

"Naturally," she replied; then, she held up a finger, and continued, "But not in that graveyard voice, or you won't be heard across the room!"

"Very good, My Lady." He replied; he passed her, strode across the main foyer and opened the door to the sitting room. "Lady Rosamund!"

Rosamund passed him and strode into the room; the family inside rose, smiling - though Mary's was very forced - as Rosamund cried "Mary, darling!"

"Aunt Rosamund." Mary kissed her aunt on the cheek.

"What a pretty dress," noted Rosamund, as she examined her niece. "Now, my dear, you must teach that young footman of yours to speak up. He announced me as though I were tragic news. Even if I am - which is quite possible - the name should, nevertheless, be heard and clear. So that one is not expected to be like 'Lady Rose' or 'Lady Rosaline' - I am not the Earl of London's daughters, quite the opposite!" then, she caught sight of Henry. "Henry."

He kissed her on the cheek; she examined him.

"You're looking fat," she said at last, patting his midsection. "You've gained weight. It shows in your face. You should eat less." With that, she took her place in the chair by the door and caught sight of Anna. "And who is this?"

It was Reginald who replied. "Oh, may I present my wife, Miss Anna Napier; my great-aunt, Lady Rosamund Painswick."

"How do you do, Lady Rosamund?" greeted Anna. "Reginald had often spoken of you."

"Kindly I hope?" inquired Rosamund, nodding in acknowledgement of Anna.

"Of course - how else would one speak about a great aunt?"

"Indeed," replied Rosamund in agreement. "Though your great-aunt - Annabelle Arnolds - is a-"

"Do sit down, Reginald - you too, Anna." Interrupted Mary, before her aunt could say something to upset Anna. "I do wonder what has happened to Mary, she should have been here by now."

"So," began Rosamund, pulling off one of her gloves. "This is to welcome Mary home from Germany?"

"Yes, Aunt Rosamund," replied Mary, smiling genially, "We thought it would be nice for her."

"A tea-party for Mary with no tea and no Mary." Noted Rosamund critically, causing Mary to bristle a moment.

"I have rung for the tea, Aunt Rosamund."

"Mary's boat was due into Liverpool an hour ago." Interrupted Henry, trying to take some of the attention away from his mother whom he could tell was suffering under his great-aunt's scrutiny.

"Oh, was it?" inquired Rosamund, plucking off her other glove.

"Yes," interrupted Mary. "You were very punctual, Aunt Rosamund."

"Let's hope Mary's train will be too," said Rosamund. "I'm playing bridge at 7:30 with Susan. You remember - Mama's niece; speaking of whom, is Mama not here?"

The doorbell rang moments later; Reginald was off his seat in an instant, exclaiming "Ah, there she is! Thank heavens!"

"For what?" bristled Rosamund, noting the offence.

"That Mary has arrived, safely," replied James, leaping to his elder brother's defence. At thirteen, James was the youngest child of the Earl and Countess of Grantham; with blue eyes and brown hair, he was the spitting image of his father.

Harold opened the door.

"Hello, Harold!" the jovial voice of Lady Mary Martha Crawley was the first thing to hit him, followed by the sight of Lady Mary's six trunks, three hat bags and a feather boa case.

"Welcome back, Lady Mary." Replied Harold, allowing her to pass him before heading out of the door. "I'll help Jacobs with the luggage."

"Rose!" cried Mary, catching sight of her favourite servant, who was just making her way down the stairs, and holding out a hand; Rose almost leaped the remaining stairs.

"Oh, welcome home, Lady Mary!" Rose cried, holding up her dress so as not to fall down the stairs. "Oh, it's nice to see you back!"

"It's nice to be back, Rose," Mary assured her. "Where's Mama?"

"They're all in the drawing room, Lady Mary." Rose replied.

"Who?" inquired Mary.

"Lady Rosamund, Lord Reginald, and another young lady." Replied Rose, counting them off on her fingers.

"Oh dear," sighed Mary, annoyed.

"Shall I take your hat and coat?" inquired Rose. "They are waiting with tea for you."

"Oh, I must go upstairs first! Come with me Rose!"

"Yes, Milady," replied Rose, lifting up two small carry cases that Mary had brought in with her. "Your room is all ready."

Five minutes later, and almost in a run, Mary burst into the Drawing Room. At the sight of the Countess she cried "Mother!" and had crossed the rooms in seconds, almost flying into the arms of the Countess, who had risen to great her.

"Darling, welcome home." The Countess hugged her daughter tightly. "Here's Aunt Rosamund."

Mary whirled around; catching sight of her great-aunt, she said "Oh, sorry, Aunt Rosamund!"

