A/N: This week, as many Downton fans are no doubt aware, we were treated to the ridiculous exciment of a leaked teaser clip for Series 2 with SO MUCH MATTHEW AMAZINGNESS and a severe dose of M/M angst!

Well, I just couldn't get the image of them staring at each other like that out of my head, and so this happened... It actually pained me to write. It really did. But I needed it out of my system!

Thank you Silverduck for all the polish!

Hope you enjoy!

You Had Your Chance

The regimental headquarters in York were bustling, with half its companies back in the country on leave for a week. Robert was working here now, but Matthew had only arrived back from France earlier that day. The relaxed atmosphere of the officer's mess provided a welcome opportunity, after a hot shower and a change of uniform, to catch up in relative comfort with officers from other sections of the regiment.

It didn't take long for him to find a relatively quiet corner with Robert, where the two men sat with a brandy each, relaying their news. Aside from the latest from the front, which Robert was eager to hear, their talk also concerned the upcoming regimental ball.

"You know we've offered to hold it at Downton?"

"Oh, have you? Well, it seems as good a place for it as any," Matthew smiled.

"Yes, well. You know I don't feel like I'm being much use stuck back here, so it's one more small way of doing what I can." Robert knew that he was getting no younger, and that the front was no longer his place; but he did feel so 'out' of it here in Yorkshire.

"Of course. It seems a splendid idea to me. I'll look forward to it – I've not been up there since I left the first time." He'd avoided it, if he was honest. Too many memories… Too much history. But of course he wanted to support the regiment, so he would simply have to bear it.

"You're quite right. I won't lie, Matthew, it'll be good to see you at Downton once more. It has been a long time, and we have missed you – though your mother's kept us well informed of your activities," Robert smiled fondly at his heir.

"I'll bet she has!" Matthew chuckled, then shifted slightly in his seat. He'd been wondering when to bring this up, and now the opportunity arose… He supposed he couldn't avoid it any longer. He sighed inwardly; why on earth was he always looking upon it as something to avoid? Ridiculous… Well. Best bite the bullet. "Actually," he said slowly, "there is one thing my mother won't have told you yet. Something I'd rather you heard from me directly."

"Oh?" Robert frowned gently, intrigued.

Matthew swallowed, tugged his collar a little, then smiled brightly.

"Well, I'm… To put it simply, I suppose… I am engaged to be married!" He blew out a deep breath, feeling relieved at having got it out in the open.

"Engaged?" It took a moment to register with Robert, before a slow smile spread over his face. "Well, my dear chap, you are full of surprises! Who is she?"

"Yes! I'm sorry if it seems I've concealed it, but I wanted to tell you in person," Matthew grinned, relaxing a little. "She's a young lady I've known a long time; a Miss Lavinia Swire. We got to know each other very well in Manchester before I joined the regiment, and we wrote very often while I've been away and – well, you know how these things go on." He blushed a little. "She's very sweet girl, quiet and unassuming, she's quite lovely – I think she suits me very well, really. I've needed that calm, that comfort… Well, you know how it is."

"Well, Matthew, I'm very happy for you. You should cable her to come to the ball on Friday – it would be splendid to meet her!"

"Oh, I don't think that's necessary –"

"Matthew, I insist. It would be a pleasure."

"Very well." He supposed, somewhat sardonically, that of course they would be curious to meet the woman who would one day be Countess… Particularly not being the woman they would have desired, he thought a little bitterly. "Though – Lord Grantham, I – I suppose it's silly of me to say, but… I am sorry to be disappointing your hopes. I know you should have wished me to marry Mary, and I… Well. That is all in the past now."

In the past and dead and buried and gone. She had made her choice quite clear. He had moved on, he was happy.

"Matthew…" The Earl's voice was warm and reassuring. "You're quite right, that was all a long time ago. You must act for your own happiness. You are still my heir, you mean a great deal to Cora and I and we shall gladly welcome your future bride to our home."

