A/N: Sorry for the delay on this chapter, my muse briefly left me (Thank you AriadneO for lending me yours!). The muse worked with a vengance, producing this. Massive thanks to Silverduck and Silvestria for their help and inspiration. Thank you for your kind comments so far, I hope you enjoy! :)
Chapter 4
When Matthew had kindly suggested that Mary should take some time to think about answering his proposal, he had anticipated her to sleep on it. Maybe consider things for a day or so.
A week later, and he was beginning to feel frustrated.
He pondered their situation as he cycled home from the law firm that next Friday evening. In truth, he was baffled. In his mind, he chased thoughts round and around, circling from being one moment sure that she loved him, to the next wondering whether she cared for him at all. Sometimes, he was certain of her affection. When he thought back to her initial coolness towards him, he found it impossible to deny that her attitude had changed. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that she could not possibly be purposefully conjuring the look of affection in her eyes, the tremor of her voice when they spoke. He was not naive; he knew very well that she could turn on her charms when she liked. He had discovered so to his own expense, as she had flirted shamelessly with Sir Anthony Strallan purely to spite Edith. No, the way she now looked at him was different. There was a depth to her expression that he felt mirrored in his own. Surely, surely, she must care for him.
Considering this, he simply did not know why she had not yet accepted. He knew that his position could not be an obstacle. The doubt clawed at the back of his mind that maybe, just maybe, she was too set in her ways still to consider a middle-class social upstart who didn't deserve to be there. But would that really be enough to stop her, considering that her own family had accepted him so? He pursed his lips as it occurred to him that, for Mary, those would probably be exactly reasons enough. But could she really be so pig-headed and stubborn that she should let those reasons sway her, if she really did hold him in any affection? He bristled slightly at the thought.
As he turned the corner onto the small main street of Downton village, his breath caught as he noticed Mary herself exiting the post office. Instinctively, he turned his bicycle in her direction, before wavering. He suspected that she had been avoiding him these past few days; and was not sure that he could bear to pathetically throw himself at her mercy again only to be once more denied the satisfaction of an answer. It was ridiculous, he thought harshly. He loved her, was almost certain that she loved him, they had shared the most exquisite intimacy, and yet he was afraid to approach her. Making his mind up, and praying that he would not be rebuffed once more, he continued after her.
Mary jumped, panicking, as she heard the familiar ring of Matthew's bicycle bell behind her. Her stomach churned. She looked desperately around her; there was no escape, she would have to face him. She had been avoiding him for a few days now, wary after the pleasant afternoon they had spent in the grounds of Downton Abbey that day, after she had foolishly let her guard down to him again. In her heart, she longed to spend every moment with him, but she knew that every second she spent in his company brought her one second closer to having to tell him the truth. She knew perfectly well that avoiding him was not fair, that it was cruel to keep him hanging on, but she tried to convince herself that, in some twisted way, it was less cruel than him finding out the truth. She did not entirely succeed in her conviction.
It was ridiculous, she thought bitterly to herself. She loved him, she knew that now. He loved her, had proposed marriage to her, and she was able to open her heart to him as she felt she could with no-one else. Evidently just not on this one topic. And despite all this, he was the one person she was currently the most terrified to run into. She took a deep breath as she heard him dismount just behind her.
"Hello!" she turned and smiled at him with practised ease, skilfully disguising the turmoil she felt under the surface.
"Good afternoon," Matthew's lips raised warily into a half-smile. "I trust you are well?"
"Quite; thank you," she breezed. "I was just sending a telegram to Aunt Rosamund about the coming season. I must say I am looking forward to seeing her." Mary was pleasantly surprised at how normal she was sounding, considering the war raging within her. "And you? Are your labours ended for the week?"
"They are. I am a free man until Monday again," Matthew smiled. For a moment, he enjoyed their easy conversation and almost forgot how difficult things had been between them.
"Ah yes, your 'weekend'... Have you any plans for it?"
"No, nothing in particular," Matthew neglected to explain that what he would love to do the most was spend time with her; it did not matter what they would do or what they would talk about; just to be with her was enough. The prospect of anything else seemed dull in comparison. If she did not wish to reciprocate; well, he had resolved to sit inside feeling sorry for himself for a day or two.
"I see," Mary responded. A few moments of awkward silence passed, neither of them daring to turn the subject to the more serious matter of their relationship. Growing increasingly uncomfortable, Mary remedied the silence. "I am going riding tomorrow. Poor Diamond went lame last week; he is quite recovered now, so he's in need of some attention, I feel." Then, before she could stop herself – "You should come along!"
