Mary let out a yawn and shifted in her seat, causing her father to glance at her. "Are you quite all right? You have been moving about quite a bit since we left the station."

"Perfectly fine, papa," she said, forcing a smile on her face and hoping her father didn't notice how fake it actually was. "I just didn't get much sleep last night."

That was a grand understatement.

Mary had tossed and turned the entire night, constantly opening her eyes to stare at the clock and become amazed that so little time had passed. There had been moments where she was sure during her constantly attempts to make herself comfortable that she must have been thrashing about for hours only to look at the clock and find that barely a handful of minutes had gone by. In fact one time she'd seen the clock said it was 1:04 in the morning, she'd shifted and shut her eyes, and when she'd opened them again she'd found it was 12:58. She didn't know if she had merely dreamed one of those two times… or somehow her insomnia had caused her to travel back in time. She supposed it didn't matter, as she had nearly gone made that night and now she had a headache that left her wincing at the warm sunlight that was shining in her eyes. She wanted to shut the blinds and curl up and let the train lull her to sleep but she worried what her father would say, that he would suggest she simply go to bed as soon as they arrived.

She was finally returning back to Downton.

It had taken months for her to finally decide it was time to visit once more. She had considered going after she made up with her father only to decide against that purely because Abbey was dealing with enough chaos with the end of the war. Even with the fighting over with there were still soldiers coming into Downton to recuperate. And even when the last one had arrived they still had to be strong enough that they could return home; Sybil had refused to let a single man be cast out before his time.

Mary understood that. She truly did. Henry, Lavinia's friend (and Mary knew so much more even if they refused to admit it in public) had written constantly about what was happening at the hospital. He had been well enough to leave months ago but had stayed on to help the staff; in fact Mary had suggested that Lavinia come with her to greet Henry and join them all for her homecoming but Matthew had suggested waiting a while, letting Henry get away from Downton the hospital so they could make it truly Downton of the Crawleys again.

'How very odd of him to care about such a thing,' Mary thought to herself before fighting back a wince when she shifted and her head throbbed. It felt like her left eye was about to pop out of its socket thanks to the pressure. 'Though I suppose he does have a point… Henry has only seen Downton as a hospital. And I have told Lavinia much about it these last few months… I must make sure Sybil hasn't ruined it.' She could just imagine her sister replacing the works of art with medical charts and having all the furniture moved into forgotten rooms so she might house… whatever it was that they needed in a hospital.

"You never were good at waiting," her father said with a smile. "Do you remember how you were at Christmas? Always trying to get to your presents early." He chuckled. "Why, I remember one year you tried to convince us all to stay up the entire night."

"I don't remember that," Mary admitted.

"You were very young… Edith was still in swaddling. You told me, 'Papa, if we wait till midnight we can be the first to celebrate!' You were very adamant… then fell asleep shortly after supper. And slept so long that we had trouble rousing you in the morning."

"Hmmm," Mary said with a slight smile. "Yes, I suppose that does sound like me."

Robert nodded, leaning back in his chair. "We'll be able to do a good Christmas this year, I just know it. The War is done, Downton will be returned to its full glory… and we will have such a very full house."

"Already planning, papa?" Mary asked, hoping that the conversation might get her mind off her headache.

"Of course," her father said, finding it now his turn to squirm in his seat. "We have not had a proper Christmas for far too long. I owe it to your girls to give you one." His mood brightened as he leaned forward. "Your mother and I. You and Matthew, of course."

"It would be odd for us to have settled things only for you to refuse Matthew a seat at the table," Mary jested.

"Isobel as well. Your grandmother I don't even need to invite as she will force her way into any event that interests her. Edith and Michael… do you think they will marry before then?"

"I honestly don't know," Mary admitted. "They have been engaged for some time and were waiting for the end of the War… it will depend on their schedules, I think."

"Your mother won't take kindly to that. She missed your wedding and will want Edith's to be a lavish affair."

