St James Park, November 1913
The Right Honourable Kitty Worthington was a plump and intelligent girl with an older sister commonly considered to be the prettier one, which was probably the reason she and Edith developed an instant bond during their first Season. Kitty got along just fine with her sister, Eloise, but she suffered enough unflattering comparisons to her from everybody else to be fully sympathetic to Edith's similar tales of woe. Now, however, she was practically vibrating in excitement as they strolled arm in arm through St James Park, enjoying an unseasonably warm and dry afternoon. "I met with Eloise," she said in a conspiratorial whisper, checking surreptitiously if anybody was within hearing distance. "So?" asked Edith with a frown, not seeing the need for such theatrics. Eloise had married recently, to a future baron, but since she and her new husband resided in London, Kitty was seeing her often.
"She told me what married people do," whispered Kitty, her eyes shining with excitement. "When they are alone."
"Oh," said Edith, feeling her eyes going wide.
She knew of course what Kitty was talking about. Roughly, at least. She'd read enough to be aware that passion and removing of clothing was usually involved, as well as kissing. But Downton library, as extensive as it was, was not very well supplied with books likely to describe the mechanics of marital act - or at least Edith didn't manage to stumble upon any yet – so she looked at her friend in anticipation, eager to hear more.
Kitty, delighted to have an appreciative audience, happily obliged.
"She said that they take off all of their clothes," she started, confirming Edith's impressions. "And then they kiss. Sometimes they kiss before they undress, but anyway there is a lot of kissing and then they are naked."
"And then what?" asked Edith, blushing furiously but avidly curious. Kitty blushed as well before she answered.
"You know how men are different from women?" she asked. "Like in Greek statues or the nude paintings of mythological heroes?"
Edith nodded uncertainly.
"They are built differently…"
"And they have… this thing… between their legs," finished Kitty, her whisper getting practically non audible.
Edith nodded.
"Well, Eloise said that after they kiss a lot, it…" she whispered the rest straight into Edith's ear.
"Oh goodness…" said Edith weakly, trying to wrap her head around it. It all fitted plausibly with her existing knowledge on the topic, but it was still utterly shocking.
And this was what Mary had done?!
"Isn't it… unpleasant… or painful?" she asked hesitantly, feeling hugely relieved when Kitty fervently shook her head.
"Not according to Eloise. She said it was a bit painful and awkward at first, but it is the opposite now. In fact," she blushed tomato red again. "She said it's the best thing she's ever done."
"I suppose it might be," said Edith slowly. "Or all those people who do it outside of marriage wouldn't bother."
Kitty giggled.
"I must say she is making marriage sound much more appealing than I ever expected it to be," she said in a more normal tone of voice. "Although the big part of it might be of course that she is married to Randolph. He is simply dreamy."
Edith recalled the handsome figure and face of Randolph Crewe and nodded in agreement. She could imagine kissing him… and doing all the other things Kitty mentioned… as being rather pleasant.
"Do you think you will like being married to Sir Anthony?" asked Kitty curiously.
Edith's face burnt scarlett.
"Kitty!" she hissed. "I can't think of him that way yet!"
"Why not?" asked Kitty reasonably. "I'd say it's better to think of it before you marry somebody you don't want to do such things with. It's not like you can get out of it later."
Edith had to admit that there was some wisdom in Kitty's approach. Then she recalled waiting for the rain to pass with Sir Anthony in that cabin and how much she wanted him to kiss her. She did not dare to imagine anything else from Kitty's tale – not in broad daylight in a public park! – but even without going quite so far in her head she felt confident in her answer.
"I think I will like it very much," she said with a smile. "Very much indeed."
Library, Downton Abbey, November 1913
Mary was sitting on one of the library's plush red sofas, trying without much success to focus on her book. Of course, Sons and Lovers, the newly published D.H. Lawrence's book, turned out to be directly clashing with her mood; she put it down impatiently some time ago and was chiefly occupied by looking forward to the arrival of her faithful visitor.
