Matthew's bedroom, Crawley House, November 1913
Despite the exhaustion caused by the previous sleepless night, Matthew could hardly sleep on Monday. His brain was wholly taken over by Mary and the mysterious reason behind her baffling refusal to give him a straight answer while passionately assuring him of the love she felt for him. What could be the reason? She claimed to love him, she knew he loved her, her family was more than in favour of the match – they were pushing it, frankly – what could hold her back? He thought of her tortured expression and again came to the conclusion that whatever it was, it was painful to her, a secret of some kind. It could not be simply a reluctance to marry him while he remained a plain solicitor; no, there was something bigger, something with the power of preventing her from acting on her feelings for him…
He gasped when he stumbled upon a theory. The only thing which could possibly prevent her from getting engaged to him while they were most definitely not facing parental opposition or insufficient means, was a prior engagement of some kind. If Mary was already committed to another man, she of course could not give her hand to him, even if she assured him that she gave him her heart.
This was the only thing which made sense. She said she loved him – and how could he doubt it when she kissed him like that, after waiting for him in the dark and cold to make sure he was aware of her feelings? – and she looked so tortured, so pained when she said she couldn't marry him yet, couldn't give him an answer, however much she would have liked to do it. There must be some impediment and he could think of nothing else except for a prior commitment tying her hands. But if such commitment existed, it must necessarily be a secret one, or Cora's machinations would make no sense, and this was when he faltered. What on Earth could induce Mary to enter into a secret engagement, most likely with somebody wildly unsuitable because there would be no reason to keep it secret if he wasn't? The only answer, however painful it was to contemplate, was love. But she loved him now! He was certain that she did!
But maybe he wasn't the first man she loved. She could have loved someone before – had loved him enough to enter into a secret engagement with him – but then, with the passing of time and, he flattered himself, meeting him, maybe that first love had faded. That would explain why she felt so torn and trapped. His heart clenched as he imagined how conflicted she must be between honouring her promise to that mysterious man and following her heart. Mary was a principled woman, she valued her word highly, he could fully understand her dilemma. But engagements could and were often broken, for one reason or another, surely she could free herself?
His eyes widened when he realised that this was what she most probably intended. She told him that she could not give him her answer yet. She promised that she would, in time, and that she would have married him tomorrow if she could. If the engagement was secret, she might not have an easy way to communicate with that man, but surely there was some, maybe in London where they were all going shortly. She would surely seek to break her former engagement and then give her answer to him. Because she loved him.
Matthew fell asleep with a wide smile on his face.
Library, Downton Abbey, November 1913
When Matthew came to the Abbey the next day after work, he was delighted to find Mary alone.
"Where is Mr Foyle?" he asked after exchanging greetings with her.
"In London," answered Mary with evident satisfaction, which he couldn't be happier about. "I finally managed to convince him that staying here for so long is going to be harmful to my reputation."
Matthew laughed, looking at her knowingly.
"Took you long enough," he grumbled, but without rancour. Whatever was her reason for not getting rid of Foyle sooner, he was beyond happy that she finally did.
Mary glared at him, but he could tell that she was also in too good a mood to be truly angry at him.
"He was very hard to dissuade," she complained, then looked at him mischievously. "Come, let's run away while we're alone. Mama is busy with Mrs Hughes, but she will be here any moment now."
"Where do you propose to hide?" asked Matthew, but followed her eagerly out of the room. The pouring rain outside made it unfortunately impossible to go for a walk.
"To the music room," answered Mary, leading him there. "Only Edith uses it regularly and she's in London. If we speak quietly, it will take them a while to find us."
"And when they do? Won't we be in trouble?"
Mary closed the door behind them with another satisfied smile.
"Depends on what we will be doing when they do. But I plan to say that I wanted to look through the sheets of music with you."
"I thought you don't really play?" asked Matthew curiously, his heart soaring when she laughed. He loved hearing her laugh.
