So, I'm not sure how well this chapter has turned out - I feel like it may seem a little rushed towards the end but I just needed to get this part done
with before we can get back to the sisters properly, as it will kind of set the scene for the next chapter. My apologies if it does not live up to
expectations.
I am going to try and take this story right up to the start of the series, and then I will maybe include a couple of bonus chapters set during the actual
show...but we'll see how it goes!
Also - I don't know a great deal about debutants, Edwardian/Georgian society and also ages for the actual show are a little murky so you
will have to bear with me if I take any creative liberties moving forward!
Thank you to everyone who has read/favourite/followed/reviewed this story - it really means a lot.
Enjoy :)
16
He straightens out his navy blue, silk cravat for what feels like the thousandth time. Gaunt had already dressed him to perfection a little while ago, but his nerves are causing him to find fault with every little aspect of his appearance. Over the summer, his hair had lightened in the Grecian sun, adding blonde highlights to his mousy brown mop of curls. His father keeps insisting that he cut his hair short, curls are apparently a common style, but he had noticed Mary's gaze lingering on them the previous year, so he has, for the first time in his life, defied his father and let them grow.
A sharp knock on the door, and his father's impatient voice, hurry him out of the room. It will be the first time he has seen Mary, or any of the Crawleys, in over nine months and his palms are sweaty with anticipation. They are visiting London for Mary's first season, and Patrick already feels nauseous at the thought of his betrothed being gawped at by other men. That's why this visit, tonight, is so important. He will put a stop to everything before it has even begun; Mary need never be passed around a ballroom like a party favour, nor have to be bored senseless listening to his peers spouting useless drivel.
Taking a deep breath Patrick finally enters the drawing room as he is announced to their company. He tries to quell his disappointment when Mary fails to return his bright smile, indeed she barely inclines her head in his direction before resuming her conversation with her grandmother, the dreaded Lady Violet.
Patrick tries to make his way over to her, convincing himself that Mary is simply trying to be subtle in front of her family, but he is intercepted by Lord Grantham.
"Patrick, my boy," he booms, good naturedly. "I see that Mediterranean air has done you the world of good. You look smashing."
"Thank you, cousin Robert," he replies politely, trying to see past the older man's bulk to catch another glimpse of his beloved. "You're looking very well yourself. I hear you were out showing them how it's done on your last hunt."
Robert laughs and claps Patrick on the shoulder.
"You're too kind, Patrick. Although, I must say I did give some of those young chaps a run for their money."
Another, more firm, hand clasps Patricks arm, and a deep, bored voice cuts into the conversation.
"Cousin, will you tell this boy to cut that ridiculous mop off his head. How he expects anyone to take him seriously when he looks like a little girl is beyond me."
"Ah, well," Robert fumbles for a suitable rejoinder, "I can't say I'm one to keep up with young people's fashions; I suppose all the young fellows are sporting less traditional hairstyles nowadays, hey Patrick?"
Patrick smiles politely at the Earl, knowing it to be wise not to offer his opinion, his father will only put him down further if he tries. James' grip on his arm is starting to smart a little and it takes all of Patrick's willpower not to wince at the pressure. Showing weakness is James' biggest pet peeve, closely followed by outlandish hairstyles.
"Why don't we ask the ladies what they think?" Robert winks at Patrick as he turns to the rest of the room. "Girls, come here a moment."
Edith appears immediately at Robert's side and Patrick has to wonder if she was hiding by him all along for just such an occasion. Sybil follows closely behind, offering Patrick a warm smile as she slips her small hand into her father's larger one. Mary is slow in joining the group, her face an ivory mask of disinterest.
"Girls, what do we think of Patrick's new hair-do? Should we let him keep it, or make him shear it all off?" This last he directs to Sybil who looks delighted at the prospect; Patrick is mildly worried that she might offer to be his personal barber.
"Oh, i-i-it looks wonderful as it is, Patrick," Edith offers, a little breathlessly. Her smooth, round cheeks are flushed a pretty pink and she has developed a rather strange habit of covering her mouth as she's talking, as though ashamed of her teeth. "Although, it looked just as pleasing when it was short. I-i-it really is marvellous how you can suit such varying styles."
Patrick notices Mary rolling her eyes at Edith's adoration, and he throws a smirk in her direction, wanting so badly for her to see that they are on the same side. Mary seems not to notice although, judging by Edith's crestfallen face, someone else was certainly paying attention.
"Well, I think it was better short," cuts in Sybil, that same gleam in her eye that tells Patrick she's more than willing to help him part ways with his curls. "Long hair is a lot of maintenance, Patrick. Boys are so lucky they can just shave it off and be done with it."
