Previously:
Criterion Restaurant, Piccadilly Circus, London, England, March 1920
"Don't you start now, Sir Alex," she frowned. "I have a hard enough time keeping Matthew from worrying himself sick over some imagined conspiracy or bad omen on the horizon."
"Do you find it curious, that they have chosen me for the post?" Matthew asked.
"Not at all," Alex replied warmly. "Families such as the Rothschilds enjoy stockpiling talent. They have a rather modern view in that they don't limit themselves only to family members to help them grow their businesses. I think it's rather inspired, actually, given your background and history, that they believe you can help them. They are not known for making drastic and rash decisions, so if they deem you worthy of the job, then you must be."
"Exactly," she said smugly, nodding to Matthew.
"You might benefit from all of this," Alex continued. "Perhaps observing how the Rothschilds manage their affairs will give you some insight that you can use to assist Lord Grantham in dealing with the Estate, or even help you in managing Eryholme. The Rothschilds have endured for generations. They must surely be doing something right."
"I hadn't thought of it that way, to be honest," Matthew admitted.
"Well, I think it's brilliant all around," she stated. "We're hosting some of the family in May, Sir Alex. You'll come up, won't you?"
"This is one of those invitations that I can't decline, isn't it?" Alex asked.
"Very astute," Matthew laughed.
"With the Rothschilds staying at Eryholme, perhaps it would be more convenient for you to stay at Downton, Sir Alex," she said lightly. "You do enjoy your space, don't you, and there's more of it at the big house."
Alex sighed. Mary smiled at Matthew as the dessert course was served.
Chapter 36: You love me, don't you?
Eryholme, Yorkshire, England, April 1920
"My view is…quite…contrary to popular opinion at the current moment, however…in light of recent decisions…I believe there is a…growing…willingness to consider a change in direction…" Matthew muttered as he wrote. His hand moved quickly, scribbling out his thoughts. He would glance at the open books spread out across his desk, checking and re-checking the sources and authorities upon which he relied on in support of his opinion.
Lifting his pen for a moment, he frowned as he scanned the desk, searching for something.
"Your tea, sir," Carson announced, coming into the library holding a tray.
"Thank you, Carson," Matthew said, sighing as he put his pen down and leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Is everything all right, sir?" Carson asked as he poured Matthew's cup of tea.
"Yes, yes, just trying to finish this last assignment that's been plaguing me for the better part of the past week," Matthew said, nodding and taking the tea cup and saucer from the butler. He took a long sip, staring at the desk again.
"Carson, I appear to be missing an older edition of Halsbury's Laws," he said distractedly, looking about his desk. "I thought all of my books were down here, but it appears that some volumes are missing. Do you know where they might be?"
"Yes, sir," Carson stated crisply. "You instructed us to leave all the pre-1914 editions in the attics, sir. Shall I have William go up and fetch them for you?"
"That's right, of course," Matthew huffed, shaking his head. "Carson, I would be lost without you. Why I wanted to keep them out of the library, I have no idea. I must have been mad."
"Quite all right, sir," Carson said. "I'll have William bring the boxes down and arrange them on the spare shelves."
"No, no, no need for that," Matthew said, finishing his tea and getting up from his chair. "I need a bit of a stretch. I'll go up myself. The door is unlocked, is it not?"
"It is, sir, yes," Carson said, frowning as Matthew pulled down his waistcoat and buttoned his jacket.
The butler was used to Mr. Crawley doing many things for himself that Lord Grantham, and any other gentleman, to be frank, would never have lifted a finger for. It had taken a while to grow accustomed to Mr. Crawley's independent ways, but Carson had adapted, though he still found the behaviour rather strange.
Matthew nodded to his butler and walked briskly from the library, heading for the stairs.
Community Centre, Village Hospital, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, April 1920
"Thank you for the drive," Sybil said cheerfully, getting out of the car and smiling at Tom as he held the door open for her.
"Have a good day, Sybil," Tom said, nodding his head.
His use of her first name made her stop and look at him. She swallowed as she caught his gaze, which was decidedly not the detached polite glance of a servant.
"Tom," she said softly.
"Will you be taking lunch outside today?" he asked, leaning towards her as he lowered his voice. "I'd very much like to have lunch with you."
She looked down and pursed her lips into a thin line, feeling a flutter in her stomach. "I have a rather busy day, today, unfortunately. I'll just be eating at my desk with some of the other girls, I expect."
"Oh," he said dejectedly. "Well, I'll bring the motor around this afternoon at the usual time, then, Lady Sybil."
Her eyes looked up at his face at the use of her formal title. She sighed as she saw his forlorn expression.
"Tom, I…" she struggled. "I am thinking about…all that you've said…truly, I am."
