A/N the First: Okay, so there are quite a few people that feel the same way about Pamuk that I do. Huh, I never knew that. That's awesome! We should start a club or something.

Thank you to everybody for such wonderful, lovely feedback, and for still reading this story. I feel like everybody's got Simon on death-watch, which amuses me. He's still alive in this chapter, I promise. Thanks also to my beta, the man, the myth, the magnificent mxpw, my pre-readers, and all of the other Downton writers who write such phenomenal stories and keep me at the top of my game trying to keep up.


Chapter Seven
In Which There Is a Party

August, 1914
Downton Abbey

Though the August day was sunny to the point of sultry, Mary couldn't help but feel as though gloom had cast its pall over Cora's garden party. No matter how much Robert had insisted they could cancel, that their neighbors would surely understand, Cora had been likewise adamant. She'd conceded only to the chair the servants had toted across the estate. The family, Simon and Sybil especially, had tried to hover about, but Cora had already made a point of shooing them away. Mary could see them across the party, Simon talking to Sir Anthony Strallan, Sybil conversing with Edith.

Upon noticing Mary's scrutiny, Cora raised her eyebrows. Mary decided this was invitation enough and made her way over. Her father's letter a few days before had struck hard: though she wasn't sure how she had felt about having another sibling, especially one so much younger, the loss still hurt. It also hurt to think of what her mother might be feeling. After all, she'd mourned the fact that she hadn't had children with Edmund before his death, and it could be nothing compared to Cora's pain now.

"Aren't you enjoying yourself?" Cora asked as Mary fixed a polite smile in place. "This is the first we've seen you in over a month. You're always so busy."

"I'm happy to be here, Mama. You know I love Downton," Mary said. She nodded her thanks to the footman who brought over a chair so that she wouldn't tower over her mother, and sank into said chair gratefully. Disturbing reports had begun to flow in through her men of business, requests from the government for increased production, notices that her products were the subject of negotiation by people whose names weren't being revealed to her. As a result, they'd had to hire on another shift, though she didn't much like the thought of it. The cost of providing better lighting for the workers had been exponential. Even though she'd given in to Sybil's nattering and had hired on Gwen Dawson, and the ex-housemaid was spookily efficient, Mary still felt exhaustion form about her like a second skin.

She hadn't seen Matthew in over a fortnight. They had been due to see an opera singer at the New Theatre with Isobel the night before, but a problem had arisen at the factory that needed Mary's attention, meaning she had unfortunately had to cancel. Since her train had left early that morning, she hadn't even had time to stop by his office and pay a call to apologize. She had arrived at Downton with Gwen, as her secretary had family in this part of the country, with only enough time to change for the garden party and greet some of her family. Half of her mind was still back in Manchester, even now.

"Things have just been happening, that's all," she said. "How are you feeling?"

Cora gave an absent gesture. "I am perfectly fine without every creature on this earth fawning over me," she said. "I want to hear about these factories of yours."

"Truly?" The rest of the family asked after developments and kept track of her progress, particularly her father, but Cora had always treated the factories rather like embarrassing pets that Mary insisted on keeping around.

"You have found something you love," Cora said. "I think it is my duty as a mother to take an interest."

She sounded offended, which made Mary smile. "Of course, Mama," she said. "Things are going well. Not perfectly, mind you, but with all of the changes I've been tasked to make, expecting perfection was a foolish notion on my part."

"And how is Gwen settling in?"

Mary glanced across the lawn, as though she expected Gwen—or Miss Dawson, as they called her in the office—to be there among the maids. "I know it's bad form to steal servants," she said, "but I won't apologize. She's been an absolute godsend, and something of a balm to my ego after I couldn't convince Anna to take the post as my ladies' maid."

"I won't thank you for even trying," Cora said, chuckling. "That, my dear, is bad form. Mrs. Hughes claims that without Anna, Downton would fall to pieces."

"I'm not sure Carson would agree."

Cora shook her head, chuckling. "Have you been getting much rest, darling? I ask because you look so dreadfully tired. Is Manchester so noisy?"

"My home is perfectly quiet," Mary said, laughing at the thought. Whenever she fell into her bed, she was usually asleep before her head truly hit the pillow. "It is just that there is so much to do and things are in such a flux. I should be grateful you bullied me into attending."

"Yes. It is a nice day for a party." Cora looked about. "Did you see? The Kettleworthys came, and they hardly ever show their face at these sorts of events."

"I would consider that a success," Mary said, though she hardly remembered the Kettleworthys at all.

