How could she have been so stupid! Mary berated herself, opening forcefully a window to take greedy breaths of refreshingly cool nightly London air. But why Elli? Her best friend! He couldn't have hurt her more if she had him caught red-handed with Edith.

Well, what did you expect? That he would wait for you forever? He warned you. Unlike you he can have his pick. He didn't ruin his life for a night of empty and unfulfilled lust. She reminded herself harshly, fighting back the tears that pricked behind her closed eyes. She would NOT cry over Matthew Crawley. But naturally the tears spilled over anyway, hot and salty.


Where was she? With increasing anxiety Matthew stormed the upper hallway along, opening doors, peeking into the various rooms, finding them occupied, but empty. He didn't care, if he inadvertently had looked into Lady Grantham's bedroom. Finally, he found a locked door.

He knocked.

"Mary? Are you in there?"

She froze. What was he doing here? Wasn't he supposed to be with Elli, revelling in their intimacy, sharing sweet and passionate kisses? Caressing skin that was slowly revealed to burning eyes under his hands and lips? Maybe even whispering of love and a future together? She sobbed and pressed her hand against her mouth to stifle the sound. He must not know she was in here. If she kept quiet, he would leave.

"Mary? I heard you. I know you're in there. Please, open the door. Let me explain."

Noo….

"Please! I need to talk to you. It's not like that."

Well, it never was, wasn't it?

"Mary…." He pleaded.

No. She would not give him the satisfaction to see her so unravelled.

"Mary… I won't leave. I'm going to stand here and plead with you until you let me in." He pressed his ear against the wood of the door. Did she move?

He wouldn't, at least not for long. Her former best friend would soon beckon him over.

"And I don't care, if the whole family and half of the guests will find me here either. " He raised the stakes.

"Let me be!" She felt trapped and pressured by him. Her head jerked up and turned, when she heard a quiet bump against the door. Did he try to force his way in?!

"What are you doing?" Against her will she took a few steps towards the door.

"Making myself comfortable. It seems I will be around for a while." His voice drifted up to her from far below. Had he sat down on the floor?

"What? You can't!"

"I'd say watch me, but since you refuse to open the door, you have to take my word for it."

Mary gnarled her teeth. This was NOT the time to provoke her any further.

"So you'll just keep on sitting on the floor and cause a scene?"

"Yes. Unless you let me in…."

"No."

"Then yes, I'm going to cause a scene that will be the talk of London for this season and the next."

She felt sick to her stomach. He mustn't. He absolutely mustn't. She had to make him leave, somehow. What could she do?

"Matthew, I beg of you, go away! Please!"

"No! We will talk about this. We will talk about a lot of things, either through this door in semi-public or in your room privately. Your choice, Mary. But I will NOT go away."

"But I don't want to! In fact I have nothing to say to you."

"Fine."

She walked away from the door, back to the open window. A car passed by not far away. A horn sounded, a horse neighed in response. It was quiet again. Too quiet.

She started circling the room. How dared he talk about giving her a choice? He coerced her that was what he did. He forced a conversation on her she didn't want to have or be the cause of even more talk and scandal about her. How could he be so inconsiderate? Once more she and her wishes meant nothing in all this. Like with her grandfather, her father, Pamuk and now Matthew as the preliminary last in a long row of men. The tears welled up again. It was an impossible situation! She sat down again on the chair in front of her vanity table.

Her reflection showed a troubled face, sadness warred with anger which warred with hopelessness. Tiredly she pulled out her earrings. What if she rang for Anna? Then he would be forced to leave! She jumped up again to walk the few paces to her bed, only to sit down again on her bed. The prig would probably relish the situation; present himself as the wronged person here, because Cousin Mary was difficult and stubborn again, while he was the mature one wanting to talk things over. HA!

Slowly she became aware of her breathing and as she listened into the night; music at a crescendo faintly drifted up and through her door. How much time had passed? He couldn't still sit on the floor in front of her door, could he? Curiosity battled with hurt and anger. Curiosity won. She walked over to the door.

"Matthew?"

"Yes, Mary?" came prompt an answer.

