A/N: Hello again, dears! Not going to blab for long, but wanted to thank you for all the wonderful reviews I got on Chp. 34, you guys are so great and I hope this new chapter won't disappoint!
Also, a big big thank you to OrangeShipper and i-can-if-i-want-to for their shout of sympathy on tumblr when the Internet had just eaten my first draft of this chapter! You guys know the pain :)
Really hope version 2.0 still meets everyone's expectations and you all enjoy...
Well then, let's get our babies married!
Chapter XXXV.
Mary was pacing. It was stupid of her, she knew it. Quite childish.
But still, there was a part of her - a very strong part - that demanded she have a 'proper' wedding...as befitting a Lady...with everything that this entailed.
She sighed heavily.
On the up side, there would be a marvellous wedding cake, a church full of wedding guests and of course a great wedding feast...
On the down side, she would have to get married in last season's light grey evening gown, since it was the dress of the lightest colour she currently possessed.
Yes, it was the closest to a white dress and yet...it was grey!
Not for the first time, she cursed Lady Ann McNair, who had talked her into this superstitious nonesense that any preparation for a wedding might bring on Matthew's certain death. But then again, she certainly would never go back in time and take the risk, however irrational it may sound. Not for all the tea in China...
...or a proper wedding gown.
Mary tried to look at the pale grey silk with fondness as Anna held it up, but the corners of her mouth inevitably drooped. Even Anna could not quite conceal her disappointment. Dressing her mistress and friend for the big day had been a duty she had actually been looking forward to...
"It'll do." Mary decided at last. What did it matter? Matthew's words came back to her 'You could wear a white tablecloth and still be the most beautiful bride...' She smiled wrily.
Right now...a white tablecloth would be preferrable to that horrid old thing.
The door creaked open. Sybil and Edith entered, followed by someone Mary had not at all expected up in her room. "I'm sorry...may I come in?" Tom's sister Clodagh asked tentatively, hovering near the entrance.
"Of course." Mary said quickly. They were all family now...since last June anyways.
It was then that Mary noticed Clodagh was holding something in her arms. Something white...and floating...with an incredible amout of lace and pearl applications.
Sybil's dress from Lucile...
"Now, I know this isn't quite your style...but you liked it when you saw me in it...and it really isn't a hand-me-down, because I haven't actually worn it, except for fittings...so..." Sybil walked up to Mary and clutched her hands, a pleading look in her soft blue eyes. "Please, Mary...I would be so happy if you wore it!"
Mary didn't know what to say. She pressed Sybil's hand instead, confident that her sister would understand the depth of her gratitude.
"I can make some alterations...it's no problem." Clodagh Branson spoke up. "I've got my own mending shop over in Dublin, so if you let me take your measurements, I can do it tonight, it's no bother at all." She beamed at Mary.
A slight frown formed on Anna's brow...
"Or...perhaps Anna can help. She knows Mary's form better than anyone else, I'm sure." Edith intervened, having caught the little flash of indignation on Anna's face. The maid smiled at her gratefully. "I would be happy to help." she informed Clodagh.
Mary still stared at the dress, silently moved . "I'm not sure what to say...thank you."
"You better go to sleep...or you'll look like a fright tomorrow." Edith teased. Mary rolled her eyes. As annoying as her younger sisters might be, she would not trade them in for any other. When she climbed into bed half an hour later, Mary was suddenly overcome by the realization that this would be the very last time she slept in this bed and called this her own room. Her dark gaze slowly glid over all the features that had marked her old life...
The deep red tapestry, the spacious four-poster bed, all the little luxuries she had grown up with...
...and only a few miles away from here, she pictured a much smaller bedroom with a much simpler bed, waiting for her arrival...
It took Matthew nearly a quater of an hour to climb the stairs, partly because he was simply at the limit of his strength and to a greater part because he had vehemently declined Molesley's offers to assist him. In this case, the butler seemed to understand why his help was not appreciated...
Isobel followed at a short distance, wincing at her son's struggle, though she remained silent. They had sat in the living room together for half an hour and talked quietly for a while, as had been their custom since he'd been a boy...
From his breastpocket, Matthew had pulled all the letters his darling had tried to sent to him over the summer, and their existence alone had calmed and assured him in his determination not to dwell on his 'short-comings' too much. Mary loved him and if she said that she didn't mind, he believed her without question.
Because his Mary was the most honest person he knew. Isobel had agreed with him on that.
She herself had put to him her intention of moving to Kent for a while. Matthew's aunt Jane, whom Isobel had visited a short while ago, had suffered a shock and she felt responsible to care for the woman, who had already lost her husband five years ago and now both her adult sons had fallen...
Matthew understood, though he hoped his mother did not feel 'pushed out' of the house now that he and Mary would live here. Isobel assured him that Mary had already insisted that she was more than welcome...but having her own son back in one piece - or almost one piece - she could not leave her poor sister to her own devices when she was suffering the greatest loss imaginable.
Losing one's children...
The sight of Matthew's mutilation caused Isobel enough heartache, but at least he was alive and otherwise unscathed. One had to be grateful for such miracles. And so they had said their silent goodbye, at least for a short while. Isobel knew that she would leave him in the best care, and certainly the most pleasant one. Matthew's giddiness transpired despite the heavy realities of their conversation. And it was such a relief to witness...
