"Tis by such means as these, or others like them, that you may beguile your time, until you have unlearned the art of love."

- Ovid's Remedia Amoris or Love's Remedy


Matthew was sitting in his dressing room in an armchair. He had shaved, which was not typically a part of his evening ritual and he knew this had confused Moseley. It wasn't just the thought of any stubble on his chin that gave him pause; it was the need for rekindling his best image. And so he had shaved with his favorite sandalwood and bergamot soap. Mary was coming to him and he was curious to see if she would recognize this scent, if it would be familiar and pleasant to her from their few times together. After dismissing Moseley, books occupied his time as he waited; however he did not read. Instead, Matthew had rearranged his favorite books that he kept in his bedroom. In tribute, he had placed Remedia Amoris or Love's Remedy by Ovid on the top of the book stack.

When he heard the knock at the door, and Matthew knew it would be Mary. He rushed to the door, all pretence having vanished and he smiled at his wife as his jaw dropped. Mary was dressed in a seductive pink nightgown with only a lace shawl as a thin cover-up. Her hair was braided and she wore no jewelry, other than the two rings, engagement and wedding, he had given her. With Mary, it was always about the details.

"May I come in?" She said with a grin at his stupor.

Matthew stumbled over his words still shocked at her ephemeral beauty standing before him. He tried to sound suave as he cleared his throat, "Well, yes," he muttered, "of course," he licked his lips, "I want you to," he concluded.

"We weren't finished with our discussion," she explained as he shut the door. Mary looked about his room. It was dull, the wallpaper dreary and completely impersonal. She would have to liven up his atmosphere.

"Would you like to sit down?" Matthew pointed to the armchairs. Mary nodded. Her nightgown was short enough that it barely covered the flesh of her thighs. She sat down and crossed her bare legs at the ankle.

"You saw who I really am; when I'm with you, I am different." Mary paused as her words held in suspension between them. "So, your past is your past, and my past is my past. I only see our future."

Mary held his gaze as she fiddled with her rings. Matthew moved from his chair and knelt before her. He was going to speak when he was further distracted. The allure of her flesh was one tantalizing charm, but her perfume was another. He took her hands and kissed each wrist, sniffing in the aphrodisiac scent. It seemed that she had the same idea he had about smell and memory.

"I think it's fair to say, you've saved me in more than one way," Matthew said emotionally kissing her hand again.

"I did save you," Mary said boldly. She touched his blond hair with her free hand. "And you belong to me."

Matthew chuckled at her possessiveness. "I'm going to have to kiss you now," he said dramatically. He moved his fingers to trace her lips, which he noticed now were subtly painted a discreet shade of red lipstick.

"Please do," Mary said playfully as he swept her into his arms. The kiss was a promise, neither too long nor too short in duration. However, as their lips parted, Matthew's arms that had engulfed her pulled her further into his embrace. She welcomed such contact and soon they were sharing the armchair, snuggled close together. Her legs twirled around his and for the first time she noticed he was barefoot. He certainly did not seem ever to wear his slippers and this amused her, to be able to catalog the idiosyncrasies of a man she loved so dearly.

"Mary," Matthew said smoothly, his tone calmed and his resolve steady.

"Doubt thou the stars are fire;

Doubt that the sun doth move;

Doubt truth to be a liar;

But never doubt I love."

"I'm not sure whether I should lie and say I don't know the source of that Shakespeare quote, to make sure you will kiss me again," she looked into his eyes and they both giggled.

"I will always kiss you, and without rhyme or reason. I will carry you to bed with your family watching if need be."

"Thank heavens our story will end better than Romeo and Juliet then," Mary said as she batted her eyelashes at him.

Matthew moved his head and Mary met him for another kiss. This one was softer than the urgency of their previous encounter, their lips playful as they grasped; their tongues meeting for an exchange of curiosity and exploration.

"You want to give me Downton. Well, I want to give you something," Mary said. She had practiced the words in her bedroom after Anna had left for nearly a quarter of an hour.

"I want to give you," she paused to take a deep breath, "My heart, my body, my mind and my soul. I want to be like Tosca and live by passion, and never give up on the man I love."

