A/N: Sussan Deyhim's version of the title song from the Chimes of Freedom album is recommended.

All I Really Want To Do

Wednesday, April 9, 1913

Patrick's death had freed Mary.

Since she had turned fourteen she knew where her duty lay and she had acquiesced. But her duty had lapsed with Patrick's death.

She had made her declaration of independence to her father when he had tried to steer towards marriage with Matthew shortly after Matthew had come into their lives. She had told him she would never marry someone if she was told to. And her father had seemed to accept it.

She had a list of qualities she wanted in a husband. She had never written it down; that was something Edith would do, probably with 'staid, dull and boring' heading the list; but she carried it with her always.

Handsome, but not pretty. Taller than her, short men, no matter how otherwise perfect, need not apply. Graceful. Athletic, but not to the point of showing off. Clean, well groomed, well tailored. Older than her, but by no more than ten years.

Rich, she did see any reason why she should do without. Titled, or at least in line to be titled, she wanted to be the 'Something of Someplace"; she did not want to always rely upon her courtesy title from her father.

Intelligent, well read; someone she would be able to talk with, not just at, and definitely no grunters. Witty with a sense of humour. He must be able to make her laugh and stand up to being mocked by her.

Strong, he must be able to protect her and her children when need be. And be loyal to them to the end.

Absolutely no mistresses. She did not care if that was how the things were done; she would give him all the loving he would need. And no separate bedrooms. She wanted the love that her parents had.

Well mannered and chivalrous. Presentable in court.

No vices. None. Not gambling, not drink, not wenches. None. Non-negotiable.

Respect for her as an equal. She did not care what the law or custom said. She was going to be an equal partner.

Kind and considerate towards her, her children, her family, her friends, her servants, the world at large. Not soft, not weak; firm but fair.

A friend. A true friend.

And other qualities that she would remember when the time came to consider a candidate, either to say that is nice, I like that, or no, that disqualifies you.

She knew that her grandmother would snort to think that a paragon who had all these qualities would even exist. And she should have enjoyed the quest for such a grail of masculinity.

But...but almost the first time she should have a judged a man against her list she had thrown it all away and made the biggest, stupidest, most reckless mistake of her life.

And so it transpired that she was marrying someone because she had been told to.

And it could have been to someone worse. If she set aside her perfectly understandable antipathy towards the interloper who had stolen her birthrate he did not do that bad according to her list. Matthew was handsome and, when those blue eyes sparkled as he smiled, something more. He was taller, the right age. Well groomed, ignoring the odd razor burn. Could be better tailored but money could easily fix that. With her settlement he was well off, when he inherited he would be very wealthy indeed.

He did not have a title but someday he would be Earl and she Countess. She wondered if as heir he was entitled to a courtesy title, 'Lord Crawley' had a nice ring to it. Who could she ask? The College of Heralds perhaps?

She liked, no, be honest, she loved talking to him. He was intelligent and well read. Quick and witty, he had turned that crack she had made about Perseus right back on her. Married to him she could look forward to a lifetime of repartee right out of one of Shaw's plays. And he respected her opinions, he might not agree with them, but he had never once discounted them because she was a woman. She felt sure he would treat her as his equal and would even be surprised if anyone ever suggested he do otherwise.

With the one major exception, he was kind and considerate. He would be good towards their children, even, and she grazed her hand across her bump, this cuckoo child of his. She knew this because of her grandmother's Siamese cat. Turandot was an old, cranky, vocal cat who hated one and all except for Grannie and her cook and was known, and feared, for clawing and biting visitors to the Dower House without warning or quarter. When Grannie entertained the cat was exiled to the kitchen. Back in January, before anyone, even Mary, knew of her condition, Grannie had invited the young ones, as she put it, Mary and her sisters and Matthew, to tea. This was Matthew's first time in the Dower House and Mary remembered that he had been quite nervous. The five of them had been sitting in the drawing room when the unmistakable yawling of Turandot was heard, advancing on them. The girls all froze. They dared not say anything, or even look at the cat, for fear of setting it off. The cat came in and surveyed the crowd. Matthew gave it a smile and then made a funny little noise with his lips. The cat cocked its head at him and then jumped on his lap. Matthew started scratching the cat behind its ears and the cat laid down and started purring. Mary had thought that the cat couldn't purr, she had never ever seen it content. Violet and her granddaughters had let out their breaths. Matthew smiled and said something inane like 'what a sweet cat, what's its name?' And they had all stared at him. That violent old reprobate of a cat had convinced Mary that Matthew was kind and considerate to the core.

