The Criterion, 224 Piccadilly, St. James's, London, February 14th, 1922

Mary sighed happily, handing her coat to a portier and looking at cavernous rooms of the Criterion.

She missed this. She missed going out for a night of harmless fun with her husband. To have an excuse to be carefree, glamorous and in love.

The loss of Papa on what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life – what had been the happiest day of her life until Matthew unexpectedly came back with the horrific news of the accident – put such a cloud over her life and the whole of Downton. In the first weeks she had felt guilty for every precious moment of finding joy in her baby or Matthew's kisses. How could she be so happy when Papa was gone forever and Mama shattered by his loss? And so soon after losing Sybil too.

And yet, just like after losing Sybil, the cloud was slowly lifting. She could coo over George's newest accomplishment and think with teary smile how proud Papa would have been of his heir and grandson, but she wouldn't burst into tears anymore. She could plan reforms to the estate with Matthew and Tom without gnawing guilt at the thought that Papa would have hated their plans and would have fought them every step of the way.

Still, even with the worst of grief passing, the last months and weeks had been hard. Still missing Papa something fierce. Feeling helpless how to help Mama with her overwhelming grief. Navigating her sudden responsibility for running the household at the same time as she and Matthew had to learn how to be parents and how to manage the estate by themselves. Supporting Matthew when he felt overwhelmed by his new role. Being strong for him, for Mama, for Granny.

So tonight she felt young and eager for fun like a girl on the eve of her debut. She was the young and captivating Countess of Grantham, in her glamourous clothes and sparkling jewellery, being led by her dashing husband into a luxury restaurant for a lavish and intimate dinner, with a promise of more delights waiting for her later in the evening. Mary felt so happy she was practically vibrating.

"Shall we?" asked Matthew, offering her his arm and she felt herself grinning widely at him as she accepted it.

The Criterion was quite full that night, filled mostly with couples as befitted the occasion. Maitre'd led them to their table, a bit to the side of the centre of the room.

"Have I told you how absolutely exquisite you look tonight?" asked Matthew after he placed their order.

"You did, although not in those exact words," smiled Mary. "But I do not mind you telling me again."

Truly, she did know that she looked amazing tonight. Her black gown with golden beading was in the most current fashion and sparkled enchantingly with every move. Anna did marvellous job with her hair, as always. Her black gloves and jet and gold jewellery made her whole look striking and dramatic. Quick look around the room assured her that she was one of the best looking women present, and it gave her vanity full satisfaction.

Not that she needed the confirmation. Matthew's eyes were clearly saying that she was incomparable.

She looked at him with pride. If she was beautiful tonight, Matthew was impossibly handsome in black tie. The sight should not affect her so – she saw him in black or white tie every night at dinner – and yet here, in this setting, she felt as if she could melt under the intensity of his blue eyes gazing at her.

xxx

Edith did not remember the last time she had felt like this – glamorous, desirable, powerful, in love. Most probably never. She took special care to get the right dress and accessories for the look she had in mind and she thought it really paid off. She got all the confirmation she needed in Michael's eyes, which widened when he saw her.

"Hello. You look... very glamorous."

Edith smiled, delighted.
"I thought I'd make a bit of an effort."

"I'm glad you did. I've ordered some wine for us," he led her to their table. Edith took in the luxurious surroundings and sighed happily.
"Heavens, how spoiling. I love the Criterion. It feels so wild. To be out with a man, drinking and dining in a smart London restaurant. Can you imagine being allowed to do anything of the sort five years ago, never mind ten?"
"The war changed everything."
"Mama used to say we could never eat anywhere public, except an hotel we were staying in. She might cheat and take us to the Ritz, but that was about it."
Michael laughed, looking at her in the way which made her shiver.
"I do love you so," he said fondly.
"Do you?"
"Mmmh."
"I'm glad. Is that what we're celebrating?"
"That, and my progress. I've found out I can divorce Lizzie in Germany, if I become a German citizen."
"You're willing to become a German citizen, for me? You'd do that?" exclaimed Edith, hardly believing what she heard.

"I'd become an Eskimo if it meant I could marry you.
"But... Germany? After four years of fighting, you'd join the most hated race in Europe - for me? Can I kiss you?"
"What, here? In front of all these people?"
"I don't care. Kiss me. Now."
He obeyed.

xxx

Mary was momentarily distracted by a sight of a couple a few tables away kissing passionately. She felt her eyebrows raise.

"My, the rules really have been loosened after the war," she started to drawl in amusement until she was silenced by shock. The woman being kissed was Edith.

"I did not realise either Mr Gregson or Edith had it in them," she turned back to Matthew, expecting to see corresponding amusement and shock in his eyes. She frowned when she noticed a deep distress instead.

"What is it?" she asked. "I know he is nothing special to get excited about, and Edith should know better than to make such a spectacle of herself in public, but it shouldn't be a reason to work yourself up like that."

"It's not that," blurted out Matthew. "He is married."

"What?!"

Mary's head whipped to look at her sister and her suitor again. Married?! How could he be married?! He had been wooing Edith for months and months; had crashed their family holidays to do so and to introduce himself to the family, to Papa. How could he have done all that if he were in fact married?

