So, some time later, here is our promised sequel to Such Wonderful Things. Well, half of it. There's much more, only it's not quite finished yet and was getting REALLY long, so here's the warm up :) Which hopefully will whet your appetite nicely for the conclusion!
Thank you so much for your responses to Chapter 1, we hugely appreciate it! And hope that you will enjoy this chapter just as much.
Chapter Two
Sitting on the freshly prepared bed, as the fire struggled to take purchase in the cold grate, Matthew rifled through his kit bag. He barely had decent provision; a dressing gown was certainly an extravagance at the front, but he'd not wanted to trouble anyone to go to Crawley House to fetch anything. At least he had pyjamas, though he rarely bothered to wear them in France – daily changing of his uniform was far too much effort. He changed quickly, folding his clothes neatly out of habit and placing them on a chair.
It seemed a little odd, to be spending the night here when his own house was so close, but he couldn't have faced its cold emptiness. Not tonight, not when everything here was so warm and full of life. When Mary had offered, he'd jumped at the chance. He'd pondered over their kiss, over the sense of it, had thought painfully over Lavinia, but... Oh, he could barely think of it now. Tomorrow, in the light, he'd think more sensibly, after sleeping on it. Would work out what to do for the best, but he knew now that he loved Mary, impossibly loved her. No, he needed to sleep on it. He was just pulling back the covers to climb in, when a soft tap on the door startled him.
Mary had passed the evening in a blur of happiness, that kind of dangerous, giddy joy that can only follow despair. Joy that Matthew was alive, that he was present in her sight (for she always felt a kind of happiness just to look at him), and that he had kissed her so wonderfully and held her so tenderly. She endured every sly, amused glance and ribaldry with good humour, knew that the way her eyes darted to Matthew wherever he was in the room only added fuel to fire but could not care. That he said he was going to Lavinia the next day could hardly bring her back to earth, the thought of Sir Richard had no effect... For this glittering evening she was happy. But after the party had broken up and everyone had gone to their respective rooms and Mary was alone in her room, sober reflection would intrude. He was engaged to Lavinia. She was going to marry Sir Richard. And yet they had kissed. She shook her head and frowned as she sat at her dresser in her nightgown, hair tied back in a plait down her back. She could not let him leave tomorrow like this. She could not endure not knowing...
With sudden decision, she stood and pulled a shawl round her shoulders and slipped quietly out of her room in the direction of the bachelors' corridor. They needed to talk properly. Goodness knows if they could manage it - she was not sure it was something they had ever succeeded at very well! Also, she missed him. The giddiness, or at least the memory of it, had not quite deserted her.
She paused in front of the door of his room. Of course he been allocated the one that, many years before, Kemal Pamuk had occupied and she had avoided since then. She had not been in it since that dreadful day. Well, she would just have to put that behind her. She took a deep breath and knocked.
Hesitating a moment, Matthew carefully crossed to the door. Placing his hand on the doorknob, he thought to enquire who it might be - probably just Carson, or Molesley, to give him something - well, he thought, whoever it might be he was hardly going to refuse them, and so opened the door a fraction. His eyes widened, lips parted as he saw Mary through the narrow gap… in her nightdress, looking utterly ethereal. Unable to do anything else, he pulled the door a little wider. She was in her nightgown. He was in only thin pyjamas himself, and shivered suddenly, the absurdity of it seeming to drive everything else from his mind.
"Hello," he said, unable to process what she was doing here, at his bedroom, as his eyes wandered unconsciously over her.
He pulled open the door while her hand was still raised, unsure whether to knock again. She quickly let it fall. He was already in bed it seemed, in pyjamas at any rate. Her eyes dropped briefly to the opening of his shirt at his neck and the few strands of hair visible before she raised them quickly to his face, frowning slightly at her lack of concentration. She had not come to -
"I didn't mean to disturb you!" she whispered quickly. "I hope you weren't asleep. May I - may I come in, please?"
He shook his head briskly. "No!" Blinking, he recovered himself. "That is - no, I wasn't asleep, and you haven't disturbed me." He stepped back invitingly, opening the door fully. "Please, come in."
