Church Bazaar, Downton Abbey grounds, late August 1913
"I have to admit I have not realised how busy the social calendar is in the country during the summer", said Matthew to Mary, strolling between the booths and a potato sack race. "Numerous garden parties, flower show, now church bazaar and the infamous cricket match."
"We are determined to make use of fair weather; it will be gone soon enough. And then the only thing we will have left to do will be shooting and hunting parties," answered Mary languidly. The weather was indeed spectacularly warm, but with gentle breeze making it bearable and she enjoyed the day immensely.
"Duneagle will be a shooting party?"
"No, it will be stalking. Shooting is for birds – grouse, partridges or pheasants, and hunting is for foxes."
Matthew shook his head ruefully.
"I never will get it straight."
"You will," said Mary with confidence. "And anyway, there will also be fly fishing at Duneagle, so there will be something you are familiar with."
"I'm looking forward to it," Matthew brightened up. "It used to be quite a special thing for me and my father, and I never missed the opportunity later on as well. I hope the cricket match will be fun too."
He looked at his fiancée with heated appreciation. He loved seeing her in summer whites, they were so much more revealing! Why, in that particular frock he could see a hint of her corset through the delicate material.
"Would you like to play some tennis with me tomorrow? I don't have to be back in London until Tuesday."
"Certainly," answered Mary with a smile. "Are you feeling competitive ahead of the cricket match?"
"Not really," smirked Matthew. "But I just remembered how much I enjoy seeing your ankles in a tennis skirt."
"Matthew! We are hardly alone here!" hissed Mary, feeling herself blushing. She was afraid though that Matthew could very well say that her chiding was half-hearted at best.
xxx
Flirting with Matthew was a high point of the day. Having to endure Tony Foyle's desperate attempts to win her away from her fiancé a completely opposite.
"Mary, I find that I simply cannot forget you, however much I try," confessed Tony passionately while Matthew was busy talking to Robert.
Mary looked at Tony with astonishment.
"Tony," she hissed, "my fiancé is just there. Are you seriously trying to convince me to break my engagement to him?"
Tony's eyes were dark and soulful and did absolutely nothing to entice Mary's compassion, not to mention any fonder feelings.
"I won't give up trying, Mary, until you actually marry him. Until you do, I still have a chance to change your mind."
"You don't have a chance, Tony," said Mary slowly, like to a rather dim-witted child. "I love Matthew. I cannot wait to marry him. I have some fond memories of you from our childhood, but we barely saw each other as adults. I don't know you and you definitely don't know me as we are now. Your attachment to me cannot be deep."
"But it is! And if you say you don't know me, I will gladly give you plenty of opportunities to do so! And don't say I don't know you – I feel like I know you like I know myself. You are intelligent, passionate and as beautiful inside as out. You fill my brain. I can't imagine spending my life without you by my side."
Mary rolled her eyes.
"It's pointless, Tony," she said, deciding that being blunt was the only way to go. Clearly being gentle was not working at all. "I am not going to break off my engagement to Matthew. I wish you stopped distressing me with your declarations."
She walked away, rolling her eyes again at his crestfallen look. She felt she needed some champagne. And her fiancé. Most definitely her fiancé.
Cricket Ground, Downton Abbey, September 1913
"Do you think your father is going to survive the disappointment?" asked Matthew, eyeing Robert's dejected face.
Mary rolled her eyes.
"He should be used to it by now. It's fourth year in a row when the house lost. I won't be surprised if we don't win again until 1920."
"Now you wound me," Matthew chided her playfully. "Do you think I am so bad at the game?"
"You scored more points than anybody else today," pointed Mary matter-of-factly, "And Papa and Barrow were just behind you. The rest of the team is rather mediocre though."
"We were pretty close," muttered Matthew, sending evil look to the jubilant village team. "I'm pretty sure we will win next year."
Mary had to swallow. There would be no match in September 1914, with Papa busy with the flurry of urgent war legislation at the House of Lords. There would be no cricket, in fact, for the whole duration of the war; the activity deemed inappropriate when the young men were dying every day in France. Not to mention the difficulty of filling the team with so many young men at the front.
