Thanks for all the great reviews/comments (FFN can't seem to decide what to call them this week) on the last chapter- it really helps me to hear what you like and what you don't. I'd really like to thank the reviewers who don't have accounts, or review anonymously, because I don't get to do so in PMs- so thanks to Isa94941, KA, Liz, emily and anon.

I hope you enjoy :D

***Rosamond has become Rosamund, as I always expected, but in my defense I thought I was bowing to greater knowledge because it IS Rosamond in the 1x05 subtitles which, due to the nature of this fic, I am using heavily. Sorry to anyone it disturbed the flow for***

Edith decided it was going to be a very pleasant morning indeed.

The sun was shining, breakfast was still hot and, despite resuming her pre-marital habit of breakfasting with her father and sisters, Mary had not appeared that morning. When her father had enquired after her, Carson relayed she had taken a tray in her room, complaining of a slight headache, but not severe enough to warrant a powder.

It was nice, though Edith, sipping her orange juice, to enjoy ones breakfast without having to be on guard for insults in subtext and outright heckling. She placed her glass on the table in front of her and looked about brightly; ready to engage her family in conversation, buoyed by her pleasant mood. "Who's that from, Papa? You seem very absorbed."

Robert glanced up, frowning slightly. "Your Aunt Rosamund."

"Anything interesting?" Asked Edith, failing to read her father's tone that clearly suggested he was uninterested in conversation, troubled by something he read in the letter.

Indeed, his response was quite short. "Nothing to trouble you with."

Instead it was Sybil who picked up the tread of conversation. "Poor Aunt Rosamund. All alone in that big house. I feel so sorry for her."

"Well, she should have Mary to visit with, shouldn't she? If only Mary would move back to her own house in London. Isn't that what widowed relations are supposed to do- visit each other and parade around Eaton Square?" Edith continued with her meal, unconcerned or unaware that the other members of her family had stopped eating around her to stare at her.

It was Robert who addressed her comment, folding his letter with an angry snap. "Really, Edith, I wish you wouldn't talk like that. There will come a day when someone thinks you mean what you say."

Her reply was petulant. "It can't come soon enough for me."

"If it's your sister that overhears you, I won't be pleased and we'll see who it is that's told to visit her aunt in London for a while." Robert leaned over the table to hand Sybil a letter that had arrived for her, but his eyes remained on Edith. There was anger there, certainly, but there was something else in his gaze- something assessing...questioning.

After a moment Edith looked away, unsure of what his look meant but chastised by his words. The Earl's scrutiny lasted a moment or two longer, before he turned abruptly and left for the library, clearly still angry.

Edith was not overly fazed, but Robert decided it was going to be a very unpleasant morning indeed.

A similarly domestic, if not quite as fraught, morning scene was being played out at Crawley House down in the village. Matthew had hoped to be out the door and on his way to work by now, but his mother caught him just as he was making sure he had everything together for the day.

"I thought I'd write to Edith to settle our promised church visit," she called from her place halfway down the stairs.

"Oh, yes, if you'd like to, Mother…" Matthew was clearly distracted, but after a moment's pause he looked up at his mother, a small scowl marring her darling boy's brow. Isobel hid a slight smile. Having taken notice of several very stilted conversations between her son and his cousin over the past few weeks she anticipated his reluctance for her idea. "…but I think I might give this outing a miss if you don't mind."

Trying to appear concerned she took a couple more steps down towards him. "Well I don't mind, but can I ask why? It's a shame to throw her over when she made such an effort to arrange the last one."

"I'm afraid it's all the effort that she's willing to go to that quite puts me off." He gave her a significant look. "When Mary initially mentioned it a month or so ago I had hoped it was all in her head, but I'm afraid I've cottoned on to the fact that Edith is rather barking up the wrong tree."

Isobel let her smile bloom over her face, her affection for him warming her. Her darling boy had never been comfortable talking to her about girls, but she had seen his effect, so much like his father's, on them for years now, all while he remained completely oblivious to it. She moved to the stair that would put her level with him and leaned over the lower two to press a kiss to his reddened cheek, patting his shoulder at the same time.

"Ah, you've seen it for what it is now, have you? I did rather wonder that you hadn't before. Poor Edith." Matthew rolled his eyes, smiling ruefully as he moved down the hallway to collect his coat. "I hope there's a right tree for her somewhere," she called after him.

Molesley appeared from the other end of the hallway where he had been seeing to the dining room after breakfast. Well aware of Mr Crawley's independent nature, they had settled into something of a routine- he would valet Mr Crawley in his dressing room, but Molesley was to find himself busy elsewhere when it came to the donning or removal of coat and hat when Mr Crawley was leaving or returning from work.

