Downton Abbey, February 13th, 1922

Six months in, Matthew Crawley, the 8th Earl of Grantham still mostly felt like an impostor.

He finally stopped startling at being addressed as Lord Grantham or my lord and instinctively waiting for Robert to answer, but he still felt as if those titles belonged to his father-in-law exclusively. He had accepted his position as Robert's heir long ago, but he had hoped, expected even, to have decades yet before he had to face taking the mantle. Being forced to step into Robert's shoes so suddenly, and on such a day, when he had been delirious with happiness at seeing his son and learning Mary had survived the labour without any ill effects, that they were parents finally – he still could not reconcile it in his head, how such extremes of happiness and shock and grief could coexist within one day. Thinking of circumstances of Sybbie's birth as well, he did sometimes wonder if the family was somehow cursed, fanciful and absurd as such thoughts were.

He hated the memories of the evening of that day yet couldn't help relieving them both as intrusive thoughts and in his dreams. He and Anna had been the ones to discover the scene of the crash while following Robert and Cora some time later in his AC. Edith had thankfully accompanied Cousin Violet to the Dower House first. The fear he had felt when he noticed the broken, twisted vehicles and the horror at what he had found inside… They rivalled some of the most extreme feelings he had experienced in France. But the people inside had not been strangers or even comrades or friends, they had been his family.

It had been immediately clear to him that there was nothing he could do for Robert or Stark. He and Anna had somehow managed to get Cora out of the mangled car – he would never, ever be able to forget her howls or prying her fingers off Robert's body – and he had driven her to the hospital, leaving Anna to run to the Abbey, so very near, to summon help. The driver of the lorry had been alive but hurt and stuck in the vehicle; they needed more people and tools to get him free. It had been found out at the subsequent inquest that his breaks had malfunctioned and the accident had not been his fault, not that it made anything easier.

Matthew would never forget telling Mary that she had lost her Papa on the day her son was born either.

What had followed, were the most surreal months of his live, beating even the strangeness of learning that he had somehow become the heir to an earldom.

On one side, there was the cloud of grief the whole household was mired in. Cora's deep depression. Violet's fragility after losing her only son. Mary and Edith's mourning. The nightmare of the funeral with hundreds of mourners and royal representatives, the inquest into the accident, the mountains of paperwork to go through to make him the legal owner of the whole Downton Estate, numerous smaller properties, Grantham House in London, whatever remained of Cora's fortune, and of course making him fully recognised as the 8th Earl of Grantham and Mary as his Countess. The terrible headache of figuring out how to pay the death duties – still unresolved. The deep discomfort every time he had been addressed by his new title by anyone.

On the other side, in the middle of it all, was his son. His baby. His and Mary's little prince, so terribly loved and eagerly awaited. His beautiful baby boy, cuddling to him, looking at him curiously, calming down at hearing his voice from the day he was brought home from the hospital. The wondrous moment when he had smiled at Matthew for the very first time when he had been six weeks old. The way Mary seemed to soften around the edges every time she took George into her arms. The sight of Mary, Mary, nursing their baby – a sight he never could get enough of.

He had so many moments of intense guilt for feeling so happy in such a dark time.

"Will that be all, my lord?"

The quiet voice of his valet pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked at himself in the mirror – dressed in one of his day suits, clean shaved and combed, ready to show himself at the breakfast table – and nodded.

"Thank you, Bates, you may go."

The question how to solve the matter of Bates and Molesley after Robert's death had been one of the many small practical matters which had made the first weeks so difficult. In the end, with sincere apologies to Molesley, Matthew had arranged for him to go back to being a butler to his mother – even though she had no need for one, to be perfectly truthful. There was no question of Bates' dismissal and Bates and Anna were married. It made perfect sense for them to keep parallel positions in the household, with similar schedules and travelling together. Molesley did understand it, but it made him no less unhappy about losing his position as the valet of the Earl of Grantham, just days after acquiring such heights and through no fault of his own. His obvious misery made Matthew in turn terribly guilty, but he had seen no real alternative to the situation.

He felt even more guilt at the realisation he had come to very soon afterwards – how much more comfortable he felt with Bates as his valet after few days than with Molesley after years.

Bates did not hover. Bates did not get constantly flustered – in fact, Matthew could not imagine anything that would fluster Bates. Bates somehow immediately knew that Matthew wanted to be as little assisted in dressing up as possible and that he preferred to shave himself. So Bates took perfect care of his clothes and shoes, prepared appropriate outfits for any given occasion, supplied shaving paraphernalia and hot towels, and left Matthew in peace to deal with dressing himself. It was glorious.

