Mary glanced up at the sky and quickened her pace just a touch. The sky had grown gray and she was quite sure that it would begin raining soon and she didn't want to be caught in the downpour. Because the darkness of the clouds on the horizon spoke that while a drizzle might be the start of it the storm would become torrential later on. And she didn't want to deal with trudging through the Lothrop Townhouse looking like a drowned poodle.
"Your pies were the talk of the benefit," Isobel said with a smile, picking up her own pace as she too had noticed the storm clouds growing. "I think you will have quite a few requests for them the next time we have a charity event."
"I do not mind baking for them but no more pies."
"And why not?"
"Because I have mastered them and I wish to tackle something new," Mary stated.
Isobel smiled at that, instantly seeing Mary's issue. "Ah, but of course. Baking is a challenge. Where others will climb mountains or sail forgotten seas your uncharted country is made of dough and sugar."
"Exactly," Mary said with a smile. "I will cook pies still, of course, but I want to do more than them. I am looking into types of cake… there is a roll I'd like to try my hand at. And of course there is the cookbook you got me." Isobel had managed to find a French cookbook and while Mary was very much proudly English she admitted that in terms of cooking the French had the British beat. Even Mrs. Patmore had turned to French dishes at times to spice up meals at Downton. Her crepes alone… Mary shook her head, deciding not to dwell on it since it was unlikely she'd be able to sample such things ever again from Mrs. Patmore's kitchen.
'Unless I was able to convince Anna to bring me some. It wouldn't be completely fresh but… perhaps if she asked her for the ingredients and I paid for them…?'
Isobel pulled her from her thoughts. "I am very glad you like it."
"I do and the only reason I haven't truly begun to explore it is the shortages." Mary sighed. "It is getting harder and harder to find what I need. Everyone is hording and those that aren't are charging greatly for ingredients." Even though she knew that Allen and Catherine would happily allow her to spend whatever she wished to restock their kitchen, as they did with their own personal cook (for the Lothrops, while very modest in their tastes, did like variety in their meals even if their favorite meals were rather basic when compared to others of their social standing) she didn't want to ever take advantage and thus the money came out of her and Matthew's budget. And recently Mary had been forced to scale back how much she baked thanks to the rising prices. "I don't want to begin a recipe only to find that it is impossible to finish it due to a lack of syrup or the like."
"Of course, of course," Isobel stated. "That is something I had to deal with when I was managing Reginald and my finances."
"You never told me that you handled the bills when Matthew's father was alive."
"Oh, I had to," Isobel said with a wave of her hand. "Reginald would have it no other way. A brilliant man… but he couldn't add or subtract half the…"
Mary frowned as Isobel trailed off, an odd look crossing her face. Eyebrows raised and lips pressed together and head tilted. "What is it?"
"I just now realized that he lied to me the entire time and had me handle or finances not because he couldn't do it but because he didn't want to."
She couldn't help it. Mary let out a little undignified snort.
Isobel soon joined her.
"It makes you wonder what other things he hid from me that I never knew." Isobel shook her head. "Nothing sinister or the like. I don't mean that. But… innocent things. Silly things. What lies did he tell because he didn't want to admit so small truth?"
"And the same with you to him?" Mary said. "I am sure there are things you never got a chance to tell him…"
"Very much so!" Isobel said with a laugh. "He still believed that I hated his mother's sugar cookies. I loved them… but he would always whine when I ate them so I would pretend I suddenly hated them after Matthew was born and he could have them all to himself." She shook her head. "All to make him happy."
Mary smiled sadly at that. There were many things she knew that she kept from Matthew… silly ridiculous things that didn't matter in the grand scheme of life. And yet she did so all the same. Partly because she knew if she told Matthew the truth he would be all noble and self-sacrificing and she didn't want that. And… and she also liked having some secrets that were just her own. While Matthew had opened her up to love that didn't mean that the Mary Crawley who had guarded herself against the world had completely disappeared. Rather she found ways to satisfy her, as if she were tossing treats to a guard dog to keep them from snapping and snarling at her.
The two of them soon parted and Mary quickened her steps even further, managing to get up the stairs and enter the Lothrop Townhouse just as the rain drops were beginning to fall. Lotten wasn't about but Mary thought little of that, knowing that the Lothrop family butler wasn't one to gallivant about and besides Mary was middle class housewife now… she could open doors on her own!
"Hello my lady."
Though… that didn't mean that Mary didn't have some touches of the upper class now in her existence.
