The weeks following the awful day Mary's scandal was published were difficult, filled with a mad mixture of emotions that seemed to confuse everyone.

Robert was furious with the world in general, while Cora was sad, watching as Mary never once came to her for comfort or advice, and never once said anything beyond polite banalities.

A small dinner party that had been planned was cancelled because the guests all politely let Cora know that they couldn't attend for some reason or another. None of the family received any invitations to anything.

A few of Mary's friends telephoned or wrote, assuring her that they didn't believe the stories for a minute. Most didn't. A few times in Ripon and once in the village, men leered or whistled at her.

While the her morning sickness really was much better, Mary was still unusually tired, although that may have been entirely due to the fact she wasn't sleeping as well as she usually did. There was just too much going on, too many thoughts crowding her mind, too many confusing emotions, and all of it amplified by the hormonal upheaval of pregnancy. The world hadn't ended when her scandal was published, but it had changed. She could never be sure what people's true intentions were when they congratulated her on her pregnancy or said they were sorry about the newspaper story.

She was also becoming increasingly alarmed at her changing body, and twice Matthew had found her sitting on the bed crying, holding an item of clothing that she had just discovered didn't fit her anymore. He had tried to reassure her, but it hadn't worked very well. She was still barely showing and it was impossible to see any difference through clothes, but still it bothered her and she couldn't explain to herself, or to anyone else, why.

Matthew, with the assistance of his colleagues at Harvell and Carter, wrote an official letter to Carlisle's paper as he had said he would. He was actually quite confident that they would win if they took Carlisle to court, and he would quite like to see the man humiliated. It would be easy enough to prove that it was possible for him to be the father of Mary's child, and he was confident that legally, they could win the battle over whether the Pamuk story was true or not, as the burden of proof was on Carlisle and there was no real proof. But that would only draw out the scandal and put Mary under unnecessary stress when she was pregnant, and winning legally would not save her from malicious gossip. Their best hope was that Carlisle, or at least his lawyer, would see that it was in his best interests to simply print the apology and retraction.

Other than that, Matthew felt as if there was nothing he could do. He held Mary at night, told her over and over that he loved her and that everything would be alright. But it didn't feel like enough. He wanted to protect her from the world and every unkind word or thought, but it wasn't possible.

And yet, through all the difficulty and the stress, there was hope. As Mary had said, it could only get better from here. However difficult things got, they didn't lose sight of the miracle of Mary's pregnancy. There was so much to look forward to, and they had been through harder times than this. This time next year, they would have their baby and the worst of the scandal would have blown over. In the meantime, they had each other and for now that was more than enough.

"It's worked! Mary, it's worked!" Matthew cried, brandishing the newspaper triumphantly. "It's here, the message apologising for the lies they told about you. Of course they don't use the word 'lies', but it's obvious what they mean to anyone with a brain. They use the phrase, 'misreported facts and unsubstantiated theories', but the very fact that this is printed in the paper makes it clear that that article was nonsense, and makes Carlisle look ridiculous."

Mary, who was still in bed, having just finished her breakfast when Matthew had burst into the room, sank back on the pillows and smiled. Thank God! No, she told herself, God had nothing to do with it. Thank Matthew, for it was his letter that had ensured the paper had no choice but to print an apology. It had been two weeks since the article had been published, and everything was already beginning to get better. Of course, the scandal would not be forgotten in the near future, and her reputation would always be stained by it, but she was married now and it really didn't matter to her as it would have done only a few years ago.

Matthew came over to the bed and Mary pushed back the covers and slid off the bed into his lap. They kissed passionately, both of them filled with joy and thankfulness for the success of Matthew's plan. There was nothing to ruin their joy now, and they savoured their moment of victory.

"What would I do without you, darling?" Mary said softly as they drew apart. "And in time for tonight as well. It will make things so much easier."

It was Edith and Anthony's wedding anniversary that night, and they were having a large party that evening. Loxley House was full of guests staying the night, but of course the family lived close enough that this wasn't necessary for them, and they were just joining the party for dinner that evening. With Edith pregnant, it was going to be a happy occasion.

