Chance encounters
Title: Chance encounters
Author: vladnyrkiFandom: 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
Mary joined Matthew and her father, who were admiring the woodwork and the delicate green felt of the billiards table in the smoking room, a refuge her aunt had strategically provided for the Crawleys. She teased her papa and husband about their rather boyish and endearing comparison of the merits of the ivory and celluloid balls, then, having regained her composure, went back to the main hall. As she strolled back and joined her granny once more, gone was the sudden agitation that had prompted Mary to walk away in the first place.
A few minutes at Matthew’s side had comforted her as to the validity of her decisions in past two years. She had made the good choices, she was where she belonged. It was a certainty, and Richard’s unexpected reappearance in her life this evening should not have affected her the way it did.
The feeling of déjà-vu was too overwhelming.
Of course, the scene was very different. Winter had replaced summer; Aunt Rosamund’s elegant and modern townhouse had replaced the extravagance of Cliveden. Gone was the subdued atmosphere, the latent shame that the guests could not quite hide at the idea of maintaining the season while their sons, husbands, brothers, fiancés were fighting in the mud of the trenches. Instead, the assurance of the victor was palpable in the men’s posture - those who had fought like her husband, those who stayed behind the scene and were relieved to live in a British Empire strong and reassuring as ever - and the need for distraction and celebration was blatant in everyone’s eyes and carefree smiles.
However, the show Mary spied now from her hiding place was oddly, and unsettlingly, familiar. Just like in the brightness of Cliveden ball room long ago, just like in the darkness of The Smoking Cat not that long ago, she watched Richard as he entertained another brunette. Lady Virginia’s wayward husband still had not returned, and she was still enjoying Richard’s company, very much so, if her barely restrained flirtatious smile was any indication when the newspaperman joined her with two glasses of champagne.
“I suppose you feel relieved you didn’t choose Richard in the end.”
Her aunt’s clipped voice startled Mary from her reverie. “I beg your pardon?”
Aunt Rosamund tipped her own half empty glass in Richard’s direction. “You know the adage. Once a womanizer…” Two years had come and gone, and the wound inflicted by Lord Hepworth’s deception was still bleeding. The familial and deep rooted prejudice against Richard’s character was still alive, as well.
“It’s so fortunate that Matthew came to my rescue, isn’t it?” Mary shot back more icily than she intended.
She loved her husband. God knew she loved him. But she was tired of her family’s repetitive, obsessive refrain about the right choice she had made in the end. If you believed them, Matthew had rescued her from Bluebeard himself, no less. It was unnerving, to say the least. For Goodness’ sake, even Matthew had recognized that he had not saved her from a doomed destiny, and he had apologized about his past constant interferences. This newfound honesty, and Mary’s own secret guilt, had been the basis of their fresh new start when she had come back from Glasgow. Why could not the rest of the family accept this as well, once and for all?
It was this constant pressure that had made Mary question her past choices for the first time last autumn. It was this continuing demonization that had led her into Richard’s arms, almost.
Unable to stop herself, Mary went on. “Thank God I saw the truth in time and I escaped the clutches of a womanizing and blackmailing bully.”
In her anger at her family, Mary was not entirely fair, she knew it deep inside. Since her teenage days, she always had possessed a strong taste for dramatics, and she had quite enjoyed playing the part of the captive heroine back in 1919, much to Richard’s incomprehension, then anger. To be totally honest, her former fiancé’s behavior had been far from spotless, but she had fed his resentment almost gleefully, and she had sought refuge into the comfort of the familial solidarity.
Richard was no angel - he would scoff at this very notion - but he and she both had given birth to this monster that her family still liked to remember with indignant fright.
“Well, Mary,” the Dowager interrupted. “You can’t accuse your aunt of blatant hostility. She invited him to her reception after all.” The disgust in her voice clearly revealed her own unhidden hostility.
“For political purposes only,” Rosamund replied with a smile that did not reach her eyes, visibly anxious to clarify her position. “It’s not because I deem Sir Richard an efficient tool for the Liberal party that I think he would have made a good and suitable husband for Mary.”
“Too much of a cynic, or too much of a womanizer, may I ask?” Mary joined the battle. “I remember clearly you were sure he and poor Lavinia had an affair in the past…”
“A little bit of both, I suppose,” her aunt answered. Piercing blue eyes began to consider Mary with sheer curiosity. Obviously, her new-found sense of protectiveness as far as Richard was concerned had not gone unnoticed.
Mary cringed, she had to be more careful, she could not fight against another wave of familial indignation like last autumn.
“May I add that the ease with which this man manages to attract the attention of a married lady reveals a blatant and horrendous lack of scruples? I can already read the headlines in tomorrow’s papers…” The Dowager’s voice trembled with indignation as she observed the scandalous scene enfolding in front of her.
Mary’s grandmother never had hidden her antipathy towards Richard, and she had actively worked to sabotage the two relationships she had deemed unworthy. Was it because she had felt before everybody else what Mary and Matthew had denied for so many months? Was it because she could not accept these unexpected obstacles to the greater good of Downton? This was an uncomfortable conversation Mary needed to have one day with her granny, a dreadful prospect she did not look forward at all. But it was not the right time yet. For the moment, Mary simply accepted the idea that some truths were better hidden in the depth of family secrets.
For now.
Mary fought against a wave of unexpected and incomprehensible anger, trying not to utter the snappy retort that came to her mind. Why was she so intent on defending her former fiancé’s character?
“Well, Mama, it seems that you won’t read any unsavory headlines tomorrow.” Aunt Rosamund barely concealed her gleeful triumph as she tipped her cup in Richard’s direction once more.
And it was déjà-vu all over again. Richard’s seducing smile had frozen for some unknown reason and was slowly morphing into an uneasy grin underlined by his sudden paleness. As at Cliveden, an unexpected obstacle had put an end to his projects for the night, and Mary knew what would follow.