Matthew visited like clockwork, every day after work. Since Mary's ankle had healed and she was allowed to move freely around the house, she started to meet with him in the library, with Robert as their most frequent and much preferred chaperone. He usually took great pains to get busy with the accounts, correspondence or even with a newspaper at his desk and become as blind and deaf to anything going on at the sofas as humanly possible. While neither Mary nor Matthew, to their mutual disappointment, did not quite work up the courage to try anything more intimate than holding hands with him in the room, however inattentive, they did greatly enjoy the freedom of quiet, private conversation.
For all her anticipation, Mary was startled when Carson entered to announce a visitor. It was twenty minutes earlier than Matthew could possibly achieve while taking his usual train home. Did he leave work earlier?
As it turned out, he did not. The visitor was Tony.
"Mary!" he exclaimed, hurrying to sit by her side and grasp her right hand, eyeing her left arm in a sling with dismay. "I've just heard that you've been in an accident! I would have come at once if I knew you were hurt!"
"I'm alright, Tony," answered Mary, most displeased by this development. She had no time or patience for Tony with Matthew expected to come so soon! If he came in the morning, when Matthew was still at work and she was feeling bored, it might have been different, but now she wanted him gone. "I just need to have my arm in a sling for a bit longer. No harm done otherwise. How do you even know what happened?"
"Your mother mentioned it in a letter to mine and I heard about it from her last night when I had dinner with her. It distressed me so much I could hardly sleep and I got the first train I could today."
"It's very nice of you, Tony, but completely unnecessary. I truly am going to be perfectly alright and I wasn't seriously hurt in the first place. When are you going back to London?"
To her horror, he looked at her with wide eyes and said:
"Why, I thought to stay until you are better. Your mother was most gracious in allowing me to stay."
Of course she was. Of course. It was no mystery to Mary how her mother's mind worked. She was being pushed into making a decision and accepting one of the two proposals she'd received; and if she was now finding herself in an extremely uncomfortable position of sharing a house with one of her suitors while the other was calling in the afternoons, then Mama most likely considered it Mary's own fault and the best motivation to finally act and pick one of them.
"Don't you need to be in London?" she asked desperately, her heart sinking when Tony shook his head.
"Nothing is more important to me than you, Mary," he declared fervently just as Carson announced Matthew, coming in with a gorgeous bouquet of autumn roses.
Guest room, Painswick House, Eaton Square, London, November 1913
Edith curled in an armchair with the latest letter from Anthony. It arrived but three days after she'd sent hers, so he must have replied immediately after he got it.
"My dear Edith,
Dare I say it still gives me so much pleasure to be privileged enough to have your permission to address you by your Christian name? Every time I start a letter to you, this small gesture of writing your name reminds me of our closeness and all my hopes for the future. You have a beautiful name, with a beautiful meaning, and I feel truly blessed by having somehow won your friendship.
I am wrapping up my visit in Berlin and soon following to Vienna, with a stop at my dear friend and second cousin Johannes von Scheliha's estate near Breslau in Lower Silesia. I am looking forward to it, however much I like Berlin, both because I am truly fond of his company, but even more because it brings my travels closer to their end and return to England – and to you, Edith. I hope it's not too presumptive of me to say that the tone of your most charming letters gave me assurance that our meeting is something we both anticipate with great and shared joy.
I have to admit that I leave the German capital with an uneasy mind and a heavy heart. War is commonly perceived here as inevitable, with only the exact cause and time uncertain. Both the Kaiser and his government yearn to prove the might of the German Empire and it's equality, if not superiority, over the empires older and more established. The pride they genuinely take in their Navy, for all that it hasn't seen a battle yet, is especially striking, as is the patriotic fervour visible both in press and in education. It does not bode well for the near future of Europe and I am sad to be forced to confirm all the fears my friends at the Foreign Office expressed to me ahead of my trip. Here's some hoping that the Austro-Hungarian Empire is too beset with its own problems to wish to cause many abroad, but of course the most recent Balkan crisis showed us all that their problems have a dangerous potential to become ours.
