A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews! Tomorrow is looking quite busy so I figured I would post the update today! I hope you enjoy it!

The Lady in Black

Chapter Three

Mary's choice of attire didn't shock her family for long. Her black dresses were overshadowed by an important discovery made in Matthew's office... one that changed her life.

There had been a document, signed by him, an unofficial will of sorts. As his wife, Mary had inherited his share of the estate. Until George was of age, she was part owner of her beloved home.

Mary had wept when she realized what it all meant, though it wasn't tears of sadness. She couldn't help but remember the evening where he had revealed to her, with great dismay, that in order to break the entail they would need a private bill from Parliament... he had been the first man in her life to act as if her interest in Downton truly mattered. And now... now he had finally given her a say. She had thought George was his final gift to her, but she had been wrong. Matthew was still looking out for her, reminding her of how much he had loved her... she didn't regret her choice of dress at all. How could she ever think of moving on when he still had such a powerful hold over her heart?

She could hardly sleep that night— if it weren't for the time and the dark, Mary would have asked Branson to drive her to cemetery that evening so that she could thank Matthew straight away. However, she waited until she had slept uninterrupted for a few hours before ringing for Anna and order the car around.

"I know that you must know how grateful I am, but I wanted to tell you all the same." The weather had warmed up now; spring seemed close. Mary was able to kneel in the grasses without worrying about her knees sinking into damp dirt. "I cannot thank you enough, my darling. For giving me a chance to prove myself... for giving me a voice."

Had she been a boy, Downton would guaranteed to have been hers. It was only her sex that had circumvented everything and passed along whatever inheritance might have been hers to cousin after cousin after cousin. It had vexed her as a young girl, when she realized Downton could never be her home forever unless she married Cousin Patrick.

It wasn't to say she regretted marrying Matthew or even resented him. No— his love was a far greater reward than getting to reign over Downton as Countess. As the mother to the future Earl, Mary had assumed she might be granted some sort of a say, likely in that liminal period between Papa's demise and George's ascendancy if he still wasn't of age. But now it was guaranteed to her by the law.

She hadn't even realized the tears had begun to fall until she tasted the salt on her lips. Mary deftly reached into her bag, pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes. After the first couple of times she had come to visit, she had learned what to bring so that she was prepared.

When there was nothing more to say, Mary bid him farewell and walked up the path to the car. Branson was sitting in the front seat, engrossed in a thick green tome that matched his uniform almost perfectly. Mary was wondering if she needed to say something to capture his attention when he finally noticed her approaching. "Apologies, milady," he said, closing his book before jumping out.

"That's quite alright, Branson," she replied. Nothing could take away her sunny mood, it seemed.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Is everything—" he paused, before rearranging his face into a blank mask. "Never mind." He held the door open.

But Mary stood. She found herself curious. "No. Go on. What were you going to say?"

Branson seemed torn. "I was only going to ask if you were alright, milady. Only you look as if you've been crying."

"Oh," said Mary, taken somewhat aback. Apparently she hadn't given herself (or, perhaps, her eyes and nose) enough time to recover before returning the vehicle. She always tried to conceal her tears from Branson... from any living person, really.

"I only ask because... well, you haven't cried. Not in months. Not from what I could tell, anyway." Branson was almost embarrassed now.

Mary shook her head. It had never occurred to her that Branson had paid much attention to her emotional state when she visited the cemetery. Truthfully, it had never occurred to her that he should care.

It wasn't that she thought him heartless. In fact, Branson had demonstrated plenty of times over the years at Downton that he harbored some care for her family. Mary had never forgotten the concern he had shown for Sybil after the count, his panic over her wellbeing planting the seed in her mind that had lead her paranoid belief they were secretly courting during the war.

Nevertheless, she was still astonished that he had bothered to pay attention. "Don't worry about me, Branson," she found herself saying, stepping towards the car again. He opened up the door for her, still eyeing her warily. She waited until he began driving before revealing, "I've had some good news. I'm afraid my emotions got rather carried away with me."

Branson's shoulders eased. "Well, I'm glad to hear it," he said, a trace of a laugh in his voice. "I must confess, I was rather worried."

"My apologies," Mary said, still rather taken aback by his concern. She waited a moment before revealing, "It seems that before he passed, Mr. Crawley left behind a will leaving his portion of Downton to me until our son is of age."

