Chapter Text
Because Downton Hospital was funded primarily by a grant from the estate it was not uncommon for its Chief Physician, Dr. Clarkson, to be at the beck and call of the residents there. It was far less common for members of the family to come down to the hospital for small matters, but for this errand Mary knew that her meeting could not take place inside the walls of Downton.
Dr. Clarkson was very surprised to see her come into the hospital.
“Lady Mary,” he said, standing quickly. “What can I do for you?”
“I was hoping to see you on a… delicate matter,” Mary said, looking around at the open ward where there were a number of hospital beds screened off only by curtains. There was hardly anyone there at present, but hardly anyone did not mean nobody– and there were nurses working on the ward. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
Dr. Clarkson nodded. “Come into my office.”
Once they were settled in Clarkson’s large but slightly cluttered office, Mary said, “I hope I can count on your discretion, Doctor.”
Dr. Clarkson nodded gravely. “I am bound by my oath as a physician– I cannot reveal anything that you do not wish me to.”
“Even from other doctors and nurses in this hospital? Even from members of the board?” She thought of Granny, who would no doubt have many things to say if she ever learned of this conversation. Or Cousin Isobel, who had become so involved in the running of the hospital over the past six months.
Dr. Clarkson looked a little bit more uncomfortable at that, but nodded. “Depending on the ailment, there may be a need for other practitioners to be involved in your care. But I promise to act with as much discretion as possible, while allowing that breaking confidentiality may be medically necessary.”
It was as good as she was going to get. And it was now or never. She worked up her courage and said, high and breathy, “How does one know, if they might be pregnant?”
Dr. Clarkson looked at her sharply. “Do you suspect you might be pregnant, Lady Mary?”
Mary’s heart fluttered nervously at his seeing through her question. Well, there was no use prevaricating. “It’s possible. I don’t know for sure.”
“In the early stages, it can be quite difficult to tell,” Dr. Clarkson explained patiently. “I can perform an examination, but it likely won’t give any definitive answer. The only way to know for certain would be to wait and see.”
Mary’s heart fluttered again. To wait and see might be to find out too late. “I’d prefer an examination, if that’s alright.”
“Very well.” Dr. Clarkson nodded and retrieved instruments for examination.
Over the course of several minutes he recorded her temperature, her blood pressure, and her heart rate. He did all of this with a brisk professional efficiency, only making requests for the usual adjustments from her.
“Well, your heart rate is slightly elevated, but nothing that would be cause for alarm,” Dr. Clarkson said. “When was the date of your last menstruation?”
“In February. I believe it was the 21st or the 22nd, was the last day.”
“I see. And your cycle was fairly regular, before this?”
Mary nodded. “It always has been before.”
Dr. Clarkson scribbled a quick note on his paper, before looking up. “Any increase in tenderness or soreness of the breasts?”
“A little,” Mary said, thinking of the discomfort putting on her corset the past couple of days when she had never had any difficulty before. Her stomach swooped nervously. “Yes, I suppose.”
Dr. Clarkson nodded slowly. “Have you experienced an increase in nausea, particularly in the mornings?”
“I couldn’t stomach breakfast this morning,” Mary said, her nervousness growing with every question. Every symptom that Dr. Clarkson listed, she had experienced.
“And– forgive me for the impertinence of the question but I must ask– have you had sexual contact with a man such that you might become pregnant?”
Pamuk staring down at her with dark eyes, all of the veins standing out on his forehead as he worked above her, as she let herself give in– it wasn’t so bad, really, in some ways kind of pleasant once they got going, once she was wet enough not to chafe– and then he jerks erratically above her and collapses and at first she thinks it might be the throes of passion, until with dawning horror she realizes that he is too heavy and too still to be holding up his own weight, and his eyes are wide open and unblinking, and then the smell hits…
Mary nodded, feeling sick.
“Well, as I said there’s no way to be a hundred percent sure until more time has passed, but there is a very good chance you are pregnant, I’m sorry to say.”
It shouldn’t have made the blood rush in her ears and her breath short to hear it. Dr. Clarkson was just confirming what she already suspected to be the case, what she knew deep down but did not want to believe.
“Thank you, doctor,” she breathed.
“I’d recommend drinking extra fluids– pregnancy can overtax the excretory organs, the liver and the bowels, and the skin, and regular hydration keeps them functioning. Two quarts, sometimes three quarts daily– milk is best, if you can drink it, because it provides vital nutrients and also stimulates the kidneys,” Dr. Clarkson said, briskly rattling off the medical recommendations in a practiced voice that said that he had done this many times before. “A light, laxative diet heavy in fruits and vegetables and relatively low in meat will be best. Reduce the amount of tea and coffee you drink, and I would recommend the complete cessation of any alcohol consumption.”
Mary nodded, not really taking in any of the information that had just been thrown at her. “Of course.”
“I’ll get you a pamphlet,” Dr. Clarkson said, obviously seeing that Mary wasn’t taking in the information. “Oh, and you should schedule a visit with the dentist to get any issues with your teeth addressed– pregnant women often have complications arise with their teeth, so it’s best to have them looked at ahead of time.”
Mary felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up. “I’ll just make a quick trip to Istanbul, then.”
Dr. Clarkson looked at her perplexed. “I’m sorry?”
“I hear they have wonderful dentists.”
“I doubt you’ll need to go that far,” Dr. Clarkson said, not getting the joke– and how could he, he wasn’t there to hear Mr. Pamuk say next time you feel a twinge, come to Istanbul. “The dentist in Ripon should suffice.”
“Of course, it was a joke– forgive me,” Mary said, wrestling herself under control– even though she felt like she might laugh herself so sick she would cry. Dr. Clarkson gave her an odd look but didn’t comment. “How long will it be– before things become… obvious?”
Dr. Clarkson considered. “Every pregnancy is different,” he said. “So there’s no way to give an exact timeline. But many first time mothers only really start to show after four months or so.”
Four months. She had until June to figure out what she was going to do. It seemed so far away, and yet no time at all.
After that, Dr. Clarkson left the office and came back with the promised pamphlets. Mary looked them over unseeing, and then tucked them deep into her bag. She would read them later in the safety of her bedroom, if only to know what to expect, but right now she felt certain that anything she read she wouldn’t retain.
“You should return for another visit in about a month, and then we can work on a regular schedule of checkups after that,” Dr. Clarkson said. “And Lady Mary?”
She looked up, startled. “Hm?”
“Good luck.”
Mary nodded, gave a ghost of a smile, and left the hospital.
What was she to do now? If this got out, she would be a pariah– a social outcast. But of course it was inevitable that it would come out, wasn’t it? It was only a matter of time. Mary felt as if she was sitting on top of a bomb that would inevitably go off. She might as well not have gone to the effort of dragging Pamuk back to his bedroom, if the news was to get out anyways.
If only he had lived, Mary could have gone to him and demanded that he do the decent thing and marry her. He had said that it wasn’t a proposal, that neither of their families would have approved, and he had been right on that score. She would have never wanted to live in Turkey, so far away from everyone and everything she knew. But she would have found a way to bear it somehow. It would have been far preferable to becoming the laughingstock of society.
If only he had not come to Downton! If only she had not been so eager to invite Evelyn Napier, if only she had encouraged Pamuk less on the hunt, flirted a little less obviously, if only she had not let him kiss her, or had screamed as she threatened when he came to her room. There was so much that she could have done to prevent this outcome– all of it too late.
Her mother had always said that she would regret her willful nature– and now she had been proved right.
Oh god, her mother. Mary would have to tell her– there was no way around that. Surely if anything could be done, she would know what to do. But Mary was dreading the telling– her mother still couldn’t look at her without disappointment clouding her gaze. How much worse must it become now?
Mary was so absorbed in her own bitter thoughts that she didn’t notice Matthew until she nearly collided with him.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mary said, collecting her balance before she toppled over. “I didn’t see you there.”
“No, you didn’t,” Matthew said with an amused smile, and Mary wondered if she could give a more inane response. Of course she hadn’t seen him there, she’d nearly run into him! “I called your name and you didn’t seem to notice.”
“Oh,” Mary said stupidly, cursing herself for her distraction. She would have to get herself together, or everyone would know there was something going on. She summoned up a charming smile from that place where she had been taught to smile at parties even given by people she hated. “My apologies– I was lost in thought.”
Matthew frowned. “Is something the matter?” He glanced at the hospital, where she had obviously just come from, and was clearly drawing conclusions.
“Yes, everything’s fine,” Mary said brightly. “I was just delivering a message to Dr. Clarkson from Granny, and I’m afraid I was thinking about some letters I’ve been planning to write.”
She said it swiftly and brightly, and thought that it sounded at least halfway believable.
“I see,” Matthew said. He did not sound entirely convinced, but he had no way of contradicting her– he could not know that she had not been thinking about her correspondence, or relaying messages, or whatever else. The awareness of the pamphlets tucked deep in her handbag burned in her consciousness. “I’ve just been to see my mother, I’m surprised I didn’t see you inside.”
“It was just a quick visit.”
“Can I walk you home?”
“No,” Mary said quickly. She could not imagine carrying on a normal and polite conversation in the state she was in. “I mean, no thank you– I’d prefer to walk on my own.”
“Of course,” Matthew said. “You need time to compose your letters.”
“Exactly,” Mary said with a brittle smile. “I’ll see you at dinner on Friday?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Wonderful,” Mary said. She shifted awkwardly on her feet. “Well, I have letters to compose…”
“Don’t let me keep you,” Matthew said with a gentle smile.
Mary turned away, walking with perhaps too quick a pace back up to the Abbey. She did not see Matthew watching her go, concern writ deep in his brow.
“ Pregnant ?” Cora gasped, bracing herself against the nightstand after Mary broke the news, looking as if a stiff breeze might blow her over at the moment. “How on earth could this happen?”
“I’m told it can happen, when a man lies with a woman,” Mary said dryly. Her nails bit into the meat of her hand. This was already awful enough, she would be damned if she lost her composure in front of her mother.
Cora glared at her eldest daughter. “The last thing I need right now is your cheek,” she snapped. “How did I go so wrong raising you? I thought you knew better than this.”
Mary swallowed down bile at this statement. “Regardless, it’s happened– there’s nothing we can do to change it.”
Cora took a breath. “No, you’re right– however much we may wish it had not happened, the best thing to do is handle it. I’ll write to your grandmother straight away.”
Mary stared at her mother, aghast. “Granny?” The absolute last person she wanted to know if her shame was Violet Crawley. “You can’t seriously be thinking of telling her?”
“No, my mother,” Cora stressed. “You’ll go to America, before the baby is born, and then find a nice family in Newport to adopt it. Or maybe you should go further west– California or Oregon or someplace.”
Mary reeled. Leave Downton? “Am I to have any say in this?”
“You lost your right to a say when you threw away your virtue with that abominable Turk,” Cora snapped. “If this ever gets out not only will you be an outcast, your sisters will be too. Your father and I won’t come out unscathed either, nor will anyone who knows you well.”
Mary swallowed hard. Of course her mother was right– there was no way she could stay at Downton. Now if she wanted any kind of life after this. Not if she wanted to come back. But it seemed so enormous and far away and impossible to go elsewhere. And of course she would have to tell people she was leaving–
“What will Papa say?”
“I will handle your father,” Cora said. “We’ll say that after four unsuccessful Seasons, you want to broaden your horizons– there’s plenty of girls who’ve been unlucky in London who’ve gone to New York to find a husband. And then you’ll go west for your health. It won’t even really be a lie.”
Mary recoiled as if slapped. “Right,” she said, the fury knocked out of her. “Of course.”
Cora softened marginally. “I’m sorry my dear– you’ve put yourself in a very hard position, and hard decisions must be made if you wish to remain in the kind of society you were born to.”
“I understand,” Mary said woodenly.
“I’ll write to your grandmother straight away,” Cora said. “And I’ll make the arrangements– I’ll break the news at dinner on Saturday.”
Mary shook her head. Her life already felt as if it was spinning out of control– she wanted to manage this much at least. “No, I’ll make the announcement– don’t worry Mama. It will be better coming from me anyways.”
Cora took Mary by the hand and squeezed, her expression full of compassion. “Oh my dear,” she said warmly. “This isn’t easy, I know it.”
Mary nearly snatched her hand back. The very last thing she wanted was her mother’s sympathy– she would rather deal with her outrage or her scorn. “I’ll deal with it,” she promised. And then she fled the room.
“How did your visit with Dr. Clarkson go?” Anna asked carefully as she brushed out Mary’s hair for bed that night. She was the only one Mary had confided in– she knew everything anyways, having carried Mr. Pamuk’s corpse across the whole of the house, and she had been the one to comment on Mary’s lack of needing menstrual supplies when she was normally so regular.
Mary buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Anna,” she sighed. “It’s been such a nightmare.”
“So you are, then? Pregnant?”
Mary wanted to flinch away from the word. It didn’t seem like something that she could be, that was congruous with her life. Unmarried women did not get pregnant, and she was unmarried. And yet she couldn’t escape the facts in front of her.
“Dr. Clarkson says there’s no way to tell for certain yet, but most likely, yes.”
She was proud of the equanimity in her tone as she said it.
Anna laid a gentle hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Oh, milady– I’m so very sorry.”
“Why?” Mary retorted, her voice thick. “It’s my own stupid fault, letting him in like that. I should never have let him touch me.” Inside of her own skin she felt cold and numb, like her infamous heart of ice had become real and was now chilling her from the inside out.
Anna’s doe eyes filled with sympathy. “Milady,” she said gently. “Did he hurt you…?”
Mary shook her head. “No,” she said ruthlessly. “He did nothing of the sort– I let him, and now I’m left to reap the consequences.”
Anna pursed her lips, but whatever comment she wanted to make died there. Instead she asked, “Have you decided what you’re going to do, then?”
“Mama wants me to go to America, to visit my grandmother,” Mary sighed. “Which I suppose is what I’ll do.”
“What would you like to do, milady?”
Mary scoffed. “I’d love for none of this to have happened. But since I’ve yet to learn how to turn back the clock, I suppose my only option is to go to America. I don’t have many others.”
She had considered other places that she might go– Scotland, or France, or someplace. If Mary must live abroad for a time, she would vastly prefer France. But all of those fanciful places had the same problem. She was an unmarried woman and, without a proper chaperone, she could not respectably go anywhere without endangering her virtue.
Mary could have laughed. Her virtue! What a joke, now– she had landed herself in the nightmare of mothers everywhere. Pregnant, unwed, and with the father dramatically dead in the middle of the night.
She looked at Anna, a thought occurring to her. “Would you come with me?”
Anna blinked in astonishment. “To America? You mean leave Downton?”
Mary nodded, enthusiasm for the idea overtaking her. “It will be like you’re my lady’s maid. I’m certain if I ask Mama, she’ll say yes– especially since it means we won’t have to bring anyone else in on the secret. And if she allows it, there can’t be anything Mrs. Hughes says against it either. Wouldn’t you like to travel?”
Anna bit her lip in apprehension. “I’m not sure. I’ve never been anywhere else but England– I’ve never even been to London.”
“But wouldn’t you like to see Boston? New York?” Mary pushed. Now that she’d had the idea in her head, the thought of traveling to the New World alone was intolerable.
“I would, it’s just….” Anna flushed and trailed off.
Mary looked quizzically at her maid. “What is it?”
Anna shook her head quickly. “It’s nothing– it’s silly.”
Mary took Anna’s hand in hers and leveled her with a serious look. “If there’s something preventing you from coming with me, tell me. I’d like to help with it if I can– and not only in hopes of convincing you.”
Anna smiled gratefully back at Mary. “I don’t think it’s something anyone can help with. And it’s not really anything that would prevent me from going, quite the opposite actually.”
“Still,” Mary said earnestly. “I’d like to know. You don’t have to tell me, of course, but you’ve shared in plenty of my secrets.”
“It’s Mr. Bates, milady,” Anna said, leaving Mary wondering exactly what her father’s new taciturn valet had to do with anything they were talking about– until she saw that delicate shade of pink that Anna was turning, and she realized that her maid had a crush on Mr. Bates. “We’ve been getting along very well, and– I said it was silly.”
Mary grinned, delighted. She hadn’t had much excitement in her life of late. “Are you in love with him?”
“I don’t know that it’s love , exactly,” Anna said quickly. “But I do greatly admire him. He’s quiet and keeps to himself, but he’s a good man– he stands up for the maids downstairs, and for William when Thomas picks on him.”
“Well, well, I didn’t realize Mr. Bates had such hidden depths,” Mary said salaciously. “Though your recommendation does speak very highly of him. Are we to wish you joy soon?”
Anna flushed an even deeper pink. “I doubt he thinks of me that way at all.”
Mary furrowed her brow. “Anna, he would have to be blind not to see how wonderful you are. And I’m certain Carson would keel over if we had a blind and lame valet.” She could see that Anna couldn’t take much more teasing on this subject and backed off. “Regardless, I understand if you want to stay– although if you get married, I must insist that you do it after I return. So I may attend the wedding.”
Anna laughed and resumed brushing Mary’s hair. “I doubt it’s going to happen, milady. And I promise to think about it– I would like to see someplace other than England, and I really don’t think Mr. Bates is interested. If he was he surely would have said something by now.”
Mary just shook her head and let Anna get back to brushing.
Matthew could not get Lady Mary Crawley out of his head.
This was not an unusual occurrence, since he had met the lady in question nearly eight months ago. He had first been struck by her exceptional beauty– dark haired, fair skinned, with flashing dark eyes that sometimes seemed to hold a universe in themselves. Since their first charged meeting he had learned that she was also an exceptional wit, an excellent conversationalist, a superbly confident horsewoman, a lovely woman with a deep sense of loyalty to her family– and also that she hated him simply for existing.
Matthew could not blame her for this last. His position as her father’s heir had meant the upending of a future that had seemed to be settled for her, or so he understood. Because of the laws surrounding an entailed estate, by some twist of fate he would become the next Earl of Grantham and inherit not only the house she lived in but her mother’s fortune as well. It was tremendously unfair, not only to Mary but to the rest of her family.
It had, however, made it rather awkward that Matthew was half in love with her.
He had tried in vain to control his growing feelings– and had thought he’d wrested them under control. Matthew had told himself viciously that there was no way that Mary would look at him twice– she was destined to marry some viscount or duke, someone far richer and born to her world. He had almost convinced himself of that.
That was until around four weeks ago, when he had been invited to Downton to even out the numbers at a dinner party following the hunt, and he’d spent the evening watching Lady Mary glittering at other men. His jealously had flared up hot as a dragon in his chest, ready to covet a treasure that did not and never would belong to him.
At the moment, however, all covetousness was forgotten in favor of concern.
Matthew had not forgotten their brief encounter out in front of Downton Hospital the other day. It was very clear to him that Mary was distressed as she was leaving the hospital, and that she had lied to him in order to conceal whatever it was that so troubled her. She had been surprised to run into him, and had very clearly not wanted his intrusion into her private business.
Matthew should have left it there. But he kept poking at it in his mind, like an unhealed sore. He could not forget the way Mary had looked before she realized he was there, her face pale and tired and her dark eyes haunted.
He hoped desperately that he was wrong. That he was just imagining things. Matthew and his mother had been invited to Downton for dinner tonight, and Matthew hoped that he would get there and see that he was mistaken and that there was nothing wrong with Mary after all.
But his gut told him that Mary was afraid of something.
“Is there something the matter, sir?”
The voice from the doorway made Matthew jump. Molesley, his butler and valet, had peeked into the room. Matthew had reconciled to the man’s presence in his household, since Lord Grantham had explained that dismissing him would deprive the man of his livelihood and he didn't wish to be cruel, but he was still getting used to having him around.
“No, not at all,” Matthew said quickly. “Everything's perfectly fine– I was just lost in thought.”
“Very good sir,” Molesley said, scrupulously professional. “The Dowager Countess is waiting outside.”
“Well, we must not keep her waiting,” Matthew said. “I expect we’ll be quite late– wait to lock up until we’re back, but please enjoy your evening.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Matthew!” his mother called from downstairs. Matthew shot a long suffering grin at Molesley and hurried downstairs to where his mother was waiting.
“What kept you?” Isobel Crawley asked when he joined her downstairs. “I have no desire to give Cousin Violet more ammunition by being less than punctual.”
Matthew rolled his eyes where his mother couldn't see. Violet Crawley, the Dowager Countess of Grantham had taken an instant and mutual dislike to his mother, who gave as good as she got. Nonetheless she insisted on giving both of them rides in her motor car to and from the estates on the nights they ate dinner together– nevermind that it was an easy and pleasant walk.
“I'm sorry mother– I couldn't find one of my cufflinks,” Matthew said quickly.
He did not mention his dwelling on Mary Crawley. His mother did not share his high opinion of her, and instead thought her cold, snobbish and high handed. Attempts to convince her otherwise invariably led to suspiciously raised eyebrows.
“Well, let’s not keep dawdling,” Isobel said, and ushered the both of them out the door.
It seemed that they were punctual enough to escape Violet Crawley’s mention– though perhaps this was less a miracle of timing as it was Violet having other things on her mind.
“I'm so glad that nasty inquest business is over,” Violet said once they had all exchanged the requisite pleasantries. “I'm sick of strangers poking and prodding into our business.”
“I'm sure they just wanted to be thorough– to satisfy the Turkish embassy at least,” Isobel countered.
“My question is why the Turkish embassy needs to me or my staff– I certainly didn’t see anything.”
Matthew let the conversation wash over him as Isobel and Violet continued to bicker. There had been an extensive inquest into the death of the attaché to the Turkish embassy who had died suddenly in the night– given the tenuous relationship between the Ottomans and Britain, and the unfortunate gentleman’s relation to the Sultan’s ministers, no one wanted to be accused of being anything less than thorough, even though there was nothing more sinister at work than a freak accident. Matthew himself had been questioned about that night.
He knew Mary had been very taken with the man, flirting with him more than any other. The sudden death had been a shock to everyone, but she seemed to have taken in particularly hard.
Had the end of the inquest brought up bad memories for her? Mary had seemed to go back to her usual confident self, although Matthew had not seen much of her to really know.
More likely it was something else– something he had no way of guessing.
The motor car trundled the way up to the great stone facade of Downton Abbey, where they were led inside by the younger of the two footmen– William, Matthew remembered his name after a moment.
The family was arranged and waiting for them, and exchanged greetings as soon as they arrived.
Matthew noticed Mary’s tight smile when she bid him good evening, but she quickly turned away to say hello to her grandmother and he was drawn into a conversation with Robert about the estate.
They went into dinner shortly after, where Matthew was seated next to Mary on one side and his mother on the other. This was the more informal type of dinner party for Downton (though the dress was still White Tie) and conversation at the table was general rather than constrained to ones immediate neighbors. And yet by the time the fish course was whisked away and replaced by the entree, Mary had scarcely said two words together and had eaten even less, occupied instead by twisting her napkin in her lap.
Matthew leaned towards her and murmured, “I think it's dead.”
Mary turned, eyebrows knit in puzzlement, and truly looked at him for the first time that evening. “What?” she hissed.
“The napkin,” Matthew explained in a low voice. “I assume you mean to wring it's neck– I think it's properly lifeless by now.”
Mary fixed him with a vexed look. At least that faraway expression was gone from her eyes.
“I'm sorry– I didn't even realize I was doing it.”
“By all means, don't let me stop you in your pursuit of napkin murder.”
Mary pursed her lips, but Matthew could see the smile threatening to peek through. “I suppose I should be glad you didn't call out my terrible manners for the whole table to hear.” The barb was clearly meant to be aimed at his middle class manners, a point of much contention between them, but with the smile on her lips it came out more teasing than biting.
“Well I hope I've learned more manners than that,” Matthew replied, returning Mary’s teasing manner. Though he grew serious after a moment. “Is everything alright?”
He fully expected Mary to deny it. Instead she said, “Do you ever feel as if your life is out of your control?”
Matthew considered this a moment. “I used to think that I was the master of my fate. That if I was clever enough, I could make my living on my wits and merit.”
Mary listened to him, her brown eyes wide. “And then what happened?”
“I learned I was the heir to the Earl of Grantham, and everything I had imagined for my future was overturned.”
Mary’s expression soured. Matthew winced. He shouldn't have reminded her of the entail, both uniquely distressing and deeply unfair to her.
“But that was a good change,” Mary said. “I mean you're the heir to a title and a vast fortune… anyone would be lucky to have that sort of change.”
“That’s true,” Matthew said gently, although his stomach squirmed uncomfortably as it did whenever he thought of the vast inheritance that he had done next to nothing to earn. “But at the risk of sounding ungrateful, if I'd been asked if I wanted my life to be upended or not, even if the changes were good, I think I would have preferred my life to remain the same.”
