Once again, many thanks to all of you who are reading and reviewing Strangers. I do so love hearing your thoughts-you really have no idea just how thrilling it is to read your ideas and reactions to this over-flowing of my imagination! And again, R. Grace-your input and advice is absolutely incredible. On Either side the River Lie-your insight and eye for detail simply amaze me. And the unbelievable support you have both given to this first-time writer is appreciated more than you can ever know! Finally, to my wonderful husband who allows to me bounce ideas off of him all too frequently and supports my time spent with the Crawley Clan after our kiddos are tucked away in bed...well, you bless my life in so many ways!

Ironically, the thunder is stirring and rain descending outside my window even as I type this...so the stage is set! Let Chapter 7 begin...

Chapter 7

The gut-wrenching wail of her son sailed down from the nursery with celerity, binding itself firmly around Mary and pulling her up the steps in haste. George was sick! She tried to contain the utter panic that welled up from her stomach, telling herself that there was no need to yet worry. But no matter how many colds or fevers Mary had nursed him through, each time her child fell ill she was inwardly terrified.

She could not lose her son, too.

"Dr. Clarkson does not believe it's anything serious, Mary," Isobel soothed, walking briskly upon Mary's heels. "His fever is not terribly high—just enough to make him feel miserable and want his mother."

They reached the door of the nursery, Isobel turning her daughter-in-law towards her with gentle hands, noting the stricken look on her face. "Do not be fearful, Mary. I am sure that there is nothing to worry about. Our boy just has a normal, childhood fever of some sort. He will be fine."

"You are not concerned?" Mary asked, her chest rising and falling too rapidly for her own comfort as she pressed down the urge to race into the nursery and scoop her child up in her arms.

"No," Isobel assured her, taking her hands within hers. "But I can understand why you are."

And no further words were necessary between kindred souls seared together by the fires of shared pain.

"Now calm yourself, my dear, and go to your son," Isobel soothed, giving Mary's hands one last squeeze of gentle reassurance. "I shall go and see to our guest."

"Mr. Blake," Mary breathed, nodding her head quickly. "Yes—thank you."

Isobel turned and descended the steps as Mary drew a deep breath and opened the door to the small nursery. George was sitting in the crib blubbering, his misery a stark contrast to the cheeriness deliberately infused into this room by his grandmother, his poor eyes red and swollen as he prepared to belt out another scream. His arms shot out to his mother in desperation the moment she entered the room, and Mary had him in her embrace within a second, clutching him to her chest as she felt heat radiating from her child. She looked instantly to Dr. Clarkson, her concern palpable from across the room.

"There's nothing to fear, Lady Mary," Clarkson soothed, taking two steps towards them as he patted George's head. "Your son has a middle ear infection. It is fairly common when children are cutting teeth. I seem to remember having to treat you for several of them when you were growing up."

She released the breath of crippling anxiety she had been holding unaware, kissing her son's temple as she rubbed his back. "So it is not dangerous?"

"No," the doctor stated, "we just need to treat the symptoms and work to keep his fever under control. Tell your mother that nothing much has changed since she had to take care of your ears," he smiled. "Hydrogen peroxide drops in the ear twice a day, a hot water bottle compress to ease his discomfort, cool cloths and plenty of fluids for his fever."

Dr. Clarkson then looked meaningfully at Mary, his eyebrows lifting as he ordered, "And plenty of rest for his mother."

"I am perfectly well," Mary stated, dismissing his concern with a flick of an eyebrow as her eyes fixated upon her son who was clinging to her dress, continuing to sniff softly against her shoulder.

"I am serious, Lady Mary," Clarkson continued, his tone insistent as Mary raised her eyes to his. "You will do him no good if you wear yourself out. Sleep is hard to come by for a child who is suffering from ear pain, for pressure builds and the ear hurts more when he lies down. Master George will want to be held throughout the next few nights, so make sure you do not try to tend to him alone. Allow that nanny of yours and other members of your family to help you nurse him through this."

