A/N: For the next few chapters I will keep my notes short and sweet because I must keep my lips zipped! Thank you to Lala Kate for her thoughts on the beginning of this chapter and her thoughtful responses. A Grazie Mille to everyone who supports and reads this story. I appreciate you more than you know. (!) Stick with me, all right? Now, lips zipped.
Chapter Twenty One
In Mack's opinion, the house of Downton Abbey is built for secrets. Apart for the English's penchant for brushing scandals beneath the great rugs that run the length of the house, this is a place filled with unexpected corners, hallways ending in walls instead of doors, great curtains that, in some rooms, are rarely opened. This is the place a Turkish diplomat puzzled his way through the maze to a young girl's room in the middle of the night and trapped her in shame. Even with Mary in the very bed where the violence occurred, the red wallpaper makes Mack shudder so she mutters in her sleep and pulls him closer. He presses a kiss to her hair.
With tired eyes, she smiled up at him earlier before sleep took her. "Never let me go, won't you?" She drew her leg over his hip where his hand settled. His other hand grasped hers over his beating heart.
"I couldn't," he whispered in return, looking at the red wallpaper, but she was already asleep in her contentment.
This is not his favorite place in the world.
This is the place Mary fled, declaring herself a life ruiner in an aloof voice while she held her untouched champagne in her graceful fingers. This is the place she left, comparing love to death with her stockings in his pockets as she danced on the beach.
But this is the place she grew up. This is the room she sat while a lady's maid plaited her hair every night before bed. This is where her sister will marry. This is the home Mary will reunite with her other sister, her Irish brother-in-law, and their son–Mary's (and Mack's) nephew.
This is where Matthew is.
Matthew is different. It is obvious, even to Mack. Not only is Lavinia gone, but Matthew is changed. Perhaps not even to Mack, but especially to Mack because Mackenzie never could come up with a reason to give the man any allowances for his drunkenness or his treatment of Mackenzie's wife. This time when he meets Mack again, his handshake is firm, his eyes somber. Later, he catches Mack by the arm. "If you have the time, during your stay, I would very much like to apologize."
Mack is funny. One often finds crowds gathered around to hear his jokes. He is generous with his time and his money. Although some say it is easy for him to be generous because he has so much. But nice is not a word his friends use to describe him. Charming, yes. Gracious for the sake of propriety, no. "And what would you be apologizing for exactly? Your actions the last time I visited or your actions when I invited you to my home for our wedding? Which occasion would you be apologizing for specifically?" He paused, putting his fists into his pockets and did not even feel bad about it. God, he could still picture Mary, clutching her hands to her chest in the blush colored dress on the beach, telling him: love, love is like dying. If Mary's experience in love was one of death, then the murderer stood in front of Mack now. He quirked his head. "How would your apology go exactly? I'm so very sorry I acted poorly when my Mary loved you instead?"
"You have every right to hate me," Matthew began slowly.
Mack's teeth went on edge. "No, you see, I don't. Because I love Mary and for some reason, because at some point in time, she saw some redeemable quality in you, she cares for you. I trust my wife, Crawley."
Matthew's chin dipped so his head hung beneath his shoulders. "Mary is too kind in this case."
"That's the thing," Mack replied from the doorway, "Mary isn't kind just for the sake of it. You and I both know she's many things but not that. She is strong and smart and capable and brave. And when life handed her something less than she deserved she fought to be happy again. She didn't stick her head in a trough of whiskey."
"Yes, well," Matthew swallowed. "Life didn't hand her something less than she deserved...I did."
Mackenzie paused. No one would call him kind or even altogether fair. But his love for Mary filled in so many gaps. "That's good enough of an apology for me." He coughed, turned to leave. "Consider yourself forgiven."
He's not a saint and never claimed to be. His relationship with Emily was proof of that (and plenty of other proof could be found). But Mack did have a funny sense of responsibility. If Emily was ever pregnant (and how could one know really?), he would have married her. Not out of responsibility to her; they made no promises to one another and he was quite honest when it came to what he wanted out of the relationship. But for the baby. He would have felt responsible for the maybe baby. And so because Mackenzie cannot claim to never made a stupid mistake, he cannot not hate a remorseful, changed Matthew. He cannot even hate Matthew for still loving Mary, though the man's eyes flutter around a room, sure to land on anything other than the woman in question–Mack's wife.
Poor, stupid fellow.
