A/N: Thanks for the feedback everyone!
The Party
"Mary, you look as if someone's died. Do pretend to enjoy this, won't you?"
"And why would you care if I enjoyed myself?"
Edith sighed heavily and didn't bother to hide her impatience. "If you're going to be like that then I won't. I do care if Mama and Papa have a good time, and if you walk in there with that look on your face they'll assume the worst." It nearly killed her to do so, but Mary had to admit Edith was right. She managed a pinched smile and forced herself to relax. Guests were beginning to arrive and she certainly wasn't going to give them any reason to talk.
"Oh!" Edith sighed. "Would you look at those three? I keep trying to figure out when they grew up."
Mary observed George, Sybbie, and Marigold coming down the stairs all dressed in their finest, and wondered the same thing. They looked wonderful, all of them: young, beautiful, vital. She envied them. "I guess that means we're on our way out."
Edith smirked. "Speak for yourself, Granny."
"You're not comparing me to her already, are you?"
"Actually, I think the day you were born they took one look at you and said 'let's call her Violet'."
For one rare moment Mary let herself see Edith as just a sister, not an adversary, and chuckled. "Well, she didn't go down without a fight and neither shall I."
"Ladies, you look lovely!" Henry joined them. Mary smiled tentatively as he let his hand rest on her hip. They'd been on eggshells around each other these last few days, both unsure how to proceed after their night together. Mary was trying not to think of it, and when she did she tried to convince herself it had been so dispassionate simply because it had been so long since they'd last been intimate. They just needed to find their rhythm again. She leaned into his touch and glanced up at him. He was staring at Edith. "Edie, you're positively glowing! What's put you in such a good mood?"
Mary's goodwill toward her sister evaporated and she shifted away from Henry. Neither seemed to notice. Edie. Henry was the only person who ever called Edith that, and Mary hated it. Edith gestured to the children across the room. "It makes me happy to see her so happy. I wouldn't have thought it possible, once." Mary had to physically bite her tongue to stop herself saying something she was sure to regret. She took Henry's elbow. "We really should say hello to the new arrivals," she suggested pointedly. She wasn't particularly happy about the impending small talk she'd have to endure, but she'd be damned if she was going to stand there and watch her sister and husband fawn all over one another. Henry nodded. "Of course."
"I don't know why you encourage her," Mary hissed before they were barely out of earshot.
"Jealousy doesn't suit you," he said, but looked pleased to have her attention. Mary rolled her eyes. "Jealous of Edith? Hell hasn't frozen over yet."
"I don't know," he said mildly. "My toes are a bit chilly."
Henry excused himself to catch up with some old friends, leaving Mary to greet guests as they arrived and mingle for awhile. She pretended to not hear the whispers about the extravagance of the event when all the other surviving estates were hanging on by a thread. She latched on to Aunt Rosamund like a raft in a storm. "They're perfectly content to eat our food and drink our wine and talk behind our backs while they do it."
"And you're surprised? My dear, it's been like this since the dawn of time."
Mary sighed. "I know. I'm just not in the mood for it tonight."
Rosamund patted her hand and snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing tray. "Cheer up. You've got a handsome husband, two brilliant sons, and are throwing the most lavish party of the year. Let them be jealous." Mary took a large mouthful of champagne and looked the other way. "When you put it like that…" Eventually Tom replaced Rosamund and Mary was glad for it. She got along famously with her aunt but with Tom she didn't feel the need for any pretense. "Come on," he said in a fit of spontaneity. "Let's dance."
"Dance?"
Tom laughed. "Yes, Mary, dance. It's fun. You look like you could use some."
She hesitated only a moment, then shrugged. "Alright. I don't really know how to dance to this music though."
"We'll make it up."
It was kind of fun to bump around the dance floor with no steps in mind, and Mary felt herself relax marginally. "It's funny," Tom said. "The parties I grew up with were so much different. Mostly lots of drinking and people who could hardly play their instruments, but a hell of a lot of fun." Mary could hardly picture Tom as a young man, and said as much. The Tom she knew was so calm, so proper.
"Before I came to Downton I was a bit of a hell raiser. Got in trouble with the law a few times – nothing serious – but having Sybbie calmed me down."
Mary did recall Tom in his earliest days as their chauffeur, which was so very strange to think of now. He'd been passionate then, hot-headed. She wondered suddenly how much of that still boiled under the peaceful exterior he wore now. "You're in a reminiscent mood tonight," she remarked finally. He shrugged and spun her in a sloppy twirl. "I suppose. So are you going to tell me what's got you so upset lately?"
"You hardly need to ask. What worries me worries you."
"The estate, I know. But there's more to it, isn't there?"
She wanted to tell him, she really did, but it just didn't feel right to involve him in her concerns about her marriage, no matter how close they were. Finally she settled on a half-truth. "Henry accused me of being jealous of Edith. Can you believe it?" It had nagged her since he'd said it, and Mary considered it a testament to Tom's affection for her when he didn't laugh outright. She watched as he struggled to suppress a grin and was surprised to find his amusement infectious. "Oh, all right," she said with a laugh. "It's ridiculous, I know."
"Yes, but you're annoyed anyway."
He knew her too well. She wasn't about to admit it though, because if she admitted her annoyance she'd be forced to acknowledge there might be some truth to the accusation. She could feel his eyes on her but refused to meet them. "That's not it, though," he said shrewdly. "You never let Edith get under your skin, and you've been off your game for months."
"Off my game?" She snickered, deflecting. When that didn't work she tried a glare, but he'd never been intimidated by that. She heaved a sigh. "No, that's not it. I've just had some things on my mind lately."
"So talk to me. Maybe I can help."
She wanted to. He was so sincere and genuinely concerned for her that she thought maybe, maybe it would be alright to relent and let him in. But after a moment's reflection she shook her head. "It's nothing I can discuss right now." He was immediately troubled and his hand tightened around hers. "You're not ill?"
"No, nothing like that. Please just trust me."
It was obvious he wanted to argue. "I – damn it, Mary – alright. I won't pry, but if you need anything you tell me." She squeezed his shoulder gratefully. "Thank you." The song ended and so did the mood for dancing, which was apparently well-timed as Tom looked over her shoulder and smiled. "There's Ms. Delaney. I should go and say hello – that is, if you're alright?" Mary searched the crowd for Faye Delaney and felt a twinge of annoyance to find the woman much younger than she'd expected, and quite pretty. She was tempted to tell Tom that she needed him to stick by her side but knew it would have been horribly petty. "I'm fine, go."
Henry appeared at her side, startling her. "Well she certainly looks smitten," he said with a nod toward Tom and his friend. Mary frowned. "If you say so." She shook off her displeasure and turned her attention to her husband. "Would you like to dance?" He looked pleasantly surprised by the invitation but wasted no time leading her to the floor. She enjoyed the feeling of her hips pressed against his and forgot about Tom altogether. This was the sort of thing she and Henry needed, and it seemed they were on the same page as he cautiously suggested they take a weekend away together in the new year. "It would be good for us," she agreed.
Buoyed by the sudden turnaround with Henry, Mary actually managed to enjoy the party for awhile. Then Papa made his customary speech, and Mary smiled demurely when he toasted her for her extraordinary efforts in keeping the traditions of Downton alive. She sipped her champagne and wished for something stronger, and scanned the room until she found Tom. He alone truly knew how much effort had been required and she wondered if she looked as troubled as he did.
"Are you alright?"
Mary jolted and instantly smoothed her features into a bland mask, then remembered the promise she'd made to Henry only days before. But now was not the time, she reasoned, and smiled. "I'm fine, Darling."
