Downton Abbey Proper gentlemen and ladies

**Proper gentlemen and ladies**

**Summary:** This is the companion piece to „Proper ladies and gentlemen" and it shows Matthew's POV of that particular wedding in January 1912.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine but the characters you've never seen on TV.

**Author's note:** You know at first I wanted to leave the other story as a stand-alone, but then my reviewer Elise May got me thinking quite against my will. So this shows what Matthew thinks about this grand wedding and how he ended up pressed against the ivory and what makes me most excited about, this companion piece allows me to introduce the stunning Miss Emma Madison*, who will play a crucial role in my next story, because I always felt that Matthew Crawley should have been given a past by his creator. While I never, ever presume I could do him (Lord Fellows) justice, I try in my own way, however inadequate it might be, to fill the void. Furthermore I send my apologies to the Bard for mangling his Hamlet.

Oh, another thing: _Words in italics are Matthew's thoughts. _

So, in a way, it's for you, Elise May, and know this is all your fault! So there!

_January 1912_

Matthew took another sip of his exquisite champagne. If he was honest, he had never had such a fine glass in his life. But if he was equally hard pressed, he would have to hesitate for a moment to think about how many glasses he had already consumed. So far this entire evening had proven to be one big disappointment. Naturally his mother had called it an opportunity. To what exactly she had been vague about and allowed him to kiss her cheek, when he had left the house to head for the station to catch the train to London. To mingle and rub elbows with the titled? To what end? To help him advance in his career? Well, he had none to speak of yet. It was still early days and he usually worked for a more experienced lawyer instead of handling his own cases. But they were very satisfied with his work, they said so themselves at Simmons, Simmons &amp; Lowland, and if he kept up with the good work, they would allow him to work on his own with his own set of clients soon. Maybe even already in the summer, Mr. Simmons senior had said to him. Besides he would very much prefer to advance under his own steam and on his own merits than profit from a connection to the upper class.

„Don't you think so, too, Crawley?"

„Yes, you're certainly right."

Matthew had no idea what he had just agreed to. His thoughts were scattered all over the place. Even if he did want to mingle, the groom had barely spoken three words to him the entire evening, just a „Jolly good of you to be here, Crawley" when he paid his respect at his turn during the reception line as one of the last ones together with his also invited, but equally unconnected, middle-class team comrades from Cambridge. And then later on Carver came to their little corner of the ball-room to chat with the lot of them over half a glass of champagne and that was it.

His eyes drifted over to the honey-blond man sitting in a round of four other men - his distant cousin Patrick Crawley, heir to Lord Grantham. Considering the hushed voices and the roaring laughter, they probably told each other dirty jokes. It had been quite a shock to him, when Carver told him his name sakes were also attending on the bride's side - Patrick Crawley, the heir to Lord Grantham and two more cousins Maggie, Mary, Mabel or something, the eldest daughter, and a sister of hers. Any relation to them by chance? Matthew had firmly denied this. Being the third cousin to the current Lord of Grantham was so distantly related there was barely a connection at all. And to mention this feeble link to the upper crust of society would be rather pitiful and show a desperate desire to belong, when Matthew didn't feel the slightest wish to be „one of them". No, he had his pride, too. It had taken him only two attempts to ask a young lady's chaperone for a dance with their charges before he understood the message loud and clear: if you hadn't a title or an obscene amount of money or were at least closely connected to someone who had, then you were not worthy of their attention. He had been brought up to value a man's character by his deeds and convictions, so their rejection _stung_. The more so since Cambridge taught him also that the ladies usually looked favourably upon him. As a consequence Matthew had adopted some reckless pride in denying the Grantham Crawleys for this evening, which was quite immature, he realised well enough; as childish as being put out by Carver's negligence, but everything here just began to grate on his nerves. He had known before how it would go, but still he had accepted the invitation and borrowed his white ties from a kind partner at his firm. Rationally he could not expect Carver to hang out with them for any length of time. It was a society wedding and that he danced so many times with his wife was already a gross breach of etiquette. That he had been able to marry for love was more than any of these people could expect or hope for. Just because he and Carver had been on the same rowing team didn't necessarily mean they were true friends. It had been a nice gesture Matthew should and could appreciate for what it was – a nod to his past.

