Mary Poppins had always been an enigma. A mystery to unravel. But it was that very thing, the mystery that shrouded her that drew Merritt Emerson to her. Mary and Merritt had been friends for precisely ten years, two months and four days, and, for ten years, two months and roughly three and a half days, Merritt had been in love with her.
Alas, she was off limits, ever the strict nanny, with the children she cared for taking up most of her time. Most, but not all, for she had every Tuesday off and what she did with this time perplexed Merritt the most.
Much of his working life was spent acting. He was overjoyed when he landed a role on stage, no matter the size of the part. When acting jobs were few and far between he played as a stand-in répétiteur when the ballet rehearsed at the Royal Opera House. And, when even that work was quiet he'd raise funds by working as a street performer and collecting what he could. Indeed, he was thankful for the need to undertake this more menial work, for that was how he'd first met Mary, when she'd scolded him for an untucked shirt and a mis-buttoned waistcoat as he'd performed. But as he'd looked up to waive off the musings of a mere passerby (who hadn't even deigned his performance worthy enough of a coin or two) he was met with the piercing, captivating gaze of Mary. He found himself fumbling with his clothing in an attempt to right it as she looked on.
"Much better," she'd smiled and dropped a banknote into his guitar case.
Thereafter she had visited him daily to hear his music and watch his card tricks, though she was sharp-witted and never fooled, clever as his sleight of hand may have been.
He was contented with this friendship, but every time Mary came to visit him, the ache to be with her, to profess his love pulled deeply at his soul.
As the years went by, their friendship grew stronger and his love grew deeper. Families she was nanny to came and went, jobs of his own came and went, yet all throughout she never seemed to exhibit any outward desire to find a husband. She loved her work, of that there was no doubt, but surely she wanted children of her own, and a companion to keep her warm at night? Merritt had always kept his feelings to himself, never allowing emotion to shine through. If she wondered why he had never taken a wife, she never asked.
It wasn't that she didn't enjoy taking care of children, it was simply that she spent so much time around them that she had begun to lose her own identity. Everything revolved around them and their needs. From awakening early and performing menial tasks such as making the beds and running errands to teaching them to be respectful children, that they may grow into decent adults. Yes, everything was about their needs.
But what about her own? She had neglected herself. The 'Practically Perfect Personality' she strove for day after day was becoming increasingly difficult, and she was tired. For once, she wanted to be looked after. She was weary of sleeping in a single bed, adjoining the children's room where she was granted very little privacy.
"Mary!" A little voice sounded from the next room. She hurried through to tend to Albie as he had clearly suffered another of his night terrors. She gazed down at his sweet face as he calmed and then fell into a deep sleep. She couldn't stop caring, no matter how tired she was. What would the children that needed her do without her?
A change. A change was as effective as a rest. And so, with a determined nod of her head she decided that she'd try something new on her next day off.
The following afternoon she took the children to visit Merritt. Little Olivia had expressed a keen interest in performing arts, and, though her father had strictly forbidden her to pursue a career in this area, there was nothing to stop Mary from encouraging it while the children were under her watch, which was most of the time.
Albie and Olivia adored Merritt, and they ran into his open arms with delight.
"No performances this afternoon, the stage is yours Miss Fenton," he gestured to the cavernous stage behind him as she squealed in delight and ran up the treds then starting pawing at the red velvet curtain, looking for the opening. "Hold on!" He laughed and ran into the wings to open them.
"Would you like to join her, Albie?" Mary asked the little boy, as he clutched her hand.
He shook his head no, but pointed to the gleaming grand piano in the orchestra pit. Merritt, seeing this, jumped down into the pit and held out his hands for Albie. They sat side by side on the piano bench as Merritt played. Albie's eyes were riveted to Merritt's every move as Olivia danced and Mary watched the scene. Merritt had purchased a pair of silken ballet slippers for the young dancer which Mary kept hidden out of sight of Olivia's father when she wasn't dancing.
