Garden, Eryholme, August 1915

"She is such a cheerful baby, isn't she?" asked Matthew fondly, looking at Irene kicking out her little legs and smiling at a colourful rattle he was shaking over her.

He, Irene and Mary were having a picnic in the garden – a proper picnic, as Matthew stressed, meaning a blanket on the grass and a hamper full of food they were serving themselves, with no servant, tent or chair in sight. Mary found the idea rather undignified, but it was such a hot, lazy afternoon that she was willing to indulge him.

She was not going to tell him how much she enjoyed seeing his boyish grin at her acquiescence. She suspected he knew anyway.

So here she was, Lady Mary Crawley, lying on a blanket in sweltering summer heat in a completely undignified manner, enjoying observing her handsome husband playing with their daughter.

"She is," she answered languidly. "She must be getting it from you. To hear Mama tell it, I used to shriek all the time as a baby."

"I don't know," said Matthew musingly, capturing and tickling one of Irene's feet. "Mother says I could sulk like nobody else. But maybe it was only when I was older."

"You still can sulk like nobody else," pointed out Mary candidly.

"Only when I have a cause!" Matthew defended himself immediately, abandoning Irene's feet to tap Mary playfully on the nose and laugh at her indignant expression. "Besides, you love me anyway, don't you?"

"Madly," answered Mary truthfully, dragging his head down to her for a kiss.

xxx

Anna and Gwen were enjoying a picnic of their own a bit further, on a meadow belonging to the Eryholme estate. It was the weekend and they both had a day off.

"I could use more days like this," sighed Gwen with pleasure, lying on the blanket in contentment.

"Me too," agreed Anna. "A time to just enjoy the summer and the company of a friend. I'm very glad for you, Gwen, but I do miss having you around!"

"I miss you too," answered Gwen seriously. "The girls at the boarding house are nice, but neither of them is you. Are Edna and Ethel still giving you a headache here?"

Anna groaned.

"Yes! Ethel is a silly goose who is daydreaming half the time and fancying herself above the job and the rest of us when she's not. And Edna," she frowned, trying to put her finger on what exactly bothered her about the other housemaid. "You know, I cannot really say what's wrong with her, but something is. I cannot fault her work, and she's not a complainer like Ethel, but I just can't like her, however much I try."

"So you don't have any friends here?" asked Gwen with concern. To her relief, Anna shook her head with a smile.

"Oh, it's not all bleak as that. The nanny, Miss Lewis, is very nice and we get along very well. Mrs Gruntler is always willing to talk, and Mr Branson a great company as well. And I like working for Lady Mary, I wouldn't change that for the world. But I do miss you, sometimes, and..."

She stopped, blushing slightly, and making Gwen give her a sly look.

"And Mr Bates as well?"

"Well, yes," said Anna honestly. "I do miss him. Lady Mary takes me to Downton Abbey nearly every time she goes, so it's not like I never see him, but I miss working in the same house he does. Though of course he keeps saying that he isn't a man for me and now that I know he has a wife, well, I do see his point."

"But you love him anyway," observed Gwen quietly. She didn't phrase it as a question.

Anna sighed.

"Yes, I do," she admitted. "I know he cannot be mine, but I do love him anyway."

xxx

"Mr Branson is so dreamy, isn't he?" asked Ethel with a sigh, watching him wash the car through the window of the guest bedroom she and Edna were just cleaning.

"He is handsome, that's true," agreed Edna, but with an air of indifference. "For a chauffeur. I don't think he likes me very much though. He really goes out of his way to avoid talking to me and for the life of me I have no idea what I could have done to offend him so."

Ethel tilted her head in thought.

"You're right," she said with some surprise. "He's always polite to you but keeps his distance. More than he does to me and definitely more than he does to Miss Smith – those two are thick like thieves."

Edna snorted.

"If he's thick like thieves with anybody, then it's with her ladyship."

Ethel's eyes widened in curiosity.

"What do you mean?" she asked eagerly.

"He's careful, all "yes, milady" and "no, milady", but I've seen how he looks at her, all cheeky and disrespectful. And I swear I saw them taking a stroll and talking in the garden one day."

"Oh," said Ethel, her imagination working hard. "Do you think he has a crush on her?"

Edna shrugged.

"Maybe. Not for me to say. Maybe she has one on him though."

Ethel laughed.

"No way! Lady Mary, having a crush on the chauffeur? Even if she decided to stoop down so much, everybody can see that she is mad about Mr Crawley. Just as much as he is mad about her."

Edna scowled.