"Thank you." Lord Grantham's words had reassured Matthew greatly, and he smiled in gratitude. "Yes, I am happy… I really am. I feel as though I've had little reason to smile, out in all that, and her affection has given me many." He felt a little uncomfortable still to be enthusing about her so, despite Lord Grantham's encouraging expression. Now, then, it seemed a fitting juncture to ask something which had been pressing on his mind without it appearing too untoward. "And what of Mary? I hear she's engaged to Sir Richard Carlisle now?" It was perfectly natural for a man to ask about his cousin, wasn't it? Yes. He did his best to look as disinterested as possible. Why should he be interested? He was engaged himself, now, after all.

"Oh, no. No, that never came off," Robert said. Something cold began to churn in Matthew's stomach that he couldn't place. "She turned him down, I don't really know why. It would've been a good match. But then, who knows what passes through Mary's head, sometimes!"

"Oh. Yes, who indeed?" Matthew was barely listening. He'd thought… Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it. Why had she turned Carlisle down? The thought flitted across his mind, a hope – No! Stop it. You can't go there, you mustn't. Only gradually did he become aware of Lord Grantham speaking once more.

"…might well announce it at the ball!"

"What?" Panic glanced through Matthew's chest and across his features. "Sir, I wish you wouldn't – I don't want any sort of fuss, please."

"Nonsense, Matthew, it deserves an announcement. Dear me, look at you – an engagement is something to celebrate, not be fearful of – intimidating though the institution may be!"

Matthew paled slightly. Lord Grantham, he knew, was quite right. So why did he feel that flutter of fear in his chest? The thought of them all knowing of his engagement, of her knowing... No, Matthew, you mustn't care about that – oh, it was just natural nerves, he was sure.

"Well, Sir, I'll do as you ask and cable Lavinia. I thank you for your congratulations, but I beg you not to think any more of announcing it at the ball until I've spoken to her. She may very well be quite intimidated by it all as it is!" He took a large gulp of brandy, feeling a glow spread through him, and was relieved when the Earl agreed and the conversation moved on. Matthew's thoughts, though, remained occupied with his fiancée; the very idea a little strange to him still. He felt his heart leap a little when he thought of her, a smile crept to his lips – he knew she loved him utterly. Yes, he was happy.

Of course, it didn't take long for the news to spread around Downton. Robert told Cora when he arrived home that evening, intending to tell the girls over dinner. Though he still wanted to make it official at the regiment's ball, he thought it probably best to give the news a chance to sink in first. Happy though he was for Matthew, it would still come as quite a shock and would need a chance to be absorbed.

He had no idea that Sybil had overheard.

In the quiet of the evening, Mary was lounging in her bedroom reading before changing for dinner. Despite her best efforts, she was finding it difficult to concentrate; eyes skimming over the words without really taking any of them in. Her fingers flipped idly through the pages. She knew he was arriving back today. She knew he'd be here on Friday. She hadn't seen him for over a year, since she'd bid him goodbye at the train station, and now he was coming back. She wondered if he'd be any different at all... Of course he would, war changed people, she knew that. But surely he'd still be Matthew. Might time have healed the wounds?

Without warning, her peace was disturbed by an insistent tap at the door; she had hardly closed her book before the door swung open and Sybil dashed across to her. Barely stopping for breath, Sybil perched herself on the edge of the chaise longue Mary was reclining on and grasped her hands.

"Darling, what on earth is the matter?" Mary frowned gently in concern, squeezing her sister's hands.

Sybil simply couldn't contain it any longer.

"Matthew's engaged!" She blurted out all at once.

"What?"

She felt as though all the air had been punched out of her. He couldn't… How could he! When… Engaged? She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think; gasping for air she stared wide-eyed at Sybil, her grip on her hands tightening unconsciously.

"Oh Mary, I'm sorry, I just overheard Papa telling Mama… He's just seen Matthew now, I think. Oh, Mary… I hope she's perfectly rotten!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sybil!" Mary blustered sharply, unfairly, she knew. She couldn't take it in… Surely she must have heard wrong? She shook her head, trying to clear it, drawing on every reserve of willpower within her to remain calm. "I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that. I'm just surprised, that's all. Cousin Isobel certainly kept that quiet!" A short, bitter chuckle left her lips.

