Chance encounters
Title: Chance encounters
Author: vladnyrki
Fandom: Downton Abbey
Characters & Pairings: Mary Crawley/Richard Carlisle
"This happiness should have been hers" The dissolution of their engagement allowed Mary to live her dreams at last whereas Richard left Downton defeated. Eighteen months later, he enjoys everything life has to offer to a single millionaire whereas she struggles against financial difficulties and a shaky marriage. A collection of vignettes about their chance encounters.
So here's a new chance encounter, set in London this time, during New Years Eve. Rosamund play political matchmaker, the Crawleys had to forgo tradition reluctantly for Christmastime, a recently single Richard accepted Lady Painswick's invitation without knowing what expected him.
Betaed by the great mrstater
London nights
1
Being six-months pregnant could be a social nightmare, as Mary had recently discovered. No amount of artifice or invention could hide her condition anymore, which meant that her social life in a world of secrecy and discretion would be on hold for a good year at least.
One simply did not put her pregnancy on display.
However, her condition could have its perks as well, as she was noticing during the reception held at her Aunt Rosamund’s London house for the New Year. She did not have to act as if her feet did not hurt in her pair of brand new heels and could share with her Granny the privilege of claiming a seat on the most comfortable sofa. There, guests had to walk to Mary to salute her or engage in conversation. Moreover, the sofa was strategically located at the opposite end from the scene where a hired quartet improvised jazzy, American inspired tunes, which was an added bonus.
And, most of all, she could observe.
From her position, in the periphery of the reception, forgotten by the guests too happy to occupy the center of the scene, nothing could escape her attention.
The hasty adjustment of a dress strap or the vulgar sneezing when one thought to be away from prying eyes gave her a glimpse of the guests’ unmasked persona.
The stolen, forbidden glances and gestures between an earl and a countess who was not his wife revealed her hidden secrets and restrained passions.
A clenching of a jaw or an exchange of hard cold stares unveiled barely concealed tensions and animosities.
Mary had not sat for more than a couple of hours, and she was beginning to understand how her Granny had gained this acute insight about the people surrounding her, and the human nature as whole. A most precious quality one might say. And Mary had been especially grateful for her grandmother’s special talent since Matthew’s proposal two years ago. Indeed, without the Dowager’s observations, and her inability not to interfere when confronted with an inconvenient problem, Mary and her husband would have probably married their respective fiancés without admitting the truth about the nature of their feelings.
Only recently had she begun the question the wisdom of her Granny’s intervention, which had led her to a near slip-up in Glasgow last autumn. Mary still could not believe she had almost broken her marriage vows so easily, with Richard of all people. If the Dowager had worked to make the idea of a marriage between Matthew and Mary possible once more, Richard, quite ironically, had been the one who had saved it thanks to his restraint and rather unexpected understanding.
Ignoring the little voice that kept questioning the foundations of a relationship that needed constant outside interventions to go back on track, Mary had come back from Glasgow feeling guilty, unable to share the indignity of her guilt with anyone and well decided to erase it by making a decisive effort in the right direction.
Her fairytale could be a reality once again. It had to be.
From the other side of the room, Mary noticed her husband’s tender and protective gaze, and answered him with a radiant smile. Her three days’ trip to Glasgow had been a wake-up call for him as well. Since her return from Scotland, he had showered her with little attentions, intent on seducing her again, and had even persuaded her father to accept her insight about the future of Downton, implicitly forgiving her for asking help from his former rival. The pregnancy that had been a source of tensions, interrogations and insecurities previously was finally the source of unadulterated happiness it should always had been. In spite of the worsening backaches and other inconveniences, Mary had rarely felt so happy, so complete.
Of course, entering the final months was also the moment when she had to bid farewell to the most part of her wardrobe and accept the idea that the elegant slender silhouette that had made her so proud for years would be modified by motherhood. However, compared to Matthew’s adoring eyes as he observed the way the baby’s movements deformed her belly, to the wonder in his voice when his hand could feel their child’s kicks and turns, those changes were simply unimportant.
