Once again, I am humbled by the response this story has received. I thank all of you wonderful readers for your notes and reviews, and I am thrilled you keep this tale so close to your heart. Please forgive me for not answering all of you personally-my life is rather haywire at the moment as we are attempting to buy a new house and sell ours. Know that I read every review and hear what you have to say.
Special thanks to my partners in crime, miscreant rose and Cls2011 for their continued friendship, discussion and support. Our talks about this story have been some of my favorites, and I feel honored to have two sisters such as you.
Downton Abbey is the property of Julian Fellowes. If it were mine, I would be on a beach somewhere rather than continuing to put up with a long, cold winter. Sigh...As it is, I am thankful for stories to brighten the dark and warm the cold.
And with that, I shall leave you to this one.
Robert's eyes held her fast, the brew of pain shrouded in pride something Mary recognized all too well.
"Welcome home."
The flatness of his tone stung, and she fought back tears threatening with a will she clasped feverishly.
"I find it rather sad that I was greeted with more enthusiasm by Branson than by you."
His gaze widened in a flash.
"Don't," Robert commanded, raising his hand in emphasis. "You are fully aware of the complexity of the situation you have brought back with you."
His assertion hurt, just as she had anticipated. She cursed her emotional weakness, understanding that she could only blame so much of it on the lingering aftermath of giving birth.
"Christopher is not a situation."
Matthew's interruption drew their immediate attention, and he thought he saw the slightest trace of a smile on her lips, shimmering upon her mouth as starlight on the water. There—but just barely.
"No," Robert agreed, looking between the pair of them. "But he is the product of a most unfortunate one created by the two of you—one that must now be borne by the entire family."
"I know it is difficult," Mary stated, clasping her fingers in agitation. "But I cannot think of it as completely unfortunate when he was the end result."
"Don't be foolish, Mary," her father fought back, staring at her in exasperation. "It will be harder on your son than anyone. This will be a stigma he must bear for the rest of his life."
Her chest caved in at his declaration, the need to take her son and escape such scrutiny pressing against her uncomfortably.
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Matthew rebutted, wheeling himself knee to knee with the earl. "I shall do whatever it takes to shield and protect my son from unwarranted censure."
Her heart thudded against her ribcage, and she glimpsed a determination of will she had not witnessed since he walked away from her the first time.
But this time, he was moving in her direction. She only prayed he wouldn't change course.
"Censure brought about by your own actions," Robert threw back, pointing a finger directly at Matthew."
"We know, Papa," Mary stated, raising her hands in exasperation. "We are well aware of how our child was conceived."
Matthew's shoulders shook slightly in a laughter without mirth.
"Don't be smart, Mary," her father returned sharply, spinning on his heels.
"I'm not. I'm being honest."
She looked from one to the other, these men just becoming aware of what she had carried in silence for months.
"There is hardly any mystery in what happened between Matthew and me," she continued, garnering courage with every word given voice. "There is only one way of conceiving a child outside of the divine, and we're all well aware that there was no heavenly intervention in this case."
"This conversation is irrelevant and unnecessary," Robert insisted, his face reddening.
"It is hardly irrelevant," Mary insisted, stepping towards her father. "The fact that Matthew and I had intimate relations can no longer be hidden."
"No. It cannot," Robert spat, nostrils flaring. "It is a shameful fact of which everyone is now well aware." He paced restlessly, summoning a restraint Mary knew was on the verge of snapping. "If the two of you had done what you should have done immediately after your indiscretion, we would not be facing this predicament for which there is no viable solution."
"You mean the predicament of having a daughter who has borne a child out of wedlock."
The calmness of her tone startled even herself.
"Mary," Matthew intervened, the urgency in his tone nearly a plea. "Don't."
"Don't what?" she bit back. "Don't state the obvious? Don't admit to the truth of what has happened? Don't own up to the fact that I have shamed my family?"
She drew a breath, fisting hands in a nervous reflex.
"I have lived with this reality for months now," she continued, staring at both of them hard. "I don't necessarily like the circumstances in which we find ourselves, but here we are. We cannot change what has happened, and yelling at each other certainly won't get us anywhere."
"That's all very well, indeed," her father retorted, "But you cannot expect those of us just learning of this turn of events to simply accept them and move on as if nothing has changed."
"Why not?" Mary returned smoothly. "Granny has."
Robert turned on her quickly, raising a hand.
"You have not shamed the family, Mary," Matthew cut in, wheeling himself directly into the fray. "You acted with great courage and did everything in your power to shield everyone involved except yourself." He ran restless fingers through his hair, pressing his lips together tightly. "I am the one who acted shamefully, the only one who deserves whatever retaliation that must be faced."
