A/N: just a note, the places I have mentioned in this chapter, the last one and throughout the rest of this story I will have most likely made up the road names, so whether it is an actual place in London I have no idea. Also, there is a bit of dialogue from four wedding and a funeral in here because I couldn't resist.


His heart was lodged uncomfortably in his throat. His stomach fluctuated dangerously and he wandered vaguely whether it felt more like he was about to throw up or have a heart attack.

Before he could change his mind or pace a hole in his carpet, he pressed her contact and watched in complete terror as her phone began to ring.

It took four rings for her to pick up, and they had been the longest four rings of his life. He felt slightly lightheaded and thought it best he sat down before he collapsed, so by the second ring he dropped onto the sofa, holding the phone to his ear willing himself not to say something utterly stupid.

What if she didn't pick up? He was too much of a rambling fool to leave a message – that would really be embarrassing.

"Hello?"

Be normal. Be normal.

"Hi!"

Oh god.

"it's Matthew … I just called to ask… I mean I was wondering…"

"Sorry," Mary interrupted, a slight smirk dawning on her face. "Who are you?"

She knew exactly who it was, she'd recognised his voice the second he'd greeted her and yet she felt like playing with him a little. She delegated her personal phone number to very few people- her family, her agent, her closest friends, the concierge of her family's London hotel whom she'd known forever, and then the stranger from the coffee incident who's name she hadn't yet attained.

Apparently, he was called Matthew.

Nice name, she thought. It suited him.

Matthew blushed, his face turning bright pink.

"Oh, gosh, I'm terribly sorry, I forgot I never actually told you my name- I'm Matthew. We met outside a coffee shop a couple of days ago, you gave me your number – you probably don't remember me…"

"I'm joking," she laughed, "Of course I remember you. I haven't forgotten that you owe me two drinks either."

Matthew smiled. She remembered him.

He felt like an anxious teenager trying to ask out their crush to the school dance. He was all stutters and jitters, craning over his phone to catch her every word. He needed to pull himself together. This was Mary Crawley, she wouldn't go out with him if he couldn't sum up the courage to even talk to her. He geared himself up, and breathed, spilling out an even toned and well-mannered question.

"Well, about those drinks, I wandered if you were free any time soon so I could repay you in kind?"

He suddenly felt more confident. Waiting for her response, he added: "And I also wanted to apologise for the 'surreal but nice' comment—total disaster."

She laughed at that.

"Oh, I shouldn't worry about that, to be honest I thought the pickled onion thing was the real low point." She paused, pretending to consider his question.

Matthew could feel his heart thumping harshly against his ribs.

"I'm free this afternoon, what did you have in mind?"

"Well, um…" he really should have thought this through but to tell the truth he wasn't really expecting her to say yes, "there's a place on the corner of the Camden passage in Islington, do you know it?"

"I'm sure I can find it. Favourite spot of yours?"

"Yes actually, it's rather good. You'll be glad I spilt your coffee, I promise."

He could hear the breaths of laughter coming down the line.

"What time?"

What time would sound normal? She said she was free this afternoon so it shouldn't be late or it would technically be evening, but if it was too early that might be over enthusiastic or not give her enough time to get there.

"Is three o'clock alright?" He settled on neutral ground.

"Perfect. See you later, stranger."

"Yeah, see you."

Well, that didn't go too badly. That didn't go too badly at all.

He waited for her to hang up, watching her contact disappear on the screen of his phone before standing up from the sofa and doing a discreet leap of joy.


He was twenty minutes early. He wondered if he should wait inside or outside, or how he should stand. He wasn't entirely sure whether it was a date or not. He'd opted for smart-casual dress. He wore a button down blue shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbow and a couple of buttons undone at the top. His jeans were of the nicer variety, but, as he'd come straight from looking after Belle, the only shoes in the nearby vicinity were his converse. He probably looked quite strange, but the moment he saw her walking down the street, turning heads as she did so, he couldn't bring himself to care much about his appearance.

Unfortunately, his wave was a disaster.

He raised his hand so a sort of shoulder height and awkwardly held it there frozen for too long for a normal person. He needn't have waved at all, for she had recognised him quickly and easily, walking toward him with a confident stride.

"Hello," he smiled, offering her his hand to shake.

"Hello, Matthew," she shook his hand politely. "You read my note then."

It had been a rather spur of the moment and reckless thing to do, but she'd liked him. She found his meekness somewhat endearing and his unselfish generosity and kindness had been vastly different to the multitude of other men that tried to weasel their way into her approval. When he'd invited her into his house, she thought he'd been trying to make a pass at her and yet as soon as she'd got there she realised she'd misjudged him terribly. He seemed like a nice man. And a rather attractive one at that.

"I did," he answered, "it was rather a surprise, I must say."

She didn't doubt it.

He held open the door to the café for her, gesturing for her to precede him in and she smiled at him graciously before stepping through the threshold. It was nice, sort of modern with an old school touch- stylised and pretty. There was a bar at the back and polished wooden tables dotted around everywhere. It was pleasantly busy and yet not too much so.

He led her to a window seat and they sat opposite each other, both discreetly admiring the view afforded to them.

