A/N: Sorry for the delay. Life has been punching me in the face. Or I have been letting life punching me in the face. For the record, in response to the review that said Robert was a "cardboard villain at this point," I want to be clear that Robert is not a villain. He's misguided and dumb but not a villain and I never wanted him to appear as one, cardboard or otherwise. I want to tie up the tertiary plot issue of Mary and her father, how he tried to use Matthew to sabotage her marriage (although Mary doesn't know that...because Matthew made the right choice...it just speaks to Mary and Robert's relationship), his overall treatment of Mack, his treatment of Mary after Mack died, how he made Matthew and Syb take care of her, all the canon drama, and how he has treated Mary since she came home. Just wanted to be clear. There are no villains...we are past that (although I would argue that the demons of each of the characters were/are the villains of this story). Anyway. Just to be clear. This story needs no more drama for drama's sake.
Also the poem mentioned is the poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay, the one in which the title of the story comes from, and the one that we keep going back too. It's untitled; that's why that sentence was so long. There are probably somewhere around 5-10 chapters left. Probably around 7 or 8. Or maybe I need to map it out after I post this. Hopefully you won't have to wait as long for the next chapter. Hopefully I stop letting life punch me in the face.
Also, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU for the Highclere Awards for this story and for Grace. On top of that, thank you for making me a runner up in categories with tons of great writers, let alone win some. You are the best, the best, the best.
P.S. On accident (seriously, it was an accident) I started a Mary/Charles story (modern au) called No Drink that's posted and I might have some Tom and Sybil for you (I do have it...but I am not posting until AGYK is done. It's a story that's been in my head since Grace so we'll see). Sorry this was SO long. XOXO
Chapter Forty One
Matthew is only just home from work–Molesley reminding him that he's off to help his ill father and Matthew's mother is at the hospital working on something with Clarkson–when someone knocks on the door. He is pleasantly surprised to find that it's Mary, though this is an understatement. After several days seeing very little of one another due to her father, to find her at his doorstep, with no one else in the house, is a godsend. She looks lovely in a simple blouse and skirt, cheeks pink from the walk over. His clothes feel too tight. He's afraid he might be blushing. Though they's been alone plenty–particularly in Ireland–this is the first time she's been to Crawley House as his intended and the timing...It's all too delicious.
Once she is inside, he touches her waist and draws her near with both hands. She doesn't stop him as their bodies brush. There is a new kind of trust growing between them and yet even so, propriety dictates she place a hand on his chest, near his loudly beating heart, just before his mouth descends on hers. She knows him and he is sure she knows he intends to kiss her as a lover, not as a fiancé.
"You mother," she whispers, their lips practically touching.
"She isn't home," he replies.
"Molesley?" She breathes rather heavily now, her breasts rising and falling against his chest.
"Gone for the evening," he informs her, leaning his body closer to hers. A lovely flush begins at her neck. There is a new shyness here too, since it has been so long since they've been together in the way they are about to be and of course, this will be different because now they are getting married when before she swore she would never marry anyone.
"I came to tell you that I have to..." she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, as his hands caress her hips. Somewhere in the farthest recess of his brain, he hears her but then he is murmuring, his lips against her ear.
"Do you know how long it's been?"
She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes even more tightly shut.
"Liverpool." She shivers as the lowness of his voice vibrates against her ear. "Ages and ages ago."
"Maybe we shouldn't..." she begins but then her hands slide into his his hair and she kisses him, not as a fiancé, not as a lover, but as both. Everything goes soft and hazy, slow moving. "Ages and ages," she whispers into his mouth.
He walks her backwards towards the stairs as she winds her arms around his neck. When the back of her heel hits the stairs, he simply lifts her by her waist, bodies pressed together, while she lets out a tiny breathless laugh against his mouth. His brow furrows; this is a serious business, this undertaking. He wants to remember every single piece of it so he will be able to puzzle it back together again and again for years to come. For the first time, he murmurs, "I love you," without thinking twice, in a barely audible voice as his lips skim down her throat and she sighs, her hands immersed in his hair. There will be no hiding, no withholding, not this time, finally. He doesn't have to worry over scaring her with his feelings because she is no longer scared; she feels the same way, finally.
Finally.
He closes his bedroom door and lowers her to her feet while she pushes his jacket from his shoulders and then immediately shifts her fingers to the buttons on his shirt. His hands touch her face and she not only lets them, she leans into his palm. "Mary," he whispers. There is something lovely and touching about a Mary Crawley willing to lean.
This time is different because she looks up at him, eyes–like the poem–naked of reticence and shorn of pride, vulnerable, honest eyes. This Mary agreed to marry him, not because she had to, not because she felt trapped, but because she wanted him. This Mary will tell him she loves him at some point, while their bodies are naked and pressed together, twilight spilling in from the small window beside his bed. He doesn't know when she will say it but he trusts that she will and that she means it. Trust is bred here, along with a consuming love.