"Is that an order, Dr. Clarkson?" Mary inquired, her tone presenting a small but clear challenge to his advice.

"Yes, it is," he smiled in return placidly, rubbing George's fluffy head one more time before he stepped back, an unexpected burst of lightening drawing both of their gazes to the window . "Are you planning on returning to Downton before the storm breaks?"

Mary paused, registering his question quickly as she realized that all other thoughts had deserted her the moment she knew her child was ill. She quickly righted herself and answered, "Yes, as long as you think it's alright."

"It's fine," Dr. Clarkson assured her. "Travelling is no danger to his ears. But the night air would not be good for them, so I would be on my way as soon as possible. Especially before this rain comes."

"Thank you, doctor," Mary breathed, taking a moment to hold her child in solitude as Dr. Clarkson left the room. She stood immobile, relishing the closeness of her baby pressed against her heart as a most welcome calm settled within her limbs even as the outdoor elements continued to brew their tempest. Nothing had truly prepared her for the depth of feeling she would bear for this tiny extension of herself she had cradled deep within her body for nearly a year, this small yet complete human being who carried traits of both she and Matthew yet bore so much that simply marked him as himself.

An ear infection…nothing dangerous…no need to fear…the physician's words continued to work within her, untangling knots of needless worry still jumbled deep within. How odd, she mused, that the fury of the storm no longer frightened her as long as she carried with her the assurance that her son was safely tucked in her embrace, knowing that she could shelter him from the threat of lightening and thunder. But how she longed for the ability to protect him from absolutely any element that could do him harm, despising the fact that even mothers were not granted such power.

This year had brutally taught her just how powerless she truly was, and the effect had been truly humbling.

Mary emerged from her ephemeral solitude with George moments later, discovering Isobel and Mr. Blake huddled together compactly in the center of the sitting room.

"Dr. Clarkson has just informed us that his ear is the culprit," Isobel stated, walking to Mary's side as she smoothed a lock of her grandson's dark hair across his forehead. "I suspected as much. He kept tugging at it ever so dreadfully when he awoke from his nap."

"Thank you for taking care of him and for summoning Dr. Clarkson," Mary stated, an unnecessary justification escaping her lips as she breathed, "I would have never left him if I had thought…"

"Hush, dear," Isobel interrupted serenely. "You did nothing wrong, Mary. And George will be as good as new in a few days."

The house shook as a wave of thunder seemed to assail it from every direction.

"I apologize for interrupting, but I believe we should go if we are to beat the storm to Downton, Lady Mary," Charles injected, taking a small step in Mary's direction as he held his hat in his hands.

"Of course," Mary agreed, leaning forward to kiss Isobel's cheek as she whispered, "Thank you, again."

A crash of lightening harshly illuminated the room as angry thunder blasted repeatedly outside, making George cry out as he grabbed his mother for protection. Charles gave her a knowing look as they made their way with haste towards the exit.

Isobel saw them down the steps to the door, giving George one last kiss on his warm forehead before gingerly covering the boy with a downy blanket which he fought to remove from his head in protest. "I shall phone Carson and let him know that you are on your way," she stated. "Please call tomorrow and let me know how our George is doing, Mary. And it has been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Blake. Thank you so much for seeing Mary and George safely home."

"It is my honor, Mrs. Crawley," Charles returned, taking the lead in guiding his newly appointed charges out the front door to the waiting car.

George rested quietly upon the familiar sanctuary of his mother's chest as they travelled to Downton, the rain beginning to make its appearance as large, heavy drops began to splatter the windshield in a frenetic rhythm.

"I'm glad to know that it's nothing serious," Charles stated, watching the road warily as another flash of lightening rent the sky asunder. "But you can tell he is not feeling up to par. Poor little chap."

"I should have known he was coming down with something, as out of sorts as he was this morning," Mary stated, shaking her head slightly in consternation. "Perhaps if I had kept him in today…"

"He would still have gotten an ear infection," Charles interrupted, daring a weighted glance in Mary's direction. "You really put a lot on yourself, don't you Lady Mary?"

