A/N: Apparently I just can't stop writing. I have vastly neglected my work today in favour of Chapter 4, and am far too impatient to wait any longer to post it!

Thank you so much, again, for all your responses to Chapter 3! I'm just thrilled to know that people are enjoying it too :) I really need to thank Eolivet, too, for being amazingly encouraging with this whole idea. Thank you!

As you'll have noticed, this chapter is still T. I may have got carried away and it's turned out longer than expected - though next chapter, as you will no doubt guess, will very very DEFINITELY be M.

With no further ado, here you are!


Chapter Four

When Matthew woke, the first thing that struck him was how very warm he was, and how his breath felt slightly stifled, as though there were something just in front of his face. In fact, his whole front was much warmer than his back. He frowned and shuffled a little, starting in surprise when he felt the warm friction of skin and cotton against his limbs.

His eyes snapped open, to be met by a cloud of dark, chocolate hair. He consciously slowed his breath, trying not to disturb her. His hand, he realised, was resting on her hip. Under his palm, he could feel where the hem of his shirt on her gave way to skin, then to her silk underwear. His heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest and he swallowed thickly. Not yet, not yet, not yet… Her warmth seemed to be spreading through him, warming him, and his hand itched to move over her, to touch her more, to learn every soft curve of her body. Her feet and legs were tangled between his, where she had moved in the night, and a dull ache started in him. There was a slight gap of air between his chest and her back, and between their hips, and how he longed to close it, to pull her tightly against him… The more he thought about it, about her, listening to her soft breaths and watching her shoulders move ever so gently, the more he became aware of a low pulse of desire deep within him. But he couldn't… Not yet, not yet.

With a gentle sigh, he closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply, inhaling her scent and her essence and everything about her, then before he could think any more he eased his limbs from around her and slid out of bed, as carefully as possible. As he stood, and turned to look at her – how her arm clutched the sheets right up to her chin and how her long eyelashes fluttered against her cheek – he realised he was trembling. Quietly, he went into the bathroom and ran a basin of cold water, splashing it over his face. He was going to marry her today.

Some time later, Mary yawned deeply, stretching her arms until they clicked satisfyingly. She turned, and noted how, next to her, the pillow was dinted and the sheets disturbed. She smiled. Bright, summer sun shone in through the window, warming her.

She sat up, tugging Matthew's shirt down around her. The feel of the cotton was different to her own nightdress at home, but she liked it. She tucked her knees up under her chin and hugged her arms around them. Matthew was already dressed in all but his jacket, and sat at the little desk, reading a newspaper. When he heard Mary awake, he looked up and smiled, a shy blush gently colouring his cheeks. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were heavy with sleep, but it only made her more attractive to him.

"You got up!" She smiled lazily. She was almost a little disappointed that he was not beside her still, craving his closeness. But, she supposed, if he were… It would have been easy, so easy, to turn and kiss him and love him, and that would not do, not just yet.

"Yes," he said softly. His lips were curved into a tender smile, but there was a rueful depth to his expression. He shrugged, a little sadly. "We can't get too used to it, can we?"

"Oh, Matthew." Mary's heart ached for him. "Let's not think about that today, please." Her lips pressed into a smile and she held her hand out to him.

He rose, came to her, took her hand and sat on the bed beside her, leaning across to kiss her tenderly on the lips. Her arms fell draped around his neck and she sighed softly, kissing him, slowly and sweetly. She was trying so hard to forget, to forget that now she had finally found him he would be leaving her, but the knowledge constantly pressed at the back of her mind. She opened her mouth and touched her tongue to his, eliciting a little hum of pleasure. Matthew shifted his arm to the other side of her, leaning comfortably and lifting his other hand to stroke her cheek, tracing a finger along her ear as he responded to her deep, searching kiss. His fingers delved into her hair, weaving through it softly until his hand was at the back of her head, holding her to him. Everything else in the world seemed to stop. There was no urgency, no deeper, lustful desires this time; just the pure, elegant beauty of their lips meeting and tasting and kissing, communicating their love with far greater eloquence than words ever could.