She gasped. He was still sitting in front of her door. He had not gone back to Eleanor or to any of the girls just waiting for him to show them a bit of attention downstairs.

"What are you doing?"

"I've counted the squares in the Turkish carpet in a rough square metre, 186 by the way, and now I've started on the panelling across the atrium. I'm thinking of you, wishing you were with me here outside in the hall or I with you in your room." He shifted to align himself to the door. It would make speaking to her much easier and more intimately.

He sounded sad, Mary decided. She stepped closer, knelt down. Her fingers hovered over the wood of her door, before she clenched them and snatched her hand away.

"Shouldn't you be with Eleanor?" she asked him accusingly.

"No. I told you. It's not like that between us. Are you sitting on the floor as well?"

"But I saw the both of you. She was kissing you. And it's not the first time I caught you, mind you. So how can you expect me to believe what you say?"

She sat down and pulled her feet under her dress. It was creased anyway. She leant with her shoulder against the door, seeking support.

"I don't expect you to. I'm here to explain. Will you listen, Mary?"

"You don't leave me much of a choice, do you? You want this conversation now, so let's have it now."

Matthew gasped, when he heard the resignation in her voice.

"You really think me a monster, do you?" He waited for almost a minute, when she finally answered.

"I don't know what or who you are. You confuse me so much, Matthew."

"How do I confuse you? Mary, Eleanor is your friend. She's also become mine somehow. I can talk to her like I can talk to no one else. I don't have to think about what I can tell her, whether it's appropriate or not. She has no expectations of me as heir, as son, as a lawyer. I can simply be me. She makes it easy."

"Unlike me."

"Unlike you. But Mary, most of the time I like that you don't make it easy for me. You challenge me; you make me want to be a better man, a better lawyer, a better heir and earl. But sometimes you ask too much of me. And then I can write or talk to Elli and she puts things back into perspective..."

"So you've stolen my best friend, too. Felicitations for your upcoming nuptials."

"What? I haven't stolen your best friend. In fact she's never been a better friend to you, I'll have you know. She wants you to be happy. And she thinks... I'm the one to make you so. And I like her. But Mary, I'm not in love with her. And she isn't in love with me either. Do you know what she told me, mere moments before she pecked me and you came in?... Mary? Are you still there?"

"Yes."

"She said, go and get your girl. So you see, it really isn't like that between us. Do you believe me?"

Mary smiled wryly, realising the crux of the problem. Did she trust Matthew to tell her the truth? Did she trust him, period! Trusting him would be nothing short of a leap of faith for her. Matthew would always be surrounded by women, eager to offer him what they had. Could she trust him not to succumb to temptation and stay faithful? What could she offer him to keep him interested in her compared to all the others out there? Mary had been raised to believe her worth depended vastly, if not solely, on her father's wealth and standing among his peers and the size of her dowry. And he already had her father's wealth and indirectly her dowry as part of the Grantham fortune simply by being his heir.

To attract and keep a man based on her character and to a lesser degree on her beauty was a very novel concept to her and she was struggling with it since Matthew's 'deal'. The more so since her virtue was now openly questioned. As long as it had been all a secret, it hadn't been so bad, because as her grandmother had succinctly put it: every girl walks up to the altar with half the story hidden. Only her story wasn't hidden anymore, but fodder for society's gossipmongers. And if she ever learnt who was responsible at Downton for leaking her story, well that person would rue the day they were born. She would destroy them, no matter whom it was or to what lengths she would have to go. She would not rest until she had her revenge and maybe not even then. So again, could she trust Matthew to ignore all this? Could she trust him to keep seeing something in her that made her worthier than all other girls, despite all?

On the other hand, what did it really matter, if she believed him? He may not have an affair with Eleanor or count her among prospects for marriage but that didn't necessarily mean he would marry her, Mary.

