11. Family Outing

The cut-outs in the wide brim of Edith's summer hat dappled George's crisp white sailor suit with petals of sunlight and shade as she bent over him, allowing her nephew to clutch her forefingers in his dimpled fists so he could stand on legs as wobbly as a newborn colt's and watch the other visitors arrive at the front gates of the London Zoo. He babbled to them and showed off his new front teeth with a grin and glistening chin, a cheeky who beggar revelled in the attention they tossed his way like coins: What a big handsome boy, more than one person said; How keen he looks to walk, observed a few more, and one man followed with, You'd best keep an eye on him, or he's like to toddle off into one of the cages! From a few yards away Mary heard these remarks above the happy din of the crowd, and the latter struck her as rather a morbid notion. But Isobel laughed, so despite a scalp that itched as perspiration formed down her part from the mid-morning sun beating down on her own black straw hat and dark hair, Mary sat a little easier on the bench she shared with Aunt Rosamund who, true to form, huffed.

"Once again we find ourselves waiting for Sir Richard."

"You know, I've begun to detect a pattern to his tardiness." Mary glance from her son to her aunt. "It occurs most frequently whenever you are to be included in the party. What does that say?"

Rosamund's nostrils flared as she pursed her lips, for a moment looking so like Granny that Mary's mouth twitched-not so much at the physical similarity as at the thought of how indignant her aunt would be at the comparison.

"It says he'd do very well to be wary of me, after the ungentlemanly conduct I observed toward Miss Swire," Rosamund said, adding as Mary glanced away, "He's managed to put a bee in your papa's bonnet again."

"Yes, I know."

"About breaking up Haxby Park from its farmlands, and selling them to a beer manufacturer? Now how would you know that?"

Mary hadn't meant to let that knowledge slip; she'd been too hasty in her eagerness to change the subject from the uncomfortable reference to Lavinia and the Marconi scandal. "Oh…" Feigning nonchalance, she opened her handbag and rifled through it for her compact mirror. "Tom mentioned it."

He'd phoned a few mornings after she'd discussed it with Richard, with ill-contained laughter in his voice that took her back to his early days as Downton's droll, well-read, political chauffeur. Lord Grantham was enraged, Tom said, that the Russells' ancestral home had come to that. Never mind he always thought the house was as vulgar as I did, Mary remarked drily in turn, and then secured Tom's promise-which was not wholly convincing, given his chuckling, not to mention to Papa that she was the one who'd advisedSir Richard to go ahead with the sale. She'd had no notion when she had that Stephen Battle intended the land for commercial hops farming-not that she necessarily would have given him a different answer.

Tom had gone on to tell her she'd done a fine job helping Richard settle his affairs at Haxby. It's just as well I'm not attached to being a land agent, he'd said, because Lord Grantham may well decide you're the better man for the job. And wouldn't that tickle Sybil? he'd added, brogue thickening as his voice became choked. Wouldn't it just? Mary agreed, and her throat ached when he pronounced George lucky to have a mother so capable of fighting for his interests.

But not lucky enough to have a father so she wouldn't have to? she'd thought, but hadn't said. She wished she hadn't thought about it now.

Ducking her head, she discreetly consulted her compact mirror, dabbing her red eyes with the powder puff.

"Isn't that Sir Richard's car?"

At Isobel's question, Mary looked up to see the familiar grey Silver Ghost round the corner, driven by the chauffeur today, with the top down, and waxed to a spotless sheen after its recent jaunt in the rain. The motor slowed to a stop beside the curb, and the driver hopped down and strode briskly around the elongated front end to get the door.

"Ah, Sir Richard." Rosamund approached as he disembarked, donning his trilby. They had scarcely shaken hands when she glanced around him at the boy who was sliding down from the cognac coloured leather seat. "And this must be your nephew."

"Yes, I'm very pleased to introduce Mr Mark Carlisle." Richard's eyes drifted over Rosamund's head to Mary, the dimples appearing beneath his cheekbones with the deepening curve of his smile as his big hands settled on the blond boy's shoulders. "Mark, this is Lady Rosamund Painswick. You should address her as Lady Rosamund."

He returned his gaze to Rosamund as he said it, quirking his eyebrows at her almost as if they shared a private joke. What captivated Mary, however, was the way be leaned slightly into his nephew, the gentle squeeze his long fingers gave the narrow shoulders, the softening of his oftentimes brusque tones as he instructed him. In turn, Mark darted uncertain eyes up at Richard-the same blue as his uncle's, and the same shape, too, beneath a strong brow-but he extended a steady hand to Aunt Rosamund and spoke clearly in his lilting Scots accent.

