I'm not quite certain what happened this week, but this story seems to have picked up several new followers. Welcome! :) Many thanks to those of you who have reviewed for the first time and to those of you who review faithfully. You know how much I appreciate your time and support! And if you missed it last week, I did post a one-shot set in this AU on a prompt submitted to me by the wonderful On either side the river lie. It is entitled "The Queen of Hearts", and I shall let you know exactly where it falls chronologically after we progress through a few more chapters.
R. Grace, I so very much appreciate your thoughts and insights into this chapter. You are such a dear!
And as I did leave things in a rather precarious situation last week, shall we continue?
Ch 26
The absolute silence was suffocating.
Mary stood rigid upon disbelieving limbs, praying that her uneasy legs would not falter in a moment of weakness. Had she honestly heard Lillian correctly? Had she and Charles just been denounced as lovers while a houseful of guests served the role of unwitting audience to their liaison?
The very air seemed to press into her pores, making her face hot while her extremities chilled to the point of numbness. She heard nothing for interminable seconds, an internal roar deafening her to any external sound as she stared at their accusers.
This could not be happening. But it was.
She would later wonder just how she had managed to continue breathing as everything in the great hall simply stopped. She would ponder how Charles had not flinched at the vice-like grip she held upon his arm as she fought down dueling urges to melt into the floor or promptly become sick upon its surface, fully aware that neither option was actually attainable.
Their eyes locked in a disbelieving horror, understanding if they allowed themselves more than a momentary glance everything would be lost. She forced her gaze to take in the circumference of the hall, the blinking of lashes and gaping of mouths seemingly the only movement taking place in all of Downton.
"Now see here. That is enough."
Charles's tone was authoritative, any flicker of fear muted decidedly out of sheer will.
"I do not know why the two of you seem so intent to go after me, but there is no reason at all to involve Lady Mary in your insinuations."
His nostrils were flaring, his body shaking slightly with a rage Mary knew he was hopelessly attempting to reign in.
"I do not make insinuations, Mr. Blake. I only state facts."
It was odd, really, how all perceived resemblance to Lavinia burned away instantaneously, the malicious gleam in Lillian's eyes so vastly foreign to any expression Mary had ever witnessed from Miss Swire. The fact that she had ever compared the two women at all now seemed an insult to Matthew's former fiancée.
Charles's chuckle was forced, but only she would realize it, the calm in his expression at odds with the tension flexing in his arm just beneath her grasp.
"I would venture it more likely you state your perception of them, your grace, a rather unfortunate trait that seems to be quite prevalent in your family."
Her mouth hardened into a thin line, her lips formulating a response that was trumped without recourse by the earl himself.
"I am at a loss as to why you seem to think that you can abuse our hospitality in such a manner as you have this evening and still be welcome in our home."
Lord Grantham had stepped into the middle of the melee, the hardened edge of his voice cornering Lillian and Edward with precision.
"I refuse to allow either of you to continue to insult my daughter or Mr. Blake without the slightest provocation. You will both kindly have your belongings collected and leave Downton at once. Is that understood?"
He turned on his heels, the increased volume of his tone leaving no doubt of his intentions.
"Barrow, the Duke, Duchess and Mr. Roquefort will be leaving us immediately. Will you make certain that their departure is both expedient and without incident?"
"Of course, my lord," Thomas answered flatly, rounding with a quickness of step that for some reason left Mary unsteady.
"So you are not interested in knowing the truth of what activities transpire in your own home, Lord Grantham?"
A shrill quality imbued her tone, the lack of reaction to her proclamation only raising the duchess's level of agitation.
"My wishes are none of your concern, your grace, nor is my daughter's life an open topic for speculation or unfounded innuendo."
Mary noted the throbbing pulse in her father's temple, a vein standing out clearly against the rising color of his complexion. She carefully avoided her mother's glance, uneasy of how transparent their exchange might be to watchful eyes.
"Then why don't you ask her?"
Edward stared at Mary in blatant hostility, his challenge issued with a smirk of assured victory. She dropped her hands to her side, standing tall and singular as she forced her expression to remain steady.
"Because I have the decency not to call my daughter out on a personal matter in the presence of company," Robert began, the quiet timbre of his voice belying a turbulence just beneath the surface. "And because I trust her."
His final sentence was a physical blow, piercing layers of self-assurance that there would be no consequences to the intimacy which should have been their private affair. Her eyes fluttered shut as she steadied her spine, the thought of betraying her father leaving a bitter aftertaste she attempted to swallow down.
