AUTHOR'S NOTE:I have been taking advantage of any spare time to write and post, since my busy season at work starts next week and I will have significantly less time for it. The updates of all my stories may be further apart as the result, but I wanted to assure you that I am not abandoning any of them.
Small library, Downton Abbey, January 1917
Carson brought in The London Gazette on a silver tray, puffed with pride.
"I thought your ladyships would want to see this notice straight away," he said, handing the gazette to Cora.
"Oh goodness, Matthew has been awarded a Military Cross! Listen, girls!" she exclaimed and read aloud.
"Lt. Matthew Reginald Crawley, Duke of Manchester's Own. For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty. On several occasions he has shown the greatest coolness and resource in attending to the wounded under gas and shell fire, and in rallying the men when shaken by heavy barrage. He displayed the utmost skill and endurance in clearing the wounded between the lines after the attack. Through the day he carried out his task under continuous shell fire, despite his own wound, and was thus instrumental in saving many lives."
"Isobel will be so proud!"
"We all are, your ladyship," said Carson solemnly, "I can safely say on behalf of the staff that we are all extremely proud to serve another Earl of Grantham who distinguished himself so on the battlefield, in the best spirit of his predecessors."
"He wrote to me about it," blurted out Mary. "He said he doubts he did anything so very special – but clearly his commanders disagreed since they awarded him for his actions on that day."
"He really is too modest," commented Sybil, with Edith nodding in fervent agreement.
The news of Matthew's Military Cross spread around Downton like a wildfire and by noon everybody upstairs, downstairs and in the convalescent home knew all about it.
Isobel was indeed bursting with pride in her son.
"The thing I treasure the most about this award is that he got it for saving lives of others," she confessed to Mary that afternoon. "I wouldn't be any less proud of him if it was for leading some successful charge against the enemy – far from it! – but to know that what distinguished him so was not just his courage, but his compassion towards the wounded and desire to save them – it just means so much to me."
Mary looked at her with perfect understanding.
"It means more to you because it shows that he is still Matthew," she said, putting her hand on Isobel's arm. "That whatever he is forced to do there, he still retained the kindness we all love in him."
Isobel's eyes teared up a bit.
"How well put!" she said, reaching for her handkerchief with a slightly trembling hand. "I haven't thought about it like that, but this is exactly it! To know that he is still my darling boy – that the war did not change him completely... How right you are, Mary!"
Mary could only nod, her own heart full.
Servants' Hall, Downton Abbey, January 1917
The news about Lord Grantham's Military Cross were of course also a hot topic downstairs.
Miss O'Brien wisely waited until Mr Carson left the room before sneering and remarking snidely to Thomas.
"Hasn't he changed his tune! I well remember when he was all in a hissy fit that this Mr Nobody from Nowhere came to steal everything from his precious Lady Mary. But now it's all his lordship this and his lordship that and oh, how brave Lord Grantham is! Well, I bet that if he wasn't the bloody toff now, nobody would bother giving him a fancy medal for doing nothing real special."
A memory of a private with a missing arm and an adoring gaze flashed through Thomas's mind and he simply could not stay silent.
"You shouldn't speak about matters you have no clue about," he snapped, making O'Brien recoil in surprise. She recovered quickly though, as usual.
"Oh, aren't you his pet now, that he gave you a fancy job, lording over us all?"
"He did and I'm grateful, no mistake," said Thomas harshly. "But it's not why. I was there when he was wounded and saved all those blokes. I've seen how the bloody Huns were shelling the place into Stone Age and how many more of ours would have been bloody dead if not for him. So say what you want about the rest of the lot, no skin of my nose, but don't speak against Lord Grantham in my hearing."