She saw the way that Matthew closed his eyes absorbing her words.

"That is what I meant to say in my garbled Paris confession. When I said I hated you, it was because I love you so terribly much. It hit me as though it were a shooting star, and sent me tumbling through the cosmos jutting me far off of the course I had intended. But, I can say without a doubt, without reservation or delay, I love you more than Downton."

Mary was surprised as she paused from her explanation as Matthew was once again bent on kissing her. She indulged in the distraction quite willingly, her heart beat quickening for a multitude of reasons. As their lip parted, she spoke again; her resolved renewed by the man before her. Mary looked into Matthew's eyes as they sparkled with reverie.

"What I want, is you. I've loved you a lot longer than I knew at that time, and then you were sick and so I berated myself. For you could die and never know my true feelings. That I eat, breathe and think of only you. There is no oxygen in my lungs that does not come from this desire."

Matthew's head was bobbing as he now understood Paris and Florence and how everything had spiraled out of control. And yet a spiral is a beautiful construct. He reached to touch the curl of her braided hair.

"I've never known anyone who was so clever, so graceful and in possession of such regal dignity," Matthew said his confident statement was a quiet whisper. "You define the word, grace."

"And you terrify me," he said with a chuckle, "Because I disappear when I'm with you, all I can think about is us."

Mary nodded her heartbeat pounded within her, passionate thoughts consuming her.

"What is a friend a soul dwelling in two bodies," she whispered.

"Plato?" Matthew said with a wicked grin on his demure face.

Mary laughed at his folly; she could hear the tease in his voice.

"No, it's Aristotle," she responded as her fingers interwoven with his gently squeezed together.

"Drat," he said with animation. "I suppose you will want to kiss me now."

"You sir are incorrigible," Mary laughed.

She felt desire punctuate the words that flooded from her heart running through course towards her mouth, "Perhaps I could encourage you to think more about what two bodies can do, dwelling together."

"With my body I thee worship," Matthew said as he pulled her towards his lap. He gathered her up into his arms and carried her towards his bed.

Mary was tickling his neck with kisses until he playfully dropped her. With one succinct motion, he was suspended over her. His arms holding him over her as though he was a canopy, his legs on either side of her hips, even though they had been in this position before; this time it was transcendent. Their mutual cooperation struck with reciprocity at the frantic task of shedding all of their clothes, as fast as possible.

"O teach me how I should forget to think," Mary's lustful voice purred as Matthew fondled her naked flesh, his hands lovingly caressing her breasts. She moaned as the contact continued and closed her eyes at the sensual feeling.

"Yes, Juliet," Matthew said sinking over her as their bodies connected, a natural salvation occurring as they were now bonny and buxom in bed.


"I've never heard such high pitched scream before," Mary said as she quickly dressed in her discarded nightgown the next morning.

"Well, it seems Moseley may have missed his calling as an opera singer," Matthew responded as he covered his naked body with his robe.

"The poor man," Mary giggled, "He turned beet red at seeing us in bed together when he came in to wake his master."

Matthew rolled his eyes as he yawned, a blush covering his own face.

"I will owe him a rather large apology," he said as he ruefully put a hand through his disheveled hair. "At least we spared your maid Anna the shock, since we were in my room."

"Well then," Mary said as she draped her shawl over her arm. "She will get her surprise tomorrow when she finds me in bed with my husband. Only fair we take turns."

Matthew's eyes bulged. He walked towards her covering the distance with only a few steps.

"And what about night and day? Shouldn't they also experience this same kind of equal treatment?" Matthew inquired his voice rich and sultry.

"You tell me," Mary said her fingers lightly caressing over Matthew's lips. All of their haste towards regaining propriety was forgotten. "After all women do not have the vote."

"Since we are man and wife, pledged equals partners and soul mates; speak now if you object," Matthew lifted her into his arms. And Mary's only response was the same as the previous night; she freely tickled his neck with kisses. Sir Cecil Henry Magnus, the portrait painter, would have to wait. And it was safe to say after Mosley's shock this morning; they were not likely to be disturbed.


