Dining room, Crawley House, February 1913
Isobel read the glossy invitation and felt her eyebrows raise in surprise.
"We have both been invited to Lady Rosamund Painswick's ball next week," she told Matthew, who was finishing his breakfast. His fork stopped for a moment halfway to his mouth.
"That's surprising," he noted after he swallowed his eggs. "She did write to welcome me in the family and she was perfectly polite during the shoot and the Servants' Ball, but I certainly did not expect an invitation to London to follow."
Isobel had her suspicions as to the purpose behind the invitation. She did notice all those whispered conferences between Lady Rosamund and her mother, as well as Lady Grantham, all with significant looks at her son and Lady Mary. Evidently some plot was afoot.
"Do you want to go?" asked Matthew noncommittally.
"I've never seen a proper London high society ball like that so I wouldn't mind," said Isobel pleasantly, while busy making plots of her own. Christmas festivities and all the time they had spent together since only confirmed her earlier conviction that her son was falling for Lady Mary. She still had reservations about her though and would gladly observe how she was behaving towards Matthew when surrounded by more interesting young men than Sir Anthony or Mr Grey. It was easy for her to prefer her son when he was effortlessly shining by comparison with such meagre competition – but would she show such preference in more illustrious company? Lady Mary was hard to read, but Isobel counted for this ball to be most informative.
Matthew nodded.
"I will organise us a hotel then. Do you want to stay a day or two longer? For some shopping or an opera maybe?"
"There is no need. Lady Rosamund has invited us to stay at her house, as family."
Now Matthew's eyebrows shot up.
"That's even more unexpected and generous of her. We barely know each other."
"I assume they want to introduce you to the society ahead of summer season," pointed Isobel calmly.
Matthew wriggled in his chair uncomfortably.
"A trial run, to see how I will do?" he noted wryly. Isobel sent him a smirk.
"Most likely. So do behave, will you? I wouldn't want it to be said that I brought you up in a barn."
"Manchester is bad enough for this lot."
"Then let's not confirm their low expectations, alright?"
Matthew sighed.
"Haven't I been on my best behaviour for months, Mother? Why would I not be on this occasion?"
"You have been, and I suspect this invitation is the result," said Isobel evenly. The family was probably getting impatient, however unreasonably, but encouraged enough by the couple's behaviour to entertain some hopes. She would bet anything that this invitation was designed to push Matthew into making a proposal.
Library, Downton Abbey, February 1913
"Rosamund writes that she invited Matthew and Isobel to come to her ball and stay at the house with us," said Cora while accepting tea from Carson.
Mary nearly choked on hers. Another unexpected change from her timeline. Matthew had attended an event or two in summer season of 1913, but it had been only year later, during Sybil's season in 1914, that he had been really involved in London society and it had been definitely more connected to their courtship than introducing him as the heir.
So where did this sudden invitation to Aunt Rosamund's winter season main event come from?
"Why?" she asked. "She can hardly be lacking in accepted invitations, can't she?"
Cora glared at her daughter.
"She invited them because they are family and she liked them when she was introduced to them over Christmas and the New Year. You cannot tell me that you object to spending time with Matthew in London? You two definitely spend enough time together here."
Mary busied herself with taking a very deliberate sip of her tea.
"Does Aunt Rosamund write who else might be there whom we know?" asked Edith hopefully. Ever since the shoot she was feeling slightly more optimistic about her prospects, with her valentines feeding those hopes further.
Her mother knew instantly what information would be most pertinent to her middle daughter.
"Mr Napier will be there," she answered with a smile, "As well as Tony Foyle, heir to Viscount Gillingham. You must remember him, he and his sister used to visit here."
Mary really was fed up with those changes. They made her feel without any control over the events. In 1922 she had met Tony Foyle for the first time since she was ten years old. How and why was he suddenly invited to her aunt's party in 1913?
Well, the answer was obvious. Mama and Aunt Rosamund decided for some reason to intensify and broaden their hunt for suitors. The question was whether Tony and Evelyn were intended for Mary or for Edith. And of course what prompted Mama and Aunt Rosamund to act more boldly than before.
