Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 1914
"As far as I can gather, Mr. Crawley, these are the larger companies involved in the War effort, at least in terms of profile," Murray said, passing a list across the table to Matthew.
Matthew held the page up and reviewed it for several moments. He turned it to the side so he could look at Murray directly.
"Marconi's Wireless Telegraph Company – what do they provide? Communications?" Matthew asked.
"Yes," Murray nodded. "They provide the long distance network for the Army."
Matthew put the page down and took out his fountain pen from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He placed checkmarks next to some of the companies on the list and crossed off others. He looked over the list again, then put his pen back in his pocket and passed the list over to Murray.
"Make inquiries of those companies as marked," Matthew said, rising from the table and going over to the bar. "I'd be prepared to make a small investment in the companies that are publically traded. For the private ones, see whether they are open to taking on investors."
Matthew poured brandy into two snifters and brought them both over to Murray. The Grantham family solicitor accepted one and raised it to Matthew before taking a sip.
"As you wish, Mr. Crawley," Murray said. "I should have a report for you by the time you reach London next week for Winter Season."
"Thank you," Matthew said. "Lord Grantham was pleasantly surprised by my last report to him on the farming changes and restructuring of our investment portfolio. I'd like to have even better numbers to report to him shortly. Not having him here over Christmas will be a blow to the family. I hope that at least if he knows that Downton is in good hands, it will give him some comfort over there."
"I'm sure it will, Mr. Crawley," Murray nodded. "Lord Grantham commended you in his last letter to me. He said he was surprised, yes, but very pleased with your initiative."
"I'm doing my best," Matthew said. "It's all any of us can do, isn't it, Murray?"
"Yes, sir," Murray said, taking another sip.
"Mr. Crawley, sir," Carson called, coming into the library. "Forgive me for the interruption, but we have a bit of an emergency."
"An emergency?" Matthew frowned.
"I'll be going now," Murray said, placing the brandy snifter down on the table. "I'll see you in London next week, Mr. Crawley."
"Murray," Matthew waved his hand briefly before focusing back on Carson.
"What sort of emergency, Carson?" he asked.
"I'm afraid that it's Lady Mary, sir," Carson said with concern. "She's asked for you and said it's quite urgent."
Grantham Estate Pig Farm, Yorkshire, England, December 1914
Matthew got out of the car while Branson was still bringing it to a halt. He ran up the short rise to the farm, going past the snow covered pens and into the barn. He looked about frantically, the smell from the animals barely registering as he searched for his wife.
"Mary!" he shouted, seeing her standing near the far wall. He sprinted towards her, then stopped when he realized that she was not alone.
"Ah, Cousin Matthew," Mary said, smiling politely to him. "You're just in time."
"Just in time for…" Matthew frowned, then looked over to the pen that Mary was standing beside.
"Mr. Drewe," Matthew nodded to the farmer. "Erm…how are things?"
"We're about to have ourselves some piglets, Mr. Crawley, sir," Drewe smiled.
Matthew frowned and approached slowly. "Piglets?"
"Seems as though one of the sows was pregnant when she arrived. She's due anytime now," Drewe smiled.
Matthew turned to Mary, glaring at her pointedly. "This was the emergency?" he whispered. "Piglets?"
"The first pigs born from our project," Mary smiled. "The acting Earl ought to be here for the occasion, don't you think?"
"Mary, I thought you were in danger!" Matthew hissed. He glanced over at Drewe and was relieved to see the man focused on preparing for the coming birth and not paying attention to them. Matthew turned back to Mary with a stern expression. She arched her eyebrow at him playfully.
"We'll discuss this later," he growled.
A squeal from the pen interrupted them and Matthew and Mary both went to the fence to watch as Drewe helped the delivery of six healthy piglets.
"What shall we name them?" Matthew asked, smiling at the sight.
"Sticking to numbers is probably best, Cousin Matthew," Mary smirked. "It's surely not a good idea to get too attached to them, given the business that we are in."
"Would you like to hold one of them, Mr. Crawley?" Drewe asked, raising a pig in his hands to Matthew.
"Erm…" Matthew stammered.
Mary looked away, covering her mouth with her hand to stop herself from laughing too obviously.
