A/N: I'm so, so, so, so sorry that it's taken me so many months to update this. I know it might have seemed as though I'd forgotten, with all the ficlets I've written in the meantime, but the fact was that this fic is just such a different quantity to anything else, that I had to afford it far more time, effort and thought - and at last I've had the opportunity to!

I know it's been a long time, so I'm not sure what interest there'll be still, but nevertheless I am determined to finish and I hope very much that those of you still following will enjoy this next chapter!

Thank you so, so much for your continued enthusiasm and encouragement, with your reviews, favourites, follows, messages, both here and on Tumblr... it's meant such a lot to me to know that people haven't forgotten about it.

Many thanks to EOlivet for her endless support and encouragement, and likewise to Pemonynen who kindly beta-ed this chapter for me so that I could get it to you before Christmas!

I'll be quiet now. Enjoy! :)

Chapter Twenty

It was slowly, and peacefully, that Matthew awoke. And as he did, he became aware of things that he never had before.

Gentle breaths tickled, cool against the skin of his chest, from where her head lay tucked by his shoulder. He felt a deep warmth where her arm lay slung over his waist, and coldness where her toes curled against his calf. When his eyes cracked open, he saw how the pale beams of sunlight glinted softly across her hair, across the bare skin of her back and the side of her breast. And besides all that, he felt… no, he knew… the unhurried peace of the time that they had.

He woke, and Mary… his wife… was warm and naked in his arms, the promise of their future cradled in her womb between them. And he was happy, so blissfully, perfectly, happy. This time, for the first time, there'd been no shy or shameful fumbling to recover discarded clothes, no hurried and necessary goodbyes, no pain or shame of parting. There'd been no bittersweet knowledge that their pleasure was improper, that it must be disguised and put away. There'd been no sorrow of blame, no sense of despair for what must again be lost. For now, though they'd come to it far too late, they were married and could lie together like this; could sleep together and wake together and love each other, could make love and revel in that ecstasy without the shame it had previously borne.

God, what a fool he'd been. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, letting awareness of her fill his every sense. She was here, and there was no hurry. What had he been jealous of, afraid of? What of his darling Mary had he imagined that he must share with another, a dead man? He realised now that it counted for nothing, or barely anything at least. A hurried joining of flesh, hands touching to skin that should never have been touched by any other than him, an hour (if that) of stolen, meaningless pleasure in the night, though it had not been pleasure at all, not for Mary, he now knew. Is that really what he had been so fearfully possessive of?

What was that, what could it be, compared to this? For months his imagination had conjured spectres of intimacy, intimacy that should have been theirs alone and that he'd believed could never be, and for months he had let such thoughts haunt him and ruin them. Now, though, the dark shadows that had smothered his heart for those months had finally blown away. This was intimacy, true intimacy… the pleasure of waking with his wife in his arms, having fallen asleep curled together after the sheer, unrestrained bliss of sex, and of knowing that this abounding joy could be theirs morning after morning after morning, as their marriage went on.

The realisation, the promise of it, was heavenly… and Matthew could only be sorry now that it had taken him so long to realise it.

At last she stirred, her body shifting against his chest.

"Good morning, my darling," Matthew breathed into her hair, pressing his lips to a gentle kiss there.

Mary's hand lifted to stifle a yawn, as she lifted her head to see him there, beside her, and her face transformed sleepily into the most blissful smile that Matthew had ever seen to grace her beautiful features.

"Hello…" Her greeting was shy, and happy… and together they instinctively knew that everything in the past between them, every shred of regret and blame and shame and despair, was forgotten. Well, not forgotten, but… put aside, or to rest, to not trouble them for one moment more in the wondrous reality of this. She leaned up, her mouth meeting his in a deep, languid kiss that went on, and on, as there was no reason why they should stop… Not yet, certainly, and so they didn't… indulging in an unspoken agreement to spend their morning reclaiming those months they'd wasted, to show the depth of their love again and again with their words and their mouths and their hands, their passion expressed so perfectly through the harmonistic movement of their bodies, and nothing in the world was more important than to show each other and to love each other as they now at last could.

Time became nothing, stretching endlessly ahead of them… and so, when Isobel returned that afternoon, Molesley was forced to explain in a stammering rush that Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary hadn't rung the bell all morning and he was beginning to wonder if he should see if anything was the matter. Isobel simply lifted an eyebrow and assured him that there was no need to worry yet, none at all, and offered him the distraction of her cases and the kindly offer to take the afternoon to help his father clear his garden. She thought it best to take the afternoon herself to visit the hospital, though there was no-one particularly to see.

