Porthcurno Village, Emelle Cliffs, Cornwall. October 1921

"Matthew?" She called, hailing a hand to her brow to keep the sun from her eyes. "You're back early!"

He stopped in his tracks and turned toward the churchyard. Mary was stood there, her hair slightly windswept from its up-do due to the breeze of the cliffs. She squinted from the evening sunset, but the light dazzled in her eyes and she looked simply beautiful in the warm orange hue, so much so that he took a startled step back and stared. "Why didn't you call and say so?" She pressed.

He offered a warm smile and came over, having forced himself to snap out of his reverie before he made a fool of himself. "I did, but Mrs Lynn answered and told me you were out. She said she'd pass on the message."

Mary rolled her eyes. "It must have slipped her mind." Then, with a mocking sigh, "things generally do, apparently."

Matthew chuckled gently. "She is getting on, I suppose."

"Not enough to attribute it as the cause of her failing memory." Mary said sternly.

It was his turn to roll his eyes.

"What are you doing here anyway?" She asked, indicating the church from which he'd emerged.

He rubbed the back of his neck with his palm rather awkwardly.

"I sing tenor in the choir," he mumbled, deliberately not quite meeting her eye.

"I know," she said coolly, "I've heard you."

He dared to take a quick glance at her, and then could not bear to take his eyes away when he saw her teasing smile, a very Mary-like raised eyebrow shooting him an amorous expression that made him weak at the knees.

"Then I apologise," he said, grinning a little.

"Nonsense, I think you're rather good." She dismissed, linking her arm through his offered elbow. They began to walk in step along the path. "Which is why I suggested to Laura that perhaps you might sing something at the party," she added breezily.

"You didn't?" He accused, aghast.

"I'm afraid I did." She replied with an amused grin.

"You've condemned me!" He called, closing his eyes in amused misery as she laughed heartily by his side.

She stroked his arm a little in consolation, but when he looked down at her they both snorted once more with laughter and she ended up clinging onto his proffered arm to keep her standing through fits of giggling.

"Where's Teddy?" He asked, once their laughter had died down to contented smirks.

Mary threw her gaze to the spot in which she'd left him, relieved to find him still sat there, docile and happy.

"He's with his parents," she answered, having become accustomed to using the little boy's terms to address their visits to the grave. "I wanted to leave him be for a little while."

Matthew nodded in understanding. "And, how are you?"

"Me?" She mused. "Alright, I suppose. My sister wants to visit in the new year. I'm not sure what to tell her to put her off, she's awfully determined. To be honest she's rather like me in that respect, once she's decided on something she will not be put off no matter what anyone says."

"Why should you put her off?" He asked. "I'm assuming this is Sybil, not Edith."

Vaguely, she felt impressed and slightly flattered that he had remembered such details she'd only told him in passing conversation.

She gave a short laugh. "You're right, of course. Sybil. I think the notion that Edith would want to enter a one-mile radius of me would be comical to anyone that knew us."

"So, why put her off? You must miss her. It's not like we don't have the room for her at Arnhall."

She couldn't dispute that. "I miss her greatly, of course. But I'm afraid my family is rather complicated."

Matthew didn't query her. "Families always are."

But then Teddy had turned towards them and, upon seeing Matthew, his eyes lit up like a child's would on Christmas morning. He scrambled up and scampered over, squealing with delight as Matthew roared, caught him, and threw him into the air.

Mary watched on with amused joy, wandering what on earth Matthew thought was complicated with his own family. Despite the, admittedly, shocking circumstances, Matthew and Teddy had always seemed so very much at ease as long as they were together.

This thought was further proved when Mary looked back at the pair and was greeted with the sight of Teddy being swung upside down by his ankles, giggling merrily while Matthew joked about throwing him over the cliffs into the sea. They all, of course, knew he would never dream of such a thing.

Matthew turned him back upright to his feet and looked up distractedly to the sky. The sunset was beautiful, an abundance of fiery colours in a veritable explosion that sank into the horizon at sea. But from the other direction, the clouds were dark, grey and ominous.

"We should get going." He declared. "It looks like we're due a storm."

Mary peered up and watched the sky sink over in rolls of growing darkness. The sea had been choppy that evening, and with the gulls squawking overhead, it certainly felt like something was brewing.

"Oh, I meant to tell you," Mary said, walking alongside Matthew while Teddy bounded eagerly ahead. "Mrs Crabtree has gone walkabout. So I'm not sure what to do about dinner. She told me she has had to visit her ill mother. But her story left something to be desired, I must say. "

"Oh really?" Matthew returned, raised eyebrows. "That's funny. I ran into James on my way here and he mentioned that he'd seen her in the Hope and Anchor with a gentleman friend."

Mary laughed. "I suspected as much." She mused. "How is James?" She asked, with little interest.

