Author's Note: I know, I know, I'm sorry. I didn't update on Sunday and, truth be told, this chapter is not as long as it could be. I was going to make up some long-winded excuse about how my laptop broke again or the dog ate my fanfic, but I'm a crap liar. The truth is that real life got in the way last week. We all know that real life sucks, and wherever possible I try not to let it intervere with my smut. I mean writing. But anyway, here's Chapter 14...

10th February 1913

I was awoken this morning by Sybil knocking on my bedroom door. We've received a letter from Mama – apparently Papa has decided that the rest of the family are all to leave London and come back to Downton early. Mama didn't give any specific reason as to why, although she did happen to mention that 'Edith did not get as many invites as she would have liked'.

"That can't be all." I said, sitting up in bed. I ran a tired hand over my face. "A lack of social invitations would not deter Mama. She's hell-bent on getting us all married."

Sybil was perched at the end of the bed, studying the letter.

"That's all it says. Other than that, she says that they've had 'a very enjoyable Season'."

"Well," I grumbled, "I'm glad someone has."

Sybil smiled sympathetically.

"Oh come on, it's not been that bad, has it? You're recovered now, and Matthew's been trying very hard to keep us entertained. I've had jolly good fun."

She was right, I suppose. I've been complaining for weeks but the truth is I have enjoyed my time alone at Downton. I couldn't quite bring myself to tell Sybil the lengths Matthew has gone to in order to keep me entertained, or, in fact, the real reason why he's been strolling about the grounds looking very pleased with himself the past couple of days.

Oh god, the issue of Matthew. I'm still not sure what to do about that. I've opted not to think about it. I've only just discovered I can do that. Something unpleasant happening in your life? Simply don't think about it. It's marvelous, actually. I've been not thinking about Matthew for nearly forty-two hours now.

I couldn't bring myself to think of a response, so all I could do was sigh. Sybil reached out and touched my hand.

"There's always next year." she said.

11th February 1913

God in heaven, when did Isis get so fat? What the hell are we feeding this dog? She can't even stand up now. She just lies on the rug in the library, wheezing. She doesn't look at all herself. Maybe she really is ill? Oh god, if she is really ill, Papa is going to kill me. I did promise I'd look after her.

In other news, Matthew has become simply unbearable. He seems to be everywhere. If Cousin Isobel joins us for tea, he's there. If I go for a walk in the village, he's there. I visit Diamond in the stables, oh what a surprise, Matthew is there. I mean for god's sake Matthew, you don't even LIKE riding. And what makes the whole situation absolutely untenable is the fact that he won't stop smiling. Oh god, but he looks pleased with himself. I want to wipe that stupid smile off his smug little face.

And do you know what really, really irritates me? Me. I'm starting to irritate myself. I irritate myself because despite my near-constant state of irritation with Matthew Crawley, there is also that certain frisson, an undefinible excitement that keeps eating away at me. I find myself thinking impossible thoughts. I find myself thinking about just grabbing him and kissing him. I sometimes wonder would would happen if -... ? No. Nevermind.

Sometimes I catch Matthew looking at me, and I know – I just know – he can tell what I'm thinking about. Even when Matthew is infuriating me, even as I'm fantasising about pushing him down the stairs and making it look like an accident, I want to kiss him. Does that make me completely unhinged? I want to kiss him again. Oh god, how I want to kiss him again. And if I'm being completely honest with myself, most of my irritation with Matthew can be traced back to the fact that he doesn't seem to be that bothered about whether we kiss again or not. Frankly, he's acting like he could take it or leave it. He's so... so... blasé. When we're sitting next to each other on the sofa, I catch myself staring at his mouth, and he doesn't even seem to notice.

I hate Matthew Crawley.

Well, to hell with it all anyway, because I am not going to kiss Matthew again. It was a stupid idea in the first place. I could touch him, I suppose. Touching is less bad than kissing, isn't it? Touching isn't quite so wanton.

Oh, I wish Papa would come home. I want everything to return to normal.

12th February 1913

I don't even know where to begin. I've had such a strange day.

It started very early. Cousin Isobel had invited Sybil and I to the hospital to give us a tour of the facilities. "Invite" is actually a very strong word. Sybil made the mistake of hinting at an interest in nursing over dinner the other night, and Isobel declared she was going to give us both an education about what the world of nursing entails. I did point out that I have very little interest in the world of nursing, but Cousin Isobel is not a woman to be gainsaid. We were at the hospital and cleaning bedpans before it was even ten o'clock in the morning. By late afternoon, we were rolling bandages. It was awful.

"I think," I said to Sybil, "that I might hate Cousin Isobel."

"Don't be unkind. It was nice of her to show us the hospital."

"Nice was not the word that came to mind." I growled. "And I have absolutely no aptitude for rolling bandages."

