I was baffled that Mary or Lord Grantham wouldn't fight Carlisle's threats, and I felt like Mary and Matthew didn't deserve to go through a sexual scandal. I've done some researches, read a couple of Case Studies of the time, and tried to make Mary's defense sound as believable as possible. Please forgive any mistake. I'm not familiar with legal jargon. I'm currently without a beta and English is not my first language. I'll be happy to correct any mistake, so please point them out. Enjoy!
February, 1920
The party was heading back to the big house, after having enjoyed luncheon in the woods. Cora had insisted for an adventurous birthday celebration, and nobody had the heart to deny one to her (after everything the past years had brought) so they all faced the cold, with the Dowager Countess mumbling about the "peculiarity of your American wife, Robert" with a fond undertone that went not missed.
The old, magnificent walls of Downton came into view; suddenly Mary felt someone tugging at her arm and pulling, her back against a tree with a swift albeit gentle move. Now hidden from prying eyes, Matthew stole a soft kiss from her lips asking for forgiveness. She took him in, closer than he had been the whole day, with an unabashed, boyish smirk that didn't seem apologetic in the least. She smiled back.
"I've missed you."
"We've been together the whole day long, Matthew."
"I've missed you."
His eyes never leaving hers, he descended on her again. This time his lips captured hers leisurely, painfully slow. Mary's hand went to rest on his sternum, where she played with the buttons on his shirt as she granted him further access with a soft sigh. They parted again. Mary's eyes were dark pools by now, her neck was flushed and her lips glistened. She had never looked more beautiful.
"We should tell them, you know. It's been almost two months."
"I thought you enjoyed sneaking around, given how eager you were to attract me behind a tree."
"Why do you think Carlisle hasn't published yet?"
The question hit her like a cold grip on her heart, and she had to look away to avoid his searching gaze. Of course he could see right through her, and the reason she delayed the announcement. When they got engaged, she was ready to brace the upcoming storm. But as the weeks passed, Carlisle didn't seem to have any intention to strike just yet. Her strength and resolution fading, she feared what was to come.
"I hardly know. I can imagine he wants to use his weapon when he knows it's going to make the most damage. When we announce the engagement, maybe. Or when the papers will report our wedding, when it's bound to flame up the gossip."
She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed, suddenly wearied out. Matthew caressed her face, so gently she wondered whether he was touching her or if she was imagining it.
"Hey" she opened her eyes at the sound of his voice "everything is going to be fine."
"You say so but-"
"I know so. I've gone through a heartbreak, a war, an epidemic and I broke your grandmother's vase. I'm not living in doubt and fear anymore. I'm not wasting any more time. I want the rest of our lives to start as soon as possible."
She smiled. "Oh, I don't know. I was enjoying this naughty, secret side of you."
She bit her lip, trying to contain her smile at his shocked expression, before adding "But you're right, we should tell them. And until then, no more improper meetings in the woods."
She jokingly tried to escape, knowing they were back on safe grounds.
That's when he pulled something out of his pocket, holding it on his palm for her to see. The ring was delicate, and simple. So different from the vulgar item Carlisle tried to force on her finger. She stared at the diamond at its top, whose sparkle was unlike any other she had seen, with glimmers of blue and lilac.
"I brought the gem back from France, and had it engraved. I found it shining in the mud one night, wondering how something so little and precious could still fight the oblivion and sparkle in the filth. I picked it up, to remember beauty did survive somewhere, no matter what. Diamonds never cease to exist."
And when he slid the ring on her finger, Mary knew she was going to announce the engagement: she would not only brave the storm. She would dominate it.
March, 1920
Matthew brought a hand to his face, trying to scratch away the weariness of the day. It was still 11am, he was stuck behind an office desk for six more hours. He forced himself to give his attention back to the paperwork he was examining, picking up yet another case file.
The door burst open, showing the nervous face of his new assistant.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr Crawley, but there's someone asking to meet with you immediately."
"I don't have appointments for today. Tell them they'll have to call back and fix a date with you."
"I tried to but she said she was-"
"Lady Mary Crawley" she said, stressing the words while she let herself in, disregarding John with an haughty glare. "Really Matthew, one would think an assistant should know the name of their employer's fiancée. You can go now."
She urged him out with a dismissing wave of her hand, and Matthew could see the relief in John's eyes to be let out of the room. When the door closed, Mary let her façade fall and smiled broadly, approaching his desk.
"You're a solicitor."
She said, as if it was the most wonderful discover she had made.
"A boring, middle-class lawyer who can barely hold a knife like a gentleman, if I recall correctly."
"Oh shut up Matthew. How many times do I have to repeat you to forget about that? Listen to what I'm saying! You're a solicitor! Can't you see?"
He was now worrying for his fiancée's excited blur; he got up, circled around the desk, and stood in front of her trying to decipher her victorious smile.
"I used to think position and money gave you power, but oh I had never thought that nowadays not even a King has more power than the one who has the knowledge to bend the intricate web of strings that rules this society. Law, Matthew, is a wonderfully sharp weapon."