Mary smiled at that. Perhaps in another life she would have been filled with envy at the idea of Edith getting the great estate wedding while she made down with a service in a small church… but honestly Mary couldn't see herself doing that anymore. The War had changed her and the idea of riding through Downton in the carriage with children throwing flower petals at her and the 15 course meal that took up half the day… it was far too much. Let Edith have it… Mary's own gift to her.

"Sybil and Tom," her father said.

"Because they are courting or because he is your dear friend?" Mary teased. A grand source of amusement was how her father and Tom had bonded; she often heard from Tom that they two of them would sneak away to play cards with John at the hotel or go walk the forest around the estate.

Her father didn't answer, instead continuing on with his list. "The Lothrops, naturally."

"I still find it so odd you and the General have become friends."

"He was there for you when I wasn't. I owe him a great debt." He began to tick off families on his hand. "Shrimpy, if we can get him away from Duneagle. Lord Merton-"

"Dickie will be there if you invite Isobel," Mary said, ignoring her father as he glowered at the nickname; if he could call a man 'Shrimpy' she could call her godfather 'Dickie'. Everyone else did in London.

"He needs not be alone for the holiday." Tim Grey felt that their father had abandoned Larry and thus an even greater rift had formed amongst the man and his sons. Thus her godfather had spent most of his days in London at Allen's home, watching over it while the General traveled from the city to his new manor estate, and Mary felt terrible for him. He tried hard to keep busy but he never truly had had a lively family before; honestly all of them seemed to wear him down!

"John and Anna and little Noah… it will be good for Lillian to have a little playmate on Christmas morning."

"I think you'll drive the Bates to fits," Mary teased only to wince.

"Are you truly fine, my dear?" he father said. "Because if you aren't-"

"I've been waiting for this day for a very long time, Papa. I am not about to ruin it thanks to such a minor discomfort." She leaned back in her seat, settling her head and hoping that the rocking of the train would lull the pain away rather than aggravate it. "Matthew and I will be at Downton again and we are going to celebrate with the rest of the family. For that I would endure a bear trap around my ankle with a smile and a curtsy."

"I will inform Carson to have them prepared."

Mary glowered at him before wincing.

~MC~MC~MC~

"I think the three of us will work well together, even now with the war ended."

Michael merely shook his head as Edith grabbed a drink of water. They were in his office, putting the final touches on the paper before making their way to the station to catch the afternoon train to Downton. That would get them there with plenty of time to get changed before the dinner gong; the last thing Michael wanted was to deal with Mr. Carson's glowers when he wasn't presentable and ready for supper. This would be his first dinner as Edith's future husband and he wanted to show any doubters that he was worthy of her. "I am not saying you three wouldn't be. Nor am I saying that I am going to tear you and Tom or Edgar apart. I merely was suggesting that you consider articles that you can write without each other." He smiled and walked over to her, rubbing her back. "It is a matter of trust my dear, not ill-faith in your talents. I believe you don't need them to be the toast of London."

Edith pressed her lips together at that. "Then why do I feel like you are-" She paused, clearing her throat, "-trying to shuffle us off to our own little ends of the world."

"To be fair," Michael said, "you three have been doing work on your own without the others for over a year now."

"But we still come together to work on our pieces," Edith argued, swallowing. "You want us separated-"

"I want you three to be able to grow as members of the paper," Michael countered before Edith could go off on a tear. "Tom already has shown he's good at special interest pieces and Edgar wants to do an entire series on the history of London and how it relates to today. I am merely suggesting that you do the same." Edith glowered at him before letting out a cough. "Are you all right?" he asked her, concerned. "You've been grunting and growling all morning."

"I have not," Edith complained even as she went to get another drink of water, pouring herself a tall glass before slowly taking a long sip.

"Are you sure?" Michael pressed.

She managed a smile. "Positive. It is just my sinuses… you know they are a bother when the weather gets like this. The draining will go away."