When Mary had washed and dressed, while Matthew's attention was carefully and purposefully diverted to the newspaper, they took breakfast together in the dining room. Mary had soon discovered that, though her clothes were easy enough to don without too much effort (she had only needed to enlist Matthew's assistance once, and he had done his best with blushes and stammers to preserve her modesty), she hadn't the faintest idea how Anna perfected her hair each morning. The dozens of clips she had removed from it the night before seemed to glare at her from the tabletop, challenging her. She picked one or two up, but there seemed so much of her hair to get up with such little things, and she so wanted it to be perfect for today, and… At her loud sigh of frustration, Matthew had quietly suggested that she follow her own advice and call a maid from the hotel desk. She had relented.

Now, with hair perfectly coiffed, she sat across from Matthew, sipping tea with her poached salmon. Her appetite was much improved from yesterday's breakfast.

"I thought it was bad luck to see the bride before the wedding," she smiled. Matthew glanced up, his eyes dancing in response to her teasing.

"You already know I'm not very fastidious about doing things properly," he mocked gently. "And it would have been a challenge beyond either of us I imagine, to adhere to the tradition after having shared a bed together the night before…"

Mary coughed a little and had to put her tea down. She blushed, meeting his gaze darkly.

"I fear you may be right – we were rendered quite powerless against it!"

"I fear so." His voice was deep and rich, and the dark glimmer of desire in his eyes sent a shiver through Mary.

Matthew held her eyes a moment longer, then licked his lips and glanced down to his pocket watch. "We'd better be going, soon – I'd just like to go up to the room first and make sure I have everything we need."

"Of course. I'll come up too." Mary finished her tea, and delicately dabbed her napkin to her lips. "But we mustn't be too long – I do expect you to get me to the church on time, Matthew!"

Matthew chuckled and rose to his feet. Mary did the same, and took his arm happily. After all their trials and errors, their mistakes, their misinterpretations, their fights and frustrations… They had reached the other side. They understood each other, they knew each other, they loved each other. Despite everything, for this beautiful day, happiness was possible.

Upstairs, the documents they needed were tucked safely into Matthew's jacket pocket. As he checked one last time that nothing they'd need had been left, Mary adjusted her hat in the mirror. Satisfied at last, she turned to Matthew, who now stood in the doorway, and graced him with a dazzling smile.

They made their way downstairs, arm in arm, chatting contentedly. As they reached the foot of the stairs and passed through the door into the lobby, the desk clerk's voice floated through and suddenly pierced into their awareness.

"…on their way out, but I will let Mr and Mrs Crawley know you're here."

"I beg your pardon?"

Matthew's blood ran cold, and he felt Mary grip his arm tighter. They froze, unable to turn back, afraid to continue, but it was too late.

"Ah," the clerk blithely continued. "It seems you have just caught them," and gestured in their direction.

There was nothing they could do.

"Mother –"

"Cousin Isobel!" They chorused in exclamation.

Mary suddenly realised how tightly she was clutching Matthew's arm, and forced herself to let go. Her hands dropped in front of her, clasping together tightly as she forced a tight, nervous smile.

"Hello," Isobel smiled, though her face was a picture of confusion and surprise.

"Mother, what on earth are you doing here?" Matthew stammered as he ushered her into the quieter lounge. He shook his head, suddenly realising the bluntness of his greeting. He kissed her cheek out of habit. "Sorry – I'm surprised, that's all."

"As am I, Matthew!" Isobel exclaimed. She looked at the pair of them appraisingly, one eyebrow raised, then addressed Mary. "I've come because your parents were, understandably, quite unsure of the idea of you traipsing around Manchester alone for longer than a day with no provisions or assistance!"

"But they knew I was looking for Matthew, and was quite determined to –"

"And I see you have found him!"

"I… Yes!" Mary struggled for words, as her chest rose and fell rapidly with shallow, nervous breaths.

