Chapter 4

Mary entered the library just as the clock chimed eleven. Everyone else had finally gone to bed, and she thought she would be able to get some peace. She was restless, and so decided to go and read in front of the fire for a while. She pulled her shawl tighter around herself and settled down on the sofa, her silk dress rustling as she moved to turn the page. Sometime later, the door opened and closed quietly, so quietly she didn't notice. He noticed though...she was in his line of sight as soon as he walked in. He was torn...leave her to her book, or advance further into the room and have the much-needed conversation. She was utterly engrossed in the book, and he realised he had never seen her like this: completely absorbed in the pages in front of her, her mouth slightly open, her eyes moving rapidly, drinking up the prose, and it conjured images in his mind of them both sat by a fire and reading. His hand reached into his pocket and patted what he carried. He took a step forward and her head shot up.

"Matthew!" She was surprised to see him. "What are you doing in here?" As soon as she said it, she thought it was a stupid thing to ask. He was a guest in the house and he liked to read, and as such, it was perfectly reasonable that he should visit the library. In the house that would eventually be his. In the middle of the night. After everyone else had gone to bed.

"I was unable to sleep. I thought I might read for a while," he took another step forwards, realising as he did that he didn't have a book.

"Well you know what they about great minds," she smiled, and all traces of the iciness from earlier were gone. Just the two of them. Alone. In an empty room. Alone. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears, she was sure that he could hear it. He gripped his cane, "oh please, sit down Matthew. No need to stand on ceremony," she indicated to the seat opposite, which he gratefully took.

"Actually Mary, I'm glad I found you. I wanted to talk to you-" he was mesmerised by the firelight playing against her skin. She truly was the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. His eyes were so vivid in the dim light. And he looked so handsome in his evening clothes, much more handsome than Richard. She should look away. He shouldn't be staring.

"I feel I must apologise Matthew-" she said at the same time. They smiled.

"No, please, continue," he gestured towards her to continue. The air between them was starting to thicken, as it always did.

"I...I just wanted to apologise for my behaviour towards you earlier today. I was very rude and I'm sorry."

"Thank you-" he said softly, but she interrupted him before he could finish. "You didn't come to my wedding." It wasn't an accusation, just a fact. He looked at her carefully, wondering whether to tell her the truth or not. His heart was racing just by being alone with her. Truth it was then.

"No...I received a letter a few days before advising me to stay away," he paused. "Sir Richard sent it," so far, no reaction. She was just watching him, drinking him in, just listening to his beautiful smooth voice. "Would you have wanted me there anyway?" To stop the wedding, he thought to himself.

"No. I suppose not. Especially not after our last conversation," don't cry, she told herself. Just hold it together. He'll leave soon. Just don't cry.

"Mary, please let me say sorry. I need to, because I am sorry. For all of it. For everything I said at Lavinia's funeral," he choked slightly on her name. He did miss her. He had loved her. But he missed and loved Mary more. "I shouldn't have said it. I was wrong and angry...I-"

She closed her book and sat up straight. She could see how hard it was for him to mention his former fiancé. "No. Stop. You weren't wrong. You were so very very right. Well not about you, but about me. You see Matthew I am the one who is cursed." She tried to smile but the tears quickly filled her brown eyes. Matthew sat forward on the seat, "what do you mean?"

"I am cursed Matthew. If it wasn't for me, you would never have lost your fiancé, would not have been injured in the war..." she stood up quickly and turned to the fire so that he wouldn't see the tears that had started to fall, her shawl slipped off and her book fell to the floor with a soft thud and both were instantly forgotten. It was time. It was bound to come out sooner or later, it may as well be on her terms. She wiped her eyes with gloveless hands and turned back to face him, to find him standing next to her.

"Mary, what on earth is the matter? You can tell me anything," he searched her eyes, wanting to reach for her, but resisting.

"If I was not cursed then I would not have found my husband to be unfaithful, I would be with child, and a man would not have died in my bed," her voice was hoarse as she choked out the last words, the revelation of speaking them out loud causing a fresh wave of pain that broke her heart all over again, and she clasped her hands to her face, not wanting him to see her fall apart. He stood watching her in disbelief. It was an awful lot of information to process and he didn't know where to start. The soft cry that she was trying to suppress, decided for him. He moved and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him, her face buried against his shoulder; her own shoulders shaking silently as she released her pain. He rested his cheek against her hair and whispered and shushed her, trying to calm her, although he knew he was inexperienced at dealing with a damsel in distress. He was so warm, and it felt so nice to be in his arms. His hands were gently rubbing her back, which was both comforting and, infuriatingly, igniting something within her that a married woman should only feel for her husband. The feel of her in his arms, so familiar and yet...his head was starting to swim...so much to process...

