Well-here we are. The first chapter of this saga to be written after Charles Blake's official DA debut. I shall give nothing away to my readers who are not yet watching Season 4, but I will say that canon Blake has most certainly made quite the impression! And not just with me, apparently. The number of hits on this tale has increased dramatically since Sunday's episode. (Episode 7)

So to all new readers: Welcome Aboard. I do hope you are enjoying yourself. And if you've been with me for a while, thanks for staying around! We are drawing near to the end of this leg of the journey. But as I have said before, Strangers is the story of the beginning of this relationship. Just how it progresses as time passes will be explored in the sequel "Strangers Among Us", currently planned to make its debut in January.

My most heart-felt thanks to R. Grace for her support and beta skills since day one of this tale. What would I have done without you, my friend? To Silvestria for her Brit-picking expertise and most delightful conversation: hugs, tea and many thanks. I'm so glad you have come into my life, and I'm so look forward to every chat we have! You are precious! And to Cls2011 and Miscreant rose-what can I say? I love you two to pieces! Thanks for hashing out this ending out with me over and over and over, and for the overwhelming encouragement you fling my way on a daily basis. Our chats mean the world to me.

To all of you who take the time to review-know that I cherish every one of them. I had no idea how much they meant to a writer until I became a writer myself. I love reading your thoughts after each chapter, and so appreciate the time you take to send them. They encourage me more than you will ever know. Truly.

And I don't own Downton Abbey, in case there was any confusion on that point. :)

With that, I shall leave you to Mary and Charles.


Ch 28

He sat in his quarters, staring at his hands. Wondering. Doubting. Second-guessing everything he had said and done over the past five days.

How could he have boarded this blasted ocean-liner and left her in England?

Just what kind of idiot was he?

Had she not practically begged him not to go? Of course, Lady Mary Crawley would never actually beg for anything. Yet she had asked him to stay, had looked to him to defend her right to make her own choices, to live her own life. And he had let her down.

Miserably.

Yes—she had conceded and finally told him to leave, only after realizing that he was unlikely to change his mind. He wondered what it had cost her to release him as she had, to stand there and act as if she supported his decision to put space between them when she was obviously angry at him for doing just that. She had her pride, a fact of which he was well-aware, and appearing weak in front of anyone was unacceptable.

Just as it would be to him.

He cursed his own stubbornness yet again.

Fear and frustration had distracted him from the true issue at hand, blinding him an important opportunity missed. Where would they be now had he stood with her against her father rather than walking away? Perhaps in the midst of a scandal she did not deserve, perhaps staring down belligerent accusers. But was it possible they could be discussing the possibility of a future—one they would build together?

He would never admit it to her, but he had been more than a bit disappointed when she had informed him there was no baby. Not that he would ever wish a cloud of suspicion to hover over their relationship, especially for her and George's sake. But he would be lying to himself if he refused to admit how very badly he wanted to have children with her. The thoughts of Mary holding a life they created made him ache physically, even as he understood just how much he would worry over her throughout her entire pregnancy.

If something should happen to her…

No. It was better that she was not pregnant. He couldn't stand the thoughts of losing again what had been lost before. Once had nearly broken him beyond repair. Twice, well twice was unthinkable.

He would be lost forever.

He sighed audibly into the room, feeling its emptiness. He refused to fear the future. Life's former pains would not be allowed to hold him hostage in a prison of uncertainty, not when there was such promise before him. There was no way of knowing where the road not taken would have led, and whether this was a blessing or a curse he feared would remain forever unknown. But there was one thing of which he was certain:

He would be closer to her if he had stayed than he was currently on this wretched boat.

"Charles—you bloody fool," he whispered, standing as his legs refused to remain immobile one moment longer. He moved to the porthole, gazing upon an ocean that seemed ominous despite its placid state. It now lay between them, a barrier that could not be easily traversed on either whim or impulse. How vastly different this crossing would be if she stood by his side.

How he missed her.