“And now?”
“I think I'm starting to get my bearings,” Matthew said. “Though compared to you I'm hardly seaworthy.”
Mary fixed him with an arch look. “Well, you’re clearly still learning to use your knife properly.”
Matthew chuckled. With that comment it was like the world had come back on its axis–and once again he caught that amused edge in her voice that softened the barb.
Mary did look better through the rest of dinner, and seemed to eat a bit more, although she still did not participate much in the general conversation. Her napkin remained unmolested for the rest of the dinner. Matthew was not fooled that whatever was troubling Mary was fully gone, but she did seem to be feeling better.
At least until Cora got the attention of the table. “Everyone,” she said. “I think Mary has an announcement that she wants to make.”
She shot a meaningful look at Mary across the table. Beside him, Mary froze as all eyes at the table turned to her.
Mary’s smile did not reach her eyes as she said, “I'm going to America.”
“What?” Sybil shrieked, at the same moment as Violet asked, “Voluntarily?”
“Mary thought it would be a good opportunity to get to know her grandmother,” Cora added. “And it will allow her to meet new people.”
New suitors was heavily implied in that sentence. Matthew felt as if all the wind had gone out of his lungs.
Edith clearly did not miss this. “Why is Mary the only one who gets to go to America?”
For the briefest moment, Mary shot her sister a look that was pure contempt. It disappeared as soon as it arrived. “We can talk about you going to America next year,” Cora told her middle daughter.
Violet shot a look across the table at Robert, her opinion on this folly clear. “And you agreed to this?”
“Cora seemed to think it would be good for Mary to broaden her horizons,” Robert said. He shot a look at Mary. “And she wants to go.”
“I do,” Mary said. Matthew noticed that there wasn't much conviction behind the words as she said them.
Violet harrumphed, and it was clear she would have much to say on this subject later.
“How exciting!” Isobel said at his side, obviously picking up on Violet’s disapproval. “I think it’s a good thing for young people to travel and expand their horizons. Your maternal grandmother lives in New York?”
“Newport,” Cora corrected.
“Oh how marvelous!”
“How long will you be gone?” Matthew asked finally. His own voice sounded distant and strange to his ears.
Mary met his eyes. There was something inscrutable there, something that he almost would have called shame. “At least a few months. Perhaps a year– I'm not sure yet.”
A year. A year for Mary to be swept off her feet by some American millionaire. She would dazzle the American social set as thoroughly as she had the British one.
It didn’t really change anything between them– because there wasn't anything between them. Just his secret hopes. Because damn it but he had hoped. Things had been slowly thawing between them, with Mary less openly hostile to him. And it was a foolish yearning, but he’d thought perhaps if they had a chance to get to know one another better once they got over the disastrous way they'd met….
Well, a year in America put a very swift death to that possibility.
He should give it up for good, Matthew told himself. It would be better to focus on realistic possibilities, rather than impossible daydreams. Surely Lady Mary was not the only woman in the world for him. He was not actively looking for a wife, though he would like to marry someday– Matthew figured that it would come in its own time, once he met the right woman. A woman who would be so much easier to meet and court with the siren who haunted his most secret dreams an ocean away.
And maybe he could have convinced himself of that, if Mary had looked at all pleased about going to America. He could not get out of his head the way her smile hadn't seemed quite real when she'd made the announcement. The way she'd hardly eaten and spent the beginning of the meal wringing her napkin. The pale and haunted look when she left the hospital.
When the ladies went through to the drawing room, Matthew found himself impatient to rejoin them. He wanted to ask Mary why she really wanted to go to America.
But after he and Robert had finished their port and went into the drawing room, he found that Mary had already gone up to bed.
Notes:
Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!
Also, in the interest of citing sources-- Dr. Clarkson's recommendations to Mary come directly from this booklet published by the US Department of Labor in 1913. It's from the wrong continent, but I figure the medical recommendations are close enough to what would be given in England at the time.
A note on timelines: the Downton Abbey wiki says that the hunt happens in December 1912, as that is the timeline of the real Albanian talks that happened in British history. However Mary's talk with Anna about her mother's reaction that implies it was a much more recent event happens in May of 1913. I'm splitting the difference here and saying that the hunt occurs in early March of 1913, because that fits best with the rest of the timeline for this story.
Chapter 2: An Unexpected Proposal
Summary:
Matthew talks to Mary, and offers a very unexpected proposal.
Notes:
Thank you to everyone who's read so far for such a kind reception to this story, I've been absolutely blown away by the comments people have been leaving! I wanted to get this second chapter up as soon as possible, since it's where the story really begins. Updates will probably not be quite this frequent-- while I have a lot written, a lot of it needs extensive edits to be ready for publication.
Also, apologies that this is on the shorter side-- most of the chapters will be a bit longer than this, but this is what made the most sense for splitting everything up.
The first scene is of this chapter is actually the first thing I ever wrote for this fic. Chapter 1 is a much more recent addition.
I hope you all enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The next morning, Mary went for a brisk walk of the Downton grounds. With the decision made that she would be going to America for the next nine months at least, she wanted to soak in her beloved Downton while she still had the chance. It was an overwhelmingly sentimental impulse, of course. Downton would remain her home, even once her babe was born and ensconced with some unlucky family. Eventually she would lose the place for good once she married, but she had known that since Patrick’s death. Nonetheless she felt on the edge of some great precipice, and once she boarded that ship to cross the Atlantic her life would irrevocably be altered.
She allowed herself the indulgence of melodramatic sentiment. And besides, the walk gave her time to think.
The first few months, she would spend with Grandmama. That much was arranged by her mother, and didn’t Mary look forward to the scorn she would find herself under for her indiscretions. Once she started to show, however, even the Atlantic Ocean was not small enough– she would have to go west, although just where she would go she was not yet decided of. California or Oregon or some such place that had never heard of nor cared about Lady Mary Crawley. She had hated visiting America as a child, so strange and far away from her beloved home, and even though she was not going back with a child’s eyes she did not think that the Colonies would improve upon further acquaintance.
It sounded a bleak and unforgiving prospect. And yet this was the situation she had found herself in– no, that she had put herself in. All of her prospects were bleak and unforgiving now.
She should not have been surprised to see Matthew walking towards the estate, frequent guest as he was, and yet she was surprised to find someone else on what was meant to be a solitary walk. Just as she was wondering whether to avoid him or not, he caught sight of her and made a determined bee-line in her direction.
“Good morning,” Mary said once he was within distance for a conversation. “Are you headed up to see Papa?”
“I thought I would check in,” he said. “Though I’m in no hurry– actually, I wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh?” Mary said, though her stomach swooped in apprehension. There could be no doubt what his line of inquiry would be.
“Do you truly plan to go to America?”
“I said as much last night, didn’t I?” she said, keeping her voice as light and as even as possible. “Unless you think I am in a habit of lying about my travel plans over the dinner table.”
He was looking at her with his disconcertingly piercing blue eyes, like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve and couldn’t. “I admit I’m quite surprised,” he said. “You didn’t strike me as the type to wish to…”
“Gallivant about in the New World?” Mary asked, her eyebrow raised in a challenge.
“Forgive me if it’s impertinent,” Matthew said quickly. “Only you seem so… settled, here.”
The worst part was that he was right, and if she had any other choice she would never leave Downton. Only the greatest necessity could drive her away from her home, and yet she could not let him know what really drove her to America. To do so would mean ruin. “And you truly know me so well after an acquaintance of scarcely seven months?” she asked, with just a touch of acid to her tone. “Perhaps I want a change of scenery.”
“You’re right,” Matthew said, taking her sharp tone in stride. “I suppose we do not know each other so well. But I like to flatter myself that I am an observant person and what I have observed about you, Cousin Mary, is that you hold Downton in the highest esteem. I’m surprised that you would wish for a change of scenery– as you say– for so very long.”
How could he see her so clearly, especially now when she so desperately needed him not to?
“It’s not as if I’ll never come back,” she said, but the equanimity in her tone broke over the feeling she had been wrestling with on her walk of the looming change in her circumstances. She felt tears pricking at her eyes, which she could not allow to overtake her.
Matthew looked at her sharply. “Mary, are you in trouble?” he asked gently.
Mary fought and mostly won back her self control. He had already seen too much– he was too clever by half, if he thought at all about what she had already showed him he would no doubt come upon the truth of it. She felt raw and exposed by his steady gaze. “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Matthew said gently. “Only that this trip seems very sudden, and you hardly seem to be undertaking it joyously. When I ran into you at the hospital–”
Mary squeezed her hand shut so hard her fingernails dug into her palm. “Why should you care why I do what I do? I’ve given you little reason to,” she snapped at him, feeling that she had to get herself away from this conversation as soon as she could or else risk losing her composure entirely. What was it about him that he seemed to cut to the heart of her so frequently? It was infuriating.
“If you are in some kind of trouble, I would like to help.”
He was looking at her so earnestly, with those impossibly blue eyes of his. There was no question of his sincerity, however little she deserved it– she knew she had treated him terribly these past seven months since he had come to Downton, all for circumstances beyond his control. He should by all rights hate her, and yet he wanted to help.
It broke her self-control. “Oh, Matthew…” she sobbed.
He took a step forward, holding her forearm for comfort so gently. His manner was pure concern, and he held her gaze with those infernal blue eyes of his. She wanted to run away, far from here, away from his gentle regard which so capably saw through her. “Mary, Mary whatever is wrong?”
She shook her head, unable to speak even if she knew what she wanted to say.
Matthew gently led her to a nearby bench where she sank down in a miserable and sobbing heap. He sat next to her, nearer than perhaps propriety would allow, but then what was propriety to her at this point?
“Please, Mary,” he pleaded. “I was right and there is something wrong, isn’t there? Tell me what it is, if there is anything I can do–”
Mary shook her head miserably. “There is nothing to be done.”
“I don’t believe that,” Matthew gently said to her. “Please, I can’t watch you be so miserable and not do something to help.”
“I’m pregnant, Matthew,” Mary spat, and she took vicious pleasure in the shock skittering across his face. “Pregnant and with no hope of marriage, now tell me how you may help with that.”
Matthew stared at her in shock, long enough for regret to set in at her reckless words. Oh, god, how could she have told him of her shame? She could not take the words back, and everything in her recoiled against the moment that his shock must turn to disgust.
“Who…?” he asked, sounding like he had been punched in the gut and was trying to catch his breath.
Now that she had let it slip, there was no way out but through. “Do you remember Kemal Pamuk?”
“The diplomat who died in this house three weeks ago?” he asked, and Mary gave a tiny nod. “He only stayed one night, you cannot say that he–”
Matthew met her eyes, and something in her expression must have confirmed the truth because he stopped short as his mind worked out exactly what had happened.
Mary drew herself up. If she was going to be judged by him, she would get through this with as much dignity as she could muster. “I took him as a lover, and he died in my bed. And left me a little something else besides, to remember him by.”
She laughed, though it was a faint and halfhearted thing. Matthew only watched her in silent shock, his too-piercing blue eyes never leaving her face. The silence was unbearable as she waited for his inevitable scorn. “Say something,” she whispered. “Please.”
Matthew startled.
“Did you love him?”
She shook her head. “How could it be love?”
He didn’t understand, she could see that, and this must be the moment his shock turned to disgust. “Because if it was love–”
“It was lust, Matthew!” she cried, not willing to deal with his genteel attempt to make this something less than it was. “Or a need for excitement, or something in him that I– oh God, what difference does it make? I’m Tess of the d’Urbevilles– I have fallen, I am impure.”
His expression hardened. “Don’t joke,” he said, serious. “Don’t make it little when I’m trying to understand.”
Mary took an unsteady breath. He was being far more kind about this than she had any right to. “Thank you for that,” she whispered, and she was truly grateful for his kindness. “But the fact remains that everything has changed because of it. And so now you see why I must go to America, even though I dread it with everything in me. There is no other choice.”
Matthew looked at her, and Mary’s breath caught at the sincere concern she saw in his gaze. Truly, he was so good– no one could be expected to react as he did. He looked at her for a long time, and she could tell he was chewing over some thought in his head, so she did not interrupt him.
“You wouldn’t need to go to America if you married me.”
Mary’s mouth dropped open. Had he just said what she thought he did? “Are you seriously saying–?”
Matthew nodded and took her hands in his, and he was so earnest. “I’m saying that we should get married,” he said. “Then any child you have will be born legitimately in wedlock, and you won’t have to leave Downton.”
Mary stared for a few seconds longer. He was deadly serious– and yet how could he be? She didn’t even like him, how could he be talking about marriage? Well, she supposed, it wasn’t quite true that she didn’t like him. He’d proven to have his moments, hadn’t he? Still, it was absurd. What reason could he have to propose marriage to someone who had only ever heaped scorn on him?
She recoiled as she realized one horrible possibility. “I won’t be pitied, Matthew.”
“It’s not pity. I–” he bit back what he had started to say, as if thinking better of it. “Don’t you want your child to be raised at Downton, not across the ocean by strangers but instead be raised here, with their mother?”
Mary swallowed hard. He would think her truly heartless if she said what was in her heart, that she hated this thing that was growing inside of her, this leftover reminder of her terrible choices, of her waking nightmare that she had never truly awoken from. If she could somehow make it all go away, she would, except she couldn’t and now she was left with nothing but terrible choices.
“You deserve to have someone to stand up for you, Mary. I said I'd like to help you, if I could.”
Mary looked away, her eyes stinging. “Nobody asked you to save me from my mistakes. They aren't your problem– they're mine, and I will deal with them.”
“Of course,” Matthew said. He held her hands in his and his hands were warm and his eyes gentle. “Don’t answer me now. Think about it. If you still want to go to America after this, I understand. But you have another option, Mary. If you want it.”
She nodded at him, her throat tight.
He gave her a tremulous smile and offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet. “There you are,” he said once she was steady. “Shall I walk you back?”
Mary shook her head. “I think I'll enjoy the walk. Go, finish your business with Papa. But call on me tomorrow, after church– I'll give you my answer then.”
She did not miss the way his gaze softened. “Very well,” he said. “I'll see you tomorrow.”
They parted ways, he to check in on her father and she to her walk. Mary had meant to come out here to think, and it seemed she had a great deal more to think about.
Could she accept Matthew’s offer? As Granny said, marriage was a long business for their kind of people– she might spend forty or fifty years with him. Traveling to America might only be a few months, and then her life would go back to more or less normal. It would not be pleasant, but Mary knew that she would handle it if she had to.
If she married Matthew, she would not have to give up Downton Abbey. She would one day be the Countess of Grantham, no matter what the entail said. And wasn't that what she had been brought up to want? To marry some man for his fortune and title? How was this any different from her provisional engagement to Patrick?
Her pride rebelled against his marrying her for pity, but was that any worse a reason to marry than for a fortune or a title? Had he belittled her or made her feel small for her indiscretions she would have flat out refused him– she could not deal with forty or fifty years of his scorn. And yet he had tried to understand her when she had confessed all to him, and he had offered her his understanding and a way out. Her own parents' marriage had been built on less.
And then there was this thing that was growing inside her. A baby, though it did not feel like anything, the only proof of its existence in the lack of her monthly and the awful way she was sick in the mornings. The living reminder of all the wrong she had done, a ticking time bomb ready to ruin her. If she did stay, this thing would have her as a mother. Mary did not think she would make a very good one, not if she felt the same way she did now when it was born. Still, she did not doubt that Matthew would make an excellent father– he had that air about him— and the child would have nannies and governesses to take care of it.
She tried to picture the family it would grow up with. Some poor couple in the American west who struggled to have children of their own, and would be properly happy for this child’s existence.
Mary dismissed that as a fantasy, born of her own wishful thinking. Most likely if she went to America, this baby would end up in some poor orphanage alongside other unfortunate children. Unwanted and unloved in all corners. Certainly it would not have the life or opportunities it was guaranteed to have if she remained here. Was she just indulging her own selfishness in giving it up?
Mary did not know and she walked back to the house, her mind clouded with thoughts.
Matthew’s head was also spinning after the day’s revelations. He was not sure how he had got through his meeting with Robert, who– noticing his preoccupation– had sent him back home early.
“We can always pick this up another day, my dear boy,” Robert said with understanding.
“I’m sorry for my distraction, Robert,” Matthew apologized, for he didn’t want to feel as if he was wasting the older man’s time when he had been so generous as to teach him about the estate that was– like it or not– going to be his one day. “I’ve just been thinking about the news Mary shared last night.”
“About going to America?”
Matthew nodded.
“I admit I don’t understand her sudden insistence on it, but Cora seems to think it might be good for her to broaden her horizons.”
Matthew could not reveal to Robert the source of his daughter’s insistence– not only would it be a gross betrayal of Mary’s trust, but he did not think that Robert with his background in the nobility would understand his decision to potentially claim a child that was not of his blood. But nor did he want to lie to the man. “I hope that she may change her mind.”
Robert gave him a startled look, but he did not seem displeased. “Perhaps the two of you can use this as an opportunity to start again.”
Matthew gave him a wry smile. If only he knew. “One never knows what the future holds,” he philosophized. “I’ll stop in tomorrow.”
Robert clapped him on the shoulder jovially and smiled. “I’ll look forward to it.”
Matthew remained distracted for the rest of the day. He ate quickly and retired early, dismissing Molesley more curtly than was perhaps required. Fortunately Mother was out late at one of her charity meetings and had told him not to wait for her, and so he was spared carrying on a conversation at dinner. He wondered what she would think if Mary agreed to his proposal. Probably that he had lost touch with his senses. And would she really be wrong?
He must be mad, to have proposed marriage to a woman who did not love him. Even if he flattered himself that Mary no longer outright hated him, he knew that at best what she felt for him was indifference. If he had been asked six months ago if he would ever propose marriage under these circumstances, he would have considered it laughable. But when that woman was Mary …
He was a hopeless fool. Matthew had been half in love with her since that day she had come to Crawley House and he had so thoroughly made an ass of himself. That day had set the tenor for the rest of their relationship and so, even if he might have hoped otherwise, he knew that he had no chance for her to return his affections. He had tried his best to wrestle down his hopeless feelings. And yet when Mary confirmed his suspicions, that she was in the kind of deep trouble he feared, he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to do everything in his power to help her, and there was a selfish part of himself that wanted her to marry him.
That she had spent a night with Pamuk had shocked him. He had never been so jealous as that night when she had flirted outrageously with the man, and if he were not dead Matthew would be marching directly to the Turkish Embassy to demand the man take responsibility for what he had done to Mary. Perhaps it was uncharitable for him to think that the dead man would not have married Mary in the circumstances– but considering he had seduced her and got her with child, Matthew did not think he was far off the mark.
He could not summon the same outrage for Mary, he found. Yes, she had incontrovertibly spent the night with Pamuk. It was beyond what he thought her capable of, though he had to admit that he really did not know her so well. And yet he had been brought up to believe that as a gentleman he bore the brunt of responsibility for his own actions– if Matthew were (God forbid) to seduce a woman, the responsibility would lay with him. And Mary had already suffered terribly for what amounted to a single mistake. If it was in his power, he did not want her to suffer further.
He sighed and flopped back on his pillow. Mary was correct that it was presumptuous of him to think that she needed him to save her. And yet he wanted, desperately, to shield her from the world’s scorn.
She would probably say no. Matthew braced himself for that inevitability, and resolved that he would take it with as much equanimity as he could muster. Mary was not in love with him, and didn’t want to marry him. That much hadn’t changed from yesterday. She would go to America and have her baby and find some nice family to take them in. Perhaps she might even meet and fall in love with some American millionaire and he would be fine with that.
Thus resolved, he turned to his side and resolutely closed his eyes to sleep. Nonetheless it took Matthew a long time to drift off.
Mary woke early the next morning from nightmares about dead eyes staring accusingly down at her, and immediately felt the urge to vomit. She barely made it to the basin, and then stared accusingly down at the sick. The nightmares and now this, they were all part and parcel of what was left from that awful night.
She rang for Anna, who thankfully immediately whisked the offending thing away. She returned a short time later to help Mary get dressed.
“You’ve been getting sick more often, haven’t you, milady?” Anna asked, while gently lacing up her corset. Mary noticed that Anna did not lace it nearly as tightly as she had before, and for the sake of her still roiling stomach was grateful.
“It’s awful,” Mary complained. “Is this supposed to last the whole time?”
“Only the first few months,” Anna said.
“Oh, wonderful.” Mary rolled her eyes. “So I have a few more months of this to look forward to, do I?”
“Once the sickness is gone, it’s the backaches and not being able to sleep,” Anna chirped impertinently. Mary glared at her, though it was halfhearted at best.
Anna finished with her corset and started in on helping her with her dress. “I've been giving more thought to your offer, milady,” she said. “And I wanted to say that I will go to New York with you, if her Ladyship and Mrs. Hughes allow it.”
Oh, dear Anna. Mary smiled fondly at her. She knew that she hadn't wanted to leave Downton, not with her fondness for Mr. Bates. “I actually may not be going to New York,” Mary confessed, to Anna’s obvious surprise. “I spoke to Matthew yesterday, and somehow the whole thing ended up coming out, and he's proposed.”
Anna stared in shock. “He knows? Everything?”
“Not everything,” Mary said. “But the gist of it, yes.”
“And still he's proposed?”
“It’s very gallant of him,” Mary said evenly. She still wasn't quite sure how she felt about Matthew’s proposal. She hated the idea of him pitying her, and yet she couldn't help but be touched by the hand he offered her out of no obligation but kindness.
“And what do you plan to say, milady?”
“I don't quite know,” Mary said. “For the longest time I didn't like him, and now… it would solve so many things. And he wasn't at all unkind about it, when he could have been.” She fell silent, gazing into the mirror lost in her own thoughts. She met Anna's eye in the mirror. “I don't know, what do you think?”
“I think Mr. Crawley is a good man,” Anna said. “And they aren't like buses– there won't be another along in ten minutes' time.”
Mary smiled gratefully at her and finished getting dressed. She picked her way through breakfast, not sure if her lack of appetite was due to continuing nausea or nerves. Matthew had said he would call on her today, and she would have to give him an answer soon if she wanted this thing inside her to be born respectably in the bounds of marriage.
Mary was so preoccupied she had to stop herself from fidgeting through Mr. Travis’ sermons. She and her family had said their usual hellos to Matthew and Isobel when they had come in, and Mary had locked eyes with him briefly as their shared knowledge passed between them. Now she could feel where he sat not far behind her tickling at the back of her awareness, as bright as the sun.
She had not heard a word of Mr. Travis’ sermon, and if asked to recount it later could not have managed the feat. Mary was a churchgoer more out of habit and social obligation than any real belief on her part, and she thought that if God did exist (a fact she was not entirely assured of), surely he would forgive her preoccupation. She was about to make what could be the single most important decision of her life.
Once the family had returned to the Abbey, Mary took up a place in the library to wait. She had grabbed a novel off the shelves, but had found that she had no appetite for reading. The words all seemed to blur together.
Eventually she tired of waiting and resolved to call on Matthew herself. It would be better if they could talk without risking being overheard. She still didn't know exactly what she was going to answer him, but her mind had been running in circles ever since his impulsive proposal. She needed to talk to him to sort this tangle out.
She saw that he was walking up to the Abbey, obviously of the same opinion. He smiled brightly when he saw her and determinedly headed in her direction.
“Good morning,” he said. “I thought I would see you at the Abbey.”
Mary gave him a slight smile. “I thought we should talk without being overheard. And I was tired of waiting.”
“I’m sorry– mother wanted my help, and it took a bit to get away,” Matthew said apologetically. Mary found that she could not fault him for this– certainly she didn’t want him to tell his mother of their conversation, not before it had been had. “Would you like to take a walk?”
“Lead the way.” They walked in silence for a few minutes, in mutual agreement that they should be away from any main thoroughfares for what should undoubtedly be a very important conversation. Despite not wanting to talk until she was fully assured they would not be overhead, the silence prickled uncomfortably on Mary’s skin.
Perhaps by mutual agreement, or perhaps by providence they found themselves on the path towards the bench overlooking the Abbey where they had talked yesterday and Matthew had offered his proposal. It seemed a good spot, out of the way enough that they would not be overheard.
Mary spoke up first, unable to bear it any longer. “I wanted to thank you for your offer yesterday,” she said.
Matthew smiled at her tightly. “I meant what I said yesterday. You're under no obligation. If you would rather go to New York, I will understand.”
“As I will understand if you wish to rescind your offer,” Mary said. “It was very gallant, but I will understand if it was made impulsively and if you've thought better of it after a night's sleep.”
