Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, February 1914
"Mama," Robert frowned as he came into the parlour. "I wasn't told that you were coming."
"That's because I did not come here to see you," Violet said dismissively. "Where is that prodigal son of yours?"
"Matthew isn't here," Robert rolled his eyes, going over and pulling the cord for Carson. "He's in London for meetings."
"Meetings!" Violet exclaimed, glancing up at her son from her chair. "How industrious of him."
"It makes perfect sense for him to get better acquainted with members of the House and others in the city," Robert said lightly.
"My Lord. Lady Grantham," Carson nodded as he came into the room.
"Tea, Carson, thank you," Robert nodded. Carson bowed and disappeared.
"What need do you have of Matthew?" Robert asked, turning back to his mother. "The two of you have hardly spent more than five minutes in conversation with each other since his arrival."
"After nearly six months here, I think it sufficient time to determine his worthiness for his post," Violet replied.
"He's my heir, Mama," Robert said firmly. "No amount of badgering from you will change that."
"Having a position and thriving in it are entirely separate. One does not beget the other," Violet noted. "I'm not as quick to approve of him as you are."
"Your approval is hardly necessary," Robert sighed. "In any event, you've missed him. He'll be back next week. You can schedule your inquisition then."
"Very well. I shall sharpen my knives in the interim," Violet nodded.
"Why do you dislike him? You don't even know him," Robert frowned.
"I do not dislike him. I just don't like him, which is quite different. Now, where is Mary?" Violet said haughtily.
"Why do you ask?" Robert frowned.
"She's my granddaughter. Do I need a reason to see her?" Violet demanded.
"She's not here, thank Heaven," Robert said in frustration. "She's in London, attending some fashion show."
"And no one went with her?" Violet asked.
"No, she went on her own and is staying at Rosamund's. She's due back next week, but she can stay away as long as she likes if you ask me," Robert replied.
"No one has," Violet retorted.
"Mama, you've always had a soft spot for Mary, I know, but even you must realize that she has done nothing but cause anguish and scandal for this family since her Season. I've condoned her return, barely, at Matthew's request and because I do not look forward to dealing with Cora's heartbreak if I were to send her away again. But if you expect me to forget, or forgive, all that she has done, you of all people should know that is impossible," Robert said bitterly.
"Have you not flogged this horse enough?" Violet asked quietly.
"I'm not having this argument with you again," Robert waved his hand in the air. "And before you start, no, it is not only what she did to Patrick that infuriates me. It's all that happened during her debut. I spent time and money protecting her reputation only for her to throw it all away. No, Mama. She's back and she can stay, but do not bother with any scheme you may have to restore her. You know that she's forsaken all that she could have been."
Carson cleared his throat as he brought the tea tray into the parlour. Robert stayed silent, staring out the window as Carson served a cup to the Dowager Countess and placed his on the table nearby. Robert mumbled that he did not require the butler further and Carson took his leave.
"I will only say that I find it striking that you champion Matthew as much, if not more, than you condemn Mary. One is your distant cousin, the other is your daughter," Violet said, sipping her tea.
"Matthew deserves all of our support," Robert said, still looking out the window. "He hasn't disappointed me."
Berkeley Hotel, Knightsbridge, London, England, February 1914
"Oh, please!" Matthew moaned, his eyes shut tight. He swallowed several times, his hands clawing at the bed sheets.
A content thrum reached his ears and he forced his eyes open and propped himself up on his elbows, looking down his bare chest to the long brown tresses gathered below his stomach. Just watching what she was doing to him made him almost fall apart.
"Darling, stop! Please! You can't…" he gasped.
Long fingers crawled up his front and forcefully shoved him down on to his back. He stared up at the ceiling, babbling her name, his hips refusing to obey his command for restraint. He felt her other hand caress his thigh, then move between his legs, and as her fingers joined her lips and tongue, he yelled out in bliss.
"I don't deserve you," he said sleepily, as he watched her come out of the bathroom and return to bed.
