Guess who's back!? A lot of emotions going on here. Please tell me what you think!


Mary had taken this train ride more times than she could remember. The bustle and dirty air of the city gave way to the open, green expanses of her home county, which rolled out before her as if personally welcoming her home. It was always an easy trip and always over before she knew it.

This ride was different, though. The time of travel might have been the same, the path the train took the same as well, but Mary was different, and that alone changed everything else.

It was only a few days ago that she had set her mind on a choice that she knew would change the rest of her life. She'd considered and reconsidered Matthew's offer and its various implications—for herself, her heart, and the rest of her family—and she had come to what she believed was the only decision she could. She would be nervous about seeing him again, but she was proud of herself and her resolution.

And then, the very hour in which she'd made up her mind, Sybil's call came.


"Milady?"

Mary looked up from where she'd been sitting in Aunt Rosamund's library. She'd tried to read a book, but her mind was too busy. The family had left for Downton that morning, and she too would be headed home soon in the matter of a week, maybe two.

(There had been no real reason for her delay in returning home, other than a desire to consider her future without either of her parents breathing down her neck. She didn't regret telling her mother about Matthew's offer, but Mary didn't expect Cora to keep the secret long, and Mary could tell it was all Cora could think about every time she looked at Mary. She'd made her decision, but she wanted time to allow for it to sink in, and that would be easier here, alone.)

Mary saw Rosamund's butler standing over the other end of the sofa on which she sat. "You have a phone call."

"I do?"

The butler gestured for her to follow him to the main hall, where the telephone was. "It's from Downton Abbey," he said.

Mary immediately felt worried. She'd not made much use of the telephone in the year or so the house had been equipped with one. So far, experience suggested that the news it brought was usually not welcome. What could have possibly happened between her family's departure from London that very morning and now?

Mary picked up the telephone and put the earpiece to her hear. She turned to watch the butler walk down the hall and out of sight, and only when she was alone did she speak.

"Hello? Lady Mary speaking."

"Hello, darling, it's Sybil."

"Sybil?" Mary's feelings of dread intensified. In Sybil's few words of greeting, Mary sensed concern in her sister's voice. "What are you calling about?"

"There's news . . . I'm not quite sure what to say about it except I wanted you to hear it from me first."

"You've barely been gone from London. Did you and Tom do something—you didn't elope, did you?"

Sybil couldn't help but chuckle. "No, it's nothing like that. It's something else. It's to do with mama, actually, and Matthew . . . in a way."

Mary's brow furrowed. "Well, you have me in suspense. What is it?"

On the other end of the line, Sybil closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Mama is pregnant."

Mary felt goosebumps spread over her skin. Her heart leapt to her throat. Her grip on the telephone slackened, and it began slipping out of her hands. Its clang on the marble floor startled her, and she bent down immediately to pick it back up.

When she put the ear piece back to her ear as she stood, she could hear Sybil's alarmed voice. "Mary? Mary?"

"I'm here," she said, barely able to hear herself in the rush of emotion making her feel as if her head would explode. "I'm here."

"Did you hear me? Are you all right?"

"Yes, I heard you. I'm fine, Sybil."

There was a long moment's pause before either sister spoke again. It was Sybil who broke the silence. "She's five months along, according to Dr. Clarkson."

"How, um, how . . . how could this have happened? Isn't she too old to bear children now?"

"No, apparently not. Dr. Clarkson said she's at the end of her fertile years, but even so, there's no reason to believe the baby won't be healthy."

Mary took a deep breath. "And Matthew? Have you had a chance to tell him?"

"Tom is on his way to Crawley House now. Papa told us only moments ago, to be honest."

Mary closed her eyes in an effort to hold back the tears she felt welling in them on Matthew's behalf. "What does papa say?"

"Not much beyond random expressions of shock at this point. I went up to see mama before I called and heard him and Tom talking about Matthew's fortune when I came back down. Defining the child's birthright won't be an easy task, it seems. The title would be his, of course, but the estate is half-owned by Matthew now, and he has no obligation to the family not to reclaim what's his when there's a new heir."

"If," Mary said. "It could be a girl."

"Right," Sybil replied quietly. "If it's a boy."