"How d'you do, Lady Rosamund?"

"Charmed, I'm sure." She moved aside for Mary, who told herself it was only her imagination that Richard introduced her in the same tone with which he spoke to Mark.

"Your uncle has told me so much about you. You're very fond of electric trains, I think?"

It seemed such an insipid thing to say' Richard had not, in fact, told her very much about his brother's children, this one included, and she seized upon the one thing that leapt to mind. Even that she didn't know for certain; he'd said he bought his nephews a train set for Christmas, not that the eldest boy, aged ten, particularly cared for it.

But Mark dimpled and his freckled face split in a gap-toothed grin. "Yes, m'lady, and real ones, as well. I didn't want the train ride to London to end."

Mary exhaled in relief-only to catch her breath again as she met Richard's eye and found him looking at her with something like pride.

"How splendid for you," she said. "The journey up from Downton always seems endless to me."

Isobel introduced herself. "Is this your first visit to a zoo?"

"No, ma'am. We've been to the one back home. Granddad took us." Frowning, Mark looked up again at his uncle.

"Edinburgh boasts a very fine zoo, indeed," Richard said. "My nephew may not be quite as impressed with London's as the locals might imagine."

A look of being vaguely affronted crossed Rosamund's features, but Isobel effused, "Yes, I've read about the Scottish National Zoological Park. They've adopted a more natural approach to housing the animals, rather than the typical steel cages, haven't they?"

"Modelled after Hamburg's," Richard answered with a nod.

"They've got real South Pole penguins!" Mark announced. "We got to see the chicks a while back. They walk like this," he said, and demonstrated a penguin waddle.

"They must be darling," said Edith, who stood at the back of the group with the pram.

"And the first bred anywhere but the Antarctic." Richard spoke as proudly as he would of one of his newspapers' achievements.

"Well, Mark," said Isobel, taking the pram from Edith, "since you seem to be our resident zoological expert, you shall have to tell my grandson everything there is to know. It's his first time."

Mark peeped into the pram, grinning, and gave the baby a little wave. "Uncle Richie says he's called George. Like my dad."

"Yes, he is," answered Mary, looking away from Richard's smirk, which reminded her of how he'd mocked her for this fact weeks ago.

"Talking of Mr George Carlisle," said Edith, glancing after the Silver Ghost as the chauffeur drove off, "I thought he was supposed to join us."

The dimples vanished as other, less pleasant lines etched themselves on Richard's face. "No, he…" His hands found their way into the pockets of his trousers, soft grey lightweight summer wool. "I think he's not best pleased with me."

"Uncle Richie thrashed him at rooftop golf at Selfridge's yesterday."

To Mary's amusement, Richard removed his hands from his pockets and tugged at the knot of his blue striped necktie in clear annoyance; his scowl depened when she teased, "Your brother takes losses as well as you do, then?"

"It might have had more to do with a remark about how if he'd had any ambition he could own a wildly successful London department store instead of a pokey corner shop in Morningside."

"Oh dear," said Mary, while Edith remarked, "Your relationship with your brother sounds like mine with Mary."

"The difference being that you've deigned to go to the zoo with your sister," Richard said.

Mary tilted her head, but was not gratified as usual by her younger sister growing indignant; Edith remained cool and said, "Only because she just had a birthday."

Richard excused himself to go purchase their tickets; Mark watched him stride away, looking a little forlorn, and his small child's chest heaved with a sigh beneath his old but neatly pressed and carefully mended Norfolk jacket.

"I wish Dad could've come with us. He hasn't been back home because he can't leave the store very much. We're only in London now to see-"

He stopped short, cheeks reddening, and ducked his head; his hand went up to tug at the fair hair that curled at the back of his cap, a mannerism so like Richard's. Obviously he'd said more than he ought to have about something, but it was his first statement that gave Mary's heart a little jolt, as with electricity.

How many times would she hear George say those words? I wish Dad could be here… She accidentally looked to Isobel, whose misty brown eyes indicated she clearly had the same thought. Or perhaps she heard the echo of her own boy asking that question.

"Well, Mark," she said, in that firm brave tone Mary had grown so accustomed to hearing as they nursed Matthew together during the war, "you must pay especially close attention to everything you see today, so you may tell him about in as much detail as possible. That way your father will feel as though he was here, too, and as an added bonus, you'll get to experience the zoo over again."

