He struggled to not raise his voice. He would have, if Cousin Violet hadn't joined him and his mother for afternoon tea. "No, Mother, I am not terribly interested in hearing how Miss Fox found me charming and would like to see more of me. To be perfectly honest, I didn't particularly enjoy her company. We're not well suited. If you convince Cousin Robert to invite the woman here for the holidays, you will succeed only in making the poor woman take a lengthy trip away from London for nothing."
His mother gave him a sour look, while Violet suppressed a titter. That confirmed the fact that his mother had been conferring with Violet on the topic. Which was all the more irritating. Isobel set her tea cup down. "I didn't realize you had taken against Miss Fox. Are you just being contrary or are there reasons?"
Matthew also set down his tea cup. She was determined to pick a fight with him, he could tell, but he doubted she would like the end result. "I have many reasons. Are you going to listen to them? Since you seem to think I am just spiting you?"
Violet tittered again. Oddly, Matthew had gotten a sense from the elderly woman, that she wasn't as devoted to the idea that he remarry as his mother was. That, and she enjoyed watching anyone, even him, needle his mother. "Mother, Miss Fox wants to see more of me because I am more handsome, richer, and inheriting a better title than Tony Gillingham. We share no common interests. I suspect she thinks I'm intimidated by pretty women, and that I would be easy to manipulate and deceive. She doesn't really want a husband, she wants a pretty male doll to hold her arm and to spend his life telling her how pretty she is. Oh, and trust me, she was very clear in explaining how she adores the nightlife in London, the new jazz scene and how dull life in the York countryside must be. She has no knowledge of current events or things that are happening outside of London and she found it hilarious and quaint that I asked her what the last book she read was. Tell me, Mother, does it really seem like Miss Fox and I are well suited?"
"I suppose not," Isobel said tiredly. "But since we're actually speaking about the young women you met, was there anyone that you'd consider seeing more of?"
He felt his face flush. Stop blushing like a school boy, he warned himself to no avail, you know you'll just make things worse all around if she thinks for a moment that you met anyone. And he hadn't. In the weeks and months since the Season, he had considered again and again why he'd been so outspoken to Sybil. They were friends, they shared the tragedies of their lives, it was natural that they had developed an affection for each other, a close friendship that could be nothing more. That she fled away as soon as he had finished his thought was an indicator. He was just grateful that she had quietly forgiven him and resumed being a source of gentle support in the business. It wasn't possible anyway. She had as much told him that, and she was his dead wife's sister which made it even worse to consider. "There's no one, Mother," he lied. "Some of them were very nice young women, who will make lovely wives to someone. Just not to me." He stood up as she began to protest. "I understand your concerns, Mother. I don't have a wish to never find love again. It's just not going to happen in an instant. And it won't happen with a woman like Miss Fox. Now, tea has been delightful, but I need to head back to the Abbey."
That was a lie as well, not only was he completely caught up on his court cases, the jam and cheese business was at a bit of a lull. They had made a bid for Wellington's land, a fair bid, but the aristocrat was still mulling over the offer. Holding out for better, Matthew suspected, and possibly balking at the notion of selling to Robert. He sensed there had been some sort of land dispute in years past with the prior Lord Grantham. So he took a brisk walk around the village to work off the biscuits at tea, and browsed in the book store and flower shop before slowly making his way back to the Abbey. The church was on the way, and he'd known the moment he'd stepped into the flower shop that he'd be stopping at the cemetery.
He'd learned that it wasn't as hard if he acknowledged more than Mary. So first he set a flower on William's grave, and the two other soldiers who he had known in the war. Then he put flowers on poor Lavinia's grave, and Reggie Swire's marker. He knew it was due to how closely together they had died that Tom Branson's grave was so close to Mary's but it still made him smile, knowing how she'd make a show of being annoyed over being buried next to the family chauffeur. He set a flower on Tom's grave and then hers and took a seat on small bench. What to say, he pondered, to both of you.
"You know, your mother means well." He stood up at the sound of Cousin Violet's voice. The elderly woman walked over the bench and took a seat next to him. "She worries about you. For you. She doesn't want you to find yourself old and alone, denying yourself companionship because you were married once. And she worries you see her as an example when the circumstances weren't the same."
"I know she means well," Matthew offered tiredly. "Believe me when I say, I am not being obstinate about Miss Mabel Lane Fox merely to spite my mother and upset her."