Behind her, Mary heard the click-clack of her aunt's heels. "I think Aunt Rosamund is back. I should go."

But before she could let her sister go, Sybil asked the question that had been the reason for her call. "Mary, have you made a decision about Matthew's proposal?"

"I need to go now, Sybil," Mary said, and without giving Sybil a chance to respond, put the receiver back on the telephone to end the call.

Mary turned as her aunt approached.

"Turner said there's news from Downton."

"There is."


It was an unseasonably cool afternoon for July. The kind that felt more like September and the few weeks in autumn when life in the country, in all its resplendent colors, most delighted Matthew. He wished he could enjoy the day as he ought, but the uncertainty into which his life had been launched by the news of Cora's present state would not let him. Not for the foreseeable future and certainly not today.

Mary would be stepping off the train and onto the platform on which he now stood in a matter of minutes. Whatever hope he'd had, when he'd left her behind in London, that the next time they saw each other, she'd be ready to take the next step with him was gone. He loved Mary dearly, more than he'd loved anyone—including another woman he'd been certain would be his happy wife before fate took her from him. The love he felt for Mary was of little use to Matthew now, when it was all he had left to offer her.

Matthew had learned from Tom that Mary had not returned with the family from London after Tom first shared the news of Cora's pregnancy a week prior. Tom hadn't known how long Mary would remain with Rosamund, but that didn't matter to Matthew, not now that he knew that everything he had offered Mary was suddenly at risk. He assumed her delay was an effort to avoid him and avoid giving him an answer to his proposal. Just like he assumed, now that the prospect of living the life of a middle class lawyer was likely for him once again, the possibility of Mary Crawley as his wife was now gone from him forever.

Under different circumstances, Matthew might have laughed off the whole affair, worked carefully with Tom to extricate what was left of his investment in Downton from Robert's affairs and leave what couldn't be undone as a generous gift to a family he had grown to love. But love was making him selfish—as love often does. He had never intended to ask Mary outright whether she loved him or whether she'd be willing to Mary him if Downton and the title of Countess of Grantham were not in the picture. He hoped to marry her, then love her as he knew she needed and deserved with the hope that eventually she'd return the sentiment in kind. Now, though, fate had forced his hand.

And as he stood on that platform as the train approached, he felt fate's grip tighten. There was only one thing left for him to do.


Tom was in a daze all the way back to the village, so much so that he almost didn't see Matthew until he was upon him just outside Crawley House, returning from business in the village.

"Hello," Matthew said brightly. "Back already? I'd have expected you to spend all afternoon with Sybil, given your endless complaints about missing her in her absence."

It was said in jest, of course, so when Tom didn't laugh, Matthew for the first time registered the seriousness in Tom's expression. Matthew's shoulders drooped slightly, and he asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, exactly . . . something's happened—rather, something is going to happen—or perhaps not. We can't know until—"

"Tom, what is it?" Matthew asked quietly, interrupting his friend's rambling.

"It's Cora. She's pregnant."

"She's what?"

"She's with child. The family have just found out. Sybil and I—we saw Dr. Clarkson leave the house not one hour ago, and when we went in, Robert told us."

Matthew's mind immediately flashed back to the conversation he'd had with Cora the morning he'd left London, after Sybil's ball.

To be honest, Matthew, if I didn't know any better I would think I was with child.

"Matthew?" Tom asked, tentatively stepping toward Matthew, who had turned away slightly as the news sunk in.

Matthew sighed. "She was ill when I left London. She said she felt pregnant, but then . . . then she laughed it off, certain it wasn't possible. She was wrong, apparently?" Matthew looked up, when Tom didn't respond, and chuckled mirthlessly. "I suppose after three daughters, the odds are greater now that she'll finally give the family a son."

"Actually, the odds are the same every time," Tom said. "Biology has no sense of drama, I'm afraid."

"Has Mary been told?"

"Sybil intended to call Lady Rosamund's house after I left."

Matthew closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his hands, trying to grab hold of his emotions before they took him over. He supposed he should be glad this happened before Mary had agreed to marry him, so he'd not now have to face the prospect of a broken engagement, but the question was still out there for her to answer, and now the question wasn't about her willingness to marry the new Grantham heir. It was about her willingness to marry Matthew Crawley.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, as small a release of his sudden frustration as he'd allow himself. But it was quite telling, especially for Matthew.