Matthew held the piglet in his hands at arm's length from his body. He smiled tightly as the piglet bleated several times, then closed its eyes. Matthew handed the piglet back to Drewe, who put it back down to nurse.
"If only a photographer were here to capture the sight of you, Matthew Crawley, heir presumptive to the Earl of Grantham, sitting at your country seat," Mary smirked.
Matthew rolled his eyes at her. He looked at his hands, trying not think about what they might be soiled with.
"Well done, Mr. Drewe. Carry on," Matthew said. He reached out for Mary's arm and she walked briskly away from him, keeping her distance.
"Your hands are filthy, Matthew!" she whispered as they moved towards the entrance to the barn. "You need to clean yourself up."
"A brilliant observation," he said pointedly, using a discarded rag to try and clean his hands. "Branson is waiting for us. Let's go. You can give the family a report on your emergency tonight at dinner."
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 1914
With Thomas having left for War, Matthew found it easier to slip away out of his bedroom at night, or for Mary to come to him. Bates was now his valet, and there was a more formal air to their relationship. Though conversation with Bates was cordial and the man had a dry sense of humour, he was far more proper about the division between upstairs and downstairs, and so he went about his tasks efficiently and departed without much chatter. It made Matthew's forays into the dark hallways far easier.
"I must say that I think I prefer your bedroom to mine," Mary sighed, kissing his bare chest as she tried to calm her breathing.
Matthew stroked her back, smiling as he felt her shiver from his touch. He took several deep breaths, the aftershocks of their lovemaking still causing him to feel delightfully paralyzed.
"Why?" he asked. "Your room is larger and the bed is more comfortable."
"Perhaps," Mary smiled, settling against him contentedly. "But the Bachelor's Wing is deserted, save for you. It allows me to be more…expressive."
"You are…louder…here," Matthew grinned, the sound of Mary's passion causing him to move his hips in memory.
"Stop it!" Mary hissed, grinning up at him. "I'm worn out! Haven't you punished me enough for that entire affair with the piglets?"
"Not nearly," Matthew frowned pointedly. "God, Mary, I thought something had happened to you."
"How gallant of you to be concerned for your cousin's welfare," Mary smiled.
"You know exactly what I am referring to!" Matthew grumbled. "And if you give me that ridiculous 'you don't have a wife' drivel, I'll be forced to punish you some more."
"As though you could in all good conscience," Mary laughed, stroking his cheek. "You should be thanking me. I rescued you from a boring meeting with Murray."
"I have no complaints about Murray," Matthew said. "The man does his job and doesn't ask too many questions. And considering that he is reporting on our every move back to your father, it is in our interest to keep him as placated as possible."
"You've been on a lucky streak so far. Let's hope that it continues," Mary said, running her hand idly across his stomach.
"It's a double-edged sword," Matthew huffed. "The better our improvements go, the more stable the finances of the Estate, which means the Estate isn't necessarily in danger and our argument before Parliament becomes weaker. Allow the previous problems to persist, and we'd be far worse off, even if we were to successfully break the entail."
"Well, it will be difficult to convince some that we're in trouble in any event," Mary said. "Mama's Winter Season party is looking to be the grandest of the grand. I'm surprised that you approved all of her plans."
"It's a fundraiser, not just a ball," Matthew said. "And we are sharing hosting duties with Aunt Rosamund. All in all, I thought it a sound compromise. I think we all could use some holiday cheer, especially given that Robert won't be back."
"It's hardly going to be a proper Christmas," Mary muttered. "War going on; Papa away; having to give you a polite gift. I thought that last year would be the last Christmas we'd spend as only cousins, but it seems I was wrong."
"It can't be long now, darling," Matthew said. "The War will either be over by Spring, and we'll move before Parliament soon after, or we're in for a longer debacle than anyone imagined, and if so, then the government will need to get on with other matters, including ours."
"Are you so sure that you're moving as quickly as you can?" Mary asked, looking up at him.
"What are you talking about?" Matthew frowned back at her. "I told you what John said."
"I know, darling. I don't mean to say that you're dallying," Mary sighed. "It's just that perhaps you've settled into this routine and are now quite comfortable with it."
"Comfortable with it?" Matthew repeated. "In what way?"
