Author's Note: Hello! I must thank Faeyero for being the best beta. Also thank you all for the crazy, insightful, challenging (in a good way), question filled reviews. I love them. Just one quick thing to go over about the story up to this point. The only people who know that Grace is a product of the small library are Cora, Granny, and Matthew. The people who know that the small library took place are Isobel & Sybil. Tom only knows that Sir Richard "hurt" Mary, which was enough for him to hate the man forever. I am not claiming that Isobel or Sybil have not put two and two together. But I just want to be clear that disclosing the rape and disclosing Sir Richard's role in Grace's life are two very different things. The only reason I am making a big deal about is that to Mary, they are two very different things. xx
Chapter Twenty Five
Waking up naked, wrapped around each other, Mary's damned cold toes against his calf, felt strangely luxurious. He was surprised she hadn't awakened sick yet and he considered pressing his luck to see if she would be interested in a morning repeat of last night. But then he heard "Papa! Papa!" from the next room.
"She's calling for you," Mary murmured without shame, sleepily, as she rolled over. "I can't help it if she wants her papa."
He leaned down to kiss her lips. "You know that won't work with this one, right?" he grinned, resting his hand against her belly. "He or she won't be able to say Papa for quite awhile." She smiled sleepily at him and turned back over to burrow beneath her pillow.
He was so bleary eyed from lack of sleep (first staying up to read the letters about that man and then because his wife wouldn't give him a moment's peace, which was perfectly all right with him) that he caught himself nearly walking out of the room naked. He grabbed a pair of pants and slid his arms into his unbuttoned shirt before heading down the hall to their daughter's room. When he returned to bed not two minutes later, Mary let out an exhausted grunt. "Where's Grace?"
"Cousin Violet came by to see Mother after yesterday's happenings. Mother said after all the drama we should have a lie in and that she was perfectly happy and perfectly capable of watching her granddaughter for a few hours," he murmured, pressing kisses up her back, moving her hair off the back of her neck as he went. She was waking up now, only half-reluctantly.
She purred, then moved a little bit away from him to glare out of one eye. "Your mother is not our nanny."
"Mary," he begged, pressing his forehead to her shoulder. "She offered to give us hours to sleep...and be together." He paused and she went still. "Besides, don't you think they should have some bonding time?" he wheedled.
She rolled over towards him, one of her legs sliding between his, eyes still closed, voice still fuzzy. "You're very clever, you know."
"Well, then, let your clever husband point out something he noticed," he said, leaning down to kiss her once more. "You haven't been sick yet this morning. Maybe we've found the cure." He smirked at her.
She pinched his side. "I don't think I'm going to be sick, cure or no cure. My stomach doesn't feel perfect but much better than any other morning. And it's because I'm farther along in the pregnancy, you dolt, just like the doctor said. It was the same last time."
"Do you want me to get you something? Tea? Toast?" he asked, stroking his hand lightly over her belly.
"Mmm...You can take off your clothes and get back in bed, if you really want to do something for me," she grinned, her eyes still closed.
"Are you sure you're even awake?" he asked, removing his shirt.
"I can tell you are," she murmured, sliding the leg between his a little higher to feel him waiting and heavy.
"Do you think–you know the doctor said you need to be comfortable," he began, brushing kisses along her collarbone.
"He meant, in a very polite way, that when I am hugely fat, we might need to get creative in how we...mmm" she murmured, as he nibbled the hollow of her throat. He shifted his weight for better access. "Ouch!" she cried, and he started upright.
"What? What? Are you all right?"
"No, I'm fine," she soothed. "It's just...my breasts are a little tender. That happened before, too. Maybe you could just have a little more care with them than usual, all right?"
As if in apology, he pressed a soft kiss to first her right and then her left breast. "Speaking of, you know what I noticed last night?" Gently he took her breasts in his hands, cradling them while he continued to brush his lips over them.
"What?" she asked, breathing a bit more heavily at his touch.
"They were lovely before but it seems as if they've...blossomed a bit." He grinned wickedly at her for a moment before laying down a series of open mouthed kisses between her breasts, then up the slope of one and then the other.
"Yes," she sighed. "Every part of me is getting fatter."
"No," he shook his head definitely. "Not every part of you. Just these." He held her breasts and then lowered his head to press a kiss to her stomach, which indeed was starting to protrude a bit. "And I didn't say they were getting fatter. I said they were blossoming," he corrected.
"I just don't understand how this could make me more attractive to you." She blew out a long breath, but did not stop his ministrations, only ran her hand through his hair.
"Because I love you. Because I love that we made this baby." He leaned up, his weight on his forearms, to suck on her lip. "And I suppose, there is some part of me, deep down, that..."
"That what?"
"That is proud that...I did this to you...that I could do this to you. Perhaps it's a man thing."