-/-
If something could be said about Lady Rosamund Painswick, it was that the woman knew how to throw a party. With the notable exception of the quartet who would not have been Richard’s first choice - their pitiful attempt at jazz would make any musician from New Orleans laugh to be honest - everything else was simply perfect. The newspaperman could not help but be impressed at the ease with which he nosy widow had managed to create both an intimate and social event for the New Year. On the one hand, silver and glass decorations complimented the Art Nouveau spirit of the newly renovated room, and the lavish Christmas tree in the main hall reminded the carefully chosen guests of the necessary joyful spirit at this time of the year. On the other hand, the list of guests gathered the most influential members of a profoundly divided Liberal party.
Clearly, celebration had not been the only preoccupation in Lady Rosamund’s mind when she had decided to defy the family tradition of Christmastime at Downton and throw this rather unexpected party. Her late husband had been one of the main sources of finances of the party in the past, which must have put him at odds with his very conservative in-laws, and the wealthy widow was known to be a force to contend with; a discrete, manipulative, womanly influence that even the most powerful members of the party had to respect.
When Richard noticed the Prime Minister’s presence among the celebrating crowd, he finally understood the reason for his own most unexpected invitation to Lady Rosamund’s party. At first, the thought that she perhaps wanted to buy his favors and act as some meddling intermediary in order to save the family almost made him refuse the invitation. Then, he convinced himself that there was no way that the Crawleys would accept this breach in their carefully crafted Christmas protocol, and he let his curiosity get the better of him.
As Richard observed Lady Rosamund approaching Lloyd George with a glass of champagne, and wearing a stunning dark blue dress that was sure to make the Prime minister more receptive to whatever her project was, the tycoon felt he had been right to be wary of the widow’s meddling tendencies. When she waved at Richard and invited him to join the conversation, he hid his amused smile behind his own glass before strolling nonchalantly to the duo through the crowd.
He had been right when he had thought she wanted to reconcile him with someone.
He had been wrong about who this someone was.
Lady Rosamund’s move was most understandable, though. Ever since the Marconi scandal, the relationship between the two men had been strained, and their reconciliation in 1916 that had helped Lloyd George to his present function in the government had only been temporary. The Prime minister and Richard had been at each other’s throats for the most part of the last year, since the tycoon had publicly called the politician a bloody traitor when the latter had decided to side with the Conservatives to win the elections. During their latest encounter in November, they had almost come to blows over Richard’s 1919 campaigning against the Prime Minister’s leniency about Churchill’s secret and illegal stunt against the Bolsheviks in Russia.
“Gentlemen, please be mindful of Christmas truce and try to be civil, will you?”
With that, their host navigated through the crowds to salute another group of guests.
Bloody meddling woman.
“A good evening to you, Prime Minister. How have you been lately?” Being the first to speak in such a situation always gave you the advantage, Richard had discovered after two decades of dealing in the business of newspapers. Starting the conversation forced one’s adversary to answer whether he wanted or not.
“Please, this kind of civility doesn’t suit you, Richard.” Unlike the newspaperman, the politician never tried to hide his Welsh accent. “Let’s go to the point: I need you.”
“And you needed Lady Rosamund to throw a party to tell me that? A bit complicated, isn’t it?”
“Well, I couldn’t take the risk of being thrown forcefully out of your office before being able to talk, could I?”
Richard took the barbed jab at his intransigence and known lack of patience in stride. Lloyd George’s unexpectedly conciliating tone had made him curious. This evening could bear interesting fruits.
“What do you need me to do? If you pay the price, I can do anything, you know that, Dai.” Using the traditional Welsh nickname was a way to put them of a level field.
“And what would your price be, Richie?” The question was purely rhetorical. Like many independent Liberals, Richard wanted the end of a coalition that was only beneficiary to the Conservatives and to the rising Labor party. If Liberal wanted to survive, they needed to reclaim their autonomy and their particularities.
