We've arrived at the ball! This is the last chapter, but there will be an epilogue. We'll get a little bit from each character, starting with Matthew, then Tom, then Mary, then Sybil.
Thanks so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed and favorited!
A note to M/M shippers with very mild spoilers from the CS (I'll try to be vague as possible for those who have not seen it): I know people are feeling lots of feelings right now. I empathize. One thing that I did like about the CS was the acknowledgement that Matthew sees a side of Mary (and she shows him a side of herself) that nobody else sees. That's how I've always understood the M/M dynamic and what I found intriguing about it, and I wrote this version of the characters with that in mind.
To S/T shippers: Remember the evil editor mentioned in chapter three? Her name is totally Edna. (Seriously, as someone who hates coming up with character names, I love that we now have a female Larry equivalent.)
Matthew
For about an hour after guests had started arriving at the annual Downton Abbey New Year's Ball, the entire Crawley family stood in a receiving line by the door. Servers were passing out light hors d'oeuvres and champagne to guests as they mingled in the entrance hall.
It was without a doubt the most formal event Matthew had ever attended. Standing in that grand house, in clothes that had cost him more than he'd ever paid for anything except his car, he couldn't help but feel a bit overwhelmed.
How had she survived a lifetime of this?
Mary was beautiful, elegant, regal and looked every bit the part of a lady reared to be the mistress of such a domain, but Matthew, when he thought of her, also saw a depth and fierceness to her that belied the polished, delicate exterior. In Mary he saw beauty as well as the effort behind it. He loved her for both. And he knew few others were given the chance to see and appreciate both. Watching her now as she smiled and shook hands with incoming guests, he couldn't help but feel proud that she had chosen him. It also occurred to him that the circumstances under which he'd met her—in his pajamas in the middle of the night while she stood over him holding a frying pan—were as incongruous with the setting they were currently in as one could possibly imagine. The house, impressive on its own, seemed to come alive—sparkle, in a way—over the course of the day as hoards of workers dressed it up for the occasion.
Matthew was the son of two working parents who despite their comfortable living valued common sense and practicality above all, so there was a part of him that couldn't help but be a bit cynical about the opulence that radiated from every corner of it. But he could also sense the sincere pride that all who were a part of Downton, from the Crawleys to the Carsons to everyone in between, took in making her shine. He was not so cynical as to begrudge them that pride. Matthew could feel that pride in Mary, when she'd first brought him here, just as he saw it now in Gwen Carson, who'd grown up here with Mary, Edith and Sybil and who, because she was a good sport, was serving as boyfriend baby-sitter to Matthew and Tom while Mary and Sybil fulfilled their official duties. She'd met them at the bottom of the staircase when they'd come down about an hour ago, and since then, she'd been regaling them with the history of the ball and what to expect.
After mingling in the entrance hall, she'd said, everyone would be invited to the ballroom, where a traditional string octet plays the first waltz and officially opens the event. The octet would play for about an hour, until the jazz combo that would liven up the tempo and see the crowd to the new year took over.
The ball itself dated back to the 1850s, when the earl and countess of the time welcomed their army of employees into the ballroom for a servants ball at the end of the holiday season. It became an annual tradition that continued uninterrupted until the first world war, then resumed again until the start of the second. The end of that war in many ways marked the end of the way of life that Downton Abbey had been a symbol of among aristocrats. The earl at that time, Robert Crawley's father, downsized the staff significantly and put ownership of the home in a trust to ensure it would always be taken care of. His only son's family would be able to continue living there, but parts of the home would be open for visitors and available to rent for large events. The ball began again, first as a way to cheer soldiers and nurses after the war, and eventually simply as a celebration for friends of the family, residents of the neighboring village and the few who still worked to maintain the estate, like Gwen's parents.
"So are they here tonight?" Matthew asked her when her narrative came to an end. Gwen pointed out the out couple, taking to one of the servers.
