Downton Abbey, England, February 1911

The last car in the long convoy disappeared down the driveway. Cora nodded and turned, heading back into the house. Sybil and Edith followed. Mary stood staring into the distance, the slight chill in the early morning air barely disturbing her. The guests had now departed and Downton Abbey was back to its normal compliment of residents – her family, the servants, and of course, Cousin James and Cousin Patrick.

Truth be told, she was sorry to see the guests depart, in particular Evelyn Napier. She had barely said two words to him when she came down for breakfast. He had smiled at her and attempted to make conversation, but her friendly and playful flirting from the night before was gone. His guest, Kemal Pamuk, wisely stayed silent and did not engage her. After his deplorable behaviour from the previous evening, Mary made no move to even acknowledge his presence. The two men were perplexed by her reserved demeanor, each of them for different reasons, but before she could think to change her mood, Cousin Patrick came down to the morning room, and she ended all attempts at pleasantries as she felt his gaze upon her.

Mary sighed. The guests were gone. The Hunt was over. Though she hadn't spoken to the majority of the guests, who were mostly friends of her parents, she felt strangely alone.

"Mary, come," Cora called.

Mary turned and walked back into the house.

The servants dispersed to their various duties. Mary pondered what she would do until luncheon. Her Papa was in the library with Cousin James and Cousin Patrick, and she was glad they had not bothered to say goodbye to the guests. The less time she spent in the same vicinity as Patrick the better. She decided on going back up to her room and reading when the door to the library opened and the Earl of Grantham stepped out.

"Cora," Robert called. "Please come in with the girls."

Mary swallowed nervously. Why were they being summoned? Any business that Robert discussed with James and Patrick was usually kept amongst the three of them. The women of the house weren't told anything unless it affected them directly, and even then nothing was divulged unless the men deemed it necessary. Mary rolled her eyes as she watched her Mama and sisters move dutifully into the library. She did not want to set foot in that room with Patrick there as well, but it could not be helped. She shook her head. Patrick was her fiancé. She would be spending a great deal of time with him in the coming months leading up to their wedding, and so she had better get used to being ordered around at every turn. She steeled herself and followed the others into the library, hoping this would be something as mundane as announcing which dreary neighbours were coming to dinner next.

Mary kept her expression cold and blank as she came into the room. Patrick and James stood to one side, their expressions seemed more stern than usual. Not wanting to meet Patrick's gaze, Mary kept looking at her Papa. Cora sat down on the settee, and Mary and her sisters gathered around her. Her father stood by the fireplace, his fingers drumming slowly on the marble mantel.

Oddly, Carson was standing stoically to the side of the door. Mary wondered why he was lingering. If he was required somehow, they would ring for him, so why did he need to remain?

"Robert, what is this about?" Cora asked.

"Has Mr. Napier left with the Turk?" James interjected, not allowing Robert to speak.

"Yes, all the guests are gone," Cora replied, frowning at James. "Why?"

"We have family business to discuss. Urgent business," James said evenly, a hint of a smirk crossing his lips as he glanced over at Mary. However, he quickly looked away and he changed his gaze towards his son instead. After several moments, James looked over at his older cousin, the Earl.

"Robert," James said firmly.

Mary frowned. Since when did Cousin James lead family discussions? Of course he loved to bluster on about this and that, but her Papa was still the Earl.

"Mary," Robert said, looking first at James, then back to his eldest daughter. "Did you speak to Mr. Pamuk last night after dinner?"

Everyone turned to look at her. Mary blinked at her father before answering. Her face did not show the confusion mounting within her. Why was she being asked about the Turk?

"Yes, I did," she replied calmly. "I made conversation with Evelyn Napier and Mr. Pamuk, among other guests that joined us last night. We all did."

"But no one monopolised your time the way Mr. Pam-ek did, Mary, isn't that right? And you did not merely make polite conversation, did you?" James asked, his voice almost a sneer.

"I don't know what you're referring to," Mary answered, fixing Cousin James with a cold stare of her own. "I suppose my interpretation of what is considered polite is, not surprisingly, markedly different from yours."

James' eyes narrowed at her rebuke. His lip twitched, revealing his teeth briefly before he regained his composure.

