A/N: Welcome to the second collaboration of OrangeShipper (still writing Matthew) and Silvestria (still writing Mary)! This piece of fluffy denial of S02 spoilers was first posted at the Matthew/Mary Monday Madness community at LJ (mmmondaymadness). Do check it out! We hope you enjoy it anyway! :-)
A Progressive Proposal
It was over, all finally over.
It had taken some time, but he was beginning to feel at home again here, with all ties cut and everything that had caused him pain behind him. Matthew had finally realized that there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be. He strolled over the grounds, with only a little difficulty. The grass, the birds, the flowers and trees all looked so wonderfully alive. He saw her; sitting, reading, looking just the same as she ever had but so beautifully changed at the same time. At once he felt transported, back to an easier time, though - if he really thought about it - he would not take back everything that had happened in the intervening years. Tucking his hat under his arm, he drew to a stop at an appropriate distance and coughed politely, rocking on his feet a little.
It was a strange atmosphere really. War over. Spring blooming. Everything as it always had been, and yet nothing was the same. Mary, whose life in many ways had been the least changed by the war of all her family, did not know how to respond to it. After all, she had not driven a tractor across fields as Edith had, she had not nursed the sick and dying as Sybil had. She had- What had she done except make a series of truly ghastly errors? And yet even them... they had gone with the rest of the war into that strange pocket of four years. She felt their effects but there was no visible sign on her of them, just as there was hardly any visible sign on Matthew of what he must have - She refused to continue that thought. Thinking about Matthew was painful in so many ways. She forced her concentration back to her book, only to hear a familiar cough. She looked up, her heart suddenly beating faster than it had any right to. Despite him having returned to Downton nearly six months ago at the end of the war, she had seen him rarely and hardly at all alone. And yet - for the first time in years he was free, she was free, it was peace time, they were both here, and he was smiling as if - as if nothing had happened.
"Hello," he said brightly.
Mary met his smile more cautiously, but with reciprocal warmth. "Hello, Matthew!" She hesitated, glanced away and then continued, not wanting to drive him away with silence, "What brings you to the house today?"
He wasn't sure why he felt almost relieved when she answered him, with a smile of her own. Things had been so difficult, he'd made mistakes, wasted time... No, he refused still to think of Lavinia as a mistake, he had needed... Never mind, it was over. She was in his past now, and as for his future... He hardly dared think about that. It was still hard for him to consider a future beyond each day, to count life as a surety - well, it would never be that, but at least he had more faith in it here than he had out there. But it was still too novel a thought to dare consider anything beyond the most tentative of future plans.
"I'm trying to find Doctor Clarkson, actually," he answered, instinctively rubbing his left thigh. "He seems to be here as much as at the hospital still, you must be getting quite tired of him by now - and me, I imagine!" His lips twitched wryly.
Due to his injury he'd spent rather more time here than he'd have anticipated. It was well recovered, now, as well as he could expect at least; though he was still getting used to the new way of walking with as little discomfort as possible.
Mary couldn't help glancing down as he referenced his injury. She had to stop doing that. He was alright. It was just so hard to know how to react, even after all this time. Forcing herself not to dwell so obviously on it, she replied as normally as possible, "Of course not, Matthew. Downton is your home; we are always glad to see you."
Oh dear, that came out sounding like a dig at all the time he had not been there and she had not meant that at all. She carried on hastily, "Doctor Clarkson left about half an hour ago, I'm afraid. You must just have missed him."
"Oh," he nodded, pursing his lips a moment. "Well, it wasn't terribly important. I shall live another day!" He winced at his own unfortunate choice of words.
For a moment he stood awkwardly, hesitantly. He had no need to stay now, he supposed, but... He stopped himself. War had taught him to take chances as they came, to make the most of every moment.
Eyes twinkling a little, he said, "In that case, would… you mind terribly if I sat down a moment? I..." he hesitated a second, reluctant to show her his weakness. "I don't think I can quite manage to walk back again just now." He grimaced slightly then smiled apologetically.