Finally.
On the bed, his hands slide up her thighs and she shifts restlessly as his hands slowly unroll her stockings. For a moment, a second really, he thinks of Mack, wondering if she thinks of him too, but her eyes squeeze shut as his thumb grazes her bare calf and she moans out his name: "Matthew." And then once again, it is just the two of them.
Finally.
He's grateful as he presses a kiss near her belly button, thankful when he takes her breasts in his hands and leans up to kiss her. Her fingers tug on the sheets restlessly before finding purchase in his hair, while she moves impatiently beneath him. He goes on kissing her until they are both breathless, until when they finally pause, they suck in air hungrily and she pleads: "Matthew."
His eyes close tightly as the come together. He thinks finally, finally, finally, trying to give her pleasure but trying to hold back too because shouldn't something as beautiful as this last forever? And then she says it, leaning forward the slightest bit which makes him groan in ecstasy, so she can breathe the words into his ear, like an incantation. "I love you. Love you, Matthew."
He doesn't mean to collapse on her but he does. Though she doesn't seem to mind, as she wraps her arms and legs around him, holding on to him. Holding on to him. Again, how lovely it is to have such a strong woman hold on to him not because she has to but because she wants to. This is just another piece to remember. Marrying her–well, it will be a joy and a privilege and he is sure he won't be able to stop smiling for the entire day. But he smiles now too, into the skin of her shoulder. Marrying her is, in a way, paperwork at this point. It was never about vows in church and it was always about Matthew waiting, being willing to wait, for Mary to say yes–vows unto themselves.
To quote Tom's advice, given over beer at the pub, when he first arrived in Ireland: You love each other. The rest is just detail. Matthew rolled his eyes when Tom said it and ordered another pint. But now he understands.
Finally.
Eventually, he rolls from her and they snuggle together. "I should get dressed," she laughs. "Your mother could come home at any moment."
"Don't," he asks, pressing a kiss to her naked shoulder. She shivers closer to him.
Her eyes flutter. "I don't want to. But I have to."
"Just think...Soon you won't have to," Matthew reminds her, drawing designs down her arm until he reaches her fingers where their hands interlock. "Can you imagine?"
She grins. "Yes." Then shakes her head. "And no."
"I can imagine it." He curls nearer to her. "I've been imagining it."
"I really should get dressed," she insists but doesn't move. "I have to–"
He leans forward, finger on her chin, and kisses her, lingering over her mouth. "What? You have to what?"
She closes her eyes. "I forgot. I'm naked in your bed and I completely forgot the reason I came here." She sits up, pressing the sheet to her breasts, searching for her clothes. "I have to tell you something."
Matthew wonders if his stomach will ever stop dropping when she says that, even though his skin is still warm from hers.
She stills and then admonishes him "Matthew." She enunciates her next words carefully. She doesn't say it as often, calmly, in the middle of a discussion: "I love you. I want to marry you. If you panic every time we need to talk about something..."
"I know."
"It scares me," she admits. "Don't you trust me?" His mouth is dry and he doesn't answer quickly enough for her. "Maybe you don't," she adds sadly. "Maybe you're right not to. But I swear to you, I've only ever been as honest with you as I could be, as honest as I was with myself. I never made you a promise before...and it took me forever to make this one. Do you think I did that lightly?"
"Of course not," he interjects quickly, rubbing her naked back. Her eyes are wide in her face, skin pale. He's hurt her without meaning to and he realizes that this is how things will be from now on, that this is what marriage will be like. They are done hurting one another on purpose; that's all finished. And yet they are human, with their own insecurities, with their own ghosts; when they hurt one another it will be accidental, easier to forgive but still painful.
"I was only going to tell you I'm going to London tomorrow and I'll stay overnight with Aunt Rosamund. I should be back the day after tomorrow." She pauses to look at him. "I love you. I suppose it will become easier to say over time but I do love you. I need you to believe that."
"Mary." Matthew takes her in his arms and they both settle back against his pillow. "I do."
She drags a finger across his chest. "Are you practicing your vows for the wedding?" she asks slyly.
He grins at her, his other hand fitting itself to her hip. "Why don't I come with you to London? I can finally get you an engagement ring," he suggests.
She shakes her head. "I don't need an engagement ring."
Matthew remembers the giant diamond on her finger from Mackenzie. "Don't be coy."
She rolls over so she is on top of him, legs tangled, hair a mess. "No, you misunderstand me. I don't need an engagement ring because I very much want a wedding band from you. As soon as possible. That's all I want or need."
"I'll talk to your father while you're gone. I'll fix it," he promises. "And what are you going to do in London?"
