A/N: Thank you all for your thoughts and reviews. I couldn't write back because I was in the middle of writing this one and I couldn't give anything away. Although two of you wrote me (PM) after I finished and I felt like you somehow read the chapter. Thank you to Lala Kate for the polish and to Cls2011 for talking me off of a cliff (just to clear, this was a figurative cliff). And again, thank you for the Highclere nominations. I told you I would do my best to complete this before then as long as Mary and Matthew comply and well, you'll see...
Chapter Thirty Nine
"She's very pretty," Lady Carissa notes as she walks alongside Mary through the grounds. Isis barks in the distance, near Matthew's side, wanting him to throw something as they usually play, no doubt. But Lucy Harking gives a bit of shriek which she tries to muffle behind her glove when Isis playfully growls.
Mary knows that Carissa is watching her just as closely as Mary is watching the scene in front of them. Mary had been staring at Lucy. With the sun on her hair, for a moment, Mary swore it was Lavinia walking beside her husband, the future Earl and Countess. Of course, Lavinia was much more slight than the volumptious Lucy. Nonetheless, even though Matthew does not walk beside Lavinia, he still may very well be walking beside his future countess. The thought of Lucy Harking as countess, who once tried to trip Sybil, gives Mary goosebumps. Much better to have the pretty and kind Lady Carissa. Much better to help in that arena. But much better still sounds awfully hollow. "I suppose," Mary agrees, looking down at her feet. "Though I don't think you have much to worry about in that department."
"She certainly can fill out a dress better than I," Carissa admits.
Mary laughs lightly. "Yes, but those styles of dresses are fading fast and you and I will only benefit from the new slim lines coming from Paris."
"And the ankles," Carissa laughs.
"And the ankles."
"But I think...some men...prefer," Lady Carissa begins uncertainly. She is so young, Mary thinks, so unsure of herself and not in an annoying way either. Lady Carissa is at the beginning of her journey.
"If you repeat this, I'll call you a liar," Mary tells her just as Isis jumps on Lucy and muddies her dress. Bad dog! Lucy yells shrilly. "But look at her mother." Discreetly both Mary and Carissa turn to see Lucy Harking's mother struggling for breath while asking Cora what they might have for lunch. "Besides, Matthew isn't like that."
"What is he like then?"
He is a man whose smile makes you want to slide into his lap and curl there while the world stands still. He is a man whose honor can make your teeth bleed. He is a man who can crush your heart and put it back together, piece by piece, with the patience of someone nursing a tiny bird's wing so she might take flight again. He is a man who will call your bluffs and make you laugh when you would rather cry. And when you do cry, he will take you in his arms and hold onto you. He kind of man who holds onto you, even when you tell him it's better for him if he lets go.
"Isis!" Mary calls. "Here, girl! Here." The dog gallops toward her, tongue lolling from her canine grin and heels to Mary's side.
"I just...It's hard for me to fight for something, for someone...I don't even know," Carissa continues. "I'm sure he's a lovely man but I'm not like my mother or my father. The fact that he's inheriting isn't enough to build a marriage on. I suppose you think that makes me sound very stupid."
"No," Mary contradicts. "I don't think you sound stupid. I think you sound like a girl who wants to marry for love."
"Of course I do!" Carissa says. "Doesn't everyone?"
"No, not everyone," Mary replies, petting Isis head. Lucy turns to glare at the now docile dog but Matthew walks straight ahead. He does not look back. "Growing up, I never thought of marrying for love. I suppose it never crossed my mind."
"Never crossed your mind?" Carissa's eyes widen with shock. "You must be joking."
"Not hardly," Mary continues. "I was supposed to marry Patrick Crawley, my cousin, who was set to inherit. We were all but engaged my whole life. He died aboard the Titanic."
"How tragic," Carissa murmurs but Mary wonders if she is speaking of her engagment to Patrick–the future earl–or his death at sea. "And you and Matthew...?"
"I married Mack," Mary interrupts the train of thought.
"You loved him," Carissa states. "I can tell."
"I did," Mary murmurs. "I loved Mackenzie very much."
"So it's not impossible then." Carissa smiles to herself. "To marry for love."
"No, it's not impossible," Mary responds gently, watching Matthew's back. "But it's rare. It's very rare."
