One Week Later…

"It is a lovely estate," Lavinia said with a smile as she and Mary wandered the grounds of Downton Place. The weather was cool without being cold, making it perfect strolling weather and the two friends had decided to take advantage of it and take a tour of the grounds.

"It very much is."

Lavinia shot her a small smirk, one that Mary giddy twice over thanks to her dual memories. The Mary of the past had always liked Lavinia, hating how so many around her had felt like she had to be her enemy purely because they had both loved the same man. They hadn't understood that when you loved someone, truly loved someone, you wished for them to be happy and she had seen how happy Lavinia made Matthew. How could she hate her for doing what Mary could not? Still… there had been that wall there, the knowledge that there was a divide created by expectations and society. To see her now, so comfortable around Mary, it made her heart soar. And as for her current memories (and she often considered those to be the true her, with her past just… a warning to cherish what she had now) she remembered how skittish and scared Lavinia had been when they first met. Seeing her now, so willing to banter with her… it showed that Mary had managed to do right by her.

"What are you thinking?" Mary teased.

"Oh, nothing," Lavinia stated.

"And why do I not believe that for a second," Mary muttered. "Come now, you can't keep me in the dark…"

"Very well," Lavinia said after a few moments. "I was merely thinking about how wonderful your new home is…" she paused for dramatic effect, the little minx, "…and then I wondered just what you were deciding to change."

Mary blinked at that before laughing herself. "You know me far too well." She shook her head, turning slightly to direct them towards a stand of trees. Not the large forest that dominated the far eastern side of the estate, where the short cut grass met the untamed forest. Rather Mary led her to where a stand of apple trees stood, heavy with green fruit while the lawn around them was littered with their fallen bounty. Due to the war the previous renters who had lived in Downton Place had been forced to move and her father hadn't been able to get the proper care for the estate, meaning that several harvests had gone right back to seed.

"Well?"

"For one this," she said, pointing to the trees. "Id like to get a few more planted, perhaps something other than apples. Those are perfectly fine, of course, I have plenty of recipes that call for apples. Though I am thinking we need a few more trees. These are Granny Smith, which are fine, but I'd like to get some Sturmer Pippins growing to add a bit more complexity to things."

Lavinia shook her head. "I will take your word for it."

"As for others?" Mary said. "Some plum and pears would be nice. I'm also thinking of setting up some strawberry and raspberry patches. Matthew and I am talking with some local farmers, seeing if any would be interested in a son or daughter being in charge of minding our personal gardens… of course I wouldn't use only what we provide right here but it would be nice to be able to serve a pie or a cake that included fruit grown right out our window."

"And that will go well with the full kitchen you are having installed?"

"But of course!" Mary said with a grin. "We still haven't selected what cook we will be hiring but I know they won't be as accommodating as the Lothrop's cook… and she always was shooting me dark looks whenever I took over the kitchen to work on something. And I could never have things the way I wanted… no, this way I can have things just how I want them. Oh, I must remember to show you the plans I had drawn up!" Mary was utterly giddy about the domain that soon would be her's and only her's. "We're going to be giving the downstairs kitchen the same upgrades… only fair, of course, but I want my kitchen to be far more inviting for others. There will be a bar one can sit at while I work and Matthew suggested having a gramophone installed so I can listen to music while I bake…"

"What other plans do you have?" Lavinia asked.

Mary pouted a bit about not being able to gush about her kitchen but in the end answered with good humor. "Matthew had an idea for a game room, based on what Downton had when it was a hospital. A pool table, darts, a place for him to play cards with Michael and Tom and other guests…"

"And I am sure you won't be making use of that at all."

"Of course not," Mary said in the most unconvincing way possible. "I certainly didn't suggest one of those table tennis games Downton had…" She smiled and Lavinia laughed. "I also want to do something out there."

"What do you mean?"

"I am thinking of getting a good path through the forest," Mary stated, gesturing out into the distance. "Someplace where I can go riding with Diamond or Matthew and Papa can go for a walk. I don't want to go destroying much of the forest, if I can help it, but I think it would be rather nice if we could enjoy the wilds."

"That does sound lovely," Lavinia stated.

"And then there are the rooms," Mary said. "We have 100 rooms, many of them guest."

"Crikey," Lavinia said.

"Yes, I know," Mary agreed. "So we want to establish some rooms as permanent guest rooms."

"Aren't they always guest rooms?"

Mary shook her head. "I mean that they will belong to only certain people. That way they can be designed to cater to their tastes. A home away from home."

"Interesting," Lavinia stated.