"Controlling most of the Estate in Papa's absence, being quite literally the man of the house, making love to me whenever you wish then sending me back to my room, not having to talk to me or spend time with me during the day beyond a few cursory words and moments," Mary listed. "I think that keeping our marriage a secret actually agrees with you."
"Why, you naughty minx!" Matthew exclaimed, his mouth falling open in shock.
Mary yelped as Matthew sat up and turned her over on to her back. He seized her lips in a fierce kiss, then moved to her neck, his one hand cupping her bottom and pulling her leg over his, his other squeezing her breast.
"If I had my way you would wear your wedding ring at all times," Matthew said firmly between kisses. "We would walk through the Village and tour the cottages arm in arm as proper husband and wife, so that all the villagers would see how enraptured you are by me."
Mary laughed, slapping at his shoulders playfully as he tickled her sides.
"Incorrigible!" she gasped as she laughed.
"And if you think that making love to you once ever few weeks is my idea of having you whenever I wish, then you are sorely mistaken," he continued, kissing her clavicle and moving to her breast.
"Insatiable man! Matthew!" she cried, her laughter dying down as he moved down her stomach and parted her legs. Her fingers tangled into the back of his head.
"You're not going back to your room until I'm thoroughly finished with you, Mrs. Crawley," Matthew growled.
Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, December 1914
"Can't he just be brought back?" Sybil asked.
"Papa is in the Army, darling, not volunteering at a soup kitchen," Mary rolled her eyes. She looked down at her jewellery box and played around with different brooches. "He'll be granted leave at some point, but that may not be for months yet. He's was only sent across in September."
"What about Sir Anthony, Edith?" Sybil asked. "Surely he isn't enlisting?"
"His unit hasn't been called up yet," Edith replied. "But it's only a matter of time. The end of this entire affair does not seem imminent."
"Is Strallan joining us for Christmas, then?" Mary asked, holding a brooch against her dress, then shaking her head at the reflection in the vanity mirror and putting the brooch back in her jewellery box.
"I was hoping that he would. I need to ask permission from Cousin Matthew. Speaking of which, where is he?" Edith asked.
"He had a meeting this afternoon with the Attorney General," Mary said. "He may not be back in time for dinner. He said to go on without him and he'll come back if he can."
"The Attorney General? Whatever for?" Edith asked.
"They're old family friends," Mary said. "Apparently Cousin Isobel knows his father, or something to that effect. I don't think it's a professional call."
Mary swallowed, looking at another brooch. She didn't think it mattered whether either Edith of Sybil was suspicious about Matthew's comings and goings, but the less scrutiny the better.
They all turned as there was a firm knock at the door.
"Yes, who is it?" Mary called.
Cora opened the door and came inside. Realizing her other daughters were present, she smiled to them, then motioned to the door.
"Go on downstairs. I need to talk to Mary," she said.
Edith and Sybil both nodded and left the room, closing the door behind them.
"Does this brooch work?" Mary asked, holding up a brooch that Matthew bought for her against her dress. "I can't decide."
"It's charming," Cora said, walking over and sitting down on the bed. Her expression was pensive.
"Oh, dear, is this another scolding?" Mary asked, rolling her eyes at her Mama's clearly rigid posture.
"Of course not," Cora smiled. "You're too grown up to scold these days."
"Heavens," Mary blinked in surprise. "Then it's really serious."
"I'd like you to look after Lorenzo Caserta, Count of Cavour tonight. He's a nice, decent man. His position may not be quite like Papa's, but his family has substantial holdings and he isn't too picky. You could be a force for good in his country," Cora said.
Mary almost dropped her brooch.
"You can't be serious," she said slowly.
"Mary, now is a perfect time, with the country distracted by the ongoing conflict, to get you settled. Your past won't be nearly as important with everyone's attention focused elsewhere," Cora explained.
"Mama, not again," Mary groaned. "I thought that when I returned, you'd given up on ordering me to marry the man sitting next to me at dinner."
"If you're living under your Papa's roof, then you're my responsibility," Cora retorted. "And the sooner we can have your future decided, the better."
"Why is it so important to marry me off?" Mary asked. "I thought you'd be still over the moon with Edith's engagement."
"Your sister has done very well for herself, with far fewer advantages than you. You're hardly in a position to object, Mary. You're an Earl's daughter with a sullied reputation. You're damaged goods," Cora said pointedly.
