Lord Grantham's bedroom, Downton Abbey, April 1917
Matthew got startled awake by a horrifying knowledge that someone was in his room. He couldn't tell how he knew that, could not identify a sound which woke him up, but he was sure. He reached for his pistol and, to his further alarm, found it missing from its usual spot by his bed. He opened his eyes, sitting up and looking around wildly, ready to defend himself, even if he didn't know how, with his weapon gone.
Only to see a little kitchen maid by the fireplace, jumping up in her own horror at waking up her master.
"I'm ever so sorry, your lordship!" she squeaked. "I'm just building a fire, I never expected to disturb you!"
Matthew collapsed against his pillows, breathing heavily from the sudden release of tension.
He was home.
His gun was missing because he himself put it away in a drawer in his dressing room, having no need for it in his bedroom. He was safe here. There was no need for him to sleep lightly, attuned to the smallest sound in case he was approached by foe instead of friend.
He raked his hand through his hair, trying to calm his breathing.
"It's alright..." he paused, struggling to remember Carson's introductions from over a year ago. This was the last time he had even seen the girl, and there had been so many other servants whose names he had been supposed to learn...
"Daisy, my lord," she supplied, making him smile gratefully.
"It's alright, Daisy. But starting from tomorrow, please better wait with tending to the fire until I ring."
She looked so miserable at this order that Matthew felt the stirring of guilt, even though he did not understand the difficulty.
"What is it?"
"But won't you be cold, my lord? What's use in the fire after you're already up?"
Matthew nearly laughed at the absurdity of her concern in the light of the conditions he had left behind just measly two days ago, but he didn't want to distress her further.
"I won't be cold, Daisy," he said kindly. "I am used to waking up with no fire at the front, and this is already spring. So please wait until I ring to tend to it, alright?"
She nodded, but her expression remained full of misery and fear.
"What troubles you still?" he asked, frowning. She looked up at him in alarm at bringing his attention to herself.
"Mrs Hughes will have my skin for waking you up before dawn and being so clumsy you don't want me to come tomorrow so it won't happen again. I am ever so sorry, my lord, truly. Normally nobody notices me."
Matthew sighed, then tried to smile in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.
"It wasn't your fault, Daisy, I am lighter sleeper than most. I won't tell Mrs Hughes that I've seen you at all and will just make my request that the fire is not started in the morning because I find it too hot. Will that make matters easier for you?"
She stared at him with eyes so wide and full of wonder that he found himself wanting to squirm under their gaze.
"Oh, my lord," she said feelingly. "Yes! Thank you ever so much!"
She grabbed her coal bucket, sheet and brushes and left him finally alone in his luxurious bedroom, with the fire crackling merrily.
Matthew raked his fingers through his hair again, with another heavy sigh.
xxx
Despite the early hour – his watch showed him it was just after 5.30, hardly a time he needed to get up – Matthew found himself restless and unable to sleep. With a silent curse he threw off the blankets and walked through the dressing room to his gleaming bathroom.
He already had a long bath last night before going to bed, on top of a short one before getting dressed for dinner and yet another one at dawn at a hotel in London where he had spent the night before catching the morning train to Yorkshire, but he still felt the trenches clinging to his skin. He knew it was all in his head – he checked and sniffed himself thoroughly yesterday so many times, and all his baths, short and long, involved very intense scrubbing – but after the fright of his awakening the front seemed to get somehow closer to him, his distance from it shortened and insignificant. He made the water as hot as he could stand before submerging in it gratefully and reaching for the scented soap and a harsh brush again.
As guilty as he felt for getting a reprieve, he was not going back there for the next three months.
He would marry Mary before he did.
His eyes widened and his mouth stretched in a blissful grin at the remembrance of last day's wonderful developments.
He and Mary were truly, officially engaged. He knew her blasted secret and, however little he liked it, it was not going to be an impediment to their happiness anymore. Mary loved him. She had always loved him and now they were going to finally, finally be married. He would be going back to France as her husband.
To very possible leave her a widow soon after.
His elation fell at this sobering reminder of the reality he was going to soon face again.