"I don't," she admitted freely, picking some music sheets from the piano. "To my mortification, Edith turned out to be better than me at it, so I abandoned it as quickly as I could. But I can sing."
"Have I ever told you," he said, coming closer, "that I used to sing in a choir?"
"No!" she exclaimed, delighted. "Does that mean I could talk you into singing a duet with me?"
"If you're determined enough to overcome my fear of making a fool of myself," he said and this time it was him who kissed her first.
It was nearly as heady as their kiss yesterday, if much less frantic. Mary carelessly dropped the sheets of music she was holding back onto the piano and embraced him instead, leaning against him in a way which made his blood sing with want for her. His hands cradled her beautiful face, as he marvelled at the softness of her skin and the intoxicating taste of her lips. It was with the highest reluctance that he stopped the kiss and took a step back before he did something utterly inappropriate.
"We should talk," he said with effort, watching her trying to compose herself. At least he wasn't the only one affected by that kiss.
"What about?" she asked and he could tell that she was evasive, that she knew exactly what he wanted to discuss with her.
"The reason you can't give me the answer," he said, determined to get it out in the open, even though his heart clenched with regret at the instant wariness taking over her features. "Mary, you said you love me. You kiss me and allow me to kiss you. What can be the reason you won't agree to marry me?"
She bit her lip and looked away from him.
"I can't tell you," she said, with the same tortured expression as the previous day. "At least not yet. I'm sorry, Matthew, but you have to give me more time."
"Is it because of my position?" he asked, looking at her piercingly. "Is it because you can't imagine yourself as a solicitor's wife for God knows how long?"
"No!" she cried out instantly, looking at him pleadingly. "It's not that, Matthew, not at all. I admit that it's not ideal, but I'm sure we could make a life for ourselves until you become the earl, just like we talked. We would figure it out."
"Then why?" he asked painfully. "Why, Mary? It's been well over a month, how long are you going to keep me in suspense?"
"I don't know," she said with equal pain in her voice and closed her eyes to avoid his gaze. "I'm so sorry, Matthew, but I don't know. I need more time."
"Is it because of something you did, which you regret now?" he asked, thinking of his newest theory, and her eyes shot open as she stared at him in shock.
"Yes," she said in a trembling voice. "I did something very stupid and I couldn't regret it more."
"What was it, Mary?" he pushed, sensing for the first time that he was getting close to the truth. "You can tell me, darling. I won't judge you, I promise, whatever it was."
She opened her mouth and for a moment he hoped wildly that she was going to tell him, that he was finally going to learn what was the obstacle to their happiness, when they heard steps and Cora's voice calling for them.
"Matthew? Mary? Wherever have you gone?"
"In here, Mama," called Mary, looking at him apologetically. "We were just looking at some sheets of music."
Matthew swore inwardly. The moment was irrevocably lost.
Painswick House, London, December 1913
"My dear Anthony,
I am so glad to hear that you arrived safely to Vienna, but even more that it is your last stop before coming back to England. May I say that as dear as your letters are to me, I miss talking with you in person? I do imagine hearing your voice when I read them and seeing your smiles or frowns or that twinkle in your eye when you make a joke, but it's still a poor facsimile of your presence.
Meanwhile, I am enjoying my stay in London as much as I can. December means that more and more families descend on the town for their Christmas shopping and the little season, including my own next week, so I will be relocating from Eaton Square to St James. My aunt is throwing a ball at Painswick House on December 20th though and asked me to convey her most cordial invitation to you if you will be back in England by then. Oh, please come, if you can! I remember dancing with you at Haxby Park and I would love to do it again! For all your expressed fears of me being charmed by some young and dashing man while you're gone, I've met nobody who would be half as interesting or charming as you and I don't expect it to change until then.
Your affectionate friend,
Edith"
Grantham House, St. James Square, London, December 1913
"Edith, you've been invited to tea at Lady Curzon tomorrow," said Cora, going through the morning post. "And to dinner at the Worthingtons on Tuesday."
