Elham Park, Yorkshire, December 1913
Edith flexed her hands nervously before accepting Anthony's assistance in getting out of his car. She looked at the facade of the house in front of her – much less grand than Downton Abbey, but clearly a respectable seat of a gentry family – and told herself that it was silly to get so worked up over meeting Anthony's sister and her husband and children. She didn't truly know Mrs Chetwood, but of course they had met before; their social circle in Yorkshire was too small for them never to have encountered each other. But try as she might, she could not remember ever carrying an actual conversation with the woman, she had no recollection of her husband or their now adult or near adult children, and somehow showing up to dinner as Anthony's fiancée was making her stomach twist in trepidation.
She could not even say what she was so afraid of. She had been handling formal dinners of all kinds since she was fifteen and deemed old enough to attend them at Downton; she had years of experience in small talk and good manners. Yet somehow she could not escape thinking how horrible it was going to be if Anthony's only sister wouldn't like her or approve of their upcoming marriage.
"Let's go in, then," prompted Anthony with a smile and Edith relaxed minutely at his obvious ease. Nothing in his behaviour or demeanour suggested any expectation for the evening to be a taxing one.
Before Edith knew it, they were inside, divested of their coats by the butler and led to a spacious drawing room.
"Sir Anthony Strallan and Lady Edith Crawley," announced the butler and Edith blinked at the bright lights after the relative gloominess of the entrance hall.
"Right on time, Anthony, as always! You never fail to put me to shame, don't you?" asked a stout middle aged woman, coming over to them to greet Anthony with a fond kiss on the cheek. He smiled in response.
"At least Peter keeps you mostly in check," he answered with his usual brand of gentle teasing. "May I introduce my fiancée, Lady Edith? I suppose you did actually already meet, but not in this kind of expectation of a family bond."
Mrs Chetwood turned towards Edith with a ready smile.
"Certainly," she said, looking Edith over with friendly, but pretty sharp eyes. "It was a huge surprise to receive your news."
Edith, nervous of being on the receiving end of the inspection, did some of her own in return. Henrietta Chetwood, nee Strallan, was a woman in her mid-forties – Edith remembered Anthony saying that they were close in age – strong and healthy looking, with Anthony's blonde hair and blue eyes, but with a face rounded and reddish where his was angular and pale. It took mere moments to ascertain that she was as self-assured and confident as her brother was uncertain and shy.
"It is nice to meet you formally, Mrs Chetwood," said Edith, hoping against hope that she didn't sound as timid and young as she felt at the moment. She took strength from the feel of Anthony's arm under her hand. "I remember seeing you at Lady Shackleton's tea, but I don't believe we spoke there."
"No, I don't believe we did," agreed Mrs Chetwood, looking at her shrewdly. "I suppose I should ask you to call me Henrietta, Lady Edith, since you're going to be my sister, but I admit it will take me a while to get used to someone my own children's age addressing me so informally."
"Henrietta," said Anthony, politely but with a hint of a serious warning. "I told Lady Edith that you are nice, please don't undermine that during the first five minutes of the evening."
She looked at him sideways.
"Why on earth you would give her such an incorrect impression of me is beyond me," she answered plainly. "You're the nice Strallan, I'm the one who doesn't bother. And if you wanted to avoid me pointing out that it is strange for me to acquire a sister who feels more like a niece, you should have picked somebody older."
She turned back to Edith, who was left quite speechless by the display in front of her.
"Now, the fact that I find my brother an old fool does not mean I don't intend to like you, Lady Edith. Come and meet the rest of your new family."
The rest of the introductions went in a much more conventional manner. Mr Peter Chetwood, Henrietta's husband and the owner of Elham Park, was a stoic, tall man around fifty, with dark hair and an obvious fondness for his wife. They had four children, twenty three year old Edmund, who took after his father in his dark and handsome looks, twenty year old Annabelle with a mass of blond locks and shrewd eyes of her mother, seventeen year old Rosalind with dark hair and rather shy look and finally a thirteen year old Leslie, blond, mischievous and blunt.
After the introductions were done, Anthony took care to sit by Edith at one of the purple sofas.
"I like your dress, Lady Edith," said Annabelle Chetwood, with what looked like determined sincerity. "The green suits you."
