Part X

The night after his most recent tryst with Mary, Matthew stood before his open sock drawer, lifting out pair after pair of dainty, feminine undergarments. Each piece represented a beautiful memory to him, a moment spent with the woman he loved and adored over any other. He wondered if Mary cherished each memory as he did, or if she were only scratching an itch. He had thought that, by this time, he would have made more progress towards winning her heart than he had, but he was still somewhat pleased. Each time they met, she seemed to soften towards him a bit more. That afternoon had been the first time she had used an endearment when addressing him. That was something, surely. Even the way she looked at him had changed. There was a tenderness, a sweetness, in her gaze now that made him hope that perhaps, if he were very, very lucky, she might be developing some deeper feelings for him.

He fingered the lace edging on a pair of pale pink, silky knickers as he recalled the occasion on which Mary had worn them. She had been so eager that day that she hadn't even waited for him to get the blanket out before pushing him back against their tree, her fingers nearly tearing the buttons from his trousers as she freed him for her enjoyment. Feeling overheated by the intense arousal coursing through him, Matthew had shrugged off his jacket and loosened his collar and tie while his lady had busied herself with the buttons of his undergarments. Mary had immediately latched onto his exposed neck, leaving a mark that his collar would barely conceal, as she weighed his stones in her hand. If she hadn't dropped to her knees the moment she had, Matthew would have resorted to begging, so intense was his need. Somehow, she had sensed his desperation and taken pity on him, lowering herself to gently run her tongue up the underside of his engorged phallus. He had panted and groaned as she had taken what she could of him into her mouth, her soft little hands cradling what her mouth was unable to cover. She had been powerless to save her hair from his grasping fingers that day, her mouth having been entirely too full to utter any sound of protest. Matthew groaned at the memory. Just thinking about her sweet, hot mouth on him made him instantly hard.

The next pair was nude in color, and simply adorned with only a tiny lace edging around the legs. Those had been worn the day he showed her how they could please each other simultaneously, lying with her straddling his face as she pleasured him with her mouth and hands. Mary had seemed to greatly enjoy that, as she requested an encore performance the next week, while shimmying a pair of white satin knickers with pink lace edging down her graceful legs.

Finally, he pulled out the scrap of tiny, diaphanous white lace that marked his favorite memory - the day Mary wore red stockings for him. He loved the memory of that day, not just because of how breathtaking she had looked, but because that morning she had sent him a letter that had given him such sweet hope for their future together. A letter he still carried with him in his breast pocket each day.

Matthew decided to keep that pair out that night and replaced the others underneath the rolled pairs of socks in the drawer, shutting it securely behind him as he made his way to his bedroom. He sighed deeply as he climbed into bed, still rubbing the fine lace between his fingers. He lifted the garment to his nose, still barely able to detect her delectable scent on the fabric. He dearly wished she were with him at that moment, not as his lover, but as his wife. Yes, he wanted to make love to her, but he wanted more than that. He wanted to hold her in his arms as they drifted off to sleep together. He wanted her lovely face to be the first sight his eyes beheld when they opened the next morning. Her kisses would be the sweetest awakening.

One day. One day.

Unfortunately, "one day" seemed increasingly far off. Despite the incredible connection they shared in private, in public, Mary treated him much the same as she always had. She only seated herself beside him at dinner if left without any other choice, and only spoke to him if he spoke first. She showed him no mark of special preference when in the presence of her family. Neither did she show any interest in spending time with him in which they kept their hands to themselves and their clothing on their bodies. He wanted Mary to be a part of every aspect of his life, but she seemed to have put him in a safe, tidy little box that existed in her world for only one hour once a week.

He would keep trying, though. Mary was a woman worth fighting for, a woman in a million. Her feelings for him were growing, however hard she might try to resist them. He would simply have to hold on to his faith in the inevitability of their union. They were fated for each other, of that he was certain. Mary would see it, in time. It was up to him to be patient, and to show her.

He certainly did relish her fierce possessiveness of him. It was certainly encouraging, even mildly endearing. It meant that, on some level, she had already accepted that he was meant to belong to her - that it would be wrong for them to be with anyone other than each other. They had both been with others before finding each other, and, Matthew knew from experience, that nothing he had previously encountered had compared to the bliss he had found with Mary.