Mary had been worried that it would be awful. She had worried that the guests might not even speak to her, and would look at her in horror and disgust, especially as most of the guests were likely to be old and traditional, since they were friends of Sir Anthony. But now, perhaps she would get their sympathy and kindness, as the victim of a jealous spurned suitor.

Aunt Rosamund had written the day before to say that hers and Robert's plan seemed to be working as well, and she had two friends who had been acquaintances of Carlisle's who had now cut him entirely.

The party would be a good test of society's opinion, and receiving two pieces of good news in two day made Mary hopeful that it would be a success.

By the time evening came and it was time to leave for Loxley however, Mary was rather wishing she didn't have to go. There might not be the danger of her being ridiculed and despised, as might have been the case had Matthew's plan not worked, but there would be gossip and whispers and stares. In addition, she wasn't looking forward to an evening of sitting around talking to boring old men like Anthony. She had come to grudgingly respect her brother-in-law, and she knew that he was kind and good and intelligent. But he was just so dull, and consequently had many friends who were also dull. Edith, of course, got on with them well, but then Mary supposed she must be considered popular and interesting as a young, pretty new Lady Strallen.

Mary had never thought of her sister as being pretty. In fact, she had teased her mercilessly for being the ugly sister. But since her marriage, Edith had blossomed, and even Mary had to admit to herself that her sister was actually quite beautiful. She felt rather guilty for her behaviour to her younger sister in the past. But that was all in the past now, thank goodness. Living in separate houses really had done wonders for their relationship.

Mary was brought back to the present by Matthew coming onto the room. She watched him come towards her in the mirror, smiling more and more as he got closer. When he came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, she shivered with pleasure.

"You look lovely as always," he said, running his hands down her bare arms.

"Do you think this dress is a good idea?" she asked, glancing down at her small but visible baby bump. Most clothes could still hide it, but she felt tonight as if she wanted everyone to see that she was proud and happy, and that she had nothing to hide.

"You will outshine everyone in the room," he assured her. "It's not like it's a secret that we're having a baby, and if it was socially acceptable, I would spend the evening talking about nothing else. I know things haven't been easy these past weeks, but I'm so happy, darling."

"So am I. I want everyone to know I'm proud to be carrying my husband's child. But… I'm still scared, Matthew. I hate it, but I am."

"It's alright to be scared," Matthew said, caressing her cheek with one hand as he placed the other on her stomach. "It's not fair that our wonderful news has been greeted the way it has. But now the paper has admitted it was wrong everyone will be doubting the story, and if we appear to be happy and confident, and are angry and scathing of Carlisle, they'll see that it was nonsense."

Mary took a deep breath and nodded slowly. She turned on her stool so she was facing Matthew and smiled. "You're right. We'll be fine." She smirked suddenly and added, "As long as Anthony's friends don't bore us to death by then end of the evening."

Matthew laughed, but then tried to look stern and disapproving. "Don't be unkind, darling. They are his friends, and this is his night, his and Edith's." But the way his eyes were glittering with mirth belied his seriousness.

Mary shook her head, then leaned in to kiss him.

"You don't think we could cry off and just… go to bed?" Mary said hopefully as she drew away. "Surely it's one of the advantages of pregnancy that I can say I'm tired and go to bed whenever I want?"

"We are not missing your sister's wedding anniversary dinner. We can leave early if you want, and there will be plenty of time for bed after the party. You must be patient, my love."

"You must know by now that patience has never been my strong suit. But you're right, I suppose."

They leaned in to kiss again, but were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Mary, Mr Crawley? Lord and Lady Grantham sent me to find you and tell you they're ready to leave."

It was Anna, and Mary and Matthew suddenly realised it was time to go if they were not to be late.

As it turned out, they were not quite late, but they were almost the last to arrive, since Anthony's friends were generally the type of people to whom punctuality was important.

Edith greeted them enthusiastically but politely, trying to show off her ability to be the perfect hostess to her family. Anthony stood behind her, seeming to enjoy watching her take charge.

They guests assembled in the drawing room before dinner. It was rather crowded, for although Loxley was not a small house, its dimensions were nowhere near those of Downton Abbey, and Edith, it seemed, had invited the number of people she had been accustomed to seeing at parties held at home when she was young.