"What do you mean?" she shot back, her temper on edge as a lingering shred of worry for her son still pulsed in her breast.

"Just that you seem to have quite a knack for taking blame upon yourself for circumstances well beyond your control," he answered, slowing his speed as a strong wind gust made the car shake slightly.

"I see," she retorted, still in no humor to discuss this with him. "And when did you become such an expert on these matters?"

"Five years ago," he replied, his answer holding no reproach, but Mary feeling the sudden weight of it settle on her just the same. What had possessed her to ask such a heartless question?

"I am sorry. Please forgive me," she started, feeling utterly wretched for so thoughtlessly reminding him of his deceased wife. She of all people should know better.

"There's no need, my lady," Charles responded, his voice quite calm as he continued, "You have done nothing that warrants my forgiveness."

Oh, Dear God…

Her sharp intake of her breath filled the car, making Charles turn towards her instantly in alarm. "Are you alright? Is George…"

"Yes—yes, we are fine, Mr. Blake," she assured as steadily as she could, pressing her lips tightly together as she rode another wave of remembrance that filled her every crevice. "It is just…what you said…"

"I meant no offense, I assure you," Charles interrupted, clearly frustrated with himself for upsetting her in some fashion.

"And you did not offend," she attested, feeling steadier as she rooted herself firmly back in the present. "You just said something that sounded very much like something my husband once said to me."

"Oh," he breathed, understanding breaking instantly within him as he cast her a reassuring glance. "I see."

"He once told me that he would not forgive me because I had done nothing that needed his forgiveness," Mary shared, the haziness in her voice transporting her to a place and time so vividly cherished as one of the most priceless memories she possessed. "I thought I had lost him forever, that he would despise me for a mistake I had made in my past."

"I take it he surprised you," he interjected in a rather hushed tone, his heart vividly touched as he bore witness to the serene smile that radiated from her.

"Yes, he did," she replied tranquilly, drawing George to her even more closely as she revealed, "He asked me to marry him, instead."

"He sounds like a very intelligent man," Charles stated, chancing a glance in her direction.

She was almost beaming without realizing it, her cheek resting softly on the head of her son as she clasped him tenderly to her heart.

He left them in a precious silence, noticing how she seemed to be wrapping both herself and her child in the warm memories of the man they had lost. And he was content to remain on the fringes, observing them quietly whenever he could spare a glance from the road. But a truth settled upon him that he tried to chase away, even as he understood the futility his efforts.

He had somehow already come to care for this woman, more so than he reasonably should after such a short acquaintance. It was utterly reckless and idiotic of him in many ways, for he knew Lady Mary Crawley was not yet ready to open her heart to another man. But he sensed that she was most decidedly a woman worth knowing better.

And he refused to scare her away.

"How did she die?" Mary finally uttered, breaking the quiet lull they had created between them with measured hesitation.

Charles did not answer immediately, knowing the answer would sting with what he had learned of her family's recent history from his aunt. But his silence unnerved Mary, making her concerned that perhaps she had asked too much of him. Just as an apology was forming upon her lips, his voice reached out to her, a huskiness tingeing its timbre as he answered with some difficulty, "In childbirth."

Her heart simply broke for him as her thoughts instantly raced to her sister. Mary could still so clearly visual Sybil as seizure upon seizure racked her body just after giving life to her most precious daughter. The image of Tom's brokenness when he realized that his wife was forever lost to him was forever seared in her consciousness. And the face of her beloved Sybil as she lay frozen in death…

"Dear God, I am so sorry."

She clutched George to her breast even tighter, looking directly to this man beside her in a new light as she now understood that he bore as many scars as she. The past did leave marks, and she shuddered remembering the evidence of wounds that traversed Matthew's torso—a reminder of a half-life he been forced to endure in the unthinkably inhumane trenches carved into the earth. Her scars were invisible to the eye, but so tangibly seared into her very soul, and she could not help but wonder how she and Charles Blake would appear if it were their spirits that could be seen. How large would the gashes be that cut through her heart, just how garish the puckered marks that must mar every nerve she possessed?

