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It was certainly an odd sight, Edith thought, shifting her gaze from an open panel of the Verdant's engine to see Cousin Matthew roaming about the estate's hangar marveling at all the ships. Their collection was by no means unimpressive – over the years the Earls of Grantham had acquired three yachts, no less than ten speeders, and a fleet of single-piloted fighter craft. But Cousin Matthew's gaze of wonder took Edith aback. She would have thought he'd have seen every type of ship in the known galaxy on a planet like Coruscant.

Edith smiled, remembering when she had worn the same expression as Cousin Matthew as a small child, filled with the urge to know more. When Mary had first been elected to the Senate, Edith had begged her sister to allow her to come with her to Coruscant so she could spend hours watching all sorts of aircraft and starships fly in and out of the Senate building's massive landing bay. She even wanted to fly one of the smaller fighter ships to escort the Verdant to their generous apartments on the planet. Mary – and her parents, of course – had been quick to refuse her. Edith hadn't known why at the time, but she later found out it was because Mary had been meeting with other members of the Alliance to pass on some messages about an upcoming raid on a rebel base, and her family hadn't wanted more members of their family to go then was absolutely necessary.

Since then, Edith had to settle with flying over the vast plains and forests of Grantham, with no other starships to accompany her. She also was making constant repairs and upgrades to the Verdant under the tutelage of their Captain Tom Branson.

"Are you interested in flying, Cousin Matthew?" Edith finally raised her voice, seeming to startle him a little.

"Quite the opposite actually," he replied, smiling down at the shining tiled floor. "I like having my feet planted firmly on the ground."

"Perhaps we're not as closely related as I had once thought," Edith smirked.

"Perhaps not." This time Matthew blushed ever so slightly, letting out a small laugh. "You like it, then? Flying?"

"Adore it." Edith gazed back at her constant work in progress. "I feel as if I could live amongst the stars."

"I'm surprised you feel that way," Cousin Matthew said, approaching the starship. "Even after what happened to… after what happened." His face drew down to his feet again. Edith could tell he regretted the words.

A pang bit into her heart at the thought of Cousin James and Cousin Patrick. Especially Cousin Patrick. When her father had received the news about it, she'd shut herself up in her room for days and finally come out for the memorial service – and even then with considerable difficulty. Why did he insist on going on that mission? She often wondered to herself. Was it worth it – whatever they discovered that made the Empire destroy them?

Edith swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "My love for flying started when I was a young girl, so it would take a lot for that love to dissipate. But hearing about Cousin James and Cousin Patrick… that almost did me in."

"I'm sorry," Cousin Matthew said, blushing again. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Well, Granny says talking about it helps with grief, so…" she trailed off, her gaze shifting back to the Verdant.

"Have you considered an occupation which would allow you to fly?" He asked, changing the subject.

"How scandalized Granny would be," Edith allowed herself to let out a small laugh. "But of course, I have. Since I was a girl, I've wanted to fly for the–" she stopped herself before the words could come spilling out. I want to fly for the Rebellion. Her heart started to race. She had been so close to revealing where her family's sympathies truly lied, so close to destroying everything not just her family but what so many others had spent the better part of two decades working to achieve.

"Fly for whom?" Cousin Matthew asked, jolting her from her thoughts.

Edith managed a relaxed, aloof smile, as if she had lost her train of thought. "I want to fly for anyone who would have me." A much better answer. Ambiguous. She only hoped that Cousin Matthew believed it. She cleared her throat, now it was her turn to change the subject. "Are you looking forward to the gala this evening? I imagine the attendance list will be closer to the crowdedness you're used to on Coruscant."

Cousin Matthew chuckled. "I'm actually quite terrified of the prospect."

"You needn't worry – most of Grantham's dignitaries are harmless old men. They'd end up doing most of the talking for you, anyway."

"Oh, really?" Matthew's eyebrows raised. "I would have thought they'd want to know all their new heir." It almost made him cringe to say those words.

"Don't worry," Edith smiled mischievously. "I'm sure they already know all about you from either Granny or Papa, though they may want you to fill in some of the gaps in their knowledge."

Matthew managed a some-what nervous laugh, catching Edith off guard. Perhaps he was just nervous at the whole prospect – he did seem rather shy during their first dinner. But Edith could tell it was something more… something he wasn't choosing to reveal.

