From the large window next to his desk one sunny afternoon, Matthew could see Mary sitting on what he considered their bench. That morning he had overheard her on the telephone talking with someone who, he assumed, was an advisor of some sort. He didn't intend to eavesdrop, but he couldn't help listening as she asked questions about or commented on her business affairs. How knowledgeable she sounded—how professional. Robert had mentioned to him that she was quite a successful businesswoman. If this conversation were any indication, Robert was right. She was masterful. She really had managed to fashion a successful life for herself. London seemed to have allowed her to hone her intellect, and he found himself imagining what a formidable team they could make managing Downton's affairs.

He was embarrassed when he remembered the night of Robert's funeral, a night on which admittedly he had drunk one too many brandies and couldn't help expressing his love for her. He saw the hurt in her eyes and knew he was the cause. After his talk with Violet, he resolved to try to woo Mary gently, but he knew he would do anything, anything, to win her back. At dinner he inquired her about her life in London and listened attentively as she described her various interests, and at luncheon he asked her opinions about estate business and took mental notes as she offered what he considered valuable advice. She did not shrink from these encounters, which gave him hope that she had forgiven him for his rash behavior. He made a point of speaking to her whenever he saw her and tried to avoid any topic that would put her off. He loved her but knew he must dial back his desperation in order not to make her skittish. He slipped on his coat and walked out the door and onto the grounds to talk with her.

She had been reading but obviously had dropped off to sleep because the book was face down in her lap, and her head was perched on her arm, which was resting gracefully on the back of the bench. He sat gingerly on the opposite end of the bench and looked at her. At rest, she looked like the young girl he met in 1914—her ebony lashes brushed the tops of her cheeks and her lips were slightly parted. How could he ever have let her get away? Her short chestnut hair was dappled with golden highlights from the fragments of light that shone through the tree branches, and it occurred to him that he always had wondered what she would look like with her hair down. He had imagined it cascading over her bare shoulders and down her naked back, a dark torrent in which he could lose himself. Now he would never realize that vision, which elicited from him yet another pang of regret. Still, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And he loved her so. He stared at her for several minutes until she stirred, stretching her limbs and raising her head. For a moment, just a moment, she looked at him warmly, but that look was replaced quickly with one of detachment.

"What do you want?" Her tone reflected the look on her face.

Her manner did not deter him. "I just hoped we could sit and talk a bit. It's such a lovely day, and I have had my fill of paperwork." He looked toward the house, then back at her. "You looked as if you were enjoying your afternoon."

"I was enjoying the quiet. I don't often have days like this in London."

"I suppose you stay very busy."

"Most days, I suppose. There always seems to be something to take care of. You know, investments and such." She clearly found this conversation awkward.

Hoping to put her at ease, he said casually, "Robert told me you were quite the businesswoman; he once said that you were some sort of investing genius." He smiled at the memory.

She sat back against the bench. "Really? Papa told you that I was a genius? He never shared that opinion with me." She laughed wryly, amazed to know her father even was aware of her abilities. She would have liked to have known that.

How typical of Papa to say that to Matthew and not to me.

"Truly, he was very proud of how successful you are, so I'm surprised he never told you. He often said he wished you were around to advise us. That you really had a good head for business. He also told me once he missed having you around to argue with. I remember telling him I definitely agreed with that sentiment." He chuckled and looked down at his hands, then back at her.

Mary's eyes filled with tears, and she said softly, "I wish he had told me. It would have meant so much to hear that although I'm certain I would have accused him of patronizing me."

"Well, you know how he was. A typical Englishman through and through. But I know he was very proud of you. He just wasn't very good at expressing sentiment or handing out compliments."

Mary laughed, genuinely this time, and wiped her eyes. "That's very true. Thank you for telling me, Matthew." She paused and looked across the grounds. Tears formed in her eyes again. "It's hard to believe he's gone. I do miss him so very much."

"I do, too. I fear there's no way I can begin to take his place. There's just so much to deal with. I don't know how he managed." He slumped forward, his elbows on his knees, and shook his head.

Once again, Mary noticed that errant lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead. Her hands tightly grasped the book in her lap. "Oh, but he had confidence in you, Matthew. He was forever praising your abilities, especially when it came to overseeing the estate's business."

"I suppose that's something you and I have in common." He added quickly, "That is…business sense, I mean."

They sat quietly for a minute, then Matthew asked, "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Why did you cut your hair?"

Startled by the question, Mary asked, "Why do you ask?"

I can't believe you asked me that.

"Oh, I don't know. I suppose I just was surprised to see you with short hair. I remember you so differently."

You were all I ever dreamed of.

"I see. Well, I happened to like the new styles, and cutting one's hair was the latest fashion, so…."

"You never struck me as the type to follow fads."

She looked at him fixedly for a moment. "You're right." She smiled a little too brightly. "The simple answer is I suppose I needed a change. New home, new life, that sort of thing. One night, right after I moved into Painswick House, I was sitting at my vanity mirror and just took the scissors to it."

Her face fell at the memory. Her first days in Painswick House were painful ones, and she didn't like being reminded of them. Regretfully, Matthew realized he was the direct cause of her need for change. The irony did not escape him: one of the very things he had fantasized about was lost to him forever because of his folly.

"I must say it's very becoming. It suits you. Not everyone can wear that style, but, then, you would look beautiful no matter what style you chose." He gently moved a loose strand behind her ear.

Mary shivered slightly, straightened her shoulders, and stood. It was time to end this conversation. "Well, I really must go in. I need to go over this week's menus with Mrs. Patmore." She then added, "Thank you again for telling me about Papa."

"It was my pleasure. You deserve to know how proud he was of you. I'll see you at dinner."

His eyes followed her as she walked toward the house.

Well, it was a start.

Upon entering the house, she was approached by Carson.

"Excuse me, milady. The afternoon post has arrived."

"Thank you, Carson. How are things downstairs?"

"As well as can be expected, milady. Everyone is carrying on."

"You've managed everything beautifully. I've been remiss in not thanking you."

"Give it no mind, milady. You're the one who has managed things and done a fine job, I must say." His eyes softened, as they always did when he looked at her.

"Oh, Carson, I always have been able to count on you to boost my spirits. I've missed our talks."

"Well, milady, my door always will be open to you."

"I know and I thank you. I promise to make time for you soon."

She retrieved the letters from the silver tray, grasped Carson's arm for a moment, and walked to the library.

Most of the correspondence was for Matthew or her mama, but one piece was addressed to her. She sat on the sofa, opened the envelope, and was surprised to find a note written on the Duke's personal stationery.

My dear Lady Mary,

As I mentioned to you upon my departure, I intend to hound you until you agree to visit Northampton. Consider this my first attempt.

As it now is April, I would think a trip in August would be appropriate as you would be back in London and easily could travel round trip in a day. The shire is especially beautiful in late summer and escorting you around the countryside would be my pleasure.

I must travel to London on business in June. With your permission, I will call on you.

Faithfully yours,

Geoff

Mary's hands dropped into her lap, and if she were ten years younger, she would have blushed. As it was, she read the note again and thought to herself He certainly didn't waste any time. She recalled his piercing grey eyes and imagined him on horseback, racing with her over the Northamptonshire countryside, his black hair tousled by the wind. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she walked over to the desk, sat down, and began to write.

Dear Geoff, —