A/N: Here we are again :) I think - this chapter is rather different in tone to previous chapters, but I hope you'll appreciate it nevertheless! It's an important one in terms of progressing things, so... well, I hope you'll enjoy it!
Thank you all so much for your wonderful comments, some really made me laugh out loud, dear Isobel... You're all incredibly kind and thoughtful! I must also particularly thank Silvestria and EOlivet for helping me over a little hurdle in this one, and EOlivet always for her support, polish and enthusiasm!
Enjoy!
Chapter Fourteen
The change began in slight measure, at first; barely noticeable. When Mary appeared for breakfast, the gentlest of smiles touched Matthew's lips, and hers in return. He quietly asked how she felt, and – though both Mary and Isobel knew he asked for the sake of the baby, still – it meant something. And when he stood up to bid them goodbye for the day, his lips lingered on his wife's temple for just a fraction, barely even a second, longer than in the past.
As he reached the door, he stilled at Mary's voice.
"Don't forget that my parents have asked us to dine, this evening , will you?"
"Oh," he turned back quickly and shook his head. "No, I – hadn't forgotten. What about you, Mother?"
Isobel took off her spectacles. "I hadn't been planning to, dear, why do you ask?" In truth, she hadn't wanted to cramp their very gently blossoming, new-found ease with each other – if it could be called that, even. Breakfast had felt mildly less terse than before, though that was hardly saying much.
"Would you?" Matthew's lip twitched up to a quietly hopeful smile. "That's, if – you've nothing particular you'd wanted to –"
"No, no, I suppose I can make it if you'd like."
If she'd hoped for some kind of explanation, she was disappointed, as Matthew simply nodded and thanked her.
"I would. Thanks, Mother – well, I'll see you both later."
With a smile for his mother and a more hesitant nod for his wife, Matthew left them to their contemplation of his actions. Isobel wore a puzzled frown, but when she turned to Mary she saw the younger woman's eyes cast down to her plate, and a gentle sigh escape her lips. Surely they could not have hoped for much, so soon; the depth of Matthew's bitterness could not have simply vanished overnight. Both women now realised that as much as his slight gestures that morning had spelled hope, he still remained a long way from being content to stomach even the short car journey to the Abbey alone with his wife.
As for Matthew, as he cycled to the train station the press of guilt and shame on his shoulders felt lighter than it had for a long time. At the sound of the flitting, twittering birds in the eaves of the village buildings, the smell of fresh flowers bravely airing their shoots over the frost – life – he even managed to raise a smile. Perhaps… he would not be miserable forever. He would not subject a child to that – any child – and as memories of his own childhood pricked in his mind, the happiness and security he had always felt from the love of his parents, he became only more convinced of it. He'd been the foolish one, he and Mary, and as much as resentment still soldered through his veins at the thought of what the Turk had done with her, as if he'd… tainted her very skin, somehow; Matthew knew that an innocent child deserved no less love for it.
Of that he was sure, then, but… what did it mean for his marriage? The thought of how it had begun and his own cruelty, as his mother had so coldly but correctly put it, sickened him now. Mary… was a stranger to him, and he knew he had become one to her. He'd made himself one, he'd wanted nothing to do with her, deserved nothing to do with her… and he deserved it even less now, after the way he'd behaved. When he thought of how they had been – only he couldn't. What they'd shared, at the time, had been beautiful… easy… simple. After all that they'd done, how could they go back to that? Matthew didn't deserve such happiness again, not with Mary, and to even think of it made his heart sink again with shame at his own behaviour.
By the time he reached the train station, laid up his bicycle and settled himself in his usual First Class carriage, he tried desperately to soothe his own mind. His mother's reprimands rang in his ears, scolding, blaming, straightening… His actions now mattered. Not what he'd done. Not what they'd done. The future, their future mattered. And he found that the sheer effort of maintaining the thought against his nature had stressed and wearied his mind and body, before the day had even begun.
When he returned that evening, there was a brisk, nervous energy about him, as though he thought if he let himself relax for just a moment he would derail completely. He hovered at the bottom of the stairs as Mary came down, and now that he bore no secret but a care for her charge he held out his hand to support her down; an action noted by Isobel with a gentle, approving smile.
"You look well," he said quietly, pleased, and Mary blushed a little.
