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Lady Mary was bored.
It was not unusual for her, especially when she knew a dinner party with some distant family friend awaited. These dinners were long and drawn-out and left her stifling yawns behind her primly gloved hand. She didn’t even know the name of the host. Wilkerson? Williams? They all blended together after some time.
“Are you quite ready to go?” Mary asked Edith, the impatience barely concealed in her voice. Edith always took eons to dress herself for dinner parties, made worse by the fact they had opened the house in London and she had apparently either misplaced her favorite hair adornment or forgotten it back at Downton.
“Not yet. I still need to find my hair piece!” Edith complained, though she was doing very little looking herself. Anna had been tasked with finding the clip while the girls waited for Edith to be ready. Sybil was trying her best to help Anna but Mary had chosen to wait by the bed, playing absentmindedly with her pearl necklace.
“M’lady, I am sorry but I really don’t think it’s here,” Anna said apologetically. Edith let out a little hmmph and promptly started taking off her earrings.
“Well then, I’ll have to completely change my jewelry!” she declared, trying and failing to unclasp her necklace. “The only other hair piece I brought doesn’t match.”
“You could always go without a hair piece,” Sybil suggested, and Edith looked horrified.
“Papa told me Sir Anthony may be there. I shall not attend without a hair piece!”
Mary rolled her eyes and exchanged a look with Sybil before a knock on the door drew their attention.
“Are you all ready to depart? Your papa is getting quite antsy about being late,” Cora said, poking her head into Edith’s room with a warm smile. Normally the girls finished getting ready in Mary’s room, but Edith had been taking so long Mary and Sybil decided to come and wait in hers.
“Almost,” Sybil said brightly. “We’ve just-”
“Oh, but now my dress looks awful with these earrings!” Edith interrupted, staring at her reflection in anguish.
Mary glanced over at Edith. The ensemble looked fine, but Edith was acting utterly inconsolable as she smoothed out the creases in her dress.
“Anna, I’ll have to change completely,” she announced, to which Sybil dropped her head into her hands and Mary rolled her eyes yet again.
“Edith, there really isn’t time for that-” Cora began to chide her, but Edith wasn’t hearing any of it.
“Mama, Sir Anthony may be there!” she cried again, already making her way towards her wardrobe with Anna hurrying behind her.
Cora sighed before turning to Mary and Sybil.
“Mary, can you please go ahead downstairs? I’m afraid your papa will charge up here if at least one of you doesn’t appear within the next few minutes,” she asked wryly.
“Of course,” Mary said immediately, stepping forward. Anything to get away from Edith’s insistent whining. Sybil looked crestfallen for a second before Cora consoled her that since she had not been presented in the season yet, she could hardly arrive first.
“Thank you, dear,” Cora smiled at Mary as she exited the room. “And please pay my respects to the Watsons.”
Mary nodded as she swanned past her mother, tugging her long white gloves further up on her arm. Cora had caught a cold the day they had arrived in London and had regrettably decided to skip the Watsons’ dinner tonight.
Oh, yes, the Watsons, Mary recalled. They were a rather newer friend of her parents’, though they’d known Granny for quite some time. Mary had never met them herself, but Cora had insisted she should go in her place. Edith and Sybil would accompany her too, of course, but it was Mary who would have to attend as almost a delegate for her mother. Her papa wasn’t looking forward to the evening, as he had not seen Lady Watson in years and she would almost certainly ask endless questions about Granny, who had not accompanied them to London for the Season.
If she was being honest, Mary was not looking forward to it either. A few years ago, she would have glowed with pride had Cora asked her to take her place for her. Practice for when I am the Countess of Grantham, she would have told herself. Now, however, it was just a rather biting reminder her role reigning over Downton was not guaranteed.
True, she wasn’t as bitter over the entail as she once had been, but she was dreading the tedious evening ahead of her.
It wasn’t until she was halfway downstairs did she realise just how late it was. The dinner party began at eight and it was already half past seven. Her papa was standing near the door, looking grumpy and glancing at his wristwatch every five seconds.
“Do you know what is taking your sisters so long?” he asked bluntly as soon as he saw Mary making her way over to him.