Once he had reached the upper floor, pausing and panting at the bannister, Matthew smiled wrily at his mother. "Poor Mary...she'll have to wait an hour each night until I've heaved myself up here." he joked, but the idea hurt more than he liked to admit. He leaned heavily against the door to his bedroom and sighed.
"What is it now?" Isobel said firmly when she caught the cloud of gloom that seemed to engulf him.
"It's nothing...just...all the things I won't be able to do..." he grumbled. "Carry my wife over the threshold..." He'd nearly said 'up to bed' but checked himself. The idea was implied anyways. "...or dance with her at our wedding or anywhere else for that matter..."
Isobel understood, though there was not much she could add to console him. Pretending that all was as it used it be would be foolish. "I know, Matthew. " She nodded to her maid, who passed by, coming out of her bedroom. "Thank you Ellen...oh, I'm going to take Ellen with me, by the way. Dear Jane could not afford any help in the house for a while now. Mary won't mind, she's bringing Anna."
"Yes, quite." Matthew replied absent-mindedly, then turned to open the door to his bedroom, still distracted by his more depressing thoughts. He took one quick look inside, then turned again, shaking his head. "Wrong room." he mumbled wearily. "Did you have guests?"
Isobel hovered and watched him, then covered her mouth to stifle a fit of laughter. "No. It's your wife's bedroom, I believe." The look on his face was priceless. Matthew gaped at his mother, then quickly turned back into the room. New electrical lights had been installed, which he switched on near the doorframe.
"Mary's..." he whispered incredulously, as he took in the new style of his old bachelor's quaters.
"I would personally have preferred a more feminine look...warmer colours, more ornaments, but she didn't want you to feel uncomfortable in here." Isobel explained as she, too, entered the refurbished conjugal chambers.
The walls had been painted in grey-blue pastels, delicate yet masculine. The new furniture were cream-coloured and of an understated beauty and elegance that Matthew would always associate with Mary. He slowly carried himself over to the vanity...his wife's vanity...where she had already deposited various bottles of scents and lotions. His fingers touched the fine glass, trembling slightly.
It all became real. Mary. Her bedroom...their bedroom...
"The bed's your old one...we'd ordered a new bed to fit with the furniture, but it hasn't been delivered yet." Isobel commented casually, still smiling at the awed expression on his face. As if it were Christmas morning. In one corner, Mary had placed a small book shelf, crammed full of volumes: Shakespeare, Kipling, Milton, Dickens, Hardy...and some more of his favourites.
Plus, one volume of Greek mythologies.
Matthew blinked and exhaled loudly. His eyes fell back on the bed, the crisp white linen under dark blue covers. Everything was exactly as he would have chosen it.
Everything.
And then he spotted it. Isobel observed, equally touched and amused, how he leaned over the bedframe to have a closer look at the framed photograph Mary had hung over his bed. "Yes, I was wondering about that." she remarked. "I forgot that you and your father had actually been invited to the Earl's birthday one year...well, I think Reginald was just genuinely curious to see what that side of his family would be like."
Matthew stared open-mouthed at the black and white image of his ten-year old self running around with a tiny Mary laughing madly as she clings tenaciously to his shoulder...playing horse.
It was the photograph from the gallery...
"I remember your father telling me about how you were ignored by most of the Granthams and their guests...except for that little girl who flatout refused to let go of you." Isobel smirked. When Mary had first come with a notion to hang this photograph in Crawley House, Isobel had told her Dr. Crawley's story of the young Matthew in the picture who couldn't go anywhere at that party without Lady Mary stubbornly clinging onto him with her pudgy little hands.
Mary had laughed so much that Isobel got mildly worried. It had been around the same time when there were no letters from Matthew...
He kept staring at the frame on the wall, his throat tight with emotion. "She knew I'd come back to her...she never did let go..." he muttered very quietly, though Isobel caught it. "No...she didn't."
To her surprise Matthew hung his head and sat down on the covers of the bed. His one leg was beginning to give out. "I..." he leaned forward and covered his face. "I don't want to disappoint her." the words came out muffled. "She did all this...and...I want to...give her so much...but..." Matthew tried hard to ignore it, but Patrick's spiteful comments had not entirely bounced off him.
Useless cripple with a desk job...
"If I could at least give her what she always wanted..." He looked up when his mother perched on the edge of the bed next to him, one of her worn hands settling on his shoulder. "Matthew."
"I know, I know...I'm being childish." He tried to smile. Mary would certainly call him that if she heard him now. Isobel's hand rubbed soothing circles over his taut back. "You've seen and done things - over there - that forbid me to ever call you 'childish' again." she whispered darkly. There was a haunted look in his eye as he swallowed and tried to reassure his mother that he was still the same man even after all the horrors he'd witnessed...and the blood he'd spilled...he was still the same, wasn't he?
Mary had said that he was still 'her Matthew', he reminded himself quickly. And that's what mattered...
"How come I've been so lucky?" he wondered, puzzled by the fact. "To be alive when others were buried..." He shook his head. "...or have gone mad...so many have gone mad!" Isobel wasn't entirely sure whether he was addressing her or talking to himself, but her hand remained on his shoulder. "...all this happiness...how come I'm allowed to be so happy when...all the others...it still isn't over, you know." His voice broke.
Isobel bit her lip, knowing that her son had a tendency to feel guilty about things, even if they were entirely beyond his control. He always wanted everything to have a 'fair' outcome. Unfortunately, this world wasn't a fair place at all.