"Mum's easy to spot because she never stops working. I swear the woman does not have an off button."
"Then she's like mine," Matthew responded with a smile.
Tom took a sip of his champagne and said, "I do believe that if Claire Branson were present this evening she'd be shot-gunning the champagne and pocketing the canapés."
Gwen laughed. "Syb and I used to do that when we were teenagers, then after we were good and drunk we'd go hide out in her room and stay up until 5 a.m. eating and watching reruns of Doctor Who."
"That sounds fantastic. Is there a reason we're not doing that tonight?" Tom asked, making Gwen and Matthew laugh.
"Well, unlike you boys I need still need to find someone to kiss at midnight," Gwen said. "In fact, it's already almost nine, so I better get on it—assuming you two are going to be OK on your own while your ladies are still on the job?"
Tom raised his champagne flute to Gwen, saying, "Go forth and plow, red."
She clinked it with hers, turned with a flourish and walked off into the now sizeable crowd.
As Matthew and Tom turned to each other laughing, a voice from the back of the room invited the crowd to move into the ballroom. Both turned back to the door but the family had already moved from their spot near the door.
Looking back to Matthew, Tom said, "Well, I suppose this is as good a time as any to find the toilet. Let us hope I don't get lost this time."
Matthew smiled and looked around. Still not seeing Mary, he proceeded to the ballroom with the rest of the crowd. Once there, after a few minutes, he heard the musicians start hitting their music stands with their bows. The first violinist offered the concert pitch and the rest of the musicians joined up. Once tuned, the octet began with the Waltz of the Flowers from The Nutcracker. A space had already cleared in the center of the room, and Matthew watched with interest as Robert and Cora Crawley, and Charles and Elsie Carson, the latter representing the traditional presence of the "servants," began dancing. About halfway through the song, the couples broke up and found other partners among the crowd, signaling that everyone could join in.
He looked around for Mary again and finally—Finally!—spotted her making her way toward him, with a small smile and looking as radiant and gorgeous, Matthew thought, as anyone could possibly look in a simple black silk dress, her hair up in a loose bun adorned by a small tiara.
"Don't you look dashing," she said as she approached.
Matthew kissed her lightly on the lips and said, "Barely good enough to stand next to you."
She rolled her eyes. "I'll manage."
He tilted his head toward the dance floor, where the next piece after the first waltz was starting.
"You have to ask me properly."
Matthew smiled, always amused by her love of formality. "Of course, Lady Mary, may I have the honor of this dance." He extended his hand out to her.
"Why, yes, Mr. Crawley." She smiled widely as she took his hand.
"You know, Mary," Matthew said as they began to dance. "I was thinking back to the night we met, seeing you bring out the tea, being so prim and proper—and I wondered if someone like you ever let loose."
"I proved that I could that very night, didn't I?" She said this with a twinkle in her eye that made Matthew wonder whether they'd be letting loose like that again tonight. He'd be as patient as she wanted, of course, but a guy could hope.
"Yes, you did," he said with a wink. Then, he added, "I guess what I'm getting to is that I'm curious about what it was like for you growing up here."
She sighed. "Sometimes it's hard even for me to believe I was ever a child. That I wasn't born fully formed, as I am now."
He raised his eyebrows.
"Father is a bit to blame I suppose. As a little girl, I used to love hearing him talk of Downton, and preserving the estate and continuing the work of our ancestors. As soon as he saw that I shared that interest with him, he started preparing me for it. Grooming me, as it were, and forgetting that I was still just a child. So when Edith, Sybil and Gwen would play sardines in the library, I'd think of how undignified it was to use Downton as a playground."
She paused, laughed at herself, and continued, "I'd like to think I've come a long way since. But honestly, it was all just a ploy to be loved by my papa. So much of the tradition he holds dear is folly, but if me serving tea on a silver platter makes him happy and proud, then I don't mind doing it."