Eventually the little girl tired and Merritt stood from the piano. "Children, if you would be so kind as to take your seats in the audience, I need your expert opinion on a dance I'm to perform next week. Mary, I shall require your assistance." He held out his hand.
"Now, really, what could you possibly need me for, I do not dance," she said, but took his hand nonetheless. Try something new she reminded herself.
"Don't worry, just let me lead you," he smiled. His hand was comforting and warm and she felt… what did she feel?
"There's no music…"
"We don't need music," he drew her in close, in a dancer's hold.
Round and round the stage he twirled her until they came to a stop in the middle. For a moment everything fell away, the theatre, the barriers, her responsibility as she locked eyes with Merritt.
Applause came in the form of two pairs of tiny hands clapping and Mary was drawn back into the room. Merritt stepped back and applauded her as she took a curtsey then held out her arm for him to bow.
On the way home she was distracted with thoughts of him, but, practical as ever, she put these musings to the back of her head to dwell on later, once the children were asleep.
A few days later Mary settled the children into bed and handed over her responsibilities to the housekeeper before bidding the rest of the Fenton family a good night. She walked through the streets of London toward her small apartment, thankful of the summer's light evenings. This was her time, her time to unravel her stoic self and just be human, even if only for a short while.
The next day she woke late and took a cup of tea in bed whilst she planned the rest of her day. She had a couple of errands to run so she dressed and caught the omnibus to the Spitalfields Market. After purchasing what she needed, she decided to peruse the bookshop for something new to read. It was there that she found a small alcove near the back with the heading 'Banned Books' at the top of the shelf.
"If they're banned, then why advertise it? Any policeman could walk in," she muttered to herself. But, her interest was piqued. Try something new.
She pulled a tome out at random and glanced at the title. The Oyster: Volume One by Anonymous. Well of course, whoever would put their name to such a work? A brief perusal of the contents page revealed that it was a collection of erotic literature. Blushing, she placed the book in her basket and collected a few other books from elsewhere in the shop, then sandwiched the erotica between them to hide her abashment.
"A Condensed History of Boxing from 1681 to Present Day," the proprietor read aloud, one eyebrow quirked as she placed her items on the counter.
"Oh, yes. Certainly," she replied. Thankfully he did not read out any more titles, but she was relieved to see that the book on the bottom was a guide to making one's own clothes. That, at least, was practical.
By the time she arrived home the clouds were overcast and she could sense a storm brewing. She made her supper and perused the clothes making book whilst she ate. She briefly pondered how lovely it might be to share a meal with another adult for once, instead of with the children or alone. The Oyster: Volume One sat upon her nightstand, for she was ever so slightly fearful of it.
"Oh, do stop being ridiculous, it's just a book!" She scolded herself as she dressed in a cotton nightdress and slipped into bed. The storm was coming closer. A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. How wonderful to be in one's own bed for such a night!
As the storm roiled outside her window, Mary read. She read long into the night, for she couldn't put the book down. It stirred something in her and she found her thoughts drifting toward Merritt and the tight embrace he'd held her in. It was for the dance of course, that he may lead her in the steps, but still…it had felt nice to be close to someone. To be close to him.
Eventually she wearied and fell into a fitful sleep.
She was back in the theatre, but now she and Merritt were alone. He was dancing with her again, this time holding her closer still and she shivered to feel his nearness. He smelled lovely, like cedar wood and spice. The dance was different, more sensual with a quicker tempo. She tried to keep up, but found that she could not.
"There's no music," she heard herself say.
"Then let me make it for you," he replied as he led her down into the pit. She took a place within the bow of the piano, as singer might — though a singer she was not — as he played a sumptuous melody on the piano. When the music ceased he rose and walked to her.
"Mary."
Her breath hitched as he leaned in closer and pressed his lips to her neck and leant her back on the piano. "Tell me what you want…my fingers, my tongue, like in your book?" He whispered, his voice husky.
"Yes, yes, and…"
"And what, Mary? Tell me." He pressed his hips against hers and she felt the proof of his arousal. He desired her.
"Your, your—,"
"Say it."