"Lobbying me to host a party this weekend at Arnhall." Matthew replied, lips pursed to show his evident disapproval.

"And will you?" She asked.

"He has already invited everyone to turn up tomorrow evening so I'm not sure I have much choice."

She chuckled at his discomfort. "How bad could it be?"

He turned to her, giving her a pointed look with one eyebrow raised. "This is James we're talking about. If there are any women in the village that are still speaking to him after the party, I'll be thoroughly surprised."

The Kitchens, Arnhall Castle, Cornwall. October 1921

"I'm afraid I'm not the most adept cook." Matthew commented dryly. He placed a plate before her on the table and another in the place opposite. "But with Mrs Crabtree away, I had to improvise."

Mary looked a little warily at the food before her, her expression decidedly unimpressed. Matthew sat down before his own, watching her sour appearance with amusement. He bit back a laugh.

"What exactly is this?" She asked, indicating the toast-like shape underneath two rashes of bacon.

"Eggy bread," Matthew replied, as if it were obvious. "Try it," he ushered her. "Unless you'd rather cook something else."

Mary frowned, humming in ill-amusement. "I gave Teddy scrambled eggs, but that's just about it when it comes to my cooking knowledge."

Food preparation had never been seen as an integral part of Mary's education and, frankly, she had no interest in learning. Cooking was for cooks, one of which Mary was most certainly not.

"Go on then," Matthew prompted with a teasing grin. "I haven't poisoned it."

Mary didn't look as though she believed him. She certainly couldn't imagine Mrs Patmore ever sending the footmen up to the dining room with plates full of 'eggy bread'. Even so, she cut a small corner of it with an intrepid knife and fork and brought it to her mouth slowly.

Matthew watched, trying his utmost not to laugh as she dithered over eating it.

Then he intervened, leaning forward and taking the fork from her hand and holding in front of her mouth himself. She looked at him in mingled shock and confusion. But his hand simply hovered there.

"Go on," he prompted. "Open up."

She did, but she didn't quite know why.

He pulled the fork free from her lips and watched her chew, awaiting the verdict with a silly smile.

"It's not too bad," She said eventually, but her happy eyes gave her away.

They continued to eat, the silence punctuated by teasing looks and loud giggling. When they'd both finished, Matthew took the plates and washed them up a little haphazardly in the sink. The rain had been pelting harshly against the windows for a long while, the deluge outside being nothing unexpected, but at the sound of a clap of thunder, Matthew jumped and dropped the plate, so it smashed on the flagstone floor.

Mary startled at the sound and froze. So had Matthew it seemed, because despite the broken crockery in pieces over his feet, he made no move to clear it up. She collected herself and got up from the table, coming up behind him and laying her palm flat over his lower back. His eyes, that had been trained to the window, snapped towards her as he jumped again and snapped back into action.

"Sorry," he mumbled, shaking his head to rid himself of his reverie.

They both crouched down and reached out to begin clearing the shards of broken plate from the ground. Their heads bumped. As did their hands. For a short moment, he locked eyes with hers, but then turned his head away sharpish, afraid she'd notice the preoccupied look in his countenance if he looked too long.

Of course, there was no fooling Mary.

They cleared up and parted ways upstairs, murmuring their goodnights. It was late, and Matthew had endured a long journey down from Manchester. He was exhausted, but his fatigue had led to a dulling of his wits and after changing into his pyjamas he left his bedroom and wandered aimlessly through corridor after corridor. The noises of the deluge outside seemed to be plaguing him. His hands were trembling and his ears aching with every loud bang that seemed to precede another. He pushed into the upstairs library, needing a drink, but after he'd poured himself a whiskey he collapsed onto the sofa and stayed there, frozen stock still with a ringing in his ears.

The next thing he was aware of was the door sliding open and a timid figure appearing beside the doorframe. Teddy shook, his tiny little body a mere shadow in the doorway. He stepped in, at which in the same moment a through draft from the chimney slammed the door shut behind him and he scrambled across the floor into Matthew's waiting arms. He huddled up in a tight ball, obscuring his face in Matthew's pyjama shirt while the latter wrapped his arms around the child's closely curled body. He willed himself to say something, but his throat tightened, his body stiff with his own fear. Teddy whimpered, and Matthew cringed at the loud crack of thunder. The room seemed to shake. Matthew willed himself to stay together, holding onto Teddy like a lifeline. The boy shivered, clinging onto Matthew who could do little more than keep him tight against his chest as the gale was forced against the windows, making them groan and rattle. He closed his eyes. He needed to concentrate on something else.