"Are you sure? We could phone Downton, let them know you need to stay a day-"

"Oh please don't," Edith begged. "Mary and I may be a in a far better place than where we once were but I just know she will hold it over me until the Four Horsemen ride if I ruin dinner."

"I am more afraid of Hoarse-women, particularly one," Michael said. It took a moment before Edith understood is terrible pun and when she did she shot him a dark look before returning her focus to her water. "And we can blame me. Say I wasn't feeling well. I don't mind if she scolds me forever for becoming sick-"

"I'm not sick it's just my sinuses," Edith assured him. "I actually don't notice them when I'm eating… water helps a touch but food is far better to clear out all the scrappy annoyances. I won't even remember there is anything the matter once dinner starts." She paused before coughing again. "The only reason I'm not eating now is I don't want Mama to question me if I refuse to take more than is proper."

Michael shook his head. "I find the more and more I hear about the rituals of your station the more they don't make any sense to me."

"They honestly make little sense to anyone; no one is brave enough to admit that so we find ourselves here." She paused. "Now about Tom and Edgar-"

"We will go over what new topics the three of you will be focusing on when we get back. Think of it as a chance for you to not only decide on an individual focus for yourself but ideas you can toss to your partners in crime when we all meet."

Edith opened her mouth to complain some more about that only for Michael's secretary Bethany to walk in. "Sir Michael? Mr. Carlisle is-"

Richard Carlisle stormed in, his face dark with anger as he waved a bundle of papers at the two of them. "Did you think I wouldn't find out your little trick?" he demanded, Bethany stepping outside and shutting the door to try and give them some privacy. But considering how loud Carlisle was ranting that was a near impossibility. "You thought yourself so clever…"

"Thought?" Michael asked, sitting on the edge of his desk. "No. Did I know I was that clever? Yes, I did indeed. Though to be honest I didn't know if you'd figure it out…"

"You used your mother's maiden name on the contracts and Michael is common enough but I recognized the handwriting on the documents," Carlisle growled, glaring at the two of them.

"Should we be concerned he recognizes your handwriting?" Edith asked as she settled in a chair, trying to look aloof but failing when she kept clearing her throat. He really should convince her not to go to Downton… though as he thought about it perhaps the clear air would be better for her throat and lungs that the soot-filled mess that was London-

"You are stealing my empire," Carlisle challenged.

"I'm buying your empire. One you sold."

"I was selling it to men that will continue on my vision. Not you." He jabbed a finger at Michael.

"Was being the key word. Not will." Michael gave a casual shrug. "The deal has already gone through… though I imagine you already knew that and that is why you are here now. You aren't one to storm in here purely to rage. Did you come straight from your lawyers or did you try and calm yourself down and this is, rather sadly, your best attempt at being rational."

"You ruined me."

"You ruined yourself," Michael stated. "You ran with a story that you hadn't fully verified. You used deplorable means to get that information. And then you made the mistake of using your own wealth to try and take advantage of the situation only to find yourself made the fool you thought all the others would be. It is not my fault that any of this happened." He moved to pour himself a cup of tea, turning his back on his fuming rival. "Your papers belong to me and in turn you have been made a very wealthy man. And you have a large parcel of land in America to call your own."

"One that is worthless," Carlisle snarled. "There is no oil there."

"But there is a river, the soil is quite fertile, and there is a town that is growing near it," Edith finally said. She walked over to Carlisle and smiled softly, with kindness and only a touch of pity. "My sister wanted to ruin you. I argued against it. Once I thought I understood what I wanted out of life… how I wanted my existence to go. Then someone told me I wasn't meant to be a lady running some estate. I was meant to be out in the world making my fortune and helping the man I love change the world. I will always be thankful for that advice and I hope you will be thankful of the words I give you now: you aren't meant to be a newspaperman who rules London from his tower.

