She did not think twice about it when Matthew had told her Mary's godfather and his son would be at the dinner tonight.
Frankly, Isobel did not really care if another lord came to Downton. They were all much the same to her - boring, usually rude, and more concerned with appearances than anything else. And she knew what they thought of her too - opinionated, meddling, and terribly middle class.
But...Isobel determined that she would try to accept the Crawley clan - attempt to fit in with the new life her son had thrust upon him. She always wondered whether Matthew would have been happier to remain in Manchester. Perhaps, his previous life as a solicitor suited him better. Regardless of her thoughts, she was happy that Matthew had found love - albeit, she never thought he would fall for someone like Lady Mary Crawley.
Isobel chuckled to herself as she poured herself a cup of tea. For all her misguided beliefs on the importance of class, Lady Mary was a bright woman, Isobel thought. Strong and independent, willing to speak her mind; for that, Isobel admired her future daughter-in-law.
After finishing her cup, Isobel headed to her bedroom to dress for the evening. She was never one for formal wear, finding it far too uncomfortable, nor did Isobel deem herself a great beauty - certainly not one suited for fine dresses of silk and lace.
She looked through her wardrobe, deeming a violet dress appropriate for the evening. She dawned the outfit, accompanied with a long golden chain around her neck and small earrings. As she returned the hanger to her closet, she spied it - something she had not thought about in years.
There - in the back of her wardrobe - hung the green mantle. Its crushed green velvet still felt as fine as the day he had given it to her.
Dickie Merton, she remembered. She had never forgotten him - what if lingered at the back of her mind. She wondered if he ever thought about her. Probably not, some great lord of an estate, just like his father always wanted him to be.
She pulled the cloak from the wardrobe into the light for a better look. She recalled that long ago day, down to the very minute. Isobel ran her hand over the fine velvet. I wonder what's become of him. Is he even still alive? Or gone just like my Reg?
As she held the mantle, a knock on the door startled her, drawing her away from her memories.
"Mother?" Matthew's voice sounded on the other side of the door. "Are you ready? Can I come in?"
"One moment," she uttered and quickly returned the mantle and her memories to the back of the closet where she assumed they belonged.
"Yes," she answered her son. "Come in."
"Mother," Matthew said, admiring her, "you look lovely."
She chuckled as he kissed her cheek. "Am I suitable?" She smoothed her hand over her dress.
"Quite," her boy smiled at her. His blue eyes twinkled with just the slightest hint of mischief.
"I'm happy for you Matthew," Isobel supplied. "I really am. Announcing your engagement has been a long time coming." She squeezed his hand.
"It has been rather an on-again, off-again whirlwind, hasn't it?" he laughed.
"Well, Lady Mary is certainly never boring," his mother remarked. "She will keep you on your toes, my dear boy."
Matthew grinned, dizzy with love for his newfound fiancé. "I wouldn't have it any other way. The car's here, so we should be off."
Isobel accepted her son's offered arm. "Well, let's go then."
…
Isobel had been sitting next to the Dowager in the lounge when Mr. Carson came to announce that the Grays had arrived for cocktail hour. The butler pronounced "cocktail" with an air of distaste, still getting used to the idea of mixing alcohol.
"He's still getting used to this idea," Mrs. Crawley remarked to the Dowager.
"As well he should," Lady Violet commented. "So much has changed since the war. Too much...too fast."
"Change is not always a bad thing," Isobel pointed out.
Violet chortled. "When your granddaughter marries the chauffeur, then you can comment."
"I thought you liked Tom?"
"I do like Tom," Violet insisted. "I do not like the fact that he carted my granddaughter off to that little island he wants out from under our control."
"But, Sybil's here now," Isobel noted. "You sent them the money."
"I did," Violet answered sagely. "A calculated measure of kindness on my part," she snickered. "I intend to make them stay."
"Always scheming," Isobel muttered under her breath.
At that moment entered two sons and their father - a tall, gray haired gentleman, smartly dressed in black coat and tails.