"Come now, Lillian," Edward cut in smoothly. "You can't blame the poor man, actually. Lord Grantham has already had to cover up one scandal when it comes to his eldest daughter, and an unseemly escapade with a local horse breeder can hardly compare to having a Turkish Ambassador fall dead in flagrante delicto."
Oh, God.
There was a rustle behind her, Charles rushing forward to attack before she could completely process what had just been spoken. Everything suddenly occurred in slow motion, seemingly encased in an odd dome of some sort and quite outside the realm of reality. Tom dashing to Charles's side in defense of her honor, Gillingham throwing himself into the fray in an attempt to end the violence, the duke grabbing his wife roughly by the arm and shoving her out of the ensuing chaos.
"That is enough!"
Robert's voice reverberated from wall to wall, an unsteady pinnacle to the complete debacle the evening had become. Everyone froze, motion suspended yet again as Mary realized her toes were now completely numb.
"Mr. Blake, would you so kindly escort Lady Mary to the small library?"
Her father's request was issued without a glance in her direction, his gaze glued fixedly upon Edward Roquefort. She noted the twitch in his jaw, the restless motion of his hands, the unsteadiness of breath that signaled his marked desire to have her out of earshot.
Charles released Edward's lapels with measured reluctance, sharing a look with Tom before moving towards her steadily. His breathing was heavy as he took her arm, and she noticed a scratch on his cheek, fighting down an urge to touch it as he led her wordlessly from their accusers.
She looked at no one but her grandmother, her skin prickling instinctively at the burn of direct stares bearing down upon her spine. Suspicious whispers tickled her shoulders, daring her to look back as she attempted to bat them away as she would persistent gnats at a picnic. The entrance to the small library quite unexpectedly morphed into a gateway to most welcome asylum, one she entered with as much expediency as her pride could muster.
The quiet darkness of the room seemed almost sacrilegious after the cacophony they had just escaped. Its solitude washed over her, her knees shaking uncontrollably in response to the living nightmare that had rudely encroached upon their evening. He walked her quietly to a small sofa, bidding her to sit before allowing himself to do the same.
"Oh, God, Charles."
Her scratchy whisper pushed itself though reluctant lips, her eyes focused squarely upon her hands as her head shook of its own accord. His arms were then around her shoulders, pulling her close, his head buried in her own as they clasped on to what remnant was left of the happiness they had experienced but minutes before.
"It will be alright, Mary. We'll make it alright."
She squeezed him to herself tighter, even as she knew his assurances to be empty. Both of them had been played as marionettes in some disjointed farce orchestrated by the Roqueforts for their own gain.
And their strings had just been severed.
"How can it be alright? We've just been publically accused of the very act in which we quite willingly engaged hours ago."
He drew back to look at her fully, the strain in his eyes wrenching her gut.
"I'm not certain whether anyone actually believes their allegations or not."
She felt any semblance of control sliding from her grasp, leaving her bereft as she frantically attempted to keep close simply a shred of it.
"Even if there is uncertainty, suspicion has been cast with a rather wide net, I'm afraid. And if Papa asks me directly…"
She gazed into him, trying desperately to draw a measure of stability while standing in the midst of shifting sand.
"I cannot lie to my father, Charles."
He covered her hands within his, stroking the tops of her knuckles with a tenderness he hoped would offer a draft of confidence.
"I would never ask you do that."
"I know."
She knew.
She knew he loved her, would defend her to his own detriment if necessary, would offer again for her hand if confronted with an ultimatum by the man who had basically sent them away. Whether her father's actions stemmed from embarrassment, censure or the desire to protect his eldest daughter, she was yet uncertain. But Mary was well-aware that answers would be forth-coming sooner rather than later as the earl would not long delay a mandatory audience with them.
Whether his reaction would be welcome or distasteful remained to be seen.
"I think Papa believes them."
Charles shifted slightly at her nervous admission, a wedge of discomfort unsettling his seat as he chewed his bottom lip in thought.
"Why is that?"
"Because he refused to look at me. Didn't you notice?"
To be quite honest, he had barely glanced at Lord Grantham, concerned that something in his own expression might be all too revealing under the circumstances.
"No. I was a bit focused upon Roquefort and his sister."
The ghost of a smile flitted across her features.
"That's understandable."