"I'm in no mood for this pathetic exchange," Mary arched her eyebrow at him, kissing him quickly, then settling down next to him, her head on his chest. "I've done nothing more than what you've already done for me numerous times, and I won't discuss it any further."
He laughed, reaching out and stroking her bare back.
"You were supposed to tell me about your mission," he said lightly. "That was the purpose of meeting here this morning."
"That was your purpose perhaps," she smiled at him. "I came here to make love to my husband, who has not touched me for almost a month, I might add."
"Please don't remind me," Matthew sighed. "Between Robert having some new lesson for me each day and seeing Thomas and Bates in the halls each night, I've been one irrational impulse away from ravishing you on the dining room table."
"You're not alone there," Mary rolled her eyes. "I think I've had tea with Granny and Mama more often in the past two months than I did even before I was exiled to Manchester. I suspect they're trying to rehabilitate me so they can marry me off to some Italian who isn't picky."
"Well they'll need my permission for that, and I am not inclined to grant it," Matthew said, leaning forward and kissing her.
"I don't believe that the entail gives you power over such arrangements, Matthew," Mary smiled.
"On the contrary," Matthew smirked. "I believe that I control your settlement, or at least I have a say in it anyway, and so I will simply refuse to pay it over to whichever unsuspecting lad has the audacity to agree to any scheme involving you."
"You would keep me a prisoner indefinitely?" Mary exclaimed with mock indignation.
"Absolutely, under my sole supervision," Matthew grinned, kissing her again.
She returned his kiss and chuckled before they lay back down.
"This is heavenly," Mary sighed. She nuzzled her nose against the side of his face, her breath warm across his skin. "It isn't the Midland, but it will do."
"I just wish that we could stay overnight, as a proper couple," Matthew said sadly.
"The sooner you smash the entail, the sooner we can, darling," Mary smiled, kissing his cheek. "And believe me, we will spend many nights celebrating. I'm going to lock the door and not allow you out."
"I could not dream of a better fate," Matthew said, hugging her close.
They fell asleep, their passion having worn both of them out. When Matthew opened his eyes again, the sun was still bright outside and Mary was still curled up against him. He smiled at her placid face, so beautiful as she slept. He moved his head towards her and whispered in her ear.
"For this was on St. Valentine's Day, when every bird cometh there to choose his mate."
Mary sighed and smiled, keeping her eyes closed.
"I can't decide if you are simply mumbling or saying something poetic," Mary muttered with disinterest. "I hope it's the former, as we are entirely underdressed for vows of courtly love."
"I think that Chaucer sounds far more romantic when spoken in our exact current circumstances, actually," Matthew replied.
"Darling," Mary said. "Quoting Chaucer will never earn you any points with me. It's simply another example of misplaced inspiration, as sorry as any poem about the Moon and June and other drivel."
"I think it fits us perfectly," Matthew continued. "When Chaucer wrote that poem he was declaring that Valentine's Day is a special day for lovers."
Mary's eyes remained closed and she arched her eyebrows. "Really Matthew," she chided him. "Mentioning love birds? Perhaps Abel would be a better audience? Those lines would get you further with him than it will with me."
"You're in no position to deny me anything, darling," Matthew said pointedly before his hands moved to her sides. Her eyes snapped open a moment too late and he began tickling her sensitive skin just below her ribs.
"Matthew!" she shrieked between giggles. "Stop it!"
"I'll only stop if you say it," he chuckled. "You know what I want."
"You're an absolute arse!" Mary shot back, writhing against him and laughing freely.
"Your feet are next," Matthew warned.
"Fine! Fine!" Mary cried. "I love you," she gasped. "I love you! I love you! Now stop it!"
Matthew ceased his tickling and she fell back against the pillows out of breath. As Mary caught her breath, he kissed her cheek.
"I love you, my darling. I love you so terribly much," he smiled.
Mary blushed and ran her fingers through her hair.