“Edith is throwing a fit over her outfit,” she said dryly, fixing her gloves up further on her arm. Robert sighed, surveying his wristwatch one last time before fixing her with a resolute look.
“Alright, here’s what we’ll do: you will go ahead of us and inform Lord and Lady Watson of our slight delay. With any luck, our carriage will be right behind yours.”
“‘Luck’? Need I remind you it’s Edith we’re talking about here?”
Robert gave her a stern look and Mary rolled her eyes, not bothering to conceal her annoyance.
“Must I go ahead? I’ve never met Lady Watson, and I really wouldn’t like to arrive first.” Mary also did not wish to spend any more time there than she had to, though she was not about to tell her papa that.
“I don’t like it either, but we cannot be late for this dinner. Your granny would never let me hear the end of it,” Robert said seriously, casting his gaze to the right like he was afraid Carson might go running to Violet the first chance he got.
Mary smiled wryly, pulling her cloak around her shoulders.
“Alright, I suppose I’ll go first,” she conceded. “But you mustn't be too long, please.”
“Trust me, my dear, I will try my best,” Robert said with a slight shake of his head, once again glancing at his wristwatch.
Fastening her cloak, Mary strode out of the house and to the motor, offering a polite “thank you” to the new chauffeur as she climbed in (Bradley? Branson?), settling against the cool leather seats. The car began to drive away from Grantham House, and she watched distantly as it slowly sped up, bumping a little on the road.
She only hoped this evening wouldn’t prove to be as dull as she thought it would.
Matthew Crawley, for reasons unbeknownst to him, had been invited to Lord and Lady Watson’s dinner party in London to celebrate the start of the Season. Perhaps he should’ve expected it, being the heir, but the invitation had surprised him to say the least. He knew Lady Violet was amicable with the hosts, but was quite unaware if the rest of the Crawleys were close to them.
At first he had dawdled, hesitating to accept such an invite when his mother wouldn’t be accompanying him, and he hadn’t heard whether his cousins would be attending either, but had ultimately decided to accept. Ever since Robert had convinced to become more involved with the estate, he’d reluctantly realised that meant becoming more involved with other aspects of their lives as well, so he would do well to come.
He stepped into the grand entrance hall a little unsurely, eyes roving the room for anyone he knew. It was quite an impressive hall, though perhaps not as magnificent as Downton.
He glanced back at the door, and to his surprise– and perhaps delight, if he was being honest with himself– he saw Lady Mary Crawley being helped out of her carriage. She was wearing a lovely black lacy dress with sheer sleeves and beading along the bodice. She was quite beautiful, and he had to appreciate the way the dark fabric contrasted with the creaminess of her skin. She looked a vision.
Though she looked a vision in everything.
Despite his and Mary’s rocky start, they had formed a tentative friendship over the course of the past year and a half. Though Matthew still wouldn’t call them the best of friends– and neither would Mary, if he had to guess– they were certainly on speaking terms so Matthew felt no qualms in approaching her.
“Hello,” he said conversationally, catching her attention just after she had finished shrugging her light cloak off and handing it to the butler. She turned to him at the sound of his voice.
“Matthew!” she said, surprised. “I didn’t realise you would be here.”
She was smiling, and Matthew couldn’t help but notice she seemed to have brightened up since entering the room.
“Yes, I was invited quite recently,” he explained. “I wasn’t aware you were coming either.”
“Honestly, I’m not sure why I did,” Mary said with a slight roll of her eyes. “The Watsons really only know Granny, and she’s already gone back to Downton.”
Matthew smiled before realising a few more guests were entering and he and Mary were blocking the door a little. Unable to resist, he placed his hand on her warm elbow and helped guide her out of the way.
“Are Cousin Robert and Cousin Cora coming?” he asked once they were safely stationed near the staircase, reluctantly moving his hand away from her arm. Mary shook her head.
“I’m afraid Mama’s caught a bit of a cold. Papa is coming, though he’s waiting for Edith and Sybil,” she said, giving him a significant look. Matthew smirked. Mary had told him stories before about her younger sisters taking ages to get ready.
“Well, please pass on my well wishes to Cousin Cora,” Matthew said. Mary nodded.