Edith smiled thankfully at her and silently wished for the whole ordeal to be over.
xxx
Anthony looked at Edith conversing lively with his nephew – from what he could overhear it was about Henry James' novels – and experienced curiously mixed feelings. On one hand, he felt the pleasant warmth of contentment seeing how easily she was blending with his family and how well she was showing all those qualities which had first drawn him to her – her intellect, her quick mind and her shy sense of humour. On the other, seeing her blonde head bent towards Edmund's dark one, he couldn't escape a stray thought how much better, more fitting they looked together than he probably looked with her; both young and just beginning their lives while his own was half lived already. There was nothing improper going between them, no flirting or even unconscious attraction – and he wasn't jealous – it was simply their mutual youth that steered his thoughts yet again into this morose territory.
"You need to stop that," said Henrietta softly, looking at him in her usual sharp way.
"Stop what?" he asked, pretending he didn't get her meaning, but without much hope of escaping the conversation. Henrietta was never one to be easily put off.
"Thinking yourself inferior and insecure," she said mercilessly, although still in a voice quiet enough to be impossible to overhear by the rest of the people around them. "Either you believe that she loves you enough to be happy with her lot and likely to remain so, or you don't – and if you don't, you should call the engagement off. It won't do any favours to anyone if you're going to torture yourself any time she exchanges a word with somebody her own age."
"I know she loves me," said Anthony immediately and truthfully. He thought about how she fought her whole family to have the chance to marry him and to do it as soon as possible. No, he had no doubts about Edith's feelings for him. "It's not that. I simply wonder sometimes whether I am good enough for her."
Henrietta rolled her eyes.
"Don't you trust your bride to know her own mind on that?"
Anthony swallowed, thinking it over.
"I do," he finally admitted softly, then smiled self-depracingly. "And I'm not always in the habit of doubting myself quite so much – only occasionally."
"See that you drop that habit then," said Henrietta sternly. "Or you will make both of you miserable. I know I would have no patience for such histrionics in Lady Edith's place."
He looked at her in fond exasperation.
"Probably not," he agreed easily. "But then again you've never had much patience for me."
"An older sister's privilege," she parried immediately. "Now, tell me when you intend to whisk her for the honeymoon."
xxx
The dinner was nice, even if a little awkward, it was after the separation of the sexes when true interrogation began.
"I am very happy you are marrying Uncle Anthony, he's a dear and has been so lonely, but I can't imagine why you would want to," said Annabelle bluntly when the women settled in the drawing room. "He's ancient and you're just a year older than me."
"Thank you for calling me ancient, Annabelle," said Henrietta dryly. "Considering that I am two years older than him."
"Oh, Mummy, you know I didn't mean it like that!" protested Annabelle with a dismissive way of hand. "I simply can't see why somebody my age would want to marry Uncle Anthony, however much I love him."
"I want to marry him because I love him," answered Edith plainly, annoyed by encountering doubt about their marriage among his family as well. "He is the kindest and cleverest man I know, and we get along jolly well."
"I think it's very romantic that Uncle Anthony found love again after Aunt Maud died," said Rosalind timidly. "He really has been terribly lonely."
"He won't ever be lonely with me," said Edith firmly.
xxx
Edith was observing Anthony with Leslie when the men joined the ladies – the lack of his usual awkwardness, the animation and good humour permeating each and every of his dear features as he bantered with the boy – when Henrietta sat down next to her.
"He is very good with children," she said plainly. "At least with those he knows. It's such a pity he and Maud never had any, he would have made a wonderful father. He is a favourite uncle for all of my own and for his nieces and nephews on Maud's side of the family too."
Edith nodded, fully believing every word.
"He is so gentle and kind," she said. "He must be good at drawing the children out and putting them at ease. Making them feel seen."
"Is that what he did to you?" asked Henrietta astutely as Edith turned her eyes towards her in astonishment. "We might have never spoken more than two words to each other, but I've seen you around enough to know that you don't often feel noticed."
Edith swallowed and raised her chin a bit defensively.
"He did," she said firmly. "He saw me and made me feel wonderful and special, and it in turn made me see how wonderful and special he is."
Henrietta looked at her thoughtfully.
"I'm glad to hear you think so," she said slowly. "Anthony is my brother and he is very dear to me, but I'm the first to say that he is not always acting most sensibly or in his own best interest. Maud was my friend before she was his wife – we were at school together – and she was a very different woman from you. He loved her body and soul. You may understand my scepticism when I learnt he proposed out of the blue to a girl twenty five years his junior barely a year and a half after her death."
Edith's look hardened.