He glanced again towards his cousin Patrick. He had watched him look over the room searching and then turn his attention back to his friends. Did he watch over his cousins? Matthew had tried to follow his glances, but there were just too many girls to project for which Patrick's watchful eye was meant. It was as if the entire blasted Manchester Advanced School for Girls was having their annual outing in this ball-room. And why wasn't he out there dancing with the beautiful ladies? Matthew bristled with anger. He was permitted to, while he, Matthew, was forced to sit at the sidelines watching when he simply loved to dance. Given the chance he would show them all. He knew he was an excellent dancer. He would hold a beautiful woman in his arms and they would just float across the dance-floor. Unbidden but not unwelcome Emma's face popped up in front of his inner eye. When he had met her again after quite some time at their Christmas get-together and to celebrate Matthew's graduation among the top ten of the class of 1911 he had barely recognised her. Up to then she had always been the quiet and shy girl who played with her sister Victoria quietly in a corner of the room. Usually they had tea –parties with their dolls, while he, Albert and Edgar played with the steam engine or debated hotly over the scientific possibility to travel to the centre of the Earth or to the moon. But now she had turned into that beautiful and blond young woman with the gentle smile and the warm green eyes a man, _he_, could get lost in. If Em were here, they would show them that being middle-class wasn't the worst fate in the world and that they had their own attractions to offer. And all these pompous windbags could stuff their difference between a salad fork and a crab fork. Why were there two in the first place? It just seemed so superfluous to him.

"Say, Crawley, do you know how many hands a toff needs to change a light bulb?"

"Two, I suppose." He answered rather distracted. That girl in the pale pink dress, was there really a resemblance to his cousin Patrick or did he imagine it? Was this his cousin Maggie, Mary, Mabel or the other one? What about that one in fetching yellow, who just showed him accidentally a glimpse of a most alluring and delicate ankle? Or what about the one over there with the dark hair on the dancefloor? Oh, what did he care? Whoever they were among the crowd squeezed into this overheated ball-room, they couldn't be possibly any more beautiful than Miss Emma Madison.

"Wrong. It takes nine. The butler tells the first footman that the light-bulb needs changing, the first footman the second, the second the third, who informs the house-keeper. The housekeeper tells the handyman, the handyman his assistant, who orders the apprentice to get one out of the storage room and exchange it. And not to forget the estate agent who tells the toff why the light doesn't work in the first place."

Surprised Matthew laughed out loudly and in appreciation he rose his glass towards his team comrade Williams. Good chap that he was he had brought Matthew out of his inappropriate thoughts about his little "sister" Emma. That he started to think about her like this deserved some due and careful consideration when he was a lot more sober, Matthew readily admitted to himself. Realising his flute was empty he put it onto the tray of a passing waiter and resolved to stick to club soda for the rest of the evening. He felt light-headed enough with the champagne and Emma suddenly coursing through his blood. Excusing himself from Williams, he made his way over to the bar, only to be intercepted by a very pretty lady, smiling widely at him and asking him, if he would be so obliging to get her a glass of punch? Gentleman that he was, Matthew certainly obliged her and found himself handing over a glass of her preferred beverage and one in his own hand, watching her taking a rather large draft of it in one go. His eyebrow rose. And for one wild moment he entertained the idea, what he would do, if she was one of his cousins. But no, they were most probably blond with blue eyes like Patrick and he.

"Thank you very much. You're a life-server. I'm afraid I was quite parched."

"Glad to have been of service, milady. I'm..."

She laughed and raised a hand to stop him.