Foolish foolish foolish! She should have offered immediately and not because of his leg. Hadn't she grown up at all? Apparently not. She forced a proper smile and took the plunge.
"Of course, and I hope you would have stayed even without the necessity." She allowed herself to meet his eyes briefly and then looked quickly away.
Matthew dipped his head and smiled, a genuine smile of appreciation and gratitude.
"I would have liked to, certainly," he admitted.
Silently he closed the distance to the bench, quite easily, he thought, and sat down. He was already aware of her proximity, the very air between them feeling charged... How was that possible? He turned his head and caught her eye quickly. They were free - and though he wasn't quite sure what that meant, yet, it was enough to appreciate that they were. He relished the simple joy of the fact they could enjoy a conversation now without that thread of guilt plucking at him. It could happen - they could rekindle something, should they choose - though he hardly dared dwell on it. Glancing at her, he was struck (and allowed himself to be) by her beauty.
"You know," he said quietly, "it may have taken me years - too long, I know - but I finally feel at home here."
Mary felt a prickle of awareness of him next to her, both unfamiliar and familiar. She swallowed and stroked the cover of her book with a usual nervous tick before glancing over at him when he finally spoke. This time when she met his eyes accidentally, she forced herself to hold them. She did not know what she hoped to achieve or even exactly what she wanted (no, that was not true, she did know exactly what she wanted), she only knew that she had to try.
"I am glad that you do, Matthew," she replied, her expression soft, "Though you may find it strange to believe. I'm afraid I've not always been so welcoming towards your inheritance."
He held her gaze unwaveringly, having trained himself well by now to have a steady eye. No wasting chances, no leaving unsaid what needed to be said... They didn't have time for that.
"Don't I know it!" he replied drily, though with a smile. His eyes lit fondly, then lowered to stare absently at the ground somewhere in front of her feet. "I'm sorry, Mary. For so many things." His voice was rich and deep with sincerity. "I feel like I've been a fool, the way I've treated you and my attitude to this place. I have a clearer perspective on things, now."
Her heart pounded into her mouth and she felt a pleasant warmth spread through her. She was suddenly perfectly sure, his apology opening her to thoughts and memories that she had hardly dared contemplate and she felt a sudden freedom. Nevertheless, giddy as she was suddenly feeling, she managed to reply calmly, with only a slight tremor in her voice.
"You have nothing to apologise for." Though she would never have been able to speak if he had not done. "We have both been foolish; in fact, I - I have been more foolish and for longer, I think. We might both have been spared a great deal these last few years if..." She did not dare look at him. "If I had said 'yes' when I should have done." She paused, hardly daring to breathe.
Matthew's pulse quickened at the intimation behind her words. A slow smile spread over his face. Without quite daring to look at her - fearing he would be overwhelmed if he did - he contented to place his hand warmly over hers, curling his fingers around and under her palm, fixing his eyes upon the touch.
Mary drew in a shaky breath as he took her hand and her eyes closed a minute. His hand was so warm, so steady, so wonderfully human and him and all the longing she had tried to hide and suppress over the years rushed upon her in a massive, uncontrollable wave. She turned her palm over and gripped it as if it were a lifeline. In many ways it was.
"Mary..." His voice trembled with emotion that he had tried to deny for so long. "Foolish we may both have been, but there's no changing that now. What we can change... The only thing we can change... is what we do from now on."
For a few moments she could not speak. Every instinct in her wanted to turn, to simply ask him, to embrace him, to - but there were limits, even now.
Finally, she swallowed and replied in a very low voice, "What do you want to do, Matthew?" Only then did she glance sideways at him out of the corners of her eyes, hardly daring to imagine his expression.
Still gazing at their joined hands, enthralled by the sheer joy such a simple touch could bring, Matthew smiled. It was only a slight smile, but he'd not felt so pure, so happy for… years.