"You've done enough, Matthew. It's over now...and you've served long enough." she employed the same tone of firmness that usually commanded his attention and respect. He looked up and a bitter smile graced his trembling lips...
"I know it's over for me...and...that's why I feel so..." He took a deep breath, before he could fully confess, "You see, it's because I'm so unspeakably happy to be home and...I don't know...perhaps my sense of duty got lost somewhere along the way...but I feel nothing except happiness to be alive and to have all this..." His Hand touched the soft linen of the bedcovers underneath him, "...and to have Mary...my Mary...God, I love her so much that I...God..." His words were swallowed when he attempted to surpress the sobs wrenched from somewhere deep within.
He buried his head in shame.
"Matthew." Isobel's hand wandered up to stroke his hair and turn his face back towards her. "It's perfectly natural to feel happy and relieved and to be glad that you have survived. And it's perfectly alright to look forward to your life with Mary." She sighed deeply. "Your comrades...all of the poor souls who have not made it home, they won't begrudge you the pleasure of a happy life after all you have been through, all the atrocities and..."
"I...can't speak of it." he murmured apologetically. Isobel knew. "If your father was here..." it occurred to her. This time, Matthew's hand went out to touch his mother's, knowing how hard it was for her to speak of that particular topic. "...he would have been so proud of you." Isobel concluded full of conviction. She stroked his hair one last time, then stood to kiss her son's forehead before finally letting go of his hand.
Matthew said nothing, but he relaxed as a sense of relief slowly soothed his agitation. He smiled weakly.
At the door, Isobel suddenly turned and there was a mischievous glint in her eye. "Do you remember how we first arrived in this house? How you were griping and grumbling at everything and everyone?" she asked.
Matthew hid his face again, but this time for laughter.
"I will choose my own wife!" Isobel mimicked him in an uncanny imitation of his most petulant voice. "They'll try to push one of their daughers at me!" she called out in mock indignation. Matthew laughed so hard now that he flopped backwards onto the bed. Isobel watched him fondly, relieved beyond measure that her boy could still sound so carefree, that he still felt joy and mirth, despite all that he's seen and done...
Flat on his back, Matthew held his belly as he slowly calmed down. His gaze immediately wandered over to the framed photograph hanging over the marriage bed and his blue eyes momentarily glazed over...
"Goodnight, my dear boy." Isobel said softly. He sat up and rubbed his slightly reddened face. "Goodnight, Mother." he said, smiling sheepishly back at her, and added "Thank you." for nothing specific, simply for being who she was.
Isobel made a sign to Molesley who was hovering in the hallway, ready to help his employer change for the night.
A little while later, she could hear Matthew moving around in his room, obviously too restless and nervous to sleep. After another hour, silence finally confirmed that he had found some peace at last. And it remained miraculously quiet. No nightmares...
Ellen had packed the suitcases for Isobel's departure tomorrow after the wedding and she nearly knocked over one of them in the darkness. Very carefully, she opened the door to his room only a crack wide, like she had done when he was young and woke up crying at night...
...after Reginald...
He snored quietly, deeply buried in the fine linen Mary had picked out for them. There was a brief flash of delight on his face before his lips went slack once more. Isobel lifted a hand to wipe her lashes, stifling any sounds that bubbled up inside her. She could almost imagine that he was still her little boy, so innocent and vulnerable in his sleep...
...with no trace of the war-hardened officer who had to command hundreds of men to charge into their doom...
Shuddering, she closed the door with a deep sigh. Endless years in that horrible place and a terrible injury to always remind him of it. But he was safe now. Her darling boy was safe from harm and what was more, he had found his happiness at long last.
Anna woke her up at the usual hour and in her dazed state Mary momentarily forgot what exactly this day had in the cards for her. She sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her half-shut bleary eyes as very slowly consciousness came trickling back into her brain...
It...was...her wedding day!
"Anna!" she called out, hurrying up from the bed. The maid smiled broadly as she hung something large, white and floaty on a hook near the closet. "Would you like some tea, Milady?"
It took Mary a second to grasp the reality of the situation. Other brides had months to prepare for this day, she simply woke up and it was suddenly her wedding! "I...yes, I would. Thank you." she accepted gratefully.
Anna poured her a steaming cup and held it out. "Lady Grantham has instructed us on the exact order of the day...the house is all in an uproar. Mr. Carson is chasing everyone around like chickens in a coop. You'll see when you go down for breakfast."
"Goodness..." Mary blew the steam off her tea. Of course...Mama and Carson would take it as a personal affront if they could not blow this wedding completely out of proportion, as impromptu as it may be now. "His Lordship and the Dowager Countess have taken the train to York to buy some wedding presents at the last minute..." Anna further informed her. Mary shook her head in disbelief. She had not intended for such chaos and turmoil to ensue...neither had Matthew surely when he'd suggested they get married today.
At breakfast it became quite clear that this wedding was still considered to be a very great deal, regardless of whether Lady Mary became wife to 'the heir' or merely a country lawyer. The great hall had already been tastefully decorated for Sybil's wedding, Mrs. Patmore had made a lovely three tiered wedding cake and a local orchestra had been ordered to provide music...
And yet, Carson was far from satified. "Get more flowers from the gardener...or the village..." he barked at the hallboys, "Make more bunting..." he threw at the maids. "...and I shall change the cards myself!" He swiftly mopped his forehead with a handkerchief when he thought no one saw.
