Chapter 18 – Defiance

The cot was small but serviceable. Atop it, their bodies were melded in a slow, impassioned rhythm and their eyes were locked onto each other's gaze. Leaning on his left side, Matthew measured the movement of his hips as he immersed himself in her again and again with indulgent deliberation. This blissful oneness was almost too perfect. They were no longer conscious of time or their surroundings. It was a suspended state of rapture that neither of them had ever experienced or even knew existed. "Now, Matthew," she said in a whisper so soft, she could barely be heard. Matthew shifted his weight until he was directly above her and he deepened his advances.

Mary opened her mouth, her eyes fixed on his face. Vibrant waves of pleasure washed over her with increasing intensity. Matthew's eyes were pleading with her. "Come with me," he said, his voice low, "I'll wait for you." Mary closed her eyes and leaned her head back. She felt his lips against her throat. He knew her so well. She felt herself cresting; in the next instant, she was awash in a heaving hot and sensuous sea. Her body quaked and her mouth was open in a silent expression of complete ravishment. Matthew was overwhelmed by his desire. He plunged forward, reaching into her. His release was fierce and long and his entire body shook with it. Mary's hands grasped at the sheet on either side of her. She gasped as she came a second time. Matthew covered her open mouth with his. He savoured the last bits of his subsiding climax with the taste of her in his mouth.

They sustained this last kiss, both of them unwilling to end their intense union. Matthew pulled back slowly. His breathing was still apace as he lowered himself beside her. "How are you, my darling?" he whispered to her. He gathered her in his arms, placing her head on his chest. Mary smiled and said softly, "That was lovely."

"You're lovely," he replied, stroking her hair. A minute passed. He raised his head, saying, "We should dress. It seems certain now we'll be late for dinner."

Mary smiled at him lazily, her eyes half-closed. "I'm not hungry," she replied.

"Come now," he said softly. "You must have worked up something of an appetite." He sensed her reluctance to return to the house.

"If I do have an appetite, I am sure to lose it once I'm confronted by Ma-ma," she said with regret. "Really, Matthew, it's completely absurd. She treats us like a couple of unruly children." With a sigh of resignation, she raised herself from the bed and began to gather her clothes. Matthew watched Mary as she dressed. He could not disagree with her assessment. He thought back to his stagnation at the office, and to the prolonged misery of days and nights without her. He would not revisit that place. The War had shown him what things really mattered in life; convention and propriety were not among them.

He stood up and began to dress. "Mary," he said, "Come home with me." She turned to him, her eyes as wide as the meadows they had crossed. "Come and dine with me at Crawley House tonight. I'll send a message up to the house. Please, Mary." He pulled her gently to him. "Just you and I."

Mary was uncertain but not unwilling. "You cannot be serious, Matthew. Ma-ma would already have us drawn and quartered because we spent the afternoon together."

"But you're right, Mary. Your mother goes too far. We must draw our line in the sand." He buttoned his shirt. "Besides," he added, "I have no inclination to leave you just yet." Matthew looked at her with hopeful eyes. "Please don't make me," he said. All of her caution melted away in the depth of his gaze.

Mary stayed silent while they continued to dress. Finally, she spoke. "What is for dinner then?" she asked him, smiling. She gathered her hair in a knot. Matthew buttoned his pants. He looked up at her.

"You are," he answered as he grabbed her around the waist. He pulled her close to him and kissed her. Mary smiled broadly at him, as she draped her arms about his neck. "But what am I having?" she whispered in his ear.

"Whatever you desire," he replied softly. He nibbled lightly on her ear. Mary laughed. "Matthew, you are so impetuous," she chided him lightly. "We are both going to starve."

"On the contrary," Matthew countered. "You will feast like a queen tonight, Mary. I promise you."

The mood had lifted and they hurried to finish dressing. They left the cottage in much the same way they had found it. No one looking upon that barren room would have guessed at its secrets.

When they arrived at Crawley House, the sun was almost settled. They tied their horses at the gate. Moseley greeted them both by name at the front door. He appeared slightly flustered, but gracious all the same, not normally having the privilege of Lady Mary's attendance. "Mrs. Crawley waited for you, sir. She left not fifteen minutes ago." Moseley relieved them of their coats and hats.

"I hope she wasn't put out. Did she wait for long?" asked Matthew.

"Not at all, sir," the butler replied. "She was in fine humour when she left, sir."

"Good," Matthew said. "Moseley, would you be good enough to fetch Beth? Lady Mary and I will be dining here tonight and I believe Lady Mary will want to freshen up, won't you, darling?"

"Dining here, sir?" Moseley was startled.

