Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, December 1911
Matthew walked down the hall slowly, checking to make sure the bundle in his hands had not been damaged by the chill and snow of winter. He knew instinctively the route to his father's office, and so he checked the wrapping paper as he went.
Convinced all was as it should be, he smiled to himself as he finally looked up and quickened his pace. Some fathers taught their sons how to play football or cricket. Others had their boys learn to be tough and stoic. Most would endow their sons with hard lessons on the ways of the world and maybe even the first guides of a moral compass. Mothers gave their children emotion and feeling. Fathers were supposed to focus on more practical aspects. And so it was for Matthew. He was grateful that his father had taught him one particular fact of life among many other lessons – the satisfaction derived from helping others.
Matthew stopped at the doorway of the office. Dr. Crawley was attacking his daily stack of paperwork with particular urgency. He'd missed several days of work recently due to illness, a rare thing for him and he was obviously determined to catch up as soon as possible. Dr. Crawley had a penchant for working through the Christmas holidays, but this year was different and he and Matthew both knew he would be spending less time in the office.
Everything was merry and especially bright this year. Soon it would be Mary's birthday, and they had chosen late December for their wedding as well. There were still details to be worked out, but Matthew wasn't concerned. 'Tell me where to go and when, and I'll be there early' he had teased her numerous times.
Married. He would make Mary his wife ten months after first meeting her. Truthfully it seemed they had been together for much longer. She knew him better than almost anyone else, and he still marvelled that he had convinced her to accept him, to ignore all that was swirling around her and her past and to step forward with him into their future.
Ten months. She had assured him that her kind of people usually did not even take that long. She had former friends who debuted with her during her Season who met their suitors in June and were married by October. 'Once the contract is signed and the dress made, everything else falls into place' she laughed, though he knew a part of her was bitter over the reality that their wedding would not be in a grand church surrounded by friends and family. Truthfully, Matthew was a bit shocked as well. He always thought his wedding would be at Manchester Cathedral, and not in the city clerk's office, but now with the nuptials a matter of days away, the venue was strangely irrelevant to him.
"Matthew," his father called to him, breaking his reverie. "Come into my office with your musings. You had best shut the door so no one can see your curious expression."
Nodding sheepishly, Matthew came in and closed the door behind him. It was remarkable how thoughts of Mary could cause him to ignore everything around him. Hefting the package under his arm, he placed it on his father's desk and eagerly awaited Dr. Crawley's reaction.
"For you, Papa," Matthew said, sweeping his open hand over the gift.
"Christmas is a few weeks away yet, Matthew," Dr. Crawley said carefully, eyeing the rectangular box. A smile crept across his lips. He pulled back the wrapping paper and grinned. Matthew smiled as well, immensely pleased that his plan had made his father happy.
"Ivanhoe," Dr. Crawley smiled.
"I had your first edition re-bound," Matthew said, taking a seat. "I hope Grandpapa won't mind."
"He'll probably appear to me in my sleep and say what a thoughtful present this is," Dr. Crawley said wistfully. "Then he'd probably scold me for never thinking of a similar gift for him while he was alive. Thank you, son," he said.
Matthew nodded. "This isn't your actual Christmas present, mind. I just noticed the spine was cracked and the cover was almost falling off. Probably because you read it to me so many times."
"A practice that I expect you to continue with your children," Dr. Crawley said.
"You can read them the story yourself," Matthew said easily. "They'll crawl into your lap and beg Grandpapa to tell them a tale."
Strangely, Dr. Crawley removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired, but that was typical for his father, a consequence of working late, Matthew assumed.
"Now that you're here, you can help me. Take a look over this list," his father said as he passed him a paper across the desk. "Have I missed anyone?"
Matthew took it and read through the long list of names. Each doctor, nurse and volunteer was on this list and would be receiving some sort of Christmas present. They were not mere employees to Dr. Crawley. Their morale directly impacted the quality of care for his patients. If they felt he cared about them, then they would in turn care about what they were doing, or so he hoped. Matthew was familiar with most of the people that his parents worked with on a regular basis. They'd all seen him grow up over the years. Hardly anyone left the employ of the hospital, particularly his parents' department. Matthew did not see anyone missing from the list, though he did notice one particular addition.
Lady Mary Crawley
"You've included Mary," Matthew smiled. "Though you haven't listed a gift beside her name as you've done with all the others."
"Well, I thought I would consult her husband before making a purchase," Dr. Crawley teased.
"We're not married yet," Matthew replied, though his pride was evident at the mere mention of the coming event.
"Yes, yes, you're waiting until her 21st birthday next week. It's no matter. You've been married to her in a sense for months now," Dr. Crawley answered. "All that's left is to make it official."
"I'm almost afraid to ask in what 'sense' you mean," Matthew said pointedly. "You raised me to be a gentleman, Papa, and I have been where Mary is concerned."
"If your mother was here, she'd smack both of us just for talking about this subject," Dr. Crawley chuckled. "I was referring to how obviously committed you both are to each other, nothing more. There's no need to be vulgar, Matthew."
Matthew laughed and handed the list back.
"So," Dr. Crawley continued. "What can I get for Mary?"
"Something simple," Matthew said. "She'll be embarrassed if you make a production out of it. To say nothing for the fact that you'll make me look badly if you eclipse what I'm getting for her."
"You are giving her what I hope will be a lifetime of happiness. I doubt I could purchase anything to rival that," Dr. Crawley smiled.
Matthew laughed. "I'm surprised that you're even asking. It's not like you to spend money, even at Christmas. I thought you'd recommend a poetry book to her or something similar."
"I'm feeling reckless these days," Dr. Crawley said. "There's no need to hang on to every penny. It isn't as though you can take it with you when you go."
Matthew frowned in confusion at the statement.
