So what began as a one-shot has again expanded, this time for a good cause. This chapter, along with the two upcoming installments were commissioned as a part of The Downton Charity Drive. (Information at the end of this chapter.) And I must admit to being a bit overwhelmed by the support this little has drabble received both here and on tumblr and am delighted to expand this universe, my first real outing into a modern realm of Downton.
Of course, I own nothing. :)
Hugs, thanks, coffee, and anything else I can think of I send to Cls2011 and miscreant rose for chats, edits, discussion, support and for being such incredible women. Love you girls!
A special dedication to the reader who commissioned this work in an effort to make a difference in our world. And many hugs to all of you who read Ch 1 and reviewed, messaged and asked for more. Here it is.
I do hope you enjoy!
He checked himself in the mirror yet again, cursing that blasted strand of hair that flopped into his face no matter how much gel he applied. Collar straight, shirt tucked, a nice crease down the front legs of his trousers.
And all of this effort for nothing more than an evening of manning The Ring Toss Booth at the School Fall Festival. He shook his head at the bevy of nerves attacking his stomach.
Of course, this extra attention to detail would have nothing to do with a certain woman would be his companion throughout the evening, a certain gorgeous brunette with whom he had shared a park bench and bits of trivial conversation over the past three days. Just envisioning her made him grin in spite of himself, and he felt like a schoolboy fawning over his first crush. He now knew she loved sushi, hated alarm clocks, and preferred red wine to white. Her favorite actor was Jimmy Stewart, she thought hockey was a waste of time and energy, and swore she would never tire of hearing Ella Fitzgerald sing.
He didn't tell her that he downloaded Ella's greatest hits within hours of that discovery.
"Are you ready, Muffin?" he called out, moving into the living room after applying his new cologne. He still couldn't bring himself to wear Lavinia's favorite, the bottle she had given him their last Christmas together sitting untouched for two years now. He supposed he should use it or throw it out, but a part of him clung to it, his senses needing a reminder of a life cast into memory.
What mementos had Mary kept, he wondered?
He knew she still wore her wedding and engagement rings, had taken note of their elegant simplicity which suited her so well. Of course, his band still rested on his finger, and he stared at it in silence, wondering just when he would have the nerve to take it off.
How odd. He had never really considered that question before this evening.
"You look handsome, Daddy."
The assertion made him smile, breaking into his meandering thoughts as he knelt down to the one who had offered it, twirling a wavy lock around his finger.
"And you look like you're ready for an evening of fun," he replied, smiling back at her freckled grin.
"So do you," she giggled, the glimmer in her eye so reminiscent of her mother. "When is Grandmother coming?"
"At any moment," he returned, looking at the clock and praying that his mother's punctuality would hold fast. He did not want to be late for his shift.
Not tonight, anyway.
"I didn't know grandmothers liked Fall Festivals," Belle mused, her face scrunching in serious thought to such a weighty matter.
"Grandmothers like all sorts of things," he affirmed, tugging at her chin until she grinned again. "They are always full of surprises."
He was quite thankful that his mother was game for an evening of elementary mayhem, even more so as she had volunteered to watch out not only for Belle but also for her granddaughter's best friend, whose mother just so happened to be scheduled to work at the same booth as he,. If Isobel Crawley held any suspicions as to her son's interest in his booth-mate, she had kept them to herself, nodding her head in sympathy at the fact that Mary Gillingham had no family in the area to help keep an eye on Anna while she did her part as a parent.
He was glad of it. At this point, he preferred not to discuss something so new and uncertain with anyone, especially his mother. She had hinted more than once that it would be good for him to rejoin the world of the living, and he was not yet ready to add any kindling to her brush fire of concerned interest.
If she knew that he had met someone…he sighed at the mere notion.
Very few women had ever captured his interest, having met Lavinia his freshman year of college. A fast friendship had been formed, one from which eventually had blossomed a love both tender and safe. There had been few surprises thrown at them as life progressed, marriage, careers, houses and eventually a baby all occurring as planned. Matthew liked predictability, treasuring the security that could be found in living a life uninterrupted and well-structured.