"That's alright, my child, you may kiss me," replied Rosamund; Mary leaned down and kissed her great-aunt on the cheek as her great-aunt examined her critically. "No. No, Germany has not done much for you, no."

"Oh, but it has, Aunt Rosamund!" exclaimed Mary. "It has done so much."

"Mary."

She whirled around; catching sight of Reginald, she cried "Reg! How lovely!" and threw her arms around him tightly.

"May I present my wife, Lady Anna; my sister, Mary."

"How do you do?" inquired Mary, shaking Anna's hand. "And who is your father? London? Hornswoggle? Portchester?"

"Napier."

"Oh, your Evelyn's girl!" exclaimed Mary, recognising Anna. "Thank heavens! I had made up my mind that you were one of The Duke of Dorset's spoilt brats. Horrible, all of them. "

"Sit down, darling, and have your tea." Interrupted the Countess, pouring a cup of tea for Mary.

"And how was the channel crossing?" inquired Rosamund.

"Oh, it was rough," laughed Mary, "Very rough. But I didn't mind. I stayed on deck most of the time. It was so exciting!"

"I trust, Mary, that you were not indisposed?" wondered Violet; often the quiet one in the family, Violet was the closest, of all the siblings, to Mary.

"Oh, no, no," smiled Mary, taking a cucumber sandwich from the plate that Reginald handed to her. "No, I have an excellent stomach, darling. You know that!"

"Tea, Aunt Rosamund?" inquired the Countess, handing the teapot to Rose, who had entered with Mary.

"Thank you," replied Rosamund, "and I will have another of those cucumber sandwiches - if Mary and Henry haven't eaten them all."

"Here you are, Aunt Rosamund." Reginald crossed the room and lowered the plate to his aunt's height; then, chuckling, he added "A handsome husband, or ten thousand a year?"

"Don't be so childish, Reginald," scolded Rosamund; then she said, "thank you," to Mary who handed a cup, which Rose had filled, to Mary.

"How did you find Germany, Mary?" inquired Anna. "Uncle Edmund - that's Viscount Arlesford - says they have a huge army."

"They do." Mary replied, pouring herself a cup of tea and scooping four lumps of sugar into it. "A very large army - nothing compared to ours of course - but a large army nonetheless. The German army seems rather authoritative and arrogant."

"The Germans always were a dogmatic people - if you remember, Mary darling, I suggested Switzerland - the Swiss are far more accomodating."

"Yes, Aunt Rosamund." Agreed the Countess; then, she turned to her daughter. "Now, we must discuss your coming out at Lady London's ball, Darling."

Mary, who had taken a sip of her tea, choked, spraying it over the floor. "What?!"

"Yes, quite right," agreed Rosamund, "and we must do something about your hair."

"Why?!" cried Mary.

"Well, if you can't see that, child," began Rosamund, bristling slightly, "Then I'm afraid it's going to up the business for your mother!"

"What do you think, Reg?" inquired Mary, over her cup of tea. "Am I a fright?"

"Well, you'll have to make something of yourself, Mary." He replied, getting to his feet from his position in the chair opposite her.

"Will I?" Mary's voice and expression both showed that she had no intention of changing.

"God help the man who marries her." Whispered Henry to Reginald as he sat down.

"Indeed," he agreed. "Indeed."

"And then," continued Mary, rattling on at a thousand miles and hour as she sat in the chair opposite her vanity mirror in her room, "We went on a trip to the Black Forest, which was absolutely creepy! Witches and Warlocks and all sorts of Brothers' Grimm things! Ow!"

Mary had been moving her head that much that Rose, who had been trying to style her hair for dinner, had nearly pulled it out of her head.

"Well, I'm sorry Lady Mary, but you will keep moving about!"

"Oh, wretched, wretched hair!" thundered Mary, flicking it out of her eyes. "Why can't it just hang down or be cut off or something?! Why can't one live like an ordinary mortal?"

"I don't know what you mean by that," began Rose, leaning over, so that she was looking at Mary. "I'm sure every shop girl's just as particular with her hair."

"The difference being that she does it herself." Moaned Mary.

"And a nice mess of it you'd make, I'll bet!" snorted Rose, lifting up the brush from the desk before running it over Mary's hair.

"Rose, don't be naughty." scolded Mary, though she didn't mean a word of it. "I did it myself almost every night in Dresden."

"We needed no ghost from the grave to tell us that." Noted Rose.

"What a funny expression," said Mary, smiling gently at Rose in the mirror. "Where did you hear that?"

"I don't know, My Lady," replied Rose through a mouthful of hairpins. "Where does one hear expressions? They just pop into your head."

"No, but I think that's a quoatation from - Rose, get me my book, will you?"