He was surprised how truly furious he was with her. She did not say much more than they both used to casually say before the war – hell, he remembered them both saying much worse things that what she said now! – but to imply that Lord Grantham did not deserve his Military Cross, when he was one of the very few men who showed any kind of kindness or care for others in that hellish place, never mind out of it – no, Thomas could not just stand the bloody disrespect. Never mind the fact that Lord Grantham got Thomas out of there. Thomas did not believe in God, not really, at least not anymore, but this one action put Matthew Crawley close to godhood in his eyes. There was nothing he wouldn't do for him now and he meant it.
He hoped O'Brien would keep her bloody mouth shut. He really could not be held responsible for his actions if she didn't.
The Somme, France, January 1917
Matthew looked around the trench and thought dryly that he hadn't missed it at all during his convalescence from his wound. But his leg was perfectly alright again and so here he was, ready to reacquaint himself with all the minor and major discomforts it had to offer, whether he wanted to or not.
With a sigh, he suddenly realised that he began to itch. The men that had been out there longer were quite used to it, but he apparently got soft having enjoyed clean body and clothes for several weeks. Well, they always said that the lice were more active on a new body, a fresh body. Maybe they preferred their food clean as well. Cursing quietly and scratching his arm he thought that it was one of the biggest humbugs of the British Army, lice in the trenches.
Of course, there were rats as well, if one wanted to consider the matters. Rats were common, very common, you didn't dare leave a bit of food about or else there'd be swarms of rats round you. There seemed to be a détente of sorts between the rats and the soldiers: you didn't attack them, they didn't attack you. But on one occasion the lads got a bayonet and stuck one; needless to say, they all had to get out of that place really quick. There were thousands of rats, must have been thousands, the number they couldn't count – to be perfectly truthful, they didn't stop to count them. Didn't matter what part of the line you were in, you'd got these rats. He remembered one of his men getting asleep and waking up with his forehead all bitten by them. He had to go into hospital for it.
Those were one of the many, many things he was never going to describe to Mary. She knew of course about lice – what with Mother making sure to include delousing powder in any parcel they were preparing at Downton for him – and she probably figured out the rats. But he knew how much she hated being reminded of the squalid conditions he was living in and he did not intend to give her more accurate mental pictures. Like the fact that the place smelled of unfortunately very literal shit year round, but especially bad in the summer.
Well, at least it was January now. They could very well get frostbite or pneumonia, not to mention actually freeze to death, but on the bright side the smell was better.
There were of course much darker things he did not share with her. Like the times when they found bodies in the wall of a trench, or under their feet. Or the time when a shell hit nearby and they were literally showered with blood and body parts. And darker still, how it felt when he was forced to kill other people, simply because they were German and sent here to kill him.
No, he wasn't ever going to tell Mary about any of that.
"Happy to be back, Davis?" he asked drily and received a chuckle in response.
"Ecstatic, sir. And you?"
"I haven't realised how much I didn't miss this place until I saw and smelled it again," sighed Matthew. "The memories simply don't do it justice."
"I have something which should cheer you up, sir," said Davis placidly, handing him a letter. "They misdirected it during the mail call, but they caught up with me and asked me to deliver it to you."
Recognising Mary's hand on the envelope, Matthew's mood did indeed brighten up immediately.
"My dearest Matthew,
Congratulations on your well-deserved Military Cross! We are all so incredibly proud of you. I was wondering whether I or your mother the most, but I'm afraid Carson puts us both to shame. If only you could hear him booming about the honour of serving the Lord Grantham who was mentioned in The London Gazette! I think he has the relevant page framed in his butler's pantry.
More seriously, I am truly proud of you, my darling, and so very happy that your bravery and kindness have been properly recognised. I know you think that what you did that day was nothing special, but as you know, I disagreed with this assessment from the start. I put all the information down in the Downton chronicle with greatest satisfaction.