The sound of the dressing gong carried through the hanger, jolting Edith from her thoughts. Of course, she'd completely forgotten her mother had scheduled dinner a little early in order to accommodate the gala in the evening.

"We uh…" Edith started, looking down at her grease-covered hands. "We'd better get ready for dinner. I'm assuming you and Cousin Isobel will be joining us?"

"Yes, I think so," Matthew nodded, seemly grateful to be off the previous subject. "I do hope this dinner's a little less awkward than our first."

Edith laughed as they started making their way back to the Abbey. "I'm sure it'll be fine. They get with easier with time. I can't imagine how different it must be coming from a planet such as Coruscant to our quiet little system. And not to mention how much Granny likes to stir the pot. You know she'd only trying to get a rise out of you and Cousin Isobel, that's why she's so confrontational."

"Making sure we're loyal to the family," Matthew commented lightheartedly, but it made Edith's heart freeze. Could he know? Already? But he and Cousin Isobel had only been on the system for less than a week. Had she given anything away? No, Edith told herself. It wasn't possible, she was reading too much into things.

Quickly, she composed herself and laughed off the comment with him. "Yes, I guess she is."


"I do hope there's no negative talk regarding Mr. Matthew and Mrs. Crawley downstairs," Robert said to his valet, Bates, as he was securing his cufflinks for their early dinner.

Bates shook his head. "Some of the staff were a little anxious at first, my lord, but much of it was concerning the fact that Mr. Matthew didn't arrive with his own valet. In any case, Mr. Carson quickly put any talk regarding Mr. Matthew and Mrs. Crawley to bed."

Robert nodded, satisfied with the answer. The staff, of course, had every right to be anxious. They – and the rest of the family for that matter – had grown so comfortable with James and Patrick. Though they had their own house in the more populated city of York, they had been in and out of the house seemingly every day. If only Patrick had not joined his father that day. Robert knew it was dangerous letting both of them go. He should have been sterner with Patrick, he should have convinced James not to let his son join them – because look where it had gotten them. In an instant, everything had changed.

Now there was a practical stranger set to inherit it all.

But Robert liked Matthew, and Mrs. Crawley for that matter, even if both Violet and Cora were still weary of them. Funnily, it was only Edith and Sybil that seemed to be taken with them, and he didn't know if Mary liked the new heir or it was just Mary being Mary. Getting his mother to warm up to the new Crawleys would prove a difficult task, though it was more dangerous for her, of course, as an ex-member of the Jedi Order.

"Don't let them get too close to you," Violet had said one evening when it was just the two of them in the drawing room, after everyone else had gone to bed. "Or Cora for that matter."

"Like I said, mother," Robert reasoned, "we're being very careful about what we say around them. I wouldn't jeopardize the survival of the Rebellion just because he's my new heir."

"You know it's not just about the survival about the Rebellion," Violet said, her voice raising to the tone she'd use when he and Rosamund would get into mischief as children. "There are not one but two Force-sensitive people in this family. And I most certainly need not remind you that harbouring Force-sensitive people is treason. Perhaps more treasonous that aiding the Rebellion."

"I know the dangers this poses to my own daughter," Robert fumed, a little louder than he would've liked. "To my family."

Violet sighed heavily, taking a large sip of sherry. "Oh, it was all so much easier when James and Patrick were alive."

And it was, Robert realized now, as he was dressing for dinner. Mary was set to marry Patrick, though nothing had been made official. They could keep everything in the family, their secrets would be safe… but they could've have everything, could they?

"My Lord?" Bates asked, jerking him from his thoughts.

"Sorry, Bates, I'm just caught up in my own mind," Robert confessed. "What did you say?"

"That you don't need to worry about downstairs, my Lord. We know how to conduct ourselves, lest Mr. Carson's wrath come down upon us. Besides, soon this should all become normal," Bates said, brushing down the sides of his suit jacket.

If Robert was being truthful with himself, he had a suspicion Bates knew of his family's business with the Rebellion, though he took special care to only directly involve Carson and Mrs. Hughes. Despite this, he assumed not just Bates but most of the staff knew just an inkling of the truth, and if not most of the staff than at least the senior members – Bates, of course, Cora's lady's maid O'Brien, and perhaps a few of the footmen. But the staff could be trusted for their discretion – Carson made sure of that. It had been like that since Patrick and the girls were children, not long after the Empire rose to power, and the Rebellion formed.

