First of all, thank you so much to all my reviewers who gave me such wonderful words of encouragement and understanding. I appreciated all of them and am glad to have such lovely readers! I'm getting help but life is still rough, but I will still try to make writing a priority. Second, I know the slow-burn of Mary seeing Matthew again has been going on for a while, but trust me ... your patience may be rewarded very soon! And the next chapter should be up in another week or two, so stay tuned.

Thanks for reading, and keep up the lovely reviews!

Chapter Fourteen

Since the end of the war, the gossip columns of London newspapers were all the rage again. People were no longer concerned with battles and the political machinations of other countries. Now they wanted stories about celebrities, the flapper lifestyle, jazz clubs, and London night life. Tales of drunken debauchery at bottle parties were regaled in the more scandalous papers, while more reputable publications settled for reporting the lives of film stars and local bigwigs. Sir Richard Carlisle's newspapers practically spewed out these sorts of stories: since the beginning of the decade, there was never a want for good gossip, even when great lengths had to be taken to get it. The lives of the wealthy aristocracy still had some weight, but there was no great clamour for them as had been the case before and during the war.

Overall, business was good for Sir Richard, and his income was exorbitant. Few still took issued with the fact that he was a self-made man, his fortune acquired rather than inherited. He was not one to dwell on issues of the past, instead considering it better business to look to the future.

Which was why it was an awful surprise to see someone from a past he'd rather forget walk into his office.

His young secretary was actually the first one to enter his office that morning. "I'm very sorry sir, but there's a young lady here and she's very insistent on seeing you," she said meekly.

Sir Richard, only halfway through his cup of tea, frowned. He glanced at his pocketwatch, where the hands pointed to quarter past ten. "I've not had anyone scheduled before one o'clock today."

"I understand sir. Shall I dismiss her?"

Sir Richard was about to nod, but his secretary was pushed aside by another woman. He nearly spilled his tea upon recognizing who it was.

"Hello, Sir Richard," Sybil Crawley said.

Blinking in shock, Sir Richard stood up. "Lady Sybil," he said as courteously as he could muster. "How are you?"

"Quite well, actually. Given that I left Dublin early yesterday morning and spent the whole day travelling to London, only getting into my hotel room close to midnight. People still look down on a woman travelling alone."

Sir Richard took in a deep breath. "I assume your husband is back in Ireland then?"

"He is. He is taking care of our son," Sybil answered. "And it's Mrs Branson now, thank you. Not Lady Sybil." She gave him a look that told him he'd make a mistake in sending her out.

Sir Richard remembered well the 'incident' of Lady Sybil marrying the former chauffeur. They had gone to Dublin to marry shortly before Lady Mary ditched Sir Richard. It caused a sensation in Yorkshire, although it managed to escape the interest of the rest of London.

"Would you like to sit down, Mrs Branson?" Sir Richard offered. "And would you care for some tea?"

"That would be lovely, thank you," Sybil said, in a more gentle tone of voice. Sir Richard's secretary retreated back to the hall. He waited until Sybil was seated in front of his desk before pouring her a cup of tea.

Here he was, serving tea to one of Lord Grantham's girls, after he'd sworn never to have anything to do with the Crawleys again. He had sworn he was done with that business entirely, and he was certain that the Crawleys wanted to do nothing more with him either. So what could Sybil Crawley possibly want with him? If she wanted to chew him out for treating her sister the way hes had when they were engaged, she could have done so years ago.

"Is it appropriate to ask why you are paying this visit, Mrs Branson?" he asked, cautious but still in his usual gentlemanly manner.

Sybil took a sip of tea before answering. "I'm here to ask for your help, Sir Richard."

That was not what he was expecting at all. "Oh?"

"You have to understand, this is my last resort," Sybil explained. "I wouldn't have come here if I hadn't already exhausted myself with all other options. I know that, after how things went with you and my sister, you might not want to help."

Sir Richard sat himself down. "I don't hold any grudge against your sister Lady Mary. Not anymore."

"I know you don't," Sybil replied. "You never published her scandal, even after she dumped you and got married to somebody else."