As much as I am happy to hear that your wound has healed, I don't welcome the renewed dread coming with knowing that you would be sent to the frontlines again. I hope winter means at least that there is not so much danger to you. The decreased transports to our hospital and subsequently convalescent home seem to attest to it, although I do not like at all how many of recent cases arrived here due to either frostbite or pneumonia. I hope you are not facing such cold, wherever you are. Thoughts of you shivering somewhere keep me awake at night, burning with the injustice of it all. If only I had the power of ending that awful war, or at the very least of taking you away from it!
Sir Anthony is a frequent visitor recently and it seems to me that I am not the person he wishes to see the most, for all his professed purpose of advising me how to proceed with spring planting. He does come to your study to discuss it with me, true, and his advice is truly invaluable, but he never refuses tea in the small library afterwards and while there he promptly abandons me to prattle with Edith. Edith is of course delighted and goes to ridiculous lengths to make herself look as fetching as possible on those occasions. I still have absolutely no idea what she sees in him, but since they are both equally dull (I say that with utmost affection now when it comes to Sir Anthony), I guess they are well suited. Mama is of course over the moon that she has a prospect of getting at least one daughter respectably married, although she worries a bit that he didn't make any official declaration yet and it's been months. From some of the things he said, I gather he thinks his paralysed arm and his age make it impossible for him to marry Edith, however much he likes her. Granny strongly agrees with that, and I have a suspicion she has been feeding those worries of his. I frankly think it's absurd. If Edith doesn't mind, then why on Earth should that be a problem? She sure knows her own mind and leaves nobody in any doubt about her wishes.
Sybil is thriving. When I think how very worried I have been for her in the spring and summer, I am filled with such gratitude to your mother and you for both suggesting nursing to her and making Downton into a convalescent home, however much I struggle with the daily inconveniences of it. She not only withstands the most gruesome of injuries without a hair out of place but seems to be brimming with focused energy and purpose which makes me so incredibly proud of her. I wish I had half her courage and determination.
The détente between our mothers is holding for now and I have to admire Sergeant Barrow's skill in managing them and keeping them apart. He has considerable talents for diplomacy, although unfortunately he doesn't seem to see the need to employ them when dealing with the staff. There are grumbles regarding his ordering the servants around and it causes some resentment. The usual practice is to leave such matters to Carson and Mrs Hughes to handle, but I wonder whether I should not intervene in that case since he is not a servant currently. Of course that means he is not under my authority either, but under Major Clarkson's. I just am not sure if Major Clarkson understands all the subtleties and history between all involved parties. I'm aware I barely scratch the surface when it comes to complicated relations between the staff.
It's quite a long letter, my darling, but I guess it was unavoidable that it grew so when I miss talking to you so very much. Whenever I am weary or frustrated with daily troubles here, I am thinking how much easier they would have been to bear if I had you here by my side. Those are the moments when I usually take out your photograph from its hiding place and I pray fervently for your safe and quick return. I wear your necklace so often that even Granny commented on it. You're never far from my thoughts, darling, and I wish so very much that I could see you soon. Even dreading a certain conversation I promised you then doesn't make my yearning for your presence any less.
Your fiancée, who misses you terribly,
Mary"
Dower House, Downton Village, January 1917
"I wish you wouldn't invite Sir Anthony quite so often," said Violet with disapproval clear in her voice. "You cannot still have so many questions which couldn't be dealt with by letter."
Mary rolled her eyes.
"You can just say that you're unhappy about his renewed courtship of Edith, if it can be even called that."
"Well, if you insist, I am. He was barely adequate for her before he lost the use of his arm. Now it's simply dangerous to let that Strallan nonsense simmer on."
"To be fair, I don't think it's coming from him. He likes spending time with Edith, however surprising that is, but any hints of anything more are her own doing."
"All the more reason not to invite him," said Violet, but before she could say anything further on the subject, they were interrupted by Edith herself – who looked absolutely livid.
"If you stop inviting him, I will just go to him!" she cried defiantly.
"And if he doesn't let you in?" asked Violet immediately, uncowed by being overheard.
"Then I will be standing there until he does!"