When they Crawleys entered the room, however, the loud chatter slowly died down as everyone tried to look at Mary and Matthew without seeming to stare, as that would look ill-bred. Matthew, knowing that they were likely judging his ability to father children and Mary's virtue, forced a polite smile and sat with a carefully erect and confident posture in his chair. Mary, having always been accomplished at catching the eyes of a crowded room without visible effort, did so now. When she knew everyone was watching her, she placed her hands on her small bump and smiled. To the rest of the room, it looked like an unconscious and automatic action, but Matthew knew that it was carefully calculated.

Mary went over to someone she vaguely knew, Mrs Waterhouse, the wife of one of Anthony's friends from his (long ago) university days, and began a casual and light conversation. The rest of the guests began to talk amongst themselves again, and the moment of tension passed.

Mrs Waterhouse looked pointedly at Mary's stomach after a few minutes of meaningless small talk.

"I understand you are to be congratulated," she said with a smile.

"Yes. Thank you. Matthew and I are very happy," Mary replied carefully.

"How marvellous. And may I just say how very sorry I am about those terrible stories about you in the paper. I understand you were once engaged to the owner of that newspaper?" Mrs Waterhouse asked, clearly trying to see how far she could probe for answers.

"Yes, I was, and he was not pleased when I broke off the engagement."

"But it is all untrue, of course, the stories?" Mrs Waterhouse asked carefully.

"I don't know whether you have seen it, but the paper printed a statement today, taking back the lies they had published, in order to avoid being taken to court for libel," Mary said defiantly.

"Of course, of course. It must have been so awful for you, and your husband too, especially the delicate matter of the parentage of your child being questioned."

"Well, it certainly was not pleasant to have lies about me and my husband printed in a newspaper, but we do not consider the parentage of my child to be a delicate matter; it is in fact very simple. My husband it the father of my child. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and greet Lady Clayton."

Mary walked away feeling angry. She suspected that most conversation tonight were going to run along similar lines: seemingly well-meaning and polite questions and sympathy, designed to glean as much information as possible from her without seeming to be overly interested in vulgar scandal.

She suspected that Matthew would not be having an easy time of it either, and looked for him in the crowded room. First, however, she had to greet Lady Clayton, in case Mrs Waterhouse was still watching her.

As Mary had predicted, Matthew was not enjoying himself much. He had been talking to Anthony when two elderly and slightly overweight men, who turned out to be military men who had served as generals in the war, had come over to talk to their host. Then Edith had dragged Anthony away to meet someone, and Matthew had been left alone with them. He wondered why he had let himself be separated from Mary.

He found men like this irritating at the best of times; they had sat at desks and looked at maps and sent thousands of young men to their deaths, without ever being in much danger themselves. He was not stupid or bitter; he knew that it was necessary to have someone to make hard decisions in wars, and that the functions fulfilled by generals who stayed a safe distance from the front line were necessary.

But while there were certainly heroes who had not fought on the front line, he suspected almost immediately that these men were not like that, but rather, the old-fashioned generals who had attempted again and again to attack as if there were no such things as machine guns and barbed wire, never seeming to learn from the mistakes and losses.

Anthony had introduced the first general, a tall man with white hair and a moustache, as Lieutenant-General Hopwood, and the second, a shorter and fatter man with thin greying hair that may once have been black, as Major-General Osbourne, and they both looked plump and self-satisfied. They didn't look as if they had missed a meal in their lives, never mind spent months on the meagre rations the men had been forced to live on in the trenches.

As Matthew had expected, their first questions were about his service in the war: 'What rank? Which regiment? Did you volunteer? When?' There were few things he would have liked to talk about less, but he could see no polite way of escaping, so he was forced to answer as politely as he could manage.

Then it got worse: 'When were you injured?' was the next question. Matthew answered, then opened his mouth to change the subject, desperate to talk about something, anything else. He was interrupted by Hopwood.

"Our country owes you our thanks for your sacrifice. Amiens was the beginning of the end for the Germans..."