The ache was so acute that he wanted to crawl out of his own skin and into hers. If he closed his eyes, he could still smell her sent, the one that had pressed into his essence when they had clung to each other in the confines of her bed. The one that was simply her. He longed for the weight of her in his arms, the course texture of her hair pressed against his cheek, the softness of her lips dancing across his mouth.

He wanted her. He missed George. And he could only pray that things could be made right when he returned.

No. Prayer was good and necessary, but this was a time for action. After all, he had never been one to sit idly by and allow life to simply unfurl before him. And he would be damned before he left the fate of this relationship to be molded by the unskilled hands of chance.

What was it she had she told him that night in the sitting room? That she had never been properly courted?

That was a situation he most certainly could and would rectify. Surely there were ways to pursue a woman even an ocean could not hinder. Perhaps it was simply a matter of shifting one's perspective just enough to see the possibilities rather than the obstacles. What was a challenge if not a means to test one's determination and endurance? If life had taught him one difficult lesson, it was that things of value were worth a fight.

And Mary Crawley was most decidedly a woman worth having.

There was no real choice before him. If he wanted her in his life, he would have to work to earn back that privilege. The faintest of smiles finally edged across his lips as a plan of action began to take shape, one he began to anticipate with the eagerness of a man on a mission. It just might work—it had to work.

He began to count down the hours before he would be able to disembark, eager for the feel of dry ground under his feet, even more eager for the opportunity to make things right. He would never give up on Mary Crawley, his resolution to assure her of the strength of his devotion increasing by the second.

For there was no way in hell before he would allow his final parting with Mary to define their relationship.


He had left two days ago. And she had felt nothing but regret.

How she had let him go without a word still puzzled her. She of all people knew better. How much time had she wasted with Matthew for reasons no sturdier than a castle of sand?

That folly had cost them months, years wasted in self-sacrificial pretending rather than facing the blatant truth. Time that could have been spent in conversation, in bed, in the nursery playing with children who would now never know life. Such things could never be reclaimed, phantom years passed over as time marched relentlessly forward. Her life with Matthew had reached its end, and the only recourse left to her was to treasure the son they had created in the time they had been granted.

Just how much time was she now willing to waste with Charles Blake?

That was the question currently before her, an element of her life over which she still did possess a modicum of control.

It was too much to consider at times, but as days wore on it continued to press upon her. Within two weeks, the man had managed to make his presence well-known indeed, leaving imprints that refused to fade even in his absence.

There was no use in trying to work out how it had happened. The fact was that it had.

That her feelings were stronger than she would care to admit was no longer up for debate. She was coming to accept her attachment to Charles Blake, to understand that she was happier with him in her life than without him. She couldn't help but smile, remembering when he had said such words to her in the small library…right before he had kissed her for the first time.

How gently she had been held, as if she were a skittish fawn that could bolt without warning. And hadn't she been just that? Terrified of letting go—of allowing herself to feel what in many ways still seemed forbidden. But he had coaxed her with tenderness, lured her with transparency, covered her with arms that shielded.

And she had told him to leave. What had possessed her to do such a thing?

Fear. Pride. And a stubborn streak she had often wished she could lay aside. These life-companions had proven themselves rather detrimental more times then she cared to number. Had they now cost her Charles Blake? She hoped not.

She missed him. Terribly.

If only risk was not a necessary companion to love.

It had now been two weeks since they had parted on terms she wished had been better. How odd that now their time apart nearly equaled the time they had spent in each other's company. She had wondered if her attachment would lessen as time wore on, but it had only grown.

As had her suspicions that she might well get caught in a lie.

"Lady Mary," Carson interrupted, drawing her focus from the lawn to the paper in his hand.

She turned to face him quickly, pressing down panic, fighting back prickly nerves. Was it a message from Charles? Or had something unthinkable happened?

Her chest tightened painfully.

"I have a telegram for you," the butler added, watching her closely. "From America."

Her eyes widened in relief.

"Thank you, Carson," she stated with as much calm as she could muster, unable to stop the sudden tremor in her hand as she took the message.