"I have studied you, Richard Carlisle, just as I know you have studied me. You loathe the elite and those of high society because you see them as caring only for titles and not for the work of others. Yet you seem determined to be a part of their world. Which, if I must say… is very foolish. Even if you married one of their daughters and bought some grand estate… you would always be the outsider. Scorned and mocked as they looked down their noses at you, saying that your fingers were stained black from newsprint. Don't believe me if you wish but my mother still isn't welcomed in some circles and my sisters and I are forever judged because of her blood. But in America? You will be a wealthy land holder on the grand frontier, able to make his own destiny. Americans love to rise people up." She didn't touch his shoulder but she did smile at him. "See this not as a loss but as a chance. Rise up and make Michael regret giving you this chance. Become such a power in America that the world knows your name."

Richard Carlisle considered her for a moment… before simply walking away.

"And I do believe I've performed a miracle," Edith stated.

"Because you convinced him to leave or your voice didn't give out?"

Edith just glared at him.

~MC~MC~MC~

"And you are sure that you will have enough duck?"

"Of course!" Mrs. Patmore complained. "Do you think I don't know how to prepare for a meal, Mr. Carson?"

The butler blustered and stammered a bit at that accusation before rallying. "Of course not. It is merely me wishing-"

"To judge me?" the cook complained. "To make me feel as if I am a fool?"

"Never… I merely wanted to make sure you were ready. It has been quite a while since you've prepared such a large meal-"

"And it is quite easy to fall back into old patterns," Mrs. Patmore assured him, though with a bit of heat behind her words. "Unless you think that I have someone forgotten years of knowledge."

"Of course not!" Mr. Carson said hurriedly. "I know you have decades of experience-"

"Decades?!" Mrs. Patmore exclaimed in shock. "What do you take me for, some old maid that sits in a cave stirring her cauldron?"

"I… no, I never meant…" he took a moment and adjusted his coat. "I merely was trying to see if you had all you needed to make the meal. I know that supplies have been short-"

"Oh!" Mrs. Patmore said with a huff though she turned away from the butler and thus allowed him to take a breath, relieved she wasn't going to attack him. "Short supply? That is a rather kind way to put it! A nightmare! One I can't seem to awaken from! That is what I find myself in!"

Elsie finally walked up and gently took Mr. Carson's arm, leading him away. "There are times in life where one must make a strategic retreat."

"…I do believe you are right in that regard," Mr. Carson admitted, glancing back at the kitchen. "You don't think I was being too hard on her?"

"Shockingly enough, no," Elsie informed him. "I was actually rather impressed by your restraint in talking to her."

"You make me sound like some giant thundering about."

"Only in the best sense," Elsie assured him with a smile as they entered his office. "Considering the importance of tonight I understand why you are so worried about things going right." She paused, a bemused and embarrassed smile forming on her lips. "I will admit that I am feeling a bit of the same feelings myself."

"It is a historical moment."

Elsie didn't quite know about that but she decided not to push him on that. "Well, so far things are falling well into place. His Lordship should be returning with Lady Mary at any moment and Lady Edith and Sir Michael will be arriving after lunch. Lady Sybil-"

"And how glad I am we can return to calling her that!" Mr. Carson exclaimed. "Now, I don't mean to cast any disgrace on her and what she did… I can admit that she did important work for the hospital. But she is a lady and deserves to be called as much."

Elsie merely smiled at that; honestly she did agree with him as it was just so natural to call her 'Lady Sybil' but she also understood what it was like to be a woman trying to prove that she deserved respect. Far too many in the world, man and woman, were too quick to look down their noses at one of the feminine sex and declare that they shouldn't wield the power they had earned.

"Lady Sybil has overseen the last supplies that must be returned to London so she'll have no excuse not to attend. Of course her ladyship would never allow her to do anything otherwise but still…"

"Yes, of course," Carson agreed. "I just wish we had more staff in place for this."

"We will make due," Elsie told him. "Ms. O'Brien's nephew Alfred is working out well, is he not?"

"His height not withstanding," Mr. Carson said. "He towers over everyone… it is rather unbecoming."

"But he has done well," Elsie repeated.