Sir Cecil Henry Magnus was a bit of a popinjay. He was expertly dressed in the finest Saville row tailored suit. This might have concerned Matthew to some degree, but he could hardly take his eyes off Mary. He barely saw the rest of the world around them, everything else was a blur. She had a permanent grin on her face, her smile never diminishing only recycling.

If only the artist would leave the room on some errand, a missing brush or another can of paint; Matthew would kiss Mary. He longed to press her demure little body against the bookshelves. In his mind's eye, he imagined how he would make love to his wife. The ladder would be a well placed object for such a pursuit. Matthew licked his lips and winked at Mary. She raised her brow and batted her eyelashes in exchange. They both tried to contain their euphoria, but it was bursting through them and so they settled on sharing a giggle.

When Robert entered the library, they didn't attempt to change their demeanor and he, therefore, looked quite uncomfortable.

"Matthew," he said with relish, trying to distract him away and hold his attention, "You very much look the part of my heir my boy," he slapped him on the back slightly.

"That is a splendid tie pin. Is it new?"

Matthew briefly had to break eye contact with Mary to turn towards Robert.

"Yes," Matthew said gently. "It was a gift from my wife."

"Indeed," Robert said eyeing the newlyweds.

"Mama told me she gave you such a gift on your honeymoon," Mary said her voice velvety with affection.

Robert was silent at this mention. She looked at her father and noticed he seemed confused about this revelation, obviously he didn't remember the past the same way her mother had. Mary walked towards Matthew and placed her hand on his tie, adjusting the small gift.

"Well," Robert said clearing his throat. "Mary, I can't say I approve of what you're wearing for this portrait."

When there was silence following his comment before, he continued.

"You do understand that this painting will be how you are judged in the future. Shouldn't you, therefore, wear something more traditional? Or at least something English? This outfit is disturbingly foreign; it makes you look almost like a gypsy!"

Mary turned her gaze towards her father, her eyes cold. She took ahold of Matthew's hand and squeezed with reassurance that he didn't need to speak and defend her.

"What is important about how I look in this painting," she said fluidly, "Is that I stand by my husband."

"Really Mary," Robert chided her, "I do wish you would take this seriously."

"What Mary means," Matthew said cutting in as the bad blood filled the room. "Is this dress she is wearing is significant to our marriage. When we saw Tosca together, she wore it in Florence."

"Tosca?" Robert bellowed with hostility. "That vulgar story has no morals! No wonder you've been acting oddly."

"Sir Magnus," Violet said as she sashayed into the room, interrupting the quarrel between her son and granddaughter. The painter turned and addressed his patron with a silent bow.

"Robert," she then said sharply. "Let the portrait I commissioned begin."

The Earl stared at his mother with disbelief, but the dowager held her ground.

"There is nothing disgraceful about silk satin, lace and diamanté decoration," Violet said as she entered the library. "Although Mary's dress is unusual, it is unequivocally beautiful," she moved to the settee and sat down. Obviously she planned to observe and oversee the painting was done to her satisfaction.

"The dress suits you, my dear, but the less we hear about the unchaste Tosca, the better."

Mary nodded at the compromise. "Thank you granny," she said tactfully with appreciation at her support. She looked at her father with glee at her victory. Robert sighed, "Since I'm not needed, I will retire to other business," he said abruptly and excused himself from the room.

Violet ignored this departure, something's never changed; eventually she knew her son would come around. She looked at Matthew, a small conspirator grin creeping onto her face. The boy had listened to her advice; it was obvious from the way he and Mary stared at each other with love sick grins.

"Mr. Crawley," Sir Magnus said, "You will stand behind the chair, and Lady Mary you will sit in it."

"Perhaps," Violet interrupted. "Instead it would be better if they stand together?"

Sir Magnus squinted and his hands came up with his forefingers braced together against his chin as he contemplated this new orientation.

"Very well," he conceded.

Mary and Matthew took to their positions naturally.

"Are you ready?" She whispered to him without turning her head. "To be immortalized," she continued.

"With you at my side," Matthew said affectionately, "Always."

Violet sat smugly and enjoyed the fact that at least for now everything seemed to be secured for the future of Downton.