Mrs. Hughes watched all this with an air of miffed disapproval.
"Mr. Carson, don't you think it a bit unfair that there had been none of this effort while it was still Lady Sybil's wedding?" she chided. Carson seemed to deliberate, then held his head up higher. "Lady Sybil is very modest and didn't mind...and we were ordered to keep it small." he argued, then nodded up at the house above their heads. "This...is a different animal altogether!" And he was off again to instruct the footmen on how to lay the table for the wedding feast later...
Sybil and Branson laughed quietly to themselves. In light of all this overblown circus, their small, secret wedding on the sly suddenly appeared even more romantic. Tom wanted to take his wife of three months on a belated honeymoon to Ireland, at least for the one week he had been granted by his London employer.
Afterwards they would move into the small apartment he had rented for them in the city. Lord Grantham had offered to pay the rent, but Tom would hear none of it. He had a decent job now and Sybil wanted to continue nursing in a London hospital. They could pay their own way quite nicely.
"It's almost time. I'm off to the village. He must be sitting on hot coals already..." Tom snickered as he kissed Sybil goodbye. Matthew had asked him to be his best man last night and he had gladly accepted. Even if Tom doubted that he would ever become a real part of Sybil's family, it still felt good to have a friend and ally in his brother-in-law.
Carson was still bustling around the place, making last minute inspections of every tiny detail that might have been overlooked...
That napkin was folded sloppily...this spoon lay askew...and for God's sake what was this tray with medicine doing in the hall? A nurse hurriedly arrived to take it away, cowering under the fierce hawk eye of Mr. Carson...
And then it happened.
One hasty movement and the beautiful, dove-white wedding cake, decoratively placed on a round table in the midst of the hall, sailed to the floor. The nurse shrieked and the rest of the staff in their vicinity ran to see what had occured.
"It wasn't me!" The nurse hastened to assure everyone around.
Carson mutely stared at the mess he had made with a single fling of his arm, wearing a shocked expression as if he had just murdered somebody and the corpse was splayed out before them. "What in heaven's name...oh dear!" Mrs. Hughes covered her mouth. She approached the butler warily, not sure what to make of the situation.
He had completely deflated, his shoulders sunken and his head bowed. Finally, he turned to Mrs. Hughes. "You carry on, please." he entreated and before she could protest, he had made his way out of the green baize door...
Everyone, with the exception of the bride and her father, had arrived in the village church. Some of the neighbouring families had been invited on short-notice, though the turn out was still rather meagre.
Evelyn noticed that there was one elderly gentleman in particular who had turned up and would not take his eyes off Edith, especially after she had thrown him a polite nod and smile of recognition...
"Are you alright?" Edith leaned in to ask. Evelyn flustered. "Oh...yes. Of course." He could hardly tell her that he'd felt a stab of jealousy at this beady-eyed older man who could easily pass as her father...or grandfather, for that matter.
However, Edith had come up with her own theory, certain that she knew what ailed him. "It must be strange for you to be...sitting here with me...instead of over there." she nodded towards the first row on the other side of the aisle where an afflicted Matthew was fidgeting on the wooden bench so much that it creaked in protest.
Evelyn considered this, then turned back to Edith with a warmer smile. "A bit strange, yes...but not unpleasant." he told her roundly. "And...I wouldn't want to sit anywhere but here." His voice had dropped to a whisper only she could perceive. Edith's breath hitched slightly and she had to look down, a very pretty blush staining her cheeks as she pretended to be interested in the light green pattern of her beaded handbag.
Mr. Carson leaned back in his chair and closed his lids. Both hands were folded neatly over his belly as he tried to calm himself and think of an appropriate way to apologize to his Lordship for this...utter catastrophe!
A gentle knock on the door caused him to wrinkle his hooked nose. "Not now." he growled. Mrs. Hughes and some of the senior staff had already left for the church, reluctantly leaving him to stew in his own misery within the safe confines of his office.
Twenty-six years he had been looking forward to this day and now he was too ashamed to sit in the church where his young Lady would be married...because he'd managed to single-handedly ruin her perfect day!
Without another knock, the door cracked open. Carson raised one eyelid to see who dared to go against his orders. He quickly shot up from his chair. The cake was quite forgotten for a moment when he was suddenly assaulted by a memory of the first time she had trotted into his office...
...back when she could barely reach the top of his desk to steal one of the biscuits laid out there.
"Will I do, Carson?" she asked him now, all grown-up and without any doubt the loveliest bride this house had ever known. "Very nicely, Milady." he answered gently, blinking as he felt a mortifiying sting behind his lids. At that moment, the disaster with the cake came back to haunt him.
"I'm terribly sorry about the cake, Milady, terribly sorry...I don't know how this could have happen to me. It's an absolute disaster and there is no excuse..." he rang his hands, until she appeared next to him and stilled them.
"Carson. It's only a cake." Mary smiled brightly up into the penitent face of her old friend. "Papa said you refuse to come to the church." Her finely drawn brows pulled together in a frown. "I told him that he must have been mistaken. You would never disappoint me so."
He quickly cleared his throat and straightened his suit. "Of course not, Milady." he intoned with fervour.
Walking behind the bride, he held the long train up so it would not drag on the dirty floor of the servant's halls. Upstairs, Carson threw some quick instructions at the remaining staff who were cleaning up the sad remains of the cake on the floor.