"You know, I was going to suggest that we go to the festival at whatever small church we can find. They say that attending such an event is akin to renewing one's vows," Matthew said.
Mary smiled and caressed his cheek.
"Thank you," she smiled. "But you know that I don't need to go to church to know that I'm yours."
"Just the same," Matthew smiled, kissing her. "We've spent most of our marriage pretending that we aren't husband and wife. It's nice to have a day where we can celebrate it."
Mary grinned. "My thoughts exactly, darling."
Matthew smiled in confusion and surprise as Mary got out of bed and wandered out into the living room. She fetched her coat from the floor where she'd discarded it earlier and reached into the inner pocket. Smiling to herself, she hurried back to bed.
"You look pleased with yourself," Matthew smiled.
"I am," Mary nodded.
She pulled her hand out from behind her back and placed a small box in his hand.
"Mary," he said in shock, his eyes widening.
"We can't go out in public together properly," Mary said. "But right here, right now, I'll pledge myself to you again, Matthew."
Matthew opened the box and grinned widely as he took out Mary's betrothal ring and wedding band. She hadn't worn them since leaving Manchester and the sight of them filled him with pride.
He hummed happily at her smiling face and took her left hand.
"Now, now, darling," Mary said playfully. "Need I remind you?"
Matthew rolled his eyes. He quickly got out of bed and came around to her side. She got up and stood before him. Mary laughed as he went down on one knee.
"I must say that this isn't how I imagined my proposal to play out," she smiled at his naked body.
Matthew shook his head at her. He took her hand once more and brought the rings to her finger.
"Lady Mary Crawley. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
"Yes!" Mary laughed, watching as he placed her rings on her finger.
He scooped her up and promptly fell back into bed. She reached up and held his face in her hands, the sight of her rings making her smile widely.
"What do you think about re-enacting our wedding night, darling?" she drawled.
He kissed her in reply.
"I should tell you about what I discovered before we get…distracted…again."
"Yes, please do," Matthew said, turning on to his side and looking at her.
"Well, by all accounts, Patrick did not have any prospects before he left on the Titanic," Mary said. "Lady Cunard was quite adamant that while he was seen often in London, there wasn't even gossip about him finding a new fiancée. Apparently he brooded for several months, did the Season as usual and was often seen accompanying Cousin James on business."
"What about Lady Kensington?" Matthew asked.
"I expect he was still having liaisons with her and feeding her some delusion about making her Countess of Grantham one day," Mary said caustically. "But that would not explain where all the money went. Lady Kensington's family is rich as it is."
"So he wasn't diverting money to a new bride," Matthew frowned. "And as far as we know he didn't have any interests in the New World to speak of."
"I can't see how he could manage that without Papa knowing about it and there being a record of some sort," Mary said.
"That just leaves the gambling," Matthew said. "Perhaps the Café l'Europe wasn't the only hall that he frequented. It's simply the only one we can trace."
"But none of this makes any sense," Mary shook her head. "Patrick always enjoyed gambling more than most men, but how was he able to lose so much money? And if he paid off his debts with money from Downton, how could he cover it up on the books and close bank accounts without Papa discovering it?"
"I believe that I have the answer for that," Matthew sighed. "But first, let's have some lunch."
"It comes down to who is supervising who," Matthew said, sipping his tea. "Your grandpapa fixed it so that Robert and James could not do anything without each other, but with respect to their children, there's no inherent responsibility beyond that of being a parent."
"So Papa had no real authority over Patrick. That's fair. But that doesn't explain how Patrick could use Estate funds," Mary said, taking a spoonful of yogurt.
"According to the books, the two bank accounts that we discovered were closed were set up to collect revenues from two operations in the Village – the sale of elderberry wine and fundraising from the annual Downton Church Bazaar. James was personally responsible for those accounts. He probably suggested opening them to Robert, who agreed either because he was too bored to look into it with any detail, or because he thought it was a good idea. Either way, he obviously did not monitor those accounts," Matthew said.
