His hands roaming.
His fingers tantalizing.
His face concentrated.
His eyes hooded.
His mouth seductive.
His lips full.
His cheeks flushed.
Mary had taken all that in. She lived in the moment. She was not sure how long it was to last. The man had been a stranger.
And now he was her husband.
They had made love with abandon. Knowing that at any minute, any day they would have to part. It had made every coupling intense.
Touch at first was wanton. They hurt each other with their touch. He bruised. She scratched.
As if to know it was real. They had to feel the pain.
That eased as they began to intuit each other.
He identified where his touch made her scream in ecstasy.
She knew her caress shattered him.
Every time feeling became more loving.
Before they knew, before they acknowledged it, they were in love.
It made everything more exhilarating. The fact they never spoke of it only heightened the emotion.
They knew it. They did not need to say it.
It spoke in their eyes.
Even then the love only lowered their inhibitions further.
All things were possible.
His tongue strayed into her most private regions. She opened herself up to his stroking, his lips and teeth, nibbling.
She had him take all of her, slowly.
And he did so. He was exquisitely leisurely with his touch. His devouring made her limp, wet, close to losing control.
Then she craved for him to go vigorously, so he deliberately relaxed, taking her to a plateau of aching, trembling need that threatened to diminish her sanity.
He then stopped altogether. He left her sweet spot. She was bereft. Lost without contact to his body. He was her addiction.
He knew it. He deliberately withheld her fix. Until her rasping voice begged him for more.
And he came to her rescue.
He continued, leaving her breathless with vigorous thrust after thrust with his tongue that grated against the ridge he knew from her panting screams and shuddering thighs was making her delirious and barely conscious of his exertions. She demanded he finish her no matter his exhaustion.
Her release left her transfixed, vacant of anything other than how her body felt more alive than at any other moment of her life.
Sigh…
God, Mary thought, what'd she give to feel that night again?
Instead she was at Downton, alone, reading Karen Ancell's journal article "The Motherhood Mandate" emphasizing the woman's primary role in any fertility problem. That men follow women in sexual matters and that it was best to limit your excitement in any sexual encounter, for that would relax the womb and make conception potentially easier to manage.
Dr. Ryder had not given much credence to the idea, saying it was as outdated as William Acton's notion that women didn't have sexual feelings at all, but his solution of an intrusive medical examination was not something Mary wanted, unless she absolutely had to.
So she concluded she would try the more passive approach. It made a strange kind of logic. To rest and open herself up to conception. Not get too agitated by passion and thus close up the passage to her uterus. To be submissive rather than demand satisfaction.
Utterly dull, Mary concluded, but if it achieved the end of her having the long awaited heir, it would be worth it.
She did not tell Matthew her plan. Better he be left ignorant. He was preoccupied as it was. He had accepted the London Foreign Office job, taking up a position that would have him make several trips back and forth between London and Paris. Mary was to remain at Downton for the near future, at least until their housing arrangements were finalized.
But the strain was already showing. It had made the week before he was to leave for Paris to start his new position the most strained of their new marriage.
It seemed to Matthew that Mary had arbitrarily decided to visit her aunt Rosamund just a few days before he was to depart. When he offered to leave early with her, she said it was not necessary as he'd be bored at the dressmakers. Instead he spent the time getting to know Robert and taking his first extensive tour of the estate. Matthew had enjoyed that. More than he expected. But he was now very glad Mary was home.
The night before he was to leave for Paris, she had returned from London, hiding her visit to Dr. Ryder. They retired early to bed. Matthew had taken that as a hopeful signal that they would have some long awaited time alone. At first he wanted to follow her in their bedroom immediately. Despite Molesley waiting for him at his own dressing room, a bit further down the corridor.
Mary put him off, "Matthew, go get changed. I'll be ready for you in about half an hour."
He furrowed his brow, but obeyed.
The book was already right, Mary observed. Men do follow women's lead. She hated putting him off. He looked so dejected. But it had to be done.
Later, he knocked and she said a quiet "come in." And he sat and watched her nightly rituals in the armchair beside her dressing table, his favorite spot. To make conversation, he told her of his intentions to stay with his friend. He was to bunk temporarily with the Purefoys as he and Mark prepared the details of their trip to France.