It had been the same when Matthew had been crippled, except then he of course had needed much more actual help. But even back then Bates had understood. He had understood about Matthew's fierce need for as much independence as could muster. He had never made Matthew feel more like a pathetic cripple than he had already felt anyway. It should have been obvious to him that he would be the same as a valet to him when he was healthy, but he somehow expected having to resign himself to more attentions than he was comfortable with to save Bates' professional pride, as he needed to do with Molesley. To discover that it was very much not the case was such a damn relief.

Catching the sight of the clock, Matthew shook of his thoughts and hurried down to breakfast.

He found Tom, Edith and Rose already there, with Carson attending upon them. He greeted them and took Roberts' place – his place now, he reminded himself – at the head of the table. He immediately noticed that the topic here was the same one he had just finished discussing with Mary.

"Susan Flintshire has stolen Mama's maid whilst her daughter's a guest in this house?" asked Edith incredulously.

"I'm sure she wouldn't put it like that," noted Tom, but Edith paid him no heed, looking closely at Rose.

"Did you have any idea?"

Rose squirmed uncomfortably.

"No. Not really. I knew… I knew that Mummy thought O'Brien was very good at doing hair, and they talked about her wanting to travel…"

"What? When?" asked Matthew in surprise. He did not think Lady Flintshire had any contact with O'Brien when she came to Robert's funeral and she had not visited Downton on any other occasion since then, so that must have meant…

"Well, when you were all at Duneagle."

That.

Matthew dropped his head in his hands briefly.

"And you didn't think to inform us? We could have prepared for it better, so it would not be such a shock to Cora."

"I never thought she'd go through with that," mumbled Rose shamefully.

Matthew exchanges exasperated looks with Tom and Edith and decided to change the topic.

"We're meeting Trent at eleven, aren't we?" he asked Tom.

Tom nodded, swallowing his eggs.

"I'll meet you there, I want to walk the plantations first. I was wondering if Mary might like to come."

"I will ask her," answered Matthew, getting up to fetch more bacon. "She said she's been reading some article about livestock and she had some questions."

"Who would have thought Mary would become interested in farming, of all things," muttered Edith, recollecting vividly Mary's cutting comments against Sir Anthony's interest in the subject. Rose giggled in agreement.

Matthew sent them a chiding look.

"I am ecstatic she took interest," he said seriously. "I still feel like I am in over my head and I have no idea what I'm doing at least half of the time, even with Tom's help. Mary might be as new to the topic of farming as I am, but she knows Downton in the ways I and Tom are still years behind to appreciate."

"Not to mention most of the tenants react to any idea proposed by her much better than to one voiced by you or me," added Tom wryly. "We obviously don't carry the same authority, for all the fact they are addressing Matthew as his lordship now."

Matthew laughed and nodded in agreement. The tenants generally seemed to like and respect him enough, but Lady Mary was from the true aristocrat in their eyes. Matthew did not mind, because he agreed with that assessment completely. For good or evil, it was his wife who was born and bred for this life.

He still found it patently absurd that just because of her sex he had been put in charge instead.

XXX

As it turned out, Mary did want to go, much to Matthew's delight.

If there was one bright spot to becoming responsible for managing the estate decades before he expected to it was definitely having Mary as his true partner in it. He had tried to have her involved from the moment Robert made it clear they were joint masters of Downton, but with Robert still at the helm Mary's participation had been obviously limited. Matthew had discussed all his plans and ideas with her – and had been delighted, though not truly surprised, by her quick grasp of the issues and determination to fix any problems instead of hiding from them – but none of them had felt up to fighting Robert to get him acknowledge Mary's right to contribute when it had already been such a hassle to get him to acknowledge Matthew's.

But in those first, chaotic months after the accident the trio of Matthew, Mary and Tom had somehow naturally formed to deal with managing and reforming the estate. Cora and Violet had been too incapacitated by grief, although in Violet's case it didn't last so long; and Edith, as more talented by nature to provide comfort of the two, took responsibility of caring for them. So they debated, planned, pored together over maps and farming journals, visited the tenants and inspected the fields. Six months in, their easy partnership and shared camaraderie were cemented and comfortable.

So on the overcast, cold February morning Matthew and Mary bundled up in warm clothes and practical shoes and got into Matthew's AC to drive to Mr. Trent at Three Oaks Farm.

"Will we stop at the Marsh's farm after we finish with Mr. Trent?" asked Mary with a slight frown.

Matthew nodded, taking a careful turn on uneven country road leading through the estate. It was a shortcut, but the alternating rains and frost made the drive rather challenging.

"That was the plan. Sorry, I thought I mentioned it to you. Do you have other plans?"

"I want to stop by at Granny and check on her, but nothing other than that."

"What about your plans for tomorrow and Thursday?" asked Matthew, striving for innocence. He obviously failed, because his wife sent him a suspicious glance.