Mary, sensing she didn't quite understand, stated, "Take my mama and papa? Their room here is being redone to resemble their room at Downton. Similar bed, similar sheets, I'm even having the walls painted to match it. Papa always says that one of the hardest things he has to go through when he travels is getting used to a strange room… now that won't be the case."

"OH!" Lavinia said, eyes wide. "I see what you mean now. Who else?"

"Well, Edith and Michael. Sybil and Tom of course. Matthew's mother." She paused. "Though, considering how close she's gotten with Richard Gray I think I might need to change which room I give her…" She wondered if the couple realized just how obvious they were being. "The General and Catherine. Granny. Anna and Bates." She paused. "You."

"Me?" Lavinia squeaked. "Mary, you don't-"

"I insist!" Mary stated firmly. "If I thought you'd agree to it I'd suggest you and Henry just move in but I think you two will prefer making house on your own…"

Lavinia blushed at that.

~MC~MC~MC~

"You can't be serious!" Edith exclaimed as she stalked about the hotel room.

It was late in the morning, nearly lunchtime even for those of Edith's circles, and yet she and Michael had only woken up half an hour ago, one of the hotel staff wheeling in a cart with different breakfast treats for them to eat before they got dressed and set out for the day.

It had been decided that for their honeymoon they would tour Scotland. She knew that many people had expected them to go to the Continent, as that was the fashionable thing to do for young rich English couples to do. But the memories of her previous life had haunted her; when Michael had last gone to the continent he had died and when she had gone it had been to have their child in secret, all alone and scared.

No… they were staying FAR away from the Continent.

America had been briefly considered but was simply too long of a trip for a honeymoon, especially when they had duties waiting for them at the paper. And it was those duties that had caused Edith to learn of her love's surprise.

Michael looked up from the paper he was reading. It wasn't one of his own… something he was sure would surprise people that weren't in the business. So many assumed that he was loyal to his papers and only wanted to read what he controlled but the opposite was true. He tended to read other papers, those belonging to rivals or in markets he wasn't connected to. It was the only way for him to learn and find new ways to do things. Sometimes a small local paper could provide new layout ideas or reveal talent waiting to be nurtured.

"I am quite serious, Edith," he told his wife (and it still made him smile with delight when he thought about that). "It is my gift to you."

"I am perfectly happy working at the paper, writing my articles and helping you make some editing decisions," she told him. "I don't need a paper of my own!"

"You don't need it, yes," Michael said. "But I think you'll be wonderful at it."

"You bought me a paper," Edith repeated.

"Technically I bought you a magazine," Michael informed her. "It will come out once a month so you'll have more time to prepare for issues."

"Do not argue semantics with me!" Edith warned him. "I do not need it!"

"Honestly?" Michael said, folding the paper. "I didn't buy it for you. It was part of a package I got when I made a deal with Masterson for him to take on some of Carlisle's empire."

Edith nodded at that. "I remember you discussing that… he got… three of the papers?"

"Two of them," Michael said. "I decided to keep the East End one. Masterson would have raised prices on it and the people living there… they depend on The Daily Cryer. They can't afford the more expensive papers and if prices were raised they would abandon that one too."

"Can we afford to run it at the prices Carlisle was asking for?"

Michael's mouth twitched in annoyance. "We'll take a loss at first but we should be able to make up for it with The Herald. I plan to raise the pricing on that but that caters to the upper class in London and they will see that as a status symbol. Change the paper stock to something of a slightly higher quality, double the price, a few sweet words about us 'focusing on the elites of London' and we'll have more people buying than we did before. That will pay for the Cryer."

"Hmmm," Edith murmured. She didn't like the idea of raising prices just to trick the rich and powerful into buying the paper… but she also knew that the plan would work. She could see her father happily spending more for the exact same content just so he could lord it over others that he could afford to do such a thing. "Very well… but that doesn't explain the paper… fine, magazine," she shook her head at the correction, "and why you are giving it to me."

"it is a magazine that was hit with problems when the war started," Michael told her. "Carlisle bought it for pennies on the pound, taking advantage of the owner's desperate need to sell. Honestly there isn't much to it other than the name, The Lines. What loyal readers it had have moved on."

"Then why do you want to keep it then?" Edith asked.

"To let you show the world how smart you are," Michael said, holding out his hand and after a moment Edith, with a sigh, allowed him to guide her onto his lap. "Even now, with all you do to help me, there are people who think that I am merely humoring you." He held up his hand as Edith opened her mouth to speak. "No, I'm not going to tell you who I've heard it from. Allow me to deal with them."

