Author's Note: Thanks to Wivikefan for adding this story to your list of favorites, and also for inadvertently recommending a really good DA fic I'm reading. It's called Caught, by Corelli Sonatas, and for anyone who enjoys reading Mary/Kemal stories, check that one out as well.

As for this story, I'm going to eventually cover all four series of Downton Abbey. Each series will be eight episodes long outright, with a Christmas Special episode at the end of series 2-4. Please follow and review!

Chapter 3

Episode 1x04 Of Sailships and Sultans, Part Two

By mid-afternoon, Mary knew Evelyn Napier was en route. She paced anxiously in a lightweight blue chiffon tea dress in the drawing room. Her afternoon cup and her biscuits sat uneasily on her stomach. Now there was only the waiting.

Sybil watched Mary pace, while Sybil worked on her embroidery. It was just above average embroidery, since she had never been a great student of needlework. Watching Mary pace only made her mediocre skill worsen. After several more paces, Sybil sighed and set aside her needlework.

"Mary, you seem like you need something to do. Why not practice with your needle?"

"If I had a needle, I believe I should stab the embroidery and discard it as complete rubbish. Needlework is the last burden I desire. If only I had a cause, like you do with assisting the housemaids to find jobs elsewhere."

"There is nothing wrong with taking up the cause of one's fellow man. The housemaids deserve the opportunity for elevation as much as either of us."

"We have only one opportunity for elevation, Sybil," Mary sighed, "because we are women and trapped in the bodies given to us."

"Our bodies, perhaps, but we're not trapped in our employment."

"For the housemaids, that is true enough. For you and I, there will only be one form of employment: to marry whatever man will have us, bear his children, and maintain his estate in elegance. And when we retire from that position, we shall have to join our husbands in eternal rest, like Granny, unless we're fortunate to get there first."

"What has you in such a state today?"

"Evelyn Napier is coming to visit again."

"He's the Perseus to your Andromeda, remember?" Edith strode into the room in her pink satin tea dress. Her sly smirk would be been imperceptible to everyone but Mary, who was well versed in Edith's cruel jibes.

"More like the ship that Odysseus rode into Charybdis. Evelyn is as dry as wood and only half as useful."

Sybil laughed and covered her mouth with a gloved right hand, like their mother had taught her. "Compared to that exotic fellow, Mister Pamuk, I suppose he is." Mary shot her a scathing look. "Well, don't pretend as though you didn't stare at each other and talk in a world of your own throughout dinner that night. It was quite obvious to the rest of us."

"Yes, it was very entertaining, like a bear baiting show must have been to Good Queen Bess, I imagine," Edith said.

"Roar," Mary quipped.

Sybil laughed again. Mary noticed how dour Edith remained. "This afternoon, I was reading the most interesting history book from Papa's library. Surely you both know of the scandalous love affairs of Louis the Fourteenth of France?"

"I am certain that those of us with no hope of finding love must find it somewhere."

Sybil picked up her embroidery and frowned at Mary. The eldest Crawley daughter replied with a pointedly arched eyebrow. "Go on, Edith," Sybil said encouragingly, "tell us about them."

"Are you certain you should hear of such things, Sybil?"

"Don't be like Mama, Mary. And besides, I'm certain Edith won't say anything improper."

"Thank you, Sybbie." Edith cleared her throat. "It's the matter of the poor, unfortunate queen. You see, poor Marie Therese, Louis' wife, had no knowledge of any of the affairs conducted by the king. Everyone thought he was such a talented king, but really, he was just a notorious philanderer!"

Sybil's eyes grew wide. Edith beamed, as though she had accomplished some life-changing event. Mary frowned out the window. "Well I don't suppose anyone would write the history of a celibate king. It's the duty of the king to be the father of his kingdom. And fathers must be fruitful, mustn't they?" Without waiting for an answer, Mary turned and strode from the room. "I'm feeling exhausted. I'm going to lie down before the dreadful arrival of Mister Napier, and I'll wake in time for the dressing."

Two hours later…

Mary stared at her reflection in the mirror, as Anna brought in her dark blue silk evening gown. She turned left then right, studying her hips and bustline. "Anna, does it seem as though I've gained weight?"

Anna frowned as she studied Mary's body. "Not at all, my lady. Is that why you wanted to dress alone tonight?"

"No." Mary stepped into the evening gown. It rustled against her body, fitting flawlessly. "I was in no hurry to dress for dinner tonight, not with Lord Napier visiting. Actually, the more simply I dress, the better. If I could come to dinner with a collar of diamonds engraved with 'Noli me tangere,' I certainly would, Anna."

Having fastened up Mary's dress, Anna set to work on styling her hair. "I don't know if you would want to wear that at dinner tonight, my Lady."

"Why is that?"

"Mister Carson said he had to make extra room at the table for a setting for that Turkish gentleman, the one who came…"

"Mister Pamuk?"

"Yes, that's his name!"

Anna watched Mary. The eldest Crawley dropped the brooch she was considering. It seemed to Anna that Mary was as flustered as the blonde housemaid sometimes felt around Mister Bates. "Are you alright, my Lady?"

"Yes, yes, perfectly fine; I was just startled, that's all." The color in Mary's cheeks was high. "Anna, could you see if I have a nicer gown than this? One in red, perhaps?"

"Yes, my Lady."

Mary examined her reflection in the mirror. "And we must arrange this hair. It's so dreadful. I must hurry before the dinner gong!"