"We . . . we can take what comes," Tom said. "Your money and the estate—it won't be pretty and it'll leave Robert with some hard decisions, but you can recover what you've invested. If it even comes to that. If it's a girl, you'd still be the heir. Nothing would change."

"This isn't about the title, Tom. I couldn't care less about that. Or the money . . . money for which I would have otherwise had no use."

"Then, what is it? Because I can see this is troubling you. I know you—"

"I proposed to Mary."

Tom's eyes widened in disbelief. "WHAT?"

Matthew nodded, closing his eyes, unable to keep the memory of their kiss from coming over him. "While we were in London. The day you were there to see Sybil, actually."

"And she said yes?"

"No. She asked for time to think about it. Only, I was the heir to the title when I did it. I was offering her Downton, the role of countess of Grantham. I was giving her what her father couldn't, except I made a terrible mistake."

"What?"

"None of that was mine to give. All of it still belongs to Robert—"

"But—"

"Oh, I know we've given him money and help to keep it afloat, but it's his. Legally. You've seen the entail."

Tom nodded.

"I wanted to make her happy. Give her what was her due, and now this is a reminder that it wasn't mine to give." Matthew sighed. "I'll have to take it back."

"What—the proposal? Why!? She may still say yes! And it all may be rendered moot anyway."

Matthew shook his head. "I have to, Tom, don't you see?"

"All I see in front of me is a man in love with a woman who may very well love him back."

Matthew looked Tom in the eyes. "Tell me, do you believe with complete certainty that Lady Mary Crawley would ever be willing to marry a country solicitor with no title or land to distinguish him."

Tom shook his head. "No, I suppose not with complete certainly, but she might be willing marry YOU, if you ask her properly. Not as the heir or with the promise of a fortune and title, but as yourself. She might surprise you."

"And if she doesn't?"

Tom saw a sad desperation in Matthew's eyes that he'd never seen before.

"I can't hear her tell me she doesn't want me, Tom, not if I am to go on living."


Matthew had lost all sense of how long he'd been waiting when he heard the distant whistle of the train announce its impending arrival. He'd worked out in his mind what he intended to say, but he was still rendered rather speechless when he saw her step off the train.

Mary was less prepared than Matthew, if only because she'd had no warning that he'd be coming.

Of course, being Mary, there was no way to tell by merely looking at her when she spotted him on the platform that anything was amiss, that her heart was racing, and that her mind and emotions were going every which way. Matthew was not one to wear his heart on his sleeve either, but there was a more obvious helplessness in his eyes in the face of her stoicism that any fool with a pair of eyes could have seen. Perhaps if Mary were a fraction less self-possessed, the conversation might have gone differently. But Mary was too much herself in that moment, and Matthew, seeing that and loving her all the more for it, felt the need to protect his heart and went on to say what he came to say.

"Hello," Mary said in a measured voice as she approached him. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"I hope you don't mind," Matthew replied. "I imagine you're likely tired from the travel but . . ."

"But what?"

"Pratt's here. He can take Anna and your luggage. I thought I might walk you back to the house . . . if you would like."

Mary didn't know what to say. She heard Anna come up behind her.

"Go on, milady. I'll take care of everything."

Mary felt like she couldn't say no. She wanted very much to be in Matthew's company, but his urgency—his having come to the station like this—alarmed her. She couldn't be sure why, but she felt as if something was about to happen, something she wouldn't like.

"All right, then," she said finally.

Matthew moved to let her go ahead of him, remaining quiet until they were away from the station and the crowd.

"I'm sorry for catching you off guard like this," Matthew said, as they walked. "Given what's, um, what's happened, and not knowing what you've told your parents, I thought it best that we talk away from the house, and this seemed like the easiest way to do that."

Mary nodded. Matthew glanced at her from the side of his eyes. He thought she might say something, might turn to look at him again, but she didn't. She was meant to tell him what she wanted when she returned to Downton, but that was before they had learned of Cora's state, and him having sought Mary out as he'd done, she seemed ready to let him guide their conversation.