"Yes," Robert said, returning to the conversation. He suddenly felt rather nervous about the impeding gala later in the evening. Was it too early for Matthew? For the family? But it wasn't as if he could do anything about it now. The Empire was anxious for a smooth transition, and no doubt they were watching the family carefully to make sure they were complicit. "I should hope everything returns to normal as well."


Thomas had to admit, this dinner was going much better than the previous when Mr. Matthew and Mrs. Crawley had first arrived.

Perhaps it was because there was a mutual nervousness that was flowing around the dining table due to the impeding gala. The Dowager Countess uttered fewer of her usual snipes, particularly those directed at Mrs. Crawley, who was leading the better part of the conversations. She was the only one who seemed at ease with the whole situation.

"How many are invited to this gala?" Mrs. Crawley asked as the salad was being served. "I don't think I ever got the specifics."

"No, you wouldn't have," Thomas could have sworn he heard the Dowager Countess mutter under her breath. He let himself smirk the tiniest bit, making sure Mr. Carson was out of eye shot. Though, Thomas was sure the butler's ever-so-serious demeanor broke for a few seconds at the remark. The Dowager Countess was one of the only people in the family who could break through Mr. Carson's steely expressions. Well, The Dowager Countess and Lady Mary.

"Grantham dignitaries, mostly," Cora supplied, serving herself a few scoops of salad from Thomas's tray. "Ministers of the Cabinet, representatives from the government, family friends, and a few Imperial officials, of course."

To her credit, Lady Mary didn't resort to her usual eye-roll at the mention of the Empire. There had been all-too many dinners wherein she could have been arrested for treason right there and then, though the family trusted the staff for their utmost discretion. And Thomas had been working for the Crawleys too long and too hard to sell them out to the Empire now. Besides, his whole live was in Grantham, where else could he go? There weren't exactly a wealth of positions for first footmen anywhere else in the galaxy, especially when droids could do the job just as well and could be trusted not to betray one's political sympathies.

In a way, Thomas often admired Lady Mary's candidness. Downstairs, none of the staff could afford any sort of opinion on the Empire, and if anyone did decide to raise their voice about the growing Imperial presence on the planet Carson would shut them up before they could even get a second word in. Branson, the family's primary pilot had learned this within the first day of his arrival, though he still liked to give them an earful at dinner every once in a while. Thomas himself preferred to discuss the goings-on of the Empire over a cigarette with O'Brien… or Abram. O'Brien's opinion of it all was always the same: if it didn't affect her or her job, she didn't give two figs about what the Empire was doing on Grantham – or anywhere else, for that matter. But despite the butler's distaste for political talk, he always reinforced loyalty to the family above all else, which only reinforced Thomas's suspicions of the Crawleys' political affiliations.

"Golly," Mr. Matthew piped up, but it seemed as if he were talking mainly to his meal. "Perhaps I should have prepared some notes on my holopad."

"Don't worry, Cousin Matthew," Lady Sybil said with a comforting smile. "You're not expected to recite Grantham's constitution."

The jest was made to be a comfort, but Mr. Matthew didn't seem to relax. In fact, his back was ramrod straight, as if he were sitting in a courthouse waiting to present his argument.

As the dinner wore on, Thomas found himself tuning out the family's conversations – which would be much to the displeasure of O'Brien, who relied on him for gossip – and instead wanting nothing more than to see Abram. He'd sent him a message earlier in the day saying he was planning on attending the Crawley's gala with Governor Callen, so Thomas devised a plan to sneak out of his footman duties to meet him.

Making sure Mr. Carson's gaze was trained elsewhere, Thomas snuck a quick peak at the clock. It was seven thirty, and the gala was due to commence in an hour. The family were already starting to finish up dessert, and in order to get ready for the gala, the men wouldn't be conducting their usual brandy and cigars in the dining room while the ladies went through to the drawing room. Thomas looked up at the clock again. Seven thirty-one.

He poured Lord Grantham another glass of the dessert wine and waited for the dinner to finish.


