Author's Note: Many thanks to everyone for their support and votes that helped me win the Highclere Award for New Author. I am always pleasantly surprised when I see the number of Views that my stories receive and sometimes can't believe that people actually read my work so faithfully each time there is an update. Then, when I receive reviews and feedback, follows and favourites, I often have to stop myself from smiling in wonder. Now to receive an award is deeply overwhelming and makes me quite happy. Thank you and I hope you continue to enjoy what I have to show you, because there is still much to tell.

Previously:

Downton Abbey, England, November 1918

"Darling," Mary said slowly, reaching up and caressing his face. "I don't want to send you back. But, you do need to get better."

"I know," Matthew nodded, leaning over and kissing her.

"And you aren't entirely recovered just yet," Mary smirked, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Perhaps you'll need to be convinced of my stamina?" Matthew suggested devilishly.

"Definitely," Mary nodded. "I shall need to do a very thorough physical examination to judge just how your recovery is going."

She smiled and sat back against him, his hand running up and down her back. They looked out from the Temple to the sunlit fields leading back to Downton Abbey and tried to enjoy the moment when nothing existed except them.

Chapter 11: Sacrifice Should Be Rewarded

Downton Abbey, England, November 1918

"Is it true, Papa?" Sybil asked breathlessly.

Matthew stiffened in his chair. Mary looked over at him with concern, then turned as Robert sighed.

"Sybil, you shouldn't concern yourself with…" he began.

"But it's in the papers!" Sybil exclaimed. "They say it happened last week and that it's just the beginning."

"Darling, I don't think you should get too carried away," Mary warned. "We've been hearing reports like this for years."

"But surely one of these times it must be true? Why report it at all, otherwise?" Sybil frowned.

"There are all sorts of reasons to spread word of our victories," Edith said plainly. "But until the government officially announces it, it's just speculation."

"The Turks surrendered last week," Matthew said quietly. All eyes turned to look at him. Robert's gaze was somewhat sad. Sybil was enraptured. Edith stayed neutral. Mary watched him intently.

"The Ottoman Empire was mainly focused on hostilities in the Middle East," Matthew continued, looking down at his plate and not holding anyone's gaze. "The plan was to choke their supply lines and overwhelm their navy, which would in turn cut off a possible reinforcement avenue into Europe."

"Thereby crippling Austria-Hungary and the Germans, and opening up the Bosporus to the Allies," Robert stated.

Matthew looked over at him and nodded, partially in confirmation and partially in thanks.

"Well that's wonderful news!" Sybil smiled, looking around the table. Her enthusiasm was not returned. "Isn't it?"

"Yes," Mary nodded, smiling bravely at her youngest sister. "It doesn't mean anything is over yet, but it's good news."

Robert went back to reading his newspaper. The rest of them finished their breakfast in silence.

"Mama," Mary greeted her as she came into the bedroom. She walked over and sat down on the bed. Cora smiled and set her tray aside.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Mary said.

"Oh, I was finished already," Cora replied. "O'Brien will be up in a while to get me going. What is it?"

"Three things, actually. I'm taking Matthew to London," Mary stated.

"So soon? Why?" Cora asked cautiously.

"He's cooped up here. I can tell. He's doing his exercises, taking meals, and going back to bed. The pace of the City will do him some good," Mary explained.

"Wouldn't the calm of the English countryside be more agreeable with his recovery?" Cora asked suspiciously.

"In the beginning, yes, but his exercises have become routine now. I think he's regained most of his strength. It's his mind that I now am concerned about."

"And what does your Papa think about all this?" Cora asked.

Mary smiled and met her Mama's eyes.

Cora sighed in exasperation. "Of course. You always did know how to play us against each other."

"He'll want us to stay with Aunt Rosamund," Mary huffed. "I may as well have Matthew stay with Granny for all the good that would do him. We're going to be at Grantham House for Winter Season regardless, I'm just asking for a few extra weeks."