Just then, with a particularly loud wail of wind, the door to the upstairs library was pushed slowly open. Mary appeared in the room, dressed in her nightgown. She drew a light-blue silk cover over her shoulders to stop her from shivering. It was an expensive one, with white floral detailing over the shoulders. "I was looking for Teddy," she explained, though unsure why she felt the need to justify her being there. Matthew stared uselessly, the lump in his throat stopping him from uttering any kind of greeting or assurance. Teddy brought his face up from Matthew's shirt to look at her, eyes red rimmed and frightened. He reached out a small arm to beckon her over, but Mary was wary, wondering if Matthew might have objection to them sitting so close, in their night clothes, after dark.

He forced himself to say something as she remained still, undecided.

"Stay," he managed.

Mary followed Teddy's arm and sat beside the pair of them. She was too observant not to notice every time Matthew flinched at the thunder, eyes widening as the flashes of lightening tossed light through the gaps in the window blinds. She brought her feet across and under her, so she was curled next to them on the sofa. Gently, she removed Teddy's glasses and placed them on the opposite arm. "Close your eyes," she urged him, her fingers smoothing out the frown lines between his brows. She saw how tightly Matthew's stiff arms were wrapped around the child, how his hand was tense and splayed over Teddy's knee. She leant back, shuffling in closer, and rested her head against the cushions so it lay side-by-side with Matthew's. "You too," she murmured. They both followed her instruction and she watched them with a small smile for a moment before beginning to speak.

"I used to love storms," she said, matter-of-factly. "I used to love listening to the pounding of the rain against my windows while I lay in bed in the warm. I still do. It comforts me."

As she continued her story, Matthew listened in earnest. He found it so easy to block out the gunshots while she spoke, hearing only her voice and the sound of Teddy's even breathing made it so simple to relax. And when he heard the storm again, with her voice over it, it was just that – a storm. There were no undercurrents of war. Where he had heard artillery, he only heard thunder. Where he had seen explosions, he saw only lightening. The shattering of rain against the walls of the castle was no longer menacing. It felt good – warm. The contrast between the gale outside and the flickering fire that warmed the room, where he sat with Teddy in his arms and Mary by his side calmed him.

"I remember once – I think I must have been about five or six – I had left my little toy dog at the bottom of the garden by accident and by the time I realised, I had been ushered back inside the house. It was the biggest storm I can ever remember seeing, but I couldn't leave that dog. My sisters were watching from the window as I ran out into the rain to go and get it. The wind was so strong I could barely breathe, and the rain felt like ice, but I ran all the way down to go and get it."

"What happened?" Matthew asked, his eyes still closed, picturing the scene with an amused smile turning up the corners of his lips.

"My father came running out to get me," she smiled in return. "He was terrified. He picked me up and slung me over his shoulder and ran with me back inside. I was the coldest I can ever remember being. And I was soaked. But I had saved my little dog, so it didn't really matter."

Matthew's grin had stretched his whole face now and, though his eyes remained closed, she could see it there too – the crinkles at the corners that came when his blue eyes lit up with a grin.

"Do you still have the dog?"

"Yes." It was the first thing she packed on the night she left home. "He's my lucky charm. I've had him always."

They were left in a contented silence for a while.

"Is he asleep?" Mary asked, after a beat.

Matthew finally opened his eyes. "He is." He confirmed, tilting his head to look down at the sleeping child. "I'll put him back to bed."

He moved slowly off the sofa, carefully balancing Teddy on his chest and then cradling him when he stood. Mary stood up, walking with him to Teddy's room and staying until they parted ways at her bedroom door.

She leaned up on the balls of her bare feet and kissed him on the cheek. His skin immediately flushed, his jaw loosening and dropping slightly, so if he tried to speak it would be little more than senseless, affected babble.

"Goodnight, Matthew."

He was frightfully hot all of a sudden, his skin prickling all over, goose bumps forming on his arms.

"Goodnight," he managed in return, but she had already retired.

The Main Hall, Arnhall Castle, Cornwall. October 1921

The party was at its mere beginnings when Mary came down. Teddy had spent the afternoon lobbying her and Matthew to let him come to join them with great conviction. He was insistent and emphatic in his pleadings until Matthew had relented with a rather amused grin. He clutched Mary's hand as he came down thought, suddenly contrite and a little intimidated by the amount of Matthew's friends that now filled the main hall.

He looked up at Mary nervously, but he returned the smile she gave and cheered when she squeezed his hand. She bent down to him, knowing exactly how he could be put at once at ease.

"You see Hugo, over there?" She pointed to the man in question and Teddy nodded. "Well, Anna told me that he brought his dog with him and if you ask him nicely now, I'm sure he'd take you into the entrance hall to stroke him."

Teddy practically shook with sudden excitement, bouncing up and down before he scampered off toward Hugo, his eyes alight with pre-empted glee. She rolled her eyes and chuckled gently as she watched him, dressed in his best little mint-green suit, looking exceptionally smart apart from the one sock that had slipped so it no longer reached the bottom of his shorts.

