Dower House, Downton Village, February 1917
"We should go if we don't want to miss dinner. Strallan won't be late. He never is, worse luck," grumbled Violet.
"I know you're not happy, but Edith will be in the same county. Loxley's a nice house, and the estate will give her plenty to do."
"She'll be a nurse, Cora. And by the time she's fifty, she will be wheeling around a one-armed old man."
"Edith won't be fifty until 1943. Quite a lot may happen before then," she sighed. "Now if only we could get Mary similarly settled."
Violet's eyebrows shot up.
"I hope you mean better settled."
Cora rolled her eyes.
"Ideally, yes. But we need to be realistic."
"That would be a first," muttered Violet. "Whatever do you mean?"
Cora huffed with impatience.
"Mary is going to be twenty-six years old this year and her reputation is not spotless, as you very well know. Add to that the fact that most of eligible young men are either in France or already dead and we are facing truly bleak prospects for her."
"Does Matthew keep writing to her at least once a week?" asked Violet innocently. Cora glared at her.
"As if your spies haven't already told you! Yes, he does, but what does that have to do with anything?"
"Don't play obtuse," scoffed Violet. "It means I have been right."
"It means Mary is setting herself for a lot of heartbreak at the very least," said Cora exasperatedly. "If only I could make her see that!"
Cora's bedroom, Downton Abbey, February 1917
Cora heard a knock on her door and bid Mary to enter.
"Come in, Mary, I wanted to talk with you privately," she said, gesturing for Mary to sit on the armchair next to her chez lounge. Mary did, although with wariness which made Cora sad. She wished she could be closer to her daughter, but she often felt as if she was beating against a brick wall Mary had built around herself.
"What about?" asked Mary in that level, emotionless voice of hers which drove Cora mad at times. She reminded herself to be patient and diplomatic. This was too important.
"I've been thinking about how little opportunity you had in recent years to meet anybody. Edith's engagement really made me realise that we should do something about your future as well."
There it was, that insufferable, impenetrable mask on her daughter's face.
"I did meet people in London," she said dismissively. "Just none to pick my interest."
"But you succeeded in picking someone else's interest," said Cora significantly. "Rosamund writes that Sir Richard Carlisle has been really impressed by you."
"Mama, Sir Richard is nice, in a way – actually I am not sure if nice is a good word to describe him, but I do like him, yes – but I don't care about him in any other way. I have no interest in getting married now. Matthew trusted me with responsibility for Downton and that's what I'm going to focus on, until he can come back for good and do it himself. Please stop trying to marry me off, because it's only going to frustrate us both. Enjoy the fact that you may well get Edith off your hands soon."
Cora huffed in pure frustration with her obstinate eldest daughter.
"And what are you going to do when Matthew does come back and relieves you of your responsibilities, whenever that might be? You are nearly twenty-six years old! What if that war does not end until you're thirty? What do you intend to do about your future then?"
Mary looked on a verge of saying something but made a visible effort to calm down first.
"Mama," she said seriously. "I love Matthew."
Cora closed her eyes for a moment. Just what she was afraid of!
"It hardly counts, when he doesn't want to marry you anymore," she said, regretting the cruelty of that statement, but finding it necessary. To her surprise, Mary hardly flinched.
"I don't think so," she said gently, with a small smile. "In fact, I have reasons to think... that maybe he does want to marry me, despite everything."
"Everything?" asked Cora pointedly. "Truly everything?"
She could see by Mary's paling face that the answer was no. She sighed. She didn't understand Mary's need to confess her mistake to Matthew – Lord knew there were plenty of brides who managed to fool their husbands in similar circumstances and Mary surely was smart enough to achieve it if she tried – but she was not above using it to force her daughter to see reason.
"Darling," she said soothingly. "You must see that this is hopeless. You had your chance with him, but this is well in the past now. You cannot cling to it for the rest of your life, letting any hope of a brighter future slip through your fingers."
Somehow, despite Mary's mask still firmly in place, her whole demeanour grew only more stubborn. Maybe it was due to her flashing eyes.
"Mama, I love Matthew. He indicated that he still may love me and that he would like to talk with me when he is on leave. I will not make any effort with any other man unless I am sure that there is no hope for us. Please, just drop the matter for now. There is no point in discussing it further."
Cora felt her lips thin in a stubborn expression of her own.
"Be it as it may, I have invited Sir Richard for the next weekend, and I expect you to be nice and obliging to him. You do not know whether Matthew will actually propose to you again. You cannot even be sure he will come back for that leave and not be killed before. Don't throw your future away just because you're too stubborn to let the past go."
The Somme, France, February 1917
Matthew was quite surprised to receive a letter from Mary just two days after he had sent his own – it couldn't have possibly reached her yet, so she must have sent it without waiting for his reply to her previous letter. He opened it at once, hoping that it didn't carry any bad and urgent news.
His jaw dropped when he read it.