He looks quite uncomfortable, Sybil thought as she nursed a flute of champagne, gazing at Cousin Matthew from across the room. He was in conversation with her father and Sir Antony Strallan, Grantham's Minister of Education, though judging by the way he kept gazing at Mary on the other side of the room, talking with Charles Blake on one of the open terraces, his mind was clearly on other things. Perhaps I should go other there and save him, she thought, but surely her father wouldn't allow it. There were too many people Cousin Matthew had to meet, and even an hour into the gala, he had not made it through half.

Because of the sheer of number of guests attending, and on the Empire's insistence, the event was being held not in their usual drawing room with a following dinner, but instead in the grand ballroom the family only used for state functions such as this. The room glittered under ten crystal chandeliers, and on one side of the room sat long tables of flutes of champagne – imported from Naboo, and various small dishes prepared by the ever-talented Mrs. Patmore and her team of kitchen maids.

"How are you holding up, my dear?" Her grandmother approached her, leaving heavily on her cane.

"Well enough, Granny," Sybil replied, gazing back at Cousin Matthew. He and her father had moved on to Lord Merton, the Minister of Agriculture. At least he was a little more animated and relaxed than Sir Antony Strallan.

"I do wish to be elsewhere," she confessed, though she didn't say where she'd rather be, not with so many Imperial soldiers milling about.

"You and me both," her grandmother replied, eying the ballroom. "That or expelling the Empire from this system completely," she added with a laugh, though her voice was low.

Out of all of the family, Violet Crawley was perhaps the most outspoken regarding the Empire – her and Mary, of course. Still, Sybil couldn't help but feel her heart leap to her throat when she said it, and instinctively looked around the room, making sure none of the Imperials were staring at them.

"Don't look over your shoulder, dear," Violet said with a knowing smile, gazing somewhere through the crowds. "That's how they win. By making you fearful in your own home."

A wave of comfort flowed through Sybil, renewing her confidence. Thankfully, all of the visiting Imperial officials seemed otherwise occupied. In fact, many seemed to have their gaze trained on Cousin Matthew

Anxious to meet him, I suspect, Sybil thought, narrowing her eyes at the Imperials. Anxious to sniff out his loyalties. That was the purpose of this whole gathering, Sybil realised. The Empire wanted the family to throw their new heir a grand gala not to welcome him into Granthinian society, but so that they could inspect him for the first time, surrounded by other Imperial soldiers and dignitaries. That and to make sure they weren't sowing the seeds of rebellion in Cousin Matthew already. But what was the Empire expecting? To catch one of them out by involving the new heir in the Rebellion so soon? If that were true, the Empire was more stupid than Sybil had previously thought. But the Empire wasn't stupid – far from it. Every move they made was cold and calculated, and their growing presence on the planet must be part of some growing scheme to test their loyalties.

Sybil took a long sip of her champagne, wanting to put the thoughts of the Empire out of her head. But it already seemed that wouldn't be the case, as a familiar young man in an Imperial Navy uniform approached her. She stopped her herself from narrowing her eyes.

Larry Grey, the elder son of Lord Merton who joined the Academy as soon as he came of age. When they were children, they used to play together on the grounds of the estate when his father was in meetings with hers. He'd been one of her only friends when Mary and Edith became too old for make-believe games, but they grew apart when Sybil learned more of her family's connections to the Rebellion and his fascination with the Empire grew. Still, he was keen on her, though Sybil wished he would put those feelings to rest.

"Oh, here we go," her grandmother muttered under her breath as Larry approached, getting a slight giggle out Sybil.

"Your Ladyship," Larry gave a slight bow to her grandmother, and then took Sybil by the wrist kissed her gently on the back of her gloved hand. "Lady Sybil."

"Larry," Sybil said, trying to remain cordial.

"Would you do me the honour of a dance?" he asked, gesturing to the wide marble dance floor.

Sybil held in a sigh. She didn't want to be rude, so she agreed with a nod. The pair of them drifted away from Violet to the center of the floor, where they started to sway back and forth to the music.

"I hope you and your family is doing well, despite your tragic loss," he said as they danced, and he even managed to sound sincere.

Yes, a tragic loss that your Empire is responsible for, Sybil thought bitterly. Instead, she said "This had been a trying time for all of us, but we're managing."

