Chapter 30.

Wow! I never thought this would get to more than ten chapters at first, but here we are. I just want to quickly take this opportunity to thank all of you who keep reading and reviewing this story. It truly means the world to me that people actually want to read what I come up with in the middle of the night when I can't sleep. Thank you!

Now, without further ado, this is chapter 30 :)

Hesitantly, Mary knocked on the door leading to her mother's newly refurnished sitting room. What was formerly used as a room for the lady of the house to answer letters and send out cards and invitations, was now more predominantly used as a room for some quiet recreation in the sometimes quite busy house. All pending correspondence for the lady of the house was still landing on Mary's desk for the time being, she did not want her Mama to have to bother with any of that at the moment.

Apart from the new tables, armchairs and chaise longue, her father had also rather unselfishly bought a new settee to match. He wanted to make the most of the quite spacious room, and lounging on a settee in front of the fireplace seemed to be more comfortable for him than an armchair and it was a better use of the space. With these subtle changes, her mother would not have to climb the stairs every time she needed a quick lie-down, which happened quite often given her chronic fatigue.

Her papa had taken to sitting with his wife whenever he could, as opposed to spending his days in the library and outside on the estate like before. He even had a second desk moved in here so that he could keep her company when he was busy with his own correspondences. They had both begun spending most of their days here since they got back from their journey to America five days ago — it was much more comfortable than the vaster library or any of the other sitting rooms they used before they left for her mother's homeland, or at least that is what they both kept saying. And Mary could easily believe it after she saw the lengths her father had gone to.

"Mama, Papa. Could I speak to you for a moment, please?" she asked quietly, only poking her head through the slightly opened door.

Robert's head snapped up from the pages of the book he had been so engrossed in that he had not heard her knocking. He immediately straightened his rather relaxed position on the settee. He closed the well-worn, leather-bound book he had been reading and put it away on the side table that also had his cup of tea on it. Even though Mary's voice had been gentle and quiet, Cora had woken up at the sudden sound filling the otherwise tranquil room. She slowly and sleepily opened her eyes from her nap and sat up on the new and quite comfortable chaise longue, almost letting the soft blanket covering her fall to the floor.

"Of course. What is it?" Robert replied in a concerned tone, turning around slightly to face his daughter.

Tentatively, Mary stepped into the room with the yellow flowery wallpapers. Even without her father's new additions to the room's interior, Mary had always liked the room. She had always found it to be one of the most inviting rooms in the abbey, exuding so much warmth and comfort — which was in no small part due to her mother's presence and her personality, which was reflected especially within the decorations put on display. There were quite a few pictures of their family put up on top of her mother's desk, snapshots of their lives together as a family.

The sisters had only a handful of pictures taken of all three of them together in their lifetime, but all of them were on display in this room. There was one from back when Sybil had first been born with her sisters standing next to her crib in their nicest dresses, then another photograph taken on Edith's tenth birthday, and then a picture showing all three of them ahead of Mary's first London season. The last pictures to have been taken from all three sisters together were from the weddings, the last one being from Edith's. Or rather, what should have been Edith's wedding to Sir Anthony Strallan. Still, it was a delightful picture and so Cora had put it on display, especially because it would always hold a special place in everyone's hearts, not just hers. It was the last picture featuring all of her daughters, and it was the last ever picture taken of Sybil before her tragic death. The photographs of the Crawley children were standing among several photographs of Robert, some together with Cora and some of only the Earl at various stages in his and their lives. It was abundantly clear just from the pictures chosen to be put on display that Cora loved and cherished her family, all of them. Cora's family had also found space on the desk, as well as a nice photograph of Violet.

Mary's gaze wandered to her father's makeshift desk that had been put right next to her mother's. He, too, had decided to display photographs, even though there were considerably fewer compared to his desk in the library. There was the photograph taken of Sybil's wedding, it was standing closest to anyone wanting to have a look at the different images, it meant a lot to her father, Mary knew. He still deeply regretted not attending his youngest daughter's wedding, and prohibiting Cora from joining her daughters.

Mary's eyes fell on a picture that was taken on her parent's thirtieth wedding anniversary, if she recalled correctly. They both looked so incredibly happy, and dare she say, in love. Neither of them was looking at the photographer; instead, they simply looked at each other with such deep adoration and affection as they stood close together. Seeing this made Mary so happy, but also so very sad at the same time. It reminded her of Matthew, how she would not be in this situation had he survived the car crash, or never been in one in the first place. He had fought in the Great War for years, had been so badly injured and survived all those horrors only to die in a stupid car crash on the day his son was born. Life could be so incredibly cruel. Mary was so certain they would look at each other just like her parents did, and that certainty made her heart simply ache more than it already was.

"Come sit here, darling," said Cora, her voice still small and sleepy, while she patted the softly cushioned chaise next to where she was reclining.

Smiling appreciatively, Mary did as she was asked. Now that she was facing her father, she was unsure of what to say and especially how to say it. She had had it all planned out in her head beforehand, but somehow all those sentences and arguments she had compiled before were nowhere to be found inside her head. It was all empty, like wasteland.

Her parents waited for her to start talking, looking expectantly at her. Cora sat up straighter than before, carefully scooting closer to her daughter, while Robert simply shifted in his seat. Where Cora had sat up straighter, his body slumped more as he leant forward, letting his elbows come to rest on his knees to support his face with his hands and arms.