Mary continued to stare at Charles Blake in new wonder, emotionally unable to voice her next question, somehow already knowing that his child had not survived the traumatic birth that unfairly claimed his wife. He would have spoken of a son or daughter by now, she was certain of it. Would the frame of his soul carry twice the number of horrific reminders as he had lost both spouse and offspring to the claws of unexpected death?

You would think we would be used to young death by now…

She had at least been given George, Tom had Sweet Sybbie, but Charles Blake…

He was a lucky man, then, to have a wife who loved him so deeply and such a handsome son. Many men never know such happiness.

His words to her on the train played back to her, words of kindness and reassurance meant to help calm her soul. She had snapped at him then in an attempt to bar him from her agony, yet she had just now intruded into his pain. She wanted to offer him a measure of the same comfort that he had so freely bestowed upon her, the desire to touch him in empathy, so similar to the need she had felt to trace Matthew's scars in reverence, was nearly overwhelming as she dared to reach a trembling hand in his direction.

"Ah, I believe we have made it, at last," Charles announced as Downton finally came into view, making Mary snatch her hand back as if she had ventured far too close to a fire. She could not look at him as they approached the great house slowly, wondering if he had seen her intimate gesture and praying that somehow he had not.

But she received her answer when he suddenly took her errant hand and held in gently, stating with reassurance, "It is alright, my lady. I made my peace with their losses some time ago, although the wounds do still sting, sometimes more than others. You did nothing wrong in asking me."

She forced herself to look at him, trembling inside as she nodded in understanding and marveling that this particular fire from which she had withdrawn was soothing to the touch.

How very unexpected.

He then let go of her, parking the car right next to the door as Carson stepped out immediately with a large umbrella.

"Come, let us get your both inside," he insisted, stepping out of the car and moving quickly to assist her as Caron covered them all protectively from the storm. The quartet dashed into the great hall quickly, partially wet despite the covering of the umbrella.

"I am so glad that you have made it home safely," Cora greeted them hugging Mary and seeking permission to take her grandson. George allowed himself to be peacefully placed into his grandmother's arms, clearly quite comfortable there as he let out a small whimper and tugged the offending ear. "Isobel called a few minutes ago and told me about poor Georgie. Mrs. Hughes and I made sure that everything he needs is upstairs in the nursery so we can help our little man feel better."

"And where is Nanny Rogers?" Mary asked, more than a little surprised that the woman had not been at the door to meet them upon their arrival.

Cora's expression along with her pause in answering alerted Mary immediately as a feeling of dread crept up her limbs.

"Nanny Rogers is gone," Cora stated, her face betraying just how very much she hated delivering such news to her daughter.

"What?" Mary inquired, her disbelief that this should happen tonight of all nights evident in her shocked tone.

"She received a phone call not long after you left. Her mother is dying, Mary, and she asked for permission to go to her at once," Cora responded, bouncing George in her arms to soothe him ask his sniffles of discomfort began to increase. "How could I possibly tell her no?"

"You couldn't," Mary sighed in acceptance, stroking her son's head in a vain hope that his fever had somehow miraculously disappeared. "Will she be coming back?"

"I don't believe so," Cora admitted, pressing her lips together slightly and kissing her grandson's forehead. "She said that she would more than likely need to stay on with her father and care for him after her mother is gone."

Mary thought for a moment before turning to Carson and stating, "Carson, please have a dinner tray sent to me in the nursery. I shall stay with George through dinner and into the night."

"I shall be happy to do so if that is what you desire, my lady," the butler began, "but there is someone who has already asked to care for George while dinner is being served so you could dine with the family, someone of whom I believe you will approve."

"Who is it?" Mary inquired, interest and disbelief drawing her brows together as she knew that Carson's approval was difficult to come by indeed.