Lips barely moving, he murmured quietly, "I want to know that you love me. I want to know without a doubt, that you love me as deeply as I love you." Only then did he raise his head and meet her eyes, his love and tenderness clear there. "I don't care what else," he said firmly. "Marry me or not, next week or in three years, I don't care. So long as I know that you love me."
Her heart thrilled; no, her very soul thrilled at hearing the kind of words nobody had ever said to her, even him. With trembling determination, she shifted on the bench (book sliding unnoticed to the ground) so that she was facing more towards him. She met his eyes, drawn to and overwhelmed by the depth of love in them.
"I am not sure I could wait three years!" she exclaimed with a shaky, rueful laugh. Her expression sobered and settled into serious affection and she raised a tentative hand, paused, and then lightly touched her fingers to his cheek. "Matthew... Dearest Matthew, I have loved you for- for so long, for so many years that I can hardly remember a time when I did not." Having said it, finally said it, everything seemed lighter somehow and she was able to smile tremulously. "You say you don't care, but I do. If it were possible I would marry you tomorrow!"
Matthew laughed; a gentle, rumbling laugh that started deep in his chest and spilled out in delight. To have every doubt, every fear dispelled so surely and so firmly - his heart had never felt so light.
"Darling Mary," he breathed, his hand reaching up to trace over her fingers on his cheek. He clasped her hand gently and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it, then her palm, then each finger almost reverently. It was happiness beyond his comprehension. "I think, perhaps, we shouldn't regret our past errors in judgement. I think - if you had said those words to me sooner – I'd never have been able to return to the front. I couldn't have left you!"
"No," she agreed breathlessly, her eyes widening as she watched her own hand and his lips on her fingers. "I don't think I'd have let you go!"
It had been hard enough to let him go without, good Lord, without these sensations! She hardly knew what she was saying. Her head was swimming and she felt almost deliriously disconnected from reality as she had come to know it.
He brought her hand down from his lips, rubbing his thumb firmly across the back of it. To touch her was so reassuring, so right. Whatever he had thought he needed to get him through the war... It paled next to this simple pleasure. He raised his eyes to hers, light seeming to shine from within them at his delight. It was too much to comprehend! At every moment he expected to wake up.
"Well," he said quietly. "I assure you, my dear Mary, I'm not going anywhere now. Never again, God help us. You'll have to put up with me, I'm afraid, because I'm not leaving."
Her countenance broke into an open smile at his joyful expression.
"Am I to understand then that you might care about marrying me at some point, or do you simply intend to live with me? How modern you are, dearest Matthew!" The words might have been sharp and slightly mocking but they were tempered by the affectionate tone of her voice and in her eyes.
How refreshing her openness and teasing was! He'd missed her, this, so much. Every little reason why he loved her was flooding back, building and deepening, rooting itself in him. His brows rose and he flushed a little at her comment before recovering.
"You know me, Mary; I consider myself to be somewhat progressive!" His eyes twinkled mischievously. "Though I certainly do intend to marry you, be sure of that!
She glanced down at their joined hands and then looked back at him.
"Good," she replied simply, though she was still rather restless. Her fingers began to play with his and she bit her lip before her mouth suddenly curved into a smile. "So... how progressive are you, Matthew?" she asked, tilting her head to one side.
He drew a slight breath at the suggestion behind her question. He was so aware of her fingers playing with his, her soft skin sliding over his, stroking gently, he mustn't think about... Blushing, he answered hastily,
"Perhaps not that progressive!" His voice caught in his throat, and he coughed with slight desperation.
Suddenly his countenance changed, his eyes steeled a little and he leaned forwards. "Marry me," he said simply, firmly. They had wasted enough time. His eyes flickered down to her lips, hovering there a moment. "I don't want to wait."
Her smile broadened, sweetened. Finally. Her own gaze flickered down and back up in response to his and she felt her heart leap.
"Then don't!" she whispered. She untwisted her hands from his in one fluid movement to clutch at the lapels of his jacket, leaned forward and kissed him, meeting him half way.
