In Between

by left_handed

Summary:

Matthew is trying to move on after the death of Lavinia Swire, but he can't let go of the idea of Mary Crawley. Mary is bound to Richard Carlisle and can't see a way out. They know they can never be married, never have the life they dreamt of, but maybe, just for now, they can have each other.

Notes:

I wrote this between S2 and S3, and it's set between the end of S2 (2.08) and the S2 Christmas special (2.09). I've seen all of S3 and have very strong thoughts about it, but since this was written and finished before that ending, I decided to polish it and post it anyway. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Prologue:

An Interlude
October, 1919

“Is Richard coming up from London?” Matthew asks.

“Yes,” Mary replies. “He’ll be here tomorrow afternoon. For Mama’s dinner party, and then he wants to go over to Haxby.”

“Ah. Haxby.”

“Yes,” she says again, her tone noticeably less friendly, either in distaste at the destination or at his obvious derision of it. “Haxby.”

“I only meant-“ Matthew starts, but Mary interrupts him.

“I know,” Mary says, “and it’s fine, Matthew. It’s fine.”

“Is it really, Mary? Because, you know that if I-“

Again, Mary interrupts. “Don’t, Matthew, please. Not when we’ve had such a lovely afternoon.”

Matthew knows Mary well enough to back away. Whatever this is, whatever is happening between them, he doesn’t want to push it. He can’t give her what Carlisle can, and their renewed friendship has been one of the bright points of the summer and fall.

A few moments later, Mary throws the duvet back and sits up, reaching for her dressing gown. “I’m going down to change for dinner. Carson will ring the dressing gong any moment and I don’t want Anna to get suspicious.”

Matthew thinks that Anna must know exactly what’s going on by now, but he doesn’t say anything. He sits up as well and leans over to kiss Mary’s back. Moving her hair over her shoulder, he kisses her neck. Mary leans into him, her hand reaching back and finding its way into his hair.

“Matthew,” Mary says quietly. If she doesn’t leave now, they really will get caught.

He relents. “Go,” he says, smiling. “I’ll sneak out the back-”

“Just to come back through the front,” she finishes. It’s become something of a joke between them.

Mary stands up, not bothering to tie her dressing gown, and puts on her clothes. She walks back to Matthew, who has been lying in the bed, watching her. “I’ll see you later,” she says quietly, and kisses him on the forehead before walking out the door.

Chapter 2: The Beginning

Summary:

In which we go back to see how this all started

Early June 1919

Matthew goes to church every Sunday. He doesn’t talk to anyone. He tries to come just as the service starts and he leaves as soon as it’s over. It doesn’t bring him much relief, but these days, there isn’t much that does.

It’s been a beautiful spring. The rain has been light and infrequent, which Matthew appreciates, because his back and legs ache every time it storms. The skies look ominous today, though, and Matthew is contemplating leaving the service early when Mary walks in with Edith and their mother.

Matthew sits as still as possible to not call any attention to himself, but Mary notices him straight away. She acknowledges him but doesn’t say anything, and she continues to the front just in time for Travis to begin.

Matthew and his mother have been invited to the big house for dinner this evening, so it’s a bit serendipitous to run into his cousins. He is planning to attend, for a change, and now that they’ve seen him he probably can’t make up an excuse to avoid it.

It’s not that he’s been avoiding Mary exactly - the thought half true flits across the back of his mind - it’s just that family dinners still feel a bit awkward. No one mentions Lavinia, which is both a blessing and a curse. There’s some estate business he wants to talk about with Robert, though, so he figured he’d give it another chance.

Matthew ends up staying for the whole service, and even though Travis’ sermon from Ecclesiastes is filled with just as much censure as it is hope (A time to rend, a time to sew he thinks. It’s clichéd but it’s true), he feels a little bit comforted. He makes it back to Crawley House just as the rain starts, but the skies have cleared by the time he and his mother set off for dinner.

It isn’t until afterwards that Mary comes to talk to him. “I saw you in church this morning. Did you enjoy the service?” she asks.

“I’m not sure ‘enjoy’ is quite the word for it,” Matthew says, “but I felt better afterwards, and that’s something, at least.”

These two sentences make up what is almost the longest conversation they’ve had since Lavinia’s funeral, and oddly, Matthew doesn’t mind. (You’ve missed her, says that same quiet voice in his head).

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Mary is saying. “What with the rain, we weren’t sure you’d come.”

“It was good to get out,” he says affably. “I’m starting to feel a bit restless cooped up at home, and I wanted to talk to your father. Also, I could use the exercise.” Matthew motions slightly to his legs, and he watches Mary’s eyes light up in recognition.

“Your stick!” she exclaims, smiling. “You’ve left it at home.”

“So I have,” Matthew acknowledges. “I have been walking short distances without it, and I thought I’d try leaving it altogether today.”

“And how are you feeling?” Mary asks him, and for a moment Matthew feels he is the center of the universe.

“To be honest, I was a bit worried about the rain. Sometimes it aches when - well, I seem to be always able to tell when it is going to rain, in any case.” Matthew pauses. “But right now I feel fine. Better than fine.”

Still smiling, Mary reaches out and touches his arm. “I’m so glad,” she says.

Matthew looks at her, letting time stop, although really it’s just a moment before Cousin Violet calls Mary over. Matthew goes to talk to his mother, and he feels lighter than he has in weeks.

Chapter 3: A New Day

Summary:

Is Matthew ready to move on? He might be more ready than he realizes.

June 1919

Later that night, Matthew is lying in bed, unable to sleep. Running his hand over his face, he thinks about earlier that evening.

What had he been thinking? Pretending everything was normal, pretending he and Mary were still friends.

He keeps waiting for the guilt to go away, but every time he thinks he’s made any progress, he ends up right back here, awake in the middle of the night, full of half-remembered dreams and mountains of regret.

Matthew thinks about Mary, how happy she’d been for him tonight, and reaches under his mattress for the toy dog she’d given him to take to the front. He can’t bring himself to get rid of it. He’ll hide it somewhere in his room and manage to forget about it for a while, but he always ends up going back for it. This week it had been under his mattress, but last week he’d fished it out of the back corner of the bottom drawer of his dresser.

Mary, he thinks. I always go back for Mary.

Eventually, he drifts off to sleep. The dog is still in his hand, resting against his chest.

He keeps his distance from Mary for the next few days. If she notices, she is polite enough not to say anything, though Matthew almost wishes she would. When his mother mentions that Carlisle will be here at the weekend, Matthew makes plans to go visit friends in Manchester.

It isn’t until weeks later, when they are all chatting amiably at dinner that Matthew thinks maybe he’s over the worst. He can be in a room with her and not feel like his heart is going to burst. He can smile at something she says without feeling like he’s killing Lavinia all over again. Even his mother notices, saying on their way home what a nice evening it had been. He can do this, he thinks. He’s stayed away until now; he can just keep doing the same thing.

So it’s something of a surprise when Molesley announces her arrival two afternoons later. His mother walks in from the other room, explaining sheepishly, “I invited Cousin Mary for tea. Is that alright? We didn’t expect you home so early.”

Matthew nods. “Just give me a minute, will you?” It’s not his mother’s fault; he’d been working on a difficult case, but the firm had received a telegram that morning saying their client’s wishes had changed, and he’d been able to leave early. Any other day and he wouldn’t have been here. He hesitates before standing up, almost as if he’s paralyzed all over again, and actually, that thought pushes him forward. He is alive. His legs work. His heart, on the other hand...he can work on that later.

He goes to join his mother and Mary for tea.

Chapter 4: It's My Fault

Summary:

Mary comes to tea. Matthew doesn't know if he can handle it.

June 1919

Mary hasn't spoken to Matthew since the day he came to dinner without his walking stick. Even the other night when he and Isobel had been to the Abbey, he'd been distant and she never found a chance to seek him out. And they'd both been traveling: while he was in Manchester, she has been to London. She stayed with her aunt and spent time with Richard, where she actually managed to enjoy his company. He'd brought up the wedding again, at which point Mary had changed the subject. She knows she should marry Richard, move to Haxby, and get on with her life, but she can't bring herself to take the final steps.

When Isobel invites her for tea, she agrees on the off chance she might get to see Matthew. The detente she thought they'd formed earlier this month seems so far away. For a minute or two, she thought they might be on track to being friends again. She just misses her friend, she tells herself. She's always going to feel more than that, but she'll take being just his friend over not being anything at all.

Mary follows Molesley into the drawing room. She is surprised to hear Matthew's voice coming from the study. If she'd expected to catch him, she thought it might be near the end of her visit, or while she was leaving. There's no reason for him to be home in the middle of the day, but by some strange turn of events, here he is. Is he going to join them? She is conflicted; she wants to talk to him but she isn't sure she's prepared to spend the entire afternoon with him.

Joining Isobel at the table, Mary asks politely, “Is Matthew here?”

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Matthew says, walking into the room. “I finished at the office earlier than expected. May I join you?”

“Of course,” Mary says evenly. She’s used to the way her heartbeat flutters when she looks at him, but when he smiles at her and sits down, she has to remind herself to breathe.

“How was London?” Isobel asks to distract them, and the rest of their meal is pleasant and casual. Aware of Isobel’s infamous powers of observation, Mary does her best to keep the conversation going and her eyes off of Matthew.

Matthew talks of his practice in Ripon, Isobel talks of friends in Manchester, and Mary is laughing and talking animatedly about the latest London fashion - short skirts and even shorter hair - when suddenly Matthew stands up.

“I’m sorry, I - I have to go.”

He throws his napkin on the table and walks stiffly out of the room. Moments later, they hear the front door close. Stunned, Isobel and Mary look at each other until Isobel moves to go after him.

Mary stops her. “Let me go,” she says. “After all, it’s my fault.” She finds Matthew in the garden, standing near the hedgerows, and even before she reaches him, can see by the way he stands that he’s incredibly tense. She opens her mouth to ask him if he’s alright, but he turns, takes the two steps still separating them, and kisses her firmly, fiercely on the mouth.

Shocked, Mary doesn’t respond. She wants to, of course. Matthew is kissing her. Matthew Crawley, her friend, the first man she ever loved, the man she still loves, the man she would do anything to be with. But she doesn’t kiss him back. If she did, she would be lost.

After another moment, he eases away from her. “Mary,” he says, and she hears the same pain and regret in his voice she last heard a lifetime ago, when Lavinia was alive and they were dancing. “I -”

“No,” she says, not letting him finish. As calmly as possible, she continues, “Let’s go back inside.” She starts walking toward the house, and after a moment, she hears Matthew follow behind her.

The rest of their tea is ruined, of course. Isobel bravely tries to continue the conversation, but she sees immediately that it is beyond hope. “Well,” she says finally, putting down her napkin, “this has been lovely, but I’m afraid you must excuse me. Mary, your mother has invited us to dinner on Friday and I was wondering if you would take her my response.”

Mary doesn’t need any more encouragement, “Of course,” she says easily as she stands. Isobel leaves and comes back in with a small envelope. Taking the letter, Mary says, “I should be going anyway. Edith and I have to make plans for Ireland, and she said she’d be back from the village soon. Maybe I’ll meet her on the way.”

“Oh, how splendid,” Isobel says, interested despite the tension. “Are your parents going too?”

Mary should have known better than to bring up Sybil’s wedding. She doesn’t really want to talk about the...discussions...she’s had with her father on the subject. She gives Isobel a small smile and says simply, “We’ll see.”

In the hall, Molesley helps her into her coat. Isobel comes out to say goodbye. Matthew comes to the doorway but says nothing.

Mary doesn’t remember the walk back to the Abbey. Her legs take her home while her mind wanders. How could Matthew do such a thing? Obviously, she can never tell Richard. If only she hadn’t been so surprised and if only...No, she resolves. She can never let it happen again. Even if it’s one of the hardest things she will ever have to do.

Notes:

apparently my spell check has problems with Mr Molesley's name. If you see it mispelled, please let me know! thanks!

Chapter 5: And That's To Say Nothing

Summary:

Mary tries to pretend nothing has changed.

July 1919

Mary survives the next two weeks by pretending nothing has changed. She knows Matthew probably wants to make some stuffy sort of apology, but she ignores him. After the first week, Isobel reports that he's gone again, this time to visit friends in the south. Mary just wants to move past it. Richard is coming to Downton for the weekend, and that puts her on edge. The last thing Mary needs is for Richard to think there's something going on between Matthew and herself.

Mary has just finished talking to Mrs. Hughes about Richard's room arrangements when Edith finds her at the top of the stairs.

"I've had a letter from Sybil," says Edith. "Everything is set for our visit. We're to stay with Branson's sister."

"Branson," Mary repeats. "I suppose we're going to have to start calling him Tom."

Edith makes a face. "Should we have fought harder?" she asks. "Tried to keep them apart?"

"No," Mary replies firmly. "You know Sybil. She would have dug her heels in deeper if we'd pushed."

"I suppose you're right. I wish Papa would change his mind about going to the wedding, though."

"Edith, was there something you needed?" she asks. Mary knows Edith is trying to be friendly, but she doesn't have the patience to deal with her right now. Seeing the disappointment on Edith's face at her tone, Mary relents enough to promise Edith they will talk more soon.

Mary only has a few minutes alone in her room before Anna comes to tell her Sir Richard has arrived. Mary plasters on a smile and heads down to say hello.

Richard smiles at her as she comes down the stairs. This makes Mary feel even worse about kissing Matthew. Whatever her feelings for Matthew, Richard doesn't deserve this. After their hellos, Mary suggests they go for a walk around the grounds. Time alone together would be good, she thinks. More Richard, less Matthew; they'd been building something together during her time in London, and Mary wants to continue that.

But Richard declines, saying he wants to rest before dinner. Mary tries to mitigate her frustration by thinking of the things she appreciates about her fiancé: his self-confidence, his ambition, his intelligence. She wishes she could be the Lady Mary Crawley she was before Pamuk, before the war. The old Mary would have been much better suited to be Richard's wife than the woman she is now.

And that's to say nothing of the Matthew complication.

