Chapter 10 – Strategies

It was quiet in the back courtyard after the clamor of the morning deliveries. The cobblestones were wet, slick and dirty. Thomas enjoyed the cold moist air of the late morning, almost as much as he enjoyed the warm sharp taste of his Woodbine cigarette. Life had been good to him since his dismal attempt in the black market. He was now the permanent valet to Lord Grantham. True, his ascension to the position had not been entirely honest. But Isis was no worse for wear. And he had to look out for himself, didn't he? Self-preservation was never a bad thing, particularly if you were a working class lad.

O'Brien approached him from behind and interrupted his mental assessments. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"They're worth more than a penny, aren't they, now? I'm valet to the Earl of Grantham." Thomas replied smugly.

"Don't be puttin' on airs with me." She took out a cigarette. Thomas was quick to give her a light. "Not unless you want to find yourself in my crosshairs." She took a quick drag off her smoke.

"So what about Lady Mary then? Did she throw him over?" asked Thomas, smiling to himself.

"She can't have been that daft. I saw Mr. Matthew here earlier for a visit." O'Brien replied. "She's lucky to have him, if you ask me. She's lucky to have anyone."

"Well, that's no thanks to us," Thomas remarked. He bided his time before he asked her, "Do you ever regret it?"

"Regret what?" challenged O'Brien.

"You know very well," Thomas said quietly. "If it weren't for us, no one would have been the wiser about that that Turk. It would have all blown over as quick as you please." He flicked his ashes and added, "She might have had her pick of a dozen princes."

"I suppose. Sometimes I wish I could undo things for Lady Cora's sake." O'Brien took another puff. "Other times, I'm of the mind that Lady Mary should enjoy her just desserts, the heartless minx." She tossed her cigarette on the ground. "Anyway, there's nothing to be done about it now."

"Isn't there?" Thomas asked but it was more of a statement than a question. "If you could, Mrs. O'Brien, wouldn't you set it straight? If only to spare Her Ladyship a scandal?"

O'Brien didn't reply right away. But, she told herself, it was food for thought. Her debt to Lady Grantham was one that she could never repay. She took one last drag from her cigarette and tossed it off against the wet stones. Thomas did likewise. "We'll see about it," she finally countered. "I'll do my diggin' and you do yours. Between the two of us, we may come up with something."

O'Brien did not have to wait long before she arrived at her first opportunity to unearth information about Lady Mary. Her mistress had social visits in Ripon in the afternoon. The preparations would be rigorous since Her Ladyship wished to make an impression. That meant O'Brien would have that much more time to extract the most pertinent details from her. Not that she needed the extra time. It was O'Brien's special talent that she could coddle and finagle news and manoeuvres from Her Ladyship in a matter of minutes.

O'Brien chose her moment as Lady Grantham sat at her vanity, putting the final touches to her hair. They were trying out a number of different combs and ornaments. "The staff were very concerned last night, m'Lady, with Lady Mary gone for so long and arrivin' in such a state," O'Brien began.

"Thank you, O'Brien." Lady Cora nodded. "It was awful."

"She's all right, then?"

"Yes, she's fine, thanks to Cousin Matthew," her mistress replied.

"That's a grace, isn't it, m'Lady? The marriage is to go forward." O'Brien smiled graciously at her.

"Of course, it is. Why wouldn't it?" If it was possible for Lady Cora to scowl, she managed it then.

"I'm sorry, m'Lady, truly I am. But the entire staff is aware of the ill-founded rumours circulatin' in London and elsewhere." O'Brien continued her ministrations. "But certainly, those aren't in play anymore, what with Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary's engagement."

"If only that were true," Lady Cora fiddled with the cluster of combs before her on the vanity. "I'm afraid Sir Carlisle may still wreak some havoc." Her lips set themselves in a firm straight line.

O'Brien's face showed not the least bit of surprise at the mention of the older gentleman. "Lady Mary never really gave a care for him, m'Lady, you can be sure of it. He's no threat to Mr. Crawley."

"That's not what I meant," Lady Cora sighed. "He's a newspaper man, O'Brien. Rumours and scandal are his bread and butter." She looked at herself in the mirror. "Thank you, O'Brien. That's perfect." She rose from her vanity for the next stage in her preparations. Lady Grantham didn't need to say anything more. O'Brien had what she needed.

By the end of the day, Mary was quite herself again. All the same, she took extra care in her preparations for Matthew's return. She chose a red sleeveless gown, hoping it would add some color to her cheeks. She stood before the mirror. It brought to mind his first visit to her room. Her white naked curves against his black dinner jacket. The warmth of his hands on her breasts, his lips against her throat. A heated surge rushed from her centre down to that cleft between her thighs. The sensation was lush, hot and delicious. He would come to her again tonight. She would see to it.