After a while her sobs subsided and she pulled back to look at him, his face full of kindness. He gently led her to where he'd been sat, his back still aching. He turned to face her and handed her his handkerchief, which she used to dab against her eyes. "Mary, what on earth is going on?"

"I hardly know where to start," she said after a while, her breathing heavy after her outburst of emotion. She twisted the scrap of material in her fingers.

"How about the real reason that your husband isn't here?" he coaxed as gently as he could, trying not to demand, he had so many questions, but he had to let her talk, otherwise she would close off again, that much he knew. "He's not really got business to attend to has he?"

"Oh he has," her voice betrayed all of the emotional exhaustion that she felt. "It's just not the business that has made his fortune. He is likely to be with his mistress."

"Mary-" She cut him off. If he interrupted and asked questions she would not be able to tell him.

"You see, to Richard, I am nothing more than a trophy, a prize. To be picked up and put down as he pleases. To flirt and simper with his rivals to get them to give him a better deal. To be dressed up and paraded around like a doll, without a voice or an opinion, because why would I have an opinion that was not my husband's? And so he can do as he wishes, including take a mistress; and I just have to accept that and pretend that I don't know what he does." He had never heard her be so bitter, and it was heartbreaking. She was staring at the fire, the hurt and the rage filling her as she remembered finding out. Matthew licked his lips, his mouth suddenly very dry.

"Do you know...who she is?" He tried to choose his words carefully, but they all felt clumsy to say. She nodded.

"Lady Madeline Winters. She is the wife of Sir Edward Winters. Sir Edward is Richard's biggest business rival, and he is richer and even more powerful," Matthew nodded. He had read things in the newspapers, probably Sir Edward's papers, he thought distractedly. "Lady Madeline is French, and married Sir Edward quite young. She and I are...acquaintances, I suppose."

"Why her? As revenge on Sir Edward?" He was thinking out loud but as he glanced at Mary, he realised it was not the best thing to be thinking aloud.

"I...I have no answer to that. You would have to ask Richard," she said flatly. "I see no problem with Sir Edward; he is intelligent and has a pleasant manner. He wants them to work together..." as she trailed off, Matthew could imagine why Sir Richard would have a problem with Sir Edward. He would not be told what to do, would not work for anyone, his own arrogance putting him at the centre of the universe.

"Does he know do you think?" She shrugged her shoulders.

"I doubt it. Or I rather think I would be a widow by now," she smiled wryly.

"How long...?" She closed her eyes briefly, wanting to give him all the answers. He knew he was bombarding her now, but had said that if Richard wasn't good to her, he would have Matthew to answer to.

"Since before we were engaged. I asked his valet," answering his unspoken question. The hurt was written all over her face. They stayed in silence, both staring at the handkerchief balled up in her clenched fists. The clocked ticked by, and made them both jump as it chimed quarter to twelve. Had they really only been talking for about half an hour?

"You mentioned...being with child?" he said after what seemed like an age, his voice low, and he tried to keep it neutral.

"Ah yes, that," she said so indifferently that it pained him. "You see, I never really thought of myself as maternal. I just assumed that I would one day have children and that would be that, it was all that was expected of me once I was married. And then last month, I had some unexpected news from the doctor after I had been feeling unwell for several days. Unexpected but not unwelcome. For the first time in my life Matthew, I felt like I suddenly had a real purpose. I was not just to be a bauble," her voice was catching, tears gathering again. He hated the way she was referring to herself, but part of him realised that for outside appearances, that's all she was. She was a woman; nothing else was expected of her. He reached out for her hand. She blinked and shook her head, a single tear falling down her cheek. "But it was not meant to be. The day after I saw the doctor, I went to go and tell Richard, but I got to his office and it was empty. No-one around at all, and then as I got closer I heard... And I opened the door, and I saw..." she pressed her hands to her face again, trying to keep her tears in as she remembered what she had heard and seen, keeping them there until she had calmed slightly. Matthew reached for her again, pulling her into his arms. She pulled away, pushing her palms against his chest, keeping him at arm's length. She wasn't finished. She needed to get it out, all of it out. "Sybil was visiting and I went to my room to lie down because I was in no mood for company, and something didn't feel right, hadn't felt right since I left the office, and it was a pain I've never felt before," she paused for breath, one hand unconsciously moving to her stomach. "Thompson called for Sybil, who called for the doctor, and just like that, there was no longer a child." Her hands were fidgeting now, and she pulled the handkerchief so tightly it almost tore.

