After watching the Series 2 finale, I just had to get this out of my system! This is my first fanfic so please review, no flames if you please! If you like it, there is more on the way! I am not Mr. Fellowes, (if I was, Matthew & Mary would have been married at the end of the first series) and therefore do not own anything but the idea!
Cursed. That's how he described it. A cursed love, a love that was never meant to be, a love that led to nothing but death and destruction when pursued. He couldn't love her now, could he? This question haunted him as he aimlessly wandered the fields, the roads about town, and every time he passed the entrance to Downton—that last look in Mary's eyes would flash through his mind, tearing a new hole in his heart. After the funeral, he stayed clear of Downton for a fortnight; fighting the vicious urge to run into the house, sweep Mary up and pull her in close, never letting her go. When he finally felt like he had the strength to enter the house once more, his heart crumbled to pieces the moment her eyes met his. Her shinning chocolate orbs had faded to a dull brown, fire extinguished, joy replaced by cold detachment. Dinner was torture, both hardly saying a word – and certainly none directed at each other. As they moved to the sitting room, Mary was forced to excuse herself; she could bear the pain no longer.
The months wore on and the stabbing pain that robbed them of their breaths was replaced by a dull ache that never seemed to go away, not even in sleep. Mary's wedding drew nearer, the event and its consequences becoming more and more pronounced with every day. Yet nothing seemed to change, it couldn't, not until someone lost control for just a fraction of a second.
That came during a party on the lawn, a week and a half before the wedding. The whole family was sat around a table, chatting merrily about the weather and the job Matthew was to start in London, just a few days after the wedding.
"I do hope you are lucky enough to find another young lady, Matthew. I'm sure there shall be plenty to choose from in London," Lord Grantham commented with a smile.
"Oh, I won't be looking."
"Yes, I suppose he who looks never finds. It shall come to you."
"I have found it once and never wish to find it again," he muttered bitterly under his breath, thinking no one would hear him.
"Oh Matthew!" Mary blurted out, losing the battle within her. For one glorious moment, Matthew looked into Mary's eyes and saw concern, care, desire, need, love; every feeling she had for him was glowing behind her eyes. All for one beautiful second before she realized her mistake and reigned herself in once more, drawing back and detaching herself again. He remained completely aware of her for the rest of the meal which ended shortly after. Sir Richard, who had been unusually quiet since Mary's outburst now asked her to join him in a walk amongst the trees, an act Matthew would have thought completely normal had the little color left in Mary's face not drained as if she had just been told of her own impending death. Sir Richard took hold of her arm just a little to forcefully and almost dragged her out of sight, unsettling Matthew even more. Matthew hobbled after them, pretending to have seen something he wanted to have a closer look at. He stood on the edge of the trees and strained to hear what was being said.
"I thought we settled this?" Carlisle hissed, "I thought you could control yourself?"
Mary's answering plea was cut short by the sickening and unmistakable sound of someone being slapped. Matthew lurched forward into the trees as the argument continued to escalate.
"I'm sick of this behavior!"
The sound of violence and their accompanying cries of pain filled his ears and made his blood pound. Matthew struggled to move faster, hindered by the cane he still needed to walk.
"You will not embarrass me in this manner once we are wed!"
Matthew rounded the corner as Carlisle sent Mary face first into the dirt.
"I command you to cease embarrassing me over Matthew Crawley!" he yelled as he delivered a powerful kick to the woman lying in the dirt before him. Her piercing cry was his undoing, his whole body set on fire with rage, every fiber of his being set alight with an unearthly cold blooded anger, he lifted his cane high above his head and brought it down on Sir Richard's head. With a deafening thud he fell to the ground face first, knocked out cold.