"I do remember him a little," said Edith doubtfully, "Wasn't he much older than us?"
"He used to consider us as awful pests," said Mary bluntly. "I think he is seven years older than me, so hardly an old man now though."
"A year older than Cousin Matthew then," pointed Sybil. "And he is definitely not old."
No, thought Mary, Matthew was definitely not old. Young and dreamy was much more like it.
"Am I coming to London as well, Mama?" asked Sybil eagerly, only to be disappointed by her mother's firm shake of head.
"We are just going for the ball and some quick shopping and you are not yet out. You will come in the summer. You grandmother will stay here to supervisor you."
Sybil moaned. A few days under Granny's direct and critical eye instead of a trip to London!
Edith was busy with her own considerations. She was elated at the prospect of seeing Evelyn again, now that they were corresponding. Tony Foyle she barely remembered and didn't care about, but what about her other suitor?
"Will Sir Anthony be there?" she asked. Cora frowned delicately.
"I don't believe Rosamund has invited him. Their acquaintance is very slight."
Mary scoffed. As if Aunt Rosamund's acquaintance with Evelyn Napier or Matthew, for that matter, was any more meaningful than with a neighbour she had known since she was a child herself! It was clear that Sir Anthony was a tolerated but by no means favoured suitor for Edith. Clearly she was not yet considered a desperate case she in fact was.
Oh well, who cares, concluded Mary uncharitably and focused on a much more pleasant prospect of a ball with Matthew much earlier than she had anticipated. And they would stay in the same house for a few days, maybe even share a train ride together. Not alone, worse luck, but still so much more time together. Maybe something would come out of it.
And then she nearly burst out laughing because she realised she accidentally stumbled on the same thread of thought her female relatives were apparently following while devising the invitation for him. Of course, nobody had harboured any such hopes in her past – she had been showing nothing but outright hostility to Matthew then – but now they were sharing dances, jokes, horse rides and car drives – and obviously raised the family's expectations. They probably thought Matthew just needed some prompting and encouragement. And with Mary's prospects for becoming Countess of Grantham so promising they got off her back and focused on Edith, who in previous timeline still had remained an afterthought at this point.
Mary knew she shouldn't take encouragement from her family's perception of her and Matthew's courtship – they really didn't need much to get excited on that front – but she allowed herself to be hopeful. She knew it was much too soon for Matthew to propose – they barely knew each other for five months – but she fully intended to do everything in her power to entice him during their London trip. She missed being able to kiss him, not to even mention engage in other intimacies with him. Sometimes when she was lying in bed alone this whole impossible time travel seemed like a dream and she was overwhelmed with loneliness and longing for her husband so fierce she feared her heart would literally break into a million pieces.
"Mary, are you alright? You do seem rather flushed. I hope you are not coming down with something," said Cora with concern. Mary mumbled that she was perfectly alright and busied herself with pouring herself more tea.
Such thoughts were clearly better left for the solitude of her bedroom.
Lady Rosamund Painswick's House, Eaton Square, London, February 1913
Opening Aunt Rosamund's ball in Matthew's arms made Mary shiver with exhilaration.
She still could hardly believe it was happening. That she really was here, in his arms, whirling around the ballroom. She did not drink anything tonight and yet she felt drunk. She had to keep reminding herself that she was in public, surrounded by people, and they were not even engaged, so kissing Matthew was absolutely out of question. And yet, with his face so near her, with his strong arms holding her, with his pleasant, familiar scent, with his lips just a breath away – it was all she could think about.
xxx
Opening a high society ball with Lady Mary in his arms was not only a novel experience for Matthew – that would be putting it much too lightly! - but completely surreal.