First, there would be the agitation that replaced his normally controlled gestures.
Then, the apology in his awkward smile would follow and accompany the slight tilt of his head.
Finally, the dignified but quick steps would lead him to the nearest refuge.
When Richard reached the door to the terrace, Mary hid her smile behind her glass, strangely reassured by this constant in her life and inwardly satisfied by this outcome. Ignoring once more the voice questioning the nature of such an unwelcome feeling, she chose to examine her aunt’s gleeful and unsettling satisfaction. Obviously, it had nothing to do with the memory of a past insult, and everything to do with some not so obscure plan Rosamund had devised for this evening. Mary could not help but feel curious, and protective.
“Aunt Rosamund, I sincerely hope that political matters are the only reason why you invited Richard tonight.”
The sudden paleness of her aunt’s face was enough to confirm Mary’s suspicions. She added: “However, if it isn’t the case, I have to give you fair warning. Richard’s a creature of habit, and he seems to have a clear type.”
A type Mary was part of, and her aunt was not, fortunately.
Deciding that the atmosphere of the room was getting more suffocating by the minute - Aunt Rosamund was spending a fortune in central heating to allow her guests to enjoy a warm evening in spite of the biting cold outside - Mary stood up and went to retrieve her shawl.
Fresh air would do her some good.
-/-
Thanks to the freezing temperature, the terrace was a welcoming and lonely refuge. Richard let the cold breeze clear his thoughts. He remembered too clearly Lloyd George’s creepy grin, his cruel eyes and the not so discrete allusions about a great way to begin a new year. But it was what had saved him. Without the Prime Minister’s glee at seeing Richard, his antagonistic ally, or best enemy, about to stray into a shameful affair, the publisher could have become the very subject of a tasteless article in one of his own papers. Still angry at his incomprehensible obliviousness and lack of caution, he reached into his inside pocket to retrieve a cigar and sought some comfort in the routine he associated to smoking one of his precious Havanas.
With practiced gestures, he cut one end of the cigar, and let the discarded stub fall down to the ground. The flame of the match briefly lit Richard’s surroundings, revealing the shadow of some curious chimera that adorned the terrace, then disappeared. A few puffs made the end of the cigar glow in the darkness and, finally, the rich taste of the smoke filled his mouth.
“You really look like you have just escaped from the devil’s clutches, Richard.” A clearly amused voice teased him behind his back. “Lady Virginia is a married woman, though, and thus, she isn’t very likely to try and strong-arm you into a marriage between the second and the third waltz.”
He did not even need to turn around.
Mary.
In spite of his best efforts, and his previous resolution not to cross path with her or the rest of the Crawley tribe this evening, Richard let a nostalgic smile form on his own lips, making profit of the fact Mary was still standing behind his back. The allusion to their first encounter was too deliberate to be ignored…
“Well, not unlike marriage, the affliction that threatened me should I have decided to pursue my little project further is a rather bothering one with long lasting consequences,” he explained, hoping that marriage had led Mary to a better understanding and knowledge of this kind of inappropriate banter.
Her unladylike snort was all the answer he needed. A married and pregnant Mary was a more amusing and challenging company than an engaged and mooning Mary, even if the husband was the bland Matthew Crawley.
“I suppose she didn’t reveal her horrible secret voluntarily; and you wouldn’t have invited her to dance in the first place if you had known beforehand.” She had not moved from her spot behind his back, but the sound of her voice was enough to allow him to visualize her face at this moment.
The smile of a cat which just ate the canary.
“The Prime Minister’s too insistent grin gave me a clue. I’ll have to remind him of the proverb about counting one’s chickens before they hatch one of these days,” Richard explained. “My memory filled the blanks, fortunately.”
“Fortunately, indeed. I suppose I don’t want to know the big unsavory secret behind all this.”
Typical.
Mary had been rightfully afraid of her peers’ reaction to her own dirty secret. She was one of them after all, and she shared the same taste for gossip. The upper-class lived on gossips and scandals, but only between the safely closed doors of their establishment. That was why they despised the newspapers so much, not because of the content - more rumors circulated during one evening than during one month of weekly publication - but because of the way the information escaped their control. As a consequence, Richard was a hawker of scandal when he printed them, but he was almost one of them when he strategically shared his information during a party or in the secret of a hotel room.
“Well, if I may, you ought to know in order to warn your lady friends properly. Lady Virginia is a victim actually, and many say that her husband’s repeated infidelities are the cause of her current affliction.” Richard could not help but humor her. This story was well known all around London after all, and he could not believe how he had forgotten it so easily, even for less than one hour.
“Let me guess: many twisted minds believed these voices.” For some unknown reason, Mary did not seem too fond of poor Lady Virginia and her marital woes.
“And prudent people try their best to avoid the husband as well as the wife.”
“Or they are blessed with a good memory. I have to confess that my grandmother would have had a field day if your reputation had been compromised by this terrible affliction.”
Richard leaned on the iron railing that separated the terrace from the dark garden, suddenly fascinated by the glowing embers of his smoking cigar.
“Why I’m not surprised? But I suppose I could have ruined her enjoyment between two secret trips to a discrete clinic by revealing to attentive ears that Lady Grantham and Lloyd George do share some common traits after all.” Richard followed Mary’s lead happily, anxious to forget about his near faux-pas, to ignore the fact that the reason for it was standing right behind him.
“It would have ruined everything, you’re right.”
Mary’s voice was not at his back anymore, and Richard could glimpse at her pregnant silhouette and her full forms as she mimicked his posture by the railing, still not making eye contact but visibly enjoying their exchange of hypothesis about his sex life and her family’s enduring animosity.
Against all his expectations, Mary - prone to dramatics and tragedy, to whom he had been engaged for two years - had decided to act as if whatever had transpired between them in Glasgow was what it had been exactly, an unimportant, innocent and enjoyable incident with no consequences.
