A/N: Happy Monday!

Somehow, I'd had the notion of most of this chapter concluding the previous chapter. Clearly, seeing the length this turned out, that wouldn't have worked! Plus it gave me the excuse to write the first scene, which I otherwise wouldn't have. So, yay! :)

Thank you so much for your continued support (that coming from *me*, not the box at the bottom of the page). I think there's still some issues with reviews not coming through as signed in, so I do apologise if I've not been able to reply to you. You're all darlings. :) Thanks as always to EOlivet and to all of you who've let me natter incessently on at you!

Enjoy!

Chapter Fifteen

When the door closed behind the ladies, an oppressive weight seemed to settle in the room. Matthew glanced at Robert, a tight smile, and both men sat back down. He wished the door was open, or better still a window, anything to allow some air to his tightened lungs. Hardly daring to look at the Earl, he picked idly at the prong of his dessert fork, watching the motion, trying to breathe without choking at the smell of cloying food that hadn't even registered his senses only moments earlier and the Earl's freshly lit cigar. He could feel Robert's heavy, thoughtful gaze, relentless, and he couldn't ignore it any longer.

He looked up, smiled nervously, still picking at his fork until Carson offered him the port to occupy his hands instead, fingertips running up and down the smooth glass.

"Well, Matthew," his father-in-law settled more comfortably (and yet not seeming comfortable at all) back into his chair. "That certainly was a shock, but – it's excellent news, excellent news, of course. You and Mary must be thrilled."

Matthew's next breath came just a little easier.

"Thank you. I couldn't have been more shocked myself when Mary told me." That certainly wasn't a lie, Matthew thought, with a dimmed bitterness now. Though he was more at terms with things lately, it still felt a damnable pretence to be excited about it.

He smiled, tipped his head and stared into his port, which he swirled thoughtfully. "But I suppose these things can't be predicted, too much at least, and we've plenty of time to get used to the idea! And, I think… Mary will take to it, when the time comes, quite wonderfully."

At a loss for anything more enthusiastic to say, it was the first time Matthew had allowed himself to consider that… Mary would be a mother. No matter the child's heritage, no matter his own conviction now to be a father to it, Mary was and would be its mother. And now that he did allow himself to think of it, the slightest glimmer of warmth shone like a kernel in his chest, before fear pushed it out once more.

Robert nodded slowly, and for the first time, smiled.

"Certainly; I think she will too, and I'll be proud to see it." He couldn't know how Matthew's heart sank, then, at his misplaced and undeserved pride. But then the Earl sobered, taking a long draw on his cigar as Matthew sipped his port nervously, fingers stilling upon the glass.

He couldn't escape his father-in-law's inscrutable gaze. "And when did Mary tell you, my dear fellow? Are you quite settled with the news yourself, yet?"

Matthew chuckled nervously. "Not at all, I… think I'm beginning to get there but –"

"Because I'd safely bet you've known damn longer than a few days, if that would be your claim." His eyes were suddenly hard, and cold, and Matthew shrank back into his seat as he realised the full authority of the man opposite him.

He couldn't say anything, couldn't lie, couldn't breathe, not now he was faced with it. Robert glowered. "Well? Was it before your wedding; which now I think of it was all fixed in frankly absurd haste?"

"Lord Grantham, please –"

But what justification could he make? His expression betrayed him, and Robert's darkened.

"That's not quite an answer, Matthew." He stubbed the end of his cigar down with the force of an angered father, and Matthew paled. "I believed you – no, trusted you – when you suggested you simply loved my daughter so much that you couldn't bear a delay in being with her. Well, now I see why!"

"I – did!" Matthew's heart stung at the harsh, bitterly true words of Mary's father. His pulse quickened with agitation. "I did love her, I would have married her in a moment before I had any idea of her condition…" Trailing off, he swallowed ineffectually. He would have, he wanted to… Only, that was before she'd shattered his heart with the insult of another in her bed, no matter what he now understood of that shame. It hadn't changed the pain.

