So, my niece just deleted most of this chapter right before I initially wanted to update, so this is a bit of a rushed retelling of the original content. Still hope it gets the point across
It stung. Terribly. And not just physically. Getting punched like this in broad daylight with the elderly housekeeper bearing witness was certainly not something he would be able to get over anytime soon. It was humiliating, to say the least. And he had only himself to blame for that, only that mug staring back at him in the mirror and he almost felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to throw a punch. At the mirror. At himself.
Old.
Dirty.
Miserable.
A drunk.
A fool.
Those were just a few of the words that came to mind as he looked ahead, standing in front of the white sink. That was all that he saw in the mirror. The reflection staring back at him looked horrible, and the effects of the constant inebriation from the past weeks waning did not help the vision ahead of him.
Was that really him? Was this sorry excuse of a man looking back at him truly who he had become? The eyes in the reflection there were sunken and bloodshot, with dark circles underneath. He was pale, almost ghostly. His eyes looked dull, the spark they once held had long since died. Confusion, worry, and strain caused his forehead to wrinkle, his eyebrows knitted together. He was unshaven — he had rarely seen a beard as horrid-looking as this. There was a reason that even in the year he had been trekking around the world, he had always stayed clean-shaven.
He had lost all control of his life. Completely. His appearance was only yet another reminder of that. Just like the bruise on his left cheek. It made that fact even more painfully obvious than it already was anyway. How could he let things get so far out of hand that Tom had seen the need to throw that punch?
Henry's hand came up to touch the red bruise on his swollen and heated cheek. Now that he was not inebriated any more, unlike the day before, he actually felt the lingering, throbbing pain left behind after that punch. He deserved it, the pain and all the humiliation that came with it. All of it and so much more. Tom had been right. He was not the same man who had chased after Lady Mary Crawley.
He had loved her. He truly did. And if he was honest, a part of him still did. But he had hurt her, had broken her trust. And she had not done anything to deserve it. She had been running the estate together with her father for years before they even got together. She could not just up and go and join him on his tours, especially not after her father's health scare a few years ago which left her in charge of Downton. She hadn't asked him to give up racing, either — that was all his own doing. She had told him that he would resent her if she did. And she had been right, although she had not done anything to warrant that. Mary had ample reason for her actions, her cautions, her worries. She had been open about everything, and he was just a vain man with a bruised ego who decided not to listen.
This was not fair on her, he was not being fair on her. He had got himself into this incredibly messy situation and now, he needed to find a way out of it, too. He needed to do what Robert had told him to. He needed to fix the little that was left to be fixed.
And he would start by not touching that bottle of whiskey he saw standing temptingly on his nightstand, almost tauntingly. And he would also take care of his appearance — these were only the first steps of many. And he would take them all, every last step, to mend what he so carelessly and callously broke.
He had searched everywhere for her. He had been to her room, had checked the sitting rooms and the library. What he hadn't taken into consideration, though, was the possibility that she was out on the estate or might have gone to Ripon or York. It was Parker who just informed him that she had left right before luncheon, but he had no idea where. Disappointed and quite angry with himself, Henry was about to turn around and go back upstairs to his room when he heard her voice coming from outside.
She had her back turned to him and was talking to someone still standing outside, someone Henry could not yet make out. But he knew that he had to ask her now or he never would be able to muster up the courage again.
"Mary?" he asked in hopes of gaining her attention.
She turned around to face him, an unreadable expression on her face. "Henry."
Almost tentatively, he stepped closer. "Can we talk?" he asked, an almost pleading look in his eyes.
"That's for you to tell me. You know my condition."
"Yes, I do. And I am calm. I just want to talk," he sighed. "Can we please go to the library and just have this conversation?"
She eyed him curiously, not only because of the words he was saying. She had waited weeks to hear them, after all. And she was not at all expecting them from him upon returning from an uneventful visit to one of their farms. But no doubt, his appearance must be quite confusing to her as well.
She did not ask him about it, though. Instead, she only handed her coat to Parker, saying: "Please see to it that Mister Talbot and I will not be disturbed in the library," and then walked past him and crossed the hall.
"Now, what is it you wanted to say?"
Henry hesitated. He hadn't thought that far ahead. Maybe he had hoped she would spark up the conversation they both knew they needed to have on her own, but just looking at her sitting on the red settee told him all he needed to know.
She would not. She would not grant him that favour, and why should she?
He cleared his suddenly incredibly dry throat and sat down opposite her while trying to come up with a way to breach the subject and say what he needed to say.
"I don't quite know where to start," he admitted truthfully.
"Well, what is it you wanted to discuss? There must have been something important, or else you would not have come to find me today," Mary replied, her tone frosty as she feigned indifference.
"Right. Well, I wanted to tell you that I agree. To the divorce. You are right, everything has changed and you just don't deserve this. Not any of it. You see, I have done something despicable and I have truly no way of justifying it. I don't even want to insult you by asking for your forgiveness, I don't deserve it."
"You've got me on the edge of my seat."
"The year I was gone. I was racing again, as you have picked up on, I am sure. And I met old friends and acquaintances again. People I had not seen in years."
"And there was another woman? A woman from your youth, I presume?"
He stared blankly at her. Had Robert already told her? Was it too late?
He must have looked panicked as those thoughts were running rampant in his head. To his great relief, she only added: "I figured."
He looked up at her, and suddenly, their eyes met. He saw the hurt she tried to hide, the hurt he caused.
"Yes, there was another woman," he conceded, nodding slowly. "Years ago, long before we met, I was engaged to be married to her but we broke it off for a great many reasons and she ended up marrying someone else. We hadn't seen each other in at least a decade until that one race in Florida about a year ago now. Her husband died a few years back."
"And so you took back up with her?"
Shamefully, he hung his head low and admitted: "Yes, we did."
Mary breathed in deeply, and he saw that she was biting her tongue. "And that was reason enough for you to never write? Never to return when I, your wife, needed you?"
"Seems like it. Mary, I love you." His hand subconsciously reached out and he tentatively let it come to rest on her knee. It was only when her entire body tensed up at the touch that he realised and quickly snatched his hand back. "I truly do. But our lives are fundamentally different. I cannot lead life the way you are used to, I can't play the husband to a working wife who provides for me. Even with the car shop Tom and I run, that is essentially what you do. I am a vain man, Mary. I know that and I admit to it freely, but only to you. I can't live like this. I thought that loving you was enough, that that would make up for everything else, but it doesn't. This is not fair on you, not at all. I have broken our vows, have broken your trust. I broke us, and this marriage is broken beyond repair, I now realise. I want you to file the divorce, this is reason enough for you to be able to get it. I will pack my things and go as soon as everything is settled."
"Yes and no."
"What?"
"Yes, I will file for divorce. As you said, this marriage is broken beyond repair, even without what you just admitted. But you will not pack your things as soon as it is settled. You still have a daughter and a business to run with Tom. You will find a way to make it all work, and only then I will let you leave."
"Alright."
They both fell silent, looking anywhere but at the other person sitting opposite. They had said everything. They had talked. Calmly. This was all he could do.
Slowly, Henry got up and started to make his way to the exit, to hide away in his room again and nurse his bruised ego along with his cheek.
"What happened to you there?" Mary asked suddenly.
"Tom. Let's just say that his actions spoke louder than his words, which seems like a lot."
"Ah," was all she said in reply as he left. She had to admit that it was quite flattering to think that Tom held her in such high esteem that he would punch her husband for her — the man who just so happened to be one of his closest friends and his business partner. But she would have to talk to him, he couldn't go around punching people, no matter how right he was.