"Do you think I hoodwinked him into it somehow?"
"You?" asked Henrietta incredulously and then burst out laughing. "My dear child, not at all. I know you wouldn't have. But I did fear that it was just loneliness and the realisation of his own mortality getting to him."
"It's not," answered Edith with a hint of offended pride. "I know Anthony loves me. And I am not a child."
"Forgive me if I can't help seeing you as one, considering I have one older than you," parried Henrietta with amusement. "You are of course old enough to marry, but I attended your parents' wedding. As I said, it will take me time to see you as a sister. But if you make Anthony happy, I'm sure we will be best of friends."
Edith looked again at Anthony and Leslie, so caught in their debate that they scantily paid attention to anything else happening in the room, and felt her heart swell with affection for him.
"I promise I will do my best to make him happy," she said softly. "My very best."
Road from Elham Park to Downton Abbey, December 1913
Edith more collapsed than took her seat in the front of Anthony's Rolls-Royce.
"Was it so very ghastly?" he asked after he took the driver seat, looking at her with a mix of concern and amusement.
"No," she assured him quickly. "Your sister and her family are all lovely. But I am glad this first meeting is over! It will be much easier from now on, when I know what to expect."
"I'm not sure if anyone but Peter ever described Henrietta as lovely," observed Anthony slowly as he started the engine and drove out of the Chetwoods' driveway. "And he is clearly biassed, of course."
"Very well, she was not lovely," laughed Edith. "But she was nice, at least after she made sure I know how protective she is of you and your happiness."
"As if you could be any danger to either," said Anthony, shaking his head incredulously. "You're the best and most unexpected blessing in my life, my sweet one, and I have no doubt that you will only bring me happiness. I only worry if I manage to make you at least half as happy as you make me."
Edith's eyes shone as she looked at him.
"You already are," she said softly, feeling so unbelievably lucky.
Crawley House, Downton Village, December 1913
Matthew barely raised his head from his newspaper when he heard the knocking at the front door, assuming it was somebody in search of Mother. To his surprise, it was followed by Molesley leading somebody into the sitting room.
"Mr Weatherby," announced Molesley unnecessarily as Matthew got up eagerly to greet his friend.
"Jack, what on Earth are you doing here?" asked Matthew with astonishment, distractedly dismissing Molesley with a request to fetch some tea.
Jack smiled.
"You could hardly drop such a tale as you did and then expect me to stand the suspense for long. I'm afraid I'm curious like a cat. So, how did it go?"
All Jack's concerns were put to rest when Matthew practically beamed at him.
"Will you be my best man?"
Dining room, Crawley House, December 23rd, 1913
Attending dinner at Crawley House with just Matthew, Isobel and a man she had just met – Mr Weatherby, apparently Matthew's best friend and his intended best man – was a first for Mary. She had never before been singled out by Isobel for such an invitation. Mary had no illusions about Isobel's opinion of her, especially after it took her two months to accept her darling only son's proposal, but rising to the occasion and refusal to be intimidated was definitely a trait she shared with both mother and son.
"I'm glad you're going to spend Christmas Day with us this year," she addressed them both. "It is a wonderful day at Downton."
"I expect it is going to be very grand," answered Isobel, making Mary's polite smile widen.
"I don't know if it's grand," she answered pleasantly. "Since we are going to serve ourselves at lunch from a cold buffett as the servants enjoy their Christmas feast downstairs. In fact, it is a rather quaint affair."
"It's the same on New Year's Eve, isn't it?" asked Matthew eagerly. "I think I remember your father mentioning it."
"You remember right," answered Mary, her smile softening as soon as she looked at him. "It's always been a tradition at Downton, as well as the Servants' Ball we will hold on the Twelfth Night."
"Ah, another thing we missed last year while visiting Manchester," said Matthew. "And something I am eager to experience. I am very much looking forward to dancing with you again."
Their eyes locked, both of them remembering the closeness they enjoyed during Aunt Rosamund's Winter Ball just a week earlier. Mary suppressed a shiver, in equal part brought by the darkening of Matthew's eyes and the memory of his touch.
"Should I take from the name that the servants are invited?" asked Mr Weatherby, pulling Mary's attention away from Matthew. She nearly chuckled at the blush on her finance's face; from a quick look Mr Weatherby sent him it was clear he found it as amusing as she did.