"But you didn't, until you knew."

"No, there were… reasons," he muttered, voice shaking. He couldn't hold the Earl's gaze and glared miserably into his port. "I did tell you, once, that we'd been very stupid. And I take the blame myself, entirely. You may believe me, Sir, that whatever your feelings it could not be possible to be more disappointed in me than I am in myself. Or to… despise me more for it than I already do."

At that, Robert softened, if only fractionally. Yes, he was disappointed, angry, shocked by the young man he'd thought so… decent, and begun to feel such pride in, even after such a short time of knowing him. But, then, to look at his manner now, Robert wondered if his opinions of Matthew before this evening hadn't been right after all. He'd behaved foolishly, damned foolishly, there was no doubt about that. And if he'd hurt Mary… Whatever had gone on between them, though, Matthew's sorrow for it was etched in every part of his despondent figure.

He sighed. "Well. I suppose it's done now. At least you are married –"

"Of course!" Matthew sat up straighter, a faint air of indignation hovering on his tone. "Of course, I – needed no encouragement on that score. I would never – never have deserted her, it would never have occurred to me to do so. You must believe that, at least. I've been wrong, I know, but I have tried – I am trying – to make right of this."

Robert nodded again, slowly, appraising Matthew who licked his lips nervously. He suddenly seemed to remember his port was hardly touched, and drained the glass, finding it fortified him.

"I do believe you," he finally said. "I think so, anyway. But… Prove me right to do so, Matthew. Treat my daughter well, and make her happy."

It was an instruction, a warning, a command; one that Matthew took just as seriously and solemnly as it was given. But then the Earl's expression changed; softened, somehow, his dark frown becoming more thoughtful. And he concluded his plea with, "…and my grandchild, too, when – he, or she, comes."

Those last, quiet words made Matthew smile, too, though it was barely enough to be called a smile. He and Mary would have a child. However it may have come about. And for the first time the thought made him… almost, not quite but definitely almost… happy.

He nodded sincerely at Robert. "You can rest assured, Sir, that I will… do my very best to."

The lights in the drawing room seemed bright, harsh, almost garish in comparison to the softer, more intimate shades of the dining room. Mary felt a little dizzy. Isobel, noticing her slight waver, ushered her to sit down, seating herself beside her.

"Mary are you alright?" Sybil fussed, coming to her other side as the others filed in behind them.

"Of course I'm alright," Mary waved her off. "It's not an illness, darling." Sagging back a little against the soft cushions, she felt terribly grateful just then that she no longer needed to pretend. They knew. Because Matthew had –

"Well, Mary, my dear." Violet settled into her seat, resting her hands lightly upon the top of her cane. She looked almost gleeful. Mary sighed, inwardly. "Such happy news! And so soon – how lucky you must be feeling."

"We're all thrilled, of course," Cora continued to smile inanely, playing her part of ignorance to the point of overdoing it while Edith sat and rolled her eyes. "Though perhaps it was a little unfortunate for Matthew to tell us all so soon after you must have known – you might have had some to enjoy the news, first – but I can't begrudge him for being excited, it's only natural."

"Is it?" Edith scoffed. Mary might have slapped her if she'd been closer. She was desperately grateful for her mother trying, however little good it might do.

Sybil beamed happily, oblivious to all this. "Don't be so sour, Edith, I think that's terribly sweet of him. You are lucky, Mary!"

"I know I am, Sybil darling." Mary took her hand quickly and squeezed it, smiling. She was so very lucky, in so many ways… If only they knew! But… of course, she'd far rather they didn't.

But Violet wasn't put off by this. Mary (and Isobel, as it happened) was convinced that she did it on purpose, waiting for the lull, for them to breathe again, to believe it would be let slide…

"And when will the happy addition to our family join us?" the Dowager Countess asked airily, as if she wasn't in the least aware of the gravity of her question... Seeking a truth which could not be avoided, or pretended, or concealed.