"Yes, I'm sorry for my absence at the memorial service, I was otherwise occupied."

Spreading tyranny throughout the galaxy, no doubt. Sybil clenched her teeth in order to bite back the jab. "The memorial was lovely," she managed before she could say something that would get her in trouble.

"And how is the new heir… this Mr. Matthew Crawley?" Larry asked with a sneer as he gazed over to Cousin Matthew, who was still talking with Lord Merton. "I'm sure that can't have made things any easier?"

No, it didn't, but Sybil suspected that was not what Larry meant by the remark. "What do you mean?" she asked, ready to defend her cousin.

"Well I mean… he isn't one of us. What does he know of Grantham and its people, or the role it plays in the Empire. He's a middle-class barrister for God's sake, he doesn't belong here."

Sybil felt her fingers dig into Larry's shoulders. "You've got a lot of nerve to say what you have just said, Larry," she fumed, but still managed to keep her voice low in order to avoid making a scene.

He looked positively offended. "Sybil, I don't mean to be rude, but I didn't think you so naïve. You must understand how unfit a man like Crawley is to govern the system –"

"As opposed to whom, Larry? You?" Sybil sighed, frustrated at the man before her. She could hardly even believe they used to be friends. "You, who claims to be loyal to our people all the while traveling around the galaxy extending the arm of oppression? I shan't take this from you, not as long as you're in that uniform." She dropped her arms from Larry, as if the very fabric of his uniform had given her an electric shock, turned on her heel, and rushed out of the ballroom.

She couldn't stand it. The Empire seemed to have its claws surrounding her, ready to pounce. How long would it be until it swallowed her whole?


"You certainly took your time," Abram Kel said with a smirk as Thomas approached him in the yard outside the estate's back service entrance. It was dangerous for the pair of them to be out here, to be sure, but it was dark enough so that anyone quickly glancing outside could mistake them for some sort of animal, and the fact that the vast majority of the staff were upstairs attending to the gala helped a great deal in their endeavor not to be seen.

"You know how Carson is," Thomas said, planting a quick kiss on Abram's lips. "He has eyes like a hawk's. It was almost impossible for me to slip away unnoticed." He took out two cigarettes from the pocket of his livery jacket, one for Abram and one for himself, and gave them both a light.

"You know we wouldn't have to sneak around like this if we both took off," Abram said, giving him a hopeful stare with those deep brown eyes Thomas loved so much. It wasn't the first time he suggested they run away, but Thomas wondered if he kept asking because Abram thought he would get a different answer. "We could start a new life, just the two of us on some quiet planet… Naboo, or Alderaan." Abram inched closer to Thomas until their lips touched.

The sound of a door opening interrupted their kissing, and Thomas quickly pulled Abram away from the entrance, until they were hiding behind a pile of chopped wood.

"I can't leave," Thomas said. "My life is in service…"

"Yes, and some day you dream of becoming butler to the all-mighty Crawleys," Abram finished with a slight eye-roll and a laugh. He teased Thomas, but it was true. He did aim to be butler of the estate, and this was long before he wanted to be His Lordship's valet, but that position was well and truly taken by Bates, no matter the number of times he'd tried to get the man sacked.

"It's not just me," Thomas reasoned, giving him a playful glare. "You'd be charged with treason for abandoning your position."

"That is if the Empire ever found me."

"I don't doubt they would," Thomas said. It was true, he'd heard of some officers who left the clutches of the Empire, but they always seemed to be found eventually, no matter how elusive they tried to be. There were rumours of the methods the Empire used to track its dissidents… rumours of Force-users, and men all clad in black –

"Do you really have such little faith in me, Thomas?" Abram laughed, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

Thomas smiled. "Of course, I have faith in you. I just think you're underestimating the power of the Empire."

"Oh, don't get sucked into all that Imperial propaganda nonsense. The Empire's grip on the galaxy isn't as strong as they have led people to believe," he said, with irritation in his voice. He pulled his knees to his chest.

"And you would know?" Thomas asked, gazing up the three moons and the thousands of stars floating across the sky. From down here, it certainly seemed as if the Empire had an iron grip on the galaxy, especially with the number of Imperial officials attending tonight's gala alone. "I didn't realize Governor Callen let you in on all of the Empire's secrets."