"Afternoon Baxter," she said with a smile. Her new Lady's Maid had started only a few days ago but already Mary could tell she would be a good fit. She wasn't like Anna… the two of them wouldn't become lifelong friends so that Mary desired to elevate Baxter to her station. She woman was too old for that and too set in her station. Anna was too set too but Mary was working on that… it was her dream that one day the two of them would be able to sit together in a restaurant and a stranger wouldn't be able to guess who had been the Lady and who the Maid when they'd first met.
But Baxter… Baxter was a good one. Not a friend like Anna but rather like a kind aunt. Nothing like Rosamund… her father's sister had been pushing and judgmental even as she tried to portray herself as a champion for her nieces. She was only a champion when Mary did as Rosamund wanted. Any other decision and she was a petty fighter constantly needling her choices. Baxter was as an aunt should be. She was like a character out of a novel, really… a kind, soft spoken aunt who listened to Mary's complaints and strifes and offered soft advice. She did not try and push Mary into one direction or the other but she wasn't weak willed either. She simply had a way of putting Mary at ease. Anna had been perfect when Mary was growing; Baxter was the maid she needed as a wife and future mother.
"Did the event go well?" Baxter asked as she moved to help Mary remove her coat, hanging it to dry from the few droplets of water that had gotten onto it.
"Oh, quite well," Mary said with a smile. "I know that what we make from such events is merely raindrops in the ocean… but even a raindrop can raise the sea."
"And many raindrops can cause a flood," Baxter commented as she worked to help her change into more comfortable clothing; no corset as Mary could now admit that Sybil had been right and the damn things were utterly useless and whoever had made them should have been burned at a stake. Rather Mary preferred simple dresses now, with very few layers and that allowed her to easily move. Something she didn't need to fear staining should she get egg on it while baking.
'Or cause Matthew problems should he come and rip it off of me,' she thought with a slight smile.
As if sensing where her thoughts lingered Baxter said, "When is Mr. Crawley expected back in London?"
"Next week," Mary said. "Of all the problems Larry Grey caused at least he has given Matthew another reason to visit."
"Will the government need him to remain her for long?" Baxter asked.
"Not terribly long, all the pity," Mary admitted. "He needs to be interviewed about the confession poor William gave." She paused as Baxter helped her slip into her new dress, a dark blue and gray number that was modest and comfortable and fit well with the rainy weather. "It is rather odd to think about, you know? Poor William. He lived in my home… I saw him nearly every night I had dinner there. I feel a great sadness about his passing and yet… for the life of me I could not describe him to you, Baxter. At least in ways that mattered. How sad is that? William was such a large part of my life, a permanent fixture, and yet all I could do is describe his looks. His likes… his dislikes… his dreams and wishes and fears? I know none of them." Marry looked in the mirror as she settled at the vanity, allowing her maid to begin work on pinning her hair properly; she really needed to have it cut shorter. Lavinia said the fashion would be short hair and Mary had to admit it would be easier to maintain than her long locks. "Why, I know more about this hair brush than I know about him."
"It is a sad fact of life," Baxter said as she set to work. "And not just when it comes to lords and ladies and their staff. Do you think a factory owner truly knows his employees? That a general knows the soldiers that march to his command? And even beyond that… do you truly know your neighbors? The people that sit beside you in church? We spend so much of our lives focused inward that we miss all that is going on around us." She smiled but it wasn't one filled with hope but rather tinged with sadness and hard lessons learned. "For better or worse."
Mary nodded at that. "I suppose then that William's legacy for me will be learning to be more attentive of those around me."
"Very good," Baxter said before pausing. "My favorite color is orange."
Mary smiled. "I am partial pale blues, myself."
There was a knock on the door and Mary rose, running her hands over her dress and Baxter went to answer. "Mr. Lotten," the maid said, a touch surprise. "How may I help you?"
"Is Lady Mary in?"
"I am."
The butler nodded as Baxter opened the door fully for him. "I am sorry I wasn't there to receive you my lady but I was settling a guest."
"A guest?" Mary asked. "I wasn't aware we were entertaining anyone tonight."
"We aren't my lady. Or we weren't. And it isn't the lord or lady who he seeks… it is you."
"Me?" Mary said, surprised. "Well… this is rather mysterious." She nodded to Baxter, signaling that she wouldn't be needing her any further, and followed Lotten down the hall and to the stairs. She couldn't help but wonder who might have shown up. It wasn't Carlisle as Lotten had been shown his picture and would have mentioned if the paperman was the arrival. 'But it could be one of his informants,' she thought to herself. 'He is now hounding me desperately for a story…'
But it wasn't some brigand or spy that was waiting for her but rather a familiar face.
