A/N: Originally this first chapter was a one-shot called "Stolen", as inspired by Dashboard Confessional's song. It was meant to be a modern-day, summery version of the Christmas Special "twirling in the snow" scene with a cute, fluffy ending, but I was never one to let happiness thrive unthwarted. Thank you to everyone who deigns to read this travesty.
Newport, Rhode Island.
August.
The sleek, black Lincoln lurched to a stop as its sleeping passenger flinched, sat up, and rubbed his sore eyes. The driver, a balding, middle-aged man wearing a pinstriped suit and sunglasses pulled the hand brake and turned his head around. "We're here," he announced.
Matthew Crawley, who was still sprawled on the backseat, opened his eyes tentatively and looked out the tinted windows. "It this it?"
What he saw was the Levinson family's vacation house—a Newport beach mansion in all of its fabled grandeur. The Levinsons were the relatives of his third cousin's wife, Cora, and his invitation was issued by Cora's mother, Mrs. Martha Levinson, who had single-handedly lorded over the board of directors for Levinson & Co. (shipping or manufacture; Matthew struggled to recall) ever since her husband died in a plane crash twenty-four years ago. With the Levinsons' massive fortune, the edifice before him came as no surprise at all, however much it loomed and intimidated. The house was constructed of pale marble and burgundy brick; the contrast in color perfectly complemented the long, rounded windows, French balconies, and the gilded door. There was a meandering path from the five-car garage, where the Lincoln stopped, to the house itself. The lawn was freshly cut; Matthew looked in vain for a dandelion or a weed sprouting unnoticed.
The sun was setting now, and the pale pink sunk deeper into the horizon as it was overtaken by a light indigo. Suddenly, all the windows lit up and cast a warm glow on the imminent night sky. Illuminated, the house and grounds were now prepared for the festivities that would start soon and continue to the early morning hours.
Matthew let his mind wander as he opened the car door and heaved his flagging body onto the ground. The driver was already standing by the the trunk of the car; he handed Matthew his slightly battered leather suitcase.
After shaking the driver's hand and thanking him, Matthew started walking up the long path and remembering why he was here in a stranger's house in Rhode Island, in America, instead of his small, but comfortable flat in London. Mrs. Levinson was a stranger to him; he was only here because she sent him the same invitation that she sent to every member of the Levinson and Crawley families, and everyone within seven degrees of separation from them.
The invitation, which was sticking out from the back pocket of Matthew's jeans, was printed on a parchment-like notecard that smelled of lavender. Mrs. Martha Levinson requests the pleasure of your company on the occasion of a party for her granddaughter, Miss Mary Crawley. It then went on to list the date, time, address, and phone number for the purpose of "répondez s'il vous plaît". Matthew had laughed his silent laughs at this effort to make a "graduation party" for Mary seem like a debutante ball from an Edith Wharton novel. When he received this invitation in the post three months ago, he had planned on expressing his regrets at "not being able to make it all the way to America", but luck so had it that his law firm wanted him in the New York office the week before the party. Here he was, walking up a foreign path, both curious and wary of seeing Mary again after they had last parted in England a year ago.
He looked at his watch as he came to the front door and pressed on the doorbell. Seven o'clock. The party was to start at eight.
The door swung open and Sybil Crawley's surprised smile greeted him. "Matthew! Hi! They didn't tell me you were coming! Oh, but it's so nice to see you!"
"It's been a year, and you're still as young and pretty as ever!"
Sybil laughed and hugged him, showing him inside and pulling the door shut. "So, how do you like Grandma's house?"
"Is that even a question? Well, even if it were, there's only one possible answer," Matthew grinned, lugging his suitcase up the front steps. "Is there anywhere I can put this…?"
"Of course. I'll show you to your room first, and then you can come and say hello to everyone."
"Everyone? Is that really everyone?"
"What do you mean? Mary's graduating from Brown and going off to Oxford! Granny even came, so of course everyone's here. They're all out on the deck, and I bet they'll be thrilled to see you, finally."
Sybil led him up a flight of stairs to the guest bedrooms. Walking in the hallways, Matthew could see that the inside was just as luxurious as the outside of the mansion. Mrs. Levinson certainly had no hesitation when it came to spending money on vintage paintings, exotic artifacts, and silk upholsteries.
"Even dear old Violet is here? How did they ever coax her to get on the plane?"
Sybil smiled mischievously. "I think she wanted to come see how 'the American grandmother' did up the new house. She'd absolutely love it if the party were a disaster."
"I'm sure it won't be." Matthew chuckled as Sybil directed him into the second bedroom from the landing: a large, square room that smelled like his lavender-scented invitation. He placed his suitcase on the bed.