"I also know what I am capable of, and forty years of boredom and duty isn't possible for me, and in another country no less! Honestly, Mama," Mary shook her head.
"You gave up your right to pick and choose years ago, Mary," Cora said, rising from the bed. "Now that Edith is settled and Sybil still fresh from her debut, the sooner your situation is taken care of, the better. The Count is arriving before dinner and I expect you to dazzle him."
Cora left, closing the door behind her. Mary sighed in exasperation. She set the brooch aside, then lifted the tray of her jewellery box. Buried underneath a velvet cloth, her betrothal and wedding rings sat hidden away. She lifted the cloth and stared at them, touching them with her fingers. The rings that she still could not wear openly; the symbols that would be her shield against the leering glances and unwelcome invitations of other men and the schemes of her Mama; the proof of Matthew's claim to her and her vows to him.
Mary replaced the cloth and tray and closed her jewellery box. She closed her eyes tight, whispering to her empty bedroom.
"Matthew, I need you. Please come back."
"And these are my daughters, Mary, Edith and Sybil," Cora beamed, introducing the Count to the sisters.
All three of them nodded their heads and greeted their guest. The Count remarked on Edith's betrothal ring and congratulated her. Edith smiled politely, pleased from both the attention and the fact that she would not need to entertain the elderly aristocrat.
Mary could not even be bothered to roll her eyes when Cora pulled Edith and Sybil away on some invented excuse of having to talk to Granny. She smiled kindly and nodded her head as the Count explained to her why Italy had not yet entered the War.
Mary bristled but maintained her composure when the Count placed his hand at her back and steered her towards a corner of the room. She kept herself calm as his fingers lingered on her body longer than was necessary, and when he would touch her arm or shoulder as he spoke. She knew he was deliberately closing her off from the rest of her family, putting them further and further away from anyone who could see them, but she had no recourse but to follow his direction and hope that the dinner gong would sound.
"Count Cavour," a voice called. "I would be very interested to hear more about your home."
Mary's eyes widened and she looked past the annoyed face of the Count. She almost cried tears of gratitude as Isobel came to her side, standing between her and the Count and smiling politely.
"My late husband loved Turin," Isobel continued. "He was never much of a skier, of course, but he always found the mountains majestic and the food divine."
"Yes, yes," the Count nodded. "Well, Cavour is a lovely place, Mrs. Crawley."
"Does your family own farms there? I do so wish I could see it," Isobel smiled.
By the time the dinner gong sounded, Isobel had forced the Count to give her a description of Cavour that the Italian government would probably want to copy for its tourism department. Mary was not bothered in the least to walk through with the Count to the dining room. She already knew she would be sitting next to him at dinner, but she had survived the attempt to have them spend time alone together, thanks to her mother-in-law.
Dinner was hardly an innocent or bearable experience, regardless. Several times the Count's hand ghosted across her thigh under the table, on the pretence of him adjusting his napkin. Mary tried to shift her chair away from him surreptitiously, however being on the end of the table, she could not move very far without arousing suspicion. She gazed longingly at Matthew's empty chair next to her at the head of the table. It wasn't as though his presence would save her from entertaining the Count, but at least if he was in the room, she would have the courage to get through the next horrid hours.
"I knew your grandfather Arthur," he said with his clipped accent.
He had the same mannerism as Matthew in that he frequently ran his hand through his hair. However, since he was mostly bald it was not a becoming gesture. Mary did not feel particularly threatened by him, being in a room full of her family. It was more what he represented that bothered her. How many other horrible suitors would her Mama and Granny line up for her after she threw this one aside? She'd hoped that her reputation would work in her favour, that her Mama would deem her a lost cause and leave her to manage her own affairs. It seemed that Edith becoming engaged had only renewed their Mama's dogged efforts.
"A fine man, Arthur," the Count continued. "He knew how to take what he wanted from the world. He was perhaps wrong about some things, being so, what is the word? Focused, yes. Focused on his legacy and what others thought of him. In my country, we do what we please. You will enjoy that, Lady Mary, yes? Not having to care about what others think of you?"
Mary swallowed her wine quickly. She nodded politely.