"Carson!" she said in surprise, causing the butler to quickly rise to his feet, looking like an embarrassed school boy. It wasn't helped by the fact that he wasn't wearing his normal tails, having donned a tweed jacket and a bowler hat though the latter was kept in his hands, twisted and pulled by his nervous fingers. "It is so odd for me to say but I remember you being far… larger," she said with a smile.
"I suppose it comes from our time together. After all, for much of your life I did tower over you."
"You still tower over me," Mary said with a soft laugh. "Please, sit down."
"I must admit I feel a touch awkward, my lady. I am used to standing in your presence, not sitting."
"I am merely a middle class housewife, despite where I might live," she told him. "Such pomp is no longer needed. I'm sure Anna has told you that."
The comment earned her a smile from the older man. "Oh yes… very often my lady. And as she is want to say to us you will always be Lady Mary Crawley."
She thought she should be very cross at him for that comment. Angry that he did not see her as she wanted to be seen. But…
"Lady Mary?"
She shook her head. "I'm sorry… I was just thinking."
"About?"
She let out a sigh. "How time can smooth out the edges when it comes to certain things." She did not address the fact that for the longest time she had felt a bitterness towards Carson. He was her champion at Downton, the one servant besides Anna that she could turn to for advice and aid. And yet when she had been forced into exile (for while even she had claimed in the past that it was self imposed the fact remained that by making it a choice between Downton and Matthew it had never been self imposed at all for there was no choice) he hadn't said a word. Carson had remained at her father's side. She hadn't thought that he could go rushing off to London and she could see with clearer eyes that were no longer tinted with the rage of that horrid night that he had a duty to Downton as much as he did to her… but still, it had hurt.
Yet despite feeling as if she should hate him for all he had done Mary found herself glad to see him once more. Rather than the old hurt suddenly flaring back up, like a wound that became reinfected, she found that those scars didn't throb as she had expected them too.
"You know," she said suddenly, looking him over, "I do think I prefer you in that outfit."
"Hmmm," Carson said, his earlier awkwardness bleeding away as the familiar stuffiness returned, much to Mary's delight. How she'd missed it so. "Then that makes one of us, my lady. I feel particularly underdressed at the moment."
"Oh nonsense," Mary said. "You look fetching. I dare say Mrs. Hughes will be worried with you walking about London looking like that."
Carson sputtered. "I… I don't know why Mrs. Hughes would care…"
Deciding not to pull on that string (though she did feel bad for Mrs. Hughes that Carson, like so many men, was clueless when it came to love) she instead said, "It also makes me not feel subconscious being so casual." She gestured at her dress. "The Lothrops are very… low maintenance sorts. They like things to be light and don't desire the grand flare that Downton possesses. I dare say it has rubbed off on me."
"You could wear a burlap sack and be the center of attention."
"Hmm… perhaps I should try that just to see if you are right. It would make for a jolly good joke." A thought struck her and she quickly stood. "Would you give me a just a moment, Carson?" She went to the door and sure enough Lotten was standing just outside. "Could you get us two plates of the spotted dick? Allen and Catherine won't mind if I cut into it early."
"Of course," the butler said.
"Oh, there is no need for that, my lady," Carson said. "I do not-"
"But I do," Mary said, cutting him off before he could go on any further. She looked over her shoulder at him, smiling coyly at him. "Believe me Carson, it will be worth it."
A few minutes later Lotten returned with two plates of the dessert, already covered in the light custard because the butler knew how Lady Mary desired the spotted dick to be served. She walked over to Carson and handed him a plate, the butler shifting like a school boy unsure what to do until Mary herself cut into the baked pudding herself and took a small bite. Then, and only then, did Carson finally sample some himself and Mary smiled around her fork as his eyes lit up at the taste.
"I must say… this might well be the best spotted dick I've ever had." He looked at her, eyes twinkling. "You did very well with this."
Mary pouted at that. "While I am pleased by the compliment I was so very much hoping to surprise you by revealing that I baked it myself."
"I am afraid that Anna has told me much about your gift with baking."
"Do you see Anna often?" Mary asked; she had only been able to talk with her friend via letters for the last year as Noah was simply too young to go traveling and Mary could not bring herself to go to Downton. "I know the last time we spoke she mentioned that John wished to invite you for more meals…"
"The life of a butler rarely allows one to leave the estate, especially with our limited staff and now the hospital. But… I have managed to go down to eat with them. I don't invite them to the servants' hall as that would be poor taste-"
"Though I'm sure they wouldn't mind," Mary told him.