Richard returned with their tickets and gestured with a sweep of his hands and a smile for the ladies to proceed through the front gate with the Spanish tiled roof. Mark skipped ahead alongside Isobel, offering to push the pram so he could be close by to explain things to little George.

"What an excellent idea," she told him. "You must be such a great help to your mother with your younger siblings."

"Yes, ma'am. She says someday I'll make a young lady very happy, as my dad makes her."

"My." Rosamund glanced over her shoulder at Mary. "I hadn't realised how charm abounds in the Carlisle clan."

A sideways glance at Richard revealed his jaw to be working as he regarded the back of Rosamund's hat beneath his heavy brow, but his face softened as he returned Mary's gaze.

"You haven't had to cope with any awkwardness due to what your mother-in-law witnessed, have you?" he asked in a low voice as the conversation continued up ahead; Isobel consulted a guide map and advised they go up the terrace walk, past several aviaries toward the bears and hyenas, though Mark asked if they might skip the birds, as he did not find them very interesting unless they were penguins.

Richard referred, of course, to his kiss, the memory of which-the softness of his lips on her cheek, the heat of his breath and the solidness of his body so close to hers, the sharp tang of shaving lotion all combining to reassure her in that uniquely masculine way she'd experienced so often with Matthew but only once before with Richard, after Matthew pushed her aside at Lavinia's funeral-made Mary's cheeks prickle warmly.

Hoping he attributed her flush to the late May weather, she replied, "No, you handled her perfectly."

When Isobel had emerged from the cab and saw her late son's widow so intimately engaged, Richard passedhis umbrella off to Mary and approached the older woman with an outstretched hand to assist her up the slick front steps. Lady Mary has kindly been advising me about Haxby, he'd explained with utter innocence, and I returned the favour and helped her get the baby to sleep. I'm so glad to have bumped into you, Mrs Crawley, because you might be able to best advise me how to entertain a ten year old boy in town. Isobel, naturally, had taken the bait, suggesting the London Zoo, as the weather was forecast to turn agreeable; and she'd made no mention of the affectionate act after Mary followed Richard's lead and said, impulsively, What a nice outing that would be for George. Richard proposed she and Isobel come along, extending the invitation to Edith and Aunt Rosamund. Make it a real family affair, the occasion of Georgie's first trip to the zoo.

Lowering her voice further, so that Richard had to incline his head toward her to hear, the tips of his fingers just brushing her back, Mary said, "I think it's Aunt Rosamund who should concern you now, not Isobel."

When she phoned her aunt to invite her, Rosamund's response had been, If it's such a family affair, why doesn't he invite Robert and Cora?

"That might have something to do with Lord Grantham throwing me out of his house," Richard said when she told him. Mary started to point out that he hadn't been thrown out so much as asked to leave, but he spoke over her. "One wonders why your aunt accepted. She doesn't strike me as an animal lover."

"Boredom. She's always loved a good intrigue. I imagine she wants to see for herself whether this is intriguing enough to write home to Granny about."

"I see. Well, in any case, she plays into my plot to win the family over one member at a time."

Win them over to what? Mary opened her mouth to ask, but Richard walked away as they arrived at the bear pit. It was a stupid question, anyway, one to which she knew the answer perfectly well.

She tried not to think about it as they viewed the bears and hurried past the hyenas, which all agreed were rather unpleasant creatures, and at Mark's insistence bypassed the wading birds for the lion house. The great creatures basked in the sun that slanted down through the bars of their cages like overgrown housecats . Mary felt lazy just watching them, and heard herself remark inanely to Isobel that they ought to get a cat at Grantham House.

"George might like to pet it."

"If it's just the fur you want," said Aunt Rosamund, I've a cheetah pelt in my attic."

"You never did!" Edith exclaimed, she and Mary wheeling to face her.

"You probably don't remember, but when you were quite little your uncle and I went to Kenya on safari."

"And he shot a cheetah?" Edith still did not sound convinced.

"Heavens no. I did."

As they made their way back toward the front of the zoo, where the map showed the primates to be housed, they chattered on about the evils of big game hunting-which, in Rosamund's case, were largely based upon her dislike of the use of animal print in décor. Their meandering path took them past the stork and ostrich house, where they paused because Mark decided that apparently very large birds were worth looking at. Mary, however, was more interested in watching Richard tap a man on the shoulder and ask him to step aside so that Mark could get a better view of emus. He kept his hands on the boy's shoulders, as if to protect his vantage point from the grown-up visitors, leaning in every now and again to read from the placards on the fronts of the cages, or to point out to him the differences between emus and their African cousins.

