The damp chill of the morning suited Matthew's mood. He sat in the window seat of his small chambre d'hôtel pas cher. Parisians were late sleepers on a Sunday, so only a few colporteurs plied the streets. Still in evening wear English toffs furtively snuck away from late rendezvous' with courtesans. And he saw ragged men, to his eyes obvious poilu, literally translated hairy one, it was a term picked up in the trenches for French infantrymen. They hovered in doorways in ill-fitting donated Croix-Rouge française suits, shivering from hunger, and seeking shelter from the light mist that fell.
He had been lucky to fall into a good relationship with the owner of the small hotel/café. She had given him a good long term rate and he had stayed in the room for the past eight months ever since he was transferred to aid the British delegation at the Paris Peace Conference. He spent the last weeks of his enlistment writing out reports in French and German for the Versailles settlement along the Alsace-Lorraine corridor.
While he kept his own counsel towards the "make the Huns pay til the pips squeak" philosophy present among Lloyd George and Clemenceau, the translating and research had gotten him through the days and weeks that followed Lavinia's death.
He never let himself think about it.
Or the men he had killed in combat. The men under his command who had died because of his orders.
Nor Isobel's death the year previous.
And now his father's suicide.
He never let himself think too much about it all.
Matthew's eyes fell on Mary. She was still asleep. In his bed. In the bed they had shared as anonymous lovers. And now as husband and wife.
How extraordinary.
She stirred. The light coverlet came off her body as she straightened up. Blinking sleepily, she rubbed her left eye. With the right, she saw him sitting the alcove. As most mornings. He never slept long. His back bothered him more than he let on and tossed and turned much of the night, quietly grunting in pain. He arrived late to bed, and always up before her. His routine had at first disconcerted her. Would he think her idle? Demanding of breakfast in bed? She knew this marriage was to be an adjustment from her own routine. And it would not always be an easy one. She did like her luxuries.
She sat up and faced him. His eyes filled with a distant sadness she only was beginning to plumb.
Without words she slid her legs off the bed, reached out her arms, and enwrapped him in an embrace. He melted into her warmth. Arms around her, head on her breast, he wept and felt released from the prison of his own demons.
Later they sat downstairs in the café. The young widowed owner extended her congratulations to the newly married couple. She had a tremendous affection for Matthew. He worked often at the corner table, typewriter clicking, and she had provided endless cups of café crèmes to keep him nourished along with the occasional croissant or baguette.
Mary took a sip. "You look better." She looked at Matthew incisively. He had been so pale that morning. She feared never being able to reach his sadness.
He popped part of his croissant in his mouth. "I am." He had a shower, shave, and put on the new suit that he and Mary had chosen at Le Bon Marché. He had joked at the time that he doubted Mary had ever walked into a department store before in her life. She had countered she had mostly certainly been in Selfridge's in London. He smirked and responded but only to buy a gift for your lady's maid. Mary could only return a coy smile.
But the end result, in Mary's opinion, looked marvelous on him. A natural linen notched lapel suit with vest and tie, Matthew undid the tie a bit in the July heat and looked over his iced coffee.
"I should say thanks you to, I am." He said and moved his hand across to table to take her white gloved one into his own. They were to walk along the Seine and to Notre Dame Cathedral later. Then maybe along the left bank and a jazz club Matthew had heard about from one of the other diplomats at the peace conference.
He desperately wanted to take Mary dancing.
But first he needed to get something off his chest.
"I don't think I ever let myself dwell on my recent past. But when I did, this morning I realized suddenly I had never been there when any of my loved ones had died. The only deaths I've ever witnessed were the men I either killed, or were killed in front of me in bloody, mangled bodies that no longer looked even human once the howitzers did their job." He spat out the words surprising even himself at the visceral images that came into his head to accompany his words. He took a moment then continued.
Mary had no words of easy words of consolation. She had seen the men in their anguished convalescence. Heard their screams in the night.
"I was in hospital with Mother…" he closed his eyes to get through the next revelation. "I had a visit from a local agent de police to inform me of what happened." He shook his head. "Then Lavinia…" He felt the bile at the back of his throat. "She died at her father's house in London. I heard about it only from a telegram a couple days after it happened. I didn't even know… "
Mary tried to squeeze his hand but he pulled away. "I didn't even know. You should know… when your wife dies…" He looked at Mary searchingly. "You should just bloody well know." His blue eyes ice cold in shame.