Matthew turned to hers, his expression fierce. “I don't mean to rescind my offer,” he said. “Only if you don't wish to marry me– we have had our differences.”
Mary laughed. “You mean I was downright horrid to you.”
Matthew grinned at her. “It wasn’t only you. I was a terrible prat when I came here.”
“Only a little,” Mary said teasingly. “You did improve upon further acquaintance.”
“I should hope so,” Matthew said, blue eyes dancing. It had eased some of the nervous tension in her, to laugh with him like this. After a moment Matthew grew serious again. “But I would understand, if it meant that you didn't wish to marry me– the circumstances are hardly ideal, and I would not blame you if you wished for someone more suited to come along.”
Mary laughed humorlessly. “In the circumstances, do you think I'm likely to find someone more suitable?”
The expression in Matthew's blue eyes caught her breath away. “I think you will find plenty of men willing to marry you, even in the circumstances.”
“You're kind,” Mary said. She knew that Matthew was unique among men, for being willing to accept her knowing what she had done. “ If I were to marry you, would you really have no trouble claiming this child as your own?”
Matthew nodded. “I wouldn't.”
Mary looked at him searchingly, needing to be sure. “Even if it is a boy, and becomes the heir to Downton? You wouldn't mind?”
Matthew smiled at her. “I maintain that it's absurd that I should inherit all this just because your father never had a son. Downton should always have been yours, Mary– and if it is a boy and becomes the heir I would consider it only right that he should inherit, as his mother's son.”
Mary’s throat felt tight as she realized that he truly meant it. He would not begrudge this child who was not of his blood to have his birthright and his name. Truly, how was he this good?
“So you truly wouldn’t mind marrying me?” Mary asked. “When we first met, I heard you– you didn’t want one of Lord Grantham’s daughters pushed at you.”
“I was wrong,” Matthew said gently. “When I said that, I didn’t know you. I’m a part of this family now, and I want to do what I can to help. And if I’m going to take a wife, shouldn’t it be one who knows Downton so well?”
For a moment his eyes flickered away from her, and Mary wondered if there was more that he wanted to say. Matthew remained silent, however.
“And what about the late Mr. Pamuk?” she asked. “Wouldn't he resurrect himself every time we argued?”
“No,” Matthew said emphatically.
Mary turned towards him, her heart beating loudly in her breast. “Does that mean you've forgiven me?”
“No, I haven't forgiven you.”
Mary's heart stopped. Of course– she shouldn't have hoped. “Well, then…”
“I haven't forgiven you,” Matthew interrupted. “Because I don't think you need my forgiveness. Mary, you didn’t do this to me , and you’ve already suffered terribly for it. Undeservedly so, for just one mistake. So I would like to do what I can to help– if you’ll have me.”
Mary looked at him, a kind of tremulous hope rising in her breast that perhaps this mad thing could work. That she could stay, and he would not come to resent her or the circumstances of their marriage after he thought better of it. That he was a good and honorable man and even if he married her out of pity and obligation that he did not think lesser of her for her circumstances.
“You must say it properly,” she said, her throat tight and her heart beating faster than she thought possible. “I won't give you an answer unless you kneel down and everything.”
He gave her a wry and amused look, but nonetheless he knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his. His hands were warm. He looked up at her with his blue eyes wide and sincere and said, “Lady Mary Crawley, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Yes,” she said, and Matthew looked as astonished as she felt by her acceptance.
He grinned, and stood again, closer to her and for a wild moment she thought that he might move to kiss her. Then he slowly let go of her hand, leaving Mary wondering for a heady moment what she would have done if he had kissed her. She thought she might have let him.
They walked on, and Mary felt a new ease in it. Now that her course was decided, she felt lighter than she had in weeks.
“We shall have to do it soon,” Mary said. “Or it will all be pointless.”
Matthew nodded solemnly. “When do you think?”
Mary considered. “May, or mama will have a fit. But early May. We’ll tell everyone that we wished to get married before the peak of the Season.”
“That sounds very sensible.”
Mary tilted her head at him. “You’ll learn that I nearly always am.”
“Oh I don't know,” Matthew smirked. “I think there must be a little frivolity buried there. Under the withering looks and scorn.”
“Careful, Matthew, or I'll turn my withering looks and scorn on you.”
“Ah, so we’re to go back to the first six months of our acquaintance shall we? At least I shall be assured nothing's changed.”
“I thought you admitted you deserved that.”
“Now I wouldn't go that far,” Matthew said, but his eyes were dancing. “Are you sure you want to marry a sea monster, Lady Mary?”
“You've swooped in to save a young woman from peril, and you'll get to marry her in the process. I’d say you're far more Perseus in this tale.”
Matthew smiled at her, his blue eyes soft. “I'll check in with your father on our walk today, and then we'll tell the family at dinner tonight, if you can ask your mother to invite us. Then we can get on with planning.”
“With such a hasty engagement, everyone’s going to think we’re madly in love, you know. You'll have to act properly besotted, if we’re to pull this off. Otherwise nobody will believe it.” Mary arched her eyebrow in challenge. “Do you feel equal to the task?”
“I think I'll manage,” Matthew said with an ironic twist to his smile.
Notes:
And they're engaged! Once again thank you to everyone who's read and enjoyed, I really appreciate your kind words!
Chapter 3: The Engagement is Announced
Summary:
Mary and Matthew announce their engagement to their families, to mixed reactions.
Notes:
And a new chapter! Once again the reception to this fic has been so delightful, so thanks again to everyone who has kudos-ed, bookmarked, and commented. Updates will probably get slightly more sporadic from here, just because while I have a lot written most of what's ahead needs heavy edits to be ready for publication.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Robert was delighted when Matthew asked for his blessing for his marriage to Mary, if rather astonished.
“My dear chap, are you serious?” he asked, laughing as Matthew nodded eagerly. “I thought you didn't like each other. Well, I've never been so happy to be wrong.”
Matthew blushed, not ready to explain all that had gone between him and Mary to make this possible. “It was rather a surprise to me.”
Robert could not stop grinning. “I suppose this means Mary won't be going to America after all.”
“No, she won't,” Matthew chuckled. “It was that whole business which brought this about, actually. I was talking to her about her plan and trying to convince her to stay and it all just tumbled out.”
“Well, you have my blessing readily, and my congratulations,” Robert said, and he shook Matthew’s hand eagerly. “I hope it’s not presumptuous that although I've only known you a short time, I have come to think of you as something like a son. To have that formalized brings me great joy, and of course I am happy that Mary has found a good man to treasure her as she deserves.”
Matthew demurred in the face of such praise. “I hope I live up to it.”
Robert clapped him on the shoulder. “I am certain you will.”
“I am hoping you'll keep quiet about it, until tonight,” Matthew said. “We’re hoping to tell everyone together at dinner.”
“Of course,” Robert promised, with a conspiratorial grin. “I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise.”
If Matthew thought that the rest of the family would take his engagement to Mary with the same cheer as Robert, he would have been disabused of that notion by the time he announced at dinner, “I have just today asked Mary to be my wife, and she has happily accepted.”
General pandemonium broke out at the dinner table, as everyone tried to speak at once, with a mix of congratulations and exclamations of surprise. Matthew did not miss the look that his mother shot him, a mix of surprise and disappointment, and his gut twisted at needing to deceive her.
“Carson, bring champagne,” Robert ordered.
“Very well my Lord,” said the butler, who left and returned with two bottles of no doubt an excellent vintage, that were quickly opened and poured for the dining party in crystal champagne flutes.
“Well, I think I speak for everyone when I say this comes as a surprise,” Cora said, once the champagne was poured. “But a very happy one.”
“Hear, hear,” Robert said, smiling beneficently at his daughter and raising his glass. “To Mary and Matthew.”
Everyone dutifully drank from their champagne flutes. Mary, Matthew noticed, only set the glass to her lips but did not swallow. Sybil was beaming at her older sister. “I think it’s very exciting and romantic. How did he propose?”
Mary smiled warmly back at Sybil. “Matthew was attempting to convince me to stay in England– it quite surprised me.”
“As it surprised all of us,” Isobel said, looking at Mary askance. It was clear that she was blindsided by this development and did not approve. Matthew resolved to talk with her when they went home.
“And so you will wear the Countess’ coronet after all,” Edith said, not quite keeping the sour tone out of her voice. “Congratulations.”
Matthew found that he bristled at this characterization of Mary’s choice, although necessarily anyone without possession of all the facts would come to this conclusion.
“Of course we’ll have to hold the wedding here,” Cora said, with a significant look at Mary. “When were you thinking?”
“We were thinking May 3rd,” Mary said firmly. “Neither of us wants to wait, and that will allow us enough time for a honeymoon before the peak of the Season. At least we’ll be back before the Derby.”
“So soon?” Violet commented with an arch look at Mary. “Marry in May, rue the day– or so I have heard.”
“I think there are plenty of happy marriages in May,” Cora said. “And it sounds as if they’ve made up their minds not to wait.”
“I don’t see why you couldn’t wait until after,” Isobel said pointedly. At Matthew’s side he felt Mary stiffen. “There is nothing wrong with a long engagement. Many couples prefer to take time to truly get to know one another before the wedding.”
Matthew’s hand found Mary’s, and squeezed it under the table. She squeezed back. “As Mary said, Mother– neither of us wishes to wait.”
Isobel looked like there was more she wanted to say about that , but that she would leave it be for now.
Conversation at dinner turned to the practical details of planning a wedding in such a short amount of time. Who must absolutely be invited, and who they would like to be invited, and what designer would be best for the wedding gown, and what appointments would have to be made in very short order. It would be a very busy month.
When Cora signaled the ladies to go through, Matthew grabbed Mary’s hand briefly. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he murmured.
She looked at him, her eyes crinkling. “That wasn’t the worst of it,” she said, looking significantly towards the door leading to the drawing room where the ladies were congregating, most likely for an interrogation. “I’m about to face the firing squad.”
Matthew squeezed Mary’s hand. “Best of luck.”
Mary was reluctant to leave Matthew and retire to the drawing room with the rest of the ladies, but there was no other choice but to get it over with. At dinner they were able to present a united front, but separated there would certainly be an interrogation. She envied Matthew– her father was clearly overjoyed by the news, and even if he was confused by the sudden reversal in their regard for each other, he would not do much to gainsay it.
The same could not be said for all of their female relatives. Though at least her mother was excited.
“A wedding at Downton,” Cora said, clapping her hands eagerly in front of her. “There’s so much to do– we must get started right away if we’re to plan a wedding fitting for your father’s heir and his future countess.”
“Four weeks to plan a wedding,” Violet put in, looking at Mary a little too keenly for her tastes. Mary squirmed. “Well, Wellington planned Waterloo in less, and that was a victory for the English.”
“For once I agree with Cousin Violet,” Isobel added. Although she hadn’t been outright rude at dinner, it was still clear that she was caught off guard by her only son’s engagement and was not happy about it. “It seems an enormous undertaking in such a short amount of time.”
“Well, we’ll all just have to pitch in!” Cora said brightly. She was the only one in the room to know the true reason for haste in this engagement, and was clearly determined to make it happen.
“I suppose we’re lucky they’re not just rushing off to Gretna Green,” Violet chuckled. “Since they’re in such a hurry.”
Mary flushed, but said derisively, “You need to live in Scotland for three whole weeks at least to get married at Gretna Green, so it wouldn’t save hardly any time.”
“I didn’t know that,” Sybil piped up. “I thought if you went to Scotland you didn’t have to wait for a wedding.”
“You read too many novels, dear,” Violet said with an arch look at Sybil.
“And that’s not something you should be thinking about,” Cora added sharply.
“We do want to have a proper wedding,” Mary said. “We just want to wait as little as possible.”
Edith, who had been quiet up until now, burst out, “But I thought you didn’t like Matthew! You said you didn’t want to marry him. Don’t pretend you didn’t! You called him a sea monster!”
Mary stared at Edith, startled by her sudden outburst. Ah right, she had been haphazardly attempting to inspire Matthew to courtship hadn’t she? They’d spent the better part of the day of the hunt exploring the county’s old churches, although Mary hadn’t heard of any further overtures from Matthew– and since he had proposed to Mary rather than Edith, the connection could not be all that deep.
Mary raised her chin imperiously. “Well, perhaps I changed my mind.”
Edith scoffed and shot Mary a poisonous look. “You just want to spoil everything for me!”
She might have gone on, had Cora not shot her a warning look and hissed, “Edith! If you cannot be happy for your sister, please don’t say anything at all.”
Edith huffed and sat back on the settee, still glaring at Mary.
“Perhaps Edith didn’t put it the most delicate way,” Isobel, not known for her delicacy either, added. “But I know I’m also curious when your feelings for Matthew changed, and I’m sure everyone else is too.”
All eyes in the room turned towards Mary, eager to hear the answer to Isobel’s question. She felt self conscious and exposed and wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor away from everyone’s prying. Why couldn’t they all leave her to her affairs?
“Well, it’s not as if I hated him,” Mary said, because she had to say something, and it was the first thing that came to mind. And it was true, she hadn’t really ever hated Matthew– she had hated what he represented, the loss of her future and her father’s regard, but the man himself was almost irrelevant. “Matthew and I have come to– an understanding. We had a long talk yesterday, and decided what it is we want.”
“In one conversation?” Violet asked, entertained. “My, how convenient.”
Fortunately, Matthew and Robert soon joined them in the drawing room. Both were still grinning as they entered, and had a faint flush that said that her father had broken out one of the better vintages of port to mark the occasion.
Matthew’s expression gentled when he saw her, and he immediately crossed the room to Mary, every inch the attentive fiance. Mary smiled gently at him, warmth spreading through her when he kissed her gloves fingertips. He sat as close as propriety would allow.
“Thank God you’re here,” Mary murmured, low enough so that she would not be overheard.
Matthew raised his eyebrows. “Was it really so bad?”
“Let’s see– Edith just about accused me of stealing you away, your mother nearly agrees with her, and Granny thinks we’re about to run off and elope.”
“That would be rather foolish,” Matthew said. “Seeing as we’re getting married soon either way. At least your father seems overjoyed about the news.”
“His eldest daughter and his heir, of course he should be,” Mary said. “It means he won’t have to make any hard decisions about the entail, for one thing.”
Mary tried, and did not quite manage, to keep the bitterness from her voice in that statement. In marrying Matthew, she would get what she and her family had all wanted, which was a future at Downton. It only rankled to be getting it this way, and not because it was her inheritance. In the end, however, the outcome would be the same.
Matthew frowned slightly at that. “I think your father would also like you to be happy.”
Mary managed a smile. “I’m content, Matthew– you don’t need to worry about that. And I don’t doubt Papa wants me to have a good marriage, or that he loves me– I’m just realistic that I doubt he ever had any intention of letting me inherit Downton outside of marriage– if it could even be done.”
Matthew could not deny that, although his blue eyes were troubled. “Well, at least we can set that injustice right.”
Mary smiled gratefully at him. This morning he had said that he thought that Downton should always have gone to her, and it was good to see that he meant those words. “Everyone wants to know what plans we’ve made for the wedding. Considering we’ve only been engaged around twelve hours, it seems optimistic that we’d have the details sorted out.”
“We’ll sort it out.”
Across the drawing room, Violet the Dowager Countess of Grantham sidled up to Isobel Crawley. “They seem to be getting on quite well,” she remarked, looking at her granddaughter and Matthew Crawley across the room.
Isobel only sniffed skeptically. “Did you put her up to this? I know you would prefer the estate to remain in the family.”
“I had nothing to do with it,” Violet said. “I encouraged her to consider him months ago, and she would not hear it. No, this was all Mary and Matthew’s own doing. Though I can't say I wish to discourage it.”
Isobel was silent on the drive back to Crawley house, which was a state of affairs Matthew knew could not last. He could see in her face that she was longing to talk to him alone. Once the Dowager’s chauffeur had dropped them off, Matthew followed her without argument into the sitting room. Of all the family, his mother was likely to be their biggest obstacle and Matthew was determined to set her as much at ease as he possibly could.
“Well,” Isobel started, never one to beat around the bush for long. “Your news was quite a shock.”
“I’m sure it was,” Matthew said.
“What I want to know is, have you considered it fully?” Isobel asked keenly. “If Mary is who you truly want, I would endeavor to put my feelings aside– but up until this evening, I would have said with full confidence that she despised you.”
“I never blamed her for that,” Matthew said. “And it was not truly me she despised– I was only a symbol of a future which had been cruelly snatched from her ”
Isobel huffed. “And that fact justifies the cold disdain she treated you with when we arrived?”
“It doesn’t,” Matthew said. “But she has apologized for it.”
“I should hope so!” Isobel lapsed into silence, regarding him carefully. “She is very beautiful…”
Matthew sighed, exasperated. “That’s not what this is about.”
“Because you wouldn’t be the first man to be turned around by a pretty face and a fancy title.”
“It’s more than that,” Matthew argued. “She’s so vibrant and intelligent, Mother– and she’s been treated more harshly than she deserves by circumstance. I’ve never met anyone like her. So when I tell you I am sure I want to marry her, please believe me.”
Isobel’s expression softened at Matthew’s earnestness. “I knew that you were very taken by her, my boy. I’m not blind,” she said. “But can you honestly tell me that Mary feels the same?”
“I am fairly certain she does not,” Matthew said.
Isobel’s mouth flattened in concern. “Six months ago you would have found that intolerable– and don't pretend you would not, when you told me as much yourself.”
“Yes, well, things have changed. And truly I think that Mary and I will be quite compatible.”
“There are other women you might find compatible,” Isobel said stubbornly. “Women who don't just wish to marry you for your future fortune and title.”
Matthew glared at his mother. “That's not fair.”
Isobel set her chin stubbornly, not one to back down once her opinion was set. “Oh, isn't it?”
“No, it isn't,” Matthew said. “I assure you Mother, there are more reasons than just Downton that Mary has decided to accept me.”
“Oh?” Isobel said. “And I don't suppose you’d care to enlighten me to those reasons?”
“No. I wouldn't,” Matthew stated firmly.
Isobel huffed disapprovingly. “Well, you're a grown man Matthew and you can make your own decisions, especially since you've decided not to include me in them. But I must say that I disapprove, quite strenuously.”
Matthew scowled. “Well that’s alright, Mother– since as you say it is my decision,” he said. “But I do hope you'll change your mind when you see that I am happy with the decision.”
Isobel pursed her lips. “I hope for your sake, my boy, that you are right.” Then she stood and swept off to bed.
Matthew let out an explosive sigh and leaned back in the armchair. There was probably no way for that conversation to have gone well, but he couldn't stop thinking that he had cocked it up massively.
At that very moment, Mary was having a similar– though thankfully less contentious– conversation with her own mother. Once Anna had finished dressing her for bed, Cora knocked on her daughter’s bedroom door and came in.
“I just wanted to say congratulations again,” Cora said, closing the door behind her. “My darling daughter.”
Mary turned to her mother with a tremulous smile. It was the first time since that awful night that Cora had looked at her with anything like pride. “I’m sorry that you went to all that trouble to arrange a trip to America for me, when it turned out to be unnecessary.”
Cora smiled warmly. “Don’t worry about that,” she said. “I’ll send your grandmama another letter tomorrow–my first probably hasn’t even reached her yet. Though I don’t know if there will be enough time for her to make the crossing before your wedding.”
“I know,” Mary sighed, hating the necessity for a rushed wedding. She wanted all of the pomp and circumstance afforded to her as a future Countess, and the fact that she had to do it this way frustrated her. But she was under a deadline, one that she could not afford to delay.
“I know it’s not ideal, my dear,” Cora said patiently. “But you did well in convincing Matthew to accept such a short engagement. We mustn’t do anything that will jeopardize that– if he learns of your condition, well I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how bad that would be.”
Mary laughed humorlessly. “That’s not something you need to worry about Mama.”
Cora fixed her daughter with a stern look. “Don’t be flippant, Mary. I’m glad you’re taking this seriously, but if Matthew finds out–”
“I mean you don’t need to worry because he already knows,” Mary said. Cora was shocked into silence, and stared at Mary with her color slowly draining.
“You told him?” Cora asked breathlessly.
Mary nodded, hating the stricken way her mother was looking at her. “It’s why he really proposed, Mama,” she explained. “He was wondering about my plans to go to New York, and I don’t know how it happened but it all ended up coming out and– anyways, he knows, so you don’t need to worry that he’ll throw me over for it.”
Cora’s eyes filled with tears. “Then you have found a truly good and honorable man, my dear,” she said, her voice thick. She took Mary’s hands in hers and squeezed them. “You must never forget this gift he’s given you, after everything you’ve done.”
Mary’s throat went tight, but she would not show her mother how much this hurt. She knew that Matthew was too good for her, damaged goods as she was– the fact that he was kind enough to offer his help to her in her circumstance, it was more than she deserved. Still, she had her pride.
“I know, Mama.”
Cora hugged her. “I do love you,” she said. She pulled back and looked Mary in the face. “My darling girl.”
Mary bid her mother goodnight, and closed the door to her room, and then she turned off the lamp and curled up in her bed and tried her very hardest not to cry.
It did not take long for Cora to be summoned to the Dower House for tea. She was expecting the invitation after the previous evening’s news, and Violet did not disappoint. Once the tea was poured and Violet’s butler had retreated, the Dowager Countess of Grantham started right into it.
“So, Mary is engaged to Matthew Crawley.”
“I know, I was surprised too,” Cora said. “I thought she’d never be sensible.”
“What I want to know,” Violet said, peering at Cora over the rim of her tea cup. “Is why the rushed engagement?”
Cora winced. Trust her mother-in-law to sniff out the one thing she didn’t want her to pay attention to! “I thought you’d be pleased.”
“I am pleased,” Violet said. “If the entail could not be broken, this is the next best thing. But they could have easily waited until August or September to wed.”
“It was their decision,” Cora said. “They didn’t give me much choice in the matter.”
“And yet you didn’t lift a finger to argue with them,” Violet said. “Which, considering you must now plan a wedding fit for an Earl’s daughter and his heir in four weeks, I find shockingly magnanimous.”
Cora raised her eyebrows over her teacup. “Well of course it will be a stressful time,” she said, as smoothly as she was able. “But considering they hardly tolerated each other until two months ago, I think it’s best to secure my daughter’s future before either of them changes their mind.”
Violet fixed her with a baleful stare. “My dear, nobody has ever accused me of being a fool,” she said. “That is a very lovely story for the rest of the world, but you won't deceive me. Is there a reason for an abundance of haste with this wedding?”
Cora said nothing. Her face said it all.
“Oh dear, there is,” Violet said. Cora nodded. “Is she pregnant?”
“Dr. Clarkson thinks so.”
“He should have told me straight away,” Violet muttered. “Well, I expected better of Matthew Crawley, but at least he is marrying her so he is willing to do the honorable thing.”
Cora wondered what Violet would say if she knew her granddaughter had not had an affair with Matthew Crawley. If she knew that she had thrown away her virtue for a night of passion with a Turk who had then immediately died in her room. Cora would be eternally grateful to Matthew for saving her daughter from the myriad awful fates which could have awaited her, but in this instance she didn't mind throwing him to the wolves.
“Well, now that I know what is going on I can help contain any potential scandal,” Violet said. “Shall we have some tea?”
Notes:
A historical note: The London Season was a time for the English gentry to descend upon London and meet one another, do business, make marriage alliances, and see and be seen. Historically it was held between May (with the 'official' start the annual exhibition at the Royal Academy of Art) and the end when Parliament adjourned in August. Mary and Matthew's proposed timeline for their wedding means that they will miss the start of the Season, but will be there for the "peak" of the Season between the Derby and Royal Ascot horse races. We see a little of a post-War London season in S4, with Rose's debut.
Chapter 4: The Courtship of Lady Mary Crawley
Summary:
Over the course of a rushed courtship, Mary and Matthew make decisions about their future life together.
Notes:
I'm back! This chapter and the next took a bit of beating into shape, but I wanted to have them both complete before posting since they go together as a set. So thanks all for your patience!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Before she had a chance to blink, Mary was whisked into wedding planning. A photographer was arranged on short notice at enormous expense to take an engagement photo of Mary and Matthew, which was published in the newspaper the very following day. Invitations were written and sent. The church was notified so that the banns could be read– they would be married by Mr. Travis instead of the archbishop, because he could not be scheduled in time, which Robert grumbled about but accepted. Mary was whisked away to London to decide on her wedding gown and to create her trousseau.
Matthew continued to play the attendant fiance, although Mary felt as though she did not get to see him for any decent length of time until a full week-and-a-half after their engagement. She knew that there was quite a lot that went into planning a wedding, and she did not want their ceremony to be shabby, but they were newly engaged! Surely they were supposed to at least see each other.