"Besides, Mary will be my daughter soon," Dr. Crawley continued lightly. "I think that jewellery is appropriate. You can explain that it's a Christmas gift, birthday present and wedding present in one."
"Just don't go overboard," Matthew implored. "No diamonds or rubies or emeralds. Her birthstone is turquoise, and that's normal enough. It represents joy, love and luck. Perhaps something with a small turquoise gem and that's it."
Dr. Crawley nodded. "Turquoise has always been beautiful. When I was a young man, it first became popular, thanks to Prince Albert. That gemstone suits Mary very well. Fine. Leave it with me. Now, remind me once more when we are to be at City Hall and how long we can expect you to be away afterwards."
Matthew took out a small notepad from his inner pocket. He caught his father looking at him curiously as he flipped the pages.
"Mary is in charge of the planning, obviously," Matthew said wryly. "I need to write everything down. She has it all committed to memory."
"She's quite smart, your fiancée," Dr. Crawley said. "Probably more clever than even you."
"There's no 'probably' about it; she is," Matthew nodded. "And dare I say she has better manners and better breeding as well. I should hope to get this wedding over with quickly before she comes to her senses."
"Have no fear, Matthew," Dr. Crawley said, drumming his fingers on the desk. "Mary strikes me as one who would speak her mind if she had any objection to you. She's not one to be silenced."
"No," Matthew laughed. "No, she certainly is not."
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, September 1909
Mary walked briskly towards the library, rather pleased that Carson had told her that her Papa, Cousin James and Cousin Patrick needed her input on an important matter. Her input. Yes, that made perfect sense. She was well versed in many subjects, and perfectly capable of contributing wisely to any debate. Though she had not yet had her debut, it was coming next summer, and this was another example of her coming ascension into adulthood. She wasn't a child anymore, she was a young lady who could contribute to her family.
"Welcome back, Papa," she said politely as she saw her father and cousins gathered around a large table.
"Mary," Lord Grantham said fondly. "Come here and see if you can't settle a matter for us."
She approached the table and noticed a map of the grounds spread out across it. She smiled. Downton Abbey was more than just a pile of bricks. It included vast surrounding fields and farms, forests and ponds. And it would all be hers one day when she became Countess of Grantham.
She felt the men looking at her. Her Papa's expression was neutral. Cousin James seemed bored. Cousin Patrick did not seem to be looking at her eyes and Mary stiffened slightly.
"Ask her," Patrick smiled at his father. "She'll know."
"Mary, do you know what this line is here?" James asked, pointing at the map.
Mary looked it over, getting her bearings by noticing landmarks set out near to where Cousin James had placed his finger.
"It's a fence line near the south border of the Hollingsworth property," Mary said easily. "It was rebuilt two years ago after a thunderstorm set fire to the barn. The Hollingsworths use that piece of land for…"
"As I suspected," James said triumphantly, interrupting Mary and glaring at Robert. "The devils extended their fence beyond the proper border of the farm. They're encroaching on our land, Cousin, and you allowed this to happen."
"It's all of our land regardless," Robert sighed. "I don't recall the fence being rebuilt, but even if it was as Mary says, what does it matter?"
"What matters, Cousin, is that everyone understand their role – farmers, tenants, villagers and even you," Cousin James sneered. "I want that fence torn down and Mr. Hollingsworth can build another one on the proper line. Or, I'll have workers tear it down myself and add the cost to the man's rent."
Robert frowned.
"Very well done, Patrick," Cousin James smiled, turning away from Mary and Robert and looking at his son. "She will make a fine wife for you. Remember to use her knowledge to your advantage, just so long as everyone understands that the final decision is yours to make."
Mary felt annoyance crease her brow. She could be of use to Patrick? The man didn't even know half of what Mary did about Downton.
"I'm going to take Pharaoh for a walk. Mary, come with me," Robert said tightly. Mary turned away from the table and followed her father outside, the family dog skipping along happily at his side.
"You will make a fine Countess," Robert said as they moved down a path around the house.
"Thank you, Papa," Mary said quietly.
"You know that your Mama did not want you to learn the history of Downton at first. She wanted a more traditional upbringing for you. But I insisted that you be taught about this place, and taught to understand just how many people rely upon us. I'm pleased to see that you were paying attention."
Mary nodded slightly, her mind undecided as to whether what her father had just said was a compliment or not.
"You're very lucky that Patrick has agreed to accept you. We all are," Robert said. "I know you enjoy teasing him and poking fun at how little he knows compared to you. That isn't proper behaviour for a lady, Mary. Remember your place and try and be more friendly to Patrick."
"I doubt that Cousin Patrick and I are destined to be friends, Papa," Mary said. "And I don't know how 'lucky' I am, actually. Patrick is rather full of himself, and he enjoys gambling, more than most gentlemen that I know. I shudder to think about what he would do to this place without someone more…knowledgeable…to help him. If I'm to marry him, I'd say it's him who Fortune has shone upon."
"Mary, that's the attitude that I'm speaking of," Robert scolded her. "You need Patrick."
"The world is changing, Papa," Mary retorted. "Why have you not considered alternatives? You know Mama and Granny are prepared to fight for me. Why won't you?"
"It's not my place to, Mary," Robert said. "It is my duty to follow the terms of the entail, as my predecessors expected the Earl to do when they drafted it. I'm a custodian, not an owner. Downton is my third parent and my fourth child and I can't act recklessly with it. The terms of the entail are clear."
Mary bit back her stinging reply. The entail. Everything always came back to the entail and how her Papa was trapped by it, and his daughters in turn. When she was younger, she had accepted it, and was still accepting it to a degree by agreeing to marry Patrick following her Season. But she found that as she spent more time with Patrick and her debut approached, she was beginning to question everything, including her father's ambivalence and the whether terms of the entail should be followed so faithfully.