"Mary, you've only rolled two bandages. Don't be so defeatist."

"That's right Mary!" Said Cousin Isobel, who even from the other side of the ward, was able to eavesdrop on our conversation with bat-like precision, "And I think you're doing a wonderful job. You've got a tremendous will, you know. You just need to apply it."

"But my will won't." I grumbled, and Sybil tried not to giggle. I picked up another piece of tangled bandage and tried to unravel it from the pile.

"Come on." said Isobel, joining us at the table. "It feels good to help others, doesn't it?"

"No. Sybil is the do-gooder in our household. I'm the aesthetician. My role is to accumulate and appreciate beautiful things."

"Oh?" said Isobel, "Is that why you're spending so much time with my son?"

I don't know what's happening to me. The old Mary would have had a witty retort about Matthew being a sea monster. As it was, all I could do was pretend to be absorbed in unravelling the bandages and try to look unaffected. Tra la la, nothing to see here. I swear I could feel Isobel's eyes burning into the back of my neck

"Speaking of your son," said Sybil, "where is Matthew?"

Isobel went suspiciously quiet, picking up one end of a bandage and tugging on it experimentally.

"Gosh, these bandages are tangled, aren't they?" she said, and I watched her nervous fingers work to free the linen.

"It's just," Sybil continued, "that it's the weekend, you see. Matthew always comes to visit us at the weekend, doesn't he Mary? I've got to give him back that book he leant me."

Sybil continued on in that vein for a little while, but I was no longer listening. She was right, of course. It was Saturday, and Matthew always visits us on Saturday. It had become a sort of tradition. This morning the absence of the object of my constant ruminations had not gone unnoticed. That, coupled with the fact that his mother had absolutely insisted that Sybil and I needed to be inducted into the world of nursing, (yuck), made for two very peculiar incidents in the space of twenty-four hours. This meant something, but what? What?

I looked at Isobel, and Isobel looked at me. What were those Crawleys up to?

"It was called 'A Vindication of the Rights of Woman'." Sybil contined, "It was really interesting, actually. It was written by Mary Wollston-..."

"The surprise!" I blurted. Sybil looked at me like I had gone mad. "The surprise! The surprise Matthew was working on with Mrs Hughes. Whatever they're planning, it's happening today."

Isobel laughed, unconvincingly. "What surprise?"

Sybil looked from Isobel to me with studied patience. I threw my bandage back into the basket, triumphantly. "That's why Isobel insisted on dragging us to the hospital! Matthew told her to get us out of the house!" And when Sybil failed to grasp how important this was, I gestured my arms emphatically, "He's at the house Sybil! He's... he's doing things!"

Cousin Isobel's face told me everything I needed to know. She was caught out. Sybil, on the other hand, still looked baffled.

"We need to get back to the house!" I said.

Sybil looked at me blankly. "But who will untangle the bandages?"

"Oh, hang the bandages! What's wrong with you? Matthew's up to something, we have to go!"

"But, why?"

"Because... !" Some of the patients were starting to stare at me. I saw Dr Clarkson peer his head out from behind a privacy screen at the other end of the room. "Because!" I said again. There. That was my argument.

"Well, whatever it is," Sybil said, rationally, "I'm sure we'll find out what it is when we get back."

But I was not in the mood for rationale.

It took about another hour of wheedling and foot-stamping before Sybil agreed to give up on the nursing idea and come home with me, and even then I suspect it was only because Dr Clarkson was losing patience was my constant nagging. Isobel was not happy with this idea, but in the end there was very little she could do. As Sybil fetched our coats, I watched Cousin Isobel whisper something to one of the younger nurses, who disappeared into the hallway and, I suspect, was dispatched ahead of Sybil and I in order to warn Matthew of our impending arrival. But it was too little, too late. Sybil and I were already on our way.

By the time we got back to the Downton, the house was in upheaval. We stood in the Great Hall, watching as William and Thomas carried the silver candlesticks – the good candlesticks – into the dining room. Gwen followed behind them with an elaborate flower display of pale pink roses and white baby's breath, piled high in her arms. Mrs Hughes was standing at the other end of the hall, barking the usual orders and clapping her hands impatiently.

"Come on, come on!" she was saying, "Quick as you can! Move!"

"I think you were right." said Sybil, quietly. "Matthew was doing things."

In the end it was Anna who spotted us, and pointed us out to Mrs Hughes. There's a running joke in our family that Mrs Hughes only has one facial expression, but now I fancied I saw a modicum of surprise flit across her face. As we approached her though, she gave nothing away.

"Well," Mrs Hughes said to me, "I must admit milady, we weren't expecting you back quite so soon."

"I bet you weren't." I said.

Sybil shot me a warning look, before turning her attention to Mrs Hughes and saying in a kinder voice than I could manage, "Mrs Hughes, what's going on here?"