Matthew did come to call on her the day after after her return from Painswick House. They met in the library where her father– busy working on the estate books– provided a very distracted chaperone. This suited Mary just fine as she led Matthew to a settee that was in view but out of earshot, so they could have some privacy.
“How was London?” Matthew asked when he took his seat next to her.
“It was nice as always, but very busy,” Mary said. “I knew of course that there is a lot that goes into planning a wedding, but I suppose I didn’t realize the scope of it until I was in the midst.”
Matthew grinned. “It has all been rather hectic.”
“And think, all you have to do is show up at the church in the right suit!” Mary said brightly.
Matthew chuckled at that. “I suppose I do have the easier part in the whole deal,” he said.
“Aunt Rosamund offered to let us use her house after the wedding, before setting off to Paris,” Mary said. “She’ll stay here at Downton, so it will be just us and the servants of course.”
Matthew raised his eyebrows curiously. “Is this Lady Rosamund Painswick?”
“You have done your homework.”
“She wrote to welcome me into the family,” Matthew explained how he had come by the knowledge. It sounded like something Aunt Rosamund would do. “It’s generous to let us use her house, when I have yet to even meet her.”
“Aunt Rosamund has generosity to spare,” Mary said. “Her late husband left her all alone with a fortune and a house on Eton Square. The house is far too big for her alone, so we stay with her nearly any time we’re in London.”
“Did you stay with her this time?” Matthew asked curiously. “I thought your father owned a house in London.”
“Grantham House,” Mary confirmed. “You’ll see it when we go up to London this summer– but it’s too much to open for just a few days, so we stay with Rosamund for shorter visits.”
“And I’m sure she’s glad of the company. How was your aunt?”
“Lovely, as always,” Mary said. “Though she doesn’t approve of me– oh, how did she put it– ‘dawdling my life away as the wife of a country solicitor.’”
She meant it as a joke, but she didn’t miss the way that Matthew winced.
Mary leaned forward, and put her hand on Matthew’s earnestly to reassure him. “That’s just Rosamund. She’d find something to complain about a Duke if she thought it would make good gossip– and she’s not in possession of all the facts.”
Matthew nodded, though he did not seem entirely mollified by her explanation. “Well, at least she’s not as bad as Mother,” he said wryly. “She hasn’t exactly been shy in letting her disapproval known, I’m afraid.”
He said it lightly, but she could see in his troubled blue eyes that it bothered him. She squeezed his hand and caught his eye. “I’m sorry I’ve put you on the outs with your mother.”
“Don’t be,” he said, with a reassuring smile at her. Once again Mary was struck by just how handsome he was. She truly was lucky in that respect. “Mother is just worried– and is also not in possession of all the facts. It may take her some time to adjust, but I’m sure she will eventually get used to it.”
Mary still felt guilt roil in her belly. Matthew deserved to have his mother happy for him on his wedding day, and she couldn’t help but feel like she was taking that joy from him. In the normal course of things, he would have been able to marry some nice, sweet girl who he and his mother both loved unreservedly.
“I didn’t just come here to chat about our families,” Matthew said, brushing that all aside for now. Mary was more than happy to let the topic drop.
Mary raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I realized there was an oversight I very much needed to correct,” Matthew said, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet ring box.
Mary took it delicately and opened the box to look at the ring inside. It was a lovely gold ring with three diamonds across its intricate navette shaped setting, the center stone the largest of the three. It was beautiful– with its delicate setting and band made of worked gold in curling patterns, but still fashion forward with the unique shape. Mary looked up into Matthew’s eyes to see him watching her reaction anxiously.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” Mary said.
“Because if you don’t like it, I can choose another– but this one, it's bold and beautiful and will look lovely with any gown you care to choose.”
“I love it,” Mary said firmly. She smiled at him, her chest feeling tight. She pulled her glove from her hand. “Will you put it on me?”
Matthew nodded. He plucked the lovely ring from the box and took her hand. Mary felt flushed at the delicate way he held her hand, as he carefully slid the ring up her finger. His hands were warm, a contrast to the cold metal of the ring. He held her hand for a moment after, her fingers curled in his, and with the ring– so elegant on her hand, already warming to her skin– it looked very right.
For a moment neither of them could find words to speak.
Mary pulled her hand away, realizing that the moment was quite intimate. She turned away to briefly compose herself.
Matthew cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you would like to come out with me on Saturday? If your parents are alright with it. We ought to have a little courtship, rushed as it might be.”
Mary grinned. “I should like that, I think, yes. Shall we put your famed riding skills to the test?”
His smile at that was truly brilliant.
As promised, Matthew arrived on Saturday to demonstrate his riding skills– which Mary was pleased to confirm were up to snuff enough that he could mostly keep up with her. It was a perfect day for riding, the air crisp and green with spring and the sheep out with their lambs mirroring the fluffy white clouds gambolling overhead.
“Well, it seems you weren’t exaggerating your riding skills after all,” Mary commented when they slowed for a bit. “Perhaps next time you should come out hunting with us.”
“I think I’d prefer to give the fox a chance.”
Mary grinned. “Surely it’s more exciting than more church visiting with Edith.”
“I like old churches,” Matthew protested. “The architecture, the weight of history in those places, the symbolism in everything from the furnishings to the stonework–”
“Very well,” Mary said, taking pity on him. “Only next time, take better company.”
“Edith isn’t as terrible as you paint her,” Matthew protested.
“Maybe to you,” Mary countered. “We’ve fought since we were in pinafores, and I’m sure you don’t even want to know some of the horrid things we’ve done to each other.”
“I’m sure I can imagine,” Matthew said mildly.
“She was terribly put out that I’d snatched you away, you know– apparently the church visits were a part of a grand plan to inspire you to courtship.”
Matthew grinned wryly. “I doubt it would have come to anything, I’m sorry to say.”
Mary couldn’t help her satisfied grin at that. “Well, not unless she found herself in trouble and you could swoop in to save her.”
Matthew flushed a little awkwardly at that, and didn’t say anything. They rode on for a few more paces before Mary picked up the conversation again, saying, “Well if you like old churches that much, perhaps we can visit some on our honeymoon.”
“That is one of the things I’ve been meaning to ask you about,” Matthew said. “Where would you like to go?”
“I’ve always been partial to the French Riviera– although if you have better ideas, I’m all ears.”
“No, I’m sure they have plenty of churches in the south of France.” Matthew fixed her with an impudent grin.
“I do hope our honeymoon is not going to consist entirely of dusty architecture.”
“I’m sure we’ll think of plenty more to do.” The way he said it, with the gaze of his blue eyes steady on her, prickled hot across her skin and made her blush. Especially when she considered the purpose of a honeymoon. Mary found her words stuck in her mouth.
Matthew cleared his throat, face flushed. They rode on in silence for a few minutes more, neither of them speaking.
Mary rolled the thought over in her head. Accepting Matthew’s proposal meant that they would be husband and wife , with all that implied. What would it be like, to do that with him? The only knowledge and experience she had came from her night with Pamuk, and that memory was tarnished by the awful way that night had ended and by her fear at finding him in her bedroom uninvited.
Still, her night with Pamuk hadn’t been all bad. It had even been pleasant in parts, once she got used to the strange feeling of him inside her. She had enjoyed his practiced caresses that spoke to a great deal of experience with the act, and she had liked the hungry way he kissed her.
How would it be with Matthew? Mary doubted that he was as practiced, but the mechanics of everything hadn’t seemed particularly complicated. From everything she had heard from her married friends, things got easier the more one practiced. And Mary thought that Matthew would be gentle and kind with her. After all, that was exactly how he’d treated her thus far– why should their marital bed be any different?
Mary found herself sneaking glances at her husband-to-be as they rode. He really was quite handsome. Not in that darkly alluring way Pamuk had been, that had turned the heads of every lady on the estate. Matthew had more practical good looks, not as immediately striking but he cut a good figure in his riding suit, especially with those startlingly blue eyes of his.
Perhaps, Mary thought, married life wouldn’t be so terrible after all.
Mary was brought out of her thoughts by Matthew saying something, that she couldn’t quite hear. She pulled on Diamond’s reins to slow him. “What was that?”
Matthew rode his horse– on loan from the Downton stables, a bay mare named Duchess which had originally been a present for Edith, though she rarely rode– alongside her. “I was wondering if you’d given any thought to where we might live, after we’re married.”
Mary looked startled at Matthew. She hadn’t even considered it a question up for discussion. “I thought Papa offered to let us stay at Downton.”
From the way Matthew's mouth turned down at the corners, it was clear that he didn't agree. “And that's what you want?”
“It’s my home, Matthew,” Mary said. “It will be your home too, one day, you know.”
Matthew’s frown deepened. “I don't know that I'll ever be able to think of so large a place as Downton as a home.”
“All the more reason for us to live there,” Mary said reasonably. “So you can get used to it. Because like it or not Downton will be yours one day.”
Matthew let out a heavy sigh. “I know,” he said. “And you do have a point. If Downton is truly where you want to live, I won’t argue. I know you agreed to my proposal so your baby could be raised here. But I hope you’ll listen to what I have in mind.”
Mary raised her eyebrows, curious what he would say. “Go on?”
“I’d like us to have a house of our own,” Matthew said. “It will necessarily be smaller than Downton, probably quite a lot smaller on a lawyer’s salary, with fewer servants than you are used to.”
Mary fixed Matthew with a sardonic look. “So far you’re doing an excellent job of convincing me, I must say.”
“I wasn’t finished,” Matthew said reprovingly. “I want us to get to know each other. To learn about who we both are without everybody being there. I’m sure your father owns a number of suitable houses in the area– we can ask if one’s available. And we’d have a place for just us, where we don’t have to answer to anyone but ourselves. I would go to work, and you could spend your days doing anything you like.”
The way he spoke, with such gentle passion for this simple cottage life that he was painting, was infectious. But even as she tried to picture it, her imagination failed. It was so far removed from everything that she had known, and her life had already been through so many upheavals in the past few weeks. “It’s a lovely picture,” she said wistfully.
“But you don’t agree,” Matthew said, with a twinge of disappointment.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Mary said, as gently as she could manage. “So much has changed for me already, I’m afraid I’m not ready for… anything more.”
Matthew nodded, and though Mary could still see the dissatisfaction in his eyes he nonetheless smiled at her. “I understand,” he said gently. “Then we’ll live at Downton for the foreseeable future. At least mother will be happy to have us close by."
Mary smiled back, pleased that even though it wasn’t his ideal arrangement that Matthew was willing to live at Downton with her. “It’s quite a big house, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of space for ourselves.”
Matthew grinned wryly. “I suppose that’s true enough.”
“We’re likely to have our own wing,” Mary said encouragingly. “Though don’t worry– I’ll work with Mama to get our rooms set up at least so we’ll have somewhere to sleep after the honeymoon. In between all of the rest of wedding planning.”
Matthew’s eyebrows went up to his hat at that. “Rooms, plural?”
Mary hadn’t expected to run into this very middle class assumption. She rolled her eyes. “Of course. People in families like ours always keep separate bedrooms.”
“Your mother and father don’t.”
“Papa keeps the bed made up in his dressing room, just in case,” Mary countered. “Anyways, they’re the exception to the rule. It helps to reduce friction for a couple, to each have their own space.”
“Of course, what was I thinking?” Matthew bit out sarcastically. “We wouldn’t want any touching, now would we?”
“Stop being hyperbolic,” Mary admonished. “It’s perfectly normal to keep separate bedrooms.”
Matthew sighed again. “There’s quite a lot I’ll have to get used to, I can already tell.”
“You’ll get the hang of it in no time flat,” Mary reassured him. “All it takes is a little practice. And you’ll have me to help you.”
Matthew chuckled. “It seems I am in expert hands.”
“So you'll live at the big house, once you're back from honeymoon,” Molesley said as he brushed off Matthew's shoes to prepare him for dinner at Downton that evening. Matthew adjusted his waistcoat. It would be the first time the family was all dining together since they’d announced the engagement.
“Mary will be more comfortable there,” Matthew said.
He understood Mary’s desire to continue to live at Downton, and he was determined to make the best of it. Mary was right, he would have to get used to it at some point. He had not been born and bred to this life of servants and finery and dining in splendor every night. If he was he would have found it all that much easier.
In some ways he was grateful for it. Even with Mary’s settlement and the stipend Robert had given him as heir, there was no way on his lawyer’s salary that Matthew could keep his wife in anything like the comfort she was used to. By staying at Downton, it would cut down on their expenses considerably.
It nonetheless chafed his pride to have to live off his father-in-law's largesse. He would have to find some way to contribute to the household, or he would not be able to look himself in the eyes.
“And will you be starting the search for a new butler for Mrs. Crawley soon?” Molesley asked.
Matthew winced. Oh god, he hadn’t even considered. “I thought that you would be staying on as butler here.”
Molesley turned in astonishment. “You won't be taking me with you, sir? Only I thought you'd need a proper valet, once you're married.”
How was he supposed to say that while he had come to accept Molesley, he still thought of the position as something archaic and ultimately frivolous? Matthew didn't want to deprive the man of his livelihood, but if he stayed here as mother's butler he would still have work.
“I've always thought of you more as a butler who helps out as a valet, rather than the other way around.”
“Well I'd be happy to be a proper valet, especially at the big house,” Molesley said eagerly.
“To be honest, Molesley,” Matthew said delicately, not wanting to upset the man’s pride in his position. “I’m not certain I need a ‘proper valet’. And mother absolutely relies on you.”
Molesley gaped. “No valet? You’d never– not living at the big house!”
Well, Matthew had certainly stepped in it. “I don’t see why I need someone to help me dress and undress– not when I’ve been doing it perfectly fine my whole life. I don’t want to push you out of your livelihood, but if you stay on as mother’s butler that won’t be an issue.”
It came out as more of a whine than he would have liked.
“There’s a lot more to being a valet than just dressing and undressing, sir,” Molesley protested. “There’s looking after your clothes and your shoes and all the rest of your things, and arranging your travel. And there’ll be quite a bit more of all of it at the big house, sir– surely you’ll want someone to do all that, rather than spend your time on it.”
Matthew paused and considered that. Up until he’d moved here, he had done all of that himself. But Molesley was right, there would be a good deal more entertaining living in the big house. At the moment he was only privy to a fraction of it, and he’d already used his tails more than he ever had in Manchester.
“I suppose if I don’t have a valet they’ll make some poor chap take that on,” Matthew reflected.
“Most likely, sir,” Molesley agreed. “Mr. Carson likes to keep things ship-shape up there, and he won’t stand for you dealing with your own things.”
Matthew took a deep breath, and reminded himself that he wanted Mary to be as comfortable as possible. “I promise I’ll think about it, Molesley. And if I do decide to take a valet with me, you’ll be my first choice.”
Molesley beamed with pride at that. “Thank you sir, thank you– I’ve always wanted to work at the big house.”
Matthew didn’t have the heart to remind him that he hadn’t yet decided anything.
At dinner that evening, Mary seemed to agree with Molesley’s assessment - at least of what the rest of the household would think of his having no valet. “If you want to try it, I’ll stand back and watch the show while Granny tears you apart,” she said, her dark eyes dancing with amusement.
She was resplendent tonight in a white silk gown covered over with sheer black lace that made the grown look gray with deeper black floral details where the lace was thicker. Mary had paired this with her jet parure.
“You would throw me to the wolves, just like that?”
“I know how to pick my battles,” Mary countered. “And countermanding Granny isn’t a battle anyone wins.”
Matthew gave her a chagrined look, but could not help but smile at her. “Mother seems to come out alright.”
Mary tipped her head to acknowledge the point. “Your mother is a force of nature. I don’t think we should all be held to her standard. I think Granny may have met her match.”
This Matthew had to concede. “How has it been here, with all the wedding planning?”
“I'm doubly glad for our short engagement,” Mary said. “If Mama second guesses me one more time about the flowers, or the menu, or anything else I'm afraid I might scream.”
“If you need an escape, you only need to ask,” Matthew offered.
Mary smiled gratefully. “At least Anna has agreed to be my Lady’s Maid, so that's one less thing to worry about.”
“Was it in doubt?”
“Not exactly,” Mary said. “But I'm glad to have it settled in any case. Although her duties won't change much– she'll still dress Sybil and Edith, at least until a replacement can be found. With Gwen trying to leave service and be a secretary, there's no point in training her, and there's no one else half as experienced.”
“Will Anna mind?”
Mary shook her head. “It's a promotion for her, and she won't have a regular maid’s duties on top of being a ladies maid. She seemed happy about it when I asked her, at least.”
“I'm glad,” Matthew said. “I know you two are close.”
“You have no idea.” Mary grinned enigmatically.
“I'm very glad you've decided to take me up on the offer to live at Downton,” Robert said to Mary on a morning walk. They did not often walk out together, he frequently busy with estate matters and she tied up with social obligations. But Mary enjoyed these sojourns out onto the estate with only her father and Isis for company and had since she was young.
“Matthew argued we should have our own house, somewhere on the estate, but I told him I'd rather remain here.”
“I can't blame him for that,” Robert said philosophically. “He's a young man, on the cusp of marriage. No doubt he's eager to start his own household. And I don't mean to intrude on your married life– but I’ll be happy to have Matthew close at hand. There's still so much he should learn about the estate, and he’s starting on the back foot.”
He’d be happy to have Matthew close to hand, but not his own daughter. Mary clamped down on the disappointment she felt at that. Functionally, by marrying Matthew she became her father’s heiress and so it was all a moot point anyways.
It still stung fiercely.
Robert turned back to Mary with a keen look in his eyes. “You are happy though?”
Mary nodded quickly and managed a smile that would not arouse her father’s suspicion. “Yes, very happy.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. If she had been asked even a month ago what she wanted for her future, this is not what she would have picked. She wasn’t even altogether sure she would have had an answer a month ago, other than to find a gentleman with fortune and title to marry. In its particulars, her fate had not changed much. And, for all his faults when he had first come to Downton, she liked Matthew. He had been so perfectly attentive over the past few weeks, and she’d learned that he had a sly and biting sense of humor that made him an interesting conversation partner.
Robert smiled back at his eldest daughter. “I'm glad. I know we pushed you to consider Matthew when he first came to Downton, but I hope you wouldn’t marry him just because we want you to.”
Mary smiled fondly at her father. “You know my character, Father. I'd never marry any man that I was told to.”
Robert chuckled. “That I do. And you know you don't have to have a short engagement, if you'd prefer otherwise. I’m sure Isobel would prefer it that way– it would give her time to get used to the idea.”
Once again, Mary smiled fondly at her father. He could be so obtuse and uninterested in their lives one moment, and then suddenly turn on a whim and the only thing he cared about was their happiness. And of course he had no idea that anything but a short engagement was not an option, and that was how she would prefer to keep it.
“The invitations have been sent, so I'm afraid there’s no changing the wedding date at this point,” Mary said lightly. “And don't worry about Isobel– Matthew is talking her around.”
Matthew was at that very moment falling to talk Isobel around.
“I’ve received a letter from your Aunt Louisa,” Isobel said at the breakfast table as she spread jam onto her scone. “She says she and your uncle Harold and the children will be attending the wedding, but that she's disappointed she won’t have the chance to meet your bride before the wedding.”
Matthew looked over the top of his newspaper. “I’ll send my apologies– and she'll have plenty of time to get to know Mary after the wedding.”
“You could still postpone, you know,” Isobel put in, a little too pointedly. “I know the invitations have been sent, but weddings are delayed all the time. For all sorts of reasons.”
Matthew flicked his newspaper down with a crack of paper. “Mother, we’ve been over this– the answer is no. We’re not postponing the wedding. So you may as well stop asking.”
“Was it Mary’s idea?” Isobel asked bluntly. If they had been in company it would have been beyond the pale. “Did she worry you might change your mind?”
“It was both of our idea,” Matthew said, which was true enough. They both had agreed to the necessity of a hasty engagement.
“I am trying to understand your insistence on this, Matthew, I really am. I can’t pretend to be doing a very good job.”
Matthew sighed guiltily. He had always had an honest and open relationship with his mother, where they could discuss anything in their lives. And he knew that he had hurt her by not being willing to open up about his reasons for proposing to Mary. But there was no way to tell her, even if she would agree with his true motives which he was not entirely sure of.
“I know this hasn’t been easy for you to accept,” Matthew said, setting his newspaper down on the table so that he could look Isobel in the eye, and to buy time to think of what he could say that both was not a lie but was not the entire truth either. “Neither Mary nor I are the type of people to make a decision like this lightly. Once we had decided what we wanted, neither of us was willing to wait. But I’m sorry it’s been hard on you, mother.”
Isobel pursed her lips, still not fully convinced. “Thank you for saying it, Matthew.”
“I would like to have my mother happy for me on my wedding day.”
Isobel softened. “I am happy for you,” she said, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Every mother dreams of the day her child will get married. It doesn’t look quite like I imagined– but I suppose that’s true for all of us. No baby grows up quite how we imagine them.”
Matthew reached out and squeezed his mother’s hand over the table. “Thank you, mother.”
“I do still worry you might be making a mistake,” Isobel said. “And I am certain you are being too hasty. There is no getting out of marriage once you are in it. But I am beginning to despair of changing your mind.”
“You’re not going to change my mind,” Matthew said confidently.
Isobel sighed. “You’re as stubborn as your father, you know.”
Matthew grinned. “No– I’m as stubborn as my mother.”
Isobel laughed at that, and although things were not yet made right between them it was a step in the right direction.
“Now– about Molesley,” Matthew changed the subject. “Are you absolutely certain you don’t need a butler?”
“Absolutely,” Isobel said with finality. “I’m perfectly content with a cook and a maid. You’re the one who’s made the decision to live at Downton–so don’t try and fob your valet off on me.”
“So Lady Mary is to join the ranks of matrimony at last,” Lady Charlotte Hamilton said over tea in a London drawing room. “I never thought I'd see it happen.”
Mary had come up to London for a final fitting of her wedding gown by the designer and to complete her trousseau, and she had taken the opportunity to visit with her friends while she was in town.
Lady Charlotte was one of her oldest friends, as they had come out together and they were both daughters of Earls. She was pretty, with silky brown hair, blue eyes and an angular face. With their similar features, people had sometimes mistaken Charlotte and Mary for sisters.
“I haven't seen a wedding date in the papers yet, Charlotte,” Mary said wryly. “Unless I’ve missed it.”
“I’m engaged,” Charlotte said loftily. “Longer than you, I might add– it’s not my fault Philip doesn't want to set a date.”
Charlotte’s fiance– Phillip Wentworth– was the oldest son of Viscount Allerton and his heir apparent. Like Mary’s understanding with Patrick, it had been understood that they would marry one day. He had proposed to Charlotte last summer, but as Philip was in no hurry to marry and preferred gallivanting about in Rome and Florence, Mary privately wondered if it would ever happen.
“He’ll have to set the date soon,” said Lady Graham, whose drawing room they had all congregated in. “Don’t worry, you’ll see.”
Lady Graham, who had up until three months ago been the Honorable Miss Cicely Barnett, was the reason they had all remained friends over the years. She was one of those rare people who genuinely liked nearly everyone she met, and she had met the cold Lady Mary and the snobbish Lady Charlotte in their first year as debutantes and had forged friends out of them. Her plain look was more than balanced by a wide and genuine smile.
She had married a Baronet in January, who preferred to spend most of his time in London, and she had been the one to arrange this tea once she had received word of Mary’s engagement.
“Still, this Matthew Crawley must be something, to catch Lady Mary’s eye,” said Miss Audrey Bernard. “Weren’t you being courted by the Duke of Crowborough last year?”
“Considering he never offered, he can hardly be said to have been courting me,” Mary said coolly. She had been bitterly disappointed when the Duke had left Downton without offering a proposal, but she had long since gotten past it– and considering she had learned that he was only hunting for an heiress to bolster his gambling habits, she wondered if she had not dodged a bullet.
Audrey Bernard and Theodora Young were the only untitled ladies among the group. Audrey, with her auburn curls piled atop her head, was an inveterate social climber who had enough wit and grace to have earned entrance to their higher social circled. Theodora was a follower, often swayed by the whims of the group, but she was the only one among them who was an heiress in her own right– she had no brothers to inherit the profits of her father's steel manufacturing business, and she was considered quite a beauty with her honey-blonde hair.
“But what is he like?” Cicely asked. “As none of us have ever met him, it only seems fair to ask.”
“He’s a solicitor, isn’t he?” Charlotte asked. “From Manchester?”