"Hasn't Lady Curzon invited me as well?" asked Mary with a frown.
"No, just Edith," answered Cora, frowning as well.
Edith barely hid a smile.
Rowling House, Belgrave Square, London, December 1913
The ball at the Rowlings was the very first time in Edith's life when she was asked to dance more often than Mary and, considering that she still had to sit out about half of them, as usual, it was the most astounding proof of her sister's fall from grace. She didn't remember even one previous occasion when Mary's dance card hadn't been filled within fifteen minutes of her arrival to any given ball. It was very satisfactory to observe the reversal of their fortunes.
Or it should have been. For some reason the sight of her sister being universally snubbed by Society did not fill Edith with the expected feeling of triumph. She told herself that Mary got exactly what she deserved, both for her wanton actions with the Turk and for being a nasty, cruel and self-important person, but it wasn't working. Whenever she saw a flash of surprise in Mary's eyes, however quickly hidden, at yet another slight she received from a formerly friendly acquaintance, she felt a stab of guilt.
She didn't like seeing her sister humiliated. It was… Oh, she didn't know how or why she felt like this when she spent so many years hoping to see Mary brought down from her undeserved pedestal, but it was somehow wrong. Maybe she could have enjoyed it more if she wasn't the person responsible for it, but she was and as the ball progressed, so did her guilt. She told herself that it wasn't really her fault – it was Mary's for allowing Mr Pamuk to seduce her and breaking all kinds of rules in apparent belief that she was above them – and for angering her so, by being so cruel and dismissive towards her – but in the end she couldn't deny that it was she who sent that letter and spread the news of her sister's disgrace all over London.
And there was no way to take it back or to repair the damage.
She felt only worse when, by the end of the evening, she managed to learn or overhear three different versions of Mary's story, each one more damaging than the previous and even further from the truth. The last one was so horrible that she barely stopped herself from crying out loud that Mrs Simpson, the newly married woman who never liked Mary, was a nasty liar. Her version bore barely any resemblance to the one Edith described in her letter and yet the women listening to Mrs Simpson all laughed and tittered when they heard it. Edith, unnoticed by either of them, walked away with her fists so tight that her nails nearly broke her skin despite her silk gloves.
And the worst was still to come.
She was going to enter the powder room when she overheard the story being discussed yet again through the partially open door. She froze when she heard her own name mentioned.
"And it was Lady Edith who sent the letter? About her own sister? What a spiteful harpy!" exclaimed Ruby Lennox gleefully.
Beatrice Semphill tittered.
"A slut and a harpy. I wonder what's wrong with the youngest one, since the older are such a pair!"
Edith recalled Mary's words that her becoming publicly disgraced would taint them all and felt bile coming up her throat.
xxx
"Lady Mary, would you do me the honour of dancing with me?" asked Evelyn with his usual grace and Mary smiled at him gratefully.
"Of course," she said brightly. "As you can see, I am quite free at the moment and it is always a pleasure to dance with you. And haven't I given you permission to address me by my name alone?"
"You have," answered Evelyn with a smile, leading her to the dance floor. "But it's been such a long time since we saw each other that I wasn't sure I still have the privilege."
"You do," answered Mary firmly. She appreciated any friendly soul that ghastly evening. "I wanted to congratulate you on your engagement. I hope you and Beatrice will be very happy."
"Thank you," he bowed slightly, then looked at her in concern. "But why are you so free tonight? That's very much not the usual case with you."
"Do you know," said Mary with a slight shrug. "I have no idea."
Her stomach clenched at the thought that while she indeed didn't know for sure, she could probably make a very good guess.
Somehow, despite all precautions and effort to hide it, her story got out.
And if that was true, she was ruined.
Silberstein & Sohn, Vienna, December 1913
"May I assist you, sir?" asked an elderly, elegant man, seeing Anthony perusing different rings in a glass case with gold rimming for the last quarter of an hour.