Crossing hastily to the chair, he moved his things off it onto the cabinet and perched on the end of the bed, trying not to feel uncomfortable at their relative states of undress - the uncomfortable tingle that swept through him when he looked at her. He shivered again.
"What is it?" he smiled gently, curiously.
She still got a funny feeling coming into this room, the room into which she had carried her lover... She tried not to look around it and perched on the chair, after a moment's hesitation. For a few seconds she did not reply, staring at the pattern on the carpet rather than looking at him, his hair a little more mussed than before, his pyjamas so very - very thin. Then the silence grew too thick. She could hear his breathing and she blinked up at him, pulling her shawl a little closer round her.
"I think we need to talk, Matthew," she replied seriously, "before you leave in the morning." She hesitated and then continued, "I can't - I can't let you go without talking to you." She shivered suddenly.
Matthew looked at her carefully, and licked his lips in thought. She was right, of course. Of course they needed to talk.
"No, no, you're right," he murmured softly, even his quiet voice sounding unbearably loud in the stillness of the room. He gave a brief, but heavy, sigh. "I'm sorry," he finally looked up at her, eyes shining apologetically. "It wasn't fair of me to presume on you like that, not when we both are... But - but Mary, I -"
Again, he licked his lips and trailed off. How could he explain the treachery of his heart, or justify it? He had no excuse, he'd been in the wrong, but he couldn't be sorry for it. It had felt too right.
"But-" she prompted him, and shivered again. She broke off, rather glad to, for this was painful. She did not like his apology. To apologise for the utter beauty of that moment seemed wrong.
"Goodness, this room is an ice box!" she interrupted herself, her gaze flickering to the hearth. "I suppose there was not time to prepare it properly. Come on." She stood up. "I can't think when I'm this cold let alone talk, and you don't even have a dressing gown." Her cheeks reddened a bit as she looked him over again. Those pyjamas - they did not leave much to the imagination! "Will you come somewhere warmer?" she hurriedly continued.
"Yes, alright," he answered after only a moment's hesitation.
He wasn't sure whether his shivers were from the cold, or something else entirely, but he welcomed the distraction from sitting alone and so unclothed in his bedroom of all places! Any delay to the inevitable conversation he would take, for he knew he'd be forced to admit to things that he barely dared admit to himself yet. Standing up, he picked up his military coat from where it lay over the foot of the bed and pulled it on over his pyjamas - it was better than nothing, at least. He stood back, waiting for her direction.
Mary watched him put his coat on with fluttery concern. For a moment she felt a little like a mother hen - or. No, better not to think of that. Smiling brightly and briefly, she opened the door and preceded him out. He followed her in silence down the corridor to the hallway. She had not thought ahead. They could go to the library... but she could still hear muffled voices - not all the soldiers had retired yet. She hesitated for a moment then gave a small shrug, looked behind her to check he was still following and continued down the corridor. Her room was warm and comfortable and it was hardly more improper than anywhere else at this time.
Not being familiar with the layout of these parts of the house, Matthew was content to meekly follow her lead. But then, they passed the top of the staircase without descending, and he frowned, paying a little more attention to their route. Surely there was nothing but bedrooms on this floor? They passed the top of the second staircase, and Matthew didn't dare question, could only follow with held breath. When she stopped finally and pushed open a door, and the first thing he saw through the crack was a bed, his heart thudded almost painfully in his chest and he had to swallow back a gasp. This must be her bedroom, he realised. His throat felt suddenly dry but he followed her wordlessly in, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room as the door closed behind him. It was warmer in here, at least. Much warmer.
Once they were in her room, she turned and faced him with a nervous smile.
"I hope you don't mind..." she gestured uselessly. "It's much more homely in here, don't you agree?"
She went and sat down on the end of her bed and watched him, hoping he wasn't too offended. But honestly, they were rather past formalities now and Matthew had never been one to stick to what was proper... it was one of the things she loved about him.
"Very much so," he almost whispered.
He felt a strange sense of privilege in being here, in such a personal, private place as her bedroom. Suddenly he felt dreadfully hot, but couldn't decide what to do about it, didn't want to presume (again!)...
"Do you - mind terribly if I take my coat off?" It had seemed sensible for walking through the corridors, and to bare down to his pyjamas in her bedroom was almost unthinkable, but he was unbearably hot!
