This tale will be written in snippets such as these, revolving around conversations. I have been overwhelmed by the support this has received both here and on tumblr, and I hope you enjoy this installment.
Own nothing. Love it all.
She moves to the space beside him, head held high, spine a bit too straight for his liking. He admires how unaffected she appears, how serene she remains under what has to be a terribly uncomfortable situation.
Of course, he notices small details others would miss, the slight strain under her eyes, the needless movement of her hands, the manner in which she swallows more than usual. He studies her details far more than he should, knowing this one-sided infatuation could lead to his own undoing.
How Captain Crawley can turn a blind eye to the love she clearly feels for him is beyond his comprehension.
Yet he refuses to accept defeat before even putting up a fight. Mary Crawley is a woman worth everything, regardless of the talk now circulating concerning her reputation. Her mere presence lightens his spirit, and he appreciates the fact she treats him like a man, not an invalid, that she doesn't shy away from being frank in her instruction or remarks, that she doesn't even bat an eye at the stump which used to bear a hand.
He'd like to strangle whatever newspaper man decided to publish that damned story. On second thought, perhaps strangling would be too good for the bastard.
"Lady Mary. It's good to see you. I missed your company yesterday."
She offers him a small smile, one that barely reaches her cheeks as she takes a seat next to him.
"Thank you, Commander," she returns. "I apologize for having to cancel our riding lesson."
"There's no need," he insists, turning to face her fully. "Those sessions are a bright spot in my day, but you are most certainly under no obligation to assist me in such a manner."
"I enjoy them, as well," she admits quietly. "Perhaps we can extend tomorrow's session to make up for yesterday's loss if the weather decides to cooperate."
Her eyes have yet to meet his. He aches at her uncertainty of his reaction.
"Remind me to eat all of my breakfast tomorrow," he grins. "To adequately fortify myself for the paces through which you will undoubtedly hurl me with glee."
Her gaze falls to her lap, to hands she clasps together in a death grip.
"But only if you're up to it," he presses on, noting her hesitation in engaging in their usual banter. "I'm certain the past two days cannot have been easy for you."
She then looks at him directly, her face unreadable and devoid of color.
"No," she finally confesses, watching him closely. "But I've endured worse."
His admiration of her rises tenfold.
"Spoken like a true survivor."
She makes a noise he cannot quite decipher.
"I'm not certain I deserve such a title," she argues. "It is far more fitting for you and the other men recuperating here at Downton."
"A battle is a battle, Lady Mary," he insists. "Whether it is fought with guns or petty accusations published for public consumption." Her shoulders sag as a measure of starch washes out of her. "The intent is the same, no matter the weapon—to maim and to wound."
"And if the accusations are true?"
Eyes fasten together, waiting to see who will flinch first.
"They're still no one's business but your own," he ascertains with a shrug. "Your past is simply that—your past. And anyone who claims they have nothing to hide in their own is lying."
She grins reluctantly, and it hits him harder than it should.
"Oh, really, Commander Blake?"
"Really, Lady Mary," he assures with a smile. "You simply bear the distinction of being a woman and an earl's daughter, at that. Had you been born to lower class or been a man, no one would even bother to read such filth. Of course, had you been born male, I doubt I would enjoy our riding lessons as much as I do."
Something shifts in her expression, a new understanding taking root she isn't quite sure how to handle.
"Had I been born male, I might shove you from your horse."
He laughs and she joins him, a flash of liveliness in her eyes warming his insides.
"Had you been male, I wouldn't laugh at that remark, I assure you."
She stares at him in a new light, making him shift in his chair.
"Thank you," she states just under her breath.
"For?"
"For treating me the same way you did two days ago."
Gazes lock again, and he physically restrains himself from gathering her into his arms.
"Why wouldn't I?" he asks matter-of-factly. "You haven't undergone some sort of metamorphosis to my knowledge."
Eyes so brown they make him ache bore in far too deep.
"You know what I mean, Commander," she tosses back without blinking. "You're not the only one who appreciates frankness."
He draws a fortifying breath.
"Lady Mary, one of the things I like most about you is the fact that you don't handle me with kid gloves simply because I've lost a hand. You treat me in the same manner I suspect you would have treated me before I sustained my injury. Am I correct?"
"You're injury makes you no less of a person, Commander."
"Neither does your past, Lady Mary."
He feels her silence brush across his thighs.
"Not everyone would agree with you."
Her lips look ashen as her eyes fall to her lap.
"Then they are idiots," he muses, capturing her gaze yet again. "Anyone who would judge you over so human a weakness is setting himself up for a mighty fall."
"And you commander," she continues. "Would you consider marriage to a woman of sullied virtue?"
"Is that a proposal, Lady Mary?" he grins, relishing the light chuckle he receives in return.
"You're impossible, you know," she retorts.
"My sisters would agree with you," he quips, unable to stop gazing at her smile. "But in all seriousness, if I loved a woman enough to marry her, I wouldn't let something as trivial as a past dalliance stand in my way."
She stares at him hard.
"Oh, really, Commander?"
It is asked playfully, but he senses raw insecurity just under the surface.
"Really, Lady Mary," he breathes, suddenly feeling far too much as her gaze flits to the doorway. "Captain Crawley, I take it?"
His inquiry makes her jump, and she collects her wits quickly, pasting on a practiced mask of aloofness.
"Why do you ask?"
His brow quirks a reply before his lips do.
"Your expression. It's obvious that you love him."
Her eyes take on the wariness of one trapped in her own corner.
"Did he already know?" he dares, reading the answer in the trembling of her lips.
"No," she whispers, hanging her head. "I was too afraid to tell him."
"Is that what came between the two of you?" he presses, imagined details filling in the gaps in his mind.
"Partly," she admits, seeing no need to deny anything. "Our past is complicated."
"Pasts usually are," he muses, feeling his ribs constrict as the next words make their way up his throat. "Have you spoken with him since it all came out?"
She sits immobile, closing her eyes as she shakes her head.
"You must, you know," he advises, wanting to smack himself for opening Pandora's Box. "You'll always wonder if you don't."
"And I thought you were flirting with me," she breathes, eyeing him in a confusion mixed with nerves.
"I am," he assures her. "Most decidedly. But I don't want to be the man you settle for simply because you couldn't have the man you wanted. I prefer to win you on my own."
She looks at him in a manner that makes him despair and hope simultaneously.
"Tomorrow. Noon. At the stables. And don't be late, Commander," she insists, collecting her pride around her as she stands. "I won't wait around forever."
"Then I'll be early," he asserts, standing along with her.
"You may be kept waiting," she remarks, tilting her head just so.
"I'll wait as long as it takes," he replies, catching the blush that splashes across her cheeks as her eyes attempt to decipher him. "As long as I know you'll arrive when you're ready."
"Tomorrow," she repeats, acknowledging his nod before she turns and moves away.
"It's a date," he quips, catching her half-glance over her shoulder as she carries his hopes to destinations unknown.