"Well, what is included in the bounds of being polite, Mary?" James asked lightly. "You spent quite a bit of time with the Turk last night. Are you so interested in the goings on in the Balkans? Or was it that he was intrigued by the breathtaking exploits of a young lady such as yourself?"

The confusion Mary was feeling was rapidly replaced by seething anger.

"Though I can't see why this is important, we discussed the first edition One Thousand and One Arabian Nights that he asked me to show him, as well as the paintings in the drawing room," Mary replied with an almost bored tone. "I expected him to make his excuses at any moment and go to engage you in conversation, Cousin James. After all, we all know that your company is infinitely more pleasing than mine."

"A damn book and some paintings? Was that all?" Patrick said bitterly.

"Patrick!" Cora frowned in alarm. "Your language!"

"I apologize, Cousin Cora," Patrick said quickly, keeping his cold stare on Mary the entire time. "But I'm afraid that Mary is not being entirely forthright with us."

Mary's eyes widened. Even Patrick couldn't possibly…

"Mary," Robert said slowly. "Were you with the Turk…in private?"

Mary turned back to her Papa and could not help but open her mouth in surprise. Her mind raced. She sensed a trap, knowing that Patrick would have told at least his own father about seeing Kemal kissing her in the parlour.

"Yes, I was," Mary said evenly, holding her head high. "I didn't want to discuss this for fear it would anger you, Papa, but Mr. Pamuk asked me a question about the Della Francesca in the parlour, and as I was answering him…he kissed me."

Cora gasped in shock. Sybil covered her open mouth and Edith stared at Mary with wide eyes.

"He kissed you," Robert repeated, in a strangely calm voice. "And did you encourage his advances?"

"Robert!" Cora hissed. "How dare you!"

"Answer the question, Mary," Patrick said.

Mary glared at her fiancé, then looked back at her father.

"No, absolutely not," she answered. "His conduct was entirely uninvited, despite how it may have looked to certain people."

"What are you talking about, Mary?" Cora asked.

"Patrick saw us," Mary said, frowning at Patrick. "It would have been obvious to anyone that Mr. Pamuk was taking liberties with me, but Patrick seems to have misinterpreted what he saw."

All eyes turned to Patrick.

"I caught them in the parlour," Patrick said, frowning at Mary. "I stopped them before things could have escalated to God knows what."

"Of course you did," Mary rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Mary," Cora said.

"Mama, he's just being insufferable!" Mary retorted. "I have no reason to kiss any man when I'm already promised to him. I completely agree that what he saw was shocking. It was shocking to me when it happened. I did not invite such behaviour, nor did I welcome it or appreciate it. If Patrick chooses not to believe that, then so be it. It was a kiss, nothing more, and I will admit that I am grateful to my fiancé for interceding when he did. That's the end of it."

"Do you honestly expect us to believe that nothing else transpired between the two of you, Mary?" James asked coldly.

Mary frowned and looked at Cousin James. She glanced at Patrick, who was staring at her intently. Surely the drunkard did not have the temerity to tell his father everything about last night!

"What else could there have been? I spent the rest of the evening playing bridge with Mama and my sisters, and everyone saw us retire when Mama went up. I didn't speak to Mr. Pamuk or Evelyn for the rest of the evening and I hardly said anything to them this morning at breakfast either," Mary said slowly.

"Mr. Pam-ek was seen going into your bedroom late last night, after everyone retired," James said bluntly. "You tried to hide the truth but I am here to unveil your wicked ways."

"What?" Cora exclaimed. Her hand flew to her chest.

"That's a lie," Mary said tightly.

"Who said this?" Edith asked, glancing from Mary to James.

"Two of the servants saw the heathen creep rather stealthily to Mary's bedroom, and with a small knock, he was let in," James explained, looking at Robert, then Cora.

Robert stood silently, his fingers had stopped drumming and had curled into a fist.

"What do you say to that, Mary?" Robert asked.

Mary glared at her Papa.

"How could you even ask me that?" she growled. "It's a lie, Papa! I would never let any man into my bedroom!"

"There are witnesses," James said smoothly. "Not only did they see Mr. Pamuk be admitted to Mary's bedroom, but they saw him leave later to go back to his own room. And when he left," James paused, glancing about the room at each of the family. "Mary kissed him goodnight."

