A Scandalous Affair Dublin
Mary Chapter 3
Mary lays lazily in her bed on Sunday morning. Mrs Murphy is off for the day visiting her daughter. Meaning she and Tom can spend the morning in bed together.
Mary wiggles closer to the warm embrace of her husband arms. Tom places a soft kiss on one of her bare shoulders in response and starts to twist her long dark hair about his fingers.
Morning light is trying to stream in the window, but the heavy curtains block most of the sunlight. Dust motes dance in sunbeams that have found a chink in the curtain's defences. The city is still quiet this Sunday morning, though soon church bells would begin to ring, summoning the people to worship.
Since Tom confessed his woes, their relationship had developed more intimacy. So now Mary spends lazy Sunday mornings, mostly naked in bed with her husband. Tom has now moved on to tenderly stroke the soft skin of her inner arm. His hand warm on her skin.
"You're quiet this morning," Tom murmurs as he kisses her neck.
Mary turns over so she can look her husband in the face, "I'm just thinking."
Tom smiles at her, "a penny for your thoughts."
Mary let's her fingers curl about Tom's chest hair, he doesn't have much, but she likes the texture of it against her fingers. She doesn't remember much about the naked Mr Pamuk, his sudden death efficiently drove any other memories from her mind.
"I received a letter from Lavinia yesterday and it's been on my mind since," Mary says.
"Nothing serious I hope?"
"The same old stories. Granny and cousin Isobel clashing over the flower show at the summer fete," Mary explains. Tom smiles knowingly. As the chauffeur he had been privy to many of the Crawley's private conversations, including the arguments between Mrs Crawley and the Dowager.
Mary bit her bottom lip in indecision. After a few minutes Mary started to talk, "Lavinia confided in me that she and Matthew are trying for a baby, but nothing has happened yet."
"Do you think I should tell her what my doctor told me?" Mary asked, an indecisive expression on her face. "You can tell Lavinia anything you want. I am not going to monitor your correspondence to your friends Mary," Tom punctuated his words with a soft kiss.
Still seeing uncertainty in his wife's face, Tom sat up. "Why don't I make us a pot of tea and some toast. You have another read of your letter and we can talk some more when I get back." With that Tom rolled out of bed naked. Mary watched her husband's body; it was still such new and thrilling experience. Tom saw her watching and gave her a wink and then shook his bum in her direction. It had the expected result and Mary started laughing, before hiding her face in a pillow, her face burning. She was still blushing even after the things she had done with her husband.
Tom pulled on a paisley dressing gown (second hand) that Mary had found for him, and he disappeared through the door. She could hear him clattering about in the kitchen. Tom wasn't a quiet man. Sighing Mary rolled back over and reached for the little draw by her bedside and took out the letter.
Looking at the creased pages, her brow furrowed. She knew what was bothering her about the letter, it was Matthew's behaviour.
Mary was still looking at the letter when ten minutes later Tom returned with a tray, holding thick cut toast, a country teapot with a colourful knitted tea cosy and cups and a little milk jug.
Tom settled back into their bed. He set down the tray between them. The smell of fresh toast and tea filled the air between them. He poured Mary a cup of tea and made himself one too. Mary scooted up against her pillows and pulled the blanket around her and accepted the cup of tea from Tom.
"So have you figured out what is bothering you?" Tom asked as he took a bite of his toast.
"Lavinia has said that Matthew is acting strangely, not as she has expected since marriage, working late. She asked for my advice."
Tom took a sip from his tea, giving him time to think. He needed to answer Mary carefully, understanding she may still be tender, regarding her relationship with Matthew.
"I was always surprised that Matthew continued with his engagement to Lavinia. We were all surprised when they set a date," Tom said.
"Everyone or do you mean Sybil?"
"Sybil too. She was convinced you and Matthew would eventually be together," Tom said softly, while he reminisced.
Mary felt unsettled about this topic of conversation. She and Tom had conversed about their marriage and desires for the future, several times since that first time in Downton. Mary was feeling happier in her marriage than she thought possible. She always thought she would have to settle for a cold loveless marriage, especially after the mess she made of Matthew's proposal.
"I don't know if I can put my feelings in to words," she said, turning her face away from Tom.
"I know, why don't you lay back down, face away from me and get comfortable," Tom says, pulling up the sheet and blanket up to Mary's ears. "Now think about what you want to say. I promise I will just drink my tea and not say a word until you are done. How does that sound?" Mary just nodded here head just visible under the blankets. As good as his word, Tom got comfortable in bed beside her, drinking his tea and eating his toast in silence.
The warmth of Tom beside Mary comforted her, while she wrestled with her thoughts, trying to parse her emotions into words.
"I feel guilty," Mary started.
"I did love Matthew once. When he asked me to marry him five years ago, I made a mess of it, I regretted not saying yes. He went away to London and then to war. I, I didn't make a secret of my heartache. I am sure everyone at Downton knew about it, how could they not."
Mary paused, gathering her thoughts.
"Eventually Matthew started to come home to Downton again. I pretended we were just friends, but it wasn't true. I even gave him a talisman to keep him safe at the front, a little stuffed dog I had from childhood. When he came home and announced he was engaged to Lavinia, I was heartbroken again. That's when I started that disastrous relationship with Sir Richard. He was rich, I didn't love him. I didn't even particularly like him. But he was suitable, and I wore him like a shield to protect me from Matthew."