"About us?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, lowering her eyes away from him again. "I know I've made you wait quite a long time, and I am sorry for that, but I just don't have any…experience…with this sort of thing, and you're asking quite a lot of me, you see."
"I don't think so," he said, drawing a slight frown from her as she looked back at him. "I love you, Sybil. I want to be with you. I'm not afraid of your parents, of your sisters, or what anyone else thinks about me. I know we belong together, and I want you to see that too."
She couldn't help but smile at his heartfelt words, though the amount of passion in his voice did give her a tremor of trepidation all the same.
"I know how you feel, I do," she said. "It's just not as easy for me, is all."
"I think it is," he said firmly, then stopped himself when he saw her frown. "We can…talk about this later. Have a good day."
"Good day," she said tightly, turning and walking away from him and into the community centre.
"Lady Sybil, hello," Dr. Clarkson greeted her as she came through. "I'm just on my way to my first appointment. There's a few people already waiting to meet with you."
Sybil smiled and nodded to Dr. Clarkson in response. She removed her hat and walked briskly down the hall, smiling brightly to the retired soldiers sitting in the waiting area. She crossed the room and sat down at her desk, placing her hat and purse off to the side and picking up the first file folder on her pile.
"Private Allison," she called, smiling at a young man who came over to sit down in one of the chairs on the other side of her desk.
Eryholme, Yorkshire, England, April 1920
Mary smiled and sang as she shook the rattle. Baby George looked up from his crib, wiggling about and reaching his little hand up, opening and closing his mouth and babbling all the while. His playful mood made her laugh, a warmth filling her as she watched her son. As an aristocrat, she was supposed to let Nanny deal with the baby, and see him once in the morning and once before bed just as her own Mama and Granny had done with their children, but she couldn't resist him. She went to see him every morning after she finished breakfast in bed, saw him at lunch, and helped put him down for his afternoon nap. When he woke up, she played with him until the gong, and kissed him goodnight. He would become fussy whenever she tried to leave him, which made leaving him all the more difficult, but she was enjoying their schedule immensely, enjoying raising her son the way she wanted to, differently from how her family and tradition would dictate.
"I just need to change him, my Lady," Nanny said carefully, smiling as George batted at the rattle. "It won't take but a minute."
"No, no, I should go," Mary sighed, keeping her eyes on George. "He needs to learn to behave properly and not to just reach for me whenever he needs anything."
Mary lingered for a while longer, unable to pull away just yet. She whispered to George soothingly as Nanny picked him up and took him over to the side table to change his nappy. Laughing at how her son protested loudly, she shook her head and finally dragged herself away, telling George she would be back to see him later, and receiving a shrill cry of protest in reply.
"Ah, Carson," Mary said, as she came outside the nursery and ran into the butler. "Is Mr. Crawley working in the library?"
"No, my Lady," Carson said. "He went up to the attics a while ago to retrieve some old law books. I haven't seen him come down since."
"Old law books?" she said, blinking in confusion. "Why did he not have William fetch them for him?"
"I suggested that may be the better way of going about it, my Lady," Carson said.
"But Mr. Crawley said he would do it himself," she finished, shaking her head. "It's all right, Carson. I'll go and bring him back down. Could you please ask Mrs. Mason to have tea and sandwiches prepared? We'll have luncheon in about an hour. I suspect that Mr. Crawley barely had breakfast this morning."
"My Lady," Carson nodded and turned to carry out her orders.
Laughing ruefully to herself, Mary continued on down the hallway towards the stairs leading up to the attics. While she was grateful that Matthew was back to work and had something to do each day, his return to a proper vocation also brought the return of his more annoying habits – waking up ridiculously early, regaling her about his work day every night at dinner, and having bundles of energy, to the point he was always looking for something around the house to do.
She smiled to herself as she reached the open door leading upstairs. Well, she couldn't exactly complain. She had personally benefitted from her husband's newfound reserves of power. Not only did he take on whatever household task she gave him without objection, but their lovemaking had grown in frequency, to almost nightly now, which was remarkable, even for them.
As she took the stairs quickly, her smile remained and a small flare of arousal lit in her chest. Not only was Matthew paying more attention to her, but he had become quite creative in doing so.
"Matthew?" she called as she came into the attics. "Matthew, where are you? Carson said you came up here."
The attics of Eryholme were rather vast, being more of a separate storey of its own, as opposed to a cramped crawlspace. If they needed to, they could easily convert the entire floor into a group of bedrooms if they wanted. When they had moved in, Mary had the entire space cleaned and repainted, and a number of shelves and cabinets installed to help with organizing the boxes and trunks that were stored here. She also had a sofa and other pieces of furniture kept up here, which she and Matthew had made good use of in secret.