After dinner, after the men come through and Lucy asks Matthew about a book, Mary follows him into the library, slipping from the room, hoping she is unnoticed. "Matthew," she hisses, tugging at his elbow. "I need to speak to you."
His hands cup the bare skin of her shoulders where her sleeveless dress ends. "We can't. Not here. And I have to go find that damned book for that Harking woman."
Mary takes a step closer. "But Matthew," she fumbles for her words. "I need to tell you. I need to apologize."
Matthew's eyes follow something behind her. He drops his hands from her as if burned. She turns to catch Thomas lingering a moment too long outside the doorway to the parlor, bringing in more tea. "Mary," Matthew says for Thomas' benefit. "We can discuss your idea for the estate later. Perhaps we'll round up Robert tomorrow."
Mary watches him walk towards the library. "Yes." Her voice sounds faraway. "Yes, that sounds all right."
But it doesn't sound all right. She's afraid she will lose her nerve. Still, Mary puts one foot in front of the other, towards the staircase, up to her room. They will think she's tired. They will think this is all too much for her, all this talk of love and moon and June, as Sir Richard would say. Oh, him. She hasn't thought of him in ages. He called her the cold and careful Lady Mary Crawley. He wouldn't recognize her now, shivering in her evening dress, watching her own reflection–her pale and terrified face, and very dark eyes–would he?
Would I ever admit to loving a man who preferred someone else over me?
I do still. I always have. I always shall.
I'm not choosing someone else this time.
"Milady?" Anna asks. "Are you feeling well? May I help?"
Mary submits to Anna changing her into her nightgown. "Have you ever felt so unlike yourself that you don't remember who you were before? Or if you changed from that person at all? Or perhaps only believed you did?"
Anna laughs. "That sounds like a riddle. And you sound very tired."
She falls asleep so quickly, she cannot remember closing her eyes.
"Mary." His lips ghost over her face, her cheeks, her eyelids, the corners of her mouth, her chin. "Mary," he repeats.
"Matthew?" She feels his body curved beside her but that cannot be right. They are in her bed, in her room. "What's going on?"
"I'm sorry about earlier," he whispers, dipping his lips to her collarbone. "You said you needed to speak to me. It sounded...urgent." He shifts some of his weight on to her, peppering clavicle with kisses. Her arms come up to encircle him, to embrace him as if it's a dream. "Nosey Thomas."
"Kiss me," Mary asks, shifting her hand into his hair.
He looks up from his diligent work at her collarbone. "You said you needed to speak to me."
"I forgot what it was about," Mary lies. "I forgot."
He pulls back from her, removing his arm from the other side of her. "Don't," he asks. His brow furrows. He starts to sit up before she grabs his sleeve.
"Don't?" she repeats.
"Don't pretend as if the words don't matter or that you don't remember." His tone isn't one of meanness though he has every right to be angry. "Don't lie to me. I understand you're afraid but don't lie to me."
He does sit up, ignoring her hand on his sleeve. "Matthew. Please."
"Please what?" he asks, shaking his head. He stands and puts his arms back through the dinner jacket resting on her chair. "Please kiss you and touch you and make love with you and forget that you came to me earlier with something in your eyes, the very something I've been waiting for?"
Mary closes her eyes against his stare. "Matthew."
"What is it you want, Mary? Do you want to fall into one another and forget that it's only as complicated as you make it?" He looks absurd, hip cocked and angry, but without the shoes he removed upon entering her room. But it isn't funny. It isn't funny at all. It's ending. She feels it, slipping through her fingers.
"It is complicated," she insists. "Don't pretend it's not."
He leans over her. They both push their chins out. "No," he enunciates perfectly. "It isn't."
"You're not being fair!" she cries.
This wounds him. "I'm not being fair? I'm not being fair? Mary, I love you. I want to marry you. I want to make a life with you and I'm not being fair?"
"I was going to tell you that I was sorry," she snapped. "If you must know, I was going to apologize. I wasn't thinking whether it was the right time or place which it clearly wasn't."
"Was?" he asks. "You were going to apologize?"