"Your…erection."
"Where?" He demanded.
She crumpled, "Inside me…"
He drew back and smiled.
"Please," she whimpered.
"What do you want, Mary? What do you need? Mary, what do you want? Mary—"
She awoke with a start, hot and flustered as the storm continued to rage outside. Temporarily disorientated, she wandered to the window and looked out. Flashes of lightning illuminated the London skyline before plunging back into darkness. Mary lifted her hand and lightly brushed it across her collarbone, enjoying the shiver it gave her. What a dream to have had. And with Merritt? What did it mean? Without a thought her hand drifted down to her breasts and she teased her nipples through the thin cotton of her nightgown. Pulling back abruptly with a gasp, she ran to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face.
"Snap out of it!" She hissed at herself as she looked in the mirror that hung above the sink. She was above these base standards and not prey to sexual desire, for it was the downfall of so many before her. If one wanted to be successful, then daydreaming about a man was not the way to achieve it.
Certainly, she'd had these urges before, but not nearly as strong. And her partner in the dreams had always been just a man, a nameless, faceless man. She had very rarely succumbed to the call of desire. For a while she simply paced the floor in her darkened bedroom, trying and failing not to think of all the things she would be willing to allow Merritt — Merritt, her friend — to do to her. But he was so handsome, and he was unlike any man she had ever known…
"Oh, this is absurd!" She climbed back into bed and squeezed her eyes tightly shut in the hopes that she could also shut out passion's continuous tide. But as the sun began to rise over London, the storm yet unceasing, and she still had not drifted back to sleep, she finally admitted to herself that there was only one way to restore order to her aching body.
Once more her hand drifted to her breasts and gently rubbed across her quickly hardening nipples. With the other hand she unlaced the neckline of her nightdress, that her wandering hand may plunge in and feel flesh. Her other hand made a path lower and gathered the nightdress at her thighs, lifting it to settle at her waistline. She hesitated. Think of him. It's not you falling prey to these carnal delights, it's him pleasuring you.
As her fingers grazed her womanhood, she let out a gasp as shocks of electricity rocked her. Oh. Achingly slowly she began to circle the jewel at the apex of her thighs. She dared to dip her fingers lower, where she was becoming increasingly wetter, the more she imagined Merritt. His hands performing this action, his tongue dipping inside to taste her. Him beneath her as she straddled him and he worked her into a frenzy. Her fingers slid back up to encircle the part of her that cried out to be touched. She moved faster and faster until she was sobbing her release with Merritt's name on her lips.
The storm had stopped. She was finally calm and lay back against the pillows, sated. The sky now held a pink hue. It matched the blush painting her cheeks. No one would ever need know the secrets she'd whispered this night. No, they were hers alone.
Later that day Mary took the children to the park. A part of her hoped to see Merritt there performing, another part hoped he was playing for the ballet today, for she wasn't quite sure how she might react to seeing him after thinking only of him all night. She heard him before she saw him, the gentle strains of his guitar drifting towards her.
"Can we go and see Merritt, Mary Poppins? Oh please!" Olivia said.
"Be good, and don't distract him," she replied with a nod.
As she walked around the corner there he was, smiling at Albie and Olivia. A longing hit Mary, hard. It was like a thunderbolt and she paused as she walked to him.
"Good to see you, Mary," Merritt said, putting his guitar down.
"Good day to you, Merritt," she replied, lowering her head in the hope that he'd miss the rose hue that painted her cheeks. Images of what had transpired the previous night flashed through her mind as he gazed at her, until she was forced to turn away.
"Is everything well with you?" He placed a gentle hand upon her arm and it raised goosebumps even through the fabric of her blouse.
"Quite alright, thank you." She forced a smile.
As he picked up the guitar and resumed playing once more, teaching Albie some chords she realised with a pang that she wanted him.
No, no, he's your friend, she insisted to herself. Does he even see you as a woman, or just…a nanny, someone to be used and leaned upon until they were no longer needed?
"Your thoughts are foolish and impractical, Mary," she insisted to herself.