"It's not your fault, you were with the army." Mary said her voice full determined practicality. "No one blames you for that. And you shouldn't blame yourself."
He pulled himself back together. "You're right of course." He said. "It's just the two of them coming so close together. And then me not getting home to see my father. I had no idea he was so fragile." Matthew's fingers pulled through his hair. "No idea…"
Suddenly a shaft of sunlight struck the gloom.
Mary turned and felt the welcoming heat. "Let's get out of here, shall we?" And she put her lace gloves into her left hand and pulled her seat back. She gave him a smile and a quirk of her eyebrows.
He returned her smile. "Let's." Matthew agreed, pulling his straw hat off the nearby rack. "Think we're going to be chasing the sun all day today."
And they left the café with a wave to Marielle at the counter.
XX
Downton Abbey July 1919
"You've done what?" Robert's voice had taken on a combination of sheer apoplectic anger and total incredulity. It even cracked slightly at the last word.
Mary whispered "Courage." to Matthew, whose lips twitched in bemusement.
He announced it again. "We were married in Paris last week." Calmly stated, he was still a bit giddy inside from what they had done. They had remained in the world of their own making. It had all seemed so right. After his stupid retraction of the proposal, Mary had sensibly shown him the error of his way by making him insensibly jealous with her coquettish behaviour with the duke. The wild runaway together, the voyage across the channel, and the quiet beauty of the marriage ceremony had solidified them into a team. She had overcome his anxieties. He had instilled in her the assurance of love.
They were sure of their future. It wasn't going to be easy. There would be arguments aplenty. They had already had a fair share on their honeymoon. But it was all a part of learning about each other.
"In Paris?" Cora said first. Then she gave Mary a pointed glare.
"But…." Robert was spluttering now. "…You've just met." He turned to Matthew. "You were just here for the first time last week."
Mary and Matthew exchanged furtive guilty glances. "Have to cop to that one…" Matthew thought.
"You've hardly had any time to know each other." Cora interjected.
Mary's face flushed red. Except for the intimate knowledge of every inch of his body. She started to respond but was interrupted by her beloved granny.
"I had thought our time was approaching disillusion. Perhaps, for our family, disillusion is truly upon us." She said with a nostalgic finality. "The war has changed the world as we understood it."
Matthew rocked on his heels. Mary was gripping his hand tight in frustration. He needed to say something.
"Forgive my possible discourtesy but the war, if anything, has made me consider time as something that is precious and finite. We have to grasp life and not deny love no matter how and when it is given." He said it through clenched teeth.
"What are you anyway?" Robert turned in complete exasperation towards Matthew. "One of these dreadful freethinkers?" Robert felt a migraine coming on. "We already have a socialist in the family now. So why not?" He threw his hands up in disgust. "But I won't have you manipulating Mary in such twaddle."
"Now hold on…" Mary said. "I have a say in my own life."
"Yes." Her father retorted. "And you made a beeline for the heir that's for sure. Is that the real reason for your divorce? Patrick was out so you get your hooks into the next one."
"Robert!" Cora burst out. "Mary is not to blame for the failure of her marriage."
Her husband's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry for that. But you left me high and dry with the Duke of Eastmoor. He was already to talk…"
"You mean negotiate don't you?" Mary was volatile now. "Like a pig or cow at a country fair? How much will you give me for that daughter?"
"Calm down the two of you." Cora demanded. She put her hand in front to stop the earl from snapping again. "Robert. Don't you have some papers for Matthew to sign?" She gestured over and took Matthew's arm which was shaking in anger. She squeezed it to calm him down and said gently, "Go with the Earl, Matthew." And she guided the two men towards the library.
Matthew paused only to give Mary a despairing look. They were to be separated. None of this was going to plan. Not that they had a good plan to begin with.