Violet chuckled. "Don't mind me," she said after a moment, "you know how I enjoy being right. I told Isobel that young lady wasn't going to be the one." She gave him a sly look. "You did a marvelous job of driving all those young ladies away. Miss Fox is only pressing for attention because you're right. She thinks you're the best prospect and she wants to win the best prize, and not have to settle for young Gillingham." She nodded sagely. "The two of you have nothing in common and you'd bore each other to death if she didn't stab you over some imagined affair."
"Please tell Mother that," he chuckled. "She listens to you more than I."
"Not really. Isobel has this rather rosy notion that you and Mary were very alike in how you both would handle this situation." Violet gave him a knowing look. "What do you think Mary would be doing if she was in your place? If she was a widow of almost two years?"
Matthew laughed. "If our positions were reversed, Mary likely would already be engaged. To young Gillingham most likely, and she would have gone after Tony partly to give Miss Mabel Lane Fox a lesson in how to not count out a widowed woman. And Mother would be choking it down and trying to be pleasant about it but secretly would be seething that Mary wasn't still mourning me." He laughed again, and it felt good. "I knew my own wife quite well, Cousin Violet. Mary would have mourned me deeply, but she was an eminently practical woman when it came to matters of the heart. If I had died that day, I have no doubt she would have grieved, and I like to think she'd have some difficulty in moving on, but she would have. And she would have found new love because she was far too practical to think that she could never love again. It wasn't coldness, Mary was never cold, but she was always a realist. It would have hurt her, but once she accepted I was gone, she would have moved forward. And I would have wanted that. I couldn't bear the idea of Mary spending her life alone because she couldn't accept I was dead." Before Violet could make the comment he knew she was about to make, he held up his hand to stop her. "I am not planning to spend my life alone, mourning Mary. But she was much stronger than I in this respect. I admit, I'm having a harder time than she would have but I haven't ruled out new love."
"I don't think you have, Matthew." Violet took his hand and patted it gently. "In fact, I think your heart has been telling you something your head isn't willing to consider. Yet. Is it Mary you think would be angry with you? Or your mother? Or Robert and Cora? Is it me you worry about?" She looked at him intently. "I would never be angry over love, Matthew." She nodded towards the grave stones. "Once I was certain Sybil loved that man, I never protested their marriage. Edith has married that divorced man and I haven't protested that. I even sent them a wedding gift, and I've invited them here for the holidays." She waited a long moment. "You aren't certain, are you?"
"No," he said quickly. "And I don't… I don't think my feelings are returned. And, I find myself wondering if I am just assuming and taking advantage of… her affection. And that we live in the same house, our children play together, we even work together…"
"How terrible," Violet said, her voice betraying her amusement, "Having love develop between two people who have shared so much time together."
"And what if I am wrong?" Matthew snapped. "I assure you, it's entirely possible for me to be wrong in affairs of the heart. I mean, good lord, you witnessed my courtship of Mary. What mistake didn't I make?"
Violet patted his hand. "Oh Matthew, many have done worse. But since you need cheering, let me tell you the mistakes you didn't make. You never judged Mary for what happened with Kemal. I know after Lavinia passed that you felt a responsibility… and instead of punishing yourself for the rest of your life, you took a chance on love with Mary and asked her to marry you. I don't think you regret taking that chance, do you?"
"No," he said quietly. He looked at Mary's grave and sighed. "Not at all. If nothing else, I had the time I had, and I have George. It's just… it would be very different. It's odd, that Sybil and I have actually discussed this. New love would be different." He sighed again. "I don't know that I am ready for it to be different. And if I am wrong, it makes things very awkward." And yet he couldn't deny that part of him was more than curious, that he wanted to test the waters and see what would come of it.
Another part of him quailed at how badly it could go. "Sybil told me that she could only love a man who was worthy of Tom's memory. He was my friend. How can I be worthy of his memory if I am betraying him." It worried him, the very idea. Tom had truly been a friend, almost a brother
"I believe," Violet said carefully, "that Tom Branson would never have denied Sybil a moment of happiness. I'm not your mother, Matthew, and I don't think your life long happiness depends on being married. I do think it depends on your willingness to take a chance. What is it that men say? Fortune favors the bold." She smiled at him. "I think you both are far too worried about the other to not consider the possibility."