Matthew smiled at her, loving her more for such a simple thing—the love of a daughter—being what made her who she was. Before he could stop himself, he thought of Mary as a mother. He couldn't help but ask, "Do you think you'll want your children to grow up here?"
"I'm not sure. They'll know this place, of course, but I've thought lately that ours is likely the last generation that will call it home. It belongs to so many now, not just the Crawleys."
After a moment, she looked at him in the eyes, the sparkle he'd seen moments ago was back when she said, "It also depends on what their father would want."
"Do you remember telling me that you'd never slept with a man you had not danced with first."
"I do."
"Well, it seems sensible then to point out that we're dancing right now."
"Very sensible."
The two laughed at each other and their barely contained sexual frustration. Surely tonight. But before either could speak again, glasses started clinking again.
"It's father's toast," Mary said. "Oh, and Sybil has something up her sleeve, which she said you would find very fun."
"OK, then."
"By the way, why didn't you tell me it was Tom's birthday."
Suddenly Matthew knew exactly what would happen next. And yes, it would be very fun.
Tom
It had taken him a good fifteen minutes to find his way back to the ballroom—fecking house—and even then it was not without the help of another guest. More than an hour in and he still hadn't seen more than an across-the-room glimpse of Sybil. She had promised she would make the evening and the ridiculous clothing, worth his while. So as he was taking wrong turns down the wrong hallways in search for the way back to the ball, he'd started listing in his head the very creative ways he would suggest to her that would in fact do just that.
Once back in the ballroom, the event clearly in full swing, he walked over to the bar, asked for a whiskey and waited for his lady—who obviously would know her way around better than he—to come find him. He could see from where he was standing Matthew and Mary dancing. He laughed at how at ease Matthew seemed in this milieu, in the arms of Mary, and was happy to see his friend enjoying himself. He walked closer to where they were, so he would at least have someone to talk to when they were done dancing. Just as the music finished, though, the room was filled with the sound of clinking glasses. He eyes, like everyone else's, moved to the front of the room where Robert was standing in front of the octet holding a microphone. The room got quiet as he began to speak.
"Thank you so much, everyone, for joining us tonight. Those of you who know me and my family well know how much we treasure this event. We're glad to have your company to celebrate and reflect on another year and look forward to the next. As always we are grateful to Elsie Carson and the rest of the staff for making Downton shine tonight and every day. Before we get to the toast, though, my daughter Sybil has a favor to ask everyone."
Robert moved to hand the microphone off to Sybil, and Tom realized that during Robert's speech he hadn't noticed her standing behind her father. How didn't I? he thought, looking at her now, a right vision in a dark red dress, her hair straightened (which made him smile and think, special occasions), and her bangs artfully swept to the side with a small pin.
No, a schlub like me in a sport coat wouldn't have been good enough.
"Thanks, dad," she said into the microphone. "And thank you to all of you who have joined us here every year for so many years and those who are new. Among those for whom tonight's ball is the first is someone very dear to me who also happens to be celebrating his thirtieth birthday."
Oh no, she wouldn't.
"So, I'd love it if all of you would be kind enough to help me sing him—his name is Tom, by the way—happy birthday."
No, no, no, no, no.
He watched, a tight, reluctant smile on his face, as she motioned to the octet to lead the song. And he couldn't contain his blush as something like 300 people sang.
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday, dear Tom,
Happy birthday to you.
He lost sight of her for a moment as the song ended, then it was as if the seas parted and there she was walking toward him, looking like the most beautiful woman in the room and with a smile that conveyed just how pleased with herself she was. He supposed that Robert followed that with his toast and that at some point the octet began to play again, but it was all just background noise.
When she finally got to him, she said, smiling cheekily, "Well, hello, there birthday boy. Don't you look good enough to eat."
Tom narrowed his eyes at her, trying very hard to come up with a perfect come back. But his will power crumbled and rather than saying anything at all, swept her into a kiss so long and deep, if her Granny Violet had been watching, she might have considered it inappropriate.