"Sir Anthony did quite well though, considering his long break from the sport," noted Matthew kindly. In truth, while Sir Anthony did not embarrass himself, neither was he a great contribution to the team, cricket clearly not being one of the sports he excelled at.
"Since cricket does not involve shooting, no surprise there," answered Mary caustically. "He will have plenty of better opportunities to show off when he has a gun in his hands."
"He is a good shot?" asked Matthew with interest. He attended the New Year Shoot with Sir Anthony, but he was frankly too busy flirting with Mary to pay attention to other men's shooting. Other than to notice they generally seemed to be better than him, of course.
"Very avid one," said Mary uncaringly. When it came to Sir Anthony, her biggest goal at any shoot they attended together was to avoid standing by him, but she couldn't help noticing his prowess.
"Then it will be his turn to give me consoling comments," said Matthew ruefully.
"Being good at cricket raised you close to godhood in Papa's eyes, at least," pointed Mary, her lips twitching upwards. "He would like to boast about his heir's aim, but you nearly won him a cricket match. I assure you, he has his priorities straight there. Sir Anthony is no threat to your position as Papa's favourite."
Drawing room, Lady Rosamund Painswick's house, Eaton Square, Belgravia, London, September 1913
Lady Rosamund accepted her drink from Meade, her butler, and waited for him to serve Sir Richard his before dismissing him and returning to her conversation with her guest.
"Do you have any special plans for the second half of September, Sir Richard?"
"I expect to be quite busy, as usual, but have no particular plans as such. Why?" answered he, settling himself comfortably into the armchair opposite her seat on the sofa.
"I have received an invitation to the deer stalking party at my cousin, Marchioness of Flintshire's estate in Scotland and I wondered if you were interested in accompanying me," she answered calmly, sipping her drink.
Sir Richard's eyebrows rose.
"Would I be welcome at such an elevated gathering?"
Rosamund rolled her eyes.
"Some noses might be put out of joint, but the smarter of them will realise that you are not a person to be ignored or snubbed."
"How progressive of you, Lady Rosamund," drawled Sir Richard, stressing her title.
"I did marry a banker, you know," pointed Rosamund. "I am well aware that a title itself does not mean as much as it used to and will mean even less in the future. Which cannot be said of you. I see a rather bright future ahead of you, actually."
Sir Richard nodded his head in acknowledgement.
"My potential welcome aside, why would you want me to accompany you?" he asked.
"Because I get quite lonely since Marmaduke died," answered Rosamund bluntly. "And I like you. I would not mind arriving to Duneagle on your arm."
Sir Richard looked at her frankly.
"Lady Rosamund, as much as I admire you, you must know that nothing can come out of it. May I be frank with you?"
"Please do," answered Rosamund, steeling herself.
"I intend to have children. I plan to build a dynasty of my own. I want my children to have noble blood, because however much titles and bloodlines are losing their value, they still open a lot of doors and will continue to do so. If we met few years earlier, I would love to deepen our acquaintance. As it is though, I think I can only offer to remain your friend."
Rosamund nodded, relieved that it was all. She could deal with his objections.
"Thank you for your frankness, Sir Richard. Don't worry, I am not in the least offended by it," she sipped some more of her drink before speaking again. "But it's not a marriage I have in mind."
Sir Richard barely avoided choking on his drink.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sir Richard, we are both adults. I have been married for years and enjoyed it immensely. I do miss it. However, you are right. You need an heir to the empire you started to build for yourself and even if I was younger, my marriage was childless. I am hardly an ideal candidate for your wife now. But I would presume to note that we seem to get along very well and find each other attractive. I think we could spend very nice time together before you snare some debutante of noble blood."
Sir Richard regarded her in silence.
