Chapter 17
Mary Eve of the Servants' Ball, January 1920
Mary sat for a moment in her room after Anna had left preparing herself for what was to come. Preparing herself to end her relationship with Richard, and for the ensuing scandal. She was terrified, but she had discovered a steely determination within her. Today she would take control of her life again.
She hadn't planned on telling Matthew about Pamuk yesterday, but she felt a great sense of relief that he had forced her to. Finally, after close on eight years, there were no secrets between them; no falseness or pretence. He knew who she really was and he had told her that he didn't despise her. Her conversation with Matthew had given her the strength the do what her Papa had suggested. Knowing that Matthew still loved her, and would stand by her as her friend, meant she felt she could face the worst that Richard could throw at her. And she was expecting the worst.
For a moment Mary mused on her relationship with Matthew. Her Matthew. It really was rather unusual. They loved each other, indeed, they were in love with each other but they were still kept apart by mistakes they'd made in the past. Matthew would forever feel bound to Lavinia, and she ever defined by Pamuk. She hoped one day that Matthew would be able to forgive himself, and her, but for now she was content that they were friends. It was more than she had ever dared to hoped.
She did regret not being braver and telling Matthew earlier though. If she'd been able to tell him before the war would he have left? Would they have been able to work it out? She would never know. They were both different people than they had been back then: older, wiser, more worldly-wise and certainly less black and white. She didn't think the old Matthew would've been so calm about her revelation, but she'd never know. Just one of many regrets she had.
She had no idea what her future would hold. America initially it seemed and Matthew had said that she would always have a home at Downton. She tried to imagine a future in which she and Matthew lived together at Downton as quasi brother and sister; living side by side but not truly together; loving each other but never expressing it physically or publicly. It would be a strange sort of life, but infinitely better than the lonely life she would've had as mistress of Haxby. There was talk from her Papa, and Matthew, of her finding some rich American to marry, but she was pretty sure that wouldn't happen. She loved Matthew with all her heart, there was simply no room for anyone else. Her experience with Richard had convinced her that a loveless marriage would be worse than no marriage, and so it seemed she would not marry, but grow old, and probably slightly mad, rattling around Downton.
She chuckled to herself at the thought, pulled on her gloves and headed downstairs to find Richard.
Matthew Morning of the Servants' Ball, January 1920
Isobel's words yesterday had struck a chord with Matthew. She'd told him to fight for Mary. One of his biggest regrets was that he hadn't fought for Mary before the war, that he'd let her slip through his fingers, and he was now wondering if he wasn't about to make the same mistake again. If Mary went to America it could be months before she was back, and what if she really did find an unsuspecting millionaire? He couldn't imagine his life without Mary in it, but he couldn't really expect her to stay unmarried and live with him at Downton forever, could he?
He poured himself a drink and sat down to think. Was he really contemplating asking Mary to marry him?
So much had happened over the last few days; his head was reeling, and his hand still bruised from punching that bastard Carlisle. God, that had felt good! He'd punched him for Mary's sake, for every time that he'd bullied her and hurt her, for every threat issued, every lie told, for every tear that he'd forced Mary to shed. With Carlisle out of the picture, he and Mary were finally free to marry if they wanted; for the first time in years they were neither spoken for, but it wasn't that simple, it was never that simple when it came to them.
Firstly, of course, was Pamuk. Mary had said that she was made different by him, and that it changed things between them. At the time, he'd been too shocked to counter that, but now he'd had time to think he didn't agree with her. The Mary he had loved all these years was the Mary who had been abused and taken advantage of by that scoundrel, she was the Mary who had carried around that shame and regret and who had never forgiven herself for a moment of weakness. She wasn't made different by him knowing about it, other than that he was able to understand her more; to begin to understand why she felt she couldn't accept him all those years ago. She thought herself as Tess and he as Angel Clare. If only she'd told him before the war! If only he could've shown her that he wasn't Angel Clare, that he would never reject her. No, if it were possible he loved Mary more knowing what she had been through at Pamuk's hands, not less.
The second, more complicated, matter was his vow to Lavinia. His mother had, twice now, told him that Lavinia would not want him to be unhappy and he had begun to wonder whether he had been wrong. Not wrong in wanting to honour her memory, but wrong about the way to do that.
He had felt that he deserved to be unhappy for the way he had betrayed Lavinia and broken her heart. But Lavinia had never asked that of him; it'd been his own reaction to the shame and guilt he felt over what he'd done. When Lavinia had realised that he was in love with Mary and not with her she had been brave and honourable and strong; she'd been able to admit that they were making a mistake and willing to step aside quietly. She had asked him to be happy, not to be unhappy. It was his own wounded pride, and guilty conscience, which had imposed unhappiness on himself as a way to atone for his behaviour.
Lavinia had been an incredible woman, and she had loved him much more than he had loved her, and so much more than he deserved. Her final wish had been that he was happy; perhaps the way to properly honour Lavinia was to be happy?