"Because as long as money is going into the accounts, he has no need to be concerned about them, and he would have expected that no funds could be withdrawn without his approval, together with James'" Mary nodded.
"Precisely," Matthew said. "Now, as with many things, James delegated responsibility for the accounts to Patrick. He collected the money, arranged for the deposits and monitored the accounts."
"But what about when it was time to use those funds?" Mary asked. "James and Papa would still need to sign off on them, and surely Papa would question cheques made out to an establishment in London that he did not recognize."
"That's the beauty of the scheme," Matthew said grimly. "Robert never expected the money to be spent. The sale of elderberry wine is a small enterprise and the Downton Church Bazaar funds are meant to pay for repairs to the Church. Whenever money is needed, it's paid out of the Estate funds, not directly from those two bank accounts."
"So Papa would have gone along with spending Mama's money, thinking he had funds sitting in those two accounts to make up for it," Mary said.
"Exactly," Matthew said. "The cheques that I recovered from the Café l'Europe are all signed by James and Robert, but they're from the Estate bank account. Either Patrick obtained blank cheques that James and Robert signed in advance for later use, or the signatures are forged. The cheques aren't sequential, meaning that Patrick had a number of cheques that he was using. Either way, I don't think Robert knew anything about them. Since they're already signed, they're as good as money."
"My God," Mary shook her head.
"Patrick may have used other cheques to withdraw the money to gamble with, or he may have never deposited the money to begin with. He needed the accounts to exist so he could be put in charge of them and have access to the funds. He would have never expected to lose the money, so he probably believed he could keep his profits and pay the rest back into the accounts when necessary," Matthew said.
"He used our money to finance his gambling, but when he lost it all, he needed to find other funds to pay back his creditors," Mary followed along.
"And that's where the Cottage Hospital comes in," Matthew said. "He inflated the numbers on the Estate books and diverted the funds to pay his creditors. The hospital receives its regular allotment of supplies as usual, and payments are made in the normal course out of the Estate account. No one at the hospital would ever see the Estate books, so no one would ever know that the supplies ordered and delivered did not match up."
"But what about the invoices and order forms for the supplies that were never ordered? Did Patrick fabricate those as well?" Mary asked.
"Someone did," Matthew nodded. "There's three suppliers that are paid the same amount every month. None of them are legitimate businesses, and none of them made any deliveries to the Cottage Hospital. Cheques went to three individuals care of three different banks, probably paying off Patrick's debts at other gambling dens."
"And he closed the accounts so that the banks didn't contact Papa or send him statements and he isn't alerted to the fact that the accounts have been emptied," Mary theorized.
"Exactly. The statements for those accounts show the same principal balance each month because deposits were made so infrequently. It would be simple enough to copy those statements and change the date so that it all matches up with the books. Unless anyone checked with the banks the way that we did, no one would know the true state of the accounts," Matthew said.
"And since Patrick was the one responsible, he could keep it all hidden," Mary shook her head.
"Yes. I could understand why no one at the banks would question any of it. They're loathe to call out any of their privileged customers. But why was Patrick in so deep? He couldn't have enjoyed gambling that much. Was winning money that important to him?" Matthew asked.
"It was because of me," Mary sighed, looking away.
"What?" Matthew frowned.
"It's the only explanation that makes any sense. He did it all to build his own fortune overnight, something separate and apart from James, from Downton, something that would be his own achievement, that he wouldn't have to wait to inherit," Mary said.
"To do what?" Matthew asked. "To impress you? You were already promised to him."
"To win me over, yes," Mary rolled her eyes. "Even though I agreed to marry him, I made no secret of the fact that I found him…boring. I was only going to marry him if nothing better came along, and as the heir to Cousin James, his prospects were better than most. God, the way I must sound to you."
"That was a different time," Matthew said, rubbing her arm. "You were different then."