Home of Matthew Crawley, Manchester, England December 1911
Matthew paced nervously around the empty dining room. The house was cold, being empty and unused. He kept the heat on just enough so the plumbing would not freeze over. He buried his hands in his pockets and glanced over to the windows every so often.
"Papa, we need to go," he said. "Mary and Mother are waiting at City Hall. You wouldn't want me to be late for my own wedding, would you?"
Dr. Crawley continued to look out the window, the small backyard filling his gaze. He did not look over at his son as he replied in a soft voice.
"There's plenty of time, Matthew. Your appointment is still well over an hour away."
Matthew exhaled, stopping his pacing and leaning against the wall. He could not help but glance around the room, imagining a long table covered with a Christmas feast, Mary presiding over the gathering as an accomplished hostess, and his parents beaming from their side of the table with friends and family complimenting him on their lovely home.
'Mary decorated the entire house' he would say proudly. 'I just wrote the cheques and tried to stay out of her way.'
'And my dear husband was not entirely successful in that,' Mary would shoot back with a teasing smile. 'Which is why in the New Year, I will be shopping for a new sideboard. Matthew cracked this one when he thought it would look better by the window.'
"It seems I'm not the only one daydreaming of the potential of this place," Dr. Crawley said in amusement.
Matthew looked over at his smiling father and blushed.
"Yes, well, I have to do something to pass the time while you gaze out the window," Matthew said.
"Just thinking about all the possibilities, all the memories that you'll create here. This home is lovely, but also practical, which was why I bought it for you in the first place. When Dr. Cavendish's son was married, he bought him one of those blasted motorcars. Entirely inappropriate. This home, Matthew, your home, is meant to be far more than something flashy for you to show off."
Dr. Crawley coughed, presumably because of the dust and cleared his throat as a comfortable silence returned between them. Matthew knew his father was imagining grandchildren playing in the backyard and running through the halls.
"When we finally do move in," Matthew said quietly. "Whenever that will be, I was thinking of getting the same bed as yours and putting it in one of the guest bedrooms. That way you'll have something familiar to sleep on in the event that it's too late to walk home or even just for you and Mama to nap."
"Plan your house the way you wish, Matthew," Dr. Crawley smiled wistfully at him. "I do appreciate the gesture, but there's no need. I am highly adaptable to changing circumstances. So is your mother."
Matthew chuckled at his father's response. "It's no trouble, Papa. You may as well have your own room here. You'll be over often enough."
"If you think that's best, Matthew," Dr. Crawley said.
Matthew looked around again and wandered over to the living room. The empty fireplace crackled to life in his mind. He saw cozy evenings snuggled with Mary on the sofa, the fire warming them as they read together. He blushed again as he imagined other activities they could pursue on the sofa in front of a roaring fire, and he swallowed, trying to calm himself.
"Well," Dr. Crawley said, walking past Matthew and heading over to the foyer. "Let's get going. I've seen enough of this house to confirm it is everything I wanted for you. Best to save the rest of the day's sentimentality for a wedding that I've been invited to."
Matthew shook his head and followed his father to the door. As he opened it, Dr. Crawley patted his son on the back affectionately, then stepped out into the bitter cold air.
Home of Lady Philomena Grey, Manchester, England, December 1912
"Do you know what day tomorrow is?" Matthew asked, running his hand along Mary's bare back as she rested her head on his chest.
Her own fingers slid along his ribs. "It's Sunday, isn't it?" she said easily.
"Yes…and?"
"Oh! I need to make sure I bring my gloves to Church. I forgot them last weekend and my hands were practically frozen stiff," Mary said, smiling against his skin.
"Have you gone off me already that you have no memory of our wedding day or that tomorrow is our anniversary?" Matthew laughed.
Her hand slid down past his thighs and squeezed him, causing him to grunt in surprise.
"I wouldn't say I've gone off you just yet," Mary teased.
"Naughty minx," Matthew smiled. "I'm trying to be serious. Since tomorrow is our anniversary and I do not want to spend the day arguing, I am declaring a moratorium on all discussion of Downton."
"That's the smartest thing you've said in weeks," Mary declared, turning and looking at him.
"After we finish today's argument," Matthew said pointedly.
"Matthew!" Mary said sharply, rolling her eyes and settling back down on his chest. "Darling, it's as though you've traded one worry for another. You've moved your grief for you father into this new frazzled concern towards a fate we don't know will ever happen."
He opened his mouth to respond when she ran her fingers along his lips.
"Stop concerning yourself with this and leave it be," she said softly. "What can I do to make you start the moratorium immediately?"
Matthew swallowed as she kissed his chest, her hand moving down his body once more. He reached out and gently took her wrist, drawing her attention to him.
"This isn't like you," he said quietly. "You don't just give up. Why have you now? Why won't you even consider fighting?"
Mary huffed and sat up fully in bed. She brought her knees to her chest, crossing the blanket across her breasts.
"I didn't give up Matthew," she said, not looking at him. "I fought and I lost. There is no point to considering a new attack or forming a strategy, nothing has changed, and nothing will change."
Matthew sat up in bed and reached forward towards his wives partially exposed naked body. He kissed her back, then her shoulder.
"You fought alone, Mary," he whispered. "You believed that when it came down to facing Patrick for what he did, your family would stand behind you, and they didn't. Darling I'm sorry that you had to endure that. So very sorry. But I'm here now, Mary. You have reinforcements. My father believed in your cause, and so do I."
"Oh, Matthew, what am I always telling you?" she sighed, a shiver running down her spine, partly from his lips, and partly from her harsh memories. "Your father gave me too much credit, and so do you."
"It isn't because you're…scared…is it?" Matthew asked.