He took a deep breath, unsure of how to start. "Did you have a pleasant trip?"

Mary smiled slightly at his innocuous question, given everything that hung between them. "I did."

"How was your final week in London?"

"No different than the previous ones, really . . . well, I suppose that's not quite true. Things at Aunt Rosamund's are a bit more routine."

"Do you ever imagine yourself living there, in London?"

"I'm not sure. Sometimes, I think it would suit me very well. Others, I think it would be perfectly dreadful. I always enjoy the return home, no matter what kind of time I've had. I suppose that makes me a creature of the country." Mary turned to Matthew, who'd been watching her as she spoke. "And you?"

"I don't know. London is not like Manchester, but not terribly unlike it either. I think if you'd told me . . . before all this happened how much I'd come to enjoy life in the country, I'd not have quite believed it. Not because I prefer town, necessarily. I just never knew what it could be like."

"And now?"

Matthew turned toward Mary and smiled in a way that warmed Mary's heart. "Now, I think I like you too much to know whether the country has anything to do with how happy I am here."

Mary opened her mouth to say something, but Matthew looked forward again and added sheepishly. "All of you—the family, Downton, everything."

Mary wasn't sure what to make of him backing away from the suggestion it was only she he liked, but whatever that meant, it was clear he was still admitting what it would mean to lose Downton in the same way she had when Patrick died, losing the future he'd envisioned in it, a future that hadn't belonged to him in the same way it hadn't belonged to Mary.

He doesn't want to lose it all, Mary thought, and he might.

"You don't have to give me an answer to my proposal," Matthew said.

The words, coming on the heels of the previous admission jolted Mary. "What?"

Matthew stopped walking and turned so they were facing one another. They were not so far from the house now, closer to it than to the village. They were alone on the road that cut through the quiet wood that separated the two. The house was still not visible. It was, in fact, as if they were the only two people in the world in that moment.

"When I said we should get married," Matthew continued quietly, "I was offering you Downton Abbey and your mother's title. I was offering myself as your husband, but on the idea that I could give you the things you deserved . . . that were rightfully yours. It may well be that the child your mother is carrying is a girl, but I couldn't ask you to make a choice that will affect the rest of your life when the other outcome is just as possible."

Mary was dumbfounded. Of all the things she'd expected him to say, this was not it. If anything, she'd expected—hoped, perhaps?—that he would do the very opposite and urge her to take his hand regardless of what may come. To marry him and not merely the heir to his father. Instead, though, he was taking it back, giving her an out. Up until that moment, Mary had been so afraid of what she wanted, that even when she'd made a decision about Matthew, she had trouble bringing herself to say it aloud. And now, here Matthew was, reading her as he always did, anticipating what she wanted so infernally well. She didn't want to make a choice. She'd made that obvious to him, and now here he was asserting that she didn't have to make it by taking away the choice altogether.

She was beyond disappointed, but anger—Mary's clipped, barely noticeable version of it—was the emotion that came out first.

"Do you mean for us to wait until the baby is born? That seems rather mercenary, don't you think?"

Matthew wasn't sure what to make of her reaction. She seemed taken aback, almost cold. "I . . . I don't know, Mary. It just seems unfair to you to force you to give an answer when things now are different from when I asked."

"What if I'd given you an answer in Hyde Park?" Mary pressed. "Would you have taken it back?"

Matthew grew frustrated. "I can't guess as to how I would have reacted to this news under different circumstances—I'm barely keeping my head above water under these." He let out a sigh. "You didn't seem sure what your answer would be in Hyde Park. Are you saying you have an answer now?"

Mary looked away. She'd had an answer before she'd learned of the baby. She wanted to tell him what that answer was so that he understood that she hadn't been trying to be coy, but she had to admit that things were different now, and once again she felt unable to articulate what she wanted. "It's not that I was unsure," she said finally. "I just didn't want to rush into it."

"With good reason, I suppose, given what's happened," Matthew said, with a small smile, hoping to lighten the air between them.

"So what happens now?"