Isobel continued. "Now, while I was perfectly sure you were capable of some independent activity, your parents were not, and so I took the excuse of visiting friends with the promise of looking out for you. I have brought these –" (she held out a small case of clothes, which Mary took) "– though, I wonder if you shall need them now you've achieved what you came here for?"

Mary opened her mouth to reply, but no words came, and her lips closed again. She looked to Matthew desperately.

"Mother, I –"

"And dare I enquire," Isobel cut him off sharply, "why the man at the desk seemed to be under the impression that you are married? I wasn't aware that was the state of things between you."

"I told them I was Matthew's wife so they'd tell me whether he was staying here," Mary said firmly, though her tone concealed the barest trace of shame at her deception.

"I see." Isobel pursed her lips. Something wasn't right; there was something very definitely odd about the way they were behaving. Mary was gripping the case so hard her knuckles were white, and Matthew was shifting very uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Mother, we're not married, of course. Not – not yet." He sighed; they didn't have time for this. He looked pointedly at Mary. "Mary, the cab will be outside, could you…"

"Of course!" Mary suddenly seemed to recover herself. She gave Matthew a distinct nod, and a flash of a smile. Her silent permission; to explain, to invite. It was too late for anything else. She understood that Matthew needed this chance with his mother, and gladly gave it. "I'll give you a moment – thank you, Isobel, for these – excuse me."

As she smiled thinly and slipped out, Isobel watched her, puzzling over their odd attitude of haste. She looked back to Matthew, then, with the distinctly chiding expression of a parent as his last words – not yet – played in her mind.

"What on earth do you mean by that, Matthew?"

He gestured to his mother to sit down and pulled up a chair across from her. He sat, and leaned eagerly forwards, talking quickly.

"Please, Mother, just let me explain. You already know Mary came with the intention of stopping me from joining up. She was too late for that, but… we talked, a lot, and I learnt things – I understand how things were, now. There were things I shan't go into here but it's alright, it's all quite behind us. And with me leaving on Friday, and all the uncertainty that comes with that – we wanted to be married. I obtained a license; I'm sorry, but we're just on our way to the church."

Isobel's eyebrows rose sharply. A look of shock, and of dismay, crossed her face.

"Matthew, I don't… When were you going to tell me this?"

Matthew sighed heavily. "You know that you would have protested, said it was rash, and as for Lord and Lady Grantham – it never could have happened, not in time." Isobel's lips parted in protest, but Matthew carried on. "I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry, but I hoped you would understand in time. Believe me, Mother, I would not be doing this if I had the slightest doubt at all. Now," he looked at his watch, then up, his expression fond but determined. "I must go, or we'll miss our chance. I'd – be delighted, if you could give this your blessing and come with us, you'd be most welcome to. And I'll understand if you won't, but I have made my decision, and am going to marry Mary."

He stood up decisively. Isobel frowned, motionless for a moment as she tried to grasp Matthew's words. The last she had known, her son had been running, heartbroken and angry, and Mary had shown him little sign of care. Within mere days, could they be so sure about each other? Her stomach churned in anguish as she realised that, had she not happened upon them now, her son had been fully prepared to marry without her knowledge. But… Matthew had evidently made his decision. Now she had been granted this chance… She stood, and took Matthew's arm.

"I shan't pretend that I am not shocked, Matthew, and injured that you would have kept this from me," she said as she went with him outside.

"I know. I'm sorry, but –"

"But," she cut across him. "Of course, of course I shall see you married, if you will now deem to allow me." As they reached the cab, Mary waiting patiently by its side, Isobel gave them both a small, tight smile. "And though I might hold my reservations about the wisdom of this – I see you are quite determined, and shall concede to trust that you know your own hearts."

"Thank you, Mother," Matthew sighed in relief.

They reached the church with mere minutes to spare. To Mary's great relief, Isobel appeared to have given them her blessing, having soon realised that it was not her place, not today, to dampen their happiness with her own judgements. Indeed, it was clear to Isobel even after the short duration of the cab ride that they were utterly sure of each other, and she found her misgivings quickly dissipating. Instead, she concentrated on the blessing of the opportunity that she had stumbled upon them in time to learn of it. She could hardly imagine what Lord and Lady Grantham's reactions would be when they discovered it, but ruefully conceded that the young couple had judged their likely response correct.