When he pulled away, he didn't let her go, and she whispered, "Where am I?"
"Very funny."
Sybil laughed. "That was quite a thank you."
"Who says I was thanking you. In fact, I think a measure of punishment is in order."
"Do you promise?"
"What am I going to do with you?"
"Love me."
"Oh, darling, I'm way ahead of you."
They kissed again, this time lightly, and dropped their embrace but continued to hold hands.
"Speaking of good enough to eat," he said, giving her head-to-toe once over.
She smiled bashfully and shrugged her shoulders.
"Since you don't seem to be aware of how lovely you are, I shall take it upon myself to remind you every day."
"I'd really rather you didn't."
"I'd rather you hadn't announced to the world that it was my birthday," he said cheekily.
"Fair enough."
They smiled at each other for a moment. Then, quietly, Tom asked, "Am I to guess from the fact that he introduced you that your father doesn't think I'm an utter waste of molecules?"
"Well, I won't pretend he likes you so well as he likes Matthew."
Tom smirked. "Nobody likes me so well as they like Matthew."
"Wouldn't Matthew say the same thing about you?"
"No. He'd say that nobody ever finds him better looking than me."
Sybil rolled her eyes. "Terribly full of yourself."
"The better to hide deep-seated insecurities." He paused for a moment, adding, quiet again, "I'm serious, though, about what I asked."
"Reiterating that the only person whose opinion counts is mine, yes, they thought you perfectly delightful. I do have to say that the piano playing helped, especially with mum."
"It's not that I was all that worried about it before tonight. I guess the sheer number of people here makes me think of how many might shun you for dumping one of their own for me."
"You can't possibly believe that anyone here would make me doubt myself or us. Certainly, you aren't doubting, are you?"
"I'm aware that you love me, Sybil, and I don't doubt you or us. But what you said that I chastised you for, about making things easier, I guess I'm saying that I get now what you were trying to say. And I hope I haven't made things hard by being, well, me."
Sybil took both of his hands in hers. "You haven't. I don't think I would have managed it with anyone else, in fact."
He smiled and leaned down to kiss her again. When he pulled away she was grinning.
"So, Mr. Branson, I know you play and I know you sing, but it remains a mystery to me whether or not you can dance."
He laughed pulling her toward the dance floor. "I'll risk it, but I think you'll end up wishing it had remained a mystery.
Mary
It was about 11 p.m. when Mary finally broke. Some prior version of herself might have thought it inelegant or uncouth to leave a New Year's party before midnight, but anyone fully aware of her present circumstances would have excused her. He looked too good. She wanted him too much to be expected to wait. Sex with Matthew was going to be had tonight, and she wasn't going to be the one to delay the inevitable.
It would have been easy enough to pull him into any room and rip his clothes off—goodness, how good does he look in formal clothes—like she'd done that first night. This time, though, she wanted it to be at least somewhat romantic. So when Matthew went off to the loo, she found one of the servers and asked him to bring a bottle of red wine and a couple of glasses and leave them on the table in the entrance hall "and quickly!"). Then, she found Matthew and pulled him along before he had a chance to say a word. Once they got there, though, to Mary's dismay, the server had left the bottle and two highball glasses.
Noting her annoyance, he asked, "What is it?"
"They've left the wrong glasses."
She turned around to go back to the ballroom for wine glasses, but she stopped when she felt his hand on her arm.
Matthew took the bottle and highballs from her, and said, "Mary, I'll happily go back for the correct glasses if that's what you'd really rather be doing right now."
She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm incorrigible."
He smiled back at her. "So, where to?"
She took the bottle from him and grabbed his hand. As they walked up the central staircase, she said, "Do you know how I said I didn't behave much like a child when I was one?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'm afraid the same holds true about being a teenager. So right now, I'd like to do something I've never done."
"Oh? And what's that then?"
"Sneak a boy into my room for sex."