Instantly, she berated herself for a fool, wishing she could retract her words, but it was too late. Her deep-seated desire had formed itself into the invitation and expressed itself before she was able to comprehend or prevent it. There was nothing she could do but continue to smile expectantly at him, all the while soundly rebuking herself.
His mouth dropping open in surprise, Matthew blinked in confusion. He stared at her; considering her recent avoidance of him, could it really be that she had invited him to spend a day in her company? Unsure of her motives, he tried desperately to quell the rising hope that she had overcome her considerations and decided to accept him. Unable to read her expression, he did not dare, or desire, to refuse her. Indeed, he thought it quite beyond him to refuse her anything.
"That sounds lovely, thank you. I should like that very much indeed."
"Excellent; if you come down at about 11 o'clock tomorrow, I shall see that Lynch has a horse ready for you." A small part of Mary wished that he had said no; that he had some excuse. At the same time, she could not deny the small thrill she felt that he had accepted.
"Thank you; I shall look forward to it." He smiled his wonderful, hopeful smile that made her heart melt. "Very much so." Suddenly shy to meet his eyes, Mary smiled at the ground.
"As shall I. Goodbye, Cousin Matthew." He raised his hat; she dipped her head in shy delight as he cycled away.
"Mary, darling; where are you going?" Cora called across the sunlit hall of the big house.
"I am going riding, Mama."
"I do hope you haven't forgotten that we promised your Grandmother a visit this morning?" Cora raised an eyebrow questioningly. Mary had forgotten. She thought quickly.
"I'm going with Matthew, you know; Lynch has a horse waiting for him outside." Ah; her lips quirked in satisfaction as her mother's chiding expression changed.
"Well, if you've already –" she stopped herself before the phrase 'engaged yourself to Matthew' slipped out. "If you've already arranged things with Cousin Matthew, I'm sure that Granny will let you off. Just this once, mind..." Cora swiftly decided that Mary having tea with the Dowager Countess was not nearly so important as working things out with Matthew, and was relieved to see that she seemed to have stopped trying to avoid him. She knew that her mother-in-law would be equally impatient to hear of this development. Maybe it was for the best, after all.
Mary stepped outside into the stable yard, taking a deep breath of the fresh summer air. It was a beautiful day to go out riding. She resolved that if she must attempt to spend a day with Matthew and attempt to keep her head, some hard riding was probably the best way to deal with it.
She mounted Diamond, patting his neck affectionately. Though it had only been a week since she had ridden him, she had missed it greatly. She walked him a few steps gingerly, testing his recovery. Satisfied, she wheeled around, to be greeted with the sight of Matthew arriving.
Mary couldn't help it. She stared. Her eyes clouded, noting with appreciation his tighter than usual riding trousers and high, polished boots. Matthew, though he had seen Mary in riding attire before, still took a moment to admire her beauty which seemed amplified by the elegance with which she rode. Her open-mouthed stare did not pass him by, and he flushed, smiling slightly to himself.
"Good morning!" Mary recovered herself, blushing, angry that she had displayed her thoughts so openly. "Are you ready?"
"Absolutely!"
Mary gestured Matthew towards his horse, a steady grey mare. Though Mary knew that Matthew did ride, she knew that he had not in the two years he had been at Downton, and so was unsure of his abilities. He swung up easily into the saddle, and grinned confidently at her. "Shall we?" He guided the mare into an easy gait and set off, leaving Mary to raise an eyebrow in admiration as she swiftly set off behind him.
Soon, they reached the open countryside and increased their pace to a swift canter. Matthew felt exhilarated, it had been far too long since he had ridden, and this was just what he needed. He let the pounding of hooves under him drive out the bitterness that had been building in him over the last few days. Riding a fraction behind Mary, he snatched quick opportunities to gaze unashamedly at her proud back. It was obvious to him that she was in her element, as she skilfully guided Diamond over obstacles. He got the impression that, were it not for Diamond's recent injury, she would be purposefully taking the most difficult route across the fields that she could find.
Smiling mischievously, Matthew kicked his heels, urging his mount to a quicker pace to sail past Mary with ease, sending her a teasing wave as he passed. Her jaw dropping in indignation, Mary urged Diamond on, her competitive spirit rising. She felt a familiar thrill run through her veins as she drew level again with him, reluctantly impressed by Matthew's skill as a rider. Excitement bubbled within her as they chased each other back and forth; causing her to forget for a moment that soon she would have to bring their delight crashing down again with reality.