"I think it jolly good of him to offer. They have a spare room that usually goes to her mother. But she's off in the Alps somewhere on some kind of water cure." But his attention had strayed.
"How long will you be away?" Mary asked.
She was taking the pins out of her hair. Anna had been called away on some kind of emergency downstairs. She really needed to talk to her mother about finalizing Anna's role as her lady's maid.
Matthew watched her hair cascade down. He swallowed thickly, "Can I help you?"
Mary looked guarded. "No." She was going to have to watch herself as almost any of these activities would have led to a mad love making session. She normally loved he paid such close attention. Usually she led him to the bed, dangling one long limbed arm outstretched towards him. "I'm done."
She moved towards the bed. Matthew, taking time to throw his dressing gown onto a chair, followed. Bringing their conversation back to her question, "The length of my stay in Paris is entirely in Sir Eyre's hands. He's advising Curzon and I'm his dogs' body." He grumbled. "It will be as tedious as watching water boil." He crawled over the covers to meet her. A long, deep kiss followed. "But all that can keep. I'm here with you now. That's all I want to think about."
He made a move towards her neckline.
But Mary, using all the willpower within, denied him. She cautioned, "the trip has tired me out." The article had said a couple should not make love more than twice in a fortnight, to allow the womb time to recover. And they had already done so the evening before she had left for her London trip.
Matthew backed away, blinking and confused. He kissed her lightly. "I understand. Shall I read instead?" And he reached for the latest volume of The Forsyte Saga.
She could hear the regret in his voice, even as he tried to mask it with conversation. "I think we left off with Irene and Bosinney." And he regained his composure as he began to narrate.
He left for London the following morning. He'd be gone several weeks.
Mary's time was spent helping out with Sybil. But mostly finding herself at loose ends. Sybil gave birth to the little girl Tom insisted would be named Sybbie as she was the very image of her mother. They were both healthy and happy.
Mary realized in a sharp pang of jealousy, watching the three of that little family together, she wanted it too. She wanted a baby. She wanted one with Matthew. It had come over her sudden like. A realization of the truth of things. Hard truths she seldom liked to address head on. Not just that it was their duty. Her reason for living, if some of her father and grandmother's comments were taken on face value.
But that it was something she wanted. To have a child, children. A family with Matthew. And it was something he wanted as well. Though he never said it, she saw it in his eyes. A few days after Sybbie's birth, as they visited with Sybil and Tom in the new day nursery set up in an empty chamber of the second floor, Sybil handed the cooing infant to Matthew. He held out his hands to carefully clasp the baby's head and body, he released her from Sybil's arms.
A tear ran down his cheek, but his smile was incandescent. He walked towards Mary. "Look at her." He had said joyously, "She's just perfection."
The next day Mary made the appointment with Dr. Ryder.
So the weeks following Matthew's departure for London and then Paris filled her with anxiety. Was she doing the right thing in not submitting to Dr. Ryder's examination? It seemed logical to her at the time to try to follow the more natural course of events. To relax her womb, as the article said. To give it time.
But here she was, daydreaming of Matthew making mad passionate love to her.
Surely that wasn't relaxing the womb? But doing the very opposite?
Mary got up from the chair in the library with determination. She needed to do something purposeful. The other thing nagging her mind was finding new living arrangements.
Matthew had asked about it in his latest letter from Paris. He had enjoyed the few days with the Purefoys in Wimbledon and would Mary consider a move to London?
Not to Wimbledon, Mary had internally eye rolled. Too middle class. She tried to correct herself, say that it would not matter to Matthew and it should not matter to her. That the world was different. Such things as class no longer mattered.
But she just couldn't live in Wimbledon.
Mayfair maybe? She'd telephone her Aunt Rosamund and plan another trip to see her. They'd walk around the more upscale neighborhoods and see what was available. Matthew did need to be in London for his work.
His letter had also mentioned his arrival date. He would be back within the fortnight. Just in time he said, for a party being thrown by the MacGuinesses… Would she like to go?
When she arrived at her aunt's house and settled in, she telephoned Matthew in Paris.
"Allô" Matthew answered. "Que puis-je faire pour vous? Le ministre des Affaires étrangères est pour la journée"
"Matthew, it's Mary." She removed her earring to better hear him. The static was particularly bad on this line.