"Ah, there you are," she said, finding Matthew on the far side of the home. "Did you find the books?"
She frowned as she approached her husband, who was crouched over, on his knees, his hands on the edge of an open trunk. A stack of books sat piled next to him. When she reached him, she saw that his shoulders were shaking, his head bent over.
"Matthew?" she called again, confusion and fear building with each second that he did not reply.
She glanced past his shoulder and gasped. She hadn't recognized the trunk from a distance as she came up behind Matthew, but she knew it well now by seeing it up close. Folded neatly in the trunk were several military uniforms, including the red jacket of Matthew's ceremonial kit. Other items included two helmets, some belts, and a metal canteen bottle.
Sitting on top of it all and holding Matthew's attention now was a polished service revolver.
"Matthew," she whispered, crouching down and kneeling to face him. His eyes were open and unblinking, his lips parted, but no sound came out.
She swallowed nervously, her pulse jumping as she reached out and put her arm around his shoulders. Leaning in closer to him, she reached out and stroked his face.
"Matthew," she repeated. "Matthew, darling, it's me, it's Mary."
She turned his head gently to face her. His eyes were vacant and wide. She could feel his ragged breathing, his chest heaving as though he were shivering.
"Mary," he mumbled, his eyes focusing on her as he wavered slightly from side to side.
"It's me, darling, your wife," she said carefully. "You're here with me, in our home. You're all right. I'm all right. Everything is fine."
She watched as he swallowed and blinked several times, some colour returning to his pale face.
"Mary," he repeated, his voice a bit firmer than before.
She pulled him to her and hugged him close. His body was rigid and his arms unresponsive at first. She kept hold of him, her arms circling him and clutching his back. After several moments, she closed her eyes and exhaled in relief as she felt his arms come around her and his face press into her shoulder.
"Mary," he sobbed, his voice sounding more normal despite his crying. "Mary, I'm sorry."
"Shh," she said reassuringly, rocking back and forth as his embrace grew stronger and more fierce. "It's perfectly all right. I'm here, darling. I'm here."
Community Centre, Village Hospital, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, April 1920
"Mr. Roberts sent us your quarterly report," Sybil said, taking out the mentioned page from her file folder. "He is absolutely delighted with your work. He notes that you have an affinity with tractors that none of his other staff comes close to."
Bradley Johnson, the young soldier sitting on the other side of Sybil's desk, smiled and looked down at his lap as she read out his glowing review. He was one of the so-called lucky ones, having survived the War intact, but coming back to Yorkshire with very little employment prospects, his parents having passed away during the War.
"I think if this keeps on, it will be time to talk to Mr. Roberts about hiring you on permanently," Sybil said smugly, smiling as she signed off on the report.
"Permanently?" he mumbled, blinking in surprise. "Oh no, Lady Sybil, I couldn't do that."
"Why ever not?" she asked, looking at him with a bewildered smile. "You're obviously very good at what you do, and he has an open position for you. Clearly he's benefitting from your service, and he should be made to pay for that. I think he'll be quite happy to keep you on, if only to keep you from being plucked away by one of his competitors."
Bradley smiled sheepishly and looked back down at his lap.
"Give it another three months or so, and you can then have a chat with Mr. Roberts about your future," she said reassuringly.
His mouth fell open as he looked at her in confusion. "I don't know about all that, Lady Sybil," he said. "I'm not very good at talking to men like him."
"Men like what?" she asked. "Mr. Roberts is a good man."
"Oh, yes, he is, for certain!" he nodded. "It's just he has all that land, and all these workers, he does business deals with people who come to the shop all the time. I could never hope to talk to him about money or anything like that. I wouldn't know how."
Sybil blinked in surprise and regarded Bradley for a moment. She realized that he never would have had cause to negotiate anything for himself. Growing up, he would have followed his papa's orders and instructions without question, and that behaviour would have continued in the Army. In return for his obedience, he would rely on his superiors to provide for everything, and that was how he saw Mr. Roberts – as his boss, and he would never imagine asking for anything, even though he clearly deserved to be paid better, and Sybil suspected that Mr. Roberts was more than happy to do so.
"I'll tell you what, Private Johnson, Bradley," she said. "Why don't we spend some time in our next series of meetings and work on your negotiating skills? As I say, I think that Mr. Roberts will be more than happy to take you on, but in the meanwhile, we can practice so you have some idea how to discuss the topic with him in a proper fashion."
"Yes, ma'am, Lady Sybil," Bradley nodded. "I would appreciate that, yes!"
"Very good," she said, smiling and making a note on her pad. "Let's start now while we still have a bit of time left. The first thing you need to know about any negotiation is that you must be clear on what you want to achieve from it."
