If you are here, then you are among the world's most patient readers. Thank you for sticking with this story when I put it on hiatus to complete "In the Company of Strangers." I am hoping to get back on a more regular posting schedule for Things Hidden, so look for Ch 10 (which has been started) in 2-3 weeks. If I get it done sooner, I shall post sooner. :)
Many thanks to several people for taking the time to read and critique: Orangeshipper, and patsan-the two who have been with this story since it's beginning. Thank you soooo much for your faith in this tale and support of my writing! Cls2001 and miscreant rose-my sisters who read everything I write, no matter how bad it may be, and tell me they think I'm wonderful! (You are too good to me!) And to La Donna Ingenua who just discovered this story and gave Ch 9 a read-through-thank you, girl! I so appreciate it!
And of course-to everyone of you who read and review-it means so very much to me. Please know that even if my life at the moment is a bit insane and doesn't allow for me to answer every review as I truly love to do. Your support is never taken for granted, I assure you.
If I remember correctly, Robert has just arrived at Crawley House. Shall we peek in and observe the fall-out?
"Close the door, Mary."
Her grandmother's firm instruction cut through the dizzying fog clouding her reason. Limbs obeyed thoughtlessly, disconnected from a mind reeling from all that had occurred within a matter of hours.
A year ago, she would have never conceived this was the life she would be living. How had she allowed things to veer so dreadfully off course?
"Now come and sit down," Violet continued, the calm measure of her tone steadying her granddaughter's legs. "You need to save your strength for what lies ahead."
Oh, God. What lay ahead...
She fought dwelling upon a future that frightened her, caught between its looming specter and a past that made her want to run from Crawley House back to her shelter in Cumberland. She swallowed with effort, her thoughts divorced from her body as she attempted to process the reality staring back at her.
She and Matthew had reached an understanding. Was it too much to wish for time to adjust to this new yet fragile ground upon which they stood without interference, no matter how well intentioned?
Her head spun in reaction to the noise just outside their door. Heavy footfalls in the hall bore testament to her father's displeasure, their force nearly matching that of her own pulse racing uncomfortably in her neck.
"Papa is furious," Mary began, her lids fluttering quickly in agitation. "And Matthew is in no condition—"
"Matthew's condition is irrelevant," Violet interrupted, raising a hand in emphasis. "Regardless of his physical limitations or emotional state, he has to answer for the deplorable manner in which he has acted towards you."
Christopher stretched into her ribs as she lowered herself into the chair, holding him steadily as her eyes flew back to the door.
"But he is so broken, Granny," she argued back, tucking her son's blanket around him. "Matthew is in no state to face the full force of Papa's wrath."
"But he must, my dear," Violet insisted softly, leaning forward on her cane. "If anything at all is to be salvaged between them, Matthew must deal with Robert directly and take full responsibility for his failure to protect you. It will only make things worse for everyone involved if you barge in and attempt to shield him. You've done more than your part to protect the family in this unfortunate situation."
She exhaled with force, leaning back into the chair, shifting her son on to her chest. How soothing the languid weight of his bundled form, how beautiful the feathering of warm breath from small lungs caressing exposed skin. If only her father could see him for who he was rather than as a child to be hidden, a grandson she had denied a legitimate name while running off to lick her wounds in private.
"Do you think there is anything to be salvaged?" Mary questioned, her brows woven in concern. Her ribs constricted as she heard raised voices muffled by walls and distance, her fingers flexing involuntarily. "Be honest with me, Granny."
The Dowager Countess sat silent, her hesitation cinching Mary's gut.
"I don't know, my dear," she finally admitted, turning her ear towards the door. Violet's face reflected little, but a slight tremor in the older woman's hand made Mary wince. "Matthew should have proposed immediately rather than running away after the two of you…"
She paused, facial muscles twitching independently as she sought the right words.
"Had relations."
How innocent those words sounded, making Mary nearly laughed at their absurdity.
"You mean when we partook of each other as only a married couple should?"
Her heart dropped as the statement flew form her lips, cheeks stinging as she forced herself to hold her grandmother's gaze.
"Those are your words," Violet put in frankly. "Not mine."
"You do know why he left, don't you."