But two years ago, predictability had punched him in the gut. And he had retreated into the walls of his office and home, allowing only his daughter and mother access to his inner-workings, licking deep wounds in private solitude. Such confines had brought comfort, the need to venture out into a world suddenly overwhelming virtually non-existent.
Until she had crashed into his consciousness and made him take notice. Mary Gillingham—the disruptor of his peace.
A knock on the door drew their attention. Belle dashed towards the summons, greeting her grandmother at the entrance and taking the older woman's hand with the eagerness of a five year old.
"Hello, mother," Matthew stated, moving forward to kiss her cheek. "Don't you look lovely this evening?"
Isobel studied her son's appearance with eyes that missed nothing, breathing in a scent quite unfamiliar as she drew back from him.
"You look rather dashing yourself, I must say," she returned, keeping her face steady and voice even. "Quite handsome for an evening of tossing rings about."
"Oh, you know," he answered off-handedly. "Putting one's best foot forward for a good cause."
"Of course, dear," she replied with a smile, her interest in meeting Anna Gillingham's mother increasing by the second. "Is everything all set?"
"Yes," he explained. "Mary and Anna will meet us at the school gymnasium entrance at 6:00 pm sharp. We need to get a move on if we're not going to be late."
"Well," Isobel stated with a smile, "We wouldn't want that now, would we?"
Had he just imagined the flicker of intrigue in her eyes, the slight twitch of her brow that had always served to alert him when she was noticing too much? Perhaps tonight had already become more complicated than he had anticipated.
What in God's name was he thinking? If he had any sense, he would back away from this ridiculous infatuation before unruly emotions ran away with him.
But at the moment, he wasn't feeling particularly sensible. How very unlike him.
He grinned slightly in spite of himself. Mary Gillingham struck him as a complicated woman, the type he had always avoided—the type he was certain would find him lacking.
Yet here he stood, palms damp, throat dry, anxious to get to the very woman who quite likely rarely gave him a second thought. Why would she—a creature so magnificent? A lady so polished and refined?
"Can we go now, daddy?"
His daughter's inquiry drew him back to his surroundings, and he took her hand in his, touching her nose gently.
"Of course," Matthew added, avoiding his mother's overtly curious gaze, "Being tardy is the last thing we would want, especially at a school function. Now then-shall we get going?"
Of all nights for her hair to be difficult.
The straightening iron seemed to be having little effect upon the one stubborn strand as she fought to coerce it to lay in the right direction. A grunt of frustration escaped her as dark locks continued their mockery, pushing her to throw the blasted contraption down on the sink in defeat. How she wanted to look perfect tonight, was hoping to make a bit of an impression on a man who had taken her by surprise.
A certain blue-eyed man who had awakened flutterings she had feared forever dormant. A man whose easy smile and disarming personality prompted her to actually stop for a manicure this afternoon, an indulgence she had not allowed herself since notice of Tony's death had arrived upon her doorstep.
Tony.
A sigh borne of weariness and guilt heaved from her lungs yet again, and she shut her eyes in an attempt to block the onslaught of blame that inevitably accompanied thoughts of her deceased husband. He had been a good man, a kind man, a man who had convinced her to marry him in the aftermath of bone crushing loss.
And a man she had never loved as a wife should love her husband.
What would Matthew Crawley think of her if he knew such details? Of her callousness towards a husband who had given so much? Her stomach hollowed at the very thought, and she envisioned his brow creasing in disappointment. How difficult such detachment towards a spouse would be to conceive for a man had obviously adored his wife, cradling her memory in a tender reverence that shone through in marked clarity whenever he but spoke her name. She had been a lucky woman, this Lavinia Crawley, at least during the time that had been afforded to her.
If she had only been a better wife to Tony…the wife he had deserved rather than the wife he had received. Just what type of woman was she?
She shook her head, attempting to scatter regrets that were piling up quickly. She picked up the straightening iron in one final attempt to improve her appearance, knowing that nothing she accomplished cosmetically would erase the marks of censure etched harshly across her soul. Lashes applied by her own hand still stung, daunting reminders of the many shortcomings that continually plagued her.
Was she actually capable of loving again? Did she even want to take that risk?
Perhaps this entire evening was nothing more than an elaborate set-up for failure. After all, she had never been one of the lucky ones when it came to matters of the heart. It might be best to keep lofty expectations from getting carried away, to retreat back into formality and function rather than stepping into the unknown, no matter how enticing it might be.