She was right on many points. He did find her slender figure and elfin features attractive. Taking her to bed would not be a hardship in the slightest. He also enjoyed her company and her cutting wit. They were not the main reason he had been cultivating her friendship, but they were a very welcome bonus. Her connexions, both from her blood and from her marriage, were very useful to him, and could be even more useful if he agreed to deepen their relationship.
And she could be his ticket to Mary.
Since Crawley's visit in his office, he had no way to see her. He resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn't have any occasion until after her wedding took place. His ill-timed and ill-advised intervention made sure to kill any hopes he could have to interfere with her engagement. He had not counted on her confiding in Crawley because she had never done it before – she had been determined to keep her dirty secret from him at all cost – but he didn't take into consideration that the circumstances were different. She and Crawley were already engaged and he had participated in getting rid of Pamuk's corpse – there were absolutely no reason to keep the matter from him. He overlooked important factors and he reaped the price for it.
But if he became Lady Rosamund's lover he would have a way back into the family. Into Mary's life. To what purpose exactly, considering her looming marriage, he could not say himself, but he did know he did not want to live without seeing her.
He raised his head and met Lady Rosamund's eyes with a predatory smirk which made a matching one appear on her face.
"Why not?"
Sitting room, Crawley House, September 1913
To honour their cousins' engagements' Lord and Lady Flintshire invited both their fiancés to their annual gathering at Duneagle.
Matthew was actually a bit torn over accepting the invitation. He did want to see the place which everybody in the Crawley family was promising him was spectacular. He was not particularly intimidated by the prospect of spending a week surrounded by a bunch of aristocrats either – he thought he was pretty inured to it after surviving the London season. He did worry, however, about neglecting his work for weeks on end. He did attend to his correspondence religiously while at Downton and he visited London to attend the meetings, although it was hardly a convenient commute, but with his honeymoon in October he thought it hardly proper to take off another week in September.
Both Jack and Reggie waved off his concerns during his last London visit though.
"There is nothing which requires your immediate attention, my dear boy," said Reggie affectionately. "You worked hard to finalise the contract proposal for APOC, you do deserve to enjoy the end of your engagement and getting married. I don't expect anything meaningful to come up before the winter parliamentary session which couldn't be covered by one of the young lawyers we hired. You're the partner now, enjoy the perks."
And he winked at him.
"Not to mention that you can use all that smooching with the nobility to gain connexions," pointed Jack shrewdly. "It's all about nepotism at this level and you can probably bring more business by attending shooting in Scotland than sitting at the office. As long as you will be able to leave your charming fiancée's presence for a moment, that's it."
Considering that it was Reggie's connexion to the Cabinet members through his brother which brought them their deal with APOC, Matthew did not quarrel further and to Mary's delight accepted the Flintshires' invitation. He only regretted his mother was not included in it.
Isobel accepted the omission with equanimity and a wry smile.
"I rather expect I am too middle class to be expected at Marchioness of Flintshire's table," she said. "I do not have your excuse of being an heir to an earldom."
"You are the mother of the future earl," pointed Matthew petulantly, irritated by the slight to his mother. It would be different if he had a host of relations, but as there was only Mother and him, excluding her seemed glaringly deliberate.
"A connexion obviously too far removed," said Isobel placidly.
Mary unfortunately had to agree.
"Cousin Susan is a snobbish shrew," she said bluntly, shrugging at Matthew and Isobel's surprised faces. "Well, she is. If you find Granny insufferable, you're in for a shock, because Granny is at least witty and really a dear in her own way."
"Then why are you going and dragging me along?" asked Matthew, unable to resist smiling at his fiancée.
"Because Uncle Shrimpie is a treasure," answered Mary immediately.
"I start to see a pattern of very agreeable men married to rather tiresome women in your circle, my dear," pointed Isobel mischievously. "Your godfather seems to suffer the same predicament."
"I just hope that you don't consider Matthew and me likely to follow in their footsteps," Mary narrowed her eyes at her future mother-in-law and Matthew had to stifle a snicker threatening to erupt at her expression.