Mary was just staring at the drama unfolding in front of her. She did not see in the slightest what Edith could find so desirable in Sir Anthony of all people – for all his kindness and her own newfound gratitude and fondness for the man, she just could not see him as a husband material – but she was more and more certain that Edith's feelings for him were stronger than she had ever realised.
"Do you really wish to be an old man's drudge for the rest of your life? Is this the kind of future you want for yourself?"
"How can you not like him because of his age? When almost every young man we grew up with is dead! Do you want me to spend my life alone?" cried Edith passionately.
"You have plenty of young men convalescing in your own house," said Violet indifferently. "Even if you insist on picking up one without the use of his arm, at least you could choose somebody closer to your age."
"But I want Sir Anthony and you're not going to change my mind about it! We should have married before the war and we would have, if it weren't for outside interference."
She didn't look at Mary when she said it, but Mary still felt the direction of her anger. And while she remained convinced that Edith deserved what Mary had done to her, her conscience prickled her again when she thought that she inadvertently cost Sir Anthony this kind of love.
Matthew's study, Downton Abbey, January 1917
"Lady Mary," said Sir Anthony after they finished yet another meeting regarding plans for the spring planting and fertilising the fields while facing significant shortage of labourers. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something. We never discussed what you have revealed about the garden party before the war and I really feel I owe it to you."
Mary froze. To be honest, she rather hoped they weren't going to rehash any of that. Confessing it to him in the first place was difficult enough. She gestured for him to go on though, bracing herself for what he may rightly say to her.
"I've been thinking long and hard about your confession regarding your actions on that day, Lady Mary. I can't deny I have been angry – I have been very angry, in fact," said Sir Anthony, his present calmness belying the violent emotions he was describing. "But then I realised something which made my anger at you seem unjust."
"What could it possibly be, pray?" asked Mary in a strained voice.
Sir Anthony smiled wryly.
"You see, I realised I was angry with the wrong person. Yes, you lied to me about your sister's sentiments regarding me and my expected proposal to her, which in turn made me run away without speaking to her. But here lies the rub – I should have never done it," he sighed heavily. "If I wasn't such a coward... Because I was a coward then, no doubt about it. I was so afraid of pain and humiliation in experiencing a refusal from your sister that I didn't even take a moment to consider that her whole behaviour to me over months of our courtship clearly indicated that she cared for me. Maybe not enough to marry me – I could not be sure of that – but it must have been more than simple politeness owed to a boring old neighbour. I should have at the very least showed her a respect of talking with her, of ascertaining her feelings instead of taking your implications as gospel and running away without neither explanation nor goodbye. So you see, the person I really should be angry with – and I am – is me."
Mary frowned thoughtfully.
"I think you are too stern with yourself, Sir Anthony," she said. "It's natural to want to protect ourselves from getting hurt. And I gave you unfortunately a very ample reason to be afraid."
"It might be natural, but it was no less wrong of me in that case. If I acted more bravely, your attempt to get back at your sister for whatever it is that she did to you would have been meaningless. It was me who gave you the power to execute your revenge, so the greater fault lays with me."
Mary shook her head.
"I'm not sure if I agree with your assessment of the situation, but I am grateful for such undeserved forgiveness you are offering me. It makes me wonder though," she looked at him intently, "what are you going to do now regarding Edith? However modest you are, you must have noticed that she still loves you."
Sir Anthony startled at her blunt question.
"I... I have noticed that she is very gracious towards me... but..." his speech failed him.
Mary sighed impatiently.
"Sir Anthony, my sister could not be less subtle about her feelings for you. If you don't have any feelings for her in return; if it is too late to go back to what you shared before the war, then you should let her down gently," observing his changing countenance, she added in a gentle tone herself. "But I don't think it's the case, isn't it?"
Now it was Sir Anthony's turn to sigh.
