A/N: So I posted last night and literally thought, "Wow, I am so glad I did that. Now I don't have to worry about it for awhile" and then I got the most incredible outpouring of support and excitement about the story that I was sure most people forgot about (thank you, thank you, thank you x 12). And things like that really get me going. They really make me WANT to deliver. But I told myself, "No, no. You're really getting into some tough parts of the story. You need time to think things through. You can't have anything ready even if you want to."

But then...

Chapter Eleven

Mary thought it would be difficult but in the end it is as easy as unclenching a fist, exhaling a breath in the middle of the night, allowing herself to laugh at a joke. It certainly isn't difficult now, sitting on the train, a bit too close to Mackenzie, his head turned so his nose grazes her cheek, her ear, the wisps of her hair that escape her pins. They are so close to the place she left nearly one year ago but she is right here, in this seat, sitting too close to this man...this man who...

"Stop," she says but she doesn't mean it and he knows it. That's the whole problem with Mack except it isn't so much a problem as a miracle.

"You don't mean it," he replies automatically and she rolls her eyes. "I just love these little bits of hair that escape from the rest." His nose grazes her cheek. "I can't help it."

"You can help it." She bites her lip to keep from smiling. "And you certainly will help it when we are with my family."

"Will I?" he asks, taking her hand in his, and even through the glove she can feel the heat and warmth of him. He smiles at her. He is always smiling at her as if she is the best prize he has ever won. "Will I really?"

"You will," she confirms with as much seriousness as she can muster. "And you won't step forward and say all my friends call me Mack either."

"So what am I to be called?" he asks.

"Mr. Banks-Duncan–"

"Why, Lady Mary Jo!" he sighs. "How could you ever conspire with an American man without a title?"

"Americans don't have titles at all," she points out after she finishes laughing.

"But everyone will know that I have a mother who is crazy for women's rights and hyphenated her name to my father's. Isn't it a law in England? Don't you shoot Americans without titles and mothers who hyphenate their names?"

She bursts into laughter before whispering. "It's not a different world, Mack."

"That's Mr. Banks-Duncan to you," he corrects. "And what will your family think of my name? Do you think they'll notice?" His lips touch her ear. It cannot be called a kiss but it is filled with a yearning that matches her own.

"I'm sure they'll notice once we share it," Mary replies gently. The words come so easily it still amazes her. The happiness does not leave. There is a constant warmth in her chest, a laugh bubbling from her mouth.

He leans his nose against her hair briefly. "If your father gives his permission."

She turns her head slightly, her eyes on the other passengers, before she quickly shifts her head and brushes her lips against his. "Or without it," she whispers.

"Should I be nervous?" he asks, as his hand squeezes her own. She's already turned her head back to face forward. "Will they approve?"

"I'd like them to," Mary tells him honestly. "But I don't need them to. I'm happy, Mack." She has gotten used to saying this these last few months. "You make me happy."

His voice is low, serious. "That's all I ever wanted, you know. From the first moment."

Mary knows.

And she knew that day, weeks ago, when she read the poem for the first time and his annotation.

I will wait for you as long you need.

For what? For what was he waiting for, she wondered.

In the poem, the woman regrets so much, wishing she gave the man a true chance because she might have loved him "in a day or two."

I will wait for you as long you need.

I only want to make you laugh.

I only want to see a smile from you.

I only want you to be happy.

How many times had she heard Mack say these things? From the first moment, from the very first moment they met, when she was sad, when she believed she was a "life ruiner," he'd said these things and a thousand times since. More than that, he'd lived up to his word in a thousand ways.

I will wait.

Matthew, the hidden name she doesn't think or say, the secret she must keep from her own heart, did not wait. Ever. He did not wait as she struggled for words at the Garden Party. He did not wait after either; instead he asked Lavinia to marry him. How many memories has she carried of Matthew's back turned to her?

And suddenly that picture dissolved in her mind and she saw only Mack smiling at her, in that urging way of his, so that she smiled too, so that she had to stamp down the need she to reach up and touch one of his dimples.