This entire evening had served her as a most cruel eye-opener. She might have once believed times were changing. But her mother had been right. They weren't changing fast enough for her. She was officially damaged goods, ruined by her own deeds and by malicious gossip. No decent man but Matthew, and perhaps not even he when he learnt of her misstep, would ever offer for her. There was little left to do for her, but to step aside and become as invisible as possible lest she ruined Sybil's prospects, too, the most innocent one in all this mess. All evening she had felt the disapproving or pitying gazes of people flattering themselves to be in the know. She saw them appraise Sybil, her worth, her beauty and liveliness compared to the shame of the elder sister and her very modest dowry as third daughter. She watched them scrutinise Matthew, assessing him, too, as heir of the Grantham wealth and the title and weighed his manners, his charm and his handsomeness against her and most of all against his middle-class background, which was a huge black mark. There would always be people, even some of considerable influence, who would not forgive him for being lowly born as son of a mere doctor, which was reputable enough on its own, but as a son of a nurse, who had never stopped working, which left the bad aftertaste of working class. And that was truly unforgivable. No varnish white enough or how charming and pleasing the package would ever completely cover up this shortcoming. Mary had learnt this evening just by unhindered careful observation from the sidelines that society considered the Crawleys being on the downgrade.

Mary closed her eyes and uttered "Yes, I do believe you" but it could not change one bit between them. And that hurt the most.


On the other side of the door, Matthew felt sweet relief sweep through his body. She believed him! They had just ended their first fight as a couple. He needed to see her. Now! But there was still the locked door between them.

"Mary? Will you let me in?"

She panicked. "No."

"Why not? I'd like to just hold you, very much. May I?"

Her heart constricted painfully. How she wished she could open the door and let him in. But there were so many other things that stood between them.

"You can't come in. I'm already undressed." She prevaricated.

The mental image that immediately sprang up in his mind made him only more determined to tear down the wall between them.

"You can't. Anna's not been up yet." He caught her out.

"I look a sight." She answered honestly this time.

"Oh, Mary, did you cry? Please don't, ever! I'm so, so sorry to have caused you pain now. That was never our intention."

The fight left Mary. She longed to be held for a little while, just let go for a moment and let him take care of her and pretend all was well tonight.

"Alright. You can come in. But you will close your eyes. I don't want you to see me like this."

His heart leapt as he hastened to get up from the floor. His Mary, so endearingly vain. He couldn't help smiling tenderly. When they would be married, they saw each other in considerably worse states and his heart sang just from the thought of it. He heard a small click and the door slowly swung open and eagerly he stepped into the room with closed eyes. The door fell close behind him and her hand touched his. With careful and tiny movements he searched for her arms, then her waist. When he thought he got it right, he pulled her closer and let his arms wrap themselves around the small of her back. Seconds, minutes, hours went by as he breathed her in, just revelling in her nearness. This was right, so very right.

Mary relaxed in his arms. Just a bit more. Just a few seconds more, before...

"Have you thought about what you want from life?" He asked her against her ear. She was still so spooked, best to start easy and build up to THE question, he decided on a moment of level-headedness.

"Yes." She whispered back in his ear.

"Yes?" Yes to what? Yes, I have thought about what I want from life or yes, I accept you and share your life with you?

She pulled out of his embrace, feeling already bereft of him and his warmth. How could that be? Matthew's eyes opened. That was not according to plan. He had hoped for some kissing as natural progression of their embrace and them on the verge of being engaged.

"And?"

"It's rather what I don't want for my life, Matthew."

"What's that?"

"40 years of boredom in a loveless marriage."

"I don't want that either." She could barely look into his eyes. He looked so hopeful and she hated herself for having to break his heart, but at least she could do it as gently as possible. Taking a deep breath she continued.

"I want…. Freedom, independence. I want to manage my own household, host my own dinner parties and receptions, deal with the servants, want to sit down with cook and discuss the meals for the next week. I want to decorate the house to my taste. I want to play an important role in society. I want to be a force to be reckoned with. I want to be in control of my own life, do you understand?"

He didn't. He only understood that there was very little room for him or any other man lucky enough to call himself her husband in her vision of the future. He started to feel cold.

"Matthew, if we were to marry, where would we live?"

He hesitated, sensing some sort of trap.

"I guess not at Downton Abbey?"

