Here it was this dream again. Because for years, every time she saw herself in this setting after Matthew's death, Mary had known that it was a dream, but that knowledge had not prevented her from letting herself go with the flow. She missed him dearly and she wouldn't pass up an opportunity to share a few moments with him, even though she was well aware that it was just her subconscious playing with memories, no matter how frustrated she would be every time the dream was over and she had to face the truth once more: he was gone and he wasn't ever coming back. Over time she had learnt to cope with the frustration and anger that always followed those dreams, and as time went by and this kind of dream began to occur less frequently, she had started to really enjoy and cherish them, not caring at all about the bitter sensations that would wash over her in their aftermath.
Mary couldn't remember the last time she'd had one of these dreams. "Probably more than a year ago," she languidly thought as she tried to relax and not do anything that'd make her wake up. As usual in this kind of dream, she was naked in bed and Matthew was slowly and gently kissing his way up her body while she came down from her high. She was quietly panting, trying to catch her breath and extended her right arm to place her hand on his silky fair hair. She loved to run her fingers along his scalp, caressing soft hair.
This time, the hair seemed to be shorter and somehow thicker, so her fingerprints almost slid as she gently massaged the back of his head. "Well, he's been gone for years now, maybe he would have changed his hair style should he had not died," her subconscious thought, not wanting to get distracted from the dream itself by such a small detail. She really didn't care about her late husband's hair; all she wanted was the chance to have him by her side, no matter if it only was for a few minutes and only in a dream. It had taken her all her energy to come to terms with Matthew's death and its awful timing. In fact, if she looked back she could hardly remember their son's first year, buried deep in a blur of grief and sadness as she had been, showing what she could now recognise as the unmistaken signs of a depression, but she had finally accepted it and, more importantly, learnt to live without him. So, yes, he could be wearing a wig, for all she cared. Mary was not going to complain about that.
But more differences could be noticed. His skin was softer than usual and his shoulders were broader, much broader than before. Matthew had always had nice shoulders, shoulders you could dig your fingers into, but just by touching them as her hand made its way down his collarbone you could tell that this was a whole new level. "Shoulders I'd like to sink my teeth into," Mary surprisingly found herself thinking, and suppressed a chuckle in her dream. She didn't want to ruin the moment, but that was certainly a thought she had never had before. "God, chastity's certainly doing a number on me…" she chuckled. Over dinner at Downton Abbey, making polite conversation to her parents' usually dull and boring guests, was the closest she had been to a man for the last two years, and she had thought she was okay with it until this very moment when that crazy idea about Matthew's shoulders had crossed her mind.
Ignoring it for the time being, at least until she woke up, she focused on his hands, which also felt different. This time he was accompanying his kisses with his hands on all the right spots, something he wouldn't usually do in a moment like this. "Maybe he's become wiser," subconscious Mary thought. Matthew had been a very generous man in every aspect of life, but this time he seemed to be taking even more time than usual to make sure he complied with the things she liked the most.
"Darling," she whispered, "my turn," as she cupped his face with both her hands and drew his head up to kiss him, her eyes still closed. The gentle kiss soon turned into a deeper, passionate one, and she thought that he was even a better kisser now than when he was alive. "But I doubt he's been kissing anyone all this time he has not been here," she almost chortled at the absurdity of her thoughts..
He then began to leave a string of open mouthed kisses along her jaw and neck, stopping near her earlobe to nibble on that exact spot that drove her crazy. Mary sighed deeply, keeping her eyes closed tightly in order to try and make the dream last as she fisted the sheet underneath her. "Not done yet, love," a deep, husky voice came next, whispering in her ear.
She swallowed hard as she desperately clung to the part of her brain that was half asleep, doing her best to ignore the fact that she was certain that was not Matthew's voice. And, was there a slight trace of an accent in those few words, as well? "But it has to be, has it not? Who would I dream of, this very kind of dream?" she wondered. "His voice must have changed, too," she added, still remaining committed to making the dream last as long as possible.
But then he lovingly brushed her cheeks with his thumbs, and the gentle caress made her involuntarily open her eyes and see his face. She gasped and jolted awake, sitting up in her bed and trying to come to terms with the fact that she had just had a erotic dream with a man that was not Matthew.
At the realization, Mary swallowed hard and placed her right hand over her heart as she did her best to slow down her breathing in her dark bedroom, the one she had shared with Matthew till death had done them apart too soon. Not only was her partner in that dream not her husband, but his identity was clearly confusing and worrying her. She closed her eyes and sighed. She was alone in the room, but she was embarrassed to admit that it was Tom. Her brother-in-law, her late sister Sybil's husband, her niece Sybbie's father, and more importantly, her best friend.
One of the most important people in her life. The one that, armed only with massive doses of patience and a fierce determination most of her family members had lacked at the time, had managed to slowly but firmly drag her out of her mourning stupor and deep depression, thus making her to move forward after Matthew's death, no matter how harsh and rude she had been at his first attempts at bringing her back to the world of the living.
He was also the one that was helping her raise George as his own son, and the one that was working alongside her on conserving the estate for him. In fact, it was difficult to think about a moment in their daily routine when they would not be together, whether as co-agents for Downton Abbey, or as young parents spending time with their children, both in and outside the nursery. But, when had she began to develop these kind of feelings for him? Of course, she was not blind: he was a very attractive man, and she could very well attest to the fact that he was even nicer on the inside. Still, when had her perception of him changed towards dangerous territory?
"How am I supposed to behave normally with him after this dream?" Mary groaned to herself as she quickly buried her face under the thick duvet in an effort to stop the fierce blush she could feel creeping her neck and her face, knowing too well that there was no way she would be able to hide the flush on her cheeks as soon as their eyes meet the following morning. And Tom will very likely notice it. "Probably over breakfast, and with Papa sitting on the table," she tortured herself further as she took a deep breath trying to calm her racing heart.