Author's Note: Thanks for reading, here's the next installment!
The Teafords' arrival was easy enough. Mr. Teaford was quiet, particularly compared to his wife, and Mary was happy that he didn't prattle on about wool prices and factory equipment as if it must be interesting to everyone. In fact, he retired quite soon after they arrived to finish some business in their rooms, and she was hoping that she could spend the rest of the afternoon reading, but Mrs. Teaford quickly expressed an interest in seeing the grounds. Mary remembered the very bright smile her mother often wore when house guests stymied her plans, and found her face molding itself into the same forced expression.
It was nice, though, once they were outside and meandering down Mary's favourite footpath. "This is lovely," Mrs. Teaford gushed. "I'm so glad you don't have one of those horrible formal gardens, with the hedges all at right corners."
Mary allowed herself a slight smirk. "I quite agree, and so did my grandfather. There was one here, but it was torn up when my father was just a boy." She didn't add that the decision had been as much financial as aesthetic. Gardening staffs did not come cheap, and neither did the various shrubs and ornamentals needed to keep such a garden current.
"Are the grounds mainly used for hunting?" Mrs Teaford stared off into the woods along the western side of the estate.
"Hunting and horse-riding," Mary replied.
"There's an estate near Manchester, Farnsley House, where Jack likes to go hunting with his brother on occasion. The Baron has established part of his land as a sort of common, where men from the village can shoot rabbit and so on."
"Does he?" Mary asked rhetorically.
"Yes, it helps him with the pest problem, and the locals aren't so likely to poach if they are allowed some hunting. Do you have anything like that here?" Mary found Mrs. Teaford's look of anticipation unexpectedly annoying.
"No, we don't. My father used to grant permission for some of the local men to fish in our streams, but I don't think I would want strange men with guns to be about on the same paths I use to go riding."
"Oh, I see. What a pity." Mrs. Teaford walked with Mary in silence for a minute or two, before inquiring after the health of the various Crawley relatives she had met at the wedding, and Mary slowly relaxed.
Anna was fastening her choker when Matthew knocked on the door to Mary's dressing room.
"Oh! I thought you'd be ready." He was impeccable in his black tie and tails, and Mary smiled at his reflection in the mirror as Anna finished with the hooks on the necklace.
"Just about, Lord Grantham," Anna replied with a smile and a curtsey. "Anything else, milady?"
Mary briefly smoothed an errant piece of hair into place, and examined the style from one side to another with a small smile. "No, Anna, you can get back downstairs now."
When she had shut the door, Matthew walked up behind Mary's chair and gave her a brief kiss on her temple, avoiding mussing her hair or wrinkling her clothes. It was a careful action born of much practice and humourous rebukes. Turning, Mary caught his mouth with hers and held his lips to her, enjoying his short hum in response and the gentle insistence of his tongue as he deepened the kiss.
"Mmm," he managed, after she released him. "So you've had a good day?"
She set her head to one side, and smiled. "It was agreeable enough."
"And what do you think of my aunt so far?"
Mary shrugged. "She seemed nice. Very talkative! It was nice to show her around the grounds. I must take Diamond out this week, I can't think why I've been neglecting him."
There was both joy and inexplicable relief in his smile and Mary felt herself soften at the sight of it. Putting her arm in his, she allowed herself to be escorted out of the bedroom and down the main staircase.
Joining them that evening were the Teafords, Isobel, and the Cartwrights, a wealthy couple from America who had recently purchased Haxby. As the procession of their five course meal began, Mary felt an unanticipated feeling of pride. The starting wine, one of her favourites, paired beautifully with the artichoke soup and the foie gras that Mrs. Patmore had suggested. Comments regarding the dinner - its layout, selection, even the wines that Carson and Matthew had chosen - were all laid at her feet. It was all so unnecessary, and more than a little misplaced, but Mary could not prevent the happy glow that fell about her. This, after all, was perhaps what it felt like to be a Countess during smooth sailing.
While they waited for the main course, Mrs Teaford at last brought up the subject of politics. "What do you think of it, your Ladyship?"
"I'm afraid I'm utterly bored by it," Mary replied flippantly. "Unless finding David Lloyd George unintentionally amusing counts. Really, some of his speeches that we get on the wireless now are a scream." She instantly caught a significant look between Matthew and the cautious Mr. Teaford.
Isobel leaned forward as if smelling fresh blood. "My sister volunteers for Lloyd George's re-election campaign," she pointed out, waiting for Mary's reaction.
"That sounds dreadfully unpleasant," Mary responded, her lips thinning. She felt as if she'd just walked into an unseen tripwire.
"I love it," said Sarah Teaford, her eyes flashing. "And I think it's so important for women to be political these days, don't you agree?"
Maude Cartwright, a fiery New Yorker who would love Mary's mother, leaned in excitedly. "Absolutely! The women's movement has come very far, recently, but only because of the actions of a few brave women. We should all do our part." Isobel and Mrs. Cartwright looked meaningfully at Mary, as if they expected Mary to be lit up with enthusiasm for women's lib with a moment's encouragement.
Mary wanted to make an impatient noise like she always would have, but she imagined how her mother or father would have reacted to the same incitement. So instead, she smiled coolly. "Women's suffrage has been won, I believe. In any case, I believe my part lies in charitable works."
Mrs. Teaford's fixed smile shifted to an expression of mild outrage. "Women's suffrage won? That's only the case if you are landed and wealthy." She gestured to Anna and the other maids collecting the empty plates, one of Mr. Carson's few concessions to Matthew's modern and practical sensibilities. "Young women in domestic service or factory workers have little chance of owning land, or ever marrying landowners. Does that mean their opinions should not be heard?"
Mary caught Anna's eye briefly and felt a jolt of shame. There was a tense lull at the table. The roast beef had not yet been served, so no one had food in front of them with which to feign inattention. She found herself automatically bringing her wine glass to her lips, to calm her rising aggravation and consider her words.
"I am only an occasional reader of papers, but even I remember that the property requirement was only recently abolished for men. It is not ideal, perhaps, but with our other problems at home and abroad I don't consider a paper ballot worth bringing London to a standstill." The last few words came out louder and more irritated than she'd meant.
"Sybil wouldn't agree." There was a lilting, daring element to Isobel's voice that fanned the flames.
"No," Mary agreed, staring down her mother-in-law over a wine glass. "She's never believed in half-measures and she's never lacked commitment. And so she was trapped overseas during the unrest when Papa was taken ill, and didn't manage to see him." Isobel knew all this, and the mention of her father had caused her guests to stiffen and muster looks of sympathy, and now she had a headache.
Matthew and Mr. Teaford were staring awkwardly, and Mr. Cartwright made a show of starting another conversation about grain prices at the other end of the table. Mary wished she could just stand and usher the women into the drawing room, but there were still another several courses. She gave an imploring glance to Anna, who quickly disappeared down to the kitchens to check on their beef. The food after that tasted like sawdust, and the compliments sounded like empty platitudes.
