Harvell & Carter, Ripon, September 18th – September 27th, 1913

Mary was gone, for whole two weeks, and suddenly Matthew found himself bored and desolate. To a truly frightening degree, really.

He did not realise – or had not let himself realise – how much of his time and thoughts Mary took over in the last few weeks. They spent every weekend together, either alone or at some social engagement. He dined at the Abbey weekly now, in addition to that. Whenever he read or heard something interesting or funny, his first thought was to tell Mary – and he often found himself walking to the big house to do just that.

He could hardly believe how used to it, how dependant on it, he had become in such a short time, really.

He had always found her maddeningly attractive, but it was only now, with her gone to Scotland, that he realised how much he loved to just be with her, whatever they were doing.

He missed her terribly. How was he to survive over two weeks without her?

And it was that thought that made him sit down suddenly when he realised something.

He loved her. He truly loved her.

It was not just a crush anymore or lusting after his beautiful distant cousin. He properly, terribly loved her. He wanted to spend his life with her. He wanted to make love to her – alright, he had wanted to do that since he had first laid his eyes on her, but now he really, really wanted to. He wanted for her to be his wife.

But did Mary want it?

Matthew got up from his chair and started pacing again.

They spent so much lovely time with each other. She clearly seemed to enjoy his company and even prefer it to some of the superficially more desirable suitors – Tony Foyle or Billy Russel or Evelyn Napier. But Matthew saw no clear indication that she actually loved him. She agreed to Foyle's courtship, much as he abhorred the thought. What if she never looked at him in any other way than her dear friend and cousin?

What if she never loved him back?

He swallowed, his heart clenching at the pain promised in that thought.

He forced himself to focus. There was no need to despair at this point. Mary might not see him in the same way he saw her, but then again he himself only now realised his own feelings. He never courted her properly, not with a stated intention of winning her affections. And she did like him, she seemed to like him a lot. He was not a fool to hope for more in time.

If only she wasn't going to be hundreds of miles away for the next two weeks!

xxx

He had a sudden urge to write to her. They were cousins, weren't they? Surely it wouldn't be too strange or inappropriate to write. Of course, she was only gone on a short vacation and he didn't actually have anything urgent to say... Oh, to hell with it. He couldn't see any proper harm in writing.

He sat at his desk with determination and reached for the pen and stationery.

"My darling,"

And he had to crumple the sheet of paper after salutation, reminding himself firmly that he had no right to use such endearments, however much he might want to.

"Dear Cousin Mary,

I'm afraid Downton is very boring indeed without your presence. I find myself with lots of time on my hands, now that nobody asks me to go riding, play games or to make up numbers at a dinner party. I've caught up with both my work and my reading within three days; it's truly amazing how efficient one can be when not bothered by demands of friends and society. I find myself spoiled by the busy summer we have shared though. Being efficient and focused is overrated.

How is Scotland? Are you having fun with your cousins? I'm sure your father is, he was brimming with excitement when he was telling me all about deer stalking during my last meeting with him. How are you occupying your time? Please take pity on me and write back to me if you can spare a moment; work and books can only occupy me for so long. It's moments like this when I miss Manchester. The city has its share of distractions.

Your bored cousin,

Matthew"

There. He was afraid it was a rather rambling letter, but he hoped it came out more playful and friendly than desperate. Before he could change his mind, he addressed it quickly and gave his clerk to post with the rest of his correspondence.

Crawley House, Downton, September 1913

"Dear Cousin Matthew,

Now I know you must be desperate – to miss Manchester, of all places, when you have a good fortune to live at Downton! I hope my letter will help you in getting rid of such absurd thoughts.

Duneagle is delightful. I hope you will see it one day – the castle is truly spectacular and the surrounding landscape breathtaking. As Papa told you – in probably excruciating detail if I know him – there are plenty of country sports for the men, deer stalking and fly-fishing occupying most of their time. I am not bored in the meantime though – I am riding every day and the ladies have a picnic luncheon in a different scenic location every day. My cousins are much younger than me – Annabelle is 12 and Rose 11 – but Shrimpie and Cousin Susan invited several more guests closer to my age than theirs, so I am not lacking in conversation partners. In the evenings, I am most entertained by two future lawyers – my cousin Freddie Wentworth and his friend Vivian MacDonald who are at Lincoln' Inn together. It seems I just cannot escape the representatives of your profession.