"Fine," Cora capitulated. "But I'm only helping you because I feel I treated Matthew unfairly before his return. And you will bring Anna and Bates along. I've half a mind to arrange for you to be chaperoned as well."

"Mama," Mary rolled her eyes. "We already published the banns. Everyone knows we're getting married."

"You're not his wife yet," Cora warned. "Now, what else is there, as if the first request was not already big enough?"

"I'm going to finish my trousseau while I'm in London. If you could write to Maison Lucille, I can be there in three days," Mary said.

"Finally, a reasonable request," Cora smiled. "She's already expecting you so that should not be a problem. Third?"

"Third, I want you to be make amends with Cousin Isobel," Mary said quietly.

"Oh, Mary," Cora looked away.

"She's family, Mama," Mary pressed. "She'll be my mother-in-law you know. I want the two of you to get along."

"I get along better with her than I do with my own mother-in-law," Cora frowned.

"That's hardly something to brag about," Mary retorted.

"You should see what she has in mind. She turned up the other day with a hideous list of projects that stretch to 1920 and beyond," Cora shook her head.

"And what's wrong with improving things around here?" Mary asked.

"Your Papa and I will decide what needs improving around here," Cora said firmly. "She's such a martyr. Once the bit's between her teeth, nothing can put her off."

"Well find a way to get along," Mary said, rising from the bed. "I won't begin my marriage having to split my meals between here and Crawley House. There's no reason why we shouldn't be a proper family now that everyone is back."

"You're not suggesting you would take her side just to appease Matthew?" Cora exclaimed in shock.

"No, he wouldn't ask me to. But I will find it increasingly difficult to refuse my husband when the only excuse I can give is that my Mama is being stubborn," Mary declared, raising her eyebrow. "Talk to Granny and figure something out. I want you and Cousin Isobel to be as thick as thieves by the time the wedding comes."

"I can't promise you that," Cora sighed. "But I will try and gently manoeuvre her in the appropriate direction, for all of our sakes. I'll speak to your Papa this afternoon and with any luck you'll be off to London by tomorrow."

Mary smirked at her Mama and left the room.

"What's all this?" Matthew frowned as he came into his bedroom. Bates and Anna were arranging clothes in several suitcases.

"Sir," Bates nodded. "We're packing some of your things."

"For what purpose, Bates?" Matthew asked.

"For a trip of course," Mary smiled, coming out of his dressing room. She handed several ties to Bates, who went back to packing.

"A trip?" Matthew repeated in confusion. "Where are we going?"

"London," Mary said plainly, coming to his side.

"London? Why?" Matthew stared at her.

Mary looked over at the two servants and bit her bottom lip. She took Matthew's arm and guided them out into the hall.

"We're going to London for a few weeks to get away from here. Papa's agreed to open Grantham House for us, and the rest of the family will join us in December for the Winter Season," she said quietly.

"I didn't know they still held the Winter Season during the War," Matthew said.

"It's not on the same scale of course, but there are still some events," Mary replied. "Besides, Mama wants to meet with some of her friends to make sure they're still coming to the wedding."

"So why are we going there ahead of time?" he asked.

Mary smirked at him and moved closer. "Because I want my fiancé to myself and with all the goings on here we can't have any privacy."

Matthew chuckled. "I hardly think your parents would agree to such an arrangement."

"On the contrary, they were entirely supportive," Mary said.

"They were?" Matthew asked incredulously.

"Well, I may have mentioned it was for your recovery and to finish shopping for my trousseau, rather than…the other reason," she smiled.

"So why aren't we staying at Painswick House with your Aunt Rosamund?" Matthew asked.

Mary whispered into his ear. "Because it would be rather difficult for you to make love to me with Aunt Rosamund snooping around, don't you think?"

Matthew swallowed, his eyes wide. "That…is…a very good point," he stammered.

"I'm going to pick out my clothes for Anna to pack," Mary smiled. "Why don't you make yourself useful and go tell Carson that we need the motor brought around for 3 o'clock?"