"I'm not at all sure I do, but I'm glad you think so," she smiled wryly, and kept her fingers resting lightly in his hand until he released them, which wasn't until she was safely settled into the car. For a moment she wondered if he'd simply forgotten to release her before that moment; he certainly seemed distracted enough. He smiled at her and Isobel, and though it wasn't the tight, forced, miserable smile of the past weeks it was still not a natural one. But then, she remembered, nothing about this was natural. And then, as she so often had done these past weeks, she reminded herself that her expectations of the marital institution had never been particularly high in the first place and so she could only be grateful for… Matthew, and – she really was, terribly grateful, and even more so now that he had at least (and so touchingly) accepted responsibility for her child… come what may.
She was surprised, once they arrived at the Abbey, that Matthew didn't immediately desert her in the drawing room to seek her father. Instead, he remained close by her side, even if his conversation remained slight and quiet, cursory. And when they were ushered through for dinner, his hand touched her elbow, and though her heart skipped a beat at the gesture she couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow an act. She knew Matthew, she knew the naturalness of his touch, and well enough the falsity of it as well but this was… different. Neither.
"Is everything – are you – alright?" she hissed quietly at him as they walked several paces behind Sybil.
"Of course I'm alright, why wouldn't I be?" he answered without looking at her; and so he didn't see his wife roll her eyes.
"Do you really want me to list the reasons, Matthew, we'd never get to the dining table!" She sighed, eyes fluttering shut as soon as she'd spoken, anticipating his derision in response. But he surprised her again, by just a smile instead of the taut frown she'd come to expect at her every remark.
His head lowered a little. "I think that would put you out less than it would me, at the moment," and there was a nervous humour in his voice that Mary hadn't heard since… She could hardly remember.
They settled down to dinner, and with the distraction of fine food and (in most cases) hungry stomachs to fill, conversation slowed and eased a little more naturally. For Mary it was effort enough to simply concentrate on each bite, each swallow, only for the sake of the baby because she wouldn't likely bother for herself. While always entirely, absolutely aware of Matthew's presence beside her – without looking she felt it every time he moved, shifted in his chair, lifted his glass or fork, swallowed, spoke – she allowed herself the more comforting distraction of Sybil's chatter beside her.
Talk of charities and frocks and how many women really were getting jobs now seemed all very meaningless to Mary; but these things were important to her sister so she indulged the conversation. It was all more pleasant to talk of than anything she could muster, anyway, and the youthful, innocent enthusiasm of Sybil was a balm to the ache that seemed to linger always in Mary's chest. More than any of that, she missed her… Oh, the Abbey wasn't far to visit but it was no longer home, not really, and she hardly felt she could call Crawley House such, either. It was certainly never the sort of home she'd dreamed of or anticipated, and though she could bear the reduction of her expectations for Matthew, it made it… so dreadfully difficult that he had never welcomed her there. Oh, he would've, she knew he would have welcomed her and taken her and loved her, before she had… ruined everything.
She sighed, and beneath the table stroked her belly gently, and then felt Matthew's glance warm the back of her neck. It was all for this; she could bear it for this.
"But Sybil, darling," she shook her head at her sister's latest enthused tirade, "while I think it's terribly noble of you to want Gwen to find a job – though she has a very decent one as it is don't forget –"
"Mary I know that, but it's not what she wants to do!"
"Darling I'm not arguing with that!" Mary touched her sister's arm, placating her. "I'm only cautioning you that however much you might wish something, it – doesn't mean it will happen. Don't set your hopes too high, that's all." She sensed Matthew stiffen on her other side, unconsciously, and rubbed her finger along her the sleek handle of her fork.
Sybil sighed dramatically. "I do see what you're saying, truly I do. But that won't make me any less determined, and I'll keep trying until it happens. I won't give up. There are secretarial jobs every day in the papers, not all suitable but – Matthew?"
"Yes?" Matthew blinked and turned more towards his sister-in-law, as the rest of the table quieted at her louder insistence, curious about the turn of conversation. Mary rolled her eyes and sat back between them.
"Wouldn't there be a place at your law firm for a secretary?" Sybil leaned forwards and looked at him with a determined plea in her large, hopeful eyes. "You must need someone to do – typing, and filing, and things like that?"