"And just how do you propose to do that?" Robert questioned.
Pressure settled upon his shoulders as two pairs of curious eyes bore into him.
"I was thinking," he began, staring directly back at Mary. "Perhaps it would be best if we went north after we are married—back to Cumberland to get our bearings."
She had half-expected this after implications he had voiced earlier, yet to hear it stated so clearly left her somewhat dumb-struck. To go back as his wife to the life she had crafted without him, to share a bed with him in the house where she had cursed his very existence.
She wasn't certain how well this would work.
"Do you really think that running away is a viable answer?" Robert threw back. "That your actions will be considered acceptable simply because you are living elsewhere?"
"We wouldn't be running away," Matthew asserted, becoming more and more convinced that this plan of action might be best. "We would simply put some distance between ourselves and the immediate fall-out that is likely to occur."
The silence that greeted him sat heavily upon his chest.
"And just how long do you intend to stay there?" Robert questioned. "Until your son is grown? You have responsibilities to Downton, Matthew, regardless of the deplorable way in which you have conducted yourself, responsibilities you must take seriously."
"You know I take them seriously," Matthew shot back, shaking his head. "But I must place Mary and Christopher's well-being first this time. Surely you must see that."
The earl sighed audibly, pacing in his frustration.
"Do you agree with this plan, Mary?" he asked, forcing her to swallow down the pastiness in her mouth.
Her mind was still spinning, her thoughts so jumbled that summoning clarity required more energy than she possessed.
"I think it may be our best option," she heard herself respond, feeling somewhat detached from her body. "At least this way, Christopher can begin his life without censure or judgment."
"And you think it preferable for him to face his difficulties all at once?" her father questioned, taking a step in her direction. "To be confronted with stares and whispers for which he is unprepared?"
"Do you think it preferable for him to grow up surrounded by hostility?" Mary shot back, a primal protectiveness snaking through her veins. "He is a child—a child who has done nothing wrong."
"Be that as it may, he will bear the brunt of your actions, and you know it," Robert insisted.
"All the more reason to shelter him as best as we can," Matthew retaliated, moving towards Mary.
"Just as you sheltered my daughter when you left her with child and without an offer of marriage?"
The statement darkened the open space between them.
"Why go into this right now?" Mary inquired, sighing heavily in an attempt to chase the weariness from her limbs.
"There is no need," Matthew agreed, his tone sharpening as he tried to draw Mary's attention. "The past is the past, and we must now concentrate our efforts towards the future."
"You speak as though the past will simply go away," Robert mused, shaking his head. "That your reasons for not marrying sooner will no longer matter simply because you are now engaged."
"Let's not go back to that line of discussion," Matthew rebutted, his countenance darkening.
"You mean the reason you refused to offer Mary the proposal she deserved?" Robert spat, eyes flashing dangerously.
"Oh, for God's sake," Mary exclaimed, tossing up her hands, tired of the entire conversation. "Matthew has forgiven me my encounter with Mr. Pamuk. Why can't you?"
The shift in the room's atmosphere was palpable.
"What?"
A look of bewilderment met her head on, and she stared back at her father, a sickening realization burrowing into her joints.
He had not known of her past folly. She had just convicted herself.
"The dead Turk?" Robert questioned, his brow creased. "What does he have to do with any of this?"
"Nothing," Matthew stated, maneuvering his chair in front of her, facing Robert directly. "Nothing at all. Now can we kindly get back to the discussion at hand?"
"Mary?"
Her father's summons drew her gaze, holding her captive in a vice from which she could not break away. Her heart thudded audibly in her temples as all feeling rushed to her feet.
"Everything, actually," she admitted softly, watching her father's eyes narrow in confusion. "He's the reason Matthew didn't propose after we—"
"Stop it, Mary!" Matthew exclaimed, raising his hand. "There is no need to bring this up at all."
"There is every need," she argued. "I'm tired of hiding behind half-truths and deception. I'd prefer just to face it all and be done with it."
"What is it you feel the need to face?" her father shot back, stepping closer.
"Mary, I really—"
"Mr. Pamuk didn't die in his bead all those years ago," she blurted out, moving past Matthew, stepping over his protest. "He died in mine."
She stood unflinching, spine straight, neck regal, staring back at her father in a manner that both chilled him and flooded his chest with admiration.
"Wait," Robert stammered, turning away from her as he moved towards the window. "Are you saying that—"
"I am saying that when Matthew and I were together, it was not my first experience with a man."
The room seemed somehow suspended, and she watched the blood drain from her father's face as Matthew buried his in his hand.