"Mary," Matthew called as he entered the sitting room attached to their bedroom. The words still made him feel exuberant. Now they never slept apart. He saw his wife sitting by the window; the spring sunshine was creating a halo of light encircling her figure. Matthew stopped and took a moment to stare. This bewitching woman was his wife. And she loved him. He watched the way her eyes absorbed the reading material, and her fingers pounced on the pages as she eagerly turned them. And he loved her. Nothing in his life had given him such a feeling of monumental achievement, then having forged this relationship together. It truly was a marriage of two minds, still very much independent and yet craving sanctuary with each other.

"Voyeurism suits you darling," Mary said breaking his trance. She set down the book and beckoned for him to come to her.

"There is nothing wrong with a man ogling his wife," Matthew said in mock agreement. He walked across the room slowly to tease her.

"True," Mary said. "That is a fashion quite in vogue."

Matthew stopped and picked up a new book on the desk.

"Is this any good?" He asked with a wicked grin as he held the novel.

"You are no good," Mary said with a pout. "Come here, this minute."

He chuckled and dropped the book. His quick steps soon had him reaching her side. Matthew leaned down to peck her on the cheek, but Mary turned her head and their lips met instead. She was hungrier for affection that he had realized. Always happy to indulge he continued to kiss her deeply with all of his pent up passion from the day's separation.

When they broke apart, Mary leaned against him and his arms automatically sheltered her. He found it a natural instinct to run his right hand up and down her back in a soothing rhythm.

"Anything the matter?" He asked softly. A part of him was anxious to relieve her condition, another more devilish part enjoyed as he was now her chosen confident. Matthew stroked her hair with his other hand.

"You'll laugh at me," she said quietly.

Matthew step back, breaking their embrace. But, he had to make sure Mary understood his meaning when he spoke. Her eyes needed to watch him.

"Mary," he lovingly. "Never." Matthew tugged on her necklace playfully.

She took his hand and he sat by her side on the window seat. He was patient as she flexed her jaw and took a deep breath.

"I spent all morning with the estate books but they might as well have been written in Greek. I can not decipher one iota," Mary huffed with annoyance. However, shielded behind this hostility was a very genuine disappointment.

"I don't understand anything. I see columns of writing that is all. The numbers and figures are irreverent. It's all wasted on me. And I know better than to ask Papa or the estate manager for any explanation."

"Oh, my love," Matthew said with esteem. "You understand a lot more than I do when it comes to the business of the estate. For you know the traditions and you know the people who work here."

"I suppose it's foolish, but I expected to simply understand it all at first blush. Downton is my home after all."

"Anything worth its salt," Matthew said gently. "Is not always easy, but when attained its value it's priceless." He brought their joined hand to his lips and kissed. "Just look at how far we have come after all."

Mary blushed and his reward was a sudden smile spreading across her face. As though she was remembering all of the love they know shared, as though she kept it contained so that it must burst forward out of her.

"I know there is something missing," she said her voice building in confident. "I just can't understand it."

"You will," Matthew said "If there is something wrong you will find it and make it right. And I will be right there with you, by your side. Just as in our portrait."

Mary turned her gaze from him and stared in awe at his attire.

"Do you wear this everyday now?" she asked as she touched his tie pin.

"Yes," he said brimming with amusement at the faux pas. "Robert is quite annoyed."

Mary bit her lip to contain the laugh she felt. "Poor Papa, he never wanted me as his Downton partner. It's quite extraordinaire, no wonder he is having trouble grasping all you've done darling."

"Let's go on a little field trip," Matthew said wryly. "Perhaps it will help your fact-finding regarding the estate books."

"But the dressing gong is only hours away!" Mary said with impetuousness.

"Yes," Matthew said impatiently. "Quite dragging your heals my dear. Time is of the essence."

"Where are we going?" Mary asked as she allowed him to pull her to her feet.

"To the cottages," Matthew said with excitement. "I want my wife to see my first accomplishment as the heir to Downton Abbey."

"You sound ridiculous, you know that right?" Mary said with a giggle.

"All for your benefit, I assure you." Matthew returned. "Get your hat and coat. I'll meet you downstairs."

Mary reached up and touched his cheek, a tender caress. Before, she swiftly strolled away without looking back.


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