He bowed, his gaze never faltering as she made her way to the window.

"Is there something else?" she inquired, turning back to face him.

"No, my lady," he began, dipping his head. "I simply wondered if Mr. Blake enjoyed a safe and uneventful journey."

She swallowed purposefully, raising her brows.

"You're assuming this is from Mr. Blake."

"Yes," the butler admitted, looking at her with an intensity she had come to expect. "And hoping, as well. For your sake, my lady."

He knew her all too well. He always had.

She opened the telegram hastily, turning back to the window to read it.

Have arrived in New York STOP Will take train to Kentucky tomorrow STOP I was wrong to leave STOP Please forgive me STOP With love, Charles

I was wrong to leave. Please forgive me.

The sentences played over and over again in her mind, her pulse pounding erratically as their meaning sank in. He wished he had stayed, regretted his decision to leave. Had he been thinking of her as much as she had of him?

Something warm swelled inside her chest.

"Is everything alright, my lady?"

Carson's inquiry caught her off guard, alerting her once again to her surroundings.

"Yes, Carson," she returned, as smoothly as she was capable. "Mr. Blake has arrived in New York without incident."

The need to elaborate was unnecessary.

"Very good, my lady. I am glad to hear it."

He turned to leave her, his step quiet for a man of his stature.

"Carson," she called out, beckoning him back to her.

"Yes, my lady."

Mary crossed the space between them, the telegram clasped firmly in her hands.

"Do you think I did the wrong thing?" she breathed in hesitation. "In sending him away, I mean?"

Her heart beat unsteadily as the butler stared down at her in contemplation.

"You miss Mr. Blake, I take it?"

Her eyes dropped to the floor.

"Yes. More than I probably should."

His brows moved into his forehead.

"And why would you think such a thing, my lady?"

Her gaze sharpened.

"You know why, Carson."

Eyes fastened on to each other as she swallowed down an inexplicable urge to hide under the table. He nodded thoughtfully, leaning forward a bit as he drew a deep breath.

"Do your feelings for Mr. Blake in any way diminish what you felt for Mr. Crawley?"

Her eyes rounded.

"Of course not. Nothing could ever diminish what we had."

Carson smiled down at her.

"That's precisely what I thought."

Dear God. It was so simple. Her heart beat steadily faster as her ribs seemed to expand.

"And there's nothing wrong…with caring for someone else so soon?"

The butler's lips rose in a small smile, and Mary suddenly longed to be able to curl up in his lap as she had when she was a little girl.

"If I may, my lady, you have a great capacity to love, even though you don't always know how to express it." Carson cleared his throat, gaging her reaction. "If you have been granted an opportunity to share that love with someone else, I would take it as a blessing, not as something with which to concern yourself."

He paused, taking one step closer.

"Feelings don't necessarily follow time-tables. Nor should they."

Had she not tried to convince herself of that very thing before he left?

"Do you really believe that, Carson?"

She held her breath, quietly awaiting affirmation.

"I do, my lady. And I also believe that Mr. Blake is a very lucky man."

She stood immobile, her insides alight. There was so much to take in, so much to resolve.

"Thank you, Carson. You always know exactly what to say."

She captured his hand, looking with glistening eyes to this man she trusted like no other.

"And I hope I always will, my lady."

He left her then, exiting the room as quietly as he had entered. She returned her gaze to the window, looking out upon trees cloaked in the glories of high autumn. So much beauty—so much to take in, the hues of nature painting the earth in vibrant, living shades.

How could she have been so blind to what stood before her in utmost clarity? She wished he were her with her now, sharing the view, sharing this space. But within the peace of knowing he missed her grew a new concern, one that could not be long ignored.

Her eyes were then drawn to a flock of geese making their way across the sky. She could not help but envy them their ability to take flight, wishing she could join their numbers. If she but possessed the ability to span the sea, perhaps apologies could be offered in person before impending damage became irrevocable.

"Forgive me, Charles," she breathed, her plea leaving its mark on the cool pane as her hand descended to softly cradle her abdomen.