She eventually turned to the room, surveying it with curiosity before she looked down to her dress and delicately smoothed it out. It was shining turquoise with fine gold detailing that came up and collected around her neck. Her shoulders were left bare, but she wore long golden gloves that came halfway up her upper arms. She dearly loved wearing fine dresses and delighted in knowing just how alluring she looked. She was always elegant, always poised, but her usual confidence was boosted further in the feeling of a particularly decadent gown. She knew the feeling of men's eyes on her, and never failed to wear it well.

She crossed the room, going to the double doors that led on to one of the drawing rooms in search of where Matthew had got to and found herself almost walking headlong into him.

Matthew's genial smile dropped from his face at the sight of her. His jaw loosened in stunned surprise and he stared at her for many long seconds. Her hair was pinned in an intricate and extremely becoming up-do, with a delicate gold headpiece across her forehead that matched the fine pattern on her dress. She looked thoroughly exquisite. The way the thin gold detailing came around her neck, leaving the green-blue main fabric of the dress at a point below her clavicle meant he could see through it to her prominent collar bone. Her bare shoulders were smooth and pale and so very breath-taking. She had a look about her, a knowing smirk that dazzled him – as if she was quite aware she affected him so. God, she was beautiful.

He collected his wits quickly enough, so he did not gawp like a brainless fool and bowed his head shortly, giving her a delighted smile and an ardent "Good evening," in greeting.

But as she stood back to a more respectable distance and looked him up and down – as handsome as ever, looking thoroughly dashing in his tails – she noticed his arm stiffly pressed to his side, a dark wooden stick held fast by the handle, as if her were leaning on it to support his leg.

"Why're you walking with a stick all of a sudden?"

He gripped it more tightly, gearing up a reply. "I was injured at the end of the war. I bruised my spine at Amiens. I recovered, of course, but my back seems to play up sometimes and unfortunately tonight it happens to have flared."

"But you're not in pain?" Her brow seemed to knot.

"Only a little," he appeased, "It'll pass halfway through the evening, I imagine." Then he grinned. "A few drinks in and I'll forget my stick entirely, I assure you."

She rolled her eyes.

"And would you care to get me a drink?" She asked, the usual glint returning to her eye.

"Of course. Perhaps cocktails will be more your style than cheap beer." He winked rather cheekily.

"Oh, I don't know," she mused. "I think I rather held my own with the cheap beer."

He laughed at that, recalling exactly the state cheap beer had put her in. Nevertheless, he went off to fetch her a drink.

Matthew stuck his head around Teddy's bedroom door to look in on him and found Mary sat at the edge of the boy's bed reading to him as he lay, clearly fatigued and panting slightly. He had obviously over exerted himself at the party that night, and his chest was feeling the repercussions of it.

He stood, watching in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame with a smile on his face as Teddy's heavy eyelids drooped shut and the hand that clasped one of Mary's, the little fingers that played with hers, went limp as he finally fell asleep. She carefully pulled her hand from his and set the book down on the bedside table. Then she tucked the blankets properly over his shoulders and kissed his forehead, smoothing back his dark hair and pulling off his glasses to place on top of the book.

"Sweet dreams," she murmured, before standing up and turning to the door. She jumped when she saw Matthew standing there. He laughed silently and went over to kiss Teddy goodnight before joining Mary in the corridor.

"The host has left the party, I see," Mary remarked, glancing into his eyes in the dimly lit corridor. She could feel him close to her—verging on chest to chest despite the grandeur of the wide corridor leaving no need for such intimacy.

"James will have no doubt leapt into the spotlight during my absence. I'll go back down now," Matthew mused, looking toward one of the winding staircases that led downward.

"Then I should retire," Mary murmured in turn.

Matthew looked disagreeing, his eyebrows flicking up in surprise at her early bed call. His expression gave clean away his acute disappointment.

"You're not going up this early, are you? We should all miss your company; besides Laura about to make me sing – on your recommendation I might remind you – and I'm sure you wouldn't want to miss me making a complete fool of myself."

Mary laughed.

"I suppose it would be a terrible shame to put such a teasing opportunity to waste," she agreed, smiling as he offered her his arm.

"You must promise I can rely on you at least to not laugh," he added, descending the stairs with her by his side.

"You can always rely on me."

They descended the stairs together, coming back to the party arm in arm, only to be spilt apart by friends who coerced them in different directions. Eleanor monopolised Mary, bringing her into the midst of a group of gaggling women, while Matthew was sprung upon by James.

"Now, Matthew," James had a wicked look about his face as he sipped is whiskey, "this governess of yours." James raised an eyebrow suggestively to which Matthew mirrored him, albeit with a disapproving inflection. Matthew shook his head at his friend's antics.

"James, I warn you," he said, "you should set your sights elsewhere. I fear trying to include Miss Levinson amongst your conquests is highly ambitious and will be entirely futile – even for you."