Well, that was a relief, and two could play this game.
“I must be such a disappointment for your grandmother,” he went on, only half-joking behind his cocky smile.
“Don’t overestimate yourself, Richard.” The sting of her words was softened by her mischievous gaze, and the use of this very sentence awakened a bittersweet nostalgia in him. “I doubt she ever had great expectations for you.” Mary cringed at her own words, as conscious as he was that they were suddenly entering a dangerous territory, a territory of shouted, angry words and barely veiled threats. “Not that her expectations, or my family’s, have much validity outside the confine of the estate, mind you.”
Richard did not answer, focusing on the glowing end of his cigar once more.
“I suppose I’m trying to say that my family’s prejudice was simply too strong. You could have been a perfect knight and they still would have found something to criticize your character and personality, as they still do.”
“I suppose I often made it quite easy, didn’t I?”
“And when you didn’t, I managed perfectly well on my own to create more drama and provoke you into acting like a jealous fool.”
Surprised by this last, unexpected statement, Richard turned around abruptly to consider Mary who was still leaning on the railing, her own eyes lost in the distance.
Shared responsibility.
He could deal with that.
Almost as quickly as their conversation had slipped into a perilous territory, they had managed to get out of it, unscathed.
It was a nice change.
Last June, he was still seething at the mere thought of Mary and her goddamn family. Half a year and a few encounters later, not only they were back on speaking terms - much more than that if he was totally honest - but they had managed to do it on their own. Maybe it did not matter to Mary, but Richard took some pride in the idea of being able to repair a past relationship - his only serious one to this day - without any outside help but pure luck.
However, this did not mean he still did not hold a considerable grudge towards her family, and her husband.
“More seriously, though, I do hope that your family will not take my presence here tonight as a personal slight.” His words could be perceived as an apology, but his lowered tone was implicitly threatening. “Your aunt invited me there and I know for a fact that Christmastime in Downton is somewhat sacred.” He still could not believe that Lady Painswick had taken the risk of inviting him at a party attended by the rest of her family. What was she thinking?
“I know, and they will know as well, believe me,” Mary’s own voice was conciliatory and firm at the same time.
“Isn’t it a bit late for that?” Richard smiled ruefully, his own eyes following the course of a single, lonely cloud in the cold, starry night.
Two years later, the memory of Christmas 1919 and the Crawleys’ general hostility was still an open wound, for his pride and for his affections as well. The feeling of sheer betrayal that had engulfed him as he had sought refuge in his room was still there, simmering just under the surface - after all Mary had not even lifted a finger to object that the pitiful brawl had been caused by Crawley’s inability to face the ugly truth and not by an honorable act of chivalry on the brave heir’s part.
“Well, yes and no at the same time.” Mary’s subdued words probably were the closest thing to an apology he would ever get about this sad period of their lives. Then the rather unexpected and almost unwelcome protective tone was back. “I don’t want to sound like a jealous former fiancée, but you should steer clear from my aunt, at least as much as you can considering your common membership of the Liberal circles. I’m afraid she has some designs on you.”
Richard almost chocked on the smoke of his cigar and turned around abruptly, his eyes wide in disbelief.
“I beg your pardon?”
His very first impression when he had stepped out of the car had been the right one: the Crawleys were a mad lot.
Arrogant and self-centered, just like him. Hypocritical and irrational, most unlike him. No wonder his association with this family ended in disaster.
-/-
Mary could not believe she had actually put her nagging suspicion into words, in front of Richard of all people. A quick look at his incredulous and slightly cross expression told her it was already too late to do some damage control.
The cat was out of the bag.
Well, if she could not hide her aunt’s unsavory interest in her former fiancé anymore, Mary still could try to conceal her misplaced possessiveness.
“Why, Richard, do you really think she invited you only for political purposes tonight?”
“I had a strange feeling, but I thought it was some kind of strange deal between your aunt and Lloyd George. Buying the Welshman’s good graces can be very profitable for your family and Downton, after all.”
“If my aunt’s reaction to your rather shameless entertaining of Lady Virginia is any indication, this audacious strategy isn’t the sole explanation of your presence here, Richard.”
“You’re frightening me, Mary.”
The man was only half joking and, at the present moment, the perspective to deal with yet another Crawley woman really seemed to make him ill at ease.
“If it’s of any comfort to you, I’ve told Aunt Rosamund you had a definite type to discourage her,” Mary added, strangely anxious to appease his fears.
“Am I that obvious?” came the almost sheepish reply.
The woman in Cliveden.
Mary herself.
Eliza.
Lady Virginia.
Mary gave him a pointed stare, furrowing her eyebrow in a mocking manner.
“And after tonight, I’d say she thinks you’re no better than Lord Hepworth.”
“That’s a bit of an over exaggeration, I don’t fish in the ladies’ maids’ pond.”
“Only their brunette mistresses, of course,” she humored him. Once again they were back to a dangerously personal territory.
“Let’s put it that way,” Richard concluded as he discarded his finished cigar, a mischievous grin revealing his dimples.
“Why only brunettes?” Mary blurted out, unable to stop herself. Once more, she did not have the excuse of alcohol to hide behind.
“Because brunette is pretty?” he answered with the typical nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, a sure sign of a relaxed and comfortable Richard.
A rather unladylike snort ruined Mary’s careful composure. Richard must have enjoyed more than a few cups of champagne in Lady Virginia’s company, as the return of the boyish candor that she had liked so much in Glasgow seemed to indicate.
“Well, tonight’s attendance must be to your taste.” Mary cringed inwardly at her poor choice of words, and hoped Richard would miss the unintended double meaning.
“Too many married women…”
He did not just say what she thought she heard.
“Maybe there are other Lady Virginias, with no shameful condition.”
Worse and worse, it was as if her wits had taken their leave for the last few seconds.