"Would you like to come to town with me, Mary?"

Her mother's voice interrupted her progression up the steps.

"I have a few errands to run, and then I thought I might stop by to see all of the repairs at Crawley House. Isobel says that there have actually been several improvements made."

Isobel. The one person she could not bring herself to face at the moment.

"I'm afraid I've already made plans," Mary returned, a bit relieved in having an excuse to avoid Mrs. Crawley yet again. "I am going to visit Anna a bit later."

Cora smiled, nodding her approval.

"That's nice. How is little Marianne getting along?"

"Very well, so I'm told. I haven't seen her in several days."

The appalling truth was that she had not seen the child since she had been born. Bates had informed her of Anna's choice of name, and she had been both honored and humbled. She had made plans to visit, had even started walking in that general direction. But the night of the little girl's birth had shaken her, opening wounds that had instigated a decision whose repercussions were just beginning to be felt.

It was time to overcome her hesitation, however. This fear had to be faced.

The day was perfect, the sun clear, the air crisp. Leaves crunched under her feet as she made her way down the path to the Bates' residence. Her arrival at the cottage came quicker than expected, and she paused to stare at it, remembering the last time she had been outside these walls.

They had fled from this house in a haste born out of panic and pain, crafting an escape that had carried them directly to Downton.

And eventually into her bed.

They had wept openly into each other, kissing away past injuries, touching wounds hidden from most. She shivered remembering the sensation of warm hands skimming her thighs, soft lips caressing her skin. How wrapped up she had felt in his arms, how treasured while joined with his body. She had been a physical part of this man so alive, so present, and so in love with her.

I was wrong to leave…

"Dear God, Charles," she voiced, the breeze carrying her words away the moment they left her lips.

The door then opened, the smiling face of Anna Bates peering out just the balm she needed.

"My lady. What a nice surprise."

"I know I should have checked with you beforehand," Mary offered, slightly embarrassed at her own lapse in etiquette. "But I hoped that you wouldn't mind too badly if I showed up unexpectedly."

"Mind?" Anna returned, with a grin. "Why would I mind? I am delighted to have the company. With Mr. Bates away most of the day at the big house, sometimes Marianne and I do get a bit lonely."

Guilt seized her, the fact that she had been neglecting her friend out of her own weakness nagging uncomfortably.

"I'm so sorry, Anna. I should have come sooner."

"No matter," Mrs. Bates grinned. "You're here now. Please come in."

Mary entered, delighted at the feel of normalcy she experienced. Gone was the stifling grip of grief and lost chances, their reign overshadowed by the sight of new mother gently lifting her baby from the crib.

"My, she's grown already," Mary exclaimed, stroking the girl's plump cheeks.

"She quite a good eater, I can tell you that," Anna returned, motioning for Mary to sit.

"Would you like to hold her, my lady?"

The offer hovered between them, memories halting her reply.

"Yes. I would like to very much."

The infant's warmth settled gently in her arms, the weight of her fitting snuggly against her chest. Mary stroked sparse patches of golden hair, so different from George's full head of darker locks.

"She's beautiful, Anna."

Mrs. Bates, dropped her gaze appreciatively.

"We think so."

Her heart fluttered, stirrings of so much strumming cords both new and familiar.

"And how are you feeling? You look very well."

"I feel well, indeed, my lady," Anna answered. "I just wish I could get a bit more sleep. Marianne does keep rather odd hours."

Mary smiled and nodded.

"Babies do have that tendency, don't they?"

The child yawned, and Mary smiled down at her, marveling at the perfect pinkness of her lips and nose.

"Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes, and much, much more," Anna returned, the contentment on her face beautiful to behold. "I've never seen Mr. Bates so happy. It's as if he's suddenly become ten years younger."

"Just how fathers should be," Mary stated, fighting back a stab of sadness. She then swallowed down her misgivings, gaining courage from the child in her arms. "Matthew was so taken with George. I'll never forget the expression on his face when he held him the first time."

The only time. A fact of which both women were well aware.