"Sir Anthony has been by to see Edith quite a bit more lately, you know, whenever she's not busy in that awful city of yours. They went driving the other day."

"Edith and that fossil?" Mary asked, truly surprised.

Cora gave her daughter a look.

"What?" Mary asked. "You can't deny that he is a good deal older than her!"

"We considered him a good match for you, once."

Mary took a long drink of her champagne. "That would have been a disaster."

"You found what you wanted, in the end," Cora said with a small shrug of one shoulder.

And he promptly died, Mary thought. It couldn't be denied that she had had strict standards, the same standards she had pompously announced to her family at sixteen. He must be rich, she had said, and powerful, and allow her to move quite easily in society. Her parents had indulged her at the time, and nobody had been more surprised than them or thrilled when Mr. Edmund Cavendish had taken an interest.

Now Mary herself was rich, and powerful, though she didn't necessarily move easily through society. In fact, most of society found her bull-headed desire to keep her late husband's factories running to be downright puzzling. She wasn't ever cast out of drawing rooms because of it—money did provide a cushion, after all—but she knew quite a few that whispered behind their hands whenever they thought she couldn't hear.

"I suppose I did," she said.

"Speaking of which," Cora said, and Mary regarded her mother, wondering what Cora might have to say about Edmund. But her mother only looked over and nodded, and following her gaze, Mary saw Matthew across the party, in conversation with Robert, looking well and whole in a linen suit.

Mary could hardly cover the jolt of surprise, or the intense spurt of happiness. She tried, but Cora just raised an eyebrow at her.

"How long have you known?" Mary asked.

"Longer than you, I suspect. I invited him, though I certainly wasn't expecting him to show up last night out of the blue!"

Butterflies settled along the interior lining of Mary's stomach. "And you approve?"

"I'm puzzled, but certainly. A middle class lawyer, Mary? He may be in line for the title, but…a lawyer? I truly don't understand it."

"Not just a lawyer," Mary said, fighting the laughter bubbling up in her throat, "but a solicitor at that!"

Cora gave her daughter a scandalized look. "I suppose," she said, "we could always pretend he is aiming for the position of Lord Chancellor."

"I'll let him know of his plans."

"Is anything official?"

"No," Mary said. Since that first kiss, hidden away on the second floor at Sybil's coming out ball, there hadn't been an offer of marriage. She was surprised by it, considering how traditional Matthew could be, but not particularly put out. She'd been married once. Getting married again in a hurry wasn't on her list of interests. "Nothing official. We've barely had time to see each other, let alone to talk about what any of it could mean. Do any of the others know?"

"Oh, likely everybody," Cora said. "Simon already seems to regard him as a brother."

"Color me amazed," Mary said dryly. Simon had, after all, taken to her first husband like a duck to water as well.

"Do you love Matthew?"

Mary looked at her mother in surprise. Cora had never asked her that about Edmund. "Yes," she said, and the answer surprised her. "Yes, I think I might." She was struck by the notion that she suddenly wanted to gush about how smart and kind Matthew could be, how he was far too kind for the likes of her, who had resented rather than mourned her first husband. All of that smacked of being too much like an Austen heroine for her tastes, though, so she left it at that.

"Then I'm happy for you." Cora reached out and squeezed her hand. "Even if he is a lawyer."

"My last husband was a factory-owner," Mary felt the need to point out.

Cora toasted her with the water glass. "I confess, I did hope to throw somebody across his path at Sybil's ball, and perhaps prevent this."

Annoyance rose so quickly that it took everything Mary had not to show her active dislike at such an idea. She was reminded of her reaction to Miss King, over whom she still held a grudge, making Matthew laugh.

"But I can see there's no point in fighting it. Just…do me a favor, though, Mary dear. Break it to your grandmother gently."

"I will do my best," Mary said.

They looked up to see that Matthew had come into the tent, holding champagne flutes. One of them, he offered to the Lady Grantham. "I've been tasked by your husband to deliver this to you. Please don't harm the messenger."

"Nonsense," Cora said, accepting the glass with a nod of gratitude. "Mary was just telling me she'd had no idea you were invited."

"Being secretive?" Mary asked, raising her eyebrow at Matthew. He looked well, she thought, in his suit and hat for the party, and much more comfortable than he had seemed the night of Sybil's ball.

"Mostly by accident, I'm afraid. I hope it's a good surprise, at least."

"Mary, have you shown Matthew the grounds?"

