This is my first official fic, so I'm pretty nervous, to tell you the truth, about what people will think, but I guess I'll just have to wait and see!

The plot will pick up more in the next chapter, I promise, and there are still many interesting twists to come (and many characters to make an appearance), so please don't think that this is all that there is to it! Naturally, reviews are massively appreciated!

Thank you so much for reading and hope you like it!

[DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, I ain't paid nothing, and there ain't no Julian Fellowes here next to me poking me with his pen. Just a mad girl with a TV series and a laptop. You have my word.]

Mary, shivering due to the cold and the excitement, had been swept up in Matthew's arms and carried back into the hall. Nimbly, he kicked the door shut behind him and then placed her on a chair as though she were nothing more than a feather. Mary had never been aware of such strength in him. Perhaps the time in service had done him some good after all.

"Matthew, you must save some of your charms for the day itself," she said breathlessly, her heart pounding in her throat.

"Not to worry," Matthew replied, while making sure that he had closed the door properly and not just broken the glass.

Then he placed himself across from Mary and took her hand in his. He kissed it, and for a moment they simply tried to arrange their thoughts, to process what had just happened, how much had changed in the past ten minutes, and what it would mean for both of their futures – or, more specifically, their future as one.

Mary broke the silence. "Perhaps I should thank you, by ordering some sandwiches, just like last time," she suggested playfully.

Matthew caught her eye and smiled. "If we're to run this place one day, I don't think we should start off by abusing our staff, do you?"

Mary giggled like a little girl. She had never felt like this before, and she found the feeling quite intoxicating. She couldn't seem to get enough of it.

Leaning forward, she clasped his hand tighter, her face inches from his. "No, I don't think so."

But just as Matthew was about to bring his lips to hers, they heard the patter of footsteps and both jumped up. Matthew nearly knocked over his chair, and behind her back, Mary still clutched his hand. They put on their well-practiced innocent expressions, just as they realized that there was no longer anything to hide. They didn't have to play charades anymore, the game was over.

But perhaps now was not the time to announce the winner.

Mr Carson marched in in his official fashion, and bowed for Matthew and Mary. "Milady, your mother requests that you retire for the night, so that you are well-rested for tomorrow's happenings." He nodded his head again to conclude the sentence.

Mr Carson certainly was not a fool. He saw full well what was going between the two children – in his eyes, they were still children – and he was sorry to have interrupted their midnight rendezvous, but her Ladyship's orders were her Ladyship's orders.

"Today's happenings, you mean, Mr Carson?" Matthew couldn't stop himself. Just like Mary, he, too, felt light-headed.

Mary immediately elbowed him and then squeezed his hand tighter. She suppressed a chuckle.

Mr Carson coloured pink as he realized his mistake. "My apologies, Mr Crawley, today's happenings, of course."

To avoid any further slips from her…fiancé Mary decided to make an end to this discourse. "Thank you, Mr Carson. Do inform Anna that I will be up shortly."

Mr Carson nodded, bowed again, and mutely made his way out. He hoped that the two of them would soon forget he'd ever been there.

Mary immediately turned back to Matthew. "What was that about abusing the staff?"

Matthew smiled and raised his hand to stroke her cheek – such a simple gesture, which had been unimaginable up until this day. "Hmm…" he murmured. Then he snapped himself out of his dream. "I must confess, that I had forgotten all about the fact that we are not alone."

"And tom- today's walks," Mary added softly.

"Yes…the walks," Matthew mused. He stroked Mary's jaw thoughtfully. He couldn't seem to focus on anything much, especially not the walks, after all that had happened. "I must ask your father's permission about this, however."

She lifted her eyebrows, trying not to appear too distracted as she enjoyed his gentle caresses. "You're not seriously worried about that, are you?"

"Of course not." He gave her a reassuring smile and allowed her to look deeply into his sea blue eyes. She could have sworn he'd done it on purpose. Oh, those eyes, so blue! She could drown in them, swim in them all day, in that underwater serenity where she could be alone with him. There was no need to make any walk, to go anywhere anymore! She could lose herself in those eyes…

After all, his eyes had been the first thing she'd noticed about him when they'd initially met – or, in other words, started off so very badly! Not to forget his golden hair, of course, she added mentally.