"Anna," Carson replied, a small smile crossing his lips when he spoke the woman's name. "She is up in the nursery awaiting your arrival."

A feeling of rightness settled in Mary's chest at the thought of Anna tending to George. Ear infections were not contagious, so he would be of no danger to her and her unborn child. And Mary trusted her with a depth reserved for very few people, knowing without a doubt that Anna would send for her immediately if she were needed and that she would treat George just as tenderly as her own babe still nestled in her womb.

"Alright," Mary agreed, "but only if it is not too much for her. I would not want to wear her out."

"I think she can handle rocking a baby through dinner, Mary," Cora smiled, kissing her grandson's warm head again as she continued, "Besides, it will be good practice for her."

Lady Grantham's attention then suddenly turned to their unexpected guest, smiling at the man with gratitude as she stated, "Mr. Blake, I am so very sorry that you have not been greeted properly. Please accept our thanks for the service you have given to Lady Mary and our precious George. Carson will show you to your room and will find you a suitable change of clothes for dinner so that yours can be tended to and made right for tomorrow."

"Thank you, Lady Grantham," Charles began, obviously taken aback at this turn of events, "but there is no need to provide me with a room or clothing. I must return to my aunt in Downton immediately."

"Nonsense," Cora replied, raising her eyebrows in a smooth gesture as she showered him with a winning smile. "I have already spoken with my mother-in-law, and everything is settled. Nobody wants you out on the roads this evening in a storm such as this, so your aunt is very happily settled at the Dowager House, and we are delighted to have you as our guest here at Downton."

As if on cue, a blinding burst of lightening struck somewhere in the near vicinity, showering the great hall with a flash of white light followed by a nearly deafening roar of thunder that actually shook the windows. Lady Grantham looked towards Charles, a half-smile crossing her face, making Mary realize that the weather seemed to be responding to her mother's direction, almost as if she had conjured up this very farce to force Mr. Blake to remain at Downton a while longer. Her revelation was followed by the unmistakable patter of hail pelting off of the ground, roof and windows.

No—Lady Grantham could not have scripted a more ironic scenario if she had tried.

Cora then turned and walked George up the stairs giving Mr. Blake no opportunity to argue any further. Mary turned to him, an apology in her eyes as she stated, "You might as well agree. Mama will never let you hear the end of it if you leave now."

"Armor in your skin, indeed," he stated, giving her smile that forced her to lower her eyes momentarily before she rebutted.

"Actually, Mama is American. I believe it is steel that runs through her veins."

"Whatever element I am up against, I know when I've been beaten," Charles replied, raising his hand in mock surrender, giving her a meaningful look as he voiced, "I shall see you at dinner, then."

"Yes, I suppose you shall," she responded, feeling suddenly unsteady as the realization that he would be staying so very close to her made its way through her body.

It could prove to be a very long night, indeed.

Mary tilted her chin up in her best attempt to appear unfazed, turning towards the stairs and the path that would take her to her son. But as a small piece of her consciousness both hoped and wondered if a certain pair of dark eyes was following her as she ascended.

And they most decidedly were.

When Mary arrived in the nursery, Anna already had George comfortably seated in her arms, his toy rabbit clutched tightly in his fists as he commenced to chewing on the poor animal's ear. His cheeks were too red for Mary's liking, and the slight droopiness in his eyes revealed his discomfort. She was by his side in a moment.

"I couldn't quite fit him and the Teddy Bear on my lap now," Anna laughed, glancing at her rather rounded abdomen in acceptance.

"It's a wonder you have any lap at all," Mary returned, smiling fondly at Anna as she knelt down to stroke George's head. "Are you certain you're alright, Anna? I don't want to cause any problems for you or the baby."

"We're fine, my lady, I promise," Anna assured her. "Mrs. Hughes will be checking in on us every so often to make sure that we don't need anything. And Mr. Carson has even volunteered to lend a hand if we need him."

Mary smiled thoughtfully. Carson would do absolutely anything for George.