“Of course. She’ll be very appreciative.”
They went quiet for a moment, and Matthew cast his mind about for something to say. Perhaps he could make some reference to the cottages? She seemed interested in their progress, and maybe he could–
“Bonjour, bonjour!” A voice interrupted his thoughts and he turned to a short old woman bustling her way over to him and Mary. “Comment allez-vous?”
He glanced over at Mary, hesitating to speak. He had never learned French and although he surmised the woman was being friendly, he decided it would be best to let Mary handle it.
But it looked like Mary had no clue what to do either.
“Ah, hello,” she said to the woman, a polite smile on her face. “I’m afraid my French isn’t too good–”
The woman shook her head, continuing to make her way over while leaning heavily on her cane. “Tu es Lady Bennett, n’est-ce pas?”
Matthew looked over at Mary, watching her hesitate before nodding, clasping her hands together confidently.
“Yes, that is me,” she said diplomatically. The woman smiled widely before beginning to chatter on in fast French, leaving Matthew wholly lost. Mary was still smiling but didn’t seem to be comprehending anything she was saying.
Thankfully, it wasn’t long before another woman appeared, wearing a dark green dress and her hair in an elegant updo. Matthew vaguely recognized her to be Lady Watson, and opened his mouth to introduce himself as Lord Grantham’s heir, but before he could say anything, the French woman turned to her and said something excitedly.
“Oh, it is?” Lady Watson said, glancing over at them in surprise. “I did not know my husband invited them!” Mary and Matthew exchanged a glance as Lady Watson turned to them with a kind smile.
“Pardon me, I did not recognise you!” she said, nodding respectfully at Matthew. “It’s lovely to see you again; it’s been too long!”
Matthew smiled awkwardly, letting Lady Watson exchange pleasantries with him and Mary before she spotted another guest she knew, excusing herself and guiding the French woman along with her.
Once she had vanished, Matthew turned to Mary, his eyebrows raised in question.
“What was that?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. Mary shook her head, shrugging delicately.
“That was Lady de Coffrey,” she explained. “She’s ninety-two and speaks exclusively French. And– she seems to have mistaken me for a Lady Bennett.”
“And you let her believe it?” Matthew asked, aghast.
“It’s the art of pretending, Matthew,” Mary said seriously, though there was a playful gleam in her eye. “As I’m sure you’re aware, we aristocrats do it wonderfully.”
“I’m sure you do. However, I wasn’t under the impression identity fraud fell under that category.” Matthew retaliated, earning a barely stifled laugh from Mary.
“It can, when the situation arises,” she said, though they both knew that wasn’t the case. Aristocrats would never dream of pretending to be another person; it just wasn’t proper! However, as Matthew was beginning to see, Mary didn’t necessarily do everything properly.
“Considering Lady Watson has now been convinced we are the Bennetts, it would be quite confusing to try and rectify the situation. So for the rest of the night, you are Benedict Bennett and I am your newlywed wife, Matilda.” she continued, and Matthew wrinkled his nose.
“Benedict Bennett? What an unfortunate name,” he remarked, and Mary shrugged, smiling.
“With any luck, we’ll keep to ourselves and they won’t be any the wiser that we are not who we say we are,” she said, beginning to walk towards the drawing room. Matthew followed, intrigued.
“And should your family arrive and reveal our farce?”
Mary smiled saucily, pausing just outside the drawing room door. “Well, I suppose we'll just have to hope they know when to mind their own business.”
And with that, Matthew offered her his arm and they stepped through the doorway.
What a curious development this was.
It had been far too long since Mary had had as much fun as she was having now. All it took was a short conversation with the Countess of Mooring to decipher that the real Lord Bennett was overseas (“Oh, how was the South of France? I’ve always wanted to see the Côte d'Azur this time of year!”) and that Lady Watson had not yet met his newlywed wife, Matilda Bennett. In truth, Mary hadn’t seen Lord Benedict in years, but she remembered him enough to decide it wasn’t completely unreasonable to mistake Matthew for him (“I must say, your husband’s hair has certainly lightened up! You both look lovely, though.”).