Mary turned her head and glared at him before she looked away.
"Don't be ridiculous," she spat.
Mary looked down at the bedspread and the wedding ring she only got to wear when they were together. She cleared her throat and spoke with as much confidence as she could muster.
"You weren't there, Matthew. You didn't see the way they judged me, the way they scrutinized everything that I did. No matter what I accomplished, it was never enough. I was inferior, never good enough, that much was always clear. Why would I want to go back to a place like that? To people like that?" she asked.
"Darling," Matthew said, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her against his chest. His hands linked with hers over her knees.
"They took everything from me," she whispered. "Even now, I can't walk down the street wearing your ring and holding your arm. My own husband, for God's sake! I'll be dammed if they can now have you too."
"You can have it all back, Mary," Matthew said, kissing her cheek. "Downton, me, it can all be yours, just as you deserve. We just need to fight…together."
Mary sighed. She turned her head and kissed him.
"Can we please start the moratorium now?" she pleaded.
"Of course," Matthew nodded, touching his forehead to hers. "As long as you promise me you'll think about what I've said."
"I'll think about it after tomorrow," Mary relented. "Until then, I'm only going to think about what we did this same time last year, and ways to do it all better."
"Better?" Matthew exclaimed in surprise.
"It has been a year, darling. Surely we've become more…skilled," Mary arched her eyebrow at him before leaning in for another kiss.
Midland Hotel, Manchester, England December, 1911
"The Royal Suite?" Mary frowned at Matthew after the double doors closed.
"Is it not to your taste?" he asked nervously, walking back into the parlour after dismissing the bellman.
"No, no, it's lovely," Mary said lightly, hoping he did not misunderstand her. "It's just that it's quite expensive, I would expect."
"The most expensive room in the city," Matthew nodded, coming forward and taking her hands in his. "And not nearly what you deserve, darling."
"Matthew…" she shook her head, looking down at their joined hands.
"What?" he asked in an amused tone. She eventually brought her eyes back up to look at him.
"You don't have to do this," Mary began. "I didn't marry you today because I expect fancy clothes and sparkling diamonds and luxury and excess at every turn. I had that already, and it was worthless in the end. I don't need all of this," she said, tilting her head to take in the large living space. "I only need you."
Matthew chuckled. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly. He stepped back and took her hand, walking her through to the dining area, with its large table and elegant chandelier.
"Mary, I like doing this for you," Matthew smiled. "I know that you're used to a large house and servants and choosing clothes and doing the Season. I know that living in Manchester and having to work at the hospital and living under Lady Philomena's roof are not what you envisioned your life to be. But when you're with me, Mary, when we're together, I want to show you another life, a better life."
"You already show me that!" she objected. "You show me at every turn, and not only when you spend money. Matthew, it's not your job to spoil me."
"Actually, I think it is," Matthew frowned playfully. "It must have been in our vows somewhere. Something about 'for richer'?"
"Or for poorer," Mary said pointedly. "This is too much, Matthew," Mary shook her head. "I don't even want to know how much this cost your parents."
"My parents?" Matthew frowned in confusion. "What makes you think that they had anything to do with this?"
"Well, surely you needed help to afford this?" Mary questioned him.
Matthew laughed and kissed her once more. "Lady Mary, I am perfectly capable of paying for my own wedding night, thank you. And we haven't even discussed the honeymoon yet."
"Matthew," she shook her head again.
"Don't worry about anything, except our destination," Matthew said firmly. "Whatever you desire, wherever you wish to go, say it and I shall take you there."
Mary smiled at him playfully. Her husband was quite sweet, and very deferential to her, but surely he was merely boasting. She could not envision how Matthew could afford all of this on a mere lawyer's salary. She would say as much, but even she was not cold enough to throw out such a rebuke on her own wedding night.
"Would you like to see the South Pacific painted by Gauguin? Or the great barrier reef in Australia? Perhaps the Pyramids in Egypt? Or the Great wall of China? I'll find you the lost city of Troy or the library of Alexandria! Name it, Mary and it's yours," Matthew said, his smile eager.
"Stop it, darling. Stop it this instant. Do you really think I married you because I wanted clothes, or jewellery, or fancy trips to faraway lands?" she scolded him lightly.
She reached out and pushed his suit jacket off of him and dropped it to the floor. Matthew gazed at her with great interest, keeping himself quiet as Mary slowly undid his vest, then his shirt buttons.
"I came here last winter, all alone, to another world, another life, and found to my delight, another part of my soul. You revived something in me, Matthew, something I didn't even think was there. I thought my life would be dark and filled with despair, and you showed me a life that I did not even know existed."
His chest was soon bared to her. Mary stepped closer and kissed his shoulder, then his neck, and brought her lips across his chest with light pecks.
"Mary," Matthew sighed, his hands moving to her hips and holding her close to him.
"I don't want or need to see anyplace else. I don't want to see the world. Only you. All of you."
Her hands went to his trousers and Matthew swallowed audibly. He stilled her fingers and she looked up at him in confusion.
"Wait, darling," he gasped. "Are you sure? I don't want to do anything to remind you of…you don't have to feel as though you have an obligation to…"
Mary quirked her eyebrow at him, then kissed him
"I don't have any demons, Matthew," she smiled, kissing his neck. "You already exorcised them, by being so kind, and patient, and understanding, by being a perfect gentleman, and never demanding anything from me. You don't need to hold back, Matthew. Now that we're married, everything is permitted."
"Everything?" Matthew asked, his voice shaky.
Mary stilled her hands and looked up at him. She shook slightly as she caught his eyes, the need inside of him so obvious to her. She had never seen him look at her like that before and it made her shiver with anticipation.
"Everything, Matthew," she nodded.