"Why?" James asked, "She's not married."

"Even if she were that wouldn't stop you," Matthew said, knowing his friend all too well, "no, I believe her standards are significantly higher than the likes of you."

James frowned. "The likes of me?" he repeated back in mock hurt, "I should tell you that any woman would be more than happy to have me, if my past experience is anything to go by." His wiggled his brow, and Matthew pretended not to know what he meant. Sometimes, he felt his middle-class background shine through more thoroughly when he was in James's company. There was such contrast between the friends. Each made the other's opposite qualities shine.

"Ah," Matthew laughed slightly into his drink, "but that is where your plan fails you, I'm afraid." James looked at him inquisitively as Matthew paused his sentence to sip his scotch. "Mary is not just any woman." He finished.

James laughed. "I see, I see." He muttered lowly. "You seek to pursue her, and you do not wish for opposition?"

"Of course not!" Matthew defended.

James ignored him. "Yes, yes, I saw you ogling her earlier. Do not deny it."

Matthew spluttered. "I was not… I would never…"

"I do not blame you," James said casually, "She has the body of a goddess; the best bottom I've ever laid eyes on."

"James!" Matthew scolded, having gotten used to refraining from such vulgarity in conversation since the trenches and his university days.

"Don't pretend you haven't noticed. I saw you staring when she came in the room, when she left the room and I certainly saw you staring when she bent to carry young Teddy to bed."

Matthew looked alarmed. "I was not."

James dismissed him. "Her dress was simply heavenly. The most sinful figure." He took a sip of his drink. "Heavenly! As were her br…"

"Enough!" Matthew interrupted, sternly but not angrily. "James, if you insist upon talking about Miss Levinson this way I will have no choice but to throw you out."

He did not disagree, and therefore left an omission – but James did not pick up on it, for half his faculties were concentrated elsewhere. Yet Matthew's mind, as it seemed to be so often these days, was in a disastrous muddle. He could no more deny to himself now than he could earlier – stood agape as she appeared – that her dress, and indeed every aspect she possessed, was heavenly. More than so. But even as his mind was swept away to thoughts of a more ardent nature, he chastised himself. He swallowed and brought his eyeline up to the room. He caught her eye. She tipped an eyebrow then looked away. She was so very beautiful.

He felt somehow sanctimonious in berating James for his interest, when he himself seemed to think of just quite how magnificent she was increasingly often. Those eyes, their darkness, the way they melted him, unbalanced him. One look could break him into a sweat. One arch of those curved eyebrows had him swallowing dumbly for air. If he closed his eyes, which sometimes he did simply to indulge the memory, he could still feel the way her shoulder blade felt under his palm, the curve of her waist under his fingers, her body flushed to his in the midst of a dance. He could feel her hand in hers, her head on his shoulder, the scent of her perfume. How it all made him unfathomably weak at the knees.

Only she seemed so inextricably untouchable. She was beyond him, for reasons he could not assimilate, and yet it flared something inside him when he strived to match her jibes or her teasing. She provided him with scope, a challenge, but one he delighted to take up in. They practically came from different poles as far as most things were concerned, but they were balanced when they talked, when they laughed, when they walked together. But there was something. He couldn't put his finger on what, exactly, but it was there. The reason everyone seemed so much below her station, seemed so often at the mercy of her collected conversation and sharp wit. She had a natural flare for social conundrums. She could argue in the same fashion that he might cross-examine a witness or a defendant, and yet when others crossed her path—ones that did not entertain Matthew's and Mary's joint joy for a good argument, there was no challenging Mary. Not if one's own head was valued, anyway. But their relationship was so clipped. Their friendships were in bursts of weekends. They were his greatest joys, those Saturdays and Sundays where they'd go to the beach with Teddy and take him for walks or play hide and seek across the castle, only recently it'd been so that his weeks were also spent with her in mind. He'd hear her wry comments when she was not there. He'd imagine her saying them, in her perfectly poised, delightfully deep-toned voice, her speech alone asserting the authority that her statute implicitly and immediately commanded. When he used to have his nightmares, when he'd wake in sweat to the sound of his own screams, he would calm himself by taking an inventory of everything he treasured. He'd remember the way Teddy ran, waddled really, turning back every so often like a faithful dog with a grin. He'd recall how the child jumped in excitement at the mere mention of sweets or puppies or stories or picnics. He'd think of how he smacked his lips after he yawned, something he'd done ever since infancy when Matthew would have to rock him for hours sometimes before he slept. But now, Mary would come into these inventories. He'd think of how she had a million different eyerolls that said a million different things. The way she would smile with her whole countenance and how utterly perfect it would be – the crinkles at the corners of happy eyes, pink lips turned upwards, a little apart, cheeks raised with a grin. He'd remember the quirks of her eyebrows. How she turned her head just so to communicate something without words. He'd recall the times Teddy would sleepily ask her to sing to him as she sat by his bed, Matthew listening from beyond the ajar door, and she'd say, "close your eyes" and he would, then she'd sing, and her voice was like silk. Those were the last memories in the inventory, because even just recalling the lullabies would soothe him, his nightmares long gone, sleeping with nought but her voice in his head.

