Chapter 4

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Branksom House

London

1886

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"You must be truly so pleased to be expecting again...", Henrietta Napier, the Viscountess of Branksom, crooned happily over luncheon, apparently oblivious to the art of tactfulness (unlike her son and husband who were absolute darlings most of them time, but quickly proved themselves to be unfortunately dull conversationalists). "A final chance to produce a son and heir..."

Spending time with the likes of Henrietta Napier often felt rather more like going for a swim in a tank full of jellyfish as apposed to engaging in the casual friendly conversation of acquaintances.

Cora Crawley smiled civilly over the rim of her teacup, having grown very accustomed to such ridiculous and tatty behaviour from the wives of Robert's peers...especially those who, like Henrietta Napier, had managed to provide the ancestral estate with a male heir on the first try.

Lord knows, she had heard enough of the same sort of underhanded nonsense from her mother in law after she had consecutively given birth to her and Robert's three daughters nearly two deacades earlier.

Over the years, Cora Crawley had very come to much fancy herself a person who had grown a practically bulletproof skin to underhanded nastiness. Unfortunately it had come with the territory of living in such a close proximity to her mother-in-law, the Dowager Countess of Grantham.

'Americans, at least, are upfront with their insults', she thought frustratedly to herself, thinking of her own mother and brother's bluntness in social situations.

Discreetly, Cora found herself glancing down the dining room table to where her eldest daughter was seated, on the off chance that it may prove a small respite of The Viscountess's unwanted comments.

It appeared that Mary had been joined by Henrietta's son Evelyn and was apparently having a far better time at luncheon than her mother and Edith combined, (the latter of which was sitting awkwardly in her seat, sipping tea on the sidelines of two separate conversations that she had no desire to be part of)

'Poor Edith.'

Cora sighed deeply, feeling a momentary swell of pity for her middle daughter as the tinkling sound of Mary's musical laughter filled the dining room.

Perhaps, Edith would have been better off to have done something else with her day as Sybil had opted to do.

Regretfully, Cora turned back to her own luncheon companion and the conversation they were having, thinking wistfully of 'the things we do for our daughters'.

Oh, if only Mary would choice to pursue a wealthy and titled young man who had a mother that that she, Cora, could bare being in the company of.

...Matthew of course was the most obvious candidate for the role.

Since the untimely death of Patrick Crawley, Robert's original heir, a union between Matthew and Mary had quickly become something that Cora wished her daughter would give more genuine consideration to.

After all, despite his initial misgivings about becoming heir to an estate like Downton, Matthew had since revealed himself to be a kind-hearted and eloquent young man, his quick cleverness a perfect match for Mary's own ferocious wits any day of the week.

They truly would make such a striking pair.

"That's very kind of you to say", Cora replied, her voice dripping with a feigned tone of sweetness when she finally decided to respond to Henrietta's earlier comments. "But I must admit that Robert and I would be equally happy with a son or a daughter. We have, after all, grown very fond of Matthew over the last few years."

Following this, Cora laid a comforting hand on her still relatively small but already quite rounded baby bump, as though reassuring her unborn child that their Mama would be absolutely thrilled with whatever gender they turned out being when the time came for their birth.

Henrietta tutted, almost sounding like she felt pity for the woman sitting at the table opposite her.

"Oh Cora, I assure you that there is nothing more comforting than the knowledge that your home and fortune will be in the capable hands of your own flesh and blood when you're gone."

Cora sighed deeply and somehow managed a gracious, albeit slightly tense and tight lipped, smile.

After all, she knew that there would be no point starting a quarrel with a woman who could very well become her daughter's mother in law in the near future should the family's hope for Matthew not come to fruition.

"Well, let's hope that no such thing will happen for a very long time, shall we?"

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Meanwhile, Mary was forcing herself to appear as though she were enjoying the company of one Evelyn Napier...and not trying terribly to stifle a yawn at his lifeless attempts at conversation.

The forced laughter, the feigned smiles...it made her yearn desperately for the long evenings at Downton where she would spend her time engaged in oftentimes vicious verbal sparring matches with a certain scholarly blonde haired someone.

Nevertheless, Mary swore to herself that she wouldn't ever speak of such desires aloud to anyone, especially her mother and sisters who would simply leap at the idea of her missing the companionship of Matthew.

'No', Mary scolded herself firmly, turning her attention to the much better suited man that sat before her. Matthew would surely make some girl a very fine husband, but that girl wasn't her.

So with a concealed air of futility, Mary tried to return to her conversation with Evelyn.

Ever since she had met Evelyn Napier, four years previously, when she had first come out in society; Mary had deemed him to be a fairly pleasant, wonderfully rich and reasonably handsome young gentleman...qualities that would make him, by default, an ideal husband given her family's circumstances and Matthew's currently unstable state of affairs.

...and to make matters even better, the future Viscount of Branksom seemed not only interested in her in return, but seemed deeply flattered by her attentions.

Everything would have been absolutely perfect, if only she didn't find Evelyn so frightfully boring!

"I wondered if you would mind terribly if a friend of mine joined us at the ball tonight", Evelyn said cautiously-as though such a simple request could tear him forever from Mary's good graces. "I wouldn't ask but he has proven himself to be quite intrigued at the prospect of the London social season. I thought it best to take the poor chap under a wing. After all, he will know nobody else there."

Mary smiled a little too cheerfully once again, uncertain of how much londer she could continue feigning interest in the subjects that Evelyn deemed worthy of conversation. '

'Hmm, perhaps she would have to look a little further than the eldest son of The Viscount of Branksom in her search for a husband.'

"He's a Turkish diplomat", Evelyn continued, apparently oblivious to Mary's disinterest. "And a frightfully charming fellow too, even if he does come across as somewhat of an enigma to most people. A Mr Kemal Pamuk. Perhaps you've heard of him?"

Mary huffed out a laugh, unable to stop her somewhat judgemental self from bursting forth after so long spent on her best behaviour. She had to admit she was amused by the prospect, a turk in an English ballroom. "Oh I can imagine him now. A funny little foreigner with a wide toothy grin and hair reeking of pomade."

At her comment, Evelyn smirked good-naturedly. "I wouldn't quite say that."


Well guys, its quite a bit shorter than usual and there's nothing too historical in this chapter so my Author's Notes are going to be brief. Let me know if you enjoyed this chapter (or didn't). I would absolutely love to hear from you. A huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, it has been a great motivation to continue this story.

Next up, back to Sybil and Tom!

Until next time,

Pearlydewdrop xx