"No, Lady Mary, it is not. I do admire Lady Edith greatly," his eyes turned tender. "She is the loveliest creature. But your intervention might have been a blessing in disguise. I have always been too old for her – way too old. And look at me now, Lady Mary. How could an old cripple like me tie such a lovely young woman to me for the rest of my life? Make her an old man's nurse when she deserves so much better?"
Mary looked at him incredulously.
"So you're telling me that you in fact do love Edith – that you have loved her for years – and you know now she loves you back, but you refuse to do anything about it because you think you're not good enough for her?"
Sir Anthony winced.
"Maybe I wouldn't put it quite like that... but essentially yes. Don't you agree? I know that your grandmother does."
"No, I don't agree," said Mary vehemently. "I think you should give Edith a choice. Whatever my opinion about her, she definitely knows her own mind and she left nobody in doubt of it. If you think that you could be happy with her and she thinks the same, I think denying happiness to you two is absurd."
She was not sure why she was passionate about it. Was it because of the guilt she now felt towards Sir Anthony for her actions inadvertently hurting him so? Some sisterly concern for Edith, despite everything? Her fear of losing her own chance of happiness with the man she loved so terribly much making her furious at other people carelessly throwing away theirs? She did not know, but she knew that there was no way she could allow Sir Anthony to be a coward again where Edith was concerned.
She latched onto that last thought.
"I think you are acting out of fear again," she said, ignoring Sir Anthony's recoil at her words. "You cover behind being noble and self-sacrificing, but you end up hurting Edith and yourself for no reason. She knows your age and she had months to consider the implications of your injury, yet she clearly doesn't care about any of it. You're doing you both a huge disservice."
"I think we should finish our conversation for now, Lady Mary," said Sir Anthony tightly. "You've said quite enough."
He gave her a hasty bow and left, leaving Mary to ponder whether she should regret her outburst for potentially spoiling her friendship with him forever.
Entrance hall, Downton Abbey, January 1917
Sir Anthony walked as fast as he possibly could through the hall crowded with tables, recovering officers and nurses. His thoughts and feelings were in too much turmoil to stay at Downton for even a minute longer.
How dared she? He had admired Lary Mary's candour and honesty, evident since her first visit at Loxley to ask for his help with the estate – but that, that was too much. She went into matters which did not concern her in a manner fully befitting her grandmother, actually, and Sir Anthony was never fond of the Dowager Countess's manner.
Lady Edith's delicate voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Sir Anthony! Are you leaving already?"
"Yes," he stammered. "I'm afraid I must."
"Won't you be able to stay for tea? I've been looking forward to one of our talks."
The clear disappointment in her beautiful eyes seared Sir Anthony to the soul. Was he really doing the right thing? Or was Lady Mary right and he was being a coward again, hurting the woman he loved?
He hesitated, suddenly feeling muddled and undecided.
"Maybe I could spare time enough for a cup of tea," he said finally and was rewarded with a most brilliant smile from Lady Edith.
The Somme, France, January 1917
"My darling,
I am indeed back in the trenches and you wouldn't believe how much the letter from you cheered me up. I must be very obvious about it, because Davis handed it to me with the biggest smile on his face. I can take being teased though if it means I get to hear from you in exchange.
January is a quiet month here. The big battles of the warmer seasons wrapped up and both sides huddled down to wait for spring. There is some shelling and patrols of course, but mostly we are all busy just keeping our positions secure and ourselves warm. Pneumonia and frostbite are the more immediate concerns, that's true, but please don't worry about me too much. The dugout I am currently assigned to is in a repurposed wine cellar and it's quite warm and sturdy in comparison to most."
Matthew raised his eyes from the letter and looked around with a sigh. He wrote the truth – the dugout was pretty luxurious as far as accommodation in the front trenches went. The wine cellar they appropriated for the officers was originally part of a sturdily built little chateau. The shells made sure not much of the building above ground had been left, but the cellars survived, and its thick walls and ceiling offered much more space and better protection from the elements than was usual. Still, there was no fireplace, and the makeshift stove in the corner could only do so much against the damp cold seeping through the bricks.