The car was waiting outside for them. Robert was already seated in the back and held out his hand for Mary as she climbed in. Carson carefully arranged the lacy train on the seat next to her, then turned to his Lordship. He regretted that he would be late for the ceremony, but if he walked very quickly, he would not miss it entirely.
"Carson will sit next to the driver." Mary said, in a tone that broke no argument. Robert merely shrugged and indicated to his butler to get into the front, but quickly. Carson did not know what to say, it was far too great an honour, but in this very moment, he'd rather accept it gladly...
"We're late." Lord Grantham informed Mary, though he smiled with open pride at her. Even on her big day, his daughter had not hesitated to hop out of the car again in order to go and fetch her loyal butler who was sulking downstairs...
Robert chuckled and motioned towards the front seat. "Do you know, I bet he's planned it all...just to make a big entrance with the bride." he said to her, fully aware that Carson might hear. She smiled indulgently at her father, who was positively glowing with joy and pride today. "Are you happy?" Mary wondered. "Even if 'honour' will not be 'restored'?"
Very fleetingly, Robert grimaced at the reminder of Patrick and the entail business, then shook his head. "Nothing could make me happier today than to see you with Matthew at the altar...in fact, I'm so happy, I fear that I might explode." Mary laughed at her father's hyperbole and squeezed his arm.
"And speaking of exploding..." Robert checked his pocket watch again. "Your poor bridegroom must be about to lose his wits...we're over half an hour late!"
"It's raining...roads must be muddy...makes the car go slower." Tom attempted to comfort Matthew, whose face had turned quite stony and pallid within the past ten minutes. "She's not coming..." he had muttered despondently after another half hour had passed and there was still no sign of Mary.
"Ah, here now...that's nonesense." Tom tried to laugh it off, but Matthew remained tense.
Some distraction was needed. "I'm wondering...when did you have time to buy a ring?" Tom opened his hand to reveal a white golden wedding band, holding a small round diamond in its middle. The question actually did distract Matthew, if only for an instant, as he looked sideways at the contents of his best man's hand.
"Last January in London." he confessed, then fell back into a brooding silence. "She's on her way, don't worry." Tom repeated, as he watched with a mixture of worry and fascination how the remains of Matthew's right leg twitched slightly, bobbing up and down nervously as if it were still connected to a foot...
"And what if something happened?" he suddenly hissed at Tom. "What if there was an accident? You said it's dangerous weather for driving."
Tom could not help the snort that escaped him. "Anything but being jilted, eh?" he laughed.
Matthew pulled a face and was about to retort in the appropriate manner, when they became aware of loud cheers outside the church walls. The anxious groom turned to stare at his best man as if he had grown two heads.
"She's here..."
Tom refrained from any more mockery and merely touched Matthew's arm with a heartfelt "Good luck."
As the music began to play, everyone presently stood to watch Lord Grantham lead his eldest daughter into the church. Tom had to grip his left elbow to steady the groom who swayed precariously once he caught sight of the bride...
Matthew had to make a conscious effort to breathe steadily.
He tried to pull himself together, but it was hard. She had never been lovelier to him, never appeared more beautiful and alive. Though it was not even the wonderful white dress, nor the glittering ornaments, or the veil frosted over her dark hair, that held him enthralled...
It was that smile...her smile that moved something deep within him. When Mary allowed it, her beautiful features became the most eloquent part of her physique.
Alive...luminous...loving...
Matthew basked in it, completely besotted, and not even remotely aware that he was mirroring Mary's expression in helpless joy. Between them, there were no more words needed to convey what was in their hearts. His happiness was hers, and hers was his.
With an appropriately serious demeanour, Robert laid his daughter's hand in Matthew Crawley's, meaning to convey his trust in the officer to take good care of his child, but he was ignored. Bride and groom had no view for anything or anyone besides each other. Robert smiled indulgently. One had to forgive their blinders...
Mr. Travis cleared his throat harshly, apparently less forgiving than Lord Grantham.
They slowly turned towards the clergyman, though Matthew could not quite wrench his focus away from Mary. "You came..." he whispered to her with a mixture of amusement and awe. "To be honest, I wasn't entirely sure you would." His heart beat thickly as he watched her lips curl into a teasing shape. "Good. For I should hate to be predictable."
Travis troubled his throat again, actually stern now. The couple in front of him could not quite hide their smirks.
A loud creak in the background indicated that the church doors had been closed, effectively shutting out the sound of the steadily falling Yorkshire rain. With a lot of shuffling and rustling all wedding guests took to their seats on the ancient benches.
During the clergyman's lengthy speech, Mary had to steady Matthew from time to time, as he was only balancing on his right crutch, to have his other hand free for her. From aside she could hear stifled girlish laughter at Matthew's struggles to stand still at the altar.
Lady Imogen and Lady Georgina had intitially been invited as Sybil's bridal entourage, and since there had been no time to get her own, Mary was compelled to 'borrow' them as bridesmaids for the day, however annoying they were.
While Travis spoke, she kept throwing furtive glances up at her groom, who listened with such rapt attention and diligence that it was almost comical. Matthew took every word to heart and extremely serious. Mary wondered how they could have ever stood here, at the altar, with anyone else...
...pretending...
She breathed deeply, feeling her heart stumble whenever she beheld him, and doubted that he had any inkling how handsome he looked in his formal wear, how upright and brave, though she knew it cost him enormous strength to keep himself so.