"Such thought never crossed my mind," said Isobel solemnly, her eyes twinkling. Mary threw her head upwards, in a gesture reminiscent of her thoroughbred horse, and turned her attention back to Matthew.
"Such matches can be an unfortunate side effect of arranged or semi arranged marriages, which are customary for my kind of people. But in this case we are all grateful for it – we would have to suffer Cousin Susan anyway, since she is the one related to us by blood, but we got Shrimpie in the bargain and that was a blessing."
"How is she related to you?" asked Isobel with interest. The convoluted family trees of the aristocracy fascinated her. In what other circle a fourth cousin would be considered family at all?
"She is Granny's niece and goddaughter, her sister's child, so Papa's first cousin."
"Do you have any other?" Matthew joined in with curiosity.
"None male descendants but you left on my father's side, as you know."
"I know there cannot be any other direct male relatives, but what about the female line?"
"My grandfather had one brother, Cousin James' father. Since both Cousin James and Patrick were only children, there is no one left on that side. He also had a sister, who had ten children, so we are not lacking in cousins thank to her. You met one of her descendants, Lady Caroline Spencer. She is my third cousin."
"Ah, that blonde friend of yours?"
Mary grimaced.
"Of a kind."
"I did not realise you were related."
"We try to forget it most of the time, but it does mean she and her family will be invited to the wedding. Her youngest sister Kathy is going to be one of the flower girls."
"Who will be the others?" asked Isobel.
"Rose and Annabelle, Shrimpie's daughters. They are perfect darlings, although rather mischievous, as you will see. The last one is granduncle Edmund's granddaughter Penelope. You met her older brother Freddie, he is studying for the bar at Lincoln Inn."
Matthew nodded, remembering the bright young lawyer from the Season.
"So is your granduncle Cousin Violet's brother?" inquired Isobel, trying to keep the family tree straight in her head.
"Yes, he is Sir Edmund Wentworth, seventh Baronet. Of Gosfield Wentworths, there are several baronetcies with the name. He has three children, so we have numerous cousins on that side."
Matthew started to feel an oncoming headache.
"And we will see them all at the wedding?"
"Among hundreds of other guests," sighed Mary. She was looking forward to the wedding very much, but she had to admit that only a handful of expected guests were the people she actually liked.
Matthew sighed as well. He had never imagined he would have a wedding with literally hundreds of guests, most of them peers, and nearly all complete strangers to him, and he was not overjoyed at the prospect. He reminded himself firmly that what was important was the fact that he would be marrying Mary, and as soon as the wedding reception was over their honeymoon would start.
He promptly abandoned this way of thought before he did or said something embarrassing in front of his mother.
"Well, I am looking forward to untangling some of your relatives at Duneagle," he stated bravely, enjoying his fiancée's smile in response.
Duneagle, September 1913
So here they were, driving up a winding road to the one of the most impressive castles Matthew had ever seen.
"Why are the Flintshires based in Scotland when the title's Welsh?" he asked Robert, sharing the car with him, Cora and Mary.
"Oh, Shrimpie's grandmother was Countess of Newtonmore in her own right; it's now their courtesy tiltel. She was chiefly heiress of that strand of the MacClares and they took her name. Shrimpie's the chief now."
"The Scots have much more sensible way of passing down titles," noted Matthew, looking significantly at Mary. He was extremely glad with how the matters worked out for him thanks to him becoming the heir of the Earl of Grantham, but he was still firmly convinced that it was ridiculous he was. The title and the estate should clearly go to Mary in absence of Lord Grantham's sons. "Dare one ask why he is called Shrimpie?"
"It was a nursery game. Louisa was a lobster, Agatha was a shark, which is easy to believe, and I suppose Shrimpie was a shrimp."
"Is he very small?" asked Matthew, amused.
"No, but he was the youngest," answered Mary with a smile.
They were greeted at the entrance by Shrimpie and Susan, with James, Annabelle and Rose standing in a neat line next to their parents.
"Shrimpie! This is so nice of you!" exclaimed Robert, shaking his hand happily.
