Title: Those Qualities Upon Which Friendship Lives
Author: Mena
Contact Info:
Twitter: LJMomo Yahoo: aquietconscience AIM: aquietconscience (Feel free to IM me when I'm on and introduce yourself!)
Summary: Mary returns to Misselthwaite Manor from boarding school in London more of a lady than ever and Dickon sees her in a new light -- the problem is, so does Colin.
Ship: Mary/Dickon
Disclaimer: The characters in this story were created by Frances Hodgson Burnett and published in 1911 as "The Secret Garden". I do not own the characters. The Secret Garden is now in the public domain and money *can* be made off of it as Susan Moody did with her sequel, "Return to the Secret Garden". This disclaimer applies to all chapters of this story as it appears here at FFN.
Those Qualities Upon Which Friendship Lives
by Mena in the Garden
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
I've been working on this story for years now. It currently has 12 completed chapters and it's always in the back of my mind to follow it through and complete the whole thing, though I don't know how many chapters it will be when it's finished.
I'm the same "Mena in the Garden" who runs the Secret Garden Fan Fiction Society on Yahoo Groups and I have a Secret Garden site here: secretgardenfics dot momodee dot com
Thanks for reading and if you'd like to leave a review positive or with corrections and ideas etc. please do. Enjoy.
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Chapter Nine
Dickon opened the door to the small cottage, worried about what Mary might think of his home. Much more humble than Misselthwaite. The house was but a dot on the vast land that Lord Craven owned. Outside, heather and gorse grew on the moor, and ivy stretched its way up the sides of the cottage, meeting the brown thatched roof. Garden tools and a small wheelbarrow lay in the front yard, covered with burlap.
Ushering Mary into the house, he watched her face carefully for a reaction. She seemed to be taking everything in, looking all around as if she wanted to memorize every detail. The cottage had just two rooms: a large, open area with a fireplace that served as a living room, and across from it in the same undivided area was the kitchen, outfitted with sink, stove and a table with two chairs. A closed door led beyond to Dickon's bedroom.
"It's lovely," said Mary, nodding her approval and giving Dickon a shy smile. "What's there?" She pointed to the door.
Dickon coughed. "Bedroom," he said quickly.
Mary immediately looked away, and Dickon could tell she was embarrassed. "I suppose I shall see that soon enough," she said softly.
He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulder, gently turning her to face him. "Aye," he agreed. He looked down into her eyes and felt intoxicated by her proximity. She smelled so sweet and looked delicate, like a flower. He bent down to kiss her, for not worried about being seen by intruding eyes, or feeling the pressure of a time limit calling him back to work. She was his, right here and now, all his. Her lips felt soft and smooth under his, and when he brought his arms around her and pulled her closer, she made the smallest sound of contentment. Embracing her fully, he caressed her face with one hand and held her to his body with the other. She seemed to melt into him, completely willing and trusting. It was this way she offered herself to him that drove his desire. He'd not permitted himself to partake of it fully, to spent time dwelling on the mysteries that lay beneath her skirts, lest it drive him mad with lust. He'd suppressed his carnal desires, but he was still just a man, and having Mary now within his grasp was too much to overcome with nobility. His lips played over hers, and he enjoyed the little moans she made because of his attentions. When at last he parted his lips slightly and introduced his tongue to her mouth, she responded tentatively, but did not pull away.
Dickon felt his desire grow as their kiss deepened. This was no longer a sweetheart's kiss or a gentle touch; they'd both allowed a primitive instinct to take over. He moved his lips to her cheek, then her neck, feeling Mary grip his arms tightly as she whispered his name.
"Mary," he said as his hands began to roam over her bodice. He could feel the warmth of her body, the softness of her breasts beneath the layers of lace and cloth, and could think only of how to remove those impediments. They'd known each other for years; they were the best of friends and the closest of hearts. Surely they were as married as any man and woman in love could be – surely it wouldn't be wrong not to wait for the official ceremony…
"Dickon, we shouldn't," she managed to say unconvincingly. "I know I didn't want to stop when we were in the garden, but --"
"I know," he said, coming back to claim her lips again. He moved so that Mary's back was to the wall, and he guided her until she stood against it, bearing the insistent weight of his body as he kissed her thoroughly. Pressing his hardness against her caused Mary to gasp and push him away.