“Depends. What do you need?”
Ten years of tensions and adversity had made both men wary of each other.
“I need people to get used to the idea of losing Ireland, and I can’t think of anybody but you to build such campaigning.” This veiled compliment cost the Welsh a great deal, as his helpless frown revealed.
“Good Lord, you’re asking the impossible, Dai.” Richard played hard to get. A week of heavy campaigning before the signature of the treaty by the Parliament was more than enough.
“Well, Richie, I quite remember you hadn’t needed more time to cause our fall back in 1912…” The memory of the Marconi scandal was still a bleeding wound.
“Easier to make a government fall than convincing people that the British Empire is crumbling on its foundations…”
“No need to go that far. Don’t take your desires for reality. We’re only talking about Ireland.” The Prime Minister sobered up. “Will you do it?”
“Can I get Churchill’s head?” Richard’s hatred for the man was visceral, and personal. One of his nephews had escaped unscathed from the Western front only to be sent to his death in Russia in December 1918.
“You can’t, you know that, Richard. How about Lord Fitzpatrick’s and his friends’ heads?”
The Scot stared at the Welsh dubiously. Would the politician have information Richard had not obtained yet?
“I thought they were out of reach…”
“Well, my friend,” Lloyd George put a conniving hand on his shoulder in spite of their difference in height. The public, friendly gesture was a masterstroke. Everybody in the room would think they were allies again. “I suppose pretty and independent painters are outstanding lovers, more exotic than Lords’ secretaries, I concede, but they don’t have access to the same kind of precious information.”
Damn the bloody womanizing politician.
Richard gritted his teeth at the allusion to his own affair with Eliza. One month ago, the painter had decided that London was too stuffy and Berlin was the place to be to embrace the expressionist richness. They had parted ways amicably, but Richard still missed the easy companionship she had provided for the last six months.
“Well, I try to never mix business and pleasure,” he replied back. “So, dear Goat, one week of heavy campaigning then I get to play with Fitzpatrick? I like it. That’s a deal.”
Richard extended his hand first. For the ones observing, he was the one proposing the deal, not the contrary. The field was level again, and Lloyd George’s grimace expressed this realization as efficiently as a long discourse.
“That’s a deal.”
They shook hands, cementing publicly their new alliance.
However, the shrewd politician could not leave without reasserting his domination. He was the Prime Minister.
“Isn’t it your former fiancée sitting over there?” he whispered in Richard’s ear, forcing him to bend a little to listen to what the Welsh had to say. “I see an heir is in the making.”
Richard had to restrain himself not to turn around too abruptly and betray how much Lloyd George’s aim was accurate. Of course, the Crawleys were here, as well. How could he have thought otherwise? Considering their situation, coming to London for the Christmas season and renew precious contacts was a good move, economically and strategically. He had been a fool to convince himself of the contrary.
He had to get away as soon as possible.
“Never mix business and pleasure? I clearly remember you were quite intent on covering the traces left by an oblivious and very Conservative family two years ago. I hope you got some reward in your lengthy engagement, Richie.” The man knew how to deliver low-blows.
“Careful, Prime minister… I heard some of your children were getting tired of some of your habits.” Richard put his hand on the politician’s shoulder and pressed, reminding the man of their difference of stature. Gone was the false friendliness, they were back to threats, once again.
Lloyd George retreated hastily. Clearly, he needed this campaigning badly.
“So the cold and careful Richard Carlisle was in love after all.”
-/-
“I always tried to ignore your political misgivings, Rosamund, I tried.” The Dowager barely concealed her frown of indignation. “But, don’t you think that inviting Lloyd George and Richard Carlisle at a party you insisted we absolutely had to join in is awkward at the very least? Did you really have to subject Mary to this man’s presence again?” Disgust replaced indignation in her voice.