Was it right to marry her under such circumstances? Maybe it would be better to wait until the end of the war, until they knew if he came through it... and if he did, in what shape...
No!
His whole being recoiled from the idea of further waiting and postponing. They had wasted enough time already with their fears and insecurities and his twice damned pride! He finally got Mary to not only admit her love to him but to announce their engagement to their families. There were no secrets left and he was to remain in England for the next three months. They would marry before he had to go back. He would not allow anything to separate them again.
He washed his hair for the third time this morning and used the fine-toothed comb, pleased to see that despite his thoroughness he could not find any of the little pests anymore. He relaxed against the bathtub, feeling finally clean for the first time in months.
Now, he only needed a shave, and he could probably go down to breakfast. A quick look at the clock informed him that it was approaching seven. He shook his head at the realisation that he had spent over an hour lounging in his bath and, unable to find his shaving kit anywhere in sight, opened his mouth to call Davis to bring it to him.
Only to slap his forehead in memory that Davis got his leave as well and went to see his wife and children. He hoped that he would be able to nurse his persistent cough properly there.
Matthew sighed. He would have to leave the bathtub and search for it in his bag. Although he thought he remembered Bates taking it to unpack last night...
Just then he heard a light knock on the door leading from the bathroom to his dressing room.
"My lord?" Bates called in this light, polite voice of his. "Are you ready for your shave?"
Matthew shook his head. How was he doing it? How did he know exactly when he was needed and what for?
"Come in, Bates," he called. "This is exactly what I wanted right now."
Bates walked in, carrying Matthew's shaving kit and a heated towel which he offered him. He settled the rest, as well as a small standing shaving mirror, on a little table besides the bathtub, where Matthew could reach it himself. He then got busy preparing towels and Matthew's robe, not even offering to shave him. Matthew felt a surge of fondness for him both for respecting his privacy and for near supernatural anticipation of his needs. At least Bates was not walking into his rooms before waiting for permission. He frowned, thinking about his morning encounter with Daisy.
"I wanted to thank you, my lord," said Bates quietly, as Matthew was shaving himself. He looked up at his valet in surprise.
"What for?"
"For letting me stay here after you learnt what must have been quite disturbing information about me," Bates answered, looking at Matthew unwaveringly.
"Lady Mary assured me that the matter was reviewed by her father, Carson and Mrs Hughes long ago. There seemed to be no need to question their judgment on the matter," said Matthew dismissively. To be honest, revelations concerning Bates' past had been so thoroughly outshone for him by learning of the existence of Mary's secret and her subsequent blackmail by Bates' wife that he had given very little thought to his valet. His thanks were rather undeserved.
"Nevertheless, you would have been perfectly within your rights to dismiss me, my lord, and I owe you my thanks for keeping me."
"Think no more of it, Bates. Whatever you've done, is long forgotten," said Matthew, wiping the remains of shaving cream from his face and reaching for the towel Bates handed to him. "But tell me, has your wife made any further threats against you or Lady Mary?"
Bates frowned worriedly.
"Not yet, but I do not trust her silence. She is not a woman likely to give up."
"But more than half a year has passed since she came here. Surely if she planned to act somehow, she would have already done so?"
Bates shook his head doubtfully.
"I do not know, but I do not trust her either. I've never expected her to go against somebody so wholly innocent and disconnected from our troubles as Lady Mary and yet she did."
"And how is your divorce going?" asked Matthew, walking into his dressing room where he found his uniform freshly pressed and already laid out by Bates, who, to Matthew's intense relief, did not attempt to help him with dressing.
"It's not," sighed Bates, accepting Matthew's robe as he started dressing himself. "After she attempted to blackmail Lady Mary... I admit it shook me. I could take whatever she brings against me, but now I am truly afraid what else she might do and against which party. I thought... maybe it would be better not to provoke her further, for now. Besides, I know not her address, so I can neither communicate with her nor send her summons to the court."
Matthew frowned. He did not approve of divorce – surely if one should keep any promises and commitments, marriage vows were the most sacred and important of them – but he could not imagine remaining bound to somebody so vicious and so clearly unhinged. This woman was not only unfaithful to Bates, breaking her own vows to him, but attacked Mary and threatened her with ruin totally unprovoked. He could not find in himself any condemnation for Bates for wishing to be free of her.