"His wife is in a lunatic asylum and has been there for years. Apparently the doctors consider her incurable."

Mary stared at him in disbelief.

"Then why hasn't he divorced her?"

Matthew shook his head.

"He cannot. In case of mental incapacity, the spouse cannot be divorced, since they cannot be held responsible. Gregson did look into it quite thoroughly, but he is irrevocably tied to her for life."

Mary's eyes narrowed.

"How do you know all this?"

Matthew's eyes shifted guiltily.

"Gregson confessed everything to me, hoping that he will find me sympathetic. Which I am, but not on the expense of Edith."

"And when this confession took place?" asked Mary with deceptive gentleness. Judging by the way Matthew swallowed and the wary look on his face, he was not deceived in the slightest.

"At Duneagle," he admitted with obvious reluctance. "I told him he can't imagine I would let Edith to slide into life in sin without lifting a finger to stop her. He was unhappy but seemed to understand. He indicated he was going to break things off with her."

He looked at the oblivious couple with troubled eyes.

"I really thought he did."

"Does Edith know?" asked Mary urgently. She did not like Edith or get along with her, but now that first shock of Matthew's revelation lessened, she could not stand the thought of her sister deceived and duped by yet another man.

"She does," said Matthew grimly. "To his credit, Gregson confessed everything to her. I talked with her as well after we returned from Duneagle and she promised me that they decided to remain friends, nothing more. Obviously, either she lied to me or changed her mind in the meantime."

Mary looked at him incredulously, her mind whirring. No, she did not think Edith had it in her, bloody hypocrite.

She never confessed to Matthew about the charming little letter Edith had sent to the Turkish embassy or how she had called her a slut. They never spoke about the whole Pamuk debacle after her initial confession; Matthew had kept his word and never raised the topic and Mary never wanted to think about it again. But it did still rankle occasionally and made any thought of truly mending her fences with Edith or trusting her in any capacity completely impossible. The betrayal still hurt too much. Maybe if it had ended with just some rumours in London, she would have forgotten about it by now. But when it nearly cost her Matthew, when it chained her to Richard for miserable years, when it contributed to Anna and Bates' suffering – no, Mary could not forgive and she could not forget.

"Who would have thought," she said maliciously. "Saint Edith so desperate for attention that she would agree to such an arrangement."

Matthew sent her a quelling look.

"I do not, I cannot approve the situation," he said firmly. "But you should not condemn her like that. We do not know all the facts."

"We know enough," quarrelled Mary and then suddenly narrowed her eyes. "That's it, you knew enough and only now decided to enlighten me. Why didn't you tell me? How could you keep it secret for so long?"

Matthew looked straight back at her.

"Exactly because of attitude like that," he said unashamedly. "It was not my secret to tell, anyway, not when they both assured me that they broke off anything beyond friendship. And I was afraid that learning of it would be too tempting for you not to use it against her."

"So why are you telling me now?" asked Mary petulantly.

"Because they lied to me and I cannot in good conscience keep this a secret anymore," answered Matthew calmly. "Since they don't care about my opinion – and they don't have to, I have no real authority over Edith, however responsible I feel for her – I must tell the rest of the family. I rather hope you will help me to navigate it. It's bound to be quite awful."

Mary magnanimously decided to forget her anger about him keeping secrets from her and his poor opinion about her vindictive tendencies – he was probably right that she would have found this kind of secret too juicy to resist. At least if it concerned Edith. Not after everything.

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "we have to tell Granny and Mama. One of them will probably inform Aunt Rosamund, so we don't have to arrange for her presence. If they cannot convince Edith to drop the whole disgraceful affair, there's no hope for her. I don't think she will care about my opinion in the slightest, and I don't think we have any financial leverage over her, do we?"

Matthew shook his head.

"No, we don't. She received her settlement in full after your father died," he said, adding hesitantly. "And even if we did... I am not sure I would feel comfortable using it. She is a grown woman. We can and we should reason with her, remind her of all the arguments why it is an extremely wrong idea... but in the end it is her life and her decision. I would not have her blackmailed, however wrong it is what she and Gregson are doing."

Mary looked at him fondly.

"You are so much less ruthless than I," she said softly. "And I am nothing in comparison to Granny and Aunt Rosamund. Even Mama... Well, she can act all soft and American, but believe me, in matters like this she can be brutal too."

As Mary knew from bitter experience. The words 'damaged goods' danced in her head.

Matthew shifted in his chair.

"I wish we weren't in this position," he said miserably. "I do not want to rat them out, but I just cannot condone doing nothing, knowing what we do. It could ruin her life."

"You are doing the right thing in speaking out," said Mary firmly. "You gave them the benefit of the doubt and they lied to you. There is no reason for you to protect their secret further and all kinds of reasons for bringing it out into the open."

Matthew turned his head again to look at the pair in question.

"Are we going to confront them or spring it on Edith when she returns tomorrow?"

