This is the end of the same scene (Mary and Matthew at the garden party in episode 7), but this time from Mary's point of view. Written for the M/M Monday Madness Community at Live Journal (link in my profile).
As Mary watched Matthew walk away from her, she felt numb, empty, blank. She couldn't quite take it in; that Matthew had withdrawn his proposal, that he was leaving Downton, that he was leaving her. It all seemed so strange, so unreal, almost like a dream, but as his footsteps took him further away, feelings and emotions and thoughts started to creep back into her perception. He was leaving her, leaving Downton because he couldn't bear to stay any more, because she had hurt him too much with her delays.
She wanted to run after him then, to grab his arm, spin him around and pour out her heart and soul to him. To tell him the real reason why she'd delayed, that it wasn't really because of the uncertainty of his future prospects, that it wasn't because he may just have ended up being a country solicitor; but because of her own shame, her own scandal. But that thought stopped her in her tracks, for how could she tell him that? When she'd spent the last two months since his marriage proposal, since she realised how much she loved him, trying to do just that.
The number of times the hypothetical conversation had plagued her thoughts, stopping her sleeping at night and leaving her distracted during the day, even when she was away from him in London. No matter how many times she'd tried to think of how to tell him, no matter what words she used or what setting she chose, the outcome was always the same. In her mind Matthew would always look at her with disappointment, with hurt and betrayal. Sometimes it was accompanied by anger, hatred, sometimes he even understood, but always he would leave her, withdraw his proposal and his regard for her. And so whenever she'd tried to tell him, whenever she'd tried to force the words from her lips, this face would haunt her vision and her courage would fail her; the confession burning on her tongue and chocking her throat.
And so he did not understand, how could he? How could he know the reasons why she clammed up around him, why she couldn't speak her mind, speak her heart. The real reason why she had delayed in accepting his proposal. Yes, she couldn't deny that the uncertainty of his inheritance had played a part, that it had put doubts in her mind and furthered her delay, but it was her own shame that stood in her way. Her own lack of virtue that denied her the ability to accept him. For the doubts about his position were surmountable, his reaction to her shame was insupportable and she knew she could never find the courage to face it.
And so she had no choice but to let him walk away, watching him stride across the lawn like the earl he would one day be, his footsteps so hard, so determined. She had heard the pain in his voice, saw his heartbreak in his face and the struggle in his eyes. That Matthew should hurt at all pained her deeply, but the fact that she was the cause made it unbearable; his pain became hers and it mixed with her own pain. Her pain over him refusing her, over him leaving Downton, over him giving up on her. It was all too much to bear and the tightness that had gradually crushed her heart over the last few weeks, months even, became too much. It was all too much; her mother's pregnancy, the conflicting words of her family, the death of her unborn brother and her parents sorrow… It all collided and split her heart in two, forcing tears from her eyes she could not fight, tears so rarely did she ever let fall, let alone in public like this, in her parent's garden and at their summer party.
She squeezed her eyes shut to try to fight them, to fight the blinding pain in her head made worse by the glaring sunshine and the distant merriment. It did no good, so she tried to hide them, covering her lace gloved hands over her eyes in a feeble attempt to push the tears back, to hide them from sight, from memory. But still they did not stop, the sobs were being ripped from her very heart and soul, pouring out her anguish and pain as it all crashed over her in that moment. That had been building and intensifying over the last few weeks, months even, reaching back to that night… That night when her whole world had fallen around her, when her life had changed irrevocably into a nightmare, when she'd let that dastardly Turk steal her virtue. She remembered how she'd mourned for him, somehow thinking that she had cared for him, that there had been something more between them. But she knew how stupid those thoughts were now. Her attraction to Kemal was nothing in comparison to this, to what she felt for Matthew, how he filled her heart and soul, her every waking breathe nearly and every beat of her heart. And now that heart was broken and she was left with the almost unbearable knowledge of just how much she did love Matthew. It had taken her so long to realise it, but now that she had lost him, she finally realised just how important he was to her, how much she needed him in her life.
She hadn't really understood love before, had scoffed at the mere idea of it. Even when she realised she did love Matthew after he'd proposed, she still did not fully comprehend it. Now she realised just what love itself meant, how powerful it could be, bringing such great joy and even deeper sorrow, how it had the power to ruin lives and shatter hearts and how excruciatingly painful love found and then lost could really be. She remembered then, those harsh yet powerful words Matthew had asked of her, in this very same place just a few weeks ago. "Do you love me enough to spend your life with me." She'd wanted to say yes then, to accept him right then and there and finally become his, but she couldn't, not with the guillotine of Pamuk hanging over them, ready to fall and cut both their hearts in two. And oh, how those words had haunted her! And what Matthew must think of her inability to answer them! But now, as she watched him walk away, the words took on a whole new meaning. She didn't just love him enough, she needed him, needed to spend her life with him, but now she couldn't, it was too late. He was leaving and she knew there was nothing she could do to stop him.
It's your own fault, Mary told herself fiercely, it's all your own stupid, stupid fault. She repeated the words in her mind, trying to work up some anger, some frustration, bitterness at herself, trying to find a way to push away this pain, this sadness. It was no use; the words just brought deeper sobs from her heart and wrought greater tears from her eyes. Until her every sense, her every thought and feeling was centred into the pain and sadness of losing him, of seeing the disappointment in his eyes anyway and of knowing how much pain she'd caused him.
She wasn't sure how much time passed then, as she stood their crying out her hurt and pain which she'd kept so deeply buried, ever since that night of the hunt. It was only when the words of the butler broke through into her misery that she came aware of reality again. She did her best to quickly dry her eyes and then drop her hands, knowing there was little use in hiding her sadness, but the action was reflexive and the normalcy of it was a small comfort all the same.
"Are you quite well, my lady?" His voice was so soft, so kind and gentle. Just like Matthew's had been, when he'd wished her well, still wanting her to be happy after all she'd put him through. Still so kind and gentle that even as she'd snapped his heart in two he'd thought of her. He was too good for her, even without his future wealth and position, too good for her by far. She didn't deserve him, she didn't deserve his regard or his kindness, she only deserved scorn, hate, ridicule, punishment for her crimes and her selfishness.
She was aware that Carson was still watching her, waiting for her response and she tried to focus on reality enough to think of one. "Of course," she answered quickly, "you know me, Carson, I'm never down for long." No, she never usually was, she usually pushed the pain and sorrow away and, as her mother always said, things would always look better in the morning. She doubted the wisdom in her words and her mother's now though; she doubted things would ever look better again for a long, long time. The thought only brought more tears to her eyes and she didn't try to hide them this time. What did it matter, what did anything matter now that she'd lost Matthew and smashed both of their hearts into pieces?
"I know you have spirit my Lady, that's what counts. That's all that counts in the end."
Spirit! Mary wanted to scoff at the very word, but the pain and the sadness that besieged her heart made such trivial things like scoffing and disagreeing impossible. What did spirit matter? Spirit had only gotten her into this mess, the spirit which had attracted Pamuk, which had made her fight her feelings for Matthew for so long. Her spirit which made her too proud to confess her shame and tell Matthew she loved him, to accept his precarious future and say yes when she'd had the chance. Yes, perhaps spirit did count, but only in bringing about her misery and desolation and ruining the happiness of everyone around her. For though Matthew had not admitted to it, she had ruined everything and she did not deserve this kindness from the butler, from anyone and certainly never from him. Still, as Carson wrapped his arms around her in an embrace, the comfort it brought was too much for her to fight. She didn't deserve it, but she let herself rest her head against Carson's shoulder anyway and poured out all her tears.