Matthew chuckled regretfully. "I'm afraid we've a clerk who takes care of all that, and – sorry as I am to say it, Sybil, my superiors aren't quite so forward thinking as you in that respect." He smiled, and shrugged; an apology. "In any case, I've barely been with them six months, so I'm hardly in a great position to make recommendations on staffing…"
"Oh." Deflated, Sybil slumped back in her chair, but smiled anyway. "Well, if anything should come up –"
"You'll be sure to hear of it. And – you're quite right to keep your hope up – my father used to tell me, quite often I have to admit, that no-one hits the bulls-eye with the first arrow."
She smiled appreciatively. "I suppose you're right! Thank you, Matthew."
While the conversation lulled, Cora laughed good-humouredly.
"I don't know how these things work, of course, but I'd have thought you must have earned some favour with them after this time, Matthew – you seem to work so hard, always."
"I do, but –"
Violet interrupted him, addressing Cora. "There's a very good reason you don't know how these things work, my dear; it all seems very tedious to me."
"Well some people," Isobel defended her son (who was quite content to stay out of the exchange), "prefer not to spend all day, every day, sitting around with little occupation."
"There are many more occupations in the world than involve sitting at desks all day; I am quite sure of that!" the Dowager argued stoutly.
"I hope you're not implying there's anything wrong with that, in fact I think we'd be at quite a loss without those men willing to spend their days at such work!"
As his mother battled with Violet, Matthew grimaced apologetically at Mary, and she accepted his humour with a small smile. For a moment – just a moment – this felt like times past. Then, riling against the rebuttal of her initial question, the Countess cut over them both.
"Whatever our opinions, I think," she said rather more sternly than necessary, "we certainly shan't begrudge Matthew what he chooses to do."
"Well said, Mama!" Sybil grinned, and across the table Edith rolled her eyes.
Cora looked apologetically at Matthew and Mary. "But – you seem to be so swamped, always, Matthew – I do hope they're not taking advantage of your good nature."
"Particularly at such a time," Robert frowned. "I'm sure any professional man wouldn't be so unjust, but you must speak up for yourself, my boy."
Matthew raised his eyebrows, amused, wondering what on earth he'd been trying to do for the last few minutes.
"I've – had a frightful amount to do the past few months, it's true." He nodded slowly, avoiding the heat of his wife's gaze, who alone – but for his mother, now – understood the dismal truth behind his statement. Mary licked her lips and stared down at her hand resting on the table, at her wedding band, the band that had bound Matthew to her and her misery and driven him to his desk.
Matthew, though, hadn't finished. His voice softened. "But – I'm very pleased to say that things are just slackening off, now. I've – caught up with myself, paid my dues, whatever you'd like to call it – and I shouldn't be quite so busy, from now on."
There seemed an audible, pleased sigh, from everyone at the table; but none seemed so pleasantly surprised as Mary or Isobel, who both now stared at Matthew with an adoring wonder.
Edith pulled a face and, not quite looking at her sister, muttered somewhat uncharitably,
"Well, that seems about time considering you've been married a month – perhaps you'll actually be able to spend some time with your wife, sometimes, now!"
Mary glared at her sister, knowing full well that a disgruntled Edith hadn't seen why, now married, Mary should not be busy with her own house and family rather than still bothering them all the time.
She wasn't anticipating her husband's next comment, or the strange, if fraught, tenderness with which he said it. Though it wasn't addressed to her, she felt it, like a thunderbolt to her heart, stopping her breath and contracting her chest as she blamed their wretched child for the tears that threatened to spring to her eyes.
"Yes, that's… exactly what I'm hoping to do."
The rest of the meal had been quiet, and pleasant. Mary hardly knew what to do with herself beside Matthew, feeling a fluttery, but not unpleasant nervousness from his every word and action that evening. Every so often if she happened to be look at him he would turn and smile, but only quickly before his eyes would drop again. Oh, she could hardly expect much so soon, but… he was willing to try, now, and though it was for the baby more than her she could not begrudge that at all. That he was willing to try, for her child… made her only love him more.
When the plates had all been scraped and emptied, and napkins flung over them in satisfaction, the Earl leaned back in his chair. Cora took her cue.
"We'll go through, and leave these two to their talk of work and estates and things they don't suppose us worthy of hearing…" she smiled fondly.