“You’ll have your chance to meet him at the wedding,” Mary remarked. “When Matthew first came to Downton, I thought he was hopelessly middle class. And he is , don’t misunderstand me. But he’s also just a genuinely kind and decent man, and he’s quite clever.”
“Is he handsome?” Theodora asked eagerly.
“He is,” Mary admitted, thinking of all the times since their engagement that she had been struck by Matthew’s looks and been distracted by his eyes or his hands or the set of his jaw. “He has very fine eyes.”
“And he’s set to inherit your father’s entire estate,” Charlotte said dryly. “Which I’m certain doesn’t hurt his prospects.”
“It really isn’t fair, to snatch him up before the rest of us have laid eyes on him,” Audrey put in.
“Perhaps that’s why Mary snatched him up so quickly,” Charlotte said quickly. “She didn’t want to run the risk Mr. Crawley would be dazzled by some debutante.”
Mary rolled her eyes, remembering Matthew’s comment about a ‘reception committee’ when he had first come to Downton. “He really isn’t overawed by that sort of thing.”
“Well he certainly took to Mary quickly enough,” Charlotte pointed out. “However did you get him to agree to only a month-long engagement?”
Mary was certain her friends would faint straightaway if she told them the real reason. She sipped her tea coyly. “It only took a little persuasion.”
“You mean it wasn’t because your parents found you kissing in the gardens?” Theodora blurted out. She flushed when all eyes turned to her. “Laura Dunsany was certain that was the reason.”
“Of course not,” Mary said defensively. “Matthew has been a perfect gentleman.”
“You shouldn't listen to Laura,” Cicely said aside to Theodora. “She’s just put out that Mary’s to have more guests at her wedding, even though she's marrying a Marquess.”
“Lady Laura shouldn’t have held her wedding in Ireland then, should she?” Charlotte added. “It makes it very difficult on the guests to attend. Yorkshire is already bad enough.”
“I don't think she had much choice,” Cicely said dryly. “As she's marrying an Irish Lord.”
“Anyways, kissing is hardly so scandalous these days,” Audrey added with a knowing grin. “They would have to have done something far more compromising.”
Mary flushed hot at the implication. And of course Matthew would never do such a thing. “I’m not aware of any definition of ‘perfect gentleman’ that includes seduction in a garden,” she said tartly.
“So you haven’t kissed him, then?” Audrey asked. “Since he's been such a perfect gentleman .”
Mary glared at her disbelieving tone. “I don't see how that's significant.”
“Cicely, you'll know,” Audrey said. “As the only married woman amongst us, how significant is kissing in a marriage?”
Cicely set down her tea cup on its saucer. “I'd say it's fairly essential.”
“There you have it,” Audrey put in. “Kissing is essential.”
“And just who have you been kissing?” Mary parried.
“A lady doesn't tell,” Audrey said coolly.
“Which means she has both Lord Ashbrook’s heir and Sir Allan on a hook and is deciding between them,” Charlotte said primly.
The conversation moved onto gossip about Audrey’s two potential suitors, but Mary heard almost none of it. Because she hadn’t yet kissed Matthew. He hadn’t even asked, even though he had a perfect right to. In all of the haste of their engagement, they’d had no time to find a darkened spot in a garden, or a hidden nook in a conservatory, or any other secluded space where a kiss might be stolen.
Had he not asked, because he didn’t want to kiss her? Or was he under the assumption that she didn’t want to kiss him? Because she wouldn’t mind it, Mary thought, if he wanted to.
And if, as Cicely said, kissing was essential to marriage– shouldn't she know beforehand? She could not imagine that he would be bad at it, but she had thought that before of men and been proven wrong. Shouldn't she find out before they went to the altar together?
It was still on her mind all the way back from London.
Notes:
Thank you everyone for reading and I hope you enjoyed! I don't think Mary has a canon engagement ring (if she does, I can't find a good picture of it), so the one described here is based on this ring. Mary's black-and-white lace dress is based on this one from the Victoria & Albert museum-- although this would be an earlier silhouette.
Also, introducing some OCs in the form of Mary's circle of friends. I hope you like them, as I'm rather fond of these gossipy bitches.
Chapter 5: The Eve of the Wedding
Summary:
Mary and Matthew have an eventful few weeks leading up to their wedding.
Notes:
Thank you all once again for your comments, and I'm glad so many of you liked Mary's friend group! This chapter we introduce another OC in the form of Mathew's best man. This is also kind of a longer chapter, so thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mary was still thinking about why it was Matthew had not yet asked to kiss her. She had, in fact, not been able to get the thought of kissing her fiance out of her head.
She could only come to the conclusion that he was holding back because he thought she might be uncomfortable with a kiss. Unless she had misjudged Matthew completely, he was interested in women– interested in her, even, if his flirting on the night of the hunt was anything to judge by. Which meant that he must be holding back for her sake.
Mary would have to correct him on that count. Because she very much would like to kiss him. And tonight’s dinner party, with the notables of the county invited, seemed just the ticket.
Matthew had already met most of the neighbors invited tonight as Robert’s heir, of course. But, Cora insisted, the purpose of tonight’s dinner was to reintroduce Matthew as Mary’s fiance. The real purpose, Mary surmised, was to allow all the older ladies of the neighborhood to exclaim at length over their engagement.
When Matthew arrived in his white tie ensemble, Mary was suddenly all too aware of her own plans. Which turn made her feel ridiculous– she wasn’t some blushing debutante who had never been kissed! Mary had arranged to find herself alone with men before without half so much nervousness. It was a romantic liaison gone out of control that had landed her here in the first place.
And yet she couldn’t help but sneak a glance at Matthew like some silly girl in ribbons hoping for a sight of her first crush.
Thoroughly disgusted with her own foolishness, Mary determined to greet Matthew normally. That should be something she was capable of.
She did a creditable job, Mary thought, of greeting Matthew without betraying the way her heart raced when he kissed her fingertips. “Shall I show you into the drawing room?”
“I think by now I know the way,” Matthew said lightly.
“Yes, but mother will expect it– we’re introducing you to the county as my fiance. Here is your chance, to convince the county that ours is a runaway love match.” Mary took Matthew’s arm and led him in the direction of the drawing room– but without much urgency.
Matthew grinned back at her. “And what is it you suggest I do to convince them?”
“Oh, I think it should suffice to spend the evening dancing attendance on your lovely fiancee,” Mary said, a grin of her own playing on her lips. “A few sparkling compliments would not go terribly amiss, either.”
“I don’t quite see how that's different from what I've been doing so far,” Matthew said. “Unless I've been deficient in my duties as a fiance.”
“Not deficient, no. Though I'm afraid you are not destined for a future on the stage, Mr. Crawley.”
“I’m afraid not,” Matthew admitted with good humor. “Though may I say you do look very beautiful tonight.”
He said it low and quiet, his eyes never leaving hers, and Mary felt her breath catch. She had worn a sage green gown, covered with sheer black organza that muted the color down to something more mature. It was embellished with sunburst embroidery in golden thread that caught the lamplight.
Mary felt her breath catch for a second as he looked her over with obvious appreciation. She had worn a gown of sage green crepe de chine and black organza, the black embroidered with sunbursts in golden thread that each caught the light. Mary knew she looked a vision in it, but Matthew’s gaze sent a frisson of electricity through her body.
“Well, perhaps the stage isn’t so unlikely after all,” Mary managed.
“Do you know, I believe this is the same gown you wore on the night we first met,” Matthew remarked.
Mary raised her eyebrows. “When you made that awful remark about a reception committee?”
“You try walking into a dinner you’re utterly unprepared for, where you have reason to believe at least one person utterly despises you–” with this he gave a significant look at Mary. “Only to find a dozen people staring at you, and not saying something inane.”
“That’s what all the governesses are for,” Mary murmured with a grin. “To drill into us never to walk into a dinner party without a remark prepared. Even when our host utterly despises us.”
“Well in your case I’ll say it certainly paid off– you don’t lack for poise.”
“I must say, you’re doing splendidly with the compliments so far.”
Matthew lit up in a grin.
“Matthew, there you are,” Cora said, coming up to both of them. Mary couldn’t help but be a bit annoyed at the interruption– she had been enjoying the conversation. “Come say hello to Mrs. Russell– she’s been wanting to meet you.”
Matthew shot a look back at Mary as he was dragged away– half apology for leaving her, half resignation at having to greet half the county.
Mary sighed, her irritation ebbing, and shot Matthew a resigned and amused look of her own– she knew better than anyone that there was no stopping her mother when she was on the warpath.
There was nothing to do but turn to conversation with the rest of the dining party. She turned to the nearest person to hand.
“How are you tonight, Lady Darnley?”
“Very well, and it’s such a pleasure to dine at Downton, as always,” Lady Darnley said. “Though it all seems a bit excessive, as we’ll be back for your wedding in only a few short weeks.”
Mary had to stop herself from snapping that Lady Darnley needn’t have accepted the invitation. “I’m afraid Matthew and I left mama very little time to show him around the neighborhood. We just didn’t see the point of a long engagement, when we knew what we wanted.”
Mary very deliberately shot a fond look in Matthew’s direction. He was deep in conversation with Billy Russell and his mother, but grinned when she met his eye.
“Well, you’re both young,” Lady Darnley said indulgently. “Young people are always in a rush these days– why, Tim is so eager to go see the world, but I’ve told him that we need him around to help run Mallerton Hall. Lord Grantham must be grateful to have his heir so close to hand…”
The evening continued in that vein, with the conversation and general curiosity around Mary and Matthew, as they went into supper.
Mary was seated next to her godfather, Lord Merton, on one side and Matthew on the other. With this large a dinner party, conversation was not general and confined to one’s neighbors to the left and right. This was led by Cora, at the head of the table, who began in conversation with the neighbor to her left. The rest of the dining party was then obligated to converse with the appropriate neighbor, and only turn when their hostess did so.
Dickie Merton was always good for an interesting conversation, and never treated her as if she was stupid or silly for not knowing something. And on any other occasion, Mary would have been glad to have her godfather as her conversation partner. He was certainly preferable to either of his sons, whom poor Sybil was stuck between at the far end of the table.
But she was all too aware of Matthew on her other side. It was as if she had put the sun at her back, but could still feel its presence from the radiant heat alone. As if ever since she’d had the revelation that she wanted to kiss him– that she was going to kiss him– a secret beacon had been ignited in him known only to her awareness.
“I’m sorry, I was distracted,” Mary said for the third time that night, when she realized Dickie was speaking to her and she hadn’t heard a word of what he said. “Remind me what you said?”
Dickie smiled, his eyes creasing with amusement. “Only that the sauce for this lamb is superb,” he said. “And I shall have to pass my compliments to your cook.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Patmore will be delighted to hear it.”
“Are you sure you’re quite alright, my dear?”
“I apologize, Dickie,” Mary sighed, feeling churlish. “I’m terribly distracted tonight, I’m afraid.”
“I see,” Dickie said with an amused grin and a laugh in his twinkling eyes. “Eager to talk with your charming fiance, I see– who I’m sure is far more interesting company than your old godfather.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” Mary said, flushing with embarrassment. “I’m always happy to talk with you, of course.”
“No apology is needed, my dear,” Dickie said. “It’s good to see love blossoming– and of course I wish all the happiness to you and your beau.”
“Thank you,” Mary said, touched by his well-wishes.
“I’m glad your marriage will be more like your parents’, my dear,” Dickie continued. “Ada and I– well, we did the done thing and married because our families wished it, and sometimes I wish I could go back and do things differently.”
Mary frowned at that– both because he was wrong in his assessment of her and Matthew’s upcoming marriage, and because she had known Dickie Merton all her life and he had never expressed these things. “Are you unhappy, Dickie?”
“Not at all,” Dickie said, but Mary saw through it for the lie it was. “Ada and I have been happy, and we’ve made things work– and you don't need to listen to the woes of an old man, I'm afraid. I only meant to say I'm glad you’re entering this differently than we did.”
There was nothing to say to that. Mary patted Dickie’s hand in sympathy, and he smiled at her, and she resolved to pay more attention to their conversation.
Eventually Cora did turn and Mary was able to talk to Matthew again. Her conversation with Dickie was on her mind, however. Were they setting themselves up for misery by marrying as they were?
When Mary had accepted Matthew’s proposal, it had seemed like she was falling back on convention. It was the done thing, to marry a man for his position and his future title after all. But what if they were making a mistake?
She pushed that aside for the moment as she asked Matthew, “So have you tired of the gossiping hens pecking at you yet?”
“They mean well,” Matthew said carefully. “And they seem to want us to be happy.”
“Which I notice isn't a no.”
Matthew gave her a quelling look. “Let’s just say I'll be happy when the circus is over and we can relax in France for a few weeks.”
“You know, I'm quite looking forward to it as well,” Mary said– and then flushed when she realized how sultry that sounded, in the context of France being their honeymoon destination.
Matthew's fork stilled on his plate, his eyes widening in just the barest astonishment as they locked with hers for a breathless second– and then his gaze dipped a fraction lower, almost involuntary, to her lips.
That awareness of everything Matthew had come back, so powerful it was almost a physical force. Like this, with only a short distance between them, she could see every detail of his face– his full lips, the gentle slope of his nose, his pale blonde eyelashes and the serious set of his brow.
Mary cleared her throat and looked away. It was that or do something truly foolish. “I mean– I'm always happy for a chance to visit Paris.”
“Of course,” Matthew said quickly. “You'll have to show me your favorite places.”
For a minute they both focused simply on their blancmange. But as Mary slipped a bite of the creamy dessert past her lips, she was certain that if they hadn't been in the midst of a dinner party Matthew would have kissed her right then.
That revelation made her bold enough to lean over and whisper to Matthew, “When we go into the drawing room, meet me in the small library after a half hour.”
Matthew didn't say anything, but his eyes widened ever so slightly and he nodded. Mary thought she saw a small smile on his lips.
There was not much time left before the last of the dishes were whisked away by the footmen and Cora called for the ladies to join her in the drawing room. As she stood from the table, Mary exchanged a look with Matthew– affirming their secret plan. Mary felt a thrill rush through her at the clandestine assignation she had planned.
Waiting out the next half-hour in the drawing room was interminable. Mary had to stop herself from checking the clock every minute, lest she make her plans obvious to all observers. She forced herself through a conversation with Lady Merton and Mrs. Russell, where she was interrogated about everything from where she and Matthew would live (here at Downton, Matthew is the heir after all) to what would be served at the wedding luncheon (stewed oysters, braised beef, chicken à la Provençale, and she thought Mrs. Patmore might be whipping up some special treat), to what wallpaper she might decorate the rooms they were taking in (she couldn’t care less, but listened to their suggestions with as much interest as she could muster up.)
At last the half hour had passed, and Mary excused herself to go to the powder room– only to be intercepted by Sybil.
“Where are you off to?”
“Just the powder room– I'll only be a minute.”
“Oh, I'll come with you!” Sybil said brightly.
Mary grit her teeth and grudgingly let her youngest sister come along. As she paced down the corridor to the powder room, each second feeling like a small eternity, she glimpsed the door to the small library. Where she should have been headed at this moment, rather than obliged to actually go to the powder room.
Once she had finished, Mary lingered at the mirror until Sybil was finished. “You go on ahead, darling. I'll just be a minute.”
Sybil raised an amused eyebrow. “Why? So you can go meet Matthew?”
Mary whirled around, wondering how she knew– only to be caught out by Sybil’s aha expression.
“So you were planning on meeting him,” Sybil said triumphantly. “Mama roped Edith and me into making sure you didn't run off alone, but I didn't think you'd actually try it.”
“What? Why?”
Sybil raised a doubtful eyebrow, as if it were self-evident. And Mary supposed she was sneaking out to meet her fiance in the middle of a dinner party, so her mother’s fears weren’t entirely unfounded.
Mary felt like screaming– and she might have, if it wouldn't have given her away. Her mother was so terribly aggravating– no doubt she wanted Mary’s reputation to be absolutely spotless, which meant that the little indiscretions that might typically be overlooked between a girl and her fiance would not be.
The only saving grace was that it was Sybil who had decided to follow her.
“Don't tell Mama,” Mary bargained. “And I’ll give you my new blue gown– the one you said you liked.”
“I'll do you one better,” Sybil said with a satisfied grin. “I'll wait here for ten minutes– we’ll say my hem ripped, and you were here waiting with me while Anna fixed it– and then we’ll go back together. And you’ll owe me a favor.”
Mary beamed at her brilliant little sister. “That's perfect, you’re brilliant Sybil– thank you.”
“Don’t forget about the favor!” Sybil called after her as Mary left the powder room in search of the library.
Mary had been raised as a lady, which meant that she would never do anything as unseemly as run through the halls, but no one could blame her if she picked up her pace on her way to the small library.
She could see her pulse fluttering in her throat when she saw Matthew idly perusing the stacks of books. At first he didn’t see her, and she got a glimpse of him haloed in the golden incandescence of the lamp light.
That peculiar nervousness overcame her once more, and she couldn’t find a word to say as she ventured deeper into the library.
Matthew looked up, saw her and smiled. “There you are– I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t come.”
“It was very hard to get away,” Mary said dryly. “Apparently, Mama is convinced I need a chaperone, and she roped Sybil and Edith into her scheme. I had to bribe Sybil to let me get away, but she’ll cover us for ten minutes.”
“Well, you have arranged to meet a man alone in the library,” Matthew pointed out.
“It’s hardly the scandal she imagines. You are my fiance after all– isn’t it practically expected at this stage?”
“Which explains why your mother set safeguards against it,” Matthew argued gently.
“Which is ridiculous,” Mary countered. “What does she think will happen? It’s not as if I’ll get any more pregnant.”
Matthew’s mouth twitched, both a wince and reflexive amusement at her offhanded joke at their situation.
“I suppose that’s true,” he said softly. “Was there some reason you wanted me here? We shouldn’t waste Sybil’s fifteen minutes, after all.”
Mary met his eyes, that fluttery nervousness in her belly melting away.
“I want you to kiss me.”
She was gratified by the way Matthew froze and stared at her, although Mary could feel her own cheeks heat with her audacity. Still, she stood her ground under his astonished look. He could think her brazen if he liked.
“I don’t want our first kiss to be in the church in front of hundreds of people,” Mary explained. “I’d prefer it to be just for us.”
“I see,” Matthew said, and his voice was a low whisper which slid over her skin and made her shiver. He closed the distance between them, caught her hand in his, and slowly drew her closer until they stood only inches away. Mary could feel her pulse pounding in her throat at the promise of all sorts of wicked things in his blue eyes. His fingertips skimmed under her chin. “May I?”
Mary had forgot how to breathe. She nodded.
And then his lips were on hers. He kissed her slowly and deliberately, but not at all timidly. And the controlled way he was kissing her made desire blossom in her. She wanted… she wasn't sure what she wanted, but it was more than this careful kiss.
Mary opened to him invitingly. To her delight he matched her, deepening the kiss. She grazed her teeth over his bottom lip and grinned when Matthew growled in the back of his throat and drew her closer. She reveled in the power she had over his responses, so matching her own.
They both drew back, panting. Mary looked up at Matthew through hooded eyes, thrilled with the way he looked as if he might like to devour her.
Well, that was certainly interesting.
“Was that what you were looking for?” Matthew asked. His voice was still low in that way that made her shiver so delightfully.
Mary considered. “I think we ought to try again, don’t you?” she said breathlessly. “Just to make sure we know what we’re about.”
Matthew needed no more encouragement. This was not a kiss that was fit for the church in front of witnesses– there was no careful exploration, no delicate control. Matthew kissed like he wished to devour her, and Mary was right there with him.
She felt a thrill of desire through her body as he wrapped his arms around her. Delightful heat trailed his fingers as they pressed to the exposed skin at her back. Mary pressed closer, delighted by the way his body felt against hers.
Matthew broke the kiss, only to kiss his way down her neck. Heat blossomed wherever his lips touched, and only the faint awareness that they could be overheard stopped her from moaning aloud. For a dizzying moment Mary wondered if he would go as far as her decolletage, but he lingered at her collarbone instead, pressing searing kisses to her feverish flesh.
Mary drew him up to kiss her again, and Matthew happily obliged. This was slower, but no less hungry for it. First Mary would tease, playfully pulling back or scraping his lips with her teeth, and then Matthew would respond by kissing her deeper. Or even more delightfully, he would respond with teasing of his own.
If this was what it was going to be like to be married to him, Mary couldn’t wait. Here and now she could spend hours kissing Matthew, feeling the wonderful way his lips felt on hers, learning what he liked and how he responded.
“Mary?” came Sybil’s voice from the library. “Are you in here?”
Mary stopped still, as Matthew pulled away. They shared a guilty look, as reality reasserted itself, and Mary realized that she had lost track of time. “Be right there, Sybil darling!”
Matthew grinned ruefully as Mary straightened her disheveled frock. “It’s probably for the best– who knows what might have happened.”
Mary shuddered pleasantly at the idea of more happening. She reached out to adjust Matthew’s bowtie which had gotten knocked off kilter. “There, that’s better.”
“There’s only ten days until the wedding,” Matthew said optimistically. “Then we won’t need to worry about being interrupted.”
“Well that’s something,” Mary said.
“Mary?” Sybil called again.
Matthew drew her close and pressed one final kiss to her lips, before leaving her to find Sybil in the big library.
“It had been ten minutes,” Sybil explained unrepentantly. “So I figured I’d better come find you, before someone got it in their head to look for a book.”
Mary sighed, wanting to be annoyed with her youngest sister but finding that she really couldn’t be. “Thank you.”
“It was nothing,” Sybil said. “These rules for women are so silly– you can’t be alone in a room with a man, because it will tarnish our reputation? How can we ever hope to be treated as equals if we aren’t even allowed to have a simple conversation alone? Are men truly such brutes they can’t control their baser impulses when left alone with a woman?”
Mary shuddered, her mind suddenly and terribly going to Pamuk– who was the very last person she wanted to think about on such a lovely night. “Some of them are, I’m afraid. The world isn’t all sunshine and roses, you know– there are people who will take advantage, men especially.”
Sybil looked at Mary curiously. “Then shouldn’t we treat them as they are? If a man takes advantage, expose him for his misdeeds by all means. Why should we all be punished for their actions?”
Mary shook her head ruefully. “Why indeed. Come on, we should get back.”
“Here, let me fix your hair for you,” Sybil said.
Mary sat still and let Sybil put her fallen tresses back up in their pins. It was not quite perfect by the time she was done, but it would pass muster for the rest of the evening at least. Mary smiled gratefully at her sister and headed with her back into the drawing room.
–
The next week passed in a blur of wedding preparation. Gifts and guests both began to arrive, first in a trickle and then in a flood. Mary welcomed her Aunt Rosamund, a small parade of first-, second-, and third-cousins, and what seemed like two dozen family friends. Even more would be coming the day of the wedding, and returning to their estates by car or by train.
Mary’s dress and the rest of her trousseau arrived from London. Mary convened with Edith and Sybil and Anna to give everything a final try on and make sure it fit perfectly. This resulted in quite a lot of excitement and giggling, though Mary could have done without Edith’s commentary about her choice in hats–it was far too late to change most of it, and if she was going to take opinions on headwear she would not get them from Edith .
The silver and glassware was polished to a mirror shine, and carpet and furniture rearranged in the hall for the coming reception. Vases were dusted off and set out, where they would be filled with sprays of fresh flowers and greenery in the coming days.
It seemed as if every five minutes someone was asking Mary her opinion on this and that, until she wanted to shriek that she didn’t care what color dress Cousin Susan wore for the ceremony, either green or pink would be perfectly fine for a spring wedding and neither would clash with the florals.
Her mother’s scheme to have Mary and Matthew chaperoned at all times was in full swing, and they had not found more time to be alone together– though every time she saw him, that kiss in the library lived in her mind.
She did have the pleasure of meeting Matthew’s best man. Nicholas Ravenswood– or Nicky, as Matthew called him– was a gregarious gentleman only about a year older than Matthew who he had met in his school days. He was dark where Matthew was fair, with a swarthy cast to his skin that might have been from spending extra time in the sun, or might have been from some other source. He arrived four days before the wedding, and after settling his things at Crawley House accepted an invitation to Downton for tea.
“Well, I can certainly see what finally tempted you into marriage, eh Crawley?” he said after greeting Mary for the first time. “I thought you were exaggerating in your letters, but I’m afraid your lovely bride will be the envy of the Oxford set. Are you certain you can’t be tempted away from this lout?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mary said with good humor.
Matthew fixed his friend with a glare. “You have your own wife, you know. Whom you love very much, unless something’s changed that I should write Penelope about.”
