AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm so sorry it took me so long to update! Busy season at work is an awful thing when it comes to keeping up with hobbies. But since the next two chapters are already written, you may expect more updates pretty soon :)

I hope you will enjoy this one!

National Gallery, London, May 1914

"How are we even supposed to notice any art in such a crowd?" complained Matthew as they made their way with difficulty through the main room of National Gallery. It seemed half of London squeezed into it.

"Don't you know it? It's people who are supposed to be on display here, not the paintings. We came here to be noticed and so did everybody else," she deadpanned, laughing at his eyeroll.

Mary's smile dropped instantly when she spotted Richard approaching her with visibly pregnant Aunt Rosamund on his arm. She made an effort to plaster her polite one on her face instead.

"Aunt Rosamund!" she exclaimed, exchanging a kiss with her, then nodding to her husband. "Sir Richard."

"How many times will I have to ask you to call me Richard?" asked he, bending over her hand.

"At least one more, apparently," she answered, pulling her hand away as quickly as etiquette allowed.

"Sir Richard," Matthew greeted him with the most insincere smile Mary had ever seen him make.

"Mr Crawley," Sir Richard returned the greeting, startling Mary with the amount of hostility in his narrowed eyes. His expression was pleasant, but she knew this gaze.

There were no doubts in her mind that Sir Richard loathed Matthew with passion. This was the exact way he had looked at him straight after their fistfight and she felt a chill when she realised it.

Thankfully, Aunt Rosamund broke the mood with a quick question about Florence.

"It was wonderful," answered Mary promptly. "We enjoyed ourselves immensely."

"Oh, yes, we did," agreed Matthew, looking at Mary in the way she found positively indecent. Sir Richard apparently agreed because his glower increased in direct proportion to Matthew's smirk.

Aunt Rosamund exchanged a flash look with Mary and deftly pulled Sir Richard away.

"Darling, I see the Watsons. Come, we simply must say hello."

Mary hit Matthew's arm as soon as they were out of sight.

"What was that for?" he asked, feigning innocence under her glare.

"For antagonising him on purpose."

"It's not my fault that the sight of me showing affection to my wife antagonises him. I would say it's definitely his problem, and maybe your aunt's, although for some inexplicable reason she doesn't seem to mind."

Mary sighed.

"I don't like it anymore than you do," she admitted with a frown. "But I don't like you antagonising him either. He can be dangerous."

Matthew's face lost any traces of amusement.

"And this is exactly why I cannot stand him," he said firmly. "I hate him for scaring you."

"He doesn't scare me," lied Mary unconvincingly. "But enough of him. Look, here comes Evelyn!"

"Another one of your admirers," noted Matthew under his breath. "But at least I like this one."

Mary ignored him as she greeted Evelyn with honest joy. She really regretted he didn't take to Edith this time, if only to have him as her brother-in-law. Then again, darling Evelyn deserved someone better than Edith.

"How are your wedding plans going?" she asked and instantly remembered that it was a very bad question to ask if things were the same as they had been before...

"Not very well... In fact, we've decided to call it off."

Oh. So they were.

"I'm sorry to hear it," she said contritely.

"It'll be better in the long run."

"Perhaps. I know what high hopes you have of the institution."

They smiled at each other.

"I hear you're making quite a splash in the Parliament these days," said Evelyn politely to Matthew.

"I and my partners do try."

"Well, you are succeeding from the sound of it. The vote should be in your favour."

"I hope so, and not just for my client's sake," answered Matthew seriously. "I hope to be wrong, but if there is a conflict, it would be good for the government to have control over a source of oil for the Navy."

"I unfortunately agree with you," said Evelyn with equal seriousness, but before they managed to get into discussing international affairs in earnest, they were all joined by Mr Swire and Lavinia. The greetings were exchanged and the discussion politely steered towards the merits of the Exhibition. Evelyn and Lavinia soon engaged in it in earnest, Evelyn's unassuming manner drawing her out of her shyness.

Mary looked at this development with interest, a seed of possibility growing in her mind.

"Don't even think about it," Matthew whispered into her ear. She looked up at him in indignation.

"Why not? Also, I wasn't thinking about anything."