He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her hand, gently opening her palm and skimming her pulse with lips that had loved her fully just last night. Her skin coveted his touch, and his mouth obliged, infusing her with an odd mixture of need and reassurance as it made contact with her palm.
"I meant it, you know. We shall make this alright, one way or another Mary. I promise."
She leaned into him as a sigh left her body, allowing him to engulf her for a moment as she feared it might be all they had remaining.
"Don't make promises you can't honor, Charles."
He shook his head soundly.
"I don't."
His covenant resounded into her bones, and she suddenly longed to simply take his hand, grab George and flee. From confrontation, from expectations, from disappointment…
From Downton.
It seemed unbelievable that she would feel so completely trapped by the home she revered and cherished in a manner understood only by her father. Yet she had experienced a liberation unlike any she had felt before at Rufforth Hall, craving its non-judgmental walls and freedom of choice over the knowledge that too many were now watching them within these hallowed halls.
"Kiss me, Charles. Please."
Her soft entreaty instinctively drew his hand to her cheek, the whispered path traced by his thumb making her shiver. His lips descended softly, reverently, so similar to their first kiss shared just days ago in this very room. She pulled his face closer, parting her mouth, opening herself as much as she could to him under the given circumstances, attempting to chase away a gnawing fear that this was somehow the end of something just beginning. She welcomed his taste, the texture of his tongue, the all-encompassing sensation of just him in her arms as her hands began to shake. His lips withdrew languidly, grazing her temple—his place—as his hands firmly encircled her own.
They sat in silence, quivering at the very touch of the other as breaths intertwined with a freedom bodies were currently denied.
"I love you, Mary."
She heard him with eyes wide open, clasping his declaration tightly, a quickening in her depths nudging her closer—ever closer.
"Charles, I…."
The door flew open, its force announcing the state-of-mind of the one who entered, drawing both of them hastily to their feet.
"I am somewhat mollified to know that the two of you are capable of refraining from inappropriate behavior without supervision."
Her father's tone was hard, his eyes angular as he closed the door behind him.
"Papa, we—"
His upheld palm silenced her, brokering no disagreement as he planted his feet in a stance of confrontation.
"Do either of you feel the need to deny the activities of which you have been publically accused?"
Her stomach plummeted to her knees, the rest of her body following suit as she crumpled onto the sofa.
"Why bother? You've obviously already made up your mind."
Eyes locked, the struggle of wills bound by pride and heredity sparking dangerously in the space separating them.
"So you're admitting the truth of it? That you took this man to your bed last night after an acquaintance of no more than a fortnight?"
Defensive ire shot through her veins, pushing her forward on her seat as her eyes flashed dangerously.
"And if I did? I am an adult, am I not? I no longer answer to you when it comes to decisions concerning my personal life."
"You live under this roof, may I remind you," Robert nearly shouted, spittle flying from him as his body inflated. "You actions still effect the reputation and good-standing of our family, Mary, and have a direct bearing upon how people will perceive both you and your son."
The mention of George struck her again, knocking the air from her lungs as she raised her chin in a show of defiance.
"This has nothing to do with George," she began, convincing herself even as she aimed the words at her father.
"Like hell it doesn't."
The words reverberated, the close confines of the room only heightening the effect.
"How can you delude yourself in such a manner, Mary, when you of all people should know just how much there is to lose in a situation such as this?"
"A situation such as this?" she mimicked hotly, a flush of anger patching its way across her neck. "Are you attempting to throw Mr. Pamuk into a conversation in which he holds no relevance whatsoever?"
How she had come to stand, she was uncertain. But she stood, nonetheless, held upright on muscles powered by sheer determination.
"No relevance?" Robert restated in disbelief, breathing harshly as he attempted to steady his voice. "How can you make such an assertion when he was just thrown in our faces a few moments ago?"
"That happened ten years ago, Papa, and—"
"Precisely my point!"
Robert stepped towards her, his eyes having made no contact with Charles whatsoever since he entered the room.
"If the shadow of Mr. Pamuk still lingers over this house after ten years have passed, how can you not be wise to the damage that taking a second lover outside of the bonds of marriage can wreak upon your life?"
"That's it, don't you see?" she fought through, her arms outstretched in a physical plea. "My life—not yours. If I am to live under a shadow, then I shall manage it somehow. I survived the aftermath of what happened ten years ago, I survived the war, and I survived Matthew's death. Don't you think I can survive the ramifications of choosing to take a lover?"
