Thank you all so much for your reviews! I'm so glad you all are enjoying this fic. And for the recent reviewer wanting Isobel/Dickie... enjoy. :)

—4—

"Absolutely not."

Mary slapped his hand away, glaring fiercely. Richard looked taken aback.

"Mary–"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Mary slammed the door in his face and ran inside the house, her feet pounding on the wooden floor. Cora came out of her and Robert's room, in a blouse and leggings, very confused.

"Mary?"

Mary didn't reply. Her bedroom door closed behind her loudly, shaking the entire house.

Cora figured her daughter had come from the front door, so she quickly traveled down the stairs and reopened it. She gasped when she saw Richard.

"Mr. Carlisle?" she said disbelievingly. "Is it really you?"

"Alas, I'm afraid it is, much to your eldest daughter's disappointment."

"Well golly, what a surprise. I apologize for Mary's behavior."

"No no, it's my fault, really. I don't like admitting when I'm in the wrong… but I'm afraid I was."

Richard felt ashamed for a brief second, despite his nature. His threatening Mary for secrets didn't exactly put him on good terms, with her or with Cora. Still, he gave Cora the handshake meant for Mary.

"I should probably go check on her," sighed Cora. She glanced over her shoulder.

"Lady Gran – er – Mrs. Crawley, please tell your daughter that I truly want a fresh start."

Cora nodded and agreed. She closed the front door and made her way to Mary's room. She knocked on the door.

"Mary? May I come in?"

No noise came from within, so Cora pushed open the door. She entered the small bedroom and sat down on the twin bed that belonged to Mary. Her daughter didn't look at her.

"I know that was rather a shock," she began, choosing her words carefully. "But you must admit, he seems to be sincere about a second chance. You don't have to like it, but I think you ought to consider accepting his apology. The least you can do is hold a simple conversation with the man for more than thirty seconds."

"I don't have to do anything. He was the one who blackmailed me, not the other way around. How can you even consider telling me to 'accept his apology' or whatever he's asking of me when you yourself witnessed first hand the treatment I was receiving?"

Mary leapt to her feet and tried to walk away, but Cora grabbed her hand.

"Mary. Please. He's offering peace. Surely you can't ignore that."

"I can if I want to," declared Mary, yanking her arm away. She exited the room without saying anything more.

Cora let herself fall backward until her head hit the comforter. She sighed. She'd forgotten how hard parenting was.

Leaving Rosamund with Violet, Isobel went for her daily walk. She was still getting used to the neighborhood, but there wasn't much to travel, especially since they weren't allowed to exit the neighborhood with their temporary "house arrest." She found herself mainly walking up and down the road that connected all of their homes, cheerfully greeting everyone she passed.

"Good morning, Mrs. Jones," she said as she passed Pat Jones, the neighbor in #8. Pat didn't smile. She didn't like aristocrats – well, ex-aristocrats – barging in as she thought they always did.

"Morning, Mrs. Aldridge!"

Mrs. Rachel Aldridge, a former aristocrat herself, was friendlier and waved back to Isobel as she passed.

Isobel was about to re-enter her home when an all-too-familiar voice called out to her.

"Isobel Crawley? Is that you?"

Isobel flew backwards a few feet at the sound of the man's voice.

"Dickie?"

"Good God, it is you."

Richard Grey, the former Baron Merton, stood before her. He appeared thinner, she thought, just a little. His clothes were casual but formal at the same time, his grey plaid shirt tucked neatly into his pants. Her heart fluttered in her chest the tiniest bit. She hadn't seen him since his son declared he would never accept Isobel for a mother, thus forcing her to call off the engagement.

Dickie approached her. "I didn't think they'd evict you, what with you holding no title and all. Has – what's his name? Branson, is it? Is he here too?"

Isobel nodded. "Yes, but by his own choice. I take it you're here with your sons and daughter-in-law?"

"Just Larry and Amelia. Timothy's gone to America to try and escape this."