"Uhm."

"I wasn't! But if I was, why not? He is titled and well off, she is pretty and rich, and they are both some of the very few genuinely nice people I know."

"She's a child, Mary."

She stared at him in disbelief.

"She is eighteen!"

Matthew started in surprise.

"Really? I haven't realised," he frowned for a moment. "But yes, I guess you're right. Still much too young though."

Mary rolled her eyes.

"I am not going to drag her to the altar and neither is Evelyn. I just thought they suit each other, that's all."

"We clearly must find you more to do if you are desperate enough to resort to matchmaking."

"And just for that," hissed Mary. "I am dragging you with me to Cousin Susan's tea party. You deserve to suffer."

East London, June 1914

Anna was perched on a chair in her hat, facing Mrs Bates who turned out to be a kindly looking woman of seventy.

"So, you're not trying to find John, Miss Smith?"

"No, I used to work with him and now I work for the daughter of his employer on a neighbouring estate."

"You're not, by any chance, Anna?"

"I am, yes. Why? Has he mentioned me in his letters?"

Mrs Bates just smiled and poured her a cup of tea.

"So what is it you want to know?"

"I want to know the truth about the case against him. I want to know why the sergeant thought it was 'odd'. I want to know what Mr Bates isn't saying."

"Because you don't believe him to be guilty?"

"No, I don't. I know he's not."

"Well, you're right of course."

"Then, who was it? Who was the thief?"

"His wife, Vera. She worked at the barracks sometimes, helping at big dinners and so on. That night her opportunity came and she took it. They knew it was her. Someone even saw her with a big carry-all."

"The one that was in his quarters."

"Sitting right there. I knew he'd put it out to take back in the morning. But he never said."

"Why not? But why did he confess?"

Mrs Bates sighed wearily.

"Well, John wasn't the same man in those days. The African war had shaken him up and made him angry. He'd been wounded, and he drank a lot, more than was good for him..."

"Was he violent?"

"No, not violent, but he could be hard at times with a tongue like a razor. He felt he'd ruined Vera's life, Miss Smith. That she'd never have gone wrong but for his treatment of her."

"Do you agree with him?"

"No. I thought she was a nasty piece of work. And her behaviour since has proved me right. But that's why he took the blame."

"Surely, if everyone knew he was innocent..."

"But he confessed. It wasn't their fault. There was nothing anybody could do, once he'd confessed."

Anna nodded sadly, but insight she was screaming with glee.

She had been right about him.

Grantham House, June 1914

"Anna? What are you doing here?" asked Carson with evident surprise.

"I came to see you, Mr Carson," she answered politely. "And, if possible, I would like to see his lordship too. I think he might be interested in the facts I've learnt regarding Mr Bates."

Carson sighed wearily.

"More crimes he committed?"

"No," answered Anna decisively. "The circumstances proving his innocence."

Marquess of Flintshire's Residence, London, June 1914

With the marvellous weather, Marchioness of Flintshire's tea party was organised in their London's house's extensive garden. With white canopies to shield the guests from the heat, heaps of sweets and fruits, a small army of servants handing out beverages of choice and the well selected crowd in attendance it was sure to be one of the better received events of the Season. Mary noted drily that Cousin Susan was pleased enough with the apparent success of her party that she seemed nearly pleasant herself, at least for the course of the afternoon.

"Uh huh," said Matthew, eyeing Lady Caroline Spencer approaching them. "Is it my cue to make myself scarce so you two can gossip in peace?"

Mary smiled at him sweetly.

"You better do, darling. There, I see Cousin Freddy looking desperately bored, you two can amuse each other for a bit."

"I'll go rescue him then, but do promise to share the juiciest bits with me, will you? Lady Caroline has always the most entertaining stories."

He bowed to Caroline before making beeline for Freddy, who seemed indeed delighted to spot him. Caroline's lips quirked.

"If I didn't know any better, I would think your husband is afraid of me."

"Not at all. He just knows we may have some topics to discuss privately."

"Like what?" Caroline scoffed lightly, obviously not in her best mood.

"I heard congratulations are in order," Mary said politely, referring to the rumours about Caroline's soon to be announced engagement.

