A/N: Many thanks to everybody who has reviewed, favourited, alerted, or otherwise supported this story over the last few months. I appreciate so much the fact that so many of you seem to have stuck with me and remained interested; I'm incredibly grateful to you all. I've started a new job which is utterly all consuming. Much as I wish it were possible, writing simply doesn't happen during term time. I wish so much it did because I miss it dreadfully. Anyway, I'm glad I've had the opportunity this vacation to write this! I would like to say that there will be another chapter before I break up for the summer in July but unfortunately that's not something I can promise and I hope you will all understand if I'm unable to deliver before then.
Since the last chapter, the story has been mentioned in an article in Jezebel on DA fanfic which was both hilarious and incredibly flattering. Brianna Goldberg, if you're reading this, I'm not 100% sure if "my mind is BLOWN" is entirely positive (:P) but I'm ridiculously flattered to be included in your list either way, so thank you, really. The lovelyLorca Owen has also started to translate the story into Spanish which is amazing. Links to that, and to versions in Russian and Chinese are on my tumblr page, so do check them out if you read any of these languages - I only wish I did!
I also want to thank the wonderful London Life Regency RPG for providing the setting for this chapter - it's not just Downton that does modern AUs! Viola and Olivia Fitzgerald are my characters but Demelza Quartermaine is Vikki's so I hope she doesn't mind my borrowing her briefly. And of course, particular thanks to the wonderful OrangeShipper for her friendship, support, and beta-ing skills. Also to the equally lovely mrstater for her support and friendship and many discussions about modern Richard!
Quick edit to A/N which I forgot: OrangeShipper pointed out to me when she had read it through first that the final scene was quite similar to something in the original fanfic version of Fifty Shades of Grey. I haven't read that or the published book so I find this hilarious - "great" minds clearly think alike. Um... Anyway, I can't help feeling that if there is any similarity it can only be auspicious!
Hope you enjoy the chapter! :)
Chapter Twenty
The Fitzgeralds lived in a large house near Wimbledon, not far from the river and set in considerable gardens of its own. In many ways, Matthew decided by the end of the evening, it was more impressive than Downton Abbey. It was not half so big or old but it was immaculately maintained, every inch of chrome fitting and polished wooden furniture gleamed, and it effortlessly absorbed the hundred or so people invited that evening to celebrate Olivia's seventeenth birthday. Downton Abbey, or at least the part the Crawleys inhabited, felt like a home. A strange, implausible, out-of-time, National Trust owned, country mansion type home but home all the same. This place felt like a show home on some exclusive edition of Move to the Country specifically aimed at millionaires.
"Don't let the flies in," hissed Mary as they entered the hall and Matthew abruptly shut his mouth. "And fangs out!" she added.
He glared at her.
"Shall we play the game for at least five minutes?" She brushed away a bit of white face powder that had got onto his collar and smiled apologetically.
"I feel like I've fallen down the rabbit hole," Matthew breathed in response, his eyes roaming over her face. "Again."
She was beautiful this evening, dressed more as a vampire princess than as Bella Swann, even with the necessarily overdone make-up. Matthew kissed her and squeezed her hands softly. If this was going to be his one chance to see how the other half lived then he might as well take advantage of the opportunity. Then they put in the uncomfortable rubber fangs and grimaced ludicrously, still holding hands, at Olivia when she ran out into the hall to greet her friend.
When the birthday girl had darted off to mingle some more with her guests, Sybil slipped away to find Tom. The band was setting up in the study and as she opened the door, she came face to face with their lead guitarist, leaving for a cigarette break.
"Woah, too much skin! Too much skin in my face!" He shaded his eyes with his hand as she brushed past him before calling back into the room, "Booty call for you, Branson!"
"Sybs!"
Sybil broke into a grin at her boyfriend's exclamation. He pushed himself up from an armchair and crossed the room towards her as she half ran to him. They met in the middle and kissed before Tom pulled back and stared at her, his eyes raking up and down her body.
"Wow."
"You like it?" She did a self-conscious twirl and posed with a hand resting on her waist.
"Like it? Sybil, you're wearing a gold bikini!" Tom shook his head. "I have the best girlfriend ever!"