When Richard comes down an hour or so later, he takes Mary up on her earlier offer and they go for a walk. Richard doesn't bring up the wedding, for which she's thankful. He tells her about London, and that he ran into Lavinia's father, who sends his regards. Mary talks about safer topics. She invites Richard to come back for the flower show, their first since before the war began. Mary finds herself looking forward to this return to normalcy.

On their way back to the house to dress for dinner, Richard casually asks if anyone will be joining them that evening. Mary knows he's really asking if Matthew is coming, and the good feeling she'd had all afternoon vanishes. "No," she tells him, "but Matthew and Isobel will be here tomorrow." She notices the way his shoulders tighten, and she can't help but take a little perverse pleasure in getting him back. After all, he was the one who asked.

Mary expects dinner the next night to be a tense affair. She knows she can't keep on ignoring Matthew; that will look more suspicious than anything. She decides to be polite, but she'll keep her distance.

But her resolve to be as aloof as possible crumbles when Isobel tells a story about Matthew as a boy. Apparently, he once brought home a muddy cat he'd rescued from certain death. Two older boys had been about to drown it in a stream when Matthew found them. He bought the cat for sixpence (his entire allowance for the month, according to Isobel).

"He didn't!" Mary exclaims, picturing the scene perfectly. She laughs and looks at Matthew, who looks back at her and smiles.

"Oh, he most certainly did," Isobel replies. "Matthew walked home in the rain cuddling that smelly cat to his nicest shirt." Her tone is indignant, but she is smiling; clearly this is one of her favorite stories. "He ruined his shoes, and in the end, we had to set the cat free in the next village over."

"Yes, well," Matthew says, "In my defense, I didn't know at the time I was allergic to cats."

Around the table, everyone laughs politely. Matthew is looking at Mary as he talks, and she knows he's trying to communicate something to her - his apology, maybe, or a peace treaty. Mary can feel everyone else's eyes on the two of them, so she deliberately turns to Richard and asks, "What about you, Richard? Do you have any embarrassing childhood stories to share?"

"Certainly not," he replies, and the subject is closed. The rest of dinner passes uneventfully, if a bit less jovially.

Afterwards, in the drawing room, Mary is standing next to Carlisle while he talks to her father and grandmother. Mary isn't really paying attention to the conversation. Instead, she watches Matthew talking to Edith, Isobel and her mother. Richard seems to have sensed that her attention is elsewhere. He makes a point of touching her hand when he takes her glass and turning to her in the conversation at the same moment Mary notices Matthew moving on the other side of the room.

The pressure from Richard and the tension between her and Matthew have given Mary a splitting headache, and it isn't long before she makes her excuses and leaves to go upstairs. Just before she gets to the staircase, however, she changes her mind and heads out the front door.

Mary wishes for some type of violent weather to match the anxiety she feels. A hurricane, maybe, or an earthquake, but it's just another perfectly calm summer evening. She tries to sit down on her favorite bench but gets up again almost immediately. She's been wandering somewhat aimlessly for a while when she hears footsteps behind her.

She doesn't want to know who it is. What if it's Matthew? Even worse, what if it isn't Matthew? Mary pretends not to notice the person until he speaks and she's forced to turn around.

"My lady, are you alright?" Mary sighs with relief. It is Carson. She should have known. And if Carson has come to find her that means that everyone has left or gone to bed.

"I'm fine, Carson," she says. "I just needed some air."

Carson's understanding smile is soft in the moonlight. "As long as you're sure," he says. "We didn't know where you'd gone, but Mr. Matthew said he'd seen you walking out here from the library." How interesting, Mary thinks. Matthew had gone looking for her. Had Richard done the same?

"It's alright. It's late. I should come in now," Mary doesn't explain why she came outside. Carson walks next to her as she starts walking back toward the house. Part of her wishes he would ask her why she was out here. She wants to talk to someone, to confess. Carson has always been there for her, but she doesn't want him to think less of her than he already does. She knows he won't break protocol, though, and soon they are back at the front door.

"Thank you for worrying about me. Goodnight," she says, preempting any further conversation. She starts up the stairs, and Carson still hasn't moved by the time she turns toward her bedroom and loses sight of him.

If only Sybil were here, she thinks. Sybil might understand. But this is something she will have to work through herself.

Chapter 6: Everything Changes

Summary:

Matthew invites Mary over to his house to talk about what's going on between them. But Mary might have something different in mind.

July 1919

Matthew calls Mary from his office. Carson picks up the phone at Downton Abbey, and Matthew quickly tries to come up with a story about needing Mary to ask Sir Richard something, just in case Carson asks why he is calling, but he puts Mary on straight away.

“Hello? Matthew?”

Her voice - the way she says his name - makes his stomach do a bit of a flip. As calmly as he can, he asks if she will meet him at Crawley House later this afternoon.

“I really think we should talk.”

“We’re talking right now,” she says, though he can hear the smile in her voice.

“So we are,” he agrees. “But will you come? I’d like to talk some more.”

“Alright,” she says. “What time should we meet?”

He tells her when he thinks he’ll be home and they exchange goodbyes. He doesn’t tell her they will be alone. He doesn’t want to give her an excuse not to come, and he isn’t entirely sure the timing will work. Today is Mrs Bird’s regular half-day, which she usually spends in the market or visiting friends. Molesley is spending the afternoon with his father preparing for the flower show and isn’t due back before dinnertime. His mother, as it happens, has plans to visit Violet at the dower house. The potentially empty house is what gives Matthew the idea to phone Mary. He’s been wanting to talk to her alone, but fate has been working against him until today.

There are still a few things he has to do at the office, and you never know what might happen between his mother and Cousin Violet, but as long as he makes it home just after his mother is supposed to leave for the dower house, he thinks there is a pretty good chance they will have the entire afternoon to themselves.

He sees Mrs. Bird walking towards the market as he walks home from the train, which makes him both relieved and nervous at the same time. His palms are sweating as he enters the house. Now or never, he tells himself. It’s a refrain that had worked well for him during tense moments in (or out of) the trenches. Resolved, he goes to sit down in the drawing room to wait for her to arrive.

He can’t seem to stay still. He tries reading, but he can’t focus. He goes upstairs for a different book, but that’s no good either. He debates (and decides against) changing his clothes. He goes down to the kitchen to find a biscuit, and he is just coming back through the hall when the bell rings.
“Mary,” he says, opening the door. His heart is pounding as he steps aside. “Come in.”

Matthew helps her out of her coat. “Molesley is helping his father for the flower show,” he explains. “In fact, we’re the only ones here.”

If Mary is surprised at this, she doesn’t let it show. Matthew invites her to sit down on the sofa and he takes the armchair directly across from her. “Mary,” he begins. “I wanted to talk to you - alone - about us.”

He has her full attention now. "Go on," she says, looking directly at him.

“First, I have to apologize for attacking you in the garden the last time you were here.”

“Attacking me?” asks Mary, confused.

“It was inappropriate and I don’t know what came over me,” Matthew goes on. “We were sitting here, talking and I suddenly felt overwhelmed.”

Mary doesn't reply, waiting for him to say more. He changes tack.

“I know things have changed between us," he tells her. "I was almost married. You’re engaged to be married. But don't you feel there's something more happening here?”

Mary is quiet for a few seconds before she reaches over to take his hand. “I do,” she says quietly.

Matthew can’t help it. He laughs. Mary sits back, her cheeks coloring. “What is it?” she asks.

“You,” Matthew replies. “You put up this brave face and people think you’re cold and reserved. But when when we’re alone, I can’t see it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be reserved.”

Mary is silent for a while.

“You’re right.” she says finally. “I am different with you than I am with anyone else.” Matthew feels - knows - she is saying something important. Something that’s more than just the words coming out of her mouth. “Or maybe,” she continues thoughtfully, “you see me more clearly than anyone else does.”

“Mary,” he says again, and this time he is the one reaching for her hand. He brings it to his lips. He looks up at her face, and she is looking into his eyes. He’s reminded of the night Sybil was injured, which was the night he first confessed his feelings for her. He feels the same pull now. He’s been repressing it for nearly six years, but this time he lets it overtake him. Their kiss is soft, and this time, Mary kisses him back.

“Matthew,” Mary says, placing her hand on his chest. “We shouldn’t.”

“I know,” he replies, but makes no move to get away. He touches his forehead to hers. “I know.”

He leans back and looks at her again, wondering what she is thinking. Determined now, he continues.

“I’m not saying things are different,” he says. “This isn’t a solution. You should marry Carlisle.” Mary’s eyes flicker but she says nothing. “And after Lavinia....” For once, he doesn’t have the words to finish the sentence, but she seems to know what he's dancing around.

"Matthew," she says, standing up and pulling him along with her. “We might never have the life we once dreamed of. But do you think,” she takes his other hand and stands facing him, “just for now, we might have each other?”

Notes:

I know, I know. Getting into the thick of it now! This chapter went through a bit of a last minute change, so I'd love to know what you think. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 7: Thank You

Summary:

Mary waits, breathless. Matthew is standing in front of her, and she’s just asked him to be her lover. Not her husband, not her friend. Her lover. They’re not married, they won’t ever be married, but this might be the only time they’ll ever have together.

July, 1919

Mary waits, breathless. Matthew is standing in front of her, and she’s just asked him to be her lover. Not her husband, not her friend. Her lover. They’re not married, they won’t ever be married, but this might be the only time they’ll ever have together.

Had Matthew asked her this same question, she doesn’t know how she would have answered. Certainly, the old Mary Crawley, the one who would have been smart enough to have never risked her reputation for a dalliance with an attractive foreigner, that Mary would have stood up in indignation at the suggestion and stormed out, possibly slapping Matthew on her way.

The Mary she is today, who feels she’s chained to Richard Carlisle out of necessity and who loves Matthew and would be with him on any terms, that Mary might not have refused him.

And yet, somehow, it had been her who’d said it first.

It’s not why she came over today, although it’s not as if the thought has never crossed her mind before.

Just this morning, she had received a note from Carlisle saying he was too busy to come to Yorkshire this week. Mary hadn’t been angry. In face, she’d felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Yes, things have been better between them, and she knows she is going to have to marry Richard. But when Matthew called and invited her to Crawley House, she had barely hesitated.

It’s been weeks, but she has realized that ignoring Matthew isn’t going to help her move past their kiss in the garden. There’s something more here, something they can’t ignore any longer. He feels it too, she knows he does, and he said as much just minutes before.

His invitation to come over and talk had seemed like the perfect opportunity to work out how she feels about the whole situation. When she’d walked in here today, she could tell Matthew was nervous. She doesn’t remember ever seeing Matthew Crawley nervous. Even in the first few weeks after he and his mother had arrived in the village, Matthew had joined the aristocratic way of life with aplomb, determined to make the most of it without being spoiled by it. Becoming heir to an earldom, learning you’re going to inherit an estate as formidable as Downton...she knows more than a few men who were born into this way of life but who wouldn’t have handled this kind of change in circumstance nearly as well.

Which begs the question: what, of all things, could make Matthew’s palms sweat and his voice crack? The realization that it is her, it is them, is eye-opening.

On the one hand, Matthew is still wracked with guilt over Lavinia’s death. He knows she’s engaged to Carlisle (though maybe he doesn’t really know why), and yet, here he is, willing to embark on an affair that will either make them...or break them.

After what feels like an interminable stretch of silence, Matthew kisses her again. “Come upstairs with me,” he says, his breath ragged. He starts walking toward the staircase, still holding on to her.

“We’re totally alone?” she asks, just to be sure.

“Totally alone,” he affirms, and starts up the stairs.

“Matthew Crawley!” she teases. “Did you get everyone to leave? Did you plan this all out to get me to go to bed with you?”

Matthew has the good manners to look sheepish. “No, I - I mean, I thought...you said...”

Mary pushes him so he starts walking again, enjoying that she’s made him speechless twice in last few minutes. “Take me upstairs,” she tells him. “I’m not sure I’ve forgiven you, but you can try to convince me in your bedroom.”

~ . ~ . ~

It isn’t perfect. There’s some awkward fumbling and Mary is particularly embarrassed about the moment Matthew stops to dig through his closet for a French letter. Mary doesn’t want to know why he has them or where he got them, but Matthew explains they are from the war, and no, he’s never used one before, and he had really only thought to keep them for humor’s sake. “But I remember hearing other officers talking about how they prevented unwanted complications,” he says, embarrassed. “That’s probably best in our situation, don’t you think?”

Mary doesn’t know what to say to this.

Mary loves Matthew, but when she imagined this moment, because of course she has, there was no talk of French letters or complications. Still, he has a point. It might make the whole thing seem quite clinical, but he’s not wrong. They’re taking a big risk together by doing this.

Overall, though, it is lovely. Afterwards, they are laying together in his bed, and Mary thinks back to a year ago, when they thought Matthew would never be able to walk, let alone make love to a woman, and she lifts her head up to kiss him.

“What was that for?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she replies but then adds, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

Mary doesn’t know how to explain it. This is a moment she’ll always treasure. Being able to experience this with him means more to her than almost any other experience of her life. She understands now the difference between what she’s just shared with Matthew and what happened with Kemal. She kisses Matthew’s chest and closes her eyes in contentment.

They can’t linger for too long. Mrs. Bird is due back soon, and Matthew’s not sure how long his mother will last with Cousin Violet. Mary turns away while Matthew gets out of bed and dresses. “I’ll meet you downstairs,” he says awkwardly. “If you need any help...”

“I’ll be fine,” Mary assures him.

When Mary comes down, she finds Matthew in the drawing room, staring absently out the window. She walks up to him and puts her hand on his back. He turns and puts his arms around her. “Thank you,” he says, echoing her earlier sentiment. They stay that way for a few moments until Mary happens to see Mrs. Bird out the window, walking towards the house. Mary steps back and sits down, and when Mrs. Bird walks in, there is no indication that they have shared an intimate afternoon together.

“I should be getting back,” Mary says, and stands up. She doesn’t kiss him goodbye, or touch him in any way, but the look in his eyes as she turns toward the door says more than any of those gestures could.