"Hello darling." He switched to English. "I have to leave to meet George in a few minutes, so I'm sorry I don't have more time."
"I'm in London with Aunt Rosamund and we're about to go to Gunter's. I was just curious about this party you mentioned. What kind is it?"
"Oh yes. Charlie mentioned it the other day. It's when we're both back in London next week. It's fancy dress I think? But not too fancy if you know what I mean…."
"You mean anything goes?" Mary was catching on to the post war atmosphere of live for today.
"I mean just that." Matthew laughed. "It's bring your own bottle for one thing. No one knows how many will show up on the evening."
"Sound like just the thing to wind down after your trip." Mary replied. "I'll have a look around for what we can wear." Mary did love a good party. They had spent so much time in only each other's company in Paris and on their honeymoon, it would be very different to see him amongst his own friends.
"Wonderful. I've got to go." Matthew rang off. "See you next week. … And Mary…"
She paused before putting up the receiver. "Yes?"
"I miss you so terribly much." His voice, despite even the static, spoke of his longing.
"I know. Me too." Mary knew she'd have to be careful when they reunited next week. He would be eager to get her alone. She'd have to be sure to not allow him too much if she was to give the ideas from that article a fair go.
With that rather depressing thought, she turned towards the sitting room. The chatter emanating from the room told Mary that Rose MacClare had arrived from Scotland. Rosamund had told her cousin that she'd take care of Rose while in London. She had been expecting a quiet sort of girl, she had told Mary. Rose was a lonely only child.
The 20 year old had been a VAD nurse during the war. Not that Mary could see any sign of that seriousness in the cackles and mile a minute monologue of the girl in the window seat. Rosamund looked stunned. This girl had most certainly come out of her shell since the war.
"Daddy's given me quite an allowance to buy some new clothes. I've had nothing since before the war." She told Rosamund. "So I've an appointment with Madame Valmont at 1:00."
"You coming with us to Gunters?" Mary asked. "You can meet us after."
"I'd love it. Tea and cakes are so yummy." Rose said. "Mummy won't let me eat much because she's always going on about my waistline, but I can eat a horse."
"Your mother is quite right to be concerned then," Rosamund rejoined. "If we are to find you a nice young man…"
"Oh no!" Rose declaimed. "I'm not interested in settling down with some stuffy sort. I want to go to all the parties first. Could we possibly go to one of those nightclubs I keep hearing about? Mummy would die, but we won't tell, right?"
Rosamund glanced sharply at the girl. "I rather think we should listen to your mother on that. They are most certainly dens of iniquity."
"Well that's why I want to go!" Rose cried. "One should always try out everything at least once."
Rosamund turned to Mary to save her from this excitable child.
Mary offered, "Perhaps a party instead? My husband and I have been invited to a fancy dress party next Thursday."
Rose shrieked with delight. "Yes please! What kind of dress? Is it one of those where you all dress up like babies and wear nappies?"
Mary and Rosamund exchanged mirrored looks of undisguised horror.
"It's all the rage…" Rose noticed. "Perfectly acceptable I assure you. Even among our sort of people."
XX
Matthew examined his wrist watch.
5:45pm. The meeting had been going three hours. And no resolution in sight.
The gift from Mary was treasured. He had an army issue pocket watch during the war. Some had added a leather strap and put it around their wrist. But he had not bothered.
This watch, typical of Mary, was a 9ct rose gold Rolex, first designed to be used on the battlefield, but now in common usage among businessmen.
She had given it to him on their honeymoon.
But even so, time still crawled on. Only a minute had gone since he last glanced down at it.
It was his last day in Paris. He was eager to get back to the hotel and finish packing so that he could catch the train to Calais and the ferry back to England tomorrow morning.
He, along with Charlie MacGuiness, had been summoned to Paris by Sir Eyre Crowe to serve as translator and to transcribe talks with the French over Curzon's desire to prop up the Persian government in Mesopotamia to serve as buffer against potential Russian advances. They were keeping their allies informed of recent progress.
Matthew knew in the great scheme of things this was important. The British had occupied Baku since 1918, supervising the German and Turkish withdrawal. He knew the Russian Revolution had changed the course of history and that the British had to reassess all of their holdings in the Middle East. But he also knew it was in vain. The Russians had the geographic advantage and the British Empire was failing because there was no longer any money, and they held little to no prestige any more on the world stage. That was left up now to the Americans.