The group all laugh at the feisty youngster, even James' mouth turns slightly upwards in his best attempt at a smile. Patrick's focus, however, is entirely entrapped by Mary, whose throaty laugh is like music to his ears. The tender love in her eyes when she looks at her little sister causes pangs of longing in his heart; she's never looked at him that way.
Mary's sweet façade drops instantly when Robert asks her to give her opinion; her gaze, when it finally meets Patricks, is cold and shrewd.
"It really makes no difference whether I like it or not," she answers, in the no-nonsense tone that Patrick has come to both love, and dread. "As with most things in this world, our opinion holds no bearing. You men will do as you please, and we will just have to get on with it."
With that Mary excuses herself from the group, leaving a tense silence in her wake, which is eventually broken by Sybil.
"You will have to excuse my sister," she pronounces in her best imitation of a grown-up, "She's having quite the social awakening, this week."
Patrick's hopes of having a moment alone with Mary are dashed with the ringing of the dinner gong. All through the meal he tries to throw secret glances her way, but Mary seems to be steadfastly ignoring him. His spirits are a little dampened; this is not how he imagined their reunion to be.
Mercifully, James decides that he and Robert need to have a private talk after dinner, meaning Patrick is to be allowed to sit in the parlour with the ladies. Lady Violet, Cora and Edith busy themselves playing Bridge, a game that the other Crawley sisters seemingly have no interest in. Patrick seats himself next to Mary on the sofa, and the pair sit in silence watching Sybil build a tower with the spare deck of cards.
Patrick tries to subtly reach for Mary, pressing his leg along the side of hers and resting his hand against the folds of her dress. The momentary warmth of her skin through her clothing warms his soul, before she abruptly shifts away from him. She throws him a swift, warning glance before resuming her earlier occupation.
"May we talk?" he finally plucks up the courage to whisper.
Mary's weary sigh is like a dagger in his heart; when did his presence become so tiresome to her?
The pair make their way over to the drinks table; Patrick notices Carson surreptitiously glance his way, a furrowing of his heavy, grey brows enough to warn the young man that his movements are being carefully watched.
He picks over his words carefully, painfully aware of Carson's sceptical gaze on his back, and Sybil's curious glances flickering between them and her card stack. He takes a deep, steadying breath before throwing himself on Mary's mercy.
"Mary," he takes her cold, slender hand in his trembling one, "I-I know this is not supposed to happen right now, that our parents have everything already planned out for us…but I need to say this now. I-I need you t-t-to understand how much I love you, how m-my heart yearns for you when we're apart."
He cuts Mary off as she tries to interrupt his speech, afraid he won't get out everything he wants, needs, her to hear if he lets her stop him now.
"Mary, I love you with all of my heart and I cannot bear for us to be parted any longer." He clasps her hand more tightly in his, "Mary, w-w-would you do me the honour of…the honour of becoming my wife?"
Patrick feels a rush of relief that he's finally said what has been desperate to burst out of his chest for so long; his relief, however, is short lived as Mary wrenches her hand from his grasp. He's alarmed to note that she is trembling with a barely suppressed rage.
"Patrick…Have. You. Lost. Your. Mind?" Patrick finds himself unable to answer in the face of Mary's wrath. He had been so sure they both wanted the same thing for their future; clearly, he had been mistaken.
"This-this is preposterous. How could you? How could you ambush me like this, just as I am about to make my debut! Thank you, Patrick," Mary rakes her eyes, none too favourably, over his dejected form, "thank you for ruining this whole trip for me, and making it abundantly clear that this future that is supposedly mapped out for us could never be anything more than a business transaction".
Mary storms away, back to her younger sister; Patrick can see her rage in the set of her shoulders. He doesn't know what to do, how to move forward from what has just happened. He knows Mary has been pulling away from him recently, but he had naively put it down to nerves over their impending engagement. He thought proposing would have taken away some of the pressure. He thought they could happily start planning their lives together with a little more autonomy.
Now he thinks he has been nothing but a fool. Mary has never before spoken to him in such a scathing tone, has never shown such abhorrence at the idea of spending their lives together; his confusion and heartache at her rejection, he is sure, must be written all over his face. He can feel Carson's gaze boring into his back, can see Edith throwing surreptitious glances his way, and Lady Violet frowning at him from the card table, looking ready to call him over.
He finds he cannot breathe very well, cannot think straight, and certainly cannot face a lengthy evening pretending he's anything other than utterly heartbroken. Patrick makes his excuses, feigning fatigue and a sore head, before fleeing the parlour and retiring to his room. This is going to be a very long season.