"You absolutely should," she answered. "The whole event is designed to show the family's appreciation for their service to us. All servants are invited and the ball is opened by my father dancing with Mrs Hughes, our housekeeper, and Mama dancing with Carson, our butler. We all dance together throughout the evening. It's terrific fun, actually."
"It sounds similar to the Ghillies Ball you attended in Scotland," observed Matthew. "The staff was also included there, weren't they?"
"Yes," Mary smiled at him, glad that he remembered this detail from their talks. Then again, she shouldn't be surprised. He seemed to remember everything she'd ever told him, good or bad. "Both traditions are very old, feudal really. They originate from the times when a household like Downton meant more than simply cash given for services rendered. It is terribly old fashioned nowadays, I suppose, but I like the meaning behind it and the events themselves too. You will see in two weeks, it's so much more relaxed than a society ball usually is."
"Are you sure you are ready to see your fiance letting his hair down, Lady Mary?" asked Mr Weatherby, sending a teasing look at his friend. "He can be terribly undignified at times."
Matthew threw him a sour look in response, although he did not seem truly offended.
"I feel secure enough in Mary's feelings for me that I expect them to survive a ball," he answered dryly. "Even a more relaxed one."
"They survived you climbing a tree, after all," pointed out Mary smoothly, delighting in the way he immediately sputtered in response.
"May I remind you that you made me do it? Not to mention, that you later climbed that tree yourself?"
Mary tossed her head.
"I never claimed to be always dignified."
"That," answered Matthew firmly, "is an utter lie."
"Mrs Crawley," said Mr Weatherby, shaking his head. "I think we made a huge mistake by sitting down to dinner with only a newly engaged couple for company. I'm not sure if they even register our presence properly."
"I think you make a good point, Jack," answered Isobel, but Mary noted that she looked more relaxed and much happier than at the beginning of the evening. "But I suppose it's only natural when people are in love."
Matthew's Study, Crawley House, December 1917
"Lady Mary got home alright?" asked Jack, who apparently made himself comfortable with a glass of brandy in one of the leather armchairs while Matthew was making his goodbyes to Mary.
"Yes," he answered, walking over to the sideboard to pour himself a glass as well and joining Jack in an armchair opposite him. "And Mother went to bed. We can talk freely, as I know you are panting to."
Jack only grinned in the response to Matthew's wry look.
"I can see now why you lost whatever sense you used to possess. One dinner was enough for me to say that Lady Mary is an extraordinary woman."
"That she is," admitted Matthew feelingly, taking a sip of his drink. "I'm the luckiest chap alive."
Jack looked at him searchingly over the rim of his glass.
"Any doubts left regarding the topic of our last meeting?"
"None," answered Matthew firmly. "I know where I stand with her. Whatever she's done… It was long before there was anything between us – we hardly were on speaking terms then – and she was determined to be honest with me about all of it. I can neither judge her nor condemn her for it."
"Quite liberal of you," observed Jack, making Matthew shrug with a smile.
"I get to spend my whole life with her as a reward," he said, barely restraining a grin at the thought. "Which will make me happier than anything else ever could. To give in to silly jealousy or moral outrage – if I even thought I have a right to judge her – would result in nothing but utter misery. It was really quite simple when I put it in those terms. Besides…" he looked at Jack with more seriousness. "She is so much more than one incident in her past. So much more."
Great Hall, Downton Abbey, Christmas Day 1913
Matthew was observing with interest the giving of Christmas gifts to the servants. He and Isobel were participating in it for the first time; last year they had declined the invitation and had gone back to Manchester instead to spend Christmas with their family on Isobel's side. The whole situation had been too new and fraught with tensions yet for either of them to wish to spend it with their newly found cousins; especially due to the enmity between Isobel and the Dowager and the hostility between Mary and Matthew – as one-sided as it had been. Now, of course, everything was different. He and Mary were in love and engaged to be married – he could still hardly believe it was truly happening – and as for Mother and Cousin Violet he long suspected their constant bickering was at least half as amusing to them as genuine. They sought each other's company much too often to be truly annoyed by it. He knew Mother at least was not a masochist enough for it to be otherwise.
His eyes were drawn to Mary, as they were wont to be from the very beginning of their acquaintance. Unsurprisingly, she looked absolutely lovely. She was wearing that maddening white dress which she had worn when they talked about the entail back in May, the one cut low in the back and hugging Mary's figure in the most tantalising way. The memory of seeing her in that dress for the first time, while she had been walking through the hall without knowing he had been observing every step and every slight movement of her swaying hips, had been seared on Matthew's brain. It hadn't been the first time he had felt attracted to her – God, far from it! – but it had been the first one when he felt nearly overpowered by a wave of pure lust for her.