"But you must promise to keep everything a secret until then," he added quickly. "Can you keep a secret?"

Mary dragged herself onto the shore and out of the depths of those captivating blue waters. It took her a moment to react. "Keep a secret? Must you still ask?" she inquired in disbelief, a mysterious smile playing on her face – well, she would have liked to appear mysterious, but there really were no mysteries to hide behind anymore. And it was better that way.

Matthew laughed. "And must you remind me?" he countered, before drawing her into his arms and kissing her tenderly.

Mr Carson made his way down to the servants' quarters, and having informed Anna of her mistress' request, went to his pantry to make sure everything was in order before he retired for the night. Just as he was about to close the door behind him, however, Mr Carson's keen eye caught the glint of silver on one of the smaller tables – a candleholder he had forgotten to put away.

He scolded himself mutely for overlooking it and picked up a towel so as not to smudge the candleholder's surface with his fingers. But when he was about to carefully take a hold of the glimmering object, he spotted his expression in the shiny silver. And there was a smile on his face.

"Now, remain professional, Mr Carson," he said to himself in a low voice, before making an attempt to remove the smile. But it protested.

It was there. And he could not get rid of it just like that, so he decided to let it be for the moment. Hopefully, it would fade in due course.

He locked up the silver pantry, switched off all the lights, and then went to check on Mrs Hughes, whom he found sitting at the desk in her parlour, counting out her keys. She had taken care that no one was loitering around in the Servants' Hall anymore, and was now finishing up the things for the day.

He softly cleared his throat to announce his presence.

Mrs Hughes instantly looked up. "Ah, Mr Carson, I was wondering…I saw a candleholder in your pantry and–"

Mr Carson did not let her finish her sentence. He could not, for the sake of his self-esteem. "It has been taken care of," he said quickly.

"Good," Mrs Hughes said, as she locked the drawers to her desk, and got up, her keys clanging. She brushed some imaginary dust off of the wooden table, before pausing to sniff the air upon detecting an out of place scent – Mrs Hughes thought it to be smoke – but she was too exhausted to really be bothered by it, and so faced Mr Carson again to say good night.

Yet at that moment, despite the butler's attempts, Mrs Hughes noticed something in his expression, some form of mixed joy and pride that he was trying to conceal. Immediately, she wanted to know what he was so secretly happy about.

"Mr Carson…is that a smile?" She had trouble suppressing a smirk as she questioned him.

Abruptly, Mr Carson lowered his eyes to the ground. He wanted to remain authoritative but found himself in the weaker position. "Most certainly not," he ended up replying.

Mrs Hughes could not be fooled by this disguise. "Come on, out with it!" she persisted.

A silence followed, in which all that was heard was the trickling of water in the drain outside. But Mr Carson did not respond. He would have very much liked to tell Mrs Hughes what was on his mind but it was not his place to. If she, however, could simply guess what was going on, then he would be spared that shame… Mr Carson was loyal, after all, very loyal, the most loyal.

Thankfully, Mrs Hughes could see through everyone in a second. "Is it to do with Mr Crawley and Lady Mary?"

Mr Carson looked up and met the housekeeper's eyes. No more words were needed.

Now, Mrs Hughes, although she had never much liked Lady Mary but saw no reason as to why the young woman should not be happy, smiled as well. She would not, could not mar Mr Carson's joy. "Well, it was about time," she concluded.

Thomas was beginning to find it difficult to keep his balance on the rickety chair he stood on, and at the same time keep his ear pressed tightly to the ventilation grail. A cigarette clamped between his lips, he listened in on the conversation between the housekeeper and the butler, holding his breath in anticipation as he realized that he was the first-hand witness to some extremely important news.

"What do you think you're doing up there?" came a familiar voice from behind him – familiar yet still unexpected.

Thomas jumped and almost fell off his chair. He glared at O'Brien angrily, hastily taking his cigarette out of his mouth and pressing a finger to his lips.