Cora looked faint. She stared at Mary with wide eyes.

Sybil and Edith were stunned into silence, both of them looking at their sister as though she were a complete stranger to them.

"What sort of deception is this?" Mary asked bitterly. "Who saw all of this happen with such remarkable detail?"

"I did," Patrick declared.

Mary stopped herself from lunging at her fiancé and scratching his eyes out. Barely.

"The servants fetched me when they saw that infidel go to Mary's room. I went to investigate myself. There was no time to rouse the rest of the family. My future wife, the woman I love, was in danger and she needed me, or so I thought."

"And you saw…what they say they saw?" Cora demanded, her voice shaking.

"I saw her kiss him goodnight when he left," Patrick replied. "It was completely dark in the hallway of course, save the faint light from the candle the bastard was holding. They were too…busy with each other…to notice me standing down the hall. But before that, when I arrived at Mary's door, I…heard them inside."

"And?" James asked.

"And I…" Patrick paused, looking down at the floor. He bit his lip and cringed, shutting his eyes.

"It's all right, son," James said sympathetically, placing his hand on his son's shoulder. "You can tell them just as you told me and Cousin Robert. Everyone needs to know, Patrick. You must do the right thing no matter how much it grieves you."

"I heard Mary call out his name in passion!" Patrick raged, his face showing pain and hurt that almost convinced Mary herself that it was genuine.

"Mary!" Cora cried, looking at her daughter in bewilderment.

"Liar!" Mary shrieked loudly at Patrick. "You're lying! You never saw any of that!"

"How could you, Mary?!" Patrick yelled back. "I knew you liked to flirt and I allowed it because it was just harmless fun I thought, but this…we were engaged, Mary! How could you betray me like this?!"

Mary's hands balled into fists. The tears welled in her eyes and fury blazed inside of her. She slowly looked around the room, confused at the strange silence that had fallen over everyone. Her Mama was still staring at her in horror. Sybil was crying. Edith was wide eyed and shocked. Her father was looking at her with a frown, an expression of…disappointment?

"This is all a scheme!" Mary blasted. "None of that happened, and Patrick knows it!"

"Mary," Robert said coldly. "There are witnesses. This isn't some hollow accusation."

She stared at both of her parents for a long moment. Her lip quivered slightly but her anger quelled her fear. Neither had said anything yet to defend her. Neither had questioned anything said by James or Patrick. Mary realized with a shiver of despair that neither of her parents found the tale unbelievable at all.

"Which servants saw all of this?" she asked with cold fury, her voice teetering on the precipice of an outright scream. "Who are these upstanding witnesses who are supporting Loki's myth?" she sneered, waving her hand dismissively at Patrick.

"Louis saw you," Robert said, swallowing under his eldest daughter's glare.

"Patrick's valet?!" Mary cried incredulously, making no effort to quiet her voice. "You take the word of Patrick's lackey over mine?!"

"His story was corroborated by Barrow," Robert answered immediately. "What motive would either of them have to lie? Louis has no vendetta against you. No one in this house does. We arranged for your marriage, Mary. We secured your future with Patrick. And then you go and do this…" Robert shook his head.

"Papa, you're not listening to…" Mary said in frustration.

"This scandal could ruin us Mary!" Robert fired back, silencing her with the anger in his tone. "No one benefits from this. No one is lying. No one is making up fables. There is no motive for anyone to turn against you. What this is, is a spoiled girl who abused our trust in the most deplorable way possible and thought she could get away with it!"

Mary's eyes bulged and she gasped in disbelief. Her eyes flew from her Papa to her Mama, then to her sisters. All of them looked back at her in silence. There was no defence given, no sympathy or assistance offered.

"This cannot be happening," Mary said almost to herself as her eyes moved to Patrick. He looked at her with a strange expression – one of anger mostly, but in his eyes there was something else. Mary's mouth opened in belated realization.

"I wish it weren't happening," James sighed dramatically. "Thank God we found out when we did. The Turk will be going home, but he's bound to spread news of his conquest. Those people are like that. No discretion at all. Our family name is in grave danger."

"He won't say a word, because it never happened," Mary retorted, gathering the last reserves of her courage.