"I understand your fear, but it can't be right to stop living your life due to it. Or do you think she will remain satisfied enough with you as her nominal husband that she won't ever contact you again?"
Bates shrugged helplessly.
"I do not know," he said in a disturbed tone. "She's too unpredictable. But I cannot hope she will never come back to stir troubles again."
"Whether she does or not," said Matthew, allowing Bates to help him with his Sam Browne belt. "Not knowing her address should not stop you from divorcing her. If her lack of communication lasts long enough, you can do it on the grounds of desertion, and you won't need her consent or even presence for it."
Bates nodded, adjusting the last strap.
"I will keep it under advisement, my lord," he said quietly. "And thank you again for your understanding."
Matthew smiled at him.
"You're welcome, Bates."
Lady Mary's bedroom, Downton Abbey, April 1917
Mary woke up slowly, at first unsure why she felt as if she was light and floating without a care in the world. Then she opened her eyes and the first thing she saw was her engagement ring. She could not stand the thought of taking it off last night and now, looking at the diamond sending small colourful sparkles in the morning sunshine, she didn't remember when she was last so utterly, deeply happy. The burden which she had been never free of since March 1913 - four long years! - was finally and unbelievably lifted. Matthew knew all and loved her still! She could hardly believe it, but it was true, the ring glittering happily on her finger the best proof that yesterday was not a dream. She leaned back against the pillows with a wide smile on her face.
Then she hastened to call for Anna. Matthew was here. She didn't want to waste a second which she could instead share with him.
Great Hall, Downton Abbey, April 1917
The rush of voices and activity from below stopped Matthew in his tracks as he was walking down the grand staircase.
Downton Abbey was certainly changed.
All the little tables filling the great hall were full with breakfasting officers and nurses. Servants and more nurses were milling around, bringing more coffee, tea and dishes to the buffet against the wall or carrying trays to the patients too unwell to sit at a table. Everywhere he looked he saw uniforms, bandages, crutches and wheelchairs. The familiar – too familiar – flow of soldiers' conversation and scraping of cutlery against plates made him momentarily dizzy.
He didn't even realise he clenched his sweating palms into tight fists until a light touch on his arm pulled him out of it and he raised his eyes from the scene below to see Mary's concerned face looking up at him.
He could not resist smiling at her, a warmth diffusing through his chest only growing when he spotted his ring on her finger.
"Good morning," he said, kissing her lightly on the cheek and feeling thrilled that he could greet her so now. She was his fiancée and they were not hiding it anymore from anyone.
"Good morning," she answered, with a warm smile of her own, then looked at him inquiringly. "You seemed miles away. You haven't even noticed me until I touched you. Are you alright?"
"I am more than alright now that you're here," Matthew answered evasively, kissing her hand. He knew by her sharp look that she was not going to forget his lapse, but thankfully agreed to drop it for now and accept his arm to walk together to the dining room.
He soon noticed that this gesture was gathering quite a lot of attention among the officers they were passing by and allowed himself a rather smug smile.
This wonderful woman agreed to become his wife. Yes, he was fully aware how much of a lucky bastard he was.
Dining room, Downton Abbey, April 1917
Mary could not tear her eyes away from Matthew, finally sitting in his rightful place at the head of the breakfast table. If only he didn't have to wear his uniform, she could have pretended that everything was right in her world.
She saw him laughing in response to something Sybil said, his blue eyes sparkling to rival her engagement ring, and told herself firmly not to be ungrateful.
He was alive and well. He was out of danger for the next three months at least. He knew all and loved her still, something which she had considered impossible for years. They were really going to get married. Now was not the time to dwell upon the fact that he was going to go back to the hell in France. There would be plenty enough time to worry about it later.
"What are your plans for today?" asked Edith curiously.
"I promised Mother I will have lunch with her – we barely had a moment to talk yesterday," answered Matthew, sending Mary an apologetic look. "But I should be back straight after."