Anthony raised his eyes with a nervous smile.
"Maybe it would be best," he admitted. "I simply can't make up my mind."
"And what kind of ring are you searching for?" asked Herr Silberstein, looking at Anthony assessingly.
"An engagement ring," answered Anthony, his smile becoming brighter. "For a very special young lady."
"Then you must tell me what kind of young lady she is," said Herr Silberstein with a smile of his own. "Only then we will be able to find a perfect ring for her."
"She is a true lady," said Anthony thoughtfully. "And she is young, just twenty one. Very sweet and delicate, both in looks and disposition. But there is also strength and quiet dignity in her, which I admire very much."
"Ah, I see," observed Herr Silberstein, reaching for a small tray with diamond rings. "Nothing too ostentatious then – it would look vulgar on such a lady – but nothing too modest either – she might be young, but she will grow into a formidable woman. No, you need something timeless and elegant. How about one of these rings then?"
Anthony looked. They were all gold rings with beautiful, but moderately sized diamonds. His eyes stopped abruptly on one with an oval main stone, flanked on each side by three small ones, like a peony.
"This one," he pointed confidently.
It was a completely different ring than the one he had given Maud so very long ago, but as soon as he saw it, he imagined Edith wearing it.
He could not wait to be able to offer it to her, along with his heart and all his worldly possessions.
Grantham House, St James Square, London, December 1913
"The Right Honourable Miss Agnes Grey," announced Carson, leading Agnes into a small parlour of Grantham House, where Mary was sitting alone. Once again, the invitation was issued only for Cora and Edith, with a glaring exclusion of her.
"Agnes!" she said brightly and honestly. "It's so very nice to see you! Come, sit."
They both sat on the red sofas and it was immediately obvious to Mary that something was truly bothering her friend. Always rather easily agitated, today she seemed practically twitchy with nerves.
"Mary," said Agnes, biting her lip nervously. "I don't know how to tell you, but I think you really should know."
"What is it, Agnes?" Mary saw her flinch and deliberately softened her tone. "Just tell me. I won't be angry with you for being the messenger."
"There are rumours about you," whispered Agnes quickly, as if trying to get through the words as fast as possible. "Horrible rumours."
"What rumours?"
"That you... that you lost your virtue to a man, a diplomat, visiting Downton in the spring. And that..."
"And that?" prompted Mary, her stomach sinking further with every word.
"And that you killed him somehow. That he died in your bed. In fact... Oh no, I cannot say it!"
"Agnes," said Mary with steely composure. "I must know what is being said. How can I defend myself if I don't know?"
Agnes nodded but blushed to the roots of her hair.
"They say you sucked the life out of him," she said. "Through... some lewd act."
Mary's eyebrows rose. That was unexpected. Not to mention, inaccurate. But then again, it's not like she had shared any details regarding what happened in her bedroom with anyone and obviously Mr Pamuk hadn't either.
"He was found in his own bed, Agnes. I didn't have anything to do with his death."
"I know!" exclaimed Agnes miserably. "But they claim you dragged him there somehow after it all happened."
"Through the whole house? How would I even manage that?"
"I know! It's just impossible. But maybe people don't realise how big Downton is or how far it is from the family wing to the bachelor corridor. Whatever the reason, they all talk. Mama was not sure if she should allow me to come here. She was wondering if you are a bad influence."
"Thank you for coming here anyway and telling me, Agnes. You are a true friend," said Mary softly. She knew how difficult it must have been for Agnes to defy her mother and insist on visiting Mary. Agnes was not in the habit of insisting on anything.