"No. Not at Downton Abbey. There we would be the heirs to dawdle their time away until my father died. My mother would handle the staff, continue to discuss household things with Mrs. Hughes and host parties. Nothing would change for me. I would just exchange one waiting room for another. And that's the very least I want."

"But at Crawley House…"

"Lives your mother. Honestly, I like cousin Isobel, but do you really think she would be able to step down and let me take charge?"

Matthew shook reluctantly his head.

"Then we find our own house, Mary. This is but a minor thing." He reached for her again and again she stepped out of his reach.

"And how would you pay for a house, two households and my dress allowance, because I can't imagine that you would want to live off Papa's generosity? You always make such a fuss, when Papa wants to commission new clothes for you to make you look according to your position. I don't think your pride could handle it."

He swallowed hard and acknowledged her viable point. He would eventually come to resent Robert, because he would not be able to provide adequately for Mary and his mother on his salary alone. Not yet at least. And to use Mary's dowry for keeping up the lifestyle she was accustomed to, unthinkable. He would feel like a gigolo, living off the fortune of his wife. But how very well she knew him, he couldn't help but marvel.

"There's more, Matthew. I'm simply not sure, if I'm in love with you or just in lust."

He felt punched into the gut.

"How... how do you mean?"

"Half of the time we drive each other up the pole, the other half we…" She made a vague gesture. "How can that be a good and solid basis for marriage? How can we be sure, if the other one is really what we want? They put so much pressure on us to get married. How can we be sure it hasn't warped our thinking and feelings?"

"I am sure, Mary. Yes, we do drive each other crazy. Yes, we will probably spend half of our life quarrelling. But isn't that better compared to 40 years of boredom?"

"How can it be?" she cried out. "What if one of us gets tired of our arguments? What if one day we look at each other over the dinner table and think I can't bear it anymore? Matthew, at the moment we simply cannot be sure, at least I can't be. And I want to be. I want to step up to you and know without any doubt that you're the one I want to spend the rest of my life with." She took a deep breath to conclude her little speech. "This is why I've decided to go away."

"What?!"

"Please give me a year, Matthew."

"I don't understand. Mary, I lo…"

"Don't say it! Give us one year apart from each other with no contact whatsoever. Let us use this year to make sure, that we are truly sure about each other. And when we meet again after a year gone by and still love and want each other then yes, I will happily walk down the aisle towards you."

Matthew turned away, seeking support at the mantle of the cold fire-place. An icy fist crushed his heart and his soul. Well, he had wanted to know, hadn't he? And now he got his answer.

"I see." His voice was toneless and he fought back sudden tears.

"Matthew, I don't reject you! I just want to be sure." She stepped up to him to reach out to take his hand.

Helpless against his feelings, he drew her in and she went willingly enough. Their foreheads touched and their hands entwined.

"Mary, I don't think I can… You ask too much."

"Please, Matthew. If you love me, let me go."

"I CAN'T! I can't let you go." He pulled his hand out of her grasp and up to her neck and kissed her with desperation. He slanted his lips over hers again and again, the force of it opening her mouth to him and he delved in. He had to convince her to stay. She succumbed for a moment, letting her tongue glance and battle against his. It felt so overwhelmingly good to feel him like this. She stepped even closer. Oh, god, this was glorious, but... His grip on her got tighter, pressing her against him even closer. Breathlessly she pulled away. She had to stay strong for them and for the sake of the future of Sybil and the Family.

"Please, Matthew." She pleaded once more. "A year is nothing. And perhaps in the meantime you will meet a girl much nicer and … well, more suited to you and you will be glad that we didn't get married."

"No! NEVER! There will never be another girl for me. I know that!" he exclaimed passionately. What could he do to make her stay? She mustn't leave. He wouldn't permit it. His eyes searched wildly and desperately for a way out, glanced over Mary and arrested at the large piece of furniture behind her. There was his solution and his mouth curled up in a smile.

Mary gasped and backed away until the back of her knees hit her bed. She knew this look. She knew what it meant. Because she had seen it once before: on the face of Kamal Pamuk.


tbc