For a moment she had worried that she was showing her pregnancy even though she had spent an impossibly long time in front of the mirror when getting ready examining herself. Perhaps she looked a little more rounded than she had been but nothing that would be noticeable to anyone who was not very familiar with her body and even Tom seemed distracted enough by her costume.
"If you can't dress a bit adventurously when you're young then I don't know when you can," she replied, stepping back into his arms.
Tom chuckled and almost kissed her. He stopped. "You haven't called me all week. You've hardly texted me. What's up?"
Sybil grimaced. "Oof, Tom. I was on holiday!"
"In Scotland. You still get free calls. I missed you."
"I missed you too." She kissed him again before pulling abruptly out of his arms. She walked away from him and sat down on one of the chairs that had been pushed to the sides of the room. "I had – I had to sort out Mary's love life." He looked incredulous and she pushed on with nervous quickness. "She's the sort of person you'd think would have it all sorted but she's hopeless. I had to – well, anyway."
"I still don't see why you couldn't text me. Come on, Sybs; I started thinking you'd gone off me and dumped me for some prince your sister knows."
Sybil stared at him and he quickly knelt before her and took her hands in his. "You haven't, have you?"
"God no! Anyway, it's Mary who's been getting the action this week. Hey, you can meet them tonight – Mary and-"
"Mary's here?" Tom sprang to his feet and smoothed down his black t-shirt with the Tomcats logo on it, glancing down at himself.
"Yeah, she came back with me. I want you to meet her and Matthew too – you'll like him, he's really normal."
"Normal? And he's going out with your sister Mary?"
"You're doing that thing again where you're mean about my family when you haven't even met them." She took a deep breath. "Anyway. Tom. I need to talk to you."
He came back to her and sat down on the chair next to her and smiled reassuringly. "Sure. So long as you're not breaking up with me I'll talk to you about anything. But the band's first set is in fifteen minutes so we don't have that much time."
"I'm not sure," said Sybil, proud of how steady her voice was, "that we'll be done in fifteen minutes."
Matthew and Mary had drifted into the main room of the party. A stage was set up at one end of the large room in preparation for the band and French windows opened onto the gardens.
"You could fit my sister's entire flat into this single room." Matthew muttered in Mary's ear as they mingled with hordes of Medieval wizards, superheroes, and Harry Potter characters.
"Do you even know anybody here?" he asked her a few minutes later. "Otherwise this could be an awkward few hours."
"I'm looking for Olivia's sister. She did a law conversion course last year and she's doing a training contract now. You should talk to her. We just need to find where the adults are."
"Oh great. Networking. I love those parties."
Mary shrugged one elegant shoulder as she nudged her way through the guests with ease, Matthew trailing behind. "Of course networking. You don't think people over eighteen come to these events to enjoy themselves, do you?"
Passing a bin they got rid of the horrible fake fangs. Olivia had seen them so they had served their purpose. Mary was aiming for a smaller room off the main one but before they reached it, they were confronted by a petite brunette who might have been a member of the Stark family or any other high fantasy lady who had an impressive hair do.
"Mary!" she cried.
"Viola!" replied Mary and made significant movements with her eyebrows at Matthew.
"I had no idea you were in London, how are you?"
Matthew shoved his hands in his pockets while Mary and Viola kissed each other on the cheek and caught up.
"And this is Matthew," she said eventually, beckoning him forwards and interrupting a pleasant daydream about running his hand down Mary's velvet-clad back and brushing away her hair to kiss the exposed skin on her neck. "He's training to be a lawyer too."
"Is that so?" said Viola, shifting her balance and turning a pair of piercing brown eyes on him. "It's lovely to meet you, Matthew. So where are you doing your course? Do you have a training contract lined up yet?"
He was caught and, feeling Mary's approving gaze on him, decided that he might as well talk shop to Sybil's friend's sister as do anything else.
"I'll get us some drinks, shall I?" said Mary, brushing his arm with her fingers. Her voice was light and agreeable and just a little distant. It was the same voice she had used when he had first met her at the debate. It was, he realised, her public voice. She flitted away without waiting for any reply, leaving Matthew staring after her until Viola's voice interrupted his admiration.
"You haven't been going out very long, have you?" She sounded amused.
"No," replied Matthew still looking at the doorway through which Mary had disappeared, "not long at all."
