A/N: Thank you for the continued support, readers!
Chapter 3: Matthew and Mary travel to London to announce their engagement in the wake of Carlisle's expose on Mary.
Over the next month, Matthew and Mary began to question whether their engagement had come at precisely the best possible moment, or the worst. Hardly a week after he had left the house with his tail between his legs, Richard Carlisle had published the story of Mary and Pamuk in every popular British paper. It was a bitter but somewhat funny coincidence that Matthew and Mary's engagement was announced in the very same printings.
Though on paper the timing seemed terrible, Matthew was grateful that he could be at Mary's side during this period of turmoil. Of course, he knew Mary was fully capable of braving this storm on her own, but he was happy to be there for her whenever she needed his support. And though she would perhaps never admit it forthright, she appreciated that she didn't have to go through this alone. It only served to bring them closer together.
It was an afternoon in early February. A few weeks had passed since Matthew proposed and spring was approaching surprisingly quick. Mary and Cora were sitting in the parlor, Cora with her needlepoint, Mary with a book in her lap.
Mary glanced repeatedly up at her mother, as if debating whether to strike up a conversation. Cora could tell her daughter was feeling anxious about something, and took the cue to speak.
"Something the matter, dear?"
Mary sighed. "I'm only wondering if we should delay the trip to London by a week…or perhaps a few weeks, even."
Cora didn't need to ask why.
"Now, Mary, you can't hide out here forever. Eventually you will have to face the public."
"I know, but, perhaps it were better if we gave it just a little more time to die over."
"Sweetheart, the longer you avoid it the worse it's going to be. It's not as if you're being paraded through the streets of London like Hesther Prynne."
"Aren't I?"
"No. You're celebrating your engagement to the man you love. And for the sake of Matthew's feelings, you would do well to remember that."
Mary softened at this, her mother had a point. Still, she knew that even if she and Matthew were there to celebrate, most people would be there for the gossip.
"But, Mama, everyone is talking. Everyone will talk, especially when they get the chance to see the harlot in the flesh."
"Then let them talk. And don't say such things about yourself, it'll only encourage them." Cora sat up and addressed her daughter directly, making sure she was hearing her. "Now. You're going to go to London, and you will carry yourself with the grace and dignity that I know you possess. Prove to them that you can survive this, that you are above it. And remember, you will have all of us there with you. And heaven knows Matthew won't leave your side for more than a moment." She took Mary's hand in encouragement. "You have nothing to worry about, my dear."
Mary smiled in gratitude. "I hope you're right, Mama."
At that moment, Matthew entered. "Right about what?"
Before Mary had time to come up with an excuse, Cora took it as her cue to exit the room.
"I'm going to check on the progress of lunch," she said, sharing a knowing look with a clearly perturbed Mary. Matthew gave her a friendly nod as she left, confused and intrigued by what had passed between them.
"Is everything all right?" He asked in a pleasant tone, taking Cora's now vacant seat.
"Yes. Or I think it will be, at least." Mary answered ominously.
Matthew leaned toward Mary. "What's the matter?" but he needed only to look at the troubled and thoughtful look on her face to put it together, "Something with Carlisle?"
"I'm just a bit nervous for London, that's all." Mary stood and moved toward the window, facing away from him.
"I know." Matthew rose and came up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. She relaxed slightly into his arms.
"Whatever they say about you, however bad it might get, remember you'll have me. And I dare say my hand has recovered well enough from Carlisle. I'm ready to sock anyone who crosses you."
Mary couldn't help but laugh a little at this. She turned around and leaned against the window sill. Matthew wrapped his arms around her and they adjusted into a loose embrace. She played a little at his tie.
"I just…no, nevermind. It's silly."
She looked away, but he brought his thumb and forefinger beneath her chin to lift her eyes to his.
"Nonsense. What is it, darling?"
"I know they'll say things about me, I'm ready for that. But I'm worried you'll be dragged into all this too. After all, what man would ever be desperate enough to marry so scandalous a woman as me," she said, as if she had scripted the gossip already in anticipation of the worst.
"And if they do, I'll tell them to bugger off and mind their own business."
"You say that now, but you don't know. It could be a nightmare, Matthew. It probably will be."
"But what do you think is going to happen? That I'll throw you over?" Matthew said, laughing at its preposterousness. Yet, as he said it, Mary's face sunk, confirming that yes, that is precisely what she was thinking.
"Oh, Mary…" he began, "Surely you don't think so low of me?"
"Of course not!" she was quick to defend. "I don't know…I suppose with all this talk, and my reputation ruined…sometimes I wonder myself why you would want to marry me. I mean honestly, Matthew, why do you think I waited so long to tell you about Pamuk?"
Matthew hated seeing her so distressed. Mary rarely allowed herself to be this vulnerable, only when they were totally alone together. For a woman so put together and confident, Matthew was really the only one who truly understood what a fragile soul she really was. Perhaps that's why she loved him.