"Please, no names. If I knew it, I would probably be forced to consider whether it was appropriate for me to talk to you. And that would be terribly boring, don't you think? And who knows? In the end I might cheat myself out of a pleasant... conversation." She looked over the rim of her glass into his eyes. Trying to hide his surprise at her boldness, he flashed his most charming smile, feeling elated that he had found a lady who looked passed his humble origins and saw _him_, when she looked at him.

"That sounds terribly intriguing and... inappropriate. So how about and just for the sake of the moment, may I call you ... Juliet?" Matthew winced internally. _Real smooth, Crawley. Can you possibly be even less suave? Ladies like her are probably used to being wooed in French. Watch what you say, moron!_

"Would that make you my Romeo for the moment's sake?" The lady kept surprising him to Matthew's sheer delight.

"I certainly wouldn't dare to hope, but I think it fits, considering that we come from different _houses_..."

"Indeed. What a delightful prospect. So, tell me, Romeo, are you with the groom or with the bride?"

"With the groom. Carver and I were on the same team at Cambridge."

"Oh, a sportsman. So what team was this exactly? Boxing, fencing...?

"I'm afraid nothing so violent. We were on the rowing team for Cambridge."

"Oh, but didn't Oxford win the last race? That must have hurt. I'm sorry for you."

"To be fair they had an excellent team last year we didn't stand much of a chance against, but yes, it rather dents Cambridge's pride to lose three years in succession. One can only hope the next race will turn the favour into our odds again. They can't go on winning; it would be a statistic anomaly."

"A what?" _You can't expect her to have read mathematics. Dumb it down. She can hardly be impressed by what you say if she doesn't understand what you're talking about. _

"I'm sorry, I meant to say it's quite impossible for them to keep winning. It's like casting a dice. It's quite improbable that you get a six on every cast."

"And what makes you presume, Romeo, that I would know anything about a game of dice?"

Matthew blushed profoundly and she started laughing merrily.

"Oh, calm down. No harm done here. On the contrary, I'd be quite disappointed, if you'd turn out to be one of those scholars that kept their nose in the books during their time at university. So tell me, did you use your time to get a _well-rounded_ education there?"

Matthew blinked. Was she despite his clumsiness and poor conversation really _flirting_ with him? And rather boldly at that? He decided to test the waters some more.

"I'd like to think so. That is, I've got to hear any complaints yet." _Well, apart from that first time, when she asked you to come back only, when you had learnt some self-control... Don't think about that now, Crawley! _

"I like men who know what they do. So what do you do apart from attending society weddings?"

"I'm a lawyer in fact."

"A lawyer, how fascinating! So are you one of those men standing in court and giving rousing speeches to bring justice to the people?"

"I'm afraid not. I found early on that I'm not cut out to be a barrister or a crown prosecutor. How could I defend a man guilty of the crime when he deserves punishment for his deeds or the other way round, how could I accuse a man to the full force of the law, when I know there are extenuating circumstances in his case? I'm a solicitor specialising in industrial law."

"That sounds rather... settled." Her eyes lost their engaging warmth. Was her smile more than a tad cooler?

_Crawley, you lose her. Come on, give it a spin to make it more interesting. _

"That's one way to look at it. But I find it to be infinite pleasing. Two opposing parties meet and work together to achieve a shared goal to their mutual satisfaction." His voice had dropped and he looked rather intently at her. Now that he had thrown his gauntlet, would she pick it up and make her own intentions clear or would she step away from their game?

"Do they now? I admit, I never thought that negotiations were of such a _rousing_ nature. I'd love to hear more about it. But not here. I'm afraid, if I talk to you for one minute more, they will talk about us. So... don't you think it's rather hot in here?"

Matthew swallowed drily. He cast his dice and stepped over the Rubicon.

"Now that you mention it. How about we remove ourselves from the scene for a moment?"

Juliet smiled and put down her empty glass and made an encouraging gesture towards the glass doors leading towards the dark terrace. Matthew nodded and drained his own glass and together they walked the few metres to the large doors behind comforting darkness loomed. She stepped out without hesitation.