The room off the main party room was smaller and more intimate and the average age significantly higher. There was a drinks table with glasses of red and white wine and juice against one wall and another table with finger food on it along the opposite wall. Mary hovered near the drinks, waiting for an opportunity to inch through the people crowding round it and get something for her and Matthew. Would he prefer red or white wine? So many things she did not know about him yet, she reflected with a flutter of pleasure as she thought about finding these things out, slowly and in their own time. She would get white; white was more classy for drinking on its own, red went better with food. She had just decided this when the laugh of a woman in the little group of people currently blocking her caught her attention. She was an elderly woman, sharply dressed with no concession to the theme. Mary recognised her as Demelza Quartermaine, a great patron of the arts in London, and a friend of her grandmother's. She would have to talk to her once there was an opportunity to break into the group.
Mrs. Quartermaine was talking to three men. One Mary recognised as the editor of a well-known financial newspaper, the unexpectedly good-humoured Alfred Sterne. He was the only one of the group who had made an effort to wear a costume, a good attempt at a wizard complete with long, fake, white beard. He was laughing uproariously at whatever the third member of the group had just said. This young man presented a breakfast show on television but Mary could not remember his name. The final member of their quartet had his back to her and she could not tell who he was until he spoke.
"You'll find it's a complete fallacy, Lazenby," he said to the young man. "The public will eat up anything you give them provided they think it's drivel. It's all in the presentation."
Mary's eyes widened. She had watched enough popular literature television programmes presented by Professor Richard Carlisle to know his voice when she heard it.
"Even heavy nineteenth century novels?" inquired Mrs. Quartermaine in tones of deep irony.
"Especially," he replied. "Anyone who saw my series on Hardy's teenagers would agree. You don't need a fancy degree to understand literature; all that matters is-"
Mrs. Quartermaine had caught sight of Mary and abruptly cut Professor Carlisle off with the rude confidence of the very old and very rich.
"Mary Crawley? Is it you? What are you doing here?"
Carlisle and Lazenby stepped aside to let Mary through to kiss Mrs. Quartermaine's cheek.
"I could say the same about you. Granny complains you never come to see her any more."
"When Lady Grantham deigns to come to London to see me, at that point I will consider making a trip to Yorkshire to see her. You can go away now," she added to the men around her. "I have someone more interesting to talk to."
Lazenby and Sterne smiled indulgently and left them but the professor was not inclined to leave.
"I recognise the name, Mary Crawley," he said coming round so he could see Mary better.
"I shouldn't be surprised if you did. Mary, this is Professor Richard Carlisle who makes those dreadful programmes about literature that everyone says will inspire people to read more. You know, Richard, in my day the things that inspired people to read were books."
"Thank you for that wonderfully flattering introduction, Demelza," he replied, shooting her an amused look. "But I think Mary Crawley already knew that. We have emailed each other, haven't we?"
"Oh you know each other!" cried Mrs. Quartermaine, lifting her hands up. "I needn't have bothered. Suit yourselves, I am going to get one of those adorable little cheese things on sticks."
She hobbled away leaving Mary alone with the professor. He was peering at her from bright blue eyes. Not the same shade as Matthew's, she noted – as if everything was about Matthew! And yet, at that moment, at some level it was.
"I'm right, aren't I?" he insisted. "You study English at St Andrews and want me to supervise your undergraduate dissertation next year."
"Yes," said Mary. "It's a real pleasure to meet you, Professor Carlisle."
She held out her hand with a polished smile, adjusting quickly to meeting someone she had had no intention of seeing in person until September.
He hesitated for a moment before taking her hand and shaking it firmly. "Likewise, Mary. And don't you have a Lady somewhere in your email signature, or did I imagine that?"
"My father is the Earl of Grantham," said Mary crisply. There was something about the close way she was being observed that made her self-conscious and reluctant to say anything more than what was strictly necessary.
"Your father is the Earl of Grantham. Hmm." It was hard to tell what he thought of that, if anything. He finally let go of her hand. "It's not often undergraduates contact me out of the blue to work with me. You must like Henry James a lot."
"I'm certainly not one to pass up an opportunity to study one of my favourite writers with one of his most eminent critics so I really couldn't help myself when I saw you were moving to St Andrews."