A few weeks later brought the visiting fair to Downton's peaceful village. As men bustled around hoisting this and that into place, Mary stood quietly at the side of the green, watching it all come gradually together. She found it oddly fascinating, how disjointed slats of wood and brightly coloured boards were pieced together and suddenly became recognisable as a stall, or a stand, or even a helter-skelter rising as high as the trees. As she watched, her hand stroked idly over her rounded belly, smiling as she felt the baby shift beneath her palm. Her brief visit with Doctor Clarkson, just concluded, had left her contemplating with mingling anticipation and fear the fact that the babe in her womb was no longer some undefinable thing, but really her child… Her baby, that was real and formed and moving, responding, alive. Matthew had begun only that weekend to move things from his study, clearing the room to begin decorating it as a nursery. His desire to love and provide for the child, come what may, warmed Mary's heart with affection. But… it was all becoming very real, and fast. For all his determination, all his protestations that it was bound to be their baby, his baby… would he hold to that, when the time came, if…

"Good day, Milady!" Anna's bright greeting thankfully interrupted her thoughts.

"Ah! Hello, Anna. I was just watching the preparations. You should take some time this evening and go, if you'd like."

The maid nodded gratefully. "I'd like that very much, Milady, thank you." While Anna's loyalty to Mary was stout, and she'd moved with her to Crawley House without argument, she did sometimes miss the larger staff of the Abbey and hoped they might be released to enjoy the fair that evening as well. She clasped her hands together and smiled. "What about you?"

"Mr. Crawley has promised to take me on his return from work this evening. I can't say the prospect thrills me too much, but it would be a shame for him to enjoy it alone." She smiled at the thought of Matthew's excitement, and was happy to indulge it.

So it was that later that day, as the light was beginning to fade, Mary donned her coat once more at the familiar sound of Matthew's bicycle and the squeak of the brakes as he came to a stop outside the house. He opened the door, poking his head through and grinning as he saw her there, ready.

"Hello, darling. Are you all set?"

"Yes, I am," she smiled indulgently and kissed him in greeting, sighing happily as he allowed it to deepen for just a moment. She missed him, during the day, and the pleasure of seeing him again each evening and that first, sweet kiss was always a delight.

He took her hand, and they walked out together to the bunting-strewn village green where the fair resided.

"What do you fancy?" Matthew asked, looking around eagerly at the different stands. "Quoits, or – heavens, there's a fortune teller."

Mary raised her eyebrows, squeezing his hand. "So there is," she commented drily, and looked at her husband. He looked back at her, and they both knew at once that there was only one thing they'd possibly ask. Her voice, and her expression, softened. "Would you want to know?" she asked seriously.

A chill quivered through Matthew's veins at the very prospect. He didn't believe in that sort of thing anyway, not in the slightest, but even the notion of it… of knowing, if it were possible to know… The knowledge would change him, he knew that, whichever way it turned. The very thought horrified him.

"No," he said with conviction. "No, I wouldn't."

"Me either," Mary shook her head, and tucked her hands through his arm. For all that the uncertainty of her baby's heritage had crippled them in the past, she knew that while it was uncertain, still… there was hope. And she knew that it shouldn't matter, or that it didn't, according to Matthew's every determination, but… she couldn't help but wonder how his determination would waver if the proof was not what they hoped. He would insist that it would make no difference, of course, he would be the child's father, it was their baby, and that was all that mattered… but such a conviction, she was sure, was easier said than done. She took a deep breath, quashing the threat of fear that rose in her chest, and guided Matthew toward the Coconut Saloon.

"Alright," he agreed softly, and paid the man by the stall as he handed a set of balls to Mary. He watched her throw, and chuckled proudly as she came close to the mark, before taking the next ball himself. "You must promise not to laugh at my terrible aim…"

He drew his arm back and hurled the ball, blushing at Mary's admiring gaze on him. It hit the back curtain, woefully far from any of the coconuts.

Mary laughed delicately. "Dear me, darling. Your usual modesty seems well earned, in this case!"

He glowered, and her laugh sparkled all the more brightly, before throwing her next with a gentle lob that came far closer than his had done.

"Well if you can't promise not to laugh," he smiled wryly, "you might at least promise to lie if anyone asks how I did…"

"I think I shall have to!"

Matthew glanced at her, and couldn't help but smile at the mischievous, fond twinkle in her eyes. After his next (he hesitated to lay the term 'pathetic' to it, apt though it would have been) attempt, he watched her throw carefully again.

"How was your visit with Clarkson, this morning?" he asked, his voice low with gentle concern.

"Oh, perfectly alright." She smiled reassuringly as Matthew took his last throw, and they turned away together to wander around the rest of the fair. "He says everything is quite as it should be, and all the wriggling seems to be a good sign!"