"Oh Mary, I'm sorry," and he truly was. He remembered how Cora had been after she had miscarried all those years ago. Mary smiled weakly at him, her face tear-stained and her voice shaking slightly, "that's not everything." Matthew felt sick; he didn't know what could possibly be worse than having an unfaithful husband and losing a child. "Richard came home. He didn't know I'd been to his office, he didn't know that I knew. And the doctor told him, and his reaction was that I was not a proper wife." Matthew gasped in horror, how could a man be so cruel to his wife at a time like that?

"But surely you could...fall pregnant again?" He did not want to conjure up the images of Sir Richard touching beautiful lovely Mary in such an intimate way but he now knew that to be a mother was something that she wanted. Something that would make her happy. She was shaking her head. "Oh Matthew, still not all. The doctor said that it was very unlikely that I would ever be able to have children," those words had hurt her more than anything that Richard had said; hurt her more than what Matthew had said. Those words had cut through her and made her want to scream until there was no air left in her lungs. But instead she had just sat propped up in the bed, with Sybil next to her squeezing her hand, tears falling silently, and she had just nodded and accepted his words while Richard had paced the room cursing. "Richard has not been near me since then. The really cruel twist of irony is that, even if I had accepted you five years ago, it would have been futile, as I would not have been able to produce another heir anyway," she covered her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, wishing with all her heart that it wasn't true.

Matthew suddenly stood up and turned, tears filling his own eyes, feeling her pain as well as his own. All of the money in the world could not replace what she had lost. "Do you love him?" he was leaning against the fireplace, gripping the edge, his knuckles white from the tension. "No," it was barely audible. The crackling of the dying fire was louder. "My heart belongs to one person Matthew, and he is not it." He felt something behind him. She had moved to him, her left hand resting ever so slightly over his, and he noticed for the first time that she was not wearing her wedding ring. He suddenly found it much harder to breathe as she softly ran her fingers over his knuckles. He moved his hand and covered her fingers, squeezing gently. She rested her forehead and her right hand against his back and closed her eyes at the sensation of his skin against hers, of the electric current that was passing between them at every point of contact. They stood like that for several minutes, not daring to move, in case it was a dream and they would wake at any moment.

"The final thing you mentioned..." he turned to face her, taking both of her hands in his, eyes locked together. She nodded and took a deep breath. It was finally time to tell him.

"Kemal Pamuk died in my bed," as she spoke those 6 words, her heart stopped. It was out there. The one thing she had always wanted to keep from him, but there was no need and no point to keeping it secret any more. She was married, and was a failure as a woman. She watched him, waiting for him to recognise the name, waiting for disgust and horror to fill his kind face. He stared at her, taking in every single line and curve of her face. He was fairly certain he'd stopped breathing.

"The Turkish gentleman?" he made barely any sound. She nodded, her heart aching as she readied herself for this final and most devastating rejection. A part of her brain registered that he still held her hands. "Wh...How?" It wasn't what he wanted to ask but it was the most coherent thing he could manage.

"He came to my room. I didn't invite him, but I should have been more firm in telling him to leave. But I wasn't. I was stupid and weak, and he died in my bed, and it's a mistake I pay for every single day." Her face was so open, so honest. It was so rare...but she had...with a man... He knew his thoughts were disjointed.

"Does Sir Richard know?" she nodded once, and he dropped her hands. Everything she had been expecting to see bore into her from his icy blue eyes. She knew it. Knew he would be disgusted with her, knew that he would not be able to look at her in the same way again. "Who helped you to carry him? I'm assuming you were unable to move him by yourself?" he sounded so detached. She could hardly blame him.

"Anna and Mama helped me."

"I see."

"I wanted to tell you so many times... But I could never find the right words, and I thought...I didn't want you to look at me as you are now," his expression hadn't changed since she had told him. "I suppose it's a good thing I'm married now. No chance of my reputation being damaged, not anymore..." she trailed off, as if speaking the last bit to herself alone. "So you see Matthew, you have had a lucky escape from a cursed harlot," she fixed her fake smile to her face, trying her best not to show how much she was hurting. His face softened.

"No, Mary, don't talk like that..." he didn't know what else to say. His head hurt, he still had so many questions, still had so much to say to her. She didn't know...it seemed like she thought he hated her. The air was so thick around them, it was stifling. She couldn't stay there. Her eyes were tired, and she ached everywhere, but she also felt strangely relieved that she no longer had any secrets from him. It was a bittersweet relief though. They just stood staring at each other, not knowing what else there was to do or say, certainly nothing that could remedy the current situation. Behind them, the clocked chimed, and decided for Mary. It was already past midnight. "Merry Christmas Matthew," she said softly, and she turned and left the room, leaving him standing there watching after her.

So this chapter has become a mini-epic by itself, which wasn't my intention, but there was nowhere to stop it after I got Mary opening up because I just kept writing and writing...and this is the end result. The next one (hopefully) won't be as long.