"That's a nice thing to say, but I sometimes wonder…" Mary said softly. "Patrick thought that was the way to impress me – with money, his own money. I wouldn't be able to dismiss him so easily then, because I couldn't claim it was just him riding on my family's wealth. He thought that getting rich was the way to win my affection, and why wouldn't he? That's all I ever said was important since we were children – money, a title, a position – oh God, Patrick…"
"Mary," Matthew said, pulling her back towards him.
"Edith always told me to just be nicer to him," she said shakily. "That's all he wanted from me. He could wait for me to love him. He could even wait for the sex, but he just wanted me to be kind, to show him we could have a future of some sort, and I never did."
"Mary, stop, please," Matthew pleaded. "What Patrick did to you was of his own choosing. There's no excuse, no justification, no absolving him for what he did."
"I was cruel to him, Matthew. He did what he did, yes, but I was cruel to him," Mary sobbed.
"It doesn't matter. What he did was unforgiveable," Matthew said, holding her close and kissing her forehead. "But as a result of Patrick's gambling and playing with the books, things are far worse off than we thought."
"What will you do?" Mary asked.
"Continue to find a way to beat the entail," Matthew said. "But in the meanwhile, we will need to delve deeper into all of the operations. We need to find some way of cutting some of the waste and making better use of the land. Otherwise, even if we are successful at putting you back where you belong, you'll be Countess of an Estate that has no money."
"Papa won't want you to be so involved," Mary said. "He wants you to learn, but not to think for yourself. He'll be put off by any of your ideas because they won't seem as though they came from him."
"He'll have to get used to it," Matthew declared. "He has to work with me, doesn't he?"
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, February 1914
"Dearest," Mary said to her youngest sister as she entered the library. "If you are going to sulk, at least turn on the lights and pretend to be reading."
Sybil only glared at her sister. But, Mary took no notice of such a gesture. After all she could withstand the sharpest of looks during their time in London. Sybil's petulance was nothing.
Mary sat on the settee next to her sister and simply waited. The only sound in the room was the clock as it struck ten o'clock in the evening. Mary glanced at her sister still in her formal dress from dinner, whereas Mary had already changed into her more comfortable nightgown and robe. It was Anna that had alerted her to Sybil's disappearance, and Mary had assured her lady's maid that she would handle it.
"I'm only interested in politics because of women's rights," Sybil stated coldly. "I'm not a Bolshevik!"
"No one called you that," Mary said sympathetically.
"Papa might as well have!" Sybil returned fiercely, her voice strong and passionate. She reached for her sister's hand. "It is simply awful when no one understands."
Mary felt an unexpected lump form in her throat at her sister's words and their double meaning. She squeezed their joined hands but found there was nothing she could think of to say that would soothe Sybil.
"I'm going to keep reading the newspapers, I'm going to keep caring about what happens," Sybil declared. "And one way or another, Papa won't stop me. There's change coming and I want to be involved."
"I don't know about that," Mary said patiently. "With a hung Parliament, it's hard to get excited about a simple by-election. You know nothing will change, whoever gets in."
"You should see when we meet with the entire committee, Mary," Sybil said excitedly. "Everyone is interested, everyone is involved, everyone is willing to listen and learn. Change has to start somewhere, so why not in Ripon?"
"Granny could imagine a few reasons, I'm sure," Mary smiled.
"Of course. She wants me to find a husband and just repeat whatever he says. 'My problem is that I am focused on the wrong kind of Count' Sybil rolled her eyes at her Granny's comment during dinner when her Papa had scolded her for being too politically involved.
"I think you could easily marry a Prince, why settle for a Count?" Mary said fondly.
Sybil huffed out a breath of disdain but did at least smile.
"There has got to more to life than simply marriage," she said with disappointment. "I want travel and adventure!"
"You could have both, consider Count Dracula," Mary teased. "Transylvania is on the way to Italy, you know."
"I'm sorry, darling," Sybil said suddenly. "Here I am lamenting on marriage. What you must think of me."
Mary patted their joined hands with her free one.