In all truth, she felt ashamed of being so dismissive of Agnes most of the time. She, Lady Caroline Spencer and Agnes had always been thrown together, Caroline being Mary's second cousin and Agnes being Caroline's, and then they all shared a debut, becoming friends over the years. But while Mary's friendship with Caroline was a mix of rivalry and catty remarks about other people – and each other, they hardly spared themselves from their cutting wit – Agnes was always more of a hanger on, a gentle, unassuming, ugly girl who for some unfathomable reason latched onto two pretty and not very gentle ones, and stood by them loyally even when they hardly deserved it.
Like right now.
"I know it's all untrue, Mary, and I will keep telling people so," assured Agnes with stubborn loyalty. "I know you. You wouldn't do anything like that."
"No," whispered Mary, squeezing Agnes's hand. "I wouldn't."
xxx
It all made sense now. The missing invitations. The refused invitations. The snubs in the ballrooms. The lurid tale had to be spread all over the Town, with no hope of containment.
Only damage control was left and how could one control the damage of such proportions?
Mary knew what Cora's answer would be. What it was, according to her. A marriage and as quickly as possible.
Well, she had two suitors on the line, didn't she? As long as neither of them heard the rumours first and decided to retract their proposal in the circumstances.
"Mr Foyle, my lady."
Mary got up to greet Tony, who seemed unusually agitated.
"Mary," he said without preamble as soon as the door closed behind Carson. "I've heard the most distressing rumours."
"Of what kind?" she asked calmly, preparing herself for inevitable condemnation. It was not going to be pleasant, but she was going to survive it.
He was not the man she cared about.
"About you and a Turkish diplomat. Most absurd thing I've heard about and I've had to listen to a lot of rubbish over the years. How are you holding up?"
Mary blinked.
"I've just learnt about it myself," she answered honestly. "And I am completely stunned that somebody could spread such a tale. But tell me, don't you worry that there is some truth in it?"
Tony scoffed.
"Of course not! I know you, Mary. You would never do something like that!"
Well, that was... surprising.
"But you do realise," said Mary calmly, "that true or not, people will be looking down at you for associating with me now? I'm the hottest new scandal, everybody will comment if they see you anywhere near me."
"Associate with you? Mary, I want to marry you! In fact, we should do it right away! Nothing would show those busybodies how wrong they are to disparage you as well as us getting married. They would not dare to repeat that vile tale if you were my wife!"
"And your parents?" asked Mary cautiously. "Wouldn't they object to our marriage now?"
"Father does not care about gossip and mother... well, she is too much of a friend to your mother, I think. I might have to talk with her. Maybe your mother as well, just to be sure. But I will talk to her right away and then we can plan the wedding. I will save you from it all, Mary."
Mary's eyes widened in alarm.
"Tony, wait," she said firmly, stopping him halfway to the door. "You cannot realise how grateful I am to you for your loyalty and support – truly, I will never forget it – but we are not engaged yet. I still need time to think."
"About what?" exclaimed Tony, astonished.
"About everything," snapped Mary. "This was rather a big shock to me, you know. I don't want to make any life altering decisions the very same afternoon I learnt about the rumours. I promise I will give you a proper answer after Christmas. Can you wait so long?"
Tony grasped her hand and kissed it with ardour.
"I could wait for an eternity for you, Mary."
Mary's bedroom, Grantham House, London, December 1913
Mary claimed headache and retired to bed straight after dinner. She needed to think.
The rumours were out there and it was as bad as it could possibly be. Judging from the fact that half of Society treated her like a leper and that Agnes and Tony learnt of it all on the very same day in two different parts of town, they must be spreading like wildfire. Whatever she decided to do about it, she needed to act quickly.
She thought again about her two visitors. Agnes… She was so honestly moved by her assurance of friendship and standing up for her. And Tony's renewed proposal was very useful, of course. A relief. But why did she feel really touched by Agnes's faith in her and not at all about Tony's?
She mulled it over for some time, before she came to the conclusion – because, unlike Agnes, Tony didn't know her at all.