Mary gulped. She was here and she had their undivided attention — what more could she wish for when talking about what was weighing on her mind so heavily?

"Is this about Henry?" asked Cora suddenly, as if she somehow managed to read her daughter's mind.

Mary was surprised but nodded, looking at the ground. She couldn't stand looking at her father, having to admit her enormous defeat to this extent. She was somewhat afraid of what he was going to say. He was not exactly known for his progressive views, after all.

"Is he not coming home for Christmas, is that what is troubling you?" her mother asked, trying to dig deeper.

"No, that's not it. In fact, Henry is already home, he arrived here a few days after you left for America," Mary got out, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. She still had no idea how to breach the subject of her wanting a divorce to her parents.

"What? Where has he been hiding then? And why?" asked Robert, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Because I asked something of him — something outrageous and unfounded, he claims. I told him that we could talk calmly about it like adults if he ever manages to reign his temper in, but that I don't want to see him until then. And he kept away, staying mostly in the room I had Anna prepare for him ever since. He has been avoiding me, along with everyone else. He only goes to see the children every now and then and he leaves immediately when someone else so much as walks nearby."

"Surely, whatever you asked of him can't have been that horrible," her father said at that, still clueless about what his daughter was trying to tell him and Cora.

Mary had a guilty expression on her face when she answered: "You wouldn't say that if you knew what I asked."

"Mary, I am sure your Papa deserves a little more credit than that," Cora then interjected. She might have been tired, but she did have a vague idea of what was troubling her eldest. She only hoped she was wrong.

Steadying herself with another deep breath, Mary finally worked up the courage to voice the words she had been dreading to speak aloud.

"I am sure he does deserve a lot of credit, but he still is a traditionalist. Papa might have come a long way with his views compared to a few years ago, but I am afraid he won't simply accept what I am about to say, not quite yet," she said in reply to her mother, looking at her reduced form still only half sitting up next to her. Then she looked at her Papa, an apologetic expression on her worried face. "Try not to be too angry, with me, Papa, please. I know that people like us don't do this, we get married for better or worse, until death do us part. It is not for people like us to throw in the towel because of unhappiness, or because we fell out of love. But I cannot go on like this, not without losing myself. And so I asked him for a divorce."

There was a silence. Mary wanted to say so much more, to justify her decision, but she knew that her parents needed time to stomach the information first, and so she refrained from elaborating.

After some quiet contemplation, Robert was the first to speak after heaving a deep breath.

"It seems that things are like your mother said; I deserve more credit than you want to give me," Robert simply said, not at all as surprised by his daughter's admission as she had anticipated. "It is true. People like us get married for better or for worse, but I have found that there is more to life than staying with someone because of a few words uttered in a church. There are other factors at play, lots of things that contribute to the thriving or failing of a marriage. It's not the words we speak in front of the vicar, it is our actions that speak of our love. If you feel like his actions have not done that and he does indeed not want to hear any of it, I say you are better off without him. You have been married before, you are a widow, and there is no need for you to be tied to a man who doesn't deserve you. If you have decided to ask him for a divorce, then I know that you thought about it long and hard — making a brash decision would not be in your character."

He got up from the settee and walked over to the window. Looking out into the vast lands of Downton, he stayed silent for a while. Then, when neither his wife nor daughter replied, he turned back around and said: "You are right, our kind of people don't get divorced, or at least they haven't in the past. Things are changing, as they always are, and there are more and more people among our peers who do go down that road and still have their social standing, if you're concerned about that. You need not worry about us, even this old traditionalist here will still love and respect you, maybe more than he did before, if that is even possible. I told you, many years ago, that I want a good man for you, and even the blind fool I am can see that Henry is not all you hoped he would be when you agreed to marry him."

She was touched. So incredibly touched by her father's words and the sentiment behind them. Emotions and talking about them had never been his forte, but he had listened without judgment and reacted calmly. Mary had expected anger, or him cursing Henry, or anything else for the matter, but her father was calm and considerate. It reminded her of how he reacted after he found out about Mister Pamuk and told her to break with Richard Carlisle, despite the looming threat of ruin and scandal that put over the entire family. And even his words had been familiar.

However, something within her told her that he had already known about some of her and Henry's troubles, or at least he must have suspected something was off. He must have had time to prepare for this moment, for he was simply too eloquent and calm for it to be completely new to him. Still, she was grateful and relieved. Knowing that her father would support her meant a great deal to her, maybe even more than her mother's support. Mary was almost certain that her mother would have helped her no matter what, her father's reactions though were always rather hard to predict in these situations. He had surprised her, in one of the best ways possible.

"Thank you, truly. There is still one problem, though. And it is quite a big one," she said then, looking away from her father again.

"Oh?" Cora asked softly next to her.

"He does not want to agree to the divorce, and I have nothing as leverage against him to get him to agree."

Her mother's hand suddenly took hold of her own, squeezing it gently. At that, Mary looked up again in question, this time at her Mama. She searched her eyes for a reply beyond the affectionate and comforting gesture.

"Let your Papa handle that, darling. I am sure that at some point, Henry will have to agree and if he won't listen to you, then he'll have to live with other people interfering," said Cora sternly, sounding very determined.