A/N: nothing much happens in this one, but then there has just been a lot of drama and there is a lot of drama yet to come so I thought I'd make a brief interlude. I am sorry for how long I've been absent. Things have suddenly gotten very busy in my life, but i promise I am not giving up on any of my stories, updates might just take a while longer. Also the extracts Matthew reads are taken from the story Rapunzel and are not mine.
The snow was still falling thick and fast by early afternoon the following day and yet, even without the master and mistress of the house under its roof, the general goings on at Downton urged a sense of normality to return in the most mundane of things. Breakfast went along as usual, newspapers were ironed, and beds were made as if things were simply blowing by as they did in the normal day to day. Edith emerged early in the afternoon taking luncheon in replacement for her missed breakfast and then going to read in the library while Matthew perused the interior pages of that day's copy of The Times. There was little of interest, despite that so much seemed to have happened of late – an ardent amount of politics followed by much of the mundane home news and a few articles on foreign affairs that, though troubling, were not the forefront of his mind in that moment.
His thoughts had been racing since the early hours of the morning.
He could still feel the ghost of Mary's lips moving against his. Her feet standing on top of his, hands grasping his lapels, body flush up against his with his arms wrapped tightly around her.
Often, he found himself drifting back to the moment quite unconsciously and unintentionally, he'd close his eyes, remembering her sweet scent and the intoxicating headiness of her tongue against his.
"It's so typical of Mary to lounge in bed all day."
Edith's observation was a shock to Matthew and he quickly snapped away from his indulgent day-dream in order to drop the paper down beside him and glance over at her.
"I don't think she slept very well, understandably," he answered vaguely. "I'm sure she'll be up soon. Have you checked in on Sybil yet today?"
"Twice," Edith confirmed. "Blissfully asleep both times. I'm glad she's alright but I must say I envy her being allowed to sleep and play and not much else – even if nanny can be a beast sometimes; I received a note from Fräulein Kelder this morning informing me that even such a storm as this will not excuse Mary and I from our studies." Her voice held a resenting bitterness to it. "She writes that she'll be present bright and early tomorrow morning."
Matthew made sympathetic face of mingled expression and disapproval.
"You couldn't put her off I suppose?" He suggested.
"No, regretfully not," Edith sighed, "Papa and Mama are the only ones with the authority and they've sent a telegram saying they won't be arriving for another couple of days at least. Of course, I couldn't tell them about what happened or else they'd worry and there'd be little point to it."
"Have you told Mary? She ought to know, as I'm afraid I have very little idea how to run a house and she's rather accomplished at it."
Edith seemed put out at this comment, frowning. She didn't pursue it, however.
"No, I'm afraid you'll have to inform her as I doubt either of us would survive a length of time in the same room as each other under these circumstances. It's a good job you're here or Carson and nanny would have to remove our claws from each other's scalps."
Matthew laughed heartily, grinning and pushing himself up from the sofa and going over to tug the bell chord.
Edith wondered vaguely if Matthew thought she had been joking.
"Do you still have the telegram? I'll ask a maid to take up some tea and make sure she gets the message after I see how Sybil's doing."
Edith dug it out from a drawer in the desk and handed it to him.
"Thank you," he nodded. "I trust you are alright? I know the whole business gave Mary a shock, but you are recovered from it this morning?"
Edith smiled at his concern. "I am, thank you. I'm also very grateful for your help and concern. I dread to think what would have happened without you. Nanny was quite useless."
"I was very glad to be of help," he replied, nonchalantly.
"The man in his terror consented to everything, and when the woman was brought to bed, the enchantress appeared at once, gave the child the name of Rapunzel, and took it away with her."
Sybil gasped from her seat on Matthew's lap, burying her still pale cheek further against his shirt. Matthew glanced away from delicate pages of the ancient book over to Sybil's dark head slightly sleep-dishevelled hair where it lay soundly against him. He smiled reminiscently at her reactions to the story, reminding him with a fond pang of Isabella at such a tender age. She would have been eight years of age that summer just gone. He held the book of Grimm's fairy tales before them both so she could see the delicate illustrations while he read aloud.