She saw him wince from the corner of her eye at her choice of words, very aware of the fact that their connection went beyond such a description, even if she wasn't ready to label it with a more official title.
"I believe you have become caught up in your own uncontrollable desires and that your behavior has become a complete discredit to your family."
He breathed heavily, staring upon his eldest with an expression that suddenly chilled her blood.
"What would Matthew say to all of this?"
"Lord Grantham. That is enough!"
His penetrating tone caught them both off guard, Charles daring two steps towards her father who rounded on him with the obvious intention to strike.
"How dare you inflict such pain upon your own daughter when she is doing nothing but showing you the honor of speaking with you honestly?"
"You forget yourself, Mr. Blake," Robert breathed. "You do not issue orders here, whether or not you have managed to insert yourself into my daughter's bed."
She saw his fists flex, his arm shudder in the effort hold back the full measure of his wrath.
"I'm not the slightest bit interested in issuing orders, but I will not stand by idly and watch you cut her to the quick with such thoughtless remarks."
Lord Grantham laughed unexpectedly, the complete lack of humor in his tone alerting Mary to the unsettled nature of the waters churning between them.
"I find it quite ironic how you imply that you wish to protect Mary when your own ill-timed advances have pushed my daughter into acting with scruples no higher than those of a woman of questionable repute."
"Do not speak of her like that!"
His voice was rough and unflinching, matching perfectly the rigid gaze he threw back at her father as his jaw twitched dangerously.
"If you have any censure to unleash, let it be at me and me alone, Lord Grantham. Lady Mary deserves none, and I shall not allow her to own any of it."
"So are you implying that she was unwilling?" Robert questioned incredulously. "For by the manner in which the two of you have been irrevocably attached to each other throughout the course of this disastrous evening, I have a very difficult time believing that."
"Would you both just be quiet?"
The words gushed from her authoritatively, her body shaking slightly from the force of their release.
"I shall not be discussed and argued over as if I am not in the room. This is not a matter to be worked out between the two of you while I sit back mutely and nod my head."
She had their full attention, a fact which was oddly discomforting under the circumstances.
"What happened between Charles and me was consensual on both of our parts, I assure you. There was no advantage taken, no question of whether or not he was welcome in my bed."
The relative shock that paralyzed her father's expression did nothing but agitate her, spurring her forward in her own defense as Charles attempted to intervene.
"Mary, I think that…"
"Don't you dare do this!" she interrupted decisively, refusing to be dictated to any longer as to the course her life should take. "Don't you dare attempt to turn what we shared into something it wasn't in an attempt to spare me from my father's displeasure."
"That's not what I'm doing."
The gentleness of his voice was nearly her undoing, tempting her to resume her seat and allow him to shelter her from the inescapable fallout.
"Isn't it?"
His eyes held her a few agonizing seconds, imparting their desire to protect in a language unspoken. Yet hers held their ground, their stubborn resoluteness as palpable to him as if she had voiced it.
"I told you before, I'm a big girl, Charles. And I don't need you to weather every storm in my stead."
His struggle was so evident, every fiber of his being begging her in silence to allow him to be her knight, her conquering hero, the one who would rescue her from whatever debacle she was now facing. But she could not allow herself to rely solely upon him, she realized, as her destiny was now finally clasped within her own faltering hands. She had survived worse than this….she had survived a brush with hell itself.
She had survived.
You're strong. A storm-braver if ever I saw one…
Matthew had known, somehow, had realized that she was made of sterner material than she had ever realized. Charles did, as well, and had been attempting to open her eyes to her own inner-workings while she had been content to shove such knowledge blindly aside.
"I am quite capable of coming through one on my own."
The sound of her own voice was liberating, a lightness that did not fit her current circumstances imbuing her with determination.
"I know."
His whispered affirmation tugged at her heart, and she wondered at the heaviness in his eyes.
"I do hope there has at least been a proposal of marriage."
Robert's statement deflated her somewhat, her eyes falling to the floor as it was suddenly unbearable to look at either man.
"Yes. There has been."
His audible exhale drew her focus, and she watched as her father's body visibly relax for the first time since he had stormed in the door.
"I am relieved to hear it. And has a date been set?"
All moisture left her mouth, yet her legs held fast as she clasped her hands tightly together.
"I have not yet accepted."
Two sets of eyes flew to her in surprise, one confused by her refusal and the other stunned by the utterance of one simple word.
