Lady Mary's Bedroom, August 8th, 1913

Mary laid in bed, deep in thought.

The evening was an equivocal success. Matthew was clearly enraptured by her attention and they made firm plans to meet at the flower show tomorrow and to go inspect the cottages afterwards. Things were progressing exactly as planned and she had to admit, to her surprise, that she had much more fun talking and laughing with him than she ever expected to be capable of. Matthew was astonishingly good conversationalist when given a chance. She grudgingly admitted, if only to herself, that she rather underestimated him.

She would be perfectly content if not for Edith's superior smirk when they were saying goodnight.

Mary gritted her teeth in irritation. She rather thought Edith had an unfair advantage when it came to their assigned targets.

She was too absorbed in her conversation with Matthew to pay her sister much attention, but it has been rather obvious that Edith and Sir Anthony got along really well that evening. She thought derisively that the old coot probably didn't need much to be hoodwinked into a proposal – some simpering listening to him blathering on about farming and hunting, some eyelash batting and a few compliments and he would most likely be ready to pick a ring. Her only chance of winning the bet would be Edith's own incompetence when it came to obtaining any man's interest.

Mary frowned thoughtfully. Matthew was a different animal altogether. She knew he was attracted to her – he had been attracted to her since their very first meeting when he had made such an excellent picture of a dead fish gaping at her in awe. And yet, he had never acted upon his attraction. He was friendly, when not forced to defend himself from her barbs. He showed occasional jealousy when she flirted with other men, but never anything overt. She caught his admiring gaze on her several times, but never in a lecherous or inappropriate way. It seemed to Mary that Matthew, while clearly finding her alluring, considered her off limits and was acting accordingly. He was cautious and guarded with her, with unfortunately rather good reasons, and she doubted that any sudden about face from her would arouse anything other than suspicion in him. She was reasonably assured she could earn his trust and make him propose to her in time – but she had to work subtly and slowly for it to work. If she only could count on Sir Anthony taking his sweet time as well!

With that frustrating thought, Mary finally fell asleep.

Lady Edith's bedroom, Downton Abbey, August 8th, 1913

Edith did not remember the last time she had such a nice evening.

It hadn't started this way, of course. Mama put her between the most ancient and boring neighbours possible and Edith had resigned herself to enduring another impossibly dull, long dinner of dutiful and uninspiring small talk.

She had started to listen to Mary's conversation with Sir Anthony out of sheer boredom and the habit of spying on her sister and her suitors more than anything else, but she had soon found, to her own surprise, that his words were piquing her interest. She still felt annoyance at Mary's barely feigned attention to him. It had been that very annoyance and the compassion for another soul ignored when attempting to be heard and noticed, that had prompted her to do the unthinkable and speak across the table to him.

She didn't regret it in the slightest. The joy on Sir Anthony's face when she showed actual interest in his words and opinions had been something she could relate to all too much. This feeling of kinship in shared fate of being considered too dull for company or conversation had stayed with her when the ladies went through to the drawing room and drew her ire at Mary's heartless mocking of him. It had been ultimately what made her accept that ridiculous bet.

But ridiculous or not, she treated the bet with deadly seriousness. She would be damned before she let Mary win. She felt a trickle of unease at the thought of using poor Sir Anthony like that, but she determinedly pushed it away.

This time, she was going to be the one to win.

Flower Show, Downton Village Hall, August 9th, 1913

"I see Cousin Isobel has not given up on making Mr Molesley the champion?" asked Mary with an amused smile. That smile, directed at him, made Matthew's insides flop and his legs week.

He had no idea what changed, how the stars had aligned, to make Lady Mary Crawley suddenly not only friendly to him – to him! - but also gently flirting with him. Matthew had quite healthy self-esteem and he knew he was generally considered handsome and amiable. He was no stranger to women flirting with him or responding well to his flirtations. But Mary had made it abundantly clear over nearly a year of their acquaintance that she thoroughly disliked him and everything he stood for. She was nowhere near as biting as in the first few weeks after their first meeting and he had thought he noticed certain softening towards him more recently, especially since he investigated the entail at the request of Cousin Violet, but the last two days made his head spin. If only he knew what brought it on! His current theory was that it was the simple matter of him indeed shining in comparison to old neighbours like Sir Anthony, which, admittedly, wasn't very hard. He rather expected to be pushed firmly aside when more entertaining company showed up but resolved to enjoy her attention and good humour while it lasted. He had nothing whatsoever against spending time with Lady Mary Crawley when she didn't feel it necessary to bite his head off.

So he answered her smile with a charming one of his own and discussed the battle of wills between their formidable relatives.

Downton Estate Cottages, August 9th, 1913

"I am still shocked that Granny let Mr Moseley have the Grantham Cup," said Mary when they were walking slowly towards the cottages.

"You don't think he won on merit?" asked Matthew, raising his eyebrows. Mary scoffed.

"He deserved to win – his roses are spectacular – but I know for a fact from Mama that the jury decided to play on the safe side, as usual. It was Granny herself who decided to give it up. Whether your mother managed to stir her conscience or she just wanted to show she was capable of fairness, I do not know. And she will never admit to it anyway, so there is no point in asking her."

"I wouldn't dare anyway," Matthew feigned a shudder playfully. "As I told you before, I am not as fearless as my mother."