"Nonsense. I can't tell you how glad we are," he turned his head towards the rest of the party, while his wife was greeting her aunt. "Cora, Mary, Edith, Sybil."
"Shrimpie, allow me to introduce my sons-in-law in spe," said Robert proudly, pointing at the men. "Matthew Crawley, my heir, and Sir Anthony Strallan."
"It's a pleasure to meet you after knowing you only by reputation, Mr Crawley," said Shrimpie friendlily. "Sir Anthony, I think I remember meeting you at one of Robert's New Year Shoots. You are truly proficient with a gun, if memory serves."
It did not surprise Mary in the slightest that before they reached the Duneagle splendid hall, Matthew and Shrimpie were on first names basis. She felt a tug on her hand and looked curiously at her youngest cousin demanding her attention.
"What is it, Rose?"
"You were right, Mary," whispered little girl with a twinkle in her blue eyes. "He is awfully handsome!"
She and Annabelle ran away, giggling.
"What is planned for the next few days?" asked Mary, greeting Cousin Susan finally, but without any special warmth. She was not going to forgive her part in spreading the scandal involving her own second cousin, even though it had not technically happened in this timeline. She knew full well what Cousin Susan was capable of now.
"Today we are mostly waiting for the rest of guests to arrive, with dinner at eight. For tomorrow, we have planned a women luncheon at our mountain loch, while the men will go to the first stalking. The Ghillies' Ball is at the end of the week."
"Mary is always a star of it!" piped Rose, speaking to Matthew with adoration in her eyes. "I want to dance as well as she when I am out!"
"I'm sure you will," answered Matthew, amused by the bouncing girl's energy. "You seem to have mastered the jumping part of reeling already."
"Rose, don't wear the guests out," sniped Susan, then smiled at the adults. "Tea is in the library when you're ready to come down. We are only waiting for Rosamund and her friend yet."
"What friend?" asked Violet sharply.
"Sir Richard Carlisle," answered Susan, pursuing her lips unhappily. "Not exactly our usual kind of guest, but it seems to be the year for it," she finished, glancing at Matthew.
Mary was so offended on his behalf that it took her a moment to register who Aunt Rosamund's guest was. Then she barely stopped herself from gasping and instead exchanged miserable looks with Matthew.
Sir Richard. At Duneagle. As a special guest of Aunt Rosamund.
Mary wanted to drop her head in her hands in irritation.
Was she never to be free of that man?!
Library, Duneagle, September 1913
"I wanted to congratulate you again on getting two daughters married," said Susan. Cora smiled widely in response.
"Thank you. We have been very fortunate. You will see what a relief it is to see your girls well settled when your own daughters grow up."
Susan pursued her lips, playing with her necklace.
"Well, I hope Rose and Annabelle will do even better," she said. "Mr Crawley is Robert's heir, but for now he is just a solicitor after all. And Anthony might be perfectly acceptable, but I shudder at the thought of one of my girls settling on somebody so much older than her."
Cora's smile faltered for a moment, but she determinedly kept it up.
"Mary and Edith are happy with their choices and this is the most important thing to me. And I can hardly complain about Mary marrying Matthew when it means my fortune will be hers one day as it should be if not for that ridiculous legal document, can't I?"
Susan nodded reluctantly.
"I guess it does solve the issue of the entail, yes. Pity you didn't have a son though, then Mary could have made a more brilliant match."
Cora's smile took on a steely quality. If Susan wanted to hit low, she was not afraid to fight dirty to defend herself.
"It's true, but as I said Mary is perfectly happy with the choice she did make. They are so in love, Susan, that I have no doubts they will have as happy marriage as I have with Robert. I know you did not get to experience one like that and as the result may underappreciate its importance, but I honestly think love and compatibility in marriage beats the splendour of the title. Not that Mary won't have the title as well eventually."
Susan tugged on her necklace sharply and gestured for the footman to bring her a glass of sherry. Cora definitely scored a point.