“Maybe, but I don’t have enough time to investigate. That’s a pity, though…” The mischief of his smile had reached his eyes.
A forced burst of laughter preceded the fugitive appearance on the terrace of a gracious young woman who could easily pass as a ballerina.
Richard felt her unspoken question. “Did you hear the way she laughs? More brain wouldn’t hurt.”
“I remember seeing Lord Marlborough’s niece from Russia. They say she’s exceptionally bright.”
“How old is she? Seventeen? I’m no cradle robber, thank you very much…”
“How considerate of you.”
“How selfish of me, in fact. I only look for a little more experience,” Richard replied, his eyes trained on her with a sudden serious expression.
Mary chose not to believe there could be a veiled allusion to the fact that her scandal always had been a non-issue for him, on a personal level at least.
“I suppose you noticed Lady Henrietta’s exuberance as well,” Mary went on with her train of thought, trying to escape from the personal territory they seemed to come back to with every sentence.
It was unsettling.
Even more unsettling was the realization that playing matchmaker for Richard did not bother her at all. In a sense, it was as it should be: she was married, they were back to being friends, it was all innocent banter. However, this was not the reason why she was not bothered.
As they talked about the hypothetical future woman in Richard’s life, comfortably leaning side by side on the railing of the terrace, Mary discovered the unique place she had occupied in his life. Of course, Eliza and others had shared his bed, which Mary had not. On the other hand, he had given her the power of hurting him, he had been vulnerable with her, and he had let her affect him and his moods. If Richard’s aloofness and resilience when he had spoken of Eliza’s infidelities in Glasgow or about Lady Virginia’s condition tonight were any indication, Mary realized now how he had let her see a side of him he usually hid to anyone else, and she took a rather perverse comfort in this idea.
“How about Lady Ingrid? You must have noticed her by the fireplace…”
“Sorry, Mary, but I’ve learned the hard way to steer clear from women that a beautiful uniform and a few glittering decorations impress too much.” Richard was serious again, and they were back to personal, once again.
Mary wanted to answer back, to find a snappy comeback. She just could not let him get away with such an unveiled barb.
“Come on, don’t tell me you would have stared at Matthew with the same admiring eyes if he had come back as a blasé corporal or sergeant, in his plain and unfitting uniform. Don’t tell me your whole family would have thought him a hero if he had come back bitter about the absurdity of the aristocratic command that let competent men, former lawyers, teachers, accountants, technicians, experienced soldiers go no further than the rank of a non-commissioned officer whereas kids joined the army and became lieutenants just because they were upper-class and happened to be the leaders of their cricket or rugby team at Eton.” There was no aggression in his voice, which could be expected considering the ferocity of his diatribe. No, there was only puzzlement and sadness.
Mary bit her lip in defeat. Richard had a point: her husband was not the hero everybody had wanted him to be. But there was no way she could recognize that fact in front of her former fiancé, not when she knew how much Matthew was struggling with the creeping and disturbing realization that he was no hero afterall, honorable or tragic, that he wasn’t her knight in shining armor.
Mary glimpsed the familiar lean and elegant silhouette of a fellow debutante in the frame of the French window. Here came the occasion to put their conversation back on track, and avoid the difficult truth.
“There’s Lady Jane Errol who lost her husband in Gallipoli and doesn’t seem to search for a new one actively. However, I know for a fact she doesn’t discourage men’s attentions either.” Now, this was an honest attempt at matchmaking.
The widowed Lady Jane had been married to the late Major Errol as a result of a familial and territorial strategy in Wales, and had shocked the establishment when she had barely respected the rules of a proper mourning before leaving Cardiff’s area and begin a new, free life in London. She was a good woman who, like Mary, had participated to the season big circus while her fate had already been sealed by her parents long ago. Their shared experience had driven both young women quite close since their first season. Jane could be a good match.
Moreover, anybody but Aunt Rosamund was Mary’s new motto.
And she wanted Richard to be happy.
Was it the silhouette by the door that caught his attention? Or was it the quick overview of Lady Jane’s personality that had made him curious? Whatever the motive was, Richard had abandoned his posture by the railing and had turned completely around, so that he could observe said Lady Jane better.
Richard was definitely interested, as evidenced by the small, amused smile forming on his lips and the twinkling in his eyes.
Mary stood by his side, unable not to feel a little abandoned, not knowing how to excuse herself with no added awkwardness.
“You must be freezing in your shawl. We should walk back to the party,” Richard said after a short, contemplative silence, with only a hint of eagerness in his voice.
This was only a polite and delicate way to say: “You should go back to your husband, and I shall pursue the most fascinating Lady Jane.”
This was also a diplomatic way of stating: “We’re better than you and Matthew were.”
There would be no tears nor broken hearts, no hypocritical oblivion nor collateral damage. Living was looking forward, not backward. If Mary had accepted this idea years ago, her life would have been much different. Certainly, she would be married to Richard now, and would share his busy life between London and Glasgow with a few stops in Haxby. But she had not, and there was no turning back.
However, their surreal conversation, and Aunt Rosamund’s earlier snide comments, had raised a nagging interrogation Mary could not keep to herself anymore.
“Richard, before we go, I need to know something.”
Why was it so important? The past was the past, and she had chosen another path for her life.
“Hmmh?” His attention was already focused on the woman he was intent on getting into his bed in the near future, the woman Mary had literally chosen for him.
“If we had not put an end to the engagement, if we had finally married… Would I have had to endure your infidelities? I suppose some habits are difficult to get rid of.” She hated she sounded so dramatic, but Mary could not find another word to describe Richard’s blatant, unrepentant womanizing ways.
As awkward as the question was, it drew his attention back to her nonetheless, and she wished it had not.
The same hurt and sadness that had marked his face the morning of their goodbyes two years ago now filled his eyes which were shining with confident mischief mere seconds ago.