Mary stirs in Mack's arms in the damned red room. Her breath tickles his collarbone and it is the loveliest feeling. Ever since he married her, ever since he met her, romantic notions like this one are normal. No one would ever call him romantic before Mary. Don't believe a word he says, the other fellows would tell their girls. He is one of those boys who will tell you just exactly what you want to hear, he once heard a mother cautioning her daughter against Mackenzie himself. Both opinions, at one point, were true. But now he is a man with the most beautiful wife, who looks up at him with hooded eyes, and asks him, "Never let me go, won't you?" (a change in her character too, come to think of it) and replies with: I couldn't, meaning it more than he could ever express.
Her breath tickles his collarbone and it is the loveliest feeling. He thinks of that, the warmth of her breath near his chest, as he falls asleep. He thinks of that and only that.
"Wake up," she says and so he does, her whisper pressed against his ear like a secret, the good kind, between lovers. Back home, the sun would filter through the curtains but here at Downton it does not permeate the draperies.
"Oh, I don't know," he replies, his voice rumbling with sleep. "I'm quite comfortable."
She presses a kiss to his shoulder, a momentary affection, but then a longer one to his neck. "Do you realize," she breathes next to his skin, "that the last time we were here, I slept in this bed alone–"
"And dreamt of me," Mack boasts.
Mary raises her head from his chest to roll her eyes at him and he adores her. He does, especially when she raises an eyebrow like she is doing now. He can't help but grin.
"And I slept in this bed alone," she repeats. She must forgive him because she goes back to kissing his neck. "And you hadn't even asked Papa if you could marry me yet. And now, here we are. A year and a half later. Like this."
He draws up the nightgown she insists on wearing and she raises her arms to help him. Later, she gasps. "Like this," he murmurs into her ear, a secret returned between lovers. "Like this."
They are quite late to breakfast.
Days later, Mary and Sybil giggle like school girls. "Oh! I just knew Mary would find someone spectacular," Sybil exclaims as she clasps her hands together, after a brief introduction to Mackenzie.
"Yes," Mary's eyes meet Mack's and then both of her sisters'. The she , walks forward and grasps each of her sisters' hands in her own, even Edith's. "Let it never be said that the Crawley sisters married for anything less than love."
Sybil's husband, Tom, standing behind his wife, holding their tow headed son, raises his eyebrows at Mary's sentiments, obviously surprised by them. Mary, of course, catches him and Mack hides his grin. "Yes, Tom," Mary says dryly. "I do have a heart, you know."
Tom laughs silently. "Never doubted it, Lady Mary."
"I suppose the annoying urge I have to twist your ears means you really are my brother," Mary retorts smoothly.
"Speaking of brothers," Sybil says quietly, looking down at her sisters' hands. "While we're together, I have something to tell you."
"Oh, but Evelyn is not here!" Edith cries, turning to call for him.
"Oh, Edith," Mary sighs. "Sybil doesn't need Evelyn here to tell her two sisters that she is having another baby."
Sybil giggles and stands on her tiptoes for a minute. "Yes, I am!"
"Oh, Sybil!" Mary throws her arms around her sister, startling everyone in the room, including Declan in Tom's arms who monkeys his way down his father's body and walks to his mother, pulling at her skirt. But Sybil is too busy. Mack thinks he hears tears and laughter in the embrace between the two brunette sisters, while Edith jockeys for a spot.
Declan looks up at the clump of women and sure enough, Mack sees his bottom lip begin to tremble before he dissolves into sobs. Tom starts to walk around the women but Mack is closer and picks the boy up easily. "What's wrong, Dec? Are you excited for a baby too?" Declan looks at Mack with the very blue eyes of his father and shakes his head at the question. "And how was the travel from home? Did you enjoy that?" The toddler shakes his head. "You know, my grandpop always gave me lemon drops when I cried. Does anyone give you lemon drops?" Declan shakes his head again. It doesn't matter the question, apparently. "So, you don't like candy, then?"
The boy immediately stops crying. He knuckles away his tears. "Candy?" he asks.
"Sure, we'll find you some," Mack promises before he realizes the room is silent and the women are looking at him adoringly. Mary's expression is peculiar. He cannot place or name it.
But she smiles and walks over to the pair. "Carson, do you think you might be able to procure some candy for Declan?" The beloved butler answers in the affirmative. He would do anything for Mary. "And you," she touches her hand to Mack's side, "offering a baby some candy so he will stop crying. Is that how you plan on parenting someday?"
Quickly, because he knows it isn't allowed, he kisses her cheek because he must. He loves her too much not to. "I'll leave the gum drops to Grandpop."
"Candy," Declan interrupts.
Mackenzie jiggles the boy up and down and he laughs. "Look at that light hair and eyes. He looks exactly like his father."