Dining Room, Duneagle, September 1913
Dinner was in full splendour. The men were in white tie, the married women with diamond tiaras in their hair. A piper circled the table. Matthew was observing the proceedings eagerly, enjoying the spectacle.
"Does he do that every night?" he whispered to Mary.
"Oh yes," she whispered back. "And he'll be back to pipe us awake at eight o'clock and he keeps it up through breakfast. So if you hope for a lie in, you're in for a nasty surprise."
Matthew laughed softly.
"You seem right at home here," he noted with interest.
"We've been coming here every year since I was a little girl," answered Mary with a smile. "I may not be overly fond of bagpipes, but I do love reeling. I usually dance until dawn. I think you will enjoy the Ghillies' Ball too, it's on the whole a wilder affair than the Servants' Ball. Although I should probably warn you that it is run on whisky and half of them will be as drunk as lords."
"I would probably enjoy it more if I knew how to reel," admitted Matthew sheepishly. "Unfortunately it was not part of my dancing class curriculum."
"I can teach you!" offered Mary brightly.
"Do you think you will manage? We have rather full schedules here," hedged Matthew, but she could see he was eager to accept her offer.
"We have five days and I happen to know you are a pretty good dancer. I have every confidence in my teaching skills, of course, which you should know after our horse riding lessons."
"You did improve my riding skills, I admit," said Matthew, smiling fondly at the memory. "So maybe I should put myself in your hands when it comes to reeling."
"You won't regret it," promised Mary sultry, delighted when she noticed his reddening ears and quick change of topic.
"I wonder what the weather will be like tomorrow," said Matthew hastily. Mary gamely stopped herself from snickering but couldn't resist a small smirk at his discomposure.
"You know the golden rule in England or Scotland. Dress for rain. Are you looking forward to it?"
"Yes. Though I hope my chap's less frightening than the head ghillie who was teaching me the basic earlier today."
"Just tell him you're a novice and all will be well. Papa says you must never pretend with these people. They're always better at it than you'll ever be."
They exchanged knowing smiles again.
Ballroom, Duneagle, September 1913
Matthew looked at Mary with visible concentration.
"So, let me do it. One last time."
"You've got it, darling," said Mary with a smile, humming the melody.
"I'm moving first," Matthew demonstrated the move. "And then the man on your right... And then round in a figure of eight."
They practiced again, Mary's humming becoming louder and more frantic before the two of them fell about laughing.
xxx
From the entrance to the balcony, Sir Richard was observing Mary teaching her hapless fiancé how to dance a reel, the couple bursting in laughter over every misstep. He left when he realised Mary was bestowing kisses as a reward for every correct move.
Deer stalking, Duneagle, Scotland, September 1913
Matthew, to his intense displeasure, managed to end up in the same group as Sir Richard. He did not relish the prospect of spending the whole day in the Scottish wilderness with the man, but he assumed bitterly that they were paired up as middle class interlopers on aristocratic get together. It was even logical, in a way. Neither of them had any clue about deer stalking, so they would probably need way more instruction than any other guest. Still, he would prefer practically anybody else to Carlisle.
Thankfully he soon learnt that they were to be joined by Frederick Wentworth and Vivian MacDonald and his mood immediately improved. He was not lacking in common topics with two other young London lawyers and he hoped to have some fun after all, even with Carlisle trailing along.
xxx
Sir Richard gritted his teeth and yet again cursed himself for accepting Rosamund's invitation to accompany her to Scotland.
It rankled on him that two young lawyers seamlessly adopted Crawley as one of them all, teasing him for his ignorance of noble practice of deer stalking, but all in good fun and friendly manner – none of which they showed him. They completely ignored Crawley's humble background or the fact that he was a lowly solicitor while they were just confirmed barristers. It seemed all that counted were the fact that Crawley was an heir to an Earldom, marrying an earl's daughter (Wentworth's second cousin to boot) and a partner in a burgeoning London firm. The fact that they all went to Oxford and quickly found common friends didn't hurt matters either. In fact, their lively conversation mostly consisted of Oxford reminiscing and starting up as lawyers in the City, both topics designed to exclude Sir Richard.