"He has," Mr. Carson admitted before a faint smile appeared on his lips. "And he is eager to learn. I often find him asking questions of Mr. Molesley during their off hours."

"I am sure Mr. Molesley enjoys that," Elsie said, quite pleased. "Mr. Crawley's valet is a good man… and a good teacher."

"He is indeed. Steady and sure."

~MC~MC~MC~

Joseph Molesley swallowed before licking his lips. Then he worried that doing so would make them more chapped and he thought about quickly wiping his hand over them. But then that made him worry about such an action looking rather unbecoming of a valet… and what if he irritated his lips all the more-?

He was being silly. He knew that. He was waiting just outside the backdoor to receive a servant. That was all! Nothing more and nothing less!

Yet he felt like a school boy who had been called to the front of the class to read from a ponderous book he'd never seen before that was filled with complex words just waiting to trip up his tongue.

"Are you quite all right, Mr. Molesley?" Mr. Branson said, walking up to him, wiping his hands with a rag. "You look rather startled."

Joseph forced a watery smile onto his face. "Quite fine, sir, quite fine." He paused, noticing the beads of sweat on Mr. Branson's brow. "Are you okay sir?"

"Oh, doing well. I just needed some time outside. Far too hot and stuffy in there right now." He gestured at the house behind them. "Its very odd how we have less people here now just it feels more crowded." He shrugged. "Though I suppose part of that is that there is so much going on that it feels like a beehive."

"Yes, people are buzzing about, aren't they?" Joseph stated. He and Mr. Branson hadn't interacted too much during their time in London but the man was rather kind and more importantly had never forgotten his roots in service. He didn't put on grander airs just because he felt the need to overcompensate for his beginnings. "So, just a bit of fresh air then?"

"Well… that and I noticed there was a bit of a rattle in the car when we were driving back from the station and I wanted a look at it. Nothing again Mulligan but I think he's a bit too scared of the older cars. Robert mentioned him hinting at getting a new vehicle but this one is perfectly fine, so long as you know how to treat her." Tom smiled and finished cleaning the oil from his hands. "I'm sure Mr. Carson will throw a fit that I was doing such work when I am not a guest but I like keeping busy."

"But of course."

"So…" Tom began, "who are you waiting for?"

"Ms. Baxter," Joseph said and he hoped that his words didn't sound as trembling as they felt moving along his tongue and past his teeth. "She's coming up early, so she might get the rooms ready for Lady Mary."

"Yes, I suppose that makes sense. Its good of you to show her around, Molesley. Very easy to get lost in Downton."

He nodded at that, shoving down the terrible feeling in his stomach at lying to Mr. Branson even if it was him not correcting him on his misassumptions. He wanted to show Ms. Baxter around but it had nothing to do with his worries about her finding her way around Downton. He knew that she was smart and could figure it out on her own even with no help. No… Joseph wanted to have some time alone with her. To walk with her. To enjoy her company.

Ever since he'd met Lady Mary's new maid he'd been utterly smitten by her. While others might have thought her plain and no great beauty Molesley thought she was utterly radiant. Probably because he knew that looks weren't everything. He certainly knew he was no prized prince, with his thinning hair and face that lent itself to melancholy far more than joy. People didn't look at him and let out happy little sighs; rather they saw him and grew concerned that something was terribly wrong and asked if they might help.

Ms. Baxter though? Yes, she was tall and she did little to hide who she was but she was so very kind. Soft spoken and gentle in her words, caring for all that crossed her path. She was smart too… well read and quick to offer the perfect advice. Not just when it came to aspects of a house but in much of life. When Lady Edith had complained about a salesclerk overcharging her on a new bag Ms. Baxter, who'd been walking by, had politely offered several suggestions on how she could still get some sort of partial refund. She was quick to talk with the other servants at the Lothrop house about their problems and guide them to the best solutions. She was a kind soul. A gentle soul. Yet also at the same time she was a fierce soul. Once when the two of them had gotten shopping to secure some odds and ends they had been confronted by a drunken man who was sure he knew Ms. Baxter. Joseph had been ready to step in only for Baxter to firmly tell the man off, giving him such an earful about mistaken identities that Joseph was sure the sod had sobered up instantly.