Well I didn't have much to do with that Matthew thought. I was lying unconscious in a shell hole for most of the first day, and I didn't even know the rest of the battle was happening. He didn't say anything, and tried not to show his discomfort and irritation. Surely it would be time to go through to the dining room soon? And where on earth was Mary?

"…so it was all worth it in the end. Every man killed or crippled was a terrible loss of course, but at least we can comfort ourselves with the thought that it was worth it," Hopwood finished. He placed a hand awkwardly on Matthew's shoulder and looked down at him with pity obvious in his expression, pity that was also reflected in Osbourne's eyes. Matthew wanted to jerk his shoulder away, wanted to hit the stupid generals, wanted to shout at them.

Because how could anyone still cling to the belief that it had all been worth it? How could they justify the mass slaughter of millions of young men, men with their whole lives in front of them, by simply saying vaguely that it had been worth it?

But somehow, he managed to maintain his polite smile, which was by now strained and tight and uncomfortable. He did not want to ruin his sister-in-law's party.

Thankfully, he didn't have to endure it for any longer. The butler came in, cleared his throat and announced that dinner was served. Hopwood removed his hand from Matthew's shoulder and gave him a patronising and obviously false smile. Osbourne's glance swept down from Matthew's face to his legs, the pity turning to a vague sadness mixed with distaste. He shook his head slightly and went with Hopwood in search of the ladies they were supposed to be taking through to the dining room.

Matthew stayed where he was and took several deep breaths. He looked down at his legs and felt the familiar disgust and depression rising up inside himself, accompanied by grief for all the friends he had lost and anger at the generals, and everyone else who had contributed to making the war happen.

He started when he felt a hand on his shoulder, then relaxed when he realised it was Mary's.

"Matthew, are you alright?" she asked worriedly. She had found him in a corner, his posture slumped, his head down, and clearly he wasn't alright. But she hadn't known what else to say.

Matthew tried to force a smile as he looked up at her. "Fine. Come on, I suppose we ought to go through."

Mary frowned at him. "Tell me." She knew there was something wrong; his smile did not reach his eyes and he still hadn't properly straightened up.

"Later," was all he could manage as a reply. Then he looked properly at Mary and saw that she too looked upset. This was far more effective than anything else could have been at dragging him out of his misery. "What about you? Are you alright?"

"Later," Mary said quickly. "You're right, there's not time to talk now; we need to go through. I don't think we're going to be next to each other at dinner either; Edith will be following all the rules to the letter."

"Well, it's a shame, but we didn't expect anything different, did we? We can get through this, darling. No, not get through it, we will enjoy it. Come on."

Dinner seemed to go on forever. Despite what Matthew had said about enjoying dinner, he found that he wasn't enjoying it at all. It took a lot of effort and energy to make polite conversation with the Ladies who were sitting on either side of him when his thoughts were occupied with other things. But he hid his feelings well enough that nobody seemed to notice except Mary, who kept casting him worried glances.

Mary, more accomplished and experienced at suppressing her emotions than Matthew, did so almost without thinking. She laughed and conversed with the men on either side of her, hardly noticing who they were. She knew that rather a lot of the guests were casting surreptitious glances at her, thinking she wouldn't notice. She wondered what it would have been like if the paper hadn't published its retraction of the claims it had made, and shuddered.

When Edith finally rose and signalled for the Ladies to go through to the drawing room, Matthew wished desperately that he could go with Mary, then make their excuses and leave. They had to get through this though; they needed to show that they had nothing to be ashamed of.

As it turned out, it was not as bad as he had feared. With the Ladies gone, the atmosphere was far more informal, and Matthew could sit and talk with the people he knew, and drink enough high-quality whisky to calm his nerves.

Mary, meanwhile, was spending her time being politely interrogated about her relationship and engagement to Sir Richard Carlisle and her pregnancy, by a mixture of old acquaintances of Anthony's and friends of Edith's. At each comment or question, she grew increasingly irritated and exasperated. She was tempted to go and stand on a chair and announce that yes, she was pregnant, and yes, it was her husband's child, and yes, she had been engaged to Sir Richard, and yes, he was an utter bastard who had tried to ruin her out of jealousy and spite.

