Author's note: Really sorry for the very big delay with this chapter, I kind of lost inspiration and I re-wrote it about five times; they were all rubbish but this turned out to be the best of a bad bunch (which doesn't say much, I'm afraid).

I didn't want to go over it too much because I'd end up scrapping it along with the others so my apologies for any spelling mistakes and whatnot.

This chapter doesn't haven't much in the way of sisterly interaction, but I wanted to properly introduce a certain character as they'll be causing some problems in the future... Enjoy :)


12

He's not really sure how he ended up with three children and not an heir in sight. All of his life he'd been told "when you have a son of your own", and "you can teach this to your son one day"; nobody thought to inform him of what would happen if he never had a son. It's been eight years since Sybil was born; eight long years of trying again and again for a boy, not that he actually minds the trying part. If only their sweet baby boy had survived he wouldn't constantly be plagued by this raging headache. He's painfully aware that James' visits to the house have increased tenfold in the last few years and he's almost sure it's not purely for the company. He can see James leading his son around the grounds and he knows he's preparing him for the life he will one day have, the life his children should be preparing for instead.

He can't really blame James, he supposes; it's not his fault Robert has failed where he succeeded. Have I really though? Robert thinks; have I really failed? He doesn't feel like he's failed, after all he has three beautiful, talented and charming daughters and he knows he would never exchange any of them for the world. He wonders if maybe it's the world that's failed; who has the right to say that Robert cannot leave everything to his children, just because they are the 'wrong' sex? Well, he probably mainly has his own father to blame for his current predicament; he was the one who sealed up the entail good and tight. Oh, but it makes him so mad to think his girls must be passed over for his cousin, who really should have no claim whatsoever on his home and his wife's money; it's blastedly unfair, he thinks.

He has every faith that his cousin will run the estate well, although maybe not with quite the same level of fairness that he employs, but he also knows that James is greedy and only has a passing interest in the girls. Robert has to be assured of their future, he needs to know that they'll be provided for and looked out for and, unfortunately, he's not sure he'd willingly entrust their welfare to James. His only consolation is Patrick. At fifteen his cousin's boy is already proving to be nothing like his father, with his late mother's fair features and sweet temper the young lad is unfailingly kind and attentive to his younger cousins and Robert has no doubt he'd happily provide for them. The only problem is that it will probably be a long time before Patrick inherits, and Robert cannot be sure his girls will be looked after in the interim.

After a few days of agonising over the best course of action to take to ensure his daughters' futures Robert is faced with a very short list of possibilities; namely making sure his daughters marry well, and most importantly, that one of them must marry Patrick. He's sure it's the only foolproof way of keeping the house in the family, and at least his title will go to his Grandson, Heaven providing one is produced. It's this thought that is at the forefront of his mind when James and Patrick come to stay for the holidays.

Over the first few days of their visit Robert tries to subtly observe Patrick's interactions with his daughters. The mere thought of Sybil marrying anyone at the moment is utterly absurd to him, even if it is a hypothetical wedding many years away, and Edith, although older in years, often seems so terribly young and meek that Robert can't really imagine anyone taking a romantic interest in her; it pains him to think it but it's the truth, he just hopes she comes out of herself a little more in the future. That leaves Mary and, as the eldest and natural heir (had she been a boy), she seems the most sensible choice. He has no doubt that Mary would be a good mistress of Downton, she'd probably run it better single-handedly than all of its previous masters put together, and he knows that, although she's only thirteen, she has an invested interest in the place that could only be rivalled by his own.

He refrains from mentioning his scheme to his wife or mother, he's sure they wouldn't approve of him pairing Mary up with anyone at such a tender age, but it's not like he'd want them to marry tomorrow, or even get engaged so soon, he just wants to be sure it's a viable option. He's aware his wife is a little suspicious that he's spending so much time interacting with the youngsters rather than his cousin, but he really can't help himself; now the idea is in his head it won't leave him alone.

So far he's seen nothing to raise his hopes, just a young lad and his younger cousins trying to find one topic or game that they all might find somewhat interesting; most of Sybil's suggestions are too childish for the others and Edith's are a little dull, whilst Mary often just wants to be left alone. Robert appreciates the effort Patrick goes to to involve all of the girls in everything and he feels almost reassured that, no matter what, his daughters will have one good soul looking out for them.

On Christmas Eve one small event sparks off a chain of occurrences that leave Robert feeling both hopeful and more that a little apprehensive. The family all gather in the drawing room for a little evening carol concert and Robert's pleased to see Patrick's request for a duet with Mary is accepted with little fuss. The pair's rendition of 'Angels We Have Heard on High' almost has him in tears, although he's not sure whether it's because their voices fit so beautifully or because he's plotting to marry off his little girl when she's still little more than a child. Despite his inner conflicts he cannot ignore the flicker of hope in his chest when he notes how Patrick hovers around his eldest daughter for the majority of the family festivities; he chooses to ignore the fact that Mary is not overly receptive to his attentions. It's a start, he thinks.