That night, once the children were asleep, she mused upon her thoughts from the day. Would she ever have a relationship with a good man? No man had ever made her want one…until now. She wasn't a virgin, but she'd left that life behind her and made a new start, one where no one would know of her past identity. Ten years ago she'd built up walls to protect herself. And she'd spent ten years repressing old memories.
She spent the rest of the week avoiding Merritt, tormented by the salacious thoughts of him that continued to run through her mind. She was thankful when her day off finally arrived and she was able to take some time to sort through her sudden feelings. There was an unexpected knock at the door. No one ever visited her…
She opened it to find Merritt clutching his guitar case in one hand and a paper bag in the other.
"I brought you pastries," he said, by way of explanation. "May I come in?"
"Oh, yes of course," she stepped back to let him in.
"You've been avoiding me, and I just wanted to ensure that you were alright."
"I haven't been… I've just been busy, that's all."
She wore her hair down and it was only now that Merritt was able to see just how long it was. It fell in loose waves down to her waist, like a mermaid. Like a siren. Oh, but she was beautiful, he mused.
"Thank you for the pastries, I'll just put some tea on," she nodded, seemingly uncertain of something before leaving the room. Merritt took the chance to look around. He didn't wish to invade her privacy, but she was a closed book, and even though he loved her, he knew very little about her. There was a book on the end table next to the couch and he picked it up.
"The Oyster: Volume One." He flipped open the front cover and read the contents page. Mary Poppins reading erotica?! Did she like it? Had she performed such acts or were they merely fantasy? He wanted nothing more than to unravel the mystery of Mary, to find out who she was behind the stoic façade, but this? He had not expected this at all.
The next hour passed in a reasonable semblance of their usual camaraderie. Merritt had managed to put the book down before Mary returned and he'd taken a seat across the room, then proceeded not to go anywhere near the book, for fear of causing her embarrassment that he might have seen it.
But that night he couldn't stop thinking of her and how perhaps she might be open to a relationship…
As for Mary, she too lay awake, thinking of their afternoon together. He cared and that alone was enough to let another part of her wall of defence crumble. But that could not be! She reminded herself. You are damaged, you are not meant to be loved in this way. She made up her mind to visit him again the following day and quietly remind herself over and over that he was just her friend. Yes, friendship, that was all she could ever have with a man.
At the theatre the next day she found herself alone with Merritt whilst the children explored the props room.
"Will you have dinner with me, Mary? On Monday night, when you've finished."
"I don't think—"
"I'm a good cook, I promise," he smiled and that smile was so hope-filled that she found herself leading with her heart and acquiescing as her head told her no, that it was a terrible idea to lead him on.
Monday rolled around and Mary found herself at once dreaming of that which might be and then scolding herself for that very dreaming. As she tucked the children into bed, she bade them goodnight and left the Fenton household. Her stomach was filled with flutterings as she approached his apartment and knocked on the door.
"Mary," he smiled, his face flushed from the kitchen, a white apron tied around his waist. He looked so domesticated. The men she worked for had everything done for them, everything handed to them on a silver platter. She found she liked this vision of domesticity.
"Please come in."
She followed him through to the kitchen where a small table was set for two. He lived modestly, but then he was an artist, he hadn't sold his soul to a corporation in order to live a wealthy life. She found it somewhat romantic that he persisted so hard at making his dreams come true.
"Can I interest you in a drink?" He asked as he held up a bottle of expensive looking red wine. She hated to think he'd spent that just for her.
"Thank you," she replied picking up an empty glass and holding it towards him. "The food smells wonderful."
"Well I hope you enjoy it, though I know your tastes tend more toward the sweet, just wait for dessert!"
Dessert turned out to be bright red strawberries with sinful amounts of cream poured on top. Mary was overjoyed at their sweetness whilst Merritt was riveted to her lips as she delicately popped one into her mouth. Realising he was staring, he tore his gaze away and asked after the children in the hopes of calming his racing heart.