Mary walked away down the hall. Matthew stared at her for several moments before turning for the stairs with a decided strut in his step.

Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, November 1918

The day was overcast and misty, as most days were in London in Winter. The streets were bustling with the usual activity – men and women on their way to work, going about their scheduled tasks with neutral expressions. No one wanted to believe what was coming. They had been disappointed and let down far too often already.

Matthew stood at the window of his bedroom, looking out on St. James Square, the park dull and grey in the morning fog. They had arrived in London days ago to the news that Austria-Hungary had surrendered. It had barely fazed Matthew. Mary was anxious. With the Turks and now the Austrians laying down their arms, victory had to be at hand. Matthew did not say anything, and so she stayed quiet, not talking about it, asking him about it, or even mentioning it.

He accompanied Mary around the City, visiting with her friends, going to the National Gallery, and eating dinners at The Savoy and Claridge's. He had genuinely smiled as he walked about with her on his arm, and she was filled with pride and satisfaction. The heir presumptive to the Earl of Grantham and his intended, strolling through the Capital, the entire world spread out before them.

He was remarkably charming and polite with everyone he met. Mary marvelled at how well mannered he was now, moving through conversations and meals with almost as much ease and sophistication as she did. He went from confident and commanding to humble and shy with aplomb, matching his demeanour perfectly to whatever the situation required. Even Aunt Rosamund was impressed.

At The Savoy, after two glasses of wine, he had the staff and nearby diners roaring with laughter with some rather witty remarks that caused Mary to steer him back home with quite unladylike fervour.

But when they took drinks together in the parlour at night, she caught him staring into the fire, his shoulders slumped and his body practically fading into the chair. Whenever he was greeted in the streets by strangers who noticed the stripes on his uniform indicating his rank and wanted to shake his hand or thank him or make some ill mannered remark about how the Brits had "given it to the Germans up the arse", he would react nervously, as though he were afraid he was being watched, and he needed to search out the nearest escape.

Then the herald came – the German Kaiser William II had abdicated and a Republic proclaimed. The sworn enemy, the scourge of England, the German empire was without its leader, and surely, finally, at long last, this had to mean the end was nigh?

Matthew thought of Alex, sitting in his tent on some far away battlefield, perusing documents that would demand the surrender of Germany and making small notations and revisions with a fountain pen. Matthew imagined his friend setting the terms of the end of the Great War. Conditions as large as demobilization and disarmament of the German War machine, and as small as insisting on German beer to be delivered to his office in London as a token of peace.

And Matthew knew what it all meant. He tried not to allow his hopes to rise, but privately, even he was forced to admit it, whispering it into Mary's ear as he held her warm naked body against his in the dark.

"They will surrender. The War will end. It's only a matter of hours now."

Mary had reached behind her and cupped his cheek, easing her body back against his, feeling his arms wrap across her stomach and his hand settle in her cleavage, holding her to him with an almost desperate need. They did not speak any further about what was to come, each of them falling asleep and hoping it would not be a cruel joke in the morning.

And now this morning had come, wet and cloudy, bringing with it messages and gossip, reports and rumours. Matthew looked out the window to a City and a world that he had reluctantly allowed to become familiar to him over the past four years. He feared they would become strange and different to him in moments.

"Darling? I dismissed Anna and Bates. They're going out to The Strand with some of Aunt Rosamund's staff," Mary said, entering his bedroom. Matthew stood at the window, looking past St. James and to the City beyond.

Matthew was dressed in his full uniform, save the boots and hat, which were downstairs. Mary had Bates iron and press his shirt, pants and coat last night. He reluctantly wore it on the train from Downton, but once they reached London, he only wore it when they went outside. This morning he had struggled to put it on, his face a constant scowl as Bates helped him with it.

"There's word that King George will be making an appearance in an hour. Did you want to go to Buckingham?" she asked.