Everything seemed to stop at once in the moment she kissed him. Nothing else mattered, nothing at all. He froze for a moment, savouring the beautiful feeling of so perfectly fulfilling a longing he wasn't even conscious he had. And then he kissed her back, indulgently, slowly… It was too precious to rush. He felt as though they had all the time in the world.
Mary sighed contentedly into his mouth and leaned further in to him, responding slowly and deliberately, her fingers running once more gently over his cheek. There was something so delicate about it. And how simply right it felt, so perfectly right! For the first time in years she felt simply happy, she felt- God forbid the cliché - she felt complete.
The sensation of her touch clashed and combined wonderfully with the feel of her lips, so soft, against his. She was everything Matthew had remembered and imagined, and more. His hands came to rest lightly on her thighs and, without consciously thinking about it, stroked over them softly, before one hand lifted to curl around the back of her head, holding her close.
She shivered as she felt his hand on her leg. Even through her skirts it felt incredibly intimate. She did not mind that though: she wanted it. She wanted him. Goodness knows they had waited long enough, they were old enough. And things that once had mattered, well, no longer seemed very important. She clutched him a bit closer by his jacket and the intensity and speed of the kiss increased as her thoughts disintegrated.
The feel of her tugging him towards her, the raw understanding that she wanted, yes, loved, him, was making Matthew's head swim with dizzying waves of bliss. It was as though he had been on hold, waiting for so many years, just for this. And now that he had found it... Unconsciously his fingers scratched a little at the back of her neck, dipping into her hair, as he promised himself firmly that never, never would he let her go.
With that touch of his hand on her neck and in her hair, something in Mary snapped and she gasped into his mouth. Letting go of his lapel, she slid her arm round his back and hugged him tightly, bringing herself even closer to him. She loved the feel of his chest against hers as she became aware of the delicious sensation of his rapid heartbeat close to hers. She had kissed him before (in another world) but she had never embraced him like this. It was delicious.
As her arms encompassed him, Matthew responded with a deep hum of pleasure into her mouth; the audible release of his desire creating an even deeper sense of intimacy. He loved her so much, so much it was almost unbearable. With a desperate urge to know her, her every feature, his fingers traced lightly over her face, neck, shoulders, learning every contour as he kissed her deeply.
Mary's head swam and she trembled at every feather-light touch of his fingers. She leaned into him more, her hands clutching at his back and shoulders before sliding into his hair (his beautiful hair!). Her heart was tight, she felt almost suffocated, made desperate by her long desire and fear and need for him, and a dry sob broke from her as she eventually tore her lips away from his, her eyes still pressed shut and wrapped her arms round him, her cheek against his, unable to countenance being any further apart from him.
Matthew enfolded her entirely in his arms, overcome. As he held her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders and his hand at the back of her head, stroking over her hair, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her cheek. Her skin was soft, so soft and sweet, and he trembled all over as he held her.
"I love you," he whispered against her ear, voice shaking with emotion.
She turned her face into his, her nose brushing against the smooth skin. She could not reply. It still seemed a perfect dream that he could love her even after everything and that they could be together in this way. That nothing could part them now. Her arms tightened at the thought. She felt overwhelmed by her love for him. It was as if a dam had burst within her and there was nothing but love left. Soldier, lawyer, earl, she could not care less what he was and she felt amazed that this had ever seemed worth quibbling over. Compared to what she had seen in the war (and comparatively she had seen very little) she felt in that moment, that she would have been content with any level of poverty only to be with him. She felt far too strongly to be able to speak of it.
He breathed a smile as he felt her wordless response to him. He kissed her cheek, her temple, again and again, the tip of her nose, her eyelids, forehead... The sweetness of her skin brushing against his lips was intoxicating and he felt as though this must be a dream, expecting at any moment to wake up. Breathless, he rested his forehead against hers, tilting his face to reach her, craving any sort of contact, any at all. He never wanted to let her go. He wouldn't.