Eryholme, Yorkshire, England, April 1920
Matthew finished his cup of tea and placed it back on the table. He closed his eyes and let out a grateful breath, then blinked several times before turning to his wife, who was sitting next to him on the sofa, watching him carefully.
"Mary, I'm so sorry," he began.
"Hush, there will be none of that," she ordered, giving him an encouraging smile. "I'm just glad you're feeling better."
"I don't know what happened. One moment I was looking for the editions of Halsbury's Laws that I needed to finish that legal opinion for Julien, and I stumbled upon my old trunk. I opened it by accident, not remembering what was inside, and it just…" he said quickly, then paused.
"It just brought back some memories," she finished, reaching out and rubbing his back.
He nodded slowly before looking away.
"Do you remember any of it?" she asked, putting her other hand on his knee.
"Shouting, explosions, gunfire," he said weakly, shaking his head. "Sort of like the nightmares that I had, but not as vivid. I don't know how long I was sitting there just looking at my gun and feeling all the old emotions come back."
She remained quiet and kept rubbing his back. His hand covered hers on his knee and he took deep breaths.
"God, will I never be rid of this?" he muttered.
"I don't think it's something you ever forget, darling," she said quietly, looking at him earnestly as he turned to look at her. "Most days, you will be fine, just as you have been. But every once in a while, whether it be looking at your old uniforms or hearing someone address you as 'Captain Crawley' or even walking past the War Memorial in the Village, you'll be reminded of it. That's what your life is now."
He nodded in understanding. "I don't want to seem ungrateful," he said, some of his usual feeling returning to his face and his voice. "I'm lucky. I am. I just wish that I didn't have these moments of overwhelming grief."
"I wish you didn't have to suffer them, either," she said, nodding her head. "But, really, it is a very small price to pay, Matthew. Sybil works with men every day who came back in far worse shape than you did. You're very lucky."
"I'm very lucky to have you," he said, leaning over and kissing her quickly. "Now, get out. You've got that meeting with the land developer to prepare for."
"I'm considering cancelling," she said, still watching him closely. "I belong here with you. Talking about plans for the unused lands of Downton can wait."
"No, it can't," he objected, giving her a brave smile. "You've been working on this for weeks and you shouldn't drop it to stay here and play nursemaid to me. I'll be fine. I'm just going to read my books and finish my opinion and you'll be back in no time."
"All right, if you're sure," she said, leaning over and kissing him. "I'll be quick about it."
"Take as long as you need," he said, squeezing her hand and getting up from the sofa to escort her to the foyer. "This is a very ambitious project and we need to be absolutely sure of the developer that we choose to work with. We can't move forward unless we find someone that we're entirely comfortable with."
"Yes, my Lord," she joked, pleased to see him acting a bit more normal. She gave him a playful smile, then released his hand and went upstairs to change.
Matthew watched her go up, then turned and went back to the library, running his hand through his hair nervously as he headed for his desk.
Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, April 1920
Tom sighed as he drove the saloon car down the country road leading to the Village. He knew he shouldn't be feeling frustrated or exasperated, and certainly not angry, but he was feeling all of those things, and the more he thought about it, the worse he felt.
He loved Sybil. That was all that mattered. To him, it was the simplest thing in the world. It hurt that she didn't reciprocate his feelings as readily, or eagerly, but he wasn't overly bothered by that. She was a victim of her upbringing, never having been taught how to deal with feelings of this nature before. She was supposed to have her debut, be matched by her parents with a worthy gentleman, and be chaperoned and led about for a respectable amount of time before a marriage was brokered. Love, and even what her opinion or view on the matter was, was never part of the equation.
He didn't think he had a chance with Sybil in the beginning, despite her being the most independent and free thinking Lady he had ever met. Her harem pants. Helping Gwen find a job as a secretary. Going to political rallies despite Lord Grantham's objections. This was a woman who followed her mind and ideals, regardless of the consequences. Still, he didn't dare hope she would fall in love with him, a chauffeur.
His aspirations had all changed when Lady Mary had married Matthew Crawley.
Here was an example now, a clear vision of one of the Crawley girls marrying for love, and Tom could not help but let himself dream that he and Sybil could have the same. Yes, Mr. Crawley – Matthew – was the heir to Lord Grantham and would be Earl one day, but he wasn't an aristocrat, hadn't been born one and wasn't acting like one now. And Lady Mary loved him, that was obvious. She'd moved to Eryholme with him, left Downton Abbey freely and willingly, and seemed quite happy. Every time that Tom saw Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley come back to Downton Abbey, they were at ease and entirely comfortable with each other, joking, laughing, even flirting with each other openly in front of everyone. They would tease and argue with each other as well, from what Tom heard from the footmen, but there was never any malice between them.