He sets her teeth on edge. Her mouth pouts and she crosses her arms over her chest while glaring at him. In the silence, he taps his socked foot. "Oh, you!" she blurts. "You never loved her. I was going to apologize because you never loved her. You were trying to be honorable and instead you spent the whole time feeling guilty because you loved her and I hated you. I hated you for choosing her. I hated you for telling me you loved me while you were married. I hated you for expecting me to go on loving you while you married someone else. I hated you for drinking! But you never loved her." The words seem to explode from her mouth and she has no earthly idea if she is making sense. "Do you know how rare it is to marry for love?" She grabs his hand, unwilling to look up to see if he is following her logic. "But I did. I was able to marry Mack and I loved him. I did. And I hated you because you chose. And then you wallowed in that choice. But you didn't choose, not really. You just did the honorable thing."
"I don't need your pity, Mary," he says quietly. She does not look at his face or let go of his hand. "You were the one that once correctly asserted that I had no idea what it meant to love someone, to bear someone else's hurt along with my own."
"How could you?" Mary cries, now standing in front of him, taking his face in her hands. "How could you when your honor was so heavy? So heavy that the guilt–the drinking–nearly crushed you?"
He shakes his head. "Mary..."
"Damn it, Matthew. I'm trying to apologize!"
He smiles the tiniest bit. "Oh, is that how you apologize?"
She leans forward and wraps her arms around his neck. "You chose honor and lived with honor, but not with love, and so you lived with guilt too. I didn't get to choose, and I hated that, but I got to fall in love, Matthew. And do you know how rare that is? To marry for love?"
"You mentioned that earlier," he says dryly.
"So you see it is complicated." She punches him lightly in the shoulder. Her voice rises considerably, though they were hardly speaking in whispers to begin with. "It's always been complicated. It always will be."
He steps away from her, his eyes shuttering. "It always will be?"
She follows his steps. "Yes." She wraps her arms around him though he does not return the embrace. "But–"
"But?" he asks a bit breathlessly.
She leans her forehead against his. "But do you know how rare it is to marry for love?"
"Mary." He tries to kiss her but she stops him with a hand to his chest.
"You still haven't asked me. You must say it properly," she tells him, smiling but shaking her head at him all the same. "I won't answer unless you kneel down and everything." He grins at her, touching her hair lightly and with a tenderness that makes her close her eyes in antcipation. "Or," she whispers, "You could kiss me first."
His lips brush hers and her stomach drops in anticipation. "Wouldn't it be more traditional to wait until after I propose?"
Her hands slide beneath the shoulders of his dinner jacket, removing it as she goes. "I think we've been waiting a long time." Next, her hands move to his tie.
In the dark, his lips press against hers in agreement. She feels as if something is pulling on her belly button, a strange gravity that makes her bump her body into his. He takes her lip into his mouth, nibbling on it, while his hands return to frame her face, sliding into her hair. She must be swaying; she can hardly stand. So it makes perfect sense, as his tie is removed, as she starts to unbutton his shirt, to back up untill her heels hit her bed. "I love you," she whispers without realizing it because she never intended to say it first.
He is the man you admit to loving even though you have every intention of waiting for his admission first, even though you are still terrified. He is the man you you can't help but love.
He sighs into her mouth, their tongues stroking and seeking as his hands move down her body–neck, breasts, waist, to hips. "Mary," he breathes.
But before he can say anything else, the door to her room barges open. "You two!" her father hisses in such a way that makes it clear he would rather be yelling. "The whole house is awake because of you two! And in your bedroom, Mary! And with Matthew's...ladies here!" He lowers his voice more completely which only proves exactly how much he would like to raise it. "I haven't been this embarassed since your sister ran off with the chauffeur. As if your actions have no consequences! The Harkings are packing to leave immediately and and I'm sure the rest won't be far behind. Excuse me, but Mr. Crawley, now that you have seduced my daughter, kindly get the hell out of my house! And do not even consider crawling over here tomorrow morning on your belly. I've had enough of the two of you!"
A/N: I won't lie. The entire time writing this chapter...I wondered will she or won't she? What is it going to take for Mary to really open herself up? Sure, a few beautiful women vying for Matthew's time will grease the wheels, so to speak, but Mary is more complicated than that (and why I love her). I was so nervous writing this chapter. Please let me know what you think.