Mary looked at her mother as though Cora had gone mad. Matthew had visited Downton several times. If Mary hadn't given him extensive tours of the estate, Simon would surely have filled in that position right away. She caught the twinkle in Cora's eye, and realized that her mother was once again playing matchmaker. This time, she found, she didn't mind.

"Never in the summer," Matthew said. "Perhaps you might show me around?"

"Certainly." They bid their farewells at Cora and headed off together, Mary twining her arm through Matthew's. "You really could have mentioned that you were coming to this party! I've been sitting here regretting that I had to cancel on you last night, and this entire time you've known you would see me today. It's rather unfair."

"I wanted to see the look on your face," Matthew said, laughing. "You can't fault me that."

She had thought her reaction to Cora's words had gone unobserved. Knowing that it hadn't annoyed her. "Oh."

"I am amazed your jaw did not swing in the wind. I almost checked to make sure I had not turned into an apparition. I haven't, for the record."

Mary looked down at her hand, which rested on his arm.

"Touché," Matthew said, smiling at her. They turned a corner around a copse of trees, where they were no longer visible to the rest of the party, and Matthew immediately pulled her close. "It has been far too long. I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too, but—" She let him kiss her, and it took a long moment for her senses to return. "But not right here! Honestly. Any of the servants might see!"

"Downton is crawling with ears and eyes, it seems." Matthew, grinning, grabbed her hand and tugged, so that she was forced to walk quickly to keep up.

"Where are we going?"

"Your mother said to show me the grounds. Let's go see the grounds."

"Oh, very well." She gave a very false long-suffering sigh. "Let's go this way, there won't be anyone about."

"Simon will be jealous he wasn't able to escape," Matthew said. "Last I saw him, he was forced into discussing the political climate in Serbia. He did not look pleased."

"No. I imagine he's been glowering into the newspaper for weeks now. He and Papa don't agree at all about what is truly going on."

"And what do you think?"

"I think things are changing," Mary said, and left it at that. She hadn't ever paid attention to world politics before her time with the factories, and even now had to force herself to do so. Discussing it was even worse, as there was nothing she could do to change it, so why talk about it ad nauseam?

There were other things to discuss. He didn't release her hand as they talked of the last two weeks, filling each other in on daily minutiae. One of the partners at Matthew's firm was talking of retiring. The interviews for the new workers to staff the munitions factories were going reasonably well. Mr. Stirling's wife had delivered a healthy baby, another boy, of course. That, Matthew had heard, as he'd sent over a toy for the newborn and a bottle of scotch for the parents, who already had three boys.

"I was a young boy once, after all," he said, laughing. "I am sure my father turned to the drink a time or two."

"Yes," Mary said in a solemn voice. "Simon was always the most trying of all of us."

"And the rest of you were of course perfectly behaved."

"How dare you suggest otherwise," Mary said, her voice dry. She rolled her eyes. "Our poor nanny. Between Simon's penchant for finding every four-legged creature on the estate and my temper, it's a wonder we didn't go through many more than we did."

"And how many was that?"

"Oh, two or three until Miss Johnson. She grew up on a farm, you see, so Simon thoughtfully giving her a grass snake didn't bother her in the slightest. Edith, of course, shrieked. She's afraid of snakes to this day."

"And you?"

"Who do you think found the snake?" They were walking toward the temple, Mary realized, which had a marvelous vantage point from which to admire the Abbey. She'd spent hours there as a child, mostly trailing after Simon as he tried out his various adventures. Though she had claimed time and again that a lady didn't have adventures, Simon had cajoled until she'd gone on his deep sea fishing expeditions, or played cowboys in the middle west, or searched for gold within the shores of Africa.

"I can't help but wonder what it would have been like to grow up here," Matthew said, perhaps reading her thoughts. "My parents kept a very nice house, and I never wanted for a thing, but it still boggles my mind to think of calling such a large estate home."

"It was just home," Mary said. "Nannies and governesses, the servants, Mama, Papa, all of it. They were all part of it."

"Ah, yes." They reached the temple, and Matthew released her hand to wander about inside the Corinthian pillars. "Home, where you have a temple on the grounds."

"Be careful. Your middle class is showing."

Matthew smirked at her, though he quickly returned to craning his neck to get a better look. "Where does this come from?"

"Some ancestor or another," Mary said.

"I suppose I'll have to ask somebody else if I want to know its history," Matthew said.

