A/N: This fic (sorry, I don't know why I feel the need to begin every fic with a story!) came about after we were all worried about the series 2 spoilers and what would happen to M/M... Are they really over each other? Will they reunite? And we were all talking horrible dark angsty thoughts (and writing fics about them, in my case.)
So, EOlivet and I decided that, to remedy this, we needed some SERIOUS FLUFF. I also need to acknowledge Silverduck as always for being an amazing beta-reader and honestly making my fics a heck of a lot better!
Anyway, it was requested that I write a "wildly romantic proposal" that had to include a) an engagement ring, b) Matthew going down on one knee, and c) Mary being emotional/tearful.
It is UNASHAMEDLY romantic. It's very 'neat'. It's completely sappy, very silly, and really not how I actually envisage them reuiniting at all - it's PURE wish fulfilment. So hopefully, I ask that you see it in the same light, put aside thoughts of realism and feasability and just enjoy the ride!
A Decent Proposal
"I'm sorry… I am sorry. You must see that it's for the best."
"But Matthew, you –"
"I can't, Lavinia, I'm sorry. It wouldn't be fair, to you, to me… I can't. You deserve a husband who loves you with his whole heart, and that man is not me."
"Do you love me?"
"Of course… You are so very dear to me. But don't you see, I couldn't make you happy, not in the long run… I walked away from someone once because I didn't believe they loved me enough. How could I put you through the same thing I would not let myself settle for?"
"You mean Mary."
"Yes."
"You love her still."
"Yes."
"Tell me, Matthew, did I ever stand a chance?"
"Lavinia, please don't…"
"Goodbye, Matthew."
Over.
Never before had so much meaning applied to the word.
New.
Everything felt new, fresh, bright, full of optimism and possibilities. Himself, the world… Matthew felt as though anything were possible in this new climate where he was free; free of war, free of commitment, free from dependency or ties to anyone or anything (save the army, which had not fully decommissioned him yet).
Except this place.
He would always be tied to this place, would never be free from it. But that was alright, now. He had accepted this, and, now that he was finally free from all other ties, he wanted to embrace it, cement it… and all that it entailed. His mind was set; for no longer would he tarry and waste his life through misplaced cautions or futile concerns. Life was too precious for that.
For a month he had been re-adjusting, finding his place in this world free from war. And now he had found it – or, hoped to, very soon. As he stepped through into the lofty hall of Downton Abbey, smiling at the reassuring familiarity of Carson taking his cap and uniform greatcoat, he looked around him with a fresh sense of appreciation. Across the years of the war he had been here both as returning heir and recuperating patient. But now, the hospital and the soldiers were gone, and he was here not as a future earl, but simply as a man.
A man who wanted to make things right. At long last.
At Carson's direction, Matthew went through into the library, newly restored to its pre-war elegance. His pulse quickened as his eyes fell upon her, sitting gracefully at her father's desk, pen in hand, composing a letter, he presumed. She looked beautiful, so beautiful in the cold December light, though he could see the toll of the last year's strain in the weary set of her shoulders and the tired shadows on her skin.
Mary felt, rather than heard, him enter the room. She stiffened, pen ceasing its flow across the page. The last time they'd met, so many months ago… they had slipped, had admitted (without actually admitting anything, as was their way) to things, feelings, that they couldn't possibly admit to… But they were both tied.
And then, everything had erupted, the scandal – God, the scandal! – and he must surely know that, now, know of her shame.
She blinked once, took a steadying breath and turned her head towards him; not really looking at him, not daring to.
"I'm afraid my father isn't here, he's –"
"It isn't your father I'm here to see."
Mary shivered involuntarily at the rich, confident tone of his voice stirring through the still air, making her back and her hands tingle.
"Oh." She allowed her eyes to flick up to his face, his strong, handsome face marred only by the thin red scar in front of his ear, though really it did not mar him, she thought, quite the opposite in fact. She felt her heart race, even as she somehow calmed simply by looking upon him.
"I've been in London, finalising my affairs there." He sounded brisk, purposeful. Mary raised an eyebrow, lips parted in a silent question. "I've cut all ties there," he continued, "I wanted to be free to take up my life here again. To pick up where it left off – if that is possible."