Her only real concern now was what would happen when her papa and sisters arrived. A quick scout of the room had let her know she was not terribly close with anyone here, at least not close enough to warrant questioning from them. She had never been more thankful Granny hadn’t introduced her to the Watsons’ apparently eligible son since she had technically been previously promised to Patrick. However, Robert would likely be confused when he saw her parading about as the married Lady Bennett and not his daughter, the unattached Lady Mary who had curiously been denying suitors as of late and spending much more time with his heir. Sybil would likely go along with the ruse in the name of good fun, but she wouldn’t put it past Edith to call her out. Her only hope would be to catch her father before he blabbed the truth to the rest of the unsuspecting guests.
Since she didn’t know when the rest of her family would be arriving, she had positioned herself near the drawing room door, just close enough to see out to the entrance hall. Matthew had taken a seat next to her, and was currently talking to the Lord of Dunnings about estate management. He was holding his own fairly well, and Mary said a silent thank you that he had finally relented to Robert and become more involved at Downton.
After the Lord of Dunnings excused himself, Matthew turned to her with a rueful smile.
“You know, I never imagined how exhausting managing an entire estate could be,” he admitted, taking a small sip of his sherry. “No wonder your father enlisted my help.”
“Oh yes, it’s quite difficult,” Mary agreed, picking up her own sherry glass. “I’m not sure how Papa manages it sometimes.”
Matthew leaned against the back of the couch, fixing her with an intent stare.
“So, Lady Bennett,” he began, sounding a little devious. “How are we pulling this off so far?”
“‘So far’?” Mary repeated quizzically. “It’s been not even thirty minutes!”
“And these dinners last how long? Three to four hours? I’d say we’ll need to up our game if we want to be believable.”
Mary tilted her head, pretending to ponder the idea. Matthew was right, actually. If they were to convince everyone they were the Bennetts for the next four hours, they couldn’t converse as the friends they truly were. They’d have to give off the impression of newlyweds…
“Well,” Mary began slowly, placing her sherry glass down and smiling at Matthew. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to appear more physical with each other.” She placed a hand on his arm, gently brushing her fingers underneath his dinner jacket sleeve. His eyebrows nearly shot up into his hair as she shifted closer, letting her side brush up against his and smiling invitingly at him.
He straightened up, moving his arm out of her reach before placing it gently on the bare skin of her upper arm, above the hem of her glove.
“And what else, Lady Bennett?” he asked, leaning far too closely for the public setting they were in.
Mary ought to have been shocked at his behavior if she hadn’t curiously forgotten they were surrounded by barons and earls and in the middle of a crowded drawing room.
And if she hadn’t heard the familiar voice of her father greeting Lady Watson.
Immediately, she shot up and spun around as gracefully as she could, making her way into the entrance hall and over to Robert before he could say anything incriminating. He saw her coming and opened his mouth, presumably to introduce her by name, but she silenced him with a look and instead waited until he had finished greeting Lady Watson to step forward.
“Mary, what on earth was that about?” he asked, frowning as Lady Watson disappeared into the drawing room.
“Papa, there’s been some sort of mix up,” she explained, fixing her features into what she hoped was a grave expression. “Lady de Coffrey seems to have mistaken Matthew and I for Lord and Lady Bennett. Before we could correct her, she introduced us as the Bennetts to Lady Watson, and, well, we didn’t want to confuse the poor old dear.”
Silence fell after Mary finished her explanation. Robert looked utterly lost, and Sybil on the verge of laughing, but it was Edith who spoke first.
“So you’re lying about who you are and you expect us to go along with you?”
Mary shot her a look. “Why? You seem to have no problem spreading lies to embassies.”
Edith looked shocked and Mary was briefly surprised at her own risky behavior, but thankfully the reference went right over Robert’s head as he opened his mouth to speak.
“Mary, I do understand why you didn’t want to confuse Lady de Coffrey, but, uh, how do you expect to pull this off? Wouldn’t it be easier to correct the mistake now before the dinner begins?” he asked. His questions were valid, but Sybil interjected before Mary could say a thing.
“Oh, don’t worry about Mary!” she said earnestly. “And please don’t make her explain. The evening will be great fun if this continues!”