"Worthy, my darling, but not always very interested," Robert chuckled.
"Actually before you do –" Matthew stood up, suddenly, and Cora sat back down, looking somewhat bewildered. "There's something I'd like to say while we're all still together."
"Oh?"
He was met by confused, but expectant, expressions. Mary realised at once what he was about to say and reached up to touch his hand, looking at him with wide eyes – she hadn't thought he would, not today, not without saying something – but he rubbed his hand over her shoulder, smiled, and kept it there, his palm warm but trembling against her shoulder-blades as he looked to the rest of the party. Mary stared into her lap.
"You see," Matthew began, and she could feel his tension and respected his courage for doing it, even as she braced herself for the backlash of her family. She felt the deep breath Matthew took. "It may come as rather a shock, and I can assure you it did to us as well, but – we're – very excited to tell you that Mary is expecting a baby."
Mary flushed at his careful wording, and held her head high in the breathless silence, whatever the reaction might be, a nervous smile touching her lips.
"Well - my darlings, how wonderful!" Cora gushed, with far too much enthusiasm considering she already knew Mary's secret. "What thrilling news, isn't it, Robert," she smiled overbearingly at her wide-eyed husband until there was only one response he could give.
"Of course it is!" He recovered quickly and stood, taking Matthew's hand and shaking it firmly. "Just what we'd all hoped for, of course, dear chap."
Matthew saw instantly that he would have to work hard to settle the Earl's evident disbelief, but… if worst came to the worst, at least he had confidence in having done the right thing, the honourable thing… Something the Earl must respect, if nothing else. He swallowed, and forced a tight smile.
"Thank you."
"But it's awfully soon," Edith exclaimed loudly amidst the, generally, excited explosion of chatter. The newly-weds looked panicked, their mouths too dry to respond, but Matthew soon was reassured of exactly why he had asked his mother to come, this evening.
"It's not at all too soon to know," Isobel said determinedly, still smiling. "It's hard to be sure at first of course but I am a nurse, and it's actually noticeable very soon, if you know what the signs are."
"Exactly, Edith, we should be pleased instead of questioning it," Cora tried to shush her daughter. She wondered in that moment if Isobel knew, well she must do, and sent her a grateful smile regardless. Luckily Sybil was too dear and innocent to suspect anything of these things (and especially considering the haste of their marriage, dear Lord), and she was pleased to see her youngest hugging her sister excitedly. There was, however, the Dowager to contend with.
Violet chose her moment well, waiting until the commotion had lulled again. She turned her pointed gaze to Matthew, an easier target, and spoke with the confidence of a woman who knows she is right.
"Well, Matthew, I suppose we must congratulate you!"
"Thank you, I –"
"I must say it seems your advice to Sybil was a little hasty, considering you seem to have struck your target with ease… Hasty, indeed!"
"Well –" he blustered, blushing deeply and kicking himself for what he'd thought such encouraging advice now turned so painfully against him. His heart leapt with hope as Edith, of all people, came to his rescue.
"That hardly seems fair, Granny," she said defensively. Matthew's breath of relief, and Mary's quieter beside him, was short-lived as she carried on. "Surely that would only be true if the baby's a boy, don't you think?"
As Mary balked in horror at her sister's unthinking coldness – whether or not the child was a boy was the very least of her and Matthew's problems, one she had barely even had the strength to consider yet – Cora swiftly covered the situation with her usual grace.
"Edith, that's quite enough," she scolded quietly, before her expression softened. "We'll go through, now, I'm sure Matthew and Robert would rather talk in more peace than with all us clucking like mother hens over dear Mary."
"Thank you my dear," Robert smiled, nodding already to Carson for the port as the Countess ushered the women out, and Matthew readied himself for a difficult conversation. Mary, at least, had the support of both her mother and Isobel… but even so, was not expecting her grandmother to let this slide easily. As they parted, they shared a supportive, if nervous, smile, their fingertips brushing together then glancing apart, leaving a remnant of feeling resonating on their skin and in their very hearts long after the door had closed behind the women.
TBC
A/N: Thank you ever so much for reading :) I know this chapter was rather a shift in tone from those previous, but I hope you'll forgive me for that! I can't help dinners getting carried away :P Regardless, I hope you enjoyed it and I'd love to know what you thought - thank you!