A/N: sooooo sorry for the long delay! These last few weeks have been crazy for me and I just didn't have the time to even think about writing. Thankfully this weekend was quiet so I have had time to update this fic. I can't believe how many of you are enjoying it, and so sorry to leave you on such a cliff-hanger! Without further ado...

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The silence was deafening.

It sounded so simple when she said it. All the pain and longing that she had endured for months, for years, distilled to a few short words.

Mary's breath had stopped but her heart was somehow beating fiercely against her chest at double-speed. Matthew was stood before her with wide-eyes and parted lips. His expression was unreadable beyond the obvious fact of him being stunned by her sudden admission. They had stopped moving but they were still in hold and the soft music continued to swirl around them. Time stood still.

Slowly, Mary could see the life begin to flow through Matthew's veins again and the cogs begin to whir in his brain. His mouth opened and closed rapidly as he tried to decide what to say.

"You're..." He eventually rasped, his voice hoarse.

Trembling, Mary nodded her confirmation. She didn't want to have to say it again, not when she was still so unsure of his reaction. He wasn't giving anything away yet.

He stepped away from her, dropping his arms and turning away from her, and Mary instantly felt cold, both from the loss of contact and the fear she held. Had grandmother had assured her that it would be a great relief to finally confess her love to him, but she didn't feel that way yet. She was suddenly aware of the tiny part of her that had envisioned a glorious moment between the two of them, with Matthew's expression instantly breaking into a beaming smile as he confessed that he reciprocated her love. It was foolish to expect such a scene to unfold, she knew, but there would be no point in telling him unless she considered there might be a slight possibility of it ending well.

He turned back to her, her heart skipping several beats as he opened his mouth to speak, before he again gave up on speech. He looked out of the window as if searching for help, his arms fidgeting helplessly by his sides.

As much as she understood his shock and wanted to allow him the time to process her revelation, the wait had grown unbearable.

Tentatively, she spoke. "Please - say something."

To her surprise, Matthew spun around immediately; it was as if her words had injected into him the ability to speak.

"What do you mean?" He asked firmly.

The question took her aback. Of all the responses she'd expected - frustration at why she hadn't told him sooner, anger at her confessing when he was on the cusp of wedding another woman - she hadn't anticipated a request for elaboration on her feelings.

"What?" She automatically asked.

"What do you mean?" Matthew repeated impatiently. "When you say that you..." he hesitated over the phrase, "love me...what do you mean?"

Now it was Mary who gaped and looked around helplessly. Never mind the impossibility of finding a way to verbalise her love for him, how could she possibly face relating it all to him in detail? "I should think it's quite self-explanatory, Matthew." She let out a breathy laugh in an attempt to evade the question. But Matthew's expression was deadly serious. This was possibly the most serious that she'd ever seen him, and she knew that he deserved a proper answer. "I..." She swallowed and forced herself to take a deep breath to steady herself. This may be one of the most important conversations of her life, but Lady Mary Crawley never let her nerves show. "I suppose I've found myself thinking of you all the time...and I don't seem able to stop. Even when I try to." Mary took another deep breath. "At first I thought I was just missing your company. But it's more than that. It almost hurts. And I keep cursing my younger self for not appreciating you properly." She smiled ruefully to herself at the thought of all those wasted years - all that time they could have had together if only she hadn't been so short-sighted.

Feeling that she'd said enough - for now, at least - she looked at him to gauge a reaction. Matthew was once again staring at her, his lips parted, his blue eyes wide and deep. She could have shaken him in exasperation for being so opaque.

"Are you sure, Mary?" He asked urgently, peering at her intently. "I need to know that you're sure." There was too much at stake to risk throwing it away for no real reason. He had placed his faith in her affections once before, only to have his heart shattered. Sometimes he thinks the war saved him; as horrendous as it was, it had given him an escape, enabled him to lead a life a world away from her. But he knew that he wouldn't be able to bear having his hopes dashed for a second time. His heart had only recently repaired itself.

Mary almost laughed in spite of herself. "Of course I'm sure, Matthew! Do you think I'd humiliate myself like this unless I was sure?" However penetrating his gaze was, she wouldn't meet his eyes. It would only make the conversation more difficult.

"Mary..."

She couldn't help but respond to the sound of his deep voice calling her. It had called for her so many times, in so many different ways. Tersely, when in the midst of an argument about something trivial. Apologetically, when he worried that he had truly offended her as they bickered. Adoringly, as his soft lips brushed against hers so tenderly. Pleadingly, as he called for her from his bed or wheelchair for assistance. However he said her name, there had always been a warmth and familiarity to it - somehow even from the moment they'd met - that she'd found comforting.