Mary almost snorted at that last comment. If only Granny knew… The past year had taken its toll on the Dowager’s heart, and the general consensus had been to protect her as much as possible. So, nobody had spoken a word about Mary’s treason when she had phoned Richard for advice; and, of course, she and Edith had kept the unexpected encounter in Glasgow to themselves. Mary knew that her sister suspected something had happened that evening, and could not be more thankful for the improvement of their relationship lately. A few years back, Edith would have used her suspicion with glee… Now, her secret was safe with her sister.
“Well, Mama, on the one hand, Lloyd George is the Prime Minister, whether you like it or not. As such, he has the power to give you a little respite from next year’s taxes and, as a consequence, make your lives in Yorkshire a lot easier. On the other hand, he needed Carlisle’s support once again,” Aunt Rosamund replied back with a clipped voice, rolling her eyes at her mother’s lingering prejudice against Richard. “I’m not too fond of Carlisle either, I can assure you, even if we share some political opinions. Call this an exchange of services.”
“Let’s only hope neither Robert nor Matthew crosses path with him, that’s all,” the Dowager concluded with a hint of fatalism in her voice.
Mary gave an indulgent smile to her grandmother. For all her health problems, her Granny still possessed her uncanny ability to adapt to unwanted situations.
“Why do you think I sent Robert and Matthew to admire the new billiard table in the smoking room?” came her aunt’s snappy retort.
Mary let her aunt and her grandmother´s usual bickering fade into the background as she observed Richard at work.
It was an impressive sight.
The unexpected jealousy she had felt while spying him in a seducing mood last summer in the secrecy of The Smoking Cat had caught her by surprise. However, this was nothing compared to the feelings awakened by the way he expressed himself as much with words she could not hear as with his expressions and body language.
His smile was charming and mocking one second, then cold and cruel one second later.
His eyes were focused on his interlocutor, gauging Lloyd George as if he was not the Prime Minister but a simple guest.
Richard used even his height, looming over the smaller man to assert his domination in their heated exchange.
He was in his natural habitat, and his every gesture expressed his assurance.
When he was not at Downton, when he was anywhere else, in Brighton, in Glasgow, in London, Richard Carlisle was a very attractive man.
For very different reasons from her grandmother’s, Mary started to question the wisdom of her aunt’s strategic move. The memory of her near slip-up was too fresh, the current truce with Matthew too fragile.
The wave of desire she felt could not be attributed to frustration anymore, and was all the more disturbing and frightening.
Not for the first time since this autumn, Mary used her guilt as a crutch. She had chosen Matthew and Downton, she had to stick by this choice.
For better for worse.
For richer for poorer.
In sickness and in health.
For her unborn child, she needed to make her marriage work. For the sake of the love for Matthew she had secretly nurtured for the most part of five years, Mary could not desert her husband or Downton, it was simple like that.
She would be able to build her own happiness with the cards she had dealt herself, and she would not think about the cards she could have played with.
In the middle of the crowd, she glimpsed Richard as he shook hands with Lloyd George. Both men had reached an agreement, apparently. However, before they went their separate ways, she saw the Prime Minister whispering something in the publisher’s ear, gesturing vaguely in her direction.
It was too late to hide.
The evident surprise and discomfort on Richard’s face showed he had not expected to meet her here at all. Then a fugitive expression of hurt passed on his features before he clenched his jaw as he turned back to the politician. Richard’s back was blocking her view partially, but she could tell how tension had replaced his previous relaxed attitude by the way he set his shoulders. What he said, or the way he uttered it must have been terrible: all the color drained from Lloyd George’s face before the man raised his hands in apology.
As she feigned to accept her grandmother’s line of reasoning and her suggestion to go to another room, Mary made her escape and walked through the crowd to join her husband in the smoking room. In the opposite corner of the main room, next to the band, she saw Richard approach Lady Virginia, whom her husband had abandoned earlier in the evening, and invite her to join the dancers.