Of course he would stand, rather than sit in a wheelchair for the ceremony, as Dr. Clarkson had suggested, much to Matthew's indignation. Mary knew that she was marrying an incredibly stubborn man...but also a brave man and most of all, a thoroughly good man.
And...he surely had no idea how much she truly loved him...
"Mary Josephine Crawley, will you have this man to be your husband, to live together in the holy covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honour and keep him, in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"
"I will." she said, with perhaps a little bit more force and resonance than it was custom.
Cora wept quietly through the vows and even Isobel had a weak moment when she watched her son take his love's right hand and speak in earnest, "...I, Matthew Reginald Crawley, take you, Mary Josephine Crawley, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part. This is my solemn vow." His voice cracked halfway through the speech and one of the bridesmaids cackled again behind her gloved hand.
This time, Mary didn't care. All she could hear was his voice, beautiful and rich, and full of emotion as he gave himself to her...
It was difficult to speak and repeat the same words to Matthew. She felt them so deeply, more than she could articulate them. He looked at her so intently, as if he was still not entirely convinced that she was truly standing here, saying these words to him...
Trying to still his shaky hands, Matthew slipped the wedding band onto her finger. There was a pause before he could speak and follow Travis' prompts. "With this ring, I thee wed," He sought out her dark eyes, because words were not enough to convey this. "...with my body I thee worship," She pressed her lips together, but try as she might, she could not prevent this one single tear from making its escape down her cheek. "...and with all my worldly goods I thee endow."
As pleased as Violet was, she could not help a small pang of regret at these particular words. Mary would be endowed with little more than a cottage in the village, a middle-class income and a rusty bicycle. However, the tender look in her grand-daughters eyes, when she received Matthew Crawley's ring, greatly begged to differ.
Mr. Travis pulled himself up to his full height. "Now that Matthew and Mary have given themselves to each other by solemn vow, with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of a ring, I pronounce that they are husband and wife together, in the name of the Father, the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."
Of all present, it was Edith who suddenly erupted into unaccountable sobs. Evelyn, grabbing her hand in a daring move, suspected that it might be a moment of absolution for Mary's sister, to see her happily married at last. He was still the only person besides the bride, who knew about Edith's misguided letter to the Turkish embassy...
"Those whom God has joined together, let no one put asunder."
Man and wife stared at each other.
Married.
'Happiness' was too trivial a word to adequately express what both felt in that moment.
The weather outside remained ghastly, as the rain became stronger. The newly wedded couple couldn't care less. They had to take refuge in the confines of the car until they were allowed to indulge in a long and thorough kiss...
"Shall we give the reception a miss...I'm...I'm dying to take you home on the spot..." Matthew gasped into his wife's ear, eliciting a small giggle and a light slap on the arm. "Matthew Crawley...we can't miss our own wedding reception! Don't you want to celebrate properly before you take me home?" Though if she were perfectly honest, Mary was 'dying' to be alone with him as well.
"Our home...you've made it so wonderful, my darling." he continued into her right ear and Mary sighed. "Ah, so you liked what I did?" She had been a bit apprehensive of his reaction to the 'improvements' in the house. Matthew took her face gently between his hands. "I love it...and I love you." She smiled into his tender kiss, which quickly escalated into a more frenzied embrace. Their noses touched, as they broke apart, breathing heavily, and tried to get a grip...
Patience.
Leaning back, the couple could see that they were already driving through the gate towards the Grantham estate. Matthew smiled into her hair as he watched the vast building drawing nearer. "I do want to celebrate...that I have my Mary at last." he conceded, assuring himself that a few more hours of waiting were bearable in light of the long years of waiting that laid behind them...
With a sudden bout of enthusiasm, Matthew remembered that "There will be good food...and of course a marvellous wedding cake...what...why are you laughing?" Mary covered her mouth and quickly forced her features into a mask of earnest sympathy. "Oh my darling..." she clasped his hand. "...you must be very strong now."
Together, they collapsed into laughter when Mary told him about Carson's 'catastrophe', though Matthew had to vow not to tease the old butler about his unfortunate mishap. They didn't want him to go into hiding again...
"So, no cake?" he inquired again. "Not a crumb, I'm afraid..." Mary shook her head, wondering at the glint in her husband's deep blue eyes. "I was looking forward to the cake..." he reminded her, sounding oddly hoarse. "I know that." she replied, dropping her voice as well. His lips found the soft skin under her earlobe, trailing sweet kisses down to her jawline. "...I may need a bit of compensation..." he breathed heavily against her cheek. Mary whimpered quietly, wondering how on earth would they would keep it together until tonight?
Without warning, or perhaps they had simply overheard it, the car door was pulled open and Mr. Pratt stood outside, looking pointedly away into the distance. Mary quickly pushed her husband off and straightened her veil, but not before pressing a quick kiss to his ear with the promise of much more tenderness later...
They had to stand and receive the obligatory row of hand-shakes and congratulations, despite the small number of guests.
Later, at the wedding feast, a loud clink of a knife on glass announced that Lord Grantham wished to say a few words. Robert was known to make pleasantly brief speeches and this one was no exception. His few words, however, spoke of honesty and warmth between father and son-in-law.
Matthew's ears and cheeks turned crimson and he stared down at his plate. Too much praise. Robert had spoken of him as a good man, a brave man...but the war was still too fresh on his mind to think of it as a heroic endeavour. Still, he smiled up at his father-in-law, thanking him for the kind words before he himself stood with a bit of effort.