Her father was the custodian of the family history; Mary passed their portraits in the hallways and more often than not did not pay attention. It was Simon's duty to learn that sort of thing, as he was the heir, and he was the one that would carry on at Downton, no matter that Mary was the elder. There had been some jealousy about that in her youth before she'd truly understood the mantle that rested upon Simon's shoulders. From then, she'd struck out to form her own destiny, by marrying somebody rich and powerful, and it had worked for a time.

"I recommend Simon," she said, "but only do so when you're in the mood to be dragged back out here, and to all of the other buildings on the estate. He's quite mad for architecture."

"Thank you for the warning."

Mary turned to look out across the grounds at the Abbey, which gleamed in the sunlight. It was no longer truly her home, she knew, as her marriage had changed that, but it still felt like home nonetheless. She was always welcome, she knew, even if her visits had been shorter and less frequent of late, with most of her time spent in Manchester, physically and mentally as of late, though she had no idea why. It seemed like a different world, Downton did, from the constant meetings and ledgers and the dirt and sweat of her business.

Some days she wondered why she didn't simply give it up and return to a life at Downton permanently. She dealt with so many skeptical men, men that believed no woman belonged in the boardroom, and it made her only more determined to make her way. That meant sacrifices, she'd discovered, as she'd had to give up a lot of the lifestyle she'd grown up with—fewer days making calls and visiting with acquaintances, to be certain, among other things. Was it worth it, to have an occupation? She liked to think that it was, even though her life and the world seemed to be in a constant state of change.

"Ahem," Matthew said.

Mary looked over, her eyebrows immediately lowering as she tried to figure out what he could possibly be up to, kneeling on the ground like that. "What are you…"

It hit her all at once why Matthew might be kneeling.

"Oh," she said.

He laughed a little, but she could hear the nerves in his voice and in the way he looked down briefly. When he looked up, she was absolutely riveted by his eyes, by the intense expression on his face, so much that she was frozen on the spot. He reached out and grasped her hands, and even though she was vaguely aware that he was doing so, she felt entirely suspended from herself, as though this were happening to somebody else.

"This seems a bit presumptuous," Matthew said, and paused to lick his lips, his nerves even more evident now. He began again. "This seems a bit presumptuous to ask, given that on the surface, I'm nothing but your lawyer—"

"You're more than that," Mary said.

Matthew smiled at her, though trepidation now lined the muscles of his face with tension. "Thank you for that," he said, laughing a little. "Truly. I confess, it's been more than that for me, too, for a long time, and these past months have told me that I don't want to live without you. I know we've our differences and we come from different places, but it's true. I want to spend my life with you. So, will you, Lady Mary Cavendish, do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Mary went absolutely still. She'd known this was coming somehow, hadn't she? Hadn't she admitted as much to her mother? Even then, nothing could compare to this, to looking at the hope and fear so plainly written on Matthew's face. There was a sense of humming power in the moment, as his face told her very clearly that with a single word, she could crush him. No, not power, she realized. It was just as terrifying for her as it would be for him. She'd lost a husband once, one who'd been young and fit, just like Matthew was now. And while she had grieved in her own way, she hadn't mourned the loss of a soulmate. If she lost Matthew, the same wouldn't be true.

They had, she discovered, the power to destroy each other. Nobody else would ever make her heart beat faster just with a small smile, or would ever make her laugh quite as much or—

"Yes," she said, quite before she knew what she was saying. "Yes, of course."

Matthew's grip tightened painfully, almost like a spasm. "What?" he asked.

Despite herself, she gave him a look. "Did you not just hear me? I said—" She broke off, laughing, as Matthew climbed to his feet and crushed her in an embrace in one swift motion. He looked almost dazed, and she certainly understood the feeling. There was a piece of her that was still separate and watching the world through a foggy glass, until Matthew kissed her, and it became so real that her knees nearly buckled.

It had to be real, though, since she could feel him shaking just as badly as she was! She laughed as she drew back a little, not far, just enough to frame his face with her hands. "You are aware of what you're getting into, correct?"

"Not at all." His smile overwhelmed his face. He kissed her again. "And I haven't got a single problem with that!"

Later, after she had admired the ring with its simple, elegant cut, it was agreed with much reluctance that they had been absent from the garden party for so long that even Cora's American ideals of propriety were probably stretched beyond their limits. "How long have you been planning this?" Mary asked, turning back to look at the temple as they walked away. She remembered Matthew coming upon her there, quite unaware that she had been hiding at all, during his first visit at Downton.

Had all of this been planned? Had her mother been in on it?

Mary suddenly realized why Matthew had come the night before and why it had been so urgent.