Matthew shook his head, keeping his eyes staring into the sky, his back straight, his feet planted a shoulder width apart. His hands were in front of him, but Mary could tell from the movements of his arms that he was fidgeting.

"There's bound to be crowds at Trafalgar Square," Mary mused. "Perhaps that would be better. You know how reserved London usually is. When the announcement is made, people may dare crack a smile."

"No," Matthew said quietly.

"Papa is probably gathering everyone in the Great Hall," Mary thought aloud. "Even the servants. He'll want to take a moment, remember everything that's happened."

Matthew stayed quiet, looking out the window.

"Matthew?" Mary called softly. "The War is over, darling. Don't you want to celebrate?"

Matthew turned slowly away from the window. He raised his head, his eyes moving from the floor and up her body, before settling on her worried face. Mary breathed deeply, seeing all at once the tears on his cheeks, the pleading and yearning of his blue eyes and the quivering of his lips.

"Mary," he whispered.

She nodded almost imperceptibly and held her arms out to him. He came forward slowly, as if in a trance. She took the telegram from his hands and placed it on the nightstand. She clasped his hands in hers, smiling at him shyly as she led him to the bed. They sat down facing each other, their eyes keeping their stare throughout.

Mary took his hand and moved it to her cheek. Matthew stared at his fingers moving on her soft skin. Mary's eyes fluttered shut and she leaned into his caress, holding his hand to her face with her own.

Her fingers reached out and undid the buttons of his coat, moving under the thick fabric to fondle his chest. The coat slid off his shoulders and fell to the floor. His shirt and her blouse followed shortly after. Upon seeing her pale arms and neck revealed to him, the shape of her breasts rising and falling under her camisole, Matthew finally moved, leaning forward and capturing her lips in a soft kiss, his fingers reaching down her sides and pulling the hem of her camisole up her body.

Mary returned his kisses, raising her arms above her head to assist him in removing her clothing. He turned and eased her down to the soft blankets, covering her bare skin with his own and kissing her neck.

Loud shots rang out in the distance, the echoes reverberating past Grantham House and through St. James Square. Matthew jumped slightly, his face turning to the window.

"Matthew," Mary called, turning his face back to her. His vacant eyes focused on her as she stroked her hand through his hair. "It's all right," she said. "It's just the celebration, darling."

The guns continued to boom outside in the distance, probably some zealous idiot travelling on The Strand. Matthew ignored them, kissing her lips softly, then moving to her collarbone and shoulder. His hands slid down to her hips and eased her skirt down her legs, allowing her to kick them off.

They could hear shouts and cries from the streets now, people hurrying through St. James Square en route to Pall Mall and over to Trafalgar Square. Mary gasped as Matthew kissed her breasts, touching the precise points that made her shiver. Her hands undid his trousers. He turned away from her briefly to remove the rest of his clothing. His eyes were dark when he returned to her, pausing briefly as he watched her take off her knickers.

The entire population of London seemed to come out to the streets. The collective roar of seven million souls moved in a wave from Buckingham Palace, down The Mall to Trafalgar Square and out along The Strand and beyond. The constant cheers and noise became a pulse that seemed to beat unendingly across the Capital. Those who had lost sons and husbands, those who had been spared, those who desperately hoped their loved ones would now return safe and sound, they all lifted their voices and announced their collective relief and jubilation.

Mary moaned as Matthew entered her, his body firm and hard against hers, the heat of him soaking into her. Her arms clutched at his back as he made slow gradual strokes into her core. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her hair, any part of her that he could reach as he balanced himself above her. She pulled him down against her and kissed his neck, her tongue moving down to his right shoulder, the part of him that had been injured and now was almost back to normal. He had returned to her months ago a broken man, and she had watched him rebuild himself, at least physically. The rest of it would follow. It would be slow and difficult and there would be setbacks, but with the War over, Matthew would heal. She would make sure of it.