Mary paled. "Oh, I – hardly know that, yet, I don't think –"

"But you must have seen Clarkson," Edith picked up on her grandmother's game. Even if she didn't fully understand, it was obvious the line of questioning flustered Mary, so she was all for it. "Didn't he tell you when to expect the baby?"

"Of course I've seen him!" Mary railed back, trying her best to remain calm and disinterested. "But he couldn't say precisely, I suppose it's too early for that."

"Really?" Violet raised an eyebrow. "That does seem rather –"

"Oh it's perfectly normal, for a first baby," Isobel smiled reassuringly and mustered her most confident, professional, knowledgeable tone in the hopes that it might shade her sketchy truth. "It's very hard to say. A month outside of what might usually be expected, even, is – really, quite usual."

Mary looked gratefully at her mother-in-law, terribly glad for not the first time that evening that Matthew had insisted she come, too. Not only that, but that she knew at all… Having to face this, without Isobel's support – instead with her disbelief, confusion, disappointment – would have been intolerable.

"And I suppose we are to take your word for it, as medical expert amongst us?" Violet looked definitely sceptical. But did not want to cause a scene, and instead pursed her lips.

"I don't see why we shouldn't," Sybil shrugged supportively. "I'm sure Cousin Isobel knows far more about that sort of thing than I ever would!"

"I wouldn't doubt it, Sybil dear," Edith laughed (not altogether kindly). She had not the experience to know, as her grandmother did, when things should at last be left alone and so carried blithely on. "I suppose it won't be noticeable for a few months yet, anyway, so you needn't worry about your wardrobe for a while, Mary…"

The jibe was cruel (though it might have been fair in the past, but Edith wasn't to know how her sister had changed), and Mary sighed loudly and irritably. She felt her energy sap, and in her weariness, stung back.

"Really, Edith, you don't know anything about it. Perhaps when you've grown up a bit and find yourself with a husband and child on the way, then you can talk to me of the necessary changes in dress, but please not until then."

"I think all such things aren't particularly the conversations to have just after dinner…" Cora cautioned them all from pressing her eldest daughter, who now looked very definitely tired of it all, any further. "We've plenty of time for all that. Plenty of time."

"Thank you, Mama…!" Mary sighed again, and pushed herself to her feet. Her family looked on, mildly concerned, but she waved them off with a claim that she simply felt stifled and wanted to stand beside the window for a little while. It was marginally cooler, there. Not much. For a moment Sybil made as if to follow her, and Isobel certainly thought about it, before both realised it better to give her a moment to breathe.

And she did, feeling her chest rise and fall gently as she pressed a hand to her belly, watching her breath steam the glass of the window where she'd pushed the curtain aside. She flexed her hand, and felt distinctly ill, mulling over what Edith had said. Her other hand lifted to stroke distractedly at her necklace. She couldn't escape that, couldn't hide it, when it came to it; and it would, soon. She knew there wasn't long (and her figure was so slight, even more so with her recent heartache and vanished appetite) before she would begin to show, and it would be far, far too early to maintain any reasonable doubt. Granny obviously suspected anyway, and as she'd so vehemently pointed out to Matthew it hardly mattered; they were married anyway (and quickly enough to be decent) so there would be little enough consequence. But they would know, and that shamed her, and in this moment that seemed quite enough to be upset about.

Exhausted tears stung the back of her eyes, and she just wanted… to be at home. She shocked herself with the thought, and the realisation that, for the first time that did not feel like here. And the thought made her terribly sad, for the most part at least, but for that… tiny, tiny part of her that knew her home was with Matthew. If only he could feel the same way… one day. This evening was the first time she'd begun to think that he might… one day.

Somehow, intuitively, instinctively, she had drowned out the chatter of her family and yet when the door opened she was immediately aware of him, and turned.