"I'm sorry, Mary," he said, distraught that he'd offended her. "I love thee so and 'tis so difficult to wait…"
"But we must wait, Dickon," she said, catching her breath. "I want our wedding night to be special. I want to spend it here, with you, in your bed."
Her words caused Dickon's arousal to grow. "Tha munnot speak such things, Mary." He approached again and kissed her softly on the corner of her mouth. "I canna bear to let you go."
They stood in silence for a few moments, leaning against one another, each listening to the other's heartbeat. Mary reached up and stroked his cheek, already rough with the slight shadow of a beard.
"When did you become a man, Dickon? Just yesterday you were a boy," she said.
"And tha was just a wee lass," he replied. "But tha has grown into a beautiful woman."
Mary grew quiet once more. Dickon grew concerned when she wouldn't look up at him, but trained her eyes on the buttons of his shirt.
"I do want to stay with you, Dickon," she all but whispered. "I want you more than anything, but we must wait. Please don't be angry with me."
"No, lass, I am not angry with thee! Not a whit!" He held her tightly. "If tha wants to wait, we shall wait. And I shall think of thee every moment until we are to come back here as man and wife."
Mary looked up at him and smiled softly. There were tears in her eyes. "Oh, Dickon, I don't want to go back there again. I'd promised Colin I'd have tea – and we still have to talk to Uncle Archie. How I dread it!"
"'Tis best to get it over and done with; I will ask him tomorrow morning – now don't look so vexed…it will be all right."
Dickon assured himself that all would be well and the match would be approved, but a nagging feeling of worry plagued him. Lord Craven could withhold his blessing. This might not stop the wedding, but it might make it impossible to stay on the Misselthwaite land, even after Lord Craven had granted Dickon the cottage. Relations would be strained at best. The other problem was Colin; this dilemma remained whether Lord Craven agreed to the union or not. Colin would be estranged from them. How could they be together and retain Colin's friendship and trust?
"Dickon, I'd best get back. I wanted to stay here longer, but I think…I think it would be better for me to go. If I stay, I shan't want to leave for a very long while." With that, Mary turned to the door.
Dickon understood her meaning and grew a bit warm under his collar. She didn't even say anything saucy, yet she'd acknowledged she wanted to be with him intimately, and that was enough to make him more than a little uncomfortable down below. He immediately grabbed the door and opened it for Mary, and she stepped outside once more. They hadn't been at the cottage more than a few minutes, and already she had to leave.
He helped her up onto her horse, then mounted his own to lead her back to the manor. They had the horses canter and trot, not wanting to part too quickly. Surely it was tea time and Colin would be waiting – probably agitated that Mary was late. Dickon thought of his good friend and at once felt a bit of annoyance toward him for being the reason Mary was going back to the manor. If only she could have stayed longer…
"You look far away," observed Mary. "What's wrong?"
Dickon shook his head.
"Come now, Dickon Sowerby. I know when something's on your mind."
"I wanted thee to stay, is all."
"I know. But it is best this way. You must get a good night's sleep; I'll be expecting you at the Manor tomorrow to speak with Uncle Archie."
Dickon cast Mary a worried look.
"None of that, now," she cautioned.
They arrived at the house and took the horses to the stable where the stable hand set about putting away the saddles and bridles. Dickon walked Mary to the kitchen door and stood silent for a moment, unsure whether he should try to kiss her goodbye when they could be so easily discovered. Mary seemed to sense his apprehension, and leaned toward him slightly. He took the opportunity and kissed her, lingering for as long as she would allow. Then she stepped back and with a smile disappeared into the kitchen, gently closing the door behind her.