Tom swallowed and kept his eyes on the road. He'd heard a fair bit of rather spicy gossip about Lady Mary and Matthew as well, but he chose to ignore all of that. If they really were so passionate with each other, then he was glad for them, but putting any mind to such rumours only made him think of Sybil, and that was never helpful. It was hard enough for him to look at her each day when he drove her to and from her job and not stare at how absolutely gorgeous she was, let alone think about…well…other things about her.
How long did she expect him to wait, though? He had ideas, plans for the future that he wanted to pursue. Matthew had told him he needed to have a clear path set out, and he did. It included her, if she would have him, but he couldn't wait forever. He understood the complications. This kept them apart, and that kept them apart, but the War was over and as terrifying as it was to think about asking Lord Grantham for Sybil's hand, that prospect would not become any less frightening with time. He could wait a while longer if Sybil would just give him some indication that he was not waiting in vain, but she hadn't, and he was afraid to press.
Lost in his reverie and conflicting emotions about Sybil, Tom almost missed the car pulled over to the side of the road ahead. Frowning, he slowed down and turned on to the gravel next to the road. He was early to pick up Sybil, so he could afford to stop and see what was the matter.
Getting out of the car, he walked back to the disabled motor, smiling as a young lady looked up and nodded her head to him.
"Hello. I'm Tom Branson. What seems to be the trouble?" he asked, nodding to her.
"Good afternoon. Sarah Bunting. I'm afraid I have a flat tire. My friend went into the Village to fetch some help, so I should be fine, thank you," she said politely.
"Oh," he said, walking around the car and finding the flat tire at the rear. "Well, this doesn't look too bad. I can probably take care of it for you."
"Oh no, that's quite all right. I'm sure that my friend will be back promptly," she said. "I wouldn't want to get you in trouble."
"It's no trouble," he chuckled, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.
She blinked and opened her mouth, then looked away.
"Won't this make you late?" she asked, looking up at the sky as Tom crouched down. "I'll hate to be the reason that our local milord gives you a scolding."
He blinked and glanced up at her in surprise.
"That's Lord Grantham's car. You're one of his chauffeurs," she said pointedly. "Won't he be angry if you kept him waiting while you helped out one of the villagers?"
"I'm not going to collect him," he replied. "But even if I was, I'm sure he would be all right with it. Lord Grantham cares about the villagers."
"He cares about what we can do for him – farm his lands, run his stores and businesses, pay our rents to him," she scoffed. "That isn't caring, in my book."
"And what do you do?" he asked as he went about removing the wheel and replacing it with the spare.
"I'm a schoolteacher in Preston," she said. "My family grew up here, which is why I stay, though it means I have to drive each day."
"I see," he said, growing quiet as he focused on his work.
She glanced over at him, then swallowed as she noticed his bare forearms. She looked down the road instead.
"Well, you're all set," he declared after a while, standing up and wiping his hands.
"That's quite brilliant. Thank you," she exclaimed. "You must allow me to pay for your time and service."
"Nonsense," he said. "Just try not to have any more flat tires. I wouldn't want you to be at the mercy of the next car that came down the road."
"Well, how about a drink then? This Friday at the Grantham Arms? That is, if you're allowed out for a pint ever?" she joked.
He blinked in surprise. "I'm allowed out, yes, but…"
"Oh goodness," she said, shaking her head. "You've got a wife."
"No! No, I don't," he protested.
"Ah, a girl then? You have an understanding with someone?" she asked.
"Not…not exactly, no," he managed.
She looked at him, frowning in confusion. "All right. Well, let's leave it at this then. I'm going to be at the Grantham Arms on Friday at five o'clock. If you can make it, I'll buy you a drink in thanks for your rescuing me, and if you don't show up, so be it. The offer will still stand should we ever run into each other."
He smiled at her and nodded.
"Good day, Tom," she smiled.
"Good day, Sarah," he said, tipping his cap to her and turning back to the car.
Waddesdon Manor, Buckingham, England, April 1920
"Anne," Marek called, coming into the library.
"Marek," Lady Anne replied from her seat on the sofa, not looking up from her needlepoint.
"Julien mentioned we'd received an invitation from Lady Mary," he noted, coming over to the desk and glancing around. "Have you seen it?"
"I have," Anne nodded, still not looking up. "It was addressed to me, after all. We'll be heading up in May."
"Of course it was, but did Lady Mary mention me at all?" he asked.
"No, why would she?" she asked, frowning, but still focusing on her needlepoint.