"I think she cares more than he does," she muttered viciously, shaking out a cushion stronger than necessary and making Ethel take a double take at her.

"No!" she exclaimed incredulously. "You have a crush on Mr Crawley!"

"Of course not!" denied Edna immediately. "I'm not stupid! But I have eyes and I can appreciate an attractive man, especially when he is also rich and only going to get richer when he becomes an earl!"

"But he is married," pointed out Ethel disbelievingly. "So nothing can happen."

Edna looked at her condescendingly.

"There's a lot of things which can happen with a rich man, even if he is married. Especially when he is a generous one, as Mr Crawley is."

Ethel gaped at her.

"You would like to be his mistress?"

Edna shrugged and reached for her feather duster.

"I would prefer to get married," she said indifferently, dusting the lampshade. "But I hardly want to marry a poor man and it is rare a rich one loses his head enough to propose to a housemaid. So unless I find such a man, there are other arrangements a girl can consider, that's all."

Ethel laughed, shaking her head.

"I think you're mad," she said candidly. "You may think I'm stupid, but I know that even if rich gentlemen do get mistresses and give them all kinds of things, it doesn't happen when a man is as in love with his wife as Mr Crawley is. Whatever you think of, has no chance of happening."

Edna only scowled, but she thought that she wasn't stupid either.

Of course Mr Crawley was madly in love with his wife now . But they were still little more than newlyweds. In Edna's experience, such feelings rarely lasted. Things could change for one reason or another, one only had to be smart enough to see the signs and act promptly when the opportunity came.

She could wait. She had patience and she was not going anywhere.

Road to Darlington, August 1915

"Do you sometimes wake at night and cringe remembering how you behaved to Matthew the first time around?" asked Tom as they were driving to Darlington where Mary planned to take Matthew out for a surprise lunch during his break.

"Why?" answered Mary, feeling instantly wary of the question. After all, her abhorrent behaviour to Matthew when he had first arrived had been a common knowledge. She had definitely done nothing to keep her irrational dislike of him private.

Tom sighed heavily, then laughed self-deprecatingly.

"Because I do," he admitted sheepishly. "I was so damn arrogant to her at times."

Mary smiled teasingly, relieved that she was not the target of Tom's reflections.

"I know. She told me you were awfully full of yourself."

Tom groaned.

"She did?"

"Oh yes."

"No wonder you chased us through the night to talk her out of marrying me."

Mary laughed.

"I was absolutely horrified that I would be unsuccessful," she admitted candidly. "And yet look at me now, plotting how to get you two together."

"And have you managed to think of something?" asked Tom resignedly, then startled in shock at Mary's satisfied smirk.

"I think I have."

Drawing room, Eryholme, August 1915

It was childishly easy to manipulate Matthew in his worry for her. Mary just had to mention with a sigh after Sybil's most recent visit that having her sister here while Matthew was at work was such a comfort to her and he immediately arranged with Cora for Sybil to spend the rest of the summer at Eryholme. From what Mary was able to discern her mother was getting increasingly concerned about Sybil's growing listlessness and jumped at Matthew's proposal, hoping to help both her daughters by giving purpose to one and much needed company to the other.

Mary felt only slightly guilty over her subterfuge. She did find Sybil's company delightful, after all, and Sybil herself was overjoyed as well.

"Will I be able to visit Gwen?" she asked hopefully. "It's so close to Darlington from here."

"Of course," answered Mary. "Branson can take you there whenever Gwen has time off."

Sybil looked up at her with surprise, evidently expecting more resistance.

"You don't mind?"

Mary smiled.

"I know that Gwen is a good and smart girl, and a very loyal friend to you. Besides, she has been working for Matthew for nearly two years now and he has very high opinion of her. And, well - she isn't a servant anymore, is she?"

"No, she isn't," smiled Sybil, but then she frowned indignantly. "Not that there would be anything wrong if she still was! She didn't change into a different person by getting a different job."

Mary rolled her eyes fondly. Dear Sybil!

"Of course she didn't. But you have to admit Mama and Papa will look at it differently if we say that you met with your friend the secretary than they would at you fraternising with servants."

"It's still a wrong and unjust way of looking at it," said Sybil stubbornly.

"I won't quarrel with you over that," said Mary, feeling rather like a hypocrite. She didn't wholly get rid of the notion than class and rank distinctions mattered . She did consider Anna her friend and Carson practically family, but there was always consciousness that she was their mistress - a consciousness which they also shared, so it was easy to maintain. But then there was Tom, technically currently her servant, whom she of course did not perceive as one at all. And, loving Tom as a brother whatever his origins, and fully intending to help him and Sybil get together as much as she could, how could she maintain such views?

