Matthew walked around the house trying to keep his worries to himself. It was now early fall and though it was a lot of work, the Bennets were all living in his former house. He and his mother arrived that morning and were taken to what would be their home for the next few years: Crawley House.

As they were shown around each room, Matthew wondered if he could ever consider this house his home? He knew this was real, that it was actually happening, but an unsettling anxiety had been carried by him since that day Cousin Robert had left their Manchester home months earlier. His mother kept telling him that it was an answer to a prayer that Matthew should now become Earl, clearly it was God's will. Matthew wasn't so sure.

"Oh Ellen," he heard his mother say, "This is much better than I thought it would be. You have done well."

Matthew could hear the housekeeper thank her mistress and someone else entering led Matthew to turn around. It was Moseley, his own personal valet, the very thought of which made him want to run out the door and board the nearest train. "Do you want this in here, ma'am, or taken up to your room?"

"In here, thank you."

Matthew watched his mother perk up looking at their new servants. If he didn't know any better, he would think she was enjoying this.

"So," she asked eagerly, "are you the whole of our new household?"

Moseley answered, "There is a local girl, ma'am, Beth, she will double as under housemaid and kitchen maid."

How many servants did they need? "This is ridiculous," he tried to say but his mother interrupted him. "Thank you very much."

When she asked for tea, Matthew had to turn away. As soon as they left the room, he said, "Well, he can go right now."

When his mother asked why, Matthew answered, "Because we do not need a butler or a valet if it comes to that. We've always managed perfectly well with a cook and a maid and they cannot expect us to..."

"What they expect, Matthew, is we will not know how to behave so if you don't mind I'd rather not confirm their expectations."

Given her tone, Matthew decided to soften his voice. "I have to be myself, mother. I'll be no use to anyone if I can't be myself." What use does an earl have?

She didn't answer, allowing Matthew to think of why they really came: to help Aunt Abigail and her family in their time of need. If it wasn't for them, his answer to the whole situation would be much different, especially of the last thing he and Cousin Robert spoke.

"I'm not sure this is going to be worth it," he said, feeling very tired.

"What do you mean? How can you say that? Would you rather be squeezed into the same house with my sister and her five very young daughters?"

"No, of course not," Matthew said, wondering how his life could have changed so quickly. "I appreciate having the resources to help out our cousins, but I'm not about to change who I am. And I'm especially not to be forced into marrying a woman I barely know, no matter how hard they push her at me."

"Lady Mary Crawley." Matthew couldn't have been more shocked than if it Moseley had introduced the king himself. He turned to face the very woman he was speaking of, and found for the first time in his life, he was completely speechless. Before him stood one of the most utterly beautiful women he had ever seen, not just in appearance and dress, but in the way she carried herself. Cousin Robert had mentioned Lady Mary was a woman who knew her own mind, and right now Matthew worried she had just made it up thanks to his foolish comment.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting," she said, glancing about the room. Her voice sounded perfectly civil and courteous, but her eyes went past Matthew like he wasn't there and settled on Isobel where they remained. She smiled briefly. It was obviously a fake smile, but even so he felt his heart nearly leap out of his chest.

"Lady Mary," his mother said, probably trying to salvage the welcome.

She held up an elegant, gloved hand, "Cousin Mary, please. Mama has sent me down to welcome and ask you to dine with us tonight, unless you are too tired.

Her eyes still never left his mother's form. She accepted the invitation since he was still struggling on finding his voice.

"Good," she said with faux pleasure. "Come at eight."

She turned to go, again, Matthew couldn't think to speak. What was wrong with him? Isobel asked her to stay for tea.

She turned around facing the older woman, "Oh no. You're far too busy." Slowly, she turned towards him, glancing him up and down. Was it possible to feel hot and cold at the same time? With perfect articulation, she said. "I wouldn't want to push in."

If there was any doubt she might not have heard his comment, that certainly settled it. As she turned and walked away, Matthew regained the power of mobility. Sighing, he quickly ran after his cousin.

As he caught up with her in front yard, he tried to ignore the striking figure she made on top of the horse. "Lady Mary, I hope you didn't misunderstand me. I was only joking." Even he had to cringe at his feeble excuse.

"Of course, and I agree. The whole thing is a complete joke." With that she road off, in perfect form Matthew couldn't help but notice.

When he walked back in, his mother was still standing in place, a look on her face Matthew knew far too well. "So Matthew, if you're done insulting who could be your bride to be, maybe we should go over what not to say at dinner with your potential in-laws."


Every gallop of the horse, Mary felt herself grow angrier. This is the man who would decide to make her a countess? This was the man to which she was to bow? To think she once thought Patrick was a demeaning choice, but at least he was sophisticated, courteous and self aware. Matthew Crawley was nothing more than a middle-class solicitor from Manchester, but apparently he couldn't be bothered with changing himself for them.

Mary blinked back tears. She would be damned if she would let herself cry over that man. He wasn't worth it. This life wasn't worth it. She never wanted Patrick to die. She never wished anything bad to happen to him, just that something good could happen to her so she wouldn't be cursed with her life. It wasn't that she was foolish to hope to marry for love, but just marry for a man she wanted to marry. Oh, if only the Duke could have wanted to marry her. She was sure her parents would have agreed to it. He came, he flirted shamelessly with her. She went all over the house with him, actually in places she shouldn't have gone. Just to make it clear she could be a pleasing wife, but it was all for naught. He left without making any declaration and Mary felt her life was spinning out of control.

Papa had gone to Manchester on request of Cousin Matthew. She thought that absurd enough, but apparently there was a concern over him, that they needed to find out about his past. Her mother was terrified, she wasn't supposed to voice her concerns to Mary but she did: he might have a lover, a mistress and maybe even a bastard child. Mary pretended to be shocked at the idea, but secretly she hoped for it. Maybe if the man was a monster her father would try to work out something to keep her from marrying him. That maybe if he was a bad man, that would be enough to save her from this legal prison in which she was encased.

Unfortunately, that wasn't to be. In fact, quite the opposite, her father actually seemed relieved now. Matthew was a good man, he told her, he told everyone. That apparently some tragedy had affected the cousins on his mother's side and he was working hard to care for them. Mary couldn't ask for a better man than one who put family first, and now Mama agreed. Was she the only one to see how wrong he was for her? That this whole situation was so very wrong?

Was this really going to be her life? She could hardly believe. The past months had flown by as the Crawleys got their affairs in order. Mary kept praying for an earthquake to open up their village and swallow them. If that didn't happen then just swallow her instead. The last few days, Mary had began to hope that maybe it wasn't as fruitless as it seemed. Maybe he would turn out to be the dashing hero like she read in her mythology books. Of course, their meeting today proved that theory wrong. It wasn't so much his presumptuous comment about her, though that alone earned her contempt, but the fact he stood there, slack-jawed, like some hypnotized idiot saying nothing, relying on his mother to handle the conversation. Clearly he didn't have the wit to keep up with normal conversation, how could he possibly think to compete with their contemporaries? She supposed everything would be about the weather and estate law. Maybe after dinner tonight, or dinner later, the family would see, really see how ludicrous this was. Maybe after tonight, something could be done.