Chapter 8: I'm Glad You Came

Summary:

When Mary first proposed this arrangement, she’d thought that they would make love once, maybe twice, and then be done with each other. She keeps expecting to get tired of sneaking around but if anything, she wants Matthew more

July 1919

Mary leaves Crawley House in a bit of a daze. She’s calmer than the last time she and Matthew had an encounter here, and considering that had only been a kiss, that is saying something. Mary needs time to think about what happened today, to make sense of it, and to decide what she wants to do next.

But by the start of the weekend, Mary is no closer to having any answers. She feels guilty about betraying Richard but not as guilty as she thinks she should. Every quiet moment, every time she closes her eyes, she finds herself in Matthew’s bed, her arms around him as he moves above her, inside her. Inside her. The feeling had been nothing like her last experience. Her time with Matthew had been...nice. She wishes she had a better word, but she doesn’t.

She had stared into his eyes long after she knew he stopped seeing her. When he’d closed them and dropped his head to her shoulder, she’d held him tighter. Knowing she could make him feel this way had made the experience that much more meaningful.

She stops at the bottom of the staircase, lost in the memory.

“Is everything alright, my lady?” It’s Mrs. Hughes, and Mary, embarrassed, assures the housekeeper she’s fine and walks up the stairs with purposeful calm.

Her mother has invited some friends to dinner that evening as well as Matthew and Isobel. Mary wonders what she’ll say to Matthew and how he’ll behave in return. She considers revisiting her ‘pretend-it-never-happened’ strategy. She knows it won’t work in the long term, but it might get her through the evening in one piece.

Acting as if nothing has changed works well enough while they’re all socializing before dinner, but when she walks into the dining room, Mary knows she is in trouble. Her mother has seated Matthew next to her, presumably buoyed by their renewed friendship. Mary sighs as she sits down. It’s not her mother’s fault. She couldn’t have known how dangerous this could be.

She has no idea how she makes it through dinner. She is burning with desire by the end of it, only half-hearing the things being said. At one point, Matthew presses his leg against hers under the table, and there’s a moment where he lets his hand brush against hers above it. Mary is surprised she doesn’t burst into flames. She takes a sip of wine, hoping if anyone notices the flush on her cheeks, they will attribute it to the alcohol and not the company.

When the women go through after dinner is over, Mary excuses herself to catch her breath and freshen up, and when she comes out of the powder room, Matthew is there, somehow. He takes her hand and looks around to make sure no one is watching before pushing her back into the small room. His lips are on hers even before the door has completely closed.

“Matthew,” Mary whispers indignantly. “We can’t!”

“I know,” he replies, and promptly kisses her again. His mouth is moving down to her neck and his hands are moving up to her breasts before she pushes him away. “Really, Matthew. Stop. We’ll get caught.”

Matthew leans back and looks at her. “Can you come back to Crawley House?” he asks. Mary knows she shouldn’t, but she can’t help herself. She wants to go.

“I’ll try,” she tells him. “When?”

The next time the house is likely to be empty is Sunday morning, he tells her. Isobel will go to church, as will Molesley, and Mrs. Bird’s sister is visiting. Unless they go to church as well, they will probably head into the village..

“What excuse will you give to stay behind?” Mary asks him. “If you say you’re sick, won’t your mother stay back? Won’t Mrs Bird try to, I don’t know, make you soup or something?”

“Let me worry about that,” Matthew says pragmatically. “Just, please come. Around half nine?” He pauses, thinking. “There’s a stone in the front yard. A large, reddish one?” Mary nods. “If it is safe for you to come in, I’ll move the stone behind one of the bushes and you won’t see it. I’ll leave the kitchen door unlocked.”

Mary looks at him for a long time, her eyes searching his face. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go at all.

“Please,” he says, his eyes looking straight back into hers.

She nods. She can’t say no. “Now, go,” she says, carefully opening the door to make sure the hall is still empty. “Before we’re caught in here and it becomes a moot point.”

~ . ~ . ~

A week or so later, Mary and Matthew are in an unused bedroom at Downton Abbey. "Are you sure Molesley doesn’t suspect?” Mary asks Matthew. Her head is resting on his chest and their arms are wrapped around each other.

“Maybe he suspects something,” Matthew allows, kissing the top of her head. “What about Anna? Does she know?”

Of course Anna knows, Mary thinks. Anna is her partner in crime and her confidante, especially now that Sybil is gone. Anna hasn’t said anything, and Mary hasn’t ever told her explicitly, but Mary is still sure. In fact, Anna was the one who had let Matthew in the house this afternoon.

“Molesley did seem a little suspicious that I was coming here so early,” Matthew goes on when Mary is silent. “And there are clothes missing.” Mary had managed to secret a dinner jacket, waistcoat and bow tie into this room just in case they won’t have time for Matthew to go home to change. They’d planned this earlier in the week when, having snuck off into the woods only to have their plans foiled by thunder and an imminent rainstorm, they decided they’d much rather be inside, in a bed. This is only the third time they’ve met like this, for sex, but there have been other moments they’ve stolen in empty rooms or outside in the dark where no one could see. Mary keeps expecting to get tired of this, to get tired of sneaking around or get tired of Matthew, but she only wants him more.

They’re on the third floor of the house. Most of the bedrooms up here aren’t kept up and are fairly dusty, but Mary had come up earlier in the week when the house was quiet to inspect them. She chose this one because the window faces the back of the house, making it more private, and it is in better shape than most of the others. It’s the first time she and Matthew have been together at Downton, but Mary thinks the room will work out just fine for them. It’s early afternoon and they’re both ostensibly somewhere else. They’ve almost perfected the art of sneaking off, and aside from one close call and a few rather observant servants, they’re reasonably sure they’re getting away with it.

Mary moves away from Matthew to the other side of the bed, and he turns to look at her. The frantic anticipation of their first few times has given way to a soft appreciation and a comfort neither of them really expected, and they spend a fair amount of time laughing. They’re just simply enjoying each other.

When she first proposed this arrangement, she’d thought that they would make love once, maybe twice, and then be done with each other, moving on with their separate lives. She knew the risk she was taking. Her history with Pamuk was enough of a stain on her reputation. If anything happened with Matthew, she would be completely ruined.

She doesn’t regret it, though, and it’s even made her think differently of Richard. This thing between her and Matthew is like a haven, a place where they can go to escape everyone else. She moves back to Matthew in the bed and crawls on top of him with a boldness she hadn’t until this moment known she possessed.

As long as their secret is safe, she doesn’t want to stop, either.

Sometime later, Mary opens her eyes to Matthew, wearing only his trousers, sitting down on the bed next to her. “I’m glad you came,” she says sleepily.

“So am I.” Matthew raises an eyebrow at her, but she just smiles. He leans over and kisses her. She is pulling him back down to the bed when the unmistakable sound of the dressing gong reaches them. Matthew sits back up and sighs. “I suppose I’ll have to dress for dinner here, just as you thought.”

Mary sits up as well. “Aren’t you glad I brought your clothes, then?” she says.

“You have a fine future as a valet, I should think,” Matthew declares solemnly. Mary stands up and wraps herself in the dressing gown she brought from her own bedroom. She goes to the armoire and pulls out Matthew’s dinner clothes.

“Here you are,” she says, trying to sound official. “Do you need help with your underclothes?” Smiling, Matthew waves her away and tells her that she should worry about dressing herself, since she can’t go back down to her bedroom wearing just a dressing gown.

They get dressed together. Mary helps Matthew with his waistcoat and Matthew buttons the top button on her skirt when she has trouble reaching it. The two of them dressing together feels so easy and natural that it is almost too domestic for Mary to bear.

Sitting back down and watching him fumble with his bow tie, she asks, “Matthew, do you think, after I get back from Ireland, we might -” she trails off.

They are like this now sometimes, incomplete sentences and half-formed thoughts. The humor and ease of the last few minutes has given way to the weight of their situation. Mary’s not sure what she wants to say. That when she comes back, they might talk about their future? Impossible. Their time together has been wonderful so far, but they’re still trapped by the same bonds. Sir Richard Carlisle holds her reputation for ransom - the irony of this is not lost on Mary - and even though Matthew has let her into his bed, she knows he’s not ready to let her back into his heart.

On the other hand, Mary thinks ruefully, Matthew hasn’t died yet, so at least her luck is improving.

“You’ll have to sneak out the back,” Mary tells him, dropping the subject of their future and trying to make her voice light.

“Just to come back through the front?” Matthew asks skeptically.

“Do you have a better idea?”

Notes:

There's a line near the end that, if you've seen the S3 Christmas special, well...I just want to say that I had this chapter written long before it aired and I've left the line in there out of protest. Or something. But that's the way these things go sometimes...and that's what fan-fiction is for. Anyway, thanks for reading, and Happy Downton Day, US!

Chapter 9: The Three Crawley Sisters

Summary:

Mary and Edith go to Dublin for Sybil's wedding.

August 1919

Mary and Edith try their best, but Papa still won’t agree to go to Dublin for Sybil’s wedding - it’s the same weekend as the annual cricket match, and Papa can’t miss that, or, Heaven forbid, reschedule it. Because Papa isn’t going, Granny and Mama aren’t to go either, and Mary and Edith leave Yorkshire on Thursday morning and arrive in Dublin the next afternoon. There’s a hotel reasonably close by, but to be friendly they are staying with Branson’s sister, as they’d previously arranged. His sister’s name is also Mary, “But call me Molly. Everyone does,” she tells them.

“That will make it easier,” Edith says. Molly lives with her husband and their two children just a block or so away from Mrs. Branson’s house, where Sybil has been staying since she arrived in Dublin in the spring.

Branson - Tom - comes to collect them a short while later. There’s to be a bit of a feast tonight, and a ceilidh, and, as Tom explains, there might not be a lot of time to visit with Sybil this evening, and he knows they want to see her.

“A ceilidh?” whispers Edith. “I didn’t know people still did that.” She doesn’t mean for Branson to hear, but he turns to them and says affably, “They don’t really, and not in the city, but any excuse for some music and dancing.” They turn the corner onto his mother’s street, and suddenly Sybil is running towards them.

Sybil takes them upstairs to Mrs. Branson’s flat and serves them tea. She and Tom sit with Edith and Mary and they catch up on all the things that they couldn’t communicate in their letters: Granny’s facial expressions when she’s criticizing something Isobel was doing, Carson’s indignation when a spoon went missing (it was found behind some furniture), and Isis’ antics in the kitchen (which Anna told them caused a mess that took two kitchen maids three hours to clean up). “Where is Anna?” Sybil asks.

Mary and Edith look at each other. They’d talked about Anna coming, but since they were going to be staying with Molly, they thought it would be easier if it were just the two of them. “She says hello, though, and sends her congratulations,” Mary says. They tell Sybil and Tom about the latest developments in Bates’ murder trial - it’s been postponed again. Murray thinks the prosecution is looking for more evidence.

Edith tells Tom that the new chauffeur is nice enough, but he doesn’t drive very fast and still hasn’t let her take any of the cars out. “Maybe when you come back to Downton you can tell him that I’m a perfectly capable driver.” Edith says, which has the effect of smoothing over the topic no one has mentioned yet - namely, will their father ever forgive them? Mary and Edith try to reassure Sybil that yes, he will, but they just need to give it more time.

Eventually, Mary looks back at the clock and is surprised to see that two hours have passed. “Don’t you have to get ready?” she asks Sybil.

“Oh!” Sybil exclaims. “I didn’t realize it was so late. Tom, you’d better go!”

Tom leans over and kisses Sybil on the cheek. He is slightly self-conscious in front of Lady Mary and Lady Edith and tries to apologize. For their part, they’ve already corrected him twice this afternoon. “We’re family now,” Mary tells him. “If we promise to call you Tom, you must promise to not call either of us ‘Lady’.”

After Tom leaves, Sybill leads her sisters into a small bedroom. “This used to be Molly’s room,” she says. “She was the only girl so she got a room to herself. Can you imagine not having any sisters?”

Mary and Edith pointedly do not look at each other. Sybil just laughs. “I suppose you probably can,” she says.

After they help Sybil change, they go back out to the main room to wait for Tom’s mother, who is coming from work to take them to the banquet hall. The supper tonight will be there, Sybil explains, and then they’ll clear the floor for the dancing, and then tomorrow morning the wedding will be at the church at the end of the road.

“A Catholic church?” asks Edith.

“Of course!” Sybil laughs again. “There were a few hoops we had to jump through to make it all work out, but it was important to Tom.”

“I’ve never been to a Catholic Mass,” says Edith. Mary gives her sister credit for not saying anything else.

At the ceilidh, Mary enjoys herself more than she thought she would. It’s not like the country dances Mary has been to with her family, but it’s still a good time. Edith seems to be having a good night as well - at some point, Mary swears she sees Edith drinking beer, and then she goes off to dance with Tom’s youngest brother. Mary smiles watching Edith, and when Sybil comes to sit next to her, Mary says, “Leave it to Edith. She’ll say things worse than Granny ever does but then behave like this is the only place she’d choose to be.”

“Don’t be mean to Edith,” Sybil admonishes. “She deserves an adventure.”

Mary smiles at her sister and reaches over to cover Sybil’s hand with her own. “Are you happy, darling?” she asks.

“Immensely,” Sybil replies without hesitation. “What about you?” she asks, looking at her sister carefully. “Are you happy?”

Mary looks at her sister and says the first thing that comes to her mind. “I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.” It’s true, Mary realizes, and the smile on her face as she thinks of Matthew must give something away.

“Mary?” Sybil turns to her sister, “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No, of course not,” Mary deflects, but she can tell Sybil doesn’t believe her. “Let’s talk about it later, darling,” she says. Placated for now, Sybil stands up and pulls Mary along with her.

“Come on,” she says. “Tom taught me some of the dances and I want to teach you. Come on,” she says again. “When will you ever have this chance again?” Mary laughs and lets Sybil lead her to the dance floor.