"I've never been one to be overly concerned about the opinions of others, or even what some may have planned for me," Mary replied. "I learned to be more independent when I spent time in Manchester a while ago. There is a value in taking control of one's life, and ensuring that everything is planned, organized and executed to one's liking."
Mary could feel her Mama's frown across the table and it made her smile for the first time all evening.
"I agree, Lady Mary," the Count nodded. "I like to make my own plans as well, and show others how I fit within theirs."
Mary sipped her wine again. How had this ridiculous behaviour charmed the Count's previous two wives, she wondered. Perhaps they were even less picky than he supposedly was.
"Why don't we go through?" Cora declared. "Count, I do apologize that my husband is off fighting against the Germans and is not here to host you properly. You're welcome to have port and cigars if you like, but perhaps you would prefer if Mary gave you a tour of the house before coming and joining us in the sitting room?"
"Yes, I would very much like that," the Count replied, almost sneering at Mary's breasts rather than making eye contact.
"Actually, I'd like to share a drink with our guest."
Mary's eyes widened and she looked up, refusing to trust only her ears.
"Matthew Crawley, heir presumptive to the Earl of Grantham," Matthew announced, walking smoothly down the room and bowing to the Count. "Please forgive me for being inappropriately late. If I had known that there would be a distinguished guest in our house, I would have returned much sooner."
Matthew shot a glance at Cora and Violet, before taking his seat at the head of the table, with Mary and the Count to his right.
"Cousin Matthew," Violet smiled falsely. "We were not expecting you. We had thought your reunion with your friend the Attorney General would occupy you through the dinner hour."
"I'm very pleased to surprise you, Cousin," Matthew smiled back. "Thankfully Viscount Simon had another matter to attend to, and when I was informed that the good Count was dining with us tonight, I rushed back as soon as I could."
Mary blinked in surprise. She stole a glance across the table at Isobel, who only smiled mysteriously as she sipped her wine.
In that moment, Mary almost was more eager to announce to the world that Isobel was her mother-in-law than that Matthew was her husband.
"Well, then we'll let Matthew and the Count speak to each other and we'll await both of you to come through," Cora recovered, rising from her chair and leading the ladies to the sitting room.
"I am pleased to meet you," the Count smiled, puffing on his cigar. "It is far easier to discuss terms between men."
"I agree," Matthew nodded, sipping his port. "Well then, I know it is proper in Italy to draw out these types of discussions, but I'm rather tired from my day, so why don't we get to it?"
"I like Lady Mary," the Count said easily. "She has spirit."
Matthew swallowed, wetting his lips to calm himself. There was no doubt from the faraway look on the Italian's face just what euphemism 'spirit' was supposed to represent when it came to Mary.
"I am prepared to take the problem of her reputation out of your hands," the Count said. "I am due to marry in the Spring, to a family friend. Lady Mary shall be my consort, and shall be given a rather independent life. I will be spending most of my time in Roma with the government. She will accompany me on most of my trips, but rest assured she will be well taken care of, and she will have most days to herself."
Matthew was grateful that the plates and cutlery had been cleared before the port and cigars were served. It would be embarrassing for the family to explain how the Count of Cavour had been stabbed with a dinner fork.
"And what about children?" Matthew asked.
"There will be none. I'm too old," the Count scoffed. "Children are inconvenient. I already have four of them. Appropriate measures will be taken once Lady Mary arrives in Italy to ensure that there are no others."
"Measures other than abstinence, I assume?" Matthew asked, staring directly at the Count.
The Count laughed heartily.
"Mr. Crawley, I like you!" he chuckled. "No, though my wife will never know otherwise, I will not be abstaining where Lady Mary is concerned. Not at all, no."
Matthew stared at his empty port glass. He sighed, thinking to himself how it would feel to jab the small vessel into the old man's eye.
"I thank you for coming, this evening, Count," Matthew nodded. "I hope that the next year proves safe and prosperous for both of our nations. As for Lady Mary, your generosity is greatly appreciated, but I cannot allow the arrangement that you are proposing. Good evening."
The Count rose from his seat in surprise, placing his cigar on the ashtray in front of him.
"Mr. Crawley, I do not understand," the Count sputtered. "I had an agreement with Lady Grantham, the Dowager Countess. Tonight was simply for me to inspect Lady Mary and ensure she was to my liking, which I have now done, and to discuss the final terms. I was planning to take her back to Italy at the end of next week."