Caroline sighed.

"It's still not official, I'm afraid."

Mary raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Are there any doubts it will be?"

"No," Caroline shook her head. "We are just waiting for Papa's formal approval and he is still in India. But he will agree, of course."

"So when is the wedding going to take place?"

"Probably in September. You will be invited, of course."

Mary nodded her thanks, trying to remember something about Caroline's fiancé other than the fact he had been killed in the first year of the war.

"And are you looking forward to becoming a future Lady Caroline Blake?"

Caroline shrugged.

"Ambivalent," she admitted honestly. "It's only a baronetcy and an Irish one at that, but the estate in Ulster is one of the largest and richest there. Lucius is hardly one to inspire passion though."

"Is he here?" asked Mary curiously. "I would like to meet him. I have to admit if I ever was introduced to him, I do not remember it."

"He is not a memorable type," said Caroline dryly. "But I see he is coming here, so I will introduce you in a moment."

Lucius Blake, heir to a baronetcy in Ulster, was indeed not a memorable man. The best way to describe him was average. He was of average height, with mousy brown hair and light brown eyes. He was neither ugly nor handsome, and looked to be about thirty years old. Mary observed mercilessly (but probably accurately judging from Caroline's distinctive lack of enthusiasm for her unofficial betrothed) that if it wasn't for his fortune and title he would have been definitely out of Caroline's league. His conversation, banal to the extreme, soon showed that he did not possess enough brains to make up for his lack of physical attractiveness. They were both quite happy to send him on his way to greet some cousin of his.

"Not everybody can be as lucky as you are in your choice of husband, Mary, for all that he is a solicitor," noted Caroline dryly.

"Why accept him then?" asked Mary, although she knew the answer.

"I was running out of time and there were no better prospects on the horizon," Caroline shrugged, confirming Mary's opinion on the matter. "Speaking of prospects, can you believe that Agnes is going to be engaged?"

"No!" exclaimed Mary incredulously. "To whom?"

"Duke of Crowborough," said Caroline slowly, enjoying seeing Mary's jaw drop.

"Agnes?! To marry Duke of Crowborough?!" It was easy to feign her astonishment at the news, thought Mary wryly. It was not any less shocking the second time around. Plain, ugly, shy Agnes marrying the highest prize of them all. At least that was how she had been considering the matter in the previous timeline. Now though, being a decade older, and especially after utter misery of her engagement to Richard, her opinion was more nuanced.

"Poor Agnes," she couldn't stop herself from saying. Caroline's eyebrows shot up.

"Poor Agnes? She is going to be a duchess!"

Mary looked discreetly around to make sure they were not likely to be overheard.

"He is near bankruptcy," she said quietly.

"So what?" asked Caroline, shrugging. "After her brother's accident she is to inherit everything except her father's title. She probably can afford to pay off his debts."

"It's not just that. It's how he acquired those debts," Mary took a deep breath. "There was a lot of gambling for very high stakes, of course, but not only. He also is... not very interested in women."

Caroline's eyes grew wide.

"How do you know?"

There were advantages to being engaged for years to a scandal sheets' owner. Plus the fact that the Duke seemed to be more recless with every year.

"I have my sources. What's important, do you think we should warn her?"

Caroline pursued her lips.

"I don't know," she said hesitantly. "She is going to be a duchess. And if he is a troubled soul, as you say, he isn't likely to bother her much. Not that he would be in any case, with how she looks. If he is discreet enough, and he must be to protect himself, she might never be the wiser. Wouldn't it be a bad turn to wreck her chances for marriage, not to mention such a great one?"

"She is an heiress now; he cannot be her only prospect."

"Yes, but any man pursuing her is more likely to be a fortune hunter than not, isn't he? Or do you believe a great romance is waiting for Agnes behind a corner?" Caroline asked derisively.

Mary shook her head reluctantly. She saw Agnes beady eyes and clumsy movements in her mind and just couldn't imagine it. And yet, remembering how absolutely awful that man was going to be to her, she hesitated. Surely there should be at least one other fortune hunter who would be kind to her?