"We could pretend I never said anything. We could talk about what we would do if the child is a girl, but to be honest, Mary, I don't want our situation to alter how your family sees this child or make your parents feel guilty when they see me. It's fair to say that's part of the reason I want to go back. This is happy news for your family—we should all see it as such. I hate myself for putting you in an awkward situation, so I'm doing what I hope is the honorable thing and trying to remove you from it. So . . . we should go back to being good friends, and let whatever happens happen as it will."

"Would that make you happy?" Mary asked. "Just being friends with me?"

Matthew stepped forward and took Mary's hand. "Don't sell yourself short, Cousin Mary. You are a very good friend . . . the best, actually."

Mary smiled, genuinely, for the first time in several days. So welcome was the sight to Matthew that he missed the slight hint of regret behind it. "You, too."

Quietly, they walked the rest of the way to the house.


"I love the thought of a baby in the house, but if it's a boy . . ." Mrs. Hughes shook her head and took a sip of her tea. She and Carson were in her sitting area during a quiet time in the late afternoon before the rush of dinner preparation began in earnest.

With Lady Mary back earlier that day, the whole family, Reginald Crawleys included, would be dining at the house together for the first time in almost two months. That coupled with the news of the new arrival, the engagement of Lady Edith and the upcoming garden party had the staff and the house more abuzz than usual.

There was also the rumor of the now broken understanding between Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary that managed to sneak its way downstairs after Cora had told Robert about it the day she'd also told him of her pregnancy.

"It'll be very hard on Mr. Crawley," Carson said, finishing Mrs. Hughes' thought and surprising her in the process.

He noticed the look of skepticism on her face and responded, "I know, I was no great champion when he first arrived. But it seems to me he's tried his best, and he's done the decent thing."

"I couldn't see that coming off," Mrs. Hughes said dismissively.

"You don't mean the engagement?"

"It was never an actual engagement, was it?"

Carson's brow furrowed in indignation. "She'd not have thrown him over—he was the one who broke it off, and given the potential change in his prospects, I think it admirable that he did so. Though I imagine my lady's heart may been disappointed."

Mrs. Hughes laughed. "Mr. Carson, Lady Mary Crawley does not deserve you."

Carson stood up to take their tea service back to the kitchen. Mrs. Hughes stood as well and noticed for the first time that Thomas had been standing just outside her open door.

"Is there something I can help you with, Thomas?"

"No, Mrs. Hughes," he said and turned toward the servants hall on his way to the yard. O'Brien was already there when he stepped outside, so he joined her at the table and took the cigarette she offered.

O'Brien tilted her chin up as if prodding him to speak.

"Oh, nothing," Thomas said. "Just Carson defending Lady Mary's honor. Mrs. Hughes reckons she would have turned Mr. Crawley down if he'd not done it first."

"She's right," O'Brien huffed. "If Lady Mary wouldn't take Mr. Crawley with the title, she was certainly not going to take him without it."

"Do you really think it's going to be a boy?" Thomas asked.

"There's no way of telling," O'Brien replied. "Some midwives say boys sit differently in the belly, but you can hardly tell there's a baby at all yet. In another month, perhaps. Her ladyship is convinced of it, but I'm sure it's her own mind playing tricks on her."

"You'd think they'd not want a boy at this stage," Thomas said, "especially if it would doom Lady Mary to spinsterhood."

"It's going to doom all of us," O'Brien said darkly.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh? Have you forgotten already it was Mr. Crawley's money that got us back into this house?"

"Downton Abbey still belongs to his lordship, though, doesn't it? And I thought all the work they were doing on the farms was so the estate could pay for itself."

"Yes, but don't you remember that wretched year we had to spend at Downton Place? We left here because his lordship couldn't afford the upkeep anymore. Mr. Crawley paid for the family to return, and he paid to restart the farming operation—the running of which is all Mr. Crawley and Mr. Branson's doing. His lordship has not been the head of this household in any way but symbolically since we returned. Few of us below stairs may have noticed, but it's a fact."

Thomas took a long drag from his cigarette and let the smoke out in one long puff. "So you think Mr. Crawley will ask to be paid back if he has to step aside?"

"Wouldn't you?"

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Yes, but he's not me."

O'Brien laughed humorlessly. "No, he certainly isn't, but he is human. No person, no matter how noble, could walk away from a fortune and leave it to a family that kicked and screamed bloody murder before they accepted him."