When George began to fuss they moved on, but he didn't seem to be any happier once the pram was rolling again.

"I bet he's upset because he knows the monkey house is coming and can't see very well," Mark suggested. Before anyone could say a word against it, he plucked the baby from the carriage and swept him up with wiry arms onto his shoulders. "My baby sister always likes this."

He flashed his snaggle-toothed grin beneath the cap which George-who had stopped crying and smiled, too-snatched off the towhead and set askew. Richard put it to rights, admonishing his nephew that should he tire, let them know and they'd help him get the baby down, then fell into step with Mary once more as they cut across the grass to see the monkeys.

"No need to be alarmed," he said. "George is in excellent hands."

"I'm not." Mary wondered whether she ought to have been, despite Richard's assurances, whether other mothers would have been alarmed by the sight of a boy being so daring with a baby. "Mark seems a fine young man. It's rather reassuring. Of course I hoped for a boy to settle the inheritance, but they are entirely foreign creatures to me. I've been at a loss as to what on earth to do with one."

She glanced at her mother-in-law, who was speaking very earnestly to Edith as she found a place to park the empty pram, the latter seeming to merely tolerate whatever the older woman was saying to her.

"Not that Isobel won't feel free to dispense advice," Mary added.

Richard chuckled, though his amusement didn't reach his eyes, which were fixed on his nephew. Mark was singing to George, his thin boyish soprano piping over the noise of the crowds around them. Georgie Porgie, puddin' and pie, kissed the girls and made them cry…

"Yes, I may criticize my brother for a lot of things, but not his children. Of course Aileen has quite a lot to do with that." His smile became pensive. "I ought to get up to Edinburgh more often. Each time they're so changed. I haven't seen the baby since her baptism."

Mary nodded. "Mama wants me to come back to see Sybbie."

"Is she very like your sister?"

"Her colouring is more like Tom's. Though her eyes are dark."

"Like her Auntie Mary's."

She looked up at him, and his eyes touched hers; the gentleness she saw there, and in his smile, encouraged her to go on.

"Mama and Tom are always looking for hints of Sybil in her. Personally I'm relieved the baby isn't just her miniature. Papa protested the name, and to be honest I agreed with him. It makes it so much more difficult to move on."

"Was it terribly frightening? To face giving birth knowing how it turned out for your sister?"

At the time, Mary had actually been more preoccupied at the time about whether she would be able to become pregnant at all. Of course she could not say that to Richard. Not here, not now.

"Forgive me." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't mean to make you sad."

She gave him a wan smile. "You didn't. I just am, these days."

Having had their fill of monkeys they found the ape house, and Richard lifted George down from Mark's shoulders. He secured his nephew a good viewing position by the chimpanzee cage and held the baby up to see, too, but George twisted around in his arms, more interested in pulling Richard's necktie out from his waistcoat than in the chimps. Mary rescued Richard from being made untidy, and as she carried George away for a bottle Isobel procured from the pram she overheard him say to Mark:

"They remind me of you lads."

She looked to see three young apes scrabbling about, playing chase and wrestling, and looking every bit like long-armed, hairy boys roughhousing. Did he see himself and his own little brother?

Mark giggled as a larger chimp, presumably the mother, grabbed the littlest one out of the tangle. "Except Ma would never eat bugs out of Andy's hair!"

"Indeed," said Richard with a chuckle. "Although Andy's been known to eat bugs."

"Oh dear," Mary said. "Now I'm alarmed again about the prospect of raising a son."

"I fished a few from Matthew's mouth," Isobel reminisced.

"Joking aside," Richard said, propping his elbows on the railing as he observed the chimpanzees, "they are very like us. Darwin's theories in action. Although Granddad and your parents wouldn't like to hear me say that," he added, patting Mark's shoulder. "Are you hungry? It's about lunchtime, isn't it?"

"I saw a hamburger stand over there," said Mark hopefully, turning from the chimps to point to a refreshment pavilion.

Richard obliged him, and bought lunch for everyone else, too, except for Rosamund and Mary who declined.

"God forbid Lady Mary Crawley eat anything so undignified as a hamburger," he teased, eating his out of the paper wrapper and seated on the lawn with his nephew.

"It's less about dignity than saving room for an ice cream cornet."