"Since Sybil's coming out ball," he said, looking almost shyly at her as she blinked away her discovery. "If you want a more accurate time, I would have to admit it was since you kissed me at Sybil's coming out ball."

"Was it?" Mary raised an eyebrow at him. "That must have been some kiss."

"It changed my life."

"Hold on: did I hear you aright? Did you really say presumptuous in your marriage proposal?"

"You could argue that the question is possibly the most presumptuous question a man could ever ask."

"You could. But it's still an odd word choice. Did you think I would turn you down?"

Matthew glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "I wondered," he said.

"Why? Because I've been so busy lately?"

"Not at all. Out of everybody, I understand best why you're busy." Matthew's lips quirked up in a small smile. He let go of her hand. "It's…"

"Well?"

"I…overheard something. A while back. A long time ago, actually." Matthew shoved his hands into his pockets and they walked along, picking their way carefully as the path wasn't smooth in this part of the estate. "You were talking to Edith about something. The both of you sounded cross."

"That could be every other conversation we have, Matthew," Mary said, laughing.

"Yes, true. The two of you do enjoy crossing swords, don't you?"

"I'd say she enjoys it more than I do." Mary thought back, wondering what she had quarreled with Edith about lately. They had settled down, hadn't they, once Edith had taken an active involvement in her factories? What on earth could they have been fighting about that would put him off proposing?

"It was about Edith and Tidwell. You discouraged Edith from flirting with him because he was middle class."

When had she done that? Edith and Tidwell regularly put their heads together; for whatever reason, her head engineer liked input from her sister and Mary wasn't going to stand in the way of whatever helped out her business. With a striking clarity, though, she recalled the precise argument Matthew must be referencing. A flood of shame followed by a quick spurt of indignation followed that. "Oh, yes," she said, her brows knitting together while she tried to figure out why it could possibly matter to Matthew.

She'd taken exception to Edith's attention for Tidwell because he was middle class. Matthew, too, was middle class—upper middle class, to be sure, but that didn't change things for him.

Mary bit her lip. "Oh," she said. "You were interested even then?"

"We had sent all of those letters, you see. I thought they had to mean something."

"And you came upon me scolding my sister for dallying with a middle class man. I can see how that might be puzzling. Though, honestly, if I'm to have standards, I don't see why they can't be double ones."

Matthew smiled, but his uneasy glance at the Abbey, still visible in the distance, made Mary reconsider her flippant remark. She was still walking on clouds from the sheer euphoria—Matthew had asked her to marry him, today of all days, and he was here at the garden party with her and it had been ages since she had seen him—but it wouldn't do to start an argument first thing after their engagement, no matter how perfectly them it would be.

"The truth is," she said, and paused to lick her lips, which was most decidedly more like him than her, "I don't think of you. I never have."

"What way?"

"Middle class. Upper middle class, whatever you are. You've always been just Matthew to me, even when it wasn't proper to think of you that way."

Matthew stopped walking and slowly withdrew his hands from his pockets, turning to look at her. "So you'd have me either way?"

"I already said yes," Mary said. "I have many faults, but I could never be accused of not knowing my own mind. Though, granted, if anybody asks, you're to claim I have no faults at all."

"I am, am I?" Matthew laughed and stepped closer to her, putting his hands on her waist—they were still not in view of the party, so Mary let him. She liked these moments that allowed them to be improper. They sent her heart racing and allowed her to be closer to Matthew, to really get a close-up look at the way his eyes shifted between varying, brilliant shades of blue. "Very well, should anybody ask, you're flawless."

"Thank you," Mary said, and let him kiss her.

She drew back, startled, when she heard their names being shouted. Thankfully, it was only Simon and not one of the servants; he crested the nearby hill and hurried toward them, looking panicked. If he noticed the fact that Mary and Matthew were standing conspicuously apart with identical innocent looks on their faces, he made no comment.

Instead, Mary looked at his face and felt dread, of all things, begin to gnaw at her spine as he approached. "Simon, what is it?" she asked. "Is it Mama? Did she collapse?"

"No, no, nothing like that, she's fine." Simon looked between Mary and Matthew. "You've missed it—Papa's had a telegram. There's a war."

"What are you talking about?" Matthew asked.

Simon looked deathly solemn. "We're at war," he said. "With Germany."


A/N the Second: If there were ever a time for the dramatic chipmunk graphic to be acceptable on ff-net, this would probably be it. I hope that answers at least one of your questions, Living For Jesus.