Not that he said any of that.
He just wanted to do his job and go home.
To Mary. God he missed her. They had not parted well before he left for the continent. She was all edges and sharp glances. He wasn't sure what he had done wrong. Maybe it was his irritation that she had left to go shopping with her aunt, rather than spend the time with him at Downton.
That was selfish. He was still getting used to this marriage thing. The normality of it all. How very different from when he was in Paris with her. Days on end with just the two of them entwined in the sheets.
He knew even then of course, that she was above him in station. And in style. That those things mattered to her. But it didn't seem to get in the way. Not in his bedsit.
Maybe that was also a source of his impatience. He now completely associated Paris with Mary. And not having her here, made him long for her even more.
Sex was on his mind, he had to admit. A topic still taboo at least in public among the society he now associated, he had decided to investigate his fertility issue. Rather than do it in London, where gossip was mother's milk to everyone, he found a discreet doctor in Paris. A few rather uncomfortable moments in a private room, test samples collected and sent off for examination, and Matthew had his answer.
"Monsieur Crawley vos tests ont revenir et vous êtes tout à fait en mesure de procréer." The doctor looked over his spectacles at Matthew. "C'est une très bonne nouvelle, oui?"
Matthew looked a combination of relief and angst. "Oui, oui, Docteur Florieaux." He reassured the doctor. Very good news indeed! But he knew that if it was not his issue, then it was Mary's and he did not know even how to begin to broach such a delicate subject to her. He had been convinced it was his problem.
Now it wasn't. He was heir to an estate. It was his main function to then provide a successor. Especially as it had been such a rocky road to finding him. Should he encourage Mary to see a specialist? She had intimated as much early in their marriage. But nothing had been done to Matthew's knowledge. He had been in Manchester and then soon after Sybil's own birth he was off to Paris.
They had little time together. And what there was had been preoccupied. First with the resolution of the mystery of his parent's past connection to Downton. Something he felt comfortable putting in his past.
A conversation with Violet helped assuage any lingering doubts or anger he had. Mary had asked her grandmother in private about the 1901 events. And Violet took Matthew aside after dinner a few days before he left for London. She had apologized on behalf of the family for any embarrassment or pain James had brought on his mother.
"He should have known better." Violet had said. "Especially a woman on her own."
Matthew refrained from asking if it was open season then on women with their husbands in tow… he decided to leave well enough alone. His mother had taken care of business on her end. And his father's death had nothing to do with it. So he let bygones be bygones.
Then he had accepted the Foreign Office job and received his first assignment to accompany the Foreign Secretary and Sir Eyre to Paris.
Mary had been distant since her return from London. He was not sure if it was because he had taken the job without her full consultation. She knew he had to take up a profession now that he was married. He would not just sit at Downton and be among the idle aristocracy. That was not in his nature. And as much as wanted to just write his novel all day and make love to Mary all night, he knew that was not on either. So the Foreign Office job was a good start for him. To get back into the swing of work. Of responsibility.
And he wanted to do a good job. So he brought himself up to speed while he stayed with his old army pal Mark Purefoy and his new wife in Wimbledon, and felt more than capable of holding his own by the time they arrived at the Quai D'orsay in Paris.
Weeks later though, and little progress to show, he was ready to go home.
The party at the MacGuinnesses would keep Mary occupied in London until he got in. She had sussed out the theme of the party was 'lovers of ages past" and was very mysterious about her intentions. Their last telephone conversation was full of information about the wild child Rose who kept Mary on her feet watching her and chaperoning her on trips all around London.
"She's frightfully excited about this party." Mary said, in her best Rose imitation. "It's simply splendido of you to invite her along."
Matthew chuckled. "I can't wait to meet her."
"You best watch yourself." Mary warned. "She seems to have no morals regarding outrageously flirting with men. She struck up a conversation with a complete stranger at Gunter's the other day. The gentleman's wife was most put out."
"I am even more intrigued then." Matthew said cheekily.
"Hmmm… I bet you are." Mary intoned.
Matthew arrived in London and took a taxi to Rosamund's. A young woman ran past him down the front steps.
He tipped his hat as she moved by in a blur.
She stopped and turned. "Are you Matthew?" She was all bright smiles and dancing eyes.