Now, he was imploring her to meet his eyes, and she did so. His expression had softened, to her relief, but she knew that he was still far from accepting what she'd revealed to him.

"Is this why you brought me here? Why you wanted to speak with me?" He asked, his tone less demanding but still insistent.

Mary nodded. A sense of guilt crept into her gut as she felt bad for leading him to the library under false pretences. She was a master of smoothly-crafted alibis and moulding the truth to suit her purposes, but Matthew was the one person she couldn't bear to lie to, even if it was harmless. This was part of the reason she'd felt the need to tell him of the feelings she harboured for him. "I thought I should - I wanted to tell you before..." She trailed off, not wanting to speak of his impending marriage. "I wanted to tell you as soon as I could."

The implicit mention of his wedding seemed to reignite the frustration in Matthew. It reminded him of the position that she was placing him in. What was he supposed to do? He was engaged to Lavinia, and fully intended to carry out the promise that he had made to her. But was he supposed to keep this a secret from Lavinia, if he did marry her? Was he meant to marry Lavinia but never speak to Mary again, to maintain a sense of propriety? There was another option clearly staring him in the face, but he daren't consider it. Not yet.

"Why did you tell me this?" He asked, suddenly fierce. "What do you expect me to do? What are you hoping for?"

Mary crumbled inside. This is the line of questioning that she had been dreading. Weighing her possible responses, she opted for the most honest. She had completely bared herself to him thus far, so she may as well continue. "What do you think, Matthew?" She sighed. "I was hoping for you to tell me that you feel the same way!" She threw her arms up and let them fall limply to her sides, as if acknowledging the futility of this wish.

Her bluntness appeared to have had an effect on Matthew. He'd expected to have to ask more questions, to wrangle the answer out of her from behind her permanent guard, but she had confronted him with the truth immediately.

"You thought I'd immediately tell you that the feelings were mutual?" He said, angry and almost offended by her presumptuousness.

Mary shook her head vigorously, keeping herself from rolling her eyes at his obtuseness. As well as they knew each other, they could still misread each other spectacularly. "No - that's what I was hoping for. I didn't expect anything in particular. I didn't know how you'd react - I don't presume to know you better than you know yourself." She said defensively.

"The scary thing is that sometimes I think you do." Matthew muttered bitterly under his breath as he shifted on his feet and frowned.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Mary retorted, irritated by his persistent vagueness. Surely he must know how difficult this was for her?

"You knew how this would throw me, confuse me!" Matthew bit back, his voice slightly raised. "Yet you insisted upon telling me. I, on the other hand, had no idea what I was in for when I followed you in here!"

"What exactly are you accusing me of?" Mary exclaimed, taken aback by this abrupt change in his demeanour.

"If you really wanted me to return your sentiments - if that's what you were honestly looking for - you would have chosen to tell me this differently. And much longer ago than four weeks before my wedding to another woman!" Matthew was almost shouting now. "But instead you decided to throw this grenade at me just as I'm about to leave here with my fiancée, giving me no opportunity to reflect on it." He began to pace up and down in front of her, the words tumbling out of his mouth with increasing speed as his mind raced with a thousand thoughts. "It's almost as if - as if you've suddenly realised that I'm no longer available. Like it's dawned on you that I'm the best option you have for a husband and you're trying to snatch me back at the last minute!"

Mary could hardly believe her ears. Hadn't her grandmother convinced her - promised her - that Matthew would never say a cruel word to her, especially not after such a huge admission? He was glaring at her and a lump began to form in her throat. She was transported back to that summer's day five years before when he made another set of false accusations to her, regarding her prioritising status over love. Then, at least, it had been him pursuing her. There seemed to be no saving grace in this situation.

"How...How could you think that, Matthew?" She said shakily, fighting to keep the tears from falling down her cheeks. That he could think her so heartless - after all that they'd been through together - was crushing. He knew her better than anyone else in the world and yet he doubted her heart. What did she have left, if not his trust? "This isn't just a game." She whispered. Against her will, she began to sob. Her body shook with each ragged breath. She was too drained to move, so she stood where she was, held her hands to her face and cried in front of him. It didn't matter that he could see her so weak; his opinion of her couldn't sink any lower, could it?

She gasped as she felt an arm wrap around her waist and a warm hand on her face.

"I'm sorry." Matthew said softly, gently trying to pry her hands away from her eyes. She wouldn't let him, so instead he held her close to him. "I shouldn't have said that."

Mary waited a few moments until she was sure she was settled enough to speak, but kept her head concealed from his view. "Don't apologise for saying things that you mean. It would be hypocritical of me to blame you for speaking the truth."