"Ice cream for luncheon?" said Richard in mock disapproval. He licked a blob of mustard off his thumb. "What sort of example is that for your son?"

She glanced to the pram, where George had fallen asleep mid-bottle. "What he doesn't know..."

The ice cream Richard bought her did present something of a challenge to her dignity as she struggled to stop it dripping onto her hand in the midday heat. At any rate, she thought Edith looked the more fashionable of the two, lighting up a post-hamburger cigarette in front of the gorilla paddock.

"If we really are the descendants of apes, Sir Richard," she mused, puffing an O of smoke, "do you suppose the might share our regard for privacy?"

"They don't seem to mind making certain private matters public." Rosamund turned away from the exhibit and took a scented hankie from her handbag.

"I don't mean they're civilised, of course," Edith went on, "but look how they all sit with their backs to us. One wonders if they prefer not to be gawked at? It seems cruel to cage them, when they're adapted to the jungles of darkest Africa, that's all."

"Do I sense a topic for a future editorial in the Sketch?" asked Isobel with a smile.

Edith studied Richard as she drew from her cigarette; he leaned away as she exhaled. "Or for one of your publications? Mary tells me you wanted to speak with me about an offer."

"Not precisely. Not until I've heard about your ambitions." Richard gestured with his hands as he spoke, slipping as easily into business mode as if they he stood against the background of his office windows, and not a cage of gorillas, and Edith seated across his desk and not a park bench. "Where do you see your career in a year? Five years? Ten? Are you content to write nice little columns for ladies' journals, or do you wish to expand your horizons?"

"Nice? I write about quite controversial topics."

"The women's vote is hardly the controversy in 1922 that it was in 1912."

"Tell that to all the women under thirty who own no property!" Edith made an admirable effort at not looking as though he'd ruffled her feathers, but Mary noticed the tremor in her sister's fingers as she brought her cigarette to her lips.

"Yes, yes, I read your column. I know your views. I've no interest in debating women's rights at the zoo."

Edith released a long breath of smoke. "How like a man. " She dropped her cigarette on the pavement, stamped it out with her heel, and stalked away.

"How like a woman," Richard said, slipping his hands into his pocketed as his long strides caught him up to her, "to be lulled into a false sense of security about her talents because she's become romantically entangled with her employer."

"I won't subject myself to this tastelessness." She quickened her pace, and it fell to Mary, following not far behind with Mark while Isobel and Rosamund brought up the rear with the pram, to placate her so she might hear Richard out.

"Sir Richard doesn't lack taste, Edith-only tact." The glare he shot her over his shoulder turned to a pleased glimmer when she added, "I've learnt to look for his compliments. In this case, he thinks you could be better, which means he thinks you're rather good to start with. If he didn't, he'd leave you to his competitors."

For some time they walked in silence, making their way around front to the tunnel which ran beneath the Outer Circle to the section of zoo across the road, where the large mammals resided. But as they came out from underground into the sunlight, Edith considered Richard and asked, with a measure of dubiousness in her voice, "So you think my skills might improve if I wrote for you?"

"Kangaroos!" Mark darted away from the adults toward the fenced yard where the creatures took shelter from the afternoon sun beneath scrubby trees planted in approximation of the Australian Outback. He turned back to call, "Mrs Crawley, does Georgie want to see?"

As George was still napping and Mark had Isobel's full attention while Rosamund minded the baby, Richard continued his discussion with Edith.

"You would indeed improve-or you'd be let go. It's as simple as that. I don't accept mediocrity."

"Your writers must find you a demanding employer."

Richard shrugged. "It's not my custom to ask whether they do. If they think my demands unreasonable, they are, of course free to give notice and find work elsewhere. Perhaps for your Mr Gregson."

"Uncle Richie just wants everyone to do their best work," Mark chimed in, apparently having eavesdropped, as he hopped back to stand beside his uncle. "He always phones to ask if we're getting good marks at school. And he sends presents if we are."

Richard tugged at the knot of his necktie as if he were not quite comfortable with this revelation to his softer side-as if it had not already been on full display today. "I believe in positive reinforcement." He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, rocking slightly back on his heels. "Thus my employees are paid well."

"Perhaps sometimes he can be a bit lacking in taste," Mary remarked to Edith; as they walked on she caught Richard giving her a glare that may not have been playful-which made it all the more amusing.