Author: vladnyrki
Fandom: Downton Abbey
Characters & Pairings: Mary Crawley/Richard Carlisle
"This happiness should have been hers" The dissolution of their engagement allowed Mary to live her dreams at last whereas Richard left Downton defeated. Eighteen months later, he enjoys everything life has to offer to a single millionaire whereas she struggles against financial difficulties and a shaky marriage. A collection of vignettes about their chance encounters.
So here's a new chance encounter, set in London this time, during New Years Eve. Rosamund play political matchmaker, the Crawleys had to forgo tradition reluctantly for Christmastime, a recently single Richard accepted Lady Painswick's invitation without knowing what expected him.
Betaed by the great mrstater
London nights
1
Being six-months pregnant could be a social nightmare, as Mary had recently discovered. No amount of artifice or invention could hide her condition anymore, which meant that her social life in a world of secrecy and discretion would be on hold for a good year at least.
One simply did not put her pregnancy on display.
However, her condition could have its perks as well, as she was noticing during the reception held at her Aunt Rosamund’s London house for the New Year. She did not have to act as if her feet did not hurt in her pair of brand new heels and could share with her Granny the privilege of claiming a seat on the most comfortable sofa. There, guests had to walk to Mary to salute her or engage in conversation. Moreover, the sofa was strategically located at the opposite end from the scene where a hired quartet improvised jazzy, American inspired tunes, which was an added bonus.
And, most of all, she could observe.
From her position, in the periphery of the reception, forgotten by the guests too happy to occupy the center of the scene, nothing could escape her attention.
The hasty adjustment of a dress strap or the vulgar sneezing when one thought to be away from prying eyes gave her a glimpse of the guests’ unmasked persona.
The stolen, forbidden glances and gestures between an earl and a countess who was not his wife revealed her hidden secrets and restrained passions.
A clenching of a jaw or an exchange of hard cold stares unveiled barely concealed tensions and animosities.
Mary had not sat for more than a couple of hours, and she was beginning to understand how her Granny had gained this acute insight about the people surrounding her, and the human nature as whole. A most precious quality one might say. And Mary had been especially grateful for her grandmother’s special talent since Matthew’s proposal two years ago. Indeed, without the Dowager’s observations, and her inability not to interfere when confronted with an inconvenient problem, Mary and her husband would have probably married their respective fiancés without admitting the truth about the nature of their feelings.
Only recently had she begun the question the wisdom of her Granny’s intervention, which had led her to a near slip-up in Glasgow last autumn. Mary still could not believe she had almost broken her marriage vows so easily, with Richard of all people. If the Dowager had worked to make the idea of a marriage between Matthew and Mary possible once more, Richard, quite ironically, had been the one who had saved it thanks to his restraint and rather unexpected understanding.
Ignoring the little voice that kept questioning the foundations of a relationship that needed constant outside interventions to go back on track, Mary had come back from Glasgow feeling guilty, unable to share the indignity of her guilt with anyone and well decided to erase it by making a decisive effort in the right direction.
Her fairytale could be a reality once again. It had to be.
From the other side of the room, Mary noticed her husband’s tender and protective gaze, and answered him with a radiant smile. Her three days’ trip to Glasgow had been a wake-up call for him as well. Since her return from Scotland, he had showered her with little attentions, intent on seducing her again, and had even persuaded her father to accept her insight about the future of Downton, implicitly forgiving her for asking help from his former rival. The pregnancy that had been a source of tensions, interrogations and insecurities previously was finally the source of unadulterated happiness it should always had been. In spite of the worsening backaches and other inconveniences, Mary had rarely felt so happy, so complete.
Of course, entering the final months was also the moment when she had to bid farewell to the most part of her wardrobe and accept the idea that the elegant slender silhouette that had made her so proud for years would be modified by motherhood. However, compared to Matthew’s adoring eyes as he observed the way the baby’s movements deformed her belly, to the wonder in his voice when his hand could feel their child’s kicks and turns, those changes were simply unimportant.