"You're right— that is good news," said Branson. She could practically hear him smiling. "I'm pleased for you."

"Thank you," said Mary, beaming with pride.

"Do you have any plans for the estate yet?"

"Not many," she confessed. "I think most of my job will be keeping my father out of trouble... if he decides to even accept my help. He made such a display at dinner last night to show everyone just how little I know about running an estate." There was a bitter taste in Mary's mouth as she remembered her humiliation as her father fired off questions in a rapid succession about matters she hadn't even heard of, let alone had a chance to investigate.

Branson said nothing for a moment. Then, "Have you considered speaking with Mr. Milton?" He asked, referring to the agent that had been hired shortly after Jarvis resigned. He was a younger fellow, some acquaintance of Matthew's from school, with a wife and several young daughters. As someone of Matthew's generation, he was more malleable to the new ideas proposed than rigid Mr. Jarvis ever had been.

Mary blinked. "I hadn't. Not yet, anyway..."

"It might be worth looking into," he suggested. "Then you can understand the issues and prove to your father how capable you are and that you deserve to be heard."

Mary was surprised by how practical the advice was. It was as plain as the nose on her face and yet she had overlooked it. "Thank you, Branson," she said, the words taking a different flavor now.

News of the upcoming house party was met with mixed results. Rose was elated at the possibility of young men flocking to house again, Edith saw it as an excuse to finally invite her Mr. Gregson into their midst...

And Mary could care less.

"Don't you want to invite some friends, darling?" urged Mama, desperate for her eldest daughter to take interest. Mary had been sequestered, against her will, in the small library with her parents. It had been empty when she had gone there to read, but soon she had found herself ambushed. "Maybe we could invite Evelyn Napier—"

"I'm sure I'll find ways of entertaining myself without adding to the guest list," Mary said, looking up from a book on animal husbandry. "I'm planning on going with Milton soon and taking a tour of some of the farms."

Papa blanched. "Whatever for?"

"As an owner of the estate, I thought I would be proactive and learn more about it," said Mary. She held up the book, showing him the title. "If I am to help make decisions, then I ought to at least know what I am talking about." She lifted her head. "Or would you prefer I remained ignorant, so you could manage it all yourself?"

Papa looked uncomfortable. "We can discuss this later," he said, eying the door. "I need to make a call to London." He advanced out of the room.

Mary bit back her disappointment, picking up her book again. She would have thought Papa would be more pleased. She only hoped his reluctance to her involvement stemmed from his lack of desire to relinquish some of his newfound control and not just because she was a woman— or (and this was the worst case) he found her unworthy in some way. Maybe it was because she was still mourning or because she was a woman or he simply thought she lacked the brains to contribute something of worth or even a combination of the three, but Mary felt stung nonetheless.

Mama clearly wasn't as enthusiastic about the idea, either. "You can't spend the entire party with Milton," Mama told her, almost disapprovingly.

"I wasn't planning on it," Mary said with a scowl. Honestly, did Mama think she had been raised in a barn? She was well aware of what was expected of her. It had been drilled into her head by countless governesses and nannies since before she knew how to walk.

There was a brief silence. Mary flipped a page. "Mary," began Mama, sitting on the arm of her chair. "I know it may be impossible to think about it... but would you at least consider inviting some friends?" When her daughter said nothing, she continued, "I'm inviting several for Rose and Edith has Mr. Gregson—"

Mary's head snapped up. "Are you serious?" She demanded, knowing immediately what her mother was getting at.

Mama was not unsympathetic but nevertheless said, "You don't have to do anything right away, Mary. You've made it clear how you feel. I am only asking you to consider the possibility—"

"It hasn't even been a year since Matthew died!" Mary's voice rose to higher pitch until it cracked, piercing the air. "And you are trying to shove me down the aisle already?"

"Don't be absurd!" Mama's eyes were wide. She crossed the room, over to where Mary sat, and gripped her hand. "You loved Matthew very much. And we loved him, too."

Tears burned behind Mary's eyes. It was so strange, to hear it in the past tense... loved, as if she still didn't love him now. As if her feelings for him weren't as fervent as they always had been, as if her longing for him was nonexistent.

