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As it happened, Mary and Matthew didn't have another chance to share a bed before their wedding night, but they decided it only heightened their anticipation. She had almost completely recovered from her injuries (save for having to endure that damned cast!) and moved back into her bedroom. They laughed knowingly as Cora breathed a sigh of relief when Matthew returned to Crawley House. They held hands under the table during dinner although they never fooled anyone about what they were doing. They had to be content to take walks around the Abbey's grounds, always stopping to sit on what they considered "their bench" under the massive Lebanon cedar in order to share their hopes and dreams—and an occasional passionate kiss. Anytime they exchanged glances, Mary would blush as she remembered the thrill of his hands and mouth on her body; Matthew, too, would experience a surge of passion as he recalled the heat of her body and the gentleness of her touch. In a word, bliss had returned to their lives.
Unbeknownst to Mary, of course, two days before the wedding, Matthew and Robert returned to Haxby to remove the appalling portrait from Richard's study. As it happened, Richard's sister—as hardened a spinster as they had ever met—had arrived two weeks after the inquest and would not allow them access to the house. It took all of Matthew's persuasive legal skills (and charm, to his chagrin) to convince her to give him and Robert custody of the portrait, and to their great relief, she finally relented. They cut it from the frame, folded it like a tarp, and departed. Their relief was palpable, but they still had to dispose of it, so they hid it in an empty groundskeeper's shack far from the Abbey with the intention of burning it the following day.
The morning of the day before the wedding, Matthew woke to the sound of rain hitting his bedroom window. He arose and stretched, thinking to himself how soothing the rain sounded. Then he remembered, he and Robert were going to dispose of the portrait today, and they had decided to burn it in a clearing beyond a copse near the shack where it was hidden. The rain was a definite problem. He didn't know whether Robert had an alternate plan, but they had to come up with one soon. There were afternoon and evening festivities planned to celebrate tomorrow's ceremony, so there was no time to waste. After eating a hurried breakfast with Isobel, he headed for the Abbey.
Mary also awoke to the sound of rain, but she had no anxieties at all. For the third night in a row, she had slept without a cast on her arm, which allowed her to burrow into the covers and to enjoy the freedom to stretch and move afforded by her unfettered arm. She had convinced Dr. Clarkson to remove it, stating resolutely she had no intention of walking down the aisle with the wretched thing on her arm. He begrudgingly agreed but made her promise she would take care not to aggravate her arm by overusing it. The bandage on her wounded side was gone, too, although she bemoaned the fact that she would always bear the scars from the worst experience of her life. Matthew assured her it was her badge of honor, a symbol signifying her courage, but she felt he was just attempting to assuage her feelings. Still, she wouldn't fret; no one but she and Matthew (and Anna, of course) ever would see it again if she had anything to say about it. After Anna helped her to dress, she went downstairs and was shocked to see Matthew sitting at the table with her father. She didn't expect to see him until after luncheon, so his appearance was a pleasant surprise.
"You're here bright and early. How nice!"
"Robert and I have a few cottages to inspect, so we thought we'd get an early start."
"Heavens, in the rain? Surely you could postpone until the weather clears."
"Well, my darling, there's no guarantee the rain will stop anytime soon, and in case you've forgotten, I won't be around for the next six weeks." Matthew grinned, his mind conjuring images of their upcoming honeymoon.
"Oh, right." She blushed mightily and smiled. "Well, don't dawdle, you two. I have plans for you this afternoon."
"Don't worry, Mary, I won't keep Matthew long," said her father smoothly, and he and Matthew rose to start their day.
The rain was a problem. Matthew and Robert were drenched by the time they reached the shack, and try as they might, they couldn't keep a fire lit in the clearing they had chosen for the painting's disposal.
"We'll just have to wait until the weather clears," said Robert. "I promise to take care of this as soon as I can. Don't worry."
Matthew trusted that Robert would take care of it. He knew how horrified Robert was by the painting's existence, just as he was. It sickened Matthew to think about Mary's likeness depicted in the throes of passion being ogled by Richard Carlisle as he sat at his desk. Only he knew the beauty and sensuality of Mary's body, and he could hardly wait to discover more of its curves and angles. The fact that Richard almost ruined the perfection Matthew had waited so patiently to uncover drove him almost to distraction. He was determined to overcome these feelings, but it was difficult—mainly because the painting was concrete proof of Richard's obsession. He clenched his jaw and thought the sooner it was destroyed, the better.
That evening after everyone had gone to bed to dream of weddings, flowers, cake, and honeymoons, a tremendous thunderstorm formed over Downton. An anomaly to be sure, there was driving rain, booming thunder, and streaks of lightning so vivid they lit up the sky for minutes at a time. As the storm raged, light sleepers practically were shaken from their beds, and it would prove to be a topic of discussion for days afterward. Long ago, people would have assumed the gods were at war or were venting their anger at the earth below so remarkable was the tempest. During the height of the storm, one particular lightning bolt coursed through the heavens and found its target: the shack that held the vile painting on the Abbey's grounds. It blew through the roof, its charge electrifying the interior, and the shack burst into flames.
The morning of the wedding dawned clear and bright, the atmosphere around Downton Abbey washed clean by the storm. The day was filled with promise, and the two lovers who would vow to love and honor each other forever prepared for the most important day of their lives.
Robert had been informed of the shack's destruction, so early that morning he went to the site to see it for himself. The ruins were smoldering, and small hot spots continued to flare up as if the destruction of the shack needed to be absolute. He watched for a while with grim satisfaction; then he returned to the Abbey to prepare to give his beloved daughter away to the man they both loved.
On the way to the train station after the wedding reception, Matthew and Mary sat together in the back of the motor. Holding hands and smiling in anticipation of the honeymoon to come, they were, indeed, blissfully happy. Mary glanced out her window and said to her husband, "Oh, look, darling. Something must be burning behind that copse."
Matthew leaned over to look. "Yes, it appears so," he said softly. Then he sat back in the seat, wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders, and smiled an enigmatic smile as smoke and ash rose gently into the vibrant blue sky.
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