Author's Note: I knocked out several more chapters last week, yay! Your reviews have been so encouraging. Thanks so much and leave some more please!
CHAPTER TWELVE: Opportunity Knocks
April 8, 1926
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire
Consciousness slowly dawned on Mary, whispers pushing her from sleep to wakefulness. As her eyes fluttered open, she saw her husband and son sitting on the edge of the bed, talking in low voices to each other.
She sat up groggily. "What time is it?"
Henry stood and leaned over to kiss her forehead, as George scrambled to sit beside her. "It's half past five. I'm afraid you've missed tea."
Mary shook her head in disbelief, and to clear away the cobwebs. She'd been getting so tired in the afternoons now, and required a daily nap. But she'd slept two hours today, which was unacceptable!
"Papa gave me a new car," George declared, showing her a wooden toy, painted in black and red. "I want to be a driver like him."
She shot a stern glare at Henry, who quirked an apologetic smile, and put her arm around her son, cuddling him close.
"Mummy, is the baby here yet?" George asked, gently patting her belly.
"Not yet," she replied, smoothing his golden hair. "In a few months, darling."
"I want a brother!" George demanded, and Henry laughed.
"We don't always get what we want, George," he replied, swinging his stepson into his arms. "Say goodnight to Mummy. It's time for bed."
After George had been passed off to the waiting nanny, Henry returned to sit next to her again. "Darling, you needn't come down to dinner."
"Isn't your friend, the politician, Harry, or Hamish, or whatever his name is, coming to stay?"
"It's Frank Hamilton, and yes, but if you're tired …"
Mary scowled at him. "Do I look so worn out then?"
Henry held his tongue, which irritated her further. She loved him dearly, but sometimes he could be so diplomatic — it drove her batty.
"I couldn't sleep another wink right now. I'll change and go down. Anyway, I need to talk to Tom about calling at Grapevine Farm tomorrow. I'd go myself, but this is making everything difficult these days," she said, gesturing to her belly. She pushed the bedspread aside and attempted to stand.
Henry aided with a gentle push. "Tom's in London, and won't be back until Saturday," he reminded her.
Mary wanted to stamp her foot. Her bloody memory was going to pieces! Had it been like this with George? She couldn't remember … oh! She nearly screamed.
"Has he gone to see Edith's editor then?" she snapped.
"That, and he's looking at a few cars we might want to acquire."
"More cars, wonderful," she muttered, pulling the bell for Anna. "He's still the co-agent here, you know. I won't stand for him neglecting his job. Thanks to you, it's always cars this, cars that. Cars, cars, cars!"
Henry blinked. "Well, then, this news won't be music to your ears, but business has been so good, Tom and I are going to open another shop in London. And we are getting very close to producing our own signature model. You will probably hear even more about 'cars, cars, cars' in future. I apologize if that disappoints you. If I disappoint you."
The wounded expression on his face woke her up like a slap across the face. She shuddered, realizing how she must've sounded to her husband. He'd put up with an awful lot from her lately. "Henry … darling, forgive me," Mary sighed. "I didn't mean to throw a tantrum. I'm just … "
"Pregnant," Henry finished, moving from behind to take her in his arms. His hands curled around her belly. "There's nothing to forgive. As for Grapevine, I'll go."
Mary turned in his embrace and raised her eyebrows. "But how would you know what to do, what to talk about?"
Henry rolled his eyes. "Do give me a little credit, Mary. I wasn't bred in the country, but I have been paying some attention these last eight months, and I am not an imbecile. In any case, you can just tell me what to do and what to say."
Her heart swelled with love. It still astonished her, even after all this time, what he wouldn't do for her sake. "Then, I say you should kiss me, as a reward for being the best husband in the whole world."
Henry did kiss her, and more. When Anna peeked in the door, she was wise enough to shut it and return some time later, and everyone else was wise enough not to comment on their late arrival to dinner.
As Thomas took Frank Hamilton's coat and hat, he couldn't help but note how handsome the gentleman was. He was tall, and very fit, but moved with the grace of a ballet dancer. When his ice blue eyes rested on him, butterflies filled Thomas's stomach.
"Am I dreadfully late? Have they all gone up to change?" Mr. Hamilton asked in a low, conspiratorial voice, leaning in toward him.
Thomas gulped. "Not at all, sir. I'll show you to your room. Your case will be taken there and unpacked for you."
Once dinner was underway, though a bit late, Thomas found himself in the pleasing position of being able to observe Frank, who was explaining his campaign plans to the family.