Still, could have been worse. Captain Summers even brought his gramophone, which made the dim cellar seem positively decadent, with operatic arias and show tunes covering distant roar of shells. Matthew wasn't sure which side decided to bomb the other today and what point they saw in it, but as long as none were falling on his part of the trenches, he found that he didn't care.
He went back to his letter.
"You write of wishing to have half of Sybil's courage and yet I cannot think of a braver person than you. The way you never shy from a confrontation and take any troubles head on – I have always admired it about you, even when it was directed against me.
I can think of only one instance when I witnessed your courage failing you – when you failed to give me the answer to my proposal. Of course, I didn't know at the time that it was because you were afraid – but I do now and I can hardly blame you, can I? Not when I myself ran away from you, afraid of getting even more hurt than I already were, instead of giving you the time you asked for, instead of trusting you. There is no action I regret more than walking away from you at that fateful garden party and volunteering before we had a chance to settle our differences and clear our misunderstandings. We were both cowards then, darling, but we are braver now. Doesn't it require courage to love each other openly like this in our circumstances? And yet we both dare and it's beautiful. Whatever our future holds, I can never regret loving you.
In fact, now that I think about it, this letter I have sent to you back in October, confessing my feelings to you, has been the bravest thing I've ever done. It required more true bravery than the actions which earned me the medal. I know it sounds improbable, but it's true, even though hard to explain to someone who wasn't there. But you see, even though I cannot say I am not afraid on a battlefield – in fact I am terrified out of my wits every time I go over the top – when it is happening, I don' really have the capacity to think about it much. I just am doing whatever I can to survive, fulfil my orders and take care of my men. So much of what I do then is based on sheer instinct and many of the rest are making me face very simple choices. When I was wounded and couldn't follow the rest of my battalion to our objective, I had a choice of crawling to some cover and waiting for the medics or trying to help others, who were worse off than me. I could not leave them without help – not when I could hear their screams, not when there was anything I could do. And since the choice was so stark, it was simple to make this decision. I do not think it required true bravery from me, because I could not see myself living with a different one.
But confessing my love for you after I was so hurt before and so afraid of being hurt again... Oh, darling, it was a totally different matter. I was truly terrified. That's why I haven't spoken of it during my leave, which of course I regret very much now. Matters between us would have been so much clearer if I had! There would have been no need for concealment and secrecy. So when I finally picked up my pen to write that fateful letter to you it really took all the courage I had. And of course, I couldn't have been better rewarded that by learning that you love me too.
Now I am just praying that I will have a chance to see you again soon and make our engagement official.
Your impatient fiancé,
Matthew"
Small library, Downton Abbey, January 1917
Edith sipped her tea and looked at Sir Anthony nervously.
She did not know what was wrong, but it was abundantly obvious that something was. There was none of their usual easy camaraderie or gentle flirting today. Instead, they seemed to fall into an awkward, painful silence more often than not.
She thought how agitated he seemed when she encountered him in the great hall and a dark suspicion that Mary must have said something to chase him off again entered her head and did not want to let go, filling her with rage. Why was she so determined to ruin her life and make her miserable?!
"Has Mary said something upsetting to you?" she asked finally, unable to bear that awful silence anymore. "You seem rather distracted today."
Sir Anthony startled.
"Lady Mary? No... that is, she did say something, but it did not exactly upset me... she was actually right, I think, even if I find it hard to accept."
Edith saw red, her worst suspicions confirmed.
"I hope it wasn't any rubbish about you being too old for me? Because you aren't!"
Sir Anthony's eyes widened at her directness, but Edith was too overwrought to care.
"I am too old for you," he said gently. "But this is not at all what Lady Mary said."
But Edith was barely listening to him by now.
"I know you don't mean to hurt me..."
"Of course I don't. That's the last thing I'd ever want to do."