Mary smiled at him, hoping to reassure him that she didn't mind. He did devote the first hours of his leave to her, and Isobel had not seen him since September either.
"Good!" said Edith brightly. "Anthony is coming for tea and staying for dinner. I am sure he would love to see you."
Mary barely restrained a groan. Edith was unfortunately right; Sir Anthony would be delighted to talk with Matthew, and of course it would be good to catch him up on all the estate matters and their plans for improvements – but it was looking increasingly unlikely she was going to get any private time at all with him today.
Matthew sent her a mournful look of his own, showing that his thoughts must have travelled the same path, but gamely smiled at Edith.
"I will be happy to congratulate him on the engagement in person. I've already done so by letter."
Edith blushed happily.
"I am so glad you will be in England for my wedding. You will come, won't you?"
"I don't see any reason I couldn't," Matthew assured her with a smile. "I am going to be one of four ADCs; I am sure the General can spare me for one day."
"What's General Strutt like?" asked Mary curiously.
"You know. Rather important, but nice enough underneath. And brave. He got the DSO in South Africa."
"And you're sure there is no chance it might be permanent? That we can count you out of danger? I know you said yesterday that it's unlikely, but it would be such a relief," asked Sybil earnestly.
Mary closed her eyes when she saw Matthew's stern expression, even as he was answering Sybil in an apologetic tone that it was indeed quite unlikely.
She had never hated the war more.
Sitting room, Crawley House, April 1917
Matthew settled in his favourite armchair with a contended sigh, looking at his mother fondly.
Lunch was simply lovely. Mrs Bird prepared all his favourites – judging from the way she was looking disapprovingly at his thinner figure when he went to say hello to her in the kitchen, he quite expected the quantity of food packages from her to double when he was back at the front – and he and Mother were happily chatting about her duties at the convalescent home and all her various committees and his expected tasks for General Strutt. Neither of them touched any topics likely to upset the other and it felt so much like one of their lunches before the war, with good food and easy conversation, that by the end Matthew's throat got quite tight with nostalgia and love for her.
He regretted the necessity of going back to the big house. As much as he was looking forward to marrying Mary it was not going to happen for months yet and in the meantime Downton Abbey hardly felt like home. Especially full of officers and their caretakers as it was now.
"I missed this," he confessed easily, relaxing against the chair. "And I missed you."
He noted Mother's eyes shine suspiciously, despite her bright smile.
"And I missed you. It's wonderful to see you here, looking so well. And engaged, too!"
Matthew smiled. Mother was never one to avoid potentially fraught topics for long. She was always ready to confront them directly.
"I can still hardly believe it myself," he said, reaching for his cup of tea to keep his hands busy. As sure as he felt of his choices, he couldn't deny slight apprehension at discussing them with Mother, especially since he was unable to give her all the facts.
"Was it then as sudden thing to you as it was for the rest of us?" she asked, looking at him sharply. "A result of an impulse at seeing her again after such a long time?"
"I would hardly come equipped with a ring if it was," answered Matthew calmly and took a fortifying drink of his tea. "In fact, it was the opposite. We knew we still loved each other since my last leave in autumn. We just had no opportunity to make it official until now."
She looked startled at this.
"You both knew it since September and yet you only tell me now?"
Matthew winced at the hurt he could hear in her voice.
"It was a bit more complicated than that," he hastened to say. "We... we had some things we needed to clarify and discuss first. A lot of things, really. And while we managed to achieve much by letters, there were some which required discussing in person – and that was only done yesterday."
Isobel nodded, as if his words fitted her own thoughts somehow.
"I have noticed Mary has changed," she said. "She is not the most open person... But it was clear as the nose on your face that she cares about you."
Matthew felt his eyes widen at her admission.
"Really?" he asked, pleased beyond measure to hear it and to see Mother's sincere smile.
"Really," she nodded, but then added dryly. "Although it probably hasn't hurt that you're the earl now."
Matthew pursed his lips, the pleasant feeling evaporating.
"Don't be unjust, Mother."
"Oh, am I?"
"Yes," he said firmly. "Unknowingly so, I know – you do not know all the facts – but yes."