Mary blinked, not quite understanding. She twisted her body slightly in her chair, though her grip remained clenched to her pen. She hardly dared hope…
"I see!" She breezed, trying her best to sound noncommittal. As though his every word didn't change and define her understanding, her world. "And – will Lavinia be joining you soon?"
"No." Mary drew in a sharp breath at his tone and what it implied. His eyes glinted at her, his voice softening a fraction. "You know I couldn't... I had to…" He took a breath. "It's alright."
"Oh…" She shifted a little in her seat. He was being so cryptic, why was he not happy, or angry, or questioning, something other than this strange, quiet determination? She had to know… "Matthew – I know that you must have heard about – about –"
"Pamuk? Yes."
She sucked in a breath of surprise. Her heart was thudding in her chest. That couldn't be it, so simple! He almost seemed to be… smiling… She didn't understand.
"Yes?" Mary raised her eyebrows incredulously at him. "Is – is that all you have to say?"
"Yes."
Mary shook her head slightly, lowering her eyes. His attitude baffled her, but now he knew at least.
"I'm sorry you had to find out that way, Matthew, I…" She sighed. Already she felt a weight easing from her shoulders; he knew… He knew and his expression was not angry, not repulsed, but… tender, somehow. "I wanted to tell you, when you – I couldn't – I'm so sorry."
"It doesn't matter."
The intensity and meaning in his tone caused Mary to look up sharply, meeting his eyes in sparked understanding.
"What?"
"It doesn't matter." He smiled at her suddenly, a warm smile that shone with sincerity and… and… Mary hardly dared cherish the hope slowly blossoming in her. "God knows we've both acted like fools these past years, Mary," he continued. "You see, it's funny… War has a way of distinguishing between the things that matter, and the things that don't."
"And…" Her voice quavered softly, her eyes fixed upon his. She realised her hand was shaking, gripping her pen still. She lay it down, pressing her palm flat over it on the table. "And what, then, does matter?"
"You."
Mary let out a quiet, sudden sob, realising quite drastically as she looked at his dear face just what he was saying. She lifted a hand to cover her mouth, blinking back tears of sheer and overwhelming relief at the fact that he knew, finally, but he couldn't possibly let it go that easily… Surely!
"But, Matthew, you… surely you can't dismiss it so –"
"Can't I? Mary…" He smiled, tenderly, so tenderly! He took several steps towards her across the room, eyes glittering in earnest. "If I have learnt anything from this damned war, it's that life is far too uncertain, far too precious to waste on past regrets and grievances. I was… shocked, and hurt, of course I was, but…" His expression darkened a moment then softened; "Mary, I really would be a fool if I allowed the past to keep me from you now, when I…" He licked his lips nervously and took another step closer, speaking breathlessly but with great intent. "When I love you, so very, very much. That is what matters, Mary – nothing else. I've finally realised that."
Mary sobbed again, this time with a slight heave of her shoulders, but as she lowered her hands from her mouth she revealed a smile of the purest joy spreading across her face. To hear him say those words… It couldn't be real. It couldn't be true.
"Say it again, Matthew."
"I love you. I never stopped, Mary." He was grinning. Another step brought him closer, he was standing in front of her chair now; she had twisted fully to face him and blinked up at him with silent tears falling down her cheeks. He knelt before her, barely allowing his smile to falter as he hissed softly at the unfamiliar strain on his injured leg. Once settled comfortably on one knee, he took her hands instinctively and held them in her lap, grasping them eagerly. "I was a fool then, too; the only reason I left was because I was too high-minded to understand that –"
"I love you."
Matthew's chest dipped as he released the breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. She loved him… Though he had known, in his heart, to hear the admission from her lips sounded more sweet than he had ever imagined. He met her eyes and smiled, a beautiful, loving, wonderful smile that shone from within his very soul, and she smiled back, almost laughing through her tears she felt so happy to have said it. Matthew bent his head and brought her hands to his lips, reverently, tenderly kissing them. Mary sighed at the thrill of his lips brushing feather-soft kisses over her palms, knuckles, fingers, the delicate skin inside her wrist… His lips were warm and gentle, and the feel of them… Oh, it was almost too much to bear, the sheer scale of love he laid at her feet.