"Mary… You don't need to pretend, not to me." Sybil gazed imploringly at her. "I know you still care for Matthew, whatever you say –"

"Oh, Sybil, don't be silly," Mary rubbed her hands briskly, taking a deep, calming breath. She must not crumble now. "That was all a very long time ago! Matthew may do as he likes, and it is no concern of mine. I'm perfectly happy for him."

She doubted Sybil would see through her thin lies. She didn't really care. She was numb, unfeeling, except for the horrible anticipation of knowing that it would hit her, soon, and she didn't know how she would bear it… She needed to be alone. She fixed on her brightest smile. There, see, she was alright…

"Well…" Sybil frowned, clearly sceptical of Mary's reaction. "If that's the case I'm glad, but please Mary – do talk to me."

"Of course, darling. Now, you should go and get ready for dinner, or Anna shan't have time for the three of us."

Sybil nodded reluctantly, pressed a swift kiss to Mary's cheek and left her alone.

As soon as the door had closed, Mary twisted and fell against the arm of the chaise, sobbing brokenly into her arms. It was as though the final nail had been hammered into her heart. It was finished. She'd had her chance to move on. She'd passed it by. She couldn't, not when she still… He had his chance, and he'd taken it. Engaged… She'd lost him. All this time, she'd been so terrified of losing him to the war, the blasted war, but this… This had not even crossed her mind and somehow, somehow it was even worse. To lose his love, even more than his life… His love and his life, for that went with his love... Oh, she had lost him entirely! How could she bear it, to see him, with all hope dashed?

Lavinia, to Matthew's discomfort, had thought it terribly sweet of Robert to bless their engagement so. Well, if it would make her happy, an announcement there would be. He was proud of her, really; he of all people knew how intimidating it was to be thrown into that circle – at least it seemed she may receive a warmer reception than he had all those years ago!

Standing in the hallway of Crawley House – it felt more like home now than anywhere he'd been this past year during the war – Matthew tugged down the jacket of his dress uniform, straightening it out. He smiled fondly at his mother who stood in front of him, beaming proudly, brushing down his lapels (an entirely unnecessary gesture as Molesley, of course, had done a sterling job already).

"You look splendid, Matthew," she enthused.

"Yes, you really do! The red suits you very well, you know."

Matthew's eyes flicked from his mother, over her shoulder to the woman standing behind her. His smile broadened, gentle dimples forming in his cheek, eyes sparkling affectionately at her.

"You're both biased! I can hardly take your compliments seriously, can I?"

"But they are genuinely given, bias or not – so you can, you see?" Lavinia stepped forwards, past Isobel who had moved aside towards the front door, and brushed her hand down Matthew's arm before linking her fingers through his. Matthew grinned at her, squeezing her hand softly.

"In the face of such logic, then, how can I deny them? Especially when given by two such charming women as yourselves!"

Isobel smiled to herself; her heart was light indeed to see her son so happy. She'd sensed it in his letters, over these last months, as he'd spoken more frequently of Lavinia. His tone had brightened, softened; it seemed she was just what he needed. Glancing back at them, she stepped outside to the car, giving them a moment.

"How indeed?" Lavinia breezed.

Matthew's eyes cast over her appreciatively. She looked delightful, charming, in her green gown to complement his red, her strawberry-blonde hair in soft curls framing her delicate face. He bent his head and kissed her cheek softly.

"You look lovely," he murmured quietly. She blushed, resting her cheek briefly against his shoulder.

"As do you, dear!" Her sweet voice in his ear sent a little shiver through him. Such affection was so alien to him, still. The oddity of having courted her mainly by letter was catching up with him, but not unpleasantly so. Tentatively, his hand reached up to tuck a stray curl back behind her ear, fingers brushing her cheek as he lowered his hand again. He smiled at her little intake of breath.