She felt him shake his head. "But I don't mean that, Mary. Please believe me. I was just picking a fight because I didn't know what else to say or do." He sighed and she felt his breath against her temple, where he was resting his head. "Sometimes I feel like I'm at my most comfortable when I'm arguing with you about something or other." He chuckled lowly, and his hand unconsciously rubbed her back. "But you must know that it was a bit of a shock for me to hear that." He said gently, his fingers drawing small circles onto her skin through her thin dress.

Mary leant her head on his shoulder and nodded against it. "I hadn't been planning this to happen this way." She said quietly. "I only decided to tell you last night."

"What made you decide?" Matthew murmured. He remained in their embrace, his fingers continuing to soothingly play over her back. She knew that he wanted to step back and look at her - he always preferred to be able to see her face when they spoke, especially when he was in his wheelchair - but was respecting her wish to hide her face. It made her love him even more.

"Granny. She persuaded me that I would feel better after telling you, rather than keeping it pent up inside." She explained, the strength returning to her voice. It was much easier to speak to him this way; she knew that he wasn't angry and she didn't feel as exposed when he couldn't see her.

"And do you feel better?" Matthew asked with concern.

Mary paused a moment to consider this. "Yes, I suppose I do."

"Good." He replied sincerely.

More confessions were about to escape her lips when she was halted by another bout of self-consciousness. She bit her lip and frowned anxiously. It was important for Matthew to know the extent of her feelings but she didn't want to overdo it, or scare him away.

"Is there something else?" Matthew softly prompted. Clearly sensing her questioning gaze, he smiled against her hairline. "I can feel you fidgeting with my lapel and you never fidget, unless something is troubling you." He reached his own hand up and placed it over hers, his fingers sending goosebumps to her skin underneath the gloves.

Warmed by this display of intimacy, Mary smiled to herself, feeling her cheeks flush. "It's just that - seeing you here, and hearing about your wedding...it inevitably made me think about whether I'd ever marry. I wondered why I'd been finding it so difficult to be taken by someone new, in London of all places. Then I realised why - it's because I've been too busy being yours. In my mind, at least."

This time, Matthew felt the need to step back to look at her. Feeling embarrassed again, Mary tried to qualify her words. "I mean-" she began, but Matthew held a finger up to stop her.

"Is that really how you feel? About me?" He asked disbelievingly. But it was a different kind of disbelief now - it wasn't accusatory, or mistrustful. It was wondrous. As if he never thought that it was possible for Lady Mary Crawley to feel so strongly about a solicitor from Manchester. She had to admit that it did sound ludicrous even to her own ears, when phrased like that. But he was so much more to her than his job or his provenance. And she wanted the opportunity to show him how much he was to her.

Smiling somewhat timidly, she nodded. "Yes." He continued to look at her in wonder. She felt as if he was reading her like a book, but his expression was so tender and boyish that she held his gaze.

"Mary..." There it was. That adoring tone with which he caressed her name. It was sweeter and more beautiful to her ears than any of the songs that had been playing on the gramophone.

"Yes?" She breathed, her pulse beginning to race. His eyes began to settle on her lips before flickering back up to her eyes.

"I-" He moved slightly closer to her, his grip on her waist tightening ever so slightly. He swallowed hard and licked his lips. Mary felt her knees buckle prematurely, as the memory of his kiss grew more vivid. "I want to kiss you." Matthew said lowly, his eyes still focussing on her mouth. "Very much. But-"

Mary's heart sank as soon as he uttered the word. Of course he wouldn't kiss her. He couldn't. It was naive of her to expect that he would. Regretfully, she nodded in acknowledgement. She didn't want to hear him explain the reasons why he couldn't take her in his arms and ravish her. It was enough to know that he wanted to - oh, how wonderful it was to know that he wanted to!

"So...do you?" She asked, hoping he'd catch her meaning. "Feel the same? Or anything like it?"

"I...God, Mary, I need to think about this." Matthew said, removing his hands from her and rubbing one across his forehead. "I don't want to say or do anything rash. I need a little while to think."

It made sense. And it meant the world to her that this was something that he was seriously considering. It didn't mean anything would transpire between them, necessarily - an engagement is not an easy thing to break off, particularly when one is an Earl - but the fact that he had thoughts to mull over was in itself a blessing to her. "Alright. I can wait." She replied.

"Thank you." Matthew said. He was looking at her differently now, as if seeing her in a new light.

The low murmur of muffled voices from outside the door broke the pleasant silence that had settled over them. The dinner guests had apparently decided that if the Earl of Grantham was due to go home there was no point in their staying any longer either.

"I should go." Matthew said pointlessly. Mary detected a hint of regret in his eyes. She smiled at him. He reached a hand up and gently ran his thumb down her soft cheek, tracing the track of a dried tear. "I'll see you soon." He promised.

And with that, he turned, and left.