Believing in the impossible had nearly destroyed her once. She still bore scars that stung.
Yet an existence of smoke and mirrors, of forced smiles and fake interest had left her cold these past many months. And her daughter deserved a better mother than one always putting on an act.
Her daughter…her Anna. The one thing in this life she had done right. The only light in a life of gray hues and sullen skies. Yet at times, even the child's innocent presence brought pain, the gleam in her eye or crook of her grin a weighty reminder of a father cruelly taken.
Anna's father, now forever lost, yet ever-present in shadow and memory. Anna's father, the man from whom she feared she would never be free, no matter how many seasons passed nor years that crawled by. She peeked down the hallway, finding her daughter sitting quietly by the television brushing her favorite doll's hair, waiting patiently for her mother to finish getting ready. Her heart pinched painfully as she toyed with the rings she still wore as a penance, a symbol of Tony's goodness…
A cold reminder of her failings. Exactly whom did she think she could fool?
She studied herself closely in the mirror, eyes appropriately lined, lips just the right shade…
How ridiculous she felt.
Here she stood, a grown woman, an undeserving widow at that, fretting over every detail of her appearance for a man with whom she had spoken on a handful of occasions. A man far better than she could ever hope to be. They had chatted about trivial matters, had laughed over commonalities as single parents, and had even tossed about food preferences. But it wasn't as if he had asked her out on a date, and not as if she had accepted. This evening was dedicated to working at her daughter's school, manning a booth to boost a fund-raising campaign for updated playground equipment. This night was not about her, not about him, not about…
Them?
She shook her head at her own sensibilities. Relationships were simply not destined to work out well for her. Would her stubbornness never allow her to accept this fact? Why should she allow herself to hope when clearly she had no reason to do so?
Besides—blue eyes had never attracted her. Fair hair had never held her fascination. And Matthew Crawley had loved deeply, only confirming her suspicions that she would eventually do nothing but disappoint him when he uncovered details hidden by design. How could she compete with a wife so treasured?
She—who was so fractured in all the wrong places?
Yet somehow, regardless of the silent speeches she recited to herself, tonight mattered. She wasn't certain why, and stood in fearful hesitance to explore the reasons. It was just there, a feeling, an instinct, the hope that something good might finally happen after years of just getting by.
"Please, God," she whispered, berating herself instantly for even entertaining the notion that God would hold any interest in helping her.
After all, she knew better.
Didn't she?
A note to readers of "Things Hidden" who do not visit me on tumblr: That story has by no means been forgotten or dropped. Due to personal matters (my dad having surgery; a death in the family) and the time constraints of being a mother and musician during the Holiday Season, I made the decision several weeks ago to conclude "In the Company of Strangers" and then pick back up with TH. These two sagas are my biggest undertakings and claimers of my time. (This segment or an installment of "Breakfast in Bed" takes me 1-2 days to write. A chapter of Strangers or TH takes a week or more.) Strangers lacks 2-3 chapters, whereas TH continues to expand, so I thought it wisest for my own sanity and that of my family to conclude the first before moving forward with the second. As soon as Strangers reaches the final chapter in the next few weeks, TH will become my top priority. I do hope you understand my reasoning and stay with Matthew, Mary, Christopher and me. That story has become very close to my heart, and I want to do it justice. It is not an easy tale to write, but I do think it is worth the time. (I honestly agonize over every word and phrase of that saga.) Thanks so much to those of you who have taken the time to send a message my way about it. It means so much that it has become a favorite to many of you, truly, and I shall not leave you in suspense for much longer. I would predict it's return in January.
The Downton Charity Drive: This charity drive was organized to assist the victims of Typhoon Haiyan. Donations were made to worthwhile organizations assisting in the relief effort (World Vision, The Red Cross, Doctors Without Borders and several others) and are being appreciated by art or writings sent via request to certain authors/artists who volunteered their time and talents for this effort. What an honor to take part in such an activity!
Have a most wonderful Thanksgiving, my American readers. And to all of you-a most delightful weekend!
P.S.: I would very much love your thoughts on this chapter, too! : D