I must wrap this letter since there are plenty of matters requiring my attention before my departure. I hope you are well, my dear, and your family too. Please convey my most sincere regards to them all, but know that you are the first one in all my thoughts.
Your affectionate friend,
Anthony Strallan"
Edith did wonder briefly if it wasn't a gesture worthy of a silly, infatuated schoolgirl, but she still kissed his signature on the letter.
Library, Downton Abbey, November 1913
To say that Matthew was dismayed at finding Tony Foyle sitting on what he had come to consider his spot by Mary's side, holding Mary's hand in his, would be a huge understatement. The only thing which stopped him in time from immature glowering at his rival was the smile Mary greeted him with, as well as the way she immediately got up and came to him, leaving Tony's side with seemingly no concern for him whatsoever.
"Matthew!" she exclaimed, reaching for the flowers. "They're beautiful."
As she buried her face in the roses, her eyes flickered to him quickly.
"Help!" she whispered urgently. "He wants to stay for days, if not weeks, and Mama is willing to allow him!"
"I'm glad you like them," said Matthew loudly, before adding in a whisper. "How? I can hardly throw him out. He will go if you tell him he has no hope or business in being here."
Mary's answering look was pure frustration, but she had no chance to respond before Tony caught up to them and greeted Matthew with obviously the same lack of any pleasure which Matthew found in greeting him.
"Nice flowers," he said, looking like he would gladly set them on fire. "You came with well wishes for your cousin, Crawley?"
"You could say that," answered Matthew pleasantly enough, even though through gritted teeth. He would love to state straight away that he was courting her, same as Foyle, but with Mary standing between them it hardly seemed proper or tactful to get into this kind of tugging war with her other suitor.
"Matthew has the gift for finding the most beautiful flowers imaginable, even now, in November," said Mary fondly, caressing the petals of one of the roses which she put in the crook of her healing arm.
"Ah," said Foyle, scowling in a way which improved Matthew's mood exponentially. "I would have brought you some, Mary, if I wasn't half mad with worry when I was catching the train."
"It's alright, Tony," said Mary brightly, still caressing the roses and not even giving him a look. "I have plenty now. In fact, could you ring the bell? I need to ask for some vase and water for those."
Tony stomped to the bell, his scowl deepening.
Before he could come back, Robert entered the library.
"Tony!" he exclaimed jovially, but Matthew did not miss a quick glance which he sent to him and Mary. "I did not expect to see you before the hunt. What brings you here, my boy? Cora says you are staying?"
"Well, I could not stay away when I heard of Mary's accident," Foyle said ardently, his eyes also going to Mary, who at least did not look at all moved by the declaration. "I've only learnt of it last night or I would have come sooner."
"I see," said Robert. "Well, since you're here, could you tell me all about what your father is getting up to regarding the races? I think he has a horse competing in the nearest one?"
There was no polite way for Foyle to do anything else but to accompany Robert to the sofas, leaving Matthew and Mary by the door.
To Matthew's relief Mary looked immeasurably grateful to Robert for distracting her suitor and she turned to him immediately with a pleading expression of her dark eyes.
"I did not inform him of my accident, I did not invite him here and it was most definitely not my idea to let him stay for days," she said quickly. "You do believe me, don't you?"
How could he not when she was looking at him like that?
"I do," he answered sincerely. "But am I to understand that he will be sitting here with us every time I visit you for the foreseeable future?"
Mary huffed angrily, her beautiful brows frowning in irritation.
"Unless I find a way to convince him to go, yes. Oh, I could strangle Mama for this one!"
"Why did she do it?" asked Matthew after throwing a quick glance at Tony to make sure that Robert was still holding him captive.