"Confront? No. If we confronted them here, either we would have caused a scene big enough to never be let into the Criterion again or at the very least made the family an object of gossip in half of London's drawing rooms. However," she grinned predatorily, "I think it would be only polite to say hello. That's what one does when one runs into family or friends, doesn't one?"

Matthew gave her a shrewd look.

"You want to ruin her evening and make her stew until the family meeting?"

"And what if I do? She ruined ours, didn't she?"

"I hardly think she did it on purpose."

Mary shrugged.

"I'm still annoyed. But Matthew," she looked at him intently. "Let's not allow Edith and her stupidity ruin the evening completely. It's Valentine's Day. It's our first night out in ages. Let's greet Edith on our way out, but then let's put her out of our minds afterwards, alright? I want tonight to remain about us, as much as it's possible."

Matthew took her hand and kissed it.

"I promise, my darling," he said in a low voice. "Concentrating on you and only you should not be a hardship for me at all."

xxx

"Hello, Edith," a pleasant, melodious voice from her side pulled Edith from her conversation with Michael. She looked up with horror to see Mary's sharklike smile, with stiff and severe Matthew hovering behind her.

"We had no idea you were going to spend Valentine's Day here," said Mary brightly. "What a coincidence!"

"Yes, quite," said Edith faintly. "I didn't know you were coming to London."

Mary's smile just grew more dazzling.

"Matthew wanted to surprise me," she said. "We have to get going now, but we are so looking forward to seeing you home tomorrow. As will Mama and Granny be, I'm sure, after they hear about our meeting."

Mary's voice remained bright and friendly, but Edith knew her sister well enough to recognise the clear threat. She felt herself blanch.

"I will be there," she said, jutting her chin out to bely her fear. She would not be intimidated by Mary, however dire the situation.

"Good," said Mary curtly, taking Matthew's arm. "See you tomorrow then!"

And they were gone, with Matthew not even saying a word to her. She was doomed.

Michael took her hand and looked at her with concern.

"Edith?"

"Oh God, Michael," choked out Edith, dropping her head into her other hand. "Mary knows!"

"I assume Matthew told her," agreed Michael calmly. "To be honest, I assumed he would have told her long before now."

Edith shook her head.

"He didn't. You don't know Mary – if she knew, she would have let me know, lorded it all over me, worked out how to ruin everything. That's how she is. And this is what she is going to do now. Oh God."

"What can she do, truly?" asked Michael reasonably. "You're not a heroine from a gothic novel to be locked in a tower."

Edith raised her wet eyes at him. How little did he know!

"Oh Michael," she said mournfully. "She said it herself. She will tell Mama and Granny and you cannot imagine how unhappy they are going to be over it, how disappointed in me, and how much pressure they will put on me to break things off."

"And will you? Do you want to break things off?" he asked, still holding her hand.

"Of course not! I love you!"

"Then we will deal with it. It will be unpleasant, for sure, but ultimately what is important is whether we love each other and want to be together."

Edith nodded, not wholly convinced, but touched by his assurance.

"I will go with you tomorrow."

Edith gaped at him.

"To Downton?" she exclaimed in astonishment. Michael nodded firmly.

"Yes, to Downton. I will not have you face the firing squad alone."

Edith laughed through her tears.

"Oh, it will be like one! Are you sure you want to come? It might be better if I talk to them myself first – prepare them somehow."

"Your sister and Matthew will be there with their version. I think it will be better if we both are present, to show that our love is not shameful, just complicated. I will tell them of my German plan. It should make them more accepting to know that we do intend to get married."

Edith was rather sceptical about achieving acceptance, but she would settle for not being cast out outright. She squeezed Michael's hand gratefully.

With him by her side, she could face anything. Even Granny.

Ritz London, 150 Piccadilly, St. James's, London, February 14th, 1922

Mary and Matthew walked languidly from the Criterion to the Ritz.

She did not think about Edith. Who could care about Edith and her affair, when she was holding Matthew's arm and leaning slightly into him? In that moment, strolling together through Piccadilly, Mary felt perfectly happy.

It still struck her sometimes how incredibly lucky she was to be married to Matthew. To be loved by Matthew. So many things between them had gone so very wrong over the years; there had been so many misunderstandings and obstacles, not to even mention all the times he could have died in the war. And yet here they were, together, in love, parents to a most wonderful little boy and so very, very happy. She could hardly believe it sometimes, after all those years of longing and heartbreak.

They arrived at their suite, finding their bags unpacked by Anna. Mary gave her the evening off before they left for the Criterion; Matthew was perfectly able to replace her maid when it came to undressing his wife – if his hairdressing skills were on par there would have been no need to take Anna with them at all, thought Mary mischievously. A bucket with champagne was waiting for them on the table. Matthew opened the bottle deftly and poured their drinks.

"I won't be original in my toast," he said with a playful smile. "To love! And to whichever god is responsible for blessing me with extraordinary luck of having you for my wife."

"I will drink to that," smiled Mary. "But only with caveat of me having extraordinary luck to have you for my husband."

The champagne was crisp, cold and bubbly and they could taste it on each other's lips when they slowly kissed.

There was no hurry. They had whole night just to themselves.