Matthew could smell her perfume, taste her skin. He was swept away, borne on soaring waves of affection. Eventually, after long, sweet moments of simply relishing the freedom to kiss her and touch her, he raised his head and looked up into her eyes, thumbs caressing her hands softly.
"Mary, darling Mary, I'll ask you only once more." He swallowed nervously and gazed up with hope and longing in his arresting blue eyes. "Do you love me enough to spend your life with me?"
She laughed; a bright, delicate, melodious laugh of delight that rippled into Matthew's heart. It was so simple! So very, very simple.
"Yes! Yes." She could say it over and over. Her smile was so wide she felt it would crack her face, deep dimples forming in her cheeks, shining with the wetness of her still-falling tears of joy. "Of course I do, Matthew, you're the love of my life!"
Forced to blink back his own tears at the clear adoration sparkling in her eyes, Matthew swallowed and clasped her hands a little tighter.
"Then marry me." His voice was low, rich and trembling with love and earnestness. "Wait!" He suddenly cried nervously, releasing her hands and fumbling in his uniform pockets. Finally he pulled them out once more, this time holding a delicate, glittering object. Mary gasped another sob as he took her left hand in his, holding the ring (a single diamond set in gold; simple, elegant, like her, he thought) in readiness before her finger. He found her eyes again then, his nerves betrayed only by a slight twitch of his lips against the sure determination of his expression, "Marry me."
Mary couldn't speak. It couldn't be real, it couldn't; she kept expecting to wake up at any moment to find herself cold and alone and without him… But he was here, in front of her, on his knees asking her to be his wife and finally, finally she could make right what she had so almost destroyed entirely so many years ago. That he should still love her, still want her, now, after everything and all their mistakes and all these years… She could grasp only the slightest inkling of how much he must love her, and even that was enough to overwhelm her. Thank the Lord she was sitting down already or her knees would have buckled under her! As it was, she was trembling all over, her right hand clenched into a fist, gripping at her skirt to steady herself.
A nod, a released breath, a trembling smile. It was enough. Both their hands were shaking so much that Matthew could barely slide the ring onto her third finger, grasping her hand tightly as it slid over her knuckle then pressing his lips firmly to the back of her hand. The cool metal, beautiful in its simplicity, bound them, sealed them… Given by him, received by her. His shoulders shook gently and, when he finally looked up, Mary's breath hitched in her throat as she saw his own cheeks wet with tears.
"Dearest Matthew…" She breathed his name softly through her lips in a whisper, wonderingly.
"Mary… Darling Mary." His eyes roved over her face, drinking in her every feature, every dimple, freckle, shadow, every tiny beautiful imperfection that only increased her worth in his eyes. They had both been through so much, damaged and aged and matured through their experiences. When he thought of them before the war, the memory of them felt so naïve and young, innocent, stupid… Now he knew, was assured of so many things, unafraid to act and to love, for life was too fleeting for hesitance. But still, when he thought of those years they had lost, that they could have had… He shook his head. "Mary, I'm sorry… that I ever doubted you, that I ever thought –"
"Matthew, stop! Stop," she laughed affectionately, unkind perhaps, but his apologies were so dear and endearing and so entirely unnecessary that she could not help the fond chuckle. She pulled her hands free of his and gently clasped his face, a slight intake of breath gasping past her lips as her palms brushed over the slight prickle of stubble along his jaw, fingers tracing the twisted line of his scar. His words had ceased at her touch, dried up in his throat. His own hands were grasping her knees to steady himself as he gazed up at her, watching, loving, waiting. "Don't. Please don't… I thought we had agreed. This matters. Not what we may have done, or not done, in the past… Please don't let all that matter, Matthew. You love me now, don't you?"
"Of course…"
"Then that's it. That's all there is to it. Dear Lord, Matthew, I love you…"
As the precious words spilled from her lips, she lowered her face to his. Matthew straightened, easing up on his knees to reach her, gasping slightly at the strain but it didn't matter, nothing mattered as his eyes hooded over, hands clasping her thighs for support and hers on his face. It was intimate, so intimate, as everything faded and blurred around them and there was nothing else but each other, the heat between them and the sheer, beautiful happiness of their love and their realisation of it.