"I'm sorry milady, but I couldn't tell you. Mr Crawley had forbidden it. But now, I have been asked to give you these."

She pulled a couple of small envelopes out of her apron, and handed one to me and one to Sybil. The paper looked expensive – much more expensive than anything Matthew was accustomed to buying – and whereas Sybil looked confused, I think I recognised what the envelopes were before I even had to open mine.

"It should explain everything." Mrs Hughes said.

Sybil tore her envelope open with ruthless abandon, but I was more careful with mine. Pulling out the delicate, embossed paper, I read:

Your Are Cordially Invited to

The Downton Abbey

FIRST ANNUAL BALL

To Be Held At DOWNTON ABBEY On

Saturday 12th February 1913

Dancing 8pm-2am

"Look on the back." said Sybil.

I turned the card over in my hands to find the invitation had also doubled as a dance card. I glanced over the card quickly, but didn't really read it.

PROGRAMME

1. Waltz (Luna)...

2. Two-step (Pony Boy)...

3. Waltz (When I Marry You)...

4. Two-step (Dill Pickles)...

5. Waltz (Tom Jones)...

6. Waltz (Chocolate Soldier)...

7. Two-step (Sahara)...

8. Waltz (Vision of Salome)...

9. Gavotte (Three Twins)...

10. Waltz (Algeria)...

SUPPER

Extra:

a) Waltz (Unrequited Love)

b) Two-step (Hello People)

c) Waltz (Dollar Princess)

11. Two-step (Yama Yama)...

12. Waltz (Heartless)...

13. Two-step (Wild Cherries)...

14. Waltz (Waltz Dream)...

15. Two-step (Rings On Her Fingers)...

16. Waltz (Be Mine)...

I turned the card over in my hands, dumbly.

"He's holding a ball?" I said, "This is the surprise?"

"Yes." said Mrs Hughes, "It seems like you two couldn't go to London, so Mr Crawley is bringing London here to you."

I didn't know what to say. It was sweet of course, so terribly sweet, and I took a moment to try and decide how I felt about it, but my brain seemed to be suspiciously quiet on the subject. All I could hear was the blood rushing around in my head, and I thought for one terrible moment that I might cry. Sybil, luckily, saved me from embarrassment by grabbing my arm.

"My first ball, Mary!" She hissed in my ear.

"I can't believe it."

"It's only a small affair, I'm afraid." said Mrs Hughes, "It's all very last minute, and Mr Crawley doesn't really know that many members of High Society. He's invited a couple of his own friends to make up the numbers, and few of your neighbours. Still, he's put a lot of work into it."

This must have taken him weeks to plan. All of this, just for me and Sybil. Because I was sulking that I couldn't go to London. Oh, Matthew.

"I still can't believe it."

I felt a small hand on my arm, and when I looked up I realised it was Anna's.

"Are you alright, milady?" Anna said, softly.

"Of course I am." I said, "Why do you ask?"

"It's just that you're so very quiet. You are happy, aren't you?"

I was. I was so desperately happy. And also, paradoxically, I was so desperately sad too. I couldn't remember anyone ever doing something so thoughtful for me. Oh, Matthew, Matthew, Matthew...

"Of course I'm happy." I said.

And so was Sybil, who is always wont to smiling but now was grinning ear-to-ear. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen her this happy.

"I wonder who he's invited? What am I going to wear? Mary, will you help me pick something?" Her eyes scoured the back of her invitation again, as if she was worried she might have misread it. "Oh look, Matthew has already put his name down for the first waltz with me. Isn't that kind?"

"What?" I said, a little too quickly. I studied her dance card and she was right. On Sybil's card, next to '1. Waltz (Luna)...', Matthew had quite clearly scribbled his name down. I tried not to be annoyed. That was just Matthew, trying to be sweet.

"Hasn't he put his name down on your card, Mary?" asked Sybil.

"No, I don't think he-..." I looked at my dance card again. Oh, wait. He had. I had that brief moment of frisson again, and my heart skipped a beat when I realised I might actually be able to touch Matthew - hold Matthew - in a perfectly safe and socially-acceptable environment, and no one would be any the wiser to my secret obsession. Looking closer at the card, I saw that Matthew had actually requested a couple of dances, and I told Sybil so.

She leant in closer, "Which ones?"

I examined the card more carefully. Actually, Matthew had requested more than a couple of dances. In fact, he had requested most of the waltzes. The 'frisson' gave way to excitement, and then the excitement gave way to annoyance. Really Matthew? Most of the waltzes?

"Oh." said Sybil, peering over my shoulder. And then, because there really is nothing else you can say to something like that, she said "Oh" again, but in a slightly more amused tone of voice.

"It's not funny, Sybil."

Sybil bit her lip.

"It isn't." I insisted.

"Come on." she said, taking my hand. "I need you to help me get dressed."

To be continued...