"I…I just want our first night together to be perfect for you, to be everything you should have had before…" Matthew babbled.
"Shh…" Mary smiled, kissing him again. "Don't you dare say his name. The only man I'm thinking about is you, and I'm thinking rather scandalous thoughts at the moment."
"Mary, my darling," he whispered.
Mary gasped as he turned her around. He kissed her neck, his hands moving up her sides, brushing past her breasts and to her shoulders.
"Have I ever told you how much I admire your hair?" he said lightly, his fingers delicately moving her coiffure to the side to expose the nape of her neck to his lips. "It's always so immaculate, so perfect."
Mary swallowed as he kissed her bare skin. His fingers deftly began removing the pins from her hair. She had no idea how he knew where to find them, or how he pulled them from the layers of her hair almost as deftly as Anna used to, but as each one fell to the floor, her breathing quickened.
"I have wondered what your hair would look like when set free, Mary," he continued, each kiss a shock to her body as her hair could no longer maintain its shape and tumbled down her back.
His contented hum against her skin sounded like a primal growl and she shivered again as he pulled her long tresses across her shoulder to once again bare her neck to him.
She swallowed again as his fingers made quick work of the buttons down the back of her dress. As each one surrenders to his hands, she felt more and more of herself being exposed to him, until her dress falls to her feet, the only thing standing between them the silk of her shift.
"No corset?" he smiled against her back. "Good."
She blushed fiercely, growing keenly aware of a heat at her core that cannot be quelled. Truthfully, she went without a corset because her dress did not require one to maintain the appropriate shape. She realizes now how wise she was to choose this dress, as it has had a delightfully unexpected benefit.
Her eyes blink open as his kisses stop. His hands hold the straps of her shift, his fingers frozen.
"Please, Mary," he says softly, the aggressiveness in his previous tone gone. "May I…can I please…I want to see you, if you will permit it."
She can't help but smile. His hands are trembling on her shoulders and it gives her confidence. Surely he must want to tear the last barrier to her naked body away from her? And yet he doesn't. He even asks for her permission. How did she find him? How did she choose such a man?
She reaches her hands up and covers both of his. She guides him to ease the straps over her arms and down. Her arms fall to her sides and he pulls her shift the rest of the way. His hands cup her breasts and they both inhale sharply, the touch arousing both of them. No one has ever touched her quite like this before, with love, and she's almost shocked at how good it feels.
A smile comes to her lips and she turns her head and kisses his cheek. She opens her eyes and looks at him, the questioning and nervous expression on his face only stirs her arousal further.
"Yours, Matthew," she whispers. "For always."
They kiss and it's as though the touch of their lips washes away all nervousness and fear and trepidation and replaces it all with a flaring heat that feels intoxicating and right. She spins in his arms and he lifts her off the floor. They are quickly in the bedroom, the soft blankets and pillows breaking their fall as they move to bed with desperate haste. She undoes his pants, pushes his shorts off before she realizes that he's completely naked and she's seeing him, feeling him for the first time. He unties her knickers, then seems to have the same thought as her. His eyes widen and he glances at her, wondering if she'll recoil.
She reaches up and frames his face with her hands. A beaming smile pulls him forward and they kiss, the gasp from her as their bodies touch cracks his restraint. She feels soft and warm and amazing beneath him, and his hands clutch the blankets to stop his desire from consuming him.
She needs him close, closer than he already is pressed against her. She feels his weight on top of her, and it feels good, not at all like that other time when a rat of a man smothered her. She can't even think back to that moment, her mind won't allow her to be scared or tense up. She's too occupied processing the feel of his firm buttocks, his warm back, his chest covering her breasts and the points of heat that are bursting on her neck, her chest and between her legs. Her hands all over him, and she can't stop herself from exploring his body. She realizes it's all hers, all of him, his strong muscles and soft ticklish spots all belong to her now, and she can touch him as much as she wishes. Her eyes widen as a coil of delightful sensation seems to be growing in her centre, and just when she thinks she can't be any more aroused than she already is, she finds another level.
"Mary," he hisses and she looks at him, his eyes so blue and his gaze so loving that she thinks she might explode from his glance alone.
His weight is balanced on his forearms on either side of her head. Her hands are across his lower back, her legs parted for him. They stare at each other, an entire discussion passing silently between them.
His eyes tell her he will love her until the last breath leaves his body.
Her nod tells him 'me too'.
Matthew thrusts into Mary and they both cry out at the sensation. He goes agonizingly slow at first, gritting his teeth and grunting in restraint, fighting the urge to move faster or to close his eyes in rapture. He needs to see her, catch any sign of discomfort or pain so he can pull out. He has never wanted anything more desperately in his entire life than to make this good for her, to be everything that she deserves.
Her hands travel down to his buttocks, squeezing him wantonly. She sees him trying to control himself, waiting for her. Her face is flushed, the heat of their bodies and her own arousal allowing him to slide into her further. It all feels so overwhelming, so different, so incredible.
"Take me, Matthew," she whispers, pulling him down to her.
He groans as his control snaps. Her voice, her words, her body wrapped around him, it's too much. He thrusts forward and she moans, clutching him closer and he's moving faster and she's kissing his cheek, her legs tighten around his hips.
Her ragged breathing and the pushing of her hips drives him mad with lust. He draws back and his eyes fire open, watching her face as she comes apart around him. He becomes quickly addicted to her cries of pleasure, wanting to hear her, a greedy thrill running through him that it's him who's causing this – that he's loving her.
His head falls to the pillow next to her ear. His hips grow frantic, his release calling to him, flooding his senses. He blinks quickly and realizes the sound that he can hear over the roaring of his blood is her voice. She turns her face and kisses his damp cheek, the same noise coming to him again and again.
"Matthew," she chants over and over, the desire and love and slight hint of shock in her tone thrills him and he redoubles his efforts.
