Chapter 4: All's Fair in Love and War, Part One

Author's Note: Thanks to RHatch89 for adding this story to your list of followed stories and favorite stories, to AthenaMorrigan for adding this story to your list of favorite stories, and to AthenaMorrigan and RHatch89 for reviewing the last chapter. It's really encouraging to get feedback!

I wanted to take a few seconds to say that Kemal's brief role in Episode 1.03, to me, felt like so many of the roles played by dead supporting characters in Downton Abbey (i.e., William and Sybil). The show had the opportunity to make so much more of them than it did and their presence reverberated throughout the rest of the show, but they died way sooner than they deserved. So I see this story about Kemal/Mary as a kind of homage to the roles they had an opportunity to play, and there will definitely be complications that develop as WWI approaches.

For this "episode," I envision actor Nicholas Kali in the role of Suleiman Pamuk.

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Chapter 4: All's Fair in Love and War, Part One

Episode 1.05

May 1913

Three weeks later…

"Great news!" Cora announced at breakfast, beaming with elation. Mary, Edith, and Sybil all looked up expectantly. Carson had just brought in the morning's telegrams and letters, and as usual, Robert had passed them along to Cora after the slightest of cursory glances. If there was ever good news, it came to Downton through her; if there was news of a more grave nature, it was passed through Robert. "Evelyn Napier has heard of the annual fair in the village and is most anxious to visit."

Mary raised her coffee to sip. "Goodness me, it won't be long before we have to give him a position at Downton and quarters of his own."

"His frequent visits bode well for you, Mary," Cora reminded her eldest daughter with a saccharine smile. 'I know that smile all too well to be deceived by its appearance any longer. It is the pawing of the ground before the proverbial charge of the bull. I would do well to heed the warning and keep silent,' Mary thought. She took a delicate bite of her biscuit.

Cora added, "And, you girls should be aware that this dinner won't be so precariously balanced. The Viscount of Bradford and his wife—old friends of your father's—will visit during the same fair, and with their three unmarried sons in tow!"

'Quite subtle, Mama; I am sure your vision of your three daughters well married off, like the daughters of the Duke of Provence, are well within reach. My stomach positively lurches at the thought of these matches being made.' Mary took another bite of her biscuit to keep silent.

"Mama, will that Turkish gentleman, Mister Pamuk, accompany Lord Branson?" Edith asked. She did not glance at Cora while cutting her sausage link, but Mary cast an eye down the table at her younger sister.

'Surely she means to undo me, like the centaur's blood undid Heracles. Well, what Edith fails to understand is that this is a war of attrition. She who laughs longest shall win.' Mary concentrated on continuing her breakfast.

"Lord Branson did not say he would be accompanied. Given the breakdown of the talks with Albania, I am certain that Mister Pamuk and his father had to return to their country."

"Well," Edith said chirpily, "I am certain that the female staff will be most disappointed." 'Little liar.'

"Yes, well, the 'staff' must look to higher people. After all, the grandsons of two dukes will dine at Downton tomorrow evening. I should hope that means more than the son of an ambassador." Cora shot a cutting peek at Edith then took a bite of her own biscuit and dabbed her mouth. When her mouth was empty, she turned to Robert. "After I send the dinner list to Missus Patmore, your mother wants to have lunch this afternoon. I expect she'll be ecstatic with the guest list for tomorrow night's dinner. It is most favorable for Mary."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Really, Mama, I haven't even seen the Viscount's sons since we were all children."

"The Duke and Duchess of Bradford are old friends. Their children visited here when you were still in the nursery," Robert said irascibly.

"And you danced with one of them, Edwin, I believe, at the ball to celebrate his cousin's engagement to Lucinda Fox," Cora added.

"Papa, we were still children then. You mustn't expect Mary to fall in love with a boy from childhood, who she hasn't seen since she was still in the nursery," Sybil interjected. Mary smiled at her.

"Hopefully your sister will take the pragmatic route anyway, and will treat our guests with all the bearing of the lady your mother and I have raised her to be." Robert untucked his napkin from his shirt, set it on the table, and stood up. "I'm off to write some letters, and perhaps later, I will walk the grounds." Robert strode from the room.

Edith smile cunningly down the table at Mary. "I suppose Papa is right. It's better to entertain the sons of a Viscount than to risk a scandal any day with a foreign courtship, isn't it?"

Mary lifted her cup. "I don't suppose you would succeed with either."