"You, Mary, will leave Downton immediately," James said with eerie calm. "Your engagement to Patrick is over, obviously. Thankfully we have not published the announcement. If the Turk stays quiet, then we shall count ourselves lucky. If he says anything, either now, or in the future, then at least your absence will allow us to distance ourselves from the scandal and hopefully our family name shall survive."

"You can't send me anywhere!" Mary pointed at him. "Not only am I innocent, but you aren't the Earl! You have no power over me, and neither does your spineless whelp of a son!"

"Mary," Robert interrupted.

"Mary, I am the heir to…" James scolded her.

"I don't give a damn who you are!" Mary said, silencing everyone. "You think you run this family, but you don't, not yet. If Patrick wants to break the engagement, fine. I'll be glad to be free of him. But you can't force me to leave my home. No one can!"

"I can, Mary," Robert responded.

Mary turned to her father and it was if she was 10 years old, looking upon him, the Earl of Grantham, larger than life, the most imposing and powerful man she knew.

"Papa?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"Your Grandmamma may be willing to take you in, Mary," Robert said, his eyes sad. "You may find the New World to your taste."

"What?" Mary choked out. She turned away from him. "Mama! You must see this is all a lie! I can't be sent away over this!"

"Your Papa and Cousin James have spoken, Mary," Cora said, tears falling from her eyes. "They control this House. You know that. The terms of the entail are clear. You knew that as well. You can never be Countess now because of…what you've done."

Mary was finally speechless, her defences broken, any further responses melting away. She could have been standing in the middle of the library or on a cliff's edge. She felt utterly and completely alone.

"I'll write to my Mama for you," Cora continued, her voice strained. "We can arrange a crossing once we have her answer."

Mary lifted her chin, struggling to keep the tears at bay.

"No!" Sybil cried, stepping forward.

"Sybil," Robert warned.

"Mary says it didn't happen!" Sybil moved to Mary's side. "I believe her!"

"Sybil!" Cora said in warning.

"But Mama! You can't allow them to send Mary away if she didn't…" Sybil pleaded.

"That's enough, Sybil!" Robert shouted.

Sybil shook from her father's scolding.

"We have made our decision," James said. "And our decision is final. I do hope that you and Sybil learn from this sordid lesson, Edith," James said authoritatively as he looked at Edith and Sybil. "In the end, all we have is each other, and none of us are above this House. Betrayal and disloyalty shall not be tolerated. As the family motto says, "Pari Passu." And then though it wasn't necessary to translate, James continued, "With equal step."

Mary turned fully to stand facing Cousin James, Patrick standing slightly behind him. Her eyes blazed as she stared at them unblinkingly. James frowned as he looked back at the source of all of his son's despair. His expression was cold, his mind going over all the acts of defiance, all the insults and snide remarks, all the ways in which Mary had refused to accept his power and position.

Mary's eyes filled with rage, her lips pursed in a thin line, her chin raised in superiority. At first, James and Patrick mistook her glare for petulance and shock, but they quickly realized the determination, the resolve and the challenge in her face.

James blinked first.

"Carson," James spat, looking away from Mary. "Escort Lady Mary to her room. She'll be kept there until arrangements are made for her departure. She'll take her meals there and shall not be permitted to go anywhere unescorted. And her sisters shall not visit her without being properly chaperoned either. She'll be permitted the continued use of her lady's maid, however all correspondence sent by the servants shall be closely monitored. We can't have Lady Mary passing messages or being seen in the Village in case any vile rumours should surface. To the outside world, Mary is no longer a part of this House as of now, and it shall soon be made official."

The butler approached Mary with sad eyes and a downcast expression. Mary turned to him and saw his shoulders sag as if a heavy weight had suddenly been thrust upon his back.

"Please, my Lady," Carson said quietly, despite his stoicism, his eyes were noticeably wet.

Mary turned and walked briskly from the library, not meeting anyone's gaze. She did not cry until she was back in her bedroom.

The Midland Hotel, Pearl Suite, Manchester, England, August 1912

"I still can't believe it played out as it did," Matthew said softly, holding Mary tightly against him.

"Sadly, I can," Mary whispered.

"Would you have really gone to America?" he asked.