"To be honest, no, not really," she said with a sigh. "I would like to be wrong on that score. There cannot be much happiness being married to a scoundrel, even if he is a duke."

Caroline scoffed.

"It's not like we are all marrying for love."

"No," admitted Mary freely. "But there is a difference between marrying a person you are going to be indifferent to and can reasonably expect to get along with and marrying someone likely to make you completely miserable. My parents definitely did not marry for love and yet it came for them later. I don't see any chance of Agnes experiencing that with the duke."

Caroline looked at her curiously.

"And how has it been for you and your solicitor husband? You two are sickeningly sweet with each other and yet haven't you married him for his prospects?"

Mary smiled.

"He rather grew on me, you know."

London streets, June 1914

Mary was quiet on the way back to Painswick House, in a way which piqued Matthew's concern.

"Is everything alright, darling?" he asked when he stopped the car briefly to give way to the other vehicles.

"I'm alright," she answered with a sigh. "I'm just facing a moral dilemma."

Matthew's eyebrows rose briefly as he started driving again.

"Of what kind?"

Mary chewed her lip in thought.

"One of my friends, Agnes, has just gotten engaged to a duke. It's the most illustrious match of the Season. Definitely better than what was ever expected of her."

"But?" prompted Matthew.

"But I know he is not a good man," answered Mary quietly.

Matthew's brow furrowed.

"Is she aware of it?"

Mary shook her head.

"Then you must tell her so she can make an informed decision. I don't see where the dilemma is, to be honest."

"It's not so simple," said Mary impatiently. "If I tell her – and if she believes me and acts on it – then I potentially ruin the most brilliant future she could ever hope for."

"But it will be her own decision whether to pursue this future or not," answered Matthew patiently. "If you don't speak up, you're allowing her to walk into it blind."

"But what if..." Mary hesitated for a moment, thinking of Agnes's parents, always overlooking their daughter to worship her wastrel of a brother, and probably bursting with pride at getting her to become a duchess. "I fear... I am nearly certain that whatever Agnes thinks of the duke, her parents will insist she keeps her engagement. And if they do... Wouldn't it be more of a cruelty than kindness to tell her in advance the worst possible scenario? Wouldn't it be better to allow her some time of happiness and hope as she enters the marriage? And who knows, the duke might behave to her better than I would expect him to."

The way Mary's voice trailed off, Matthew could hear she was not at all convinced that it would be the case.

"Mary," he asked, "wouldn't you prefer to be informed?"

"Of course I would," she answered immediately. "But I'm not Agnes. I would not allow myself to be pushed into a bad marriage. But I know what it is to dread an oncoming wedding and I don't want it for Agnes if the marriage itself cannot be helped anyway."

Matthew sent her a quick surprised look.

"I sincerely hope you don't mean our wedding."

Mary looked up at him in shock.

"No, of course not!" she exclaimed with more vehemence that his joke certainly warranted. "But I have seen a lot of sad engagements leading to miserable marriages. It's ghastly."

"Still, I think that you actually know what the right thing is to do in that case. You're just dreading the unavoidable conversation."

Mary remained silent for a long moment.

"Yes," she said quietly in the end. "I think I do."

Painswick House, June 1914

Mary paced nervously awaiting Agnes arrival. Matthew had been right about one thing; she did dread this conversation.

She invited Agnes to have it in the privacy of Painswick House and away from any possible interruptions, but she still was not wholly convinced that she was doing the right thing. Matthew made it very black and white, and he did have a point, of course – that's why she was doing it, after all – but he did not understand some implications. He had not been raised in expectations of making as illustrious match as possible. He did not realise what extreme courage and conviction going against those expectations demanded.

Just as he hadn't when his own prospects had been in doubt and all those people pushing Mary at him before had been suddenly advising caution and delay.

Of course, with the benefit of over a decade of hindsight, Mary knew now that Matthew had been right. If Mama got pregnant again this time, and if she managed to give birth to a healthy boy, Mary would not regret marrying Matthew in the slightest. It would be a disappointment to lose Downton and the prospect of becoming a countess one day, but she knew the pain of living without Matthew now. She would never do the same mistake again.