"Yes, Moseley, I've assured Lady Mary that Crawley House has as fine a table as any in the village. Is Mrs. Bird still here?"

"Yes, of course, sir," Moseley replied. "I will let her know at once." He turned to hasten to his tasks. It had been awhile since they had had a guest for dinner and never one as splendid as Lady Mary. He supposed he would have to get used to it.

"Oh, Moseley, I almost forgot." Moseley stopped and turned. "We will have to send word to the house," Matthew added.

"Yes, straightaway, sir." Moseley was off again.

Mary felt liberated. Being here alone with Matthew exhilarated her. It was a vision of things to come, what their life might be like. Matthew reached out to her and she took his hand. He pulled her close. "You smell like fresh air and moonlight," he whispered. "I think I was foolish to bring you here after all. It's rather counter-productive." Matthew didn't feel like eating at all. He wanted to gather her in his arms and carry her to his room. Mary kissed him slowly on the lips. "I do have to freshen up, darling," she told him. Just then, Beth arrived, slightly short of breath. "M'lady," she said demurely, not daring to look up. She curtsied briefly.

"Beth, please show Lady Mary up to the guest room and bring her whatever she needs," Matthew directed. "I'll wait for you in the dining room, Mary." He watched the two women ascend the stairs. He then descended into the servants' passage to the kitchen to meet with Mrs. Bird. She was tending to the fires and already had pots steaming on the stove. "Mrs. Bird, you are a miracle worker," said Matthew as he surveyed her preparations.

"I'm happy to do it, sir. I had a chicken roasting for tomorrow. It'll do for tonight, I imagine. There'll be a dinner service in twenty minutes, sir." The older woman was so preoccupied; she might have looked up to him for one second during her entire address.

Matthew smiled. "I could kiss you, Mrs. Bird. I gave Lady Mary very high expectations for dinner, I'm afraid."

"I won't disappoint, sir," she stated flatly. "You can save the kiss for your sweetheart." Matthew grinned at her.

Matthew hurried down the passage and up to his room where he hoped Moseley was waiting for him. "Quickly, Moseley, I don't want to keep her waiting." His fingers ran down the front of his jacket, undoing buttons.

"No, sir," Moseley replied, as he brought out a well-pressed jacket from the armoire. Within ten minutes, Matthew was dressed and groomed for dinner. He took one last look in the mirror before heading down the stairs. "Will you bring out the best white that we have, Moseley? The very best."

"Very good, sir."

"You're a good man, Moseley. Thank you for all your help this evening. It would have been quite impossible without you." Matthew smiled at him and left the room in haste. When he arrived in the dining room, he was relieved; she had not yet come down. The table was set.

"Matthew, that's not fair."

He turned around to see her standing in the doorway. Her hair was down and gathered to one side, secured with a ribbon. "I don't have a change of clothes," she said regretfully with a slight shrug of her shoulders. She felt awkward without her usual dinner attire and he, standing there so handsome in his black tie and dinner jacket. She looked down at her skirt, and then looked at him, smiling. He wondered whether he would ever become accustomed to her natural elegance and beauty. For now, he was rendered speechless. He went to her, framed her face with his hands and raised her lips to his. Mary closed her eyes. His lips were soft and moist. He lowered his hands slowly, his fingers caressing the length of her throat. Reluctantly, Matthew lifted his head, ending their embrace. "You are perfect just as you are," he said to her. He led her to the table and pulled out her chair. Moseley arrived to fill their wine glasses.

They sat in close proximity to one another at one corner of the table. Matthew had not given any direction to the butler that way. Either Moseley had the sensibility of a romantic or had simply chosen the most expedient setting in the circumstances. In either case, Matthew was content. The butler left the room briefly.

The candlelight made diamonds out of Mary's brown eyes. Matthew slipped his hand over hers. "This was a brilliant idea," he said. "Why have we not done this before?" Moseley returned with the soup tureen and Matthew drew his hand back. After the servant had spooned out each serving, Matthew excused him. "Thank you, Moseley, we'll ring for you."

"Very good, sir," Moseley replied before taking his leave.

Mary leaned over to Matthew. "You know we may never hear the last of this," she cautioned him. "They're probably still prying their jaws from off the floor."

"It will no doubt make for some lively dinner conversation this evening," Matthew surmised. "Cousin Violet and Mother will be sure to have an opinion."

Mary smiled as she thought of her granny's pragmatic wit and sharp tongue. "What would your mother say, Matthew?" Mary's interest was piqued. She dipped into her soup.

"My mother was born and raised in the city, Mary," answered Matthew. "Her views are not as provincial as one might expect. She may not like what we've done but she would respect my choices."