"I regret to inform you that neither Cousin Violet, nor Cousin Cora has the authority to agree to the terms you are proposing, as I am sure you are well aware. An agreement with a woman is hardly something worth relying upon, surely you know that, Count?" Matthew said. "In any event, such a transaction would require Lady Mary's approval, and I am quite confident she is not inclined to grant it. She is rather disagreeable, as you may have heard. In this instance though, I tend to agree with her. She may be tarnished, as you say, but she is still an English Lady, and to spend her future days as but a consort is hardly the life that this family envisions for her."
"You English are puzzling," the Count frowned, shaking his head. "Always different messages, different agreements."
"You're very familiar with different agreements, though, aren't you, Count?" Matthew said, his eyes narrowing. "Isn't that why you already concluded an agreement with Lord Eldwidge regarding his eldest daughter? I realize that she is much older than Lady Mary, but obviously there is something about her that is to your liking, otherwise you wouldn't have made arrangements for her to be brought back to Italy next week?"
The Count frowned, then looked away and cursed in Italian, before looking back at Matthew.
"If you feel so strongly about it, Mr. Crawley, then I shall thank you for your hospitality and be going," the Count said.
"The night is young, Count. Do come through. It would be rude to cast you out so soon. And though you may not be leaving with the prize that you sought, we can still be polite, can't we?" Matthew smiled. "I'm sure that Cousin Cora and Cousin Violet would enjoy speaking to you. And have you met my mother?"
The Count nodded politely and walked through with Matthew.
Matthew came into the ballroom and smirked at the sight. The chandeliers and sconces had all been polished, and the floor just cleaned. Everything sparkled, from the lights to the silver trays carried by the servants laden with hors d'oeuvres and drinks, to the glint of jewellery worn by the women. A string quartet accompanied by a harpist was playing in the corner, and the lively chatter of pleasant conversation filled the air.
"It's as though none of them realize there's a war going on," Isobel said, coming to his side.
"Hardly, Mother," Matthew said, glancing about. "It's precisely why they are so jovial – because there is a war going on. Surely you recognize a coping strategy when you see it?"
Isobel laughed and took her son's arm as he escorted her into the ballroom. He nodded to several lords as they went, men who he barely knew just a year ago, and now he had a list of their secrets stowed away for future use.
"Cousin Matthew, Cousin Isobel," Mary smiled widely as she approached them. "It's a lovely ball isn't it?"
"I just hope that all of these merry makers are generous with their donations," Isobel nodded, steering Mary over to the wall. "We are trying to raise money for the cause. We must not lose sight of that."
"Mary is well aware of why we are here, Mother," Matthew smirked. "Did she not do a masterful job with the Christmas raffle back in Manchester?"
"Matthew!" Mary frowned, glancing at Isobel. "Someone might overhear you!"
"An advantage of having a small orchestra and dozens of inebriated guests, darling," Matthew whispered. "Is that no one has the faculties or the opportunity to eavesdrop."
Mary rolled her eyes and shared a smile with Isobel.
"Thank you so much for rescuing me from Count Lorenzo last night," Mary said to Isobel appreciatively. "I didn't know that Dr. Crawley ever visited Turin."
"He didn't," Isobel said lightly. "Reginald hardly ever left Manchester as you know, and he hated winter sports."
Mary's mouth fell open in surprise and she looked at Matthew, who winked at her knowingly.
"When Cousin Violet mentioned that the good Italian was coming to dinner, I knew what scheme they were up to and I knew that I needed to protect my daughter-in-law," Isobel said quietly. "The man seemed to have more arms than an octopus, didn't he?"
"And you sent word to Matthew," Mary said.
Isobel smiled and nodded. "Thank goodness he arrived before you were forced to take that despicable man on a tour of the house. Who knows what would have happened?"
"There's no need to discuss it further. He's gone," Matthew nodded.
"Ah! John Simon has arrived," Isobel grinned, looking towards the door.
"Go and talk to him before some Tory gets their hooks into him," Mary said, motioning for Matthew to go over.
"Far be it from me to give you political advice, but resigning hardly seems the appropriate response," Matthew said, sipping his champagne.