He claimed he loved her passionately, but it was impossible that he did. No, he made a Mary-shaped figure in his mind and put her on a pedestal, ready to worship her and defend her from the world, but not at all interested in her as a person. Mary was convinced that if she played her cards right he would refuse to ever believe the rumours, whatever he would hear from other people to the contrary – but she was also equally convinced that if she did confess the truth to him he would look at her differently. She would be diminished, soiled in his eyes; a fallen goddess. He would probably never forgive her for destroying that ideal image of her he created for himself.
Mary made up her mind.
She would be able to deceive Tony and live with herself. It would be dishonourable, but she could not face utter ruin and drag her whole family into it as well, on the eve of Sybil's debut too. Desperate times require desperate measures, and it wasn't like Tony cared about the truth anyway. As long as she could keep the facade with him, he would be happy.
But she wouldn't be able to deceive Matthew like that. With him, she could not stomach the idea of starting a marriage on a lie. It simply was not how they were with each other. No, if she wanted to be with him at all, she needed to be honest first.
She just could not believe he would want to be with her anymore once he knew it all.
For a moment, she considered accepting Tony's proposal and avoiding the necessity of telling Matthew anything. It would be painful to disappoint him so, especially after she found the courage to confess her feelings to him, but at least he wouldn't despise her for what she'd done. But as tempting as it was, she could not do it either. She could not sentence herself to becoming Tony's wife – to giving Matthew up forever – if there was any hope of Matthew's forgiveness, however small. No, she had to risk it and tell him the truth.
She did not believe he was going to marry her in the end, but she had to try.
She loved him too much to not at least try.
Winter Ball, Painswick House, London, December 1913
Seeing Matthew enter the ballroom at Painswick house, resplendent in white tie, was such a relief after the horrible two weeks Mary had. Whatever was going to happen when she confessed everything to him, at least she would have tonight in his company. She swore to make it a night to remember.
"You're late," she told him in mock sternness. "I was hoping to dance the first waltz with you, but you were nowhere to be found."
"I am truly sorry," he answered, looking at her with such intensity in his blue eyes that she shivered. "The train was stuck for two hours on the outskirts of London. You may believe that I was cursing it until I was blue in the face, but somehow it didn't make it go faster."
"Then I suppose I may forgive you," she said magnanimously. "If you ask me for the second one."
"It would be my honour," said Matthew, placing a kiss on her gloved hand before writing his name in her dance card. In fact, he wrote it three times. Mary's eyebrows rose.
"A bit presumptive of you, isn't it?"
"It is," he agreed, his eyes twinkling and his voice low. "But I had to ensure I will get to enjoy at least some time with you before your usual bevy of admirers take the chance away. I see Mr Foyle has already asked you for two dances and Mr Napier for one."
Mary decided not to enlighten him right away just how much her bevy of admirers had thinned in the last few weeks. She was assured to dance six dances tonight, all of them with a man she liked and half of them with the man she loved.
It was already the best evening she had had in weeks.
xxx
"Lord Grantham," said Anthony, clearing his throat nervously.
"Sir Anthony!" Robert greeted him cordially. "It's nice to see you back from your travels."
"I've just arrived yesterday," said Anthony, gathering his courage. "Lord Grantham, could we speak privately for a moment?"
Robert looked at him curiously, but agreed.
"Let's go to the study," he said, leading the way. He had spent enough time at his sister's house over the years to be familiar with it and he didn't think she would begrudge him the use of the room or the very fine brandy still available there.
"What have you wanted to discuss?" he asked when both he and Sir Anthony sat down in the leather armchairs, each with a glass in hand.
"I wanted to ask you for permission to ask Lady Edith for her hand in marriage," said Anthony a bit stiffly.
Robert nodded and took a long sip of his drink.
"As we discussed previously, you have my permission and my blessing," he said seriously. "I know that you are a good and honourable man, Anthony, and if my daughter wants to marry you, I can certainly have no objection to that."
