Once again, I send out hugs to all of you wonderful readers and reviewers! And to R. Grace and On either side the river lie again I offer up the most profound thanks and appreciation. You girls are the best! I am now also occasionally blogging on tumblr now under lala-kate and offering up a musical "teaser" for each upcoming chapter a day or two before it is scheduled to post. (I usually post chapters on Thursdays.) No spoilers-just fun, and I would love to visit with you there if you care to join me. Here's hoping you enjoy Chapter 9, and as always, I look forward to your thoughts.
Chapter 9
Cora felt the slightest amount of pressure on her face, slowly becoming aware that it was actually a hand being held against her mouth. She awoke instantly with a start, nearly crying out in alarm until she witnessed a sight she had never expected to see:
Anna was hovering over her bed, one finger over her lips as she wordlessly begged Cora to be completely silent.
Her first reaction was to go on full alert, her heart pounding partially due to the fright of being awakened in such a manner and partially from the utter dread of what being pulled from slumber in such an unorthodox manner could mean. The last time it had happened, a certain Turkish diplomat had died in her daughter's bed. Surely history could not be repeating itself, Cora reasoned, so she looked anxiously to Anna who was beckoning her forward, a small smile on her lips which began to lay Lady Grantham's fears to rest.
Well, at least no one was dead. Whether or not there were any other similarities to that dreadful night ten years ago, she would just have to wait and see.
It was still dark outside, but the storm seemed to have spent its wrath in full, leaving only a light patter of rain as a memory of its fury. Cora slid from her bed as quietly as possible, following Anna stealthily out the door and into the hallway.
"What is it, Anna?" Cora finally demanded as they moved away from the door, her voice barely audible to her own ears.
"Just come with me," Anna insisted, giving Lady Grantham a smile of assurance that at least the surprise that awaited her would not be totally unpleasant.
As the pair neared the nursery, Cora began to wonder if perhaps George had made a quicker than expected recovery and was now playing happily in his crib. But Anna faced her before turning the door handle that would admit them, reiterating her request for absolute silence by once again touching her finger to her lips.
The reminder was unnecessary. Cora would not have made a sound at this moment even if a mouse suddenly darted up her nightgown.
Anna pressed the door slightly, nudging it open with only the slightest whisper as it brushed the carpet, the two women padding into George's room with muted feet. The sight before her rooted Lady Grantham to her spot, her eyes finding it necessary to widen in order to accurately take in what was clearly presented before them.
George lay in blissful slumber in the arms of a sleeping Charles Blake, slouched in the rocking chair with the Teddy Bear standing watch over both of them in his lap. And across the room, Mary lay dreaming, blankets bundled in a tangled fashion around her legs with one arm slung over her head.
Cora's expression of incredulous shock slowly morphed into a startled smile, looking to Anna and witnessing the younger woman's grin as she shrugged her shoulders, posing the question of what needed to be done in a situation such as this.
Cora hated to disturb either of them, wondering just how much actual sleep either Mary or Mr. Blake had managed with a sick child demanding the attention of anyone who would hold him. But it would not do for the rest of the household to witness or hear of the fact that the two had shared a room for the night—even if it was the nursery. For although it could not pose the scandal that Pamuk could have wrought upon the House of Grantham, it could still make things uncomfortable for her eldest daughter.
And life had been difficult enough on Mary over the past year.
Cora crept to the side of the trundle bed, gently laying her hand upon Mary's shoulder and giving her the most gentle of nudges. She repeated the gesture three or four times until Mary sat up too quickly, catching her breath as she was pulled from her sleep in haste.
"Shhh," her mother breathed, nodding her head in the direction of George and Mr. Blake, still blissfully unaware of the fact that there were any other human beings in the near vicinity. George's head was wedged comfortably in the crook of Charles Blake's arm and shoulder, his cheeks still rosy but not overly-so as his body nestled in trusting contentment against the man's chest. Mary followed her mother's silent urge, sliding out of the small bed and walking upon tip-toe to the rocking chair as she corrected the tie of her dressing gown and tugged a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. She stretched out a hand to her son's forehead, its enticing dampness offering her a measure of hope.
George was cool to the touch. His fever had broken while he slept.
A large smile of relief covered Mary's face, communicating this fact to Anna and her mother as she dared to stroke his dark curls one last time before taking a moment to gaze upon the man who had allowed her to rest during the night. His head was slumped forward on his shoulder in such a position that his neck would most certainly protest once he awoke. His black lashes hovered ever so softly above the small lines just barely creasing under his eyes, and Mary nearly succumbed to the temptation to touch his cheek, just above where dark stubble was beginning to dot his sun-kissed skin and where his dimple lay in hiding for the moment.
He was beautiful.