He tries to warn her with a gasp of her name. He tries to pull back and raise himself off of her. She is insistent, wrapping her arms around his back and refusing to let go. She clings to him, continuing to call his name and he cannot deny her as he pushes hard one last time and cries out, his groans immediately swallowed by her mouth as she kisses him through his release.
He vaguely remembers not to collapse on top of his wife as his limbs lose all their strength and he manages to roll them over before his back meets the cool sheets of the large bed.
She curls against his warm skin, a dull ache spreading through her body that is not at all unpleasant.
For several moments, the only sound is both of them trying to catch their breath.
"Was that…did you…was I…" he stumbles.
"Yes," she laughs, a wonderful sound of uninhibited glee that he burns into his memory. "It was. I most certainly did, and you were…you were wonderful, darling."
He laughs along with her. Relief, joy and a somewhat more wicked emotion overtaking his senses. He's overjoyed that it went so well, but more so that it was good for her, that he didn't fail her.
"Although, you know, husband," Mary says lightly, reaching up and kissing his cheek. "It may have all merely been a case of beginner's luck."
He actually snarls at her remark. Relief is forgotten. Joy is pushed to the side. He focuses instead on the other emotion stirring his imagination.
Her wrist is seized. A whimper leaves her throat. Her hand is pushed downward and comes into contact with him. Her eyes go wide in surprise and elation. Weren't they supposed to just go to sleep now?
"Matthew!" she gasps.
He pulls her on top of him this time, his hands finding her hips and moving her, gently but firmly, to where he wants her.
Wants her. God, he'll never stop wanting her.
"I'll show you who's a beginner," he growls, leering up at her.
Her face changes from bewildered surprise to seductive challenge in an instant. He briefly wonders what he has gotten himself into before they both push against each other and join each other in rapture.
Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, April 1913
"It is with great pride and appreciation that I make this dedication. This plaque and the surrounding jubilee garden represent a tribute to fifty years of noble service to this institution. There have been a number of changes for this profession, this city and our world in this time, and yet as long as I knew Dr. Reginald Crawley, he did not flinch. He was a favourite son of Manchester, and it is with great humility that we now…."
Matthew knew it was rude but he stopped listening to the hospital board president drone on. He had known Paul Tinslingham for years, and although he was a respected doctor and stately gentleman, he did ramble.
He saw several birds perched on the tree branches just behind the podium that the board president stood on. It was a beautiful spring day, a fitting setting for this tribute to his father, which Matthew wasn't overly thrilled about. It was strange how after losing his father, Matthew seemed to be constantly reminded of him.
He felt eyes upon him and he glanced about, wondering if it was Lord Merton examining him from afar or more hopefully, Mary giving him her steady secret support. However, as he turned he saw it was Stella, Mr. Tinslingham's eldest daughter that sought his attention. Matthew looked away quickly; his presumed bachelor status was of great interest to an increasing number of women since his father's death.
He barely kept his outrage at bay. During Dr. Crawley's lifetime, no one knew of how well off they were, or in particular, how much money Matthew made as a lawyer. They didn't circulate to every party and he didn't go to London often, so though they were known, his eligibility was never an active topic among the upper classes. The sudden interest in Matthew therefore must have stemmed from someone who knew about just how much money had been left to him from his father's Estate. It did not take much effort to deduce who was the source of such gossip. Lord Merton was many things to Matthew – Mary's Godfather, a patron of the hospital, a family acquaintance, and a powerful member of Manchester Society. Matthew could now add conniving and petty to the list, though Mary had already warned him about that.
The hospital had received a generous contribution to its endowment fund from Dr. Crawley's Estate, but not nearly as much as they had apparently been expecting. Matthew smirked. If only the distinguished Lord Merton knew that Dr. Crawley had left twice as much money to Mary as he did to the hospital, the old man would be even more livid.
All of this leant a certain duplicity to this dedication ceremony. While Isobel was pleased with how beautiful the space was and the plaque was certainly lovely, Matthew was far more cynical about it. He could hear the entreaties now. 'Reginald would have wanted to ensure the surgical department had the best facilities, don't you agree, Matthew?' 'If we are to continue to be at the forefront of medicine in Britain, we must continually renew ourselves. You can play a leading role in that, Matthew. Just as Reginald would have wanted.'
Matthew did not know exactly what Lord Merton intended by this obvious strategy to lure him into the Manchester social scene. Did he honestly think Matthew was so easily seduced that he would spend his father's money on a new wife and funds for the hospital?
Matthew almost frowned outwardly at his inner thoughts. Of course that's what Lord Merton assumed. Matthew had inherited money and was the heir to an Earldom now. People made presumptions about him. They assumed that now that he had money and a future in Yorkshire, he had no use for Manchester or his job as a lawyer. Even the partners in his law firm assumed he would be resigning. Matthew was incensed by such shallow and superficial beliefs from such educated people. His life was not a mere shopping list to be completed over time. Money, check. Title, check. Estate in Yorkshire, check. Obviously all that was left was a wife and children and to move away from Manchester!
After rebuking the partners rather strongly and informing them in no uncertain terms that his future at the firm would depend not on his family status but on whether he felt fulfilled by the work or not, he returned home and complained to Mary when he saw her that evening.
"I'm dying my hair grey and growing a grisly beard. Perhaps then all of these conniving people will stop trying to push themselves at me."
Mary always knew how to deal with his moods. She had laughed, pulled him into a warm embrace and lectured him on the fact that women interested in his money would not care about his actual physical appearance, and that certainly Lord Merton would be even less bothered.
After the ribbon had been cut around the new plaque and the traditional bottle of champagne broken over it, the guests were now standing around the lawn. The chatting however was dull and uninteresting. Matthew stayed close to his mother, and pretended to be listening to her conversation. As he saw Lord Merton approach, he willed himself to remain calm.