They reached the cottages and started giving Mary a proper tour, explaining everything which had been done and was still planned. She listened with interest – everything connected with Downton was usually interesting to her – but she was also noticing both his adorable enthusiasm and pride he took in the project, as well as intelligence and kindness behind it. It was obvious that while the whole idea was based in increasing the value of part of the property, the whole design of it was made with the good of the tenants in mind. Matthew was not an unfeeling landlord of the novels or socialist pamphlets. His scheme contained a lot of practical solutions to introduce more comfort into the humble buildings – like the new oil stoves, water closets and running water – but the care taken to ensure that nobody was evicted, even temporarily, without ensuring that alternate accommodation was provided for them, the more structure pension scheme for the retired or sick servants and tenants he was just describing to her as needed to be introduced – it was all opening her eyes to the true goodness of the man she had so sharply and easily dismissed.

Mary was not exactly ashamed of herself – not quite – but to herself she did admit she might have been wrong. There was obviously more to Matthew Crawley than his humble origins in Manchester.

Matthew must have become aware that he was monopolising the conversation, because he suddenly looked a bit sheepish.

"I hope I am not boring you," he said with a self-deprecating smile.

"Not at all," Mary assured him with a smile which to her own surprise was perfectly genuine. "I'm more interested that I expected to be."

Matthew beamed at her.

"That's a relief," he said. "I was afraid I was blathering on about the matters you knew better than me anyway, seeing as I am so new to all of this still."

"You are assuming that anyone else ever bothered to explain such matters to me before," answered Mary drily. "Which, I assure you, nobody did."

Matthew looked at her in clear surprise.

"Why not? Haven't you been interested?"

Mary rolled her eyes.

"Of course I was, or I wouldn't be asking you for the tour you've just given me. But you see, it was never supposed to be a subject of interest to a lady."

Matthew frowned.

"But aren't you expected to be a mistress of some grand estate one day? I would think this would be the very subject which would have been a significant part of your education."

"Oh, I am. But you are mistaken about core responsibilities of such a position. I was taught how to be a great hostess, how to plan house parties and balls and shoots, how to manage the household and the servants, design the menus or sit on charity committees. Running the estate is not the duty of the lady of the house; but her husband's. Even when I was supposed to marry Patrick, I was kept mostly apart from it all – even though I love this place ten times more than he would have ever done and am smarter than he was anyway. The only thing which counted was that he was the heir and I was just intended to be his wife."

She stopped, shocked at the words which tumbled out of her mouth. What was it in Matthew Crawley that inspired such unprecedented honesty from her? It was their talk at the fair all over again, with her anger and frustration at the limited life she was forced to live just pouring out of her.

She noticed that Matthew looked as shocked as she was, but as soon as he started to speak, she realised that it was due to a different reason.

"I have not realised..." he said hesitantly, clearly searching for words. "Nobody told me... That you and Mr Crawley were engaged."

Mary looked at him in surprise, then shrugged.

"It was not yet official," she said calmly. "It was going to be announced after he was back from America."

"I'm so sorry," said Matthew and Mary felt uneasy at the genuine compassion in his blue eyes and in his warm voice. It wasn't needed or deserved, and she hastened to correct Matthew's mistaken assumption.

"I didn't love him," she blurted out, surprising herself again with the wholly uncharacteristic honesty. "I wasn't even sure if I wanted to marry him, but of course nobody cared about that so much. It was the match planned by the family since we were children, as soon as it was becoming obvious that Mama won't have another child and he would be the heir. You don't need to pity me on that account. I might have been nearly his fiancée, but I have mourned him as a cousin, nothing more."

Matthew looked at her intently, with a thoughtful expression.

"Would you be happy with such a marriage?" he asked. Mary shrugged again, unsure what to answer. This was not the question anybody asked her before or which she allowed herself to consider.

"It was what was expected of me," she said plainly. "Marriage is not normally about love, for my kind of people. Sometimes, if you are incredibly lucky, it comes later, like for my parents."

Matthew startled.

"I have always assumed that theirs was a love match. They clearly adore each other."

"Oh, they do," agreed Mary, shaking her head indulgently. "But it wasn't the reason they married. Papa needed a bride with a huge dowry to save Downton from bankruptcy and Mama's family wanted her to have a title, so they could better establish themselves as part of society. They were extremely lucky to find out they were so well suited, but it wasn't the main consideration for any of them."

Matthew looked at the ground, pursuing his lip thoughtfully.

"I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to enter a marriage without assurance of mutual love and companionship," he said finally, raising his eyes to Mary. "It is not what I was brought up to expect from the institution."

"So you're a romantic?" asked Mary with interest. Matthew laughed.

"I guess I am, at least in comparison to the picture you are painting for me," he said. "I do not expect a passionate love taking over my whole being of the kind described by Lord Byron or Goethe – all overwhelming emotions coupled with stormy weather – but I want love, attraction and companionship and I don't see much point in a marriage or prospect of happiness if any of those elements are missing. My parents had a marriage like that and this is always what I have desired for myself, ever since I was old enough to think about the subject."

Mary nodded, her mind storing this information to ponder later.

"I can see the appeal," she said honestly, "And ideally, I guess I would like those things too. I just never was brought up to treat them as the most important consideration when choosing a suitor, and I did not believe I was going to be lucky enough to expect them. After all, it would not be how my marriage to Patrick would have looked like, and I was convinced I was going to marry him until just a year ago."

Matthew threw her a sharp look.

"But you didn't answer whether you could have been happy in a marriage based on purely financial considerations."

Mary was silent for a long moment, before she decided to answer.

"It's a moot point now, isn't it? But as horrible as it sounds, Patrick's death allowed me to consider my options for the very first time in my life."

She turned back towards the main road. The conversation grew much too serious to continue it without danger. Blasted Matthew Crawley and his guileless blue eyes!

"I think it is getting late. Don't you think we should head home?"

Matthew agreed and they walked to Downton, talking about inconsequential things neither of them paid much attention to, their heads occupied with analysing the unexpected confidences of the afternoon.