Chapter 1
Mary 1914
Hot tears burned Mary's cheeks. She didn't often allow herself to give in to her emotions like this, but today she couldn't find the willpower. She'd excused herself from company with a headache, but it was really heartache. Her heart physically ached for Matthew, and he was gone.
She knew he'd been telling the truth when he said he'd have stayed if she'd accepted him, and so she knew that it was her fault he'd gone. She'd ruined everything with her dithering and, ultimately, her cowardice. She wasn't brave enough to show him who she really was, and loved him too much to allow him to marry her without knowing.
There was a knock at the door and Anna entered with a tray of sandwiches.
"You must try and eat milady" she said laying the tray down on the dresser.
Mary said nothing, but smiled weakly at the maid.
"It will get better"
"Will it?" Mary replied, genuinely unsure.
As Anna left, Mary got up from the bed and moved over to the dresser. She sat looking at her tear stained face remembering the first time she realised she might be falling in love with Matthew. It was that dinner where Sir Anthony had choked on the salty pudding. She had never laughed with a man like she laughed with Matthew that night, and when she realised she'd hurt him she felt awful. Whilst she didn't admit it, even to herself, for a good while after, that was the start.
She began to wipe her face, trying to erase the evidence of her tears. All that was in the past now; the laughter and the flirting, the fun and the promise of the future. She'd broken Matthew's heart and he was gone; gone to fight and probably never return. The tears began to fall again.
Matthew 1914
Matthew lay on his bunk trying to sleep listening to the snores of those around him. He often found it difficult to sleep these days and, as usual, his thoughts drifted inexorably to Mary.
Sometimes he allowed himself to remember the good times, when he dared to think she might be his wife, but usually he forced himself to remember their final words. To remember that she never really loved him, at least not enough to want to spend the rest of her life with him. It was painful but it worked. Over the months since he'd left Downton for his training he'd been able to lock his feelings away into a painful corner of his heart which, usually, he could ignore. He was only plagued by it when he was awake in the small hours of the morning and everyone else was asleep. It was manageable.
Tonight he allowed himself a moment's indulgence; he allowed himself to remember how she literally took his breath away the first time he saw her. She was without doubt the most beautiful woman he had ever known. He sighed quietly to himself as he remembered their only kiss; a kiss which made his insides do somersaults and his head feel light.
"Enough" he said out loud, as he forced himself to remember her inability to tell him that she loved him and to remember how she had faltered when she thought his inheritance was in question. The familiar pain re-surfaced.
He turned over and tried, again, to forget about Mary. There was no other option. He had to move on.