She let him kiss her, luxuriating in his attentions to her, so soft and considerate and welcome and warm and unlike anything else she had ever known. The prospect of a lifetime of it brought heady pleasure. However, as they sat there in silence, she began to calm and come back to herself. She pulled back a little and opened her eyes, blinking in the sudden brightness of the sun, and raising her hands to clasp behind his neck, stroking the flesh there. (Was it softer there somehow? She longed to find out!)
Staring deeply into his eyes she was momentarily distracted again but finally she spoke, her voice sounding loud and heavy in the perfect stillness, though it was hardly more than a whisper,
"We cannot continue this here, in full view of the house!"
The servants would talk and while she knew that the family would hardly be displeased, there were still several nurses on the estate. Her eyes flashed though for a moment at the thought of continuing. She swallowed.
"My parents are both at home. Shall we tell them? Or would you prefer to ask my father's permission more formally?" she teased, but she seemed unable to mock him any more without being fond, and she brushed his cheek with the back of her hand.
Matthew's face softened into an expression of utter adoration as he looked at her, his eyes tracing over her in a luxuriant gaze and allowing every treasured contour of her face to become imprinted firmly in his mind. They were already there, of course; but theyseemed even more beautiful now if possible.
"I think," he spoke tremulously, "that I would marry you with or without your father's permission, darling Mary." His arms relaxed from around her and he covered her hand with his own, lovingly caressing her fingers, delighting in the freedom to do so. "So I imagine we might as well simply tell them! I won't let anything keep me from you, not this time."
"Not even myself?" Mary replied with a soft smile, tangling her fingers with his and lowering their joined hands. "I am afraid it shall take me some time to get used to being happy! In which case you must not pay attention to anything I say - except that I love you."
There was something in her words that echoed in her memory, faint but nevertheless present, of two different people who once upon a time had played games with each other and lost. She stood up reluctantly, still keeping hold of his hand.
"Not even yourself," he smiled fondly. Her words rang in his memory also, the scene in his mind seeming like a faint dream now. They had been so innocent then, so naïve, but still with that strong, undeniable, unbreakable, indescribable bond between them, pulling them together across the distance and the years.
He stood (with only a little difficulty, he was pleased to note) and kissed her cheek softly.
"Thank you," he murmured. "I'm not at all sure I deserve to be this happy!" He felt so right, an unquenchable joy bursting within him.
She gazed at him, her eyes softening into deep affection. "You should not doubt your worth, Matthew."
"So long, darling, as you do not doubt yours." He kissed the tip of her nose affectionately. "Come, then."
She tucked her arm into his and then hesitated, on the point of asking if he would lean on her. It seemed... insensitive, however, and his injury seemed so nearly recovered. (She had never dared ask anyone if the limp would ever go. She had not wanted to know.) She glanced at him and back up then said instead, "Shall we?"
He simply smiled in response and folded his hand over hers, leaning with only the slightest weight against her in support, appreciative of her silent understanding. His heart felt light; he didn't think he could possibly love her any more. He had learned not to question it or challenge it, though - he loved her. She loved him. There was nothing simpler in the world.
She felt his weight on her arm and somehow stood up straighter, responding to his reliance on her, however minor, and matching her pace to his. She would go at whatever speed he liked. They crossed the lawn slowly and as they walked a thought coalesced in her mind and she stopped just as they hit the gravel. She bumped her shoulder against his and looked up at him.
"Matthew..." She frowned very slightly. "It may be some time before we are able to marry. I want you to know that whatever happens..." She felt herself beginning to blush (she had thought herself too old for that). "Whatever happens, I consider myself bound to you from this day." She smiled faintly and tried to shrug it off. "Well, more so than I did before anyway!" Still, she hoped he understood her. There was after all a time for waiting and a time for acting and this was the latter.
Matthew drew in a slight breath, awed by the beautiful sincerity of her sentiment. He turned his head slightly, just enough for his eyes to tenderly pass over her face. His hand tightened a fraction over hers and he moistened his dry lips, smiling gently.