She smiled at him, her eyes slits. "All right. Are you going to have your way with me or should I go back to sleep?"
"Pregnancy has made you quite demanding," he noted as his hands caressed her sides, moving downwards, then slid between her thighs.
Mary was having difficulty catching her breath but managed to pant, "you've known me too long to blame it on the pregnancy." The last word was spoken directly into his mouth.
A little while later, both of them sweaty and clinging to one another, she pressed a kiss to his jaw. "I love you, you know," she said, looking down at him. "Even when I am acting like a crazy person. Or crying."
He didn't understand how she could even think of having a serious conversation when all of his brain cells felt scrambled by the feel of her still pulsing around him, but he was wise enough not to say so. "I love you too, darling," he managed.
She was nearly asleep, her cheek pressed to his chest, by the time he had his wits about him again. "So...I was reading some of your letters last night."
"Uh huh," she murmured sleepily.
"And I came across this bundle about Andrew or should I call him Drew...?"
Her eyes opened but she didn't move. "Oh? Granny kept those in there? Remind me to to hurt her."
"They were very interesting to me," he continued, his tongue in his cheek. "Oh Drew and his gray eyes and his dog, Sam, and his laugh, and the gelato, and the kissing," he mocked.
"I want to make two very important points about that whole situation," she said, her cheek to his chest, her fingers drawing lazy circles on his belly.
"Oh?" he asked, lifting his head enough to see just a hint of her smile.
"Yes. The first point is, I am lying here with you. And I never came close to lying like this with him. Not even close. We kissed. Once. Maybe twice."
"Oh, you mean, with Drew, with the gray eyes, and the laugh?" he asked.
"Don't be jealous, darling," she murmured. "I'm about to make my second point."
"Oh?" he repeated.
She pressed an openmouthed kiss to his chest, her nails just gently touching him, then another, then another, further and further down, her nails grazing against his skin, until she had to push the covers back. She licked around his belly button. She nibbled at his hipbones. Then she made his eyes cross.
Eventually, they slept. They had to. Or they would die.
It was lucky indeed that she was already mostly dressed when Isobel knocked on the door and announced that the Countess of Grantham was waiting for her daughter downstairs. Though Matthew had quite literally been trying to convince her to throw up her skirts for one last go of it, Mary pushed him away. "I love you," she said. "You know that I do. And I know that you love me. But we both also know that we still haven't talked about yesterday. I know I mentioned going back to New York..."
"Mary," he kissed her. "I meant it when I said I would do whatever you wished."
"That's not helping," she complained. "We need to talk about it. We need to decide what is best for all of us: you, me, Gracie, and this baby. We need to make this decision together. And my mother is down there and she's going to beg me to forgive my father and she'll probably cry and you and I haven't talked at all!"
"Please don't cry," he pleaded.
"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Matthew, but I am carrying your child, which makes me emotional, and I can't help it. I know we are good at this..." she sniffed, gesturing to the bed with its rumpled sheets. "It's an important part of our marriage and I wouldn't have it any other way. And I know I can count on you to be a good father. I know that I can lean on you. I trust you completely. We're good lovers, and good parents to Grace. But you and I...we are still not good at talking with one another."
It went nearly exactly as she had predicted once she went downstairs. Cora had come, teary eyed and full of apologies...on Robert's behalf, and with an invitation for dinner.
"Mama," Mary shook her head. "I know you feel badly for the way things happened, but..."
"But Mary," Cora held out her hands to her eldest daughter. "Your father's right in a way. How can we blame him for doing something like this when he was and continues to be in the dark?"
Mary withdrew her hands from Cora's. "Are you suggesting I...tell him about–Sir Richard?"
"I...I do believe that maybe...I think it would only be fair to your father." She pressed her lips together.
Mary set her chin, suddenly angry. "You know what I don't think is fair, Mama? That not only did I have to endure what happened in that library but I am forced to relive it by telling it to people. Why isn't my word enough for him when I say I cannot see that man? But it isn't. Not for Papa. It never has been. He's never fought for me. Not for the entail..."
"Oh, must we go back to that? Now, when it's all settled?" Cora wheedled.
"It's only settled," Mary hissed, "because Matthew and I fell in love. Papa played no part in that. And yes, we must go back to it because the fact remains that something has been broken between Papa and me for a long time."
"Oh, Mary–what can I say?" Cora pleaded, her eyes blinking wetly. "What can I do to fix this?"
"It isn't for you to fix." Mary turned away from her mother. "I think Matthew and I might go to Manchester. He can practice law there. Or even back to New York and figure some things out. We haven't decided but I don't know if we can stay here."
"Mary." Cora began to cry. "Please, please don't. I've just gotten you back. I've just met Gracie and the baby you're carrying..."
"What do you suggest, Mama? Should I remain here where I can run into Sir Richard anytime, even at my childhood home?"