She recognized him instantly. Age had changed him some, but not his eyes - those same kind eyes remained.
Her mouth hung open for a bit.
Violet cleared her throat.
Isobel's mouth snapped shut.
"Hmm….It looks like you have seen a ghost," Violet noted swiftly following Isobel's brown eyes to one Lord Merton.
"What?" Isobel said, shaking her head. "No..umm...no, just thinking."
"Thinking about what?" Violet asked, her curiosity piqued. She knows Lord Merton. A fool could see it. She's terribly bad at hiding things.
"Nothing," Isobel muttered.
Robert Crawley shook Lord Merton's hand as he entered the lounge. "Dickie," he laughed, "good to see you. So glad you could come."
"I wouldn't miss the opportunity to celebrate my god daughter's engagement," Dickie replied.
"Larry, Tim, grab a cocktail. Carson doesn't approve of them, but they are quite good," Robert chuckled.
"There's a good many things Carson doesn't approve of, I'd wager," Larry said snidely, grabbing a drink from the footman's tray.
"We wouldn't miss Mary's grand occasion," Tim said. "Interested to know the plans for the wedding and all."
"Well, all in good time," Robert said. "Come, Dickie, I do not think you have met everyone here." He led Lord Merton to the settee in the corner where the Dowager Countess and Mrs. Crawley sat. "Lord Merton, of course you know Mama, but I do not think you have met Matthew's mother, Mrs. Isobel Crawley." Robert introduced the two.
Dickie recognized her instantly - the woman he had let go so many years ago. The woman he had loved - the woman he had never forgotten. Age had yet to ravage her fair features. Her hair was still the honey blonde he remembered, though tiny streaks of gray marked her temple. She was still beautiful.
"A pleasure," Lord Merton said, bending low in respect. No one needs to know that we had met before. No one needs know of our shared past.
"Nice to meet you," Isobel returned. "You must be Mary's godfather."
"I am," Dickie said, "and these are my sons - Larry and Tim."
"A pleasure to meet you Mrs. Crawley," Tim feigned interest. Larry nodded and returned to his drink.
"And their mother?" Isobel asked. "Did your wife accompany you?"
"Sadly, Lady Merton has passed on," Dickie answered, hoping to change the subject.
"Oh, I am sorry," Isobel remarked.
Violet watched the two - eyeing one another. It's as if they're walking on eggshells. I wonder how they know each other. And why is it that they intend to keep this a secret? Dickie plays it off better than Isobel - but he knows her.
"Dinner is ready, my Lord," Mr. Carson finally announced.
The guests ushered into the dining room. Mrs. Crawley was seated across Lord Merton, and she desperately wished she had not been. Lady Violet sat next to Isobel.
As Tom berated the English for their treatment of the Irish, Violet leaned over to Isobel. "So, how do you know Dickie Merton?" she whispered under her breath so only Isobel could hear.
"I don't know what you mean," Isobel whispered back, slightly perturbed.
"Earlier, you looked as if you had seen a ghost, and now you are quiet as a church mouse, something has changed. And the only probable cause, the only new thing added to the evening, is the arrival of Lord Merton and his sons," Violet explained, careful to avoid any listening ears.
"Can we discuss this later?" Isobel asked.
"Yes," Violet chuckled, "and don't think I will forget."
"I know you won't," Isobel huffed.
"Sate my curiosity and answer me just one question. Do you know him?"
"Yes," Isobel whispered.
"I knew it," Violet chortled.
"Knew what, Granny?" Mary overheard her grandmother's statement.
"I know everything of course, my dear," Violet asserted.
"About?" Larry asked. "Surely, you have already heard the chauffeur's droning on and on about the Black and Tan business."
"It's not droning," Tom slurred. His face was sweating profusely. "It's English oppression, based on this whole ridiculous notion of class." He raised his glass and downed the last thumb of drink in it.
"Typical Irish," Larry added, "drunk."
"Hold it now," Anthony Strallan came to Tom's defense. "You drugged him! Slipped something in his drink."
"Come now," scoffed Larry. "Have you any proof?"