This moment and this dress had been most definitely starring in his dreams ever since, much to his chagrin. He had felt guilty and ashamed of himself for harbouring such thoughts and feelings for the woman who had been very clearly not interested in him in the least, but hard as he had fought against them he had been powerless to stop. It was a heady feeling now to realise that he was allowed to think of her like that now, even if not yet to act on such thoughts; that they were truly to be married in less than three months.
He looked at Mary and felt like the luckiest chap on Earth.
She noticed him staring at her – of course she did – and smiled in a way promising all kinds of things when they had a chance. Matthew gulped slightly, then sent her a smile of his own and focused quickly on Robert handing another gift to a servant.
He had long known that sometimes it was positively dangerous to pay Mary too much attention.
Library, Downton Abbey, Christmas Day, 1917
Mary looked at Matthew, serving himself with natural ease and conversing companionably with Sybil, and felt a wave of pure contentment. It felt so very right to have him here, not just as a distant cousin and Papa's reluctant heir, but as her future husband; a true part of the family. She found it inconceivable how she could have thought he was not at all fitted to be an earl; seeing him now she could not see him as anything else. His natural dignity, easy charm and gentlemanlike manner were all superb to half of actual born aristocrats in her acquaintance, and that was without taking his obvious intelligence and biting sense of humour into account.
She couldn't help concluding that she had been awfully blind.
Well, not anymore, thankfully. She had come to her senses before she had ruined her chance with him irrevocably, even if she had thought she had done it for quite a long time. That Matthew loved her enough to forgive her for what she had done was another thing she could not believe; he truly was one in a thousand.
And he was truly and soon irrevocably hers.
As if he could feel her gaze on him, he raised his eyes to him and immediately smiled. Mary realised with a flutter of her heart that he was always doing that – as soon as he saw her his eyes warmed and his face softened in true joy at the sight of her. For a moment, this realisation made her speechless. She knew full well that she was not welcomed with joy wherever she went and for a very good reason; she was hardly the most likeable person in the room most of the time. And yet, for Matthew, she very clearly was. The only other person who was always so consistently happy to see her was Carson.
She barely had time to reflect on it before Matthew was by her side.
"Would you mind stepping a bit away from the crowd with me?" he asked. "I have something for you, which I would prefer to give with at least an illusion of privacy."
"I don't think we could get away with leaving the room together," said Mary, thinking fast. "But nobody is hopefully going to mind if we go to the small library; there are no doors to lock between the rooms."
They smiled conspiratorially at each other and started slowly walking towards the arch, maintaining as casual air as they could.
"What is it that you have which requires such secrecy?" she asked, intrigued.
Matthew's eyes twinkled.
"You will learn in a moment, my impatient fiancée," he answered cheerfully. "I don't intend to keep it secret for long."
They stopped just behind the pillar, remaining in partial view of their family gathered around the fireplace, but too far for their conversation to be easily overheard. Still, afraid they were going to be interrupted by one of many possible chaperons, Matthew didn't waste time reaching for the item in his pocket.
It was a small velvet box.
"I should have been better prepared when I arrived for our walk last week," he said ruefully. "But I admit in all the confusion of it all, I quite forgot, and now I hope to rectify that oversight."
Mary reached for the lid with slightly trembling fingers.
"I hope you like it," added Matthew somewhat nervously. "But if you don't, we can always exchange it."
Like it? Mary loved it! The ring was exactly the kind of jewellery she preferred – simple and elegant, but striking. It was a round diamond in a platinum setting, surrounded by a circle of smaller diamonds. It drew the eyes, yet was neither vulgar nor ostentatious. It was perfect.
She raised her eyes slowly from the sparkling ring to meet Matthew's apprehensive ones.
"It's perfect, darling," she said and smiled at his visible relief. She offered him her left hand. "Will you put it on?"
"Gladly," he answered, taking the ring out of its box as she pulled off her glove. His fingers trembled slightly as well when he delicately slid it on her finger.
"How did you know which size to pick?" asked Mary curiously, admiring the fit and the way it sparkled when she moved her hand.
Matthew smiled with satisfaction.
"I asked Anna, of course," he answered simply. Mary stared at him incredulously.
"And she didn't say anything to me!"