“He’s right, worse luck,” Nicky said with a sigh and a grin. “So I’m afraid I won’t be tempting you into an affair, Lady Mary.”
“You could try,” Mary said archly. “Though I can’t say you’d meet with much success.”
“Where is Penelope, by the way?” Matthew asked curiously. “I thought she’d be here.”
“Pregnant, I’m afraid,” said Nicky. “She wanted to be here, but she couldn’t risk the North Sea crossing. My advice? Wait a while to have children, if you can– poor Pen is terribly ill all the time.”
Mary and Matthew shared a look askance. It was a bit late for that.
“Why don’t you come into the drawing room,” Mary said smoothly. “And I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
This turned out to be a marvelous idea, as Nicky regaled them all with tales of his time abroad– mostly in Switzerland and Germany, but elsewhere as well.
Sybil and Edith both peppered him with questions about this place and that and the rumors they had heard from abroad. Even Cora and Robert were charmed by his lively manner and fascinating stories, leaving Mary to lean over to Matthew and murmur, “I had no idea you had such cosmopolitan friends.”
Matthew grinned. “Nicky always knew how to fill up a room. It was like this in school– he was always good at making friends, always up for an adventure. I’m afraid I’m quite boring in comparison.”
“Why am I picturing him as a hellion and you trying to rein him in?”
Matthew grinned. “The picture isn’t inaccurate. Nicky mostly got us into scrapes, and I mostly got us out of them.”
“It sounds like you make a habit of saving people from their mistakes.”
Matthew’s eyes flickered up to hers, catching the hidden meaning there. Mary smiled a bit ruefully.
“Have you spent much time abroad?”
“Only a little,” Matthew said. “Some time in France and some in Germany, and we spent a summer in Florence after Oxford. Nicky had the taste for travel and when the chance came to work for the foreign office he jumped at it, while I preferred to stay home.”
They spent the next hour or so listening to the outsized tales of Nicky’s tales of life outside England. Edith seemed particularly rapt, and by the end of the tea Mary was certain the only thing keeping her from developing a crush was that the man was already married.
Eventually, however, tea time was at an end and there was no more sandwiches or biscuits to be had. Matthew declared that he and Nicky should be going, and Mary offered to walk them out. They said their goodbyes, Matthew kissed Mary on the cheek, and they left for the day.
She was just heading into the small library when a bout of nausea overtook her. She was lucky, Anna had said, that this didn’t happen too often– some women were sick their entire pregnancy– but for Mary when it did it hit was quite powerful. She paused, leaning against the door frame, breathing steadily and praying she wouldn’t vomit all over her shoes.
That was when she heard Nicky’s voice drifting in through an open window. “God above, Crawley, you really weren’t exaggerating about this place.”
“It’s a lot to take in, I know,” Matthew said, and she could hear him just as clearly.
“It’s like we’ve stepped back in time,” Nicky said. “I mean the place could be a castle. All those servants, and the ‘yes, milord’, ‘no, milord’. Have they thought about joining this century?”
Mary pursed her lips, annoyed with Nicky’s disparaging tone. Downton was just as much a part of the Twentieth Century as anywhere else.
“They value tradition here,” Matthew said. “It’s a different way of life.”
“And you want it to be your life?”
Mary thought that Matthew would say yes immediately. Instead, he said nothing.
“It's not as if I have much choice,” he said eventually. “I'm the heir after all, and with the entail as it stands that's unbreakable.”
“Which doesn't mean you have to live in a bloody castle until then,” Nicky pointed out.
“Mary prefers it that way.”
“Lady Mary seems a lovely woman, although I can't say I know her well after only one conversation,” Nicky said. “And I’m sure if she's used to all this, she will be more comfortable here. I just didn't picture you living in a drafty old box being ‘yes sir-ed’ and ‘no sir-ed’ until the end of your days.”
Matthew chuckled at that. “A year ago, I would have said the exact same thing. You and Penelope will just have to come stay with us at Christmas.”
“That's an invitation I'll accept, so long as Pen agrees. I'll bet this place is just right out of a postcard at Christmas.”
At that, Mary’s stomach heaved again, and she raced to the water closet where she only very nearly saved her shoes.
Three days before the wedding, Mary and Matthew and their respective families convened at St. Michael’s and All Angels Church to rehearse before the grand event.
Though the day was overcast and early May had not yet brought with it the warmth of summer, the village was being festooned in white bunting and flags to celebrate the occasion. It was not every day that the Earl’s eldest daughter got married, and apparently Mary’s wedding was a source of some fascination and celebration for the villagers.
Unfortunately, this meant that she had heard from Anna that the rushed nature of her wedding was a source of talk from the village. Mary did her level best to ignore the curious stares, and consoled herself with the thought that village gossip would soon move onto something more interesting. It always did.
Matthew was already waiting with his mother and Nicholas Ravenswood at the door to the church. The way Matthew’s face lit up in a smile as Mary and her family approached caught her breath in her lungs for just the barest moment.
“There you are,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Mr. Travis is already waiting inside.”
“It’s good to see you, Mary,” Isobel said, with somewhat forced if genuine warmth. Her smile was still tight, but Mary took it for the peace offering it was.
“It’s the bride’s prerogative to be fashionably late, isn’t it?” Robert chuckled.
“Though I’ll be glad to get out of this chill,” Nicky said with a grin. “Let’s hope for better weather on your wedding day, eh Crawley? Shall we go in, before my fingers freeze?”
They went inside the church, where it was only slightly warmer than outside– the gas heater not able to keep up with the church nearly empty of people.
“Is this everyone?” Mr. Travis asked, looking around the assembled group. A man in his mid-sixties, it could not be particularly comfortable for him in the cold church and he probably wished to return to his parsonage before too long.
“It is,” Matthew confirmed. “I believe the only one you haven’t met is Mr. Nicholas Ravenswood, my best man.”
“Very well, let’s get started.”
Over the next half hour they practiced the processional from the doors of the church– first where Matthew would stand with his best man at the front of the church, and then the flower girls followed by Mary’s bridesmaids– Edith and Sybil– and then finally Mary on her father’s arm. Then everyone but Mary and Matthew would take their seats and they would say their vows in front of the entire congregation of invited guests.
Mary shared a nervous look with Matthew as Mr. Travis went over the wedding vows with them. Standing up there at the altar with him suddenly felt very real. Their whirlwind courtship was coming to its close. In only a few short days they would be married , bound irrevocably in law and in spirit. She would be a wife, and Matthew her husband.
In some ways her life had already turned on its axis when she had learned of her pregnancy, but in many others it was the same as it was before. Now, however, she stood on the precipice of an even greater change.
Would they be happy? They came from such different worlds. The divide between them had seemed insurmountable when Matthew and she had first met. Would they fight? Surely they would disagree sometimes. They might end up one of those couples who lived in separate houses and only saw each other during a strained Christmas. Would they be like Dickie Merton and his wife, slowly growing to resent the circumstances of their marriage but trapped in it? Would Matthew tire of living at Downton, so different from how he grew up, only to drag her to some small sad cottage where she would be miserable?
As if sensing her nervousness, Matthew smiled reassuringly and squeezed her hands in his. And Mary, almost despite herself, found herself smiling back.
“After the vows are said,” Mr. Travis continued, and Mary realized that she had scarcely been listening. “Your attendant, Mr. Crawley, will hand you the ring which you will hold in your hand until a blessing is given. After which you will place it on Lady Mary’s ring finger.”
Matthew nodded solemnly.
“I will read a declaration, after which you may kiss. Then you and your witnesses will sign the certificates of marriage and the Church register, and you will be married.”
Just like that. It seemed so simple for such a momentous thing.
Mary felt her stomach drop. What they were about to embark upon would define the rest of both their lives.
How did they know if they were making the right choice?
Mary was not, by nature, a fidgeter. And yet the day before the wedding, she found herself incapable of sitting still. It was as if all of the thoughts racing through her head were under her skin, prickling at her flesh, making it impossible to get comfortable.
Tomorrow she would be getting married. The biggest and most momentous decision of her life, that would define her life hereafter.
What if she was making another terrible mistake?
“All brides are anxious before their wedding day,” Cora told her gently when Mary confessed her nerves. “A night of sleep and everything will be better.”
“But how did you know?” Mary asked, her stomach full of butterflies. “That marrying Papa was the right choice?”
“I didn’t know,” Cora said. “Not for certain. I was starting a new life, across the ocean in a new country, away from everyone I knew– I was petrified. But I knew your father was a good man, just like you know Matthew is. We do the best with what we know and hope for the best.”
Mary nodded. She hadn’t really ever thought about the circumstance of her parent’s wedding, that her mother had done the very thing that had so terrified her - crossed the Atlantic for a new life somewhere distant.
“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
“No, mama,” Mary said dutifully.
But she couldn't get her conversation with Dickie Merton, or the overheard conversation between Matthew and Nicholas out of her head. She and Matthew were very different– came from different worlds. He wanted the quiet domestic picture he had painted for her while they went out riding, like millions of other couples around Britain. She wanted… she wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted, but it was something like what she had come to expect growing up here, at Downton.
Wouldn’t they grow to resent each other over it?
She needed to speak with Matthew straight away.
Mary considered slipping out after breakfast to walk down to Crawley House, but that was impossible– there were too many guests in the house, not to mention her mother’s scheme to make sure Mary’s reputation was spotless in the lead up to the wedding. Matthew, Isobel and Nicholas were scheduled to come today for an intimate family tea, while the rest of the guests were taken on a tour of the grounds.
She would have to do it then.
When they arrived, Mary found herself so distracted with fretting that she could hardly eat. Nerves and nausea had catalyzed into a deadly combination, and she could only sip at her tea uneasily.
She was very glad that the gregarious Nicky was able to take the bulk of the conversation - this time with a story about climbing in the Swiss Alps. It took the attention of her family away from Mary, when she desperately needed it. Matthew, however, was not fooled.
“Is everything alright?” Matthew murmured to her, when the rest of the family was distracted. “You look pale.”
“We should talk before you leave.”
Matthew frowned a little at that, but nodded. He looked curious, and more than a little concerned, but he was hardly able to inquire further– not here in the middle of tea with everyone.
Mary did make an attempt to eat more after that, and managed a watercress sandwich and a couple of biscuits. It was not quite enough to calm her roiling nerves, but it did help her stomach a little.
Tea marched on, until at last Matthew looked at his wristwatch and said, “We’d best get going, before too long.”
“That’s right,” Nicky said, clapping Matthew on the shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to risk you seeing the bride on the night of the wedding.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Mary offered.
Mary and Cora both stood to walk Isobel and Matthew out to the front door. Matthew waved his mother and best man on, saying, “You two go ahead– I want to speak with Mary first.”
“Right,” Nicholas said. “If the sun dips too low, I’ll be back to fish you out Crawley.”
“I’m counting on it.”
“I'll see you back at the house,” Isobel said. “And Mary–best of luck tomorrow.”
Mary offered a tremulous smile in return. She knew what it had cost for Isobel to give her best wishes. “Thank you, Isobel.”
Isobel took her leave with a smile at the both of them. Which was when Mary realized that her mother was hovering. She nearly sighed with exasperation. Of course– her ridiculous scheme to make sure Mary was never alone with Matthew.
“It's alright, mama– you can leave us unchaperoned,” Mary said. “After tomorrow, all things are permitted.”
“Don't embarrass me,” Cora said with a fond smile at them both. “Bye Matthew.”
Then she left, pulling the door shut behind her and they were alone.
“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” Matthew asked after a moment. “You have me worried. You’re pale, and you hardly ate anything. I haven’t seen you like this since–”
He trailed off, but Mary knew what he meant. The night she had announced she was going to America, the night before his proposal, only days after she’d discovered the pregnancy that had got them both into this mess. It hung in the air between them.
“Do you think we’re making a terrible mistake, Matthew?”
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I overheard you talking with Nicky, the other day,” Mary said faintly. “I’m sorry for eavesdropping, I am– but it got me thinking and I haven’t been able to stop. We’re so different, Matthew– we come from different worlds. You don’t want to live at Downton, not really– and I can’t imagine myself anywhere else. But it’s not just that, it’s everything. How we’ll spend money, how we’ll raise children. Won’t we just fight and grow to resent each other over it?”
Mary said it all in a rush, the words tumbling out of her. She tentatively looked at Matthew, apprehensive of his reaction to her declaration and not sure what she desired more– that he agreed with her assessment, or for him to argue her around.
He regarded her solemnly. “I’m sure we will fight– about money, and about Downton, about how to rear our children, about any number of things–”
“Then shouldn’t we accept it?” Mary cut in. “We’ve hardly thought this through, this mad thing we’ve been doing, it’s been like we’re living through a dream. Only tomorrow won’t be a dream, it will be real, and we’ll really be married. For the rest of our lives.”
“And what about your baby?” Matthew asked gently. “Don't you want them to be raised here, at Downton? To have all that should be theirs?”
It hit her like a blow to the chest, like an accusation. Her foolishness laid bare, the reason they were here in the first place. Mary had made her mistakes, but how dare she drag Matthew in as well?
“I do,” Mary said miserably, her voice the very edge of a sob. “But is it worth it, just for that, if we’ll both be miserable in the end?”
“We don't know that we’ll be miserable in the end.” Matthew closed the distance between them and held her hands in his, and his hands were reassuringly warm and solid. “I'm not saying we’ll always be happy– I'm certain we’ll have our sorrows just like anyone else– but that doesn't mean that we can't be.”
Holding her hands like this, speaking so gently, with such an earnest expression in his eyes, Mary wanted to give into such gentle persuasion. But the voice of doubt won out. She looked down, away, anywhere but at that sympathetic look in his eyes. It was too much to bear.
“Won’t I have trapped us both, in something we don’t want? Won’t you come to despise me for it?”
“Mary,” Matthew said, and he caught her chin with one hand and pulled her gaze up to his. Mary’s eyes flickered to his, even though she wanted to turn away. “You don’t have to marry me, you know. You don’t have to marry anyone. You’ll always have a home here as long as I’m alive.”
Mary’s lips fluttered into an unsteady smile at that.
“I can’t promise that we shall never be unhappy,” he continued. “I can’t promise that we’ll never fight, or have differences, or be angry with one another. But I can promise that I will try. I never would– I never could– despise you. Even if you decide tomorrow you’d rather not be married to me, after all.”
Mary felt heat prickling at her eyes. The way he said the words, they felt as solemn as any oath. “Thank you, Matthew.”
He squeezed her hand with his, and ran his thumb along her chin slowly and carefully. “I gave you my word, when I proposed to you– that I would help you if I can. And I’m not in a habit of going back on my word. So I will be at that altar tomorrow, I promise you– the only question remaining is if you want to meet me there.”
Mary felt the warmth of his hand, steady in hers. And that urge to turn away from his gentle gaze melted like so much ice around her heart.
“You’re a far better person than I am, Matthew,” she said gently. “I’m far better at resentment, I’m afraid. But I don’t think I could despise you, not again– not after everything.”
Matthew smiled with tentative hope. “Take tonight to decide. But I hope I will see you tomorrow, Mary.”
Mary nodded, her breast full of trembling hope. Matthew leaned in and kissed her then, and unlike their passionate kiss in the library this kiss was gentle and sweet and full of a thousand unsaid words. Mary clung to the kiss, wishing she could freeze this moment before the plunge.
But the kiss ended, as all things eventually do. Matthew pulled away, slowly, his eyes remaining on hers. She could still feel the warmth of his lips. Then his hand slipped from her grasp, and at last he turned and walked away.
Mary leaned against the banister and bit back a sob.
A few moments later, Carson rounded the corner. “Milady,” he asked. “Is everything alright?”
Mary instinctively stood up straighter under Carson’s gaze. “Yes, I'm perfectly alright, Carson,” she said, aware that her strangled voice gave the lie to that pronouncement. “Only I wonder if I'm making a terrible mistake.”
Carson’s expression turned thunderous. “Has Mr. Crawley wronged you in some way, milady?”
Mary shook her head. Though she was grateful that Carson would go to war for her if she asked, she did not want him to blame Matthew. “Not at all– he’s been wonderful. But the truth is, we hardly know each other. What if it doesn't work out?”
“I'm sure whatever decision you make tomorrow will be the right one, milady,” Carson said, his sonorous voice gentle.
“Are you? I’m not so sure.”
“As sure as I am the sun will rise, milady,” Carson said staunchly. “But may I say, that life brings us many unpredictable turns– and whether we will be happy or not, we cannot let that fear hold us back from living that life. And as for your happiness, I would gladly give the very last breath in my body to ensure it.”
“Let’s hope it won’t come to that.” Mary managed a small smile. “Thank you, Carson.”
“You’ll be just fine, milady.”
Mary stood up and straightened her skirt. “You're right, Carson. Thank you– you always know how to help when I’m feeling blue. I should go rejoin everyone.”
“Very good milady.”
And Mary returned to the drawing room, already feeling a hundred pounds lighter than before.
Notes:
Yeah, these two were never going to make it easy, were they?
As a timeline note, the rehearsal is a lot closer to the wedding here than it is in the show. (In the show it has to be at least a week before, to give Tom and Sybil time to travel from Ireland.) I'm chalking it up to them not having to work around the Archbishop's schedule.
Chapter 6: The Wedding of Lady Mary and Mr. Matthew Crawley
Summary:
They get married!
Notes:
And now for the wedding!
As a note, this is the chapter where this story earns its rating. I would say skip it if that's not your thing, but the smut is fairly plot bearing. So you clicked on this story, with these tags, and this rating - consider yourself forewarned.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Matthew was awake late the night before his wedding.
He had been sitting in an armchair, staring into the fire as it dwindled down to a pale cherry glow. He should go to bed, he thought, as he looked at the clock which had just ticked past midnight. Only he knew he would not sleep if he did.
He’d already had three glasses of a fine whisky that Nicky had brought as a wedding gift. Two he had shared with his best man, and the third he had slowly drank over the course of the past hour. The only thing keeping him from pouring a fourth in a vain attempt to sleep was the knowledge that he would need his head tomorrow, whatever happened.
Instead he decided to go into the kitchen for a glass of warm milk and a biscuit.
He had acquainted himself with the kitchen at Crawley House, being no stranger to the occasional midnight snack and not wanting to wake Mrs. Bird for such trivialities. It might very well be the last time he had a midnight snack in this kitchen. The bulk of his things had already been boxed up and moved to Downton. Molesley would oversee the rest of the the details of the move while he and Mary were off on honeymoon.
If , of course, the wedding went forward tomorrow.
He was trying not to let his nerves get the better of him, but the night’s insomnia was proof that he was not doing a particularly good job.
He had just finished simmering the milk on the stove when he heard steps on the stair and saw Nicholas coming down. “I wondered if I’d find you still awake when I saw the light on,” he said when he saw Matthew.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Matthew said. “Sorry to wake you.”
“Well, I’m awake now,” Nicky said. He looked at the saucepan that Matthew was cooling. “Is there enough for a second cup?”
“If we stretch it,” Matthew said. “I think Mrs. Bird keeps a bit of pastry set aside.”
Nicky chuckled. “You always did know where to find the sweets, eh Crawley? Do you remember when you, me and Egerton raided the kitchens at Radley?”
“If I recall, that was mostly your idea,” Matthew said.
“Yeah, but you knew exactly where to find the treacle.”
Matthew rolled his eyes at his friend, then poured two cups of milk and managed to find some only slightly stale lemon cake. Thus fortified, the two of them returned to the fireside.
“You’re not getting cold feet, are you Crawley?”
Matthew shook his head. “I’m not the one you need to worry about.”
Nicky raised his eyebrows. “You think Lady Mary won’t show tomorrow?”
“At this point, I have no idea,” Matthew said. He launched into an abridged version of their hasty engagement and their talk yesterday, what Mary had said and what he had said to her. He left out the bit about the baby, as that was Mary’s secret to keep, but did mention that they had been overheard the other day when talking about him living at Downton.
“Well, I’m very sorry if I’ve put a wedge between you,” Nicky said solemnly. “Though it is a ridiculously large house, you must admit.”
“I had the same reaction when I first came here,” Matthew said. “But for Mary, it’s all she’s ever known.”
“Well, I can’t deny that you’ve chosen the hard road,” Nicky said. “When I married Penelope, we had known each other for years and our families had known each other longer. We thought we’d know exactly what married life would be like.”
“You thought you’d know?”
“There’s no predicting what married life will be like, until you’re in it,” Nicky said philosophically. “That’s as true for me and Pen as it is for you and Lady Mary.”
“I can see Mary’s point– we come from very different backgrounds. I hope that we’ll make each other happy, but what if we don’t? What if we make each other miserable?”
Nicky fixed him with an unimpressed look. “You know what your problem is, Crawley? You think too bloody much.”
Matthew opened his mouth. “But–”
“You and Lady Mary, you’ve got to know each other a little, right?” Nicky cut him off. Matthew nodded. “You get along well enough together? You’re clearly attracted to one another.”
Matthew remembered his kiss with Mary in the library and had to concede that his friend was probably correct.
“And you can talk together?”
Matthew nodded, remembering the long conversations he’d had while out riding with Mary.
“And this is what you truly want? Setting aside any fear for the future– which you can’t predict anyways.”
“It is,” Matthew said firmly. God help him, but over the course of their courtship he had found that he wanted nothing more than to offer Mary his love and protection - if she would have it.
“Well, there you have it,” Nicky said. “It’ll all work out.”
Matthew frowned. “Surely it's a bit more complex than–”
Nicky shook his head. “There you go again, thinking too much. I still think you’re mad for wanting it, but it doesn’t matter what I or anyone else thinks. All that’s important is that the both of you want it, and you’re willing to work for it.”
“Even if I am, Mary might not be,” Matthew said gloomily.
“She might not - but if she shows up at that church tomorrow, I wouldn’t be worried about your future together.” Matthew shot Nicky a questioning look at that. Nicky took a drink of his milk as he considered a moment. “You said this engagement was something of a compromise for her already– you being from the great wilds of Manchester.”
Matthew snorted, but let Nicky continue.
“If she shows, it means she’s willing to compromise and make it work. That’s all marriage is, Matthew. Affection, companionship, attraction, and some compromise. Not unlike having a lifelong friend, and I know you're capable of that. The rest is just… details you work out along the way.”
Matthew shook his head and drained his cup of milk. “I still think you're simplifying it, Nicky.”
“Of the two of us, which one is actually married?”
Matthew glared at his friend.
“For what it's worth, I think Lady Mary will show tomorrow.”
Matthew looked up from his cup, a wild hope springing up in his chest.
“I've seen the two of you, talking when you think we don't notice,” Nicky continued. “You have this way of exchanging a glance and having a whole conversation. Yes, mark my words, she'll be there.” He stood, clapped Matthew on the shoulder, gave him a confident wink. “So try and get some sleep.”
Matthew sighed, shook his head, and got up from his armchair. He supposed either way, some sleep would not go amiss.
Mary woke early on the day of her wedding.
The golden light of dawn streamed in through her windows and painted her red room in a rosy glow. She felt far more settled this morning than she had the past three days. Sometime late last night her thoughts had stopped chasing themselves in circles and she had come to her decision.
She would marry Matthew this afternoon.
She still did not know for certain if they would be happy. There was a gulf between them, built of class and expectation, that they may never be able to cross. That had not changed between last night and this morning.
It was not as petrifying as it had been last night. Part of it was Matthew’s gentle insistence that they could be happy together, that they might try, that he would not grow to resent her. She had been drowning in guilt at the thought of trapping him with her own mistakes.
More than that, it was that her life– her happiness– did not, and never would, belong solely to her. It belonged to her family, to Downton, to the people who worked and lived here, to the society she lived in. Even, in some way, to this nebulous thing that did not yet feel like a baby growing inside her. Marrying Matthew was what was best for all of them.
Her baby would have a father, she and her family would be safe from scandal, and Downton would be secure for the future. She sometimes felt like this place was rooted into her soul, for good or for ill. She was like Papa and Granny in that way. Given the choice, she could never leave it.
Marrying Matthew was as simple as that.
And she hoped, in her selfish heart, that they could be happy together.
As the sun crept further above the horizon, Mary finally rang the bell. A minute later Anna arrived, with Mary’s breakfast on a tray - a courtesy for a married woman, extended to her on her wedding day.
After yesterday when she had eaten very little, she was ravenously hungry. She couldn't stomach her eggs with the now-familiar morning nausea, but managed to keep everything else down. Once she'd finished with her food, she rang for Anna again to start getting dressed for her wedding day.
Over the course of the next hour, Mary was transformed into a bride.