"Thank you. Are you feeling ready?"

"As I'll ever be, I think!"

"Alright. Shall we, then?"

Matthew placed a hand warmly on the small of her back, but, as she nodded and turned to the door, he suddenly caught her elbow. She turned to face him, lips parted slightly in surprise. On a sudden whim he leaned forward and pressed his lips swiftly to hers before leaning back, cheeks flushing slightly. Lavinia looked momentarily stunned, eyes flashing; then she leaned up and kissed him back more firmly. Matthew gasped softly, tightening his fingers on her arm a fraction, allowing it and relishing it for a fleeting moment before he stepped back, somewhat reluctantly.

"Sorry, Matthew," she grinned at him unapologetically. "Let's go!"

Matthew moistened his lips, staring after her dumbfounded, then gathered himself and followed her out, stepping into the cool evening air.

With every turn in the road that brought them closer to the abbey, Matthew's heart seemed to pound louder in his chest, his lungs tightening. It had been so long… So long. It all seemed like a distant dream, now. It had been a dream, he told himself sternly. This was real life. This, here, now. Not then. Whatever had happened then… It was in the past now. She was in the past. But she would be here… He drew in a sharp breath and turned his head to glance at Lavinia next to him, fixing a bright smile on his face, letting her fill his vision and his thoughts. Think of her. Not of her… This is your life, now. This, and her… Not her.

Mary sat at her dresser, dabbing perfume delicately to her wrists and throat. She stared coldly at herself in the mirror. She would need to draw on everything tonight; all her charms and powers and strength, every ounce of determination and will in her body, to get through it.

Anything they might have had, had been over a long, long time ago. Though still so fresh in her mind, every day so fresh in her mind. His face, his voice, that day he had left… She had tried to cling desperately to the thread of what could have been, futile and heartbreaking though it was. But there was nothing between them now… It was in the past. Her Matthew was in the past, this Matthew was not the same Matthew, he couldn't be… He mustn't be... He was engaged, and he must be nothing to her. Except that he was… Oh, he was everything to her. Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it. You can't go there, you mustn't.

With a deep breath she steeled herself, bracing her hands against the edge of the dresser until her knuckles were white. She would get through this. She would smile charmingly and be perfectly delightful and dance with any soldier who cared to ask her, and she would absolutely not care a fig for Matthew and his fiancée. Her gut twisted even at the thought of the word. You had your chance, you threw it away! Stop it.

She stood up, smoothed the front of her dress and breezed downstairs, already fighting to remain cool and impassive.

Matthew's heart was hammering by the time they arrived at the abbey, stepping through the imposing front doors with his hand protectively at Lavinia's elbow, his mother to his other side. He was thankful that many from the regiment had already arrived; he couldn't say why he felt so conspicuous and unsettled. He tried to ignore the clenching feeling in his gut, tried to ignore the tiny reminder, always at the back of his mind, that one day this would be his… and Lavinia's. He glanced at her, wondering what her impressions of it were.

"Oh Matthew! It's stupendous!" She turned and whispered to him, a gleeful smile on her face.

"It's rather impressive, isn't it," he whispered back breathlessly, a faint smile hovering at his lips.

Why did he feel so wrong? So out of place, so nervous, so… guilty, almost. What on earth had he to feel guilty about! Guilty that Lavinia would one day be Countess, and not… He coughed, desperately trying to sway his mind from probing the thought any further. Afraid of what uncomfortable truths might thread to the surface were he to dwell on it.

Mary saw them as soon as they entered the drawing room. It was not as though her eyes had been fixed there, waiting, since she had come down… Her breath stopped in her chest. Matthew, oh Matthew… All else in the room seemed to fade away, blurring at the edges, nothing in her awareness but him and the sound of her blood rushing in her ears. Every feeling, every touch, every emotion and memory flooded back to her at the sight of him, and he looked so handsome… So handsome. He seemed to walk taller, his back straighter, a more confident air about him, and the way his uniform fit him so well… And, of course, there was her. The woman on his arm. The woman he turned to, leaned to and whose ear he whispered softly into. The woman he leaned back and smiled at with sparkling eyes. The woman whose elbow he held, guiding and encouraging gently. The woman who would one day be the Countess to his Earl.

