A/N: SO, SO, SOOOOO SORRY for the long wait for this chapter, dear readers! My life has undergone some major changes these past weeks: new career, new guy, drama with new guy, no more new guy...*sigh* Anyway, all of that left me with little time and even less energy for writing. But here it is, my humble offering of another chapter, albeit a bit of a short one. Thank you all for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoy. :)


Chapter 9

Matthew shifted uncomfortably in the swaying train as they approached Downton station. He glanced over at his wife seated quietly beside him, her deep brown eyes fixed on him, always conscious of his discomfort, though she never mentioned it.

"Almost there," he spoke casually to break the silence, and Mary answered with a prim nod before turning to gaze out the window. It seemed like ages since she'd been back, and she was eager to see her family and to give them the good news of her condition. Almost as soon as her thoughts turned in that direction, she gasped, her hands flying to cover her lower abdomen.

"Darling, what is it?" Matthew asked, instantly concerned.

"I just...I think I just felt him move!" Mary responded breathlessly, still in awe over what she'd just felt.

"Truly?" His eyes were wide and full of wonder.

Mary nodded, her smile bright as she exhaled a brief, joyful laugh.

"Is this the first time you've felt it?" Isobel asked as she placed her book back in her valise.

"No," Mary answered thoughtfully. "It happened a few days ago, but I wasn't sure what it was. It just felt like...bubbles." Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment at discussing so intimate a matter, but she was so happy she couldn't completely care. "It was so brief, I hardly had time to notice before it was over."

"Your baby has quickened, my dear. You're about three months along, so I'd say it's time. You'll start feeling he or she move every once in a while from now on," the proud grandmother-to-be concluded with a smile.

"That's so wonderful, darling," Matthew spoke quietly, reaching to take one of her hands in his. Isobel politely turned her gaze to the passing scenery.

"I'm so glad to be going home, even if it's only for a brief visit," Mary mused aloud as they carefully stepped down onto the platform several minutes later. "I didn't realize until just now how much I missed it."

Matthew smiled indulgently at Mary's sentiment, though he couldn't say he shared it. He'd enjoyed having her all to himself - having their own establishment away from the tradition and ceremony of life at Downton. And he wasn't at all ready to give that up.

"I'm glad to be going home too," Isobel chimed in as they all scanned the area for any sign of the car or the chauffeur.

"Oh, where is that Branson?" Mary lamented when they realized that their ride was nowhere to be found. "The train was ten minutes late, for God's sake!"

"Isn't that your father's car there?" Matthew asked, pointing to an approaching vehicle a good way down the road.

Shielding her eyes with one gloved hand, Mary squinted into the distance before announcing, "Yes, it is! I can't imagine what kept Branson, but I'm sure Papa will have something to say about it when I tell him how long we've been waiting."

"Well, why don't we withhold judgment until we hear his explanation," Isobel countered. "I'm sure he has a perfectly good reason for keeping us waiting."

"He'd better," Mary concluded as she slipped her arm though Matthew's, who was shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot.

As the car drew closer, Matthew was the first to realize its driver wasn't the chauffeur in question after all. "It isn't Branson at all. It's Edith," he announced, much to the surprise of the ladies.

"Edith?!" Mary exclaimed. "Why on earth would Papa send her to get us when we've a perfectly good chauffeur?"

"I do hope Branson isn't unwell," mused a concerned Isobel.

The brakes squealed as the car skidded to a stop, sending gravel flying dangerously in every direction. A frazzled-looking Edith emerged from the driver's seat, her face flushed and her hair slightly askew.

"Edith, what on earth...Where's Branson?"

"Get in, quickly," she interrupted her impatient older sister. "Something's happened...Papa will explain everything when we get to the house."

Matthew's expression grew concerned. "I do hope it isn't serious."

Edith looked up at him, her expression one of irritation with a hint of sarcasm. "Well, nobody's died," she quipped before disappearing into car again.

Mary and Matthew shared a brief glance before boarding the vehicle as quickly as possible. After dropping Isobel off at Crawley House, they turned again homeward. Gone were all their dreams of a pleasant evening spent among family in shared joy for the future. Their thoughts were already at Downton, wondering with an unsettling sense of dread just what sort of misfortune they'd find when they arrived there. Mary could only hope Edith was being dramatic and that there was really nothing terribly wrong. But one look at Carson's grave expression as he opened the car door for her put an end to Mary's hopes.

"Where is everyone, Carson?" she asked, realizing that no one was there to greet them.

"Your mother is still upstairs, milady. She asked me to have you wait for her in the library. Your father is...out. He isn't expected back until late."

"What is it, Carson? What's happened?"

The old butler smiled sadly down into Mary's worried eyes before gently placing a hand on her arm. "Nothing to get too alarmed about, milady. I'll leave it to her ladyship to explain the rest."

Mary nodded woodenly as she and Matthew ascended the steps and entered they eerily silent house. They were ushered into the library where they seated themselves stiffly on one overstuffed red sofa, their expressions grave. Matthew shoved a decorative pillow behind his back as he tried, without much luck, to find a comfortable position. Mary's fingers twisted together in her lap as she counted each tick of the clock on the mantle, her patience wearing increasingly thin with each passing second that did not offer any answers.

When, at last, the countess entered the room, it was with puffy eyes and a sad smile.

