"Did it strike you as conspiratorial, that little exchange between your mother and Mary?"
They were padding down what felt to Matthew like it must be the longest hallway in the British Empire. It seemed as though, at long last, The Dowager Countess of Grantham viewed him as one of her own and not just the bigger disaster the Titanic sinking had caused. He vividly remembered the cold aloofness with which she had first treated him, as if he were an odd specimen on display at the local chapter of the Royal Zoological Society.
He almost preferred it to this.
"She was just seeing to the coats, Cousin Violet," was the lamely unoriginal speculation he offered, as they both walked into the library. Robert stood up when he saw his mother, abandoning the papers he'd been looking over at his desk.
"Ah, Matthew—and Mama. Carson told me you were here."
"I came to confirm that all the unsuitable marriage prospects are out the door," The Dowager explained, dryly.
"I suspect you would have seen to getting rid of Hepworth, if Rosamund hadn't."
Robert and his heir shared a helpless look of understanding.
"Thank the Lord for small mercies," she replied, ignoring their silent exchange. "It seems that she's slinked off back to London, as well. Why she would feel the need to leave before discussing it with me is quite beyond me."
"I think that was her chief motivation for leaving, Mama. Now, Matthew—" He jumped at his name and the sudden shift of focus onto him. "What was it you wanted to discuss? Mary seemed to think it had something to do with your plans to go back to Manchester."
He tried to ignore the carefully controlled skepticism in Cousin Violet's sharp eyes.
"Ah—yes, it is about my plans…" Matthew's mouth twitched of its own accord at the thought. His 'plans to return to Manchester' indeed—as if he could ever think of leaving her, now that he had her. "Of a sort, anyway—I was wondering if we could discuss it in private?"
Robert frowned.
"Of course—but can it wait? Luncheon's almost ready and I wanted to write a quick note to Murray before we go in."
His mouth hung open for a long moment and he formulated words of insistence in his head, all the while fearing that the septuagenarian standing two feet to his left knew exactly what it was he wanted to discuss, and would be spreading the news far and wide forthwith. Her inevitable smug and knowing expression taunted Matthew in his mind's eye.
"Of course," he sighed, thinking of Mary's request, and how many times he had kissed her after she'd made it. "Of course it can wait."
A quarter of an hour later the entire party walked into the dining room for what most of them assumed would be the equivalent of a nonchalant luncheon, in their set. Mary sat diagonally across from him (too far away—but it was a beautiful view of her.) He murmured a 'hello,' to Edith, who yawned and then apologized for it.
"Well, this is nice," Cora commented, brightly. "A cozy family luncheon."
"Though one wonders at its purpose, the day after a ball."
"Really, granny, must you seek an ulterior motive in everything?" Mary asked, rolling her eyes. Matthew marveled at how blithely she could deflect, feeling a little justified in his rather dim view of her feelings for him.
Lady Grantham was in fairly good spirits today, as Matthew supposed they all were, since Bates' sentence had been changed to life in prison. The meal's conversation was pleasant enough, but it also meandered, and he found that excitement and nervousness were putting a strain on his patience for multiple course meals.
Mary, as outwardly impassive as ever, raised an eyebrow at him across the table as he fidgeted, nervously fiddling with a salad fork. When he noticed her staring at him, he started and nearly dropped it into the soup course. It took all her self-control not to ask him outright, at the table, how he came to be so endearing.
Oh, how dear Matthew was to her.
"Mary—" her father stirred her from her thoughts. "I saw you received something in the post from New York this morning—did you," he hesitated for a moment, sensing the awkwardness that might arise from the Crawleys' presence. "Hear back about a date for your trip?"
"Yes," she said, clearly ignoring Robert's attempt at delicacy. "Grandmama wants me to cross at the end of January."
"Mary is going to visit my mother in New York," Cora explained to Isobel, who, knowing what she did, was obviously quite confused. "We're not sure for how long—"
"I don't see what the point of beating about the bush is, we're all family here," Violet interrupted. "Now that Mary has broken with Carlisle, she wants to got to America to minimize the damage. There's no shame in it."
"Granny—honestly," Edith gently admonished their grandmother, and Mary found herself in the unique position of seeing her middle sister come to her defense.
"What would you like to see in America, when you go?"
He didn't know what compelled him to say it, except that it had been such a long time since he had teased her, and the success of his proposal meant that he was feeling rather daring. She turned to him, smiling politely, blasé response at the ready.