There was some shuffling from within Mrs Hughes' room as the lights were turned off and the door locked. Thomas leapt to the ground, put the chair away while taking care not to scrape it over the floor, and pressed himself to the wall, pulling O'Brien along with him, as Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes passed, talking in low voices.

When their footsteps had faded away down the hall, the former footman allowed a sly smile to spread across his face. Straightening up and smoothing out his livery, he triumphantly blew out a trail of white smoke.

"What is it?" O'Brien asked suspiciously.

Thomas' smile broadened to one O'Brien truly couldn't stand. "It's Lady Mary and Mr Nobody From Nowhere," he said, holding the lady's maid in suspense a bit longer. "They're engaged."

Cora, the Countess of Grantham, had been standing at the window of the Yellow Room, in her silken nightgown and bathrobe. With one hand she grasped the garments tighter around her, while she pressed the other against the glass. In that position of awe, of wonder, she'd gazed down at the pitch-black lawn, where, in a square of heavenly golden light, Matthew and Mary had twirled. Like two snowflakes – pure, white, and oblivious of their surroundings, they tumbled down, to a soft landing, cushioned by each other.

Cora smiled. She could not contain her smile any longer. They had waited, for years and years, to see this moment, and here was her eldest daughter, swooning in the arms of the man she had loved longer than she had knew. If only she hadn't been so stubborn in the beginning, then she may have known this happiness earlier still. But there was no use thinking like that. The point was that the goal had been achieved, that Mary was rid of Sir Richard Carlisle, and that she could now stop worrying.

She felt a hand on her back, and looked up at Robert with dreamy eyes, the smile still lingering in every feature of her face.

"Finally," she breathed as she took his hand in hers.

Robert leaned over to look outside, but Matthew and Mary had gone, melted, but left their tracks in the snow. He didn't have to see them, however, to know what had happened. He could simply read it off of his wife's face.

He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. "Yes, finally," he replied, "but at least now they both wanted it just as much as we did."

Content, the two of them made their way back to their room, where, having shed her bathrobe, Cora hastily crept under the sheets. It was chilly in the house. The fires were lit, certainly, but the fact remained that in reality, it was a frigid winter. Cora tried to console herself by thinking that Matthew had kept Mary nice and warm by holding her close. They wouldn't want her to catch any sort of dreadful illness just now!

Robert had walked into his conjoined bedroom to retrieve something and was on his way back in when he was met by a tidal wave of Cora's pleadings, beseeching her husband – who was still decent – to ask if Mr Carson would be so kind as to make sure Mary went to bed. They couldn't afford to have things backfire. Not now.

Robert acquiesced and left the room, returning moments later. By this time, he, too, was frozen, and quickly took off his bathrobe before joining his wife in bed.

"It's hard to believe, isn't it, Robert?" Cora said immediately. She was nearly as excited as the daughter in question. "That after all this time, Matthew has forgiven her and they can still be happy together."

Robert rubbed his hands together. "Indeed, a miracle, really." He fluffed up his pillow and then lay down. "Thankfully, Matthew's a hero of some sort." Staring at the ceiling, with its golden fringes and crystal-laden chandelier, he immediately lost himself in thought.

Cora placed her hand upon his chest. "What's wrong, darling?"

"Nothing," he replied softly, "except that now Matthew and Mary are settled, I'm allowing myself to think of Sybil."

"The baby?"

Robert decided to just spill out his thoughts. "It doesn't suit me at all that the child should be born in Ireland."

Cora sighed and smiled simultaneously – typical of her husband to bring up a negative point on a night when even the Dowager would find it difficult to cast a gloom! "Why can't we just be happy for now, darling?" she suggested sweetly. "We'll see about Sybil when New Year's has passed. After all, if the situation between Matthew and Mary is…as we hope it to be, then there's still the wedding to be dealt with."

Robert eyed his wife. "I see where your mind lies."

"Can you blame me, Robert?" she inquired teasingly. "But let's not laugh too soon."

Gently, he placed his lips to hers. But they were forgetting something, in all their flurry, they were forgetting one of many wise words the Dowager Countess of Grantham had once uttered: There's never a dull moment in this house.