He placed a gentle kiss to her temple before continuing.
"Rapunzel grew into the most beautiful child under the sun…"
Sybil looked up at him and Matthew paused as she opened her mouth to speak.
"That's not true," she said, seemingly surprised and somewhat outraged at his last sentence.
"Oh no?" Matthew queried, intrigued and further bemused as to what the child could mean.
Sybil shook her head forcefully – decidedly.
"Mary is the most beautiful girl in the world." She told him seriously, turning on his lap to gaze up at him slightly for the briefest of moments before he replied.
"You know what, Sybil?" Matthew murmured. "I do believe you're right about that."
The elegant figure of a girl doused in a simple blue dress arriving in the doorway of the nursery had gone unnoticed by both Matthew and the young girl cuddled in his arms.
Mary leant gracefully against the doorframe, the only nearby light being the lamp by Sybil's bed and the afternoon sun peeking through the closed curtains, afforded her the chance to go undetected in her place. Secretly, she liked to hear him read. Matthew's voice was eloquent and smooth, low and gentle toned. Soothing. That was, until Sybil demanded he do the voices of the different characters and then he'd twist into something differently pitched and unabashedly comical. She laughed softly and quietly from the corridor, barely bearing more than a breath in volume. She leaned her head against the wall, smiling serenely as he had read on.
She'd blushed at Sybil's sweet declaration, love for her darling little sister increasing in the face of her plain innocence and yet she'd felt a flutter of intrinsic curiosity to hear how Matthew would engage a response. She'd thought perhaps he might simply laugh in the outrageously handsome and endearing way he did and then continue reading. He might've ignored the statement altogether. Perhaps, and most likely she thought, he'd playfully disagree, shake his head and tell Sybil that she was the most beautiful girl in the world. She was, in his own words after all, his 'best girl' and Mary had been almost sure that he'd be that was inclined to reply.
Only he hadn't.
Mary swallowed in shock. She suddenly felt quite unable to breathe, completely unsure what the connotations of his words were.
And yet, for the first time, she wandered if the rumour Charlotte had told her at Eleanor's ball was true. She wandered if he liked her. He certainly cared about her, he'd made that much clear over the last year or so- he'd protected her, helped her, been there for her, supported her and provoked conversation with her that concerned her own interests, unlike so many of the other boys she'd danced with- but she wandered if that had grown to something more.
That was twice he'd told her she was beautiful. And she wandered, if he didn't like her, why he had kissed her back so fervently, or even why he had kissed her at all.
Unconsciously, her fingertips pressed gently to her lips and laid there for a minute or two while she pondered the possibility of his feelings.
When he began to read again, his eloquent voice flowing words from the page so they echoed around the room in a gentle hum, she became aware of her movement and slowly amended it, letting her hand fall back to her side.
"When she was twelve years old, the enchantress shut her into a tower, which lay in a forest…"
Another few minutes and Sybil was once again fast asleep, curled up in a tight ball in Matthew's lap. He closed the book slowly, placing it on the adjacent table and settled to stroke a hand carefully over her hair, bobbed and short unlike her two elder sisters.
He slipped her from his lap and shifted her properly into his arms, holding her sleeping body against his hip, using his one free hand to open the covers and lay her onto the mattress.
"Get well soon, monkey."
He pulled her sheets over her and tucked the little grey rabbit toy that had fallen to the floor under her limp arm.
And then he was gone, the lamp was switched off and the nursery door closed behind him.
He jumped, startled and almost cried out in shock when he was met in the hall by Mary, standing, radiant as ever despite her lack of sleep, just outside the threshold.
"Dear god!" He hissed, "Mary you startled me!"
She laughed at his disarray, chuckling gently behind her palm.
"Good," she announced playfully, without really knowing why.
She caught glimpse of a smirk from him.
"Did you sleep well?" He asked, not knowing what else to say other than the usual pleasantries.
"Yes, I think so," she breathed casually.