That would hardly help the situation though, so she suffered in silence, keeping up her false smile and laughter.

When the men came through, the drawing room became rather crowded again. Determined not to allow herself and Matthew be separated again, Mary went straight over to him when she saw him come through the door. She was glad to see him looking more relaxed than earlier, although his smile faded when he saw how tired she was looking. He knew how much it cost her to keep up appearances constantly as she did, and he could see straight through her false smile.

"Darling?" he said gently when they reached each other. "Do you want to go home?"

"Honestly, yes, but we mustn't. It's too early, it will draw attention. Edith says there's going to be dancing soon; they've got a gramophone now, and want to show it off, I suppose. If everyone else is dancing, we can find a quiet corner and it will be alright. I doubt Mama and Papa will want to stay late anyway, so it won't be too long," Mary replied wearily.

At that moment, Edith called for attention and announced that they would all go through to the hall for the dancing. There was an excited buzz as everyone looked forward to the still modern and exciting concept of dancing to music from a gramophone, and the guests followed their hostess through. The music was already playing, and the room had been cleared to make a dancefloor, so couples began to dance almost immediately.

Mary and Matthew found a quiet corner, as they had hoped, and relaxed, away from other people's scrutiny and stares. For a while, they were silent, savouring the relative peace and enjoying the music.

"So tell me then. What's upsetting you?" Matthew asked after a few minutes. "Has anyone insulted you, or been rude or unkind? Because if they have, I swear I'll…"

"No, nothing so… obvious." Mary sighed. "But I hear one more gleeful comment about how simply awful it must have been to have my name all over the papers, and in connection with something so scandalous, I shall scream. Everyone is desperate to know how much of it is true, but of course they can't ask outright, so they must be sly about it. And to think these are Anthony and Edith's friends too…"

Mary broke off and shook her head.

Then she raised her eyes to look at Matthew, the anger and frustration that had been there a moment ago replaced by concern.

"What about you? What happened earlier?" she asked.

Matthew didn't answer immediately. He pushed up on the arms of his chair, as if to adjust his position, although this wasn't really necessary. He needed a moment to think and decide exactly what to tell Mary. He lowered himself down slowly, his arms shaking with the effort, then looked up at Mary.

She laid her hand on his and squeezed it gently.

"Matthew?"

"I ended up talking to two older men, who had been generals in the war," he began. "And like everyone who served seems to do, they asked about my regiment, my rank, where I served and… my injury. And of course that's perfectly normal, considering they are military men, even if it's not exactly my favourite subject for conversation.

"Then they started on the 'it was all worth it' speech. And I didn't know what to say. It made me so angry. For God's sake, what was all worth what? All those men who died, on our side and the Germans, what did they really die for? Everyone talks about their 'sacrifice', but to me, it seems more as if they were sacrificed, and by those idiotic, incompetent generals and hopeless politicians. So many men went out to France expecting adventure, because they had been lied to, been told war was all glory and heroism. But it wasn't, Mary. It was blood and mud and pain and death. And then there were the ones who were forced to go, because everyone else was dead or dying or crippled. Nothing can have been worth the deaths of all those young men, nothing."

Matthew looked at Mary, and she saw that awful, haunted look that came into his eyes when he thought or dreamed of the war. Thankfully, she saw that look much less often now than she used to, but she knew they would never truly be free of the shadow of the war. She was furious with the men who had brought up the subject and ruined the evening for Matthew.

"Oh my darling," she said softly, reaching out and taking both of his hands in hers.

"I'm sorry," he said, "This is hardly the talk for a party."

"Don't be sorry. They're idiots, those men, and right now, I want to…" She broke off and shook her head. "I think we should find Mama and Papa and leave soon; I must confess to being quite exhausted, besides wanting to be away from those stupid generals and all the horrible gossips here."

"You'll hear no objections from me," Matthew said with a sigh.

They found Robert and Cora sitting by the fire, and went over to tell them they were ready to leave. They both fussed over Mary, and despite her assurances that there was no hurry, they left almost immediately.

"Next time I am ever in the least bit excited about a party, will you please remind me of this one?" Mary asked as she lay back on the pillows with a sigh. She didn't think she had ever been so glad to get into bed with her husband.