"When Matthew realized this, he was hurt and angry," she continued, swallowing back the taste of bile burning her throat. "He then had to return to duty, and we were never given the opportunity to properly discuss it."
"To properly discuss it," Robert echoed softly, rubbing his chin in disbelief.
"That still doesn't excuse my behavior," Matthew murmured, raising his face to hers.
"This doesn't excuse anything!"
Robert's chest was heaving, his face now red.
"I'm sorry to lay this on you on top of everything else," Mary stated. "I assumed that Mama had already told you when she informed you about Christopher."
"No," her father bit back. "Your mother conveniently left out those details."
She closed her eyes, wishing she had taken a moment to speak with her mother before bursting into the line of fire.
"My God, Mary," Robert continued, looking at her as if she had morphed into a being he didn't recognize. "How could you?"
"Stop it, Robert," Matthew intervened, the boldness of his tone catching Mary off guard. "Direct any accusations you have at me, not at her."
"I'll address whomever I choose," the Earl snapped back, moving in uncomfortably close. "I'm waiting for an explanation, Mary."
"I'm afraid I don't have much of one to offer," she returned, dropping her hands. "I made a mistake, one I have regretted more than you can possibly know."
"One you shouldn't carry the blame for any longer," Matthew added firmly. "He showed up uninvited, Robert. The bastard forced his way into her room."
"Wait," Robert cut in. "He forced you?"
"Not like that," Mary sighed, feeling an urgent need to flee from the room.
"But he took advantage, nonetheless," Matthew insisted. "He put you in an impossible situation, Mary, one over which you had little to no control."
"Just as you did?" Robert shot back, pointing at Matthew squarely in the chest, sucking the breath from his lungs.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
"Being with Matthew was my choice," Mary insisted, stepping in between the two men. "There was no coercion involved on his part."
"But he did put you in an impossible situation," her father retaliated. "There is no denying that, is there Matthew?"
He stared up at Robert, taking in the mixture of ire, horror and confusion battling for dominance within the older man.
"No. There isn't," Matthew admitted, guilt twisting his intestines yet again. "I allowed my wounded pride to keep me from seeing the truth and doing what was right. As I told you earlier, Robert, I am the one who deserves censure, not Mary. Not Christopher."
"My God, what have you two done?"
She felt Matthew's hand graze her arm, a show of solidarity that made her tremble and ache.
"Perhaps it's time you met your grandson, Robert."
Her mother's voice startled them all, as did the soft wail of her son. Cora entered the room unflinchingly, carrying the fussy bundle directly to her husband as she bounced him lightly in a soothing motion.
"Robert, meet Christopher," Lady Grantham continued in a soft voice, smiling down at the babe in her arms. "Christopher, meet your grandfather."
The Earl stood as stoically as possible, attempting not to be effected by the infant before him.
"Why don't you hold him?" Cora insisted, moving the child into Robert's arms before he had a chance to protest. He stared down at the squirming form, his expression a mixture of hurt and wonder as he cradled him awkwardly. "He is beautiful, isn't he?"
The words of his wife cut through, rendering him uncomfortably helpless.
"Yes," Robert admitted in a whisper. "He is."
Mary's eyes widened in an attempt to take it all in. Her parents—holding her son, her illegitimate son. Matthew—the man who nearly broke her, now acting as both her defender and intended. It all hit her with force of an incoming tide, and her knees started to shake.
"You should sit down," Matthew noted, a slight tone of alarm in his voice, drawing the gazes of both of her parents.
"Yes, you should," Cora agreed, moving to her daughter and taking her arm, guiding her to the nearest chair. "You've been through quite an ordeal today."
"I'm fine," Mary insisted feebly, only half-believing her own assertion.
"Of course you are," Cora tossed back, "But you should save your strength. Being a new mother can take its toll on a body, and with all of the emotional stress you have had to manage, it's a wonder you haven't collapsed."
Her reprimand was clear, hitting masculine targets with precision as both looked away, unable to maintain eye contact.
"Perhaps you should go and lie down, Mary," Matthew offered, wheeling towards her slowly.
"And give you the opportunity to discuss me in my absence?" she mused, rubbing her forehead which was beginning to throb. "I'll stay, if you don't mind."
"What do you need?" her mother asked, the intensity of her scrutiny making Mary shift unconsciously.
"Some water, please," she answered, forcing herself to give her mother a tight smile as Cora exited the room. Christopher's insistent protest demanded her attention, and she extended her arms towards her father, noting his discomfort. Knotted muscles unwound as her son's familiar weight nuzzled into her chest, her world somehow less threatening as long as she held her child close.
Cora returned with a glass, followed closely by Isobel who moved to stand by her son.