They'd reached the top of the stairs when she'd said the last, and Matthew stopped her.
"Where is your room, exactly?"
"Down the corridor to the left, the second door on the right."
And with that, Matthew handed Mary the highballs, lifted her into his arms and proceeded where she'd directed him practically in a sprint.
Mary threw her head back, laughing, and thought, This must be what people mean when they say you'll know when it's love.
Sybil
Sybil wasn't sure how many hours past midnight had passed when she and Tom finally left the ball. Her intention hadn't been to stay so long. It was rather a surprise to her how much more enjoyable the event was when she was with someone she wanted to be with. She and Gwen, who'd paired herself up for the night with a young paralegal from Robert's firm, had danced and drunk with their respective dates with such abandon that both easily and adamantly declared it the best New Year's ever. Tom even conceded that it had been his best birthday ever.
It was this proclamation that reminded her of the surprise she'd planned for him. The couple said their goodnights and headed out, but when Tom turned to go toward the main staircase, Sybil pulled him in the opposite direction.
"I know my sense of direction in this place is not the best, but this is not the way to your room."
She smiled. "We're not going to my room—not yet. I want to show you something."
He let her pull him along to the stairs that led to the old servants hall. If any of the staff who were still down there working the event saw them, none of them reacted. Soon, they were outside, and Sybil who hadn't bothered with a coat, quickly felt Tom slipping his tuxedo jacket over her shoulders.
She turned to him, and he said, "Finally, an excuse to take that thing off."
She grabbed his hand and said, "Thank you for wearing it. You looked wonderful."
"Not as good as you."
She rolled her eyes.
"Where are we going, anyway?"
"You'll see."
They'd arrived at the garage and Sybil opened the door and felt around the wall for the light. Tom stepped in behind her. "Jesus!"
She turned back to him. "What?"
He was looking at the two Land Rovers, the Rolls Royce and Ferrari her father kept there. "These are all your father's?"
"I'm afraid so, but they're not why we're here." She pulled him again, and they walked to the back of the garage, where they stepped through another door and were outside again. As soon as they'd stepped outside a sensor light came on, and a small cottage was visible in the distance, about 30 yards away. She walked about halfway there, then turned to see his reaction. Puzzled. Curious.
She bit her lip with anticipation.
"What is this place?" He asked
"It was built in the 1870s as a dormitory for the stable hands. The roof collapsed in a snowstorm in 1911, and it was rebuilt to house one person."
"And who was that?"
"The chauffer."
He turned to her with a smile, starting to understand where they were.
"This is the chauffer's cottage, Tom. Or it was. It's vacant now. Anyway, this is where he would have lived, and, um, where she would have snuck down to."
He looked in awe. He took a few steps forward, as if to inspect where he was more closely, and she heard him say, "It's just like I pictured it." He turned to her. "I looked for one of these everywhere. I toured like a dozen old country houses, but none of the tours veered from the main house, so I described it mostly from what I found in old books and what I imagined it would look like."
He turned back to the house and stepped closer again, toward the door. "Can we have a look inside?"
She walked past him, and with a wink took the key out from her cleveage and opened the door. She held out her hand to him and said, "Oh, we'll do more than just look around."
XXX
The sun's first rays were already visible on the eastern horizon, when Sybil and Tom walked back to the house. She made a joke about having "christened" the small cottage, but Tom, in his response to her, pointed out what was more likely true.
"Not to besmirch the Crawley family's good name, Sybil, but I very much doubt you're the first lady of the house to have snuck into the servants quarters in the middle of the night for a quickie."
Sybil laughed and said, "Now that you mention it, I hope you're right."
A short while later, in her bed, Tom's arms wrapped around her, neither caring who might discover later that morning that he'd slept in her room, Sybil thought about everything that this house—her house—had been through, everything that the four walls now surrounding her had witnessed. And she felt something akin to pride that she and Tom were now part of Downton Abbey's story.