The thought left her thunder-struck as it swelled within her mind, making her nearly jump back a step before straightening her stance and strolling noiselessly out of the nursery behind her mother and Anna. She followed them wordlessly into the private world of her bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her as she still mulled over the unbidden message quietly in her mind.
It should have been Matthew rocking their son to soothe him during his illness, and he would have done so without complaint had the chance been granted to him. But Matthew was no longer with them, robbed of the opportunity to hold his child securely to his chest or whisper endearments into his ears. And George in his blissful innocence had found a measure of comfort in the arms of another.
Would she ever be able to do the same?
Mary was unsure, not ready to entertain the notion yet unwilling to toss it aside as she would have just two days ago. It was too much, too frightening, unthinkable yet tantalizingly possible…beautiful in an odd, broken sort of way, as if shards of glass had been glued together to form a curious piece of art.
And the fact that she was even considering the notion stunned her.
"Mary," her mother whispered, once again laying a gentle hand upon her shoulder as she had done moments ago in the nursery and drawing her daughter's attention, "go to bed. I'll wake Mr. Blake in a few moments and tend to George myself. You need to rest."
She had no desire to argue this matter, willingly doing as she had been bidden as she slid into the comfort of her own bed, Anna making sure that the drapes were securely drawn even though it would be some time before the clouds would grant the sun leave to make an appearance. She burrowed into the softness of her pillow, the lulling sound of a gentle rain quickly luring her back to sleep as the other two women left her to take care of the parties who remained in the nursery. The last thought of her conscious mind was the image of her son nestled snugly in the arms of a man who had been a mere stranger but two days ago.
When Mary awoke for the second time that morning, it was at a leisured pace, stretching her limbs several times, unable to force herself from the bed as if she had somehow become an extension of it over the past few hours. She listened closely, detecting no sound of rain and curious as to whether the sun actually shone upon the world beyond her drapes. She laid there for several delectable minutes, amazed at just how much sleep she had actually been granted when just a few hours ago she had resigned herself to the fact that she would receive none at all.
And she had Charles Blake to thank for that.
Why had he done such a thing? He had certainly not been obligated to help care for the ailing child of another man. He had been tired himself when he had so unexpectedly appeared at the nursery door, she was sure of it, yet he had asked to be permitted entrance to her world so that he could offer her assistance. He had once again given her the gift of rest and protection, just as he had on the train from London when he could have easily simply left her to her grief and enjoyed a private compartment for himself. Mary shook her head, laughing audibly to herself as she stared up at the ceiling, admitting to herself the very thing she had sworn she would not do.
She did like this man. And the thought terrified her.
What on earth was she to do about it? Her heart was not ready for this—it was not even whole at this point, more like a flimsy mosaic held together by thin string that could fall to pieces at the slightest burst of wind. And her mind could not make sense of anything as part of her craved his presence while the other part simply wanted to flee to the safety of solitude. But there was no laughter to be had in solitude.
And yesterday she had discovered just how direly she needed to laugh.
But what if I am destined to be unhappy? What if I am truly cursed?
The familiar icy touch of unwelcome specters found her, chilling her despite the blankets that still covered her body. Her past glared at her, pronouncing her guilty as it always did when it tried her for her sins. And she closed her eyes tightly, feeling the weight of culpability threaten to strangle her again as the death of her husband pressed upon her chest. Had her love tainted Matthew? She had traversed this road too often, somehow never finding her final destination as the path seemed to lead to nowhere and did nothing but torture her mind.
You seem a bit old to believe in curses and the like.
Mary had always considered herself to be a pragmatist, and giving credence to the thought of curses was certainly not logical. But emotions did not always respond to logical thought, taking on lives of their own and claiming power over one's entire being.
And that included the power to destroy.
Yes—crushing despair had nearly destroyed her. And she was ever so fearful to give her feelings the power to do so again. Matthew had claimed so much of her heart…she had loved him so deeply, so vividly, so completely…
I didn't know it was possible to love the way that I love you.
She hadn't known, either. And she wondered if she still possessed the ability to love another as fiercely or if part of that had been taken from her at the same moment Matthew had been. There was truly only one way to know, she reasoned, and that was to open her heart enough to another to find out.
And she could not do that…not yet. Matthew had always believed her to be a storm-braver, her parents had always considered her to be the strong one, Edith had always thought her heartless and unmovable, but deep within the recesses of her being, Mary knew the truth:
She was no stronger than a newly-hatched chick. And brick walls were necessary to protect the fragile.
Or were they? Perhaps they did nothing but simply lull the frightened into a false sense of security while robbing them of the right to live. She smiled ruefully to herself as the image of Rapunzel in her tower came unbidden to her mind. She remembered her mother reading the story to her, Edith and Sybil when they were girls from her prized book of fairy tales by the Brothers Grimm, all of them absorbing every word. Edith always insisted on playing the part of Rapunzel when they would attempt to act out the story while her mother read it, so the part of Evil Frau Gothel consistently fell to Mary. The words she would recite in her most wicked voice to as she attempted to truly frighten Edith were forever etched in her memory.