They had not really come up with a cover story. Nothing they threw out as options to each other seemed plausible. They had spent most of the time of the ferry return trip suggesting things. Matthew was bringing all his belongings with him so that had taken up their last day in Paris. Mary remained in their hotel suite while a couple of other tenants from Marielle's helped Matthew pack the car which he was also taking with him to England. Matthew had wanted to invent some sort of tale of a whirlwind love at first sight kind of thing.
"Lie outright?" Mary said. "To my parents?" She gave a deep breath.
"Is it all really a lie?" Matthew had countered. They were sitting over tepid tea on a cramped bench, inside the ferry and away from the channel wind and choppy sea.
Mary put her hand up to her eye, shading it from the glare of the sun on the paneled glass. "Well…." She shrugged. "I mean I can hardly tell them we met and within five minutes I was ripping your clothes off."
Matthew chortled, his sea blue eyes twinkling. "No." He kissed her. "I suppose not. But it was most enjoyable."
"I wish I had fallen in love at first sight." She kept her cheek next to his.
"What were you then?" He asked tentatively. Still not sure himself what drew her to him.
"I was intrigued by you."
He furrowed his brow. "Intrigued?" His lips puckered in thought.
"You had a look about you. So melancholy. I felt a connection. Because I felt the same." She touched his cheek. "I thought, maybe, here's someone who understood."
Matthew nodded. "It was as if I did not even have to say anything. I knew you. As if our souls were already linked." He shook his head in bewilderment. "Sounds like something out of a nineteenth century gothic novel I know, but it's true. I knew you felt the same."
"So what are we to do?" She turned back to look at the channel coast of Dover. It was coming up and she could see the white chalk cliffs.
"I think it best if we say we were acting on impulse. That we intend to stay married and make it work. Your father will get over any frustrations soon enough."
Mary's head bowed. "You're his heir. He'll soon see you as the son he never had. I will bear the brunt of his long term disappointment."
Matthew hated to see her so fatalistic. "You don't mean that."
She shrugged. "You're probably right. I'm never down for long. It's a trait that runs strong in all the Crawley women."
"That's because you have to put up with so many wrongheaded Crawley men." Matthew rejoined. They were about to dock. They started towards the way out.
So here they were. At Downton. Facing the music.
Matthew followed Robert into the smaller alcove of the library. Mary remained with her mother. It was just the Crawley women, she thought. Now comes the real test.
"Mary." Cora almost immediately started in. "I want the truth to the question I'm about to pose. When did you first meet Matthew Crawley?"
Her daughter leveled a direct gaze. There was no point in prevarication. "Last month. When you and I were to go to the House of Patou for fittings."
"You said were taken with a sudden headache and returned to your hotel room."
Mary caught her mother's tone but resisted any intonation of contempt in her own. She deserved her mother's ire. Now it was time to set it straight.
"I lied." She kept her voice flat.
"And where were you really?" Cora took the seat next to Violet. So Mary turned to both of them.
"I'm not sure you want to know the answer to that." She bit her lip slightly.
"Sometimes we must let the blow fall by degrees." Violet said. "Tell us in your own time."
Mary took a deep breath. "I was walking to Madame Patou's. Matthew bumped into me. We had some coffee."
Her mother gave a dissatisfied sigh. She kept her eyes on Mary.
Mary squared her shoulders. She was not ashamed of her actions. "I returned with him to his rooms. He took me to bed. I became his lover and now I am his wife."
Cora's eyes rounded wide. "What? Do you realize if this gets out in society you'll be the subject of vile gossip and crude suggestion by all of London?"
"Mama really. The world has changed since your time. No one really cares about such things now."
"It's not changed that much. You will find out. Especially for you."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You're the daughter of the Earl of Grantham. You are supposed to set a proper example."
"And marry the Duke of Eastmoor so you can tuck me away in the peaks and congratulate yourself on making me a good match." Mary desperately needed her mother to understand. "I know you meant well. I know you love me. But I am not capable of forty years of boredom and duty with a man I would never love."
"And you love Matthew? A man you barely know? A man you just met? Isn't this just like Richard? Mary I wash my hands of you if this is some kind of repeat of that childish rebellion."
"You can think me a lost cause, Mama. But I do love Matthew. I love him far more than I can explain to you." She leaned down in front of her mother. Took her hands. "I'm not sure I understand it all myself. But it's all true."