"I thought she might have added a personal note to me, perhaps," he said. "We did get along quite well at our last party in London, shared a few dances."
"Oh, now that you mention it, yes," she said, looking up and thinking over his remark. "She did send you a personal note. It must have slipped my mind."
"Ah," he said, turning from the desk to look at her with a wide grin. "And where is it?"
"I can't recall, actually," she frowned.
"Well, what did the note say?" he asked impatiently.
"Oh, that I do remember," she said. "She said that she's looking forward to you ravishing her every night of our stay, and that if the weather suits, she'd enjoy you taking her on the terrace overlooking the grounds."
"She did?" he exclaimed in shock.
"No, of course she didn't, Marek, for God's sake!" she snapped, putting down her needlepoint and glaring at him. "And you will not even think of one improper, wicked thought where Lady Mary is concerned, during our visit! She's a married woman, Marek, married to someone who is very important to this family, need I remind you yet again!"
"All right, all right," he said, holding up his hands and rolling his eyes. "I've already been lectured by Julien plenty of times. I don't need to hear it from you as well."
"You need to hear it as many times as required to get the warning through that thick, depraved, heathen head of yours," she said.
"I understand," he said tightly. "Matthew Crawley is the saviour that you and Julien believe will redeem us. I can't see how that is at all possible, but I won't do anything to jeopardize your plans."
"Good," she said, picking up her needlepoint.
"So long as you recognize and acknowledge my agreement with Julien," he said confidently.
She sighed in exasperation. "Yes, yes. If, by some lunacy, Lady Mary initiates and chooses to persue an affair with you, then you are free to partake as you wish, covertly and quietly, but I know you, Marek. You've got some scheme, and I'll tell you now that any interference will be reported across the family, and we will not protect you this time."
"Duly noted," he said dismissively. "Now, as lovely as this conversation was, I need to go upstairs and plan what clothes I'll be bringing with me to Yorkshire. I understand that blue may be Lady Mary's favourite colour. I'll need to keep that in mind."
She grimaced as he kissed her cheek. She shook her head as his heavy footsteps faded away into the distance.
Community Centre, Village Hospital, Downton Village, England, April 1920
"Tom," Sybil nodded, stepping past him and sitting down in the back seat of the car.
"Lady Sybil," Tom said crisply, closing the door behind her and getting into the driver's seat up front. He put the car in gear and eased it away from the Village Hospital in the direction of Downton Abbey.
"How was your day?" he asked after several moments of silence. He tried to forget about Sarah Bunting and her offer and focus instead on Sybil. The few minutes it took to bring her home was the only time they had to themselves each day, and he did not want to waste it.
"Very busy," she said, sighing tiredly. "But it was good. There was one client in particular who was quite funny, actually."
"Funny?" he repeated, frowning. All of Sybil's clients were men, being former soldiers in the Army. "How was he funny?"
"He was just cute, is all," she said, shrugging her shoulders and looking out the car window.
"Cute?" he said. "First he was funny, and now he's cute. I see."
"Well it wasn't anything in particular that he did," she said candidly. "He just was so lost and a bit intimidated, and the way he absorbed all that I said and followed instructions was quite adorable."
"Sounds like a puppy," he grumbled quietly. "Well, I'm glad you are able to help him."
"Yes," she said. "He's going to need quite a bit of attention, but I think he's worth it."
"How fortunate he is," he muttered.
"And what about you?" she asked, blinking to wake herself a bit. "Did you have a good day driving around and so forth?"
He frowned at her comment. What was she insinuating?
"Nothing particularly noteworthy, no," he said tightly. "Though I did rescue a damsel in distress a little while ago."
"A damsel you say?" she asked, frowning slightly at the back of his head.
"Yes, a local schoolteacher. She was stuck on the side of the road with a flat tire. I managed to assist her," he explained.
"How nice," she said, looking out the window again.
"She invited me to have a drink at the Grantham Arms this Friday, actually," he said casually. "As a bit of thank you for coming to her assistance."
"She did?" she said. "That's rather uncalled for, presumptuous of her, isn't it?"
"Well, she just wants to show her gratitude," he said lightly. "I thought it was rather generous of her."
"I'll bet you did," she muttered under her breath.
They spoke of nothing of particular consequence the rest of the way to Downton Abbey.
Eryholme, Yorkshire, England, April 1920
"I don't think I've ever heard you speak so enthusiastically about land development before," Matthew laughed, removing his robe and sliding into bed next to Mary. "This builder must have impressed you."
"He did," she said, putting her book aside on the nightstand. "His plans for the land are far more modern than any of the others we've met with. He envisions more roads to help the residents access their homes, for one, and he's open to using different construction materials, and has experience doing so already."