Later that night, Mary walks back to Molly’s flat with her sisters and Tom’s mother. Sybil calls Mrs Branson Mary, but she introduced herself as Mrs. Branson, and actually that is a bit of a relief for Mary. She’s beginning to think every woman in Ireland must be named Mary. Mrs Branson and Sybil are going to drop them off on their way home. Mary notices that Mrs Branson is kind to Sybil, and she can see between them a better relationship than Mary had expected. Sybil has always been the best of us, Mary thinks. She wins everyone over just by being herself.

At that moment, Sybil trades places with Edith so she can talk to Mary.

“I know Mary is a common name,” Mary tells her, “but it seems if I were to call out my name here in Dublin, half the street would turn in response.”

“Or more,” Sybil agrees. Then she changes the subject. “How’s Matthew?”

Sybil hasn’t said, “How’s Richard?” Maybe that’s because Mary talks about Richard in her letters but never mentions Matthew. Or maybe Sybil has sensed that Mary’s disposition has more to do with their cousin than her fiancé.

“He’s fine,” Mary says after a moment, and when she doesn’t offer anything else, Sybil puts her hand on Mary’s arm to stop her.

“Mary? Really, is there something you’re not telling me?” she asks again.

Mary sighs. “Yes,” she says, giving in. “And I’m not sure I can.”

Sybil slips her arm under Mary’s and calls out to her mother-in-law. “Mary, I’m going to stay with my sisters tonight, if that’s alright. It’s my last night as a Crawley and I should be with other Crawleys.”

Mrs Branson shakes her head at Sybil but doesn’t try to dissuade her. “Come home before eight o'clock, dear,” she says, smiling. “I’ll see you then.”

Molly and her family left the ceilidh early, and the children are asleep when the three Crawley sisters come in. Molly is sitting at the table, waiting for them, wrapped in a shawl and drinking whiskey out of a mug. “You’re staying here?” Molly asks Sybil, unsurprised.

Sybil nods and tells Molly the same thing she told her mother. “It’s my last night as a Crawley.”

Molly smiles and hands over the bottle of whiskey. “Just don’t be too loud,” she says, and heads off to bed.

Some time later, Mary and Sybil are in their nightgowns and passing the bottle of whiskey back and forth. Sybil tried looking for glasses, but there were only two and one of them was dirty. “It doesn’t matter,” she’d said, and took a swig from the mouth of the bottle and then handed it to Mary. Mary looked at her sister, who looked back and made a motion with her hand that clearly said, “Drink up,” so Mary did.

“It’s a good thing Edith’s gone to bed,” Mary says now, the warm glow from the whiskey softening her voice. “She wouldn’t be any fun.”

Sybil is used to her sisters’ attacks on one another and doesn’t respond. Instead, she takes another sip of the whiskey and looks slyly over at Mary. “Is Matthew any fun?”

Mary tells Sybil everything.

Chapter 10: London

Summary:

After Sybil's wedding in Dublin, Mary heads to London to do some soul searching

August 1919

If Sybil is shocked by Mary’s confession, she hides it well. “Oh Mary,” she says, placing her hand on her sister’s arm.

“It’s terrible, I know. But I just can’t help myself.”

Sybil laughs. “Of course not. It’s Matthew.”

“That’s just it,” Mary says, taking a sip of whiskey from the glass she finally made Sybil take off the shelf, from which they’re now sharing. “It’s Matthew. I should never have started it. And now I don’t want to stop.”

“What was it that you said to him?” Sybil asks, serious. “That this is the only chance you might have to be together?”

“Something like that,” Mary replies. She remembers the exact words - the entire conversation, actually - but Sybil doesn’t need to know that much detail.

“Mary, don’t you see? That’s exactly what you should do. Enjoy this time you have together. You have loved Matthew for as long as I can remember...” she trails off. “Are you sure he won’t change his mind over Lavinia?”

“Reasonably sure,” Mary replies. “You know Matthew, honorable to the point of ridiculous and stubborn as an ox.”

Sybil laughs. “You’re right. And you’re stuck with Richard.” She sighs. “Are you?”

Mary tries to imagine what would happen if her story was published. She shudders. “I’m afraid so,” she says.

“Lady Mary Crawley, having a scandalous affair with the heir to the estate,” Sybil teases. “What would Granny say?”

“Perish the thought,” says Mary, and she tosses back the whiskey left in their glass. “Time for bed, darling,” she says to Sybil, standing up, warm from the whiskey but not too tipsy. “Big day tomorrow.”

Sybil practically shivers with excitement. “I know. I can’t wait.”

~ . ~ . ~

It’s obvious to Mary that Tom’s family has taken Sybil into their hearts, just as everyone who knows Sybil does eventually. The wedding goes off without a hitch. The ceremony is short, the reception is lively, and when Tom and Sybil, both as excited as can be, leave to spend their first night together, Mary - much to her consternation - has quite a time trying to keep from crying.

Mary tries to imagine what her wedding to Richard will be like. It will be much subdued than Sybil’s, of course. She imagines the church and the people in it, and a figure standing next to her who must be Richard. In her mind, though, all she can focus on is Matthew, sitting in the back, trying to go unnoticed.

Sybil and Tom have challenges ahead of them - her family, for one, and Tom’s revolutionary sensibilities, not to mention the normal challenges of any young couple, but Mary can see how committed they are to each other. It makes her think of Matthew and Richard. She can’t commit to Richard because she’s so wrapped up in Matthew.

Back at Molly’s house after the wedding, she and Edith finish packing to go home. Mary thinks about all the moments that have made her smile over the past few days. She wants to share them with Matthew. She imagines how he would laugh at Tom’s brothers carrying the groom on their shoulders, or how he won’t believe her if she tells him that Edith had actually gotten drunk off the beer Molly had given her. Instead of waiting and saving these stories for Matthew, she writes them in a letter to Richard. She’ll arrive in London before the letter does, but it doesn’t matter. She needs to move on with Richard and away from Matthew.

Mary’s late-night confession to Sybil has made her really consider how untenable her relationship with Matthew is. Even if Mary’s situation were different, Matthew is obviously not willing to change his mind about Lavinia or about their chances for a future. “We’re cursed, you and I,” he had said to her last spring. Mary wants Matthew, she has always wanted Matthew, but she can’t be with a man who doesn’t love her enough to move past his dead fiancée.

Lavinia had never been anything but kind, and had she lived, all four of them would probably be settled by now. There would have always been a spark between Matthew and herself, but she would have had to learn to live with it. In that regard, Mary thinks, nothing has really changed. If Matthew isn’t going to be her future, it is time to put him in her past.

~ . ~ . ~

Mary and Edith travel straight to London from Dublin. Their parents are coming from Yorkshire at the same time, and they’ll all spend a week or so together in town. It’s not like before the war when they’d spend the season here, but Granny thinks it is important they spend some time at Grantham House and pay calls to friends who are still around.

On the train, Edith asks Mary what she and Sybil stayed up so late talking about the night before the wedding. “Nothing, really,” Mary says. “Our hopes for the future, I suppose.” It isn’t exactly a lie, but Edith still seems skeptical. Uncharacteristically and to Mary’s relief, she lets it drop. They pass most of the trip in silence.

Determined to make a new start, the first thing that Mary does when she and Edith arrive in London is write a note to Richard inviting him to tea. The next day, she goes to his office and takes him out for lunch, and she invites him to her family’s townhouse for dinner. She asks Richard about his work and about Haxby, and when he brings up their wedding plans, she doesn’t change the subject. “A holiday wedding,” he says. “Won’t that be romantic?” If Mary’s honest, she’d rather do it sooner and get it over with, but he makes excuses about staffing and a new paper that needs more oversight, so she acquiesces.

One night after dinner, her father calls her over. “I see things between you and Richard are going well,” he ventures.

Mary agrees. “I’ve strung him along far enough.”

Robert looks at her kindly. “Are you sure?” he asks cautiously. “It’s nice that you and Matthew have become friends again.”

“Well, I couldn’t shut Matthew out forever,” Mary says, deliberately sidestepping the point her father is trying to make. “He’s still a part of our family, and he’ll be head of it some day.”

Robert tries to press further. “Mary, if you don’t-” he begins, but Mary interrupts him.

“It’s fine, Papa. Richard is a good match.” And he is, really. He treats her well, for the most part. He knows her biggest secret and still wants to marry her. Although, Mary wonders, is it her biggest secret anymore?

Richard can never know about this summer she’s spent with Matthew. She knows him to be a jealous man, and there has only been that one instance when he’s threatened her, but still. It’s just another reason to break things off with Matthew sooner rather than later.

Eager to escape the conversation, Mary makes her excuses to her father. “Mama looks like she has something to say to me,” she says lamely, and walks away.

When they finally leave London for Yorkshire, with Richard promising to come up in a week’s time, Mary thinks of the discussion she had with Anna about Richard back at the beginning of their engagement. She told Anna that moving on might mean settling for second best, but at least she could have a life. Anna had said that for her, moving on was impossible. Mary might be more inclined to agree now than she was then. She will never love Richard the way she loves Matthew, but what choice does she have?

Mary watches the city fade into the calm green of countryside as they head toward home. She realizes will probably never make love to Matthew again.

For the second time in as many weeks, she tries not to cry.

Chapter 11: Are You a Creature of Duty?

Summary:

There is a thought that haunts Matthew. It is his constant companion. Isn’t this better. Lavina had said those words to him on her deathbed. She’d meant it as a consolation, but it has become almost entirely the opposite.

Notes:

Sorry for the angst. It does get a little bit angsty for a while, I’m afraid, so thanks for sticking with it. Would you expect anything less from Matthew and Mary? Sometimes I just want to lock them in a room so they can talk everything out! Oh wait. I can do that! Repeatedly! Except they refuse to cooperate. I guess they’re not quite ready for their happy ever after. Turns out Matthew and Mary can both be a little stubborn...and a little (or a lot) conflicted. Read on:

Early and then Late August 1919

There is a thought that haunts Matthew. It is his constant companion. Isn’t this better.

Lavinia had said those words to him on her deathbed. She’d meant it as a consolation, but it has become almost entirely the opposite.

The night before she leaves for Dublin, Mary asks him about Lavinia. They are in the bedroom on the third floor of the Abbey, which Matthew has started thinking of as ‘their’ room. He’d received a letter from Mr. Swire that afternoon, and from the sound of it, he isn’t doing very well. As a result, Matthew has been thinking about Lavinia, and though Mary is able to distract him for a while, she keeps creeping back in.

“Do you -” Mary asks hesitantly. “Do you want to talk about her?”

“About Lavinia?”

“Sometimes, you leave me,” she says. “Even when we’re here, in bed. I can only imagine you’re thinking of her.”

“I’m so sorry. Sometimes it just sneaks up on me. But I hope you know, I would never...not during.”

“Oh, I know,” Mary says reassuringly. “Can I ask you something? Did you ever do - this - with her?”

“With Lavinia?” Matthew nearly laughs at the thought. “No,” he says.”Not hardly.”

“Didn’t you want to?”

“Well, yes. But not like this. We’re different. I can’t explain it, Mary.”

“You don’t really have to,” she says, lifting her head to look at him. “We are different.”

Matthew is skeptical.

“It seems to me,” Mary explains, “that you and I have something that we just can’t have with anyone else. I’ll marry Richard soon and one day you’ll marry some bright young thing-”

“Mary-” he interjects.

“Well, won’t you? And besides, it’s better this way. Really.”

Instead of arguing with her, Matthew sits up and starts to get dressed. Mary sighs and does the same.

Better this way is just Mary’s version of Isn’t this better? Matthew feels more trapped than ever.

While she’s gone, Matthew goes to the cemetery. He’s been there a few times since Lavinia’s funeral, always alone, but not since he and Mary started their affair. He should have been more prepared for the overwhelming guilt he feels as he approaches Lavinia’s grave. ‘Affair’ is such a salacious word. It makes him feel worse than he already does. He thinks about Lavinia, on the last day of her life, talking about how she wasn’t meant to be his wife, or to be a countess. He knows she was trying to break things off, and he knows he wouldn't have let her. What he doesn’t know is if that would have been the right decision. As usual, her words come back to torture him: “Isn’t this better? You won’t have to make a hard decision.”

But he can’t be with Mary either, so it’s not really a hard decision at all. After what happened, he deserves this torture, this unhappiness.

Does Mary still love him? He thinks she must do, or else she would never have even considered sharing her bed with him. But there’s still a part of her that’s closed off to him. He supposes it’s the same part that he’s closed off to her. Every time he leaves Mary, the memory of Lavinia descends, choking him.

Isn’t this better?

He has to stop seeing Mary. He can’t expect her to share his heart with a dead woman. What he and Mary have now is more than Matthew deserves, but she should at least have a chance at happiness, he thinks, even if that means giving her up to Richard Carlisle. As for himself, Matthew thinks he will never marry. Maybe years from now, after Mary is settled at Haxby, he’ll find someone who wants children and a position but won’t intrude on his life or his heart, so that he can do his duty by Downton.

“Are you a creature of duty?” Mary had asked him this question once. Of course he is. He doesn’t know how to be anything else. That’s why he is in this wretched position. He feels a duty to Lavinia. He promised to love her and he broke that promise, and because of that she died. After all the tragedy they’ve been through, it would be unfair for him to sit back and let the title go extinct.

Maybe he will have a son and Mary will have a daughter, and they will match them up to fix the mess they’ve made of fate. Mary might never be the Countess of Grantham, but maybe her descendents will have a chance.

He thinks of the day he met Lavinia, when he had been in London on leave. She’d been the antithesis of Mary, and he found her charming and refreshing. She’d never stopped being that person. It was Matthew who changed, when he came back to Downton, back to Mary. He had let Lavinia down.

Isn’t this better?

It isn’t.

~ . ~ . ~

Matthew sits at his desk in his office in Ripon on a Monday morning late in August, unable to concentrate. He knows Mary has been back from London since before the weekend, but she hasn’t made any attempt to contact him.

He misses her.

He knows he shouldn’t. This is a temporary arrangement, nothing more. He loves Mary, of course he does. He has done for years. These weeks they’ve had together have been more than he could have ever hoped for, but she’s still going to marry Carlisle.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever be able to give her up. At some point he’ll have to do it, but not yet. He’s felt more alive these past two months than he has since before he was injured in the war.

