Downton Abbey Comment Ficathon
With the new season upon us, and fandom all extra-enthusiastic, I figured now would be a great time for this. Because there can never be enough Downton Abbey fic, and there certainly isn't enough now!
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--frostyblossom
Violet and Isobel - Getting Along (and scaring everyone else in the process)
“Lady Grantham!” Isobel addressed the Dowager with a happy, almost exuberant grin. Matthew’s face held half a gape and a slightly quirked eyebrow, unsure whether shock or confusion should be the reigning feature.
“Lady Grantham?” Violet repeated the greeting with mock indignation. “My dear Isobel, when have we ever stood upon such ceremony?” Mary’s mouth formed a silent “O” while her eyes widened to saucers.
“Well then, Violet - if you really will insist - I’ve come up to the house to see you specifically.” Matthew backed away several paces from his mother. It was a complete lie, of course; at least he thought it was. What was the reason they had sought out the company of the great house again? Oh yes, tea.
“I should certainly hope so,” Violet replied, pouring a cup. “It’s been nearly a fortnight since we’ve last had one of our chats. I was growing quite bereft of your company - no one here comes even close to matching your skill at a verbal spar.” Mary felt she should be offended, as the last person with whom her grandmother had been “sparring”, but any notions of offense were duly put out by growing disquiet and alarm.
“Is…everything all right, Granny?” she tentatively asked.
“Why yes, of course! Especially now that dear Isobel is here!” Violet exclaimed brightly, tacking on a dismissive, “Oh…and Matthew, too, of course,” almost as an after thought.
Mary rose from her chair beside the Dowager just as Isobel hurriedly moved to occupy it. She sidled up to Matthew, her wariness evident, while he whispered in her ear conspiratorially.
“I don’t like this, Mary. They’re much too…pleasant - getting along, even. It can’t bode well. Shall we…?”
“There’s an empty drawing room down the hall. And the gardens are in full bloom this time of year, if you’d rather some fresh air.”
“I would rather,” Matthew smirked smartly, and the two made hasty farewells to their antecedents, along with a speedy escape.
Inside the drawing room, one of the seated matrons spoke.
“It appears we have done it. Mary and Matthew: alone at last. The first time since we managed to rid ourselves of Miss Swire and Sir Richard.”
“We pulled that act off quite admirable, if I do say so,” came the reply, two teacups clinking together in the sweet sound of victory.
Three hours later…
Mary and Matthew burst into the room, both flushed with the giddiness of love requited and promises exchanged. Mary was looking rather…disheveled would be the most decorous word, while Matthew’s lips were rather suspiciously full and rosy.
“Mother! Cousin Violet! You will never believe -”
“What?” Isobel cut in, “that you’re engaged?”
“Well, yes,” Mary answered with an unsure quiver in her voice. She wavered for a moment, until comprehension dawned and she narrowed her manicured eyebrows knowingly. “You arranged all of it, didn’t you? Granny? Cousin Isobel? Come, now, confess!”
A pair of satisfied (smug?) smiles would be the lovers’ only answer.
“So does this mean you’re not actually friends?” Matthew inquired, wrapping his arm around his new fiancé’s waste.
“We’re allies, Matthew,” his mother informed him, “which can be a great deal more…” Isobel trailed off, searching for the right term.
“Effective!” Violet supplied. “Now, would anyone care for some more tea?”
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--frostyblossom
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