"All of your choices?" Mary asked coyly.

Matthew sipped on his wine. "I rather think so," he replied. "What are you getting at?"

"She can't have been too pleased with me after I slighted your first proposal," Mary said ruefully. "I'd be surprised if she'd forgiven me when I can hardly forgive myself." She paused and added, "When I reflect on that time, I wish so very much that I had had better counsel, or..." Her voice dropped off.

Matthew looked at her intently. "Or what?" he asked her.

"Or had simply been a better person," she concluded uneasily. She looked at him and smiled meagrely. She placed her spoon in the bowl in front of her.

Matthew was moved. "Mary, you must not blame yourself for our falling out." He reached for her hand and held it gently. "I should have had more sympathy for your position. A woman's fate is entirely determined by the man she chooses to marry. After that, she wins or loses by his choices alone." He withdrew his hand. "Any one in your place would have acted with equal ambivalence."

Mary smiled at him regretfully. "You're very generous, Matthew. You're forgetting that I loved you. I look back on my actions now and cannot believe how shallow my thinking was then."

Matthew arched his eyebrows. "What about me?" he asked her. "I acted like a petulant child. I was angry with the fickleness of the entail so I broke your heart and mine along with it," he told her candidly. "What is worse is that I knew that you loved me. And I loved you. So who is to blame?" He looked at her pointedly, then rose from his chair and rang for Moseley. This discussion discomfited him, bringing him back to a time of insufferable loss and heartache. Moseley arrived to clear the table and left.

"I've upset you," Mary said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"No, you haven't, Mary," he assured her. "I upset myself." He returned to his seat. Mary reached over and placed her hand on his forearm. He placed his hand on hers and caressed her fingers. Hearing Moseley's approach, they drew back from each other. As the butler served the various dishes in series, Matthew was amazed at the feast that Mrs. Bird had prepared on such short notice. Moseley finished his service by replenishing their glasses. "Thank you, Moseley." The butler retired at once, sensing that his presence was neither needed nor desired.

"So we were both foolish," Mary said softly. "We shall not speak of it again."

They each sampled their glass of wine and turned their attention to the plates before them. Mary was very pleased. She hadn't realized the size of her appetite until the smell of the roasted chicken had wafted its way up to her nose. The tender breast melted in her mouth and the poulette sauce was the perfect complement. She looked up at Matthew, saying, "Mrs. Bird has outdone herself. This is marvellous." Matthew nodded in agreement. He added, "Oh ye of little faith. You suggested we were to starve." He smiled at her triumphantly.

Mary laughed. "We would have starved with the menu you had proposed."

"Oh, you're still on the menu, Mary," Matthew replied. He wiped the corners of his mouth and leaned forward over his plate. "I hope you don't think otherwise."

Several seconds passed before Mary answered. "My, you have a rather large appetite, Matthew," she responded. "Is there no satisfying you?" Mary took a sip of her wine and looked at him over the rim of her glass. Matthew smiled at her brazenly but said nothing. They continued to dine until their plates were empty. Over the course of their meal, they decided that a four-week sojourn on the continent would serve them well as their honeymoon. Mary was partial to Italy, specifically Florence and Rome, while Matthew's tastes veered further south to the isles of Greece. Over the fruit plate, he recounted the many benefits of secluded beaches, white silky sands and azure waters. Privately, he longed to see the length of her lying on those sands, her skin drenched with the waters of the warm Aegean Sea. He would persuade her.

Matthew set down his knife and fork. "Are you quite done, darling?" he asked her pleasantly.

"Yes, thank you, Matthew," she answered, "Positively stuffed."

"Then may I suggest that we repair to my room for dessert?" Matthew rose from the table. Mary dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and left it folded by the side of her plate. Matthew pulled out her chair for her. She thanked him and made her way to the staircase. She looked behind her quickly and spied him smiling like a libertine. She stopped at the foot of the stairs and leaned against the newel post, her hands at her back. He came to her and put his arms around her waist. He kissed her lips, her cheek, and the side of her neck. She laughed. "What is it?" he whispered against her throat. She draped her arms about his neck.

"I was just thinking about the first time we met," she said softly, smiling to herself.

"What about it?" Matthew murmured in her ear.

"You feared my parents were going to push me at you," she said. "Yet here we are. They don't want me here with you and you're ready to carry me off to your bedroom. It is comical, isn't it?" She looked at him, her eyes twinkling.

Matthew stopped and looked at her. "You're comical, yes." They were both smiling as they kissed each other. The kiss deepened and Matthew pressed her against him. He gathered her in his arms and carried her up the stairs. They had fifteen minutes at the most and they would make the most of it.