"Oh, not now, Milady."Replied Rose. "I've got to do your hair for dinner."

"Oh, drat dinner!" erupted Mary. "Drat hair! Drat! Drat! Drat!"

"Milady!" snapped Rose. "I must do your hair!"

"Oh, for heavens sakes, Rose, leave me alone!" Mary was out of the chair in front of her vanity in moments and, hand to her head, plonked herself into another chair nearby.

"Oh, Milady, what a temper!" scolded Rose. "And we were such good friends."

"And so we are, Rose dearest, if only you wouldn't fuss so! I'm sure you wouldn't want to do to Lady London's beastly ball looking like a stuffed peacock!"

"I'm sure I'd be lucky enough to get half the chance, Milady."

"Nonsense," replied Mary in reply. "I mean to do something with my life."

There was a knock at the door, and Matthew's voice said "Mary, may I come in?"

"Father!" Mary was out of the chair in an instant, her arms around Matthew's neck as he lifted her off of the floor.

"How's my Maria?" he inquired, laughing. "Wild as ever. What are we going to make of her, Rose? A flaming beauty, eh?"

"I'll say it won't be from want of trying!" agreed Rose.

"Oh, father." Mary kissed her father's cheek happily. "It's so good to see you!"

"And you, my dearest." he agreed, "now, Rose wants to get on with your hair. You look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards."

"Aright, but stay with me, please?" she asked, settling herself into her vanity chair and allowing Rose to continue with her hair.

"Well, of course," he assured her, settling himself in the chair she had been in before. "Well, and how was the good Frau Beck?"

"Wer got on very well - she sends you her best wishes, of course."

"Well, you can thank her for me." Matthew replied. "So, work done, now it's play for a time, eh?"

"Oh, not to much play, I hope, father."

"Nonsense, London will be good for you." He replied. "Even fun I should think - at least after provincial Germany. Besides, I want my girl to shine in society. I won't be a simple politician forever, you know. In fact, if Rose wasn't here, I'd tell you there's hope of a Cabinet Post."

"Oh, father, how wonderful!" cried Mary. "Oh, Rose is as secret as the tomb."

Matthew smiled. "Of course, it's not settled - a great deal relies on one's family in these matters."

"No, father, you're too important." Mary protested.

"No, my dear," he disagreed. "No politician ever gets to the top on his own. He has a brilliant wife behind him, or even an enchanting daughter."

"I'm not very good at enchanting," admitted Mary.

"You just wait until your mother and Rose have finished casting a few spells." He replied, leaning down and kissing her forehead. "It won't come easily to you, you know? You're not your father's daughter for nothing. I've suffered greater agonies in the Drawing Room than ever in the House of Commons."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes," replied Matthew. "But what I can stomach, you can too - of that, I'm sure. For my sake, eh?" She rose and kissed him, and he continued talking. "Now, I must go and change, or I'll be late. I'm dining at home tonight, with the pride of the Crawleys. And your Aunt Rosamund is here - Lord help us."

With that, he left; once the door had closed, Mary smiled, and, sitting in her vanity chair again, said "Well, that's it Rose, I am going to enchant!"

September 6th, 1939: 09:00am

"Tell me, Anna dear, do you see anything of Lady Rilanna Cremark nowadays? I know you were - if only briefly - betrothed to her brother."

Henry, who had just bitten into his fifth crumpet, which was liberally spread with six layers of butter and three layers of jam, choked, causing Reginald to thump him on the back. Moment's later, Henry spluttered "Wh-wh-why would she see someone she dislikes?"

"Henry's right, Mama," agreed Anna. "Rilanna and I have never gotten along - she always thought she was better than me because she was a Duke's daughter while I was just a Viscount's daughter. Can I inquire as to why you asked?"

"The Cremarks have always been like that," noted Rosamund, sipping her tea. "They were insistent that I married William Cremark - he was the fifteenth Duke, though only Lord William Cremark at the time - and were furious when I chose Marmaduke instead. Best decision I ever made."

"I asked, Anna darling," began The Countess, over her tea, "because I found this letter from Henry to Rilanna discussing their relationship - it was in Henry's room."

Henry and Matthew both choked; Henry on the next bite of his crumpet, and Matthew on a strip of bacon.

"Relationship?!" spluttered Matthew, staring at his second son.

"I knew you'd been in my room!" cried Henry; he'd paid no attention to his father.

"We're having a conversation after breakfast." Matthew informed Henry.

"Great!" breathed Henry, sarcastically. "Thank you, Mama. Thank you very much."

With that, he picked up another crumpet, pushed his chair back, got up, strode to the door, turned, said "I'll be in the library, Papa," and left, taking a bite from the crumpet.

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