“Do you really need to ask, Mary?”
Author: vladnyrkiFandom: 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
Mary joined Matthew and her father, who were admiring the woodwork and the delicate green felt of the billiards table in the smoking room, a refuge her aunt had strategically provided for the Crawleys. She teased her papa and husband about their rather boyish and endearing comparison of the merits of the ivory and celluloid balls, then, having regained her composure, went back to the main hall. As she strolled back and joined her granny once more, gone was the sudden agitation that had prompted Mary to walk away in the first place.
A few minutes at Matthew’s side had comforted her as to the validity of her decisions in past two years. She had made the good choices, she was where she belonged. It was a certainty, and Richard’s unexpected reappearance in her life this evening should not have affected her the way it did.
The feeling of déjà-vu was too overwhelming.
Of course, the scene was very different. Winter had replaced summer; Aunt Rosamund’s elegant and modern townhouse had replaced the extravagance of Cliveden. Gone was the subdued atmosphere, the latent shame that the guests could not quite hide at the idea of maintaining the season while their sons, husbands, brothers, fiancés were fighting in the mud of the trenches. Instead, the assurance of the victor was palpable in the men’s posture - those who had fought like her husband, those who stayed behind the scene and were relieved to live in a British Empire strong and reassuring as ever - and the need for distraction and celebration was blatant in everyone’s eyes and carefree smiles.
However, the show Mary spied now from her hiding place was oddly, and unsettlingly, familiar. Just like in the brightness of Cliveden ball room long ago, just like in the darkness of The Smoking Cat not that long ago, she watched Richard as he entertained another brunette. Lady Virginia’s wayward husband still had not returned, and she was still enjoying Richard’s company, very much so, if her barely restrained flirtatious smile was any indication when the newspaperman joined her with two glasses of champagne.
“I suppose you feel relieved you didn’t choose Richard in the end.”
Her aunt’s clipped voice startled Mary from her reverie. “I beg your pardon?”
Aunt Rosamund tipped her own half empty glass in Richard’s direction. “You know the adage. Once a womanizer…” Two years had come and gone, and the wound inflicted by Lord Hepworth’s deception was still bleeding. The familial and deep rooted prejudice against Richard’s character was still alive, as well.
“It’s so fortunate that Matthew came to my rescue, isn’t it?” Mary shot back more icily than she intended.
She loved her husband. God knew she loved him. But she was tired of her family’s repetitive, obsessive refrain about the right choice she had made in the end. If you believed them, Matthew had rescued her from Bluebeard himself, no less. It was unnerving, to say the least. For Goodness’ sake, even Matthew had recognized that he had not saved her from a doomed destiny, and he had apologized about his past constant interferences. This newfound honesty, and Mary’s own secret guilt, had been the basis of their fresh new start when she had come back from Glasgow. Why could not the rest of the family accept this as well, once and for all?
It was this constant pressure that had made Mary question her past choices for the first time last autumn. It was this continuing demonization that had led her into Richard’s arms, almost.
Unable to stop herself, Mary went on. “Thank God I saw the truth in time and I escaped the clutches of a womanizing and blackmailing bully.”
In her anger at her family, Mary was not entirely fair, she knew it deep inside. Since her teenage days, she always had possessed a strong taste for dramatics, and she had quite enjoyed playing the part of the captive heroine back in 1919, much to Richard’s incomprehension, then anger. To be totally honest, her former fiancé’s behavior had been far from spotless, but she had fed his resentment almost gleefully, and she had sought refuge into the comfort of the familial solidarity.
Richard was no angel - he would scoff at this very notion - but he and she both had given birth to this monster that her family still liked to remember with indignant fright.
“Well, Mary,” the Dowager interrupted. “You can’t accuse your aunt of blatant hostility. She invited him to her reception after all.” The disgust in her voice clearly revealed her own unhidden hostility.
“For political purposes only,” Rosamund replied with a smile that did not reach her eyes, visibly anxious to clarify her position. “It’s not because I deem Sir Richard an efficient tool for the Liberal party that I think he would have made a good and suitable husband for Mary.”
“Too much of a cynic, or too much of a womanizer, may I ask?” Mary joined the battle. “I remember clearly you were sure he and poor Lavinia had an affair in the past…”
“A little bit of both, I suppose,” her aunt answered. Piercing blue eyes began to consider Mary with sheer curiosity. Obviously, her new-found sense of protectiveness as far as Richard was concerned had not gone unnoticed.
Mary cringed, she had to be more careful, she could not fight against another wave of familial indignation like last autumn.
“May I add that the ease with which this man manages to attract the attention of a married lady reveals a blatant and horrendous lack of scruples? I can already read the headlines in tomorrow’s papers…” The Dowager’s voice trembled with indignation as she observed the scandalous scene enfolding in front of her.
Mary’s grandmother never had hidden her antipathy towards Richard, and she had actively worked to sabotage the two relationships she had deemed unworthy. Was it because she had felt before everybody else what Mary and Matthew had denied for so many months? Was it because she could not accept these unexpected obstacles to the greater good of Downton? This was an uncomfortable conversation Mary needed to have one day with her granny, a dreadful prospect she did not look forward at all. But it was not the right time yet. For the moment, Mary simply accepted the idea that some truths were better hidden in the depth of family secrets.
For now.
Mary fought against a wave of unexpected and incomprehensible anger, trying not to utter the snappy retort that came to her mind. Why was she so intent on defending her former fiancé’s character?
“Well, Mama, it seems that you won’t read any unsavory headlines tomorrow.” Aunt Rosamund barely concealed her gleeful triumph as she tipped her cup in Richard’s direction once more.
And it was déjà-vu all over again. Richard’s seducing smile had frozen for some unknown reason and was slowly morphing into an uneasy grin underlined by his sudden paleness. As at Cliveden, an unexpected obstacle had put an end to his projects for the night, and Mary knew what would follow.