But if she had hesitated to accept Matthew , whom she loved dearly, when it had meant defying the pressure she had been living with all her life – how hard it was going to be for Agnes? Was she going to place an unfair burden on her?

Molesley entered the drawing room.

"The Right Honourable Miss Grey," he announced.

"Agnes!" Mary walked over to her friend and welcomed her with a smile and a quick kiss on the cheek. "Come, do sit down. Molesley, please bring tea, I will pour myself."

They talked mostly about inconsequential topics until Moleslely finished setting up the tea things and left the room. Mary was observing Anges plain features, the way her expensive summer dress was hanging awkwardly on her despite being tailored to measure, and was once again beset with doubts about her chosen course of action.

"I heard that congratulations are in order," she started carefully.

Agnes nodded, a blush forming on her cheeks, but she hardly looked like a happy bride.

"That's true," she said quietly. "The Duke proposed last week and I accepted."

"Why?" asked Mary bluntly. Agnes gaze rose up from her lap in shock.

"Why? Because he is a duke and he asked me."

"But you don't have feelings for him? You don't like him, do you?"

Agnes's expression saddened.

"You know who I like," she whispered. "And since that's impossible, what does it matter who I marry? At least this match will make Mama and Papa happy."

Mary swallowed.

"Agnes... I learnt some things about your fiancé. Bad things. Do you want me to tell you or would you prefer I kept it to myself?"

Agnes looked at her with wide eyes.

"Are you certain that those things are true? It's not just gossip?"

Mary shook her head.

"I'm certain."

Agnes took a deep breath and visibly steeled herself.

"Then tell me."

Mary did. She told about the gambling, and the Duke's inclinations, and the way he was hardly careful about his multiple affairs – just enough to avoid prison, really – and finally about his reputation for cruelty. She was not able to speak about what sat most heavily on her mind – the Duke's treatment of his wife – because his wife of eight years she remembered was sitting right now in front of her as just his fiancée and all the abuse did not take place here yet and Mary desperately hoped that it never would.

Agnes absorbed it all in silence.

"You've given me much to think about," she said finally. "But I thank you for telling me."

"What will you do?" asked Mary anxiously.

Agnes looked at her and her eyes were filled with trepidation.

"I don't know," she said desperately. "I don't know."

St. James Park, London, June 1914

Mary's conversation with Sybil the next day was thankfully very different in tone.

"Oh, Mary!" exclaimed Sybil as they were strolling the park together. "I am so excited by everything!"

"As you should be," answered Mary with a fond smile. "It's your time, darling. You're supposed to find it exciting."

Sybil sobered a little and looked at her seriously.

"But do you think I should find a husband this Season, as Mama wants me to?"

"No," said Mary with emphasis. "Not unless you are sure that you've met the man you want to marry. You're just eighteen and this is your debut year. You have plenty of times to meet young men and find one you will love. It's not the matter you should rush. Just enjoy the attention for now and have as much fun as you can."

Mary's heart clenched painfully at the thought that this season was going to be Sybil's last chance for carefree fun for years. Her pained voice saying that sometimes it seemed like all the men she danced with were dead rung in Mary's ears.

"Ture, neither you nor Edith married after your debut. Although of course there was your understanding with Patrick."

"But there is no such understanding for you and you are free to take your time, darling," said Mary firmly, determined not to get into the topic of her first supposed engagement again. She was in too good mood to spoil it. "I'm convinced that you will meet your own future husband in the least expected time and place. I sure did not expected to fall in love with Matthew, it took me wholly by surprise."

"Do you think Edith expected to fall in love with Sir Anthony?" asked Sybil, frowning a little.

Mary valiantly bit her tongue before speaking. She did promise herself to behave.

"I think Edith got exactly what she wanted," she said finally. "Whether love was involved in it or not, this is for her to say."

Painswick House, June 1914

"We did it, gentlemen! We did it!" exclaimed Jack exuberantly, raising his glass in a toast. "To Swire, Weatherby & Crawley, the most successful firm in London tonight!"

They all raised their glasses in response.