"I'm making a tour of the villages and towns this week, to meet people, shake hands, kiss babies, and the like," Frank said. "The other candidates and I are giving speeches in Thirsk on Wednesday. I must thank you again, Lady Grantham, for inviting me to stay."
Lady Grantham beamed at him. "Any friend of Henry's is welcome here."
Especially when he is so attractive, Thomas thought. It did no harm to look, after all.
"Maybe we should make a day of it, go see the speeches, Robert," Mr. Talbot suggested.
Lord Grantham nodded. "Might be interesting, why not?" That answer prompted Frank to grin at Henry, the sight of which sent a thrill down Thomas's spine.
Dinner ran smoothly, as did coffee and drinks afterward, and Thomas considered the night a job well done. After the family had gone up to bed, he returned to the library for a final perusal when he saw the doors were thrown open, and Mr. Hamilton was standing outside, smoking a cigarette.
"I'm sorry, sir, I thought everyone had gone up," Thomas apologized. "May I get you anything?"
Frank held up the glass in his other hand. "Lord Grantham very generously offered all the scotch I could drink." When Thomas turned to leave the room, he continued, "Would you like a smoke, Mr. Barrow?"
"Thank you, sir, but that wouldn't be right."
"Oh, hang what's right. Come on, I hate to smoke alone. And it's such a beautiful night, and the sky is glorious. "
Thomas hesitated, but that perverse side of him that enjoyed skating along the edge overcame his better sense. He accepted the proffered cigarette, and looked up — the sky looked like a dark velvet mantle, with thousands of glittering diamonds thrown across it. His breath caught.
"Never thought I'd see Talbot living in a grand house like this, or married to a real lady," Frank mused. "He's taken to it quite well, though. Fits right in. I feel like a fish out of water. I've spent too much time abroad, I think."
"You have traveled a great deal, then, sir?" Thomas admired Frank's profile, his strong chin, the curve of his lips, his patrician nose. An uneasy knot began to form in his stomach.
"Oh, yes, I've been here and there since the war. Mainly around the Mediterranean — I was in Tangiers the last year or so." Frank sighed and lit another cigarette.
"I always wanted to travel myself. His Lordship took me to America, but that's it." Thomas thought of all the dreams he'd once had, of bettering himself, striving, climbing ranks. But, no, he'd gone as far as he could go. He'd never join a great family like Mr. Branson or even dine with them like Mrs. Harding. He wouldn't even marry and live in a respectable cottage like the Carsons. No, he'd live out the rest of his days in his little room in the attic. Alone.
"Have you been here long, Mr. Barrow?"
"Half my life, sir."
"And you never thought to leave?" Frank turned to face him, the smoke curling out from his mouth.
"I was in the Army medical corps, during the war," Thomas replied, then hesitated. He wasn't sure why he was telling a stranger so much, but the other man had a way about him that put Thomas at ease. "I always thought I'd get out of service, but the right opportunity didn't come along."
"What would the right opportunity look like — to you?" Frank asked in a low voice, stepping a little closer. The smell of his cologne was intoxicating.
Thomas's stomach flipped and his heart began to beat faster. Perspiration dripped down his sides. "Sir, I …"
Just then, he heard his name called from outside the library, and Thomas gave a bow and excused himself. It took every ounce of willpower in him to cease trembling before he stepped into the Great Hall.
April 12, 1926
To: Mr. Henry Talbot
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire
From: Bertie Pelham, Marquess of Hexham
Brancaster Castle, Northumberland
Henry,
My congratulations on the expansion of your business! That's quite an impressive feat, to embark on producing your own cars so soon. You and Tom deserve every praise.
Your name came up the other night, by the way — we hosted a dinner here and Lord Carlisle said he'd gotten one of your cars. He was quite impressed with it, and regaled the rest of the men with tales of whipping around country lanes. You should have seen the looks of astonishment when I said Edith could give him a run for his money.
I did not anticipate entertaining quite so often, but Mother insists we must, and Edith agrees with her, for now at least. We are still new to the county and must show our faces. I do it for my wife's sake, I know she is trying to win support for her school. She's already got Lady Ravenscroft and Lady Allendale on her side. It's marvelous watching her when she has such a fire in her eyes. I might put her up for Parliament.
I'm glad to hear Mary is getting along so well. She and Edith don't write to each other, really. It's a pity, but I don't suppose we can interfere. We poor husbands must let our wives sort it out.
We are in the thick of planting, and it's exhausting stuff. Two of our tenants are new this year, and need much supervision. One of them will take charge of the pigs, but that is still some months away. Do I detect more interest in estate management on your part? Shall we make a country man out of you yet?
If all goes as planned, you can expect to see us next month at Downton.
Sincerely,
Bertie