Matthew was half a step behind the Earl, and both men looked sober, making an obvious effort to brighten the moment they came through the door. Mary glanced anxiously between them, able to read nothing of their conversation in their expressions, but the barely perceptible inclination of her husband's head gave her faith she'd find out soon enough.

"Sorry if we've been a long time," Robert beamed to his wife and the rest of his family. "In all the excitement we'd a lot to discuss. Wonderful news, of course," he said again, and already it sounded thin.

"I think it's quite worn us out!" Violet chuckled dryly, though Sybil heartily disagreed.

Still by the window, Mary smiled weakly at her father and sighed again the moment he'd turned. In a moment, Matthew was by her side, his hand taking hers as his thumb stroked soothingly, unconsciously, over the back of it. She blinked up at him and was shocked to see something approaching warmth in his eyes, though it was still shadowed with insecurity.

"You look worn out," he murmured quietly, desperately aware of the eyes of their companions analysing their every move. He didn't stand too close, he wouldn't anyway, and smiled gently. They were excited, happy, thrilled, or… should be.

"I am," she tipped her head to the side, stretching her neck, and smiled back. "And so do you."

"Well I can't say I'm surprised," he pursed his lips wryly. "But I don't think anyone will blame us for making our excuses, do you?"

They didn't, and gracious smiles and kisses were exchanged and congratulations given again as they left. Carson escorted them out and, after helping Matthew into his coat the butler cleared his throat gently.

"What is it, Carson?" Matthew asked politely. Isobel had already gone out but Mary, who hadn't quite yet, turned back.

Carson hesitated a moment. "If I may, Mr. Crawley, and Lady Mary, too – you'll forgive me for overhearing, at dinner, but… I hope you won't mind me passing you my warmest congratulations, on behalf of all the staff."

"Oh, Carson, thank you!" Matthew smiled warmly, and the butler fondly, as Mary's face truly lit up.

"Thank you," she murmured sincerely, and then walked the few steps back towards them and squeezed Carson's hand before stretching up to place a very swift, but very fond, kiss on his cheek.

She smiled again, and hurried outside into the chill evening, leaving behind Carson with a deep crimson blush and Matthew with an odd twinge in his chest at the affectionate gesture.

Once settled into the car, the only sound for a few moments was the steady chug of the engine and the crunch of gravel under tyres. They each felt exhausted, and definitely drained, by the evening. But Isobel broke it first, turning Matthew's eyes from the black window and Mary's from her lap, knowing that they should (if only a little) discuss what had happened.

"I suppose," she said quietly, "that went as well as it could have been expected to!"

They neither were sure about that, but Isobel's job was done, and so she settled back and let them continue.

"I suppose so," Matthew wondered, and then looked apologetically at his wife. "I hope Cousin Violet wasn't too sharp with you…"

Mary shrugged. "She tried her best. But with a nurse fighting my corner there thankfully wasn't much she could say!" All three of them smiled, briefly, and quieted again. Then Mary tipped her head to the side, and asked, "How was Papa?"

It took a moment for Matthew to answer, his brow creasing gently as he wondered how best to put it.

"He… knows. At least, he knows as much as anyone would suspect."

"Oh." She breathed a sigh and stared back at her hands in her lap, inspecting the thread along the finger of her leather glove. "I see. At least it's out, now, though – I can only imagine how angry he was."

"Actually he was alright, in the end," Matthew shook his head. "You were right, you always were – there's nothing to be done about it, and – well, in his eyes I've done the right thing, the honourable thing, but…" His shoulders shook as he chuckled scornfully at himself. As if he could call what he'd done honourable, in any way. Well, he was trying to make up for it now.

He glanced up, startled, when Mary's gloved fingertips brushed his knee (and beside her, his mother glared in disagreement).