That said, the lightened nature of his duties meant that he often had very little to do in the small home, and so he saw no reason why they wouldn't approve his request. "Ma'am, I wondered if I might have some time this afternoon to help in the village hall."

Matthew looked up with interest. "Why? What's happening?" he asked curiously. He'd not heard of anything in the offing at the big house.

"It's the flower show, sir, next Saturday. I'll give my father a hand with his stall if I may." Matthew was no longer surprised he hadn't known of any imminent event in the village- it was more than a week away! What on earth about the stall could need a week's preparation- it was Downton, not Chelsea- any flowers put out would surely be dead in the meantime and it didn't take a week to stand a trestle table up?

"Of course you must go," replied his ever gracious mother, clearly not seeing the absurdity.

Glancing at his watch, Matthew realised this had all taken rather a chunk out of his morning and he was going to be very late if he didn't make a move. "And so, I'm afraid, must I." He kissed his mother on the cheek in their usual fond farewell and Molesley moved before him to open the door- their sole concession to his role in the mornings if he happened to be in the hallway when the portal needed opening.

Two hours after breakfast Lord Grantham was still out of sorts. When he should have been going over the initial plans for the autumn crop, he was instead dwelling on the letter from his sister, and the niggling thoughts it had inspired in him all morning. Thoroughly distracted, he had been watching his wife out of the library window for some time and, needing a second opinion and some reassurances, he made his way to her.

"Busy?" From inside he had assumed she had come out to the bench to enjoy the warmth of the morning but he could now see that she had a folio open on her lap, pages flapping- desperate to be freed into the gentle breeze.

She didn't turn, still concentrating on her mornings work. "I'm just trying to sort out the wretched flower show."

Coming around to the front of the bench Robert decided that his preoccupation couldn't wait the length of any more small talk- his mind was too disturbed. "I've had a letter from Rosamund."

"Don't tell me. She wants a saddle of lamb and all the fruits and vegetables we can muster." There was a teasing glint in Cora's eyes that he responded to, allowing her to momentarily take him off track. The fact that Rosamund had indeed asked, almost word for word, for exactly that, put a small smile on his face for what felt like the first time that day.

"She enjoys a taste of her old home."

It was a jesting chide, and Cora answered in kind; "She enjoys not paying for food."

Turning more serious, Robert decided he needed to come to the point; "there's something else." Lady Grantham looked up in interest, responding to his change of tone.

"Apparently, word is going round London that Evelyn Napier has made some comments regarding Mary. That he has made a show of completely shunning both of the Semphill girls and she writes as if, somehow, he has done so on Mary's behalf."

A frown of confusion crossed his wife's face. "Well, what on earth can she mean by that?"

"She makes it sound as if Mary needed defending in some way… and that it is stemmed from some long held rumours that Patrick had somehow been found wanting. In his character."

Cora rolled her eyes and smirked ruefully. "Your dear sister is always such a harbinger of joy. I'm sure Patrick was no saint in his younger days, but what man is? Naturally the rumours would have been expounded upon - do you know how many of the society mamas we annoyed when we secured him for Mary? If anything gets their goat, it's being bested out of a title for their darling debutante."

"Well I'm not sure I believe Mr Napier would have acted on mere rumour."

"Neither do I, really, but…" Cora shook her head a little sadly. "I suppose there may be something in it. Lady Branksome mentioned something a couple of times, but nothing I was worried about…"

"What?" Robert's expression was thunderous.

Cora hurried to placate him. "But it was nothing. You know what her marriage was like, she saw infidelity everywhere."

"Yes, and I know she showed an inordinate amount of partiality to Mary…" There was a dawning look of realisation, "…almost as if they had something in common."

His wife raised her brows, looking contemplative, but not overly concerned. "If you're unsure, maybe you should talk to Mary."

He shrugged, looking further perturbed. "She never listens to me and I doubt she'd admit much, anyway."

No, his eldest was always one for keeping things close to her chest, which was one of the reasons his sister's gossip had the ring of truth to it this time- if it was true, Mary would never have let on. Had it been nonsense she would have played it up as such, using it to defame Patrick at every opportunity. Of all his girls, Mary was the hardest to get a read on…he believed (ironically enough) that Sybil was still young enough to confide everything in her parents, and Edith, well, she wore hear heart on her sleeve… it was another thing that had concerned him about Rosamund's letter and her intimations about Patrick's behaviour;

"If it is true, you don't think…well…Edith!" He began to pace in agitation.