"He loved both of you so much," Anna ventured. "You made him very happy."

She looked to Anna, a genuine smile breaking across her face.

"I know." She felt a warmth without a void, an ache of remembrance rather than a throbbing loss. "Just as I loved him."

Marianne stretched, reaching tiny fingers towards Mary's face. She raised the infant slightly, allowing the child's hand to stroke her chin.

The miracle of life struck her in a manner that had been lost to her since Matthew died. Her breasts stirred in reaction.

"I never got to thank you properly for the honor you have given me," Mary stated, giving the baby an exaggerated smile. "Naming her Marianne."

Anna grinned back.

"It seemed appropriate after all we have seen each other through, my lady. And I am very grateful for how much help you gave me during her birth."

She was stunned.

"I didn't do all that much, Anna, believe me. Isobel and Nurse Jennings had matters well in hand."

"I know that," Anna returned, dropping her eyes briefly. "But it was the fact that you were here, that you were willing to put yourself through something that could not have been easy for my sake that meant so much to me."

The woman gazed at each other in understanding.

"I had to be here, Anna. There was no question."

No question at all.

"And how are you bearing up, my lady? I understand things haven't exactly been easy for you as of late."

She dropped her eyes, fully aware that Anna would have been apprised of all that had transpired in her absence.

"I am doing as well as can be expected, I suppose," Mary returned, attempting a smile in return. "But no. It has not been easy."

"I'm so sorry all of that happened, my lady," Anna put in, the softness of her tone carrying easily across the room. "You should have never been subjected to such behavior."

"I wish it hadn't, but there's no changing what has been done, is there?"

She continued to wonder just how the Roqueforts had known of their indiscretion.

"Still, to treat you with such disrespect while they were guests in your home," Anna continued. "It just isn't right."

She fought down the dark loathing that stirred deep within, despising Edward Roquefort with a ferocity that startled her. Such thoughts had no place here. Not with Anna. Not with this child.

"No. I agree."

They were silent a moment, the baby's soft gurgles filling in the silence.

"Have you heard from Mr. Blake?"

Anna's inquiry had been quiet, her eyes searching as Mary paused.

"Yes. I just received a telegram yesterday. He is in America and probably on his way to the horse farm by now."

Anna nodded.

"And how long is he expected to be gone?"

Mary drew a quiet breath.

"Probably another five weeks."

Five weeks. How dreadfully long such a time suddenly seemed.

"So he should be back in time for Christmas, then," Anna put in cheerily, voicing a thought that had completely escaped her.

"Yes," Mary agreed, her eyes brightening a bit. "Yes, I suppose he will."

She smiled, thinking just how nice it would be for George if Charles were there for the Holidays. Not to mention how nice it would be for her.

The baby stirred, drawing her attention in more ways than one.

"You miss him, don't you?"

Mary didn't look up.

"I do. Very much."

She hesitated, staring at Marianne, extending a finger and welcoming the child's eager grasp. Her heart stalled in her throat, her breath suddenly shallow.

"I think I may be pregnant, Anna."

She dared a look up when there was no response.

"What?"

"I think I'm pregnant."

Saying it the second time had been no easier.

Anna stood, moving closer and taking the stool directly across from Mary.

"Mr. Blake?"

Mary's direct gaze left no room for doubt.

"Just how certain are you?"

Her legs began to fidget.

"Not very, just yet," Mary began, feeling suddenly restless. "But I am nearly a week late for my monthly courses."

Her face burned at the admission. Anna nodded quietly.

"That's happened before, you know," Mrs. Bates put in. "They simply arrived a bit later than expected, but then everything returned to normal."

Mary sighed softly.

"Yes, I remember."

She stared down at the baby whose crystal eyes were fluttering shut.

"Do you have any other signs or symptoms?"

She met Anna's eyes head-on.

"A few. I haven't been terribly ill, but there are certain smells that have begun to bother me recently."

Anna's eyes rounded slightly.

"Like the sausages, you mean?"

Mary sighed ruefully, seeing the understanding in the other woman's eyes.