You have come for your Mistress Darling, but that beautiful bird is no longer sitting in her nest, nor is she singing any more.
And Edith would burst into tears, much to Mary's satisfaction.
Although Mary would never admit it to anyone, she would often lie awake in bed after their story time together, toying with her braid and imagining herself as the unfortunate heroine rather than the evil sorceress who had locked the girl away from the world around her. Somehow, one determined prince had scaled those walls, loved her and tried to help her escape. But in doing so, it cost him his sight and nearly his life.
And it had cost Matthew everything.
Perhaps she was not suited for either the role of the wicked Gothel or the innocent maiden dreaming hopefully at the beginning of the story at all, but rather the bird described late in the story who had been cruelly forced from her nest and had lost her ability to sing.
And that was a cruel fate indeed.
"Mi'lady," a soft voice beckoned, startling Mary from her disjointed reverie as she tentatively entered with her breakfast tray, making sure her lady was awake for pressing forward towards the bed.
"Good morning, Anna," Mary stated, propping her pillows against the headboard and sitting up for her morning meal. "You are looking well this morning."
"Thank you, mi'lady," Anna returned, setting the breakfast tray down for Mary and stepping back to pull the drapes. Fresh sunlight streamed in, so glorious in its nature that Mary could have sworn she could smell the scent of flowers upon its rays. She gazed out the window, marveling how such peace could settle so very quickly after the passing of a storm.
"You are looking much better now than you did a few hours ago, I must say," Anna continued, a grin breaching her features as she turned in Mary's direction. "I take it Master George had a rather rough time of it last night."
"Rather is not quite the term I would use," Mary retorted, spreading some marmalade upon her toast. "He had nearly broken me down, I assure you."
Anna hesitated, her blue eyes wide with curiosity as her lips pressed together to prevent her from asking the question that was so obvious in her mind. Mary paused, looking to her lady's maid as she replied, "About 3:30, I believe."
"What?" Anna asked, confusion taxing her expression as she took quickened steps towards Mary's bed.
"Mr. Blake arrived in the nursery about 3:30 this morning if memory serves me correctly," Mary stated, sipping a cup of coffee before inquiring, "Isn't that what you wanted to know?"
A laugh escaped Anna as she stood close to Mary, shrugging slightly as she said with no small amount of coyness, "I was actually going to say that he is quite a handsome man. That's all."
"Is he? I hadn't noticed," Mary lied, raising her eyes daringly at Anna in a manner that made the other woman simply shake her head.
"I see that I shall get no answers out of you this morning, mi'lady," she conceded, making her way towards the closet to lay out the proper clothing for the day.
"Only because I have none yet to offer, Anna," Mary admitted, her voice softening at the utter truth of her confession. "Not yet, anyway."
Anna turned and made her way purposefully back toward the bed, her expression thoughtful as she offered, "After what I found in the nursery this morning, I daresay you have more questions than answers right now. It must make you a bit uncomfortable."
"More than a bit, to be honest," Mary replied, her toast and coffee forgotten for the moment. "My own mind seems to have deserted me, Anna. I'm not sure just what to think anymore."
"Then perhaps it's best not to think so hard, mi'lady," Anna reasoned, laying a hand on her rounded womb as she traced lazy circles upon it softly. "You don't have to have any answers just yet. It's alright to relax a bit and see what happens."
"I'm not very good at that, you know," Mary stated, once again raising her coffee to her lips as she savored its smooth bitterness.
"Yes, I know," Anna grinned, resuming her task of laying out clothes for the day. "And I fancy that Mr. Blake has already figured that out for himself."
Mary had slept much later than normal and noticed immediately that most of the household was already well about their business by the time she made her way out of her bedroom. She discovered her mother in the nursery, keeping watch over George as he played with his wooden blocks on the floor.
"Anna said that she would be tending him soon," Cora stated, arising from the rocking chair and walking over to her daughter. "His fever went back up again this morning but broke fairly quickly, and he has eaten a decent breakfast. I believe he is over the worst of it, Mary."
"Thank God," Mary breathed, kneeling down beside her son as she commenced to building a wall of blocks that she knew he would only knock down in delight. "I'm not sure I could handle another night like the last one."
"Oh, I don't know," Cora stated, watching her daughter with interest. "You seemed to procure some decent help along the way."
"Mr. Blake was very kind," Mary offered, not taking her glance from George as he clapped two blocks together, delighting in the sound he was producing as he grinned at his mother.
"I'm sure that he is," Cora responded, straightening a few toys that her grandson had toppled over just moments before, "but I have my doubts as to kindness being his primary motive in rocking a sick baby for hours on end."