Anna began with her hair, sweeping it up into an elegant chignon. Then she was made up, with small amounts of cream rouge on her lips and cheeks and a bit of shadow to darken her eyes.
A new corset and corset cover had been ordered with her trousseau to accompany her bridal gown, and these she put on next. Then the gown next, a Madame Hayward original of ivory silk arranged in a columnar silhouette with draped tiers of embroidered lace. Defining the silhouette of the gown was a taffeta cummerbund, which came to a point at her breastbone and wrapped the dress, trailing down along her left side. Embroidered in silver thread with an orange blossom motif: it was supposed to symbolize good fortune in marriage. It also symbolized fertility, but Mary supposed she didn't need that sort of luck.
In the midst of these preparations, her mother came in with her sisters. All three had been dressed by O’Brien, Anna’s services being reserved solely for the bride on her wedding day.
“Oh, Mary,” Cora said, embracing her daughter with tears shimmering in her eyes. “You look so beautiful– I can hardly believe it, my first daughter married.”
“I can hardly believe it myself,” Mary said with a smile. “Thank you mama.”
“You do look lovely,” Edith said, a bit grudgingly, at the same time as Sybil said, “Just beautiful.”
“I’ve brought you this,” Cora said, producing a jewelry box and revealing a floral silver tiara, pave-set with cut diamonds. “All of the Crawley brides have worn it, and now it’s your turn.”
Mary smiled back at her mother. Cora had been maddening throughout these past few months, and she knew that she was not fully forgiven for the Pamuk affair. But considering what she had gone through to fix it, she was glad to see her mother’s pride in her shining through.
“Anna, if you would?”
“Right away, milady.” Anna took the jewelry box and set to fixing the tiara in Mary’s hair, adjusting it so that it sat perfectly atop her head.
“Sybil, Edith,” Cora said. “Could you wait outside a moment? There’s some things I should talk to your sister about.”
Edith looked as if she might like to protest, not being brought into the secrets of womanhood– but Sybil dragged her out the door. For a moment Mary looked up at her mother expectantly, as Cora worked up the nerve to speak.
“You’d ask, wouldn’t you?” Cora said at last. “If there was anything you wanted me to tell you– I mean I’m sure you know .”
Her mama was certainly leaving this conversation a bit late! And she knew better than anyone that Mary was far better prepared than most brides for what went on during the wedding night. And even if she hadn’t, she’d managed to wrangle most of it out of her married friends.
“More than you did,” Mary said, pursing her lips in amusement. “And relax– there isn’t anything I need to hear now.”
“Because when you go about it right, you understand– everything… is the most terrific fun!”
That earned an amused twitch of the lips out of Mary. She supposed her mother would know, having had three children– but it wasn’t particularly something that bore thinking about! “Careful, mama, or you’ll shock Anna.”
“I’m made of stout stuff, milady,” Anna said with a knowing grin.
“Would you invite Sybil and Edith back in, Anna?” Cora asked.
Anna opened the door to let both Sybil and Edith back into the room. “I checked the clock in the hall,” Edith said. “We should go, unless we want to be late.”
“The wedding can’t start until the bride arrives,” Cora said. “But if you’re ready–”
Mary nodded. She only needed her veil to complete the ensemble, and then she was as ready as she was ever going to be.
“What about Anna?” Sybil asked. “How are you going to get to the church?”
“They’re waiting for me in the wagonette. I’ll see you there,” Anna said, going to retrieve the veil from where it was hanging.
Sybil knelt down at Mary’s side and took her hands in hers to give her blessing. “It really is so thrilling and romantic, you know, to be married. I can only hope my own wedding will be so wonderful.”
Mary smiled at her youngest sister– she would not have enlightened her as to the less romantic particulars of her marriage even if she could have. “Thank you– for always being so sweet.” She kissed Sybil on the cheek.
Then it was Edith’s turn to give her blessing. “Congratulations– it seems you've got what you've always wanted. Who could ask for more?”
Well, she could have asked for a better blessing from her sister, but Mary just rolled her eyes in her mother’s direction as Edith left to join Sybil for the procession to the church.
“Never mind Edith,” Cora said. She took Mary’s hands in hers, once more smiling with tears brimming in her eyes. “Well, very good luck my beautiful daughter.”
Mary squeezed her mother’s hands, and then Cora left for the cars as well.
“And now for the last piece, milady,” Anna said with a smile, holding out the veil.
She affixed it to the crown of Mary’s head, arranging the gauzy tulle so that it draped delicately down Mary’s back and into a short train.
Mary took one last look in the mirror– with the addition of the veil, lined in delicate pearl beads that gave it enough weight to drape elegantly around her head, she was truly the picture of a bride. It felt strange and momentous to be here at last.
“Are you ready, milady?” Anna asked.
And Mary was surprised to find that the answer was yes. Last night she had flinched against the coming change, certain that they would crash against it, but now that it was here it had settled in gently.
“Thank you Anna,” Mary said with a fond smile. “I could not have managed this without you.”
She did not mean the beautiful way she looked in her wedding dress. Anna seemed to understand.
“I think you would have managed somehow, milady,” Anna said. “But I’m glad to have helped.”
Mary was not sure she would have, but she only smiled gratefully.
Then, with a steadying breath, she descended the stairs into the hall, where she found both her father and Carson waiting for her. As she turned the stair and came into view, both smiled with identical expressions of pride.
Mary felt her chest constrict with great fondness for them both, these men who had both been so instrumental in her upbringing. She was glad to make them both so proud of her.
“Well, Carson,” she said with a smile, stopping on the stair. “Will I do?”
Carson nodded, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “Very nicely, milady.”
Mary descended the rest of the way to where her father was waiting for her. He kissed her on the cheek and offered his arm for Mary to take. “I’m so very happy, I feel my chest will explode.”
And then it was time to board the carriage which would take them to the church. It was drawn by two black horses, with two coachmen who had been hired for the day - Mary thought that her mother and grandmother and great-grandmother had been driven to their weddings in much the same way, and felt the weight of all that history as she was handed into the carriage and Anna arranged her skirt and veil.
Then her father joined her, and they were off into the streets of the village. As they passed a cheer went up from the villagers, who had brought out pennants to see the Earl’s daughter off to her wedding - a true spectacle to be sure. The most enthusiastic followed after the carriage and towards the church, no doubt attempting to get a glimpse of the proceedings - or at least to be able to say they did.
At the entrance to the churchyard, Mary was helped out of the carriage by a waiting Thomas. Her father gave her one last proud smile, and Mary took his arm as the organ started up and they waited for the church attendant to signal them.
And then it was time to walk down the aisle. Mary stepped across the threshold into the church, lit by its great glass windows into a faint glow that seemed to fall over the guests and the flowers and the vicar– and Matthew waiting for her at the front.
As she made her way up the aisle, Matthew turned around and his eyes met hers and a shy smile mantled his lips. Mary couldn’t help but smile back as all of the fear and regrets she had been wrestling with melted away.
Her father handed her off, and she stood next to Matthew at the altar at last.
“You came,” he leaned over and murmured to her. “To be honest, I wasn’t completely sure you would.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Mary grinned. “I should hate to be predictable.”
Matthew smiled shyly at Mary when the priest declared them man and wife and they kissed in front of the assembled congregation for the first time. A much more chaste kiss than the one she had requested from him in the darkened library (and which had come alive in his memory of it over the past few days), and yet he felt his heart could burst in nearly the same way.
From the moment he had heard the cheers go up outside the church at the arrival of the bride, he had been overcome with joy. Mary had come, and now they were married. Married! This exquisite woman had agreed to become his wife.
In spite of all her fears about their future together, Mary had come. He remembered what Nicholas had said the night before, that if Mary arrived at the church it meant that she was willing to work at their relationship. The circumstances of their marriage were not ideal, and so Matthew vowed privately to himself that he would do everything he could to hold up his end of the bargain and to make his new wife happy.
They left the church in a flurry of white petals and rice, and rode in the carriage to Downton through the village streets, thronged with cheering people. As they rode through the streets Mary took his hand in hers and offered him a reserved smile, and Matthew hoped that she would be happy in time.
The rest of the day was something of a blur. First there was the endless receiving line of guests (and oh, how he loved how Mary’s eyes danced when he asked just how many people had been invited to their wedding), and then afterwards the reception with a feast fit for a king.
It was a standing luncheon, and so getting time to eat seemed to be a task in itself. It seemed as if the entire county had turned out in their Sunday best, and every time they managed to take a bite someone would come up to offer their congratulations and Mary and Matthew had to forego eating to offer their thanks.
Some he had met before. Once again they thanked Lady Rosamund Painswick for the use of her London house before they would set out on honeymoon tomorrow. All of the family offered their congratulations, of course, with Cora clasping his hands and offering her sincere thanks. He also greeted people he had only met once or twice, Lord and Lady Merton with their family, the Russels who lived at nearby Haxby Park, Sir John Darnley and his family. As well as friends and acquaintances of Mary’s. A young woman who she introduced as Miss Audrey Bernard looked him up and down and said, “Well I can see why you needed to marry him before the Season.”
He also was able to greet family he had not seen since last Christmas at least. His Aunt Louisa and Uncle Harold and his small passel of younger cousins, all of whom seemed awed by the grand surroundings. He spent some time showing the children - all between twelve and seventeen - around the gallery, pointing out the various paintings and explaining what the butler and footmen were doing.
He looked up from this to find Mary watching him with an inscrutable expression in her dark eyes. When he rejoined her, she smiled.
“You seemed very comfortable, showing them around,” she said when he rejoined her side afterwards. “They seem to like you quite a bit.”
“It’s not all that hard,” Matthew said. “They’re lovely children.”
“Hm,” Mary said thoughtfully. “I’ve never had much chance to spend time with children - Rose and James and Annabel are about the only ones I know.” She indicated their two young flower girls and their brother with a nod of her head, who were under the watchful eye of their nanny. “There’s your mother– perhaps I should let you catch up.”
Matthew nodded. They had both received congratulations from Isobel already, but there had not been time for a more substantive conversation. And Matthew wasn’t sure that there would be, with Mary on his arm. He felt guilt twist in his gut, but perhaps it was best to minimize friction on their wedding day.
Leaving Mary, who quickly engaged in conversation with a few neighbors, Matthew joined his mother.
“Have you enjoyed yourself, mother?” he asked carefully.
Isobel, seemingly accepting his tentative attempt at a truce, smiled at him. “I have indeed. I’ve always wanted to see you happy, my boy.”
“I am, mother, I truly am,” Matthew said, hoping to reassure her on that point. He knew that her resistance to Mary was motivated chiefly by her concern for his happiness. “And I hope you come to see Mary as I do.”
In his mother’s smile were all the complicated feelings she brought to this day, and Matthew loved her all the more for trying to see things from his perspective. “I look forward to getting to know her better,” she said diplomatically.
Matthew laughed. As far as he was concerned it was a ringing endorsement.
Before he knew it, the Marquess of Flintshire - as the guest of highest rank and closest to the family - was toasting both his and Mary’s health as well as the health of the bridesmaids. Matthew accepted this toast graciously.
Then Mary disappeared to change into a fetching blue traveling dress. They said their goodbyes to their guests, and then their parents, and then they were bundled into the car on their way to the train station for their first stop in London.
Mary’s slender hand slipped into his as they settled into their train cabin.
Once they arrived in London, they would be met by Lady Rosamund’s butler and brought back to her residence for their first night as husband and wife, after which they would travel onto France for the rest of their honeymoon.
Matthew felt his nerves mounting at that thought. He hoped, very much, to be a good husband to Mary. She deserved nothing less– he only hoped he was up to the task.
Mary sat in her borrowed bedroom after she had dismissed Anna, and could not help the thready pulse of nervousness that she felt as she stared into the vanity mirror.
She was a married woman now. The wedding had been lovely, and all she could have wished for. She was so happy to see her Papa and Mama and Carson and everyone so happy and proud. Matthew had been so lovely and attentive throughout their journey here.
She knew what was supposed to happen next.
Mary chided herself for her nerves. She wasn't some blushing virgin unfamiliar with the act anymore, and for God's sake it was just Matthew. And yet that didn't help to calm her racing heart as the minutes stretched on.
She jumped at the soft knock at the bedroom door.
Glad that no one was there to witness that ridiculous display, Mary took a deep breath and called, “Come in.”
Matthew entered the room. Mary was very gratified by the way he stopped short and stared open-mouthed at her in her nightgown. She was very aware of her allure on men, and she was glad that her husband was no exception.
He recovered quickly enough. “How are you, my darling?” he asked softly.
“Exhausted,” Mary said honestly. Nobody ever warned brides how tiring weddings could be! “But content.”
“We could just sleep, if you're too tired,” Matthew offered. “There's no rush.”
Mary snorted. “And it's not as if we need to beget an heir.”
Matthew’s mouth turned down at her joke, and Mary felt a pang at reminding him of the circumstances of their marriage. He probably wanted to forget all about it.
“I'll be fine, Matthew,” she said quickly. Still he had not moved, waiting for her. “Have you ever– before?”
She wondered. It was more permissible, for men to have experience outside marriage - but Matthew shook his head. “Not outside books, I’m afraid.”
“Matthew,” she said, with a playful grin. “Did you study for our wedding night?”
Matthew flushed. “Not exactly - most of it I read as a boy. Though I can’t deny some studying up.”
Mary smiled, also a little nervously. When she’d had her first time, Pamuk had obviously been very experienced and had taken charge of their encounter swiftly in order to get what he wanted out of it. She had been outmatched by his level of experience - but she and Matthew were similarly situated. She supposed there was nothing to do but start.
“Why don't you come here and kiss me?”
He did so readily, taking her into his embrace and pressing his lips to hers. Once again he kissed her with agonizing slowness, and once again Mary wanted to see what she could do to stretch his careful self-control to the breaking point.
She started with a small exploration, scraping her teeth against his bottom lip as she had before. Matthew hissed in response, and drew her closer. Thrilled, Mary opened her mouth to his exploration– delighted when he took full advantage.
Mary pulled back, just a little, just enough to see the heavy glaze of desire in Matthew’s blue eyes. An answering desire curled up and purred inside her.
Matthew chased her retreat, capturing her lips with his again. Mary sighed into his kisses, reveling in the sweet taste of his lips and tongue and in the way his hands caressed her shoulders through the thin silk of her nightgown.
For all the desperate way he clutched the fabric as he drew her closer, his hands had not wandered further than her back. Matthew bloody Crawley, she thought with exasperation. What would it take for him to truly touch her the way she wished?
Feeling bold, Mary slipped her hands underneath his robe. His eyes widened in shock, but he did not deny her gentle exploration. She felt her way along the smooth skin of his torso, with just the tiniest smattering of pale hair on his chest. It felt delightfully wicked to be able to touch him this way. Especially when he growled in the back of his throat as her touch traveled downwards to his abdomen. His robe, so loosely tied, succumbed to her intrusion and fell open.
Matthew caught her wrist, his look severe. “God, Mary, are you trying to drive me mad?”
Mary grinned impishly. “Why, is it working?”
Oh, she delighted in his little exasperated scowl.
“Too well.” Her kissed her again quickly, then murmured against her lips, “Shall I return the favor, darling?”
Mary nodded. Desire looked in her abdomen at the way he grinned wolfishly at her. Still, he worked open the tie of her robe carefully.
Mary let it slip from her shoulders. She shivered, suddenly open and vulnerable to his gaze. Part of her wanted to shy away from his look. Here she was, standing in front of him truly stripped bare in more than just the physical. Still more of her wanted him to look at her as he was now, mouth open in awe.
“You're beautiful,” Matthew whispered, and pulled her into a searing kiss.
Mary luxuriated in the feel of Matthew's skin brushing hers. Her nipples, peaked from the chill of the open air, skimmed tantalizingly against his chest. Meanwhile she submitted to his caresses, to the touch of his warm hands which grazed from her derriere and up her sides to caress her breasts. Mary could feel the length of his arousal, pressed against her hip bone, insistently twitching to life. She moaned aloud when he began to kiss his way down her neck, pausing only where he found a spot that made her writhe with pleasure.
Matthew smirked, obviously pleased with himself for drawing such a reaction from her, and turned his attention to her breasts again. He palmed them gently, and the weight of them fit very nicely in his hands, and his thumbs grazed her peaked nipples which were already so sensitive and oh, God, she wanted more…
Mary clutched at the expanse of his back, hoping to draw him even closer. Matthew kissed her again, and his hand dropped from her breast to seek the apex of her thighs.
Mary’s breath caught as his fingers tangled in the curls there. Matthew curled his fingers into her and that , that was the sensation she had been chasing. She rocked against his fingers, her eyes slipping shut. She was reduced to a bottled up desperate need and here was Matthew to answer it. Her hands, so eager to explore before, could only clutch to his back as if to a tether. If she had felt deliciously wanton before, the sounds that he coaxed from her now she was glad only Matthew could hear because surely they were evidence of her depravity.
That only seemed to encourage him though, and soon he was slipping his fingers inside of her–she, slick enough to allow this intrusion easily and it was perfect, so perfect as she felt her desire building. Mary thought she had known desire before this, but that feeble spark paled in comparison to the inferno which blazed through her now.
She keened as Matthew curled his fingers inside her, chasing that sensation. She could feel it building and building, to what conclusion she did not know, all she knew was that she needed it.
Too soon, Matthew pulled his fingers away and guided her towards the bed. Mary kissed him desperately, as he laid her down on silk sheets and climbed on top of her–
Mary froze.
She couldn't breathe. Her heart raced and all arousal dropped out of her as if she had been plunged in ice. Only she could feel him on top of her, the weight of his body pressing down on hers, and all she could see were dead and accusing eyes staring darkly down at her.
Matthew stopped moving in response. “My darling?”
Mary sucked in a gasping breath. “I'm fine.”
“You're not fine,” Matthew protested. He sat back on the bed, his hands no longer touching her. And God, she hated the way he was looking at her. Like she was something vulnerable and broken, somehow fragile. “We don't have to do this tonight. It was clearly too soon…”
“I'll be fine,” Mary protested. “I just need a minute, that’s all.”
Matthew looked stricken. “I’m quite tired, anyways.”
Mary turned to him, shocked and hurt. It had been going so well, and now he was rejecting her? On their wedding night? When it really hadn't been a big thing at all just a bit of nerves. “It’s our wedding night. It’s our duty to be together as man and wife. I want to–”
Matthew shook his head with finality. “Don't, Mary.” She recoiled from the harsh crack in his words. “I don't ever want you to feel as if you have to– that’s the very last thing I want. Let’s just sleep for now.”
He switched off the bedside lamp and curled up under the blankets. Mary curled up beside him, feeling numb and out of sorts. And yet as she sat there in the dark her fury mounted.
How dare he?
Notes:
your honor they're clowning
You may notice that I've changed Mary's wedding dress from the one in the show. While I love her actual gown, it's a very postwar silhouette. The dress I've chosen is based on this Madame Hayward gown, worn by Regina de Bittencourt for her marriage to the Earl of Lisburn.
Sources for the wedding in this chapter are "The Book of Weddings" (1907) by Mrs. Burton Kingsland which can be found on Hathitrust, and "Manners and Rules of Good Society" (1913) by A Member of the Aristocracy which can be found on Project Gutenberg. Both were invaluable research tools!
Chapter 7: A Riviera Honeymoon
Summary:
Mary and Matthew travel to France for their honeymoon.
Notes:
Once again, thank you so much to everyone for reading! I've been able to keep a fairly consistent upload schedule thus far, but next chapter requires a lot more editing and I'm going on a trip next weekend (which is when I can do my most intensive editing), so expect the chapter after this one to take a bit longer to come out. Thanks for your patience everyone!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Matthew knew that he had erred badly with his wife. For the entire start of their journey to France, it was as if she had put up an icy wall between them. She was always infallibly polite, and yet any intimacy beyond that polished mask had disappeared. It might have reminded him of the first months of their acquaintance before she had thawed to him, except that she was not even engaging in the veiled barbs that she had thrown his way back then.
Yes, he was quite sure Mary was beyond furious with him.
The problem was he had no idea why. Oh, he knew that it was because of the disastrous way their wedding night had ended. The change in Mary’s demeanor after that was too obvious.
And yet, he had thought that he had been doing the right thing. Even now, he wasn't sure how he could have acted differently. The moment that Mary froze up under him and looked at him in that awful way, as if it wasn't really him she was seeing, with fear in her eyes… he never wanted to cause that in her again. It was obvious that her reaction was due to what had happened with that bastard Pamuk (and didn't Matthew curse his name blue inside his own head). It seemed clear that Matthew had pushed her too far before she was ready after Mary’s previous and only experience with intimacy had ended so badly.
And now Mary was wroth over his behavior.
He ought to apologize. And he had tried, in the solitude of their First Class train compartment on the way to Paris.
“Mary,” he said. “I want to apologize for the way things happened last night–”
Mary looked at him over the edge of her book, her demeanor smooth as glass. “That’s not necessary.”
“Only if I pushed you too far before you were ready–”
Mary’s eyes flashed, which was the first true reaction he'd gotten out of her all day. “You didn't,” she said quickly. “Now, if that’s all I’d like to read my book.”
And she had very effectively shut him out.
Matthew had taken from that that she was not ready to talk. And so, despite that they were on their honeymoon, he had endeavored to give her space. Upon arrival at the Ritz Hotel in Paris, he had discreetly asked if they might be booked in adjoining suites rather than a single room. It was lucky, he thought, that they had elected not to take the sleeper train immediately on to Cannes and spend a few days in Paris instead. Matthew did not think he would have survived the entire twenty-eight hour journey directly to the Riviera intact.
Despite her icy manner, Mary nonetheless insisted that she wanted to participate in all of their planned outings together. Matthew supposed it was more about the look of the thing - they were hardly the only travelers staying at the hotel, and despite that it was unlikely they would ever see any of them again, it would look odd for a young honeymooning couple to spend all of their time apart.
This had led to four strained days as they traveled from sight to sight, Matthew clinging to his Baedeker guide for dear life as he squired Mary to and from various sights. After they had spent the day not speaking at the Eiffel Tower or the Tuileries Gardens or the Louvre Museum or the Notre-Dame de Paris, they returned to their hotel where Matthew, frustrated with a full day of Mary’s obstinate silence, retired to his own room until dinnertime. They would descend to dine on the garden terrace with the other travelers, full of advice and congratulations for the newlyweds, and Mary put on a polite demeanor and a smile that did not reach her eyes.
Matthew was very glad to quit the Ritz and depart for Cannes, though it meant another twelve hour train journey. At least they could spend their time reading, or watching the French countryside pass by, and at least pretend as if they were in companionable silence.
Upon their late arrival at the newly built Carlton Hotel, Matthew once again requested and was granted adjoining suites. A late, light meal was brought up from the kitchens to their sitting room, which they ate in silence.
At least until Matthew broke it by saying, “Perhaps we should spend tomorrow apart. We don’t have quite as much planned as we did in Paris, after all. There’s no need to spend every second of the day together.”
Mary looked up at him from her sandwich. “Hadn’t we planned on visiting that church tomorrow?”
“I’m sure I can visit it just as well myself,” Matthew said. “There’s no point in your coming along to be bored - spend the day by the seaside, go shopping with Anna.”
Had Matthew imagined a flicker of hurt in her dark eyes? If so it was swiftly covered up. “If you think it best,” she said smoothly.
“I think some time apart might do us some good.”
“Very well.”
Mary went back to finishing off her sandwich in silence. Matthew wished, not for the first time, to be able to see beyond that inscrutable facade and read her thoughts. It would all be so much easier, if she would just tell him what it was that so incensed her. He had to remind himself not to push her - that this was all tied to her first terrible foray into intimacy, and that if anything else demanded his patience. Still, it was maddening to have her so close and yet to feel so far away from her.
At last their dinner was done, and Matthew set their plates out to be picked up by the hotel staff. He stopped in the doorway to his room and looked back at Mary. “Goodnight, my darling.”
She looked almost surprised at this, and returned a soft, “Goodnight.”
The next morning he did not see Mary, who had slept late or at least had not left her room by the time Matthew set out to walk along the seaside from their hotel to the advertised church. Getting there was a pleasant half-hour walk along the seaside, until he had to turn to climb a hill heading up to a white stone building with a great belltower that looked out over the entire town.
Matthew made his way inside the church. He was not the only visitor, but sightseers were thin enough that his steps echoed in the hush. Here, ensconced in cool stone while the heat of the day climbed outside and bathed in the blue-and-gold light streaming from the stained glass windows, he felt himself able to truly breathe for the first time in days.
He spent the next while exploring the church, admiring the murals and carved wooden pieces and an organ that had been installed in the 1850s, according to his guidebook.