She tabled those thoughts to ponder later and looked at Sybil seriously.

"Of course it's not right to forget that servants are people just like you and me. However, those distinctions don't disappear magically because we find them unjust. Crossing them has social consequences, for you and them both, as you might remember from Papa sacking Branson. So however much I might agree with you in principle, I ask you to proceed with prudence before you get herself or somebody else in trouble, that's all."

Sybil nodded, reluctantly acknowledging Mary's point. She did grow up since May 1914.

"But you say that meeting Gwen is alright now?"

"It is. You're not social equals, but her current occupation is respectable enough that your meeting for tea or ice-cream shouldn't raise too many eyebrows."

She was quiet for a moment, then ploughed on with her plan.

"Speaking of Branson, I was wondering if you shouldn't ask him for driving lessons."

Sybil's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but Mary could see that she was intrigued by the idea.

"Driving lessons? Why?"

Mary shrugged with studied indifference.

"With the war going on, we might soon find ourselves without a chauffeur. And think how much more independence you would have if you could just take the car and drive wherever you wanted."

Sybil's eyes lit up at such prospect.

"But would Papa allow it?" she asked, tempering her growing enthusiasm.

"Maybe not initially," admitted Mary, "But you will be of age soon. He cannot treat you like a child forever."

"Then I'm definitely interested," announced Sybil, not realising that her sister was dancing a jig inside.

Now it was up to Tom to use the opportunity she just created for him.

Library, Eryholme, August 1915

"Darling, I wanted to ask you if we could buy this new type of American tractor," asked Mary, looking up from the papers she had spread in front of her on her desk.

Ever since she took over the management of the Eryholme estate, she appropriated the library as her study. The times when she was working on the ledgers or perusing some farming circulars, with Matthew lounging on one of the leather sofas or in an armchair with a book or a newspaper, always willing to brainstorm with her or give her advice, but sincere about handing her full responsibility and decision-making power, were some of her favourite moments. She knew that he was on her side. That he believed in her .

"Why? Are they better than the one we have on the farm?"

"They are more efficient, but also lighter and easier to drive. It would be good to have one of those if we needed a woman to drive one."

Matthew's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"A woman? I don't suppose you mean yourself?"

Mary rolled her eyes.

"Of course not, I've never fancied myself a farmhand," she said derisively, but then looked at him seriously. "But with so many men already gone and possible conscription coming, we might have no choice but to hire women as labourers if we want anything to be done. And when it comes, it would be useful to have a tractor more suitable for someone smaller and less strong."

Matthew nodded, looking pensive.

"With Asquith introducing the National Register, conscription is the logical next step," he said quietly. "Requiring data of all men between 16 and 65 can't mean anything else."

Mary's hand tightened around the pen she was holding so tightly she was afraid she was going to break it.

"You're right, of course," she said with forced composure. "I just hope they are going to leave married men out of it."

Her heart was in her throat at the knowledge that they would – but that the respite would be short and temporary.

Haxby, August 1915

Deeming their usual garden party too frivolous for the wartime, especially with their only son at the front, Sir Thomas and Lady Russell decided to devote it to raising funds for the war effort. Instead of the usual party games, there was a concert and all kinds of auctions, but there were still cucumber sandwiches, sweets and fruits of all kinds, guests dressed in white and overabundance of champagne.

"Lady Mary! How nice to see you! Oh, is that your lovely daughter?" asked Lady Russell, looking admiringly at Irene in her perambulator.

"This is Irene, yes," said Mary politely, stopping herself from asking what other baby she could reasonably bring with her. "Have you had any recent news from Billy?"

"He writes regularly," said Lady Russell immediately and with obvious pride. "He is such a good son. Good officer too, I'm sure. He writes everything is well, but I know, I just know, that he is hiding how difficult conditions he is facing there from me. He is doing his duty though and I couldn't be prouder of him. One would only wish that more men would be like him."

The last sentence was said with a pointed look at Matthew, who stiffened at Mary's side. She glared at Lady Russell, biting her tongue like never before. It wouldn't do to lash out at her and tell her exactly how little this pride was going to comfort her when her only son would be killed next summer.

"I'm sure he's very brave," she said only with one of her fake smiles, her grip on Matthew's arm tightening. "Please excuse us, I see my Aunt Rosamund with Rupert and I really want to wish him a belated happy birthday in person."

She deftly manoeuvred her husband and Irene's perambulator away from their hostess, but she could see from Matthew's grim face that the damage was already done.