"What'll happen to us, then? If the family have to leave Downton again, they'll be leaving at least half of us behind too. Just like the last time."

"Better make yourself indispensable. Just because you were the last footman standing once doesn't mean you will be again."

Thomas' face grew serious. "What say do you have over it?"

A smug expression settled over O'Brien's features. "I have her ladyship's ear. And I have a nephew who is nothing if not eager to please."

Thomas stood immediately. "Let Alfred have it then. Being a footman is not the only way to live."

With that, he walked away fuming. Thomas knew O'Brien was an unreliable ally at best, but he didn't think she'd outright sabotage him out of a job. He'd been making noises to her about leaving the house for something better for some time, but perhaps now, finally, was the time to act on it.


After walking Mary home from the train, Matthew sat down with Robert for the first of what was likely several difficult conversations about how to extract Matthew's investment from the Grantham estate if Matthew were no longer the heir. They didn't come to any conclusions, but Robert floated an idea that Murray, his lawyer, had suggested that might keep the family at Downton and offer a measure of compensation for Matthew and what he'd afforded the family, financially speaking. Robert, near tears, acknowledged to Matthew that they could never compensate for what he'd given them emotionally.

On his walk home, Matthew considered the offer and the closer he got to Crawley House, the more sense it made of a situation in which there was very little.

His mother was not so convinced.

"So he'll give us this house for life, will he? How generous."

Matthew rolled his eyes at Isobel's obvious sarcasm. "It is generous."

"No," Isobel retorted, "it's generous of you. This house is very fine, I grant you, and I'd be happy to continue to live in it, but it does not in any way equal what you've provided. If Robert thinks it does, I'd be happy to give him a lesson in arithmetic myself."

"Mother, don't be ridiculous."

Tom looked back and forth between the two. He and Isobel were seated on the sofa in the Crawley House parlor, while Matthew was stood before them.

"She's not wrong, Matthew," Tom said quietly.

"Thank you!" Isobel said with a firm nod of her head.

"So you think that I should force them to sell the house that's been the seat of the earldom for a hundred years so they can pay me back money I didn't even want in the first place?"

"No," Tom said, with a chuckle. "I'm merely agreeing that this is not a generous offer."

Isobel sighed. "Isn't there something else? Some other plot of land that may be more meaningful. I do like the idea of staying in this house, but perhaps some of the outer parcels that make up the estate? You both have managed the whole thing so well, it seems fair to give you something from which you may continue to earn a living."

"I earn my living as a solicitor, and so does Tom," Matthew said.

"Well, for your future children, then."

"What about Downton Place?" Tom asked.

Matthew scratched the back of his head and began to pace. "That was the initial idea from Murray, actually. It's certainly of higher monetary value than this place, but I dismissed it as easily as I knew both of you would dismiss the idea of living there." Turning to face them again, he added, "Was I wrong about that?"

Isobel smiled and shook her head, while Tom replied, "Fair point."

Standing, Isobel said, "I'm sorry for being cross. Perhaps it's silly to get all worked up, my dear, but I don't want you to concede what's yours because you love them. Your interests matter just as much. And in any case, it may not be a boy."

"I'd rather have the conversation now," Matthew said, "and Robert agrees. No need to make the child's entry into the world anything other than an event to be celebrated."

Isobel stepped up to Matthew and patted his cheek with her hand. "Well, I do trust your judgment. Just be fair to yourself. That's all I ask."

Matthew smile. "Thank you, mother."

Turning to Tom, who had stood when she had, Isobel took his hand. "Don't sell your contributions short either, dear. You've given them much of yourself as well, if not an actual fortune."

Tom grinned. "Given that I want to take Sybil from them, I'd say I'll be in their debt in the final accounting."

They all laughed, and after the moment passed, Isobel left her sons alone. Matthew sat down with a sigh in the space on the sofa that his mother had just vacated, and Tom sat back down next to him.

"What does Mary say?" he asked gently, the question that had been on the tip of his tongue since Matthew returned.

"I didn't really leave her with much to say."

"Was she surprised?"