"Of course not. If I wanted you to know that I was planning to do it today, I would have asked you for the size, not use a go-between," he looked at her earnestly. "Do you truly like it? It looked so regal and elegant that it immediately made me think of you, but I really want you to have a ring you will enjoy wearing. After all, I hope it will remain on your hand for many, many years."
"Now you are just fishing for compliments," chided Mary jokingly, admiring the ring yet again. She didn't think she would be able to part with it when the time came to go to bed, she loved it and everything it signified too much. "I've already told you it's perfect."
xxx
Anthony looked at approaching Rosamund with slight apprehension. They had known each other since childhood and, while never close friends, were always friendly enough, but now he was marrying her niece. He was glad, so very glad, that Robert and Cora welcomed him to the family so cordially after some initial misgivings, but this was the first time he met Rosamund since the engagement and he knew she was about as blunt as her mother in expressing her opinions. Edith did say that Rosamund was supportive of their relationship, but still… He was having such a nice day celebrating Christmas with his bride's family; he hoped no altercation would sour it this time.
As it turned out, his fears were unfounded.
"Anthony," said Rosamund cordially with a sincere smile, "I am so thankful that Edith found a man to properly appreciate her. She is such a bright, charming girl – she has just never been given a proper opportunity to shine and I truly worried about her. But with you, I am sure she will be happy."
"Thank you, Rosamund," answered Anthony, taken aback slightly, but also intensely grateful that Edith's merits were not completely overlooked by her family. It's been bothering him more and more the closer he was getting to the Crawleys how much of an afterthought she clearly was to everyone. "She is truly lovely and clever – and so very sweet. I couldn't help but love her."
The Dowager Countess, who was seated nearby, scoffed slightly at that.
"Sweet!" she said with a slight eyeroll. "I have but one sweet granddaughter and it isn't any of the older ones. Neither of them is stupid either, thankfully, but they wouldn't know sweet if they tried."
Rosamund sent her a disapproving look as Anthony bristled.
"I'm afraid Lady Edith has many qualities which might have been overlooked over the years," he said politely, but with a hint of sterness. He could not stand their low opinion of her and remain fully calm when hearing it expressed. "Since she is not one to put herself forward."
The Dowager looked at him for a long moment, then seemed to come to some kind of conclusion.
"She is lucky to have you as her champion," she said. "If it stands in foul weather as steadily as in the fair one."
She turned around to resume her conversation with Lady Sybil before Anthony could find an answer. Lady Rosamund shook her head with exasperation.
"Don't mind Mama," she said reassuringly. "For her, she is practically rolling the red carpet to welcome you into the family. You don't want to know how she reacted to both Cora and Marmaduke!"
Anthony nodded with gratitude for her support, but couldn't get rid of suspicion that the Dowager had a very specific foul weather in mind.
xxx
After dinner, Mary approached Rosamund with determination. As much as she was not looking forward to talking with Tony – in all honesty she was rather dreading it – it had to be done, so there was no use in trying to put it off.
"Aunt Rosamund, I know it's a huge request, but could you come with me to London for a day? I need to speak with Tony Foyle and I can't think of how to arrange it other than to invite him to Painswick House."
Rosamund looked at her shrewdly.
"Is that to inform him of your engagement to Matthew?"
"Yes," admitted Mary straightforwardly. "I think I owe him to be informed in person before we announce it officially."
"I assume you're sure that you made the right choice there?" asked Rosamund, looking slightly doubtfully at Matthew talking with Isobel by the fireplace. "You will of course become a countess and inherit all of this eventually – but it can be a very long time before it happens. Marrying Tony would start your married life on a different social footing. He may be only an heir as well at present, but he is a son of a viscount."
Mary's smile tightened.
"I am sure," she said firmly. "There is no comparison between them and I know which one is going to make me happy."
Rosamund shrugged philosophically.
"Well, if you're sure, then of course we may go to London together," she said, anticipation for the drama clear in the gleam of her eye.
Mary sent her aunt a sideways look – she was wise to her ways and her voracious love for gossip – but she was asking her for a favour, so she kept her thoughts to herself.
That business being concluded, she put the oncoming confrontation with Tony firmly out of her mind for the time being and went to spend time with her fiance, who beamed happily at her in a most flattering manner as soon as he saw her approach. Mary's heart clenched once again in recognition of obvious love behind that smile.
Aunt Rosamund could champion Tony Foyle all she wanted; Mary was sure where her true happiness lay.