"Lady Mary Crawley," he said, taking her hands tight in his. He had not used her full name since the night he proposed, "I am marrying you because I love you. Because I have loved you for almost a decade, and I have waited quite long enough to call you my wife. So please do not for one second think you can get rid of me that easily." She laughed a little a this. "It will take a lot more than gossip for me to think of you as anything other than the woman whom I cannot imagine my life without."
Mary had small, happy tears in her eyes. Matthew gently wiped them away.
"Oh, Matthew. I hope you know how badly I wish I had said yes to you all those years ago…"
But before she could continue, he stopped her mouth with a small kiss.
"Sshh. Don't talk like that. Don't talk in the past. We are engaged properly, we are going to London to parade it for the world, and then we will return and finally…finally become husband and wife."
Mary collected herself and nodded. The prospect of that glorious event gave her all the confidence and determination she needed. She stood to smooth her clothes and carry on with her day, but did not completely break from Matthew's embrace. Without a word, she took his face in her hands and pulled him in for a deep kiss.
"Thank you," she said.
And he knew what this meant. This was her way of expressing that despite everything about her character, her stubborn nature and her need for independence, she was glad – and proud – to have him be the man at her side.
Two weeks later, the pair, along with the entire Crawley family (save for Sybil, whose pregnancy was moving along in Ireland) were gathered together at Lady Rosamund's London home. They shared the company of some of Britain's highest elite, both noble and otherwise. Richard Carlisle was notably absent.
Matthew had been trying all evening to hide how intimidated he was by all this grandeur, especially beside Mary, for whom it was clearly second nature. The last time he had ever had to attend anything quite this high profile was at Sybil's ball years ago, when he and Mary were first looking toward marriage. Even during the war, the state dinners he attended were formal and had a very business-like quality to them. He had never felt such pressure to appear sociable.
The two of them had planted themselves in a convenient corner of the room where well-wishers could seek them out and move along to mingle. Mary could sense Matthew's slight anxiety, but she hoped it would subside. She could feel all the eyes in the room on her, and it would have made her feel better not to take the reigns of this meet and greet, even if she did know the ropes better than her fiancé.
Things had proved as Mary suspected. The room was full of whispering couples attempting to seem discrete even though every few seconds they would glance toward Mary and Matthew.
Robert and Cora were doing a commendable job, however, at distracting people. They were perhaps more adamant than even Mary was to prove that the scandal had not affected their lives in the least. If anything, they took it as an opportunity to seem more interesting among the stuffier elements of the British aristocracy.
Edith was enjoying the company of Anthony Strallan, who was clearly starting to come around from his earlier protestations against the idea of Edith marrying him. Enough time had passed that Mary no longer blamed Edith for the current status of her reputation, so she was glad to see her sister finally enjoying a social life.
Matthew noticed Mary taking in their surroundings. She was quiet, but not in the silent strength that usually defined her. This was a palpable unease.
"How are you, darling?" Matthew said sweetly, rubbing her back lightly as the line to congratulate them lulled. The room was grand enough that they felt they could afford a moment of slight intimacy undetected.
"Bearing up," she replied. "I hope they don't think they're being subtle."
"Try to ignore it. Believe it or not some of these people might actually be happy for us."
"But just look at them, Matthew. They're loving this."
He wasn't sure what he could say to distract her, so he allowed her to continue.
"They've turned this into some gossip for tomorrow's tea. These ladies will be sitting in a parlor days from now, going on about how they were there and saw me in person. And they'll talk of how I tried to put on a brave face, but it's clear I wear my shame wherever I go."
"Thinking that way will only encourage them."
"But NOT thinking that way won't stop them!"
Matthew glanced around, hoping her sudden elevation in tone hadn't turned any heads.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to get upset…This just isn't how this was meant to be."
"What do you mean?"
Mary looked intently at Matthew, her tone almost desperate. "I've been waiting for this for so long. We both have. I wanted to be here celebrating with you for all our friends to see. Now we may as well be animals in a zoo."
Matthew looked around and took in how cold the place felt. Mary was right. There was no use trying to deny it. He didn't want to fight to be happy in this moment any more than she did. With this realization, he made up his mind.
"Very well, then. How about this," he took her hand in his that wasn't occupied with champagne and spoke to her close, "What would you say to skipping the rest of this party and having a night to our selves."
She gave him a quizzical look. "I don't mean like that," he said. They shared a small laugh, "but you said you wanted this trip to be about flaunting our love for the city. Well…let's go out into the city, then. Get lost for a while."
A loving smile spread across Mary's face, indicating this was yet another moment where she was struck by how well he knew her character. "That sounds perfect," she sighed.