"You do know," Matthew called out over the sound of the wind rushing by them, his eyes ahead, "that I am worryingly unfamiliar with the geography of the countryside here? I'm sorry to admit that I have absolutely no idea where we are!" Mary laughed at his honesty. "As a result, I find myself completely at your mercy!" Mary's laugh died nervously on her lips at Matthew's loaded words. Blushing furiously, her gaze flew for a brief moment to him. She could see his skin glistening with perspiration from the exertion of riding. As desire coursed through her, she felt her eyes darken with passion. Shaking her head to clear her mind, she concentrated again on the path ahead.
Matthew's own smile faltered as the impact of what he had said hit him. He gulped, his breath catching as he met Mary's intense gaze for a second, before she looked ahead once more. His heart thudding, he desperately turned his attention to the terrain ahead of him, trying not to think too deeply about the look in her eyes and what it had meant.
Before long, they slowed to a stop in a field scattered with buttercups. Matthew swiftly dismounted, moving to help Mary. He suspected that she did not need assistance, but was glad when she accepted his hand.
"Thank you," she spoke smoothly, her voice level, having calmed the intensity of her emotion. "I had a small lunch prepared; I believe Lynch put it into your saddlebag." Matthew nodded, moving to retrieve the sandwiches.
Mary stood aside as Matthew spread a rug over the grass. She sat down, gracefully curling her legs under her as she smoothed her skirts carefully. They ate in silence for a while, enjoying the sunshine and each other's company. Occasionally, one would glance at the other, each trying to do so unnoticed. Eventually, it was Mary who broke the silence.
"You ride very well, you know," she tried not to sound too begrudging. "I must say I'm quite impressed!"
"Why, did you think I would not?" Matthew raised an eyebrow. Mary pursed her lips in response.
"Not at all, it's just that –"
"Shall I tell you what I think?" Matthew was practically smirking. "You thought that because I was a very middle-class lawyer from Manchester, that I should not partake of such gentlemanly pursuits as riding. And certainly, not very well." Mary's mouth opened indignantly, about to defend herself. "And clearly," Matthew continued, "because I do not hunt, that of course means I must be a terrible rider."
"Not at all!" Mary argued. "It was merely that I failed to see how you would have found much opportunity in Manchester –"
"As much as folk in London, I would imagine."
"- added to the fact that I have not seen you ride since you arrived here. I had only your word that you rode at all!"
Matthew smiled fondly at her indignation, which only served to increase it. Recovering her composure, she tried to take control of the conversation again.
"Anyway, why do you object to hunting so?"
"Have I ever said that I object to it? I believe I merely said that I do not do it." Matthew was immensely enjoying her reaction to his gentle teasing.
"Well, why not?"
"I suppose, if I am honest, it seems a little barbaric." Matthew pursed his lips.
"Oh." Mary had not considered that before. "You're right. That does make you very middle class!"
Though she meant it in jest, her last comment stung Matthew a little. He was freshly reminded of the doubt in the back of his mind; whether she truly considered him too 'middle-class' to marry. Yet again he was perplexed; they had shared a most enjoyable morning, should he take this as a sign of encouragement? He dared not bring it up, not wishing to shatter the dream.
"I expect you are right," he said, his voice level. "What appeal do you find in it, then?"
Mary had to think for a moment. She would certainly not admit to Matthew, of all people, that the main reason she participated in hunts, aside from the sheer enjoyment of riding, was simply because it was what one was expected to do. It had never really occurred to her whether she should choose to do it, or not, out of enjoyment.
"It's the thrill of the chase," she replied eventually. "It gives a purpose to riding; something to aim for. And the group spirit, everyone going along together, adds appeal."
"Hmm." Matthew considered her reply. "I take your point. There is not always a thrill in chasing, though, you know. Not if the chase runs too long." He looked pointedly at her.
Mary gasped quietly at the directness of his comment. Her mouth opened to make some reply, but none came. She had no excuse. Unable to meet his eyes, she stared resolutely at the ground in front of her, desperately hoping that either she would think of something to say, or that he would break the uncomfortable silence. The latter occurred first, to Mary's relief.
"Well," Matthew decided to change the subject rather than press Mary, for now. He had no wish to spoil the remainder of their day. "I meant what I said earlier, I really do have no concept of where we are. Could you enlighten me?"
"Of course," Mary spoke quietly, well aware of Matthew's kindness, and not quite meeting his eyes. "We are on the borders of Sir Anthony Strallan's land, actually. It lies just over the next fields."
"Ah." Matthew nodded. "Shall we press on, then?" Mary nodded gratefully. She meekly accepted Matthew's assistance to stand and mount Diamond, feeling a small thrill at their slight touch. She waited while he cleared the remainders of their picnic. This time, their pace increased much more quickly as Mary tried desperately to pound out her guilt at keeping Matthew waiting still longer. She should tell him. She must tell him. It was cruel not to; he deserved to be put out of his misery. She knew she had to tell him. But how, what could she possibly say? How could she start? How could she ever face him afterwards?
