Author's note: Matthew, sometimes you are utter crap.
Thanks to Cyrillah for the beta, again.
He hadn't been there for the wedding, had already ensconced himself in Manchester and did not have the energy to play the celebratory cousin. His mother was shocked and disappointed by his refusal to attend, and Robert's voice had been cold when Matthew rang after dinner to express his congratulations. He knew that others, namely Cora and Carlisle, did not have nearly the same reaction. His leaving, after all, greatly reduced the possibility of complications.
After he dropped the telephone back on its holder, he sipped absently at a whiskey. It was done; Mary and Carlisle had travelled by motor to a hotel in Ripon and were leaving the next day for a honeymoon in Canada and the States. It was a sensible decision, given the Continent's war-wracked state, he thought. They were both so very sensible.
He stared over his glass, motionless for several minutes except for the deepening furrow in his brow and the intermittent tremors in his lips, an uncertain shake of his chin. Then he drained the glass, staring at it as if just becoming aware of its presence, and threw it into the fireplace where it shattered on the cold coals.
It was over a year until he saw her next. Matthew visited his mother in Crawley House punctiliously every three weeks, allowing Carlisle to schedule their visits from London on a non-intersecting schedule. Haxby remained a museum for the time being, another box checked on Carlisle's journey to nobility. Matthew heard periodically from Edith that Mary was quite a figure in the London season - she and Carlisle had thrown the surprise social event of the year, a fall garden party with a Guy Fawkes theme. After that one, he even received letters from various London acquaintances, begging for an invitation if one was held next year. He was happy that it all felt so remote, and threw himself into work until his trickle of remaining clients expanded into a steady flow.
Then he received a letter informing him of Edith's engagement, and inviting him to Downton to meet the fellow. It seemed as good a time as any to mend fences, and part of him was curious to see what sort of a match Edith had finally made. All of his cousins had surprised him in the extent to which they had thumbed their noses at the carefully circumscribed path laid for them. So he got the morning train to Ripon, and after a late tea walked up to the house.
He was almost expecting to find Mary where he did, at the bench overlooking the road from the village. It had been a warm fall, and she was wearing a dress that Matthew could recognize now as one from the summer fashions. There was an older woman with her whom Matthew did not recognize, and as they noticed him approach she stood and passed the baby in her arms to Mary, before curtsying slightly and heading off in the direction of the house. Mary looked down in complete absorption until he had left the path and stood, hat in his hands, in front of the bench.
Then her eyes flicked up and she gave him a smile that only faintly reached her eyes. "Hello Matthew." Her gaze had a powerful effect, he had forgotten how piercing her eyes were. Now, though there was an unfocused, softer light to them. "It's been a long time. Will you sit?"
"Of course." He willed himself forward and took a seat on the bench. The infant was wrapped in what seemed like yards of lace and cotton, so there was barely room for Matthew on the far side. "Can we be introduced?"
She pulled the baby against her lap, until its slightly lolling head was faced at Matthew. Bright blue eyes stared at him as the baby chewed on one hand consideringly. Matthew found her gaze hard to meet. "Jill, this is your cousin Matthew. Fourth cousin once removed, if Edith's genealogy is to be believed." The quantification of their familial connection, distant and clinical, was intended as a rebuke.
He looked at her, pleading silently for some intimacy and kindness he knew he didn't deserve. Her jaw was just slightly tight and her smile held for a fraction longer than was natural. She was being so cordial, holding so much back. He dropped his eyes once again. "Jill. Interesting name."
Mary's eyes sparkled then, the artifice less necessary. "Yes. Guess where we got it from."
His heart wrenched at the natural way in which she spoke of herself and Carlisle. "It wouldn't be from that terribly modern book? By Wodehouse?"
Her smile was sardonic, but she made a show of appearing impressed. "You're surprisingly au courant with literature for an overworked solicitor."
"Mother filled me in," he admitted. "I think she approved." he reached out gingerly, patting the baby's swaddling with a faint awe. He felt like an awkward schoolboy being ushered into the nursery to see his new brother or sister. It was a completely fabricated feeling, he knew. There had only ever been him.
"She's beautiful." His wavering voice embarrassed him.
"She takes after her mother," she replied briskly, her flippancy and false vanity papering over the emotion they had both heard in his voice.
He felt bereft, and it made him terribly reckless. "And what does she take from her father?"
The glance that she returned was a warning. "She has Richard's mouth, some people say. She perseveres." A small distracted smile gathered. "And she'll scream for hours until she gets what she wants."
"And you're sure Carlisle is...there's no chance...?" He didn't dare finish the question.
"None at all." She smiled so broadly it was vicious. "So you shouldn't worry on that score." She looked down at Jill, who had grown restless. "It's time for her feeding. I'll see you at dinner."
She scooped up the baby with practiced ease, then stood, ignoring the hand that he offered her. "Motherhood in our time is something that happens to women, Matthew." She stood half turned away from him, Jill staring with wide eyes at Matthew over Mary's shoulder. "Fatherhood is something you choose." He did not stop watching them until they disappeared around the side of the house. For September, it felt unseasonably cold.