Together they finished the bottle of wine and Mary felt herself relaxing more and more as the evening wore on. This man was a marvel, he wasn't like any other she knew. Stop it! A voice in the back of her mind warned her. He deserves better than you.
At some point in the evening they moved over to the couch to continue their conversation. They were sitting closer than was deemed proper and it was here that Merritt noticed the pink of her tongue after the strawberries. He was absolutely transfixed. He loved her. As if in possession of its own mind, his body leant towards her. Perhaps it was the wine that made him bold, but if he didn't try, then he'd never know.
Gently he lifted his hand and grazed her cheek, leaning ever closer as he did so. She closed her eyes. Did she want this? She made no move to pull away so he closed the distance and softly pressed his lips to hers.
The kiss was chaste, romantic, tentative and yet she thrilled at his touch. Sparks ignited in her core and raced down her body. Her mind ran ahead, wanting more of him, his hands, his tongue, his body. Visions of him making love to her swam before her until she felt dizzy. She pulled away with tears blurring his image.
"I'm sorry, Mary, I—"
"This is not proper, you will not break me."
"Break you? What is it you think I want from you Mary?"
"It isn't you, Merritt." I'm the one who's damaged. "I'm so sorry." With that she stood from the couch and fled the room.
Mary was stubborn, and Merritt knew better than to run after her, as much as he would have liked to.
On the way home she reflected upon how she'd let her guard down, allowed herself to feel. For so long she'd denied herself, been the stoic mistress everyone had come to expect, not human, unfeeling. But she was human. She was nothing more than a woman who needed to be loved, to be loved by him. She needed him. She wanted to be wanton, with him.
She just managed to miss the rain as it came in droves and lashed against her windowpane. Another thunderstorm rolled in the distance. The sky over London was electric, dark, moody and heavy. To her horror she realised she was crying as a tear fell from her cheek and landed on the hand she had pressed to the window.
"Why do you continue to deny yourself what you so clearly want?" She asked her reflection. What would they have done tonight, had she allowed the kiss to deepen? What would he have said if she told him that she perhaps, maybe, might just be falling in love with him? Would he return her feelings?
"Be brave… Stop living in the past," she told herself. With that, she'd made up her mind, pulled her raincoat and umbrella from the coat stand and was making her way back outside before she could think further.
Her boots splashed in puddles on the cobbled streets, she was noisy and inelegant as she ran, but she cared not. She arrived back at Merritt's door with her heart pounding and her cheeks flushed as she knocked upon his door, now needing to see him in earnest.
"You returned," he said, a tentative smile upon his face.
"I—," There were no words she could think to express how she ached, so she simply reached out and pulled him flush to her, kissing him hard. As he responded and eagerly kissed her back, she found her nails gently running up the back of his shirt. Without hesitation, he pushed the door closed behind her and then used it to press her up against as he explored her lips and let his hands travel across her body.
"Do you want this, Mary? Do you want me? Truly?"
"I do, I've denied myself for so long, but I want you." She needed relief and he was the only one who could give it to her. But more than that, she wanted him simply because it was him.
Merritt marvelled in her behaviour. She was so unchained, so different to how she normally presented herself. This secret side of herself he hoped was reserved only for him.
He took her hand and pulled her to the couch. Enough to let her know what he wanted, but not so much that she couldn't refuse, should she wish to. She followed him willingly and gently pushed him down to sit.
She suddenly felt vulnerable, brazen. What would he think of her? But his soft brown eyes spoke volumes as he held out his hand for her to sit with him.
"It's alright, Mary. Be who you need to be." Those simple words were enough to completely undo her and she climbed onto his lap, straddling him and undoing his shirt buttons, eager to find skin.
Her behaviour aroused him to no end and he quickly pulled the pins from her hair to release those beautiful tresses and run his fingers through their satin-like waterfall.