First, there would be the agitation that replaced his normally controlled gestures.
Then, the apology in his awkward smile would follow and accompany the slight tilt of his head.
Finally, the dignified but quick steps would lead him to the nearest refuge.
When Richard reached the door to the terrace, Mary hid her smile behind her glass, strangely reassured by this constant in her life and inwardly satisfied by this outcome. Ignoring once more the voice questioning the nature of such an unwelcome feeling, she chose to examine her aunt’s gleeful and unsettling satisfaction. Obviously, it had nothing to do with the memory of a past insult, and everything to do with some not so obscure plan Rosamund had devised for this evening. Mary could not help but feel curious, and protective.
“Aunt Rosamund, I sincerely hope that political matters are the only reason why you invited Richard tonight.”
The sudden paleness of her aunt’s face was enough to confirm Mary’s suspicions. She added: “However, if it isn’t the case, I have to give you fair warning. Richard’s a creature of habit, and he seems to have a clear type.”
A type Mary was part of, and her aunt was not, fortunately.
Deciding that the atmosphere of the room was getting more suffocating by the minute - Aunt Rosamund was spending a fortune in central heating to allow her guests to enjoy a warm evening in spite of the biting cold outside - Mary stood up and went to retrieve her shawl.
Fresh air would do her some good.
-/-
Thanks to the freezing temperature, the terrace was a welcoming and lonely refuge. Richard let the cold breeze clear his thoughts. He remembered too clearly Lloyd George’s creepy grin, his cruel eyes and the not so discrete allusions about a great way to begin a new year. But it was what had saved him. Without the Prime Minister’s glee at seeing Richard, his antagonistic ally, or best enemy, about to stray into a shameful affair, the publisher could have become the very subject of a tasteless article in one of his own papers. Still angry at his incomprehensible obliviousness and lack of caution, he reached into his inside pocket to retrieve a cigar and sought some comfort in the routine he associated to smoking one of his precious Havanas.
With practiced gestures, he cut one end of the cigar, and let the discarded stub fall down to the ground. The flame of the match briefly lit Richard’s surroundings, revealing the shadow of some curious chimera that adorned the terrace, then disappeared. A few puffs made the end of the cigar glow in the darkness and, finally, the rich taste of the smoke filled his mouth.
“You really look like you have just escaped from the devil’s clutches, Richard.” A clearly amused voice teased him behind his back. “Lady Virginia is a married woman, though, and thus, she isn’t very likely to try and strong-arm you into a marriage between the second and the third waltz.”
He did not even need to turn around.
Mary.
In spite of his best efforts, and his previous resolution not to cross path with her or the rest of the Crawley tribe this evening, Richard let a nostalgic smile form on his own lips, making profit of the fact Mary was still standing behind his back. The allusion to their first encounter was too deliberate to be ignored…
“Well, not unlike marriage, the affliction that threatened me should I have decided to pursue my little project further is a rather bothering one with long lasting consequences,” he explained, hoping that marriage had led Mary to a better understanding and knowledge of this kind of inappropriate banter.
Her unladylike snort was all the answer he needed. A married and pregnant Mary was a more amusing and challenging company than an engaged and mooning Mary, even if the husband was the bland Matthew Crawley.
“I suppose she didn’t reveal her horrible secret voluntarily; and you wouldn’t have invited her to dance in the first place if you had known beforehand.” She had not moved from her spot behind his back, but the sound of her voice was enough to allow him to visualize her face at this moment.
The smile of a cat which just ate the canary.
“The Prime Minister’s too insistent grin gave me a clue. I’ll have to remind him of the proverb about counting one’s chickens before they hatch one of these days,” Richard explained. “My memory filled the blanks, fortunately.”
“Fortunately, indeed. I suppose I don’t want to know the big unsavory secret behind all this.”
Typical.
Mary had been rightfully afraid of her peers’ reaction to her own dirty secret. She was one of them after all, and she shared the same taste for gossip. The upper-class lived on gossips and scandals, but only between the safely closed doors of their establishment. That was why they despised the newspapers so much, not because of the content - more rumors circulated during one evening than during one month of weekly publication - but because of the way the information escaped their control. As a consequence, Richard was a hawker of scandal when he printed them, but he was almost one of them when he strategically shared his information during a party or in the secret of a hotel room.
“Well, if I may, you ought to know in order to warn your lady friends properly. Lady Virginia is a victim actually, and many say that her husband’s repeated infidelities are the cause of her current affliction.” Richard could not help but humor her. This story was well known all around London after all, and he could not believe how he had forgotten it so easily, even for less than one hour.
“Let me guess: many twisted minds believed these voices.” For some unknown reason, Mary did not seem too fond of poor Lady Virginia and her marital woes.
“And prudent people try their best to avoid the husband as well as the wife.”
“Or they are blessed with a good memory. I have to confess that my grandmother would have had a field day if your reputation had been compromised by this terrible affliction.”
Richard leaned on the iron railing that separated the terrace from the dark garden, suddenly fascinated by the glowing embers of his smoking cigar.
“Why I’m not surprised? But I suppose I could have ruined her enjoyment between two secret trips to a discrete clinic by revealing to attentive ears that Lady Grantham and Lloyd George do share some common traits after all.” Richard followed Mary’s lead happily, anxious to forget about his near faux-pas, to ignore the fact that the reason for it was standing right behind him.
“It would have ruined everything, you’re right.”
Mary’s voice was not at his back anymore, and Richard could glimpse at her pregnant silhouette and her full forms as she mimicked his posture by the railing, still not making eye contact but visibly enjoying their exchange of hypothesis about his sex life and her family’s enduring animosity.
Against all his expectations, Mary - prone to dramatics and tragedy, to whom he had been engaged for two years - had decided to act as if whatever had transpired between them in Glasgow was what it had been exactly, an unimportant, innocent and enjoyable incident with no consequences.