"I'm not sure. She seemed oddly unhappy with me, but I'm still not sure I had any alternative. Can you imagine Mary living as my wife in this house?"

"I could more easily picture you living in Downton Abbey, which wouldn't be all that far-fetched a scenario, even if you weren't the heir."

Matthew thought for a moment, then replied. "It wouldn't be appropriate if I weren't the heir, and I am fairly certain Mary would agree with me on that point."

"What about Downton Place? I can picture Mary living there. In fact, she has lived there before. Can you think of a reason she wouldn't want to be mistress of it?"

Matthew looked at Tom confused. "What are you talking about?"

Tom shifted where he sat so that he could fully face Matthew. "You say that Robert offered it to you as just compensation for your investment in the estate, if it meant the family could stay at the Abbey. You turned it down because you know Aunt Isobel and I wouldn't want to live there, but shouldn't you consider the decision with a future wife in mind, instead of us? How many more years do you think you and I will live under the same roof? Living in that kind of house . . . would the life of the wife of a country solicitor be as distasteful as you seem to think she'll find it?"

Matthew considered what Tom was saying. Tom watched him as he did so for several minutes, seeing varying emotions come over Matthew's face until the one that eventually settled was relief, and even a bit of contentment.

"Reserving Downton Place for Mary . . . that's a good idea—a very good idea," Matthew said. He laughed and rolled his eyes. "Leave it to you, as always," he said looking over at Tom with good-natured annoyance. "Why do you have to be so clever? I should have thought of that."

Tom laughed. "Forgive yourself just this once, brother. Your heart is broken, so you're not thinking clearly. Which, I suppose, is why it sounds like you want to take Downton Place so you can give it to Mary, and not live with her in it as husband and wife, which is what I'm actually suggesting."

Matthew's expression softened into a smile. "I know, but I'm not going to bet on the future. She needs security—with or without me in her life. That would provide a measure of it." Matthew paused for a moment, frowning. "It is rather unfair to Edith and Sybil, though."

"Edith is getting married to someone more than happy and capable of providing for her, and even if Sybil hadn't agreed to marry me, she is not one I'd ever worry about being able to provide for herself."

Matthew laughed. "I suppose that's true. I'd say the same is true of Mary, if she weren't so bloody proud."

"You really are in love with her, aren't you?" Tom said, in a tone that suggested it wasn't really a question.

Matthew shot him a chastising look from the side of his eyes, which made Tom laugh again. He knew he was right. Just like he knew that Matthew, just like Mary, was too "bloody proud" to ever say the thing aloud.


"They're a pair of fools is what they are!"

Tom smiled at Sybil's assessment of Mary and Matthew's situation and the way she crossed her arms in a huff. "I agree," he replied, "they are a well matched pair in both stubbornness and pride. But what can we do?"

Sybil sighed. All through dinner, she had watched Mary and Matthew speak as courteously to one another as they'd had just about every day they'd been in each other's lives, as if nothing—not an offer of marriage, nor a retraction of that same offer—had passed between them. After, as she and Tom talked alone in the library, they considered the various ways they could bring Mary and Matthew together and secure the happiness they both deserved. But Tom was right. What could be done when the parties involved were so determined not to give in?

"I suppose until the baby is born, the situation will remain muddy," Sybil said. "I'd love for Mary just to throw all caution to the wind and tell Mathew how I know she must feel about him, but that's not Mary."

Tom smiled, knowingly. "That's you."

Sybil looked over at Tom with a twinkle in her eye. "Aren't you the lucky one."

Tom walked over to her and leaned over to kiss her, whispering just before their lips met, "The luckiest."

Sybil smiled into the kiss, brought her hands up to Tom's face and felt his hands at her waist. The kiss deepened as Sybil's arms wrapped around Tom's neck and she went up on her tiptoes as he pulled her in. They stood that way for several minutes—it was cavalier, to be sure, since the library only afforded a small measure of privacy with the doors open, as they were now, but Sybil couldn't help herself. Since returning to Downton, now knowing that being Tom's wife and the release of the intense desire she felt for him could be only a matter of weeks—a handful months at the most—Sybil felt the fire in herself burn more intensely than ever.