He could only imagine what actually joining with her would be like. It would be heavenly, he was certain. Not only would their bodies unite, but their souls, as well. For once, it would be more than a mere physical act born of lust and base instinct. He had had sex before, but he would make love with Mary. And they would have children together. Little dark-haired, dark-eyed boys and girls to fill their lives with laughter and joy. If only Mary could see the dream he did, the bright future he saw for them, perhaps they could both find the love and contentment they were meant to have.

Matthew's thoughts of Mary continued into the morning. She haunted his dreams, as she always did, and featured prominently in his first waking thoughts. He wished he could see her, but knew he was unlikely to until dinner at the big house two days from then. It could have been sooner, that very night even, if Mary had accepted his invitation to have dinner at Crawley House. He couldn't quite decide if it was time spent with him that she objected to, or if was time at Crawley House she found distasteful. It was hardly what she was used to, he understood that. If they were to marry, something would have to be worked out. Perhaps he could move to the Abbey. He wondered if Mary would accept an invitation to dinner at a nice restaurant or hotel. And there was always the theater or the opera. They would have to travel to London, of course, but he certainly wouldn't mind having her to himself for an evening. Dating was a new concept not yet widely accepted by "her lot" - or even his if he thought about it - but he was keen to try it out with Mary. He resolved to try his luck with her at the next possible opportunity.

The truth was, Matthew wanted Mary to be his girl in public as well as in private. He loved her and wanted to be with her, and didn't mind proclaiming the fact to the world. Whether or not Mary felt the same, he couldn't definitively say. Not yet. Sadly, if he were honest, he would have to admit that it was unlikely her feelings in this area had yet caught up with his. She didn't single him out at a family dinner, let alone anywhere else. This, like every other aspect of their relationship, would have to develop with time and a great exercise of patience on his part.

Over the weeks of constant preoccupation with all things Mary, Matthew had become quite adept at focusing his thoughts on work out of pure necessity. If he had gone on as he had the first week after the start of their secret relationship, he wouldn't have still had a job to speak of. Fortunately, he enjoyed his work - found it quite fascinating, really. It was enough to keep his thoughts semi-occupied, allowing him a reprieve from his increasingly-frustrating musings about Mary.

When lunch time rolled around, he was glad for an escape from the office. It was a lovely spring day, and he was eager to be out in it for the little time allowed him until later that afternoon. He donned his hat and coat and strolled happily out the door, stopping to collect his bicycle before heading out to enjoy the fine weather.

He was enjoying the breeze on his face when he rounded a corner and a familiar figure came into view just ahead. Even from behind, he immediately recognized Mary. It was as if his daydreams had materialized before him. A wide smile spread over his face as he approached her. He'd scarcely realized how much he'd missed her until she had unexpectedly appeared before him.

"Hello!" he called, but Mary continued walking purposely ahead.

Matthew eagerly dismounted and jogged the rest of the way up to her. She seemed to be very much lost in her thoughts.

In truth, Mary was lost in her thoughts. She had been ever since that morning. Her feelings for Matthew were beginning to worry her. The fact that she worried incessantly about her growing feelings for him worried her. Why couldn't life be simple? Why did people have to have expectations, and why did she have to care so much about not meeting them? Why could she not simply allow herself to like her charming lover who pleased her so much and was so kind, clever, and pleasant to be around? Was life truly intended to be so complex? so utterly confounding?

Mary was so absorbed in her self-questioning that she almost didn't take note of Matthew's approach.

"Is everything alright?" he asked kindly, clearly concerned by her perplexed frown.

"Oh! Hello," she greeted him politely, purposely refusing to dignify his ridiculous question with a response. "I'm about to send a telegram."

"Oh," was Matthew's only response. For the time being, he was content merely to walk along beside her and gaze upon her lovely face. Seeing her was such an unexpected pleasure, he couldn't help smiling.

A short conversation about Mary's aunt, Lady Rosimund ensued. It was harmless enough, until Matthew made some ill-conceived comment about Mary's aunt having been generous enough to write to welcome him into the family.