"And your dinner?" Mary asked quickly, concern crossing her face at the thought of Anna being hungry.

"I have already eaten, mi'lady, so do not worry," she responded with assurance. "Mrs. Patmore fixed me quite a plate when she heard that I was to sit with Master George. I feel as stuffed as a Christmas goose." She grinned, stroking George's back as she continued, "Mr. Bates will be taking his supper downstairs with the rest of the staff and will wait for me so we can go home together. So it's all settled."

"Yes, it is," Cora intervened, giving Anna a look that would not allow an argument, "however, you and Mr. Bates will be staying here tonight. We are having a room prepared for you, as well. No one wants you getting out in that storm any more than we want Mr. Blake to do so." She then raised a hand in Anna's direction as the younger woman opened her mouth to speak, silencing her gently. "It is all done, and we are more than happy to have you back in Downton for the night."

"Thank you, mi'lady," Anna replied. "That is very kind of you."

"No, it's just the right thing to do," Mary returned, standing as she kissed her son's soft cheek and effectively cutting off any chance for Anna to protest. "I'll come back to check on you both after I have changed, and yes, I think I can manage on my own for once." Anna chuckled softly as Mary turned to leave.

"Good luck, mi'lady," she offered, her face bright with a smile as Mary gave her a rueful glance. "I did lay out a dress for you before I got settled."

"Thank you, Anna," Mary rebuffed good-naturedly, tilting her chin as she walked to her room.

True to her word, a dress of deep purple was lying on her bed. Mary took the fabric in her fingers, somehow noticing its true texture for the first time as the material slid across her skin. She stared at it, leaning forward to test its scent, wondering if any part of him could still be attached to the silky threads. A smile cam unbidden as the memory of the last time she had worn this particular dress played across heart.

It had been one of Matthew's favorites. In fact, they had barely made it down to dinner one evening as he kept trying to divest her of the garment, making her smile as she playfully warded off his advances. She grew warm in remembrance, grasping the dress to her chest and closing her eyes.

You'll make me untidy…

"That will look lovely on you, my dear," Cora stated, making Mary jump slightly as her mother stood smiling in the doorway. "I always thought purple looked stunning on you."

"So did Matthew," Mary breathed, turning to glance at her reflection in the mirror as she continued to clasp the dress close to her.

"I believe he would have thought you beautiful in a burlap sack," Cora grinned, entering the bedroom and closing the door behind her. "He loved you so much, Mary."

"I know," she whispered, breathing in his presence before turning to face her mother, her misty eyes glowing in the soft light of the room as the pulsing of heavy rain sheeted against her windows.

"Well, are you going to help me get dressed or not?" Mary asked quickly, doing her best to crowd out the heady memory of Matthew's hands moving freely upon her and focus upon her very present reality.

"I'm certainly willing to give it a try," Cora laughed, moving towards her daughter with outstretched arms.

The Crawley women managed getting Mary changed and ready for dinner reasonably well, finally inspecting their handiwork carefully in the looking glass.

"Not bad, Mama," Mary admitted, turning to her mother with a nod of approval. "You could probably find a post as a lady's maid if the need ever arises."

"Let's hope it never does," Cora laughed, smoothing down the back of Mary's dress and adjusting the jeweled clip just over her ear. "There now, I think you'll do." She then turned back to Mary as she made her way towards the hallway. "I'm going to make sure that Mr. Blake has everything that he needs before I go downstairs. I do hope the suit I sent for him works out alright."

Mary snapped her head around, her brows drawn together in inquiry. "Whose suit did you send to him?"

"Tom offered up one of his," Cora replied. "He was very thoughtful about it."

"Tom?" Mary cried out, looking at her mother incredulously. "Tom is a full head shorter than Charles Blake, or haven't you noticed?"

"Apparently you have, my dear," Cora mused, raising an eyebrow towards her eldest in interest. "But what would you have me do, Mary? One of your father's suits would be much too large around the girth for him, and I couldn't ask one of the servants." Mary shook her head, breathing rapidly as she took heavy steps towards her closet, apprehension making her pulse jump as she neared the wardrobe.