She couldn't breathe. Gasping for air, she gripped the stem of the glass in her hand and stared desperately into the sparkling liquid. She was drowning, drowning in memories and emotion and pain, and... The worst of it was knowing that it could have been her, it would have been… Her that he looked at with those soft blue eyes, her that he smiled at so tenderly… It had been, once. And she had thrown it away. She squeezed her eyes shut then looked away, staring blankly into the growing swirl of people in the room. Forcing her eyes away from him. This could not go on, she could not allow herself to be so affected, if she had to not look at him the entire evening then so be it! It would be less painful in the long run.

And so, she did not observe the moment when he looked up and saw her. A moment was all it took; he didn't even realise his eyes unconsciously seeking her out until he was staring at her, breath taken away by her beauty. Mary… She had changed, softened, her hair in gentle waves around her face. Memories overtook him in a rush, all at once, making his head swim with the sharpness and the intensity of it. But she looked so sad, so…

"Darling?"

He blinked; Lavinia was watching him in concern. He flushed, breathing shallowly, feeling for all the world as though he were a child caught doing something he shouldn't. The strange guilt continued to claw at him, he felt a little sick…

"Sorry… Sorry." He took a deep breath and raised a smile. "Lots of memories. It's harder than I'd expected."

"Oh, Matthew, of course," she smiled sympathetically and rubbed his arm tenderly.

Matthew expelled a soft sigh through his smile, guiding her across the room to greet Lord Grantham. He couldn't shake the disconcerting feeling that he had felt more in that single moment, glancing at Mary across the crowded room, than he had… well, ever, with Lavinia. His chest felt tight; he couldn't, he mustn't… Fixing his eyes on his fiancée – yes, his fiancée – he consciously brought to mind her letters, her sweet words and declarations of affection and adoration, yes she loved him, she could make him happy. She did make him happy. Not her, not her… All she ever brought him was pain and heartache. Lavinia brought comfort, peace, happiness. Yes. His fiancée. Think of her. Not of her.

Mary hadn't moved from the corner of the room. It was hard, so hard, far harder than she'd expected. She looked around her, eyes scanning the room. She really must make an effort to talk to somebody, that, at the very least, may distract her from him… She had just caught the glance of a dark-haired soldier who was definitely making eyes at her, when the sharp clink of cutlery on cut glass sounded and her father's voice rose above the chatter, which slowly quieted and died away.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Lord Grantham's deep, booming voice rang around the room. "It gives me great pleasure to open this ball in honour of the brave men…"

Mary wanted to clamp her hands over her ears and sing loudly, drowning it out. Childish it may be, she didn't care, she couldn't hear what was coming… Everyone was murmuring their agreement and the odd smatter of applause rippled around the congregated assembly.

"…and on a personal note, I'd like to take this opportunity to announce with the greatest pleasure…"

No, no, no! So long as she didn't hear the words, maybe… Maybe…

She couldn't hear anything anyway; all sound seemed to have drowned out. The world seemed in slow motion, everyone soundless, blurring, as if the very world was in protestation at Matthew's engagement.

Gradually, the delighted applause seeped through to her fogged and distressed mind. She forced her eyes up; people were grinning, calling congratulations…

Forcing her lips into a trembling smile, fearing she'd look out of place, she willed herself to look.

He was looking back at her.

Her lips parted. His fiancée by his side was smiling proudly, beaming at the Earl but he... Oh, he was looking at her. His eyes burned into hers, his face… She was locked, transfixed, held prisoner by his gaze.

The world stopped around her.

TBC

A/N: Thanks for reading! I'm imagining one more chapter following this. I'd love to know what you thought, reviews and comments will be so hugely appreciated - every one really does mean a lot to me. So sorry for the Matthew/Lavinia (I can't promise it gets any better next chapter...)

Thank you!