Given pride of place over the choir was a gilded statue of the Madonna and her child. Looking up at the glimmering statue in her flowing robes, Matthew thought of his own Mary - who had also found herself unexpectedly pregnant, and had looked for her shelter in him. He had made a rather poor showing of it of late.
With one last glance up at the statue, he made a silent apology for the slightly blasphemous thought. He thought - or at least hoped - that God might forgive him for it - after all, what did they read the Gospels for if not to apply their lessons to their own lives?
With that, Matthew climbed the steps of the bell tower until he could look out over the red tile roofs of the city down below him and the shimmering green-blue of the Mediterranean Sea. He was able to finally think over the turmoil of the past few days.
He and Mary had come to their marriage without much time to consider it. There had of course been reasons for their haste, but the fact remained that they had not really been afforded a proper courtship through which to know each other. His mother had been right in her concerns– as, he grudgingly admitted to himself, she often was. They really did not know each other well, and he was foolishly naive in thinking that the speed with which they married would not cause its own sort of problem. It was rearing its ugly head now, and if he let it fester it would only cause all sorts of problems between them.
As he stood in the bell tower and looked out over the buildings and houses and people below, Matthew knew one thing for certain. He had to make things up to his wife.
Mary’s anger towards her husband had not dimmed over the past six days. She knew that he felt it, she saw it in his stilted attempts at conversation over their stay in Paris and their train ride to Cannes. He had even tried to apologize though she was not yet ready to hear it. She didn't know when she would be.
Every time she looked at him, all she could think of was the callous way he had dismissed her. The way he had treated her like some broken and defective thing, so fragile that he might shatter her with a touch. And throughout their stay he had continued to treat her with kid gloves.
Well, if he thought that then he really didn't know her at all.
Mary had given into Matthew's suggestion that they spend a day of their honeymoon apart. It would be good to get away for a time. This was not a fashionable time of year to visit the Riviera, and so their hotel was nearly empty with only a few other guests staying. The only person to see would be Anna, and Mary was fairly sure that her maid had picked up on the tension and it was only scrupulous professionalism that had kept her from saying anything.
“Mr. Crawley and I have decided to spend today separately,” she announced to Anna that morning as she was fixing up Mary’s hair into a delicate chignon, and Mary was not surprised to see the small flicker of relief in her eyes. Yes, Anna had definitely noticed that things were amiss. “So I thought that we might go to the seaside and do some shopping, if you'd like to come along.”
Anna smiled. “That’ll be very nice, milady.”
Mary smiled tightly back at her. Poor Anna, she hadn’t meant to catch her up in all of her drama. “I'm sorry if the past few days have been uncomfortable. I don't want to spoil your first time outside England.”
“That’s perfectly alright, milady. I enjoyed Paris well enough,” Anna said, unflappable as always. “Only, I wondered if something happened with Mr. Crawley?”
Mary sighed. “Yes,” she admitted. “I don't want to talk about it.”
Anna only nodded and continued to pin up her hair. And after a moment Mary relented, tired of it all living in her head so often. “Only, things went… badly between us on our wedding night.”
Anna’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Did he hurt you, milady?”
“No,” Mary reassured her quickly, and she saw Anna relax. “No, he didn't do anything of the sort. In fact we didn't really… have a proper wedding night, and I suppose that's where the problem lies.” Mary felt her face flush as she admitted it, she was truly not comfortable discussing this sort of thing. “We did try, and I suppose I had an attack of some nerves and then– well, he said he’d rather not. And we went to sleep.”
“I don’t know exactly,” Anna said. “But I think nerves are very normal for brides.”
“Yes, but most couples manage to get through their wedding night,” Mary said sharply. She felt like she had failed in her most fundamental duty. It sat in her breast every time she looked at Matthew, this red-hot ache of shame that she could not be a wife in this way. That perhaps this was what damaged goods meant. “Instead, he doesn’t even want to touch me.”
“You didn't exactly come to this marriage in the usual way,” Anna said. “Perhaps Mr. Crawley was just being gallant again.”
“Perhaps,” Mary admitted. “Or perhaps he regrets marrying me after all. If so it’s too late now– there's no going back.”
Anna pursed her lips. “There is always divorce, I suppose.”
Mary scoffed. “I'd rather live with a husband who hates me than end up some pathetic divorcee,” she declared. “At least we have the room for it.”
“I don't think Mr. Crawley hates you, milady,” Anna said gently.
Mary considered that. “No,” she said at last. “I don't think he does.”
She spent her day enjoying the sunshine and the seaside and doing some shopping– though she expected to do more back in Paris on their return. Still, Mary selected a silver brooch for herself and coaxed Anna into accepting a gift of a broad brimmed hat with some pink ribbon to keep the sun out of her eyes.
They took luncheon at a lovely little estaminet. It was slightly blurring the lines of a master-servant relationship, but Mary was hardly going to dine alone. And besides, it was Anna. The lines of master-servant relationship had already been quite blurred by carrying a corpse through the house together. While there, Mary attempted to get Anna to speak more on her romance with Mr. Bates.
“It’s not a romance as such,” Anna demurred.
“No?” Mary asked. “But he is why you were reluctant to leave Downton, before.”
“He is,” Anna admitted shyly. “Although I don't know that he feels the same way. At least, he never encourages me.”
“Honestly, any man who doesn't see what a treasure you are is blind, Anna.”
Anna blushed. “Thank you, milady. I get the feeling he's got a secret he doesn't want to tell me– not that it's any of my business, of course.”
Mary raised her eyebrows. “My, the mysterious Mr. Bates,” she said, intrigued. “Do you think I ought to tell Papa?”
“It’s really only a feeling,” Anna protested. “And anyways it’s his business. I really shouldn’t be telling tales, not when he’s worked so hard to keep his position.”
“Don't worry, I was only teasing. Bates and Papa are thick as thieves– whatever his secrets, I bet Papa already knows,” Mary said solemnly, though she was amused by Anna’s concern. “But I was serious about one thing– if he breaks your heart, I'm afraid I shall have some words for him.”
Anna smiled. “The same goes for you, milady.” Mary grimaced, remembering her present difficulties. Anna put her napkin to her mouth in embarrassment at having forgot herself. “I'm sorry, if that was impertinent, milady…”
“It’s quite alright,” Mary reassured her. She smiled tightly. “Haven't you heard? I don't have a heart.”
“I don't believe that, milady.”
After luncheon they decided to head back to the hotel to stay out of the worst of the heat of the day. Despite being early May the sun was bright and hot and by the time afternoon rolled around the temperature was truly unbearable. Matthew was still out, and honestly Mary didn't blame him for his absence. She knew that he had wanted to be away from her and her scorn their entire trip.
She was not expecting Matthew before evening, and happily settled in with a novel. Which was why when the door to their suite creaked open at a quarter-to six she was startled to see Matthew arriving carrying a large bouquet of trailing wisteria flowers. He had been right to spend the day apart, she thought - that potent mix of shame and anger upon seeing him was diluted somewhat by the nice day she’d had.
“I didn't expect to see you until evening,” Mary said, intrigued despite herself. “What are those for?”
“You,” Matthew said, and he held them out for her. Mary took them from him and buried her nose in the delicate spray of purple-and-white blooms. A heady floral scent filled her nose, almost overwhelming.
“Thank you,” Mary said carefully. She was not ready to forgive him just because he'd brought her flowers, although it was a step in the right direction.
“I was wondering if you might like to come out with me to dinner tonight,” Matthew offered. “I found a lovely restaurant by the seaside while I was out today, and I would like to take you there. We ought to talk.”
Mary looked at him over her bouquet. She wondered if he had rehearsed what he was going to say. There was a nervous air about him. He was not at all sure that she would accept his invitation, but it was very clear from his anxious eyes that he wanted her to.
Well, perhaps he had been punished enough. And he certainly was making an effort. She should reward that, shouldn't she? “What sort of place is it?”
He named an upscale restaurant that had been in one of her travel books. My, he really was trying, wasn't he?
“Very well,” Mary acquiesced, pleased when his face lit up in a smile at her acceptance. “I’ll tell Anna. She’ll need to start right away if I'm to be ready at any reasonable hour.”
“Excellent,” Matthew said. “Our reservation is for eight.”
Mary raised her eyebrows. “What would you have done, if I hadn't decided to come?”
“I would have very sheepishly returned to the restaurant and cancelled.”
That image managed to get an amused smile out of Mary. “Lucky for you I decided to come along, then.”
Mary fretted over the decision of a dress to wear for that evening, discarding this and that gown as Anna pulled them from her trunk, at last settling on a blue gown trimmed in gold lace and matching taffeta gold sash. Then she dithered over her jewelry, though she had only brought a limited selection, and after discarding every piece in her trunk she returned to the first pieces Anna had brought out, a pair of gold and diamond drop earrings and gold lavalier necklace. Mary could tell that her maid was exasperated at her indecision, though to Anna’s credit she hid it well.
She found it hard to explain her indecision, except that if Matthew wanted to make things up to her she needed to look her very best.
Her efforts were gratified when Matthew, clad in evening dress, caught sight of her and offered his arm and murmured, “You look lovely.”
They took a hired car up the Croisette to a lamp lit restaurant where they were seated at an intimate table overlooking the seaside out large bay windows. From here Mary could hear the crashing of the waves and smell the salt air.
Despite his insistence that they needed to talk, Matthew kept the conversation over dinner light - preferring instead to ask after her day at the seaside, or the novel she was reading, or other trivial matters. Mary decided to humor him, and gave an account of the various places she had visited.
“And how was your church visit?” Mary asked, taking a delicate bite of her vegetables. She had been surprised that it had stung when he had elected to go out without her, after they had made plans to go together.
“It gave me some perspective,” Matthew answered cryptically. “And it’s a lovely building - it took over a hundred years to build, from beginning to end.”
“Perhaps we can go again together,” Mary said coolly. At Matthew’s evident surprise at that, she added, “We did plan on visiting them together. And it sounds as if now you can be my guide.”
Matthew’s eyes shone in the golden lamplight at that. “Do you know, I think I’d like that.”
Over the course of dinner, Mary felt her anger towards Matthew thaw considerably. He had gone to some effort to make things up to her, and as they finished their dessert course she made up her mind to forgive him. If she liked what he had to say.
It was not quite cold by the seaside, but there was a chill in the air that made Mary glad she had brought a wrapping cape with her gown, especially when Matthew proposed they walk back to their hotel - not a terribly long journey, and with the round moon out and shining, turning the night-black sea to silver, it seemed a welcoming prospect.
“Very well,” Mary said, and took Matthew’s offered arm. They walked together down the boulevard quietly for a time, listening to the gentle rush of the waves rolling into the shore and the night wind off the sea. They passed a few people on their way - a couple of gentlemen obviously on their way to the casino, some local fishermen looking after their boat for tomorrow’s sail, a man scouring the beach for his runaway dog - but as they walked it seemed as if they were alone in the perfumed night air.
“Is now when we have our talk?” Mary asked, as they found themselves on a faintly shining strip of sandy beach.
“I’m sorry, I’m trying to think how best to begin.”
“By beginning, I should think.”
Matthew fixed her with a vexed look, but then let out a long breath like the sigh of the ocean. “It occurred to me that with the circumstances of our marriage, we hardly got the chance for a proper courtship,” he said seriously. “The one we had was rushed by circumstance. So I plan to rectify that.”
Mary looked at him amused. “I see.”
“I know that I'm not exactly convincing you to marry me,” Matthew said. “But I would like us to get along.”
“Just so long as you don't expect to get along all the time,” Mary said archly. “I do enjoy a good argument.”
Matthew grinned, amused. “If you enjoy a good argument, we should definitely spend more time together.”
“Perhaps we should.”
Matthew grinned, but soon he grew serious again and his blue eyes held hers. “And, once you are ready, we can try our wedding night again.”
“You’re the one who stopped, Matthew– I was perfectly willing to continue. Unless you’ve forgotten.”
Matthew winced. “No, I haven’t forgotten– and I don’t want to force you, not if you’re not ready.”
“I’m your wife, Matthew. You wouldn’t be forcing me.”
Matthew stopped suddenly, looking at her stricken. “It would be to me,” he said. “I know some men prefer to– but Mary, if you ever don’t want to, even if you never want to, please know that that would be alright with me. I’d rather know than ever hurt you.”
Mary also paused her step, suddenly unable to speak over the lump in her throat. She wasn’t sure why his words had affected her so powerfully– perhaps because as her husband, he had a perfect right to insist, and instead he was willing to give that up for her comfort.
“You wouldn’t hurt me.” Mary was utterly certain of this truth as she said the words - he would never hurt her, not in this.
Matthew’s eyes grew troubled. “I would never mean to, but I might by accident. In fact I suspect I already have.”
She could not deny the truth of how their wedding night had ended. Once again shame flooded hot into her belly, that she was incapable of this most natural thing between a husband and wife.
“That wasn’t– due to anything you did,” she admitted.
Matthew looked at her anxiously. Placing each word with gentle exactness, he asked, “Am I right in guessing that, what happened, it has to do with your night with Pamuk?”
Mary nodded, feeling faintly sick upon hearing the name.
“I thought as much,” Matthew said, a thunderous fury growing in his expression that Mary understood was on her behalf. “What happened that night?”
It was as if the shame had filled her innards with sticky tar, and she could not wrestle the words free.
Matthew’s expression gentled. He took her hand in his warm one, warding away the night wind blowing off the ocean. “It might help me to understand.”
Everything in her recoiled from him knowing the specific details of that night. It had been the worst night of her life by far, and Mary wanted nothing more than to forget all of the awful details. If she could never speak of it– if she could erase it as if it has never happened– she would do so in a heartbeat. Except that Matthew was her husband now, and the details of that night had wrought havoc in their marriage already. Who knew what more damage they could cause? She owed him an explanation.
With effort, she dragged the words past her throat. “He died, while he was–”
It was as if she was there, as he thrust into her with wild abandon, his thighs pressed to hers and his hands on either side. His expression going strangely slack, was that supposed to happen? And then some sticky and wet sensation between her thighs, and Pamuk made an awful sound in the back of his throat and collapsed on top of her, the full weight of his body crushing the air from her lungs, and she could still feel him inside of her as she looked into his glassy and unmoving eyes, bewildered, and realized he was dead.
“On top of you?” Matthew asked, horror dawning in his expression.
Mary nodded miserably. “He was terribly heavy, and I had to… push him off. It was like I was trapped, and I could hardly budge him. So when you– I suppose it reminded me a little.”
“Oh God, Mary, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Mary said distantly. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Even so,” Matthew said, his fierce expression lit by the warm glow of lamplight on the edge of his jaw. “It’s a good thing he’s dead, because if he wasn't I'd have a thing or two to say to him for what he put you through.”
“I don't think he planned it,” Mary said glibly. “Dying, I mean. I very much doubt that was his plan.”
It surprised her that she could joke about it. And yet the words had fallen out of her mouth without conscious thought, and they did not hurt as she would have expected.
“No,” Matthew said with a wry smile. “I suppose not. I didn't realize it had been so terrible for you– it's no wonder you found it hard to shake the memories.”
And once again Mary felt her fury rise hot in her breast. “I'm hardly some wilting flower running for her smelling salts, Matthew.”
“Of course not,” Matthew said quickly. “Still, I’d prefer to wait until you’re ready.”
It was on the tip of Mary's tongue to say that she was ready now– that she had been ready that night and that his interference had only made things worse. That if he wanted, they could go back to the hotel right now and try again. She stopped short.
Would he reject her again, if she froze up with nerves a second time? That was unacceptable. For all her thawing anger, she was not yet ready to face that possibility.
If she wanted to prevent that from happening, Mary would need to drive Matthew absolutely mad with desire for her. He clearly desired her, that much was obvious after their wedding night– but also her allure was not nearly as powerful as she thought if he could reject her as he had.
Which meant that she would need to seduce her own husband. Fortunately, Matthew’s plan to court her dovetailed perfectly with her own plans.
“Very well,” Mary said. “But if you plan to court me, I must admit I have very high standards.”
“You don't think I can meet them?”
“I didn't say that. Only that you must try very hard, or I won't be impressed.”
“Well, Lady Mary, I accept your challenge,” Matthew said solemnly. “Would you deign to give me some hints?”
Mary looked at him from under her lashes. “Oh, I might be persuaded,” she said. “Flowers were a nice start.”
The last week of their honeymoon went far more smoothly than the first, and Matthew was glad that Mary seemed to relax considerably as the days went on. Although they did make time to visit Notre-Dame-d’Espérance once again - and Matthew was delighted that Mary seemed to be interested, or at least did a very good job of pretending–most of the next few days they spent their time at the beach attached to their hotel.
With Cannes nearly empty of its usual winter crowd, they had the beaches almost entirely to themselves - and other late visitors kept their distance, equally preferring their privacy. With such luxurious solitude, Mary seemed more free to lounge in her bathing costume under their broad striped umbrella.
Here Matthew managed to coax a more playful side out of Mary. She gamely waded out into the water alongside him, and when he splashed her with seawater she fixed him with a vexed look - and then splashed him back twice as hard. Other times they held swimming competitions, or searched for pretty shells on the beach, or tried to wade as deep as they could go. Mary would hold fast to his arm when the largest waves rolled in, and Matthew tried very hard not to think about the way the stretchy wool of the bathing costume clung to his wife’s body in these moments.
Mary was also more relaxed in the mornings. In Paris, she had always immediately dressed for the day, but with their more relaxed itinerary Mary forewent having her tray in bed and instead spent the mornings alongside Matthew in her dressing gown - a confection of gauzy white and pink silk that she closed with a silk tie that accentuated her waist.
Matthew loved seeing her in this more intimate mode. It was a sight reserved only for a husband, and even just watching her pick her way through breakfast - Mary admitted to some lingering nausea in the mornings - was enough to remind him what a privilege it was to see her this way. Several times he was caught staring, and Mary would meet his gaze with only a self-satisfied smile.
After several days of this and feeling restless, they hired a car and took a leisurely drive down the coast to Nice. They wended their way down the seaside, stopping where it pleased them when they came across a lovely view or interesting spot. Though they took a leisurely pace, the roads were thick with winding curves and Mary took to touching Matthew's shoulder to steady herself whenever the road grew too rugged.
Once in Nice, they visited the glass and wrought-iron marvel of the Casino de la Jetée-Promenade. It was beautiful, with the sun streaming in through the grand domes, but neither Matthew nor Mary being inclined to serious gambling they did not stay long. They ate luncheon there, however, where Mary remarked that the grand glass structure reminded her of the Crystal Palace in London.
“I think that was the inspiration,” Matthew said. “At least according to the guidebook.”
“Then I suppose it must be correct.”
“Have you never been? I thought your family had spent quite a bit of time in the Riviera.”
“Papa would have keeled over before he would let us spend time in a casino,” Mary said with an amused grin. “Even just for a luncheon. He’ll be quite scandalized when we tell him you brought me to such a den of iniquity.”
“Well I can't fault the impulse.” Matthew glanced down at his plate. “Though I doubt the corruptive power of the chicken.”
“It is quite good, though,” Mary countered, spearing a piece of chicken with her fork. “I'm afraid I may be seduced away from good English food by the dastardly French cooking.”
To make her point, Mary savored her next bite. And God help him, but with Mary talking about seduction he couldn't help but stare at the way her lips wrapped around the tines of the fork and her eyelids fluttered closed in the pleasure of the bite.
“Do you think we should ask for the recipe? I'm sure Mrs. Patmore would be willing to expand her repertoire.”
“Oh no,” Mary said. “I don't dare. Papa hates garlic.”
Matthew grinned. “You know, if we had a house all our own, we could give our cook whatever French recipes you like.”
“Yes, but would she cook as well as Mrs Patmore?” Mary asked, and when Matthew had no answer to that smugly said, “I thought not.”
They drove back via wending country roads, the golden haze of dusk settling in around them as they passed country estaminets and ancient Roman aqueducts passed by alongside. As they wound their way back to their hotel, the crimson sunset turning the sea below a flashing carmine, Mary unconsciously set her hand up on Matthew's knee. Matthew said nothing, preferring not to call attention to so familiar and intimate a gesture, but the spot where Mary’s hand rested burned with gentle warmth the rest of the way down to the shore.
It was hard to believe their honeymoon was coming to its close, Mary reflected, on their last full day in Cannes. Tomorrow they would take the train up to Paris, where they would board the sleeper train and make their way back to London.
She was not ready for it to be over.
While everything was not quite perfect, she and Matthew had captured a small sliver of paradise here. They had come to a deeper understanding of one another. She had enjoyed their time spent together.
And her planned seduction of Matthew had not yet borne fruit. Mary had not expected it to be as difficult as it was, though she had spent every morning in her sheerest peignoir and had endeavored to touch him at every plausible opportunity. Matthew was not unaffected by it. She saw the way he looked at her sometimes, how his eyes darkened and fixed on her before flickering guiltily away. But it seemed that Matthew’s self-control was far more iron than Mary had anticipated.
She was not giving up, of course. In a way she enjoyed this game that she was playing with him, trying to test his restraint. But it would be so much harder back at Downton to find opportunity, rather than on these sun-drenched shores.
Well, the day was not over yet.
“We should come back here,” Mary declared as she picked her way through breakfast. She was still dealing with nausea in the mornings. “Maybe next year.”
Matthew smiled warmly. “Of course– I’ve enjoyed our time here.”
“Perhaps when it’s not so hot,” Mary added, because it had been quite warm and while she had enjoyed the warm waters of the Mediterranean this close to summer, it was sometimes too hot to do more than lay under an umbrella. “Without the rushed engagement, we’ll have our pick of dates.”
“You don’t want to come back for our anniversary?”
“Oh, I’m sure there are plenty of ways to celebrate that,” Mary said, in what she hoped was a low and sultry voice. Matthew froze for a moment, and Mary reveled in the small victory– until a wave of nausea washed over her.
“Mary?” Matthew asked, concerned.
“Excuse me,” Mary said quickly, setting her for down haphazardly and nearly running to the water closet. She only barely got the door shut behind her before she lost most of the breakfast she had just eaten.
From outside the door a concerned Matthew asked, “Are you alright, my darling?”
“I’ll be fine,” Mary called back, fighting to keep her stomach from rebelling yet again. “I only– need a minute.”
“I’ll get you some water,” Matthew declared. “To wash the taste out.”
Mary waited a few minutes more, as the queasiness subsided. Once she was certain she was not going to lose any more of her breakfast, she emerged to find Matthew with the promised glass of water. Mary took it gratefully, washing the taste of bile out of her mouth.
“It’s been terribly hard for you, hasn’t it?” Matthew asked, gently helping her back to the settee.
“I hate it,” Mary admitted. She didn’t just mean the nausea, although that was part and parcel with the rest of the symptoms of her pregnancy. “Dr. Clarkson said at our last appointment that the sickness should go away in a few weeks, at least.”
“What can I do to help?” Matthew asked earnestly.
Mary considered. She’d always dealt with this alone on the mornings when it had happened, she hardly knew what to ask for. “You’ve done plenty already,” she said after a moment. “There really isn’t much to do. I’ll be alright– I just need to wait it out is all.”
“Mary,” Matthew admonished gently. “Even if it’s just something to make you more comfortable– I’d like to help. How about I send Anna to request another breakfast? Is there anything you’d like?”
“Not eggs,” Mary said quickly, since that had been what had triggered the nausea. Even the thought of eggs brought the queasiness back. “Toast– plain toast.”
“Wait there,” Matthew insisted, and he disappeared for a moment to find Anna. Mary closed her eyes, concentrating on the warmth of the sunshine coming in through the curtained windows. She opened her eyes once she heard Matthew returning. He smiled softly when he saw her, the sunlight glinting in his golden hair, and then sat next to Mary and gently began to rub her back.
After a short time Anna returned with a new breakfast tray laden with plain toast. She set it in front of Mary with a short, “I’m sorry you’re feeling so poorly, milady.”
“Thank you Anna,” Matthew said. As Mary ate and managed to keep down her toast, he continued to gently rub her back.
As she finished her breakfast and then dressed for the day, and as they spent the final day of their honeymoon walking down the beach together, Mary wondered just what she had done to deserve such luck.
Notes:
The south of France was popular among English travelers primarily as a winter destination until the 1920s. I wanted to preserve Mary and Matthew's honeymoon destination from the show, so I made the decision to have them go in the off season. Many thanks to Edwardian Promenade, for information about the Riviera as a destination in Edwardian times. The church that Matthew visits is a real one in Cannes, France and it's incredibly beautiful. The casino that Matthew and Mary have lunch in was also a real place, but was destroyed during WWII.
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