She was pleased with herself and felt her guard drop further still as she rubbed up against his hardened manhood. He moaned his approval and this not only encouraged her to continue, but to explore his body further. She slid off his lap and knelt before him, nimbly unbuttoning his trousers and sliding her hand inside. He gasped as she began stroking his length. He felt wonderful, hard and long, yet silken and smooth. She had the sudden overwhelming desire to take him in her mouth as she felt the wetness at his tip. She glanced up at him, but his eyes were closed in pleasure.
"Oh!" He exclaimed as she licked the wetness away, only to be immediately replaced by more. "Mary, you can't mean to—,"
"I want to," she replied, her voice now husky with need.
It didn't take much for him to acquiesce and he nodded and wound his fingers into her hair as she closed her lips around him.
She took him deep and her tongue was perfectly positioned where he needed it. With this thought he was reminded how pink it was from the strawberries and he had to bite his lip to stop from crying out.
"Stop, Mary. Not yet." He was breathless as he drew her away from his aching arousal. "Let me please you, you deserve so much." He drew her down onto the carpet before the fireplace and eased her onto her back, unbuttoning the satin covered buttons that lined the front of her blouse. As he parted it he was rewarded with flawless porcelain skin, dusted with a delicate blush. As he rid her of her skirt, he was both surprised and delighted to find what undergarments were secretly hiding beneath her stoic outer layer. His gaze roamed over an ivory corset down to a somewhat risqué pair of lace trimmed stockings, attached by suspenders. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but simply remarked; "You are perfect, Mary."
"Practically perfect," she corrected with a mischievous smile.
"I'll bet you sound perfect," he said, before unfastening the bows that kept her drawers closed and quickly running his tongue over the length of her womanhood.
"Merritt!" She cried as the sensation sent sparks through her. She had never been touched so intimately and this hidden pleasure she was sure she could become addicted to. As he continued his ministrations, her hands involuntarily reached out to grasp his shoulders. Mistakenly thinking the feeling could not be surpassed, he managed just that as his tongue moved up and circled the area that sent jolts through her core. The area that she herself had touched to thoughts of him the previous week. Remembering what she'd done, combined with the pressure he was applying, and the undeniable fact that it was Merritt making her feel this way sent her over the edge and she cried out his name, the only word that made sense in that moment as she trembled in his embrace and held him to her by entwining her fingers into his hair.
She needed him, needed to be closer to him and so she drew him up to lay with her.
"It's your turn," she whispered as she pulled his shirt open and drew it from his shoulders, tossing it across the room to land expertly over the head of her parrot umbrella. She pulled his trousers and undershorts off the rest of the way then moved to her own clothes, thankful that she had no dresser and wore a fasten in front corset. She wanted to be naked with him, wanted his eyes on her.
His eyes widened as he took in the view of her exposed breasts. The peaks of her pink nipples were hardened and straining toward him. He took one into his mouth and flicked his tongue across it, sending shudders through her.
Her breasts felt heavy, aching for him to explore further. She took his hand and guided it to her other breast, massaging it before allowing him to explore on his own.
"Please, Merritt, I need you. I want to feel you."
"You're certain?" He drew back and looked into her eyes.
"I'm certain, and don't hold back, like I told you before, it's your turn."
With those intoxicating words he pressed inside her, unsure as to whether or not she had done this before. When she showed no indication that this was new to her, he thrust all the way in and could not stifle the moan that escaped him. She was so tight, so warm and so ready for him that he could not hold himself back from creating the rhythm he needed.
Mere moments later, and to his utter delight she suddenly held him tighter and began moving her own hips in a rhythm that matched his.
"Let go, Mary," he said as he increased his pace and she nodded before she spasmed around him. The feeling of her tightening was too much to take and he just about managed to withdraw himself and ejaculate on her breasts. "I…I'm sorry," he panted, "I wasn't prepared, I was too caught up…"
She responded by smiling and running one finger through the white fluid before licking it with her pretty pink tongue.
"Oh, Mary…"
He awoke alone, pulled on his discarded undershorts and ran to the bedroom, hoping she'd merely found the floor uncomfortable.
"Mary?" He said, panic rising when he saw she wasn't in the bed.