"Please, don't get up, Matthew," she spoke politely before seating herself across from them on the divan. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, Matthew again relaxed against the cushions.

"Mama, if you don't tell me this instant what's happened...I don't know what I'll think," Mary groaned, exasperation and worry creasing her brow.

"Then I won't beat around the bush, my dear," Cora sighed, her sad smile still fixed politely in place as she continued. "It's Sybil, she...Well, she's run away. She's...eloped," she spat out the word like a mouthful of poison, "with Branson!"


Mary silently fumed as she prepared for bed in their old room late that night, pulling the brush roughly through her hair as she scowled at her reflection in the glass. She didn't turn around when she heard Matthew come in and greet Anna with his usual politeness, which sent a little fission of irritation zinging through her. She began to brush even harder.

"Shall I braid it now, milady?" Anna asked softly, her kind smile knowing as she looked down at her mistress and friend with a gentle compassion that instantly softened Mary's demeanor.

"Yes, please. I'm sorry if I've been gruff with you this evening, Anna."

"Don't apologize," Anna spoke immediately. "I'm worried about Lady Sybil too. We all are."

"Of course. I'm sure it's the favorite topic of conversation downstairs."

"Mr. Carson won't hear a word of it. He says anyone he catches speaking of it can pack his bags and leave immediately."

"Or her bags," Mary added under her breath, an image of O'Brien's sneering face filling her mind, making her blood boil.

"Will that be all, milady?" Anna asked as she tied off the ribbon at the end of Mary's long braid.

"Yes, thank you." Mary stood as Anna bid them both a good night and made her way to the door. "It is good to see you again," she added just before the maid disappeared into the hallway.

Matthew pulled the covers aside for her, and she jerked them up over herself with a huff as she settled against the pillows, irritated that she wasn't even permitted to fully enjoy being back in her own home, in their own bedroom, or seeing Anna again, not to mention she hadn't even seen her father or had a chance to share their news. A low whine from the other side of the door broke the heavy silence, and Mary rolled her eyes.

"Won't you let him in, darling?" Matthew asked almost hesitantly, his eyes irritatingly warm and beseeching as he held her steely gaze.

Mary rolled her eyes a second time as she threw the covers back again with a sigh. Puck's tongue lolled happily from his open mouth as he trotted into the room and curled up on the floor on Matthew's side of the bed, so blissfully ignorant of the troubles plaguing his mistress' mind. He only knew his master was back again, and that was cause enough for happiness. Matthew himself didn't seem as bothered about the elopement as he ought, Mary decided, her pique rising again as she observed his calm, relaxed demeanor, a slight deepening of the lines around his eyes the only indication he was at all concerned about the scandal that was about to befall them all.

"Mary, didn't your mother ever tell you that, if you're not careful, your face will permanently freeze that way?"

Mary's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. "Matthew Crawley!" she chastened. "I can't believe you're taking this so lightly. Aren't you the least bit concerned that your sister-in-law - my baby sister - has just destroyed any chance she had at a future? Not to mention any semblance of a chance Edith might have had..."

"Darling, of course I'm concerned about Sybil," Matthew responded sincerely, reaching across the vast empty expanse of counterpane between them to capture Mary's hand, holding it fast when she tried to pull away. "But Branson seems like a good sort of fellow who wouldn't take advantage of her, and, after all, she did say in her letter that they are in love." He paused, his thumb stroking soothing circles over the back of his agitated wife's hand as his gaze captured and held hers. "I may not approve of their method, but, if it truly is love, everything else will eventually fall into place."

"Love? With the chauffeur?" Mary scoffed, reclaiming her hand under the pretext of adjusting the sheets around her. "Don't be ridiculous, Matthew."

"Well, what about love with a middle-class solicitor?"

"That was different, and you know it," she shot back with a huff.

"Was it really?" Matthew's hands fisted in the bedclothes, knuckles turning white even as his face reddened. "What if that fellow who claimed to be Patrick Crawley hadn't run off when he did? What if I had never recovered the use of my legs? I don't see how a penniless cripple without even the dubious dignity of working for a living is any better than a chauffeur."

"Don't be silly. The two situations are, in no way, comparable. Now, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me get some sleep."

"You know what I think, Mary?" Matthew turned carefully to face her, sitting up straighter as she lay down against the pillows. "I think that, if not for the accident of birth that made me your father's distant cousin, you would never have glanced twice at me. I might have been born a lowly chauffeur. Would you have wanted to be with me then? Would you have fought for us like you did when I was wounded if that had been the case?"

Silence descended on the room like a heavy fog, engulfing them both in its icy tendrils. With a huff, Matthew swung his legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for his dressing gown.

"Where are you going?" Mary asked, a little flutter of worry momentarily breaking though her anger. Anger at Sybil, at Branson...anger at Matthew for having the nerve to say such things to her. But, most of all, anger at herself for being unable to contradict him.

"Puck and I are going to sleep in the dressing room," he drawled, and the dozing dog at his feet perked up at the sound of his name falling from his master's lips.

Mary watched in stunned silence as Matthew limped to the door, pausing momentarily for Puck to follow him out, before closing it behind him with an ominous click, leaving Mary feeling very much alone.


Thank you so much for reading! If you have a few moments, I would greatly value your thoughts. :)