As he began to gather up what she meant, she put her hands on the sides of his face, pulling him down to her. Her kiss was not gentle, and not chaste in the least. It was fierce, like a lioness claiming her pray, and he suddenly felt blood running faster as his hands went to her waist, reacting with as much need. Their bodies couldn't feel close enough, heat radiating through their clothes as they stumbled against his desk, his much hated paperwork now discarded. When John knocked on his door asking if Lady Mary wished some tea, they jumped away from each others as if hit by a shockwave. Flushed and happy, she asked him to start working on his new case, because she wanted a Spring wedding, before swiftly running out of the door and leaving Matthew hot and bothered.
A week later
Being back in Sir Richard Carlisle's office was proving to be a hard task, she mused, as she crossed the door of the tall, imposing building in London. She straightened her shoulders, and held her head up high, one hand clutching a letter and the other holding tightly on Matthew's upper arm. It was her battle, one she had to fight alone, but knowing Matthew would be out of Carlisle's office (ready to punch him, if the situation called for it – she mentally chuckled) gave her enough confidence to open its door and disappearing from his view.
Sir Richard sat behind his desk; his features showed smugness, his body was relaxed against his chair, hands loosely lying on his desk. He had been waiting long for the moment Lady Mary Crawley would come back to him to beg; he motioned her to sit, and was taken aback when she chose not to.
"This isn't going to take long, Richard."
"As you wish. But let me inform you that you're deluding yourself if you think that pleading will convince me to forget about your filthy scandal."
"Au contraire, Richard, I'm here merely to give you the chance to save yourself some trouble and choose not to publish. See, I intended to notify you that in case you did – you'd be facing utter ruin."
Her face showed nothing if not a steel resolution. He emitted a humorless laugh.
"I think you got the sentence wrong, dear. In fact, your little gossip might earn me a considerable sum. Sex sells."
"In that case, let me tell you that I intend to file charges against you and your company for libel and false statement to a woman's discredit. As it comes out" – Mary opened the letter she was carrying – "English law allows actions for libel to be brought in the High Court for any published statements alleged to defame a named individual in a manner that causes a reasonable person to think worse of them, so that they would be shunned and avoided.". I guess I'd see you in court, where you'll have to respond for both a civil and, as it turns out, penal crime."
"Lady Mary, I think you forgot to mention that whatever I'm going to publish is true."
"And how exactly can you product evidence that confirms that? The statement of a deranged, dead woman? Hardly subpoenable, I don't see how she could testify in court. And even if you could find anyone at the Turkish Embassy ready to confirm they've heard the rumor it stays that. A rumor. Does your newspaper publish every rumor a ladies' maid hears about? Doesn't seem a very reliable news source, don't you agree? But what's more (isn't it great, being a solicitor's fiancée?), is that "The damages on a person in a very exalted position must be very great, because the publicity surrounding her was greater. (Sir Patrick Hastings).".
"Smooth. But as you happily point out, you're engaged. There's no damage on your behalf, so my publication cannot be"
-"Words spoken and published which impute unchastity or adultery to any woman or girl shall not require special damage to render them actionable. The imputation of a woman's unchastity is necessarily defamatory. Slander of Women's act (1891)." It appears Queen Victoria was very concerned with our reputation. You want to portray me as a woman who has been defiled, and I wonder who is going to ask an English Jury to say that is not defamatory."
"You can drag me to court, but the reparation will be minimal. Believe me, it'll cost me nothing."
"I believe that, and I'm not here for the money. I've never been quite as venial as you are; my lot believe money is a vulgar matter. No. I'm talking about reputation. As you kept reminding me, you sell papers for a living and this business is a jungle. If the jury rules in my favor, which is bound to happen, they'll have said you print lies on your papers, even worse: that you use your media power for your personal vendettas. How will that resonate for your company? I'm sure your competitors will feast over it, you'd lose credibility, you'd lose audience. One mistake, and the wolves will eat you alive. Isn't that what you always said?"
She was smiling now, feeling finally free. How liberating had been, finally fighting against Sir Richard and seeing his confidence slowly abandoning him, the color draining from his face, his lips livid. Trapped for months in his grip of threats, she felt her heart racing with adrenaline at her victory. She approached his desk, handing him the letter she was quoting.
"My lawyer took care of spelling it out for you. You can let your legal office give a look at it. They'll confirm everything I've said can and will happen, I'll make it happen."
He stared at her for a moment, his composure now lost.
" It appears I've lost again. Don't worry, I'll never expose your filthy exploits. They'll be on your skin for as long as you live. But let me tell you this: are you sure that's what you want? This is your last chance."
Confused, Mary replied "My skin is none of your concerns. I request you not to publish, or I'll see you in court."
"Very well. You can go now. But remember what I'm telling you: you'll regret what you've wished for."
With a last sever glare, she left the room not deigning him with a retort.
Suddenly she felt tired. She quickly walked, almost ran (but not quite. Ladies don't run.) to Matthew, and let him embrace her tightly. She forgot where they stood, she disregarded propriety and prying eyes. He soothed her, caressing her back while she hid her face in the croon of his neck inhaling his scent.
"Let's go home."
She took the hand he was offering, and they left together. They had a wedding to plan.
TBC?
Author's Notes: this could very well be a one-shot. I'm considering the idea of writing a segue to it, to explain Mary's choice to fight back, focus on their Spring Wedding and discover what Richard truly meant when he said she would regret it. Let me know whether or not these stories would be worth telling.