She leaned back to get herself a glass of wine from the table and sipped it, looking at him curiously over the rim of the glass. He was older than he appeared on television, without the flattering make-up, probably about forty, but he had the same magnetic presence in real life as he did on the small screen; she could feel that even from their brief conversation.
"So, are you going to supervise me?" she asked hastily, smiling hopefully and raising her eyebrows at him.
He looked her up and down without replying. "I'm intrigued to see you here in London," he said eventually. "Isn't the dreaded exam season going on at the moment?"
Mary did not like this feeling of being judged, especially as she already felt bad enough about coming up to London when she still had Shakespearean Tragedy looming over her. "Yes, there are still exams going on."
He inclined his head. "I've not decided about taking you on yet. I expect a lot from my students. I want to know, are you capable of great things, Lady Mary Crawley? Ah, this must be-"
He looked over her shoulder, just as Mary had opened her mouth to retort something, she was not sure what, except that he really deserved a retort, and she looked behind her. It was Matthew and anxious surprise melted into pleasure.
"There you are!" he exclaimed, coming up behind her and putting his arm round her waist, a possessive touch that made her heart beat faster. She was Matthew's... She was Matthew's and he was hers.
"This is Matthew," she introduced him. "My boyfriend."
She felt him shift beside her and his hand tighten on her waist.
"And this is Professor Carlisle. He's going to be joining the School of English at St Andrews next year."
"Pleased to meet you," said Matthew breathlessly. Mary fancied she knew why. She felt breathless too.
Professor Carlisle looked less impressed. He cast his eyes over Matthew very briefly and then turned his attention fully back to Mary. "I'll send you a preliminary reading list for over the summer. Tell me what you make of that when you've read it all and then we'll think more about dissertations. Nice to put a face to the name, Mary. Excuse me."
Raising his arm to someone on the other side of the room, he walked away from them, and Mary immediately turned to Matthew, handing him his drink.
"I'm your boyfriend?" he murmured instantly, just as she knew he would.
"Why, are you complaining?" she murmured back facetiously, heart fluttering under the warmth of his gaze.
"I wish I could show you just how much I'm not complaining."
"Perhaps you can. The Fitzgeralds have a large garden going down to the river. Do you want to go for a walk?"
Matthew leaned very close to her. "I think you know perfectly well, Mary, that you could suggest just about anything and I would agree." His breath warm on her cheek, he pressed his lips to her skin briefly.
She shivered as she pulled back. "Anything? God, I'm not sure I'm that creative."
"Really?" He grinned at her so suggestively that she felt a wave of fainting desire wash over her that was as unexpected as it was strong. "I think you could be very creative if you wanted to," he whispered, leaning forward, his cheek almost against hers.
The wine slopped against the sides of her glass. "Come on," she said abruptly and held out her hand.
He took it and let her lead the way through the crowds.
"Pregnant?"
Tom stared at the floor as he tried to take it in. Sybil watched him anxiously, knotting her hands together. In the end it had been easier than she had thought it would be. After all, they were only words and she was not a coward. This, this was where it got hard.
He looked up at her suddenly. "Are you sure? Quite quite sure?"
She huffed. "I've missed two periods, I took like a hundred tests, and then I threw up in Mary's bathroom two days in a row so-"
"Okay okay, so you're sure." He lapsed back into silence.
Sybil waited as long as she could bear then she said very tentatively, "Are you alright?"
He shot up into a straighter position. "Am I fucking alright? I'm -" He flailed a moment before shaking his head. "I really don't know how to deal with this."
"You think I do?" she shot back. "At least you don't feel like crap all the time."
"God, I'm sorry. It's just that – everything's changed and I – Sybs, this is just..."
"Are you going to dump me?" she interrupted, very quickly, before she lost her nerve.
"Dump you?" He stared at her as if seeing her properly for the first time. Then he pulled her into his arms, tucking her head onto his shoulder and pressing his lips to her hair. "Why would you think I'd do that?"
"Mary said-"
"Fuck Mary!" he muttered making her laugh shakily against his cheek. "Sorry, I don't mean it but she seriously needs to back off." He held her more tightly. "You shocked me. I still don't... Okay, look, it's going to take me longer than a few minutes to process this, but I didn't want you to think..." He pulled away from her. "Look at me, Sybs." She opened her eyes and looked at him, half hopefully, half suspiciously. "Doesn't matter what else happens, right, I'm still going to be here."