Twiddling his thumbs, Sir Richard said, "I considered it. For many weeks I did seriously consider publishing Lady Mary's scandal. But eventually I decided it wasn't worth it."

"Really?" Sybil raised an eyebrow. "I'd think your paper would flourish after a scandal of that proportion," she said coldly.

"No, I knew it would," Sir Richard said. "But I … I suppose I was somewhat ashamed about threatening Lady Mary with it at all. I wouldn't have bought her affection with threats."

"You realized that after the fact?"

Sir Richard leaned forward in his chair. "Mrs Branson, I'm a man who is used to doing what is necessary to reach my goals, however unpleasant the actions may be. It was not a good practise for courtship, I admit, but it was my nature to be that way."

Sybil looked at him sternly; the teacup in her hand rattled against the saucer. "I find that hard to believe. Men are capable of being rational. And you should know the difference between business and marriage."

"Please don't lecture me, Mrs Branson. Just get to your point."

"Alright then. Mary wants a divorce. But she cannot get one."

This surprised Sir Richard. "Why not?"

"Mary is terribly unhappy in her situation. She wants to leave her husband, preferably before her baby is born. Since Henry hasn't committed adultery or physically abused her, it would be quite impossible to grant her a divorce."

"Her husband is Henry Talbot, if I'm not mistaken. The automobile racer?"

Sybil nodded. "The very same."

Sir Richard leaned back in his chair. "He's very popular in the paper, and Lady Mary is often mentioned with him. They're often touted as an ideal couple. A divorce between them would be a scandal, but not the type people like to read about."

"I know that," Sybil said.

"I'm still not certain as to why you're coming to me about this," Sir Richard said. "Does Lady Mary even know about this?"

"No, and I think it's better if she doesn't," Sybil explained. "I know it sounds dishonest, me going behind her back with a personal matter, but I'm awfully afraid she's given up hope. It's a distressing matter for her." Sybil took back her cup and had another sip of tea, perhaps to brace herself. "But I don't want to talk anymore about her state of mind. It's what I need you to do that's important."

Sir Richard waited for her to explain, though he was already weighing in his mind whether he should agree or not.

"I can't help but wonder if there were something or someone from Henry's past – a former girlfriend or an old beau of his – that might prove he's not quite as saintly as the papers make him out to be. There must be someone out there who knows that underneath that media persona he's really a bully and an abuser."

Sir Richard almost laughed. "That's it? You're asking for me to dig up some rumours on Henry Talbot?" Sybil looked offended, and he grunted a stiff apology. "Your request was not quite as difficult as you made it out to be, that's all."

Sybil shook her head. "I don't believe that will be the hard part. I think that proving to everyone else who he really is will be the test."

"You may be right about that. But people will also gobble up the nastiest scandals, more so than ever. In fact, if I published Lady Mary's story this month, the papers would be sold out from here to Birmingham. I won't, of course," Sir Richard added to counter Sybil's glare.

"Are you asking to create a scandal about Henry Talbot?"

"If there's nothing that would amount to one from my findings, then perhaps," Sir Richard said. "After all, your goal is Talbot's ruination, and scandal is the surest way to secure that."

Now Sybil looked unsure, so Sir Richard continued. "Mrs Branson, this world doesn't bat an eyelid at a man hurting his wife, or a woman not being happily married. It's almost expected now that a marriage may include some strife on the woman's part. The young people, including yourself of course, are intending to change that, but the traditional outlook will take decades to unravel. Now, for many people, it would be surprise to learn that London society's star racer is mean to his wife, but it would not be a great shock, and likely it would not change their opinion of him. The news would be forgotten within hours. No, to create a shock of the magnitude you desire, some fabrication or exaggeration of events may be required. Can you live with that? Is your sister's happiness worth that?"

With a scowl still on her face, Sybil nodded. "You must promise that Mary will not pay any price for this. Henry is all I'm after."

"Certainly," Sir Richard promised. "And to make it easier on you, I won't mention a word of your involvement to anybody else."

"Thank you," Sybil sighed. She opened her handbag. "I don't have much payment to offer you—"

"No, I don't need any payment."

Sybil looked up, wallet half removed from her bag. "You don't—?"

"No," Sir Richard. "I will do this pro bono."