"No darling," Cora scoffed. "I doubt there's anything of truth in it anyway, but Edith and Patrick wouldn't have done that. And certainly not to her sister."

"You didn't hear Edith this morning… then again, any given morning they're at each other's throats. And Edith did like him… very much so. You don't think she'd be persuaded to…"

Cora broke in quickly, hoping to head him off before he upset himself too much more. "Darling, this is all nonsense. She idolised him as adolescent girls always idolise boys, that's all." She screwed up her nose a little in clear distaste. "I don't see that there's anything in all the stuff with Patrick, anyway. He was a nice boy- a little feckless maybe, but nice. He and Mary would have been fine, but it just didn't work out that way."

Robert wasn't so sure, but he wasn't going to push it now. "Hmmmm."

"You know, Edith's not an adolescent anymore. She should be married." Cora waited, but received no response from Robert who was still pacing thoughtfully in front of her. "I'm going to invite some neighbours up for dinner. Perhaps you could talk to Matthew?" she coaxed, hoping that a little gentle persuasion could prompt him to discuss more than just the invitation to dine.

Robert ignored it- it wasn't worth the effort if she couldn't read the lay of the land for herself just yet. "I'll ask. Who else shall I tell him is coming up?"

"What about Anthony Strallan?" Cora said with a calculating grin.

"Anthony Strallan is at least my age and as dull as paint. I doubt Edith would want to sit next to him at dinner, let alone marry him."

She looked incredulously. "I don't mean for Edith, Robert. I'm thinking about Mary. Edith is nicely matched with Matthew- they just need some more time." She frowned. Despite a nice beginning that hadn't been quite going to plan, of late.

If Robert has been alone he probably would have snorted in amusement at the thought. Yes, because if Edith would be reluctant at the thought of a dull widower, Mary would be over the moon with him! Really, did his wife not understand their daughters at all?

Instead of bringing about another awkward conversation, he merely pointed out the obvious; "Mary is still in mourning for her husband, not to mention the fact that we haven't even ascertained that she would look to marry again."

Cora's smile suggested that he was clearly missing something. "Of course she'll marry again. Why wouldn't she? Anthony Strallan would be perfect- they're both recently bereaved, so I'm sure he'd wait awhile for her." Cora continued to tick off the points of her master plan on her fingers. "She'd be close to home, she'd still have a standing in the community she loves, and she's still young enough to give him the children he wanted with Maude all those years ago."

Internally shuddering at the thought, Robert gave her a sceptical look- it seemed to be quite the day for them, yet still they went unnoticed. "You've really thought this one through, haven't you darling. What does Mary say?"

"Well, I haven't spoken to her about it just yet, but I will." She smiled at him, not in the least bit troubled by any of their conversation, even though several topics alarmed Robert exceedingly. "Now, I really must get finished here, so you'll need to leave me in peace." She presented her cheek for him to kiss and, on receiving her due, returned to her work.

Robert trudged back to the house, his heart heavier than it had been when he left it.

Later in the week Mary was glad of the excuse to take a walk into the village. Taking Aunt Rosamund's telegram to be sent was a perfectly idiotic, if useful, method of getting out of the house. She and Matthew had been meeting periodically to talk about the progress of his work on Patrick's legacy and it was becoming more a more difficult to find reasons to get away, especially as their meetings were becoming longer and longer, often turning into walks that took them all over the estate, as they discussed his work, and then whatever took their fancy. Today she had gathered together some papers that referred to contacts Patrick had maintained, as they were still trying to piece together exactly who he was in cahoots with.

Mary's thoughts were miles away- all the way in London, actually. Initially with her aunt, she realised she hadn't been to see them in Downton for over a year, save Christmas, and therefore she had not yet met Matthew and Isobel. Following this somewhat surprising revelation, her thoughts turned to her own London home, wondering what papers Patrick had kept there, and when she might have the time, and the energy, to search through a whole house-worth of old papers. Thus preoccupied, she didn't hear Matthew's initial greeting over the roar of the accelerating car as he cycled up behind her.

"Hello." He swung off his bike, moving to match her in her smaller strides, an activity that had become second nature to him recently. "Is everything all right?"

She startled and then recovered on seeing it was him. "Oh, hello!" she shot him a welcoming smile. "I wasn't expecting to see you just yet. I'm about to send a telegram so I was stopping in to do that before coming to find you."

"Oh?"

She went on conversationally, something that came far more easily to them, now; "Papa's sister is always nagging him to send supplies to London, and then we cable her so her butler can be at King's Cross to meet them."