Here he was, until very recently just a lawyer from Manchester, leading in waltz the most amazing, magnificent woman he could ever imagine. He had thought she was dressing up spectacularly for dinners at the Abbey or for the Servants' Ball, but he realised he had never seen her making true effort with her appearance until he saw her in a London ballroom. Her dark blue gown glistened and accentuated both her figure and her marble complexion marvellously. Her chocolate hair was swept up in the most elaborate fashion he had seen so far and dressed in diamonds and feathers. Anna truly was an artist. The overall effect was simply and literally breathtaking. He had to remind himself to close his mouth when he saw her descending the stairs.
And this amazing creature agreed to his request of a first dance with him. He reminded himself that it might have been because he took full advantage of sharing the train ride with her and asked before any other gentleman had a chance to. He asked Edith for the second dance then too, to make it appear as just cousinly politeness, but to himself he fully admitted that in case of Mary it was anything but.
If anybody asked him how the ballroom looked like or which particular waltz he was dancing with her he would not have been able to answer – he had no idea – everything but the two of them seemed to fade into the background. Of her he was hyperaware though. She was so close he could feel her body's heat. He could smell her scent. A loose lock of her hair was teasing his cheek in a most maddening way. He thought simultaneously that waltzes should be banned and that they should be made mandatory. His hand twitched in protest at the herculean effort he needed to use to stop himself from caressing her back.
He looked into her eyes and had to swallow at the look he saw in them. At the moment he could have sworn she felt the same heady mix of lust and love he was experiencing himself.
He realised that they barely talked. His brain was so busy greedily cataloguing every sensation it seemed to be incapable of forming words. He forced it to try.
"You look magnificent tonight. I must be envied by every man in this room."
"Thank you," smiled Mary. "I believe I am an object of envy as well. You look quite well tonight as well, and you obviously can dance without stepping on your partner's feet; I bet you will not have difficulties with finding other partners after our dance ends."
Matthew had an instant thought that he wanted it to never end. Unless it ended only for them to go somewhere private and... He shook himself off this track of thoughts. And reminded himself to keep looking at her face as he was at it.
"Will you dance another with me? I have to dance the second with Edith, but I am free afterwards."
Mary sent him a hooded glance.
"I might," she said slowly and his heart made a summersault at hearing her agreement. "Do you have a dance you would prefer?"
"What about the supper dance?" proposed Matthew, feeling bold. If Mary agreed to that one, he would be the one to escort her to the dining room and sit by her through supper.
His heart did another summersault when she agreed again. His hand was shaking a bit when he wrote his name in her dance card.
It was with greatest reluctance when he had to leave her with Evelyn Napier to take his turn with Edith.
xxx
The dance with Evelyn was perfectly pleasant – he was a really good dancer and, while he could never be called captivating or charismatic, was well versed in the art of pleasant conversation – as were the ones which soon followed with Cousin Freddie, Vivian MacDonald, Tom Bellasis and finally Tony Foyle, but Mary found it harder than usual to concentrate on her partners. She was rather annoyed with herself that the reason for her lack of attention was paying too much of it to the women who dared to dance with a blond distant cousin of hers.
She noted sourly that the news about Matthew's identity – and his expected inheritance, of course – apparently made the expected rounds in Aunt Rosamund's ballroom. She clearly was not the only woman who noticed that among the available aristocrats and heirs apparent Matthew was rather shining by comparison. It was a sad truth discovered very quickly by most debutantes that the combination of title, money, good looks, brains and amiable personality was unfortunately a unicorn in the shallow pool of potential husbands. Matthew might have been just a middle-class solicitor for now but, to Mary's intense displeasure, there seemed to be quite a lot of husband-hunting young ladies willing to overlook this sad fact in the face of both his personal qualities and his prospects. He clearly didn't have any problems with acquiring dance partners.
Mary had to fight the urge to scratch their eyes out and yell at them to get away from her husband.
Who of course was not even engaged to her yet, worse luck.
She sighed, making some kind of affirmative noise in response to Tony's prattle, and trying not to stare too obviously at Matthew dancing with the Honourable Miss Cateret. A perfectly nice girl if Mary felt disposed to be fair, which she wasn't currently.
She was rather taken by surprise by the force of her jealousy. She had had much less problems with that while watching him engaged to Lavinia for years. Then, when they had been married, she had never minded him dancing with other women. What was it that raised her heckles so much right now?