"None that I know of. Why? Should I have made some plans for Valentine's Day?"

Matthew looked at her with fond amusement.

"Would have been awkward if you did, because I made some for us already, as it happens."

Mary relaxed smugly against her seat.

"Good," she said, but then suddenly frowned. "But tomorrow and Thursday? Are we going somewhere overnight?"

"If you agree," hedged Matthew carefully.

"I would love to, but what about George?"

"I talked it over with both Nanny West and Mother, and they agreed that it should be alright if we leave tomorrow afternoon and come back on the morning train. George sleeps through most of the night and does eat enough of solid food that there shouldn't be any problem with feeding him that and giving him a bottle until you're back. He might miss us in the evening and morning, where he is used to being with us, but Nanny West says she can handle it and Mother confirms that as he is used to Nanny West he shouldn't mind too much."

Mary nodded thoughtfully, her eagerness for the mysterious trip visibly increasing when Matthew managed to ease her worries. He grinned happily, quite looking forward to having his wife to himself for a night. He adored his baby son, but his frequent presence in their bedroom did put a bit of a damper on some things.

Judging from Mary's sly smirk and side glances at him, her thoughts were going the same direction.

Tomorrow could not come soon enough.

Downton Abbey, February 13th, 1922

Edith lurked by the telephone, trying to appear casual and not at all like she was trying to subtly check whether anybody was in listening distance.

Matthew had installed a third telephone in his study so he was able to take business calls in privacy and peace, and he never begrudged the other family members its use if they wanted to make a private call themselves. The problem was Matthew was the last person Edith wanted to admit to that she had a need for one.

She bitterly regretted that she had encouraged Michael to confess his situation to Matthew. She had counted on her brother-in-law's progressive views making him the most likely to be sympathetic and open minded in the family – but she had forgotten to account for his rather rigid set of principles. According to Michael, Matthew had been sympathetic. The problem was, he had also made it abundantly clear that he could not accept any situation which would place his sister-in-law in a situation of living in sin with a married man.

Papa's death made for an awful, but extremely efficient distraction for everybody, and it had been months after the visit to Duneagle before Matthew raised the topic with Edith. She noticed his troubled look when she announced she was going to London to discuss an article with Michael, so she was not surprised when he arranged to speak privately with her soon afterwards. What surprised her very much was the fact that he apparently kept his shocking conversation with Michael secret from Mary.

When she expressed that surprise, he just smiled wryly and answered that first of all it was not his secret to tell, and besides, he judged it for the best. It struck Edith once again that while he was unquestionably madly in love with her sister, he also somehow did not have many illusions about her often nasty character.

Which made her feel even worse for lying to him, but she saw no other choice. She assured him that she and Michael had decided, in the circumstances, to keep their relationship to purely platonic friendship focused mainly on their professional ties. Matthew's visible relief and clear sympathy made her guts squirm with guilt, but she held fast. If he could not approve, then he could not be given the opportunity to destroy her chance at happiness. Even if she had not the slightest idea how to overcome the obstacles she and Michael were facing.

So here she was, lurking by the telephone, and praying nobody would overhear her and her married suitor making plans for Valentine's Day.

Dining room, Downton Abbey, February 13th, 1922

"I'm going to London on 10 o'clock train," announced Edith in carefully carefree voice. "I have some issues regarding a series of articles I'm working on to discuss with Michael and his editor at the office, and then he wants to take me to some literary party for networking."

"Another literary party?" Mary's eyebrows rose up. Edith managed to avoid sending a panicked look in Matthew's direction, but she still caught his troubled frown. She hastened to do damage control.

"Michael does seem to know half of London," she said laughingly. "And those parties are fascinating. There is usually no dinner, just cocktails, and half the people present smoke, even the women, but one meets such interesting people! I've met Virginia Woolf at the last one."

"Sounds perfectly horrid to me, but if that's how you want to spend Valentine's Day, be my guest," announced Mary dismissively and thankfully lost interest. To Edith's distress, Matthew did not seem properly appeased though. His slight frown remained and she resigned herself to having another serious conversation with him in the very near future.

"Oh, I wish I could go with you!" exclaimed Rose longingly. "Please, can you take me with you?"

Edith nearly choked on her wine. Thankfully, Mama intervened before she had to scramble for an excuse.

"Absolutely not, Rose," said Mama sternly. "The kind of party Edith is describing is definitely not one appropriate for a girl not yet out. I am not sure how appropriate it is for Edith to attend, but she is an adult and can make her own decisions regarding such things. You are under my care and it's out of the question."