Her lips twitched. "Please, Matthew, make yourself comfortable. This is a bedroom, not the parade ground!"
Yes. It was a bedroom! And the last time a man had been in it- She looked down, suddenly shy and she felt a hot flush pass over her. He was here, with her, in the silent night and he was taking off his overcoat, making himself comfortable... She cleared her throat sharply.
Matthew nodded, a tentative smile on his lips. As he took off his heavy coat, time seemed to drag, he felt so aware of her eyes on him and aware of how that made him feel. Barely breathing, he folded it carefully over the back of the small couch and sat down, clasping his hands between his knees.
"Well, now," he murmured, voice hushed in the dark and quiet. "Where were we?" He looked up at her uncertainly.
Mary was not quite sure what she wanted to say. The question she really wanted to ask - do you love me? Can you forgive me? - she could not articulate. Instead she found herself staring fixedly at the hollow of his throat, something she had never seen before. He was here. The feeling kept washing over her again and again.
"You could have sent a telegram," she said eventually, pulling her eyes away from his neck and meeting his eyes.
"We hardly had chance," he countered, a little defensively. "Our only thought was to get here as soon as possible, and to find somewhere to send a telegram would only have delayed us."
He flinched inwardly as he realised he hadn't even telegraphed Lavinia, didn't know whether she even knew they'd been 'missing'.
She nodded. She had not meant to accuse him. "I know. I didn't mean -" She shook her head to clear this non-starter of the conversation. "I would rather have seen you than receive a telegram!" She smiled imploringly at him.
"And so you did!" A faint colour rose in his cheeks as he thought she'd done a little more than see him. Shifting anxiously, he looked at the floor somewhere in front of her feet. "I can't tell you how happy I was to see you," he eventually said, quietly.
She raised her eyebrows at this even as her heart began to pound again. "You didn't need to tell me!" she insinuated tartly though her expression was warm and longing, admiring his face, his hands, the curve of his shoulders while he was not looking at her.
Her comment caused his breath to catch, and he looked up sharply, lips slightly parted. "Perhaps not."
Words had been quite unnecessary, he reflected. Frowning, he pursed his lips and looked at her more seriously. She'd said they needed to talk, so they might as well. They did need to. He needed to.
"Do you think we shouldn't have?" he wondered.
When he looked up she guarded her expression quickly again. There was no need to make this more complicated than it already was by adding her feelings to it.
"Do you?" she countered unhelpfully, her expression mirroring his.
Matthew shrugged slightly. "We probably shouldn't have." His frown relaxed a little, his face betraying a great deal more warmth suddenly. "That doesn't mean I regret it," he whispered with a little more urgency, his eyes not leaving hers.
Her lips parted at his words and she breathed in rather more sharply than usual.
"Don't you?" she replied immediately, her voice just as quiet and intense as his. Then, aware that all she seemed to be doing was parroting him, she ducked her head and looked away, adding, "I don't either."
Well, that was something. This was difficult. He stood up and began to pace lightly as he thought.
"But Mary, we're both -" The word tripped on his tongue, before he realised that it was precisely the right word for the case. He halted, and turned a serious gaze to her. "Mary, we're both engaged."
Her eyes followed his movements as he paced. She wished he would sit down and be calm about this. The more agitated he appeared, the harder it was to contain herself.
"Yes," she said anxiously and stopped abruptly, pressing her hands together in an effort to stop fiddling. Her face passed through several expressions of doubt and hesitation and reluctance before finally she asked him with mild curiosity, "Matthew, are you in love with Lavinia?"
It was, in many ways, the second most important question that she could ask on the subject. She really thought he was; she had, after all, spent over a year persuading herself and everybody else in her family circle that he was. And yet - he had never directly said he was and now he had kissed her and, well, she really wanted to know!
He stared at her a moment, considering his answer carefully. Finally, his eyes drifted closed and his head lowered a little.
"I - love her, yes," he settled upon. He did love her. The poor girl hadn't done anything wrong at all, she was quite perfect in so many ways. With a heavy sigh, he shrugged. "I do, I'm sorry. It's not as though I chose to. And it's - not the same as how I -" He trailed off, glaring at the carpet.