Yet.
"Have you taken leave of your senses, Mary?" her father threw out incredulously. "You have just been publically taken to task for your actions, and you are actually considering whether or not to accept Mr. Blake's offer of marriage?"
They had reached yet another impasse.
"There is nothing to consider here, you understand. You must accept him at once and set a date as soon as possible in case there is a child."
"Mary doesn't have to do anything."
She stared at him in wonder, closing her mouth quickly as a small smile creased her eyes.
"The offer is hers and hers alone, as is the choice. I shall not have her pressured into a marriage for which she is not ready, regardless of how prudent such a union may seem to you."
She hastily stepped between them, recognizing the dangerous simmer in her father's glare.
"So you are willing to allow a child—your child— to enter this world a bastard and drag his own mother to ruin?"
"Of course not," Charles spat in return, breathing heavily as he leaned forward. "Mary and I have already discussed this, however, and—"
"And what?"
She flinched at her father's shout, stepping closer to Charles unconsciously.
"Lord Grantham, do you really believe that either Mary or I would allow such a travesty to occur? After what I have lived through, after all I have lost, do you actually believe that I would ever turn my back on my own child or his mother?"
There it was, the raw pain he kept well hidden, his mask of composure sliding to the floor.
Robert paused then, studying them both with an expression Mary could not translate.
"I'm not sure what to think anymore."
His eyes flew to his daughter's, as they stared at each other yet again.
"But half an hour ago I would have not believed that we would be engaging in such an unfortunate conversation this evening. It would seem as though my perception of what truly takes place within my own family is faulty at best, so forgive me if I have difficulty in assuming that either of you have actually thought through this situation."
An uneasy silence took over, an unspoken conversation of wills taking place between three people caught unawares.
"I can assure you, Lord Grantham, that even though Mary and I have known each other but a brief period of time, I do love her most sincerely and only want the best for her."
She shivered at the impact of his declaration, unable to draw her gaze from him as his cheek twitched slightly.
"And do you feel the same, Mary?"
Her eyes rounded instantly, their focus shifting from one man to the other as speech momentarily deserted her.
"I have come to care very deeply for Charles," she finally managed, hoping he could sense the roots of what she was attempting to say.
"Then I fail to see why there is any reluctance to marry on your part."
Her father's statement was straightforward, the confusion upon his features genuine as he sought her face for an answer.
"It's just so soon, Papa," she breathed, her brow creasing. "So soon after Matthew…"
Her chest squeezed again, the past invading her present as she sensed his presence all around her.
"But not too soon to instigate intimate relations?"
His question quickly drew her out of her reverie.
"No. We needed each other."
There was no wobble to her voice, no doubt in her tone. She faced her father directly with eyes that implored him to truly listen.
"You have no idea what Charles and I have lived through, Papa, no understanding of what it is to lose your spouse so unfairly before their time."
"I have lost a daughter, Mary," Robert interrupted, "And I can assure you that the grief is just as crippling."
"Yes, I am certain, but quite different," she insisted softly. "And Charles has lost both, wife and daughter."
She pursed her lips together tightly, swallowing down any fear of plunging forward.
"At least you had Mama and she you to help grieve Sybil. Charles and I have both lost our partners in life. We have grieved in solitude, have felt half of our very selves torn from our arms. And yes, last night we dared to take matters into our own hands and offer comfort to each other."
"What you call comfort, others will call fornication," Lord Grantham put in, his voice quiet yet resolute.
"Let them call it what they will," Mary returned. "They are not living my life. I am."
He studied her, this child of his, this daughter now a woman who bore the determination of his mother.
"Then live your life, Mary. But know that I shall not allow an illicit relationship to continue between the two of you as long as you live here at Downton."
She hung her head in frustration, in anger, fighting back hopelessness that her plea was a lost cause.
"Are you asking me to leave?"
"I am asking you to either legitimize this relationship or put some distance between the two of you until this threatened scandal has had the opportunity to die down."
"What?"
All common ground seemed to have evaporated yet again as she gaped openly at her father.
"If the two of you continue such a close association as you have been doing, tonight's allegations will only serve to confirm suspicions that you are indeed having an affair. An engagement or a temporary separation would seem to be the only logical alternatives available to you at this point."
"And if neither of those options are acceptable?"
"He's right, Mary."
She could not have heard him correctly, her body turning towards him instinctively as she awaited a correction.