"It does sound impressive," he agreed, pulling the blankets up to his chest. "I'm looking forward to seeing his plans in greater detail."
"You will," she agreed, turning towards him. "I honestly think we can convince Papa that this is the right thing to do so long as we make sure the design fits in with the existing Village. The homes themselves can use modern materials, but if we show that we are taking the overall look of the property into account, and not trying to create something entirely different, it will give him one less thing to complain about."
"That's quite brilliant," he said, smiling at her.
"Now, enough about estate management and land development," she said, taking his hand and kissing it.
"What shall we discuss instead, then?" he asked, smiling as she arched her eyebrow.
"I want to talk about you," she said, still holding his hand.
"What about me?" he asked, watching her closely.
"I want to talk about how much I love you," she said, smiling at him. "How much I love what a loving and caring husband you are, a wonderful father," she continued, kissing his hand again.
He grinned widely.
"How I could never see myself sharing my life with anyone else," she said.
"You're so kind, my darling," he huffed. "But I worry, still."
"About what?" she asked, frowning slightly.
"About becoming a burden to you," he said, looking down dejectedly. "Today's earlier…episode…showed me that I'm still not entirely free of the War, and perhaps never will be. I worry about forcing you to spend your elder days taking care of an old fool who's good for nothing but babbling and blubbing on and on, someone who is afraid of his own shadow for what it might make him recall."
"Matthew," she said, reprimanding him gently. "You will never be a burden to me. Ever."
"I just wonder what if someday George says something, or does something, and that accidentally sets me off?" he mused. "He'll be curious when he gets older. He'll ask me questions. I don't know what I'll do."
"We will answer his questions, together," she said firmly, stroking his hair with her fingers. "He'll want to know about the War, because he'll have heard people mention it, or he'll ask about it from lessons in school, or he'll see the War Memorial and want to talk about it. And we will tell him that his Papa fought in the War for the Empire, and was very brave."
"And his Mama took care of the soldiers who were hurt and suffering, and made them feel better," he replied, attempting a game smile.
"And that while the War cost us a great deal, that his Papa was spared in the end, and because of all that his Papa and others did, there will never be a need for such horrors ever again," she declared.
"We would be truly mad to ever repeat the same mistakes," he said, shaking his head.
"We're a family Matthew," she stated. "You, me, George, and any other children that we'll have. Anything that comes up, including any difficulty you may still experience from the War, we will face it together. You're not alone. Whatever you have to bear, I'll share it with you."
"Yes, my Lady," he said, smiling more genuinely.
"Now, enough wallowing and mentions of that miserable time," she said, kissing his hand again. "Back to talking about why I love you."
"I would think you'd be well out of reasons by now," he said, laughing as he took her into his arms and kissed her lightly. "It isn't like you to gush."
"Just a few left," she said, kissing him again. "Including that I love the way you kiss me."
He kissed her again, lightly on the lips, and again, holding the kiss for a moment longer. He pulled back slightly and looked at her dark eyes and his arousal stirred, the press of her body against his side warming him quickly.
"I love the way you touch me," she said, kissing him again. Not needing to be prompted further, he reached over and cupped her breast through her silk nightgown.
"And I love the way you, well…mmm," she closed her eyes and smiled as he kissed her neck.
"The way I...?" he teased, pulling the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders and down her arms.
She tugged her arms free, the nightgown falling down to her hips. He kissed her and pushed her on to her back, his lips leaving hers and tracing a warm, wet path down her neck, across her collarbone and over to her bare breasts.
"Mmm," she sighed.
"The way I...?" he asked again, moving up to kiss her lips as he pressed his hips against hers. "The way I make love to you?"
"Mmm, yes," she replied sultrily, kissing him back. "Though I was thinking of another word."
"Were you?" he asked, his smooth voice building her desire as he kissed his way back to her breasts. "And what word is that?"
She moaned as he lavished her breasts with his lips and tongue, the tension within her rising with each knowing movement. She closed her eyes and moaned louder, the way he knew exactly what she wanted filling her with need.
"Mmm...you want to hear me say it, don't you?" she chuckled, then gasped, lifting up slightly as he pulled her nightgown down to her knees. She shifted her legs, kicking the garment off completely.
"I do," he confirmed between kisses. "I wouldn't want to be mistaken. You could be referring to any number of words."
She opened her eyes as she felt him withdraw. He sat up and smirked at her as he unbuttoned his shirt, taking it off and baring his firm chest and stomach to her hungry eyes.
"Well?" he asked, his hands running up her thighs and pausing over her knickers.
She nodded and raised her legs as he removed her last piece of clothing.
"Do you mean this?" he asked, bending down and kissing her thigh.
She moaned softly in response.