'_To follow or not to follow, that is the question – _

_Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer  
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune,  
Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles,  
And by opposing, end them?'_

_Crawley, you've definitely had enough, when you start quoting Shakespeare._

He was experienced enough to know how it would end, if he followed her out – she against the wall and he in her with her dress bunched around her hips. And he had reached just this level of drunkenness to still know it was a bad idea, but not to care about it anymore. It had been _months_ since last time he felt another one's touch. Besides she wanted it, too. In fact, wasn't it entirely her idea? She was pretty enough, maybe a bit too ample on the bust girth. Usually he preferred a simple handful, but did it really matter now? It wasn't as if he wanted to marry the girl. And didn't they say redheads were the most passionate? It looked, as if he had the opportunity to find out tonight. With a last cursory glance around the ball-room to secure that no one was looking their way, he slipped out after her.

Where was she? He looked around, blinking, trying to make his eyes penetrate the darkness. Iciness shocked his body into a state of sobriety similar enough to the real thing. He shuddered. Good God, it was January, not a hot summer's night! And she was a lady and not Polly, the accommodating bar-maid at the "Judge Henley"! A gloved hand gripped his arm and pulled him to the side into darkness. Before he could voice his second thoughts, her arms wound around his neck and her hot breath on his face was his only warning before he felt her soft lips on his, muffling his surprised exclamation.

"Mmh, wait... Just wait for a moment, please."

"What?" She sounded annoyed.

"What about your chaperone?"

"Chaperones are for girls whose most valuable asset is their virtue. Now stop talking."

Matthew felt her hand gently caress his neck, before she tangled her fingers in his hair in a firm massage of his scalp. It felt too good and he couldn't help but moaning appreciatively that only encouraged her. She stepped closer and he shuddered when he felt himself pressed against the ivory and beneath that the ice-cold wall. He should not do... he should not... he should... he...Oh God! He definitely should! He took a half step away from the cold wall which brought him even closer and bent down to her for an easier reach. Her lips were cool and soft. So very soft and inviting and her tongue was devilish hot, when he opened her mouth gently and found hers readily waiting to welcome him. Tentatively he laid his hands on her waist and began to move them upwards in a sure, deliberate caress in an attempt to keep her warm. Up to her shoulders...They sighed content and she let out a soft "oh sweety..."

A noise to their left catapulted them out of the sensual haze that threatened to overwhelm them. Matthew's head shot up and he strained his eyes to see what or who had interrupted them. But all he could see was the silhouette of a tall and slender woman looking at them. He opened his mouth to say something in their defence and closed it again. What defence was there to have? It isn't what it looks like? He felt the beginning of a hysterical laugh tickle his throat and tried to step away from his lady Juliet, but her grip tightened around his neck. The three of them were in a stalemate, immovable, frozen in time. Suddenly another noise penetrated the silence. They heard steps and then a slightly reproachful "Mary, what are you doing out here all alone? Come inside. It's time to go." Matthew identified the voice immediately as the one belonging to his cousin Patrick.

_Mary_, so that was her name. Momentarily panicking he didn't know which of the women Patrick addressed, before he realised that Patrick didn't see them in the darkness. He tried to see more of her. And when she turned he could finally get a good glimpse of her profile. Her mouth was twisted in disgust. And as silent she had come she left.

In a parody of a tender embrace the tragic couple tried to get their bearings. When Mary had left she had taken Matthew's playful, devil-may-care mood with her. What if she talked?

"Do you know her?"

"You know that's not very gallant to ask after another woman when you already have one in your arms."

Matthew frowned. How could she so be flippant in a moment like this? Any moment now people would storm out and some men were likely to demand satisfaction on behalf of their entire class. Wasn't that what _her_ kind of people did, when they felt their honour besmirched? The very least he would be escorted out and asked to never return. How poorly he had repaid Carver's kind invitation.