"You don't know the entire story, Matthew," John shook his head. "It's far more dire than we let on. Kitchener's numbers weren't entirely far fetched, I'm sorry to say. We estimate that we'll need a recruiting push very soon, otherwise we'll be well short. The French are already complaining that we aren't pulling our weight, and by numbers alone, they would be right."
"So what's next? Conscription?" Matthew asked.
"Churchill has been pushing for it since before the War began," John said grimly. "We're not so desperate yet, but there have been discreet discussions about it – age limits, what occupations would be exempted, that sort of thing. If it comes to that, I'll have no choice but to leave my post. I can't support such a bill."
Matthew nodded.
"Anyway, as I mentioned to you last night, I suspect that your time is nigh. The War obviously won't be over by Christmas, and we've essentially passed the legislation to empower the Army, mobilize industry and limit the media. We'll need to look at real matters soon, and not just be debating War measures day in and day out," John said.
"I almost feel silly bringing forward my bill in light of all that's happening," Matthew said.
"Timing is a delicate matter," John nodded. "But I expect you'll need to move on this before April. Wait too long and we're bound to be distracted again and you'll be left out."
Matthew nodded, weighing the Attorney General's words.
"Now, I'm going to get something to eat, then take my leave, if you don't mind," John said. "If I stay too long, I'll get very drunk and end up taking a piece out of some of these bloody toffs."
Matthew laughed. "You do realize that you and I are both technically toffs now as well."
"You're a Manc and I'm the son of one," John smiled. "Don't ever forget that, Matthew."
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 1914
"Before Carson brings the Christmas pudding in, let's have a toast and a quiet moment," Matthew announced, rising from the table and raising his glass.
The family all raised their glasses in return. Edith smiled at Sir Anthony. Aunt Rosamund shared a curious glance with her mother. Isobel watched Matthew with pride and Mary and Sybil looked at each other fondly.
"First of all, welcome Anthony to the family," Matthew nodded to the older man. "I won't bore everyone with a long speech. Robert is far better at such things."
Mary smirked. Cora grinned.
"I'll only say that let's please take a moment to remember those who aren't here with us today, be they in France, or…further away…they remain in our thoughts always. This is a time of uncertainty for the nation, and I know that we're all a bit on edge. You may feel as though the world is changing all around you, even with something as small as cancelling the New Year's Shoot or seeing the servants go off to enlist, or hearing mention of the soldiers during Church service, but do not be sad. No one would want that. What is important is that we are together, both here with each other and in spirit with others. The world may change, but Downton will still stand, and we shall still be here. Happy Christmas," Matthew said quietly.
"Happy Christmas," everyone echoed, raising their glasses to each other as Matthew took his seat.
Carson brought the Christmas pudding into the dining room, and everyone smiled at the flickering flames dancing around it. He placed it ceremoniously in front of the Dowager Countess and handed her the knife.
"Sybil's favourite," Mary smiled.
"Promise me, Matthew," Mary breathed, holding him tight, her hands running up and down his back.
"Mary," he sighed against her neck, licking her skin. He pulled her arms back and captured her wrists, gently but firmly holding them above her head. His eyes found hers, and he kissed her softly again and again, the lightest of touches, swiping his tongue across her lips, drawing a moan from her throat, until she was arching against him, her breasts pressed against his chest.
"I promise, Mary," he whispered, kissing her again. "I promise that this will be the last Christmas that we ever spend in secret. No more celebrating our anniversary in a hotel room in the middle of the day. No more giving each other socks and hats for Christmas. No more keeping your wedding rings hidden away."
"Matthew," she moaned, biting his lower lip, encouraging him to kiss her more deeply. He pressed against her, and she opened her legs, inviting him in and gasping as they joined together.
He kissed her again as he matched the rhythm of her hips, the feel of her driving him mad. Her soft calves across his thighs, her fingers locked with his above her head, her swollen lips and warm tongue. She filled his senses and he was drowning in her, focused entirely on her voice, her heat. They could have been back in Manchester at the Midland, or in London at the Berkeley, in her bedroom or his, none of it mattered. She was his, forever, and their day of reckoning would come, and they would emerge from it either as the future Earl and Countess of Grantham, or go back to being merely husband and wife, but there was no time for waiting any longer.