"It's quite all right. It's not as though I was going to have a great one even when I was promised to Patrick. I'm sure that there are men out there who would take even someone with my reputation for a wife. If there is, you know that Mama and Granny will find him," Mary smirked.
"You don't need to put on a brave front for me, Mary," Sybil shook her head. "I know that this can't be easy. Regardless of the way you feel about Cousin Matthew, I know you'll be angry when he brings his fiancée to meet us someday."
"On that we can agree," Mary nodded. "I would be furious if Matthew introduced another woman to me as his future wife."
"Because she'd be getting everything that was supposed to be yours," Sybil nodded.
"Yes, that's it," Mary said, stopping herself from smiling.
"What happened, Mary?" Sybil asked. "I feel that back during your Season, everything was promising and happy and fun. It's been months now since I've had mine and life isn't at all what I expected."
Mary nodded and looked away.
"But I'm so glad you're here, darling," Sybil smiled.
"So am I," Mary returned. "Now, let's go to the kitchen. I'll make you some hot chocolate, but only under the condition that you don't tell a soul that I can do such a thing!"
"What else did you learn in Manchester that you are holding back?" Sybil giggled.
"If you only knew, my dear," Mary smiled as they walked towards the stairs arm in arm. "If you only knew."
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, March 1914
"How was your time in London, sir?" Thomas asked as he helped Matthew into his robe.
"Very good, thank you, Thomas," Matthew nodded, looking at himself in the mirror. "My meetings were quite enlightening."
"I hope that you've become more comfortable with the way things are around here, sir," Thomas nodded.
"I am, yes," Matthew replied. "Although I must say I'm still at a loss to understand why Cousin Robert and Cousin Mary don't get along."
Thomas stiffened slightly.
"Of course, I know that her return was rather shocking, that they didn't expect her, but it's been months now and the tension hasn't thawed between them. And no one seems to want to talk about it," Matthew continued.
"Well, Lady Mary is…complex…sir," Thomas said carefully. "His Lordship isn't quick to forgive, either, I'm sorry to say."
"But forgive what, Thomas?" Matthew sighed. "I've heard rumours and gossip, but I still don't have a clue what happened."
"It's not my place, sir," Thomas said quickly.
"It's not your place to assist me?" Matthew questioned. "Very well."
"Surely you can appreciate the difficult position it puts me in, sir?" Thomas said.
"Thomas, anything said between us is kept in confidence. I expect you know that. I'm not looking for a tale to go out and spread across London. All of Society seems to know more than I do when it comes to Cousin Mary and Cousin Robert. You can see how frustrating it would be for me to be at such a disadvantage regarding my own family?" Matthew said pointedly.
"Well, sir, you never heard it from me, but it's true, sir. Lady Mary was banished from the home by His Lordship after she was found in a compromising position with a guest. This was several years ago, sir, during one of the hunts," Thomas said quietly.
"My God," Matthew said with exaggerated shock. "And he walked in on his daughter in the act, as it were?"
"No, sir," Thomas shook his head. "It was the late Mr. Patrick who found her out."
"His own fiancée," Matthew whispered. "I can only imagine."
"It came as quite a shock, sir, yes," Thomas nodded.
"But how? What was Patrick doing in Mary's room?" Matthew asked.
"We called him there, sir," Thomas said. "Louis, Mr. Patrick's valet, and I, we saw the foreigner – the guest – going to Lady Mary's room. We alerted Mr. Patrick when we thought that Lady Mary was in danger, and he heard them when he arrived."
"He heard them?" Matthew repeated. "Oh, he heard them."
Thomas nodded.
"How horrible," Matthew shook his head. "And what ever became of Louis?"
Thomas' lips twitched and he looked down at the floor.
"He died, sir," Thomas whispered. "On the Titanic."
"Ah," Matthew nodded. "I'm sorry. I wasn't aware."
Thomas nodded, still looking down at the floor.
Matthew's eyes narrowed as he looked at the footman.
