Tennis Court, Downton Abbey, September 6th, 1913
Sir Anthony was feeling better than he had in a long time. It was a beautiful day, warm, but not hot, perfect for a friendly tennis match with one's neighbours and a company of a delightful young lady in tennis whites.
He and Lady Edith already played one game, which he won, to his quiet delight. He was a bit embarrassed by realising how much satisfaction this small victory gave him, but he was self-aware enough to understand its roots – he enjoyed every small sign that he was not yet as old and decrepit as he oftentimes feared himself to be. Today he felt, if not young, at least not old, and the lively presence of Lady Edith was making him feel simply alive and happy to be so.
"Do you have a tennis court at Loxley?" she asked as they fetched themselves some lemonade to cool down after their game.
"I do, although it hasn't been getting enough use in recent years. I haven't entertained much and I don't really have anybody to play with..." he trailed off, hit by a realisation which should not have been so shocking but somehow very much was.
He wanted her to be his partner.
And definitely not just for a game of tennis, however fun it was. Somehow, for all his insecurity and doubts, he started to imagine her as the mistress of Loxley. As his partner in everything. As his wife.
He was still afraid it was a horribly bad idea but now he knew it was something he wanted very much.
"Did Lady Strallan like to play?" asked Lady Edith, oblivious to his internal turmoil of course, and always so kind and understanding when talking about Maud. He had to swallow against sudden lump in his throat.
"Yes, she loved tennis. It was one of the very few activities which brought her competitive side too. She would have been insufferable crowing about every victory as she did, if she wasn't so utterly adorable."
"I wish I knew her better," said Lady Edith wistfully. "You make her sound like such a nice woman."
"She truly was, Lady Edith," he said thickly. "And I think she would have liked you very much."
As touched as he was by her kind interest, he felt the need to change the subject somehow.
"You seemed rather competitive as well, during our match. Although much more gracious at losing."
Lady Edith laughed.
"You wouldn't say this if you witnessed a match between me and Mary," she said candidly. "We are awful when competing against each other."
"Siblings are like that. My mother used to despair about me and my sister. According to her we were bickering all day long and it was a huge relief when I was sent to school."
"It's so hard to imagine you like that! You always seem so composed."
"Well, I have grown up a bit since then, and so has my sister," he answered with humour, thinking of a staid matron Henriette has become. "We enjoy perfectly amicable relationship as adults. Maybe you and Lady Mary will reach that point too."
Lady Edith expression looked sceptical.
"I doubt it," she said. "We are adults already and if anything, our relationship got worse. I think our values, views and personalities are just too different."
He looked at Lady Mary, beautiful and elegant as always, laughing at something Mr Crawley said, and thought that she indeed seemed very different from her sister – but that he honestly preferred Lady Edith's subtle charm to Lady Mary's glamour.
"Sometimes siblings are. But I must say, I personally find you superior to your sister in every way."
He nearly lost his ability to breathe at the look she gave him in response.
xxx
Mary was having a wonderful time as well. Matthew turned out to be a tennis player very well matched to her, and she had great fun both while playing against him and while partnering him for a double game against Tony and Sybil. She also did appreciate the sight of him in tennis whites and with his blond hair tousled from exertion. She was not blind after all.
Her good mood was also further improved by subtle but unmistakable admiring glances she caught him giving her ankles.
"That was fun," she said with uncharacteristic exuberance as she fell into a chair and accepted the glass of lemonade he fetched for her. "We make a good team."
Matthew's eyes seemed to sparkle at her admission.
"We most definitely do," he agreed immediately, taking a seat by her. "Whether in tennis or party games, we seem to win more often than not."
"I hereby claim you as my partner for all similar games in the future," she said offhandedly. "I like winning and I find I enjoy your company even when we don't."
A sideways glance at Matthew's face showed her that a surprised delight suited him very well.
But then again, was there an expression of his which she didn't find attractive in recent weeks?
xxx
Spending time with Mary was an absolute bliss.
Spending time with Tony Foyle while Mary sadly decided to accept a game against Sybil was... far from it.
"I'm going to ask Mary to marry me," confessed Tony confidently, making Matthew nearly choke on his lemonade.
"Excuse me," he said after he stopped coughing. "But haven't you only met her three weeks ago?"
Tony made a dismissive gesture.
"We've known each other since we were children," he said. "And when you love someone like I do Mary, you propose. There is no point in waiting anyway. Our families will be both delighted."
"And do you have reason to expect that Mary will be as well?" asked Matthew, his voice still rough from his coughing fit. Or at least that was the explanation he was going to stick to.
Tony smiled cockily.
"I don't see why not. She has been awfully friendly to me since we met again."
She indeed had been, to Matthew's dismay. Then he recalled how she allowed him to walk her away from Tony at the church bazaar and brightened up significantly.
Surely it wasn't the behaviour of a woman eagerly awaiting a proposal?
Edith's bedroom, September 6th, 1913
"Does it count if somebody else proposed to me first?" asked Mary with feigned disinterest, smirking at Edith's shocked expression.
"Who?" she exclaimed and then immediately scowled. "And of course it doesn't!"
"Tony Foyle," answered Mary offhandedly, as if getting a proposal was a common occurrence for her. Which it wasn't, of course, but at least she got to experience it before Edith! "He asked me during a walk after the tennis match."