"Ah, Matthew," Lord Merton said with a dashing smile, his teeth showing as he grinned.
Matthew nodded to him. He was past trying to make pleasantries.
"Is everything to your liking? We so wanted to honour your father. Fifty years of service to this hospital is a remarkable achievement. Although some board members squabbled about the fact he wasn't technically in the institution's service until he was a licensed doctor, I fought for him. I said, as a seventeen year old volunteer he was already on his path; therefore it was indeed fifty years."
"Thank you for everything you've done," Matthew said dismissively. "But, if you will excuse me…"
"Have you given thought to Lord Grantham's request?" Lord Merton continued. "He would like you to arrive at Downton in September, as you know."
"We're still in mourning, Lord Merton," Matthew said tightly. "I appreciate the Earl's concern, but I'm not considering anything until after we've spent the year we owe to my father."
"Certainly, Matthew, certainly," Lord Merton nodded. "On another matter, if I may be so bold, a private word of warning," he lowered his voice and he gestured for them to step aside.
Matthew frowned. This man was tiresome and relentless – a dangerous combination. Seeing that Matthew had not moved, Lord Merton relented and merely spoke in soft tones.
"I simply wish to give you some counsel about the silly young girls I saw trying to get your attention this afternoon. Well, you heard the oath, primum non oncere; first do no harm. There are a number of women here who may be more interested in your newfound status than anything else. I know, it's horrible to imagine. In particular, I would warn you to stay away from the assistant who works with your mother – Lady Mary," Lord Merton said sternly. "She may be very beautiful, but she will harm you, and you've got so much potential my boy."
"My mother only has good things to say about her," Matthew said innocently. "Do you know her well, Lord Merton?"
"She's my Goddaughter," Lord Merton huffed. "So I know her character better than most. While I do not wish to betray confidences, there is a reason she is here in Manchester, and not in Yorkshire, and if you've heard any rumours about her, you may want to be mindful about them. They are not the usual lies and gossip that flutter around Society from time to time. There's more truth to them than you may realize."
Matthew grit his teeth behind his pursed lips. How dare this man say such things about his wife!
"Matthew," he heard his name and calmed himself. He turned towards his mother.
"I'm sorry but I'm feeling a headache and I would like to retire from this little party. Would you accompany me?"
"Of course, mother," he said. He politely made his excuses, taking some small satisfaction in seeing Lord Merton somewhat put off by their sudden departure.
As they strode out of the little garden and across the street into Whitworth Park, Isobel smiled at her son.
"You're welcome," she said quietly. "I'm starting to see your point about needing to go with you to Yorkshire. You clearly are not capable to surviving on your own with their kind of people."
Matthew smiled. His constant entreaties to his Mother were beginning to take hold.
"I've always said I'll need more than a green cockatiel named Abel on my side," Matthew said.
"I don't know what kind of welcoming committee you'll receive when you arrive with a bird cage in one hand and your elderly mother on your arm, but I suppose that won't be the only shock our new family will receive," Isobel laughed. "Abel may not know how to leave his cage, but I do."
"I'll be proud to have both of you with me," Matthew nodded. "I'll appreciate having someone on my side," he sighed. "I still don't know how I can live under the same roof as Mary and pretend to not know her."
"I'd say that's an improvement over the way you've been carrying on since your marriage," Isobel teased.
"Be serious," Matthew scolded.
"I don't begin to understand why you have to maintain this ruse of not knowing each other or living together. I did not understand it in the beginning, and I fail to comprehend it now. A woman should not be judged by her past, and if you are the heir, then who your wife is should have no bearing on anything," Isobel said fiercely.
"You know I cannot betray Mary's trust and reveal all of it," Matthew grumbled. "You'll just have to take it on faith."
"Of course," Isobel chuckled, smiling at her son. "That I have in abundance."
"Besides, the less you know, the better," Matthew smiled. "Better for them to think us both ignorant and underestimate us."
"To their peril," Isobel laughed. Matthew was glad for her good humour. Though she seemed to have adjusted to his father's passing better than he had, he knew she was just being stoic. He knew his mother was always happiest with a task or mission to focus on, and in going with him to Downton Abbey in the fall, she would be taking on her biggest crusade yet.
Now all they had to do was convince Mary.
Midland Hotel, Manchester, England, December, 1912
Mary smiled as she heard a knock at the door. She had been standing by the window, looking down at the city below, lightly touching the turquoise bee broach pinned to her dress. It was a combined birthday, Christmas and wedding gift from Dr. Crawley given to her a year ago. It represented the bee mosaic which was on the floor of the Manchester City Hall, a coded symbol of her marriage to Matthew that she could flaunt in public.
She went to the door and opened it. Matthew stood across the threshold. He smiled at her in an entirely improper fashion. She backed away to permit him entry into their suite, a smile crossing her lips as he closed the door behind him, his eyes upon her the entire time.
"Hello, lover," she said thickly.
Matthew raised his eyebrow teasingly. "What would your husband's reaction be if he heard you call me that?"
"I have a fairly good idea," she smirked, deliberately glancing down his body before looking back up at his wide eyes.
She laughed as he hugged her and they kissed.
"Are you sure that you want to stay here again?" he asked, keeping her in his hold. "St. Pancras Station is just outside. It's not too late to take a trip."
"You are very stubborn," she said coyly.
"I'm stubborn?" Matthew said with a chuckle. "Now that is rich."
"I want to spend my first anniversary here," Mary said her voice a delicate whisper, "With you, husband, in Manchester, in this suite, where we spent our wedding night."
"Well, that is a relief. Because I've made a lot of plans that required a lot of work, and money and time, I would have hated to simply chuck that all away on a whim."