"It must have been a harsh blow for all of you downstairs," Matthew said slowly. "Not only losing Cousin James and Cousin Patrick, but Louis as well."
"Of course," Thomas nodded. "Everyone…liked…Louis."
"Well, thank you for telling me, Thomas. I'm sorry to dredge up sad memories for you," Matthew said kindly.
"You're welcome, sir. Anything to help," Thomas said bravely.
Matthew wished him good night and dismissed him. He went into his bedroom and glanced at the framed gingko leaf that he kept on his dresser. He nodded to himself as he contemplated Thomas' words.
Mary never sleeps deeply anymore. She sleeps better than she ever did at Lady Philomena's and never as well as she did at Matthew's, but she doesn't sleep deeply, the kind of sleep where she's almost boneless and blissfully unaware of the outside world until she rings for Anna in the morning. Not in this bed. Not in this room.
When she returned to Downton Abbey, her Mama quietly suggested she may wish to take a different bedroom given what had happened here, but Mary defiantly said no. Though her memories of this room are ever present, she refused to allow them to control her. Besides, her bedroom is the biggest one in the house, unless they were to convert a nursery or sitting room into a bedroom for her, which she knows they won't, and unless they'll allow her to take the room next to Matthew's in the Bachelor's Wing, which of course they never would, there's no use staying anywhere else.
Somewhat dramatically, she expected nightmares and visions when she spent her first night back here, but nothing happened. She would open her eyes at the slightest noise, be startled from slumber whenever she heard footsteps or voices passing outside her door, but she never felt afraid. She knew what truly took place between these walls, and as horrid as it was, and as deplorable the outcome for her, she isn't paralyzed by it anymore, and she takes great satisfaction in that.
So she stays in her bedroom, each night, every night, sleeping easily, but not deeply. She thinks to herself that every morning she rises from this bed, she's striking a blow for herself against Patrick's ghost, against her Papa's scorn, against Society's false beliefs about her. Lady Mary Crawley isn't afraid of a stupid room, but she remains vigilant nonetheless.
Which is why she is roused awake in the middle of the night by the dip in the bed and the feel of weight settling beside her. She blinks in surprise, but is comforted by the familiar smell of his aftershave and the warm hold of his arms wrapping around her.
"What are you doing here?" she mumbles, her hands moving to cover his. "I told you that it's too dangerous."
"I've chosen you as my consort," he answers seductively.
"What? Is this more of your play acting in bed? I'm in no mood for it, and we don't have any costumes or props," she whispers, eyes still closed.
"I'm a bachelor who needs his release," he continued. "And I've decided that you shall help me."
Mary opens her eyes and struggles out of his arms. She sits up and reaches for the bedside table lamp. The light makes her wince almost as much as the words she had thought he had just said. They were certainly not words she had expected from him, they belong more in the dominion of Larry Grey.
"I'm not anyone's consort!" she hisses.
"Mary, it's all right," Matthew says sweetly.
"What on Earth are you talking about?" Mary demands as she pushes back against his chest. "I don't find such jokes at all funny, Matthew!"
"Your Papa suggested that I discretely take a consort to…sate my desires…" Matthew explains with a smile. "I could think of no one better for such a role."
"You could think of no one better for the role of your mistress than your own wife?" Mary frowns, slapping his chest lightly.
"Ow! Mary!" Matthew protests.
"And so you raced to my bed because of this idea and how captivating you think it is, believing I will simply accept that because of your status and my reputation the deception would work?" she accuses him coldly.
"It will! Don't you see?" Matthew exclaims excitedly, his enthusiasm entirely one-sided between them. "I'm just upset I didn't see it earlier. Now, if we get caught we have the perfect explanation."
"If Papa were here, he'd punch you in the nose. He never would have thought you'd choose me when he gave you such disgusting advice," Mary rolls her eyes.
"That's what makes it all the more enjoyable. We're using his own words against him, once again," Matthew grins, leaning forward to kiss her.
She stops him once again, pushing him back.