The Ghillies Ball is planned for the end of the week and I must say it's the highlight of the visit for me and I am looking forward to it very much. I love reeling. I rather expect I will be dancing the whole night. Do you know how to reel? If not, I have to teach you at some point; it's so much fun. I vividly remember us dancing together at Haxby, so I know you can be quick on your feet.

I hope that letter alleviated your boredom a bit – or at least enough that you won't run away back to Manchester out of desperation!

Your very busy cousin,

Mary"

Matthew frowned. He didn't like the thought of Mary entertained by two young, aristocratic lawyers one bit.

No, he didn't like it at all.

"Mother," he said, still glaring at the letter in his hand. "Would you mind if I visited Jack for few days? It got rather quiet here with our cousins gone to Scotland."

Duneagle, September 1913

"Dear Cousin Mary,

As you can see from the postmark, I did indeed run away back to Manchester – at least for the weekend. By Friday I was climbing the walls of Crawley House and driving Mother quite mad, so she heartily approved of my travel plans. Glendale House is rented out, but I am staying with a friend of mine, Jack Weatherby, and together we are gleefully enjoying all kinds of attractions the city has to offer. Definitely not bored at the moment, although I must thank you for your letter – it helped when it was most needed.

You should not write Manchester off so easily – have you ever even been here? In just this short weekend I visited an art gallery, a museum, a theatre and had a great time watching a football match. I realise football is most probably not your cup of tea, but fear not, I am not spending the whole time on such middle class entertainment. In addition to beforementioned cultural experiences, Jack got me an invitation to a small charity gala, so I will be able to practice a bit ahead of our next dance, whenever that might be. He said that my presence was quite missed by some of our female acquaintance and is bound to bring them joy and plenty of dance cards to fill tonight for me, but he always teases me like that.

Speaking of dancing, I do know how to reel a bit - I can manage an eightsome and the Dashing White Sergeant, but that's about it. So if you are willing to teach me more, I would be more than willing to learn.

I expect it to be the last letter I send you – you will be coming back in just three days – I cannot believe that nearly two weeks have passed already. I am looking forward to seeing you and hearing all about Ghillies' Ball.

Your fortunately less bored cousin,

Matthew"

Mary barely stopped herself from crumpling Matthew's letter in annoyance. Dancing cards to fill, indeed! Was he trying to make her feel jealous?

She had to swallow hard when she realised that, whether or not it was intentional on his part, it was working. She was jealous. She had no idea what kind of charity gala he was speaking of and what kind of women were in attendance, but she found it easy to believe that removal of a man as handsome, intelligent and amiable as Matthew from one's social circle would be something to mourn. And that was before it was known he was an heir to an Earldom and a considerable fortune! She could imagine all those harpies just waiting to put their claws into him when they had a chance.

"Matthew's letter not to your taste?" asked Edith gleefully, jarring Mary out of her angry musings.

"At least he writes to me," she immediately shot back. "Have you heard anything from your suitor or was he too busy taking his afternoon nap?"

Loxley Park, September 1913

As it happened, Sir Anthony was not taking a nap at the time.

He was busy brooding over the very great difference twenty five years make when it comes to marriage and whether he was an old cad to even consider what his heart was starting to wish for more and more strongly.

He found himself walking through the house and trying to see it with Lady Edith's eyes. Would she like it? It was hardly as big or full of splendour as Downton Abbey, but he preferred it like that. To him, Loxley was home, comfortable and lived in and inviting – but so very empty since Maud had died. At first he could never imagine another taking her place either in his heart or his home, but now... He could imagine Lady Edith here.

He did imagine Lady Edith here.

He loved her.

She was so lovely, body and soul. So gentle and delicate in everything – the way she looked, the way she spoke, the expression of her eyes. And yet she was so quick and intelligent, with such a grasp of the heart of any issue. Like Maud, rather, but so much less confident in her judgement and abilities. It was appalling how little she was valued or encouraged by her family. He just knew that she could blossom if given the opportunity. She was so young; he could just imagine how magnificent she could be as she got older and experienced more of the world.

Ah, but here was the rub, wasn't it? She was so young. Was it even right for someone his age to consider marrying her?

Her family would pose no objections, his talk with Robert had made it clear enough. They would not be overjoyed, but they would agree. As to Lady Edith's opinion on the matter he was less certain. She certainly seemed to enjoy his company. She was always smiling when she saw him and searching for him in any crowd. She never tried to excuse herself from his side after a sufficient time for politeness passed. He would go so far as to say that she was fond of him and that they both had fun together. But did she love him? Would he be able to make her happy? He knew that he would be good to her, that he would give her every opportunity to learn and thrive and shine which she was being currently denied, and that he would love her with all his heart – but would it be enough to make her happy?