Later that morning…

Sybil took one look at her embroidery and rolled her eyes. 'The empire won't fall to pieces if I refuse to prick my fingers again from stitching today. In fact, I would think it should stand all the stronger if I do not.' She set aside the half-finished pattern of a bluebird perched on a branch on the settee, and strode briskly down the great hall from the drawing room to the library. 'Perhaps I'll read about the French Revolution. Grandmama would be appalled if I should discuss the merits of the Republic over the monarchy of Louis the Eighteenth at dinner tomorrow night!' she though with a wry smile.

As she approached the library, Sybil heard her father's voice. "…checkout books. There's a ledger, and I make everyone sign it, including my own daughters."

As quietly as she could, Sybil tiptoed to the library door and peeked inside. Lord Grantham stood on the far side of the library in a gray houndstooth suit, speaking to a young man of average height with dark blond hair, whose back was turned to Sybil. She studied his uniform and the way he formally clasped his hands behind his back. 'That must be the new chauffeur. He seems so uncomfortable. Perhaps I shouldn't intrude.' She turned from the door and started back down the hall then stopped. 'Wait, why should Ifeel at ease? He's only the chauffeur; I'll have to meet him eventually.'

Sybil straightened her posture and strode into the library. When her father's eyes lit upon her, the chauffeur turned his gaze to her too. "Ah, Sybil!" Robert held out a \hand to his youngest daughter. She smiled warmly at both men. "Sybil, this is our new chauffeur, Tom Branson. Tom, this is my youngest daughter, Lady Sybil."

Branson bowed to her. He seemed reluctantly to tear away his eyes from her periwinkle dress. "I am very well, Tom. It's a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to Downton." 'He is actually quite handsome for a chauffeur. I shouldn't think such things though, not until I am married. But he does have lovely blue eyes.'

"Thank you, milady. The pleasure is all mine, milady."

"From now on, Tom here will take you where you need to go." Tom finally looked at the floor, but Sybil did not miss the slight color that rose to his face. "He comes highly recommended by his previous employer, Lady Answorth."

Sybil nodded at him then turned to her father. "Papa, I wondered if I could take out a book on the French Revolution."

Both Tom and her father gave her surprised looks. "Really, Sybil? With all the violence and bloodshed of that era? Why don't you follow your sisters' tastes with a classic, like Mary, or a romance, like Edith?"

"Papa, you know my mind. It's not the drama that I enjoy or the violence. It's the thrill of the political upheaval; the tragedy and triumph of the lower classes in France; and the way it changed the entire French society."

"I should think you could read Les Misérables for all that." Lord Grantham sighed and embraced his daughter with one arm. "I'll not say another word on it, though. I am off to take a walk. Too soon, you'll be a woman with your own mind, like Mary."

He turned to Tom. "Come along, Tom. Carson will show you to our car and our carriage."

As he passed her, Sybil did not glance in Tom's direction, but she felt his blue eyes rake over her when he left the library.

London, The Residence of Turkish Ambassador Suleiman Pamuk

That same morning…

Ambassador Suleiman Pamuk stood at the door to the garden of his London home in a gentle London rain, smoking a tobacco pipe. Occasionally, Kemal glanced from his sketch in his father's direction. 'He hates the rain, but when I sketch, Papa watches me anyway. It is the most interest he has taken in me since I returned to London.' Kemal shook his shoes free of accumulating rainwater. His valet held a black umbrella over Kemal's head, keeping his sketch and the rest of his body dry.

The tobacco pipe Suleiman smoked was only one of the distinctions between father and son. Where the younger Pamuk was lean, clean-shaven, and light gold in skin complexion, the elder Pamuk was stout, mustachioed, and had a complexion like bronze. Kemal had wavy black hair; his father's hair was straight and pomaded. Kemal's eyes were so dark brown that they were almost coal black, like his mother's eyes. Suleiman had eyes the color of the turbulent sea, bluish-green. The one trait they shared was their unshakeable sense of confidence.

Kemal finished his sketch with an elaborate signature and removed it from its easel to carry into the house. He spoke quickly in a hushed tone to his valet before they reached the house. Kemal brushed by his father, set the sketch in an armchair of their drawing room, and with his valet's assistance, removed his long raincoat.

"Good afternoon, Papa," Kemal said finally. "I hope you are doing quite well today."

Kemal's valet carried the raincoat from the room. Suleiman studied Kemal as his son sat down in the armchair beside his sketch and took a slight puff from his pipe. "When my only son chooses to stand in a London rainstorm, I am certain it is not a good day."

"I spent the day in the garden." Kemal folded his hands together so that the tips of his fingers touched and stared up at his father. "It reminds me of mother's garden at the estate."