"Please don't think I'm trying to force anything, because I'm not," Mama continued. "I agree; it's far too soon for you to think about marriage again. But at the same time—" Oh, here we go, thought Mary, "—I don't want you to forget that you are young." She let out a sigh, looking at her forlornly before saying, "All I want for you is happiness, and I hate the thought of you being alone the rest of your life. So all I am asking you do is keep an open mind for the future."

Mary wanted to see Mama's point of view but she kept getting tripped over one particular thought. "What if being alone is what will make me happiest?" She asked out of genuine curiosity instead of a desire to rile up Mama. With half of Downton hers, it didn't seem inconceivable that she could be happy without a romantic partner.

Mama seemed torn for a moment before saying, "But it isn't just about you anymore, darling. It's about George as well."

Mary blinked. "What about George?"

"He may have a fortune and a position, but every growing boy needs a father," Mama said quietly.

Invoking her son's name was enough to make her feel guilty. She always knew herself to be cool and distant... maybe even aloof was the word. When she had entered motherhood, it had been with the expectation that Matthew would be by her side, making up for her deficiencies. She wanted to do what was best for him— but Mama's words reminded her of it all. A lump swelled in Mary's throat. "He did have a father."

"I know. And I'm sure Matthew would have been the perfect parent. But it is just you now, my darling, and George will need a man to look up to for when he is to become a husband or even a father himself."

"What about Papa? Is he to have no influence in George's life?"

Mama cast her a look. "I hope, for my own sake as well as yours, that your father shall live a long life and see George into adulthood." She paused, as if pondering a world Papa might not be in. "But the future is never certain, darling. I don't know when your Papa will pass on. It could be in two days or two decades but nevertheless there is a possibility he won't always be around for him." She was silent before adding, "And furthermore, your Papa is his grandfather. It's not quite the same thing. No," she continued before Mary could interject, "George needs a man he can look up to."

Mary's patience was wearing thinner and thinner. "What about Barrow?" She said, half sarcastically. "He was a the one who was concerned enough about his welfare to tell you about Nanny West. Perhaps he would be up for the task."

"Mary, do be serious. And don't say that sort of thing in front of your father," she added sharply. "I think if he heard you making jokes about marrying servants, he'd have a heart attack."

Mary rolled her eyes. "I wasn't suggesting marrying Barrow," she said, knowing full well she wasn't his type, "I was saying he could be this mystical father figure for George. He probably won't have any of his own—"

"I don't wish to quarrel with you," Mama said, exhausted. "Just try and have fun at the party. Please." She hesitated before saying, "It's what Matthew would want— he would hate to see you alone the rest of your days."

Mary loathed to admit it, but she was probably right about that. Still, it was hard to imagine he would ever want her to marry someone else, either. Oh, he'd pretended for her sake with Richard Carlisle, but as time wore on even he couldn't hide his disdain for the man any longer. Even if she had chosen a good, kind man, Mary suspected Matthew would have found fault with him; he wasn't the sort to admit it, but he had his flares of occasional jealousy.

"I'll try," promised Mary, picking up her book again, mostly agreeing to appear reasonable and hopefully be permitted to return to her book. Satisfied, Mama smiled and walked away.

Still, their conversation bothered Mary in a way she couldn't describe. It lingered in her mind the rest of the day, even as she read more about rearing pigs and even in the following morning, when her and Branson set off from the cemetery. She already had enough fears about whether or not she really was a good enough mother to George and now this was another thing she could add to it.

She didn't say anything about it to Matthew when she went to speak to him that morning. Maybe it was silly, considering if he ever heard her speaking to him here, he would certainly have been able to hear her speak with Mama yesterday, but it felt blasphemous to Mary. Their love had been something so pure, untainted by anything. To even voice the thought Mama had placed in her mind was equal to sacrilege in Mary's book. So she talked about other things, like her readings and the upcoming party.

Still, despite the brief good mood, her energy wore out along the ride home. She had told Branson about the upcoming party and her enthusiasm had began fading away when he asked if any of her friends were invited. "No," she said, studying the back of her gloved hands. "Not really. Family friends, of course, but..."

"Is something wrong?"