"Isn't it obvious?" asked Mary bitterly. "She wants to push me into making a choice by making my life hell until I do."
Matthew's chest tightened in mixed anger on her behalf and pain on his own.
"She shouldn't force the issue if you're not sure," he said, even as his own heart was breaking.
Mary must have seen it, because she grasped his hand immediately and looked earnestly into his eyes.
"I am sure I don't want Tony," she whispered fiercely. "I am not going to marry him."
"Then why don't you tell him that?" asked Matthew, looking at her piercingly and hating the way she faltered in her answer to his question. "Why keep stringing him along if you feel like that?"
"Because I don't want to anger Mama further," she said, but it didn't sound convincing at all and she must have heard it herself, because she winced and tried again. "I made him no promises, none at all. I refused his proposal. But Mama insists that since I refused it because I didn't know him well enough then I must give him a chance to be known to me before I refuse him again."
It sounded very reasonable and yet he believed not one word of it. As much as she was clearly exasperated with Mr Foyle and angry that he came to stay, she had some other motive in not being more firm in refusing him. He knew well enough how dismissive she could be when she wanted to be and she did not use the full force of it on Mr Foyle.
Before he could convey his scepticism in anything more than a look, William came with the vase for the flowers, followed soon by Cora and Sybil. There was no more privacy for such a sensitive conversation.
Drawing room, Painswick House, November 1913
"Mama writes that Mary still has not made up her mind whether to accept either Matthew or Tony," said Rosamund to Edith after finishing reading a letter which came in the afternoon post. "I wonder what her difficulty is."
Edith shrugged, not really caring either way.
"She likes Matthew better than Tony, I think. Maybe she just can't decide which title she would like better. Matthew will ultimately have a higher one, but Papa is younger and healthier than Viscount Branksome."
"At least Tony Foyle is a son of a viscount," said Rosamund. "As neat as it would be to secure Downton and your mother's fortune through Mary, I hate the thought of her as a solicitor's wife for God knows how long when she's born to lead as a society's hostess. Well, this is one advantage of your choice. You will have your own house and title straight away as Sir Anthony's wife, without waiting forever for somebody to die."
"It isn't why I love him!" protested Edith, discomfited by having her relationship with Anthony framed in such mercenary terms.
"I know," answered Rosamund and smirked at Edith over the edge of her teacup. "But it's a lovely perk, isn't it? Think about it, whoever of her two suitors Mary will marry, she will have to give precedence to you as Lady Strallan until Matthew or Tony inherit their title."
Mary's bedroom, Downton Abbey, November 1913
"Mama, you can't let Tony stay!" Mary entreated Cora passionately as soon as they were alone. She was not at all surprised when her mother came into her room and dismissed Anna as soon as Mary's hair was done.
"I don't see a way I could refuse his request," answered Cora, unperturbed. "Besides, I fail to see what problem it causes. He's a perfect gentleman to you and thinks of nothing but your comfort."
Mary rolled her eyes.
"He's completely insufferable and cloying and you know that," she said accusingly. "And how am I supposed to have any time to talk with Matthew properly with him sitting there with us?"
"You will have all the time in the world to talk with Matthew if you accept his proposal," pointed out Cora mercilessly. "And I'm sure it would make Tony go away too."
Mary stared at her incredulously.
"This is basically blackmail."
Now it was Cora's turn to roll her eyes.
'Hardly," she answered pleasantly. "Darling, you have two handsome, young suitors with excellent prospects who both proposed to you and care for you enough to wait for you to make up your mind. Just pick one of them. You know you can ill afford to drag it out for much longer, not anymore."
Mary glared at her mother, if only to stop tears from coming.
"I know who I want to pick, Mama. I told you that I love Matthew."
"Then why not accept him?" asked Cora, with an exasperated air of someone who knows the answer, but finds it absurd.
"You know why!" snapped Mary. "I must tell him, but I still don't know how."