Though she had only asked out of curiosity, though she perfectly believed him to love her, after what had happened that evening, it was a blow to hear him say the words. She hung her head and tried to ease the pounding of her heart, which was now rather more sick than anything more pleasant.
There was a long silence before she was even aware of what had followed his first statement.
"If you love her, then why-?" she finally asked with an effort at speaking normally, forcing herself to look at him again.
Matthew's lips parted and closed several times as he tried to muster appropriate words, and could not decide what they might be. Could anything be appropriate between them now, here, like this? He paced a little more, passed his hand wearily over his face, and finally sat down on the bed beside her, taking her hands without even thinking. His heart, his entire being was in turmoil.
"Because..." He hesitated, weighing his words carefully. They seemed to be the most important words he might ever say. "I..." He sighed, licked his lips, clasped her hands tighter and looked at her desperately. "Mary, you must know that I love you. I tried to believe that I didn't, that I don't - God knows I've tried - but I can't. I do."
She shifted to one side as the bed bowed as he sat down next to her and she relinquished her hand to him passively, her eyes flickering over his face. It was hard to take in his words, especially after what he had just said about Lavinia. Her heart skipped a beat and her breathing came a little quicker but that was from how he was looking at her. She wanted to - she wanted to believe him, but where could they go from here? She moistened her lips.
"Oh Matthew, it isn't helpful, loving us both," she said, her voice trembling with her effort at speaking rationally. "And you're engaged to Lavinia. I've told everybody - I keep telling them – that you're engaged to her!" She heard her voice rise and realised she was not half so reasonable as she thought she was. She closed her eyes briefly. "You love her, you're going to marry her and you will be happy for the rest of your life. It is enough."
"It isn't enough," he hissed with sudden conviction, and his face suddenly dropped. "I wanted it to be, Mary, but if I love her, and marry her - I don't think I could be happy. Not as happy as I might be." His voice trembled as much as he himself did, and he gripped her hands. "Sir Richard - Mary, would you be happy? I told you it would only count if you meant it. If you would be, we'll forget all this madness, I'll go back to my room and we needn't speak of it again."
Her lips parted and she stared at him, all her senses focused on the warmth of his hands, clasping hers almost painfully tightly. She was shaking her head before she knew what she was doing.
"I don't love him, if that's what you mean!" she found herself replying honestly, unable to bring herself to peddle any of that nonsense about being happy that she used to convince herself on normal days.
Matthew laughed suddenly at the absurdity of it. They were sitting on her bed, hand in hand, clad only in the thinnest nightwear and were speaking of love, whilst both engaged to another. It was quite ludicrous. All sense seemed to have deserted them, surely, it must have?
"Oh, Mary," he murmured lightly. "Are we very foolish, do you think?"
She frowned when he laughed and then joined in lightly, because he was laughing and she simply could not help herself. As he stopped, she stopped too and she looked at him with quiet affection mingled with anxiety. He had broken the tension somewhat.
"Yes," she replied simply, her thumb rubbing over his knuckles. "We are very foolish! But," she continued immediately, "I would rather be foolish with you than sensible without you!" Her lips curved into a rueful smile of acknowledgement.
Ducking his head a little, Matthew chuckled gently, then raised his eyes to hers as he matched her smile. It was a smile of apology, regret, acceptance... understanding. His gaze shifted unconsciously to her lips. He shouldn't, really shouldn't, be thinking of that; but her hands were warm and comforting in his and he craved a closer comfort.
"Fools we shall be, then, I think," he whispered.
A pang of desire or warning shot through her at his words and the tone of breathy intent in his voice. She leaned a little towards him and her shawl, no longer secured by her hands, slipped off one shoulder.
"Oh, Matthew," she murmured as her eyes slid down to his lips. Could he be thinking what she was thinking? Her heart fluttered in anticipation.
Heat suddenly shuddered through him at the deepness of her murmur, as he tracked her eyes down. It seemed inevitable. He drew a trembling breath, and closed a little more of the distance. His hand instinctively rose to pull her shawl back over her shoulder, but somehow it only turned into a caress as his fingers brushed softly at her neck. There seemed little point in trying to deny it, after what they had said, after what they'd already done, but... It was of no matter. He gave himself up to it, allowing his lips to brush hers in a sharp wave of anticipation and froze, unable to do any more as he savoured that slightest touch.