Mary's hand remained firmly in his.
"I..." he looked around at the party, at his family, their friends and some fellow officers who were still residing at Downton. "I'm so glad...to be able to stand here today. And I know...how lucky I am, how truly blessed to have been given the chance to have...the happiest life I could imagine." He looked down at his wife.
At the other end of the table, Matthew caught the miserable countenance of a young Lieutenant, who stared at him numbly. His heart constricted at the sight. "I'd like to take a moment to remember all those men who were not so lucky..." Everyone fell silent and the servants momentarily stopped in their tracks. Mary felt his hand convulse around her fingers and squeezed it in turn, reassuringly.
"I thank you all. And most of all my wife..." The word rolled off Matthew's tongue like a caress. "...my darling wife..." Now it was Mary's turn to blush and her fingers cramped around Matthew's in pure embarrassment as he began to praise her in front of their company, probably not realizing that he was the only person here who regarded her as this absolutely wonderful being...
To her great surprise, everyone around them merely smiled and nodded their agreement.
Out of her peripheral view, Edith watched Evelyn to her left, who appeared to be somewhat disgruntled again. Perhaps he was upset about Mary after all. Cora had placed Sir Anthony to her right, who, in stark contrast to Evelyn, kept talking incessantly. When she was finally allowed to turn, Evelyn was still busy with his food. "Are you alright?" she asked once again, trying not to sound petulant, as obviously he was quite disturbed. Surely, it must be the sight of Mary and her husband...
"Yes..." he spoke after a few beats. "...I just didn't know other suitors of yours were invited." his tone was morose, with a hint of anger. Edith blinked down at her dessert in confusion. He couldn't be, could he? No, it was not possible...
Nobody had ever been jealous because of her...
Edith knew the feeling well enough, from her own experience, but it was unfathomable that someone, a man no less, should think he were in danger of losing her to another. "My suitors?" she inquired, biting her lip to prevent her grin to spill over into an inappropriate and idiotic giggle. Finally, he met her gaze. "Yes...well...I do realize that there was no...understanding... but I thought or rather...I'd hoped..." His voice drifted off as he perceived the gleam in her grey-blue eyes and the twitch in the corner of her mouth.
She was amused, about what he could not tell.
"There are no other suitors." was all she said, and when her hand suddenly crept over on the table cloth to brush against his for the briefest of time, Evelyn felt a great rush of relief. A shy smile passed between them with a tentative promise...
Some time later, an awkward moment occured when the party moved into the hall of Downton and the musicians began to tune their instruments. Matthew's face fell, for the first time all afternoon. "What is it?" Mary wondered. "I'm sorry...I wish..." he stalled. She realized her slowness, when her father came up and offered his arm. "Shall I?" he asked kindly, addressing both. Matthew nodded stiffly and reluctantly let go of Mary's hand.
It hurt. He had wanted to do everything perfectly for her...but there was no deluding himself that he could actually attempt to dance with his bride on one leg only.
Cora appeared from somewhere behind. "Won't you sit with me?" she asked her son-in-law. Matthew forced a smile and gratefully accepted the glass of champagne he was offerend by Carson, who also bore a sympathetic look, while Lord Grantham slowly waltzed his eldest daughter over the ancient wooden floors of Downton.
Sybil and Tom watched them from a seat in the corner. "So, that would have been your dress?" Tom inquired with interest. "Not quite." replied Sybil, smirking. "Your sister should go into the fashion industry. The sleeves were too short for Mary's arms, so she cut them down to fall just a bit over the shoulders. Anna nearly had a fit. But it worked out quite well in the end, I think."
Tom laughed. Clodagh was determined when it came to her art...
"...though I would have loved to wear it once...I really liked the lace and pearl applications." Sybil sighed sadly, then quickly pulled herself up when she saw her husband's fond expression. "My love, you'll always be a bit of a fine Lady..." he teased, then shushed Sybil's protest with a quick to her shoulder that went miraculously unnoticed by all others.
Meanwhile, Matthew's eyes never left Mary for more than a few seconds, even while he was talking to various guests. The bride was just about to be led back to him, when someone else came up to claim a dance with her. Captain Napier asked for the honour. Matthew smiled sadly, though he didn't mind. At least not very much...
After everything, he would certainly not begrudge Napier this one dance...
Robert sat down with him and it appeared as if he had something quite serious to say. He cleared his throat. "It hasn't been easy in the past year, between you and me...about Mary and other things." Robert took a generous swig of his champagne. "But I want you to know that...regarding the blasted entail business...if I could change it, you know I would."
"I know." Matthew said calmly. "And..." he hesitated. "And?" his father-in-law prodded, noticing the amused smile playing around Matthew's lips. "...and to be perfectly honest, I never cared much for all of this..." he let his glance roam around at the splendours of the Downton Abbey interior.
Robert snorted into his champagne glass. "Oh, I know...you were always after another treasure of mine..." he nodded over to where Mary was still being rotated around the floor in Captain Napier's arms. Matthew nodded. "Always." The exchanged a knowing glance and reclined in their seats to watch with amusment how Mary, on her way back to them, quickly dodged an eager-looking Anthony Strallan who came bouncing along with obvious intentions.
Matthew grabbed his crutches to stand and come to his wife's rescue. Robert followed at a more leisurely pace.