Mary was largely occupied with these considerations, galloping hard alongside a field boundary, when something most unexpected happened. As she reached the summit of the small incline of the field, a terrifying sound split the air; a deafening roar of steam and pistons. Over the brow of the hill, across the field boundary, appeared a throbbing, clanking machine that was tearing the ground behind it, with smoke pouring out of every orifice like some creature of the underworld.
Following some distance behind, what happened next appeared to Matthew as if in slow motion. Startled by the noise and sudden appearance of such a machine, Diamond stopped short, digging his hooves firmly into the ground. The sudden jarring movement threw Mary forwards, her thoughts having been too occupied with Matthew to recover her balance in time. As her foot flew out of the stirrup she irrevocably slid off, stumbling awkwardly onto her ankle as she landed.
"Mary!" Matthew yelled as he saw her tumble with a quiet yelp. Matthew kicked his heels, reaching her as swiftly as he could. He leapt off his horse as he approached, hitting the ground running to reach her. "Are you alright?" He crouched beside her, touching her shoulder gently, his face etched with concern. "What in heaven's name was that?" His eyes moved to the receding machine. Diamond stood warily, some distance away, pawing the ground nervously.
"It must be one of Sir Anthony's blasted new farm machines," Mary muttered, her voice laboured. Matthew was taken aback by her choice of words, though was not wholly surprised considering the circumstance. Mary hissed a breath through her teeth, clutching her leg in pain.
"You're hurt. Please, let me take a look." Matthew urged her gently.
"What?" Mary looked incredulously at him, as though it were the most ridiculous suggestion in the world. It would be entirely inappropriate for him to inspect her leg!
"Mary." Matthew's voice of reason broke through the cloud of her pain. "You are hurt. My father was a doctor and my mother is a nurse; I know well enough what I am doing. You must allow me to determine whether your leg is merely a sprain, or if it is more serious." His gaze, filled with worry and care, implored her. As a sharp twinge of pain hit her again, Mary bit her lip, nodding. For the moment, she did not care about the shame of having fallen in front of Matthew. She trusted him. Gingerly, she shifted her weight to extend her leg in front of her, gasping as she did so. "I'm going to have to remove your boot." Matthew said carefully, not quite sure himself whether it was a statement or a request. Mary nodded.
Matthew took a deep breath. Gently, almost reverently, he folded back Mary's skirt around her leg, just high enough to reach the top of her boot. It was all he could do to concentrate solely on the task in hand. Mary's health was more important than his own desires. He swiftly undid the laces, then supported her leg steadily with one hand as he tenderly removed the shoe, doing his best not to cause her further pain. He grimaced as she let out a small cry.
Through the dull throbbing of her ankle, Mary could feel Matthew's hands on her lower leg. His touch was warm and sure, gently applying pressure to her calf and ankle to assess the damage. Mary watched his hands work as if in a dream, staring unashamedly, observing also the look of tender concentration in his eyes. Her heart beat harder, faster, as a small swell of excitement crept through her veins at his touch. The warmth from his hands seemed to spread throughout her soul.
"It's just a sprain, thank goodness." Matthew's calm voice broke through her reverie. He raised his eyes to hers, trying futilely not to notice her glistening skin or the swell of her chest as she breathed heavily. "Your ankle is a little swollen; you'll need to stay off your feet for a few days. I'll ask my mother to check you over once we're back. Do you think you can stand, if I help you?"
Feeling dazed, Mary nodded. Matthew tenderly slipped her boot back on, lacing it only gently. He carefully rearranged her skirt, swallowing hard as he did so. He held out a hand to her, reaching the other around her shoulders to support her as she stood. He had not expected that this action would pull her quite so closely into him, further compounded by her small wobble as she regained her balance with her weight on only one foot. Mary gasped slightly as she leaned on Matthew's chest, her face definitely, certainly too close to his. She could feel his warm breath upon her cheek. The pain in her leg fleeing momentarily from her mind, she raised her eyes slowly to his. She felt as though her skin were burning where her body touched his, the heat pervading down to her very core. They shared an emotionally charged gaze, both barely breathing. Matthew's eyes roved across her face in wonder, tracing her lips before moving back up to her dark, passion-filled eyes.
