What on Earth was he doing in this little backwater?

For the life of him, Mathew could not understand his mother's enthusiasm for the place. Was association with the gentry supposed to be the pinnacle of achievement for every middle class family? To Mathew being uprooted from his pleasant professional life for the purpose of being placed into someone else's debt was an odious idea. He couldn't understand why he had allowed it to be done. Though he supposed his mother's enthusiasm had everything to do with it. He found it impossible to say no to the person who had borne him into the world and ensured he made his way safely through it. She had sacrificed for him, so it followed that he should sacrifice for her. But that did not mean he had to like it.

So he complained. Found fault with everything, including the unnecessary servants. They'd been given the most ridiculous butler. Of course, Mathew found the idea of having a butler ridiculous in the first place, but the one they'd been given was hardly a butler at all. Firstly he was far too young. Mathew envisioned all butlers to be rather like Carson, whom he'd met at Downton: old, stout and dignified, with the rumbling, operatic voice. Thomas had previously worked as a footman under this exemplary butler, and though one could not fault his training, his previous position was glaringly evident. As a rule, footmen were attractive, tall, and their thin frames did not generally house Carson's magnificent baritone. Thomas may have fulfilled all the prerequisites of a footman, but he was woefully lacking those of a butler.

But Thomas didn't necessarily bother him merely because Mathew regarded him as a footman masquerading as a butler; there was also something about his manner. Mathew had the distinct feeling that Thomas held him in contempt. A dependent, a man basically employed for the purpose of undressing him and bothering the cook, a man whose profession was practically a joke, had the nerve to look down upon an independent man? Added to this was the resentment Mathew felt at the implication that he couldn't dress himself. He'd done so before discovering he was heir to a fortune and would continue to do so. Damned if he'd let anyone change him.

He'd found his first night of having charge of a valet more then a little awkward. Thomas had attempted to do his job and Mathew had brusquely brushed him off. He hadn't realised until Thomas stood back nonchalantly and merely watched him that he'd expected the other man to be slightly hurt or at least put off by his rudeness. He'd wanted to take his frustrations out on someone and Thomas had been there. Realising this he felt ashamed and opened his mouth to apologise. Before he could, however, Thomas interrupted him.

"You know, I expect, to use the cutlery on the outside of your plate first and work your way in. That much is basic. Now, when a footman offers you…"

"What are you suggesting?" Mathew cut him off, affronted.

"I thought you might want to know sir, not having dined in a noble household before," Thomas answered with the proper obsequious inflection. However, Mathew observed the light in his eyes and knew what he was inferring.

"Thankyou, I do not have the table manners of a barbarian. I think I'll be able to comport myself," Mathew replied coldly.

"As you say," Thomas returned with an apologetic nod. "Now, if you don't require help selecting cufflinks appropriate to the occasion, might I make my way downstairs?"

Unable to help himself, Mathew threw a glance down at the cufflinks he'd already selected. What was wrong with them? He found himself replying rather hotly, "I'm sure I can get through life rather well without having you tell me which cufflinks I ought to wear. Anyway, don't you think dressing someone is a rather silly occupation for a grown man? I'm an independent man, I don't need to be dressed like a doll"

"So independent you live with your mother," the words flew out of the other man's mouth and Mathew could see the regret in his eyes. He doubted it was there because Thomas genuinely felt contrite. It was more likely that he was worried about his job, having spoken out of turn to his employer.

"You may go now, Thomas," was all Mathew could be bothered to say in return.

Thomas sauntered towards the door in his own good time. If he was worried about his future employment, he did not show it. His manner was certainly not servile, regardless of his profession. Watching him, Mathew felt as though it were his butler who was the rightful occupant of this house, not himself.

Pausing before the door, Thomas made one parting sally. "The ones on the left side of the cabinet closest to you would be best, in case you were wondering"

Mathew ignored him. What else was he to do?

After readying himself, Mathew paused indecisively before the mirror and briefly considered switching his cufflinks. Angrily, he snatched his hand from where it had strayed towards the cabinet and marched out the door, reaffirming his vow not to let anyone change him.

Something had struck Mathew during dinner and he reflected on it as he settled into bed. For all that the Grantham's were as magnificently snobbish as he'd anticipated, one of them reminded him remarkably of his other supreme irritant. How he would love to be able to tell that fierce dowager that her prized granddaughter reminded him of his butler.

He had subconsciously recognised it earlier in the day, when Mary had entered in her riding habit. He'd had a distinct sense of déjà vu, and he felt rather as though he'd met her before. He realised now that her pale, creamy skin was the same shade as the working class butler that she'd imperiously ordered around whilst he was working for her. Her dramatic dark brows were also replicated on the young man's face. The mannish attire she'd worn when he'd met her hadn't worked to counteract the resemblance either. Facially, the only major point of difference was the eyes. Mary's were a deep brown which would have been welcoming if they weren't quite so sharp. He thought Thomas's were blue, though he hadn't paid much attention.

But from what he could tell, similarities were not merely skin-deep. Mary's sharp tongue and her veiled insults reminded him of Thomas's behaviour before the ill-fated dinner. He supposed Mary insulted at a higher level. She had the classics to draw on, as she'd shown with her reference to Andromeda. Thomas merely had a prosaic knowledge of etiquette as weaponry, however he'd done a remarkable job with what he had. The main distress of the evening for Mathew was a niggling worry that he'd made some sort of faux par with his cufflinks. Damn the man. He'd talk to Lord Grantham, who seemed reasonable enough, about getting rid of him. After all, he didn't need a manservant. One Mary was more than enough.