God, how long could he stand here and think of her? Forever, it seemed, because there was just something about her. Something so Mary.

"Well," James grinned, shaking Matthew's hand, "I am prepared to give you a fair chance, but if you could just inquire for me if she has a current chap so I know who I have to contend with, I would be most obliged to you."

"If you wish to know, you'll ask her yourself." He replied disapproving.

"Perhaps I will."

With that, James winked, walking across the room to speak with Hugo.

And it wasn't long before he was preyed upon by Laura, practically dragging him to the end of the piano and silencing the room with a gleeful air about her as they all gathered round. She began to play, and Matthew, giving Mary a prolonged look if indulgent exasperation – it was all her fault he was in this position after all – then began to sing.

She watched his features with careful, caressing eyes. His expressions were manly but graceful. She was not unaware of the muscles of his shoulders, or the way in which the perfectly laundered shirt clung to his back. He smiled when he sang, and his voice was deep and luxurious, spreading lowly through her. She found herself taking a large sip of her drink to soothe the rush of blood through her veins.

He was met with great applause as his finished, but he waved the exuberant praise away with a bashful smile. He was immediately swamped by attention – the majority of it female – and was carted off to one side by Caroline and Louisa, who were overzealous in their clear affection for him, at best. The two women were clearly well learned in the delicate art of flirting, and to Mary's, for some reason, great irritation, Matthew indulged and, far from trying to dissuade them, seemed to gently reciprocate and even encourage.

She looked elsewhere and quite by accident caught Laura's eye, who indicated to the grand, beckoning her forward.

Matthew noticed this exchange and excused himself, crossing the room to where Mary looked adamant on refusing the invitation to play.

"Why not?" His whisper was low in her ear and his warm breath settled out against her cheek. "Afraid you cannot make my equal?" He was teasing, she knew it. He was not a vain man, far from it, and was quite, quite sure she could make his equal, but that did not stop him from his desire to softly goad her into playing for him. He had never heard her play and wanted to desperately. His curiosity was paramount.

"You were rather good," she murmured in return, a compliment that spoke volumes to him – for she was not the type to say something and not mean it. 'Rather good' coming from her was a testament to a great success. "But no, that is not the reason I choose not to play."

He was intrigued by her deliberately opaque explanation. "So why is it then?"

"I haven't played, or indeed sung, since I left home." She answered swiftly. "I may not be as good, so out of practice as I am."

Matthew shook his head with a grin, scoffing gently. "I've never known you to be in the slightest bit modest – do not start now, for I do not believe the sentiment for a second."

Mary smiled demurely and handed him her drink. She moved past towards the piano and turned to face him. As she wafted across him, he caught her scent of freshly drawn linen and expensive perfume. She sat, and then began to play sweetly, with expression, slowly from memory at a soft andante. Her fingers were delicate, and the room entranced by the bewitching sound. He wondered from where she had learnt, and from whom. He wondered why he had never heard her play before. It was simply beautiful. A change in her breathing made Matthew's pulse quicken. She looked up, caught him watching her and held his gaze until he looked away. The last bars seemed to make the air between them tingle. She felt a heated shiver. Mary's prior social position had not prevented, per say, but had indeed protected her from the lascivious stares of men. The possibility that she had encountered one now left her flustered and yet not disagreeably so. She looked away, deciding that she had been mistaken, but when her eyes flicked again back to Matthew's, she found their bright blue there to meet them. It was somehow covertly erotic. Mary carried it well, her posture held firm as she gave no indication of acknowledgment of the strangely intimate scenario. Bringing the piece to a final close, she came to the somewhat unwelcome memory that they were not the only two people in the room. She was met with an awed applause accompanied with a round of appreciative cheers. The group made their compliments as she departed from the stool and wound her way back to the surrounding party, stood at the foot of the grand and finding herself opposite Matthew in the semi-circle that the spectators had created. Laura broached the instrument next and beat up a more stumbling, energetic piece riddled with errors, unlike Mary's playing – full of precise beauty and intimate elegance – but Laura filled it with so much gusto it hardly seemed to matter.

That was, until she finished the hearty chorus and neared the verse, in which she nodded to Mary – signalling a clear prior arrangement – and the latter began to sing. But it was not the singing he had heard in passing when he watched through the gap of Teddy's bedroom door – not the kind she gave in response to his tired pleas. "Will you sing to me?" Teddy would ask. She would, her voice low, gentle and quiet. Soothing lullabies. No, her voice was different now. Still soothing, ever so much, but stronger, more commanding of her audience. Divine, as it thrummed through his ears.