Abram laughed. "I may only be his aide, that means I get a peek at documents that would be considered above my pay grade. I can't help if someone wants to pay for that knowledge."

"Now that is treason." Thomas took a drag from his cigarette.

"Only if I get caught," Abram replied playfully, abandoning his cigarette to kiss Thomas once more. Thomas gripped Abram's dark uniform jacket, and he felt his own livery being tugged, as they pulled each other closer. But even as they blissfully kissed, Thomas couldn't help but think that Abram was being too brave for his own good, that one day he was going to get caught. For him, being the aide to the Imperial governor of Grantham was just a job, a means to help him get enough money to establish a life somewhere else. But it was more than that. Even if Abram didn't realize it, being in the Empire was his life, and they wouldn't let him go so easily.


It really was ghastly hot in the ballroom. And it wasn't as if Matthew himself was moving around a lot, but that others were moving around him in what felt like a mad frenzy. It was almost midnight, and by then he was sure he had met every Granthinian dignitary of consequence. And perhaps he'd worked himself up a bit too much, because he hadn't been subjected to the interrogation he'd thought he would be. Many of the Cabinet ministers still lamented the loss of James and Patrick, which didn't particularly bother him, though he could tell a few were weary of Matthew's arrival and new position even if they didn't outright say it.

Throughout the evening, he still found himself nervously looking at the Imperial officers present in the room, as if they were all spying on him, reading his lips. None of the dignitaries he met commented much on the Imperial presence in the ballroom, it was almost as if they had forgotten about it completely. And perhaps they had. Matthew still didn't know enough about Grantham to know when the Empire started building its presence on the planet, so it could be completely normal. Still, the dinners he had attended in the Downtown Abbey dining room seemed to suggest otherwise. None of the family said anything outright treasonous, not in front of him, which made it unclear to Matthew as to where their loyalties lied. He knew Governor Callen was expecting another sort of report on the goings on of the Crawley family, but he honestly didn't know what he could tell him. "There's nothing going on, no treason here," didn't seem the sort of message that would get the Empire off his back. Besides, why would they want Matthew to spy on his own family, under the threat of his life and that of his mother's if they had enough resources to keep Robert and his family in line? They were testing his loyalties, they must be. Making sure he was truly loyal to the Empire above all else. Above the rest of his family. The thought sat uneasy with him, making him want to escape the ballroom right then and there. Unfortunately, that wouldn't be possible as an all-too familiar figure in an olive-green Imperial uniform approached him and Robert.

"Your Lordship," Governor Callen said, though Matthew could tell there was a slight hint of resentment in his voice when he said the title. "I wanted to make sure I got a proper introduction with Mr. Crawley before the evening is out."

Robert cleared his throat. "Ah yes, of course. Matthew, this is Governor Jonas Callen." Matthew could detect the resentment in the earl's voice as well. "I don't believe you two have formally met."

Before Matthew could correct him, Governor Callen spoke for him. "No, I don't believe we have," he shot Matthew a knowing look. "It's a pleasure to meet the new heir at last."

It was a warning, Matthew realized, not to contradict him. "A pleasure," he replied, shaking the governor's hand. "Though, it seems so peaceful here on Grantham, one would wonder why there is a need for an Imperial governor at all." He knew the statement was dangerous, but Matthew needed to know what the Empire seemed to gain by keeping the system tight in their grip. The answer the governor would give him perhaps wouldn't be completely honest, but at least it was something.

Governor Callen's lips pulled into a thin smile, and he indulged Matthew's ignorance. "A mere formality," the governor replied haughtily. "As I'm sure you're well aware, Grantham is one of the most vital planets in the galaxy, providing food and raw materials for not just other planets but for the Imperial forces as well. The Empire knows the Crawley family are all well and capable of managing it themselves, though the Emperor feels it necessary to have some level of oversight on Grantham's operations. After all, with the amount of resources on the planet and with the Empire's reliance on them, they can become a target for terrorist action."

Of course, Matthew thought, the Empire wanted to protect a planet so vital to the survival of their officers, but it also meant they could keep a closer eye on the Crawley's activities. And by getting Matthew to spy on his own family, they were only implanting themselves further into the inner workings of the planet. Though Matthew didn't know what the governor, Tarkin, or the rest of the Empire for that matter thought they would find.