She has Carlisle, and he can’t betray Lavinia more than he has already. It’s a total cock up. He has no idea what he’s going to do.

Later that afternoon, as Matthew is getting ready to leave, his assistant brings him a telegram that turns out to be from Mary. The secret telegram business - he doesn’t know how she managed it - is a joke they’d made up earlier in the summer. It is a code, and it means she wants him to meet her in their room at Downton the next afternoon.

He sneaks in by the usual route - quietly through the back, skipping the trick stair and then doubling back through the servants’ quarters. When he enters the room, she is waiting for him. He walks over to her and into her arms. “I missed you,” he says, and she replies, “I don’t want to talk,” and kisses him. They come together frantically, quickly, silently. How can I ever give her up, he thinks, for what must be the hundredth time this week.

She gets up almost immediately after they’re finished. “I have to go,” she says, getting dressed. “Mama is expecting me today, but I’ve told her I’m having lunch with you tomorrow.”

“You’re having lunch with me tomorrow?” He doesn't remember making plans.

“Thank you,” she replies, kissing him and heading for the door. “I’d be delighted. I’ll meet you at your office at noon.” She gives him one last glance as she leaves, shutting the door behind her.

The next day, he takes her to eat at a hotel a few blocks away from his office. They make small talk, and when he asks her to tell him about Sybil’s wedding, he thinks he sees a look of wistfulness pass over her eyes. She tells him funny stories about Branson (she calls him Tom, Matthew notes) and Edith. No, he can’t imagine Lady Edith Crawley drunk and dancing, and then suddenly he can, and he laughs along with Mary. He definitely sees her eyes cloud over this time, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

Instead, Matthew asks her about Branson. He finds it interesting that she calls him Tom already. He always liked the man, but he expected Mary to be a little more reticent about welcoming him into the family and accepting him as an equal.

“You should have seen her, Matthew,” she says when he tells her this. “She was so happy. They all love her. She’s made a life there. And Tom is part of that. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to think of him as my brother, but if calling him Tom makes it more likely that Sybil will get to come back to Downton, I’ll do it.”

“You don’t think less of him because he was a chauffeur?”

“No, I don’t think so, not anymore. Of course Sybil’s life might have been easier if she’d fallen for someone a little higher up the social ladder - ” Matthew quirks one eye at her, and she puts her hand up. “It’s true and don’t deny it. Tell me you haven’t seen enough of the aristocracy in the last six years to know I’m right.”

“Alright,” he says, laughing, “I’ll give you that.”

“The way I see it, though,” she continues, “Tom was really very honorable about the whole thing. He didn’t pressure her...or seduce her.” She looks at Matthew as if she expects him to say something about their own behavior, but he stays silent.

“And when they did run away,” she says, “he didn’t fight or prevent her from coming back.”

“It seems he loves her just as much as she loves him,” Matthew acknowledges.

Mary blinks and looks at Matthew directly. “It must be nice to marry the man you love,” she says.

There’s absolutely nothing Matthew can say to that, and they sit in awkward silence for a few minutes longer until he makes a point of looking at his watch, saying he should get back to work.

They are still silent on their walk back to Matthew’s office. About a block away from his building, Mary takes his arm and leads him down an alley.

“Matthew, we can’t see each other anymore,” she says without much pretense once they’re alone.

Matthew is taken aback. He hadn’t expected her to be so direct about it, and certainly not here in Ripon in the middle of the day. “What do you mean?” he asks, but of course he knows.

“We have to put an end to this.”

He doesn’t disagree with her. Even after the nice time they’d had the day before, Matthew thinks about how he’d told himself the same thing on Monday. He sighs. “I know.”

They start back toward the street.

“Mary -” he starts as they approach the building where his office is.

“Yes?” She looks at him kindly, almost remorsefully. He knows how hard this is for her, how hard it will be for both of them.

“Thank you,” he says.

“For what?”

“Just for...for this. For you. These past few weeks have been wonderful. Thank you,” he says again, and before she can reply, he opens the door and goes inside.

Chapter 12: Family

Summary:

In which we take a moment to check in with some other members of the family and household

September, 1919
Anna walks up the stairs on her way to Lady Mary’s room with a heavy heart. She’s been to see John this afternoon and he looks wretched. The lawyer has told them that Lord Grantham, Mrs Hughes and Mrs O’Brien will probably be called to testify. He’s still not sure about Lady Mary herself, but he hopes he can prevent it.

Anna wishes there was a way to spare the family the scandal of a trial. And all because they were trying to spare the family a scandal in the first place. Vera Bates must be laughing at all of them from beyond the grave.

Anna hopes with all her heart Lady Mary won’t have to testify. She feels badly for her, for the year she’s had. Recently, though, things seem to have been looking up.

Anna thinks about Lady Mary and how she’s changed this summer. It’s because of Mr. Matthew.. They’ve been seeing each other secretly for a few months and, to be perfectly frank, Anna thinks it is a good thing. It has improved both of their dispositions considerably. Anyone with eyes can see those two are meant for each other.

But there are stronger ties than Providence in this world, and she knows just how tightly Mary is chained to Sir Richard.

Anna doesn’t want to think about what will happen when he and Lady Mary get married. She’d like to go with her, of course, as lady’s maid, but how can she work for such a man? Aside from his questionable business practices when it comes to hiring staff and his deplorable request for her to spy on Lady Mary for him -as if she’d ever! - it’s his fault, really, that her husband’s in jail.

Anna knows she’s really just looking for a scapegoat, but if it hadn’t been for Carlisle buying Vera’s story and then sitting on it, maybe Vera wouldn’t have gotten mad enough to do what she did.

“Anna Bates,” she says out loud to herself. “You’re being unfair.”

Anna opens the door to the bedroom and finds Lady Mary already at her vanity. Pasting on a smile, she moves to help her with her jewelry. “Did you have a good evening, my lady?” she asks.

Mary smiles at Anna’s reflection in the mirror, but there’s a tinge of sadness around her eyes. “It was nice,” she says. “Quiet, just the way I like it.”

Anna doesn’t press her for details. Mr Crawley hadn’t been at dinner, but Anna was almost positive they’d spent the previous afternoon together. She would have to find a way to get the sheets from the upstairs bedroom into the laundry. Again.

Tonight notwithstanding, Mary seems happier and Mr Crawley has come out of the hole he’d fallen into after Miss Swire died. Anna doesn’t know what will happen in the future - she of all people knows that worrying too much about the future can only lead to heartbreak, but she is glad, for now, that there is some happiness in the house.

~ . ~ . ~

Robert walks next to his oldest daughter on the way back from church one Sunday. He’s noticed something different about her these past few months. She’s calmer, more serene. He knows she’s been trying to get along with Carlisle, but he’s also noticed a warmth between her and Matthew, a connection that they seemed to have lost for a while after Lavinia died. He’s sure something’s changed between them, and he’s glad of it. The weeks after Lavinia’s death were horrible, and they were made that much worse by Matthew’s radiating pain that, for some reason, seemed a little bit directed at Mary.

There’s a story there, but he wasn’t in a place to figure it out then, and it seems to have passed now, so best to move forward. Things are much better the way they are now.

Robert still holds out hope that, somehow, the stars will align and Mary and Matthew will get married. He’s almost asked Matthew about it countless times, but he knows he isn’t ready to talk about it yet.

Maybe he will be, someday. Until then, he’ll just try to support Matthew as best he can, like a father would.

~ . ~ . ~

“I’ve noticed you’ve been spending a lot more time over at Downton Abbey,” Isobel tells her son. She suspects he’s been spending a lot more time with Mary Crawley, really, but she’s not sure how to talk to him about it.

“Yes,” Matthew says, “Robert and I have been trying to put the estate back in order. The men are returning and most of the farms are in good condition, but Robert seems to think that it’s his investments that will be able to pull Downton back to its pre-war glory.”

“That’s not the only reason you go there whenever you have a spare moment, surely,” Isobel says. She is trying to tread carefully (as carefully as she ever does, anyway) but she doesn’t want Matthew to get hurt.

“Mother,” he says, “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

She lets the subject lay for a moment before picking it up again. “Mary’s birthday is next Saturday. Are you going to come with me to their celebration?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks.

“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Mother,” Matthew says again, exasperated. “Please drop it. Mary and I are just good friends.”

“That’s more than you were six months ago,” Isobel says.

Matthew gives her a look and she doesn’t say anything. She goes back to reading the post and drinking her tea and is just about to read to Matthew a funny anecdote about an old playmate of his when he says, “Have you bought her a gift yet?”

~ . ~ . ~

Cora and Violet are having sandwiches in the sunroom at the dower house. “What is going on with Mary and Matthew these days?” Violet asks.

“Hmm?” Cora replies, pretending to be surprised at the question. “Nothing that I know of.”

She’s lying, of course. She’s seen the way her daughter watches Matthew, and she once walked into the library looking for Mary and found them both there together. Outwardly, nothing was out of place, but something about the situation felt just on the other side of proper. She’s been watching them closely ever since. She hasn’t said anything to Mary, but if Violet has noticed, they could have a problem.

“There’s something there, I’m almost sure of it,” Violet says. “Did you see the way they were talking to each other at dinner last week? It was as if none of the rest of us were in the same galaxy, let alone the same room. Including,” Violet says with characteristic scorn, which amuses Cora, “Mary’s fiancé.”

“Please don’t make anything of it, Mama,” Cora says pragmatically. “We just have to wait and see.”

“If after all they’ve been through Mary ends up with Richard Carlisle and Matthew marries a perfect stranger, I’ll know that God has abandoned us and it will be time for the end-of-days.”

Cora smiles at her mother-in-law’s histrionics, thinking that, religious hyperbole aside, she has a pretty good point.

Chapter 13: If One Must Be Reminded

Summary:

It's Mary's birthday. Matthew has brought her a small present, but he has to compete with Richard. Mary knows what she really wants for her birthday is...Matthew

Notes:

Apologies for the delay. This chapter was tougher to whip into shape, and I was away for the weekend, but here it is! It's just a little bit of happiness for our stubborn heroes. Precious little, but they deserve it. And have no fear - they’re on their way to a happy ending. Just a few chapters left to go. As always, thanks for reading, reviewing, etc. and a very important thank you to the person who helped me turn this from a bunch of words into a chapter.

September 1919
Matthew hasn’t really spoken to Mary since their lunch in Ripon. He writes her a letter, which he burns. He writes a letter to Lavinia, about Mary, which he also burns. He hasn’t been sleeping well, which is partly because of all the rain they’ve been getting and partly because he can’t stop thinking about Mary.

Her birthday is on Saturday, and he and his mother are going up to the big house for dinner. He wants to help Mary celebrate - and he’s bought her a gift - but he’s not sure how to behave after the way they’ve left things. In fact, to avoid any appearance of impropriety, he’s asked his mother bring Mary the book he bought for her.

He knows his mother suspects that his feelings for Mary are stronger than he is letting on, but she hasn’t pushed him about it and he’s grateful.

At Crawley House on Saturday afternoon, time passes incredibly slowly for Matthew. He wants tonight’s dinner to be over already. In some ways, he’s reminded of his time in the trenches, where the waiting was always the hardest part.

Also, Carlisle has come up from London for the weekend, which does nothing to improve Matthew’s mood.

Restless, he decides to walk down to the big house early. The exercise will be good for his back, he reasons, and he can’t stand to sit around any longer. He leaves a note for his mother, who is out for the afternoon. The car is meant to pick them up in a few hours, and she shouldn’t mind that he’s gone ahead.

Carson greets Matthew at the door when he arrives. He reports that both Lord Grantham and Sir Richard have gone up to dress for dinner, and the ladies are due back any moment from their afternoon with Lady Grantham. Matthew decides to wait for them in the library. He sets off to pour himself a drink and find a book that will occupy his mind for a while.

When Richard comes in about ten minutes later, Matthew looks up from his book and says hello. Richard’s hands ball into fists at his sides, and he walks directly to the side table where the whiskey sits.

“Matthew,” Richard says curtly, pouring himself a drink from one of the decanters.

“Sir Richard,” Matthew replies evenly. “How are you?”

“Have you seen Lady Mary?” Richard asks, instead of answering Matthew. “I’ve asked Carson to tell me when she returned.” Matthew’s not sure why he calls her ‘Lady Mary’. Does he still not understand the protocol after all this time? Or is it a dig, a reminder that Carlisle has the right to refer to her more intimately than Matthew does?

If only he knew, Matthew thinks.

He assures Carlisle that he hasn’t seen her, that he’s only just arrived himself. Richard sits down on the chair across from Matthew and takes a sip of his whiskey. Richard doesn’t seem too keen on conversation, so Matthew goes back to reading.

“Actually, Matthew,” Richard says a few minutes later, almost startling Matthew. “I was wondering if I could ask your opinion. You see,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small box. “I’ve bought Lady Mary a gift. I never got her an engagement ring, and they seem to be quite popular in London at the moment.”

Richard removes the lid and hands the box over to Matthew.

The ring is large, clearly expensive, and too ostentatious for Mary’s taste. The diamond in the center is cut into sort of a rectangle and surrounded by other, smaller diamonds in an ornate design. Matthew knows that precious jewels are described by their ‘cut’ but he doesn’t know what these would be called. He does know - or at least, he’s reasonably sure - that Mary will hate it.

He purses his lips and says politely, “It’s very smart looking.”

His tone is not lost on Richard. “Well,” he says, “I want Mary to know how much I value her.”

Matthew thinks that a ring like this might also be a brand of sorts; Richard wants the world to know that Mary belongs to him.

No she doesn’t. The thought comes, fierce and unbidden. The intensity of it surprises him. His heart starts to race.

She belongs to me.

In this moment, Matthew realizes he has never really felt jealous of Richard Carlisle. Though he’s never admitted it before, he knows deep down that he is Mary’s first choice, just as she will always be his. He doesn’t need a ring to prove it, either.

Thinking of Mary and engagement rings makes Matthew think of Lavinia. He had given her a ring when he proposed. Matthew had chosen the delicate gold ring because it reminded him of Lavinia, simple and lovely, but Carlisle’s ring doesn’t remind Matthew of Mary at all.