Mary stood at the door with Carson as Matthew and his mother entered the Abbey. "Cousin Isobel, so happy to see you," Mary said as she kissed her on the cheek. She turned to Matthew and grabbed his hand. "You look well, Matthew."

"I should say that to you," Matthew replied, "Although you look a great deal more than well." Mary felt his eyes traverse her face and body. She so hoped that she pleased him.

"Mary, I hope you're feeling better?" asked Cousin Isobel.

"Much better, thank you, Cousin Isobel," replied Mary with a smile.

Matthew interrupted their exchange. "Would you excuse us, Mother? I have something rather important that I wish to discuss with Mary."

"Certainly, Matthew," Isobel replied and she turned to Mary and smiled. "Mary, we'll talk later. Be sure that we do." Isobel followed Carson to the drawing room. Matthew grabbed Mary's hand and led her to the north library. Once in private, Matthew turned to her, "You are absolutely captivating tonight, Mary," and with his hands at her waist, he pulled her to him. Mary wrapped her arms around his neck and their lips met in a long and sensuous kiss. "You have plans," he whispered against her lips, "I can tell."

She ran her hands down his chest and under his dinner jacket. "The seduction of Matthew Crawley," Mary replied softly, looking up at him. She placed her hands on his hips and pressed herself against him.

"Mission accomplished." Matthew smiled. He grabbed her hands. "Come and sit with me," he said and led her to the nearest divan. Matthew held her hands in his. "I've spent the afternoon thinking about us, about our future." Mary tilted her head and looked into his eyes expectantly. He continued, "I've decided. I cannot wait until June to marry you." He searched her face for some sign of agreement. Mary's lips broke into a shy smile.

He looked down at her hands. Her fingers were so soft, elegant and slender. She wore the ring he had given her earlier that day. The gems sparkled and the garnet seemed a darker red against the paleness of her skin. "When I am away from you, I long to be with you. And when I am with you, I dread the moment when I have to leave you." He shrugged his shoulders. "I have never felt this way with anyone. I guess I always suspected that it would be like this. With you." He looked at her. "So there it is. Then there is that other matter."

"Other matter?"

"Mary, I know you do not want to think about it, much less talk about it." He stood up and walked to the window. "I can't help it. Even now that he's gone, he has this power to torment you. It's maddening. I want to wring his bloody neck." He turned and looked at her. "I'm sorry, Mary."

"Don't be." She joined him and linked her arm with his. "I'm quite over it, you know. You've made me stronger. I feel like I can face anything now as long as you're with me."

Matthew turned to her. "That may be and I'm happy for that. But our marriage will send him a message. You are out of his reach. His threats are meaningless. He can't hurt you any longer." He put his arms around her waist. "So let's do it, Mary. Let us be wed as soon as we can."

"I agree," Mary replied with a sure smile. "I think that's a lovely plan."

"I hoped you would agree." Matthew reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded paper.

"What is that?" Mary asked him.

"What do you think it is? It is our marriage licence." Matthew grinned. He gave it to her and she opened the folds to read it. Mary brought her hand up to her mouth. There was no doubt of her pleasure. She returned the paper to Matthew. It was one step closer to a reality that she never dared dream of.

"So when are we to marry?" she prompted. Her smile was radiant.

"In four weeks?" suggested Matthew. "That will allow for the publication of the banns. We can be married on the fourth Sunday." He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it.

"Four weeks it is then," rejoined Mary, smiling still. "Ma-ma will go into shock." She laughed. She placed her hands about his neck, leaning back and pressing her lower torso into his hips. "Come to my room after dinner," she said to him demurely, "We can celebrate."

Matthew looked down at her, smiled and said nothing.

"Matthew?" she chided.

He held her gaze and grasped the back of her neck in both of his hands. What power she possessed over him. Did she even realize it? He lowered his head to hers. "Would you like me to come to your room after dinner?" he asked her softly. Then he kissed her. His tongue slipped between her lips and ran along the rim of her teeth. Mary felt faint with desire. She melted her curves against the hard straight lines of his body, her hands on his shoulders. Matthew slid his hands down her back, stopping at the side of her hips. He pressed her against him as they kissed. He was already hard. She caught her breath. "Yes, Matthew."

The dinner gong sounded. Matthew touched his forehead to hers. "We'll see." He took her hand in his and led her out of the library.