"Come on, let's go outside."
Once they were out on the deck, Matthew saw the cluster of familiar faces at sitting at the far end on Adirondack chairs, drinking drinking cocktails and martinis. The men wore khakis and jackets without ties; the women looked immaculate in their tea-length dresses and patent pumps. The only unfamiliar person was an auburn-haired woman with eyes like Cora's; she could only be the famous Martha Levinson, who now turned to look at Matthew.
Sybil nudged him, mouthing, "Go on."
He cleared his throat and walked toward them with Sybil at his side. It felt so strange to see his extended family for the first time in a year, and in America, of all places. Twelve months ago, he had moved to London after getting a job with his current law firm, and it seemed that their lives would naturally begin to drift apart. Sometimes, Matthew missed them, Mary in particular, though he emphatically told himself, as soon as he ever thought of her, to forget her as a figment of his past.
Now, they all stood up from their chairs and greeted him with warm smiles. Matthew's eyes flickered immediately to Mary, who stood with Edith a ways away from the rest of the party. Their backs were turned away from him as they looked onto the sandy beach and the crashing waves only a few hundred yards away. They were chatting to each other quietly. Mary wore a dress of white chiffon that blew with the salty breeze. He could see the veins on her legs as she stood in her cream-coloured heels and—
"Matthew! We've been waiting for you to get here! Long time, no see! You've been well?" Robert wringed his hand.
Cora hugged him. "You have no idea how glad we all are that you made it here! After last Christmas, we were afraid you'd come up with any excuse to avoid us. But I'm so happy that you're here."
Even Violet stood to greet him. "Matthew," she said in her quaint accent, "I hope they aren't working you too hard at the law firm? You look twenty pounds thinner."
"I'm fine, and very glad to see all of you again," Matthew said, beaming at everyone.
Violet turned to Martha. "It's a pity we don't do formal introductions anymore…Well, this is Matthew, and you know all about him already, of course."
Martha smiled warmly. "And I'm sure he's heard all about me. How do you do, Matthew? Isn't that what you British say? With all of you here, I feel like a foreigner in my own country!"
Matthew grinned, deciding to like her as he took her outstretched hand. "Mrs. Levinson, thank you so much for having me here."
Mary and Edith turned around and came towards him now with ethereal airs. He couldn't hide from himself the feeling of regret and silent heartache that he felt as he looked at Mary's face again.
"Mary," he half-whispered. "And Edith…Wow, you both look absolutely stunning."
"Matthew, don't you just love it here?" Edith laughed, giving his hand a quick squeeze.
Mary's eyes found his now, and they seemed to share a deluge of emotions: delight, wistfulness, regret, forgiveness, caution…There was no blame between them; there was no use in assigning blame. They were here, in this moment, and simply happy to be standing on the same dock, by the same ocean.
"Congratulations, Mary," he said in a voice that was bare audible. Louder, he thought to himself.
"It means so much to me that you're here, really," Mary said, giving him a swift kiss on the cheek.
"I'm so happy to see you again." He smiled and she smiled back at him and just like that, they knew they would be alright again.
The doorbell rang and the guests began trickling in: gaggles of smartly-dressed people who all seemed to know each other, if not directly, then through a distant relative or a close friend. Martha Levinson maneuvered her spry figure throughout the rooms, directly the guests out to the tables on the back lawn, supervising the dining staff and DJ she had hired for the night, keeping everything in control. All this, of course, was to Violet's chagrin as she sat and asked Matthew wryly and rhetorically, "Should I tell the Johnsons' toddler to smash a wine bottle and see how she deals with it?" Matthew shook his head and laughed, eyeing the wine rack warily.
The dinner began with Martha hitting her glass daintily with a spoon and calling for everyone's attention. The communal chatter died down.
"Tonight, we're all here to celebrate Mary, my oldest granddaughter. After graduating cum laude from Brown University, she's going to study at Oxford University this fall. Let's all raise our glasses to Mary to say how proud we all are of her accomplishments, and to express our best wishes for her future."
Violet, who sat between Matthew and Edith, muttered under her breath, "Hardly a great speech," though she did later stoop to compliment Martha on her "nice choice of caterers".
In retrospect, Matthew would have said the party was spectacular, but in that moment, everything was lackluster as he stared glumly at his prime rib, wondering about Mary and marveling at how much a year had distanced them. What did he know about her now? She had graduated from Brown and was going to Oxford to study English and History. She had broken off an engagement with Rich, her boyfriend in college, namely because she wanted "bigger and better things in life". Yet, there was so much about her that he didn't know anymore. Did she still love taking walks in the late night, when the world was sleepy? Did she still (sometimes) want to be an activist against world hunger? Did she still feel as uncertain about the future as he did? Was she still a tiny bit in love with him, like he was with her?