"I saw it. Look at Mr. Branson. He's clearly not himself," Strallan noted.
"Is this true, Larry?" Dickie asked his son. His tone grave.
"What if it is?" Larry demanded. "The whole thing's ridiculous. A chauffeur marrying the Earl's daughter. It's as ludicrous as Mary marrying a solicitor from Manchester who got lucky enough that someone died and left him heir of the estate." Larry raised his glass to Mary and then to Matthew, mocking the happy couple.
"And, you sir," the Dowager spoke from across the table. All eyes rested on her. "And, you, Larry Gray, have no right to call Tom chauffeur. He's a member of the Crawley family. And that should be enough to demand respect."
Larry's eyebrow raised at that remark. The Dowager glared at him, daring the snivelling boy to answer back. Coward, she thought.
Isobel watched the scene unfold, aghast at the rudeness of Lord Merton's sons. Shock apparent on her face. How were they so different from their father? Or is that how Dickie acts now? Does class reign supreme in his mind? She waited for his response.
Dickie stood from his seat at the table and cleared his throat. "I do apologize Lord and Lady Grantham for my son's outburst. Larry, I think it best now if you please leave."
"Really, father…" Larry began snickering.
"Leave I say!" Dickie shouted. "And bring your rudeness and prejudice with you. It has no place here at this table."
"For what it's worth," Tim added, "I agree with my brother. Come on, Larry, let's just go." Tim touched his brother's shoulder, motioning for the door.
"See you at the wedding," Larry laughed as he exited the room.
"Nobly done, Lord Merton," Lady Violet answered. "It can be difficult disciplining one's grown children."
"I am sorry," Dickie said to the table once again. He eyed Isobel, clearly embarrassed by his sons. She must think of me as such a snob.
"I don't feel well at all," Tom said, patting his head with a napkin.
"I'll take you upstairs," Matthew replied. "But, before I do, I want everyone here to know that I want you to be the best man at my wedding."
"Really?" Tom did a double-take.
"Absolutely," Matthew affirmed, squeezing Tom's shoulder. "We men have to stick together to handle these Crawley girls."
"And that will put Larry and Tim in their place," Mary said offhandedly.
"Quite," Sybil added, smiling to her sister.
"Well," Robert announced, "I think we should call that dinner. Let's retire. Dickie?" He turned to Lord Merton. "Cards?" He asked in a manner to let his old friend know all was forgiven. He was not to blame for his sons' actions.
"I think I should head home," Isobel told Matthew.
"Are you sure you do not want to stay and play bridge?" he asked his mother.
"Oh, no," Isobel remarked. "I'm quite tired."
"Alright," Matthew kissed her on the forehead.
Before Isobel made her way to the door, Lady Violet caught her. "Isobel, you will come to the Dower House tomorrow, yes?"
Isobel shook her head in agreement.
"Good, I believe you owe me a story." Lady Violet smirked.
…
December 1991
"So," Liz said as she sat on the floor of her grandfather's study. "The Dowager Countess knew that Isobel and Dickie knew each other. How?"
George Crawley laughed. "My great-grandmother knew everything. It was like she had a sixth sense. I wish you had known her. In many ways, Liz, you remind me of her."
"Nosy to no-end," her brother Matthew remarked snidely.
Liz pushed his arm. "Cheeky."
"George," Liz's husband Jack addressed the older gentleman, "it sounds like your granddad Dickie's sons were right royal pains."
"You could say that," George said, stroking his moustache. "They were never fans of my Grandmmama."
"Sheesh…. I can't believe how people used to base so much around who was born into what family back then," Liz announced. "Still do...to a certain extent even today. It's maddening."
"Okay, off you high horse, Liz," Matthew remarked. "So, what happened next, Granddad?"
"Well," George sighed, "the course of true love never did run smoothly."
Hello again, dear readers! It's been a good while since I've updated this story...or any story for that matter. I finally had some free time to kill, and so write away I did. Hopefully, you will like this next installment. As always, leave me a review. I love to know your thoughts.