But there was the one major exception that troubled her. On the day of their betrothal, what else could it be called, she had been shocked and appalled at the coarse and cruel words Matthew had hurled at her. Certainly Matthew had received a nasty surprise, he had been provoked, but still, Evelyn Napier would never had used such language. And then it struck her. Evelyn would never have agreed to marry her. He would have murmured diplomatic platitudes, offered her any help she might need, short of actual aid, wished her well and then left. At flank speed. She could think of no young man of her set who, had the proposition had been made to him, would have agreed to marry her. Matthew, for all that, had.

He was not perfect. She knew now that he had a dark and stormy side but it had only been revealed in the most extraordinary of circumstances. If she could steer him away from any similar circumstances, and it was hard to see anything that dramatic ever happening to them in the future, she need never see that dark side again. And she felt that the drunken binge he had gone on; Molesley had told Anna all about it, who had told her, she had laughed at the buckets of water; was part and parcel of his reaction to the shock of it all. She did not think he was a permanent drunk. Nor did she think he would ever be violent towards her. He might have wanted to fight her father, but that was just the young stag wanting to take on the old stag, she had never sensed he would hurt her. Even when the spittle was spraying towards her she felt that if only she had had the presence of mind to have touched his cheek his words would have turned to tears and he would have ended up in her arms.

She had a lot to work with. He was malleable. He was a quick learner, he never made the same mistake of etiquette twice. They had been growing together as friends before... her hand strayed to her middle. Surely this was just a bump in the road. She could make this marriage a success. They might even grow to love each other. Tonight, after dinner, she would convince him to stay.

-0-

Mary could hardly contain herself. How would Matthew act when he saw her? What would he say? Was his anger gone, or was it just on simmer? Would he listen to her? She wished she had a dress that fit properly. Between the bump, and her refusal to wear a corset, she was not going to deform the baby with one of those, she had been reduced to inserting side panels in one of her more flowing gowns. O'Brien had done a yeoman job getting the dress ready in time, although Mary's gratitude had been tempered by O'Briens' continuous mutterings of protest.

Carson announced Mrs. Crawley. And that was all. Isobel came in, looking rather subdued. Mary looked around her. There was no one else there.

Mary was about to ask after Matthew when Isobel advised "Matthew sends his regrets. He has to work in Ripon tonight to finalize his files"

Dinner was subdued and silent. After it came to its quick conclusion Cora asked "Robert would you please entertain Edith and Sybil tonight". Edith started to protest but Cora pointed at her "Not one word out of you young lady!" and Edith sat back down sulking.

After Mary and the older ladies had left Robert sighed. He look at the decanter of port and the box of cigars on the sideboard and then at his two youngest. "Well off to bed you two" Edith started to protest but he glared her into silence. They left in ill humour and he poured himself a glass. He was disappointed for he too had wanted to speak to Matthew. They needed to clear the air.

-0-

Violet, Cora and Isobel sat in the drawing room with their glasses of sherry and watched Mary pace back and forth.

Finally Violet snapped "Out with it girl, we do not have all night"

Mary stopped and blinked at her. "I... I want a real marriage"

"Well you are really getting married on Friday unless there is some sort of elaborate charade going on" Violet gave Cora a suspicious look.

"I mean ... I don't want one of those aristocratic marriages where they lead separate lives."

"Goodness, half the great houses of England would fall if the husband and wife had to exchange more than a handful of words at a time. They get together once or twice a year and do the necessary, at least until a heir and a spare have been produced. Then the men can get on with administrating the Empire and the ladies, well you know what ladies do."

But I want more"

"It seems to me that doing what you wanted to do instead of observing the proprieties is what got you into this mess in the first place. You had better concentrate on making the best of what you have" Violet turned to Isobel "Is the groom still intent on leaving on the honeymoon on his own?"

Isobel had been hoping to just down her sherry and make a quick escape but no it was not to be. "As far as I know"

Violet turned back to Mary. "You had better catch your fish before you decide how you are going to cook it." Then to Isobel "He's your son. Is he gone for good?"

Isobel took a long time to reply. "I don't know. I have never seen him this angry. And he can be very stubborn. There was one time when he was in university we had a row over something, I can't even remember what it was now, and I didn't hear from him until that Christmas, and whatever it was over, it wasn't as big as this. I think he may be gone for quite a while."

Violet delivered her judgement. "He'll wait until the baby is born to decide whether to come back. If it is a girl we will see him at Christmas and "looking at Mary "you can probably induce him to stay. If it is a boy he might never come back". Seeing Mary's shocked expression, "Men are funny about their sons. Even with their own behind the love there is always a fear of being usurped; with a step son it's worse and with this one" looking at Mary's bump "it would be worse yet"

Mary appealed to her mother "That can't be right"

Cora could not look Mary in the eye. "It might be. Men can be terrible cavemen at times"

"So I should just give up"

Violet rolled her eyes. "I'm not saying that. I'm just pointing out how tough it might be. You've already paid your money, you might as well take your chance."

Mary sighed. "So how can I get him to come back?"