He did not know. But with every minute he was gathering the resolve to find out.

Duneagle, September 1913

Edith sat in the corner of the busy drawing room and brooded.

So far all this vacation showed her was how much she missed Sir Anthony's company. Here she was, surrounded by people, yet unable to find anybody she truly wanted to talk to.

Except him.

She was so envious of Mary's correspondence with Matthew. She would have loved to write to Sir Anthony and she was sure any letter of his would have been fascinating to read. But he did not offer to write and she could hardly be presumptuous enough to write first.

Which left her sitting in her corner, disconsolate and bored, watching Mary hold court among all the young men in the room and missing Anthony something fierce.

She startled when she realised she called him by his first name in her thoughts, without the title – but wasn't that how she wanted to call him? He was her friend at the very least and she could admit that she wanted, yearned, for him to be more. Bet or no bet, she wanted him to propose because she wanted to be his wife.

So what if he was older? She didn't care one bit about it. She found him nice looking, attractive even. She liked his features, they seemed strong and noble to her. She thought with a blush that she wouldn't have minded if he wanted to kiss her.

She wondered if this was love. It felt different that the butterflies in her belly she had felt whenever she thought of Patrick. But, upon some reflection... whatever it was she felt for Sir Anthony was deeper. More solid somehow. She had loved Patrick, she knew she had. But maybe she grew up since his death somehow. Maybe her relationship with Sir Anthony was based on different grounds, whatever spurred her to take interest in him in the first place. There was mutual respect, understanding, friendship. Equality, for all their difference of age and experience. But he had never treated her or made her feel like a silly little girl and she loved that feeling.

She thought that if she didn't love him yet, she might very well soon do.

xxx

"So, I heard that your father's new heir shares his profession with us?" asked Freddie, a short and stocky heir to Sir Edmund Wentworth, the seventh baronet and brother of Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham. He indicated himself and his best friend Vivian MacDonald, a tall and lanky blond with a slightly hooked nose.

Mary shrugged.

"In a manner of speaking. He is a solicitor."

"Ah, salt of the Earth then. Doing actual work while we preen and parade in court."

"He's not much for useless splendour, that's for sure," said Mary dryly, thinking of Matthew's stubborn insistence on maintaining his independence and all the trappings of middle class lifestyle he could, up to and including commuting by bicycle to a job he didn't need.

"What is he like then?"

Clever. Brilliant. Funny. Well-read. Annoyingly independent in thought and action. Kind. Compassionate. Not easily intimidated. Stubborn. Considerate.

Wonderful.

"Smarter than you," she said pointedly instead. "And more charming, when he wants to be."

Freddie's hand flew to his chest in mock injury.

"You heard that, Vivian? She's merciless today!"

"She probably speaks the truth though," said his friend placidly. "Since neither of those things are difficult to achieve."

"Oh, I should have known better than to count on your support, you lout. At least I can rest easy that I am smarter and more charming than you. But, Mary, seriously – what is he like? He is such a curiosity to us all, that unknown cousin from the wilds of an industrial city. Practically an exotic species as far as our lot is concerned."

"And yet he acquits himself perfectly well in company, disappointingly enough," she said, strangely annoyed by Freddie's harmless jokes. It wasn't as if she hadn't said much worse things about Matthew's origins once upon a time, but now she felt suddenly protective of him. "He has been at Radley and Oxford, so he knows how to behave. He is very clever and well-informed, and it is a pleasure to converse with him. He has a wicked sense of humour, although he is subtle about it. And the rarest of all, he is a kind and honest man."

She stopped, seeing Freddie and Vivian both staring at her in evident surprise.

"Quite a testimonial," said Freddie when he got his voice back. "Now I am really looking forward to meeting this paragon. I might even come to some of your father's shoots."

"Granny will be delighted to see you," said Mary sweetly, enjoying the way he immediately recoiled. "You're such a favourite with her, I'm sure she will hardly let you leave her side. Maybe she will even arrange for a nice girl or two for you to meet."

"There's no need to use heavy guns on me, Mary," he gave her a wounded look. "We will leave you and your solicitor cousin in peace, won't we, Vivian?"

"I never intended anything else," pointed out Vivian with his usual composure.

Mary left them to their usual bickering and wondered if Matthew was indeed filling multiple dance cards this evening.