She swallowed as his hand caressed her shoulder, feeling every slightest touch as a trail of fire. She was already warm with prickling desire, had been all evening, and as his lips brushed hers she almost jumped from the strength of her reaction. For a second she just sat there, enjoying the sudden, breathless stillness of the moment. Then her eyes drifted closed and she leaned towards him and very softly kissed him back.
Trembling slightly, Matthew smiled against her lips, barely breathing. His fingers skimmed from her shoulder, to her neck, to her cheek, still hardly daring to touch her. It felt like the sweetest indulgence, so very, very wrong but so very, very right, as he closed his eyes and kissed her gently.
Mary was so sensitive that even this slow, delicate kiss, their lips barely doing more than brush against each other seemed almost unbearable. Still holding his hand and continuing to lightly stroke it with her thumb, she raised her other hand and mirrored his own actions, lightly dancing over his neck, coming to rest on his cheek, her fingers almost in his hair but not quite.
The simple graze of her fingers, her lips, against his skin sent such intense shivers of pleasure through Matthew, spreading delicious warmth through him despite the thinness of his attire. It was too much to bear and he forced himself away, gasping lightly, they couldn't...
"Mary," he breathed, even speech almost beyond him.
Her lips tingled as he pulled back and her eyes opened slowly to meet his almost impossibly deep, blue ones. She was breathing much harder than she should have been, her chest rising and falling rapidly under her thin white nightdress. Her lips remained parted and she stared at him in wonder, feeling such overwhelming love for him she did not know how to contain it.
Matthew's hand remained upon her cheek, his whole body inclined towards her, as he did nothing but stare for a moment in wordless wonder into her eyes. His thumb brushed softly over her lips. "Mary, this is..." Dangerous? Idiotic? Wonderful? All of that, more than that? He hardly knew.
She closed her eyes as a wave of delirious pleasure swept over at the touch on her lips and leaned into his hand.
"Darling..." she murmured without any conscious thought, clutching his hand a little more tightly.
"Oh, Mary..." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly, breathing in the light scent of her evening's perfume that still clung to her and giving a gentle sigh against her skin. "We shouldn't," he murmured without committal, turning her hand over and kissing her palm, lost in her softness.
Her hand almost fell from his cheek, smoothing down his shoulder and ending up on his arm.
"Shouldn't what?" she murmured idly - mischievously if she had been capable of it, her head swimming and her eyes flicking open to look at him with wide luminosity. It was not that she couldn't think... but she really did not want to. For just a little while, she simply wanted Matthew here with her; she would lose him soon enough.
His head was still lowered, lips still against her hand, but he raised his eyes and met hers deeply.
"I think you know perfectly well." His voice was a warm, murmuring breath against her skin and, before waiting for her reply, he lowered his eyes again and resumed his attentions to her palm and the delicate skin of her wrist.
For a moment she did not reply. Her eyes lowered as his did, her face bending a little closer to his and she watched him kiss her wrist almost as if her hand belonged to someone else. And yet she was aware of everything and could hardly breathe from the sensations it invoked. The room was silent save for the crackle of the warm fire and the slight noises that he made against her skin.
Eventually she replied almost silently, "Then why don't you stop?"
At that, he did stop, though really it was only a pause and his lips remained against her warm skin where he could feel her pulse gently flutter.
"I only said that we shouldn't," he whispered. "That's still true." One last, indulgent taste of her skin, and he raised his head, eyes glittering in the firelight. "Do you want me to stop?" His lips barely moved, everything seemed to have frozen around him.
Their faces were only a few inches apart now and she met his eyes and her stomach turned over just from that. Her brow contracted a tiny amount as she whispered, "Not if you don't, my dearest."
As she said it, she realised it was true. Her heart was already entirely his but he was not free and she wouldn't have him any other way. As she thought of it, she pursed her lips slightly in denial of it.
Matthew moistened his lips, frowned for a moment and raised his eyebrows.