It was too momentous. Mary paused, lips hovering a mere fraction from his, feeling her skin prickle and tingle at the blissful anticipation of it. They had waited so long… She wanted to hold this moment, savour it, store it up and lock it in her memory; this last, precious moment before her world fell into place because she knew that, somehow, nothing would ever be the same once her lips met his. His breath fell, hotly, onto her lips, their noses gently brushed past one another, her pulse was racing, flaming through her veins as her heavy-lidded eyes could see the deep blue intensity of his, filling her entire perception before they fluttered closed and finally… finally… With the softest, most tender of touches their lips grazed against each other, tantalising, delicious. It was not quite a kiss; they were too paralysed with the thrill of fulfilment, the beauty of it. Matthew hissed softly in pleasure as Mary sighed deeply, feeling the gradual release of every point of long-held tension from her body. After a moment, they seemed to have recovered from that first, intoxicating touch and their lips met again, more firmly this time. Devastatingly slowly, drawing it out and savouring every blissful sensation, they eased into the kiss, into each other, hands clutching tighter, fingers gripping as they sank into slow-building, heady passion.
Every fibre of Matthew's being was crying out for her, the dizzying intensity making his head swim. He felt as though he were losing a hold on reality; so simple a thing as a kiss couldn't possibly be so affecting... And yet it was. His hands came up to clasp hers over his face, feeling the cold press of her diamond ring under his palm, making him smile against her lips before his hands searched for her face, tracing her and savouring her, his own darling Mary, drawing her closer to him.
Though Mary was bent uncomfortably forwards, it was forgotten as she opened her mouth to him, gasping at the quick, hot flick of his tongue against hers. They strained towards each other, pulling, holding, grasping, unable to kiss deeply enough or earnestly enough to fulfil their long-suppressed desires. But it was too sweet, too special to consider anything more.
Mary pushed his shoulders gently, shifting as she somehow manoeuvred her chair back a little and slid to her knees before him. At last the distance was closed, enough to press together, arms tightly wrapped around waists, lips and tongues and noses clashing and sliding against each other as they abandoned thought and released themselves to it. Finally… Four years of heartache and repression and pain and now this…
All at once the intensity was exhausted and they slowed, sharing sweeter, languid, indulgent kisses, pausing for gasps of breath between and stealing treasured glances. Mary's fingers were running through his thick, soft hair, his clutched desperately to the back of her neck while his other arm tightly encircled her slender waist, crushing her to him. They trembled in each other's arms, finally drawing back into a warm embrace, cheeks pressed together as the world around them slowly seeped back into their consciousness.
"Matthew…" Mary whispered, her breath tickling his ear.
"Yes?" He couldn't think, was too overwhelmed by the flood of emotions raging through his body.
"I think, dearest, that… perhaps we had better stand up now."
"Oh. Yes."
It really was not a comfortable position, they slowly realised, nor an appropriate one; on their knees embracing fiercely in the middle of Lord Grantham's library. Matthew suddenly remembered his leg; the heady delight had thrown it from his mind, but, now they had calmed the dull ache returned, intensified by the strain of kneeling for so long. It didn't matter though. None of it mattered.
Clutching one another for support, they slowly rose to their feet, refusing to relinquish their hold. They stood just a little apart, gazing warmly into each other's eyes, reading and understanding there the depth of love that it had taken them so long to realise. Love so strong they could not say it, could not show it, could not comprehend it beyond simply knowing and trusting in each other.
Matthew leaned forwards and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.
They grinned at each other, the light of irrepressible joy shining from their faces; their faces that were stained with tears and marked with the raw pressure of their kisses. Each had never looked more stunningly beautiful to the other.
Over.
The years of regret. The misguided affairs. The denial. The pain. The past.
New.
Everything felt new, fresh, bright, full of optimism and possibilities. They could do anything. The world seemed changed, brightened, painted with the light and the promise of their love. Insurmountable, deep-seated love that had stayed true, though hidden away by circumstance.
They would be married. They loved each other. That was what mattered.
The End
A/N: As ever, thank you for reading! I had huge fun writing this so I really hope you enjoyed reading it equally! I'd love to know what you thought - reviews are always enormously appreciated, like the cherry on the cake!
Thank you! :D