"So this has turned into a town meeting?" Robert quipped, feeling decidedly outnumbered.
"Lady Grantham suggested that I join the discussion," Isobel returned brightly, glancing down at Matthew. "But I can leave if you feel that the timing is inappropriate."
"No," Mary stated, looking to the woman who would soon be her mother-in-law. "There's nothing to be said that you already don't know or won't hear of soon."
"So Isobel was already aware of the Pamuk situation, as well," Robert observed. "Am I the only one who was left completely in the dark concerning this matter?"
"No," Cora replied evenly. "Sybil doesn't know."
"Sybil."
It came out as a laugh, one that drew no smiles in response.
"My youngest daughter," Robert continued, looking back to them all. "I was given the same consideration as Sybil."
"Isobel was only recently informed," Mary inserted, creasing her brow. "When she discovered my whereabouts. You needn't feel as though you were purposely excluded, Papa."
"You neglected to inform me of what happened with Mr. Pamuk, your tryst with Matthew, your pregnancy, and the birth of my grandson," Robert retorted, his gaze piercing. "Why on earth should I feel excluded from the goings-on in my own home?"
"Forgive me, Robert, but is that the most pressing matter here?" Isobel inserted, garnering attention from the entire assembly. "It seems to me we should be discussing and planning a wedding as well as helping Mary and Matthew make plans for their future life rather than worrying about who learned what information when."
"She's right, Robert," Cora agreed softly, halting his protest before it could be voiced. "We can mull over those other details later. We have more important business to discuss."
"It would seem I have been overruled," Robert observed, his displeasure evident. "Fine. Let's discuss how Matthew believes that it would be best for he and Mary to take the baby and return north indefinitely."
A silence hovered around them all, Cora and Isobel exchanging glances Mary attempted futilely to read.
"What is it?" she finally asked, the unknown tensing her shoulders.
"Nothing, really," Isobel replied. "It's just that Lady Grantham and I were just discussing the merits of such a course of action in the other room."
"So you like the idea?" Matthew inquired. "You'll support us in this?"
"My dear, we shall support you no matter where the three of you decide to settle temporarily," Isobel confirmed, touching his shoulder. "But yes, we think this might be a wise move."
"Cora?" Robert breathed, staring at his wife in astonishment.
"Think about it, Robert," Lady Grantham returned. "This will give Mary and Matthew time to become reacquainted, and will also allow people here to adjust to the idea of them being married and having a child without them having to live under constant scrutiny."
"And how is Mary to care for both her son and her husband? Is she to resign herself to the life of a care-giver?"
The question hit Matthew with force, burning his cheeks as that reality took hold.
"We can hire a nurse," Cora replied. "One from that area who could help them on a full-time basis. And a nanny."
Mary's head began to swim.
"The house isn't that large, Mama," she put in. "I'm not certain we have sleeping quarters for that many."
"Then the nanny can come on a daily basis," Cora amended. "Although you will have to cover night duty."
"I already cover night duty," Mary returned curtly. "And day duty, for that matter."
"A nursing mother is on-call at all hours," Isobel agreed, deliberately avoiding Robert's uneasy expression. "But a part-time nanny could be helpful for you, my dear."
"Then it's settled," Cora affirmed, moving on quickly to the next order of business. "Now, shall we discuss the wedding?"
It seemed as though the subject was closed.
Christopher made a sound, and Mary looked down into dark eyes staring up at her in recognition. Yes—he knew her, was a part of her in a manner no other human being could claim. She stroked his head, wishing just a moment for the solitude of their nursery back in Cumberland.
Yet that solitude had borne the weight of crushing loneliness and loss. Now her family was no longer lost to her, and she and Matthew would be married.
Oh, God. Was she ready for this? Could she be the kind of wife he needed when there was still such hurt between them?
Matthew's eyes met hers across the room, fastening on securely, sharing questions harbored by them both. They were the living wounded, bearing scars both visible and hidden from the naked eye. How would they manage, she wondered, separated from all who knew them, left to find their way back together in seclusion?
Was this really such a good idea, after all?
He then smiled, and her heart squeezed, the need to believe in him warring with the searing pain dealt by his hand. She could not yet trust Matthew, but neither did she trust herself, her judgment when it came to him sorely lacking in both stamina and will. Their son gurgled and yawned, and a small hand stretched searchingly towards her chin. She leaned into his touch, smiling into a face more precious to her than the breath that filled her lungs.
A fire borne of blood infused her veins, lighting her from the inside with a determination beyond her own. Her feelings were irrelevant when it came to their future. This had to work. For him. For Christopher. And for her child, she would see it done.
As always, I would love your thoughts. :)