"What don't I know?" she asked, observing him closely.
Matthew swallowed.
"I can't tell you," he said, feeling awfully frustrated by it. "It's not my story to tell. You just must trust me that the reason Mary didn't give me an answer was not what we all thought back then. There was... another factor, which influenced her. It was not because she was uncertain of my prospects and it was not because she didn't love me."
"And you know that factor? You are sure it was the reason?"
"Yes," confirmed Matthew. "I am very sure."
"And was it good enough reason for all the pain she caused you?"
He remained silent for a long while, considering his answer. He wanted to be certain of it before he spoke.
"It was an understandable reason," he said at last. "I wish so terribly much that she told me back then... But I can understand why she did not."
Isobel exhaled loudly and reached determinately for her own cup.
"I wish you could tell me all," she said briskly. "But, in the end, it is your own marriage and your own happiness. And I can see that you are both very happy – which in turn makes me so very happy, my darling boy."
Matthew felt the warmth diffusing through his chest again.
Downton grounds, Downton Abbey, April 1917
After leaving Crawley House with Mother's promise to come to the Abbey for dinner – that night and every night he was there – Matthew's feet brought him seemingly without his conscious thought to the bench he long considered his and Mary's.
Only this time it was already occupied.
"Oh. Hello. Sorry, I didn't realise anybody was here," he said to the lieutenant resting there.
The man looked a bit to his right with a wry smile.
"Neither did I," he answered with a light shrug. "But then again, I am not the most aware person nowadays."
Matthew looked at his milky eyes and visible scaring on his face and shuddered.
"Gas?" he asked quietly.
"Unfortunately," confirmed the blind lieutenant. "And you?"
Matthew startled, realising that he took him for another convalescent.
"I've been lucky so far," he said uncomfortably. "I'm just here on leave."
"Ah," said he. "I won't even pretend I don't envy you bitterly. Visiting some other unlucky chap here then?"
"My cousins, actually," said Matthew, for some reason embarrassed to introduce himself as the lord of this manor. He wrote it down to being completely unused yet to thinking about himself in that context. He fell on his military title instead. "I'm Captain Matthew Crawley."
The officer offered his hand in his general direction.
"Lieutenant Edward Courtenay," he said when Matthew shook it. "So you're the cousin of the lovely Crawley ladies."
He chuckled mirthlessly, as if he could sense Matthew's surprise at this statement.
"I've never seen them, of course," he explained. "But their voices are lovely... and the way they smell. Of course, after France, everything smells nice in comparison."
"They all look lovely too," said Matthew, looking at Lieutenant Courtenay's milky eyes. "Is it certain that your blindness is permanent? I've known plenty of chaps who recovered after some weeks."
Courtenay waved his hand dismissively.
"Unfortunately, quite certain by now," he answered blithely. "There was some hope initially – as you say, many chaps recover at least some of their sight – but the damage to my corneas was so extensive that there was nothing which could be done. I've been told to consider myself lucky that my lungs escaped. So I can look forward to a long and healthy life as a useless cripple, unable to do anything I used to enjoy and to witness my brother replacing me in every role which was expected to be mine. Quite lucky indeed, am I not?"
Matthew could not really find anything truly comforting to say. He shuddered again, imagining himself in the lieutenant's place.
"Then what are your plans?" he asked, focusing on practicalities.
Lieutenant Courtenay shrugged.
"I am to stay here until they deem me as healed as I can get and then they ship me to St Dunstan's Hospital in London," he said indifferently. "Where they supposedly teach unfortunates like me how to walk around without bumping into things and read Braille, I guess. Nurse Crawley keeps telling me that things are not over for me yet, and she is so nice that I pretend to believe her, at least as long as she is nearby. But I must admit I find Sergeant Barrow's approach more to my heart. He says I should keep living just to spite all those who wrote me off."
Matthew laughed.
"It does sound like Sergeant Barrow's approach to life's challenges."
"And you agree with him?"
Matthew took a moment to think it over.
"I have more faith in people than he does," he said slowly. "So I don't think spite would be what would keep me going should I suffer as you have. I guess it would be duty which would work for me."