-/-
If something could be said about Lady Rosamund Painswick, it was that the woman knew how to throw a party. With the notable exception of the quartet who would not have been Richard’s first choice - their pitiful attempt at jazz would make any musician from New Orleans laugh to be honest - everything else was simply perfect. The newspaperman could not help but be impressed at the ease with which he nosy widow had managed to create both an intimate and social event for the New Year. On the one hand, silver and glass decorations complimented the Art Nouveau spirit of the newly renovated room, and the lavish Christmas tree in the main hall reminded the carefully chosen guests of the necessary joyful spirit at this time of the year. On the other hand, the list of guests gathered the most influential members of a profoundly divided Liberal party.
Clearly, celebration had not been the only preoccupation in Lady Rosamund’s mind when she had decided to defy the family tradition of Christmastime at Downton and throw this rather unexpected party. Her late husband had been one of the main sources of finances of the party in the past, which must have put him at odds with his very conservative in-laws, and the wealthy widow was known to be a force to contend with; a discrete, manipulative, womanly influence that even the most powerful members of the party had to respect.
When Richard noticed the Prime Minister’s presence among the celebrating crowd, he finally understood the reason for his own most unexpected invitation to Lady Rosamund’s party. At first, the thought that she perhaps wanted to buy his favors and act as some meddling intermediary in order to save the family almost made him refuse the invitation. Then, he convinced himself that there was no way that the Crawleys would accept this breach in their carefully crafted Christmas protocol, and he let his curiosity get the better of him.
As Richard observed Lady Rosamund approaching Lloyd George with a glass of champagne, and wearing a stunning dark blue dress that was sure to make the Prime minister more receptive to whatever her project was, the tycoon felt he had been right to be wary of the widow’s meddling tendencies. When she waved at Richard and invited him to join the conversation, he hid his amused smile behind his own glass before strolling nonchalantly to the duo through the crowd.
He had been right when he had thought she wanted to reconcile him with someone.
He had been wrong about who this someone was.
Lady Rosamund’s move was most understandable, though. Ever since the Marconi scandal, the relationship between the two men had been strained, and their reconciliation in 1916 that had helped Lloyd George to his present function in the government had only been temporary. The Prime minister and Richard had been at each other’s throats for the most part of the last year, since the tycoon had publicly called the politician a bloody traitor when the latter had decided to side with the Conservatives to win the elections. During their latest encounter in November, they had almost come to blows over Richard’s 1919 campaigning against the Prime Minister’s leniency about Churchill’s secret and illegal stunt against the Bolsheviks in Russia.
“Gentlemen, please be mindful of Christmas truce and try to be civil, will you?”
With that, their host navigated through the crowds to salute another group of guests.
Bloody meddling woman.
“A good evening to you, Prime Minister. How have you been lately?” Being the first to speak in such a situation always gave you the advantage, Richard had discovered after two decades of dealing in the business of newspapers. Starting the conversation forced one’s adversary to answer whether he wanted or not.
“Please, this kind of civility doesn’t suit you, Richard.” Unlike the newspaperman, the politician never tried to hide his Welsh accent. “Let’s go to the point: I need you.”
“And you needed Lady Rosamund to throw a party to tell me that? A bit complicated, isn’t it?”
“Well, I couldn’t take the risk of being thrown forcefully out of your office before being able to talk, could I?”
Richard took the barbed jab at his intransigence and known lack of patience in stride. Lloyd George’s unexpectedly conciliating tone had made him curious. This evening could bear interesting fruits.
“What do you need me to do? If you pay the price, I can do anything, you know that, Dai.” Using the traditional Welsh nickname was a way to put them of a level field.
“And what would your price be, Richie?” The question was purely rhetorical. Like many independent Liberals, Richard wanted the end of a coalition that was only beneficiary to the Conservatives and to the rising Labor party. If Liberal wanted to survive, they needed to reclaim their autonomy and their particularities.