Mary smiled warmly at Sybil for her support before turning back to Robert.
“Really, Papa, it would be far too complicated to rectify it now. Matthew and I have already talked to at least a dozen guests as Lord and Lady Bennett.”
“And should one of them recognize you?” Edith asked, ever the contrarian.
“We don’t know many of the guests, so I shouldn’t think that’s a problem.” Mary responded. Edith looked irritated for having been foiled yet again, but Mary was focused on Robert. He seemed to be contemplating the plausibility of this whole story, but finally sighed and nodded in acquiescence.
“Alright,” he conceded. “Your mama and granny may go mad once they hear, but I suppose it’s no real harm done.”
“Thank you, Papa,” Mary said gratefully, before straightening up. “Now, I must go back in. And please remember to refer to me as Lady Bennett. We don’t want any slip ups.”
She vanished in the direction of the drawing room, and Robert sighed again, turning to Edith and Sybil.
“This could be quite a long night,” he warned.
“I think it’s fun,” Sybil countered, a smile on her face as she followed her father and sister into the drawing room.
“Of course you do,” Edith retorted. “And so, I gather, does Mary.”
Matthew was having the most fun he’d had in ages. And it was with Mary! It was true that for some time now they had developed a friendship, but he had never expected it to feel so easy and so natural while they were at an estate dinner, for heaven’s sake!
Yet he found himself laughing at her jokes– she really was quite funny– and finding excuses to stay near her. Thankfully, he didn’t have to come up with many excuses because as far as everyone at the dinner party was concerned, she was his wife!
He wasn’t sure how she’d convinced Robert to go along with it, but thank God she had because he was having too much fun to consider the possibility of having to stop just yet. He also was secretly enjoying being able to refer to her as his wife.
“My wife and I are finding it quite lovely to be back in London,” he had been saying, and “I was just talking about this to my wife the other day…”
What made it even more enjoyable was that Mary was doing the same.
“Oh yes, my husband is quite knowledgeable about that,” she’d told some baron about fifteen minutes before they’d gone through to do. Or, “My husband and I were just planning to visit the garden last week!”
He hadn’t complained when she’d linked her arm through his to walk into the dining room, nor had she complained when he’d helped her into her chair before taking his own seat across the table. They’d ironically been sat in their original places should they have come as Mr. Crawley, heir to the Earl of Grantham and Lady Mary, daughter of the Earl of the Grantham, since Mr. Matthew and Lady Mary had curiously not shown up.
The first few courses passed by rather smoothly. Matthew talked with Lord Kesley about livestock and keeping an estate up, and then turned to converse with the Countess of Mooring about his travels in the South of France where he’d supposedly just honeymooned. He’d tried his best to keep up with the conversation, having never actually been there himself, but eventually just let her chatter on about her memories there while he enjoyed his mutton cutlets.
Mary, on the other hand, was having a much harder time talking with Lady Engel, who not even five minutes into the conversation insisted she call her by her first name, Gloria. Gloria was quite a fast-talker, and seemed to want to know every single detail of Mary’s life with the supposed Lord Bennett. She could hardly keep up with what she was telling Gloria, much less the questions Gloria was asking about their honeymoon. She had never been more relieved when it was time to turn, and she was free to talk with Sybil, who she had conveniently been placed next to.
The conversation was going well, up until a confused older woman to the left of Lord Kesley rather loudly asked who that blonde chap was on Lord Kesley’s other side.
“Why, that’s Benedict Bennett, and his wife Matilda sitting next to me, of course!” Gloria exclaimed. Mary turned to her in mild shock at breaking the rules of talking across the table during dinner, but the woman wasn’t done yet. “They have just returned from their honeymoon in the French Riviera, where I am sure their efforts over their trip will happily result in many children!”
Matthew choked on his wine.
“My dear Benedict, are you quiet alright?” Gloria asked in concern and Mary had to busy herself dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin to smother her laughter as every head at the table swiveled to where her supposed husband was spluttering.
“Quite- quite alright!” he spluttered, while the rest of the guests exchanged bewildered looks.