"Mary," he hissed, his breathing becoming ragged, his hips more insistent against hers, his thrusts gathering pace. The cheers from the streets below echoed through St. James Square and reverberated off houses that normally were docile and silent. Matthew buried himself inside of her, only to pull back and resume once more. Mary moved her hands down his damp back, settling over his buttocks and squeezing him wantonly, her legs rising and holding his hips in place.

Mary reached her peak and cried out, the wicked thought that they were completely alone in the house and could be as vocal as they wanted to be passing from her mind swiftly as ecstasy burned within her. Before she could calm herself, his rapid movements had her climbing towards another release.

"Let go, Matthew," she gasped, clutching him even closer, her breasts against his chest, her legs around his hips, her hand stroking his hair as his lips pressed against her neck.

"Mary," he said in a choked voice against her skin.

Matthew groaned and he held himself still inside of her. His resolve and control burst, strangled whimpers leaving his throat as he released.

Mary held him tight, the warmth of him spilling inside of her pushing her to another climax. The noise and festivities outside reached them once more, a strange accompaniment to their private celebration.

Matthew swallowed several times, rolling over on to his back and taking her with him, his arms still wrapped around her. Mary settled against his chest, her arm and leg moving across his body protectively. They lay together, their eyes closed as they waited for their breathing to calm.

"It's over," Matthew whispered, blinking several times before turning to her, his blue eyes filled with tears.

"It's over," Mary nodded, tears falling down her face.

He had gone to War to get away from her, a misguided sense of patriotism, duty, sorrow and fear driving him as far away from Downton as he could get and into the infantry. The War that was supposed to barely last four months at first had instead gone on for over four years, and had taken far more than just time from Matthew. He had locked away his love for Mary, his hopes and dreams of their reconciliation and plans for the future. He had buried them, covering them with layers of stoic pride and bitter resolve, thinking only of how to survive each day.

She had seen him disappear without saying or doing anything about it. Her stubborn backbone had steeled her devastated heart and she had dutifully gotten on with the task of marrying herself off and getting out of the way. She had met Sir Richard and resigned herself to her fate, more so after he learned of her scandal and wielded the power to destroy her over her head like the Sword of Damocles. She had accepted it all with nary a complaint and barely any tears, at least holding it together long enough to only cry in the privacy of her bedroom.

He had come back to Downton Abbey, first under the pretence of attending fundraisers, then as a Captain on a recruiting drive, and each time his mind lost a bit more of the firm control over his heart. Every glance, every smirk, every witty exchange had pulled him back, back to another time, another life, another world when everything was possible and his dreams lived and seemed to pulse and breathe on their own.

She saw more of him, and found herself wanting to see more of him, her vow to be cordial and polite but nothing more practically melting under his warm gaze. She had met his fiancée, and introduced him to her suitor, but still used every excuse she could conjure to see him. She personally delivered invitations that could have easily been sent by messenger. She stood near him in the parlour before dinner, sat closer to him at the dinner table, and closer still when they came through afterward. She took every opportunity available, seeing each time that Sir Richard went back to London as a chance to spend extended time with Matthew, regardless of how futile the whole exercise seemed.

He realized he still loved her and released Lavinia.

She knew she still loved him and only dared to give it voice when she found out to her amazement that he felt the same.

They joined together, and the years apart no longer mattered.

They were engaged and happy and with War now over, their lives could begin.

Neither of them knew what would come next. Matthew could go back to being a lawyer, or do nothing at all. Mary could finally leave the waiting room she had been stuck in, although what she would walk out to was vague and uncertain.

The War was over. They had won.

Matthew pulled Mary to him and kissed her. They became a tangle of wrapped arms and legs, their lips and tongues mimicking how their bodies melded together.

"You're being rather bold, Captain," Mary smiled between kisses. "The wedding is still a month away."

"Please don't call me that again," Matthew pleaded in a small voice as he resumed kissing her and turned her on to her back.

"Yes, darling," Mary sighed, her eyes closing and a smile coming to her lips as he parted her legs and moved on top of her.

Outside the window, Britain rejoiced.