"Yes... I understand. Yes." His voice trembled a little. "Believe me, Mary, I have felt bound to you for a long time before this day. I think we've waited long enough, don't you?" His voice had dropped to barely above a whisper as he hardly dared say the words aloud.
She trembled at the intensity and certainty in his tone, her eyes widening a fraction and she smiled a rather tremulous smile.
"Yes, we have," she replied, meeting his eyes for one important moment before turning away to compose herself and leading them both up the front steps and into the house.
Of course, everyone at the Abbey was delighted at the news. Despite whatever attempts they had made to forget or ignore any attachment between them through the long years of the war, the young pair's regard for each other had remained evident to their families. Champagne was ordered up from the cellars and Matthew's mother was called for at once, never mind what hospital duties she had remaining that day. And however much Matthew and Mary themselves might have wished to spend more time with each other, it was a small price to pay in the face of their family's rejoicing.
Revelling in such joy, when it had felt so lacking these last years, they all settled down for an evening of celebration and cheer.
Later, after making their goodbyes to Lord and Lady Grantham, Matthew and Isobel made their way out to the hallway, accompanied by Mary. He turned to her - his fiancée, he thought with a pleasant rush - and took her hands, swinging them lightly.
Happiness, wine, the unusual liveliness of the party at supper and all the times she had caught Matthew's eyes across the table had made Mary more than a little giddy, as she had not been in... well, in a very long time. Out in the hallway, standing closer to him than she had been for hours (it seemed longer) she swung his hands back, trying to control the bubble of joy that kept threatening to burst out of her at any moment.
Isobel coughed slightly.
"I think I shall wait outside!"
Matthew glanced back at her, smiling apologetically.
"Sorry, Mother… Thank you."
Isobel smiled fondly. "Who am I to stand in the way of love!" she chuckled lightly, and looked warmly at Mary. "Congratulations, Mary dear. I can't tell you how happy I am."
Mary turned to her with a bright smile. "Thank you, cousin. I am - I am very happy too!" She glanced quickly back at Matthew. "Goodnight!"
Matthew watched his mother depart with a final "Goodnight", and waited quietly until she was out of the door before he turned back to Mary. A smile of the purest, sweetest joy slowly crept over his face.
"Are you really happy?" he asked softly.
She squeezed his hands. "Oh yes," she murmured. "So much so that I cannot express it!"
She moistened her lips, feeling suddenly shy. She knew what she wanted to say, what she wanted to ask, but now she found herself unsure how to take such a step, leaving them suspended in this limbo. She looked away at Carson waiting by the open door and then back at him, neither wanting to let him go nor able to say what needed saying.
His eyes followed hers to Carson, but he was pleased to see that the butler was respectfully looking the other way. Looking back at Mary, he swallowed thickly, eyes tracing down over her face and lingering on her lips.
"Yes, I..." Words weren't enough. They couldn't do justice to the depth of his love, his passion for her. He closed his eyes and leaned forwards, pressing a swift, searing kiss to her lips.
Mary swayed towards him as he kissed her, her eyes closing as soon as his intention was clear and remaining shut a moment afterwards. When she opened them again it was to find her vision filled with his very dear face. The idea of being parted even momentarily from him caused a depression to settle in her. They had been parted too much already.
Her eyes ran over his face and after a long moment she whispered, "You had better – I mean, you
do not need to go, Matthew. If you do not want to." Her voice caught. "I mean, you could stay. If you wanted to." Excitable as she was, these words and the intention behind them sobered her.
Her words caused his breath to halt in his throat and his pulse to race uncomfortably. His mind was reeling, he could hardly contemplate it, but... Before he could even contemplate it he found himself nodding.
"I want to. Yes." His voice was breathless, trembling. "But... How –" He licked his lips nervously, eyes searching her face. "How?"
Her heart began to pound hard at his acceptance, making it real. Her throat seemed suddenly dry.