Cora gripped Mary's hands tight. "How can I believe it? It's so unlike you."
Then Violet finally broke her silence.
"Mary and I are alike. Neither of us are natural romantics. But even I concede that the heart does not exist solely for the purpose of pumping blood." Violet turned to Cora. "You must have seen what I saw when they walked in."
Cora conceded. "They did look very natural together."
Mary leaned over and hugged her grandmother. "Thank you Granny."
Violet nodded. "You've taken a very big step, my dear. I hope you and Matthew have many years of happiness together."
Cora then added to Mary's great relief. "We will not disclose all of that information to your father. We'll keep those pieces of the puzzle missing for right now."
Then all three were stunned into silence as raised voices were to be heard through the paneled walls of the music room. Matthew's strident declaration that he "would never sign such a legal manipulation" and that Robert could "think what he bloody well liked" was followed by a slammed door.
Mary could only guess at what drove Matthew to such a height of anger. He returned to the music room.
"Mary I can't stay here any longer. I don't believe your father and I will ever come to terms. He's completely without any faith in me. And I …. Until I know what went on in the past, perhaps he's right to." He then seemed to realize the other women were in the room.
He took her aside to a quiet corner. "I'm going back to Manchester. But you can stay here. Live at home at least until all this is sorted out. Maybe it would be best..."
Mary stared at him. Astounded at his suggesting it. "Absolutely not."
"Are you sure?" He trembled and she caught him by the elbows. They gripped each other's forearms.
"Whither thou goest." Mary replied, calm and assured she was doing the right thing.
Matthew breathed in her scent to calm his nerves. He bowed his head on her forehead.
"Besides, you tried to get rid of me once before and remember how that turned out?" Mary said.
"I do." Matthew acknowledged. "I do indeed."
XX
The keys struck the paper 'clack clack.' Then the ping and the zip as he pushed the carriage back to the starting position. Then it started all over again…. Clack clack..click… clunk (shift key)…clack… ziiiip …
The horrible monotony of it all drove Mary mad. The cramped Paris flat did nothing to improve her mood. They had been married on Saturday. By Monday she suggested returning to the Hotel Royale for the last days of their honeymoon. He had baulked, saying he had a bit of work to catch up on first.
So here they were, Tuesday afternoon. And to Mary's point of view no further along than they were the previous day.
"Matthew. When will this be at an end? We've been inside all day." She grumbled.
"What am I supposed to do Mary? These last reports are to be in before we return to England." Matthew's head came up from his typewriter only briefly.
"Isn't that what clerks are for?" Mary responded with exasperation. "I remember a maid of ours left to work in a telephone company with her typewriter in hand."
"Usually it is. But they're being run off their feet with other work. I told Annie that I would finish up my own report on the territorial settlement of Alsace-Lorraine. It is my research." Matthew sipped the coffee that had grown cold in his concentration. "Besides, I am late as it is. Going to Downton with you put me quite behind in my work."
He looked at her slyly. "As did our wedding night."
"And into the next morning…" She naughtily reminded him.
He smiled a wickedly pleased smile, but bent his head back down over his paper. …'click…ziiiip….clack clack….'
She put down the novel she had tried twelve times to restart. "I simply cannot abide that noise anymore."
"Well you can always leave." He said, tired and more than a bit cheesed off at Mary's lack of understanding.
"Maybe I will." And she got up and started to pack a bag. "I'll be at the Hotel. You can come when you've finished."
He couldn't let that one go. He responded with expert dryness, "that's how it usually works."
Mary caught the drift of the entendre and curled an eyebrow. "But it's so much more enjoyable when two are involved." And she left him to his work.
Mary's hotel room beckoned. Matthew's concentration was shot. He gave up and left the reports until later.
He walked swiftly over to the Hotel Royale. He asked at the desk for the room of his wife, Lady Mary Crawley. The assistant gave him a key and guided him to Chambre Lune de Miel with a smile and a quick wink.
Matthew took the stairs up to the honeymoon suite Mary had chosen. Secluded at the back of the hotel, it was luxuriously appointed with antique prints, carved boiseries, and elaborate marquetry on the seats and tables of the furniture. The bed was large, covered with pillows and a silk duvet. Mary was just coming out of the en suite bath.