"Perhaps we should offer him the post of temporary nanny," Mary said drily, looking directly at Cora to gage her reaction.
Her response was an incredulous look as her mother simply shook her head before walking closer to her daughter and grandson. "Speaking of which, would you like me to post an advertisement in the paper for both a nanny and a lady's maid? We really don't have much time left, Mary."
"I'm aware of that fact, Mama," Mary replied, restacking the tower she had just constructed seconds ago that now lay in pieces on the floor. "But the nanny post is to be temporary. I have already found someone to fill it on a permanent basis."
"You have?" Cora exclaimed, true surprise radiating from her as she knelt next to Mary. "We only lost Nanny Rodgers yesterday. How on earth did you find someone during the night, Mary?"
"Because I offered the post when the candidate was helping me get ready for bed," Mary answered, gluing her eyes firmly to her mother's.
Cora's eyes widened until her expression was nearly comical, laying a hand atop Mary's shoulder as she whispered, "Anna?"
"Of course, Anna," Mary responded, "Or did you think that perhaps Mr. Blake assisted me in undressing, as well?"
"There's no need to be vulgar, Mary," her mother reprimanded, standing again as she folded her arms across her chest. "Has she accepted?"
Mary sighed, standing and leaving George to his blocks for the moment as she answered, "Not yet, although she wants to, I'm sure. She said she would need to talk it over with Bates and let me know."
"Of course," Cora breathed, looking at nothing in particular as she contemplated the idea, the movement of her eyes betraying her rapid progression of thought. "This is rather unusual, Mary, but it is Anna."
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Mary inquired, still unsure of her mother's feelings on this rather unorthodox shift in positions.
"It means that Anna is practically like family," Cora stated, now looking Mary fully in the face as she continued. "And I think offering her the position of George's nanny was a brilliant idea. I only wish I though of it myself."
Mary exhaled, unaware that she had been holding her breath until she felt it exit her lungs. She had truly hoped that this would be the reaction received, and had dared to believe it could possible in light of the absolute loyalty and protection Anna had afforded the family and her personally over the years. If her mother stood by her side in this matter, then her father would not oppose her decision—she was sure of it. Now all that remained was to see just how Bates himself would take to the idea.
"Well, I shall post the advertisement for a lady's maid, and I'll speak to Mrs. Hughes concerning a temporary nanny. Perhaps she knows of a local woman who would fill that position well."
"Thank you, Mama," Mary replied, picking up George's teddy bear, trying her best to sound uninterested as she asked, "Has Mr. Blake already departed?"
"No," her mother returned, smiling softly at her daughter's failed attempt at nonchalance. "Your father was most anxious to give him a short tour of the grounds this morning. His enthusiasm left poor Mr. Blake with little choice but to accept, I'm afraid. I suppose they should be returning fairly soon."
Cora turned to leave, nearly out the door when she turned and added, "Besides, you really don't think that he would leave without telling you good-bye, do you?"
"Oh, I don't know," Mary returned, raising her eyebrows as she reluctantly admitted, "I'm afraid I was not very gracious to him last night when he turned up at the nursery door. I may have frightened him off."
"Seeing as he inquired after you first thing this morning, I would say it is more likely that you reeled him in," Cora grinned causing her daughter to cast her glance to the ceiling as a sigh escaped her chest.
But the fact that he had asked about her secretly sent a ripple of hesitant elation throughout her body.
"Mama, do you happen to know just where my old Brothers Grimm book is located?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject for her own comfort.
Cora narrowed her eyes a moment in contemplations, pressing her lips together slightly before answering, "I believe it is on the shelf in the library next to the windows, right beside your old Jane Austen novels. Would you like for me to go and fetch it for you?"
"No, that's not necessary," Mary replied, taking a seat in the rocking chair until Anna returned. "I'll find it later."
Anna arrived within minutes, and Mary left George in her care after establishing that he was still without fever and feeling reasonably well. If the ground was not wet from last night's drenching, she would take him outside with her and let him sit on a blanket and enjoy the late morning sun. But she was not yet ready to take any chances with the child's health, so she left him in capable hands indoors as she made her way to her bench under the tree, a towel to dry it in one hand and her old copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales in the other.
The scent of the air was intoxicating as it bore the freshness of earth cleansed by the recent rains. Mary made her way to the sacred spot, her feet becoming slightly damp through her shoes as she walked in the grass. She dried a place for herself on her bench, sitting under the protection of the large tree that she had claimed as her own for as long as she could remember. This was her private haven she had eventually shared with Matthew as he seemed to sense the magic of it as much as she did, although it had also borne witness to many painful points in their relationship.
Points on which she was in no mood to dwell at the moment.