"You really don't have to," said Cora, sounding very reasonable. "He won't realise himself, I assure you, it's not something so obvious to spot, especially if you're smart about it."
"But that would be lying to him," answered Mary desperately. "And I can't do that. It wouldn't be right."
"You won't have to lie! He has no reason to ask you any questions."
Mary shook her head vehemently.
"No, Mama," she said firmly, even though her face was etched with despair. "It would be lying, even if I never said a word. It wouldn't be fair to him, or right. I must tell him and see if he forgives me."
"But what if he doesn't?" asked Cora gently. "My dear, what if he doesn't? Is it worth losing him to cling to this idea, if you love him as much as you say?"
Mary bit her lip to stop herself from crying.
"It wouldn't be right, Mama," she whispered hoarsely. "I can't do that to him. Even if he despises me when he knows and I think he will."
Lucille's fashion show, London, November 1913
"How do you like the wedding gown?" asked Rosamund, seeing Edith's eyes shine while they saw the white creation presented at the end of the fashion show.
"Oh, Aunt Rosamund, it is gorgeous! Do you think this kind of design would look good on me?"
"Perfectly so," answered Rosamund with assurance. "You have a wonderful figure, so slender. We would just need to pick the right fabric for your complexion. But maybe you would like to order it from Worth instead? I have it on good authority from Mama that she is going to buy whatever gown you want, as a wedding present for you, so don't even think about the expense."
"How lovely of Granny!" exclaimed Edith, honestly touched. "But I think I like Lucille better. Worth is so elaborate in their designs I'm afraid it would overwhelm my looks completely."
Rosamund looked at her critically.
"I don't think so," she said. "But if you prefer Lucille, this is what you're going to get. It's going to be your day, after all, and it's supposed to be about what you want. So should I put a note about the wedding gown when I order the other clothes you liked?"
Edith gaped at her.
"But should I order a wedding dress when I'm not yet engaged?"
"I won't order it yer, per se," laughed Rosamund with a wink at her. "Just whisper to Lady Duff-Gordon that you will want to order one soon and she should make time for it. But tell me, do you have any doubts that we will place this order properly in the very near future?"
Edith thought of Anhtony's last later and smiled happily, blushing slightly.
"No, Aunt Rosamund. I don't."
Sitting room, Crawley House, November 1913
Isobel looked searchingly at her son, sitting in his preferred armchair with a newspaper and to all purposes looking exactly the same as on many similar Sunday mornings.
Except ten minutes passed and he never turned a page.
She thought back to last night's dinner at the big house and barely contained her indignation on his behalf.
"Are you going to visit Mary after church?" she asked. He had done so every Sunday for the last month.
Matthew lowered his unread newspaper with a sigh.
"I'm considering it," he said and Isobel hated the dejection in his voice. "Maybe I should give Mary some space. I've been hovering over her every moment I was not at work for weeks. I don't want to make her feel more pressured than she already is."
Isobel scoffed.
"It's hardly unreasonable of you to expect her to give you an answer to a proposal you made over a month ago. You gave her more than enough time to think."
He sent her a sharp glance over his newspaper.
"Don't speak against her, Mother. As hard as it is to wait, I much prefer her to be sure than to end up regretting being married to me."
"As if she had any cause to possibly regret it!"
Matthew sighed heavily.
"You're biassed, Mother," he pointed out dryly. "When you're not so worked up over a perceived slight to me, you're usually the first to point out that I can be perfectly aggravating at times."
"As can anybody else," huffed Isobel, crossing her arms. "I really can't see what she needs to ponder for such a long time. And now entertaining that other man as well! I thought better of her than to expect her to play like that with men's affections. I start to think she's only doing it to enjoy the attention she gets."
"She isn't," Matthew denied sharply. "Truly, Mother, you don't know enough about her life and the pressure she's under to make such judgments. I know you are angry on my behalf, but honestly, such speech is the opposite of helpful."