"Just... stay," she murmured back, a slight smile ghosting over her lips. "Tell Cousin Isobel that you are walking home, that you remembered something, whatever you like. I shall wait for you." There was a seriousness in her eyes that added extra gravitas to her words.
Matthew nodded, feeling strangely light-headed. It would not sink it. It wasn't real, couldn't be... Yet he knew that it was. He kissed her again then walked quickly outside. The car was there already, Branson helping his mother in. He approached it and looked up, resting his hands lightly on the frame.
"Mother..."
Isobel blinked and smiled at him, sensing something in his demeanour.
"Yes, Matthew?"
His lips twitched upwards gently. "I'm - going to stay for a little while, if that's alright. Go on without me - I'll be perfectly alright to walk back, I just - I'm not ready just yet."
Isobel watched him as he spoke, noticed his hand gripping the window frame, the way his voice shook slightly. She knew her son. Maintaining an unreadable expression, she gave a gentle nod.
"Of course, dear. I'll see you later - do be careful walking back."
Matthew's smiled widened. "Yes. Of course I will. Thank you, Mother… I'll see you shortly."
He stepped back, taking a deep breath - catching a brief flash of acknowledgment in his mother's eyes - and raised a hand in farewell as the car drew away. He seemed to tremble all over, making his leg ache and he had to grasp the doorframe as he stepped inside, but none of that mattered. Nothing mattered. Only her, and them, and the unthinkable contemplation that they were at last united.
Mary had watched him walk slowly out, biting her lip as she noticed the unevenness in his steps even as her eyes took in the broadness of his shoulders, his upright bearing - made more so by his role in the war. After one last moment of indecision, she spoke in a low but clear voice.
"That will be all, Carson. Thank you."
The butler, the man she looked up to almost as a father, turned to her now, discreet as ever, and nodded gravely and stepped away from the door. Mary twisted her hands together.
"Will you - will you tell my parents I've gone to bed, please?"
She met his eyes briefly and he nodded.
"Of course, my Lady. And may I offer my personal congratulations? I hope you and Mr. Crawley will be very happy."
She smiled then. "Thank you. I expect we will be!"
Then he went back into the drawing room and Mary took a few more steps towards the front door just as the car was pulling away.
Matthew smiled tremulously as Mary approached him, taking a deep, steadying breath. He took her hands, rubbing his thumbs over the back of them tenderly, trying to calm the stirring emotions within him.
"Well - we have some peace, at last!" It had been a long evening... He felt so very, wonderfully content to be with her alone, to say and do as he liked without watchful eyes upon them. Just them… So right.
She smiled gently as he took her hands though the rush of feelings inside her was anything but gentle.
"Yes," she replied quietly, "I am very glad of the peace." She drew a shaky breath. "Carson will not be gone long however. Will you come with me, Matthew?" She tugged slightly on his hands, her eyes bright and tremulous as her gaze fell on him.
"Yes," he said breathlessly. "Yes."
Though his mind was dancing around the prospect of precisely why he was staying, only in the fringes of his perception, not daring to touch fully upon it, his body was prickling with awareness of her and he couldn't resist one more burning kiss to her lips.
Everything seemed to fizz in her consciousness - the wine, the anticipation of what they were going to do, the kiss, most of all his simple proximity. If she was not careful she would just throw herself into his arms here! So she tugged harder on his hands moving slowly backwards towards the stairs.
"Come with me, my love."
Matthew moistened his lips and smiled nervously, but with irrepressible happiness. This was right, so right. He felt somehow as though he had been waiting for this for years, was finally about to realise a long-held dream... He had dreamed of her, of them, often, and now - it was too much to think about. He decided to stop thinking, only to cherish and love her and treasure her, savouring all of it and storing it, her, up in his heart. He didn't need to think any more to know that this was right.
He followed her softly up the stairs.
The End
A/N: Reviews are always much appreciated by both of us!
We would like to say, however, in case you were wondering, that in this case the doors are firmly closed behind Matthew and Mary and they will be left in privacy for the rest of the night. Bless!