"No," lied Mary, thinking of the rules... before remembering she had already broken them. So what was the point in maintaining them? Mary ignored the voices in her head that reminded her that he was a servant before sighing and saying, "It's just that... well, Mama seems to think I ought to start courting again."

Branson's eyes practically bulged out of his skull from the front. Mary was glad of the mirror and that she wasn't the only one taken aback by all of this. "So soon?" He asked, astonished.

"That's rather my thought," said Mary, relieved in spite of everything. A part of her wondered if she had gone mad, wondering if maybe she was supposed to be ready by now. "It hasn't even been a full year yet... and I still miss him terribly."

"Of course you do."

She gnawed on her bottom lip. "She seems to think that by refusing to move on, I might be depriving Master George at a chance to have a strong male figure in his life. She believes that a young boy ought to have someone to look up to." She paused before asking, "Would you agree with her?"

Branson seemed to hesitate. She wished he wouldn't. She wanted to know... desperately. Finally, he let out a sigh and said, "I don't wish to speak ill of her Ladyship, but I don't think she is correct. At all." He swallowed before saying, "My father passed a way when I was young... I wasn't as young as Master George, but young enough. There was still a lot left that I could have learned from him."

Mary was taken aback. Branson had never volunteered information on his family before... not to her, anyway. She wondered perhaps he was the one Branson spoke of grieving the day their little conversations began. "So who did you learn those things from?"

"My mother." Branson smiled. "She was a strong woman. I think you'd like her. After my father passed and my brother moved away, the two of us went to Dublin and she got a job as a seamstress. She loved my father very much... so much that I don't think she ever thought of replacing him. I won't say I never miss him, because I do, but I don't know where I'd be without her." He glanced back, ever so slightly, still grinning as he said, "So I think Master George will be more than alright, milady."

For maybe the first time in her life, Mary felt a wave of affection towards the chauffeur. He had always been courteous, especially kind to her in the past couple of weeks, but right now, this was something different. "Thank you," she said, genuinely, unable to stop herself from returning the smile... and funnily enough, she didn't want to stop herself. "I needed to hear that." She leaned forward slightly, adjusting herself in the back. "I can tell you love your mother very much."

"I do. She's the best mother I could ask for," Branson said with pride. Mary almost wished she could meet Mrs. Branson— if for nothing else than to let her know how much her son admired her.

Still, his words made her feel sad in a way. The best mother I could ask for... "I'm not sure Master George could say the same about me," she said before she could stop herself.

Mary was prepared for an awkward silence followed by mindless platitudes like, I'm sure you are a fine mother, milady, but instead Branson immediately asked, "Do you love him?"

Mary blinked. "Of course I do."

"And is he properly fed?"

"Yes."

"Do you make sure his diapers are changed and that he is looked after?"

Mary hadn't even considered changing any of his diapers, but since a Nanny was there with him again, she replied, "Yes," yet again.

"Well, then you are a good mother. You care about him and that's all that matters for now," Branson said with confidence. Mary wished she could be as sure as he was. Still... she had never realized Branson could be so... well, sweet, for lack of a better word. She was now very glad he had started up that conversation a month ago.

The rules were practically obsolete now. Once Mary had started talking about her family, Branson began talking about his. Mary didn't mind; she found it rather enlightening.

As it turned out, they had more in common than she would have ever realized. After complaining about Edith one afternoon, Branson began telling her about his brother, Kieran. "He's not a bad man and I do love him," he insisted, "but sometimes we don't get on."

"Why particularly?"

Branson shrugged. "Sometimes he doesn't take things seriously enough. He doesn't like that I'm still a chauffeur, either."

Mary frowned. "Whatever for? It's a perfectly respectable profession."

He grinned. "I'm glad you think so, milady. He thinks— well, he used to be a chauffeur, too, for a time. But the family he used to work for was horrid, so he gave it all up and started up a shop in Liverpool. He's wanted me to join him there for some years."

"Well," said Mary, a little thrown by his admission, "I hope we aren't horrid."

Branson laughed. "No, don't worry. If I didn't like it here or think your father was a good man, I would have left long ago, like I did at my last place."

Mary supposed that was a relief. She wasn't going to pretend she had always been on her best behavior when it came to Branson... especially when she was younger. In fact, before Matthew had managed to to soften her sharper edges, Mary had been a perfect snob. She was glad to know that any of this hadn't been enough to send Branson heading for the hills... though she wondered what his former place of employment had been like if he hadn't been put off by some of Mary's choicest remarks.