Anthony exhaled audibly. He had no serious doubts about Robert giving him permission – not after their former talk on the subject – but somehow it was a huge relief to hear it. He supposed he still harboured some doubts on the issue of his worthiness as a suitor of such a young and lovely woman as Lady Edith.
"I will try my utmost to make her happy," he promised earnestly. "She could not be dearer to me."
Robert's eyes warmed.
"And this is exactly why I give you my blessing with a light and easy heart," he answered. "I would like all my girls to be so cherished."
He got up and, after shaking Anthony's hand, invited him to wait in the study.
"I will send Edith to you," he said with a smile. "I suppose you would like to have some privacy to ask your question."
xxx
Edith approached the study in Painswick House with a wildly beating heart. Papa only told her that Sir Anthony was waiting for her there, but she could not imagine why he would do so, if a proposal – a true proposal! – wasn't imminent. She looked at herself in a mirror she was passing and was happy to see that she'd never looked so pretty. Aunt Rosamund was a treasure when it came to shopping for best suited clothes!
She opened the door and there he was – so handsome and dear and oh, she forgot how tall he was!
"Hello," she said breathlessly.
"Hello," he answered warmly, taking her hand to shake but not releasing it when he did. "You look so incredibly lovely tonight that I'm struck speechless."
"That's too bad," laughed Edith lightly. "Since Papa said you wanted to talk with me."
"That I do, yes," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners in this boyish smile which Edith liked to think was only for her. She'd certainly never seen it when they were in the company of anybody else. "My dearest, sweetest Edith, you made me feel love I've never hoped to feel again. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?"
"Yes!" exclaimed Edith happily and threw herself into his arms. He laughed and, for the very first time, kissed her, and Edith's head swam from the delight of it all.
It was technically not her first kiss – Patrick had kissed her once, when she was sixteen and he was nineteen, but while she'd never forgotten it, it was really just a quick peck on the lips, nothing like what was happening now. Anthony kissed her slowly, delicately, but in such a way that she felt as if a group of butterflies was flying somersaults in her belly. She hardly knew how to respond, except to cling to him and hope that this wonderful, marvellous kiss would last forever.
Sadly, it had to end at some point, but looking into Anthony's eyes, shining with so much love and happiness, she could hardly regret it.
"I bought a ring for you," he said, reaching into his pocket, "but the sight of you after all those weeks distracted me so much I quite forgot to offer it to you before I blurted out my question."
"It's perfectly alright," Edith assured him laughingly, her eyes widening when he opened the small box and showed it to her. "Oh, Anthony, it's perfect!"
"Then it's yours, of course," he said and, with a quick 'May I?', he took off her long glove and put it on the finger of her left hand. The diamonds sparkled in the light of the lamps.
"Now, will we tell your parents?" he asked, offering her his arm, and as she left the study to talk back into the ballroom, Edith thought that she had sincerely never been as happy as in that moment.
xxx
Mary pulled Matthew into the dark library when everyone else was busy toasting the newly engaged couple.
"They are all too distracted to look for us for some minutes," she said, closing the heavy oak door behind them and plunging the room into the darkness except for a fire burning in the fireplace.
"And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?" asked Matthew coming closer to her, his eyes intent on hers.
"I want you to kiss me," she whispered, shivering when he reached to touch her cheek and caressed it slightly with his fingers. I want one last kiss in case you won't love me anymore. I want one last kiss to remember if it turns out I must marry Tony. "I missed you."
"Oh darling, I missed you too," he whispered back before his lips descended on hers.
It was as if, for a moment, the whole outside world ceased to exist. The only things which mattered were Matthew's lips moving against hers, his teeth grazing her lower lip delicately, his hands cradling her face as hers clutched his back. She felt his tall, strong body against hers and she instinctively pressed closer to it, making him gasp and deepen the kiss. His hands slid lower, one stopping at her shoulder blades, caressing the skin exposed by the low cut of her gown; the other going all the way to the small of her back, pulling her even closer against him. She moved her hand into his blond hair, so soft she could feel it even through the silk of her glove. She sighed deeply when he broke that amazing kiss, only to lavish his attention on her neck instead.