She nearly gasped when she finally managed to put her finger on it. When Matthew had been engaged to Lavinia, she had been desperately sad and full of longing, but she had not thought she had any right to him after the awful mess she had made of their relationship. When they had been married, she had every right, but she had not cared about his dance partners, because he had never given her any doubts about his love and devotion to her. She had not been jealous of them, because she had been sure they had meant nothing to him. Matthew had had eyes only for his wife.
But she was not his wife or even fiancée now, however she felt about him, and yet any potential rival for his affections was making her blood boil. Matthew was hers.
She sighed quietly again and made a firm decision to get him to propose before the Season started. For her own sanity.
xxx
Mary was sipping champagne after she managed to shake off Tony by organizing for him to dance with Edith. Thankfully he was too polite to refuse. If she was to judge by his persistence though Edith's chances of securing his attentions to herself were minuscule to none. He was clearly just as besotted with Mary at twenty two as he had been with Mary at thirty one. Mary smirked as she wondered what Mabel Lane Fox was doing those days.
Her musings were interrupted by Aunt Rosamund who approached her in a hurry to introduce her to yet another potential suitor. Mary didn't even have time to ask who she had in mind when suddenly they were standing in front of Richard.
Only years of experience in keeping her face impassive while facing him stopped her from visibly startling at his presence here. What was he doing here anyway? They hadn't meet each other last time until 1916 at Cliveden.
"Mary, I would like you to meet my friend. Sir Richard, this is my niece Lady Mary Crawley. Mary, this is Sir Richard Carlisle. He owns half of Fleet Street and has been recently knighted for his services to the king."
Sir Richard took Mary's hand and bestowed light kiss on it.
"I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Mary. One usually finds reports of a lady's beauty exaggerated, but in your case they clearly didn't do you justice."
Well, that was clearly more effusive greeting than Mary expected.
"Thank you for the compliment, Sir Richard. I cannot say I heard much about you yet, but I will gladly learn more."
"Will you do me the honour of dancing with me then? What's better opportunity to get to know somebody in a ballroom than dance together?"
Mary searched desperately for an excuse and finding none at the moment she agreed. At least Sir Richard was a good dancer.
"What would you like to know about me, Lady Mary?" asked he, leading her deftly through the crowd of dancers. Mary brushed aside her immediate first thought of how can I make you go away and never come back and came up with a more polite enquiry.
"What do you enjoy most in running newspapers?"
The question seemed to please him as she knew it would. He loved talking about himself and his empire.
xxx
Matthew never really knew jealousy until Lady Rosamund's ball. He was simply not a jealous type – he had always been satisfied with his life and his place in it and if he wanted something he didn't have he either worked on getting it or disregarded it as impossible to achieve and not worth worrying about.
Only now, looking at Mary dancing, laughing, flirting with other men, men far wealthier and better born than him, he was painfully aware that he was bitterly jealous.
He knew that this feeling was irrational. Firstly, he had no right to it. Mary was not tied to him in any way other than her family wishes. What's more, he knew that, for all their matchmaking, if another suitor came with a title and good fortune of his own, her family would not stand in their way. Mary was certainly not beholden to him. They did spend quite a lot of time together in recent weeks – dinners at the big house, horse riding on the estate, car drives through Yorkshire countryside when he managed to borrow a car from Peter Harvell – but as wonderful and precious as it was for him, he had no idea what feelings Mary had about those outings. She seemed to have fun and find pleasure in his company, but was it because she was starting to care for him or just because no better company than Sir Anthony or Billy Skelton was available? Seeing her now with Evelyn Napier, Anthony Foyle or even Sir Richard Carlisle he felt only increasing doubts. Either of them could offer her immediately more opulent lifestyle and more elevated position than he could be able to do for years, possibly decades. They were also handsome, well educated and witty, so he could not find himself superior on those grounds. Why wouldn't she choose one of them or another man more like them than him?