Richard is still looking at him expectantly, so Matthew nods his head and hands the box back to him. “I hope she likes it,” he says. He tries to sound sincere but falls just short, and Richard notices. Scowling, he puts the ring away.

Robert comes in not long after, and the three men make small talk until the ladies appear. Mary’s parents and sister give her small gifts - a necklace from her grandmother and a new pen from her parents. Edith gives her a small drawing she bought in London. Isobel gives Mary The Importance of Being Earnest, by Oscar Wilde. Wilde’s clever sense of humor reminds Matthew of Mary sometimes. Until this summer, he never realized how funny she could be. He’d asked her, a while ago now, if she’d read Wilde and she said she hadn’t. When his mother mentioned Mary’s birthday celebration, he knew this would be the perfect gift.

When Mary opens the book, she looks directly at Matthew. “Thank you,” she says, and he can see that she recognizes the title. “Thank you, everyone!” she says again when Carson announces dinner. “I should have birthdays more often.”

They are not seated next to each other at dinner, so Matthew doesn’t get a chance to talk to Mary directly until they are having their after-dinner digestifs in the drawing room.

“Happy birthday,” he says softly, walking up to her.

She smiles at him, looking a bit somber.

“Have you had a nice day?” he asks, keeping his tone bright and friendly. “Birthdays should always be the pleasantest of days.”

“I agree,” she says. “If one must be reminded of one’s advancing age, it’s important to have fun while doing it.” Matthew sees how hard she works to make her smile reach her eyes.

Matthew wonders if Mary is feeling as awkward as he his. He drains his drink and moves to get himself another cognac from the tray Carson’s just brought in. Mary follows him, and Matthew notes that although Richard is talking to Cora and Violet, his eyes flick over to them regularly.

“Thank you for the book, by the way,” Mary says.

“Of course.” Matthew’s throat is dry, but he forces himself to sip his drink slowly. “Mary,” he starts, “I think we should-”

At that moment, he is interrupted by his mother. “Have you read Oscar Wilde before?” Isobel asks politely as she approaches them.

Mary tells Isobel that she hasn’t, but that she’s heard good things, and the moment is gone. She looks at Matthew as if there is more she wants to say, but there’s nothing either of them can do.

Later, as they are getting ready to leave, Matthew is putting on his coat when Anna comes up to him. “Mr. Crawley,” she says, “I think you dropped this.”

One look at her face and he knows he hasn’t dropped anything. She hands him a folded piece of paper and Matthew realizes it’s a note from Mary. The gesture is audacious and not at all subtle, and he forces himself not to read it until he is back at Crawley House. Mary has written just four words: Come back. My room.

He waits until everyone in his house is asleep before he slips out the downstairs door and makes the mile-long trek in the dark. He finds the door to the Abbey’s downstairs open as well, and he moves quietly up to Mary’s room. She had showed him the tricks last month - skip the third stair and listen for Carson’s snores before opening the door to the staircase.

When he gets to the second floor, he sees candlelight flickering from her bedroom, where she’s left the door slightly open. He steps into her room carefully, almost reverently, and closes the door behind him. As he turns to her, Mary puts down the book he’d given her. She moves towards him, and he closes the distance between them and kisses her.

They make love decadently but not slowly. Lost in each other, they don’t say anything. They don’t have to. Mary comes first, silently and powerfully. Matthew follows soon after, his face buried in her shoulder, his cries muted by her soft skin. His toes are tingling and there are stars in his eyes. “Well, then,” Mary says beneath him. “Hello to you, too.”

Matthew has not yet regained the ability to speak.

Mary makes a noise at his attempt, something between a snort and a giggle. It is not a noise he would have ever associated with Lady Mary Crawley, and that makes him laugh too.

“Shh,” she whispers, still smiling, and Matthew moves onto his side and leans in to kiss her.

He doesn’t know what Mary was thinking, inviting him over, and he couldn’t tell you why he came, except he needed her. But they both know they’re pushing it tonight. Richard is here, for heaven’s sake, just on the other side of the corridor.

“Thank you for coming,” she says softly to him then, and he grins. The line has become something between a joke and an endearment for them. She brings her her hand up to his cheek, and this time her smile reaches her eyes for real. Matthew kisses her palm, then her lips. To his surprise, he is quickly becoming aroused again. He smiles against Mary’s mouth and moves so he’s on top of her. The candlelight, the soft bed - something is different about tonight. Matthew kisses his way down Mary’s front. Her breath quickens and Matthew moves back over her. He takes her hand in his and sinks into her. As his ability to form coherent thoughts slips away, a low moan escapes him.

Mary opens her eyes and covers his mouth with her free hand.

“Shh,” she says again. Mary wraps her legs around him and holds him to her as tightly as possible. Matthew sighs with pleasure, trying to be quiet. Mary looks at him, her eyes bright with passion and amusement, and he knows she’s enjoying making him lose control and forget where they are. She reaches her hands up to his face. “Remember, we can’t make any noise,” she whispers against his mouth.

“I can’t help it,” Matthew says hoarsely. “When I’m with you, the rest of the world doesn’t seem to matter.”

Later, when the fire is dying and the air around them is cooling, Matthew shifts so they are facing each other. He pulls the duvet over them and watches Mary’s face.

Even in the semi-darkness of the firelight, Matthew can see that her eyes are bright with tears. Mary pushes him back into the mattress and crawls over him. “Shh,” she says, kissing his face, then his neck, then his chest. She moves lower, and Matthew loses himself in her one more time.

Sometime later, he opens his eyes, enjoying the feel of her hands running through his hair.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says, voice thick. “I just need another minute to come back to life.”

But the next thing he knows she is nudging his shoulder. “Matthew, wake up.”

He must have fallen asleep. The fire has gone out. It’s still dark outside, but he thinks it must be early morning already.

“It’s going to be light soon,” Mary says.

“Yes,” says Matthew.

“You’ll have to sneak out the back.”

“Yes,” he says again, though neither of them move an inch.

“Or you could climb out the window.”

He lifts his head up to look at her and she’s smiling. “Oh, Mary,” he says, and rolls back onto his side to look at her. “What are we going to do?”

Mary sighs. Matthew knows she hates the question as much as he does. She presses her lips to his, and their kiss is fierce and desperate. Matthew wills time to stop for them, but of course it doesn’t. They move apart sadly, already desolate without each other.

Chapter 14: The Worst Week

September 1919

 

Somehow, they manage to sneak Matthew out of the house before the kitchen maids start moving around and lighting fires. Mary sees Richard at breakfast, and this brings on a fresh wave of guilt. She’d spent the night with Matthew while he slept down the hall. She smiles at Richard, sits next to him, and tries to have a conversation with him about their plans for the day, but everything he says sounds like rough paper and blistered feet. Mary sends him off to Haxby alone, saying she has a headache and is going back to bed.

She’s walking up the stairs when Matthew comes in the front door, but she only gives him the briefest of hellos. Apparently he’s here to go over something with Papa. She’ll stay up in her room until luncheon, she decides. She tries to read the Oscar Wilde book, but it was a gift from Matthew, and thinking about him makes it impossible for her to concentrate.

When she comes down a few hours later, she finds Matthew with her father in the library. Richard is back as well, and when Carson announces that luncheon is served, they are all joined by her mother and sister in the dining room. She notices that Richard has moved from his usual spot next to her mother to a place next to her. Richard holds out her chair and sits next to her, and though she catches Matthew watching them with a questioning look in his eyes, she’s unable to do anything but offer the tiniest quirk of her eyebrows.

Richard’s attentiveness doesn’t stop there. After their meal, in the library, Mary moves to ask Matthew a question about Bates’ trial. Anna had asked her if they would be allowed to attend, and though Mary can’t see any reason why they wouldn’t, she wants to ask Matthew just to be sure.

She walks over to Matthew, who is looking for something in the bookshelves near the doorway, trying to be unobtrusive. Matthew smiles at her question - she supposes it sounds like an awful excuse just to take to him - and reassures her that yes, there’s a special section for visitors and it shouldn’t be a problem. She is going to ask him more about the trial, but his eyes move to something over her shoulder. She turns to find that Richard has come up behind them. He places his hand on Mary’s shoulder.

“Is everything alright?” he asks them.

“Fine,” Mary says breezily. ‘I was just asking Matthew about Bates, since he’s a solicitor and I know hardly anything about the law.”

“That’s right,” Richard says. “His trial is coming up soon, isn’t it?” Richard continues the conversation as if he’d been part of the entire thing, and, if truth be told, he drags it out longer than he needs to. Mary isn’t sure if he’s actually interested or if he’s trying to appear that way to make a point, but it doesn’t really matter. They manage to talk pleasantly for a few minutes more, and when Matthew makes his excuses to head back to Crawley House, Mary feels like the three of them have passed through some sort of gauntlet.

After Matthew leaves, Mary hopes that maybe Richard will relax. She’s relieved when he does, but the feeling doesn’t last long, as after dinner Richard asks her why she’s not wearing his ring.

By the time her parents excuse themselves to go to bed, the headache she pretended to have earlier has become real, and she’s grateful the evening is nearly over.

The rest of the week doesn’t get any better. Richard isn’t leaving until Thursday morning, and there is no denying that things are tense between them. It’s worse than it’s ever been before. Richard seems to have decided to become her shadow, even going so far as to follow her into the hallway one evening when she goes to make a phone call.

Mary briefly wonders if he knows somehow. Had he heard them last weekend when Matthew came back to Downton on her birthday? Has one of the servants said something? Richard doesn’t say anything, he just hovers, which actually might be worse. When Matthew and his mother come to dinner on Tuesday, Mary is extra careful not to pay him any more notice than absolutely necessary.

Even though she does her best to be pleasant and accommodating, on Wednesday, Richard absolutely crosses the line to the point that Mary doesn’t know if she ever wants to speak to him again. They are discussing the political climate in Europe after dinner - the reports out of Germany are heartbreaking, and the stories from Turkey aren’t much better. Mary is sickened at the thought of entire populations being wiped out, and wonders what the future will hold for the region.

Richard has the audacity to say something to the effect of, “We all know how you feel about the Turks, Mary.”

Everyone falls silent. Mary’s face burns. Most of the people around the table are aware of what Richard is referring to, but not all of them. To his credit, Richard realizes his gaffe and tries to apologize. “I’m sorry, Mary,” he says almost immediately.

Mary doesn’t know if he meant to be cruel or if he thought he was making a joke. She doesn’t care. She stands up and says goodnight, escaping as quickly as she can.

The very worst of all, though, even worse than Richard’s mention of Mary’s indiscretion, is that Mary expected her monthly period to begin on Sunday or Monday, but by Thursday it still hasn’t started. She and Matthew have been careful, and they do still take precautions, most of the time, but if something’s happened, this could mean the end of everything.

Three days, she tells herself. Three days late isn’t long enough to start making plans. But it is still long enough to set her teeth on edge.

Richard leaves, all apologies, but Mary doesn’t want to talk about it. “I’ll call you later this weekend,” he promises as he steps into the car. Mary just nods and kisses him dutifully on the cheek. She heads back inside and tells Anna that she doesn’t feel well and is going to spend the day in her room.

Chapter 15: You're still going to marry him, though

Summary:

Thoughts and feelings are forced to the surface, and things come to a bit of a boil.

Notes:

I wrote this fic back in 2012, before the thing with the car, and before any of the things that came after. It's set between the end of S2 and the Christmas special, and is basically canon compliant with that time (if you ignore the part where I created an entire sexual relationship that wasn't in the show...or was it?). The fic is finished, but I lost interest in posting it back then. So i'm posting it now. Look for the rest soon, and thanks for reading!

September 1919

 

On Sunday, Mary wakes up with tell-tale pains in her stomach and her back. Normally, she would stay at home and rest on a day like today, but she’s so relieved she feels the need to go somewhere, do something. Deciding to go visit her grandmother, she has to stop herself from running down the road like a little girl.

She stays at the dower house until late in the afternoon. Granny has her cook make them lunch, and they sit and chat about the various goings on in the village. More than once, Granny asks Mary about Matthew. She tries to be subtle, but Mary can see what she’s getting at.

“Tell me, Mary,” Granny says to her after they’ve shared the latest goings on in the village, “have you talked to Cousin Isobel lately?”

“Cousin Isobel?” Mary replies. “Not since she and Matthew were at dinner last week.”

“I was just wondering if you’d been down to Crawley House recently. Isobel says she’s redecorated the front parlor. Who knows what she’s done with it this time,” says Granny. It’s a typical comment, but Mary can see that Violet is watching her face for any sign of weakness.

“I haven’t been there in a few weeks,” Mary says. It’s the truth, although she is beginning to suspect that Granny knows this. Granny’s next question confirms her suspicions.

“And how is cousin Matthew?” She’s being direct, giving Mary the opportunity to say...well...whatever it is Mary wants to say, but Mary deflects. She manages to resist the rest of Granny’s gentle prying, and eventually, Violet gives up, announcing she’s going to speak to the gardener about bulbs she wants him to plant before the ground gets too cold.

Mary’s earlier euphoria has given way to a desire lay down with a hot water bottle and a good book, and she stands up to leave as well.

“Thank you so much, Granny,” she says. “I needed to escape the house for a bit.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Violet says sincerely. “It’s lovely to see you. And Mary?” Mary turns and Violet looks at her wisely. “These things have a way of working themselves out, you know.”

Mary’s smile is grateful, and she walks back to kiss her grandmother on the cheek. “I’ll see you later,” she says, and heads out the door.

She chooses the route home that will take her past Crawley House. As she walks by, she sees Isobel in the window, reading. She is not close enough to be able to tell if Matthew’s home as well, and she resists the urge to ring the bell and see for herself.

Thinking of Matthew makes her wish she could talk to Sybil again – oh how she wishes she were here! – and Mary begins to plan. If she writes Sybil a letter, she can come back to the village when the post office is open, maybe she can stop by and talk to him.

She shouldn’t.

She tries to imagine a way to see him at Crawley House alone, but that would be practically impossible during the week, and besides, she’ll still be indisposed - to put it delicately - for a few days yet.