He did listen with interest though when Crawley was speaking about his partnership with Reginald Swire. It was completely unexpected development and one which made his mind swirl with wild theories even more than his engagement to Mary. What could have prompted Crawley to join a near bankrupt older lawyer other than knowledge that he was bound to make a fortune in just few short years? What better proof he needed that somehow both he and Crawley made the same journey to the past?
"What made you join the partnership in London instead of Manchester?" asked Wentworth helpfully and Richard pricked his ears eager to hear Crawley's response.
"My friend Jack made the jump first and talked me into joining them. Reggie Swire had right connections to be picked for brokering a deal for a big customer, but he needed people specialising in industrial law, and cash influx to hire and maintain associates and clerks necessary to handle the paperwork involved, so he was open to offers of partnership. Jack is an expert with mergers and acquisitions and I myself had an experience with valuation of shares and long term contracts regarding purchase of commodities. It was a very promising opportunity for all of us."
"Well, Mary must be happier with the prospect of spending time in London than in Manchester," laughed Wentworth, clearly familiar with his cousin's attitude. Crawley sighed with fond exasperation.
"That's because she has never been there before," he pointed out good-naturedly. "I am determined to change her mind yet. But yes, in the meantime a firm in London is more palatable to her."
"I never imagined her agreeing to marry a working professional. You give us hope for socially ambitious matches, Crawley," teased MacDonald.
"Premature hope in your case, I assure you," shot back Wentworth. "You're hardly an heir to an earldom."
MacDonald shrugged.
"Not all of us can be so lucky as you and Crawley, that's true. We younger sons have to fend for ourselves and hope our blue blood sweetens the deal enough to attract some unsuspecting debutante."
"I am very new to being an heir," pointed Crawley. "But in my limited experience personality is more important than a title or lack of it. In the end people have to be compatible enough to ensure a successful marriage."
"So are you saying that Lady Mary would marry you even if you remained a plain solicitor, without perspective of the title and the estate she has been coveting her whole life?" drawled Richard, unable to stay silent. His companions startled a bit, as if they forgot he was even part of their conversation.
"I like to flatter myself she would," said Crawley firmly. "Although of course the question remains how we would even get acquainted in the first place if it wasn't for my inheritance."
"Probably not at all," agreed Richard smugly.
The infuriating Crawley just shrugged with a smile.
"Then I am truly grateful that fate intervened."
Richard had nothing to add to that and the conversation moved to Wentworth and MacDonald's job prospects which didn't interest him in the slightest.
Drawing Room, Duneagle, September 1913
Edith was watching with pleasure how animated Sir Anthony was at dinner, recounting his day on the moors. He was truly in his element when hunting – an excellent shot and a patient stalker, always happy to be outdoors. She noted proudly that his prowess was noticed and commented upon. One thing in which he was clearly superior to Cousin Matthew.
Matthew didn't seem to mind his lack of stalking successes to boast about. He was happily dividing his time between Mary and his new lawyer friends, who in turned were busy introducing him to other young people. Edith sighed. As much as she loved Anthony, he was clearly not one of the young crowd.
She shook such thoughts off and with a smile asked him another question about the deer.
Driveway, Duneagle, September 1913
Mary breathed a sigh of relief when the car started the drive from Duneagle to the train station.
This time, she was leaving it with Matthew, as she should have done last time she had visited Scotland with him. She should have never left him there to follow her.
She took his hand discretely, mindful of her parents' presence, but needing to feel that he truly was here with her, alive.
"How did you like Duneagle, Matthew?" asked Robert cheerfully.
"Very much, Robert. I have great hopes that even if my stalking does not improve by next year, at least my reeling skills will," laughed Matthew, sending Mary a playful look. She tried to answer it with one of her own, but the only thing she felt at his remark was dread.
There would be no stalking party at Duneagle in September 1914. Same as there wouldn't be a cricket match at Downton. Britain was going to be at war.