Matthew hopped eagerly out of the cab, and held his hand out to help his mother, then Mary. His touch lingered on her hand, and he pulled her close for a moment, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered softly.

"I'm sorry… Thank you."

"It's quite alright," she murmured, her voice hushed. "I'm glad she's here, for you."

She leaned back and smiled, reassuringly, but her lips trembled nervously. Matthew's face shone with adoration and he kissed her, a fleeting brush of his lips to hers.

"I never told you, this morning, that you look beautiful."

A pleasant shiver ran through Mary. "How remiss of you!" Her whisper was laden with affection. She kissed his cheek and grasped his hands tightly between hers. "And now that you have, Matthew, shall you take me to be your wife?"

He laughed, grinned in nervous anticipation, and took her into the little church. It was nestled to the side of a leafy park, deep within the sprawling urban suburbs. As they stepped inside, they were met by three men. Mary quickly learned that these were the Vicar, and two of Matthew's colleagues, Jonathan and Edward.

"You must be Lady Mary," Edward smiled warmly and held his hand out to greet her. Mary smiled graciously, though her eyebrows rose to mock reproach as the young man whistled and winked at Matthew.

Jonathan laughed. "I do apologise for my associate, Lady Mary – many congratulations. Matthew's done well for himself, evidently!"

Mary's laugh sparkled with delight. At the Vicar's urging, they moved to the front of the church, where Edward and Jonathan stood respectfully to the side (after Edward had handed Mary a delicate bouquet of red carnations sprinkled with primroses; Matthew's choice, he assured her), while Isobel took a seat quietly further back.

The church was cool, and quiet. As they made their vows to each other, their words echoed into the still air. Matthew's eyes shone, fixed upon Mary's as he promised himself to her, his rich voice breathless with sincerity and love. Tears filled Mary's eyes, though her words, when it fell to her, were clear and sure. She'd never been more sure of anything in her life. Through it all, they held their hands together, fingers entwined, their desperate grip binding them together in conviction that nothing would break them apart.

She swallowed back tears when Matthew slipped a ring from his pocket, a thin gold band that he slid onto her finger with trembling hands. The silent understanding passed between them that she would cherish it, treasure it, the symbol of their devotion through his absence.

As the Vicar prayed over their joined hands, each sent their own silent prayers up, for thanks, for safekeeping, for comfort, for the faith that he would come back to her.

Matthew's face broke into the purest smile of adoration as finally, she was proclaimed his wife. Mary turned to her husband and, overcome by the love shining in his eyes, leaned up and pressed her lips sweetly to his (much to the appreciation of their few devoted onlookers). For a beautiful, fleeting moment, Matthew kissed her back, squeezing her hands lightly as he felt her lips trembling against his, understanding that she kissed him for fear of weeping if she did not. Happiness flooded through them, and there was no darkness in their world, not this day.

The small group stepped out into the bright August sunlight, with fond kisses and smiles and embraces. Isobel hugged and kissed them both, then clasped their hands together. Her cheek was wet with tears.

"Congratulations, my dears. And thank you." Any doubts she may have had about the wisdom of their decision had been swept away without reserve.

"Oh, Mother…" Matthew beamed and hugged her fondly. "I'm glad you were here," he said softly. Mary rubbed her hand across his back in silent agreement. It was a happy accident, and she thanked Isobel dearly for supporting them. Her own parents, she knew, would not have taken this all so lightly.

"Shall we lunch together?" Mary suggested brightly. Though her world was Matthew, she was so utterly happy that she was quite content for the time to share their joy with these friends.

"Alas," Jonathan said lightly, "I'm afraid our carriage awaits – it's back to the workhouse, for us. But, thank you. And congratulations!"

"Of course," Matthew realised, and shook his and Edward's hands warmly. "Thank you both; I shan't forget your support."