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the butler, Carson. "My Lord, the Dowager Countess is about to make her leave."

Robert nodded. "Thank you, Carson, I shall see to her." He shifted his gaze to Matthew and Governor Callen. "Excuse me, gentlemen."

Both nodded at the earl, and when Matthew turned to the governor again, he felt himself pale slightly. The governor grinned like he had an animal caught in a trap. "Why don't we get some air," he suggested, gesturing toward an uncovered terrace across the dance floor.

That side of the room was lined with them; several sets of floor-to-ceiling windows opened to terraces that led to the sprawling grounds and gardens at the back of the estate. Despite the company, Matthew was grateful to be led into the open air, where the cool breezes allowed him to breathe a bit better.

"Mr. Crawley, I do hope you haven't forgotten about our little arrangement," Governor Callen said, clasping his hands behind his back.

Matthew took it back, he wanted to be back inside again. But he quickly composed himself, he didn't want the governor to sense his anxiety.

"Since your arrival almost a week ago, you've sent me but one update on the Crawley family," the governor continued, his voice smooth and calm. "And not a very detailed one, at that."

Matthew's eyes narrowed. "Like you said, Governor, it's only been one week. Do allow some respite before I betray the trust of my family."

Governor Callen chuckled. "I do hope your loyalty to the Empire remains your primary concern. We just want to make sure the other members of the Crawley family feel the same way."

So, it was about loyalties. The Empire did have a reason to be suspicious of the Crawleys – but for what he did not know.

"I'm sure they do," Matthew said, in an attempt to end this conversation.

Governor Callen scoffed at his statement. "I hope they do. For their sake and for yours." He made to leave the terrace, when he turned on his heel, facing Matthew from the entrance and flashed him a sickly grin. "Grand Moff Tarkin sends his regards, he was otherwise occupied this evening."

It was then Matthew realized how cold it was outside and found himself pulling his suit jacket closer towards his body.

"But he looks forward to hearing from you in the future."


Where in God's name did Sybil run off to?

Mary's eyes darted around the grand ballroom, trying to find her sister. Edith was discussing something about the Verdant or flying or whatever, but she was only half-paying attention. If she had a choice, being Edith's discussion partner at a gala such as this would definitely not be her first. But, as it turned out Charles Blake had to run off to prepare a few documents for their upcoming senate meeting and she most certainly didn't want to end up discussing anything with any of their Imperial guests or any of her father's ministers, and her grandmother had gone home for the night, so Edith it was.

The last she'd seen of Sybil was when she was on the arm of that traitorous Larry Grey, and then she was gone. Mary was constantly telling her to not run off at functions such as this, but her youngest sister seemed determined stretch her patience. The number of guests may be to their benefit, however. Hopefully no one else had noticed the youngest Crawley daughter had gone missing.

"Mary? Mary, are you listening to me?"

Mary snapped from her thoughts, focusing now on her sister. "Sorry, I was distracted. What did you say?"

"Governor Callen seems to be quite taken with Cousin Matthew," Edith said, nodding at something behind her.

Mary's head jolted, and she spotted Cousin Matthew talking rather closely with the governor. She narrowed her eyes at the pair as they made their way to a terrace, no doubt to get a little more privacy. One could be so easily overheard at a party such as this. She fought the urge to walk over there and break up that little conversation herself.

"Or perhaps it's the other way around," Mary sneered, turning back to her sister and talking a sip of champagne.

"Well, they could just be making polite conversation."

Mary rolled her eyes. Edith, ever the optimist. If Mary didn't know any better, she would've guessed Edith had a little crush on Matthew, the way she always smiled like a schoolgirl whenever he entered the room or always flirted with him at dinner. And it was true, Cousin Matthew wasn't a bad-looking fellow. He even might be handsome. Her father, of course, would push marriage between the two of them, as he had with Cousin Patrick, but there was no way that was going to happen. She trusted Cousin Matthew about as much as a Jawa could throw an astro-droid.

"If they were making polite conversation, they wouldn't be retreating to the corner of the room," Mary said finally, taking another sip of champagne.

Edith sighed. "Do give Cousin Matthew a break, Mary, he only just got here –"

"I'm not so quick to trust strangers," Mary snapped. "You shouldn't be either."