"Very well," acquiesced Isobel, seeing genuine hurt on her boy's face, but it only made her angrier inside. She could throttle that vain, cold-hearted girl for all the pain she was causing him! Oh, why did his very first love have to be for such a worthless recipient when so many perfectly nice girls had failed miserably at engaging his heart? She knew her son; there would be no way he would get quickly over Lady Mary Crawley, and she truly hated her at the moment as her heart clenched in pain and compassion for him. "So are you going to the Abbey today or not?"
"I think not," answered Matthew quietly. "Maybe it will do me some good to have some time to myself as well."
Guest room, Painswick House, Eaton Square, November 1913
Edith was lying in bed, thinking with giddy excitement of her not properly ordered, but strongly hinted at wedding gown.
In a few months, she was going to be a bride. She might not be engaged yet, not officially, but there was no doubt in her mind that she would be, as soon as Anthony was back from his travels. She was going to have a beautiful wedding gown, and a ring, and a wonderful wedding, with a drive through the celebrating village and bunting everywhere and, best of all, with her husband by her side on the return trip.
In truth, all of this, however delightful, paled in comparison to what she felt at the prospect of becoming Anthony's wife. The realisation that she was going to not only marry soon, most likely as the first of her sisters, but to marry a man who wanted her, who loved her, and whom she most sincerely loved back, was so heady it was making her dizzy at times. She had always wanted it, of course, but in her heart of hearts she had always been scared it was going to remain nothing but a dream. Boys and later men never paid attention to her, after all. Especially not when her older sister was around. But Anthony saw her as the better one, it was her who he decided to pay court to and eventually propose to. She loved him so very much for all kinds of things: his kindness, his intelligence, his understated humour, even his slight awkwardness in company, but sometimes she thought that she loved him most for loving her in the first place when nobody else did.
Breslau, Germany, November 1913
Anthony relaxed against a soft, firm leather armchair with genuine pleasure. Even though the train from Berlin to Breslau was perfectly comfortable, as was the car Johannes sent for him, he felt the hours of travelling in his bones.
He looked at his friend, a tall blond man seated in his own armchair with a glass of brandy, and smiled fondly at him. It was good to see him again and apparently in good health and high spirits.
"How are things? You appeared well in your recent letters, but it's easy to miss things when one relies only on correspondence."
"Not in this case," answered Johannes with a smile. "Everything is going well. My career is stable, my family and I are in good health, and Rudolf is growing into a wonderful young man, if I do say so myself."
"How old is Rudolf now? Fifteen?"
"Sixteen," corrected Johannes with a proud smile. "A bright and truly good boy. All his teachers give me glowing reports of him and predict a great career for him."
"I'm glad to hear it," answered Anthony honestly, ignoring a small pang he usually felt when discussing Johannes' children. They had married the very same year, each attending the other's wedding, and yet while Johannes had been blessed with a son and three daughters, hopes for similar happiness had never realised for Anthony and Maud. He thought himself long reconciled to this sad reality, but now, with the prospect of Edith, old feelings seemed to resurface again.
"What about you, old boy?" asked Johannes, looking at him astutely. "Your letters got much more cheerful recently, and yet you gave no reason for the lifting of your spirits. As much as I am happy to see you happier, I am terribly curious what has you so changed."
Anthony smiled bashfully.
"There's no mystery to it," he answered. "I am an old fool in love with a young and beautiful girl."
Johannes whistled, obviously startled by this revelation.
"Good for you! Who is this lucky lady?"
"I'm not sure how lucky she is, but I certainly am. It's Lady Edith Crawley, daughter of the Earl of Grantham, my neighbour. You might remember attending a New Year's Shoot at his estate when you visited me some years ago."
"I do remember him, although sadly none of his daughters. You said young – how old is Lady Edith, exactly?"
Anthony felt himself blushing slightly, much to his annoyance.
"Twenty one," he muttered.