"Exactly like the sausages."

The mere scent of that particular meat cooking had made her quite nauseous on several occasions when she had been expecting George. Anna had taken to opening her window and shutting her bedroom door whenever Mrs. Patmore had them on the menu.

"Only it was lamb last night," Mary added, one toe tapping nervously. "And salmon the day before."

"I see," Anna whispered, her stare somewhat vacant. "Are you more tired than usual?"

"Exhausted," Mary confessed, the certainty of her circumstances seeming only to increase as they conversed. "No matter how much sleep I get the night before, I find myself in need of a nap after lunch."

The color had now drained from Anna's face.

And Mary was now nearly sure. Only hours after the child in her arms had drawn first breath, yet another baby had been formed in secret.

"I take it Mr. Blake doesn't know," Mrs. Bates stated, her brow creasing. "Surely he wouldn't have left you for America had he…"

"No. He would not have gone," Mary interrupted, her face heating slightly. "I told him he had nothing to worry about, you see."

"What?"

Anna looked truly horrified.

"He refused to leave England if there was even the slightest possibility that I could be pregnant, yet he seemed intent on going to America, otherwise."

Mary paused, shaking her head at her own faulty logic.

"So you told him that you weren't expecting?" Anna deduced, eyeing her warily.

"Basically," Mary admitted, wondering just what his response to her would be. "I told him that a woman's schedule was not set in stone and that mine—"

Here she paused, choking on her own confession.

"Well, I told him that there was no baby."

Guilt pressed in from all sides.

"I don't think he'll be too pleased about being deceived, my lady," Anna said, the concern evident on her face.

"He won't be. I'm certain."

Dear God, what had she done?

Anna's expression softened then, and she leaned in closer.

"I don't suppose there is any way to get word to him in America, is there?"

Mary's shoulders dropped.

"Even if there were, I'm not yet certain that I am carrying his child. And once enough time has passed for me to know, he'll have returned.

At least she hoped that would be the case.

"Mr. Blake seems to be an honorable man, and I would think that he would do the right thing by you."

Anna's sincerity touched her.

"I have no doubt that he will," Mary returned, her voice dropping. "He actually proposed before he left."

Swallowing was suddenly difficult as the wall of her throat thickened.

"He did?" Anna asked hopefully. "And what did you say?"

She braced herself.

"I turned him down."

A heavy sigh escaped the other woman.

"You have managed to complicate matters rather nicely for yourself, haven't you?"

An actual laugh broke through, she couldn't stop it, making its way through her chest, encouraging her to hold the infant closer as Anna grinned in response.

"Truer words were never spoken, Anna."

All hilarity vanished as quickly as it had arrived, and she looked again to the child, planting a soft kiss on her forehead before returning her attention to the girl's mother.

"She truly is beautiful."

She couldn't help but envision Charles holding a daughter, nestling the child he so wanted yet had been cruelly denied. What had she been thinking in sending him away?

"Is there anything I can do to help you, my lady?"

Mary gave her a small smile, shaking her head.

"I'm afraid there is nothing to be done at this point, Anna. Rather than waiting, that is."

Waiting for her body to let her know for certain. Waiting for Charles to return from America. Waiting for his reaction to the fact that she had lied to him—about a child.

Their child.

Her stomach clenched again at the realization of just what a mess she had created. No-he would not be happy with her, not at all. And why should he be when she was so disappointed in herself?


Historical note: The farm that Charles is on his way to visit is Hamburg Place in Lexington, Ky. It was owned by the legendary John Madden, and was the premiere horse farm in the region until 1929. Charles would have interacted with Madden directly on this journey, and today the Madden family hosts the most spectacular Derby Parties in the state. Today if you visit Hamburg Place, you will find a rather large and busy shopping center about 15 minutes from my house. All of the streets in the vicinity are named after horses from the farm, including Sir Barton Way-the main thoroughfare named in honor of the farm's first Triple Crown Winner.

Your thoughts on this chapter are most welcome. See you in two weeks! :)