The church bells chimed signalling it was six o'clock at night.
"What time was that last train to Paris?" Mary asked her face now serious and poised with interest.
Matthew's rolled his eyes at her playfully. He released her and they both took a seat on the sofa.
"I've got a Cinderella Weekend planned for us here," he said.
"What is a weekend?" Mary responded with confusion. However, she couldn't keep her face serious any longer and her mask broke free betraying her amusement. "My Granny once said that to a guest she considered a simpleton."
"For our first night of entertainment, beyond the memorable spectacle that will happen behind our closed doors…"
"Matthew!" Mary admonished him sternly, although she couldn't help but blush.
"We will listen to the string quartet orchestra at the Gaiety Theatre; they will be playing a new British composer by the name of Gustav Holst."
"He doesn't sound British! And how is that Cinderella related?" Mary laughed.
"If you would let me finish, you would know to trust a name can be anything, it has no borders. Well, Mr. Holst wrote a piece called Cinderella. The word Cinderella isn't just a fairy tale name; it is recognized as someone who can achieve despite all odds; even if they are neglected or underappreciated. It has long been a name that produces inspiration and hope."
"Indeed?" Mary asked, finding it so typically Matthew to be attracted to such symbolism.
"And for the next night? What do you propose?" she asked boldly.
"We will see a production of Cinderella that is supposed to be good fun as it's done in pantomime."
"Sounds scandalous," Mary replied evenly.
"I assure you it's nothing of the sort," Matthew huffed defensively a twinkle in his eyes. "The Gaiety theatre is owned by a woman, who wears exotic clothing and smokes cigarettes. Hmm, actually, on second thought…"
Mary laughed. She then stood up and Matthew looked at her in surprise as she wandered towards the bedroom.
"Where are you going?" Matthew asked.
"To get our weekend off to a good start," Mary said, disappearing into the bedroom. Matthew frowned as he tried to decipher her meaning.
"Come here, Matthew," she called. "Unless you want to spend the weekend sleeping on that sofa."
Matthew almost tripped on the coffee table in his haste to get to her.
Home of Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, June 1913
"You haven't gotten much better at scheming," Mary smirked, her head draped lazily against his chest. "You are as easy to read as a children's book."
"I don't know what you are referring to," Matthew smiled, moving slightly into a more comfortable position. The shifting of his body caused him to push his hips against his wife and she slapped him playfully.
"That is exactly what I am referring to!" she said pointedly. "Buying me new earrings, your mother very conveniently going away for the weekend with friends at the exact time that Lady Philomena leaves for London, and having Mrs. Bird cook my favourite dinner and dessert. Your attempts at seduction are entirely transparent."
"Must I apologize for wanting to have dinner alone with my wife? Must there be a nefarious plot behind giving your jewellery? Why can't a husband merely want to show his love for his wife through innocent gestures?" he asked.
"There's nothing innocent about your insistence that I wear my new earrings to bed, and nothing else, as you so eloquently demanded," Mary said playfully.
"I requested you wear them to bed," Matthew pointed out. "Obviously it was your wanton streak that caused you to agree," he laughed, reaching down and pinching her bottom.
She slapped his chest again. "Stop it! You're only trying to get into my good graces before you bring up your ridiculous plan once more."
"Mary," Matthew sighed.
"Well? Call me a liar then if it isn't true!" she quirked her eyebrow at him in challenge. "You think that now that you've satisfied my desires, that I shall satisfy yours, isn't that it?"
"I think you've already done that quite conclusively, actually," he joked. "And more than once, I might add."
"Don't be rude," Mary rolled her eyes, curling herself closer to him.
"You promised me you would think about it, Mary," Matthew pointed out, hugging her closer.
"I did think about it. My answer is still no," Mary said petulantly.
"Well what am I to tell your father then? He expects me at Downton in September as you well know," Matthew shook his head.
"You can tell Lord Grantham that he can take his invitation and shove it," she spat. "He could use a strong dose of rejection, believe me. It will teach him that he can't always get what he wants."
"Mary," Matthew tried again.
"Do you know how horrible it will be? Do you have any idea?" she asked. "To live in my old home, the home that I was to spend the rest of my days in as Countess of Grantham, and to have to sleep in a separate room from my own husband? I won't be able to acknowledge you or talk to you the way I want, to touch you or embrace you, to make love to you or wake up with you or any of those things! Matthew, it will be torture!"
"I know, Mary, I know, for me as well," he nodded. "But it will be a small sacrifice, and it won't be for long. Once I smash the entail in its entirety, all can be revealed."
"How can you be so certain that you can? Unless you are able to destroy it, we'll be trapped, Matthew. They'll be parading women in front of you constantly and I won't be able to say anything to object! Why, they'll probably try and arrange something for you with Edith!" Mary sighed.
"And I will not let any of that happen," Matthew said firmly. "I believe I can do this Mary. I can make Downton safe for us, and our children. But I can't do it without you."
"Of course, you can't," Mary sighed. "I don't know, Matthew. I just don't know."
"There's no need to decide now," he said carefully. "Besides, are you so sure that we won't have any time together while we are there? I thought it was a rather big house, and you are quite resourceful when you put your mind to something."
Mary huffed. "That's not the point. There are numerous unused rooms and secret passages, attics and such that could host any number of private liaisons."
"Good," Matthew smirked. He turned towards her and drew her into a deep kiss.
"If we're to have liaisons at Downton," he said in a low voice as he rolled her on to her back. "We need to practice, darling."
"You're incorrigible," she sighed in pleasure, grinning as she ran her hands up his back and hooked her leg across the back of his thigh. "This won't convince me, Matthew, but you're welcome to keep trying," she said, before her voice was taken by a delicious moan.