I know a man that's a braver man

And twenty men as kind

That was the first thing she said to Mack, that day, when she rushed to get ready and burst into his study, her hair a mess from the chilly wind. "You're very brave." She wanted to stick up her nose at him or raise her chin but she had no armor against him and could not muster up any distance between the two of them. It was no use.

"I'm not," he replied, as if her appearance and strange words were not strange. "Not at all."

It burst out of her. "You said you'd wait. You wrote–" she whispered.

"And I will," he told her seriously, standing without walking any nearer to her.

"For what?" she asked hoarsely. When had she lost her voice?

"Are you sure you are ready to hear the answer?" He took a step closer to her. She knew she would never forget the look of patience on his face.

She unclenched her fist; she exhaled in the middle of the night; she let herself laugh at a joke. "Yes," she whispered.

"I'll wait," he began, "for you to realize that we are best friends, that we make each other happy, that we could spend our lives making each other happy, being lovers and best friends. I'll wait until you realize I'm not like the others. I'll wait until you are ready to marry me–"

"Stop," she whispered.

"I'll wait," he replied. "I told you."

She walked to him then. Her hands felt funny as she lifted them. She tried twice before she was able to set them gently on his shoulders. "You want to marry me?"

He leaned closer into her touch. "Haven't you been listening? Haven't you been paying attention at all?"

"I knew you had feelings, Mack, but..." She could not meet his eyes.

"I want to stand in front of our families and marry you. I want to make you laugh so loud that the reverend looks on disapprovingly and I want to kiss you too early during the ceremony. And when you have a baby, I want to make you giggle over how fat you are–"

"Fat?" she laughed and realized that tears were falling from her eyes.

"Rotund," he corrected. "Large."

"Large?"

They moved closer yet to one another; her hands slid from his shoulders into his dark hair but he still didn't touch her. "Semantics." One side of his mouth curled. "But I'll wait for you. Until you're ready. You're worth it. A life with you is worth it."

She paused. She considered. She watched him watch her. "I don't think you have to wait anymore," she whispered.

His hands reached up to cup her cheeks, his thumbs brushing away her tears. "You think or you know?"

She leapt. "I know."

And when he kissed her, she truly did know.

Now, on the train, sitting too close, she grins at him. "They'll love you. And don't believe a word Edith says about me."

"Right," he nods. "And I must win over Carson, of course."

"Of course. And Granny." She cannot help smiling. She wants to run her hand through his hair but doesn't. It's not the place or time.

"And Matthew?" Mack asks suddenly serious. "What of him?"

"I explained that all to you," she replies calmly, patiently, softly. The ground they tread is new and fresh but at the same time, it doesn't hurt anymore. She is not drowning anymore and the man that did not save her, but instead helped her to save herself, is sitting beside her. "I hope you understand. I know it may be strange. And maybe it is hard to believe that I don't-"

"I believe you," he replies so seriously she believes him. She believes in him and his belief in her. Then he winks and her heart stutters a bit in her chest. "But just tell me one thing. Who would win in a fist fight? Me, right?"

"Of course," she murmurs, grinning. "I've no doubt.

I have no doubts.

"And I have no doubt that if I kissed you the way I wanted to right now several English men and women would be extremely affronted."

"You're so wise, darling," she replies and tries to ignore the ache in her belly at his words. Still, she cannot help staring at his mouth either.

I have no doubts.

Even as the train pulls into the station, she does not think of Matthew, of his face, of how he will react, how he will feel, how she may feel. He is a ghost, someone she once knew, only an imprint.

I have no doubts.

A/N: I wanted this chapter to be a prequel to some major doozies. And for you to see the dynamic between Mary and Mack. And for you to believe that she really loves him. Because she does. BUT LISTEN, some stuff is really going to hit the fan. BIG TIME. MAJOR TIME. You have no idea. So all you Matthew lovers/Mack haters and Mack lovers/Matthew haters, don't get your panties in a bunch because things are about to get CRAZY & SERIOUS. YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE. Oh, the mess I am about to create. PS Thank you (x 12) to everyone who commented on the last chapter.