Unfortunately, despite Patrick's best efforts, he can never seem to find a minute alone with Mary; either because Mary seems hell-bent on escaping him, or because Roberts middle daughter has taken to trailing after him like a lost puppy. Robert's more than a little disconcerted at witnessing the looks of sheer adoration that Edith keeps levelling at her cousin. Patrick, to his credit, doesn't scold Edith for scuppering his chances with her sister; Robert watches him give in to Edith's whining for him to sing another song, and he does so with a smile on his face. Although Edith's a little clumsy on the piano, due mainly to her inability to keep her eyes on the music sheet, the song comes off relatively well and both receive the praise of their family with much glee.

It's only when Patrick slips quietly out of the room that Robert realises Mary is no longer sat with them. He makes his own hasty exit after his young cousin; as much as this is what he's wanted, he still firmly believes Mary is far too young to be having suitors. He spots Patrick entering the library and follows after him as quietly as possible. He's relieved to see the library door still marginally open; enough for him to peer around without being overly obvious to the room's occupants. Mary is stood by the window. He can tell, even with her back to him, that she's scowling out at the snow. Patrick is stood a little behind her, seemingly unsure of himself and Robert's not completely sure whether Mary's aware of her audience.

He's not left to wonder long as Mary sighs a little and mutters, "Honestly Patrick, I don't know how you manage to be so nice", she spits the word out like it's a curse, "all of the time. It's exhausting just to listen to you". Robert thinks she's being more than a little unkind, but he can't say so without revealing himself as an eavesdropper. Patrick doesn't seem too put out, he merely chuckles and replies, "I hardly notice at all; I'm sure it takes much more effort to think up cruel jibes and pretend a disinterest in everything around you". Mary whips around at that and Robert's almost startled at the anger in her dark eyes; Mary hardly ever shows any sort of emotion. "Well if that's what you think of me" she bites out, "You can stop following me around everywhere like a second shadow! In case you haven't noticed, Patrick, I find you rather dull, and I'd much rather you just left me alone". "You don't mean that" Patrick replies, in a calm manner that Robert's sure will get right under Mary's skin. His daughter draws her shoulders back and, in a tone that leaves no doubt that her words convey the highest of insults, states "I'd much rather spend time with Edith than with you".

Roberts saved from tripping over his own feet in a hasty exit as Mary heads towards his hiding place, by Patrick restraining her by the arm as she tries to walk past him. Robert doesn't like how close the two are now standing and has almost resolved to reveal his presence and disturb the pair when he's shocked into paralysis by Mary swiftly raising onto her tiptoes and cutting off Patrick's next declaration with a soft kiss. She doesn't hang around to witness Patrick's reaction, not that the poor boy seems in any fit state to offer one, and Roberts too numb with shock to do anything but stand staring dumbly at the scene before him, so it's not long before Mary's yanked the door completely open and Robert finds himself staring into the wide and fearful eyes of his eldest daughter.

After what feels like a lifetime Robert finds his voice and utters, somewhat shakily, "Your mother is looking for you". The claim sounds false, even to his own ears, but Mary needs no further excuse to flee from what's sure to be a particularly uncomfortable conversation with her father. Once she's scarpered Robert is confronted with another pair of fearful eyes; these ones, unlike his daughters, are a clear grey and belong to a lanky figure that seems to shrink under Robert's gaze. Once Robert's brain starts functioning again, he steps into the room and closes the door quietly behind him. The gesture must come off more menacing than he intended as he sees Patrick visibly gulp and retreat a little further into the room; good, Robert thinks, let him worry. The truth is, though, that Robert's not actually angry; he was fifteen once himself and, really, Patrick's done nothing wrong, Mary is the one who planted the kiss. Robert feels, however, that he needs to nip this in the bud quickly; Patrick may be turning into a young man, but Mary is still a young girl and it's Robert's job to protect her.

"Patrick" he begins, "You know I care for you, and I'm glad you and the girls get on so well, but", "Please, Cousin Robert," Patrick interrupts, "what you saw, that, that wasn't what it, I mean, I didn't mean for". Robert chuckles a little at Patrick's stumbling and places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "Please Patrick, let me finish", Patrick nods, although he still looks a little unsure, and Robert continues, "what I saw was you and my daughter having an altercation and then her kissing you. Now, as you can imagine, that's not something a father wishes to witness of his little girl, but I understand it happens. What I want you to promise me is that it will not happen again" Patrick looks a little crestfallen, and Robert almost feels sorry for him, so he pushes on, "at least not for a long while yet. Mary is still very young, Patrick, and whilst I would be more than happy to see her courted by a young man such as yourself in the future, right now you must keep your attentions as that of a cousin and friend, nothing more, do I make myself clear?" Patrick finally raises his eyes to the elder Crawley's and takes a deep breath before uttering, "You do, cousin Robert, and I want to thank you for being so understanding. I promise I'll do as you ask, but I want you to know that I do truly care for Mary, and I would only ever want what's best for her, whether that be me or, or not".

After he's dismissed Patrick, Robert takes up Mary's previous position at the window and contemplates whether or not he wants to confront his daughter. He believes that Patrick will keep his promise to not pursue Mary any further, for the time being; but he knows his daughter, and if she so much as suspects he's interfering in her life she'll dig her heels in and become impossible to deal with. He's sure that at the first sign of a rebuff from Patrick her ardour will be dampened and she'll move on to some other pursuit, so it's best if he just remains calm and lets it run its own course. Besides, he's sure the fear of what he might say or do is enough to keep her on her best behaviour, at least for the remainder of Patrick's visit.