Cora spotted Matthew at the top of the stairs, debating whether to break up the conversation or give them privacy. "Matthew," Cora cried. "Come to dinner tonight. Help me to fix things between Robert and Mary."
Matthew took in his wife's stance, her crossed arms, her raised chin. "I'm sorry, Cousin Cora, but I would need to discuss that invitation with Mary before I could accept." Mary smiled briefly. Well, it's a start.
"Besides, Mama," Mary she continued, "you would need to check and see if Papa has invited any other guests."
"I know he has not because they are coming tomorrow." Cora wrung her hands as Mary turned around to face her. Matthew came down the stairs to urge his enraged wife into a sitting position.
"So you're going to..." Mary choked on her words, "sit across the table from...that man...?"
"What am I to do, Mary? Your grandmother flatly refuses to join us. I invited Isobel as well, and she was not very kind in refusing. Now I hear from Sybil that she and Tom and Robbie will be having dinner at Crawley house that night because she would not want..." Cora paused (this was news to Mary but good news nonetheless). "Oh, I can't repeat what she said of that man. Then Edith is back on bed rest. So tell me: what I am to do?"
"Not have him at all!" Mary sobbed. Oh, baby, she thought, placing a protective hand on her belly, can't you leave me some dignity?
"I think you should go now, Cousin Cora," Matthew said, leaving no room for any more questions. She did as he asked, leaving in tears.
Matthew sat next to Mary on the divan, as closely as possible, his arm around her. "Let's talk it out," he murmured to her temple. "Let's say all the hard things."
She turned into him, sliding her arm around his waist. "Do you think I'm being completely unreasonable about this? That I should just tell Papa?"
Matthew closed his eyes, pressing his lips to her hair. "Oh, Mary. I wish I had an answer for you. If you tell Robert what happened, he will keep Sir Richard from you. But...I completely understand your reticence to do so."
Try as she might, should could not prevent the tears from leaking out. "When...when I tell it, it's like it's happening all over again."
"Oh, Mary." He lifted her legs, putting them over his legs, and wrapped his arms around her waist, so that she was in his lap. He rocked her and the comfort she felt was the same that Sybil had given the night before with her ever tightening arms. They were quiet for a long time, with a few sniffles to break up the silence.
"What if," Matthew began, stroking her face, "I speak with your father, man to man. I won't reveal anything, Mary. But I'll make it clear to him that, unless he banishes Carlisle from Downton, he risks losing a relationship with you and me and his grandchildren."
"He doesn't really have a relationship with me or Gracie or even you to lose. Not anymore."
"Well." Matthew kissed her cheek, the side of her nose. "Maybe we should go to dinner tonight, a little earlier than usual. You could talk to your Papa beforehand about rebuilding a relationship with him, about building one with Grace, and explain that you aren't comfortable taking him into your confidence unless those two things change."
She pressed her face to his neck. "I know I say it often but you are a very intelligent man."
"For a middle-class solicitor from Manchester?"
"Upper-middle class," she corrected automatically, and then they were laughing.
Mary had a brief breakdown when trying to fit in to any of the dresses which were appropriate for dinner at Downton. She was nearly in tears when finally the last one fit, Matthew pulling with all his strength to close it. But when she stepped in front of the mirror, she threw up her hands. "I look fat."
"No, darling," he replied as patiently as possible. "You look pregnant. Remember what Dr. George said, that you would begin to show earlier since..."
She gave him a hateful look and he quieted.
Isobel offered to stay home with Gracie, who would be in bed just as dinner started anyway. "But you aren't our nanny," Mary told her rather passionately. "This shouldn't be your responsibility."
Isobel took Mary's hands. "It isn't a responsibility but a pleasure to spend time with my granddaughter. And I am happy to play a part in helping to heal your relationship with your father. And you, my dear," she squeezed Mary's hands, "need to learn how to ask for help."
Matthew concealed his smirk and carefully looked at the ceiling so no one could read his expression at his mother's words.
Cora had sent the car for them and they held hands in the back seat. He knew she would not want to speak in front of the chauffeur but as soon as they stepped out, he brought her hand to his mouth. "It will be fine," he assured her.
"It's so strange," she said softly, as they walked towards the front door, even as Carson, beloved Carson opened it for them, "to be going to dinner at the house I grew up in."
The rest of the family waited in the sitting room while Mary and Robert walked to the large library to speak. He'd suggested the small library, since it was only the two of them. But she'd only shook her head, pressed her lips together, before speaking: "I can't go in there, Papa." To that, he made no comment, her shoes the only sound on their journey to the large library. Finally, they sat across from one another on opposing sofas.
"Papa," Mary began, wetting her lips. "I know you are very angry at me for a number of things–for leaving, for keeping things from you. A part of me wants to tell you everything...but it is difficult, especially when things are so strained between us."