Well, that was a relief, and two could play this game.
“I must be such a disappointment for your grandmother,” he went on, only half-joking behind his cocky smile.
“Don’t overestimate yourself, Richard.” The sting of her words was softened by her mischievous gaze, and the use of this very sentence awakened a bittersweet nostalgia in him. “I doubt she ever had great expectations for you.” Mary cringed at her own words, as conscious as he was that they were suddenly entering a dangerous territory, a territory of shouted, angry words and barely veiled threats. “Not that her expectations, or my family’s, have much validity outside the confine of the estate, mind you.”
Richard did not answer, focusing on the glowing end of his cigar once more.
“I suppose I’m trying to say that my family’s prejudice was simply too strong. You could have been a perfect knight and they still would have found something to criticize your character and personality, as they still do.”
“I suppose I often made it quite easy, didn’t I?”
“And when you didn’t, I managed perfectly well on my own to create more drama and provoke you into acting like a jealous fool.”
Surprised by this last, unexpected statement, Richard turned around abruptly to consider Mary who was still leaning on the railing, her own eyes lost in the distance.
Shared responsibility.
He could deal with that.
Almost as quickly as their conversation had slipped into a perilous territory, they had managed to get out of it, unscathed.
It was a nice change.
Last June, he was still seething at the mere thought of Mary and her goddamn family. Half a year and a few encounters later, not only they were back on speaking terms - much more than that if he was totally honest - but they had managed to do it on their own. Maybe it did not matter to Mary, but Richard took some pride in the idea of being able to repair a past relationship - his only serious one to this day - without any outside help but pure luck.
However, this did not mean he still did not hold a considerable grudge towards her family, and her husband.
“More seriously, though, I do hope that your family will not take my presence here tonight as a personal slight.” His words could be perceived as an apology, but his lowered tone was implicitly threatening. “Your aunt invited me there and I know for a fact that Christmastime in Downton is somewhat sacred.” He still could not believe that Lady Painswick had taken the risk of inviting him at a party attended by the rest of her family. What was she thinking?
“I know, and they will know as well, believe me,” Mary’s own voice was conciliatory and firm at the same time.
“Isn’t it a bit late for that?” Richard smiled ruefully, his own eyes following the course of a single, lonely cloud in the cold, starry night.
Two years later, the memory of Christmas 1919 and the Crawleys’ general hostility was still an open wound, for his pride and for his affections as well. The feeling of sheer betrayal that had engulfed him as he had sought refuge in his room was still there, simmering just under the surface - after all Mary had not even lifted a finger to object that the pitiful brawl had been caused by Crawley’s inability to face the ugly truth and not by an honorable act of chivalry on the brave heir’s part.
“Well, yes and no at the same time.” Mary’s subdued words probably were the closest thing to an apology he would ever get about this sad period of their lives. Then the rather unexpected and almost unwelcome protective tone was back. “I don’t want to sound like a jealous former fiancée, but you should steer clear from my aunt, at least as much as you can considering your common membership of the Liberal circles. I’m afraid she has some designs on you.”
Richard almost chocked on the smoke of his cigar and turned around abruptly, his eyes wide in disbelief.
“I beg your pardon?”
His very first impression when he had stepped out of the car had been the right one: the Crawleys were a mad lot.
Arrogant and self-centered, just like him. Hypocritical and irrational, most unlike him. No wonder his association with this family ended in disaster.
-/-
Mary could not believe she had actually put her nagging suspicion into words, in front of Richard of all people. A quick look at his incredulous and slightly cross expression told her it was already too late to do some damage control.
The cat was out of the bag.
Well, if she could not hide her aunt’s unsavory interest in her former fiancé anymore, Mary still could try to conceal her misplaced possessiveness.
“Why, Richard, do you really think she invited you only for political purposes tonight?”
“I had a strange feeling, but I thought it was some kind of strange deal between your aunt and Lloyd George. Buying the Welshman’s good graces can be very profitable for your family and Downton, after all.”
“If my aunt’s reaction to your rather shameless entertaining of Lady Virginia is any indication, this audacious strategy isn’t the sole explanation of your presence here, Richard.”
“You’re frightening me, Mary.”
The man was only half joking and, at the present moment, the perspective to deal with yet another Crawley woman really seemed to make him ill at ease.
“If it’s of any comfort to you, I’ve told Aunt Rosamund you had a definite type to discourage her,” Mary added, strangely anxious to appease his fears.
“Am I that obvious?” came the almost sheepish reply.
The woman in Cliveden.
Mary herself.
Eliza.
Lady Virginia.
Mary gave him a pointed stare, furrowing her eyebrow in a mocking manner.
“And after tonight, I’d say she thinks you’re no better than Lord Hepworth.”
“That’s a bit of an over exaggeration, I don’t fish in the ladies’ maids’ pond.”
“Only their brunette mistresses, of course,” she humored him. Once again they were back to a dangerously personal territory.
“Let’s put it that way,” Richard concluded as he discarded his finished cigar, a mischievous grin revealing his dimples.
“Why only brunettes?” Mary blurted out, unable to stop herself. Once more, she did not have the excuse of alcohol to hide behind.
“Because brunette is pretty?” he answered with the typical nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, a sure sign of a relaxed and comfortable Richard.
A rather unladylike snort ruined Mary’s careful composure. Richard must have enjoyed more than a few cups of champagne in Lady Virginia’s company, as the return of the boyish candor that she had liked so much in Glasgow seemed to indicate.
“Well, tonight’s attendance must be to your taste.” Mary cringed inwardly at her poor choice of words, and hoped Richard would miss the unintended double meaning.
“Too many married women…”
He did not just say what she thought she heard.
“Maybe there are other Lady Virginias, with no shameful condition.”
Worse and worse, it was as if her wits had taken their leave for the last few seconds.