After dinner and coffee (tea for Violet), the guests began leaving as they had arrived, murmuring their blessings and congratulations to Mary on their way out.
The night had set its canopy of darkness over the beach. No one noticed Mary and Matthew as they slipped away from the hub of the party, each on his and her own whim. Matthew wanted to get away from the incessant good humor and laughter; it was infectious, but distracting, too. Mary merely wanted to see the ocean again before she had to leave in the morning on a plane back to England, before the summer sea could fade away.
They stood at opposite ends of the beachfront, as far away from the dinner tables as they could, utterly aware of the each other's presence. They heard the waves rolling in and back out, saw the froth and stray seashells gathering and receding, gathering and receding…
Matthew looked at Mary as she stood with her hair blowing back in the breeze, defiant and graceful. He walked towards her and stood beside her, assuming the same stance and staring out at the water.
For a long while, they said not a word to each other, but held their champagne glasses and inhaled deeply. The music, the muffled chatter, and the gentle crash of waves was enough for conversation. Matthew fixed his gaze ahead, but couldn't fix his thoughts on something as pure and blue as the ocean. He thought only of the silent girl beside him, who had alabaster skin and wore a white dress that made her look angelic. Even though he had known Mary for years, she was still an enigma to him.
"You can talk, you know," Mary spoke, breaking their wall of silence. "You're not interrupting me or anything."
Matthew smiled, shifting his weight onto the tip of his toes. "So, you're off tomorrow morning?"
"Yes, but my plane doesn't leave until the day after."
"Straight to Oxford?"
"Actually, Aunt Rosamund is picking me up at Heathrow, and I might stay with her for a few days, do some shopping before I settle in and wait for term to start," she said. "Aren't you going back to London after this?"
"My flight doesn't leave for another couple of days. I'll probably go down to New York City tomorrow and stay the night, too."
"If you're up to leaving at seven in the morning after this riot, Grandma's driver can take us both."
"That sounds like a good idea, now that you mention it. If you don't mind me coming with you, of course."
"Of course not! I can get Grandma to book us hotel rooms, if that's alright with you."
Matthew turned to look at her, really look at her, and he could see in her eyes something that mirrored the truth in his own heart. "Mary," he said in a low voice, "Did you ever think that we could have been—"
"Yes. All the time." Her piercing eyes stared back at him.
"And what about now?"
Mary smiled sadly. "We've been through too much already. It couldn't possibly be that simple now."
A moment of silence hung in the air before the DJ chose the next song. When the chords struck up again, a familiar melody sounded across the beach: a song they listened to when they were younger, sitting on the Yorkshire hills and talking about what love was, flirting and hiding their hearts.
We watch the season pull up its own stakes, and catch the last weekend of the last week
"Before the gold and the glimmer have been replaced," Mary sang quietly, still with her wan smile. "Remember this?"
Another sun-soaked season fades away
Matthew held his hands out in front of her. "Dance with me?"
She put her arms around his neck and they swayed to the music, feeling the long-foregone closeness of their skin touching, their slow breaths, and the pounding of familiar hearts. Matthew clasped his hands around her waist, closing his eyes and inhaling the floral fragrance of her hair. It wasn't lavender. He knew this was a perfect moment, whatever that may be, and that these moments were the ones that life was lived for.
You have stolen my heart
The waves crashed behind them, creating a counter-melody to the song.
Clear liquor and cloudy-eyed, too early to say goodnight
They kicked their shoes off and tossed the empty champagne flutes onto the sand. When their bodies touched again, they could no longer fight impulse. Their lips touched and the fiery shade of Mary's lipstick seemed to ignite something that burned only between them.
You have stolen my heart
The sand felt tingly beneath their feet, and this feeling flowed up from their toes to their entire bodies. Maybe, this was love; maybe, this was passion; maybe, this was nothing. Matthew took her by the hand and spun her around. She staggered and fell back into his arms. He laughed and picked her up, twirling her around and around across the farthest reach of the shore, into the shallow tide.
I watch you spin around in your highest heels
"You are the best one, of the best ones…" Matthew sang along, burying his face into her hair and smiling stupidly.
The song faded out and they clung to each other, eyes closed, lips brushing. In this moment, they were gods. The silence and the crashing of waves brought them back to the present.
"Mary?"
She smiled, throwing her arms around his neck. "We'll see each other in London."
Matthew nodded. All that he had to do now was let go of the past entirely. Would it really be so difficult?