'Something isn't quite right here,' Sybil noted before the second course was even served. Her sharp blue eyes roved the table. Everyone was engaged in a conversation with the person beside them, except Sybil. 'I might have to be the proper lady and not initiate a conversation with any of these men—except Papa and Cousin Matthew—but I'm no child.'

"Have you had a full sampling of the English countryside during your stay, Mister Pamuk? I hope Lord Branson has taken you about and shown you the many sights we have to offer?" Mary asked.

She took a sip of her wine and brazenly studied Kemal over the glass. "I can't say that I have, Lady Mary," the Turkish gentleman replied with a half-chuckle.

"Kemal has hardly been away from our estate, if truth be told.," Evelyn chimed in. "I'm afraid we haven't had much time for travel, and as a consequence, we've overindulged him. Not that Kemal has anything to complain about, do you, Kemal?"

'Evelyn hasn't looked at anything or anyone but Mary throughout the meal. I guess he's quite taken with her,' Sybil observed.

"No, I have no complaints," Kemal stated.

"Well, I'm certain you have found the Branson estate to be a marvel, haven't you, Mister Pamuk?" Mary asked.

"Mama's roses are in full bloom, so a stroll through the garden is most enchanting. It should be a stopping point—if you ever travel the countryside, Lady Mary. And you too, Lady Grantham." Evelyn flashed a warm smile at Cora who beamed back. "I'm sure Mama would be most pleased to find that her friends came to admire her prized roses."

Sybil's blue eyes didn't miss the tightening of Kemal's grip on his fork.

After Dinner…

Mary barely spared a moment. When they moved to the drawing room, she stood off to the side of the room. Edith was engrossed in her conversation with Matthew on the chaise. Matthew cast a longing glance in Mary's direction, and she immediately averted her gaze. Cora and Sybil were entertaining Matthew with a tale about their latest shopping trip in Rippon.

When he looked at her, Mary turned her attention to Kemal, who was conversing with her grandmother. Their eyes met over her grandmother's head. Mary felt color rush to her cheeks at what she was about to do. 'After the dreadful way he behaved at dinner, I mustn't do it. What a narcisstic man. But I can't turn my eyes from him, and the way I feel—just looking at him—'

She casually tilted her head, beckoning Kemal to follow her into the adjacent main hall.

To her surprise, he excused himself and followed.

Mary strode across the hall to a vase of freshly cut English tea roses from Cora's garden. She pretended to study them but watched Kemal's approach from the periphery of her eyes. He languidly sauntered toward her. "After a nighttime stroll around the gardens, I suppose you've been satisfied with the view of the whole estate?"

"If it were a matter entirely in my hands, Lady Mary, I would tour the entire estate—the entire countryside—by the light of day, instead."

Kemal stepped closer to her. 'Such a heady cologne; I must step free of redolence before it could break my composure,' Mary thought and took two steps to the other side of the table. "You are a gentleman, Mister Pamuk. There are more freedoms allowed to your gender and station than to mine. For a visit to the village, I have to give notice to my father, and to accompany any unmarried man, I risk a scandal if the travel lasts more than an afternoon."

"A gentleman, I may be, but I am also a foreign gentleman. My movements in the countryside are also restricted."

"Not so much as mine, I can assure you. I…"

"Your mother has the most beautiful and enchanting roses I have ever seen. Their very scent threatens to bring me to my knees." Kemal's eyes locked with hers over the roses, and Mary understood all too well the sensation she felt under his gaze. "This one, especially."

Kemal plucked a rose from the vase and brought it around the table to her. Its particular shade of yellow matched the red shade of Mary's dress. She risked a whiff of the rose. "Why did you ignore me at dinner?"

"I could scarcely be in the same county as you, and you would leave my thoughts for an hour, my darling. I am quite caught in your snare. I do not believe there is any escape."

Mary leaned forward, their eyes locked on each other, their lips perfectly aligned. Then the drawing room door opened. They turned from each other as Violet Grantham's loud harangue on the Parliament of Asquith and Lloyd George's notion of "radical improvement" reached their ears. 'I can hardly breathe when I am in his presence.'

"If I have snared you," she whispered with her back to the party exiting the drawing room, "then I should take my prize, shouldn't I?"

Kemal's slow smoldering gaze pierced Mary's heart. She felt as unsteady as though she were aboard a ship on choppy waters. "Lady Mary, you must remember that the prize you take home must feed your family as well."

"I hope you two aren't conversing in any way that would be unseemly?" Evelyn strode boisterously across the hall. His voice made Mary jump, and Kemal flinched.

"Not at all," Mary replied breathlessly. "We were discussing Mama's flowers. Kemal thinks they're beautiful." Mary gestured to the vase.

Evelyn studied the assorted roses. "Eh, they have utility for decoration, that's for certain. Well, goodnight, Lady Mary; I am afraid the gentlemen must depart. Tomorrow we leave on the afternoon train to London. There's no telling how long the Sultan will allow Kemal and his father to remain at this point."

"Must you leave so soon?" Mary asked.

"I am afraid, chances of my stay are not favorable. The discussion for Albanian independence has not gone well, at least from the perspective of Albanians."

"That sounds most ominous. I hope you enjoyed your stay, Mister Pamuk."

Kemal gave a courteous nod to Mary. Evelyn boldly bowed and kissed Mary's hand. 'He feels like ice, but Kemal would burn me to cinders,' she thought. She watched the men climb the stairs, while the rest of the dinner party saw Violet off in the car. As Kemal climbed the stairs, Mary's eyes were locked with Kemal, until he disappeared from her sight.