"You are?"
He looked at her as seriously as he could, a solemn, scared young man in a black Tomcats t-shirt. "I want to run a million miles right now but come on," he pushed a strand of hair away from her face to stop her turning away, "if I run, I'm taking you with me."
"Together?" she said, a grin bursting over her face, because nobody had ever said anything so blissfully romantic to her before and although she was not the kind of girl who dreamed of knights in shining armour, she still could not help responding in a giddy way.
"You're having my baby – oh God, that sounds so weird – but you are and so yeah, together."
"Oh Tom!" she fell back against him and wrapped her arms tightly round his neck. "I knew you wouldn't leave. I knew it," she breathed into his neck. "I knew it."
He held her gently, rubbing his hand against her back in small circles and feeling her heart beat rapidly against his chest. She was such a strong, such a steady girl, he had always felt, but just then she felt so delicate, so little, so vulnerable. Tom stared out across the room at an elegant grandfather clock that seemed out of place considering the instrument cases and junk the band had accumulated over the afternoon. He watched the pendulum swing regularly back and forth, each second marking another way in which his life was changing before his very eyes.
It was a very warm evening with just a slight breeze coming up from the river to add some freshness to the air. Hand in hand, Matthew and Mary slipped out of some French windows and immediately made their way down the sloping lawn to the path at the bottom that overlooked the water. After all the noise of the party and the band, which was now about half way through their set it was refreshing to be out here alone.
"They don't sound half bad," said Mary after they had strolled in silence for a while. "Tom's band, I mean. I've heard worse amateurs."
Matthew shook his head fondly. "Mary... I don't want to talk."
He took both her hands then leaned in and kissed her deeply, pressing her back against the fence. Mary wrapped her arms round him, threading her fingers into his hair, as she sighed into the kiss. It had been hours since she had last kissed him. It seemed like a lifetime.
The night was quiet, nobody was near them, and somehow the kiss did not end as all the other ones had done. No taxi arrived, Sybil was not missing a shoe, Cora was not coming up the stairs. Matthew grew bolder, his lips roving from her mouth to her chin and down to her neck, pulling her closer to him as his hands started to explore the curves of the velvet evening dress more deliberately. Mary gasped and clutched at him, suddenly leaning back and looking at him.
"We're alone!" she cried in a loud whisper.
Matthew smiled and returned to sucking at the pulse point of her neck. "I should hope so!"
"We-" she gasped. She was going to say 'we can't' but half way through she decided she didn't care. Instead, she pulled up his head and kissed him with such desperate force that it took his breath away. She pushed against him so hard that they swayed away from the fence and then they had swapped places, Mary pressing him back against it, her hands in his hair.
"God, Mary-" he gasped out, tearing his lips from hers for a brief moment.
"We can be seen from the house!" he managed to get out the next time the contact broke.
She pulled him around again with a breathy laugh, lower and more seductive than he had ever heard her sound, and somehow, half tripping, half running they hurried along the path and past a tall hedge that divided the main lawn from another part of the garden. This area was more enclosed, grass surrounding a formal pond with a fountain sticking up in the middle of it, not currently turned on. Mary and Matthew looked around long enough to take in the high hedges and the seclusion before allowing the laughter to fade away in more, longer kisses that soon had them sinking on weakened knees to the grass.
"Is it-" muttered Matthew reaching out to pat it, overbalancing and suddenly sitting down, pulling Mary down with him.
"Dry," she finished, laughing against his mouth - as if it mattered.
The grass was soft and smelled of spring earth. They lay side by side, legs tangled together, exploring each other with trembling fingers and hot mouths. The gentle breeze contrasted pleasantly with the fire they were generating between themselves and the light fear of discovery, however unlikely, only added to the thrill of it.
With a sigh, Mary relaxed onto her back, Matthew rolling with her and all of a sudden he was above her staring down at her wide-eyed with wonder and desire, his hair flopping over his face. His hands were pressed against her side and breast, burning hot points of pressure. Mary's breath caught as she met his eyes, her chest tightening.
She breathed his name anxiously and he only smiled, placing one finger softly against her lips. "It's alright, sweetheart."