"Well, best of luck to him," said Isobel, relieved. At least she didn't have to put up with both Grey boys. Then again, the one living in Blanch Plaza was the worst of the two, especially when accompanied by his deceiving wife. Meaning that, before Amelia's true feelings for her were made public, Isobel had quite believed that her future-step-daughter-in-law would welcome her.

But she hadn't.

"Good for him." Isobel hid her slight discomfort with a cheery smile. "It was so nice to see you," she said, attempting to wrap up the conversation and get back to Violet.

"Isobel, wait."

She stopped mid-turn and glanced over her shoulder.

Dickie clasped his hands behind his back. "I'd like to see you again. Is that a possibility?"

Isobel processed his request and then said, slowly, "A possibility, I suppose. But I need to know that you understand: we're done, Dickie. I won't take the place of your late wife and be a mother to your sons. I won't. They are clearly against your continuous pursuit of me, and I mustn't come between you and your only living relatives. Is that clear?"

Dickie smiled. "Perfectly."

"Mama, please. You never know, you may like her."

Violet huffed in indignation.

"Rosamund, those people are like ducklings. They follow us for guidance, you know, how to go about their lives. I won't involve myself with my inferiors."

"You mustn't think that way anymore. If anything, we're the ones who are inferior now," Rosamund reminded her gently, but her tone was firm.

She and her mama – who was being quite stubborn – were sitting in Violet's living room. Isobel had come back from her walk muttering something about persistent men and their tendencies to cross the line and, without saying a word to them, marched upstairs.

Tom, on the other hand, was in great spirits, and had left for Edith's an hour earlier. He felt bad for her, all alone with only Rose for company, he told Violet.

"She's your neighbor, living right on the other side of this wall," Rosamund went on. "Don't you think you had ought to say hello, at the very least?"

Violet looked at her from across the room.

"Since when do you get to tell me what I ought to or mustn't do? Last time I checked, I was the mother."

Rosamund pursed her lips together.

"I'm a grown woman who's nearly sixty, Mama. I have every right."

Violet made a "humph" sound and straightened her back even further. Her impressive air didn't intimidate Rosamund in the slightest.

"If you had children of your own you'd understand," sighed Violet, not even stopping to consider her words, which turned out to be inconsiderate judgement on her part.

Rosamund stood up so quickly Violet actually startled. She glared at her mama, now at a higher vantage point.

"Well then that's fine, because you know better than anyone why that isn't going to happen," she snapped irritably.

Violet rose to her feet, clutching her cane. To stop herself from reaching out to take Rosamund's hand, as it would be entirely out of character, she placed her hands on top of the walking stick, one over the other.

Her daughter brushed past her and into the hallway. She stopped at the doorway and turned back.

"Just go visit the neighbor," she said, fed up with her mama. Then she left, the door slamming behind her.

And so, despite her stubborn refusal to do anything of the sort, Violet found herself on next door's doorstep. Just by peering through the windows she could tell it was much more comfortably decorated than hers. She could also see that every single piece of furniture was incredibly modest – nothing but the necessities, save for a few family heirlooms.

She rapped on the door with her cane and waited impatiently for the neighbor to come to the door. She did, finally; and so, Violet met Indigo Davis for the first time.

"Oh," said Indigo, a woman the same age as Violet, with grey hair and dark eyes. "You from next door?"

Mrs. Davis' speech appalled Violet, who was always very keen on complete sentences, but still she nodded.

"That would be correct. My daughter's convinced me one must try to make acquaintances, even if the acquaintances in question are inferior… working-class… simple-minded…"

Mrs. Davis' raised eyebrow and no-nonsense glare prompted Violet to stop talking for the first time in her life.

"Well fine," said Mrs. Davis. "Most people don't like me, call me mean and harsh. But if you really wanna be visiting I ain't gonna stop you. Life's no time to hold grudges against people who made my life miserable day in and day out."

Violet, miraculously, held in her nasty reply. A part of her still felt a little guilty for upsetting her daughter. Sometimes she did things without thinking first, a quality she knew would be the death of her one day.

Glancing only once back over her shoulder, she sighed quietly and followed Mrs. Davis into the house.