"Then why do you shove me away?"
"I don't want to, not at all, but..."
"If you're going to talk about your wretched arm again, I won't listen."
"It's not just my arm. I'm really too old for you. You need a young chap, with his life ahead of him..."
"But your life's ahead of you!"
"Oh my dear, if you knew how much I'd like to believe that."
"Then it's settled. You're not going to push me away anymore. That's all there is to it."
"Are you absolutely sure you won't wake up in ten years' time and wonder why you're tied to this crippled old codger?"
"Only if you keep talking like that."
"Do you know how much you mean to me? You have given me back my life."
"That's more like it."
She kissed him gently and thrilled when she felt him kissing her back.
"Are you certain you won't wait?"
"To give you a chance to change your mind? Don't worry. I can get it organised in a month."
Sir Anthony laughed nervously.
"Maybe not in a month... I'm sure your mother would protest. But hopefully she will agree to a spring wedding."
Edith wondered if it was possible for her heart to burst from the happiness.
Mary's bedroom, Downton Abbey, January 1917
"My darling Matthew,
How can I respond to your last letter? You cannot imagine how much your honesty and candour affected me when I've read. It's a good thing I have done it in my bedroom, alone, because I was not fit for company after I was done. Learning how very terrified you were of speaking up meant of course being struck again with understanding how badly I hurt you – and this knowledge breaks my heart anew whenever I think about it.
You are right of course that cowardice in this one most important matter was the root cause of my mistakes. If I were less afraid of your reaction to my confession, I would have told you all immediately and then at least I wouldn't have made you think I don't love you – just maybe that I am unworthy of your love. Which of course would have been horrible, but maybe at least your pain would have been smaller. But I have to admit that those fears have not disappeared for me. I could not keep you at arm's length anymore – not when I realised how badly it was hurting you – but I am not any less afraid of the possible outcome than before. I try not to dwell on it and to enjoy the wonderful, wonderful knowledge that you love me so; there is no greater happiness I could possibly experience. But my demons keep disturbing my sleep and haunt me when awake. Getting engaged to you in spite of them has been an act of defiance on my part, maybe even bravery of a kind too. I just wish I wasn't still so very afraid of what may come.
Please do not try to reassure me again; there is no point in that. I know how much you love me, darling, I have no doubts about that. I just so wish that I didn't have this awful secret hanging over my head, always threatening to break out into the open one way or another, and that I didn't have to face the necessity of confessing it all to you myself. Waiting to tell you is a form of torture; I would prefer to have it finally over and done with. One more reason to look forward to your next leave, as if I didn't have a thousand more pleasant reasons already! Whatever the reason, I pray it comes soon. It's been so very long since we last saw each other.
Speaking about love and things to look forward to, I have news. Edith and Sir Anthony are engaged and, imagine that, I could have something to do with that. He proposed the very same day I have given him a piece of my mind about the absurdity of breaking Edith's heart just because he and Granny both think that he is too old and infirm to be a good husband to her. If she doesn't care about any of that, why should they? Yes, I do appreciate the irony of me acting as a Cupid for them, even more than you realise. But whether my speech has made a difference or not, the deed is done and the wedding is planned for April. We all wish you could attend of course; it wouldn't seem right to celebrate it without you. The reception will be held at Loxley since having it at Downton between the sick bowls and bedpans does not appeal to anybody.
Thinking of Edith's wedding makes me wistful though. I so would love to be married to you, my darling, to have you truly as my own, with nothing to fear anymore. It is but a fantasy, of course. Even if my revelations won't scare you off and we manage to get married somehow, the war is not likely to end anytime soon, so there is no end in sight for my fears for you. But when I am laying in my bed, unable to sleep once again, I keep imagining you there with me, as my husband, with no war and no secrets separating us anymore, and it is the loveliest of dreams. I cannot imagine a happier one.
Your dreaming fiancée, despite everything,
Mary"