"-but they invite me. I… well, I'd say I'd been there roughly three times so far this year. Hopefully when the War ends I'll be able to visit more often. Especially if we can find a proper valet…" He trailed off, clearly not wishing to anger her by bringing up her father and for that Mary was grateful. "Mr. Molesley mentions your skills in the kitchen, much to Mrs. Patmore's annoyance."
"Oh dear," Mary said as Carson cut off another piece of spotted dick. "Should I get the locks changed just in case she decides to come in here to defend her reputation against my usurping self?"
Carson smiled at that, swallowing the mouthful of dessert as Lotten came in with tea, pouring him a glass; much to Mary's delight Carson didn't fuss over being served by another servant and she knew that Lotten wouldn't complain because he understood that in this moment Carson was an old friend and not another butler.
"I don't think you need go that far," he assured her politely. "And Mr. Molesley did his best to be respectful. He didn't claim her desserts were horrid, if that is what you fear."
"What did he say then?"
"I believe he mentioned missing your molasses biscuits," Carson said.
"Ah, yes," she said. "I should have known. I dare say I am forced to bake an extra batch whenever I make them because Molesley will sneak away with them. I know he does it, Carson, so no need to scowl. It is a joke just between the two of us." She chuckled. "Everyone has a favorite, after all, and I try to make sure I have extra of each one when they are prepared."
Carson nodded at that. "Mrs. Patmore of course said that she could make such things if he wanted and Mr. Molesley did heap plenty of praise on her… the problem was that the biscuits got rather stiff and hard after a day while Mr. Molesley said yours remain soft for nearly a week."
Mary laughed at that. "Don't tell Mrs. Patmore but the trick is to place a piece of bread in with the cookies." She shrugged. "I don't know why it works but it does. The bread keeps them from ever getting too stiff."
"I don't think she'd believe me if I did try and tell her that, my lady."
The two of them grew quiet, enjoying the rest of their dessert, Lotten taking the plates away so they might have their tea without dishes strewn about. Carson was more relaxed but there was still a hint of tension in his shoulders and Mary pitied him. It obviously had taken much for him to work out the courage to come see her but she didn't think he'd actually thought about what he'd do when he arrived before her.
As if reading her thoughts Carson said, "I don't know where to begin, to be honest. There is so very much I wish to speak to you about but in this moment I find my tongue refusing to work."
"Just try, Carson."
"…I wrote a thousand letters to you."
She blinked at that.
"No, that isn't right. I shouldn't exaggerate. I wrote 893 letters to you, my lady. I'm sorry for embellishing."
"Apology accepted," Marry said softly. "You wrote 800…"
"893," he repeated. "I… I kept count. It would have been more, I assure you, but this last year has been rather hectic with the hospital-"
Mary tuned him out, her brain churning at the absurdity of it all. Because of course Carson would not only keep track of the letters he'd written to her but feel that he had insulted her by not writing enough! It was just so utterly… him.
"Carson," she finally said as he began to repeat himself, "might I ask what the letters were about? And why you never sent them?"
"Well… the thing is, my lady…" He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.
Mary, knowing there was only way to get him to talk, steeled her features and snapped, "Carson, you will answer your lady at once and inform me why you wrote those letters, what you wished to tell me, and why they were never sent and you will do so NOW."
THAT did the trick. Carson was not a man prone to baring his soul. He did not see any need to do it and when requested he would stammer and huff about, unable to voice what his thoughts were. But… make it a command and old instincts instantly came to play and he snapped to attention like a good butler.
"I was writing to you to apologize, my lady. But I never sent the letters because none of them properly conveyed what I wished to say."
"Apologize?" Mary asked, stunned by that answer. "Whatever for?"
"For letting you believe for a moment that I had abandoned you. I wanted to explain my reasoning for not chasing after you that dreadful night. Why I allowed you to leave without a word of encouragement from me. But every time I tried… the words were poor, my lady. Unbefitting all you went through. So I would start again. And again… and again."
"Oh… oh Carson." She reached over and placed a hand on the man's knee. She was utterly moved but his statement, the last vestiges of ice that had formed around her memories of him shattering into glittering pieces. He had cared. And he'd wanted her to know that but had been prevented from doing so. And it ate at her terribly because in that moment all she could see in her mind was the poor man dangling his body over his typewriter, trying to find the words to make up for the sin he had commented when… when… "Carson, I never wished for you to feel any misery when it came to my leaving. If I had known you felt that way I would have written to you myself. To assure you that despite what you might think… I was happy. And continue to be so. I have a wondrous life. It has not been perfect." She thought of the fact that Matthew was not there to share her bed, as that was the greatest pain she now carried with her. "But it had been a wonderful life."