"You know very well, that's not what I meant." He glared at her in the shadows. "Will she tell?"

"Oh, don't worry about her, she's unimportant. She's the kind of good girl that's only good because she's too scared to be bad. The most she'll do is bristling with jealousy and envy, because we're doing what she only dreams about."

She tried to find his lips again, but Matthew pulled his head away out of her reach and disengaged gently but firmly from her. At last he had found his cousin Mary. Or better she had found him and that in the worst possible moment. His only saving grace was that she would never learn who he was and she probably didn't get a too good glimpse of him in the darkness. What had they been thinking? What had _he _been thinking!? If he wanted to be any kind of gentleman, he should end things now. She was no Juliet and he had no aspirations to become a tragic hero, either.

"I think... we'd better get in, too. They might not be the only ones to seek fresh air. It's too dangerous."

She nodded and stepped away from him.

"You're right. It was reckless of us."

Matthew was relieved. Her whole demeanour indicated she had regained her senses, too. This entire_ thing_ had been doomed from the start, but he could end it on a gallant note. She deserved that much. He opened the door and let her step in first. The air was even more stifling and the heat oppressing. Turning to her, he carefully took her hand and with a last cursory look around, raised it to his lips with a small but warm smile.

"Thank you, my Juliet, for an unforgettable moment."

She smiled gracefully.

"Goodbye, my Romeo."

She slipped away and his eyes followed her for the barest moment to see her get lost in the crowd. He decided to leave, feeling a headache coming on. Before he left for good, he turned around at the exit, taking in the luxury, the beautiful dresses of the ladies, the music and the atmosphere as a whole. No, he didn't belong in there. And with a wide smile he realised that he didn't feel in the slightest sorry for it. In the morning he would take the first train back home, back to Manchester and his simple, but content life. And he was rather looking forward to finding out, if there was perhaps a girl waiting for him.

_September 1912_

He whirled around when his new butler announced his cousin Mary. She had probably heard his insults to the family. His mouth dropped open. He hadn't had the opportunity to take a good look at her in January, but now looking at her he realised with a sinking feeling, his worst fear had come to pass. She recognised him from that night only too well. But how? He had been in the shadows, she could not have seen him quite so clearly, unless she had seen him with his Juliet before. Had he been more closely watched than he had perceived? But they had been so careful, when they had slipped out. His stomach churned, when he recalled Juliet's characterisation of her that showed a certain familiarity with his cousin. Were they friends? Had she told Mary? Did she know _everything_?! Oh God!

There she was, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon with the face of a pre-Raffaelite madonna and eyes of fire and he had just insulted her and her entire family and on top of things, she could only have the lowest opinion possible of him, because she knew his dirty little secret. What a splendid start of things! Bless his mother as she tried to salvage the impossible situation, but Lady Mary wasn't one to be appeased so easily. Feeling his mother's glare on him, he knew he had to make amendments and quickly. But what could he say to redeem himself in any way? What if she told her family of his poor conduct? He rushed out after her, but she was already on horse, looking even more regal and commanding than she had in their small parlour. He fumbled for words.

"Lady Mary, I hope you didn't misunderstand me. I was only joking."

Her repartee cut him deeply and deservedly, but he had to hand it to her. It was rather a complete joke. And he knew it was on him. Feeling dejected he returned inside and entered the parlour again. He had to unpack his suitcases and take care of his evening attire. He should take a bath, wash off the grime of the long travel and shave more carefully than he ever had. Tonight he would have to put his best foot forward.

**Ende**

* Yes, I do know that Emma Madison has a strong resemblance to Lavinia or Lavinia to her, but it is entirely on purpose, because I always felt that, if things got ugly and became too much, Matthew would feel a need to "return to mama" so to speak and long for the simpler and happier life he once had had before Patrick Crawley died so very tragically.


End file.

Downton Abbey, Humor, Romance