"So you both learned to drive?"

"Our grandfather taught us," Branson explained. "He had a farm in Galway. He saved up enough money to buy a tractor and we learned when we went to visit."

Mary smiled, trying to imagine Branson on a tractor. It was a discordant image in her mind— no, Branson was suited for cars and cars only.

"And that's not enough to bond?" Mary asked.

"It is... for a day or so. But my main concern would be living with him," Branson continued. "See, if I were to go work for him, then I would likely need to live with him for a few months before I could afford my own place... and Kieran and I are better when we aren't under the same roof." He smirked before saying, "Maybe you and Lady Edith would be happier if you lived in separate houses."

"God, I wish we did," said Mary, which earned her a laugh from Branson. "Hopefully her Mr. Gregson will take her off our hands soon enough."

"He is coming to the party, isn't he?"

"He is," confirmed Mary. "I'm afraid I don't know him that well. We met him at Duneagle, but to be honest, I wasn't particularly interested in getting to know him."

"Well, I hope for your sake and Lady Edith's that he'll prove to be a marvelous man who will propose sometime soon."

"Amen to that," drawled Mary with a wry smile, pleased when Branson laughed.

There was a familiarity to having the house so full again. Still, even when surrounded by so many people, Mary found herself feeling horribly lonely. What she wouldn't give to have Matthew here beside her or even across the room, where they could lock eyes and communicate silently with one another. Mary would even have settled for Sybil, who no doubt would liven things up for her and save her from being subjected to mind numbingly dull conversations with people who wanted to give her their condolences and talk about themselves.

A surprising respite from all of this came in the lithe and supple figure of Tony Foyle— that is, Lord Gillingham. She remembered the man from childhood, someone who had been dragged along by his parents to numerous parties at Downton. He had been several years her senior and likely been irritated by her childishness back then, but now it seemed that was no longer the case, especially since he wished to go riding with her later.

"Does that please you?" Branson asked after she told him about it.

"I'm not sure," said Mary honestly. "He's nice, he's handsome..." she trailed off.

"But he isn't Mr. Crawley?" finished Branson. Mary merely nodded in response. He smiled. "Give it time, milady. If the right man comes along, you'll know it."

"Maybe," said Mary, not as certain as he was. "Lord Gillingham is exactly the sort of person I would have wanted ten years ago..."

"But you've changed since then."

It was true— she had changed. Matthew had changed her. She had once been cold and unaffected, but he had made her grow soft. She wished she had younger self's resilience at times, able to set aside her own pain.

"Where will you take him?"

"I'm not sure yet— I was thinking maybe through the woods, then maybe to the Johnson's pasture to look in on the sheep— Milton and I aren't exactly experts on them and I want to learn more from him."

"I don't claim to be an expert but my grandfather raised sheep on his farm."

That was a surprise. "The same one who taught you to drive?"

"The very same," he smiled. "If you've any questions, I could help."

Mary beamed, amazed. Who would have thought Branson would be a jack of all trades? "Thank you, Branson. I'll keep that in mind."

The ride with Tony was a breath of fresh air— literally and metaphorically. It had been ages since she had last ridden, what with the excitement of planning for a wedding and pregnancy and mourning. "You'd better take Diamond," Mary told him as Mr. Lynch lead the horses towards them. "He's gentler." She patted the horse on the muzzle before walking over to the white mare.

Tony looked at her askance. "And what's wrong with this one?" He asked, nodding at the white horse.

"Daphne is very fussy on who she lets ride her," said Mary, holding back a smile before letting Lynch help her on. "I wouldn't want to you to be bucked off." In fact, the only people Daphne allowed to handle her were Lynch, Mary, and Sybil— Sybil being his favorite. Mary had a natural affinity with horses and thus managed to gain his trust over time, much to her satisfaction.

"Will you need me to ride out with you, milady?" Lynch asked after Tony had mounted Diamond.

Mary glanced at Tony hesitantly before saying, "I don't think so."

She was pleased she hadn't, in the end. Lynch, while a trustworthy servant and someone who had been with the family for decades, wasn't exactly the best person to have around when getting to know another person.