Rose's face fell in obvious disappointment, but Edith had to hide a sigh of relief. Because, as it happened, it was not one of Michael's parties she was planning to attend with him tomorrow. He had invited her for Valentine's Day dinner at the Criterion. For a proper date, as they said in America. Edith wrote an article about it just last month. It still boggled her mind that it was something she could do – go to London by herself and have a dinner in a public restaurant with a man. Definitely not something she could imagine doing even five year ago, never mind ten!

Oh, she was so looking forward to that!

Library, Downton Abbey, February 13th, 1922

Matthew was indeed troubled by Edith's continued and seemingly intimate friendship with Michael Gregson.

On one hand, Gregson had indicated at Duneagle that he understood Matthew's objections and would break romantic ties with Edith. Edith herself had assured him that nothing untoward was happening. He wanted to believe them, so very much, but while he had no trouble with accepting a possibility of platonic friendship between a man and a woman – in fact, he would have characterised his relationship with Sybil as such – in his experience it was extremely difficult to achieve when romantic feelings used to be involved. After all, he and Mary had failed utterly in suppressing theirs, for all their proclamations of friendship during the war. Not that he minded in the slightest now, of course, but it made him very sceptical about the wisdom of Edith keeping such close ties with a man who professed to love her, but was unable to marry her.

He was at a loss what to do with the situation, if anything at all. After all, he didn't know if anything untoward was going on, just suspected. He took his duties as Edith's brother-in-law very seriously though and Robert's death only strengthened it. Consequently, he felt very strongly that he couldn't possibly stand by and let Edith enter an illicit relationship, however much he liked the man – and he did like Gregson. The point stood that he couldn't let her slide into a life of scandal without lifting a finger to stop her.

But what could he do, realistically? He did talk to both parties and made his views clear. He had discouraged them as much as possible. He hardly had an authority to forbid Edith to meet with Gregson – she was an adult woman and besides, had forbidding his daughters from doing something ever worked for Robert? The only action left to him was sharing his knowledge with the family to increase pressure on Edith to break things off before they go too far, but he hesitated to do so. If Edith was telling the truth, he would have exposed Gregson's secret, conveyed to him in confidence, and thrown Edith to the wolves for no reason at all and he abhorred such scenario.

But was remaining silent a right thing to do?

"Are you going up or do you intend to spend the night brooding here?" asked Mary, approaching him with her eyebrows raised.

"Going up, of course," answered Matthew rising from his armchair and shaking off his thoughts. "I could never resist following you anywhere."

Mary and Matthew's Bedroom, February 13th, 1922

"Where are you taking me, actually?" asked Mary, massaging cold cream into her hands. Matthew smiled roguishly from his armchair, admiring his view. Despite being married for close to two years he could never get enough of seeing his wife in the middle of such intimate routine.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he asked teasingly. Mary glared at him in response.

"I would, as it happens. I must know how to dress and what to pack. It really depends on our destination."

"I'm sure you will look stunning whether I will give you the precise answer or not. Don't you like surprises?"

"I will be surprised enough if you tell me now," insisted Mary, closing the lid of the cold cream and getting up from her vanity table. "And you should know by now that I don't like surprises, generally speaking."

Matthew tried to look put upon and exasperated, but to be honest he found it hard to supress a fond smile.

"Very well," he sighed in mock resignation. "I made reservation for dinner at the Criterion and for a suite at the Ritz."

He felt a warm feeling of satisfaction when Mary's eyes widened.

"I take it you approve?"

"Of course I do!" said Mary. "But why the Ritz? We could use Grantham House or, if you don't want the bother of opening it, stay at Aunt Rosamund."

"Ah, but then I would have to share you with Aunt Rosamund and Edith and my whole intention in taking you away, Lady Grantham, is to ensure absolutely no sharing and no interruptions," said Matthew in a low voice, eyeing his approaching wife hungrily.

"You don't like sharing, Lord Grantham?" answered Mary seductively, settling herself on her husband's lap and holding her lips a breath away from his. "Didn't your mother teach you better?"

"I don't like it in the slightest when it comes to you," answered Matthew, tightening his arms around her. "I'm afraid despite Mother's best efforts I am a typical only child at times."

"How naughty of you," whispered Mary and finally, finally kissed him. He thought he might have exploded otherwise from want of her.

He was just going to suggest moving to the bed when the sound of a baby's wail travelled from the nursery. Matthew released his wife's lips with a groan.

"I take it our prince is ready for his midnight snack," he sighed, resting his forehead against Mary's for a moment, before helping her stand and order her nightclothes before Nanny West came with George.

Mary huffed in annoyance, not any more pleased than he at the development.

"No interruptions, you said? I can't say I've ever liked a plan of yours better."

Despite his frustration, he had to chuckle when he heard her muttering on the way to the door.

"And I am so going to wean him soon!"