"Don't say that as if you haven't," Mary said softly, and entirely seriously. She didn't need to elaborate; he'd saved her, after all, and he saw in her eyes and knew how sincerely grateful she was to him. At last he nodded, stiffly, and Mary settled back and smiled.

A moment passed, sounds of the car and the night covering their weary breaths, and then Mary frowned gently across again at her husband. "Thank you for telling them," she said. "I hadn't thought – you didn't tell me…" She knew how terrified he'd been of it, and after this evening she'd known he was right to be. And she was so appreciative of him for having done it regardless.

"Well," he replied kindly, "I thought you'd been right. I'm sure if we'd left it much later it would only have been worse."

Mary laughed suddenly. "I'm sure if we'd left it much later we probably wouldn't have needed to tell them much at all." Tired laughter rippled in agreement through the car.

A moment more, and Matthew glanced up again. "I'm sorry I hadn't told you. On reflection maybe I should have done, but… I hadn't wanted you to worry."

His expression was soft, and his eyes full of such care (though he only worried about her health for the sake of their baby, she knew), that her breath caught in her throat and tears once more stung her eyes, that she swiped quickly away.

As she lay in bed, late that night and unable to sleep, Mary's hands stroked restlessly over her belly. The action was soothing, and she wondered that she'd never thought to do it before. She wondered if she'd find it so soothing, if it weren't for her baby. Her baby, their baby… She hoped, she knew, it would be – if even only of sorts. In every way that would matter, it would be.

She concentrated on each sound she could hear. Her own breath. Her palms against cotton. The gentle wind against the panes, in the eaves. An owl, somewhere. Matthew. She could hear his breath, too, loud in his sleep in the next room. She smiled fondly. He didn't… snore, not as a habit, and she wouldn't even call this such. Not quite, anyway. But he must be tired, so tired in his body and spirit, and her heart ached with all those tiny gestures over the morning and the evening that she knew must have taken such an effort for him to perform.

The sounds were all familiar, now, and she felt strangely content. Perhaps she was simply too exhausted to feel sad, or worried, or lonely. But… she couldn't feel lonely, not now, not even with Matthew as he had been. Her fingers stroked again, and she smiled.

For so long she'd been so angry, and so scared. Scared for herself, angry at both Matthew and Kemal, either of them, whichever had cursed her with this condition and this burden and condemned her to such despair. For so long she'd hated the child, and herself for carrying it, and wished it would not exist to bear the shame of her behaviour. A constant, perpetual reminder; an insult to Matthew and a sickness to herself.

But now, she wondered. What if there'd been no consequence, what if she had been left unscathed? Well, she would never have been that… She could have escaped. Gone on with her life. For so long she'd been bitter that her choice had been robbed, but, what choice would she have had? Matthew had hated her, so much, and if it weren't for her baby they would most certainly not be married now. She wondered if they'd even be speaking, again, by now. Perhaps he would have made his own escape, back to Manchester, away from her. And she would have been married to the first or highest bidder, and with her heart shattered as it was she wondered if she'd have found the strength to hold off.

What would she have held off for, though? She loved Matthew, she'd loved him then, she'd loved him since the moment it was too late. And without the precious, unsought, unwanted gift in her womb it would have been too late forever.

She'd thought their forced marriage to be an unbearable thing, a life not worth living, a darkness in which there was no light, only misery. But it was Matthew, and she loved him… and he was her husband, even against his own wishes. And now, for the first time, if she squinted she could see a light in that darkness. It was faint… still, very faint, barely there. But it was there.

Her hands tightened, protectively, across her belly, and she listened to the whisper of her husband's breath through the wall. If it weren't for her baby, that she had despised and blamed so at first, she would not be able to hear that now.

She closed her eyes and felt a hot tear slip down her cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered, and believed that her child could hear her.

TBC

A/N: Thank you so much for reading :) As ever I'd love to know what you thought - your comments keep me going, they're so thought-provoking and give me such a fresh perspective. Thank you!