He had such astonishing eyes. She could very easily get lost in them. She almost did, him having to ask her what she would like more than once before she realised he was saying something.

"Oh," she exclaimed, "is it too early for a martini?"

Matthew grinned, "It's after midday, that's good enough for me."

She quirked an eyebrow, intrigued by his sudden ease of presence. He seemed more relaxed, composed- more so than he was outside judging by his frankly hilarious wave of greeting- and his charming but also nervous exterior was outlandishly attractive.

A young girl came to take their drinks orders and Mary noticed the familiar widening of eyes as they laid upon her. She tried to ignore it, for the last place she wanted to feel famous was in the middle of a first date (of sorts).

"So, Matthew…"

"Crawley." He finished. "Don't worry—we're not related. I've checked, extensively."

"You're joking," she accused.

He shook his head.

"I don't believe you." she said, astounded.

He took out his driver's licence from his wallet and showed her it, grinning bashfully.

"Wow, that's a strange coincidence." She said, further intrigued by this strange man. "Although I suppose it is a fairly common English name."

"You'd know, you are part of the aristocracy after all."

She rolled her eyes. "How do you know that?"

"I passed two posters and three busses with you on just this morning, I'd say information on you is pretty well known."

His smile seemed a beautiful mix of charming and alluring. It was enough to concentrate her on nothing else.

"I suppose that is a fair enough excuse," she admitted, sipping her drink delicately.

She eyed him curiously, his look and manner decidedly innocent as their conversation flowed easily between them. He'd loosened up since their last meeting and he suited it well. She was surprised at how remarkably simple it was to talk to him, perplexed at how relaxed she was in his company. Perhaps it was because she was on her third drink, perhaps it was adrenaline stemmed from excitement, perhaps it was because he was such great company, but she felt elated by the way this was playing out. This nervous yet handsome stranger was proving to be the best date she'd had… well, ever.

It was nearing half six when a man unknown to Mary approached their table, tapping Matthew on the shoulder.

"Matthew Crawley! I haven't seen you since freshman year."

She watched as Matthew stood up to greet the man.

"Toby Wilson! It's good to see you! How are you? How's your girlfriend… Leslie, was it?"

The man nodded. "She's no longer my girlfriend."

Matthew gave an awkward grimace and threw a conspiratorial look at Mary.

"Ah well," he said, slapping the man sympathetically on the shoulder. "Don't be too gloomy. Rumour has it she never stopped shagging Mike Hayward."

Matthew gave a laugh, as if it was a mutually hilarious topic and Mary covered her mouth to mask her laughter as Toby's face dropped and he said:

"She's now my wife."

Matthew paled.

Mary shook with mirth, closing her eyes and clamping her hand more harshly over her lips to stop herself from breaking into peals of laughter.

"Excellent!" Matthew said, trying and failing dramatically to amend the situation. "Excellent. Congratulations. Any kids or anything, Toby? Do we hear the patter of tiny … feet?"

"No," Toby answered stonily.

Mary wondered if she'd have to crawl under the table to stop herself from giggling.

"Well, there's plenty of time for that. We're still young. No hurry."

Unsurprisingly, the man left quite soon afterwards and Matthew sat back down in his seat, his face red from held back laughter.

One look at Mary and they both erupted to a laughing fit.

"I can't believe you just did that!" she gasped, still giggling. "You just ruined his marriage!"

Matthew tried to stifle his chuckling.

It didn't work.

"Technically his wife ruined his marriage by cheating on him," he reasoned.

They were still tittering together when Mary's phone rang.

She took it from her pocket with the intention of declining it, but saw it was her agent and reconsidered.

"I'm so sorry, Matthew but it's my agent. Do you mind?"

Matthew looked somewhat surprised, hastily ushering her to go ahead.

"No, no, of course not. Please take it."

He felt elated. Not only had he successfully asked out Lady Mary Crawley, but the subsequent date, unless he was very much mistaken, had gone really well. He liked her, very much and, if he had been reading the signs right, it seemed she liked him too. He'd discovered a lot about her—the personal little things that made her personality rather than what had been written about her on her Wikipedia page. Her favourite colour was blue. She liked pretty much all food but despised boiled potatoes. Her favourite film was Forrest Gump (something he hadn't expected) and she liked The Cranberries. She liked to sing, but was still growing in confidence when doing it in front of people.

He was still in a daze when she put down the phone, frowning.

"I'm so dreadfully sorry but it seems I've totally forgotten that I'm late for a press conference. My agent has sent over a car. It should be here in five minutes."

Matthew couldn't help but be disappointed, but his heart lifted in spirits as she continued.

"I've really enjoyed this though," she added, smiling. "And technically, you still owe me two coffees."

He grinned.

"Yes, I suppose I do."

He declined all her offers to pay half the bill and waited outside with her for her car to come.

He felt giddy with an unbridled excitement.

A car rolled up all too soon and Mary turned to him, still slightly apologetic.

"Call me." She insisted. "I've really enjoyed getting to know you, Matthew Crawley."

"I could say the same to you."

She kissed him on the cheek. A light brush of her soft lips against his skin, barely a split second long, but it made his heart flutter all the same.

He barely managed to wipe the faint imprint of her lipstick away before she was gone.

Wow.