"Or this?" he whispered, his breath warm against her centre. Keeping his eyes on hers, he stroked her slowly with one finger. Feeling how aroused she was already made him smile at her wickedly.
"Oh God," she gasped, parting her legs for him. He moved up and leaned over her, resting his weight on one hand pressed into the mattress as he gently pushed a finger inside of her as far as he could, then pulled back, sliding back and forth.
"Is this what you love, darling?" he growled, increasing his tempo, then drawing a choked cry from her as he added a second finger.
"Yes, yes," she called, crying out again as he lowered his head and kissed her breast, his fingers not stopping their delightful attentions upon her.
He slid up next to her, resting on his side as his hand kept moving in and out between her legs. She moaned again and again, staring down her naked body, transfixed on the sight of his fingers pleasuring her. Finally, she turned her head into his shoulder and shouted as her body seized and she came apart.
He kissed her softly, first her forehead, then her cheek as she panted and tried to calm herself. He removed his fingers and fondled her bottom, holding her as she shook.
She breathed in his scent, her head nestled against his shoulder and neck, recovering slightly from her high. She kissed his collarbone, then his jaw, moving to his shoulder, then up to his earlobe.
"Fuck," she whispered harshly, delighting in feeling his arousal jerk against her leg. "I love how you fuck me, darling."
Her hand moved across his chest, down his stomach and past the waistband of his pyjama trousers and shorts. She took hold of him, smiling in anticipation as she felt him warm and heavy in her hand.
"Fuck," she repeated, feeling him swell beneath her fingers. "Fuck me. Fuck me, please."
He hissed as she stroked him, his hand clumsily removing the rest of his clothes. Finally naked, he remained still, closing his eyes and reveling in the sensation of her hand upon him for several moments.
"Fuck me, Matthew," she pleaded, swiping her tongue below his ear.
He turned on to his back and pulled her over him. Straddling his thighs, she kissed his cheek as she felt one hand on her hip, the other reaching between them to guide him to her.
"Oh, fuck!" she said tightly as he lowered her on to him, his length sliding inside of her, her back arching as she called out in pleasure. He held her waist with both hands, steadying her as she flexed her hips, taking more and more of him with each stroke.
He began thrusting upwards, unable to remain still as he felt her body over his, her warmth surrounding him. She lay on top of him, to weak to rise up, her breasts pressed against his chest, kissing and licking his face as their hips met in an ever increasing rhythm.
"Fuck, fuck," she chanted, her vulgarity spurring him on, daring him to move faster, harder, to show her the full brunt of his passion.
And he did.
Still joined, he turned them over until she was on her back, with him on top of her, his hips never ceasing as he plunged into her over and over. Her legs came up and squeezed around him, her hands sliding up his back to clutch him tight, hanging on as his thrusts became more and more demanding.
"Fuck," he growled, burying his face in her hair, gritting his teeth, every lewd sound of their bodies coming together accompanied by a grunt from him and a moan from her. She went over the edge again and he didn't stop, her louder cries only making him delirious with love, and lust, and a fierce desire that wanted nothing except to ravish her as long as their bodies would allow.
She felt his hips jerk and heard his groans become louder and tighter, the familiar signs that his control was slipping. She held tight to him, her limbs wrapped around him, spilling wicked and scandalous words into his ear to push him closer to his limit, her own release just moments away.
He resorted to deep thrusts, pushing as deep as he could, on the verge of coming apart. There was no thought paid to his terrible ordeal of earlier, nor their plans for the future. He didn't think of anything but Mary, how incredible she made him feel, and all the love and desire he felt for her. He heard her cry seconds before he felt her clench around him, the heat of her release triggering his own spend. He roared, in triumph, in gratitude, in relief and in bliss as pleasure crashed through him and he melted into her.
Her eyes blinked open, her body delightfully limp as he withdrew and rolled off of her, careful to spare her his full weight. Her hand went up and pushed her hair away from her face, the back of her hand coming to rest on her forehead as she took deep breaths, her skin warm and flushed.
"I see," he muttered.
"What?" she asked, turning her head to look at him, his face showing just as much sated exhaustion as her own.
"That word," he explained, smirking lazily at her. "I see what you mean, now."
She laughed and dragged herself over to him, resting her head on his shoulder. His arm came across her bare back, holding her close, the warmth of their bodies soothing them both.
"Rest," she muttered, closing her eyes. "Rest up and I'll teach you another word or two."
She grinned as she felt his fingers move down her arm and over to lightly tease her breast. Her own hand massaged his stomach. Apparently he wasn't quite ready to go to sleep just yet.
"Why don't you let me guess?" he asked, and they slowly played with each other, knowing they would both soon recover to go again.