"Dearest Matthew,
I am so furious I can barely hold my pen, so forgive me if this letter ends up all blotchy and unreadable. Mama is being completely and utterly insufferable. I wonder if she even noticed that there is a war going on and we have more serious and urgent matters to deal with that the fact her eldest daughter is dangerously close to being referred to as an old maid. Yes, you read it right – Mama is again on a mission to get me married off to a man sitting next to me at dinner. At least it's not Sir Anthony Strallan this time, thank God, since Edith got him off the market. No, this time it's a Sir Richard Carlisle, a newly knighted newspaper baron, more handsome and witty than Sir Anthony, I admit (not like that's difficult to achieve – however much I deeply appreciate Sir Anthony's help with the estate, I have no clue whatsoever what Edith sees in him), but also old enough to be my father or very nearly so. He is rich and not in France, so I guess this makes it enough for Mama, considering how shallow the pool of potential husbands grew thanks to the war.
I hope you don't have any doubts regarding my reaction to it all. As you can hopefully judge from the tone of this letter, I am not in the least interested in the prospect – how could I, when I love you so very deeply, and I told her that!– but Mama went ahead and invited him for a visit anyway. Can you believe that? Thank God that my consent to a marriage is actually required at the altar, because if it was otherwise, I fully suspect that she would have marched me there kicking and screaming. I cannot believe the gall of her, despite years of experience with her matchmaking attempts.
I'm sorry for writing you such self-indulgent and self-centred letter, but I just had to complain about it to someone or I'd certainly do something regrettable. Like strangling Mama, for example. Or emptying a soup tureen over her head. I hope you of all people will understand my feelings on the matter. Aside from the fact that we're engaged – and while I haven't told Mama that, I very clearly implied that I expect it to happen and that I am not interested in anyone else than you, I promise – I know you've been always determined to choose your own wife and not let others push anybody at you. I feel sorry for ever taking your complaints about one of us being pushed at you against you. Clearly you didn't even have to meet Mama to be wise to her tricks.
Your furious fiancée,
Mary"
Matthew swore, pushing the letter angrily into his coat pocket.
He had no doubts regarding Mary's feelings or actions. He believed her when she said that she told Cora everything about their relationship except for the fact that they considered themselves engaged. And yet, as long as their engagement was not official, Mary would be treated as an available woman, free to be pursued by any man, whether she was interested in being courted or not.
He swore again, wishing with all his heart that she wasn't too afraid to trust him and his love for her. He was elated that she agreed even to a secret engagement with him, but it gnawed at him constantly that she treated their engagement as conditional. And he still didn't get any word when he could finally expect to get his bloody leave and settle the matter for good!
He reached into his pocket and took out a small black box, which he had started carrying around with him since his visit to Paris back in December and opened it. A small round diamond with even smaller diamonds surrounding it like flower petals, set in white gold, sparkled at him in the afternoon light. Matthew stared at it for a long while and then, with a heavy sigh, put it back securely into his pocket.
He kicked at a lump of earth sullenly, thinking it was quite a good thing he was supposed to lead his men for a patrol later tonight. Crawling in half frozen mud under barbed wire was at least likely to get his mind off other things.
Small library, Downton Abbey, February 1917
"So the fashion for cocktails before dinner hasn't reached Yorkshire?"
"I could get Carson to make you one, but I won't guarantee the result," answered Mary in a bored tone. She was determined not to show him anything which could be misconstrued as romantic interest.
"You were friendlier in Cliveden," noted Carlisle. Mary shrugged and looked him straight into eye.
"You weren't pushed at me at Cliveden."
Carlisle's eyebrows rose.
"And now I am?"
"Most definitely. Or are you routinely getting invitations to country seats of nobles without marriageable daughters?"
He threw his head back and laughed.
"Touche," he answered with a smirk. "But tell me, what do you find so objectionable about me?"
Mary scoffed.
"Mostly the act of being pushed at you. I hate being told to marry the man sitting next to me at dinner."
"Is that the only reason?"
"No," she pursued her lip for a moment and then decided that he seemed to appreciate honesty. "I love someone else."
"Then why aren't you marrying him?"
"It's hard to do when he's in France. It causes all kinds of inconvenience."
"I imagine it does," he looked at her shrewdly. "It's your cousin, isn't it? Lord Grantham, eschewing privilege and fighting at the front? The one who made you his heiress?"
She wanted to deny it – after all their engagement was supposed to remain secret to give Matthew an out if he rejected her after learning full truth regarding her past – but for once Mary decided to throw the caution to the wind. If confession got him off her back...
"There is nothing official between us, but yes, it's him."
"And he must love you back if he willed his whole fortune to you... Doesn't your family push you two together? I would have assumed it makes sense in the circumstances."
Now it was Mary's turn to laugh.
"Oh they did! But you see, it really isn't just you I started resenting the moment I was told I should marry you."
He raised his glass to her in thanks.
"So you resisted until they gave up?"
"It was slightly more complicated than that, but basically yes."
"But surely you could renew their hopes now?"
"Now it's them who resist the idea."
"Why? Do they dislike Lord Grantham?"
"Heavens, no. Everybody loves Matthew."
"Then why?"
Mary scowled.
"I can think of only one reason why and it's despicable," she said darkly. "They are afraid he is going to be killed and would prefer to see me settled with somebody whose life is not at risk every day."