“Depends. What do you need?”
Ten years of tensions and adversity had made both men wary of each other.
“I need people to get used to the idea of losing Ireland, and I can’t think of anybody but you to build such campaigning.” This veiled compliment cost the Welsh a great deal, as his helpless frown revealed.
“Good Lord, you’re asking the impossible, Dai.” Richard played hard to get. A week of heavy campaigning before the signature of the treaty by the Parliament was more than enough.
“Well, Richie, I quite remember you hadn’t needed more time to cause our fall back in 1912…” The memory of the Marconi scandal was still a bleeding wound.
“Easier to make a government fall than convincing people that the British Empire is crumbling on its foundations…”
“No need to go that far. Don’t take your desires for reality. We’re only talking about Ireland.” The Prime Minister sobered up. “Will you do it?”
“Can I get Churchill’s head?” Richard’s hatred for the man was visceral, and personal. One of his nephews had escaped unscathed from the Western front only to be sent to his death in Russia in December 1918.
“You can’t, you know that, Richard. How about Lord Fitzpatrick’s and his friends’ heads?”
The Scot stared at the Welsh dubiously. Would the politician have information Richard had not obtained yet?
“I thought they were out of reach…”
“Well, my friend,” Lloyd George put a conniving hand on his shoulder in spite of their difference in height. The public, friendly gesture was a masterstroke. Everybody in the room would think they were allies again. “I suppose pretty and independent painters are outstanding lovers, more exotic than Lords’ secretaries, I concede, but they don’t have access to the same kind of precious information.”
Damn the bloody womanizing politician.
Richard gritted his teeth at the allusion to his own affair with Eliza. One month ago, the painter had decided that London was too stuffy and Berlin was the place to be to embrace the expressionist richness. They had parted ways amicably, but Richard still missed the easy companionship she had provided for the last six months.
“Well, I try to never mix business and pleasure,” he replied back. “So, dear Goat, one week of heavy campaigning then I get to play with Fitzpatrick? I like it. That’s a deal.”
Richard extended his hand first. For the ones observing, he was the one proposing the deal, not the contrary. The field was level again, and Lloyd George’s grimace expressed this realization as efficiently as a long discourse.
“That’s a deal.”
They shook hands, cementing publicly their new alliance.
However, the shrewd politician could not leave without reasserting his domination. He was the Prime Minister.
“Isn’t it your former fiancée sitting over there?” he whispered in Richard’s ear, forcing him to bend a little to listen to what the Welsh had to say. “I see an heir is in the making.”
Richard had to restrain himself not to turn around too abruptly and betray how much Lloyd George’s aim was accurate. Of course, the Crawleys were here, as well. How could he have thought otherwise? Considering their situation, coming to London for the Christmas season and renew precious contacts was a good move, economically and strategically. He had been a fool to convince himself of the contrary.
He had to get away as soon as possible.
“Never mix business and pleasure? I clearly remember you were quite intent on covering the traces left by an oblivious and very Conservative family two years ago. I hope you got some reward in your lengthy engagement, Richie.” The man knew how to deliver low-blows.
“Careful, Prime minister… I heard some of your children were getting tired of some of your habits.” Richard put his hand on the politician’s shoulder and pressed, reminding the man of their difference of stature. Gone was the false friendliness, they were back to threats, once again.
Lloyd George retreated hastily. Clearly, he needed this campaigning badly.
“So the cold and careful Richard Carlisle was in love after all.”
-/-
“I always tried to ignore your political misgivings, Rosamund, I tried.” The Dowager barely concealed her frown of indignation. “But, don’t you think that inviting Lloyd George and Richard Carlisle at a party you insisted we absolutely had to join in is awkward at the very least? Did you really have to subject Mary to this man’s presence again?” Disgust replaced indignation in her voice.