"Yes," she gasped into his ear, her desire molten as he refused her the use of her hands. She could only move her body against him, plead for him to go deeper, and finally he was there, where she needed him, and she cried out, the weight of him on top of her a firm reminder of what they'd done.
"My darling," he kissed her, moving off of her and drawing the blankets up over them.
She took several deep breaths, smiling at him as he got out of bed to remove the condom and clean himself with a towel. He poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand and brought it back to bed, taking a sip then handing it to her.
"This is terribly improper," she smirked, taking a sip of the cold water gratefully before passing the glass back to him.
"Drinking from your husband's cup?" Matthew arched his eyebrow. "I find it entirely appropriate actually."
Mary turned her head and looked out the window, the snow falling lazily in the moonlight. Matthew hugged her close, kissing her neck and pulling her back against his chest. She closed her hand over his, putting off going back to her bedroom for a little while longer.
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, February 1915
"Who was that calling so late?" Cora asked as Matthew came back into the dining room.
"Lord Eldwidge, actually," Matthew said. "He's requested that I come to London to discuss business with him. Apparently he relied heavily on Robert for advice and now he's content to settle for me."
"I suppose that qualifies as a compliment," Violet remarked.
"Will you be gone for long, Cousin Matthew?" Sybil asked.
"A few days this week, then again in about a fortnight," Matthew said, taking a sip of water. "I'm hoping to get some business done while I'm in the city."
"Would you like me to have Grantham House opened?" Cora asked.
"I'll stay at the club," Matthew shook his head. "I'll be back and forth over the next few weeks so no need to keep the house open just for me to pop in."
They all resumed eating. Matthew caught Mary's eye and raised his eyebrow to her knowingly. She nodded slightly, then took a sip of wine.
"Edith, weren't you planning to go to the city?" Mary asked. "Your trousseau is still to be finished, isn't it?"
"Yes, actually," Edith nodded in surprise. "I was going to wait for Spring."
"But the Spring and Summer fashions are already on display," Cora said. "I would take you but organizing next month's concert is keeping me occupied."
"Well we can go and look, the three of us," Mary smiled. "It isn't as though any of Edith's outfits will be finished right away. There's plenty of time for you to look them over later, Mama."
"I suppose Mary is right," Edith shrugged.
"Then it's decided. We'll make a weekend of it. That will be fun, won't it, Sybil?" Mary smiled.
"A weekend of dress shopping for Edith's wedding. Marvellous," Sybil smiled tightly.
"Well you do need a gown if you're going to be one of the bridesmaids," Matthew smiled.
"We'll stay at Aunt Rosamund's," Mary declared. "We can all have dinner whenever Cousin Matthew can make himself available to us."
"This does sound like an amusing excursion," Violet frowned, glancing at Mary suspiciously.
"I think it's brilliant," Isobel nodded. "I would have liked to have had sisters to accompany me when I was fitted for my wedding dress."
"Sisters are sometimes overrated at weddings," Violet said lightly. "They either want you to look your worst, or they go out of their way to look their best."
"Edith need not worry about that, Granny," Mary smirked. "She can have Sir Anthony all to herself."
"Mary, honestly," Cora shook her head.
"What? I'm simply stating that neither Sybil nor I have any designs on Sir Anthony. Would you want it to be otherwise?" Mary asked.
"No, but you don't have to be so enthusiastic when you say it," Cora frowned.
The family went back to their dinner. Edith was already imagining what outfits she would pick out and what her wedding dress would look like. Sybil was already feeling bored, thinking a weekend shopping trip with her sisters paled in comparison to whatever important business Cousin Matthew was pursuing. Cora and Violet each returned to a discussion about the fundraising concert at Downton in March.
Matthew glanced over at his mother briefly before looking at Mary. He then returned to slicing his broccoli. The three of them knew exactly what the telephone call meant and what it was about. Matthew was being summoned to Parliament, not by Lord Eldwidge, but by John Simon, the Attorney General. It was time. Matthew's bill to break the Grantham Estate entail was going ahead. Each of them knew the implications should the bill succeed or fail, and as the family continued to eat in a comfortable silence, Mary, Matthew and Isobel each quietly prayed for the strength to face whatever was to come.