"No," she shook her head, feeling his warm chest against her cheek. "I was at a loss when Aunt Rosamund wrote to say that rumours had already reached London. But, I couldn't imagine leaving England. Thank God that Granny suggested coming here to stay with my Godfather, although I don't think she expected it would turn out the way it did. Still, she really had no say in the matter. All she could do was order Lord Merton to take me in and provide my stipend. Even she couldn't tell him to take me in and treat me properly. And why would he? No one wants an outcast living under their roof."

"You know I sometimes see him at the hospital or at different events. If you only knew how many times I wanted to punch him in the face," Matthew frowned.

"And you'll do nothing of the sort," Mary smiled, leaning up and kissing him softly. "I can't have you thrown in jail for assault. How would I be able to come visit you when we aren't supposed to know each other?"

"Even still," Matthew said grudgingly. "How he could…"

"I don't want to talk about him, or about any of my family," Mary said, settling back down against his chest. "I'm thankful I was sent here, and I'm thankful that Lord Merton didn't take me into his house, and I'm thankful that none of them care what I do or where I go. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here, with you."

"It hardly seems fair that you should have to settle for me as a consolation prize," Matthew said, his tone somewhere between mirth and sadness.

Mary moved on top of him and kissed him, her hands moving into his hair. Matthew groaned as he felt her breasts rub against his skin, the heat of their bodies pressed together. Mary smiled against his lips as his arousal stirred beneath her.

"It isn't fair at all," she whispered. "Your love is far more valuable than any title, and I do not deserve it, Matthew."

"Mary…" he began.

"Stop talking," Mary smiled, kissing him again and reaching her hand between their bodies. Matthew gasped as she took hold of him. His eyes clouded over and pleasure coursed through him.

"I seem to recall that I won our bet, and now I shall enjoy my prize," she said, licking his ear.

Matthew's hands grasped her hips and Mary groaned before kissing him hard once more.

Downton Abbey, England, February 1911

"I gather you have read your Aunt Rosamund's letter?" Violet asked. She had timed her visit for when James and Patrick had taken a ride together and were not present at the Abbey. It had been easy to gain access to her granddaughter when Carson held the keys.

"Yes," Mary nodded, her voice quiet. "How did everyone find out so quickly?"

"How do you think?" Violet scoffed. "Nothing moves faster than gossip, my dear. And gossip sent with bad intentions moves quickest of all."

"So it's true then?" Mary asked. "Everyone's heard that I took a Turk for a lover."

"No one will admit to it publically, I'm sure," Violet said sadly. "But by spring it will be common knowledge. That is why you are being exiled. If you are not with us when we go to London for the Season in June, and are not present for the Garden Party in August, all will assume you were cast out, and the Crawley name will be saved."

"No one will wonder where I've gone?" Mary frowned.

"Cousin James will take care of that, I am sure," Violet huffed. "But once your story is out there, no one will make inquiries. No one wants to be seen to be interested in such sordid details."

"I don't want to go to America," Mary said firmly, thought her composure was breaking a little.

"Of course you don't!" Violet agreed. "I wouldn't want to go to Heaven if it meant living with your Grandmamma."

"That's not what I meant, Granny," Mary rolled her eyes. "I don't want to leave England. This is my home, whether I am cast out or not."

"I expected that you would feel that way," Violet smiled. "But you can't go to London, Mary. Around every corner, there will be a scornful eye cast in your direction. No, you need to find somewhere that few know of you, and even fewer still would care about your story even if they were to hear about it."

"Where would that be?" Mary asked. "Northumberland?"

Violet smiled knowingly. "Manchester."

"Manchester?" Mary recoiled. "Isn't that worse than America? Modern and industrial, and socialist on top of that?"

"Yes, I know it's a rather dull looking town, but you could make a fresh start there, and it's large enough that there will be opportunities for you. In addition, you already have allies there."

"Godfather!" Mary said.

Violet nodded. "He knows he can't refuse me. It isn't ideal, of course, but all will be well, Mary. All will be well."

The Midland Hotel, Pearl Suite, Manchester, England, August 1912

Mary pulled the blanket across her breasts, running her hand through her tousled hair and smiling as Matthew came back to bed with a silver tray.