"Duty! Now that's concept which I don't subscribe to anymore. It was duty which got me into this mess, together with misplaced yearning for glory. How can you still care about duty, after dealing with all that shit out there?"
Matthew shrugged uneasily.
"It's the only thing which keeps me more or less sane. Duty to my men. Duty to my fellow officers. Duty to do everything in my power to come back to my family. If I didn't have that, what would have been the bloody point of it all?"
"I don't see any," Courtenay shook his head and then laughed. "Well, I don't see anything anymore, but I also really don't see any point in surviving if it has to be like that. Life is not worth living if it's so pathetic."
Matthew felt unease gnawing at his stomach at Courtenay's words. On one hand, he did see his point... He could not imagine living his life like that either. But on the other... He was reminded about his discussion with Mary during his previous leave, after his visit to the hospital during the influx of fresh wounded from the Somme, when she said that surely their families would prefer to get them back on any terms rather than lose them to death.
As much as the idea of a crippled life horrified him, would Mary really be ready to accept him on any terms?
Would he ever be able to accept her devoting her life to taking care of him in such circumstances?
He rubbed his forehead, unsure of the answer to any of those questions.
A gruff voice pulled him out of those cheerless musings.
"There you are! I swear you are absconding further and further every day. I'm sure I will have to drag your arse from the village by the end of the week, sir."
Thomas walked from behind the tree and, finally spotting Matthew, practically jumped in fright.
"Your lordship! I haven't seen you here. Forgive my language, my lord."
Matthew's lips twitched in amusement.
"You cannot expect that I haven't heard or used worse after two and half years at the front, Sergeant. And you can stick to military address, seeing as I am still in my uniform at present."
"Yes, sir. Although," Sergeant Barrow's lips twitched as well. "Mr Carson might well have a heart attack if he hears me addressing you so."
Matthew looked at him wryly.
"And it's going to be a problem for you since when, exactly?"
Thomas smirked evilly.
"I expect he will have to get used to it, sir."
Lieutenant Courtenay looked between them questioningly.
"So you're not just visiting your cousins, huh?" he asked drily. "Although I should have realised that a cousin to a bunch of ladies must be a lord himself."
Matthew felt himself redden.
"It's a very recent thing," he muttered, then looked at Thomas mischievously. "When I first arrived here, Barrow had his doubts whether I even knew how to serve myself at dinner."
He took great delight at Thomas's flabbergasted expression at the reminder of his behaviour.
"I'm ever so sorry, sir," he mumbled, squirming uncomfortably in his spot. "That was very wrong of me."
Lieutenant Courtenay laughed, for the first time during this conversation without a trace of bitterness.
"So it's not just me that you're utterly irreverent to, Barrow?"
Thomas smiled fondly.
"Now, sir, why would you say so? I am just as reverent as people or matters deserve."
Matthew just shook his head, laughing himself.
Lord Grantham's study, Downton Abbey, April 1917
"If you excuse us, Lady Mary, I would like to talk with Lord Grantham privately," said Sir Anthony after they finished catching Matthew up on all the most recent plans for the estate.
Mary's eyebrows rose briefly, then a flash of understanding passed over her face and she nodded.
"I will see you both at dinner then," she said and left the study.
Matthew looked up at Sir Anthony questioningly. Unlike Mary, he had no clue what kind of topic he could wish to raise with him which Mary could not be present for.
Sir Anthony cleared his throat.
"Lord Grantham," he said awkwardly. "I received your letter of congratulations on my engagement to Lady Edith – and I could not be more grateful for it – but I still would like... if you allow... to ask formally for your permission to marry her. Since I did not have a chance to ask her father and you are the head of the family now... I would be honoured if you could give it."
Matthew stared at him, shocked.
"But of course!" he exclaimed when he regained his ability to speak. "Sir Anthony, I am not sure if you and Edith need my permission; she is an adult and I am only her cousin. But if you want it, it's yours, of course, as well as my blessing. I know that Edith loves you and I know that you are a good and kind man; there could be no doubts of my approval even if I felt myself more entitled to grant it."
