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Sir Richard Carlisle thinks about Mary Crawley sometimes.
Not often, but sometimes.
She had been right in the end. They were ill-suited. He had loved her, but they were so very different. He worked hard for what he had and he couldn’t help thinking she took it all for granted. Was he hard? Maybe, but he’d earned it, damn it, and he was going to enjoy what he’d earned.
He acknowledged that he resented Mary a little bit, too. Yes, it had all turned out for the best.
He never did publish the story about that Turk. International relations being what they were, he wasn’t sure dredging it up was worth the trouble it might cause. The only thing that sold more papers than war was a good sex scandal, or maybe a murder, but for some reason he couldn’t muster enough antagonism to go through with it.
On the other hand, he thinks wryly, the story might do for a good novel one day, and the thought makes him think of the new reporter, Alice Dawson, who would do anything for a story and saves half-cocked ideas because “they might do for a good novel one day”. She is a short, wiry woman (no one could ever call Alice petite and survive) with fierce angles and a will to match. He feels a thrill when she comes into his office. He has been telling himself that the feeling in the pit of his stomach is just because he is getting ready for a fight, but he is starting to realize that it isn’t just a fight he is looking for anymore.
Alice. Alice will suit him much better than Mary ever had.
Not that he would ever tell Lady Mary this. Give her the satisfaction of being right? Not on his life.
Carlisle does not think about Matthew Crawley. Ever.
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After they are married, Mary and Matthew don’t think about Sir Richard Carlisle either, not really, but it doesn’t help that his biggest newspaper has the most interesting stories and the best writing. There’s one reporter in particular – a woman! Sybil would love that – Mary likes the best. Mary had met her once, in London, and had been reminded just a little of herself before the war. She’d been impressed.
They fight for the paper in the mornings. Mary inevitably lets Matthew have it; the struggle is mostly for show. As for Matthew, he has learned to read his wife by this interchange. He can determine her mood by the way she takes his paper in the morning, how long she keeps it, and the manner in which she gives it back. It is one of his most well-polished skills, but the only person he tells this to is Cousin Robert.
The secret of their engagement had lasted less than a day. The Servants’ Ball in 1920 had been a revelation for Matthew. He had been dancing with Mary - the first time since the night the 'flu had hit - and he suddenly felt lighter than air. He laughed at the cliché, but he’d had an epiphany: Lavinia wouldn’t have wanted this. He felt forgiven. He felt free. He felt…desire. And better still, he could act on it: she was free too. Lady Mary was finally rid of that ridiculous, truculent man. Matthew's entire world shifted that night, and everything finally
–finally-
fell into place. Almost since the day they met there had been a crackle of something when they were in a room together, but after that night, their connection felt warm instead of electric and tinged with danger. When accused, they hardly denied it. It seemed the whole of Downton let out a sigh of relief as the news spread, fate having finally gotten its act together and all that.
They waited a bit before making the public announcement. Lady Mary had been worried that putting it in so quickly would remind Sir Richard that he’d been jilted and cause him to do something rash. Cousin Violet argued that every day was another chance for that odious man to publish the story anyway, and if he beat them to the chase then everyone would believe Matthew was only marrying Mary because no one else would take her. Lady Edith said that people were going to think they were only marrying each other because of the entail anyway, so what was the difference? Robert, ever the voice of reason, reminded them all that the only people who mattered knew the truth, and that it was really up to Mary and Matthew.
They waited just over three months. Finally, some other business took Mary to London, and while she was there, she stopped in to tell Sir Richard herself. With only a hint of rancor, he asked what had taken so long. Mary didn’t reply, she merely asked if he would introduce her to the woman whose articles were so very bold and brilliant. "I could never be that audacious," Lady Mary remarked to Sir Richard. His smile in reply was just a tad too self-satisfied to be friendly, and he called for Alice to come in.