"Excuse us, Papa." Mary said, without really looking at her father. She took Matthew's arm and led him slowly away towards the vestibule of the hall. Matthew didn't say anything. "Here." she decided and turned towards him in front of the staircase. Matthew looked around in mounting confusion.
Why here?
In the Background stood the white marble sculpture of a young grecian boy and girl clinging together. On the other side was the green baize door from whence the servants emerged, hurrying in and out with plates of hors d'oeuvres and bubbling champagne.
"What's here?" he asked after all. Mary gently took his arm and draped it around her waist. He tightened his grip automatically. Her own limbs came around his body, holding it just as firmly. Out of the hall, they could hear the orchestra playing a slow waltz.
Very gently and slowly, they swayed together on the spot.
Mary had to take on a good portion of Matthew's weight, but she didn't mind. Smiling, in a way that caused his heart to stumble precariously, she tossed her face up at him. "There now...we can have our wedding dance, if we want to." she stated. Matthew blinked and took in a shaky draught of air as he pulled his wife even closer to his chest.
"You..." he paused and licked his lips. "...do you have any concept of how much I love you?" Before she could reply, he lost his balance somewhat and Mary had to hold him up. "Sorry...I'm such a..." he wanted to say 'wreck' or 'clot', but when she flashed him a warning glare, he bit his tongue. "Don't you dare insult my husband." Mary whispered, making him chuckle. "I wouldn't dare..." he mumbled, then closed his eyes to simply enjoy the feel of her soft lips brushing his chin. They had stopped swaying and stood together, holding each other close.
Out of nowhere, Matthew had to laugh. Mary stiffened. "What?"
"Last night...I saw the photograph. Over my...our bed." He savoured the very idea of their bed on his tongue. "My little darling clinging to my back...and now I've to cling to her for support." he recounted. Mary buried her face against his chest, her cheek pressed against the place where she could feel his heart pounding. "Over there..." he added quietly and she had to strain her ears to hear. "...I always had you to hold onto." Brief flashes of dismal, lonely nights in a stinking trench hole flooded his mind and he shuddered. "Matthew..." she sighed, but kept otherwise silent.
Matthew closed his eyes and bent down to kiss the top of her head. All too soon, they had to return to their guests.
As the afternoon waned and turned into evening, everyone distinctly noticed a certain nervous restlessness in the bridegroom, which seemed to increase with every passing minute. Impatience, some thought. Nerves, others concluded. Most male guests smirked knowingly, guessing what might be the cause for Captain Crawley's ever mounting tension.
Matthew glanced around the room, following his wife's every turn and he panted lightly as he took in the dark shiny mass of her hair, wondering what it will be like all open and splayed out for him to touch...the tantalising glimpse of her exposed neck and upper back...the play of her delicate shoulder blades whenever she moved...
Robert suddenly interrupted his fantasies and cleared his throat, his arm swinging by his side. "The..er..car has been ordered...whenever you want to...well...retire." he announced kindly, though it did sound rather stilted. Matthew nodded, awkwardly mimicking his cousin's formality. "Oh...yes, thank you." His ears were glowing.
It had been all he could think of for the past hour, once the sun had set. To retire...with his wife for the first time. Tonight, there would be just him and her. Nobody else. It was such an utterly phenomenal concept that he could hardly wrap his mind around it.
Alone with Mary...together...married...
...one.
Pratt closed the car door with a loud bang. Moments before, there had been nothing but excited gaggle inside the entrance hall, when the newly wed couple had finally taken their leave for the night. Cora had offered Isobel to stay at Downton until her train would depart tomorrow morning.
Anna was to accompany Mary to help her settle in for the night, only to return to Downton with Pratt later.
Matthew had shaken Robert's hand and Tom's, who had cast a knowing grin at him, while Mary had to pry herself away from her overly emotional mother. It had been a light and cheerful send-off, but the moment they found themselves alone in the back of the car, the atmosphere had suddenly shifted...
Sitting stiffly side by side, they smiled at each other tentatively.
It was odd, Mary thought. They had stolen touches and kisses all day, but now that finally, at long last...everything was permitted...she felt strangely terrified. From the tense smile on Matthew's face, she gathered that he felt pretty much the same. His hands trembled has he placed them on each of his knees in what he clearly hoped to be a casual pose.
Mary quickly turned her fond smirk towards the window, giving Matthew time to compose himself. The rain had become more dense in the past hour and as she watched the thick droplets cascading down the glass next to her face, Mary wondered how many brides were getting ready for their 'opening night' at this very moment...
...and how many truly dreaded it.
Without thinking, her hand found its way into the slightly damp palm of her husband's, who stared at her with shy longing. Sliding towards him on the smooth leather of the automobile's back seat, she leaned her head against his shoulder and felt a great shuddering sigh going through his frame. Mary felt him nuzzle her hair and knew that he relaxed a little. Never had she felt her great luck more than in this very moment...
Married. To her true love.
His clammy fingers wound around hers and started to play with the two rings that adorned her hand.
Still so nervous, she thought and hid her amusement in his jacket. She pressed herself a little closer into him and the quick succession of breaths she counted from his chest indicated that she was making it rather worse. Still, no words were spoken, until at long last, the car halted in front of Crawley House.
They were home.
A/N: The End...mwhahaha...only kidding!
I think you can all guess what's going to happen next chapter ;) Really wish there was a course in 'smut-writing skills', but I shall try my very best :)
Thank you so much for reading! Reviews would be lovely as always!