Matthew looked around the table, feeling happy and excited enough to burst. The news arrived only this morning, so an impromptu celebratory dinner party with him and Mary, Jack, Reggie and Lavinia was organised. The Parliament agreed to the deal and today it was signed and closed. The Anglo-Persian Oil Company was going to supply the Royal Navy with 40 million barrels of oil over the coming 20 years in return for £2 million and a majority shareholding for the British Government.

And it was Swire, Weatherby & Crawley who brokered the deal, after over a year of negotiations and lobbying. Even discounting the money – and oh, was there money now – the word was passed around that if anybody needed a contract with the government, their firm was the one to go to. They were already receiving very promising enquiries.

They all felt on top of the world, but Matthew thought it meant so much more to him than his partners.

He did it! He actually managed to make something of himself on his own, not by inheriting Mary's father's title or her mother's money. He took the risk and he won. He noticed the proud smile on her face as she was looking at him over the table and felt ready to levitate.

Tonight, life was simply brilliant.

Grantham House, London, June 1914

They all gathered to get Sybil ready for her presentation, Cora, Mary and Edith admiring her as O'Brien made the last finishing touches on her hair and secured the feathers to it.

"You look gorgeous, darling," said Mary with overwhelming fondness, looking at her beautiful baby sister in her white presentation gown and feathers.

"Mary's right. You will outshine all the other debutantes today," agreed Edith. Whatever problems she and Mary had between them, they were always unified in their love for Sybil. And Sybil did look gorgeous, her dress tailored perfectly to accentuate her figure and her face flushed with happiness and excitement.

"Oh, my darling, you are looking amazing!" concluded Cora with tears streaming down her cheeks, which rather alarmed them all. Mama was emotional, but usually not to this degree.

"Mama? Do you feel alright?" asked Mary with concern.

"Oh, perfectly, darling, thank you. I think the heat just got a bit to me, I feel so flushed," answered Cora dismissively. "Or it might be my age catching up with me."

Mary swallowed. So apparently one more thing was going to happen in the same way she remembered .

Drive from Grantham House, Mayfair, to Painswick House, Belgravia, London, June 1914

"Have you managed to see Sybil as she was leaving the house?" asked Mary in excitement as Tom was taking her back to Painswick House. "Hasn't she looked gorgeous?"

"Yes," answered Tom woodenly. "I have. And of course she has."

Mary frowned at him, irritated with him for dragging her out of her elated mood.

"What is it?"

"I took her to Buckingham Palace last time, you know."

Mary sighed, thinking she understood his feelings now.

"I'm sorry how things worked out, but I do promise you will have opportunities to spend time with her. I will arrange it."

"I know you will try, but sometimes it just seems hopeless to me. I cannot even talk to her, like I used to the first time around," continued Tom miserably. "And, seeing her like this... I wonder if I even should. What if she would be happier to marry some toff after all?"

"Who are you and what have you done with my socialist brother-in-law? For heavens' sake, Tom, you know as well as I do that Sybil hated all of it in the end. She is eighteen, of course she has great fun being dressed in a beautiful gown and getting to meet the king and queen. It is something out of a fairy tale. But you know this is not what she will think in few years, when she has the occasion to grow up. Even I was forced to accept it, so I have no idea where all those sudden doubts come from."

Tom did look slightly cheered up.

"I think having you as my champion in wooing Sybil is the most bizarre aspect of the whole time travel thing," he confessed. "I still remember vividly when you barged into our room at the inn on the Scottish border and dragged her away from me."

Mary scoffed.

"You're lucky that I am more open-minded than people give me credit for," she commented drily. He sent her a fond look through a front mirror.

"That you are," he agreed. "That you are."

Grantham House, London, June 1914 (Sybil's Ball)

Whatever Matthew's opinion about her need for new clothes, Mary did feel truly magnificent in her new Paris gown and family jewels entering the ballroom at Grantham House for Sybil's debut. She noted with satisfaction that she was getting equal share of envious looks for her fashionable attire and for her handsome husband. Matthew did always look awfully dashing in white tie.

She watched with feeling as Sybil was formally introduced and opened the ball dancing with Papa. She was so beautiful, young and passionate, resplendent in her white debutante gown.

She deserved so much better than a painful death at twenty four years old. Mary gritted her teeth in determination to prevent that from happening. Sybil would be taken to the hospital, if Mary was to drive her there herself.