Just how much of her family's history had this tree witnessed, she wondered, looking up into its branches that were bearing the first traces of their autumn wardrobe. The view made her a bit dizzy as she could just make out the high clouds through the weathered limbs, the leaves shimmering ever so slightly as a soft wind brushed against them. Mary closed her eyes, rediscovering the sheer beauty of this place as the enchantment of it seeped seamlessly into her very pores. She then moved her attention to the well-worn volume clutched in her hands, turning slightly yellowed pages until she found the one she desired.
She sensed his nearness before hearing his footfalls in the grass, her senses keen as they seemed to meld with the natural environment enveloping her, yet she kept her eyes squarely upon the pages of her book while her pulse began to slightly increase its pace.
"Good morning, Lady Mary," he greeted, the sound of his voice warmly reminding her of its intoxicating sound as he had hummed her to sleep in the nursery.
"Good morning, Mr. Blake," she returned, turning her face to meet his smile and offering him one of her own. "You're out and about early, I see."
"No, you're just out and about a bit late this morning, my lady," he replied, his grin widening as she rolled her eyes slightly.
"I suppose I am," she admitted, setting her book in her lap carefully as she held her place with her hands. "And I probably wouldn't be out at all if it weren't for you." She lowered her gaze momentarily before returning it to his and stating, "It would seem I owe you my thanks again, Mr. Blake."
"You owe me nothing, Lady Mary," he replied, "but I am delighted to see you looking so well rested." He gestured to the bench and asked softly, "May I join you?"
She hesitated a moment, unsure of whether she truly desired to share this private retreat again with anyone. Her's…then her and Matthew's…now her's once more by a design she had not chosen. Dare she allow the spot beside her to be occupied once more—even if only for a brief moment in time? She was teetering on the edge of an answer, truly uncertain of which side should bear more weight. But the image of Mr. Blake holding George in the rocking chair while they both still slumbered fluttered through her memory, persuading her that the bench indeed was large enough to allow him a spot for a short while.
"You may," she answered softly, "but you may want to dry the seat first. I would hate to have you ruin your suit again after just having it returned to you in top form."
"That would never do," he agreed, taking the towel from her as he wiped away the dampness. "I believe Mr. Carson would have a fit if he had to make my suit right again in such short order."
"Well, it would disturb his schedule for the day, I am sure," Mary grinned. "Such a distraction could bring on apoplexy for poor Carson."
"I would hate to be responsible for such travesty," Charles smiled, "for my invitation to the house party would most assuredly be revoked."
"We could not have that, could we?" she voiced, hovering a half-glance in his direction as she realized just how disappointing that would actually be.
"Perhaps you can assist me, my lady," he continued, taking a seat on the opposite side of the well-used bench. "I would like to know just who I need to thank for the use of his suit last night. I am reasonably sure that it would not be your father or Mr. Branson, so I am at a bit of a loss."
Her world seemed to freeze, a stifling silence binding her as words turning in her mind refused to take on spoken form. The very air she breathed seemed to be held in suspension as she realized that the discovery of her impulsive action was imminent, quickly dropping her gaze back to her book to hide her embarrassment as all color drained from her face.
"Oh, Good God," he breathed, moving closer to her as realization hit him with a clear yet unmerciful force. "It belonged to your husband."
It was a statement, not an inquiry, and Mary could find no logical reason to deny it. Instead, she drew her eyes up to his, noting that their deep brown was marred by heavy mortification as she admitted, "Yes. It belonged to Matthew."
And she realized with a start that she had just spoken his name aloud to Mr. Blake for the first time.
"Why…how…" he began, running a hand through his dark hair, his eyes searching the grass below their feet as if the answers were concealed by the blades. "I do not understand."
"I told Mama to give it to you," she interrupted, forcing a smile upon her face as her hands began to tremble slightly at his incredulous expression. "You were to receive one of Tom's, but I knew that it would never fit, and his suit was just hanging there in the closet…"
Mary could not finish, words once again deserting her as she gazed at him, pleading silently for his understanding of what she could not speak.
"That does explain a lot," he spoke to himself although his words carried very clearly to her ears, Mary instantly knowing he was speaking of her discomfort in his presence at last night's dinner. Heavy silence formed quite by its own bidding, making Mary wonder if she had crossed some sort of invisible boundary that had outraged him in some fashion. Had offering Matthew's suit to him insulted Mr. Blake in a manner of which she was ignorant?
She dearly hoped not, her fear of having taken a catastrophic misstep last night rendering her too apprehensive to even look at him. But the dread of his reproach coupled with the unreasonable need for his absolution finally forced her hand, prompting her to purposefully lift her eyes until they looked unflinchingly into his. And the depth of sincerity that shone from their darkness nearly shattered her.
"That was an extremely brave thing to do, Lady Mary," he breathed, watching in amazement as genuine breathless relief washed through her, her eyes hovering closed for just a moment as she drew in the air around her deeply. And he understood with surprise that she had been honestly concerned over his reaction.
He would put that to rest at once.