"Yes?" she stepped from the bathroom, pinning the last strand of hair into place. Prim, proper, perfection, and he despised every part of that image when he'd had her writhing beneath him, unbridled passion pouring from her mouth and hazy lust in her eyes.
"Thank goodness, I thought you'd left. Would you like breakfast?"
"I thank you, but no, I must be getting back to the children."
"Oh." It was Tuesday.
She softened. "Thank you for last night, Merritt, it meant a lot to me. You'll be pleased to know that I've had a long talk with myself - in the mirror of course - and you needn't fear that my guard will be dropped like this again."
"Pleased?"
"The children come first, they will always come first."
"But for me, you come first. Go to the children, of course, but let me look after you when the sun sets. I love you Mary."
"You…you love me?"
"I've always loved you."
She ran into his arms and kissed him, hard. His fingers found their way into her hair and pulled loose the pins that she'd so carefully arranged. It was she who nudged him back onto the bed before straddling him and unbuttoning her blouse.
"Open the drawer," she bid, gazing at his nightstand.
He did so and pulled out a small packet. "Sheaths? How?"
"Magic. I want you to finish inside of me this time, not that I didn't enjoy your delicious display last night." Her voice was deep, husky, seductive.
"This really is the most wonderful way to spend one's day off," Mary remarked later as she lay naked in Merritt's arms.
"Then spend all your days off with me, forever."
She was silent and did not look at him.
"What are you not telling me, Mary?" He asked, raising her chin and gently brushing away the tears that had formed and were now making tracks down her cheeks.
"Let us dress and I'll make some tea."
Ten minutes later, dressed and sitting on the couch with teacups in hand, Mary took a breath and began.
"I was married."
Merritt tried to hide his shock, and, seeing that he was an excellent actor, felt that he managed it rather well. "I see."
"He was cruel to me. He beat me and took me by force. For so long I felt that it was my fault and so I tried relentlessly to be a good wife. That's the way we're brought up, you understand, in the higher societies. The man is always right and we are to do what they ask."
"But that's not right, Mary. You're the strongest person I know."
"Now, perhaps, but not then."
"What changed? How did you escape him?"
Here, she looked up and gave a small smile. "I met you, actually. I don't know if you remember, but I visited you daily at the park back then."
"Of course I remember, I hoped every day that you'd come."
She gave a small laugh in reply and looked back down at her tea. "You taught me that not all men are to be feared. You have always treated me as an equal as no man ever has. It was you that inspired me to leave my husband and build a new life for myself. I hid from him and started over, do you think Poppins is really my surname?" She laughed, just a little, then continued. "I was, however, left with mental scars. I built barriers around my heart and protected myself by projecting a façade of poise and calm. I never allowed anyone to penetrate it, until now."
"I don't know what to say, I can't believe you went through that all alone. Thank you for sharing your story with me."
"Actually, thank you for showing me what a relationship should be like. Every day for the past ten years you've unwittingly conveyed that to me."
"Come up to the roof," he urged, pulling on her hand.
"What? Why?" She laughed.
"Just come."
The early morning light over London was painted in pink. The storm had once again passed. Merritt wound his arms around Mary and danced with her, though there was no music.
"I want to spend my life with you, Mary. I promise never to hurt you like he did."
"I'm a divorcee, are you sure you really want me?" There were her walls again.
In response, he simply slid down on one knee. "Marry me, Mary. You are not your past, you are wonderful. To me, you everything."
She did not wear a ring, but she did not need one, she was his and he was hers, irrevocably intertwined forever. She couldn't hide the smile she wore as she hurried down the street to the Fenton household. She had made the decision that although the children were important and she took great pride in her work, she, too was important. She'd have a conversation soon about changing her schedule. She'd decided that she'd offer to work Tuesdays, but instead return home every night to her husband-to-be.
As she walked through the front door she was met with the domineering presence of Mr. Fenton. Why wasn't he at work?
"Where were you this morning? Albert needed you."
"First of all, I would like to make one thing clear. I never explain anything." She replied and walked up to the nursery without another word.
The End.