"Well, that is a surprise." Looking relieved, Sybil returned her wallet to her handbag. "I didn't think self-made men turned down money."

"Consider it my making amends for what I did to your sister," Sir Richard said. "She would have had an unhappy marriage with me. But I don't want her trapped in one with someone else."

Sybil did smile at that. "That's actually very kind of you."

"I'm capable of it from time to time."

Sir Richard stood when Sybil rose from her chair. "Thank you so much," she said calmly, though it was clear to Sir Richard that her heart was full to bursting. "Please, let me know what you find out."

"I will write a weekly summary to you." Sir Richard walked her to the door. "Enjoy your time in London, Mrs Branson."

When he closed his office door, he could hear Sybil's footsteps quickly receding down the hall. He sat back down at his desk and pulled out a hidden drawer on the side, which was someone stuck from disuse.

Inside were pictures, photos from times he'd rather forget. He pulled several out, fingered through them. Reginald Swire and his wife, along with their daughter Lavinia at age five – all deceased now. His University of Edinburgh friends, some taken by the war. And the last one, Lady Mary's portrait.

Since breaking off the engagement with Mary, Sir Richard wondered if he'd ever learn to love the right way. He had in fact been in love with Mary – enticed by her beauty, her ferocity, her grace and confidence – yet he had not loved her. To be in love and to love were two very different things. To love was to give one's whole soul to another person, to cherish all the good in them and protect them from every harm. He had not done that for Mary. He had been in love the way a racer might be in love with a car: a shiny object for them to own, its every move controlled. Perhaps if he had seen before that no woman should be forced into marriage, he could have spared himself the embarassment of separating from Mary.

If this task was his atonement for the way he had treated her, then he'd do his best to complete it. When all was said and done, Henry Talbot would be practically chased out of London.

Mary jolted awake to pain lancing through her like a spear.

She gasped aloud and clutched her stomach, her eyes screwing shut as she felt another shooting pain followed by excruciating cramping. It felt like everything in her abdomen was twisting up, or like someone was squeezing her too tightly. It was similar to the pain that she had felt when she was seven or so and took ill from eating a spoiled oyster – only she was certain this pain was not from the lamb she had eaten for dinner. The pain was centered below her stomach, right where she knew her uterus was.

She let out a cry of confusion and of fear. What was going on? What was this pain? She tried to take in a few breaths, calm herself down, but another shooting pain forced out another sob.

Oh God, she thought as she tried to lift herself up, with quite a bit of discomfort with her cramping uterus. Oh God, what's happening?

Her first thought was that she was miscarrying – a thought that should have been welcome, but the pain was making it hard for her to feel anything but fear. She knew she should check for blood, but she could hardly move. It was hard enough just sitting upright as her insides cramped more furiously than she had ever felt before. Normal monthlies were bad enough, but this … oh God, why did she have to endure this?

"Darling?" Henry murmured. He saw her sitting up, her hand over her stomach and her eyes screwed up. "Mary? Are you alright? What's wrong?"

Mary shook her head. "It's … oh, oh God!" She groaned as another spasm seared through her. How long was this going to last? Would she need to go to hospital for this?

"Mary, what's wrong? Is it the baby? Have you lost it?"

"I – I don't know – I can't tell."

Henry jumped out of bed, running around to her side. "Mary, tell me what to do. Do you need the doctor?"

Mary hated the thought of the doctor being called to her home in the middle of the night, but if the pains went on for much longer she knew she'd be in trouble. "Alright – go and phone him, please – and get my maid."

Henry nodded. "I'll get your maid first, I don't want to leave you alone for long. Oh no, I hope the baby's not lost—"

"Go, Henry!" Mary shrieked, nearly on the verge of tears. She didn't give a damn about the 'baby,' all she wanted to know if she was in danger.

"Alright, Mary, just stay calm," Henry told her. He hurried out the bedroom door, and Mary could hear his feet pounding down the corridor.