He tried to console himself that at least she not only agreed to a second dance with him, but to the supper dance specifically. It was not really working at improving his mood though or on attention he was able to pay to whoever his current dance partner was with his eyes constantly searching for Mary's elegant form across the ballroom. Feeling slightly guilty for it he soon excused himself from dancing and went to fetch himself a drink.
It was while seeping his brandy when he noticed that Mary did not seem to enjoy her dance with Carlisle nor the conversation which followed afterwards. He fought with himself for a moment, wondering if his urge to intervene was justified by his observations or just an expression of his jealousy. In the end he decided to risk Mary's displeasure at his potential pushing in and walked decidedly in their direction.
xxx
Mary was indeed not enjoying herself trapped in conversation with Sir Richard. And wasn't this a situation she was painfully familiar with and hoped to avoid this time around! Yet here she was, forced by politeness and caution of offending him and making him her enemy to smile and talk when she wished nothing more than to get as fast and as far away from him as possible.
"Lady Rosamund mentioned attending a ball at your father's estate just a few weeks ago," noted he pleasantly. She really couldn't fault his manners tonight. He was perfectly polite, seemingly bent on making good impression on her. It was not his fault that she was influenced by all bad memories of their miserable engagement from another time. She reminded herself of it again when she answered him.
"Yes, but it was a very special ball – a Servants' Ball. It's a family tradition of ours."
"Servants' Ball?" Sir Richard's eyebrows raised. "Does the name imply that servants were invited?"
"Very much so. It's an occasion to reward their faithful service and to acknowledge the bond between master and servant and how our daily lives are interconnected."
"A rather ridiculous tradition, I must say," commented Sir Richard incredulously. "I cannot imagine dancing with my cook."
"You wouldn't," pointed Mary before she could stop herself. He did get on her nerves so! "It is rather a feudal tradition in spirit."
"Ah, and you imply I was not raised in that kind of spirit, don't you? No, no, don't deny it – I am not ashamed to admit you are perfectly right. I was not raised like that and do not appreciate it. I am a self-made man and am proud of it. I raised far above my origins and will only raise higher in time; I do not see the need to fraternise with people well below me and destined to be even lower. I find it ridiculous, artificial and dishonest. After all, after the dancing is over, it's not like your cook or your maid will be invited to stay for tea, won't they?"
"No, indeed they won't," agreed Mary through gritted teeth. "But the point of it is not to deny the class and rank differences – it is just a gesture of good will and gratitude for their everyday toll for our sake."
"But it's not for your sake they toll; it's for the salary they get."
"We still benefit from it. So, if you prefer it, we might call it a thank you gesture for a job well done."
"A pointless gesture. I bet they would prefer a cash bonus. Still, it is an entertaining event, I am sure. Do you host any other?"
"Of course. We host hunts and shoots, a ball in London during the summer season and a garden party in August, not to mention multiple smaller occasions. I would say we host at a usual level expected of an earl's family."
"And do you often invite foreign diplomats for your events?" he asked, looking at her significantly.
Mary didn't freeze. She didn't visibly react in any manner. After all, he couldn't possibly refer to an event which took place in another timeline and a whole month after the current date anyway? Oh, of course not! He was only fishing for any potentially useful connection to gain information for his newspapers. If only the very sight of him wasn't immediately bringing his blackmail of her to her mind!
"Sometimes," she responded with a shrug. "My father's cousin Shrimpie works at the Foreign Office, so we do occasionally entertain his guests."
"That must be interesting. Any particular parts of the world?"
"Not really, as far as I remember. Shrimpie seemed to be involved with India and different countries on the Continent mostly, but we occasionally hosted guests from America or the Dominions as well."
She did not remember the last time she felt so happy and relieved to see Matthew approaching. Possibly when he had come to Downton after being missing in action.
"Mary, I am sorry to interrupt your conversation, but I think it's time for our dance. Shall we?" he asked pleasantly, offering his hand. She grasped it gladly, although perfectly aware that supper dance was still far off in the evening.
"Of course! I am so sorry, Sir Richard, but as you see I am otherwise engaged now. Have you met my cousin already?"