"I would prefer to handle them myself over a magazine."

"I think you are going to realize that isn't true," Michael said with a smile. "You told me how you began running things for me after I disappeared. Just you. And I am sure there have been ideas you've wanted to try out that you couldn't because you thought I might disagree."

Edith shifted; that had been true. She had some article ideas she wanted to begin putting in their paper but because of how the paper business was she knew that they were risky. She hadn't thought that Michael would dismiss her ideas because she was a woman… she didn't even think he would do so because he would hate them. It would because of the pressures he felt in needing to keep his paper making money, so he could support his staff. She didn't want him to be put in the horrid situation of needing to decide between his duty to his employees and his desire to side with his wife.

"But with this magazine you will have complete control. I will allow you to do whatever you want… because I will have no say. You own it… just you Edith."

"I own it," she repeated, the thought becoming lodged into her brain. "You know… until I came to London at the start of the War there was nothing I could claim was truly my own. My dresses, my jewels… those all came from papa. I received gifts of course but gifts… they are somehow different from this, even though this is a gift." She frowned. "I'm not making much sense."

"Because you are trying to find a reason to say no when you know the only answer is yes," he teased.

Edith glowered at him before throwing her hands up in the air. "Very well!" she declared, grabbing her fork and setting in to eat her cooling breakfast. "I will take over this paper that you seem determined I run."

"Magazine," he reminded her. "And it truly is yours to do with as you wish. All it has is the name and even that can be changed. And of course the supplies to get started. But you can do whatever you wish with it. Before it published its last issue three months back it was focused on matters for upper class women. Stories of travel, the latest fashions, so on. If you wish to keep that audience you can but if you desire to change it-"

"I'll be keeping it," Edith said.

"Oh?" Michael said, clearly surprised by her comment.

"Yes," she said with a little smile. "I will do all I can to make it basically the same magazine it was before I took over."

"That is… surprising," he admitted.

Edith nodded, stirring some cream into her coffee. "I suppose it is… just as it will be surprising in a few months when I begin to introduce a few new articles." She locked eyes with him. "Something I have learned during my years at Downton is that high society loathes sudden change. They are…" she paused. "Have you ever heard of the frog and the pot?"

"I can't say that I have."

"it s a morbid little tidbit, I admit. Probably why Mary and I so delighted in learning it, because it was something we shouldn't have been taught. In France they enjoy eating frog legs." She screwed up her face. "I don't understand it in the slightest but then again I was never one to delight in anything other than French desserts. But the point is that French cooks found that it is better to boil the frogs alive than to kill them… Mary could tell you why, I don't have the foggiest reason. But boiling a frog is hard… they will leap out of the pot. Cooks were doing all sorts of things, trying to keep them inside. Tall pots, lids with heavy weights on them, so on. Finally though one cook realized that if you place a frog in a pot of cool water and slowly increase the temperature to a boil the frog will remain inside, not even realizing what is happening till it is too late."

"That is… rather ghastly," Michael said, pushing away the sausage patty he had been preparing to eat and settling for some fruit instead.

"But it serves as a good lesson for us," Edith stated. "The upper class are frogs. You try and spring a change on them and they will leap from it. They will declare it wrong and horrid and will not allow it to be welcomed into their home. They will use their money to fight it and make the struggle all the harder." She took a sip of her coffee. "But if one introduces change slowly…"

"Your magazine will be a slowly warming pot."

Edith flashed a dark little smile. "I am going to change Britian. I will lure them in with my magazine, making it feel like something they can enjoy that is safe and secure, never daring to be wild. But then I will begin to tempt them… bait them in with minor articles that propose and suggest new outlooks and minor changes. Building on it until they are used to that and accept it… and then go even further. Until I have made every wife and mother, sister and daughter, all the women of high society into radicals. And they will then convert their husbands…"

Michael swallowed at that.

"Are you regretting your choice yet?" Edith teased.

~MC~MC~MC~

"Oh, Lord Merton!" Sybil said in surprise as she entered in Downton House's living room and found the Lord of Cavenham sitting there. "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware you were here." Tom came behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Isobel invited us here for tea… did we get the date wrong?"

"No no," Richard said pleasantly just as Isobel entered. "You are quite correct. In fact I must admit there has been some… subterfuge on my part. You see… I asked her to invite you both here."

"You… asked us here?" Sybil said, confused. She tried to figure out just why Lord Merton would want to see the two of them. "Is it the General?" she asked suddenly, eyes wide with fear.