"I am deeply touched that you would share something so very personal with me," he assured her, a rather lop-sided grin reaching out to allay any of her remaining misgivings.
"It would hardly be the first time," she quietly admitted, casting her gaze down briefly before returning it to him. "I seem to make an odd habit of sharing quite personal things with you."
The genuine smile that now fully broke across her face drew a hesitant one from her as well as he attested, "And I am most honored by it."
Mary sat in thoughtful silence momentarily, finally glancing back at him and stating as drily as she could muster, "Besides, it was necessary. If you had shown up in Tom's trousers, Carson might not have even allowed you in the dining room due to their length not reaching regulation. He is rather particular about doing things properly, you know."
"Well then, it would seem that I need to thank you for protecting me from being added to Mr. Carson's black list," he smiled, sensing that enough had now been said about this topic for her taste. Her actions may have been courageous, but they still left her with a sense of unease that hovered about her as an aura.
"No, that would never do," she responded, thankful for any topic of conversation that would draw them away from the one they had just been discussing as she steadied her breath purposefully. They sat in a calming silence for a moment, Mary keenly aware of the birdsong surrounding them as it danced in her ears.
"Where did you leave Papa?" she finally asked, looking around for her father but unable to see him in the near vicinity.
"Talking with some of the tenants," Charles answered, leaning forward slightly as he stated, "There has been some damage left by last night's storm at two of the cottages that immediately demanded his attention. He was a most gracious host and understood my need to return in more haste than he so I could make my departure soon to pick up my aunt."
"Just be careful in how you pick her up," she insisted, her eyebrow raising in a slight challenge. "I'm not sure just how well Lady Catherine would handle such a lift as you gave me yesterday."
His laughter spread to his eyes as he studied her a moment before taking up her delicate gauntlet and replying merrily, "Don't' worry, Lady Mary. That lift is reserved especially for you."
She was unsure if it was the breeze or his words that made her shiver in such a manner, but she did have her suspicions.
And they made her shiver all the more.
"Will you leave right away?" Mary asked, a small catch in her voice barely detectible as her heart fluttered slightly.
"Only after you tell me what you are reading," he grinned, his dimples having their desired effect upon her as she felt her palms begin to warm under his scrutiny.
"I'm afraid it's nothing earth-shattering," she responded, flipping the book in her lap so that he could read the cover. "The Brothers Grimm, I'm afraid."
"An interesting choice," he mused, stroking the edge of the cover gingerly with his thumb. "I always enjoyed The Town Musicians of Bremen, personally. Which is your favorite Grimm tale?"
"Probably Snow White and Rose Red," Mary replied, "but I am currently reading another story that I always enjoyed."
"And which is that, pray tell?" Charles inquired, looking into her eyes as he hazarded a guess. "Cinderella?"
"Hardly," Mary laughed, tilting her head ever so slightly as she stated clearly, "No self-respecting lady would run off and leave her shoe at the palace. It was be simply mortifying. And Cinderella should have had the nerve to simply run away from her horrid step-mother in the first place."
"I daresay you have no pity for poor Snow White, either," he grinned, leaning towards her ever so slightly as she contemplated his question.
"No, I do understand her predicament, actually," Mary responded. "Snow White was the daughter of a king and lived in a castle with many people who depended upon the care of her family. She had responsibilities and duties that would make leaving her birthright very difficult. Cinderella lived in a home where they forced her to sweep the cinders and wear rags. I wouldn't stay in a place like that for a king's ransom."
"No, I daresay you wouldn't," he laughed, thoroughly enjoying her evaluation of fairy-tale heroines. "So what dire tale has managed to spark your interest today?"
"Rapunzel, actually," Mary replied, drawing the beloved volume a bit closer to her wondering what his response to her choice would be.
"The lady in the tower, is it?" Charles asked, raising a brow in curiosity. "Interesting choice. I always felt sorry for the girl, you know. Having someone climb up your hair must have been horribly painful."
"Ah, but it was her only means of having any contact with the outside world," Mary put in, eyeing him quizzically. "What else was the poor girl supposed to do?"
"If she had had any sense, she would have followed your example and cut her hair off early on," Charles retorted, daring a look at her new coiffure as it lifted slightly in the breeze. "It would have saved her a lot of trouble in the end, plus it would have made her look quite modern."
"How is a girl to know what modern even means if she's locked in a tower?' Mary grinned, her eyes actually beginning to sparkle in amusement as she turned her body so she was facing him. "Besides, just how would the prince come to her rescue if she had cut her hair? How do you propose he scale her tower without it?"
"Please, any self-respecting prince would rather brave Dante's Inferno than purposely inflict pain upon a lady," Charles said resolutely. "A man who would climb up a woman's hair to gain entrance to her tower is both dull-witted and morally lacking, in my opinion."