Mary tried keeping her mind open— really, she did. Tony was handsome and kind— not to mention fabulously wealthy with a suitable position. All in all, perfect husband material. However, Mary quickly learned, he was unlikely to be husband material for her.

"Mabel Lane Fox?" Mary mused aloud, smiling when he told her of his impending engagement. She wasn't displeased— in fact, it was rather a relief. She could pay no more attention to the mad scheme and simply enjoy his company— even if it meant that Mama (and, if she were being honest, Papa) were heartbroken. "So you've caught the greatest heiress of the season."

Tony smiled, taking note of her teasing. "She's very nice, in fact," he informed her.

"I'm sure." She was certain with as much money as Miss Lane Fox would be very nice— that is, as a prospective spouse.

"Of course, everyone wants it, on both sides," said Tony, sounding somewhat resigned, "but we do get on."

Mary tried not to smile— really she did, but all she could think of was the moment she entered the Crawleys parlor, hearing Matthew indignantly tell his mother about how they were "going to shove one of the daughters at him!" She had been rather annoyed by him back then... but thank God she had found a way to look past it.

"You may be surprised to hear that a match wanted by everyone can turn out to be extremely happy," she advised him. He might be several years her senior, but Mary was more knowledgeable in the subject of marriage, so she figured she ought to impart her pearls of wisdom.

"Do you speak from experience?"

"Absolutely. Matthew and I were flung at each other's heads from the moment he arrived. If anything, it rather slowed matters up." How she had dragged in her heels! Admitting she loved him was defeat and victory in equal measures.

Tony pondered her words before asking, "But you were happy?"

The years with Matthew had been the happiest of her life. It hurt to think of it now, when his loss was still a gaping wound in her chest, but it was a pleasure as well, to forget he was gone for a moment. When she thought of those blissful moments together, whether it be at a concert for wounded soldiers or sitting on his lap and kissing him gently, she was transported away from this hell, even for a moment. When Mary came back to reality, atop Daphne and by Tony, her answer was bittersweet: "Wonderfully happy."

Tony let a sigh. "How lucky you are." He almost sounded envious

"Am I?" asked Mary. She would hardly call losing one's soulmate and father of one's child lucky.

"You've known a great love. Doesn't that enrich any life?" explained Tony. When he put it like that, she supposed it made sense... it was certainly more tactful, at any rate.

Still, Mary remained not wholly convinced "I'm not sure. Matthew changed me," she said, thinking of the woman she had once been. Sometimes she loathed the cold, imperious girl she had been, flippant and uncaring... other times she wished she could slip back into her skin, just for a while. "I loved him but he changed me. If I were as tough as I was before I met him, I bet I'd be happier now."

"Maybe," agreed Tony, "But we can't go back, can we?"

The conversation shifted away from talk of love and marriage to more practical matters, like the running of an estate.

"How wonderful to see an estate that's still all in one piece," mused Tony, looking at Downton and the pastures full of sheep with unabashed longing. Mary knew he was likely thinking of his own ancestral home, which was now a school for girls. The Dower House that he and his mother resided in was comfortable enough, she was sure, but she doubted it was the same.

Realizing that could easily become Downton's fate if things weren't managed properly, she sighed "Don't speak too soon."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we have a big tax bill to pay," Mary explained. "Papa wants to sell land but I'd like to see if we can avoid it. The trouble is, I can't get him to listen." It had quickly become a source of aggravation between her and Papa as she learned more and more about the running of an estate. Milton welcomed her ideas, always taking them into consideration... if only she could say the same of her father.

His lips pressed into a thin line before asking, "Shall I tell you what I'd do?"

"Please." Mary would welcome any advice.

"Make him agree for you to meet the tax people then bring back the best deal they can offer," Tony told her. "In that way you'll have a real case to argue. We had a similar choice when Father died. In the end, we let the house but kept the land."

"Thank you," said Mary honestly. "It's nice to know one's not alone. That others are facing the same trials." She wasn't just talking about the estate. She was talking about Matthew, about that pit of loneliness that had taken refuge deep inside her. That the awful price that came with gaining an estate was losing someone you loved.

"No. You're not alone." Tony gave her a meaningful look— but Mary knew then he didn't understand. Not on the second score.