Still, she wants to talk to Matthew. They don’t get a chance to just talk very often. Their time alone is usually spent doing, well, other .things. Whatever else their relationship may be, Mary is most grateful for their renewed friendship, and she could use her friend after the week she’s had.

Two days later, her letter to Sybil written, Mary leaves the big house around four in the afternoon, which is when Matthew usually arrives home from Ripon. She doesn’t see him as she walks to the post office, she doesn’t see him as she walks out again, and she is trying to think of other ways to loiter in the village when she hears him call out her name.

Turning around, she pretends to be surprised. “Matthew! What are you doing here?” He smiles back at her, his eyes bright. As usual, it makes her stomach flip flop. His face is a refuge after the week she’s had. He tells her he’s on his way to inspect one of the cottages for her father and invites her along.

“An empty cottage, Matthew? I hope you don’t have anything untoward in mind,” she teases him.

“I just thought we could walk together. If we happen to have a few extra minutes,” he says boldly, “ I may have an idea or two how to spend them.”

They arrive at a rustic looking row of cottages and Matthew opens a door in the middle. As they step down into the front room, Mary takes in the dusty, well-worn furniture. Matthew tells Mary it’s the cottage her father wants to set aside for Anna and Bates when he comes home. He wanted Matthew to make sure it was suitable.

“He’s quite confident, you know,” Matthew tells Mary, referring to her father. “I’m not sure what to say to him.”

“I do hope they get to use it,” Mary says, dismissing his trepidation. She looks around. “Does it meet with your approval?”

“It could use some work,” Matthew replies, “but it has potential.” He steps closer to her. “There’s a bed, in the other room, I think.” he says, almost shyly.

Mary looks around. It’s dirty and dusty and for all the times they’ve been together, this is the first time it feels really scandalous. But Mary is tempted. She walks back to look at the bedroom. There is a bed, she supposes, but it looks like it hasn’t been touched in years.

Mary steps back, reestablishing some distance between them. “Matthew, we can’t.” She turns around and waves her hand as if to say, Look at the state of this place.

“I don’t mind,” he says, moving up behind her. He puts a hand on her waist and leans down to kiss her neck. Mary’s head arches backward.

She has no control when it comes to Matthew Crawley.

She turns around and kisses him. They stand like that for a few minutes, lost in each other, until Mary pushes back.

She forces herself to think rationally. There are probably sheets and they could spread their coats and imagine they were outside in the warm sunshine. The thought of it, though, of meeting here for sex, of taking advantage of any place they could... it’s half tempting and half revolting, and Mary needs to get back in control of the situation.

“We can’t,” she says again.

Matthew takes another step back, nodding. “That’s alright,” he says amiably and kisses her forehead. “Let’s walk, then, and have a chat. I feel like we haven’t done that in ages.”

It’s true, Mary acknowledges. They don’t have a lot of time together they spend talking - and really, why would they?

They wander a bit until they find a field. Matthew meanders toward some large stones and sits on a relatively flat one. He puts his coat down next to him and motions for him to sit next to her. She sits down and neatly folds her hands in her lap.

“Tell me about your week,” Matthew says.

“I’d rather not,” she says, relaxing the slightest bit and allowing herself to lean against him. “How about you tell me about yours.”

He tells her that he’s received word from Murray that Bates’ trial has been set for just after the New Year. It’s to be in London, but Murray wants to try to get it moved up to York.

Mary nods, and they are silent again.

“Was there anything about your week that was good?” Matthew finally asks.

I’m not carrying your child, Mary wants to say. So that’s good. Although, the idea of having a child with Matthew...Mary banishes the thoughts as fast as she can, as fast as she’s done all week whenever her traitorous heart reminds her of the possibility.

“Carlisle gave me an engagement ring,” she tells him instead. What is she thinking? In what universe is Richard Carlisle a safe topic to talk about with Matthew Crawley? But she plows ahead anyway.

“I admit it’s rather fashionable,” Mary says, “but it just seems terribly showy to me. And you should see this ring, Matthew. It is terribly ostentatious and not even very pretty. I hope I don’t have to wear it very often - what? What is it?”

Matthew shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Tell me,” she says.

“It’s just- I’ve seen it. Richard showed it to me on your birthday. I think, in a way, he was trying to claim you. It was large and ugly and he seemed to be showing off.”

“I hate it,” Mary says evenly. “But what can I do?” She looks at him. “He actually showed it to you?”

“He did,” Matthew says. “It was Saturday evening, before dinner and before anyone else came down. I was there early and he found me in the library.”

“Just the two of you?” Mary asks skeptically. “And no one was hurt?”

“Actually, it wasn’t as bad as you think. Only nearly.” He smiles. “Really. We exchanged pleasantries and the like, and then he pulled out your ring and asked my opinion.”

“Did you give it to him?”

“Not exactly,” says Matthew. “I don’t think he really wanted it. Actually, I think he really thought you’d like the ring. It was almost as if he was trying to show off his his wealth and his understanding of your character. Two birds with one stone, so to speak”

“So to speak.” Mary sighs. “As if he needed to do the former or had any idea of the latter.”

 

~.~

 

They sit comfortably in silence for a while. Matthew looks down at their intertwined fingers and realizes that he doesn’t feel guilty being here with her. A good day, then. The guilt comes in waves, he muses. Last weekend, on his way home from the Abbey in the pre-dawn light, he’d deliberately taken the long way to avoid walking by the cemetery. But today when he saw Mary in the village, the only thing he felt was happiness.

Some days he thinks he’s over the worst - like today, or the afternoon he and Mary had made love for the first time. But then there are days when his mother asks him how Mr. Swire is doing, or Lavinia’s favorite book finds its way to his bedside, or the woman he actually loves brings up his dead fiancée when they are in bed together, and suddenly he’s closed off again and he thinks he might never escape the despair for good.

Truth is, though, he hasn’t felt completely hopeless since June, when he went to dinner without his stick, and he and Mary had become friends again.

Mary has saved him once more. She was the one that pulled him back from the pit after he’d come back from France thinking his life was over, and she was the one that pulled him back after Lavinia died. As long as Mary is in his life, Matthew thinks, he can do anything.

But the crux of it is that he still can’t marry her. He can’t get too wrapped up in possibilities and what-ifs. She is determined to marry Carlisle, though he doesn’t really know why. To his eyes, it doesn’t seem like she’s particularly happy, but she still stays with him. He wonders, not for the first time, if he is missing part of the story.

Finally, Matthew says the thing that’s been on his mind. “Do you love him?”

“Carlisle?” Mary asks, surprised, as if Matthew could be referring to anyone else.

“No,” Matthew teases, “Carson.” He’s rewarded with a small smirk before she says, “No, I don’t love him.”

“You’re still going to marry him, though.” Matthew is not asking her; he is stating a fact.

Mary doesn’t reply right away. She stands up and takes a few steps away from him. “I thought I could, at first. He was exactly the kind of man I always thought I’d marry.“ She turns back to look at him. “Until you came along.”

“And I was with Lavinia.”

Mary turns around. “I don’t want to talk about it, Matthew. Are you going to come up for dinner?”

“No, I’m not,” he says. “Please don’t change the subject. We do have to talk about this.”

“Why?” she asks, walking back to pick up her things. She hands Matthew his coat and starts walking back towards the cottages. “What do you want me to say?”

Matthew gets up and follows, walking quickly to catch up to her. “I’m meeting your father in the village tomorrow afternoon, after I get back from the office. He will probably invite me to dinner. Can we talk then?”

“In front of everyone?” she asks derisively.

“Then the next day.” He’s started this, he’s determined to finish it.

“Richard will be back then,” she says, stopping, and he can tell she’s getting upset. “He was terrible to me last week, and he’s coming back, and the last thing I need is for you to be there.”

If Matthew cringes this statement, if he’s taken aback by her tone, if he lets out a long breath before turning back to face her, Mary doesn’t say anything else.

He walks slowly back to her and reaches for her hands. “I’m sorry, Mary,” he says.

What was it Matthew had been thinking earlier? That his feelings could change from minute to minute? He doesn’t know what he wants from her anymore. He knows that she shouldn’t marry Carlisle, but he can’t promise to marry her instead.

Mary sighs and looks down at their hands. “No, Matthew, I’m sorry. This is my problem. We shouldn’t have come here. We really can’t keep doing this.”

The pain and confusion and frustration finally breaks free. “I know we should stop,” Matthew says. “I keep trying to stop.” His voice gets louder and he steps away. “But you make it impossible, Mary. If you really think we should stop seeing each other, why do you keep pulling me back in?”

“Because,” she says desperately, and Matthew’s reminded of that day so long ago when he left her, left Downton, the day the war started and everything changed. “Because I want you,” Mary is saying. “I can’t seem to stop wanting you. I don’t want to marry Carlisle, but I have to. I’ve made my choices, and I’m stuck with them, but every time I see you, I tell myself, just this once, Mary. Just this last time.”

“Why?” Matthew asks her, the pain in his eyes belying the calmness of his voice. “Why are you stuck with Carlisle?” “Why can’t this be more than what it is now?”

“How much more can we have, Matthew?” she replies, her voice taking on a hint of desperation. “We’ve had a wonderful time together, but if you’re going to keep stupidly blaming yourself for Lavinia’s death, refusing to let yourself move on-”

“How can you say that?” he interrupts. “You were there! You know what happened.”

“I do know,” she says. “She died, Matthew. And you think you’re responsible but you’re not. We’re not. You and I, this thing between us? We’re like fire. We should never have started this. We always knew we were going to get burned.” She takes a deep breath. “We have too much baggage, too much at stake.”

Matthew looks at her. “I wish I could, Mary. God knows I wish I could, but I just can’t. I can’t do this to Lavinia.”

“She’s dead, Matthew.” Mary says it softly, but firmly. He wants her to stop saying that. She doesn’t understand.

“But what if I could?” He turns the tables on her. “What if I were willing to sacrifice my morals to be with you? I’d hate myself for that and eventually, I’d hate you too.” He pauses. “But it doesn’t matter, because I could do that, I could do it for you, and you still wouldn’t be with me. You’re going to marry Carlisle. You’ve never said you wouldn’t.”

Mary looks at the ground. Her voice breaks when she finally looks back up at him and says, “I can marry him and love you.”

“No,” he says emphatically. “You can’t. I can’t have just part of you. I would need all of you. And you can’t give that to me.” He turns around. “And I - I can’t give that to you.”

“Then there’s no answer,” Mary says after a moment, and he turns back to look at her again.

“I guess not,” he says.

She moves to cup his cheek. He grasps her hand.

“Mary, this summer...you’ve brought me back to life. I can never repay you for that. And I wish all the best for you, as you’ve always done for me. I’ll cherish the time we had together.”

“But this is the end.” Mary finishes the thought for both of them.

“This is the end.”

Mary smiles ruefully. “We’re still cursed, I suppose.”

Matthew smiles back, still holding her hand against his cheek. “Maybe not quite so melodramatic. We’re just not meant to be.”

Mary smiles again and drops her hand.

“I should get going,” she says, “It will be dark soon, and Mama is expecting me home before dinner.”

As she walks away, Matthew finds himself frozen in place, unable to go after her or call out to her. It’s long past dark when he finally makes it home.

Notes:

Apologies for errors, grammatical ones or otherwise. I did rush the re-re-re-re-review a bit this afternoon. Also, many thanks to SW who read through it and helped me make it better...nearly four years ago, now, but thank yous don't expire.

Chapter 16: One Last Time

Summary:

Mary misses Matthew.

Notes:

There's an interlude in this chapter that calls back to the prologue. If you feel like going back and reading from the beginning, I hope you enjoy it!

Late September, 1919

 

She misses Matthew.

It’s been a week since Mary and Matthew’s fight at the cottage. Richard has been here most of that time - they are installing new generators at Haxby and he wants to make sure it is all done correctly. He apologizes to her again for his behavior the week before, and he is trying to be gentler. Mary feels wretched. Richard deserves someone better than her, someone who actually cares for him.

At some point this week, Richard had tried to bring up the wedding. They’d decided on Christmastime, but Mary hasn’t done anything about it since they discussed it in August, in London. She doesn’t want to bring it up to Mama or Granny, knowing they’ll throw a fit at the short notice. When Richard suggests another delay, she’s more than happy to push it back again.

She is doing her best not to think about Matthew. He comes to dinner on Friday night and is perfectly affable, behaving as if everything is normal. Could he really be that calm about the way they left things, Mary wonders? She gives in to temptation and gives Anna a note inviting Matthew to meet her in the conservatory so they can talk. The the conservatory is right next to the back staircase, which isn’t part of her plan exactly, but highly convenient, but it doesn’t matter because Matthew never shows up.

 

~ . ~ . ~

A few weekends later, Mary is walking home from visiting her grandmother. It is a perfectly crisp, late September day, and she wants to take advantage of the weather before the cold sets in. She sees a man walking ahead of her on the path, and she knows immediately it is Matthew. She calls out to him and he stops to wait for her to catch up. He tells Mary he’s on his way to talk to her father about some new equipment for one of the farms.

“Can I walk with you?” she asks. Since they are going to the same place, it would be impolite for him to say no. They head toward Downton Abbey together, and surprisingly, their conversation is only the slightest bit awkward and only for the first few minutes.

They talk pleasantly of the village and of his job, and Matthew mentions he’s going down to London to visit Mr Swire, whose health continues to deteriorate. Mary offers her condolences. “That must be terrible for you,” she says kindly, and Matthew tells her about meeting Mr. Swire, how he’d helped him on a case or two, and how he doesn’t have any family left, now that Lavinia is gone. Mary sees this has been weighing on Matthew, and she makes him promise to keep her apprised of his condition.  Mary tells Matthew that she’s finished The Importance of Being Earnest . She enjoyed the tone of the play, she tells him. “I can always use a laugh.” She also appreciates Wilde’s ability to tie everything together. “I have a book for you too,” she says, as they get closer to the big house. “Come with me into the library? I’m sure we can find Papa for you.”

