Charles Carson arrived early on Friday to discuss his plans for the weekend with Barrow, much to the younger man's dismay. "I think we'll serve the Margaux tonight and save the Château Chasse-Spleen for tomorrow when the Dowager is here. You'll want to decant that at least two hours before they eat. I can't pour, of course, but I'll be there to keep an eye on things."

"Yes, Mr. Carson." Thomas was perfectly capable of managing on his own and found it all rather demeaning.

"Have you instructed Mr. Molesley and Andrew on the correct way to address the Duke?" Before Barrow could reply, the former butler added, "And make sure Andrew's hair is combed properly. We can't have him looking like a young hobbledehoy."

"Yes, Mr. Carson," Thomas repeated with a sigh.

The Marquess and Marchioness of Hexham were the first to arrive that afternoon with little Marigold in tow. Lady Hexham, the former Edith Crawley, was the middle daughter of the family, the youngest, Sybil, having died in childbirth. She had recently married Bertie Pelham and begun a new life away from Downton. The couple made their home in Northumberland in a palatial residence called Brancaster Castle with Edith's "ward," Marigold. In reality, the little girl was her daughter, a fact known within the family and strongly suspected by several of the servants. Upon her arrival, the child was promptly dispatched to the nursery to join her cousins, Sybbie Branson and George Crawley.

Andy and the one remaining hallboy, Billy, were assigned the task of unloading the luggage under the watchful eye of Mr. Barrow. The butler was determined that nothing should go wrong that weekend.

A chauffeured car was dispatched to the train station and soon returned with Lady Rosamund. She greeted her brother and his family enthusiastically before they all filed back inside. Later the car returned to the station for the Duke of Crowborough. The family members and the servants were assembled out front to welcome him. He appeared much altered since his last visit. His hair was thinning, and he had put on considerable weight. He immediately sought out his hostess. "Thank you for your invitation, Lady Grantham. It was very kind of you."

Cora managed a stiff smile. "Not at all. We were happy you were available on such short notice. You know my daughters, but I don't believe you've met the others." She indicated a well-dressed, middle-aged woman. "Lady Rosamund Painswick, His Lordship's sister."

He acknowledged her with a polite nod.

"This is Tom Branson. He was Sybil's husband."

"Tom." He held out his hand.

"And this is Lord Hexham, Edith's husband."

"Oh—call me Bertie." The new Marquess seemed unable to meet the Duke's eye.

"You must be Peter's heir. I heard about his death in Tangiers. What a tragedy."

"Yes. Yes, it was," Bertie mumbled.

Cora continued, "And I believe you've met Mary's husband, Henry Talbot."

There was no disguising the look of animosity on Henry's face. "We were at Oxford together," the Duke explained.

Cora attempted to cover the awkwardness. "Shall we go inside?"

Crowborough fixed Lord Grantham with an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid I'm here without a valet again. They never seem to stay these days."

Robert appealed to Thomas. "That won't be a problem, will it?"

"Certainly not, m'lord."

The Duke made a show of recognition. "I remember you. You served me before. Thomas, isn't it?"

"Yes, but it's Barrow now, Your Grace. I'm the butler here."

A momentary look of surprise flashed across Crowborough's countenance. "Perhaps a footman then." He indicated Andy who was standing at attention.

Thomas' eyes narrowed. "I will see to Your Grace myself."

When they were inside, the Duke asked, "Is there somewhere I could freshen up? The train was so horribly dusty."

"Yes. Of course." Robert turned to Thomas. "Barrow?"

Thomas nodded obligingly. "If you'd care to follow me, I can show you to your room."

The guest accompanied him upstairs to the bachelors' corridor while Andy and Billy brought up the luggage. He dropped down on the bed, watching as the capable butler unpacked his cases, placing the smaller items in the bureau and the larger ones in the wardrobe. "How have you been, Thomas? We haven't seen each other since before the war. It must be thirteen—no, fourteen years now."

"I'm quite well, Your Grace."

"You can still call me Philip when we're alone. After all, we're old friends, you and I."

Barrow didn't reply, keeping his expression purposely blank.

"So you're a butler now. When we met, you were still a lowly footman, but then you always were the ambitious type, weren't you?" He reached out for Thomas' gloved hand. "What's this?"

The butler pulled away. "I was wounded in the war."

"You served? Very brave of you. Unfortunately, I was excused—on medical grounds." He carefully studied the other man. "You're getting old, Thomas."

Barrow looked him up and down and let out a derisive snort.

The Duke nodded. "Yes, I know. I've gotten fat, and my hair is falling out, but what can I do? It comes with being married. I really can't recommend it."

"So you're married now," Thomas observed with amusement. "Who's the lucky lady?"

"Her name is Catherine. She's the only child of Lord Atherton. Loads of money but not much else, I'm afraid. Still, she did give me two healthy heirs, Edwin and Cyril, both lovely little chaps."

"And you're a father too. How did you manage the conceptions?"

"That's what alcohol is for, and I can still fantasize about our times together in London."

"Why isn't the Duchess with you?"

"When I'm in the country, she prefers to be in town, and when I'm in town, she prefers the country. We find the arrangement suits us both." He paused, striking a seductive pose. "Will you come to me tonight?"

"You must be joking."

"Then perhaps you could send up that luscious, young footman." He added slyly, "Unless you're keeping him all to yourself."

"For God's sake, he's just a lad," Thomas hissed before slipping out the door. He returned to the servants' hall for his tea in time to see Molesley arrive.

The former servant had come directly from school when class let out and was somewhat breathless. "I came as quickly as I could," he panted.

Thomas had a sudden idea. "Mr. Molesley, I know I asked you here as a footman, but I wonder if you'd mind seeing to the Duke too while he's here. Mr. Bates is attending Lord Hexham as well as His Lordship, and I remembered that you're a trained valet."

The quiet, modest man appeared flattered. "Why, I'd be happy to, Mr. Barrow. I'll just go change into my livery."

Thomas smiled to himself, imagining the Duke's reaction upon seeing the balding, middle-aged academic at his door.