"I will. But hopefully we'll have forgotten quite how bad it was by then," Matthew replied, pushing up on his forearms to look at her. He was on his stomach tonight, which was irritating as it was not the best position for comforting his wife.

"I do hope so. Do you think Edith and Anthony had a good time?"

"From what I saw, I'm fairly sure they did. That's what matters, I suppose."

"Edith always did love attention," Mary muttered. "It's so unfair: everyone was fussing around her and asking when they baby's due and congratulating her, and yet those same people were staring at my stomach and giving each other significant looks and whispering about me. We have our miracle, and yet nobody sees it as anything but a potential scandal."

Matthew reached out and gently opened her hand, which she realised she had been clenching into a fist.

"It doesn't matter what other people think. We know the truth. The gossip will die down eventually, it always does," he said.

Mary was silent for a minute, hoping he was right. Then she pushed her own worries to the back of her mind and turned to look into Matthew's eyes.

"What about you? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he replied, although his eyes told a different story.

Mary felt her anger rising. How dare those men ruin Matthew's evening? How dare they bring up the war at a party? How dare they talk about it as if it had been something glorious and heroic when they hadn't been at the front?

"Next time anyone says anything idiotic about it all being worth it, you should forget all the rules of etiquette and polite conversation and tell them what it was really like. Because either they don't know how bad it was, or they're deliberately not allowing themselves to think about it. They deserve to know what they helped happen, they deserve to suffer like every soldier suffered, they deserve to…"

"Mary," Matthew interrupted her. "Darling, can we just try to forget anything happened at all? I agree with you, but we're home now, away from them, and I… I don't want them to ruin our night together."

"Of course. I'm sorry. I'm just so angry, Matthew. But you're right, let's just go to sleep. They're not worth another minute of our attention."

Mary reached out and turned off the light, then lay on her side facing Matthew, taking his hand in hers as she settled down to sleep.

"Goodnight, my darling," she said softly. "I love you."

"Goodnight. And I love you too. So much."

They closed their eyes and began to drift off to sleep.

Suddenly, Mary took a sharp intake of breath.

"Darling?" Matthew asked, concerned.

Mary lay there, her mouth open, completely still.

"Mary, are you alright? You're worrying me."

Slowly, Mary closed her mouth and began to smile. Matthew could only just see in the darkness, but he was sure he saw her smile, and was confused.

"What is it?" he asked, completely bewildered.

"Bubbles. Sybil was right, it's like bubbles."

"Mary, what on earth are you talking about?"

"It moved. The baby moved," Mary breathed, then she burst out laughing. "I felt it move! Oh Matthew, it's like magic!"

Matthew joined in her laughter, partly from happiness, but partly from relief; she had had him worried.

"Can I… will I be able to feel it?" he asked slowly.

Mary laughed again. "Not yet. When it starts to kick properly. For now, I can hardly feel anything definite myself. If Sybil hadn't described the feeling to me, and if I wasn't lying down with nothing to distract me, I wouldn't have noticed at all, I don't think. Patience, my darling."

"Of course. But… oh Mary, it's really there, there's really a baby, our baby, growing inside you! Of course I've heard people say it's magical before, but this is…" He trailed off, smiling. He didn't need to finish his sentence for Mary to know what he meant. She kissed him again, both of them smiling even as their lips joined.

"It happened tonight to prove it's real, that this is really happening, and it's so perfect, no matter what Edith's stupid friends say. This is our baby, and he or she is letting us know that everything's alright. Everything's perfect," Mary whispered as they drew apart.

"When… when will I be able to feel it?" Matthew asked. It was so wonderful that Mary could feel it, but he wanted to share the feeling with her, wanted to feel with his own hands that his child was really there.

Mary thought for a minute. "You know, I have no idea. A while yet though, I expect. We'll have to wait and see. I promise I'll tell you every time though." She yawned.

"Sleep, darling," Matthew whispered.

Mary smiled and closed her eyes, suddenly feeling more at peace than she had in weeks. They were both asleep in minutes.

Thank you for your reviews of the last chapter! Every one is much appreciated.