"I have not had the pleasure yet," answered Sir Richard in a tone clearly implying that he had not expected any pleasure either.
"Then may I introduce my father's heir, Mr Matthew Crawley. Matthew, this is Sir Richard Carlisle, recently knighted newspaper owner."
"Pleased to meet you," answered Matthew politely, although with coldness which implied that he fully mirrored Sir Richard's feelings on their new acquaintance. "I apologise for cutting in, but I can hear that my dance is starting."
With a nod towards Sir Richard, Matthew led Mary towards the dance floor. She settled into his arms with a relived sigh, but soon raised an eyebrow at him.
"It is not the supper dance," she noted. Matthew shrugged.
"You looked uncomfortable so I thought you might welcome a rescue."
It was more of a statement than a question, but Mary thought she could detect a hint of nervousness. Matthew was probably afraid she would find his actions presumptuous. As if she ever would have minded being rescued from Carlisle's company by Matthew!
"I was a bit. A dance with you is definitely preferable."
Matthew's face went quickly through delighted grin to concerned frown.
"Was he being inappropriate?"
Mary sighed. Richard wasn't inappropriate. Unless astonishing and nerve wrecking allusions to a scandal which could not possibly take place in this place and time were inappropriate. God, she was becoming paranoid.
"No, he wasn't. In fact, he was perfectly polite. I think he is just an unpleasant person, rather rough around the edges. I don't think I care much for his company."
"Then maybe I will shine by comparison again," grinned Matthew and Mary felt herself smiling in response.
"Perhaps you shall."
xxx
Matthew and Mary's third dance definitely was noticed by many and raised quite a few eyebrows.
"My, he does seem determined, doesn't he?" remarked Rosamund. Her sister-in-law's eyes were also following the couple eagerly.
"Mary seems to approve. She is positively glowing."
"Oh well, she could do worse," Rosamund shrugged her delicate arms. "Although it is still a pity that she will be a solicitor's wife for God knows how long. She would make a brilliant society hostess if given opportunity."
"She will have a title, Downton and my fortune eventually though, in addition to a man she obviously likes. I would not put my nose down on it, Rosamund."
She was proud of herself for not stooping low enough to point out that Rosamund's late husband was hardly a peer himself. She knew that her mother-in-law would have.
A bit farther away Evelyn Napier also noticed the couple and made a note of the number of times they were dancing together, as well as the fact that it was the supper dance. He sighed. He enjoyed his correspondence with Lady Edith, she had plenty of interesting things to say and a way with words impressive in somebody so young, but he had to admit that his heart beat faster when he looked at her older sister. Who apparently was on her way to be engaged, even if not yet officially spoken for. A true pity.
Tony Foyle was looking as well, but it only made him more determined. He could not believe how exquisite woman little Mary Crawley had grown up into. She took his breath away as soon as he set eyes on her tonight. He was not going to let her slip away, not without trying his utmost to secure her for himself. He did not believe he would ever find her equal.
Isobel sipped her champagne thoughtfully. Lady Mary was just as hard to read as always but agreeing to dance with her son for the third time in one evening and to be escorted by him to supper must have meant something, especially with so many eager and titled men around to choose from. Of Matthew's feelings she had no doubts whatsoever. Anybody looking at him when he was dancing with Lady Mary could tell he was completely smitten.
Sir Richard Carlisle just gritted his teeth, his eyes sending daggers at Matthew Crawley's blond head.
Breakfast room, Painswick House, February 1913
Matthew smiled shyly at Mary over the breakfast table. The intimacy of sharing breakfast with her – even though they were hardly alone, with her father and sister present, as well as his mother – was making his heart flutter.
This. This was what he wanted, for as long as they both lived.
"Have you enjoyed the ball, Cousin Matthew?" asked Edith friendly,
Although maybe without so many chaperones.
"Very much, Edith. I admit I did not have such good time in a while. I must remember to thank Lady Rosamund once again for the invitation."