He forgot that she had only just fallen from her horse and injured herself. He forgot that she had been avoiding him. He forgot that she hadn't accepted his proposal. The only thought in his mind was that he desperately needed to kiss the beautiful woman in front of him. Mary was similarly entranced. She saw his eyes move to her lips, and held her breath. Excitement swelled in her chest in anticipation, remembering the last time she had seen that look in his eyes. As they leaned imperceptibly closer, it struck Mary like a thunderbolt that if she allowed herself to kiss him, she would be irrevocably surrendered to him. She would never be able to tell him, she would no longer be able to resist him, not if she surrendered now.
At the last moment, with great regret weighing on her heart, she dipped her face into his shoulder. She heard him sigh above her, and a tear slipped down her cheek. Matthew was desperately disappointed, but understood that propriety may have overridden her desires. He could not withhold his question any longer. He had to know.
"Mary, have you thought any further about my proposal?"
"I think of little else." She responded quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Have you an answer for me?" Matthew asked bluntly.
Mary raised her eyes gingerly to his, stammering.
"I – " She blinked away another tear. "I – I don't know yet."
Matthew breathed in sharply.
"How can you not yet know?" His brows furrowed in frustration, his patience waning. "Is it that you feel nothing for me? Is it my position? Is it that I do not deserve it? What is it Mary, I must know!" His questions came out more harshly than he intended. He was not sure he cared.
"No – no it isn't that."
"Then, what?" Silence. Matthew laid his heart on the line. "Mary, do you love me? Because I love you. There, I have said it. I love you, very dearly. If you love me, if you wish to marry me, then accept me." He paused. "If you do not, tell me plainly so I may be spared this torture."
Mary opened her mouth but no words came. Tell him. Tell him. She fought herself, desperately struggling to spill the truth from her lips, but she could not. She could not bear it. Tell him! Nothing. Grasping his arm for support still, she turned her body away from him.
"We must be getting back." Her voice was quiet and sad; she did not have the energy to raise it any further.
"Yes." Matthew's voice was cold, and it cut her heart. Without a further word, he helped her gently back up onto Diamond, making sure that her sprained leg would not be further discomforted by her position. He kept his eyes on the ground, knowing that if he looked at her he would betray how deeply hurt he was by her silence. He was so sure that she had shared his desire. He did not imagine it. He could not have mistaken it. He knew that she loved him. Why, why could she not answer him?
They rode slowly back to the abbey in uncomfortable silence. Mary carefully led the way, subdued, her head dipped in shame at herself. She had hurt him so deeply and he was still so good, so kind, so virtuous. She wanted to hate him. She wished he could give her a reason to say no; do something terrible so that she could justifiably refuse him and save him from the filth of her character. She wished that he were cruel so that she would not love him so desperately, so that it would not be so difficult to reject him. But no. He was as near to perfect as she imagined a man could be. Bitter tears flowed down her cheeks. Matthew rode slightly behind, his eyes fixed coldly on the ground by Diamond's hooves, just enough to be able to follow. He could not bear to look at Mary.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached the stable yard of the big house. Stony-faced, Matthew dismounted and assisted Mary, avoiding her eyes. He handed the reins of both horses to the stable boy, nodding his thanks, before supporting Mary to the door. They were alone.
"Thank you," Mary whispered. "You are too good to me."
"Mary, I am not a plaything." Matthew spoke harshly, frowning. "I have feelings. It isn't fair of you, to lead me to believe that you care for me and yet refuse to accept me. I can't wait forever. I won't."
"I know. You don't understand – "
"Then make me understand!" Matthew struggled to keep his voice level.
Mary could utter no response but to shake her head slowly, her eyes filling once more with tears. Matthew's eyes flashed in anger, disappointment, frustration. She could not bear it.
Sighing bitterly, Matthew reached past her to ring the bell. He stared straight ahead of him, unable to look at her, with fire in his eyes. After seconds that felts like hours, Carson opened the door. The stoic butler immediately noticed the tears in Mary's eyes, and observed how she leaned on Matthew's arm, her weight on one leg.
"My Lady?"
"Lady Mary suffered a fall I'm afraid." Matthew responded to Carson's unvoiced question, concentrating hard on making his expression impassive. It would be best for Carson to assume that Mary's discomfort was due entirely to her injury. "It is only a sprained ankle, but please inform Lord Grantham that I'll send my mother along to check her over shortly." Carson nodded.
"Thank you, Mr Crawley. Will you be coming in?"
"No. Thank you." Matthew gently passed Mary's arm to Carson. Her eyes tried desperately to meet Matthew's, her expression pleading with him to not hate her quite so. When she did, she was met only with an icy stare. "I thank you for a pleasant morning, Lady Mary. Goodbye."
A/N: Thanks for getting this far! Reviews/feedback would be MUCH appreciated. I hope you've enjoyed it, there's more to come.