It was Tom who pulled away first. He kept her close, but looked down and was treated to the sight of Sybil's bosom rising and falling to the rhythm of her rapid breathing. He shut his eyes tightly and turned his head away, laughing. "We should go join everyone in the drawing room."

Sybil giggled too and stepped away. "Do you suppose this is more difficult for you or me?"

Tom furrowed his brow. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"Well, I have no experience with, um, well . . . the marriage bed."

Tom chuckled. "Neither do I."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Oh, I know you've not been married, but you know what I mean."

Tom laughed again. "I do—that is to say I know what you mean, but at the risk of sounding like I'm patronizing you, I'm not sure I'm any more prepared for . . . it than you are."

"Why do you say that?" Sybil asked, genuinely curious.

"The young man who I was when I fell into Madeleine Stuart's bed thought he knew a great deal about women and the world. Turns out he was a right fool."

"And now?" Sybil said quietly, watching as his expression grew contemplative, serious.

"Now," he said with a sigh, taking her hands and looking into her eyes. "The thought of being with you . . . few things in my life have scared me more."

"Why?"

Tom looked at Sybil with a glint in his eyes that caused her heart to race once again. He leaned in, so he could whisper in her ear, "Because knowing you love me thrills me more than anything ever has."

Sybil closed her eyes and felt him step away again. She bit her lip to try to contain her smile. When she opened her eyes again, his eyes were still trained on her.

"You're right," she said. "We probably should go join everyone in the drawing room."

Tom smiled and offered his arm. Sybil took it and the two stepped out of the library and into the main hall. Just before they entered, Tom lowered his arm, but Sybil held tight to it. Tom looked at her in surprise, and she shrugged. "No more hiding, remember?"

In the drawing room, the mood was surprisingly chipper, given the upheaval that Cora's pregnancy has thrust the whole family into. Only Cora and Isobel, who were seated nearest to the door and not in so deep in conversation as everyone else in the room, noticed how close Tom and Sybil were when they walked in. Isobel immediately turned back to Cora to try to discern her reaction, but Cora only smiled serenely. Isobel wondered whether it was an extension of a happy mood resulting from her pregnancy or approval, but either way, she took it as a good sign. Tom and Sybil went over to Edith, who was alone on the sofa, as Mary and Violet spoke quietly at the chaise lounge at the end of the room. as she sat down next to Edith, while Tom remained standing, Sybil turned to try to catch Mary's eyes to see if she needed rescuing from their grandmother, but had no luck.

A few minutes later, Robert, Matthew and Anthony, who had also been invited, came in from the dining room. The party chartered quietly the rest of the night until it was time for the guests to depart and the family to go on to bed. It would have been difficult for a stranger to imagine that anything was amiss or to guess how much would change in the next few months.

Sybil, perhaps the happiest of them all, was last to bed. After changing into her nightclothes, in her cheery restlessness, she ventured to Mary's room.

"Are you happy to be sleeping in your own bed?" Sybil asked as she came in, happy to have found her sister awake. She laid down in the bed next to Mary.

"Very much," Mary said with a sigh. "And I'm far too tired for a heart-to-heart, darling, so please don't try to ask me about the baby or Matthew."

Sybil laughed. "Well, you don't have to respond, but I will say that I'm glad you two were not ill-at-ease around each other tonight. You may not want to think about it, but I'll not lose hope."

Mary looked up at the ceiling. "I'm not really sure what to hope for anymore. Happiness is a vague and misleading notion, I've come to find. And anyway, any time in my life when I've articulated what I wanted, even if only to myself, the thing is taken away."

Mary turned toward Sybil again with a sad smile.

"Do you mean to tell me that before you knew of mama's pregnancy, you'd made up your mind about Matthew?"

"I had an answer for him, yes, but what does that matter now?"

Sybil reached for Mary's hand and squeezed it. "Your feelings will always matter, darling." Then, she moved to go.

When she was at the door, just before she opened it, Mary sat up, realizing—to her own surprise—that she needed to say it aloud. She needed someone to know, to witness what she had wanted for her life, even if that was no longer possible.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

Sybil turned back to look at Mary. "What we're you going to tell him?"

Tears clouded Mary's eyes and she took a deep breath. "I was going to say yes."