There was no question in her tone, only a bitterness upon her tongue as distasteful words were voiced in a space so confined.
"Yes. Your mother told me."
Eyes sealed themselves in a useless attempt to block the shame of her past. But the ensuing darkness only made clear his face as her secret became known, emphasized her emptiness as she felt his withdrawal, heightening her blatant exposure as he moved away.
Away from her. Away from the life they had created. Away from a future that should have been theirs.
"And so you understand why he left me as he did."
Eyes flashed back at her with the fervor of a much younger woman.
"No. I don't understand. No matter what happened in your past, he chose to be intimate with you. Making certain you were not left alone and with child was his responsibility, and he chose to ignore it."
"He was hurt," Mary attempted.
"He was prideful," Violet argued, raising her chest. "And his inaction left you in an impossible situation."
"I could have written to him," she began, restless fingers absorbing the softness of her son's blanket. "Told him of my pregnancy."
"Yes. That is true."
Her mantle of guilt bore down all the heavier, weighing down shoulders attempting to carry too much alone.
"But had he married you that letter could have been one of celebration," Violet continued. "Matthew, for all his vaulted nobility and sense of honor, placed what should have been shared responsibility squarely upon you. And there is no viable excuse for that."
A spark of anger flared in her breast, remnants of a flame stoked months ago abandoned in the haste of disillusionment, left to smolder in the ruins of a life tossed aside.
"So you think he should have overlooked my indiscretion with Mr. Pamuk?"
"I know he should have," Violet retorted unblinkingly. "If he was willing to take you to bed outside of marriage, what right did he have to be angry simply because he was not the first to do so?"
Her head shook of its own accord, musings racing ahead of speech as she attempted to process what her grandmother had just stated.
"We both know that the rules are different for women and men."
"All too true," her grandmother agreed, pursing her lips tightly. "But it is such an illogical double-standard. If men are allowed to be philanderers and experimenters, why are the women with whom they dally forced to accept the consequences alone?"
"Matthew is not a philanderer."
The force of her declaration hung between them, and she stared down at her son, living evidence of a mistake she could regret no longer.
"No. I don't believe that he is."
She looked to her grandmother, a measure of relief relaxing tightened ribs.
"He has loved you for some time, of that I am certain," Violet continued, sighing heavily. "But that alone cannot fix what was broken months ago."
Pressure formed behind her cheeks, and she stared again at the door, understanding that soon she would exit this room and step under the scrutiny of a father who would never look at her in the same manner again.
"Can anything repair what we have done?"
How young she suddenly felt under her grandmother's gaze, almost as if she had just been caught nabbing a biscuit from the kitchen.
"Time and determination, I think," Violet answered softly, nodding slowly in emphasis. "And the strength to keep looking forward regardless of what anyone thinks or says about you."
"I've had to learn that to a certain degree already," Mary admitted, her chest absorbing a small sigh she felt everywhere.
She cringed at the thought of what Matthew was enduring under her father's wrath, his expression when he held Christopher for the first time burned irrevocably into her memory. Regardless of who bore the fault for each misstep in their broken relationship, she knew all too well the despondency of facing the consequences alone.
Solitude was a ruthless taskmaster.
The urge to stand with him melded with shards of anger she still bore, the desire to embrace him warring with her need for him feel a small measure of the shame she had carried since their encounter.
How was this marriage truly supposed to function? Would they ever find their way back to each other when they both still bore crippling wounds?
"Oh, I know you have," her grandmother affirmed, leaning back as she studied the pair of them huddled together. "Let's just hope that Matthew will demonstrate the same measure of resilience. For everyone's sake."
Muscles stiffened, shoulders hunched. He braced himself for immediate attack as he would have were he still at the front, dreading what was to come with a sickness he had no choice but to ignore. Under circumstances crafted by his own pride, he had no defense, no weapon to counter the ammunition that would be hurled in his direction by a man who had every reason to be incensed.
Robert Crawley had entered the house. And Matthew knew he deserved everything that Mary's father would throw at him.
No. He deserved worse.
Footfalls came closer and he turned his chair in the direction of the door. He would face Robert directly, regardless of what was unleashed in righteous anger, in spite of the burning ire he must bear.