At the door, Carson tells them that Lord Grantham is in his study, but he will be glad to meet them in the library. When Robert comes in, Matthew starts talking about a Mr. Thompson, who’s looking to buy a tractor and would like to borrow the money. Mary isn’t really interested in farm talk - that’s Edith’s territory - but she admires that Matthew is. At some point, she sees her father watching her, knows that he’s caught her watching Matthew, but he just gives her a small smile and squeezes her shoulder on his way out. He and Matthew have apparently agreed to lend Mr. Thompson the money with no interest, provided he pay it back within a certain amount of time, to give him a chance to put the tractor to good use. “Matthew,” he asks pointedly from the doorway, “are you staying for dinner?”

 Matthew looks at Mary for direction. She knows he hadn’t planned on staying, but she sees an opportunity to continue their conversation, and she’s not ready for it to end. “You should stay,” she tells him.

 “Good,” Papa says. “Have Carson get Molesley to send over some clothes.” Matthew and Mary exchange a glance, each of them thinking of the dinner outfit in an armoire somewhere upstairs.

 After her father leaves, Mary hands Matthew the Jane Austen book she’d been holding. “I know Austen can be a little bit sentimental,” she says, “But I liked the theme of this book, and I want to know what you think.” She hands him Persuasion, and he promises to read it.

Before they notice, an hour and a half has passed. Because their conversation is so easy and friendly, and because old habits are hard to break, Mary is aware of a growing current between them. Nervously, Mary stands up and asks Matthew if he wants some tea. As she goes to ring the bell, Matthew grabs her wrist.

“Mary,” he says, his voice low, almost seductive. “I’m so glad we could do this. To prove that we can be just friends.”

Mary smiles at him. She knows there’s more going on here. “Can we be just friends?” she challenges. “If I invited you up to the third floor right now, would you refuse?”

Matthew starts to say something, but she cuts him off, wanting to speak before she loses her nerve.

“I’ve missed you, you know. And I know I do this every time. I say we’re through but at the next opportunity, I come running back. This is different, Matthew. After the way things ended before...if we’re never going to do this again, will you come upstairs with me? I want make my last memory of our time together a happy one.”

 “Mary” he says again, his voice breaking. She can see he is tempted, so she plays her final card.

 “You said it to me before, Matthew. We can’t have the life we dreamed of. But just one last time, can we have each other?”

 How can he refuse her? He follows her upstairs.

 ~ . ~ . ~

It’s not like when they first started, awkward limbs and frenzied passion, and it’s also not like the night of Mary’s birthday, when the depth of emotion she’d felt had moved her to tears. Today, they’d talked and they’d laughed, and when they stopped talking and laughing, it had just been lovely.

Today has been all of the things they love about each other - from the books to the sex and to the jokes about their summer. It was the epitome of their time together: wit, compatibility, and humor.

But now it’s time to move forward.

As Mary walks down for dinner, she wonders if she will ever feel something like that for Richard. She doesn’t have much hope for passion or romance - what had Richard said? Moon and June? That doesn’t even make sense - but maybe, if she and Richard manage to stay friends, their private life might turn out to be more than a duty or a chore.

She can only hope.

Dinner is a quiet affair. Matthew and Mary are both subdued, and Mary again catches her father watching them. After dinner, she goes through with the ladies while Matthew stays with Papa. When they join them again, Matthew says he’s already ordered the car and has just come in to say goodbye. Mary offers to walk him out.

“So this is the end?” Matthew asks her quietly in the hall. “Really this time?”

“I’m ready,” Mary says. “Aren’t you?

Matthew reaches out and puts his hand around her wrist. They’re alone, for all intents and purposes, but Mary is still surprised at the next thing that comes out of his mouth.

“I love you.”

She can’t believe he’s said it. She’s speechless. “I wish I could be the man you want me to be, Mary.”

You are. I just wish you could forgive yourself enough to give us a chance, she says silently, but to him she says, “I know you do. Now go, before someone notices.”

As he walks away from her, he doesn’t let go of her hand until the last second.

“Tell everyone I’ve gone to bed, please,” she says to Carson as he comes back inside. Walking up the stairs, she is more confused about the future than ever.

Notes:

Again, this chapter's been written for years, and I did a quick review before posting it. If I've missed any errors (or created any new ones), my sincerest apologies. Enjoy!

Chapter 17: Moving Forward

Summary:

Mary reflects on the past, the present and the future. We're getting closer to catching up to Christmas, and canon.

October 1919

 

October moves into November and autumn settles in. Richard visits regularly, and Haxby is finally finished. Mary makes more of an effort to talk to Richard, to include him in the daily goings on in her life, telling him the things she would have previously saved for Matthew.

She is trying to put a barrier between herself and Matthew, and there’s something different about it this time. Mary doesn’t invite him to sneak back up to her room, and Matthew doesn’t follow her into the hallway and push her into an empty parlor. They re-establish a routine of sorts, and gradually, a bit of their old camaraderie comes back. Their history makes this both easier and more difficult - they have an easy way of communicating, often without words, but they manage to keep each other at arm’s length.

On the whole, Mary is happier than she was last spring, and she thinks Matthew is too. They’ve drawn the line and they stand separately on either side of it, but their time together hasn’t been for nought. He’s not as withdrawn as he was in the weeks after Lavinia died. There’s life in his cheeks and sometimes, there’s laughter in his eyes. He’s taking on more estate duties and doing well at his job. He really seems to be moving forward.

Mary thinks of the relationships she observed growing up. Cool indifference was practically expected among her lot, instead of the actual affection her parents have. Her grandparents had been friendly, as far as she can remember, and she knows that her parents’ relationship started out much, much differently than it is now. It wasn’t that long ago that she thought she and Richard might develop something along the lines of her grandparents’ or even her parents’ marriage. And if she didn’t know what it was to feel the way about someone the way she feels about Matthew, maybe she wouldn’t keep putting off plans for the wedding. But she keeps pushing the date back, hoping to put some distance between her and Matthew, and hoping to feel like marrying Richard is a good choice.

As for Richard, he still tries Mary’s nerves easier than he probably should, and he is still determined not to leave her alone with Matthew. Despite this, Mary starts picturing a life at Haxby. It’s a gorgeous house, and Richard’s improvements are really quite remarkable. Especially as the first anniversary of the Armistice passes, Mary spares a thought to the Russells in London, and Billy Russell lying somewhere in France. She hopes they are learning to rebuild their life too.

We all must move on after loss.

Since they ended their affair, Mary sometimes finds herself thinking of her past with Matthew. She thinks about the could-have-beens, before the war. There was their lovely month in London, and Sybil’s ball, when things seemed settled. She thinks about Matthew at war, and how she’d prayed for him to come back. She thinks about Lavina and Richard coming into their lives, and about Matthew’s injury and the time they spent together while he was recovering.

She thinks about losing Lavinia and how she’d thought that was the end, that their story was over.

Finally, she thinks about the last few months that they’ve had together.

It’s not that their story is over, it’s more that it has changed. It’s become something neither of them would have ever expected.

When December rolls around, they start to plan for Christmas. Aunt Rosamund is invited and Richard has said he’ll stay through Boxing Day at least, maybe longer. Papa is going to put on a shoot, the first since the war. The agent has picked out a tree, and Matthew says it’s enormous and stately; perfect for Downton.

Anna brings reports from the prison. Bates is doing as well as can be expected, and they’re all starting to worry about the upcoming trial.  Once or twice, Anna asks Mary about Matthew, but Mary doesn’t want to burden her, not when Anna has her own troubles.

Every now and then, Mary thinks of going to Crawley House, like she did that first day when Matthew asked her over, and telling him about Pamuk. It’s not that he needs to know, not the way she used to think. It’s just that sometimes she feels guilty that she knows the ties that hold him, but he doesn’t know what her shackles are.

He had asked her once, that day at the cottage, but did he ever really consider what the answer would be? She can’t imagine Matthew forgiving something like that. He’s too honorable.

If Richard left tomorrow, she would take Matthew in a heartbeat. In a perfect world, she wouldn’t let Kemal Pamuk come between them. It’s not the same as it had been, when she wouldn’t accept Matthew’s proposal because she was ashamed of her past or unsure of their future. If she could, she would never tell anyone ever again.

Unfortunately, real life doesn’t work that way. She can’t break it off with Richard, because then she’ll have to tell Matthew about Pamuk or else have him read it in the evening paper. If she tells him, he’ll despise her, she’s sure of it. He’ll think she’s a terrible person, a... a slut, or worse. She knows their affair is different. She and Matthew love each other, whatever their complicated circumstances are. But Pamuk...all these years later, Mary still can’t define it, can’t say why she’d done it or even why she hadn’t just screamed when he’d showed up in her room.

Mary can’t imagine the way Matthew would look at her if he ever found out about that night. But at least he’d know why she had to choose marrying Richard over the chance at a life with Matthew.

She’d once compared not being married to being in a waiting room, and she thinks now that it is stifling. At one end, there’s a door where Richard Carlisle waits for her. The ghost of Kemal Pamuk sits in the room behind her, and she doesn’t want to go there either. If the room had windows, she imagines that looking out of them into the bright daylight, she would see Matthew Crawley there, waiting.

Mary sighs. If this is to be her future, so be it.

Chapter 18: Christmas at Downton

Summary:

Christmas, 1919.

Notes:

This is the end, we've reached the Christmas special. This chapter follows the episode, with vignettes in alternating POVs accompanying various scenes. Thank you for reading!

December, 1919

 

Christmas is almost here. They’ve brought the tree in and Aunt Rosamund is arriving in three days’ time.

Richard will be here tomorrow. He’ll stay for the shoot, and then head back to London.

Mary makes it through alright. Matthew keeps managing to pop up whenever she has an unkind thought about Richard, and while she appreciates the gesture, she knows it’s just going to make Richard more upset.

 

~ . ~ . ~

 

More than anything, Matthew wishes he could talk to Mary. He seeks her out after he gets back from London. Reginald Swire had been a good man, and though they’d made their peace, Matthew feels the guilt closing in again. He knows Mary can’t fix it, knows that he’ll still feel like he’s let them all down. But every time she tells him it wasn’t his fault, he feels a little bit better.

 

~ . ~ . ~

 

At least this time when Matthew comes to her rescue, Richard is in the other room.

But then he says something terribly stupid. “You’ll always have a home here.” Of course she will. This is her home. It takes her a moment to realize he means after he inherits her father’s title. Mary wants to laugh. An unmarried earl and the previous earl’s unmarried daughter, tied down by scandal, living under the same roof? People will either think that Matthew’s preferences run opposite the company of women or that they have a scandalous arrangement. Which they would, without question. He can’t be so naive as to think that they could live under the same roof and keep their hands off each other, can he?

Mary can’t imagine Matthew would actually propose a long term version of their summer dalliance without ever thinking of marrying her. Marrying Matthew. Now that’s a dream she has got to stop having, because her heart shatters every time.

 

~ . ~ . ~

His mother says Mary is still in love with him. His mother, who he thought was one of Mary’s staunchest critics (Matthew suspects it’s because Mary resembles Cousin Violet). If his mother is pushing him to consider Mary... could he do it? It’s the same question he’s asked himself these past eight months. If he lets himself off the hook, if he takes the life she offers, will he be able to live with himself?

He’s starting to think the answer might be yes.

First, he has to know why she won’t leave Carlisle. He knows Mary well enough to know that at least part of what she sees in Carlisle is his position, but he is sure that there’s something else she is holding back.

He has wondered before, but it was too easy to let his own situation guide him and ignore the other side. He’d really thought they could have this one summer together and move on with their separate lives, but he’s not sure he wants to move on without Mary. Downton Abbey without Mary Crawley in it? Unfathomable.

 

~ . ~ . ~

Matthew reacts like she expected he would, and she knows she’s ruined this forever. She’d thought, if they can’t have a life together, at least they’ll have their friendship. Now, even that is looking unlikely. He won’t even look at her.

And then, surprisingly, he does. “I never would despise you,” he says. No, more than that. He never could despise her. In this moment, that distinction means more to Mary than anything Matthew has said before.

 

~ . ~ . ~

Mary’s going to leave. How can she leave? He told her she’d always have a home here, because it’s her home. It’s always been her home and it should always be her home.

Lavinia had understood that better than any of them realized. Lavinia would have hated all of the attention and responsibility that would have come with being Countess of Grantham. She would have done it well enough, Matthew thinks with a smile, because that’s the kind of person she was, but this is Mary’s destiny.

It isn’t just that. Matthew had grown up just like Lavinia - the only child of an upper middle class family, no delusions or ambitions of grandeur. When they’d met, he’d been reeling from losing Mary and trying to escape this life. It was unfair for him to bring her back here, he realized. The part of him that belongs at Downton belongs with Mary.

 

~ . ~ . ~

Matthew dances with her at the Servants Ball and asks about America. Ask me to stay, she thinks, but he doesn’t.

Matthew comes out to find her after everyone’s gone home. She’s free and he’s free and now is their chance.

Ask me to stay, she thinks, and this time he does.

 

~ . ~ . ~

 

Later on, after they’ve come inside and warmed up by the fire, they sit together and talk of their plans. “I could go to America with you,” he says.

“Don’t be silly,” she replies. “Why would I want to leave?”

In truth, they don’t know what the future holds. Richard could publish her story and she might want to escape anyway. But they’ll be together and that’s the important thing.

Mary walks back over to the fire. She’s still chilled from outside and, to be perfectly honest, a little bit bowled over by the notion that her are dreams finally coming true. When she turns back around, Matthew is looking at her, as relaxed and content as she’s ever seen him. She’s reminded of their best times together - years ago, months ago, and for years to come. She smiles at him. “Thank you,” she says.

“For what?” he asks, his eyes dancing.

“Nothing. For you.”

Matthew holds out his hand. “Come and kiss me.”

Notes:

I'll confess: I disliked season 3 so much (more because of the hackneyed writing and jumbled plots than the character kill-offs) that I decided end my DA headcanon with the twirly snow proposal. Happy ever afters are boring, and I'm okay with that.

But maybe I'll go back and check out the last few seasons, just for fun...