"Oh, I know," Sybil complains. "As if he never grew in my body in the first place."
"But Sybil," Mary retorts. "He has your exact mouth. Like a rosebud."
"Mouf," Declan tells Mary, touching his hand to his own lips, before pursing them.
"He wants a kiss," Mackenzie tells Mary, leaning the boy over towards his wife. Mary looks up at Mack with a hesitant, touching type of smile. "Aunt Mary give your nephew a kiss."
Mary presses her lips sweetly to Declan's and when she looks up at her husband, their gaze is filled with future conversations to be had.
That night, as Mary readies for bed, Mack remembers the weight of the boy in his arms. "Do you think Emily was ever really pregnant? Do you think there ever was a baby?" He does not think before he speaks and he winces. There is no prelude to what could be a very awkward conversation. They never talked about it before.
But Mary does not look upset. When she stands and walks to the bed, her white nightgown against those damn red walls, she looks pensive. "I really couldn't say," she replies softly and quickly is under the covers and in his arms, as if he is the one in need of comfort while they talk of his ex-lover. "I never knew her. I don't know."
Mack's arms tighten around Mary. "I don't either. My inclination is to say it was all a farce, a manipulation into marriage. But I don't know if I am trying to make it easier on myself. I always make things easier on myself, you know."
"No, I don't," Mary replies and lifts her head to look up at him. Her eyes are soft. He remembers she loves him and how much. "I don't think you make things easier on yourself. Maybe when you were younger but not since I've known you."
"Well, Mary Jo," Mack rolls his eyes, tries for a bit of levity. "Things haven't exactly been easy since I met you."
She bites his ear and they wrestle for a bit.
"And anyway." Her tone is serious; she is beneath him now and her eyelashes sweep up to look at him. "Even if there was a baby, it isn't anyone's fault if she miscarried."
Mack lowers his forehead to his wife's. "What if...What if she did have one of those surgeries?" His voice breaks.
"Why would she do that?" Mary says briskly. "I know, if there was a baby than it is was a human life, but he or she was also Emily's leverage. Why would she want to give that away?"
"Maybe she thought I wouldn't be a good father–"
Mary interrupts him. "Now you're just being thick, Mack. That doesn't even make sense. Anyone who knows you at all knows you will be a tremendous father someday."
He hides his face in her throat so his voice is muffled. He is overcome. "Someday, Mary Jo?" His hands stroke her sides.
She softens beneath his touch. God, he loves this woman. "Well, you were wonderful with Declan. It's obvious that between the two of us, you'll be the natural...someday."
This time it is Mack who lifts his head. His hands cup her face. "Mary, I don't know who or what made you think you are heartless or without compassion. It seems to me that Matthew's letter calling you "a life ruiner" just added fuel to the fire. It goes back so much farther than that, I'll bet you probably can't even remember the first time you ever felt like that." Mary rolls her eyes and tries to sit up but he holds her fast. "Listen to me. My wife is warm and loving and caring. And she will be a wonderful mother, of that I have no doubt, even if she does."
"No doubt?" Mary asks, biting her lip.
"Believe me, won't you? Didn't I tell you I would charm you in the end, that first day we met? And here you are, married and stuck with me." They laugh and Mary pushes a piece of his hair behind his ear.
"You know everything, then?"
"I know I couldn't stop loving you if I tried," her murmurs as he presses hot, open mouthed kisses to her throat. Her hands clutch at the sheets when his tongue dips into crevice in the middle of her clavicle.
This time she takes her own nightgown off, holds his cheeks in her hands and kisses him with desperation. "Don't try," she whispers between kisses. Her lips are feverish and he is lost in her. He is lost in her until much later, when he presses his cheek to her naked breast and closes his eyes in exhaustion. Lazily now, she plays with hair.
"I was going to surprise you but that was just so stupendous, I must tell you," he whispers against her skin. "I thought tomorrow we might have a picnic. I have something special to give you."
Mary laughs. "Didn't you just give me something special?"
Mack lifts his head and rolls them so he is beneath her and she is in his arms. This is how they like to sleep. "Oh, Mary Jo makes jokes now, does she?"
"I love you madly," she whispers into his ear. "And a picnic sounds like terrific fun."
Again, tonight she is the first one to fall asleep. He looks at the red walls and hates them. He remembers tomorrow they will escape. He looks down at Mary's hair, a mess now. Her breath tickles his collarbone and it is the loveliest feeling. He thinks of that, the warmth of her breath near his chest, as he falls asleep. He thinks of that and only that. And he dreams of the child they will someday have.
A/N: My lips are zipped. But please don't let yours be!