"What are you plans for the day, Cousin Isobel?" asked Robert with friendly interest.
"I wanted to use this opportunity to do some shopping and Matthew kindly agreed to accompany me to the British Museum after lunch."
"It's hardly a kindness when I want to see the exhibitions myself," pointed Matthew with a smile at Mother.
"Which exhibitions are you interested in?" asked Robert eagerly. "I myself am particularly fond of the Egyptian one."
"I would have guessed that, Cousin Robert," answered Matthew with a smile. "It is truly fascinating, I admit, although I personally prefer the Ancient Rome."
Robert opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Lady Rosamund's butler, Meade, announced the arrival of Mr Anthony Foyle.
"I am very sorry to intrude upon your breakfast," apologised Tony in response to general astonishment his appearance caused. "I was just anxious that you would start your day soon and I would have missed you."
Matthew did not miss the significant glance Tony directed at Mary, who thankfully did not look overly pleased at this unexpected development. If anything, Matthew thought she looked annoyed.
"So, what are your plans for the day?" asked Tony amiably.
"We were discussing visiting the British Museum after lunch," answered Mary reluctantly and Matthew's head snapped to her. They were? He was under the impression that only he and Mother were supposed to go there.
"Oh, I love British Museum!" said Tony enthusiastically. "Would you mind if I tagged along?"
Matthew dearly wished to be able to say that yes, he did mind very much, especially if Mary was going as well, but alas could not.
"We'll be delighted to have your company," he lied politely through gritted teeth. He imagined the look Mary sent him was full of commiseration.
Library, Downton Abbey, February 1913
Walking down the grand staircase, Mary huffed with exasperation. What in heavens was Tony doing here? Wasn't it enough that he tagged along on their excursion to the British Museum, interrupting her and Matthew every time when their conversation was becoming truly interesting? Or that he for some reason felt the need to show up at the King's Cross this morning to say goodbye when they were returning to Downton? How did he even get here so fast, they barely arrived themselves?
She entered the library, finding Tony standing in front of the fireplace.
"It is you. When Anna told me, I thought there must be a mistake. How did you get here?" she asked, barely keeping her tone polite. She was still breaming with resentment over him ruining the fun she planned to have in London with Matthew.
"On the same train as you. But I was travelling in third," answered Tony, looking at her in an intent way she didn't like one bit.
"Why?"
"Because I didn't want to speak to you in a railway carriage with, you know, your parents and everyone else listening."
Oh, she hated being right to be suspicious!"Would you like some tea?" she asked, determined to make their tete-a-tete much less intimate than it was starting to become.
"Yes, if I may."
Mary walked over to pull the bell, then reluctantly turned back towards him.
"I assume you're going to give me an explanation at some stage," she said curtly.
"It's not complicated. I have made a long journey to ask a short question. Will you marry me?
Mary digested this for a moment, blinking slowly. She did expect a declaration of romantic interest of some kind, but a proposal?!
"Tony, you don't know me."
"How can you say that? We've known each other since we were children," exclaimed Tony passionately. Mary gave him an exasperated look.
"Yes, but with a very long gap in the middle. We only met properly a few days ago, and now you want to spend the rest of your life with me?"
"Yes. That's exactly what I want. I love you, Mary, and there must be a way to convince you."
The door opened and William entered, awaiting orders. Mary was never so glad for an interruption in her life.
"Ah, William, could you bring us some tea?"
"Very good, m'lady."
They waited for him to walk out and close the door. As soon as he did, Tony walked closer to her. She barely stopped herself from recoiling.
"You fill my brain. I see you when I close my eyes. I, I can't stop thinking about you, where you are, what you're doing..."
"You're very persuasive," started Mary slowly.
"Then be persuaded," interrupted Tony eagerly.
"I only wish I could, but I'm afraid it's quite impossible," said Mary decisively.
"Not now, if you don't want to. You take as long as you need, two years, three. Just so long as I know that you're going to marry me in the end."
The door opened again, this time to admit Robert. Mary thanked God for another interruption. That insufferable man was impossible to shake off!