"I am." He said. "And you are Rose?"
She curtsied with a saucy showing off of her knees as she lifted her dress.
"I've been warned about you." Matthew couldn't resist.
"All true I can assure you." Rose said with a wink.
"I certainly hope so." He replied with more mischief than he probably should have. "The world needs a bit of shaking up. You look like you can take it on."
"As do you." Rose flashed. "You cut quite the dash in that blue suit."
He knew enough not to encourage her too much. "Is the family in?" He asked, changing the subject.
"Aunt Rosamund is writing letters. " Rose explained. "I'm off to a dress fitting."
Matthew nodded and turned back to the door. Rose caught him with her arm. "But if you're looking for your wife, she's back at Downton."
"What?" Matthew was crestfallen. "I thought she'd wait for me here?"
"She was going to." Rose reassured him. "But she had an idea about this party and next thing I know she was off to York without as much as a how you do."
"Well there's no point in my staying here then. I'll take the train to Downton Village." He scratched his chin in thought. He'd be there before dark.
Rose's eyes flashed, "But you'll be back won't you? For the party? I want a dance! I command you to dance with me sir!" She was full of life for sure Matthew thought.
"I am your servant." He said, bowing and placing his hat next to his heart.
She bobbed her head and waved "Ta ta, then. Until we meet again." And was down the street before Matthew put his hat back on his head.
She is quite the firecracker, he thought. Mary was absolutely right. He grabbed his bag and caught another taxi back to Victoria and the train to Downton. If he was lucky, he'd be in time for dinner.
XX
As it turned out though, he was late. The trains were all delayed and he arrived just as the family was going to retire for the night.
"Do you need a meal?" Robert asked as Matthew entered the saloon behind Carson.
"No. I ate on the train." Matthew said. "I will just follow Mary upstairs."
Mary was already asleep so he quickly changed and slipped in under the covers beside her. She did not stir.
In the morning, Mary wanted to stay upstairs for breakfast but encouraged Matthew to go on down.
"Later I am going to rummage around the upper floors for this party. We have storage boxes in some of the unused rooms and I think I know of just the thing. I did not find anything in the shops in London." She said.
"Can I help?" He sounded a bit excited by the idea. "Who knows what treasure will be revealed?"
Her voice was detached. "Of course."
So he followed her up the stairs, past the servant's quarters and into one of the darkened rooms. The air was stale and Matthew moved to open a window and pull up the shades.
Mary opened up trunk after trunk. He was fascinated by the collection of jewelry, shoes, and clothing tucked inside.
He had tried to take advantage of the privacy to kiss the nape of her neck. But she said, "I think I may have a touch of a cold. Better not get too close."
"I see." Matthew got the hint. She was deliberately keeping him at bay. He was sure of it. But had no idea why. "What's in this case then?"
Mary closed her eyes in despair. She knew that hurt him. But any coupling under these circumstances would be ferocious given the time they had spent away from each other.
And that would not do.
Better to wait. She ached to hold him, to feel him. She had to control these thirsts, she told herself. This desire. If her body was to be ready to receive a child, she had to work on being more disconnected from the passion of the sexual act. To concentrate instead on the end result. It was part of her womanly responsibility, according to the manual.
"Here it is." She tried to sound triumphant despite the growing air of anxiety. And she pulled out a Regency gown with its high waistline and open neckline. The dress was white with embroidered adornments. Underneath was a man's evening ensemble.
"If you look in that," Mary said, pointing to a smaller box with a handle, "I think you'll find some boots."
Matthew did so. "I think they might fit."
He turned. She smiled. "Very dashing. I thought we could go as Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy."
Matthew loved the idea. "Miss Bennet, may I accompany you to the Assembly Rooms ball?"
"I should be delighted." Mary allowed Matthew to lift her up from the floor.
He lightly kissed her on the cheek. "Your carriage awaits…"
XX
The party will be lots of fun—loud, roaring 20s. Matthew gets into a bit of trouble with Rose…. Mary meets a racing car driver...…. Neither are telling the other about their medical visits…. Things get a bit out of hand… What do you think? I'm not sure how this story is going down with everyone? I love it… but do you? I love hearing from you!
There were just such manuals and articles (though this one is fictional) out there as the one I have Mary read. Some suggested various questionable tonics or "cures."