"Shall we?" asked Matthew, offering her his hand. The time came for them to join the dancing.

She gave him a brilliant smile and accepted his hand.

xxx

Lord and Lady Grantham were waltzing together and Robert thought that he was feeling on top of the world. He enjoyed dancing with his wife just as much as he had in the first years of their marriage; only now he could also see his three brilliant daughters sharing the dance floor with them. Mary and Edith already married, Mary to his heir which still made him so deeply satisfied, and Edith maybe less magnificently but still perfectly respectably to a good and decent man with a minor title. And Sybil, their darling Sybil! So beautiful and grown up today, and so admired! She didn't have to sit out even one dance so far and Robert would be surprised if that changed for the rest of the night.

"We really have wonderful children, don't we?" he asked Cora, his voice thick with emotion.

"Oh yes!" she agreed, her eyes getting a bit teary, but her smile brilliant. "We've been truly blessed with them."

She did not tell him yet that she was starting to suspect they might be blessed even more soon.

xxx

Mary and Matthew were also dancing, again, delighted by the fact that they were married and they could . People were bound to talk or disapprove or make jokes about them, but nobody could stop them anymore. They were husband and wife and if they wanted to spend most of their time at a ball by dancing with each other it was nobody's business but their own. It was an exhilarating feeling.

"Have I told you how maddeningly attractive you look in that dress?" asked Matthew, caressing her back subtly enough to be discreet, but intensely enough to make her shiver slightly.

"Not in those exact words," answered Mary with studied indifference which did not fool him in the slightest. She saw in his eyes that he read her reaction to him correctly and that it pleased him immensely.

"How remiss of me," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "Because you do."

"You're not looking shabby tonight yourself, Mr Crawley," said Mary, moving her eyes deliberately over his face and body.

His hooded look made her shiver with desire again.

"Let's get some air in the garden," said Matthew huskily.

She went with him without the slightest hesitation.

Loxley Park, July 1914

Edith sat in her private parlour, looking through the window at the rose garden outside, but barely noticing it. She was deep in thought.

She had never been so happy in her life as on her wedding day, her beautiful honeymoon or straight after coming back. She was finally married! She had a title and a household of her own! And Anthony adored her so and was showering her with thoughtful gifts and loving kisses so constantly she was feeling terribly spoiled. The last thing on her mind was that she was lacking anything at all in her new life, except a child and she was reasonably sure she would soon have one to make her happiness complete.

And then she saw Mary and Matthew during Sybil's ball.

It wasn't the dancing – although they behaved quite scandalously, dancing with each other nearly every dance, barely noticing other people and the way Matthew was holding Mary close during waltzing was positively indecent. But then she went to the garden for some fresh air, the ballroom becoming rather overheated with so many people gathered on a hot June night – and she stumbled upon them by accident in a dark corner of the garden. They didn't notice her at all, they were too completely absorbed in each other. Matthew had Mary pressed against the garden wall, his mouth on her neck, then the top of her breasts over the low neckline of her gown, his hands on her hips. Mary's hands were tangled in Matthew's blond hair, her head thrown back, eyes closed in rapture and the sounds she was making were unlike anything Edith had ever heard.

She went quickly away, unnoticed by them, feeling hot shame for witnessing them so, however unintentionally. And yet she could not get their passionate embrace out of her head, it started to practically haunt her.

Because she had never experienced passion like that.

She never minded her marital duties. In fact, she quite enjoyed them. Anthony always took such good care of her, was so gentle and attentive.

But it was never like that .

Her marriage, while full of affection and companionship, was not one of passion. As Mary's most evidently was .

For the first time in months Edith felt the ugly tendrils of jealousy stirring in her again.

She tried to quench them. She was happy in her marriage, so very happy. She did love Anthony. But she neither felt such passion for her husband nor really wished him to behave in such a way towards her. She just wished suddenly that she was married to someone she did desire like that and who would be passionately in love with her.

She thought she would give anything to experience moment like that with Patrick – and then she realised she had not even thought much about him in months.

And for the first time since her engagement, Edith cried.