"I see," said Sir Richard thoughtfully. "But you obviously deny any power to such arguments."
"I love him, Sir Richard," said Mary firmly. "If he survives and will have me, I will marry him. So you see, even without my family's clumsy efforts irritating me beyond belief, I simply am not likely to consider your suit. If you were even interested in pursuing me at all and not just craved a weekend at a country manor filled with convalescing officers."
Sir Richard smiled wryly.
"I cannot express how much I appreciate your candour, Lady Mary. It saves so much time."
"So we agree to part as friends and never see each other again?" asked Mary hopefully, but to her disappointment he laughed again.
"On the contrary, Lady Mary. What kind of friends would we be if we never saw each other? But I promise not to make a nuisance of myself with any talk of moon and June to woo you away from your brave soldier."
Mary decided to take it as a win.
Dower House, Downton Village, February 1917
"What do you make of our plutocrat?" Violet asked Rosamund.
"He's an opportunity. Mary needs a position and preferably a powerful one. He can provide it."
Violet's whole countenance exuded an air of extreme scepticism.
"You don't think she would be happier with a more traditional set-up?"
"Will she have an option? Mama, who do you imagine is out there with more to offer?"
"I am not a romantic..."
"I should hope not," quipped Rosamund, amused at the very concept."
"But even I will concede that the heart does not exist solely for the purpose of pumping blood."
"That is charming, especially from you, but Mary seems to have blotted her copybook in some way..."
If she hoped for Violet to comment, she was disappointed. She sighed and continued.
"So she needs a suitable marriage that will mend her fences."
"But how do we know Carlisle is suitable? I mean, who is he? Who'd ever heard of him before the war?"
"Sir Richard is powerful and rich, and well on the way to a peerage. Of course, he may not be all that one would wish, but Mary can soon smooth off rough edges."
"Well, you should know," pointed out Violet sourly, putting Rosamund on defensive immediately.
"What do you mean by that? Marmaduke was a gentleman."
"Marmaduke was the grandson of a manufacturer."
"His mother was the daughter of a baronet."
"Maybe. But they were no great threat to the Plantagenets."
Rosamund huffed heavily. She should not have let her mother to provoke her so.
"The point is, I made up for any social deficiencies and he provided me with a position. It was a good exchange and it worked well."
But Violet was staring out of the window, distracted.
"I cannot understand why Matthew hasn't have a leave yet since September," she said peevishly. "I have a feeling it would have settled the matters long ago if he had."
The Somme, France, February 1917
"My dearest Mary,
What can I say regarding your last letter? Only that I am furious with your mother as well, for ignoring your words and wishes on the subject, which I believe you made very plain to her, even without disclosing all the facts. But I must say, I am also extremely frustrated that I have not yet had an opportunity to settle our affairs officially – and, to be perfectly truthful, that any uncertainty exists between us at all, at least on your side. Because Mary, as far as I'm concerned, we could publish out engagement in the papers tomorrow. I still do not believe that anything you have to tell me could in any way change my sentiments on the matter. I love you and I want to marry you. I only agreed to keep our engagement secret because I was afraid you would back out of it altogether until we could talk in person and I couldn't stand the thought of that. But with every passing month the waiting to have you officially acknowledged as mine and me as yours grows more insufferable. Hearing of Cousin Cora's efforts to marry you off has not helped any, as you can well imagine.
I'm writing this letter in the light of dawn, watching the sky changing colours over the no man's land and the German trenches. God knows there are not many colours to see on the ground – except for all the varied shades of brown mud, which also liberally covers me after last night's patrol. I am waiting until it is a little bit warmer to attempt to clean it off, but to be honest I wonder if there is much point to bother before I get back to my billet in few days. Here, I will only get inevitably dirty again.
I dream of cleanliness, Mary. I dream of being clean, truly clean, and surrounded by clean, freshly smelling things. I never thought I could abhor something so viciously as I abhor the ever-present mud. It's the fifth element here, truly, neither earth nor water, but an evil mix of both, ready to pull you in, or at least steal your boots as you trudge through it. My men tease me for complaining about being dirty, but in truth they hate it just as passionately as I do.
Receiving the invitation for the presentation of my Military Cross at Windsor Castle, while I sit here covered from head to toe in that vile stuff, is a truly surreal experience. It is scheduled for April, so at least I finally have the date when I will be able to get back to England. I must say that receiving my medal and seeing the King pales in comparison to the opportunity to see you, my darling, and finally, finally talking with you in person. May I say that I dream of kissing you again as well? And this time without the train whistle dragging me away from you!
I will write to you as soon as I receive the exact dates for my leave, but it will have to be in the first week of April. The Army would not dare to ignore an invitation from the King, would they? So, God willing, we will see each other in five weeks. Seems like a literal age, but at least we really, finally, have an actual date we can count down to. I know at least I will be.
Your very impatient and frustrated fiancé, missing you madly,
Matthew"
AUTHOR'S NOTE: It took a while, for us and for the characters, but Matthew will finally get his long-awaited leave in the next chapter - and they will have their talk. I have most of the next chapter already written (I had it for some time, I often do not write my stories in a chronological order), so I should be able to have it ready sometime next week.