She grasped hard at the bedpost, trying to take in deep breaths as Sybil had advised her to do when she was panicking. It was hard to ignore the twisting feeling inside her and focus instead on her breathing, but it was easier to bear the pain when she wasn't holding her breath. Still, a few tears ran from the corners of her eyes and down her cheekbones, brought on more from her fright than the agony she was enduring. She had no idea what was happening – she thought she was past the danger of miscarrying, and surely it was too soon to start having false contractions since she was only four months gone. All she could do was pant and grit her teeth as the constricting sensations came and went.

Her maid rushed in, carrying a towel and a glass of water. "Oh, good heavens!" She set the glass of water down on the nightstand and dipped the towel in it. "Now just stay calm, m'lady, just let me cool you down a bit. Mr Talbot's telephoning for a doctor right now—"

Mary gasped as another painful twinge speared through her just as her maid was wetting her forhead; instinctively she swatted her arm away. "Don't – just don't touch me, please!"

"Just try to keep breathing, m'lady," her maid said as she set the towel down.

Mary tried again to focus on her breathing, but her confusion about what was going on in her abdomen was distracting her. She felt dizzy and weak, like she was about to faint, and she clutched at the bedpost as if it would keep her from swooning and falling to the floor.

"Tell me what you need, ma'am," her maid was saying. Her voice sounded fuzzy.

"I just … I need the doctor," Mary murmured. "Urgh … I need him right now."

"I told you, Mr Talbot's telephoning for him. I'm sure he'll be here as soon as he can."

Mary nodded, taking a gulp of air. "God … oh God, I don't know why it's hurting so much!"

She turned her head as Henry rushed back into the door. "I've telephone for Dr Ryder, he's coming right over. Thank goodness he was up at this hour, he was looking after another mother in the home—"

"How soon will he get here?" Mary asked frantically.

"He said he shouldn't be long," Henry answered. "What do you need? Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No!" Mary cried. "Just leave me alone for once! Go – just go …"

Henry stepped back, looking as if he had been slapped in the face. "Darling, you must calm down, I don't think—"

"I'll look after her," Mary's maid said. "She'll be fine, she doesn't need too many people crowding around her."

Henry glanced around the bedroom and opened his mouth as if he wanted to comment on how there was no one else in the room, and it was quite big enough anyhow. "Fine, I go downstairs and let Dr Ryder in when he gets here."

Mary nodded. "Thank you," she said, attempting to sound grateful.

Her husband retreated without another word, to Mary's relief. One more word or false gesture of compassion and she might have lost her temper again, thrown the glass of water at him or screamed for him to get out of the house entirely.

She waited for what felt like forever, her maid still kneeling and gently holding her arms, shushing her and reminding her to keep breathing. After a while the pain seemed to lessen, though only a little, and the twinges kept coming on and off. By the time she heard the front door open downstairs her head was still swimming, and she was still wincing from the most recent constriction as Dr Ryder came into the bedroom with his case.

"There now, ma'am, you're quite alright," he said in half-hearted comfort. "You're quite safe here. Your husband's downstairs, and I've told him not to come up while I'm taking a look at you."

Mary nodded, glad that Henry wouldn't come bursting back into the bedroom for the time being.

The doctor opened his case and took the maid's place in front of Mary. "I'm going to give you a relaxant, so that you won't be in so much pain."

He pulled out a vial and a syringe, and Mary did not look as he pushed the needle into her arm. It took a few moments, but she could eventually feel every muscle in her body go lax.

For the next while, she had to bear the doctor touching round her stomach, pressing in certain areas, then lying down and allowing him to inspect between her legs. He asked her a few questions, such as when the pains started, if they were centered near her womb or all around her stomach. Mary could barely mumble a coherant answer due to the relaxant.

Finally Dr Ryder straightened up and a gave a sigh. "I want to take you to the maternity hospital, just for observation for the rest of the night. I want to be sure that these pains are only just the womb expanding and not due to another problem."

"Womb expanding?" Mary frowned.

"Carrying a baby puts a lot of pressure on this area, and as the womb grows the ligaments must stretch to support it. That is likely the cause for your pain, but stress and discomfort can make the pain seem more intense," Dr Ryder explained. "This is all perfectly normal, but because the pain was so acute and, as you described, were like contractions, I simply want to take you to the maternity hospital to be completely sure. I think if everything is alright you'll be able to go home tomorrow, in the afternoon."