He nodded, smirking at the indulgences of the rich. "Is this Lady Rosamund Painswick?"

"You have done your homework." She indicated that they should walk past her destination of the Post Office so that they could continue their chat. They'd be coming back this way again, anyway, once he dropped off his bike, as their usual route took them to the edge of the estate park so that he nearly saw her home.

"She wrote to welcome me into the family, which I thought was pretty generous, given the circumstances." There was an awkward silence, neither of them completely comfortable with 'The Great Matter' of her disinheritance yet, despite their new-found ease with each other. "She's also mentioned in a few of Patrick's correspondences."

"Ah, yes." Their other great matter. "She would be. As she was always present in London she was someone he had to be careful around. And her friends. I'm not sure how he managed it, really. Aunt Rosamund pals about with all sorts."

They strode on someway, each enjoying the afternoon calm and the pleasant temperature. As they turned towards Crawley House they naturally passed across the front of the church, jogging Mary's memory. She inquired, with much insolence; "So are you doing any more church visiting with Edith?"

Matthew moved away from her to lean his bike against the wall of the house. He rolled his eyes as he returned to where she waited at the garden gate, ready to resume their walk back towards the post office.

"My mother's trying to set something up but she knows I'm not going to be a part of it."

"Does she know why?"

Matthew nodded, looking away sheepishly as he blushed a rosy tint and Mary smirked, both at his characteristic response and her thoughts; "I wonder if Edith will try and cry off once she realised her big plans for you have gone awry and she'd have to escort your mother around the dreary settings that she had wanted to be romantic."

"Hey, watch out," he nudged her gently with his shoulder, joking. "I happen to like those 'dreary settings' thank you. And they can be romantic…" he caught her enquiringly amused look, raised eyebrows and all, and hastened to add "… with the right person, I'm sure."

"I'll take your word for it," Mary murmured.

"I'm not sorry to be a disappointment to her, though. I can't believe how wrong they could get it! Ever so wrong."

"Edith will get over it. Once she realises how misguided Mama is, and when she finds someone she's actually interested in, she'll be fine. And you'll go back to being the dreary middle class cousin." She knocked his shoulder in retribution, and they smiled at each other for a moment.

Matthew sobered- they were coming to the Post Office now and if he could get business over and done with before she completed her errand, they could pass the whole walk up to the Abbey far more pleasantly. "Did you bring those letters?"

"Yes, I did." She fished in her satchel, handing him a small bundle.

"I'll have a look at them this week. Do you have time to meet with me Friday? Will you be able to get away?"

"The day before the Flower Show? Tricky, Mama's sure to want me for something." She rolled her eyes.

"Thursday then?"

"Thursday."

"Good. Go on and get that cabled then. I'll be over at Mr Sinclair's," he said breezily, the barest hint of a smile.

"Mr Sinclair's?" She enquired curiously, giving him a hopeful look. "You know my favourites are…"

"Orange creams. Yes, I know." She couldn't say why it pleased her that he knew this little detail about her, but it did.

"And will you be purchasing some, alongside your bar of Fry's Cream?" A fission of pleasure danced up his spine as her eyes swirled with exactly the inviting chocolaty shade of the delicious treat she'd mentioned. He really did have a sweet tooth and it seemed she had picked up on just how to tempt it.

"You'll have to wait and see, won't you." With that, he strode across the street, waving cheerily over his shoulder.

Thursday was slow to roll around. By the time Mary hopped up beside him on the stile they had agreed to meet at, she was even more wearied than usual at the drama taking place at home.

"Like what?" Matthew enquired, chuckling as she let out a massive sigh, letting her usually flawless posture flop dramatically into a hunched pose.

"Oh there's quite some uproar at the house. Mrs Patmore can't possibly make the new pudding Mama wants to try."

"Shocking!" Matthew mocked.

Mary tried not to smile, still maintaining her perturbed look, although it was increasingly difficult around him. "Quite! And one of Papa's hideous snuff boxes has gone missing. Why it matters I couldn't tell you- he's never even used the stuff."

Matthew decided to play devil's advocate- it was in his nature after all, and he wanted to draw her out of herself. "I imagine he thinks they're pretty and he likes to keep nice things around him."

Mary smiled winningly at him, seeing exactly what he was up to, and joined in. "Well that's why he has three daughters," she preened with exaggeration, running her hand over her temple, smoothing a few flyaway hairs.

Matthew chuckled, watching the movement of her graceful fingers. "Ah, yes, sugar and spice and all that."