"Then she shows great discernment for her age in appreciating the fine man you are," Johannes stated staunchly. "Because she has responded favourably to your suit, hasn't she? You wouldn't be half as cheerful if she hasn't."
"She gave me every indication that she is eagerly awaiting my proposal," answered Anthony, his lips stretching in a beaming smile. "We will hopefully be engaged as soon as I am back in England."
"But that's marvellous!" exclaimed Johannes with genuine pleasure at his friend's good news. He had been quite worried for him since Maud's death. "Please, tell me more about her. You said she's beautiful, but there must be more to it. You wouldn't have settled for just a pretty face after being married to Maud."
"No, I wouldn't," admitted Anthony, still smiling widely. "And I haven't. Lady Edith is a perfect mix of sweetness and intelligence. She may appear shy on first acquaintance, but this is mostly due to the fact that she's used to being rather overshadowed by her more outgoing sister and sadly overlooked by her family. I really cannot account for their treatment of her, because she really is a daughter anyone should reasonably be proud of. When you encourage her to talk and to express her opinions, she is surprisingly bright and astute, with a true gift for grasping the heart of the matter quickly and to summarise it in a clever turn of phrase. She has a lovely, if understated sense of humour, and the sweetest, kindest disposition you can imagine. She bears the outrageous behaviour of her family towards her with remarkable patience."
"I see you told the truth, Anthony," commented Johannes with a smile of his own. "You are indeed an old fool in love."
Downton Train Station, November 1913
Matthew got off the train from Ripon, sighing at the darkness. It was barely a quarter to five, but the sun set half an hour ago and it was only the stations' lights and the moonlight allowing him to see anything at all. The road between the station and the village was in near total darkness, forcing him to rely on a torch to find his way home. He was tired and cross from the sleepless night and somehow the lack of light was making his mood even worse. He thought mournfully of Manchester with its gas lamps lining the streets and wished heartily that he never heard of the Earl of Grantham and his maddening eldest daughter.
He only noticed a dark figure waiting by his bicycle when he was several feet away from it.
"Mary!" he exclaimed in surprise, seeing no waiting car nearby. "Have you come all the way here on foot, alone? In the dark?"
"I have my sling," she answered carelessly, pointing at it with her right hand. "And my ankle is perfectly alright, so I can walk just fine. And it wasn't dark yet when I started."
"Won't your family be worried for you?" asked Matthew, still staring at her in utter disbelief. "Do they even know where you are?"
"I told everyone that I have a headache and want to lie down, but Anna knows I went for a walk. She can tell them if anybody checks on me, so they will have no reason to panic."
Matthew shook his head.
"No reason except you went out without telling anybody but your maid on a dark November afternoon and nobody has any idea where exactly you are."
"Well, you know now," answered Mary, still in this careless manner. "And you can walk me home, if you want."
"Of course I will," said Matthew with exasperation and lit the torch on the handles of his bike. "Let's go there. You can tell me why you've come here on the way."
"You haven't come yesterday," she said quietly as soon as they were on the empty road between the station and the village, looking at him intently with a worried frown. "And you sent no word that we shouldn't expect you."
"I have a life outside of Downton," pointed Matthew and winced at his own tone and the way Mary flinched at it. He added more gently. "I've been to the Abbey every Sunday for the last month and I just assumed you wished to have one free of me. Especially since you have other company to entertain you."
"You assumed wrong," she answered harshly. "And I told you I don't care for Tony's company in particular."
"You haven't sent him on his way though," said Matthew, unable not to give voice to the thoughts plaguing him for days. "I know how unwelcoming you can be, Mary. Nobody knows it better than me. What am I supposed to think when I see none of that scorn directed at him, for all you speak of being annoyed by his presence?"
Her eyes flashed in a way unmistakable even in the moonlight.
"So you think I'm lying to you?" she challenged him. "That I am playing with Tony and you both?"