"No," she said around his finger. "I mean, we can't." At his questioning frown she rolled her eyes, wishing she wasn't blushing as she felt she was. She wriggled under him. "It's not – not being here that is,but I'm not – we don't have – my sister is pregnant!"
For a moment, his forehead had creased but then he understood and his face relaxed into a smile again. He kissed her, slowly and intimately. Stroking his hand down her cheek, he breathed into her ear, "Do you trust me?"
Mary frowned even as her arms tightened round his neck. "Yes. I do trust you, but I don't want..."
"Shh, I know. Relax, Mary."
"Whenever someone tells me to relax, I feel immediately tense," she whispered with a shaky laugh. She pushed him away to be able to look at him again.
Matthew met her gaze, open and affectionate and very understanding. He bit his lip. "You know, there are other - I mean, we can..."
Blustering hopelessly, he trailed off but his discomfort perversely made Mary feel more confident. She rolled her eyes and leaned up to kiss him before she could change her mind.
He was very gentle, delightfully gentle, almost too gentle, Mary might have thought if she had been inclined to think, as he set about making love to her. She did trust him though, and she lay back, her eyes open to the cloudy night sky and a moon that if not full was almost full, fading in and out of visibility. It was beautiful and she felt beautiful too, worshipped, and protected by Matthew's hands skimming over her body, lingering just long enough in the right places to cause little gasps, and which always moved on a moment too soon, leaving her strangely unsatisfied.
It had been warm enough during the day that she had eschewed tights under her long dress and she next felt him carefully pull off her ballet slippers and run his hands over her ankles. She giggled, pressing her fist to her mouth. Who knew she would be ticklish there? Then his hands moved higher up on her bare skin and she briefly stiffened in surprise. Matthew kissed the hand that lay limply at her side, each finger at a time and she sighed, reaching down to touch his face with a feather-light caress. She trusted him, and when his fingers continued and completed their journey, the giggles turned to pants and she flung out her arm behind her, grasping at stalks of grass, her hand clenching and releasing in time with the rhythm of his strokes. She stretched out to him and he was there at her side with her, pink in the face and earnest, shuddering with her. When release finally came for her, suddenly and blindingly, he pulled her into his arms and rolled onto his back, breathing heavily as she came back to earth. He kissed her all over her face and ran his hands down her arms until she opened her eyes to meet his.
"Alright?" he murmured, taking several deep, calming breaths.
Mary ran a heavy, trembling finger down his cheek. She could not stop staring at him, at the curve of his lips, the straightness of his nose, the brightness of his eyes. She did not think she had ever felt so much for any other person before in her life as she felt for Matthew in that moment. She gave a barely perceptible nod and moistened her lips.
"I wish..." Her eyes frowned in sympathy for him. "I wish I could..."
He smiled adoringly at her and kissed her very softly and chastely. "Later. It's okay."
She shook her head in lazy disbelief and curled herself against him, using his chest as a pillow and twining their fingers together. Her mind was a wonderful vacuum, void of any thoughts, only picking up indistinctly on the little sounds of their breathing and the solid thump of Matthew's heartbeat, gradually slowing and the feel of his hand, gently running through her hair and the pressure of his body against hers.
Eventually though reality would intrude and Mary reluctantly pushed herself up into a sitting position.
"The band have stopped playing."
"Mmm." Matthew stared up at her, unconcerned about such things as bands and parties when there was Mary Crawley sitting in the grass with mussed hair and flushed cheeks and it was all because of him.
"We should find Sybil."
"Probably." He started drawing patterns on the palm of her hand.
"Don't you want to leave this blasted party?" exclaimed Mary. Her tone was demanding but there was a softness about her expression that negated any sharpness. "Don't you want to go home?" she added, raising her eyebrows.
He simply looked at her and then he shook his head. "You're marvellous, Mary. Utterly marvellous. Do you realise that?"
For a moment her expression was completely unguarded and he could hardly breathe at the utter longing he saw reflected in her face. Then she gave herself a shake and actually stood up and arranged her skirts around her. She smirked over her shoulder at him. "So I've been told."
She held her hand out to him. "Coming?"
Matthew didn't hesitate.
Next chapter: Matthew and Mary deal with their unfinished business. The countess gets to make her surprised drunk kitten expression several times over. Poor Cora...