He smiled to reassure Mary as he shut his bag. "We can go in my car, and I'll drive you straight there. I'll go downstairs to talk to your husband about it."

"What if—?" Mary asked, Dr Ryder stopping short of the doorway. "What if he refuses?"

"Why should he, if it's doctor's orders?" Dr Ryder chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll make sure he understands."

He left to go downstairs, and in the meantime Mary's maid quickly packed a small bag with an extra nightdress and clothes for tomorrow. Mary got out of her current nightgown and put on a loose dress – no corset or tight underpinnings – and a coat, though as she was walking down the stairs she still felt oddly naked and vulnerable.

The doctor was speaking in hushed tones to Henry. When Mary reached the bottom of the stairs, still hanging on to the arm of her maid, Henry turned around and kissed her on the cheek. "You'll be alright, darling. I'll come as soon as I can."

Mary nodded, her face sticky from dried tears. She was exhausted from the pain and wanted to go back to sleep, but she allowed herself to be guided outside and into Dr Ryder's car. Henry watched from the doorway, not looking away until the car pulled away from the kerbside.

The fifteen minute trip to Dr Ryder's clinic was interupted halfway through. The jostling of the car had upset Mary's stomach, and she retched up part of her lamb dinner onto the leather seat. She was terrifically dizzy and she swayed on her feet when the car finally arrived at the clinic, and she couldn't form words with her mouth still coated in bile. Two nurses had to come out and help her up the stairs and into the clinic.

Everything that happened afterwards was a blur: Mary knew her mouth was cleaned out and she got into another nightgown and robe. She was put into bed, where she was dozing in and out of consciousness even as Dr Ryder inspected her. Her stomach churned and her breathing felt shallow – she didn't know what was happening or if she'd be able to go home in the morning, and there was a tiny fear in the back of her mind saying "what if you don't survive the night?"

The thought of dying nearly made her retch again. What would happen to Matthew if he opened his morning paper and read "Earl's Daughter Dead From Mysterious Pain"? She couldn't do that to him!

She had fallen asleep at some point, for when she woke with a start the orange rays of the rising sun were streaming through the curtains. She sat up and grabbed the water glass on the bedside table – her throat felt dry and disgusting from last night's vomit. Sleep still clouded her eyes, but she saw Dr Ryder coming into the ward.

"Good morning, Mrs Talbot. How are you feeling?"

All she could muster was a sound. She didn't feel any more crippling pain, just an uncomfortably empty stomach and a pounding headache.

"The good news is, you and your baby are safe. I checked you over last night, and I'm quite certaint that it was as I assumed, the pain was your womb expanding. However, I believe that the pain was exacerbated from dehydration. I'd like to keep you here for one day more, to administer fluids, but tomorrow I'm certain you will be home."

"Is that all?" Mary mumbled through dry, cracked lips. "The pain … it felt like something worse."

"It is nothing. Except for your dehydration, I see no reason to worry anymore. The baby's heartbeat is normal. Soon you'll feel it kicking, which again is quite normal."

Mary ran her hands over her growing stomach. It was bigger than it had been last month. One day she simply realized she wouldn't fit into her normal underpinnings. And it would only grow bigger from now on, until the baby was born. She'd feel the baby kicking within her, like a giant parasite trying to burst out of her stomach. Again, she felt like retching. Dr Ryder quickly held a basin below her chin, sparing the sheets from her bile.

"And once you get some fluids in you, the vomiting should stop," he added.

Mary wiped her mouth. "I'm sorry about your car," she mumbled.

"Quite alright." The doctor stood up and set the basin aside. "If you feel up to it, your husband would like to see you today at visiting hours."

"No," Mary rubbed her head against the pillow. "I don't want him … I don't want him to see me like this."

Dr Ryder nodded. "Then you'll have plenty of time to rest. The nurses will be around to give you what you need."

He left, and Mary slipped back into sleep.

She slept through most of the day, waking up only when the nurses came by with liquids and to test her urine. In the morning it was a dark yellow; by the evening it became clearer. She was able to keep down a light meal of toast and eggs, along with a bit of sweet tea. Although she still felt ill, she was glad to be out of the house, and especially away from Henry. During the afternoon visiting hours she was afraid he'd be marching down the corridor, not to be deterred from seeing her, but he was thankfully absent for the entire day. He knew better than to go against the doctor's request.