"I can very much see that, my lady," Carson said with a soft smile. He set his tea cup down and looked at her with those deep soulful eyes of his. So many thought his gaze was hard and stern but to her looking into his eyes was like staring into a peaceful dark pool. It had always brought her such comfort growing up to talk with him. "I envisioned many different lives for you when you were a child. Who you would marry, where you would live… I'll admit there were days I cursed the king for producing an heir so soon for if he had only waited you could have become queen and led Britain into a new golden age."
Mary chuckled at that. "I don't know about that… knowing my luck Edith would have married the Kaiser and we'd still have the War."
Carson merely shook his head at that joke. "I will admit that this life was never what I envisioned for you. But… seeing you live it now? I do believe that you have chosen the perfect life. Not because it will bring you greater wealth or power or standing. No, it is because I can't see you being any more content than you are right now." He sighed, his good mood tempered. "It makes my disgrace for not writing to you sooner all the worse."
"Carson," she began only for him to cut her off.
"What I wanted to tell you but was unable to do so was… I was shocked when you left that night. Utterly floored. I do not think there has ever been a moment in like life more thunderstriking than that moment. It would be like… like gravity disappearing and all of us beginning to float in the air. And to my shame I must admit that, at first… I thought you had made the wrong decision. I did believe as your father stated, that Mr. Crawley was a coward and unworthy of you."
She wasn't angry at him. That was the surprising thing. Even though he was repeating her father's claims Mary wasn't upset with him and that left her struggling for words.
"But as the days went by and then the weeks and the true scope of the War came to be seen I realized that the world might have been a far better place if more of us had your husband vision rather than my blindness. So I began to write to you, to apologize for letting you feel as if I still doubted you… but I couldn't get it right. The words just… felt weak."
Mary reached out and patted his hand. It was a terrible breach of edict but she didn't care because it was clear that Carson needed that connection in that moment.
"Honestly Carson I think is for the best that you didn't reach out to me back then." He looked up at her, brow furrowed in confusion. "I wasn't ready to hear from anyone from my old life. Anna and John were the only two I truly had allowed into my life because I held them utterly blameless since they had left Downton and faced papa's wrath. But even Granny needed months to find herself back in my good graces. It took time and age for me to see things better and for my temper to go from a raging boil to a simmer. Matthew," she smiled, "Matthew has been a great help with that."
She thought back to some of the fights they had gone through during their first few months with the Lothrops. Petty little things that she had blown out of proportion that now made her cringe. The War had been stressful and she had been grasping for anything to give her a sense of control and yelling at him for knocking over a perfume bottle had given her that clinging sense of strength. But after she had yelled at him for wasting money on some roses he had looked at her and said in a firm voice, "It is your birthday today" and all the fight had left her.
Because he had remembered and she, in the chaos of war… had not.
And it was only when she'd collapsed onto the bed, pressing her hands against her eyes in an attempt to stop her tears, that Matthew finally spoke again. He gently set the flowers down (when it honestly would have been in his right to smash them against something or throw them in the trash) and told her that while he loved her he would no longer be the target of her meaningless squabbles.
"If I truly deserve your scorn then you are welcome to fight with me and I will fight with you. But I will not allow you to make me the target of your wrath purely because you know I won't walk away from you."
It had been a stunning thing to think about, that idea that she had been willing to abuse Matthew just because she believed that unlike anyone else in her life he wouldn't abandon her. What kind of love was that? Later he'd told her she was being silly, that she made it sound like every day when he returned from work she was coming at him with her hair in curlers and a rolling pin in her hand, chasing him about the house while screeching like a demented parrot. But still… thinking of how much the War had cost others… she would forever rue how much time she'd lost with him because of meaningless grudges.
And that, in turn, had made her realize just how many other people she had hurt because of the same thing.
"He made me see," she told Carson, "that I needed to change. The fire and ice are still there, of course… I doubt very much even wedded bliss could change me so fully." Carson smiled at that. "But I have found how to redirect it. How to use it properly. Before the War I would have hated you for a long time Carson for what you did, I admit that. But now… our lives are so very short. Michael is fond of saying "the good lord gave us only so much air and I do not wish to waste it fighting". While a lively debate is always a delight and there are still a few I hold a grudge against-" The image of Richard Carlisle drifted into her mind, "-I don't want to be angry with you, Carson."