And then there was the fact that she had saved John and Anna Bates' baby son from that horrid Vera O'Malley! Ms. Baxter had allowed herself to pose as a prisoner just to get close enough to ruin Vera's plans. It was shocking and brave and made her an utter hero in his eyes.

So he stood there, listening as Mr. Branson talked about… something, he honestly wasn't for sure what, and felt like a great fool being there. Because what could he offer a woman like Ms. Baxter-

"Oh, hello Mr. Molesley."

Joseph started when he realized that he'd become so lost in thought that he hadn't even noticed the car pull up and Ms. Baxter step out.

"Hello! I mean… well, yes, hello!" he stammered, realizing he'd gotten his greeting right the first time. "Let me help you!" he said, rushing over to take the bag she was carrying. "Did you make it well? I mean… of course you made it, you are here, after all! I merely meant did your trip go smoothly?"

"It did, thank you," she said softly, a slight smile tugging on her lips. He looked to see Mr. Branson smiling and shaking his head before heading off while the hallboys worked to unload Lady Mary's bags. "Take those to Mr. Crawley's room." She looked at Joseph. "They will be sharing a bedroom, won't they?"

"They must if we don't want Lady Mary to box our ears," Joseph said only to cringe, wondering I that had been far too forward. Perhaps he shouldn't have-

Ms. Baxter laughed at that as they moved towards the servant's entrance. "Yes, I have noticed that Lady Mary is far more moody when Mr. Crawley has left. There are times where I purposely run out of something just so I can avoid her."

"Mr. Crawley is more… brooding," Joseph finally said. "Not angry or wrath-filled just… he will sit there and want silence. I used to try and engage him during dressings but he would choose only a single word to utter. He bounced back quick enough but it was hard for him."

"Hard for both of them," Ms. Baxter stated.

"Hard for who now?" Ms. O'Brien asked, approaching them.

"Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley being separated," Ms. Baxter said pleasantly. "You must be Sarah O'Brien."

"I am," Ms. O'Brien stated. "You are Lady Mary's new maid, the one that stopped Mr. Bates' ex-wife from stealing his son?"

"I am," Ms. Baxter said, lowering her eyes.

"…don't do that."

"Pardon?"

"Downplay what you've done. Far too many people in the world will dismiss our work… don't help them." With that she turned and walked off. "Dinner will be at 7 so make sure you are ready to help Lady Mary before then. I won't have her ladyship upset on her first night back because you ran behind."

"I can't tell if she likes me or loathes me," Ms. Baxter finally said.

"With Ms. O'Brien that is a normal sentiment," Joseph said lightly before gesturing for her to follow. "Now then, let me show you to their room."

Ms. Baxter was silent the way up to the first floor and it was only as they made their way up the grand staircase that she spoke again. "How long do you suppose Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary will be staying here."

"Well… I don't know."

"Because it won't be forever," Ms. Baxter said. Joseph frowned at that but she continued on before he could speak. "Lady Mary has been quite clear that she doesn't want to dwell in her parents' shadow. She is in a better place with them but she wants to be her own woman, ruling her own domain."

"Well… I suppose I can see that," Joseph said. "I guess it all depends on when they can find a new place to live."

"Lady Mary mentioned a smaller home, one that is rented right now but easily could become theirs. Are you aware of it?"

"Can't say that I am but I am sure Mr. Crawley knows of it with all he's done with the estate and helping it grow. If there is such a home I think it would be perfect for them. Stately and grand enough that no one would claim Lady Mary was living below her station but not so large they'd feel swallowed up by it."

"I agree," Ms. Baxter said. "Though I suppose it isn't for us to debate such things. We go where we are needed and tonight it is making this dinner a success."

"Quite right," Joseph said, sending a prayer to the Heavens that the dinner would be just that.