"The waiter probably thinks you have a tart in here with the number of times we spend the night in this suite," she teased. "Not to mention ordering room service at all hours."

"I'm afraid you're probably right. Half the staff likely thinks the only way I could ever have such a beautiful woman go upstairs with me is to pay for it," Matthew smiled, kissing her. He ran his hand along her cheek, then through her hair.

"Matthew!" Mary laughed. "Don't touch my hair! You've already made it untidy."

"Good," he said, raising his eyebrows at her before feeding her a strawberry.

"You and your strawberries," Mary laughed. She looked at him playfully before opening her mouth and taking another bite of fruit, deliberately running her tongue across his fingers and receiving the desired response.

Kardomah Café, Market Street, Manchester, England, March 1911

Matthew looked up as the door opened. Expecting to see his Mother, he blinked several times in confusion, then nervously rose to his feet. He put on his most polite smile and tried to still his fidgeting fingers.

"Mary," Matthew nodded his head. "Good afternoon."

"Matthew," Mary smiled in surprise. "Hello."

"A lovely surprise to see you here. Are you meeting someone?" Matthew asked awkwardly.

"Yes," Mary answered, slightly nervous herself. "Your mother actually asked me to meet her here for tea once my shift was over.

"Mother invited you?" Matthew frowned. "That's strange. She told me to meet her here for…oh…" Matthew shook his head.

"What is it?" Mary asked.

"Nothing," Matthew sighed. "Please, have a seat."

Matthew pulled a chair back for her and Mary sat down. Matthew returned to his seat and sat down with a resigned sigh.

Mary looked at him curiously and Matthew struggled to smile bravely at her.

"I apologize, Mary," Matthew stammered. "It appears that my Mother has been presumptuous and you have fallen victim to her daydreaming."

"I don't understand," Mary smirked. "What presumptions?"

"Both of my parents are rather eager to see me…well, settled, with a woman," Matthew said, his face blushing. "It's the unfortunate reality of being an only child, and a son at that. My parents think every beautiful woman they meet is a perfect match for their son."

Mary looked down at her hands and smiled.

"I'm sorry if she's inconvenienced you," Matthew said glumly. "I'll make sure it doesn't happen again. Don't leave on my account. The tea service here is quite lovely. You should enjoy it. I'll gladly pay for it and be on my way."

Matthew reached for his hat, his face a light shade of crimson now.

"Do you really think me beautiful?" Mary asked pointedly, looking straight at him.

"Pardon?" Matthew asked shakily.

"You said that your parents think every beautiful woman they meet is a perfect match for you. So, do you think me beautiful, or do you think that only your parents see me that way?" Mary asked.

Matthew swallowed, completely enraptured by her playful dark brown eyes and the slight curl to her lips.

"Certainly I do find you beautiful, Mary," Matthew replied, his face showing the unmistakable honesty of his words. "Very much so."

"Thank you, Matthew," Mary smiled, an entirely pleased expression crossing her face. "Now, it seems to me that we both are scheduled to have tea this afternoon, and the fact that Mrs. Crawley is not here should not deter us, should it?"

Matthew's eyes widened. "No! That is, no, it shouldn't."

"Unless of course, you have somewhere more important to be?" Mary teased.

"No!" Matthew almost shouted, before he composed himself. Mary held back a chuckle. "I would very much enjoy having tea with you, Mary."

Mary looked down at her hands again, a blush coming to her cheeks.

Matthew called for the waiter.

"We'll take tea please," Matthew said politely. "Earl Grey for me, and, I'm sorry, would Darjeeling be acceptable, Mary?" he asked her.

Mary smiled. "Yes, Matthew, that would be splendid."

"Darjeeling for the Lady, please," Matthew told the waiter. "We'll also have sandwiches and scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam, please. And if you have any fresh strawberries, I wouldn't mind a bowl, as well."

"Superb choice, sir," the waiter nodded and walked away.

"Fresh strawberries with tea?" Mary asked.

"I know it's quite unheard of," Matthew chuckled. "I have an affinity for strawberries. Something about the sweetness of them, I suppose. Jam is usually not enough."

"Interesting," Mary commented, smiling at him. "Do you have them with anything in particular?"