"Not lying, maybe," answered Matthew heavily, with all the bitterness of a sleepless night spent pondering this very topic. "And not playing. But I can't stop thinking that your lack of decision regarding either of us is because you love neither. That you can't outright say no, not with your mother and the rest of the family pressuring you so unfairly to say yes, but that you are unwilling to say yes because you love neither Foyle nor me enough to marry either of us."
His heart contracted painfully when he saw her eyes widening in shock in the darkness, convinced that her astonishment meant he struck the heart of the matter. Only with the strength of his disappointment he realised that he was never before so desperate to be wrong.
"You are wrong," said Mary quietly, as in an answer to his thoughts. "So very wrong."
"What am I wrong about?" challenged Matthew, his heart beating wildly.
Instead of answering him, she kissed him.
Matthew had never before been kissed like he was on this dark, moonlit road, and he had never kissed anyone like that either. He was barely aware that he let his bike drop to the ground to free his arms to embrace her, ever mindful of her injured arm and yet pulling her to him tightly as he stumbled slightly, his back hitting a tree at the edge of the path. Mary's lips were on his, so sweet, so very intoxicating, her right hand threading through his hair – where did his hat go? Oh, who cared, certainly not him! – and when her mouth opened a bit to allow him to deepen the kiss he stopped thinking altogether. There was only Mary, Mary's lips, Mary's body against his, Mary's face cradled in his hand, and he loved her so terribly much in this moment that he could scarcely breathe.
They parted finally, staring at each other wildly in the moonlight.
"Matthew," she said and his heart stuttered at the way she said it. His name had never sounded so beautiful to him. "I love you."
"And I love you, my darling," he answered hurriedly, realising that he had never told her, not in so many words, and even though he hoped she knew, that he must have conveyed it through so many other words or gestures, that it had certainly been implied, he was desperate to correct this egregious error. "I love you more than I've ever thought it possible to love."
"I can't give you the answer yet though," she said, her voice tortured, and he gaped at her in utter incomprehension.
"Why not?" he asked, his heart in his throat. "If you love me? Unless you don't love me enough to…"
"No!" she exclaimed wildly, caressing his face soothingly. "It's not that at all. I would marry you tomorrow if I could. But I can't, not yet."
"Why?" he demanded, but then was struck again by the desperate look on her face. Whatever was holding her back must be giving her real pain and his own hurt feelings morphed slowly into concern. "What is it, Mary? Why can't you marry me?"
"I can't tell you yet," she said, her lips trembling. "I will, I promise I will, but I can't yet. I just couldn't let you think that I don't love you or that I don't want you. I do, so much!"
She leaned to kiss him again and he could not resist kissing her back, with all the force of his hopelessly confused feelings for her, love mixed with desperation and despair, and it seemed to him that he could feel the mirror of his own emotions in her kiss.
Drawing room, Painswick House, November 1913
Kitty looked at her with evident curiosity.
"I heard the most awful rumours about your sister," she said. "About her and a Turkish diplomat who died in your house last spring. Can they be true?"
"I wouldn't know," answered Edith with studied indifference. "Mary is not in the habit of confiding her secrets to me."
"But you must know something," insisted Kitty. "He was found dead in his own room in the morning, wasn't he?"
"Yes, he was," answered Edith honestly. "And while Mary did seem quite impressed by him, I did not see anything to confirm whether the rumours are true or not. It would have been awfully reckless of her to do anything like that, as well as wicked."
"I can't really see her doing anything like that, to be honest," said Kitty thoughtfully. "She's always so careful, so in control. Not a girl likely to get all giggly and silly over a man, you know?"
Edith shrugged carefully. For all their genuine friendship, she had no intention to tell Kitty what she had done. Kitty got along with her own sister much too well to ever understand.
"Like I said," she said. "I didn't see anything other than Mary flirting with him at dinner."
"Well, whether it's true or not, it's what everybody is talking about," said Kitty seriously. "I don't know how she is going to be able to show her face in town."
Edith hid a slight smile behind her teacup.
"I don't know either."