Suleiman took a contemplative puff from his pipe. "I had those flowers transplanted from your mother's garden, but it is not the same being home. Ah, the sun, the cool breezes from the mountains, good coffee…I long to return home as well. Still, I shall miss the English food."

"There is no need to return yet, Papa."

"I have another dinner invitation to dine with the Prime Minister tonight. Perhaps you will find time to come?" Suleiman said, ignoring Kemal.

"That sort of invitation is not exactly my idea of an evening, Papa. I would rather dine alone here."

Suleiman crossed the room to the plush chair in which the sketch rested, while Kemal removed his rain-soaked boots. It was a sketch of a young woman with loose dark hair and dark eyes whose head was propped on her folded white arms. "Another sketch of a ravished woman, my son?" he chuckled. "Perhaps if you invited them to dinner rather than to bed, you wouldn't have to dine alone. It is very unhealthy for a boy of your age, Kemal."

"I am not a boy any longer, Papa; I'll be twenty-two soon, or have you forgotten?"

"Considering the circumstances of your birth," Suleiman replied with the pipe still in his mouth, "how could I forget?"

Kemal flexed his stiff toes. 'It is not my fault Mama died. I was only a child, but Papa shall never forgive me for taking his wife from him. In his eyes, that day will taint my existence forever.' "And there is only one woman I have sketched of late, Papa. There is only one woman with whom I would dine."

"Ah. Perhaps, at this angle, I did not recognize her from your other dozen or more sketches." Suleiman turned from the drawing to Kemal. "Tell me, my son, what makes this woman such a captivating subject?"

Kemal thought of Mary's smile, and a smile appeared on his face that made him glow like a newly ignited sun. "She is the most wonderful creature, Papa. She captured my heart in one day. Her beauty is nothing in comparison to her wit, her intelligence, and her ambition."

"And how often have you seen her?"

"Two times, and no more, Papa."

Suleiman sat down heavily in an armchair across from Kemal and the sketch, and sighed. 'I've disappointed him again, even if Mary is an Englishwoman.' "How do you feel about her?"

"I'm fascinated, Papa. She seems to be life itself. She is the most enchanting woman I have ever met."

"You sound enchanted."

"Papa," Kemal breathed, "I think I am in love with her."

Kemal's valet entered the room and picked up his boots. When the valet reached for Mary's portrait, Kemal guarded it with his right arm. The valet bowed his head and walked out with the boots. "And what is her name?" Suleiman asked.

"Lady Mary Crawley, eldest daughter of the eighth Earl of Grantham."

"Does she have any brothers?"

"I believe there is a male cousin set to inherit the estate and the title."

"I would hate to see you enamored of an English rose, only to find that she's made unavailable by her ties to the estate. Although, the daughter of an earl comes with its own complications, doesn't it?" Suleiman studied his son a heartbeat longer, but Kemal still beamed. "How much do you love her?"

"I love her enough to marry her."

Suleiman jumped to his feet. "Enough to...enough to marry her? I was afraid you would say that, Kemal." He stared into the crackling fire of the lone fireplace.

"Papa, haven't you told me that you were in love with Mama after you had known her an entire week?"

"Don't bring your mother into this!" Suleiman snapped. Kemal clammed up immediately. "Times are changing, my son. Albania was not as content as we had hoped with the outcome of the conference. I expect they will mount another push for their independence soon, perhaps something more radical. There was a time when the word 'empire' commanded admiration. Now it draws only resentment. The world in which your mother and I courted is being turned quite violently upon its head.

"I wonder, if it will change quickly enough for you and your Lady Mary Crawley? You being the son of an ambassador for the Ottomans…" Suleiman sighed and rubbed his forehead. Gray had begun to infiltrate his hair. "We live the life of aristocrats, my son, but it is not commiserate with the lifestyle of an English lord. Would she be willing to live in our world?"

"Let me try, Papa. Let me go to her with a proposal."

"I have heard of Englishmen taking Indian lovers. But never of a Turkish man taking an English lover."

Kemal's smile did not falter. "I need to at least try, Papa. I need to try."

Suleiman snorted. "Very well. If you are going to propose to an Englishwoman, I should hope you do so in the English way. Come, I shall lend you use of the ring with which I proposed to your mama."

"You still have it?"

Suleiman walked out the room, motioning for Kemal to follow. "Of course; and you'll have to catch the morning train tomorrow. And see to it that you wire ahead to the Earl of Grantham and dress elegantly. I hope I can arrange continued use of this house…"