Matthew grinned at her happy response, remembering how much she'd complained lately at how active the baby had seemed, and how it wearied her.

"Well, that's good news darling." He kissed her cheek, letting his hand slide around to her belly, already thinking of how he could ease the aches and the tiredness from her body later that night.

Summer came quickly, and as the months changed from June, to July, to August, so Crawley House and the family within underwent its changes as well. Though the last few months had been happy, the happiest of both Matthew's and Mary's lives as they had delighted in the realisation of their love (how often and how eagerly they had proved it, again and again), they both privately knew that the day was coming soon when it would inevitably be tested.

Every time the thought occurred to Matthew, every time it crossed his mind that the baby's birth might be a test at all, he despised himself for it and took up his efforts to decorate the nursery all the more eagerly. He loved Mary, he loved their baby, already, and he would, because it was their baby and would be, and he would give it everything that he could offer. The fact that he sometimes needed to remind himself of this only riled him further, and then he would worry that his determination to love the child was only so strong because he was worried that he would need to prove it in some way, if… if…

"It looks wonderful, darling," Mary said softly, leaning against the doorframe behind him, looking round at the brightly painted walls and the wood and cotton of the crib. "You've worked so hard… Thank you."

Shamed by his own thoughts of just why he'd worked so hard, Matthew blushed and kissed her cheek.

"I hope it will do," he shrugged. "How do you feel?" His hand covered hers over her taut, heavily rounded belly, their fingers twining gently together.

She lowered her head, smiling faintly. "Exhausted and aching, but it seems that's all I can expect. I think I'll be glad when it's over at last!"

"I'm sure… Can I help?" His voice lowered as his hand stroked over hers, kissing her cheek again, then her jaw, allowing his mind the distraction of remembering the myriad ways in which he'd helped her find some release from the stresses of her pregnancy in the last few months.

She sighed happily, indulging (encouraging, even) his tender caress for a few precious moments… knowing that he could make her forget, and lose all her sense and care in the pleasure of his arms, and his body within hers but… the uneasy press of worry, and guilt, soon quelled the burgeoning desire that she felt for him. Her sigh deepened, and she frowned, pushing his hand gently away.

"No, darling… I'll be alright. I think I'll just rest."

Her heart ached at his disappointment, as he nodded and kissed her cheek chastely.

"Alright. Please, my darling, call for me if there's anything at all–"

"I will… of course, I will." She smiled bravely, squeezed his hand, and retreated to the solitude of their bedroom.

The truth was, it was Matthew's disappointment that she feared the most. As the time drew nearer, and she grew more and more irritable which hardly helped matters, she began to worry more and more that his opinion of her would change with the birth of their baby. For three blissful months they had managed to move on and forget… But when the baby was born, if it happened that there could be little doubt that Matthew was its father in spirit alone… she didn't know how they could go on. Could he love her still, with their very child a reminder of how she had betrayed him?

She closed her eyes, pressing the heels of her hands against them. Isobel had tried to reassure her, over and over, that her worst fears would be nigh on impossible to confirm in any case. If the baby's slight fluff of hair would be dark; well, so was Mary's, and according to the nurse all babies were born with blue eyes anyway so… there was really no need to fear. She knew that.

But even so… doubt niggled, and she worried that it would for Matthew, too. She couldn't bear for him to love their child out of obligation alone, if there were doubt… God, she was being ridiculous! Her emotions, her sense, her rationality felt skewed and off-balance, and it frustrated her terribly… but for now, she couldn't bear to allow Matthew's closeness with the chance that it might be destroyed again so soon.

She tried to calm herself, tried to remind herself sternly that those worries were well past them and put to bed, but as much as she adored Matthew and his love, she could not trust that his feelings wouldn't betray him once more as they had done in the past. Oh, how she wished she could! Soon, soon, they would know… and until then, she would take the slight comfort of his warm arms around her at night and the gentle reassurance of his kiss upon her cheek, but she felt that she deserved no more… until then, but the closer it came, the more terrified she was of then.

Thankfully perhaps, August brought with it the distraction of the annual village flower show. Mary latched onto the cause, seeing how her mother grumbled over the arrangements and deciding that she could use the distraction herself. Cora was pleased for both the help and the time it gave her to spend with her daughter, as she reminded Mary that it would be her responsibility fully one day.

Mary could only roll her eyes at this and hope that one day would be far, far in the future… There was enough to worry about for now.

Matthew, who had noticed her recent withdrawal from him, and seen the tired, worried shadows under her eyes, had been trying desperately not to worry about her. He was afraid that she was tired, exerting herself too much, and tried hard to respect his mother's assurances that such behaviour was quite normal at this stage of things. As the preparations went on, though, it was evident to both Matthew and Isobel how she blossomed with occupation. And the day before the flower show, they went to the hall all together to see how the final arrangements were coming together.