“Lady Engel, you said they vacationed on the French Riviera? I’ve never been; could you tell me more about it?” Sybil interjected with a smile. Gloria immediately started tittering on about the wonders of the South of France and Mary smiled thankfully over at her sister. Sybil nodded warmly back before turning back to her lamb roast with a giggle. She seemed quite pleased as to how the night was turning out.
Now that the discussion had somehow morphed into a table-wide conversation, Mary glanced over at Matthew and caught his eye. His face was still red from Gloria’s comment, and Mary had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Matthew shook his head at her and Mary grinned, turning back to the conversation at hand.
It wasn’t until the end of dessert that Mary began to wonder if this had really been a good idea. She and Matthew had been exchanging glances for the rest of the dinner, smiling whenever someone referred to them as Lord or Lady Bennett. Mary had even found herself going out of her way to make some mention to her “husband” whenever the opportunity provided itself. It was quite nice, actually. It felt different, but not really strange and certainly not uncomfortable.
Mary had just finished eating her peach tartlet when she caught the tail end of what Matthew was saying.
“...not necessarily something I had ever considered before,” he said. Then: “Isn’t that right, darling?”
Mary’s head snapped up to see Matthew smiling at her. And oh, how natural, how right that endearment felt. How she’d like to hear him say that every day, and call him that in return.
“Indeed,” Mary replied, though she honestly had no idea what was just said. Her brain had stopped functioning when she heard the word “darling” on Matthew’s lips. Why did he call her that? Why did she wish to hear it again?
And for the first time, Mary began to regret deciding to pretend to be Matthew’s wife, because it certainly wasn’t feeling like pretending anymore.
The women went through not long after, while the men stayed behind in the dining room for glasses of port and cigars. It was quite awkward for Matthew and Robert to greet each other and converse like they didn’t know each other, but thankfully it wasn’t too long before they followed the ladies into the drawing room.
Matthew, feeling oddly relieved he no longer had to come up with excuses to talk to Mary, walked over and joined her on the couch where she was talking to Sybil. Sybil greeted Matthew but excused herself to go to the powder room after a moment.
“So,” Matthew said quietly, sitting close to Mary so no one else would hear, “I have to say, I’m quite impressed with our farce.”
“So am I,” Mary agreed, turning to him with a curious look in her eye. “We make quite a good couple.”
Matthew faltered at her tone. She sounded so sure, so confident. “Yes, we do,” he agreed after a second. Mary smiled and placed her hand on his arm.
“I’m glad you agree, darling.”
Matthew barely had time to register that she had called him darling before Sybil reappeared, sitting down next to them and striking up a conversation.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur and before he knew it, he was escorting his “wife” out into the entrance hall to help her into her coat. He wasn’t quite sure how she’d slip away with Robert and her sisters without it being noticed she wasn’t leaving with him, but she told him Lady Watson would hardly make note of it if they just went outside at the same time.
As they walked to the door, Matthew was debating calling her “darling” once more before they left, considering he doubted he’d have a chance to again, when a voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned around to see Lady de Coffrey, the elderly French women who had prompted this entire peculiar night, scurrying over to them.
“Bonne nuit, Lady Bennett!” she said pleasantly, grasping Mary’s hands. “S'il te plaît, dis bonjour à ta famille!”
Mary grasped Lady de Coffrey’s hands back and then glanced at Matthew with a smile.
“Merci, c'était une belle soirée et je ne manquerai pas de transmettre votre message à ma famille,” Mary said in perfect French, and Matthew gaped at her. She decidedly ignored him as Lady de Coffrey said something else to her before tottering off.
“You can speak French!” Matthew exclaimed once the woman was safely out of earshot, and Mary turned to him with an impish smile.
“Why yes, of course, I took many lessons as a girl,” she replied, taking her coat from the butler.
“Then why didn’t you say something at the beginning?” Matthew asked, incredulous. Mary gave a simple shrug in response.
“I suppose I didn’t want to, darling,” she said cryptically, fastening her coat around her shoulders. “Goodnight, Matthew.”
And with that, she drifted away, adjusting her coat and joining her family outside.
Matthew watched her go, and it was only until after the motor door had closed did he realise she had called him “darling” one last time.
A curious development indeed.