When she wasn't sleeping, she was thinking. She thought of all the moments last night when she thought she would die, when she believed she'd lose the baby in a pool of blood. Both those things were once welcome thoughts to her, but suddenly … then she had been afraid they'd happen. She had wanted to live. She had wanted to stay alive and healthy, not losing anything. And she had thought more of Matthew than of Henry – what would happen to Matthew if something happened to her, if she couldn't write letters or contact him. He might think she had abandoned him, forgotten him … that would hurt him more than a bullet wound.

When the on-duty doctor checked on her again in the evening, he nodded approvingly. "I'm glad to say you're well enough to go home tomorrow. Just remember to drink plenty of water and rest often."

Mary was glad for this news; she did feel much better than she had in the morning, and she didn't want to stay another minute in the maternity hospital. It only reminded her that she was pregnant, and still so even after feeling like death. "Can you call my driver now?"

"You wish to go home now?"

"As soon as I can," Mary replied. She sat up and moved her legs to the side of the bed. "Please, I want to leave right now."

Not seeing any point in arguing with her, as she was fit to go home anyway, the doctor said, "I'll have the clinic driver take you home when he comes back."

Mary got on the things she had worn when she had been delivered to the hospital – meaning she was with hardly any underclothes. But it wouldn't matter since she was going home, she thought. Henry might be at the bar and she could slip into bed without having to say good night to him or stay awake longer by explaining what the matter was. An entire day without seeing Henry – it was almost as good as a holiday.

The sky was completely dark when she got into the clinic car. This part of London wasn't crawling with the young generation of partiers and drinkers. Except for a very few automobiles and people walking home, it was empty and quiet. Mary hugged the coat closer around her and sighed; she felt oddly peaceful, even in an unfamiliar car without proper underclothes. She wanted to sleep right here, sleep for a long time, and perhaps wake up in a world that was kinder to a person like her.

But she didn't go to sleep, and she kept her eyes turned to the passing views as the car drove by them. It was taking a longer route to get to her house than Dr Ryder had. It was odd, they hadn't passed by this area at all …

Her heart skipped a beat. She recognized where they were.

"Wait!" She leaned forward and tapped the shoulder of the driver. "Can you stop at that house there? The one with the red door?"

She caught the odd glance the driver gave her, but he nodded nevertheless. "Thank you. A friend lives there. I wanted to see him today."

"Do you need me to wait?" the driver asked.

"That won't be necessary."

She got out and looked up at the row of houses before her. The car then pulled away from the kerbside, leaving her by herself on the lonely street. A few of the homes still had their lights on, including the one she stood right in front of, the one with the red door.

This was a mad idea, she knew, and worse, what if Henry somehow found out? Came to the maternity hospital only to find she had already gone, but not at home? No – she wouldn't let things go to far, she wasn't foolish. She would only stay an hour or two, then call for a taxi to drive back home. Henry would see her beside him in bed in the morning, and all she had to do was say the clinic driver drove her back home, Henry was already in bed, she crept in, and everything would be fine.

It was still a mad idea: impulsive, foolish, not something she'd normally do. This carried far more consequence than simply writing letters. If Henry found out …

But he wouldn't. Mary was sure of it.

She walked up the stairs, gripping the cold iron railing to steady herself. She could she shadows behind the curtain hanging in the front window, and she wondered if it was him. It would be him who answered the door; he had no butler, only a cook and one maid. What would she say when he opened the door? Or would he speak first? Or would they both stand there, staring at each other, unable to say a word?

She couldn't afford to wait a moment longer, for the light in the front room flickered off. That had to be him finishing his work for the night, ready to go upstairs and settle down in bed. Mary had to act now or she'd lose her nerve. She grasped the brass door knocker, slammed it down twice.

On the other side of the door she heard footsteps approaching.

A/N: *gasp!* What will happen between Mary and Matthew? Will they talk about the past? Will they profess their love for each other? Stay tuned for more!