Violet and Cora were there, too, and all were in agreement that everything looked quite splendid indeed. Mary glowed with pride, and not even her grandmother's arguing with Isobel could dampen her, on this occasion.

"I think we should let them settle it between them…" Matthew quipped quietly as the older women walked away, leaving the young couple alone.

Mary leaned upon his arm, laughing as she rubbed a soothing hand over her belly.

"I dread to think what would happen. Anyway darling, what do you think?"

"It looks wonderful, Mary, it really does. I can't compare it to last year's of course, but I can't imagine that it was any finer than this!"

His smiled was so endearingly proud, that Mary chuckled and smacked his arm lightly. His flattery warmed her heart, and she tried to simply enjoy it rather than letting her fears for their future encroach.

"Are you especially interested in flowers, then?" she asked, guiding the subject away from herself.

"I'm interested in the village," Matthew said, looking around the hall and wondering about all the traditions that went on here, that had done for years, that would do still… "You know I'm going up to inspect the cottages with your father after this. They're coming along wonderfully, you know – I'd love to show you, if you feel up to it."

Though it was a slight gesture, his faith in her on even the topic of the estate cottages reassured Mary of his love, and she appreciated it more than she could express to him.

"I'd like to, very much," she smiled. But then her stomach fluttered in a new, strange way, and she paled. "Perhaps not today, though, darling… if you don't mind."

Matthew saw the blood drain from her face, and how her hand flexed and tightened upon her belly.

"Darling, are you alright?"

"Perfectly," she smiled tightly, straightening herself. "Just in need of a rest, that's all. Why don't we say Monday, instead, when you've finished work. Would that be alright?"

Matthew frowned, unconvinced. "Yes, quite, but – Mary, you're terribly pale. Let me fetch Clarkson, or Mother–"

"No, honestly, I'm alright," she insisted. She did feel alright now, the sensation had passed, she wasn't ready yet for anything else… No, she was sure she was alright. After a steadying breath or two, allowing Matthew's support, she nodded and allowed him to take her home, settling into bed as she tried to mask the tendrils of fear chilling beneath her skin. She wasn't ready, not yet, not for her hopes to be shattered, if they would be… But she was terrifyingly aware that she wasn't in control of time, that she couldn't hold it off forever, that the baby must come soon… Not yet, though, not yet.

The afternoon passed into the evening, and the next day the flower show went ahead quite as planned, and Mary felt happier as she was able to stand beside Matthew and clap politely as each prize was handed out.

The week hurried on, and Matthew sat at his desk, thrumming his fingers along the top quietly. He panicked, that day before the flower show… and so had Mary, he'd seen it. But since then there'd been nothing, no sign, no alarm, no further indication that their baby was on the way. All week, he'd felt on edge with tension, wondering, waiting… and as the week went on, that tension slowly began to ebb and ease.

He looked over at the clock. Five o'clock had come, and passed, and still he sat at his desk. One more letter, he told himself, and pulled it across to read. His eyes scanned over it once, not taking in a single word, and he sighed as he rested his forehead upon his hand.

Of course he longed to be at home, but… it had been difficult, the last week. Mary had been terse, agitated, even… afraid, he wondered. But every attempt he'd made to calm her, to reassure her, had been thrown off and spurned. It was as though she didn't want him near her at all, and it made his heart ache after everything they'd been through. Oh, how he just wanted to be there for her… But his mother, and everyone else from Violet to the Earl himself, had cautioned Matthew that this was simply the way things were, at such a time. And so he tried to stay calm, tried to give her due space, however much to do so reminded him bitterly of the months he'd hidden away here by his own choice. Hadn't they moved on from that, hadn't they come so much further than that?

He sighed, frustrated with himself and all of it, hating the pall of uncertainty that seemed to hang over everything. He couldn't bear it, refused to seclude himself away from his wife when they surely needed each other more than ever, and stood up with fresh purpose. Snapping his briefcase shut, he pulled his jacket on and hurried out, tapping his fingers on his knee all through the train journey back to Downton before cycling to Crawley House as quickly as he could.

Opening the door, he felt at once the strange stillness of the house… before a loud, anguished cry – unmistakably Mary's – echoed from up the stairs.

TBC

A/N: There we are! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope that you enjoyed it! I'm curious as ever to know what you thought, as things have progressed - there's only another chapter or two to go.

Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it, and my best wishes for the festive season and the year ahead. And fingers crossed for a happy conclusion to the Christmas Special!