Sir Anthony's eyes glistened.
"You are too kind, Lord Grantham," he said quietly. "Thank you for it. But let's not pretend that I am an ideal candidate for Lady Edith's husband, or that no doubts have been raised on that point by other members of the family."
Matthew pursed his lips unhappily and mentally cursed Cousin Violet for her interference.
"Sir Anthony," he said firmly. "The most important thing is that you love Edith and that she loves you. You're not wooing her under false pretences. She is well aware of your age and your health. If those factors are not important to her, what right do I have to stop her? What right does anyone have?"
Sir Anthony smiled ruefully.
"That's what Lady Mary said, although I have to say she was rather blunter in her speech – which was not undeserved, after some reflection. I just worry so... I worry that Lady Edith loves me too much to think clearly about her future. That she is going to wake up ten years from now wondering why she ever tied herself to a crippled old codger. I was hardly a catch before. Now," he touched his immobile arm. "I am more in need of a nurse than a wife."
Matthew looked at him seriously.
"Sir Anthony, none of us can predict the future. It might be that your fears will come true and Edith will regret her marriage, however unlikely it seems when, according to Mary, she has loved you for years already. But it's even more probable that you two will have decades of happiness together. Would you advise me to break my engagement to Mary because I may end up dead or crippled myself in a matter of months?"
Sir Anthony looked stricken.
"No, of course not! But with you, there is hope that such grim fate will never befall you, whereas with me it has already happened."
"It has happened," acknowledged Matthew. "And you survived. Your life got more difficult in some respects, but it's hardly over. I think you are too harsh to yourself, Sir Anthony. I cannot speak for Cousin Violet, but I do know that Cousin Cora, Mary and Sybil are all in agreement with me and support your marriage to Edith wholeheartedly. And as much as I love Cousin Violet, I would not choose to give up my chance of love and happiness simply because of her disapproval."
Sir Anthony chuckled self-consciously.
"No, when you put it like that, it does seem a bit silly."
He got up and offered Matthew his hand, which he shook without hesitation.
"Thank you, Lord Grantham," he said earnestly. "Thank you."
Matthew sat heavily down in his chair after the door closed behind Sir Anthony.
Talking about Sir Anthony's disability, his fears of shackling Edith to a ruined life, on top of his harrowing encounter with the blind officer, made Matthew want to scream at the bloody waste of it all.
He again imagined himself coming back to Mary crippled without hope of recovery and shuddered.
He had considered it before, of course. They all did, at the front. There was a grim calculus to it, figuring out what kind of damage would be acceptable and to what degree. Most agreed that losing one limb, while difficult to swallow, would be on the acceptable part of the scale. Two or more – definitely not, although Summers made the argument that he could live without both of his legs as long as he could still fuck. Which promptly went into widespread agreement that any injury resulting in loss of ability to do that was a no-deal. And then Thompson, chortling, asked what about an injury which would make you so bloody ugly that no woman with eyes of her own would want to fuck you and the discussion degenerated into ribbing for whom a grenade to the face could be actually more beneficial than Mother Nature had been. But it stayed with Matthew. He did not dwell on it often – it could drive a man mad to wonder too much about things like that – but from time to time he fell back into considering the acceptable and unacceptable. Like today, when confronted with such lifechanging injuries.
Was he really doing right thing by marrying Mary before the war ended and he knew whether he came through it unscathed? Wouldn't it be more reasonable to wait, to make sure? How could he risk tying her to him if he came back blind like Lieutenant Courtenay or without use of some of his limbs like Sir Anthony?
Or even worse off than any of them?
He had never been so glad to hear the dressing gong. He rubbed his forehead tiredly and walked upstairs to change into his mess kit.
Small library, Downton Abbey, April 1917
Matthew looked up in surprise when the door of deserted small library opened and Mary entered again.
"Oh, you're still here!" she said with a satisfied smile. "I was hoping to catch you before you went up."
"I thought you went to bed," he said, standing up promptly to welcome her back.
"Well, I had to appear doing just that. There was no way Mama would have left us alone otherwise," she explained in a low voice, her smile growing practically wicked as she reached to caress Matthew's face with her bare fingers. She had left her gloves upstairs.