“Maybe, but I don’t have enough time to investigate. That’s a pity, though…” The mischief of his smile had reached his eyes.
A forced burst of laughter preceded the fugitive appearance on the terrace of a gracious young woman who could easily pass as a ballerina.
Richard felt her unspoken question. “Did you hear the way she laughs? More brain wouldn’t hurt.”
“I remember seeing Lord Marlborough’s niece from Russia. They say she’s exceptionally bright.”
“How old is she? Seventeen? I’m no cradle robber, thank you very much…”
“How considerate of you.”
“How selfish of me, in fact. I only look for a little more experience,” Richard replied, his eyes trained on her with a sudden serious expression.
Mary chose not to believe there could be a veiled allusion to the fact that her scandal always had been a non-issue for him, on a personal level at least.
“I suppose you noticed Lady Henrietta’s exuberance as well,” Mary went on with her train of thought, trying to escape from the personal territory they seemed to come back to with every sentence.
It was unsettling.
Even more unsettling was the realization that playing matchmaker for Richard did not bother her at all. In a sense, it was as it should be: she was married, they were back to being friends, it was all innocent banter. However, this was not the reason why she was not bothered.
As they talked about the hypothetical future woman in Richard’s life, comfortably leaning side by side on the railing of the terrace, Mary discovered the unique place she had occupied in his life. Of course, Eliza and others had shared his bed, which Mary had not. On the other hand, he had given her the power of hurting him, he had been vulnerable with her, and he had let her affect him and his moods. If Richard’s aloofness and resilience when he had spoken of Eliza’s infidelities in Glasgow or about Lady Virginia’s condition tonight were any indication, Mary realized now how he had let her see a side of him he usually hid to anyone else, and she took a rather perverse comfort in this idea.
“How about Lady Ingrid? You must have noticed her by the fireplace…”
“Sorry, Mary, but I’ve learned the hard way to steer clear from women that a beautiful uniform and a few glittering decorations impress too much.” Richard was serious again, and they were back to personal, once again.
Mary wanted to answer back, to find a snappy comeback. She just could not let him get away with such an unveiled barb.
“Come on, don’t tell me you would have stared at Matthew with the same admiring eyes if he had come back as a blasé corporal or sergeant, in his plain and unfitting uniform. Don’t tell me your whole family would have thought him a hero if he had come back bitter about the absurdity of the aristocratic command that let competent men, former lawyers, teachers, accountants, technicians, experienced soldiers go no further than the rank of a non-commissioned officer whereas kids joined the army and became lieutenants just because they were upper-class and happened to be the leaders of their cricket or rugby team at Eton.” There was no aggression in his voice, which could be expected considering the ferocity of his diatribe. No, there was only puzzlement and sadness.
Mary bit her lip in defeat. Richard had a point: her husband was not the hero everybody had wanted him to be. But there was no way she could recognize that fact in front of her former fiancé, not when she knew how much Matthew was struggling with the creeping and disturbing realization that he was no hero afterall, honorable or tragic, that he wasn’t her knight in shining armor.
Mary glimpsed the familiar lean and elegant silhouette of a fellow debutante in the frame of the French window. Here came the occasion to put their conversation back on track, and avoid the difficult truth.
“There’s Lady Jane Errol who lost her husband in Gallipoli and doesn’t seem to search for a new one actively. However, I know for a fact she doesn’t discourage men’s attentions either.” Now, this was an honest attempt at matchmaking.
The widowed Lady Jane had been married to the late Major Errol as a result of a familial and territorial strategy in Wales, and had shocked the establishment when she had barely respected the rules of a proper mourning before leaving Cardiff’s area and begin a new, free life in London. She was a good woman who, like Mary, had participated to the season big circus while her fate had already been sealed by her parents long ago. Their shared experience had driven both young women quite close since their first season. Jane could be a good match.
Moreover, anybody but Aunt Rosamund was Mary’s new motto.
And she wanted Richard to be happy.
Was it the silhouette by the door that caught his attention? Or was it the quick overview of Lady Jane’s personality that had made him curious? Whatever the motive was, Richard had abandoned his posture by the railing and had turned completely around, so that he could observe said Lady Jane better.
Richard was definitely interested, as evidenced by the small, amused smile forming on his lips and the twinkling in his eyes.
Mary stood by his side, unable not to feel a little abandoned, not knowing how to excuse herself with no added awkwardness.
“You must be freezing in your shawl. We should walk back to the party,” Richard said after a short, contemplative silence, with only a hint of eagerness in his voice.
This was only a polite and delicate way to say: “You should go back to your husband, and I shall pursue the most fascinating Lady Jane.”
This was also a diplomatic way of stating: “We’re better than you and Matthew were.”
There would be no tears nor broken hearts, no hypocritical oblivion nor collateral damage. Living was looking forward, not backward. If Mary had accepted this idea years ago, her life would have been much different. Certainly, she would be married to Richard now, and would share his busy life between London and Glasgow with a few stops in Haxby. But she had not, and there was no turning back.
However, their surreal conversation, and Aunt Rosamund’s earlier snide comments, had raised a nagging interrogation Mary could not keep to herself anymore.
“Richard, before we go, I need to know something.”
Why was it so important? The past was the past, and she had chosen another path for her life.
“Hmmh?” His attention was already focused on the woman he was intent on getting into his bed in the near future, the woman Mary had literally chosen for him.
“If we had not put an end to the engagement, if we had finally married… Would I have had to endure your infidelities? I suppose some habits are difficult to get rid of.” She hated she sounded so dramatic, but Mary could not find another word to describe Richard’s blatant, unrepentant womanizing ways.
As awkward as the question was, it drew his attention back to her nonetheless, and she wished it had not.
The same hurt and sadness that had marked his face the morning of their goodbyes two years ago now filled his eyes which were shining with confident mischief mere seconds ago.
“Do you really need to ask, Mary?”