"Tony! Why on earth are you here?" asked Robert in clear bafflement.
"I had some business nearby, so I thought I'd look in," said Tony awkwardly, thankfully deciding not to ask Robert for Mary's hand straight away.
"Are you staying?"
"Er, yes, if you don't mind. I brought a bag, on the off chance."
Mary left the library in a state of complete disbelief.
Dining room, Crawley House, February 1913
"You will never believe who apparently is a guest at the Abbey tonight," said Isobel at dinner. Matthew looked at her curiously.
"I am not going to even try. Who?"
"Mr Anthony Foyle, apparently. At least according to the efficient network of servants' gossip."
Matthew stared at his mother in disbelief.
"But how did he even get there? He was still in London this morning. Came to the station to say goodbye."
"And according to my informers he jumped the same train we did, just in the third class."
"He came in secret, uninvited, travelling third class all the way to Downton?"
Matthew realised he lost his appetite. He could think of only one reason for Mr Foyle to pull a stunt like that and he didn't like it one bit.
Isobel raised a sardonic eyebrow.
"According to Cousin Cora, he was invited to Lady Rosamund's ball in hopes of getting him interested in Edith."
"Edith?!" Matthew nearly choked on his potatoes. He reached hastily for his water glass. "Ah, yes, Edith. Makes perfect sense."
"Except he didn't seem to get the message," pointed out Isobel, calmly cutting her meat. "I don't think it was Edith he was trying to impress with his following us here."
Matthew unfortunately had to agree.
Road to Downton Abbey, February 1913
Matthew could not resist going to the Abbey as early as etiquette allowed. He told himself sternly that it was just because he felt the need to discuss the plans for the cottages with Cousin Robert – the works were supposed to start as soon as the weather became consistently warm – but he did not even attempt to fool himself into believing it.
His musings were interrupted by their very object suddenly approaching him on Diamond.
"Matthew! What are you doing here?"
Matthew opened his mouth to use his prepared excuse, but decided it was too flimsy to bother with.
"I've heard Mr Foyle came here yesterday and I admit curiosity got the better of me," he answered sheepishly. "Is it true he travelled in the third class?"
Mary rolled her eyes and got off her horse.
"Yes, he did indeed. And I am not even going to ask how you have heard about it already."
"The village has its ways of conveying news of such kind," said Matthew drily. "So, what was the reason for such dramatic and sudden journey?"
Mary looked at him archly.
"He came to propose to me."
Matthew started coughing.
"Are you alright?" asked Mary, looking at him with a look which seemed to be part concerned, part amused. Matthew raised his hand to keep her from pounding his back which she looked half ready to do.
"Perfectly," rasped Matthew as soon as he was able. "But I must have heard you wrong. Didn't you tell me that you two did not see each other since you were children? Or have I remembered it wrong?"
"Oh, you remember it correctly and we have indeed not seen each other in over ten years until Aunt Rosamund's ball."
"Then why this sudden proposal?" he asked in disbelief. Surely offering marriage to someone, a lifelong and practically unbreakable commitment, required a bit longer thinking time than two days?
Mary shrugged.
"He claims he fell madly in love with me when he saw me after all those years."
Matthew hated asking her that. He absolutely hated it. It was not his business. If she was engaged, he could very well wait for the announcement. But he could not stop himself from asking if his life depended on it.
"And what was your answer?"
Mary stared at him in evident disbelief.
"I refused, of course!" she said. "Or do you imagine I was struck by love at first sight-in-years and decided to jump at an impulsive proposal of a man I have last seen as a ten year old girl?"
Matthew suddenly realised he could breathe again. He raked his hand through his hair rather sheepishly.
"No, of course not. I do not know why I asked."
Mary sent him a look that could not be described by any other words than pure exasperation but let him off the hook.
"I took Diamond out to hide from him until he left for the train station," she said lightly. "Would you like to keep me company? I and Diamond already had a proper ride, we can walk for a bit."
"Gladly," grinned Matthew, offering her his arm. His morning suddenly seemed much brighter.