And for a bone-chilling moment, she clearly envisioned Kemal Pamuk.
"I may just agree with you on that one," Mary returned, brushing away the image as quickly as she could and drawing a look of pleasant surprise from her friendly opponent, "but there are men out there who would seek an entrance by any means possible."
All pleasantry disappeared from his face at her statement as he simply stated somberly, "I know."
"Well, then," she cut in, her voice rising a bit as she sought to restore the jovial mood between them, "we have still not solved the problem of how this prince is to manage the tower respectably."
"I suppose a catapult would do," Charles began, purposefully feigning a serious expression as he stared at her intently. "But if his aim were off at all, it could prove disastrous, indeed."
"Quite," Mary agreed, relaxing in the air of playful seriousness as she mused, "And just think of the mess he would leave on her tower."
"Dear me, that would never do," he returned, stroking his chin as if in serious thought. "Putting extra work on the lady is very un-hero like behavior. I suppose stilts would be out of the question."
"How on earth could stilts the height of a tower ever be maneuvered successfully?" she quipped, narrowing her gaze slightly to indicate that it was his turn.
"It is quite doubtful that they could," he agreed, shaking his head slightly. "The bloke would probably break his own neck before he was able to save hers. More's the pity."
"Poor man," Mary sighed, a grin warming her face in a manner as she cast her challenge. "Does he stand a chance at all, I wonder."
"Perhaps that depends upon her," Charles responded, inching closer almost imperceptibly as he tossed the challenge back to her court.
"And how is that, Mr. Blake, if she is locked soundly away out of reach without even her hair to keep her company?" she mused, sensing something in their conversation that made her heart jump a beat.
"Well, for example, if she had a suit of armor lying about, she could always throw it down to the poor chap," Charles answered, his dark eyes capturing hers quite efficiently as he searched her face for the smallest of reactions.
"And just how would armor be useful in his particular situation?" she inquired, her voice taking on a bit of a breathy quality. "I would think such a thing would be a hindrance in his quest."
"That all depends upon his point of view," he deftly replied, turning so that his arm rested on the back of the bench. "If he views it as simply a suit of armor, then he is doomed from the start. But if he sees the possibilities before him and is unafraid of a bit of hard work, he can craft a solution."
"And what solution is that, pray?" Mary queried, curiously hesitant and eager to hear his response, the world around her narrowing somewhat as her focus was solely upon this man sharing her bench.
"Well, he could dismantle the armor and create some spikes with which he would be able to scale the wall," Charles replied, his eyes brightening as he presented her with the idea.
"Hmmm, clever indeed," Mary agreed, casting him a look that hinted of admiration, "although he would be rather worn out once he reached the top, I'm afraid. His utter fatigue may make her lose her charm. I'm told that can happen in the throes of exhaustion."
She had tossed the proverbial ball squarely in his court with that one, yet her expression revealed nothing.
"Nonsense, Lady Mary. True charm shines through no matter how exhausted the parties involved."
He tweaked a brow back at her, seemingly rather proud of his answer. Well, she would let it do for now, she mused, picking up the thread he had left dangling enticingly at her feet. "There is also the issue of practicality, you see, for the entire process does sound rather time consuming for the poor man."
"O come now," he rebuked gently, "why should the matter of time deter him if it is her freedom and happiness that he holds in his hands? Such treasures are worth all the time in the world, in my opinion."
"Will he not grow impatient?" she inquired, her eyes fluttering between his face and the text of the story as she swallowed. "Perhaps the task would become tedious to him."
"Only if he is an idiot," he returned, willing her to not fear his gaze as he spoke ever so gently. "After all, faint heart never won fair lady. And the trust of a fair lady is treasure, indeed."
The calls of a flock of Canadian geese flying overhead broke the stillness that had descended momentarily, prompting Mary to draw breath and state the words being held captive behind her lips.
"And if she is frightened of tossing down her armor, what then? Would that not leave her defenseless if the prince truly proves to be a cad?"
Her words hovered between them, nearly tangible as they both urged them forward and gave them pause.
"No, she is far from defenseless," he argued gently, his sincere glaze flickering with the slightest hint of a dare. "Her armor is a false security, she does not need it even though she believes that she does. The lady's real defense is her quick mind. I trust she can deduce the man's true character better than he can himself. And if she finds him lacking, then she can move on."
"You must hold a rather high opinion of her abilities," Mary breathed, the air feeling thicker somehow as it entered her body. "Perhaps you have over-estimated her."
"No, I highly doubt it," he offered, drawing a breath of courage before stating what he knew needed to be said. "I believe the lady in the tower has under-estimated herself for far too long."
"And what if she is afraid to leave her tower? After all, it has been her world for quite some time."
"Then the prince should take the time to dismantle it, stone by stone," he began, his voice drawing her towards him as his nearness filled her senses. "Perhaps he could fashion the materials into a more practical fortress that would offer her protection but would not imprison her."
