Mary had grown up hearing fairy tales, with princes who would slay dragons and save princesses.

She had grown up watching her sisters hear the same tales, seen Edith's eyes light up at the idea of a true love who saved the day, seen Sibyl's expression change as she began to mull the ideas over.

They wouldn't remember her reaction, her instant distaste for it. She did not want someone to save her; she would save herself. She knew that she was more than capable of it, that she wouldn't need a man to save her. Some saw it as a pride, a stubbornness, a contrary nature – she would be the first to agree. But it was more than that. It was resilience, it was determination, it was independence.

Not all feminists chained themselves to railings, or went off to rallies with chauffeurs who were easily swayed by such a pretty face.

Love was not what it was in books, it was not perfect, it was not easy, it was not something which came with a guaranteed happily-ever-after.

She had never believed that Pamuk was her true love – but that hadn't been love, it hadn't been romance, it had been...

She didn't know. She wasn't certain. She wasn't even sure what she'd hoped it would be; although she'd barely had time to hope, the decision felt as if it had been taken out of her hands. Sometimes she wondered if she could have stopped it, if she should have tried harder, or if she'd let a weak resolve guide her actions – retrospect hadn't helped her to work out if she'd enjoyed the experience or not, everything was tainted with death and scandal.

She had never believed that Matthew was her true love either – it wasn't as if their eyes had met across a crowded room and she'd known she could never desire another.

Then again, she wasn't sure she believed in true love.

True love was meant to conquer all. It was meant to forgive, to understand, to remain regardless.

She loved Matthew. She hadn't known she did, and she hadn't realised it quickly enough, but she loved him.

Funny that he loved her too. At the moment she couldn't say with certainty that she deserved it, or maybe even that she ever would.

But she wanted to.

Carson's embrace felt like the only constant she had, the only one she could have – he had held her like this when she had cried as a little girl, and now he hugged her as warmly as if she were his own daughter.

Which, somehow, made it worse.

When war itself was announced, she met Matthew's eyes.

He didn't look away.

She found herself running towards him.

"Please."

He studied her.

"War changes everything." She said quietly. "I know that I don't deserve you. But I - you have to believe me. I don't care about the entail, I simply don't care – I care about you." There were still tears in her eyes and she cursed them, wishing they weren't there, that she didn't have to look so damn weak in front of him –

But his thumb was gently sweeping them away. "War does change everything."

"I'll still be stubborn. I'll still be contrary. You know I will. But – I'm on your side, Matthew. I always will be." She placed her hand over his. "I can't stand the thought of you going to war without knowing... Without knowing the truth." She looked away, still holding his hand. "I have a lot of truth to tell, Matthew. I'm not proud of it."

"There's only one thing that I need to know, Mary." He said quietly. "You don't appear to have been able to say it before."

"But there's so much you don't know, Matthew, there's so much – " She let go of his hand, finding herself worried that there was too much.

"Mary."

She looked up, forced herself to meet his gaze – it was an intense one, one that did things to her that she wasn't certain she understood. "I love you, Matthew." She said finally, quietly, terrified.

He took her in his arms. "You can tell me the rest of your truths later, Mary." He kissed her forehead. "But for now, that's really all I need to know."

Perhaps there was such a thing as true love. Or perhaps this was simply the closest she'd get.

There were moments when he made her feel like this was the closest anyone would get.