"I love you," he murmured, his breath hot on her skin. "I love you so terribly much. Please promise me you will marry me."
"I will give you my answer when we are back at Downton," she said, hardly able to think in his embrace.
"Why not now?" asked Matthew huskily, kissing her neck and making it even more impossible for her to concentrate.
"Because I need to talk with you properly about something first and we will need privacy for that."
"We have privacy now."
"No, we don't," said Mary firmly, pushing him slightly away. To her regret, he immediately stopped trying to kiss her and took a step back. "Not enough. I want us to go for a walk together when we are back at Downton so we can talk truly undisturbed," and if you want nothing to do with me anymore and will retract your proposal, I will be able to fall apart in peace, she finished silently.
"Alright, darling, if you insist," he acquiesced, caressing her arm gently. "But know that whatever you feel you need to tell me, I will listen."
Yes, you will, thought Mary miserably, but then you won't want to have anything else to do with me. He was not a fool happy to be deluded like Tony or a friend blindly and stubbornly loyal like Agnes. He loved her as she truly was, she was sure of that. Only she doubted very much that he could continue to do so when he discovered how terribly unworthy she was of his love.
"Come and dance with me again," she asked with false bravado, smiling at him when he immediately offered her his arm.
If this was the last evening she was going to have with him looking at her with such love in his eyes, then by God, she was going to enjoy every last second of it.
xxx
It was with the highest regret that Matthew finished his third dance with Mary and led her to waiting Evelyn Napier. Even as he stood in the corner and gratefully took a drink from a passing footman, his eyes never left her graceful form.
Which was why he only noticed Tony Foyle when he started speaking to him.
"She really is amazing, isn't she?"
As much as Matthew agreed, he had no wish to discuss Mary's charms with his rival, so he only nodded, hoping he would go away and bother somebody else. To his chagrin, it turned out Foyle didn't need much in a way of encouragement.
"I still can't believe the audacity of people who keep spreading those awful rumours about her," grumbled Foyle and Matthew's head snapped towards him.
"What rumours?" he asked with a frown.
"About her and Mr Pamuk," said Foyle with disgust. "They claim he died in her bed. Half of the city is shunning her for something she would never have done! It's so unjust it makes my blood boil."
"Of course it's not true," said Matthew firmly, despite being the most stunned he had ever been in his life. More even than when he had learnt he was going to be an earl one day. "He died in his own room. I know, I was there."
He noticed that Foyle straightened with renewed confidence and thought that for all his proclaimed faith in Mary he must have harboured some doubts to be so glad to hear Matthew's assurance.
"Exactly," he said with deep satisfaction. "I told her it was utter rubbish."
"She told you about it?" Matthew asked, his stomach twisting at the thought that Mary could trust Foyle with her troubles, but not him. It eased when Foyle shook his head.
"Of course not. She didn't even know about the rumours until a few days ago, but when I heard it from a chap in my club, I had to run to her as fast as I could and assure her that I didn't believe a word of it. Anyway, it won't matter when we will be married. Nobody is going to dare to repeat such vile things about my wife."
Matthew could only stare at him, his stomach twisted into a wholly new and horrible knot.
"You're engaged?" he managed to ask and it was only Foyle's self-absorption which made him miss Matthew's tone.
"Not yet," he answered mournfully, only to brighten up instantly. "But she did promise to give me her answer after Christmas, and what other answer could it be? I love her and I'm sure she will love me, if she doesn't already, and with the rumours of that kind, how can she pass on a chance to save her reputation and position in society?"
Matthew took a long sip of his drink, welcoming its burn on his tongue. His eyes strayed again from Foyle's confident smirk to the graceful figure of the woman he loved dancing in front of him.
"How indeed," he said, his mind in turmoil.