In front of the rhinoceros enclosure George awoke unhappily from his nap, but cheered when Mary fed him the slightly soggy remains of her ice cream cornet. Mark, however, looked ready to cry with disappointment as they moved to the next cage, which normally housed the zoo's African elephant, and found it empty. He maintained a stiff upper lip, though, as Richard patted his shoulder consolingly, and there was only the slightest quaver in his voice as he declared that he'd seen elephants before at home and the hippopotamuses, giraffes, and zebras were down this way.

"Is it just me, or is it getting more crowded?" asked Aunt Rosamund as they proceeded, not sounding at all best pleased with the prospect.

"It's not just you," Isobel answered, though of course she seemed less troubled. "I wonder what the attraction is?"

In answer, one of the zookeepers came up the path, shouting and gesturing for the visitors to step to both sides to make way for the elephant. Which, as it turned out, was giving rides, the queue forming in front of the superintendent's house for visitors of all ages.

Mark's lanky frame quivered with excitement, but somehow he contained himself, except for his dancing blue eyes. "Oh Could I, Uncle Richie? I've done so well on all my schoolwork, and it's a rare opportunity."

Mary found herself pressing her fingertips to her lips not to laugh at that, even more as she noticed Richard struggling not to laugh at his nephew's slightly precocious, yet perfectly sincere question.

"Yes, Mark, it is a rare opportunity. One that would be a shame for us to miss. Wouldn't you agree, Lady Mary?"

Her answer died on her tongue as his gaze swung round to meet hers, regarding her from beneath eyebrows that were just lifted beneath the brim of his trilby in that all-too-familiar challenging expression, and understanding dawned suddenly what he implied. For a moment she hesitated as the throng of the crowd rose to a cheer when the elephant lumbered into view. If she'd thought eating a hamburger whilst walking around the zoo a trifle undignified, then being perched on a bench seat strapped high on an enormous beast's back certainly was. Yet as she felt her companions' gazes on her-Mark's hopeful, Richard's challenging, Edith's doubtful, Rosamund's disgusted and Isobel's full of anticipation-she made up her mind.

"As a matter of fact, I do." She lifted George from the pram, settling his bottom comfortably on her hip as she met Richard's eye. "How many boys get to say they've ridden an elephant before their first birthday?"

The look on Richard's face contained more approval than she thought she'd ever had from him, and she quickly turned away to join the queue, lest he see the colour it brought to her cheeks.

As they settled onto the bench for their turn a few moments later, George in her lap and Mark between the adults, Richard said, "I have to admit, I never thought I'd see Lady Mary Crawley on the back of an elephant."

"I could say the same thing about Sir Richard Carlisle."

"What made you do it?"

George squealed, and Mary held his pudgy wrist delicately in the circle of her fingers, waving his hand at his aunts and grandmother.

"I suppose I thought it seemed like the sort of thing Isobel would have done for her son."

"You know you needn't try to be Matthew's mother," Richard replied, softly. "He wanted you to be the mother of his children. And from where I stand, you're shaping up to be a very fine one."

For a moment Mary could not speak for the lump that formed in her throat. When she could, she said, "You're not standing. You're sitting on the back of an elephant."

"So I am," Richard said, returning her smile.

The elephant lurched into motion, then, and Richard slid his arm along the back of the bench-ostensibly to keep Mark secure in his seat. But his fingers found the edge of Mary's shoulder, squeezing lightly, and she leaned back, wondering how it was that the securest her world had felt since last September should occur on the back of an elephant, with Richard Carlisle's arm around her.

"I wish Dad could see us now!" said Mark.

"Me too," Richard agreed, glancing over his nephew's head at Mary. "I do so love to prove him wrong."

About me, she understood his silent communication. "Then I shall have to meet him, before he returns to Edinburgh."

"He's going back tomorrow, but he's planning another visit in a few weeks. I know just the thing. That is-if you're still agreeable to tennis?"

Mary raised an eyebrow slightly. When they were first becoming acquainted at Cliveden, they'd mutually bemoaned the summer sporting events they always looked forward to attending, including Wimbledon, had been suspended due to the War, which in turn had led to her admission that she enjoyed playing as well as watching. Though they'd never had the chance-or rather, had never taken the opportunity. If they had, might she have realised that such enjoyable outings were to be had with him? With her family-and his, too?

"You know I am," she said, realising she very much wanted another day like this, and to disabuse his brother of whatever judgments he'd made about her. "But after the thrashing you gave him at rooftop golf, do you think he can cope with me wiping the tennis court with him? Can you?"

"Oh no," said Richard. "That's why I've got tickets to the Queen's Club Championships."