"A bride is allowed to have some secrets from her groom." She raises her eyebrow and gives him a smacking kiss.
"After the wedding that all changes you know. Or so I'm told." Goodness know his own marriage with Lavinia was full of secrets. Mary laughs at him and kisses the corner of his mouth.
"As for my father..." Mary begins. "Can't you and I just runaway together? I can move in with Granny until then."
"I'm afraid my mother and your granny would be heartbroken if we ran away." Matthew brushes the hair, long since fallen from her pins, away from her face. "Your granny in particular has been our champion since the beginning.
She sighs. "You're right. It's only..." Mary pauses, bites her lip.
"You can tell me."
She raises an eyebrow at him. "I suppose I can." She sighs. "I love my father. That's what's so confusing. I always have. And one day something changed. I don't know when. When he told me to marry Patrick? When he told me Patrick died? When he refused to fight for me over the entail? He stopped seeing me. He doesn't believe in me. I'm too difficult, too cold, too everything for him."
"Mary–"
"Don't placate me," she asks. "You know at least some of what I am saying is true. I just want him to see me, to acknowledge that I'm an adult, that I...I've gone through difficult things and am stronger for it. Of course, he would never say all that and I don't need him too. I just need him to see me."
Again, Matthew pushes the hair back from her face, his hands lingering on her throat. He leans forward and kisses her and she falls into him, into the kiss. "I see you," he promises and the fierceness with which she returns his kiss guarantees the idea of dressing fizzles...at least for the moment.
He misses her even though he probably wouldn't see her the next day anyway. But he makes time to see Robert. The man has purposely avoided him for days now, a little over a week since the showdown where Robert admitted he hoped Matthew would marry for money. It's safest to corner him at breakfast where he enjoys his tea and toast, along with his paper.
He sets down the newspaper as soon as he notices Matthew. "It's too early for the conversation you want to have."
"I disagree," Matthew replied amiably. "I think it may be too late."
With earnestness and kindness, Matthew tries to explain Mary's feelings, to tell Robert that this isn't about the estate, this isn't about the confrontation, this is about his relationship with his daughter.
"I never said it enough," Robert says when Matthew is silent. "If you have children, if you have a daughter, tell her that you love her. Every single day. Because before you realize it, you both forget it's true."
"But it is true," Matthew insists. "She just wants you to see her."
"I do see her," Robert tells him seriously. "I see that she is strong, sometimes too strong. I see that she can't stand any authority, particularly mine. I see that she isn't afraid to say a cutting thing. I see that she hides her feelings, very well most of the time."
"Do you see that she is more than capable?" Matthew asks. "She could have run the estate, you know, before you brought me into the picture."
"She's formidable," Robert agrees. "And do you think I forgot she married Mackenzie? Do you think that I forgot that my daughter is now richer than I am? Perhaps you of all people can understand that admitting a weakness to Mary is never easy. She is the last person, next to my mother, that I ever wanted to know about the problems with the estate."
"Are you so scared of her that you would be willing to sacrifice not only my happiness but hers if I married someone else?" Matthew shakes his head. "You should be at the wedding. You should be there because you are her father. And you should learn how to say it, as often as possible."
"As if you are in any position to tell me–"
"I am in a position to tell you because that's the woman I love and that's the woman I am going to marry. We are a team now. And because I know, better than anyone, that it is never too late for a relationship, especially one which truly matters, to turn around for the better."
"And do you think she believes the same?" Robert asks after a moment.
Matthew smiles slightly, playing the past years over in his head. "I know she does, Robert. I know it for a fact."
The next day, at work, he daydreams of finding an excuse to see Mary after she returns from London later that day. They do need to talk about the wedding logistics but it's in the middle of these thoughts that the door to his office bursts open. "Mary," he says giddily, standing to come and give her a kiss but she turns her head slightly so his lips land on her cheek.
She takes a step back and he is suddenly aware that the always still Mary is fidgeting. She keeps twisting her hands around and around again. Every time she tries to open her mouth, her lips shake and no words come out.
"Mary." He goes to her, wraps his arms around her. Worry is a pounding in his temples. "What it is it? What's wrong?" She opens her mouth again and has to close it. "Mary?"
"Oh, Matthew," she murmurs, biting her lip. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "I'm pregnant."
A/N: So yeahhhhh...would love to know your thoughts. As this story comes to a close, if you are reading, it would mean the world to me if you would let me know and review, especially with the way life is going right now.
***Just a disclaimer: Matthew does think of Mackenzie and Lavinia here and there. These aren't ghosts that will chase this couple. I just want this to be realistic in that I think it would be impossible to totally get such major influences on one's life and one's story and one's current situation out of your head. It's not foreshadowing...It's just living with the reality that Matthew and Mary have pasts now and yet they are together which is the important part.