She was wearing a pastel colored diaphanous chemise, rubbing her hair dry. She turned at the sound of the closing click of the door. And smiled.
Matthew rushed over to her. The silk slipped beneath his fingers. It whispered as he swished it up and over Mary's head. He buried his head in the nape of her neck and began to place long, lingering kisses all along her shoulder.
"That's more like it." Mary's voice vibrated with need. "Take me to bed."
And he lifted her up into his arms, moved swiftly, and placed her within the center of the plush bedding. Their bodies curved together as spoons. He gripped her from behind and swept his hands along her torso. Feeling her breasts. Taking each one into his fingertips in turn. His grip was strong, pinching and made her whimper in anticipation of his next action.
Matthew lifted her up only to shed his own clothing. Then fell back into the depths of the silken duvet. She lay horizontal in the bed, legs spread slightly apart. Their eyes met briefly. Hers open. His hooded with desire. He brushed her hair back against her skull. She kissed him.
Would they ever get enough of each other? The desire he saw in her eyes, equaled his own. The exquisite need to touch, to feel, to cling to each other in sweet anticipation overwhelmed him.
She flamed and he flickered. He pulled her close once again. Matthew did not need any more invitation. His head went down onto her abdomen, quick licks and laps within her bellybutton making her skin goose pimple. He worked his way down and across her flat stomach and curved hipbones. Soft licking sounds against her skin, his fingers kneading her rounded rear as he lifted her up to meet his tongue. He flicked it in and around her inner thighs. She spasmed and expelled a low moan. He continued with a slow sense of self-indulgence.
This was what she wanted. Slow. Fractional. The intensity mounting in small increments. The blotting out of all other sensations and this…this shattering experience of tongue, lips, and teeth. Small bites followed by the heat of his breath.
Her taste drove him wild. He wanted to go faster. But tonight, right now, was for her. Her pleasure. The friction his tongue made against her most sensitive spot made her thighs tighten against his skull. He felt the pressure but continued his exertions. Moistened his lips again… flicked it there…. And there…. She jerked helplessly. Grunting and gripping the duvet with both of her hands. Her head lolled side to side.
She was blissfully helpless. The intoxication that he made her feel this good drove him to complete her satisfaction. He lifted up to shift his head to get a better angle. A desperate whimper escaped her open mouth, fearing he was done.
"Shh…" He reassured. "I'm not done by a long way." He hooked her feet around his shoulders.
Her head fell back against the pillow, a wisp of a smile crossing her face. "Good."
He blotted everything else out but the wondrous sounds of her pleasure. Her back arched as his tongue went in again. Her toes curled as he found the spot. Skimming his lips where she wanted it most. He circled, stroked some more. Sensations flooded in. Tight. Overpowering. As her release was rising within, he put more pressure on the spot. Her breaths were now shallow. Her hips jerked, and undulations of bliss washed over her body, building until she felt an indescribable sense of uncontrolled pleasure. The warmth flooded her body, it made her dizzy and disoriented. She bucked against the sheets as his tongue without relenting plummeted her depths.
Gasping in climax, sweaty with the heat of her exertions, still feeling residual tremors of agonizing desire, her body finally went blissfully limp. He kissed her taste one last time, and moved so that he could see her flushed cheeks, her closed eyes, and her hair splayed across the pillowcase in abandonment.
She was so very beautiful. He lay down next to her, still tenderly touching her stomach and trailing kisses down her arm. He pulled her hair back so that her head met his own ready lips. Soft grunts of satisfaction were his reward.
But Mary was not done. She hooked her arms around his body so that he was forced to move atop her. She could feel his hardness. She wanted it in her. She wanted him satisfied. He moved against her and eased in, moaning as he held himself above her. He filled her and she tightened her thighs making his arousal more intense. He leaned forward and became to thrust hard. Their fingers entwined as his rocking crashed against her. His breaths were ragged, audible. He gasped and lurched forward as his release came in surges of peaks and valleys.
Damp and hot, he rolled against her once more.
They spooned together, neither wanting to move.
XX
Hope you liked it! Please tell me your thoughts and observations.