Matthew gulped, looking intently into her eyes.
"And what are your intentions for me that required us being alone?" he asked, capturing her hand and placing a slow kiss on the palm of it.
"Just something which I had no occasion to do today yet and which has been on my mind the whole day," she said, her face approaching his.
"And that was?"
"Kissing my handsome fiancé, of course," she whispered, and Matthew needed no further invitation to comply.
Mary's lips felt heavenly against his.
"I missed you today," said Matthew hoarsely. "We haven't had a moment alone the whole day. Tomorrow I'm taking the car and abducting you for a very thorough inspection of the estate. We won't be able to return before nightfall."
Mary raised her eyebrows.
"And what about our family?"
"We can pay homage to them at dinner," said Matthew firmly, capturing her lips again.
Their passionate moment got interrupted by raucous laughter from behind the screen.
"And then she looked at me all wide eyed and asked, "what undergarments, sir?"
More loud laughter followed. Matthew glared at the partition and then threw a somewhat concerned look at Mary, who rolled her eyes.
"Some of the officers seem to forget that the small library is still in use. I guess we are too quiet. It's hardly the worst talk I've heard."
Matthew frowned.
"Maybe I should ask Barrow or Major Clarkson to have a talk with them," he said, sending another glare in the direction of the boisterous bunch.
Mary waved her hand dismissively.
"Even if you do, I doubt it will have a lasting effect. And there's no harm, really. I just retire early and spend more time in my room."
Matthew's frown deepened, remembering Mary's nocturnal habits.
"Are you still suffering from insomnia?" he asked. He didn't like the thought of her wandering around the house at night while it was full of soldiers. Maybe he should have better opinion regarding his fellow officers... but unfortunately he had seen enough in France to make him uneasy.
Mary gave him a knowing look.
"I take care to bring a stack of books to last me the night," she caressed his face again. "You don't need to worry."
Matthew leaned into her palm but could not drop the topic quite yet.
"But your door is not locked, is it? So Daisy can come in the morning to tend to the fire?"
Mary looked up at him, startled.
"It's never been..." she stopped, her eyes growing wide for a moment, then chuckled mirthlessly. "I was going to say it has never been a problem, but of course that's not true. You would think I should have learnt my lesson years ago, but apparently not."
Matthew's heart clenched, his mind instantly supplying the most likely meaning for her words.
"That bastard," he whispered. "He just barged in, uninvited, didn't he?"
Mary looked away from him as she gave a curt nod in confirmation.
"Oh God, Mary," said Matthew roughly, pulling her into his arms. "I'm so sorry."
She clutched at his shirt, her face hidden as she shook her head slightly.
"It's not what you think. I might have not invited him, but it was still my fault."
"No!" exclaimed Matthew vehemently, hugging her even closer. "It wasn't!"
"I let him," said Mary heavily into his shirt, still avoiding his eyes. "In the end, I let him."
"Why?" asked Matthew quietly, fully convinced now that whatever explanation Mary was going to give him, he was going to be proven right.
"Because he told me that if I summoned help and a man was found in my room I was going to be ruined either way," said Mary, obviously striving for nonchalant tone and even more obviously failing. "And I was young and stupid enough to believe that giving in would be easier."
"Then it was not your fault. God, Mary," he said hoarsely again. "I wish it was. I would prefer to think that you wanted it rather than..."
He stopped; his throat so choked he could not push any further words out.
To his surprise, she laughed a bit, finally raising her eyes towards his.
"You must be the only person to prefer me wicked rather than innocent," she said shakily, touching his cheek again. "No wonder I love you so."
"How could I prefer for you to go through what you did?" asked Matthew incredulously, caressing her own face in response and tenderly pushing a loose lock of her hair behind her ear.
"Isn't it normal for men to prefer their future wife to be chaste and virtuous?"
Matthew grasped Mary's face delicately between his hands.
"My future wife," he said solemnly, looking straight into her eyes. "Happens to be absolutely perfect. And I would be a fool to prefer her any other way."