For Mary. For Christopher. God knew he had to start somewhere.
He would cover them, would protect them from the man's wrath—no matter the cost to himself. His failure to care for the woman he loved and their son burned hotly in his chest, the need to shelter them from anything unpleasant so overpowering it nearly made him shake.
The knob turned, and he swallowed hard, gripping the arms of his wheelchair as he took in as much air as he was able.
"So there you are."
The observation cut as glacial eyes he had come to look upon as fatherly narrowed in his direction.
"Robert," he stated, speech deserting him with the same cruelty as had his ability to stand. "You have—"
"How dare you?"
The question was aimed with lethal precision, blocking any attempt at civility as the earl advanced on him with measured steps.
"You," Lord Grantham continued, nostrils flaring dangerously, "Whom I have embraced as a son, whom I have welcomed into Downton as one of my own and given every courtesy, every—"
His voice broke, his face reddening in a manner Matthew had never observed.
"I thought I knew you, Matthew!"
He felt the words as a slap, ears burning uncomfortably as fingers chilled to numbness. He swallowed again, filling lungs in an attempt to steady his emotions.
"Believe me, Robert, there is no one more disappointed in my behavior than I am."
The words scraped his throat, and he watched a twitch form in the older man's cheek, knowing that the onslaught from the Earl of Grantham was just beginning.
"I somehow think Mary might disagree with that statement."
His stomach hollowed instantly, lips trembling to form the right words.
"God knows she has every right to do so."
"Right? Mary has every right?"
A laugh without mirth pushed from the older man's chest, his pulse visible in his temple.
"You should have been more concerned about her rights when you so thoughtlessly abandoned her after taking liberties you had no right to claim!"
His head fell, his hand taking up the hateful tremor as he fought down a wave of nausea.
"How could you do such a thing, Matthew? To Mary of all people, for God's sake?"
It was more demand than question, the bite of his tone cutting into bone.
"I have no excuse," Matthew attempted, shaking his head in frustration. "None whatsoever."
"No, you don't!" the earl shot back, taking two steps in his direction. "Your lack of self-control I could forgive you living under the constant shadow of war and death. But to walk away from her and continue your engagement to Ms. Swire, leaving my daughter to bear your bastard alone?"
"Don't!"
The command jumped from his tongue with a ferocity still new to him.
"Call me whatever you will, but don't ever refer to my son with such an abhorrent term."
Stares were unflinching as one father glared into another.
"It was you who dictated the circumstances of his birth. Not I."
"Then I am the one who deserves the censure," Matthew insisted, pushing himself as tall as he could. "Not him. This is your grandson we are speaking of, if you remember."
The air between them chilled in its silence.
"Yes. My grandson."
The words were icy, his expression unmoved.
"My grandson who may never be able to inherit what should rightfully be his. My grandson who will be forever looked upon in a condescending manner, never fully accepted into the realm of his peers."
Robert paused, heavy feet pacing in agitation as fingers twitched unbidden.
"My grandson, whose birth should have been celebrated and proudly announced rather than hidden away in shame with his mother in some cottage by a lake!"
Each utterance stung, and he fought the sinking sensation threatening to draw him under.
"You're right," Matthew cut in, running a hand through his hair. "If I had acted honorably, things would be very different now—for all of us."
"So why didn't you?"
The question settled slowly, realization settling slowly through the tangled maze of his thoughts. Robert did not yet know about Kemal Pamuk.
And he sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to tell him.
"I was already engaged, if you remember," Matthew attempted, his eyes flickering between his legs and his cousin.
"Yet you were intimate with Mary," the earl shot back. "It would seem to me that the need to protect her from the possibility of bearing your child out of wedlock would usurp that of disappointing the hopes of another. Unless—"
An expression of horror overtook the earl's face, and he spun on Matthew with the agility of a much younger man.
"Good God, did you engage in physical relations with Lavinia, as well?"
The shock of the accusation rendered him momentarily speechless, and he shook his head decidedly.
"No," Matthew returned, raising a hand in affirmation. "Never."
"Then why the hell didn't you make Mary an offer of marriage?"
Eyes locked yet again, both men breathing heavily in a room now overheated.
"I cannot tell you."