"Well, that's Sybil and me, but it's unkind of you to ignore Edith completely… Particularly as its Sybil who's gone missing"

"Sybil's missing?" Matthew was naturally alarmed. Increasingly so when he noted Mary's apparent nonchalance.

In fact she shrugged. "I'm sure she'll be fine- just out on an adventure. Sybil's quite her own person, you know. As yet, Mama and Papa have no idea they've raised a little rebel- they think any worrying tendencies are just a phase she's going through. Perhaps she's the spice, not me. She's not so sugary-sweet after all."

"Sybil may enjoy the spice of life, but she's not up to your standard quite yet. I'd say you've had your hand in raising that rebel." It was a gentle flirtation they were engaged in, Mary had come to realise. She also found that she really didn't mind it at all. He turned more serious. "Do you really think she's alright?"

"Oh, I'm sure. Mama's worried, of course. One of her Little Women is out on their own. You'd think with literary allusions like that she'd have been happy to raise free-thinkers, but she's probably fretting as we speak that Sybil will come home with Scarlet Fever from nursing the poor… or worse, a penniless German academic. At least she's got the planning for the flower show to keep her busy."

"Ah yes, Lady Mary Josephine," he stressed, the reference clicking into place for him. "The flower show. You know it's not all calm at Crawley House, either?"

"No? Why ever not?" Mary adopted a mocking look, attempting to pull off being scandalised. "Is Mrs Bird trying to force pickled eggs on you again? You know, your mother really should tell her that neither of you can stand them."

Matthew chuckled. "No, no. It's nothing like that. Mother's got a bee in her bonnet about the Grantham Cup."

Mary arched that slender brow, and deadpanned better than anyone else he'd ever met; "Well, for starters, do tell your Mother not to wear a bonnet to the flower show. Very bad form. Really, they went out with the turn of the century and if there's a bee in it, it really could upset proceedings."

Matthew laughed outright. "If only it was so easily remedied. Of course the only way she really wants to upset proceedings is to upset your grandmother. She has decided, without seeing your grandmother's blooms of course, or any other competitors, come to think of it, that Old Mr Molesley should win the cup this year."

Mary scoffed. "Granny's blooms," she chuckled. "I'm not sure Granny even knows where the gardener's shed is, so how she could produce prize winning blooms, I don't know. Of course it's Mr Chapman, her gardener that should be getting all the praise, and indeed the prize, if she carries the cup off again this year instead of Mr Molesley."

"Well, Mother's quite determined that it should be an impartial competition this year."

Mary looked sceptical. "She can be as determined as she likes. With Mama suitably cowed into never crossing Granny, and Granny announcing the winners, she might be in for a bit of an upset herself." She paused, and though for a moment, chuckling suddenly. "Whatever the outcome, it will upset Granny even to be challenged. The divine right of Countesses, don't you know? I'll be sure to support your mother's cause and, if given the opportunity, will praise Mr Molesley as verbosely as possible."

"Thank you. Although I'm not sure encouraging them will do any of us any good."

"Perhaps not." They smiled at each other.

"I've had a chance to go through those letters," Matthew said, moving on.

"Yes? Anything interesting?"

"Well I certainly have a better idea of who was involved in setting up the houses. I don't know that I have all of the principal players, but I have some names for you." He withdrew a list from his breast pocket consisting of about eight names. All of them were known to Mary, some better than others. There was one, in particular, that jumped out at her and she saw that there was a mark against his name, as well.

She tapped it as she read it out loud, "The Duke of Crowborough."

Matthew watched her face closely. "Do you know him?"

"I do. I shouldn't be surprised he's here." And she wasn't, really, thinking about it. What was it she had told him? –'a better friend to you, than he was a husband to me.' It was certainly proving to be the case."Why have you put this mark against his name?"

Matthew grimaced, taking the list and folding it back into his pocket. "It seems he was particularly involved with the setting up and maintenance of the house on Avondale Drive. He was apparently a…very frequent visitor there as well. Actually, more often than Patrick himself."

"Really? So they were both…"

"Yes," Matthew affirmed, before she could finish voicing her question. It made him uncomfortable to talk about such things with her, knowing how much it could hurt her to think of them.

"That's interesting."

"Isn't it? It means that we may be able to get some information from him- he won't want this becoming public knowledge and we could use that."

"Yes, that's true- a breakthrough, but it's interesting for another reason, as well."

"Oh yes, why's that, then?" Matthew was distracted, not looking at her but instead now flicking a grasshopper off his cuff.

"Because he asked me to marry him a year or so ago." In whipping around to face her so fast, his face a mask of shock, Matthew nearly fell off the stile.

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