"It was a pleasure, old chap," Edward grinned. "Best of luck with it all, Crawley." With a warm clap on the back, and a kiss for Mary and Isobel, the two friends departed with a wave of their hats.

"Mother?" Matthew looked expectantly at her. "The hotel puts on some quite wonderful roast mutton for luncheon."

"I think, my dear," Isobel rubbed his arm fondly, "that I shall leave you and your delightful wife to it, but thank you." Her lips twitched, with a quirk of her eyebrow. "I shan't imagine that you'll want the distraction of your mother." Matthew's jaw dropped to stammer a protest but, before he was able, Isobel went on. "Mrs Wethering is expecting me, in any case. I'm so very glad to have seen you, and shall look forward to your first letter from training."

"Of course." Matthew smiled nervously. "Thanks, for all of this."

"And Mary," Isobel turned to her daughter-in-law, taking her hand. "I shall telegram your parents and say that you are safe, and well. And please know that you can expect my support when you return."

"Thank you," Mary nodded gratefully, understanding her meaning, and touched by it.

With a final smile and a wave, Isobel hailed a cab and left them.

Matthew turned to his wife, with a breathless smile.

"Well," he breathed. "Alright?"

"Perfectly," she beamed, and kissed him again.

They returned to the hotel, and took lunch together. They did not engage in much conversation, though their eyes and their hands met frequently in unspoken gestures of affection and appreciation. It seemed too much to take in. Only yesterday morning, all had been darkness and despair. Now, they were joined – and their hearts burst with happiness. It was unthinkable, like an impossible, wonderful dream, and they were determined not to think about the moment of waking, not today.

His plate cleared, Matthew put down his cutlery and wiped his lips. With a trembling smile, he looked at Mary, grasping her hand tightly.

"Well, as wedding breakfasts go, I think that was quite satisfactory," he mumbled softly.

"Indeed!" His shyness delighted Mary, and she laughed delicately. "And now that we have finished, what should you like to do, darling?"

Matthew's face slackened, not in the bashfulness of desire as Mary had expected, but into an expression of wonderment and love. "What?" She murmured softly.

Matthew smiled gently. "You've never called me that before."

Mary's heart leapt with love. Hardly able to breathe, she took his hand across the table and pressed it to her lips.

"Oh, my darling, darling Matthew!" She felt as if her face would break apart if she smiled any wider. Tears pricked behind her eyes, as her husband gazed adoringly back at her.

With sudden resolve, he stood, tugging her hand gently to stand beside him. Her breath catching, she looked at him, eyes wide with excitement.

"I think," he slipped his arms snug around her waist and pulled her close, murmuring softly into her ear without care for the stares of other diners, "that I would like to take you upstairs and make love to you. Darling Mary…"

His eyes fluttered closed and his lips brushed against her ear in a tender kiss.

The warm weight of his words were like the sweetest caress. The term of affection spilled deeply from his lips, and the force of emotion behind it made Mary gasp. Her heart ached with love and she felt her knees weaken, causing her to lean her hand on his chest for support.

Moistening her dry lips, she recovered the strength to pull back and meet his eyes, matching his dark gaze with glittering promise. With only the barest sound passing her lips, she whispered.

"Then take me, my love."

TBC


A/N: Thank you so much for reading!

Quick note. It may not even have stuck out to you at all, but just in case it did - Matthew's use of "Thanks", as opposed to "Thank you". I know it sounds a little modern, but for reference, Matthew says "Thanks" to Isobel in Episode 5 (returning home after the dinner), and I felt in this situation he was similarly flustered. So please forgive me, but there is my justification if it did sound odd to you!

As ever I'd love to know what you thought! Coming up next, you have masses of smut to look forward to :) Thank you again for reading!

Oh! Really last thing. Mary's bouquet. According to Wikipedia, 'The Language of Flowers', red carnations = "Deep romantic love, passion, "My heart aches for you," "Alas; for my poor heart!"". And primroses = "Eternal love". Whether or not Matthew knows that, I don't know, but he is a man of many talents... :)