"That's why I'm lonely, no home at all;
I broke her heart, pet, after the ball…"

She drew up her hand gently and Matthew, and all others inclined, joined in for the last chorus.

"After the ball is over…"

They were all smiling widely by the end, singing along with no particular talent but instead waving it away with enthusiasm. At the end of the song, they broke out into laughter, during which Matthew came swiftly up to stand next to Mary, handing her back her drink when James stepped up to the stool. She took it gratefully, eyebrows furrowing in confusion when James winked at her before starting his song.

Matthew noted her reaction and spoke gently to be heard by her ears only while the rest of the party listened to James's performance.

"James thinks he is the font of all knowledge, and that every woman loves him because of it," Matthew started, "In fact, most think him rather obnoxious despite his looks. He currently has a new obsession."

Mary narrowed her eyes in amused suspicion. "Oh? And what is that, prey?"

"You," Matthew stated, his voice a seductive whisper in her ear. "He asked me if you would be interested."

"And what did you say?" She responded casually.

"I said he'd have to ask you himself. But I suspected you'd set your sights beyond the likes of him."

"Good." Mary confirmed, a slight smirk forming on her countenance. She moved her lips closer to his ear, saying her next words very slowly and deliberately. "If you get the chance, tell him I have my sights set somewhere else entirely."

With that, she was gone, moving deftly over to where Louisa, Laura and Caroline formed a small group.

The party stammered into the small hours. The noise eventually died to the slurred drunken singing as the occupants staggered along their respective homeward paths. Matthew locked up the doors and darkened the lights in the drawing rooms they'd used. He squandered the fires to dim embers and shut up the rooms for the night, trailing into the downstairs library to close the last room, under the impression that he was the last one left awake.

He was deprived of that notion when he looked in, because Mary was perusing through records beside the gramophone, her long gloves draped over the arm of the sofa, fingers skimming over the ridges of their cases as she passed through each of them, eyes casting over their titles and the art of the covers, then giving the next the same treatment. He shifted over in a tender silence, lifting his own hand to pick on out from near the back.

"Do you mind?" He asked, plucking it up and removing the record from inside.

"Of course not." She offered a smile.

He lifted the needle of the gramophone and pressed the record into place, allowing it to turn before he carefully let it drop once more. There was a clicking, shifting noise, and a low scratching, then a deep pop, before the music began to play.

There was a moment where she merely listened, awaiting either recognition or confirmation of the opposite.

"I don't know this one," she finally said in conclusion.

He neared her brushing the back of his hair with a nervous palm for a second.

"Actually, I rather like it. I think it was in a show that flopped." He smiled gently. "Zip Goes a Million – or something."

They both chuckled, facing each other somewhat expectantly despite their unanimous feeling of not being quite aware as to what they should expect. It seemed as though something were about to transpire – that something was about to be said – but instead he didn't speak at all and the kind smile that came to his face showed his utmost affection as he offered one arm then the other, slowly and without any hindrance or misgiving.

She took them, matching his serene smile and meeting his eyes, not looking away. Suddenly there was no reservation in the way she looked at him. They began to dance. His feet were practised and knowing, movements slow and gentle. She allowed herself to be led by him, the feeling somewhat innate with the tender resting of his hand below her shoulder blade, his other very lightly holding one of hers. Her fingers lightly splayed over his shoulder, the tips very intricately smoothing over the slight fuzz of his jacket. He was warm to the touch. Warm and masculine. And although his bare palm at her back had been felt acutely before, she seemed suddenly more aware of it now.

"Can you manage without your stick?" She asked. It was half intended as one of her usual teasing comments – the way they would normally play with each other – and half murmured out of a deep concern. She worried suddenly. Worried that his back might still be ailing him, and she did not wish for him to persevere through it for her sake.

But his reply was amorous. "You are my stick." And her smile widened, her worry fading, though not quite entirely.

She gave a little chuckle, her eyes alight and still matched to his. Her fingers inched a little toward his collar, her thumb rested with just the tip over his lapel.

She was over three inches his shorter, but her heels gave her a little more height, and with his head bent slightly towards hers, they were cheek to cheek. She could feel his breath against her, soft and light, and let her eyes slip shut for a moment – just a moment – soothed and yet also enamoured with their current proximity.

He wanted to say something, but any triviality felt incompatible with that moment. And then he found he didn't want to say anything at all, which was fortunate because the sensation of being so close to her would have meant it would have taken all the air left in him to utter anything and, even then, it would be no more than a whisper.