"What's wrong? Haven't you missed me?" Matthew asks in concern.
"Desperately," Mary replies. "But not like this. I won't be your mistress."
"It's just for pretend," Matthew states. "You know where my true feelings lie."
"Even still," Mary says. "Are you suggesting that we have more regular encounters? You'll send Thomas to fetch me each night so I can come to you?"
"I hadn't thought about it, but I don't see why not," Matthew muses. "Or you could send Anna to fetch me. Or we could use them as go-betweens if we decide to try out one of the other rooms."
"The entire family will find out. Thomas will tell O'Brien, who will tell Mama," Mary shakes her head at the implications.
"And we have the perfect explanation, courtesy of your father," Matthew smiles.
"No," Mary objects. "They'll think that I seduced you, and they won't condone such an arrangement. We'll be watched even more closely, if I'm allowed to stay here at all."
"I hadn't thought of it that way," Matthew mumbles, frowning to himself.
"Besides, you would actually have no compunction about treating me that way? Even if it were for pretend?" Mary arches her eyebrow at him.
"How is it any different than acting as though we don't know each other? It's simply a ruse to cover up our true relationship," Matthew says easily.
"What if I were to take on a suitor to distract attention away from us?" Mary retorts.
"Why ever would you do that?" Matthew cringes in alarm.
"How is it any different than acting as though we don't know each other? It's simply a ruse to cover up our true relationship," Mary mimics him.
"That's different!" Matthew whinges.
"Why? Because it's permitted for you to sleep with whores and have consorts at your beck and call, but I can't flirt with another man?" Mary questions him pointedly.
"Yes! I mean, no! I'm not sleeping with anyone else and I don't have any consorts! It's just an illusion, is all! It's no different than when we act out some of the delightful scenarios that you dream up," Matthew shakes his head.
"That's different! That's solely for the two of us in private. You're talking about openly stating that you can have me whenever you want, and all of my family and servants will know it. I won't play along with this one," Mary says firmly. "I'd rather go without you for days than act as though I'm your possession or that you have some claim to my body. And I certainly won't allow myself to be thought of in that fashion by Thomas, Anna or anyone else."
"All right, Mary. I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Matthew apologizes imploringly.
Mary reaches out and caresses his cheek in conciliation. She kisses him lightly.
"Darling, I know this is hard for both of us, and I know that you think your idea is harmless, but these rare moments when we're together, I want it to be as we truly are. I want to think of you as my husband, not as anything else," Mary whispers.
"Of course," Matthew nods. "I'm sorry, Mary. I would never think of you in any other fashion. You're my wife. You're everything that matters to me."
They kiss again, and Mary laughs lightly when they pause for breath.
"It's all right. I know that you meant well. Love can drive men to do all manner of things that in the cold light of day seems entirely out of character for them," she grins.
Matthew's eyes widen.
"What did you say?" he asks.
"I said that I forgive you for wanting me to be your consort," Mary smiles.
"No, not that," Matthew replies. "The other thing. Love can drive men to do strange things."
"I expect that it is a timeless truth," Mary laughs. "Why?"
Matthew looks away, thinking quickly. He turns back to her and smiles widely.
"That's it. Love," Matthew beams.
"Are you going to quote Chaucer again?" Mary smirks. "Because I must say it isn't as arousing as you seem to think it is."
"No, no," Matthew shakes his head in amusement. "How aroused would you be if I told you that I think I know how to clear your name and reputation?"
"What?" Mary's mouth falls open in shock. "That's impossible. How?"
"Not so fast, Mrs. Crawley," Matthew leers. "Let's go back to talking about me being a man in need of release."
Mary laughs as he descends on her, kissing her neck.
"We have to be quiet," Mary whispers, moving her hips against his wantonly. "It's not as deserted here as it is in the Bachelor's Wing. Did you bring protection?"
"Of course," Matthew smiles, reaching for the hem of her nightgown. "Now stop talking and kiss me. Please."