"What?" Richard said only to shake his head. "No… no no no. He's completely fine." He paused. "Well, as fine as he can be at his estate."

"He isn't happy," Isobel confirmed. "But that is more because he is being stubborn than anything else."

That caused Sybil to relax a touch. "Yes, I'm not surprised by that. Him having to manage an estate would be like Papa being asked to handle an American Cattle Ranch."

"I think I would pay good money to see your father in spurs and chaps," Isobel teased and the four of them chuckled at the mental image of the Lord of Grantham riding on a horse and trying to lasso cattle. They settled down on the couch and chairs, Isobel's butler bringing over tea and some finger desserts for them to nibble on. "No… we asked you here because of a situation that Dickie finds himself in."

"And what is that?" Tom asked.

"You know that I am currently without an heir," Richard stated. "With Larry dead and Tim imprisoned neither can naturally inherit."

"You need help looking into who is now heir?" Tom asked.

"No, I have already gotten people to look into that."

Sybil frowned. "I'm not quite sure then what we can do to help you."

"The problem is that my heir is more like Matthew than he is Tim or Larry."

"…ah," Tom said. "He's middle class."

"He is." Richard held up a hand. "I don't mind that he is middle class. I feel that he is going to do a wonderful job running the estate when I am gone. Probably will do better than I ever did, because he will be willing to look ahead more than I ever could. But the fact remains that he is not noble by birth so all of this will be a… shock to the system."

"You want us to help," Sybil said. "Ease him into his new life."

"In a way," Richard stated. "You see, it all begins rather far in my family tree. I am the 12th Baron Merton… the tale begins with the 7th Baron, my Great Great Great Grandfather."

"Quite a distance," Sybil stated.

"Indeed," Richard admitted. "The 7th Baron Merton had two sons: his heir, Douglas, and a second son, Brandon. The two were… not close. Night and day honestly which I suppose is a good thing because the 8th Baron Merton, Douglas Grey, was not a good man. Honestly it is luck more than anything that we didn't lose our standing due to the scandals he brought upon the family. References were found to all manner of wild and tawdry incidents… well, I won't bore you all with those as they don't have anything to do with our tale. Just know that Douglas was like that his entire life.

"When he was 25 Douglas came into a spot of trouble. While the official records stated that he got into an altercation with the village blacksmith and had to call the police to deal with the ruffian my investigator found the original records that paint a darker story. It seems that Douglas had taken a fancy to the blacksmith's wife and… well, I won't detail it here because that is not something suitable for polite company."

Tom and Sybil nodded, both already, however, guessing just what Douglas Grey had done.

"Douglas' father, Lewis Grey, paid to cover up the incident. Brandon argued against it… he felt his brother had brought dishonor upon the family and disguising that fact from the world only heaped more dishonor upon them all. When Lewis would not budge Brandon declared that he would not remain a second more and he left. Lewis and Douglas were both sure that Brandon would return with cap in hand but he was a stubborn man. He traveled out of England and settled in Ireland to make his own fate."

Tom couldn't help but smile at that. "A good man then… and a smart one." Sybil chuckled at her husband's unvarnished pride for his motherland.

Richard though continued on. "Years later Douglas' son, my great grandfather Reginald Grey, the 9th Baron Merton, attempted to mend the damage done and bring the family back together. He sought out Brandon… only to learn, sadly, that he had passed on. Reginald did meet his cousin, however, William. But their meeting… it was not the tearful and heartfelt reunion Reginald desired.

"William had grown up with stories about the Grey family and what they had done and when Reginald arrived, dressed far too nicely and putting on what I am told was a rather snobbish attitude he was already put on edge. Made worse was Reginald declaring he was there to end the family's exile, as if the main line had forced them to Ireland rather than them choosing to go. William declared in no uncertain terms that he would never bow to the main line. He renounced his family name."

Sybil leaned back against the couch. "Oh… that will cause a problem," she said. "If the family knows the tale they might not be open to your heir taking the title."

"They don't," Richard said.

"How can you know?"

"They would have told me already if they did."

"You've spoken with them?"

"Many times."

Tom frowned. "I don't understand."

Richard let out sigh. "William said he was not a Grey. He declared that their line started with his father. 'I am my father's son. Brandon's Son.' That is what he said to Reginald. And the family adopted that name. Shortened it."

Richard leaned over and placed a hand on Tom's knee.

"Bran's Son."

Tom's eyes slowly widened.

"Branson," Richard finally stated. "It's you, Tom. You are the eldest of the male line of Brandon Grey. You… are the next Baron Merton."