"And what did you say?" asked Edith, too curious to feign disinterest.
That he must be completely mad to propose to me after meeting me for only a third time as an adult.
"That I don't know him enough to give him an answer and he must court me first if he wants one," said Mary, enjoying Edith's quickly souring expression.
"So you want string him along in case you lose your bet regarding Cousin Matthew?" she asked acidly.
Mary shrugged carelessly. Edith was right, at least to an extent, but there was no way she was going to admit it.
Just as she was not going to admit it, even to herself, that the bet was the very last thing on her mind when it came to Matthew Crawley. She barely remembered it anymore. Matthew was... just wonderful, really. Witty, handsome, clever, funny. She loved spending time with him. Her day brightened if she knew she would get to see him. She caught herself more than one time eyeing his lips when she was certain he was not looking, and wondering how it would be to feel them against hers. In the dark solitude of her bedroom she wondered about other things too.
But if she couldn't have him... And she was not allowing herself to contemplate how much she might want to have him, not with her secret hanging over her head like that... Mama was right, she had to marry someone. And if she had to, Tony was far from the worst option possible.
Still, none of those thoughts were something she wanted to share with Edith.
"I do not expect to lose," she said with more confidence that she really felt.
Lady Grantham's bedroom, September 7th, 1913
Mary had not the slightest intention of confessing Tony's proposal to her mother.
Unfortunately for her Tony had other ideas.
"Why haven't you told me that Tony asked for your hand?" hissed Cora angrily after summoning Mary to her bedroom.
Mary startled.
"How do you know about it?"
"Tony came to your father to ask for permission to court you," said Cora with narrowed eyes. "And he mentioned that he already proposed to you but you said you need more time."
Mary rolled her eyes. Of course he did.
"Well, I do!" she said defensively. "I've barely met him a few times since he was seventeen. I hardly know him and he definitely doesn't know me."
"But if you accepted him, your whole life would not hang in balance anymore! You would have a position, a young and handsome husband, which seems to be important to you, and you would be safe from scandal. Even if the rumours got out of control, they wouldn't be nearly as damaging with you already married. You don't have time!"
Mary knew that her mother had a point but everything in her recoiled at accepting Tony like that. Not when there was even the smallest chance for...
"I haven't refused him, Mama," she said with forced calm. "But I cannot marry a man I barely know. Besides..."
She trailed off, unwilling to bring up Matthew's name to her mother considering their last discussion on the subject.
Cora was shrewd enough to grasp Mary's meaning anyway. And she had been observing her daughter's behaviour with her suitors very closely over the last weeks.
"Besides the fact that you would prefer Matthew?"
Mary swallowed.
"Yes," she admitted reluctantly.
Cora sighed.
"I understand, darling. But if he doesn't propose to you soon, you must accept Tony before he loses his interest or learns the rumours. Your position is too precarious to give you the luxury of time."
"You said that the rumours are very vague," protested Mary desperately. "Surely they are easy to be dismissed."
"Even a vague rumour might be enough to ruin you," answered Cora ruthlessly. "No man wants to marry a woman who is not virtuous. If anyone heard the details about..."
"Kemal. My lover. Kemal Pamuk," said Mary harshly. She meant her words as a haughty challenge, but Cora was simply relieved she will not have to speak the name.
"Exactly. If it gets around, and you're not already married, every door in London will be slammed in your face."
"You don't have to remind me, Mama. I am very well aware of it," said Mary bitterly. "I'm a lost cause. Leave me to manage my own affairs. Why not concentrate on Edith? She needs all the help she can get."
"You mustn't be unkind to Edith. She has fewer advantages than you."
"Fewer? She has none at all. Or do you think she will ever attract anyone besides that old booby Anthony Strallan, if she even manages to get him to do anything beyond staring at her wistfully?"
"Sir Anthony is not an ideal prospect for a girl with Edith's position and unblemished reputation," admitted Cora, "but you really shouldn't be so dismissive of your sister. At least she conducts herself as a proper young lady!"
"Oh, spare me this particular lecture!" snapped Mary, her patience tried beyond endurance. "You said enough already and I told you I am aware I've ruined my life and prospects that night. Since Edith is so much better than me, do focus on her. The challenge should be big enough to spare you no time for worrying about me."
xxx
Edith, eavesdropping at the door, barely restrained a gasp. Deciding she heard enough and that Mary was on the verge of running out of the room, she walked quietly to her own.
How dared she? How dared she speak about her and Sir Anthony like that? Especially considering what Mary just confirmed with her own mouth.
Edith could hardly believe it. Daisy's story was true.
Her sister really threw all caution and principles to the wind and herself into the arms of a handsome foreigner.
Who then died in her bed.
She snorted. What a fitting ending to the whole sordid affair. Served Mary right.
How could Mary act so insufferably superior after doing something like that?
All that disdain, the condescension, the appalling pride – all so without grounds and only possible because nobody knew what a shameless slut her sister really was. All those men falling at her feet... If they only knew the truth behind her sister's glamourous façade, they wouldn't be able to run away fast enough. They would see the ugliness only Edith seemed capable of discerning.
She reached slowly for her pen and writing paper.
"Well, I think she who laughs last laughs longest."