Takes place sometime after the Series Five Christmas Special. It's been a long time since I've written fanfic, but the final season of Downton Abbey is on my brain and poor, charming Evelyn Napier is my dark horse favorite among Mary's many admirers.

"Charles! What brings you to Paris?"

The Honourable Evelyn Napier, son and heir to Viscount Branksome, attaché to the British Ambassador to France, and Mr. Charles Blake, heir to Sir Severus Blake of Ulster, currently assigned to the British trade delegation to Poland, shook hands.

"Evelyn. Glad to see you again. I'm running a little errand for the Embassy. Up to London on Friday then back to Warsaw next week."

"How's your Polish coming along?" asked Evelyn.

"Tolerably," Charles replied, smiling and plucking two flutes of champagne from the tray of an obliging waiter. "Though to be honest, I think it's our German we should be studying closely these days." He passed a flute to Evelyn. "How is your father?"

They exchanged the usual pleasantries, keeping an ostensibly casual but observant eye on the French reaction to Mussolini's latest delegation.

"Have you heard from Lady Mary in recent months?" Charles asked.

"No," Evelyn said. He sipped from his glass.

Charles studied him closely. "Really? That surprises me."

"I heard you had given her up." Evelyn didn't bother to conceal a faint trace of disapproval.

Charles had the good grace to look sheepish. "I wouldn't think you'd mind much," he countered wryly.

He had a point, Evelyn silently conceded, and covered his irritation with another sip of champagne.

Charles was undeterred.

"I'm not the type to waste years longing for what might have been. The world is too large a place for that. There are infinite possibilities for love and loss—and fun—to fill any man's lifetime."

Evelyn glanced down at the remaining pale, still bubbling champagne in his glass. Infinite possibilities. That was true. And yet, in over twelve years of searching for a partner—at least ten of them actively, and more recently with a growing sense of resignation—he had yet to meet any woman who captured his imagination and respect so fully, delightfully, and hopelessly as Lady Mary Crawley.

He steered the conversation back to Poland.

"A morass, like most of the continent. Impoverished by war and riven by ineffectual leadership." Charles's voice grew harder as he spoke. "People seem to think it can't happen again, that the Great War left indelible lessons on humanity. But if we are indecisive and indifferent, if we allow petty factionalism and aggression to flourish, I fear there may be much darker days ahead."

Evelyn was silent—Charles's words, his own premonitions, and the memory of the trenches chilling him.

They talked, briefly, of other matters, watching the January rain beat against the windows into the dark streets of Paris below.

"It was good to see you, Charles," Evelyn said, bringing the conversation to a close. "Have a safe journey home." He drained the remainder of his champagne.

"I kissed her, you know."

Evelyn coughed on the liquid, sputtered, and coughed again. From across the room, Lord Crewe shot them a disapproving glare.

"Sorry old chap, just an experiment." Charles thumped Evelyn's back discreetly and nodded his apologetic reassurance to the Ambassador. "So you do still have feelings for her," he whispered triumphantly.

"Charles—"

"Don't worry, the kiss wasn't what you think. A bit of staged theatre in order to—well, never mind why. The point is Lady Mary is still single, and a woman of her caliber will not stay single for long. Don't waste an opportunity you may regret someday."

"So what do I do?" asked Evelyn, hating himself for asking, feeling the ridiculousness of this position, this conversation, and his now champagne dampened dinner tie.

"You fight for her."

"And how do you suggest I do that?"

"That, my friend, you are going to have to figure out on your own." The entrance of the Hungarian minister and the Italians' excited reaction caught Charles's attention. "I must move on. But don't undervalue yourself," he added sternly. "You should know you were the only rival that ever really concerned me."

Evelyn smiled, appreciative if not quite believing him. "Good luck to you, Charles."

"Godspeed to us both," the other answered, and grinned.