With that, Matthew took her class and his and found a nearby waiter, placing them upon his empty tray. He found Molsely and asked him to fetch his and Lady Mary's coats and meet them outside.
Edith was standing nearby and had witnessed the exchange.
"Are you going somewhere, cousin Matthew?" she asked, almost as a joke. It was his party after all. Matthew glanced around, hoping not to be overheard. He felt Edith was all right to know.
"Turns out Mary and I aren't quite cut out for our own debut. Don't tell your parents unless you absolutely need to." That was all the explanation she needed. Edith looked to her sister, who was watching their conversation, clearly anticipating Matthew's return. The sisters nodded to each other, Mary in grateful understanding.
Matthew looked toward Mary and gave a slight nudge of his head, indicating for her to quietly exit through the back door that stood near her, as if heading toward the powder room.
"Better make a clean escape," Edith said, sending Matthew off in the opposite direction out the main doors. Just as he approached them, he was stopped by Robert, who clapped his arm around the younger man's shoulder.
"Where are you off to, chap? You're the man of the hour!" Matthew could tell the Earl was several drinks into the evening. He was even jollier than usual.
Matthew did his best to hide his nervousness. "Just going for a breath of air, m'Lord."
"Matthew, my boy, when are you going to start calling me 'father'? Or Robert at least."
"I'm afraid I'm not quite up to it just yet. Still takes practice, even after all this time."
Robert laughed. "Mind if I join you for that air?"
At this, panic set in. Matthew knew that by now Mary was probably standing outside in the cold waiting for him. "Actually…Robert, I'd like to be alone if I could. Gather my thoughts."
Robert considered him for a long moment. Matthew prayed that this would be enough. Once the older man began laughing to himself, he knew it had been.
"Fair enough, dear boy. But don't keep my daughter waiting in here all by her lonesome! Hardly good husbandry, if I may say."
Matthew shared a chuckle and gradually moved away. Robert didn't seem to notice.
At last, he was outside. Mary was in her coat and holding his out to him. Once they were settled, the couple took each other in. It was a spontaneous decision, even for them, which made it all the more exciting. Mary suddenly felt giggles bubble up through her, soon followed by Matthew. In pure giddiness, they met for a sweet kiss before taking each other by the arm and getting ready to march off into the night.
However, just as they made the first few steps, a man stumbled out of the party they had just exited. They recognized him as some sort of new money'd journalist. No doubt a friend of Carlisle's. He had been cold in his greeting to them, and now appeared to be quite drunk as he reached into his pocket for a cigarette.
Matthew and Mary decided to press on and hope no one caused trouble. Of course, just as they did so, the man did a double-take, realizing who it was. They began to walk by, but could feel his eyes following them. As they began to round a corner, he finally spoke up.
"Oy!" he shouted, getting their attention. "Mr. Crawley! Tell me, how much did they pay you to take the whore off their hands?"
Matthew had stopped at the mention of his name. Mary stood by him, not looking at either the drunk journalist or at Matthew, who was curiously silent.
"One moment, darling," he said softly, unlinking his arm from hers. He slowly approached the man.
"Would you care to repeat yourself?" he said coolly. The man laughed.
"I said, how much did they pay you to marry that whore?" he snarled.
Matthew nodded, satisfied. "Right. That's what I thought, just wanted to make sure I hadn't misheard you." With that, Matthew punched the man square in the face, breaking his nose. The man collapsed to the ground in yelps of pain.
Matthew turned and began walking back to Mary, who was not exactly trying to suppress the smile of pride on her face.
"Sorry, my dear. I don't mean to make a habit of that."
He resumed his position with her arm linked in his and they strode toward the heart of the city.
"Not at all," she said. Now finally sensing the freedom of being away from the spotlight, just on their own, Mary was feeling mischievous. "In fact," she said, bringing her lips to Matthew's ear, the sensation of her warm breath sending an irresistible chill down his spine, "it was rather dashing of you."
Matthew turned to face her, sly grins on both their faces. They stopped mid-stride and pulled each other into what was certainly the most seductive kiss they had ever shared. Yet even in the enchantment of this night on their own, they both knew that Mary could not afford another scandal of that nature, even if it was with the man she would soon marry. So, reluctantly on both their parts, they broke the kiss, but their eyes still glistened with love and desire for one another.
"So, I've been wondering…" Matthew said, his face yet hardly an inch from hers, "Am I still a sea monster?"
Mary let out a giddy laugh at the memory. How long ago it was, how far they had come since then. It overwhelmed her every time she thought about it. And in thinking of it now, she realized that this sensation was exactly what she had always dreamed this trip would feel like. What it should feel like. And of course, only Matthew could have made that possible.
Feeling their love once again renewed, Mary kissed her waiting groom, promising that it didn't matter whether he was a sea monster or Perseus, or even Zeus himself. What mattered was that he was hers.