"All men can't go," she said firmly. "We still need some here."

"But it's not exactly honourable to stay here in safety when other men risk and lose their lives," answered Matthew gloomily and Mary's heart nearly stopped.

"It's not honourable to break a promise either," she snapped, but then forced herself to take a deep breath and calm down. "But it's neither the time nor place for this discussion. Come, I really do see Aunt Rosamund there, thankfully without her husband."

"Thank God for small mercies," muttered Matthew. "I'm not sure my stomach could take the necessity to deal with him as well."

xxx

Richard didn't know what was wrong with him today.

Just a week before they had celebrated Rupert's first birthday with a lavish party in their London residence and he had been perfectly satisfied with his life and the strange course it took. He had a wife whom he hardly loved and who mostly likely did not love him either, but they made a very good team. He had more money and influence than he had ever had before, and with Lady Rosamund on his side much increased social standing. He had a son. A son who was a grandson and a cousin of earls, an heir to inherit his growing empire and fortune, and as much as it surprised him when he started to realise it, a delightful boy who wormed himself thoroughly into his father's heart. Rupert's mischievous smiles, his playful antics, the hugs he was giving Richard and demanding back in return – they all made Richard comment wryly that he was getting sentimental in his old age, but he treasured each of them. No, there was no doubt that he loved his little boy with a fierce love he scarcely comprehended he was even capable of.

But now he was at Haxby, the house which had used to be his – and had been much improved while in his possession, he thought, thinking with distaste about the current state of the bathrooms especially – and just now he was looking at Lady Mary Crawley playing with his son in Haxby's extensive gardens while her baby daughter slept peacefully in her perambulator next to them, and Richard's heart clenched in pain.

They looked exactly like the vision of the future he once had held. Mary, with their children, at Haxby.

He had been so close to making this vision of reality before that insufferable blond villain, the sainted Cousin Matthew, had intervened and snatched her away from him.

He had rarely felt more satisfaction than when he had heard of the man's early death.

When he had realised that he had somehow travelled to the past, his first thought had been that he got a second chance to win Lady Mary. He knew it had taken her years to fall for Crawley. It was not unreasonable to hope that he could gain her love and hand before Crawley even had a chance to do so. And yet, once again, he was defeated. The bastard swept her off her feet much earlier than he was supposed to, helped to hide the scandalous encounter with that Turkish diplomat, married her, gained a considerable fortune of his own and wisely kept well away from the war so far. It was clear to Richard that his initial suspicions of Matthew Crawley being a fellow time traveller must be correct.

That man was really his nemesis and he had never hated him more than he did right now, looking at the woman who was supposed to be his, here at this house, with his son and her daughter, who were supposed to be their children. Who would have been their children if that bastard hadn't intervened. Twice.

His heart clenched again when he observed Mary tickling a laughing Rupert. She would never be his wife now. He was married to Rosamund, which he couldn't truly regret, considering this was the union which gave him his beloved son. But the more he was watching her, the more the old fire was starting to burn in him all anew. He wanted her. He was going to find a way to have her, one way or another.

He sipped his drink, considering his options. Since they were both married, there would be no point in attempting to woo her. Not only Crawley was guarding her like a dog, even now hovering nearby, talking with Rosamund actually, but Richard knew that Mary was as infatuated with him as always. No, wooing would get him nowhere, as he painfully knew from his previous experience. He needed to put her in a situation where she needed his help. He needed to make her come to him, just like she had with the threat of her Pamuk scandal.

That scandal was obviously of no use to him this time around. The events played out differently, with Crawley's intervention. He heavily doubted there would be any other, not with Mary so starry eyed about her husband. But there were other reasons he might be of use to her one day.

He took another sip of his drink.

Mary had it all now. She had her chosen husband, a fortune, a beautiful house and a baby. She had her father to lean on too, if she needed to. But there was a war going on, and even if her husband was wise enough after his previous experience to keep way out of it, there would be conscription soon. He probably would try to wiggle out of it by using his family's connections to get some cosy post in England, but Richard had connections too. He might yet ensure that Crawley would be out of the picture at least for some time. With any luck, permanently.

And as for his dear brother-in-law... Wasn't he bemoaning the fact that the Army had no use for him? Truly, Richard would be doing him a favour if he asked his contacts at the War Office to find some foreign post for Robert...

And that would leave him as the only remaining man in Mary's family. Any trouble she would be facing, she would have to face alone.

Or come to Richard for help, which he would of course gladly provide.

But not for free. Oh no, not for free.