"Sometimes with the cream," Matthew answered. "But I rather prefer them naked," he said, smiling to himself. His eyes widened as he realized what he said aloud. "That is, I prefer them without any accompaniment," he recovered.

"I rather enjoy them with chocolate myself," Mary said easily, smiling at his choice of words. She was flirting! She was flirting with Matthew! Somehow she expected that their banter would make her feel uncomfortable or that some part of her would want to restrain herself, to not travel down a road that he seemed more than willing to go. However, no censure or warning came to her.

"Strawberries with chocolate," Matthew repeated. "That seems as though it would be very sweet, Mary," he said.

"Sinfully so, Matthew," Mary answered. "But if you don't think you can handle it, then perhaps you shouldn't try."

"I always enjoy a challenge," Matthew said, fixing his blue eyes upon her. "I'm not afraid of indulging in something sweet from time to time. Though I wouldn't dare attempt it without proper supervision."

Their tea was served and they both paused to collect themselves as their fine china cups were filled. Mary sipped the hot liquid, a delicious warmth washing over her. She lifted her eyes and met Matthew's stare once again. Those blue eyes. Something about them was disarming and trustworthy. Perhaps it was the fact he was clearly more nervous and awkward than she was. Perhaps it was that she had been living alone in this strange city for almost two months now and it was only Matthew and his family that had shown her any kindness. Perhaps it was that she was tired of feeling angry all the time, tired of being suspicious of everyone, tired of feeling as though everyone around her had an ulterior motive.

"Maybe I can interest you in showing me this delicacy sometime?" Matthew asked, his voice adoringly shaky and his blue eyes revealing a hopefulness that was cute and unlike any glance Mary had ever seen from a man.

"Maybe you will," Mary smiled back, sipping her tea.

The Midland Hotel, Pearl Suite, Manchester, England, August 1912

Matthew blinked, opening his eyes wearily as he heard an insistent knock at the door. He roused himself to wake. He kissed Mary's forehead, hugging her briefly, smiling as he felt her soft breasts against his chest and her hand along his stomach. He pulled away and got out of bed, slipping on his robe as he stumbled out of the bedroom, across the salon, and into the foyer.

"Mr. Crawley," a valet nodded to him once he opened the door. "Your picnic basket is ready, sir."

Matthew blinked several times before his brain properly deciphered what the valet was saying. "Oh, right. What time is it?"

"It's almost noon, sir," the valet replied.

"Thank you. If you could have the basket brought to the concierge desk in about an hour, we'll be leaving then. We'll also need a taxi," Matthew said.

"Yes, Mr. Crawley," the valet acknowledged, then left to carry out his instructions.

Matthew closed the door and wandered back to the bedroom, yawning before sliding back under the covers and pulling Mary's naked body back towards him.

"What was that all about?" Mary asked sleepily.

"It was one of the valets," Matthew said, smiling lazily. "I forgot that I arranged a surprise for you."

"Another one?" Mary smiled, kissing his cheek before settling back into the crook of his shoulder. "I'm afraid I'm quite worn out from all of your surprises from last night."

"Well this shall rejuvenate you, darling," Matthew smiled, caressing her bare back. "I've had them prepare a picnic lunch for us and we can head over to park. I know this secluded spot that is perfect for our purposes."

"Insatiable man," Mary laughed, running her fingers along his chest. "That does sound lovely. Are we returning here for dinner? If so, I'll need to go back home and change."

"No," Matthew said. "Mother and Papa will be back from the country later today, so I expect we'll have dinner with them, if that's all right."

"Of course it is," Mary smiled, her eyes still closed. "I'll have had enough of you by then."

"I beg to disagree," Matthew smiled. "But we can put that statement to the test when I take you home afterward."

"You need to take a bath," Mary smiled, kissing him softly.

"You're right," Matthew said. "Care to wash my back?"

Mary opened her eyes and looked at the wicked grin on his face. "Only if you wash mine," she said, kissing him softly.

"Of course," Matthew replied. He sat up and before Mary could do the same, he picked her up in his arms and carried her out of bed. Mary laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. She rolled her eyes at him as his hand ghosted from her legs to slap playfully at her bottom.

"I am prepared to give you a quite thorough cleaning, my darling," he said, kissing her as he walked into the bathroom.