"And if she should feel exposed as her tower was being undone?" Mary asked, her voice barely more than a whisper, her heart seeming to hover in suspension as she voiced something so personal.
"It is always his job to make sure that she feels protected," Charles answered, the playfulness having somehow vanished from his eyes as his response drew her in. "He should offer her a covering, his cloak, perhaps, until she trusts him to care for her. No one enjoys feeling exposed."
Her blood was pounding in her ears, her cheeks suddenly warm while her fingers felt frigid. She cast her eyes back down to the well-worn pages as she breathed, "You seem to have an answer for everything, Mr. Blake."
"Hardly, Lady Mary," he replied, the quiet timbre of his voice begging her to listen closely. "But it would seem that I need to brush up on the tales of the Brothers Grimm over the next two days so we can continue our discussion at the house party."
"At least I shall have one thing to look forward to on Friday," she smiled in return, drawing forth his dimples as he grinned back at her. "Which story shall we discuss?"
"Perhaps Sleeping Beauty would be appropriate," he grinned, making her blush slightly and her eyes widen as she realized that he had in all likelihood observed her slumbering in the trundle bed just hours ago.
The nerve!
"Or perhaps we should select Clever Hans," she retorted, drawing a full smile from him as he chuckled and shook his head.
"And that's how Hans lost his bride," he quoted, shaking his head slightly. "I always felt a bit sorry for the poor bloke, although he was rather admittedly a numbskull."
"If he had actually listened to Gretel, perhaps the story would have ended differently." Mary quipped, her blush now replaced by a small spark in her pupils, "no matter how idiotic he was."
"You are right, of course," he returned, raising his arms in mock surrender once more. "As I said last night, I know when I have been beaten. Sleeping Beauty it is."
"And you accused me of harboring a brick wall in my head," she shot back, a hint of laughter ringing in her voice that gladdened his heart.
"So the house party does not excite you?" he asked, drawing his brows up in inquiry.
"Not in the slightest," Mary admitted, shaking her head ruefully as she explained, "I was not even made aware of it until George and I arrived home from London."
Charles stared at her in genuine surprise as he exclaimed, "You mean just two days ago? Right after we parted ways in York?"
"Exactly," Mary answered, smiling in spite of herself as he once again ran his hands through his hair in disbelief.
"Why would your family keep such a thing from you?" Charles questioned, not understanding the situation to his satisfaction.
"Why do you think?" she shot back, her tone bordering on incredulous. "They knew I would loathe the idea and would create some sort of means of extricating myself from it as soon as possible."
"Are we such poor company, Lady Mary?" he put forth, feigning of look of injury that made her simply roll her eyes.
"Your aunt—no, but the jury is still out on you, I'm afraid," she retorted, her eyes full of merry fire as his looked back at her without intimidation.
"I suppose I must take your advice from last night and remain in top form," he mused, noting how she cast her eyes briefly away as he spoke her own words.
"Indeed," she dared, facing him fully as she revealed, "for you are one of three unmarried men to be in attendance. This was all Mama's and Granny's doing, you understand, to get me back in the world of the living."
"Top form, indeed," he mused, his eyes narrowing slightly in interest, feeling as if she dealt him a stacked hand with that information. "No wonder you were so opposed to the idea of this gathering."
"I can't believe it!" she exclaimed, a genuine smile breaking across her face as she fell back against the bench in relief. "Someone actually understands my feelings in this matter."
"Perhaps I can be of service to you at this party, my lady," Charles grinned, a small measure of alarm settling in the pit of her stomach as she noted more than a hint of mischief in his expression.
"How so, Mr. Blake?" she queried, her eyebrow questioning him.
"Well, I could stick close by your side, you see, and protect you from any unwanted advances," he replied, making her suddenly aware of just how small the bench had become and how close he was sitting.
"And who will protect me from you, pray?" she voiced quietly, the hint of vulnerability shimmering in her words not lost upon him.
"I shall," he replied, gazing at her sincerely before a grin crept onto his face. "I promise to quote you no sonnets, ask you to dance no waltzes, nor attempt to steal any kisses during my stay here at Downton."
"And do you get anything out of this agreement," she asked, her pulse now having increased to an uncomfortable pace.
"You must agree to come for a visit in York in the next few weeks," he stated, noting the interest that flashed in her gaze at his invitation. "I should dearly love to show you the horses, especially Kala."
Mary sat in contemplative silence, suddenly feeling unnaturally calm under the circumstances as she replied. "I accept your terms, Mr. Blake. But we really must work on your bargaining skills, you know. I am getting the far better end of this agreement than you are."
"Are you indeed, Lady Mary?" he voiced, having no idea how the velvet timbre of his voice wrapped around her, giving her pause and assurance at the same time. "Are you indeed?'