Dear God, could she really do what she was thinking? Half of her could not fathom what she was actually planning, somehow adjusting automatically to the half that was pushing her onward. Mary swallowed, as if in doing so all apprehension would simply vanish. But she held her head straight and moved forward. Yes—she would do this, she could.

It was time.

She emerged from the closet a moment later, an evening suit held in her trembling hands as she presented it as an offering to her mother.

"Here," Mary stated, her voice no more than a husky whisper as she stared into her mother's eyes widened by utter shock. "This should be sufficient for Mr. Blake. It will be much closer to his size."

"Mary—are you certain about this?" Cora whispered, disbelief etched on her face as she kept shifting her gaze from the suit in her arms to the face of her daughter.

Mary nodded silently several times, staring at the garment as she touched it reverently. "Yes—I am sure."

Her eyes flew to her mother's as she grasped Cora's arm in a final plea. "Please, you must not tell him. He will never agree to wear it if he knows. Promise me, Mama."

"If you are sure," Cora responded, staring into Mary's eyes as she watched for signs of second-thoughts.

"I am sure. Matthew would have wanted to do something helpful for the man who brought his wife and son safely home, wouldn't he?"

Cora looked into the dark, vulnerable eyes of her daughter fighting so desperately to be strong, feeling her struggle yet proud of her small step of courage. She raised a hand to Mary's cheek and smiled. "Yes, my darling. He would have, indeed." She paused meaningfully as she finally ventured, "And he would be very proud of you right now, too."

The words circled around Mary, finally settling as a soft cape around her shoulders enfolding her in a gentle peace as she breathed, "Yes, I believe that he would."

"I shall take the suit to Mr. Blake," Cora began, "and I promise not to tell him that it belonged to Matthew," she finished, replying to Mary before the words had been able to escape her daughter's open mouth.

Mary sat softly on her bed once her mother had left the room, her legs obstinately refusing to hold her upright as the shock over what she had just done firmly descended upon her. She wrapped her arms around herself as she looked around the room, suddenly feeling as if he would appear any minute and embrace her from behind as he had done so many times. She closed her eyes, imagining his warm breath on her neck, the touch of his lips right behind her ear on that spot that drove her mad. His fingertips would then slide almost imperceptibly across her shoulder-blades, teasing the straps of her dress as she would moan in encouragement. Dear God, she missed him! Her every pore was tingling at the memory of his touch.

A clap of thunder broke her warm reverie, making Mary nearly jump out of her pulsating skin. She stood, catching her breath and rubbing her neck as she began to refocus her mind on the present. The temptation dangled enticingly before her, to simply open the drawer and clasp his picture to her heart, to weep and to remember as she had so many times before. But she hesitated, drawing herself up intentionally, pulling back her tears, and casting a glance once again at her reflection in the mirror. She was not the same woman she had been before Matthew had left her, but neither was she the hollow shell that had returned her stare from the mirror for months on end.

No—Mary felt like a new creature, just making her emergence into the world on wobbly legs uncertain of what she would find there. Everything was new, brilliant, enticing, and frightening, as if she had truly just emerged from a world of black and white and fallen into a land where everything was painted in the brightest and most vivid colors imaginable. The sensations that pulsed through her veins both thrilled and terrified her, making her want to run forward into this new territory and retreat simultaneously to the world she had known.

You need to stop torturing yourself, my lady, and live your life.

One day you will be ready to move on, and I for one will be glad for it…and so would Matthew.

Be happy, Mary…

The voices of three different men now resounded in her mind, firing her determination and settling a peace upon her heart. She did not have to take an entire journey in one leap. No. She would take another step forward…just one…and see where that led her. And if she was pleased by what she discovered, then perhaps she would take another. It may not be a perfect plan or one that would astonish the cleverest of mortals. But it was the beginning of a fresh start, one she felt the need to grasp.

And for tonight, that was more than enough.