"Oh, I don't know—the Statue of Liberty? Whatever the usual things one looks at in New York. I don't expect grandmamma has much sightseeing in mind…more likely," she peaked out of one eye cheekily. "She wants to introduce me to some 'hapless millionaire.'"
Inwardly he grinned.
"So there's more attraction in the company than the place?"
"I wouldn't say that—" Her eyes lowered, innocently. "At least not about America, anyway."
"Your mother tells me it's very likely you'll meet the Vanderbilts when you go." Her grandmother cut in. "You must try to get it out of them, if it's true about Consuelo and that young man who flies the aeroplanes."
"I'm surprised you care about the American branch of the family," She took another bite of food, though she couldn't taste anything—not when she was this close to the heart of it. "And I'm afraid I really can't promise any brushes with anyone, even the Duchess of Marlborough's more rustic relations."
"And why, pray, is that?"
Another bite, before—
"Because I'm not going to America."
"When did you make this decision?" Robert asked, his bewilderment mirrored on his wife's face.
"Obviously no one's forcing you to go, darling—" Her mother reassured, hastily. "But you must admit this is rather sudden."
"I'm sorry, Mama—" She laid the fork down delicately. "But I've changed my mind. I've already written to grandmamma to tell her."
"Tell her what, precisely?" Violet interrupted, and rare thought it was, it seemed from their expressions that Robert Crawley's wife and mother were wondering the same thing. "Only last night we were discussing it—not more than twelve hours ago. Something has, in those twelve hours, presumably—changed?"
Mary colored at the full attention of her family. It was funny, for she was so used to being the center of attention when she had done something disagreeable or headstrong; she almost didn't know how to go about telling them she'd done something they wanted her to. That unfamiliar shyness overtook her again, made her feel clumsy and silly and altogether not herself.
The sight of Matthew in the corner of her eye, so gentle and supportive, fortified Mary.
"Something has changed and I've—" Her calm veneer began to crack and Mary's speech faltered a little. It seemed silly to hold out now, when her grandmother was so intent on dragging the truth out of her by force—and yet, now that the moment had come, she was not quite sure what to say. "And I've decided to stay in England. I was…I was asked to, actually."
"By whom?"
"By me."
Matthew had blurted it out without even thinking, because he was so bloody excited that he couldn't keep it in anymore, except now everyone in the room were staring at him and he couldn't think of what to say next and Mary looked like she was going to burst out into peels of laughter any second, which was far too rare an expression and suited her quite well—
"How presumptuous of you," Her grandmother remarked. Across the table his fiancée's eyes flashed in delight at how undone he was. The thought of waking up to her every day for the rest of his blasted life undid him even further.
"If you'll let me explain what happened I—it will make sense—"
"I suppose he thought it'd be easier for me to become his wife if we were living in the same country, granny," Mary interrupted, putting him out of his misery. "You can hardly blame Matthew for that."
The bomb had been dropped.
"My God." Her father's knife and fork clattered uselessly to the plate in front of him. "Mary—"
Robert turned to her, searching for affirmation on her face, and found that the smooth and cool Mary of the morning had all but disappeared. In her place was a woman he had never seen: beaming, bright and merry, so happy in her certainty, looking across the table with a girlish worshipfulness he once hadn't thought her capable of. "Matthew—"
He followed that gaze, to see him—to see his boy, the young man who had become his own in the past eight years, the youth that would, one day, succeed him and become the Eighth Earl of Grantham. Matthew was standing up, clumsily, bashfully, beaming with the same glowing energy that Mary had.
"Matthew—is this true?"
"I—I wanted to tell you in private—" The young man nearly knocked over his glass rising to his feet. "But it seems I lost my moment before we all came in to eat. I know I should've asked you first—"
"I apologize for not letting you follow form, darling," Mary smiled up at him. "Everyone was just so curious about my trip. I could hardly lie outright."
He gave her a tender smile in return, before turning back to her father. The whole party, from Violet to Thomas, was silently trying to gauge Robert's reaction to the news. He was obviously too stunned to even say anything, at first, instead just looking from one to the other in amazement.
"…I hope I have your approval, even if I didn't ask for your permission."
The Earl of Grantham's blank shock transformed into a beaming smile. Matthew—so unassuming, so earnest—only he would even doubt it for a second.
"My dear boy," He stood himself, grasping the outstretched hand and nearly shaking it off. "Nothing could make me happier."
I hope you enjoyed. Next time, the full contingency will weigh in on this most momentous of occasions.