She had not, in fact, slept well at all. For her mind had been thoroughly plagued with every thought she seemed possible of possessing. The feel of him so very close to her had been commonplace amongst her dreams when she eventually succumbed to slumber. Their arms had been entwined like they had been that last night on the library sofa, locked in an embrace that neither of them ever wished to lose. She'd felt his lips too. Soft and tender and ever so beautifully moulded against her mouth as they caressed her skin. Then there had been other imaginings—ones she felt it wrong to mention or even allow her thoughts to drift to once again despite how much she longed to do exactly that. More than once she'd woken up expecting him to be next to her. More than once she'd pondered if she could venture to his bedroom and seek his company in the pretence of – well – anything. He had filled her every thought, her every inch of dream and yet she couldn't shake him even when awake.
"How about you? Did you sleep well?" she asked.
Matthew wondered how she could remain so composed, so regal and calm, when he felt like a nervous muddle.
"Yes, thank you. It was nice to be back in my old bedroom again," he mused. "I hadn't realised quite how much I had missed it."
She smiled in remembrance of the raggedy little boy with a toy sword and paper pirate hat, running along in the grass with an excitable Pharaoh at his heels.
"You used to run around the corridors with that toy plane of yours," she voiced, her tone gentle goading.
"You used to tease me mercilessly about every move I made and every word that left my lips," he replied, a soft smirk appearing on his fine countenance. "You still do."
She admired him shamelessly, one hand fiddling with her necklace.
"If I remember correctly, you give as good as you get. I've never known you to take a jibe lying down."
"I was never the one to start it though, you must recall that," he countered.
In the still and otherwise silent corridor, neither of them noticed how close they had become. Their low tones and coquettish whispers were drawing their bodies ever closer to those of each other.
He could smell her intoxicating perfume.
She could hear his heart beating rhythmically in his chest.
"Well, I like a good argument."
He grinned, eyes glinting.
"If you like a good argument, we should see more of each other."
His lips were mere breaths away from hers. Mary closed her eyes as her hands lifted to his neck. Their noses touched. Her fingers glided smoothly through his hair. His hand came to rest lightly over her waist, his other just above her shoulder blade, twirling his fingers in her long, sweet-smelling hair.
Their lips met, eyes closed in rapture.
It was glorious. The feeling of her so close, so impossibly, improperly, close and still not close enough.
She deepened the kiss, knowing full well he was too much of a gentlemen to presume to dare do such a thing without her expressed permission. His response proved her right, clearly showing his eagerness and passion matched hers in equal measure.
They pulled away abruptly, jumping in shock at a noise somewhere behind them on the servants' staircase. They looked around sharply, but both were met with the sight of an empty corridor.
She giggled at their hasty departure and he began to chuckle in conspiration, resting his forehead against hers.
"You don't suppose that despite our mutual taste for a good argument, that we could perhaps forge a truce?" He asked, breathlessly.
She kissed him once more, chastely this time.
"A truce?" she asked, her tone a question in jest, "Whatever would we want one of those for?"
He shook his head in amused disbelief, resuming yet another kiss, this time with his tongue sliding gently past her lips. Her head followed his when he tried to pull away to speak, not quite letting him relinquish his claim on her mouth so soon.
She accomplished her aim for a moment, but it was not a long enough moment for her.
"I want us to be friends, Mary. We can still have our arguments, but I'd like to come away from them happy rather than deflated."
"Haven't we always been friends?" She knew she was playing with him, only she enjoyed it too greatly to give up the habit.
Matthew, clearly, seemed to take things a little more to heart.
"Don't play with me," he murmured. "I don't deserve it. Not from you."
He was right, she knew it. She felt a pang of regret for her general manner towards him over the last years. After all, she'd known in her heart of hearts that it had been misguided of her to treat Matthew as she had done in recompense for her own feelings regarding her father.
She supposed she hadn't realised how hurt he had been.
She said nothing for a moment, allowing him to continue speaking.
"Shall I remind you of some of the choicest remarks you made about me when I arrived here?"
She could tell he was playing with her now, for his tone was soft and amorous, gentle and seductive.
"Because they live in my memory, as fresh as the day they were spoken."
She looked up at him in rapture, taking on his own intonation with her reply.
"Oh, Matthew," she breathed, "what am I always telling you? You must pay no attention to the things I say."
Without a second thought, they were locked in another embrace.