"I… I am glad to hear that, my lady."
"Now then, now that we have this settled let us talk on other matters. How are things at Downton, truly? Matthew and Sybil write and visit when they can but I can never quite tell if they are being truthful with me."
Carson smiled and for the next thirty minutes he shared with her the goings on within Downton. They mourned together poor William's death and raged at Larry Gray's hand in it and Mary shook her head at her youngest sister drugging Matthew to keep him from attacking the cretin. She was happy to hear that Matthew had made a new friend in the soldier Henry; he had mentioned him in his letters but Carson told her he could tell that the two of them would remain close after the war because they had found a kindred spirit in one another. Sybil had things well in hand and Mary had utterly delighted when Carson had told her of Vera's capture; she had only known that the dreadful woman had escaped and trembled with fury when the butler told her of her sick plot involving Noah. But then she nodded when he told her how elegantly Anna had dealt with the woman.
"Good on her," Mary said happily. "I am not ashamed to admit that I wouldn't have been able to manage that. I would have wanted to have the last word and would have ruined it all by sniping at her. But Anna… oh, I wish I could have seen that! How utterly wonderful."
"Yes, it was," Carson said. "His lordship told her as much when they all had breakfast the next day."
Papa. Mary felt her anger building at the mention of her father… only for it to become doused when she replayed what Carson had said. "Breakfast?"
"Yes. He insisted Mr. Bates and Anna and little Noah stay for an early breakfast after all of that terrible business with Vera O'Malley." He chuckled, a deep rumbling sound. "I will admit at first I thought it might cause problems in the house, having us serve former staff, but The Bates Family refused to put on airs and your father asked us to keep the feeling rather casual even if the food was to be at the highest standard. It helped what they had gone through… we all wanted to make them feel a touch better after that trauma. And his Lordship pointed out rather correctly that he has been their guest many times and it is only right they allow him to do the same."
"Their guest… Papa has eaten at the Grantham Arms?"
Carson nodded. "Oh yes, many times now in the last few months. He and Mr. Branson are regular fixtures-"
"Tom," Mary said, cutting him off. "Tom Branson."
"Yes?"
"My father… has meals… with Tom?"
"He does, my lady. They have become rather good friends. I was shocked when it happened to but your father told me that he saw it as a chance to see the world through new eyes." He paused. "my lady, might I say something that perhaps will upset you?"
"Well, you haven't a choice now with that lead up," Mary quipped.
"I won't… try and argue in favor of his lordship. What he did to you and your sisters…" the butler sighed. "I do not have children of my own, my lady, but you will forgive an old man for feeling, in his own small way, that you are very much a daughter of my heart."
Mary merely smiled, knowing that if she sad anything it would only upset Carson. She knew it was killing him inside to admit these things, for he was a man who believed greatly that one's thoughts and feelings must be kept private. Admitting what he felt about her… to her… it was a great leap and Mary would not make things harder on him by speaking up. No… let him say what he wished to say.
"I can not imagine ever doing what he did to you or your sisters to children of mine. It… it would rather be like tearing my own heart out. And yet when I see him now… I know that is exactly what he has done. He has torn his heart out and it has left him empty." Her smile fell and Carson pressed out. "I do not know what fog he was in my lady these last few years but it has parted. He has realized the error of his ways." He held up his hand. "I do not mean to say that he should be forgiven. That is for you to decide. But I would ask that you hear him out, should he come to you."
"And why should I do that?" Mary asked.
"Because you will wonder if it were possible to make amends til your last breath. We live with… so many regrets, my lady. So many questions of what might have happened had we taken a different path. What if we had been braver. Bolder. Dared to seize opportunity or love or friendship that was just out of reach but we were scared to claim. Do not let your father be another regret. If he should come to you hear him out. Then and only then decide. At least then you know."
Mary sat there before finally nodding.
"I will try Carson, I will try." She paused. "Has papa come to talk to me?"
"I do not know, my lady. I can not say. But I do know there is someone else he wishes to make amends with."
~MC~MC~MC~
Cora stared at the scene before her. Lillian was carefully playing with a dollhouse that she knew had been left behind at Downton, carefully arranging the furniture just where it needed to go. She wasn't alone though, for there was someone else, listening attentively as the little girl explained why this chair must be in this room.
"Robert," she whispered, startling him. He looked up at her and flashed a shy smile.
"Hello Cora."