"It's easy to be generous when you have nothing to lose," Mary blurted out before she had a chance to think about what she was saying. She didn't intend to pick a fight with Matthew in the middle of town. In fact, she thought it would be prudent to escape his company as soon as possible. The urge to rend that horrid, ill-fitting black suit from his body and demand that he, once again, offer retribution for the sin of his very existence was becoming too much. Strangely enough, that thought led to the remembrance of something else that had been bothering her lately.

"You're not planning on doing any more church visiting with Edith, are you?" she asked petulantly. Edith had had her beady eye on Matthew for some time, and Mary couldn't like it at all. It would certainly give her a certain amount of satisfaction to have Edith's husband as her lover, but she hated the thought of Edith doing things with him that she couldn't. And the thought of Edith having his child...of Edith becoming his countess... Each thought was more intolerable than the last. She would, and probably could, put a stop to it all before things went any further in that direction.

"My mother's trying to set something up, but I..."

"Watch out," Mary interrupted him, "Edith has big plans for you."

"Then she's in for an equally big disappointment," Matthew responded finally. Edith was his cousin and a, sometimes, pleasant young lady to be around, but in no way could she compete with Mary for his affections or attentions.

Mary seemed happy with his answer. Her smile had become genuine, if perhaps a bit smug. They had reached the door of the telegram office, and Mary, having nothing further she wished to say, turned and started to go inside. Hating the thought of parting from her so soon, Matthew called out to her retreating form.

"Cousin Mary," he called, remembering to use their public form of address, "would you allow me to buy you lunch? There's a little cafe just around the corner, and I would greatly enjoy your company. I'll wait for you out here."

Mary sighed in exasperation. She hated having to disappoint Matthew (but refused, of course, to think about the reason why) yet, she knew that it was dangerous to spend too much time with him. Besides, if anyone were to see them together - eating lunch together at a little hole-in-the-wall cafe, no less - she would be utterly humiliated. If word got back to her family that she and Matthew were seeing each other outside of family gatherings, she would never have a moment's peace. They would be force-marched to the alter before the month was out. No, it was safer that she didn't spend time with him in public, for the sake of her sanity as well as her heart.

My heart? What utter nonsense! Mary Crawley doesn't have a heart.

"Thank you for the invitation, Cousin Matthew, but I'm afraid I must decline." Seeing, and caring, about the sudden disappearance of his charming smile at her refusal, Mary quickly added, "I've already eaten."

"Perhaps tomorrow then?" Matthew tried again, refusing to back down so easily.

Mary was his girl, and it was high time she started behaving like it in public as well as in private.

"Oh...I'm afraid I can't tomorrow either. I'm...sure Mama couldn't spare me." It was an obvious contrivance, she knew, but she simply couldn't allow things between them to take that next step. It could lead nowhere good. Surely he knew that.

"I hear you loud and clear, Cousin Mary," Matthew answered, deeply hurt by her rejection. He prepared to beat a hasty retreat on his bicycle. "Good day to you."

The sadness in his lovely eyes sent a painful lurch shooting through Mary's heart, causing her legs and arms to feel weak and useless. Suddenly, she wanted to have lunch with him more than anything else in the world. Anything to make him smile. Anything to keep him from leaving her side. Anything to be close to him. What else could possibly matter?

"Matthew, wait!" she called as loudly as she dared, but he didn't turn. He just kept pedaling further and further away from her.

Mary still had enough pride not to run after him in the middle of the street, so she fixed her mask of haughty indifference firmly in place, and continued on her errand.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Not much steam in this chapter, but things are moving right along as far as the plot goes. Mary is slowly starting to recognize her feelings for Matthew. Let's hope she fully accepts them before she drives him away for good.

A quick note regarding my characterization of Matthew:

I'm using the "courtly love" model in my characterization of Matthew in this fic. If he seems a bit love-lorn and pathetic sometimes, it is deliberate. Courtly love revolved around the man, usually a knight, who was deeply in love with a lady who repeatedly spurned his advances and even ridiculed him for his ardent expressions of love and devotion. The knight may even go so far as to believe he will die without the love of his lady. No matter how she spurns him, he cannot help loving her. Needless to say, I haven't taken M&M to that extreme, but it was this notion that inspired my characterization of Matthew in particular. Medieval and Renaissance literature and history are my first loves, so I have to give them a nod sometimes. :)

Thanks again for reading!