Any sign of compassion drained from the earl's face at his comment.
"I always thought that you and Mary both harbored feelings towards each other," Robert stated flatly, pausing to catch his breath. "And I should hope that mere physical need didn't spur your actions that afternoon."
"Of course it was more than that," Matthew interjected, narrowing his eyes. "I love her."
His heart constricted, the disdain he felt for himself nearly crushing his windpipe.
"I could have never been with Mary in such a manner had I not," Matthew clarified, his voice dropping under the weight. "I wouldn't use her so shamefully."
"But use her you did."
The truth of Robert's accusation burned, singeing nerves already strung taught by the enormity of his shame. He closed his eyes, the stench of smoke almost tangible, the instinct to fight back nearly overpowering.
"It wasn't like that," Matthew returned, needing his cousin to understand. "Neither of us intended for things to get so out of hand. It just—"
He swallowed, clenching his fists, the memory how perfect she felt in his arms washing over him.
"It just happened."
It was suddenly difficult to breathe.
"That still doesn't explain why you had the audacity to walk away from her rather than attempting to make things right."
His gut twisted painfully, the issue he kept attempting to circumvent following him around with the persistence of an unwanted dog.
"I told you already," Matthew replied through clenched teeth. "I have no valid excuse for how I reacted. Believe me, I feel horribly guilty about what happened—"
"That's not good enough!"
His hand continued to shake, making him feel even more out of control of a situation he should have anticipated before it was ever created.
"I'm sorry, Robert, but I cannot change what happened all those months ago. All I can do now is attempt to repair what damaged I have already inflicted. Believe me when I say that I will do whatever it takes to both earn Mary's forgiveness and to be a proper husband to her and father to our son."
A measured silence met his impassioned declaration.
"So you have finally made her an offer of marriage."
His sigh was heavy and audible.
"Of course I have. The moment I learned of Christopher's existence."
"And has she accepted?"
Dark eyes creased from burdens too heavy shone in his mind's eye, her expression at his proposal hovering before him in remembrance.
"Yes," Matthew answered, wishing their engagement could have been a cause for celebration. "She has accepted."
"Well, thank God for that much, at least."
Robert resumed his pacing, never taking his eyes from the younger man as if sizing up his prey.
"When exactly will this wedding take place? Dare we hope for tomorrow?"
"I shall leave that up to Mary," Matthew contended, wheeling himself in Robert's direction. "But I think it's safe to say that we shall not wait too long."
"You've waited far too long already," Robert shot back, indignation hovering about him like a cloak. "And you still haven't explained to me why this offer was not given before Mary chose to isolate herself from her family in a doomed attempt to hide her condition."
Matthew bit back words he knew he would regret, pushing down frustration pulsating just beneath his pores.
"I have already told you that I can offer you no explanation. I acted worse than a cad and shall accept any repercussions that must follow my actions. But leave Mary out of this. She deserves no further censure from anyone."
Blood stilled in his veins at the older man's chuckle, the tremor finally beginning to abate as his ire rose.
"No further censure," Robert echoed. "Do you really believe you can shield her from it? Even if you married her within the hour, you cannot prevent the fact that it will follow Mary for the rest of her life."
"Perhaps not," Matthew returned hotly, "but I shall most certainly try."
"I don't expect to be shielded."
How she had slipped in the room unnoticed by either of them was a mystery. Yet there she stood, spine straight, eyes direct, breathing evenly as she stood before her father for the first time in nearly a year.
And she held the silent attention of both men with fingers she prayed did not tremble visibly.
"Mary."
Her father's whisper touched her physically, traversing the small space between them with an efficiency borne of blood.
"Hello, Papa."
The words nearly stuck in her throat, a lump formed the moment she saw the two of them starting back at her. An uneasy silence settled, one that sucked air from her lungs and moisture from her lips.
"Please. Say something."
Robert's brow flexed at her plea, his expression processing more than she had ever seen him take in at one moment.
"I don't know what to say, Mary," he admitted weakly. His jaw worked in silence, fingers tightening into a fist of sought composure.
Her stomach fluttered oddly, knees trembling beneath the cover of her skirts as she looked fully into the eyes of her father.
"You could start with welcome home."
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