"Mary," Robert replied. "You must know that I do not desire for our relationship to be like this."
"Nor do I," Mary agreed. "But I cannot...there are parts of the story I cannot explain while things are this way between us, between you and Matthew, and...especially between you and Gracie."
"Grace?" he asked, taken aback. "What does she have to do with any of this?"
"Only everything." Mary pressed her lips together to keep the tears from her eyes and shook her head. "I know this doesn't make sense to you but it's the truth...What is she to you, Papa?"
"My granddaughter," he replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Really?" Mary asked, her lips trembling. "Even though you don't know the circumstances of her birth? You think of her the same way as Robbie or Edith's unborn child?"
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He shook his head, frustrated just as much by her question as by himself.
"Do you love her?" A single tear trickled down her cheek, her hands pressed hard to her own knees.
"I don't know her." The words were filled with frustration. "She seems like a nice little girl; she looks a great deal like you, but I don't know her."
"Do you think you could get to know her?" she asked quietly.
Robert stood, completely exasperated by the conversation. "She's one and a half years old, Mary. How do you get to know a one and a half year old child?"
Mary stood as well. Clearly, their conversation was over. "Well, those are my terms, and Matthew's as well. I will confide in you–everything from the past three years–when you can say that you love Gracie, just as she is."
Just as their conversation reached this end, there was a commotion in the hall outside the doors of the library. Mary followed behind her father's formidable steps to see what the problem could be.
She was shocked to see Sir Richard and his wife, Marianne, standing in the entry. Perhaps more surprising still was Lady Carlisle's appearance. In coloring she was very similar to Mary–her features were dark, her skin very pale–but she was tiny, clinging to her husband's arm, as if a strong wind might blow her away. Her fragile neck appeared to be the size of Mary's wrist. Mary had never been so aware of her pregnancy, the fact that she was showing in this dress, her breasts blooming out of it.
He's everywhere, she realized, and it wasn't as frightening of a thought as it would have once been but more of a sad joke.
He's everywhere and he does whatever he pleases. Here. Now. In the small library. Always in the small library doing whatever he pleases.
Half of the family had come out of the drawing room as soon as they'd heard Sir Richard greeting Carson as if he were an old friend. Matthew walked to Mary and took her elbow.
"We should leave," he whispered into her ear. Mary nodded.
"Sir Richard," Robert spoke loudly across the hall. "I thought we settled on tomorrow for dinner."
"Oh," Sir Richard gently slapped his hand against his thigh, as if he were completely flummoxed. "I must have confused the dates. We'll go; don't worry."
"No, no," Granny stated firmly shaking her stick at him, stepping towards the door. "The rest of us shall go. I believe we could all do with some fresh air; the stink in here is intolerable." Without any further explanation Tom, who gave Carlisle a very menacing look, and Sybil, who carried a very sleepy Robbie in her arms, followed her out into the night.
"Lady Mary," Sir Richard called before she could pass him, and she was forced to meet his eye. She hadn't even done that in the small library. You can be anywhere, she'd told herself, you can be anything. She hadn't looked him in the eye but now she did. "I hoped to introduce you to my wife, Marianne. I believe you two would have a great deal in common."
Later, Mary would not know why she did it, why she just didn't turn on her heel and walk away. She didn't owe him anything, of course. But as she looked at Lady Carlisle, the woman who could be her younger, skinnier, perhaps more sickly sister, with her scared rabbit eyes, Mary felt only sympathy. I've escaped and she has not. Their eyes met and Mary reached out a gloved hand to the woman. "It's very nice to meet you," Mary said simply. To her ears, her voice sounded hollow but not unkind.
"It's so nice to meet you as well," Marianne replied softly, still holding onto Lady Mary's glove. "My husband has told me so much about you."
On a sharp, shocked inhale, Mary removed her hand from the woman's grasp. Marianne looked perplexed, biting her lip, wondering what she had done or said wrong. "If you'll excuse us," Lady Mary said gently, and with her husband's arm around her moved to the door.
"We hope to see you again, Lady Mary," Sir Richard announced loudly. It was a complete breach of protocol to address a married woman in such a way without mention of her husband as well (not that he'd ever been good with protocol in the first place) but Mary and Matthew continued through the door without turning back. Tom, on the other hand, did turn, his hands in fists, his face angry. Matthew grabbed his arm, turning his brother-in-law so he would continue down the path.
"But..." Cora cried to her family as they left.
Robert gave Sir Richard an appraising look. He knew what day they'd set. And it was suddenly very clear to Robert that it wasn't just Mary who refused to be near this man in any capacity, but the whole of his family. Even Cora turned a particular shade of green when she had to take Sir Richard's hand, though she let go as soon as possible and claimed a headache halfway through dinner, leaving him alone with his unwanted guests.
Author's Note: So the most beloved character of the story strikes again...Thoughts?