Mary almost snorted at that last comment. If only Granny knew… The past year had taken its toll on the Dowager’s heart, and the general consensus had been to protect her as much as possible. So, nobody had spoken a word about Mary’s treason when she had phoned Richard for advice; and, of course, she and Edith had kept the unexpected encounter in Glasgow to themselves. Mary knew that her sister suspected something had happened that evening, and could not be more thankful for the improvement of their relationship lately. A few years back, Edith would have used her suspicion with glee… Now, her secret was safe with her sister.
“Well, Mama, on the one hand, Lloyd George is the Prime Minister, whether you like it or not. As such, he has the power to give you a little respite from next year’s taxes and, as a consequence, make your lives in Yorkshire a lot easier. On the other hand, he needed Carlisle’s support once again,” Aunt Rosamund replied back with a clipped voice, rolling her eyes at her mother’s lingering prejudice against Richard. “I’m not too fond of Carlisle either, I can assure you, even if we share some political opinions. Call this an exchange of services.”
“Let’s only hope neither Robert nor Matthew crosses path with him, that’s all,” the Dowager concluded with a hint of fatalism in her voice.
Mary gave an indulgent smile to her grandmother. For all her health problems, her Granny still possessed her uncanny ability to adapt to unwanted situations.
“Why do you think I sent Robert and Matthew to admire the new billiard table in the smoking room?” came her aunt’s snappy retort.
Mary let her aunt and her grandmother´s usual bickering fade into the background as she observed Richard at work.
It was an impressive sight.
The unexpected jealousy she had felt while spying him in a seducing mood last summer in the secrecy of The Smoking Cat had caught her by surprise. However, this was nothing compared to the feelings awakened by the way he expressed himself as much with words she could not hear as with his expressions and body language.
His smile was charming and mocking one second, then cold and cruel one second later.
His eyes were focused on his interlocutor, gauging Lloyd George as if he was not the Prime Minister but a simple guest.
Richard used even his height, looming over the smaller man to assert his domination in their heated exchange.
He was in his natural habitat, and his every gesture expressed his assurance.
When he was not at Downton, when he was anywhere else, in Brighton, in Glasgow, in London, Richard Carlisle was a very attractive man.
For very different reasons from her grandmother’s, Mary started to question the wisdom of her aunt’s strategic move. The memory of her near slip-up was too fresh, the current truce with Matthew too fragile.
The wave of desire she felt could not be attributed to frustration anymore, and was all the more disturbing and frightening.
Not for the first time since this autumn, Mary used her guilt as a crutch. She had chosen Matthew and Downton, she had to stick by this choice.
For better for worse.
For richer for poorer.
In sickness and in health.
For her unborn child, she needed to make her marriage work. For the sake of the love for Matthew she had secretly nurtured for the most part of five years, Mary could not desert her husband or Downton, it was simple like that.
She would be able to build her own happiness with the cards she had dealt herself, and she would not think about the cards she could have played with.
In the middle of the crowd, she glimpsed Richard as he shook hands with Lloyd George. Both men had reached an agreement, apparently. However, before they went their separate ways, she saw the Prime Minister whispering something in the publisher’s ear, gesturing vaguely in her direction.
It was too late to hide.
The evident surprise and discomfort on Richard’s face showed he had not expected to meet her here at all. Then a fugitive expression of hurt passed on his features before he clenched his jaw as he turned back to the politician. Richard’s back was blocking her view partially, but she could tell how tension had replaced his previous relaxed attitude by the way he set his shoulders. What he said, or the way he uttered it must have been terrible: all the color drained from Lloyd George’s face before the man raised his hands in apology.
As she feigned to accept her grandmother’s line of reasoning and her suggestion to go to another room, Mary made her escape and walked through the crowd to join her husband in the smoking room. In the opposite corner of the main room, next to the band, she saw Richard approach Lady Virginia, whom her husband had abandoned earlier in the evening, and invite her to join the dancers.