"I don't want to," he said softly. "But..."
He frowned again, sighed softly and lowered his eyes. It was all wrong. It wasn't fair. But his hands were still clasped gently around Mary's and he couldn't, he couldn't bring himself to part from her.
Mary sighed and before she could analyse her reactions, had stood up and taken a step backwards. For a second she stared painfully at him. She felt peculiar; suddenly cold without him at her side, yet the fire was almost impossibly hot on her back.
"Then I think you should go," she said eventually. Her voice sounded thin and harsh and indeed the words almost stuck in her throat. She could not look at him and be unmoved and not wish for nothing more than to step forward and back into his arms as she had done at the concert. But there were limits to her stoicism and kissing a man in her bedroom who was in love with another woman and did not want to be there was beyond her powers of endurance. As she spoke, she felt her mask fall back down in protection.
"There!" She was hardly able to lift her hand far enough to indicate the door. If she moved, she felt she might collapse.
Slowly, Matthew stood up, his face expressionless but for the deep burning of his eyes that were locked upon hers. He made as if to walk towards the door but as he passed Mary, his hand almost involuntarily reached out and took hers.
Standing beside her, looking at the door over her shoulder, he spoke quietly, almost into her ear. "If you really want me to leave, Mary, I will."
His voice, and the tight clutch of his hand, betrayed the quiet desperation in his tone that he was begging her, pleading with her to give him a reason to stay, because every scrap of sense in him told him he shouldn't, when he wanted to with every fibre of feeling he bore.
She stiffened and pulled her hand quickly out of his, unbearably affected by his nearness yet again.
"I said," she replied, her voice catching though she was trying desperately hard to keep it even, "that it depended on you, and you said you didn't want to stay. I think that makes things abundantly clear, don't you?"
Matthew frowned gently as she pulled away. He hadn't said that at all, quite the opposite in fact!
"Mary," he stood awkwardly by her side, increasingly aware once more that they were standing privately in her bedroom in nothing more than thin nightclothes that could do nothing to prevent shivers that were not from any cold. "I said I didn't want to stop. I want to stay," he said quietly, firmly. "I just know that it might not be wise, that - that doesn't mean I don't want to." His quiet, earnest voice implored her.
She still held herself aloof from him, leaning back as her feet seemed to be stuck to the floor. She felt she was not understanding him properly, or the situation, or anything. She was exhausted. She stared at him with an intense frown.
"What does it mean then, Matthew? You know how I feel now and you - I don't understand what you really intend."
"Neither do I!" His voice raised a little and he pursed his lips in frustration. By his sides, his hands clenched with gentle agitation. Looking at her with a piercing gaze, he shook his head slightly. "I don't know how you feel, not really." He took half a step towards her. "You sought me out to talk, Mary, and I have told you plainly how I –"
Her lips parted as she once again swayed backwards; he was invading her personal space again and a wave of longing washed over her much as she wished it wouldn't. She shook her head, not hearing half of what he said, before she cut him off and interrupted, "How can you not? Everyone else does! And I kissed you... darling Matthew, how can you -"
She pressed her eyes shut and turned her head away in resignation.
Licking his lips, his voice deepened with seriousness for a moment. "You've kissed me before, Mary. I thought I was sure then." He wanted to be sure, wanted desperately to believe what his heart was telling him - needed to believe it, or else he could never forgive himself - he shrugged gently and lowered his gaze. "I can only guess, because until you tell me for sure, I can hardly dare to think that -" His voice dropped to a soft whisper. "That you might love me."
"Love you!" she exclaimed softly, almost in amusement. What did she have to lose now? She reached her hand out and squeezed his arm much as she had done when she had first seen him that first time at the first concert last year. She looked up and met his eyes with expressive openness and a little anxiety. "So, so much!"
All Matthew's breath left him in a rush of happiness, and he smiled; a beautiful, tender expression somewhere between relief and joy. Closing the distance between them, he took her hands.
"I thought - I didn't want to hope -" he stammered quietly, then, overcome in a rush of absolute love, he kissed her again.
It seemed the only thing to do.
TBC
Thank you for reading! We'd love to know what you thought! Silvestria and OrangeShipper :)