They danced, moving steadily but fluidly together, using all the space the room had to offer without properly focussing or engaging in awareness of anything around them. Vaguely, as his head moved back to watch her eyes once more, he wondered if the music was still even playing. He couldn't hear it. He couldn't hear anything. He wondered if she could.

He was close. So close it felt somehow that the air around them ceased to exist. She leant in a little closer. His light eyes were still fixed on hers. She couldn't look away. As her feet moved forward and his came back, their waltz tightened, and she came closer again. She leaned forward a little more and felt his nose slide lightly with hers. She nuzzled against him until their foreheads touched.

He wasn't sure whether it was her that closed the final gap or him. But either way, he felt his blood pulse and could hear his heart in his ears. Her mouth was touched to his, tentatively, almost gingerly at first, and then he boldened, tenderly nipping at her lower lip, eliciting a soft sigh from her. The hand that had held hers brought her fingers slowly forward and then slipped away as she clasped his shoulders with both palms and brought him closer. Their lips brushed against each other, seductively, and then she pressed his mouth to his while he leant in further to feel her.

Moments ago, she'd been simply gazing in to that remarkable blue of his lovely eyes, as the world seemed about to open up and spin out of control. His lips had been so close – so very close – to hers and her heart had begun to beat faster and faster, but now Mary let her fingers press into his shoulders, feeling him hum against her as her thumb rubbed tiny circles over his collar. He tasted like champagne and something else uniquely him. Time seemed suspended – she thought nothing of anything but his lips – as he sweetly and lovingly held the kiss and gently caressed her hand with his fingers. And then, ever so slowly, he pulled away, with a gentle smacking sound.

As he leaned back, Mary's eyes remained closed as she gave out a breath. Her head was tilted back still, a feeling of lightness consuming her. Matthew's lips curved to a smile as his eyes finally opened and he watched her. His chest expanded as he breathed in, her intoxicating scent filling him not for the first time that evening. He licked his lips and her taste still remained.

A second passed, and her eyes slowly opened. She blinked. He swallowed. She cleared her throat, feeling unusually lightheaded and uncharacteristically speechless.

"Oh," she managed. Her voice sounded deep and seductive and he let out a particularly stuttering breath.

She was not sure how long ago the music had stopped.

"Excuse me, Mr Crawley, Miss Levinson." She turned a little too sharpish at Mrs Lynn's sudden voice from the door.

Matthew swallowed rather heavily. He opened his mouth to attempt speech, but Mary had answered before he had even remembered quite how to form words.

"Yes, Mrs Lynn? How was the celebration at the Hope and Anchor?"

"Excellent. Although I'm afraid to say that it looks as though Mrs Crabtree might not quite be up to breakfast tomorrow." The housekeeper gave a smirk accompanied with a little snort of gossiping laughter. "I just came to say there's plenty of hot water should you want to bathe tonight." She directed her sentence toward Mary but looked at her watch and revised her statement. "Or this morning, if we're being particular about it."

"Thank you, I think I will," Mary replied, trying so very desperately to not appear as flustered as she felt.

Mrs Lynn bid them both goodnight and left herself for bed.

Matthew, unsure what he should say, attempted to return to their usual teasing humour.

"Do you often like to bathe in the early hours of the morning?" But his voice was still rather raspy as he said it. It didn't seem to hold quite as much of the amorous playfulness it usually did.

"I often like to before I go to bed." She replied. "It makes for a better sleep."

She smiled, but it was a rather affected smile – not quite sure, for the first time in her life – how she should conduct herself.

"You should go on up," he said, "I'll just sort out this last room before I retire."

She nodded, turning to go in heed of his advice before suddenly turning and reaching out to quickly squeeze his hand. "Goodnight, Matthew." She whispered gently. "Thank you. It was a wonderful party."

He watched in breathless shock as she left for bed.

As soon as she'd disappeared from sight, his fingertips were sent unconsciously to his lips – not sure from which he was remembering her touch.

He left the fire for Ellen to sort in the morning but removed the record from the gramophone and slipped it back into its sleeve, replacing it on the shelf beside it. He closed the blinds and surveyed the room, still somewhat stunned, before he switched off the lights and closed the door, heading up to bed – his thoughts running rampant and thoroughly intoxicated.

In the privacy of his cosy room, in the pleasant half hour before slipping between fresh pressed sheets, his mind wondered unbidden to that moment at the piano. That lingering eye contact accompanied with the feeling of his throat running hot and dry, his collar suddenly too tight. Then he thought of the dance. And then the kiss. Sometimes – more than sometimes – he found himself thinking of her as he fell asleep, and growing hard at the thought that she might, at that same moment, be lounged, bathing in the tub, her smooth and pale skin wet and lit only by glowing lamplight.

A/N - thanks for all the reviews :) much appreciated. I hope this was alright and do please tell me what you thought of it, as this chapter hopefully progresses things quite a bit. Thanks for reading!