This chapter is by way of an apology for Miss Puppet, whose wonderful story, Autumn,I have unfortunately neglected this week because of my German speaking exam.
That night they did not make it much further than the large, soft couch in the corner of the room. A long stretch of pale yellow satin lay draped over the back on it, and when they had finished and lay naked together it covered their bodies, their arms as they held on to each other, and the tops of their bare legs. They were so happy, so happy to be together like this tonight. Even after their lovemaking, the cold touch of her new ring as she held onto his shoulder was still enough to make his skin flush with a sudden pleasant warmth. The light of the fire was burning low as they looked at each other, still short of breath, drinking in the sight of one another. Her eyes glinted and flickered with flames as he eased her down to lie beside him, the flush only just staring to recede from her neck and the top of her breasts. Really, they had been married for a long time, since that very first night; but still the fact that were going to be married was wonderful to them; to live like this, only like this, for the rest of their lives. They did not say a word as their heart rates returned to a normal speed; everything necessary having been spoken through their eyes, their lips, their bodies. He kissed her on the forehead again before she buried her face in his neck and they drifted off to sleep.
…...
Isobel got the shock of her life when Molesley announced that Matthew was here to see her, not least because she was sitting at the breakfast table in her dressing gown- something she only ever did when she was staying alone with Richard. She was very glad that she had remembered to pick up her clothes and her corset off the floor of the sitting room. Richard himself was upstairs in the bathroom, and she was glad of it for the moment: she was not ashamed of herself or them one inch, but she thought it rather better that Matthew found of they were engaged before he found them eating their breakfast together.
Matthew, however, when he walked in, seemed not to notice that she was wearing her dressing gown, and Isobel noticed that he looked somehow happier. A little more snow had fallen over night, and he looked cold from the walk down, but definitely happier.
"Good morning, mother," he positively beamed at her.
"Matthew," she kissed him on the cheek, and then he seemed to notice the fact that she was wearing her hair down, "I'm so glad to see you, but what are you doing here at this time? I was going to come up for lunch anyway."
"I had some news to tell you," he replied, taking the seat opposite her at the breakfast table and taking the cup of tea Molesley offered him.
"That's funny, because as it happens I've got something to tell you myself," she replied, smiling slightly at the coincidence, though wondering if what she was about to tell him was about to change his definition of what news was.
"Well, you must go first then," he told her graciously, "Anyway, I suspect there's a probability that mine may be somewhat more significant."
She smiled a little at his naivety in supposing as much.
"I'm going to be married," she told him simply, "I got engaged last night."
Yes, she thought, he looked startled. Unnerved, almost. There was a pause.
"So did I."
Isobel did a double take.
"What? You asked her?" she could hardly believe it, "Oh, Matthew! You asked her!"
She stood up moving quickly around the table to kiss him on the cheek again.
"It is Mary, isn't it?" she asked warily, just to make sure, "You didn't go mad and ask Edith instead, did you?"
"No, mother, of course I didn't," he told her in exasperation in her lack of confidence in him, "It is Mary."
"Oh, good. Oh, I'm so happy for you, and I'm so proud, my darling, my darling boy," her eyes threatened to flood with tears again.
He patted her arm gently.
"May I ask who it is you are marrying?" he wondered allowed, giving her a cautious look.
It was safe to say that Isobel's definition of a coincidence had just been revolutionised. She took her handkerchief out of her dressing gown pocket and blew her nose, nodding her head.
"Richard. That's to say, Dr. Clarkson," she told him.
"Dr. Clarkson?" he repeated, taking it in, "I suppose I oughtn't to be surprised, really. In fact-..."
"In fact now you think about it, it almost stares you in the face?" she finished for him.
"Yes, that's it," he agreed, then, as if struck by a sudden thought, "Does that mean that-... That's to say-... If you don't mind me asking-... Have you-... That is, has he-...?" he flushed furiously as he stumbled over his words, trying to form the right sentence.
"Yes," she cut him off gently, "I think I catch your meaning, and if I've got it right, then, yes. I've been due a proposal since 1917."
"Goodness," Matthew almost looked impressed for a moment, "That's to say, I'm very happy for you, mother. I hope you don't mind my asking?" he added, referring to his earlier attempt at a question.
"Not at all," she replied softly, "I wish I could have let you know, but the right moment never seemed to present itself."
"And he'll..." Matthew trailed off with some uncertainty, "He will make you happy, mother, won't he?"
She smiled at his concern for her.
"Mary will make you happy, won't she?" she asked, rather rhetorically, and not for the first time.
"She already does, mother. I feel almost as if we've already been through heaven and earth together."
"I thought as much," she replied, "Then I suspect you probably know how I feel about Richard, then."
She stood up, gong back to her side of the table, knowing that now he would have no more questions about her relationship. Except one.
"Is it him?" he asked, glancing at the ceiling, where the sound of running water could be heard.
She looked up at the ceiling too, a piece of toast in her hand.
"Either that, or Molesley is cleaning his teeth in the bathtub."
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