"Your father is right about this," he restated, watching her closely as he pursed his lips.
Her heart was hammering, pounding against her ribs with a relentless drive.
"How can you take his side in this?"
Had they not just been in agreement? Had he not just stood up for her, supported her decisions and acknowledged her independence in the heat of her father's disapproval?
"I am not taking his side, Mary. I am taking yours."
Her chest began to rise and fall rapidly, his meaning lost in translation as she sought to understand.
"If I remain nearby, it will be you and George who bear the brunt of gossip and innuendo, and I could not bear that."
"You cannot leave."
Panic reared its ugly head, strangling her insides at the thought of him going away. If something were to happen…
"Only for a while," he began, turning to her father in a silent plea.
"Lord Grantham, would you please allow us a few moments to discuss this matter privately?"
The earl pondered but a moment before nodding with measured reluctance, exiting the room slowly as if he were still unsure of the wisdom of such an action.
"How can you even think of going anywhere after all that has just transpired?"
"It's because of what has happened that I must. Don't you see that?"
"No."
Their feet remained planted, but a gulf had been formed, one she felt keenly as it carved out a hollow in her chest.
"I have been invited to a private horse sale in America—Kentucky, actually," he continued, taking her hand gently within his. "I can go, take care of business, and then return within two months. Hopefully by then—"
"Two months?"
She stared at him in disbelief, wanting to throttle him for even suggesting such a thing. She had just become accustomed to his presence in her life, allowing the fragile shoots of emotion to take root within a heart still overly tender to the touch.
"If I'm not here, Roquefort is likely to leave well enough alone and everything should settle down nicely."
"So now we are allowing Edward Roquefort to dictate our future?"
"For God's sake, Mary, would you please listen to me?"
He regretted the outburst the moment in flew from his lips, his hand ransacking his scalp as he inhaled deeply.
"I promised that I would protect you from scandal, that I would never do anything that might hurt you."
"You're hurting me now!"
He drew her closer, feeling the rigid stance of her body as fortresses dismantled attempted to rebuild themselves.
"How can leaving me be a solution when you profess to love me?"
He closed his eyes, tasting the irony of the fact that just hours ago he had stood outside, wondering if he would possess the strength to walk away from her if it was necessary.
"Because if I stay, Roquefort and his sister will make our lives as much of a living hell as they can. I don't know why he has formed such a vendetta against me, but that is neither here nor there. He is taking his displeasure out on you, and that is unacceptable."
"And your walking away is the solution?"
"Either that or becoming engaged, and I know where you stand on that subject."
Was it anger that she heard, or deep hurt edged with frustration?
"And how do you know I'll still be here two months from now?"
The steel edge in her inquiry sliced him open, and she stepped away from him, needing some distance to clear her mind.
"I don't. I can only hope and pray that you will still have me when I come back."
She swallowed down the urge to run to him, to throw herself into his arms and assure him of what he wanted to know.
"So that's it? You've made your decision, and I must live with it?"
She would not allow him to see her terror, to witness the trembling in her chin at the thought of losing him forever.
"It's not like that, Mary."
"Then what is it like? Please explain this to me, Charles, for from where I'm standing it certainly seems quite clear."
He stepped closer, willing her not to move, touching her shoulder in the same manner he would a skittish mare.
"I shall not go anywhere until we know whether or not…"
"I'm pregnant?"
She finished his thought for him, waiting for the response she knew would come.
"Yes."
She shook her head, unwilling to accept what was taking place even as she knew she could not stop him. Charles Blake was every bit as stubborn as she.
"That could be weeks from now, you realize."
"I know."
He felt her slipping away slowly, his mind refusing to allow it as his hands clasped her shoulders.
"Doesn't that defeat the entire purpose? If you remain here for weeks upon end, I don't see the need for you to leave at all."
"I can stay in London," he put forth, hating the very words he spoke as her eyes hardened.
"Just go, then. That's what you really want to do, it would seem."
The iciness in her voice bit him harshly.
"I don't want to go anywhere without you, Mary. You must understand that!"
He was bare before her, more naked than he had been just last night within the warm confines of her bedroom.
"But I don't," she whispered regretfully, daring to touch his face one final time. And with that, she turned and left him, fully aware of the pain she had just inflicted, her raw ache for him increasing with each step even as she left him behind.
As always, your thoughts are always welcome. :) See you in two weeks!