Mary quickly rolled over to have a look at Tom's face. He was calmly drinking his tea. He smiled warmly at her and gestured her to continue. Rolling back to her previous position Mary continued talking. Feeling the coolness of her pillow against her cheek, she prepared to continue.
"When he was injured, Sybil found the little dog in his pocket, he carried it in to battle, even though he was engaged to Lavinia. I felt hope. He was so badly injured, he sent Lavinia away, and I cared for him like a penance. Then Lavinia came back. Suddenly their engagement was back on. Well, that was the end of my hope. But we were still sharing looks and pretending we cared for each other as brother and sister, which was a lie."
Mary draws in a shuddering breath.
"The next thing I knew that horrible scandal broke and then I was married to you and living in Dublin," Mary said. Rolling back to face her husband, tears were pooling in her dark eyes.
"It was hard at the beginning. I was desperately lonely, being so far away from my family," Mary blinked and some of her tears escaped. Tom reached out his hand and tenderly brushed her tears away. Mary turned her head and kissed Tom's palm.
"But slowly, day by day, things changed. We got to know each other as two equals living in Dublin together. I started riding and met Margery and Miss Doran. I started painting and drawing again. I even got a job," Mary said with a happy smile.
"And suddenly I knew what it was to be truly living as an adult in the world. I knew what it was to have a partnership with my husband. To be working towards a life and family together. I also realised all the time I had wasted being melodramatic, pining after Matthew. Making sure everyone knew of my unhappiness, including Matthew. And because I didn't move on Matthew didn't fully move on. Resulting in Lavinia being unhappy in her marriage," Mary finished.
Tom took another sip of his tea, thinking of his response. "Do you want my thoughts?" Tom asked. Mary nodded her consent.
"I think Matthew is responsible for his own emotions and actions," Tom said, Mary furrowed her brows, her lips tensing in rejection of this interpretation of events. "Listen Mary, you are only ever responsible for your own actions. Matthew is a grown man. A man who has much more agency over his life than you ever did. I admit I was surprised that Matthew didn't break things with Lavinia. From an outside perspective that is what I thought he would do. But for whatever reason he didn't. Matthew chose to become engaged to Lavinia. He chose to marry her, even before events conspired between us. These were all Matthew's choices as an adult man of the world. If Matthew now finds he made the wrong choice, that is on Matthew and definitely not on you," Tom said with conviction.
Mary is looking at her husband thoughtfully, this was a new thought on events of the past.
"I know in the last couple of months you and Lavinia have built a genuine friendship. Though Lavinia is younger than you, she is still and adult. Believe me she was well aware how Matthew felt about you," tom said gently. Mary didn't look happy with Tom's opinion. "No really, it's true. I was the chauffeur, I certainly heard enough of their conversations to know that Lavinia was jealous of the attention that Matthew paid to you."
Mary thought back to the conversations she and Lavinia had in the past. Especially during the war years. There was an undercurrent of feeling, of Lavinia staking her claim as Matthew's fiancée. "Don't you remember how happy she was for you, at the wedding?" Tom asked. Yes, Lavinia and Cousin Isobel showed the most genuine happiness for her marriage to Tom. "I assure you, it wasn't because you were marrying the Chauffeur. But because you were no longer a threat to Matthew," Tom said.
Mary leant back in her pillows. Tom had given her plenty to think about. "Do you want some more Tea?" Tom asked. "No thank you."
Tom set about putting the breakfast things on the tray. He gave Mary a quick kiss on the forehead and left her to her contemplations and left the bedroom.
Mary could hear Tom banging away in the kitchen, whistling happily as he washed their breakfast things. Soon she heard him move to their bathroom down the hall as Tom washed and shaved, getting ready to visit his mother for Sunday lunch. Today Tom's sister, brother-in-law and their children will be coming to lunch too. Slowly over the past couple of months Mary had been building a more friendly relationship with Tom's family.
Each week it was becoming a little less awkward.
Sighing and looking at Tom's alarm clock, an old battered thing, he has had for years. Tom kept it by his bedside. She saw it was 10:15 already. Sighing Mary sits up properly in the rumpled bed. She reaches out for her own Chinese silk dressing gown. It was a wedding present from her grandmother. Lady Violet sent it to Mary she moved in to the flat. It had a lovely and cool feeling on her skin on a warm June day.
Sighing she picked up Lavinia's letter. She was feeling better about the situation, but she was unsure what to write back to her about.
Putting the letter back in her dressing gown pocket, she walked to the bathroom to join Tom. Still mulling over Tom's words.
Tom was standing by the sink, face covered in shaving foam. She dropped a kiss on his broad shoulders as she went by to turn on the water in the bath. She would have a quick shallow bath before dressing for the day.
She impatiently waited for Tom to finish and leave so she could use the facilities. She didn't think they would ever be in a position where she would relieve herself, whilst her husband was still present. There were somethings that should remain a mystery.
Tom smirks at his wife, knowing she was waiting for him to leave the bathroom so she could use the toilet. He teased her slightly by moving extra slowly. "Tom," Mary said irritably, a cute little crease at the bridge of her nose. Tom chuckled and rinsed off his face. After drying himself, he left Mary in peace.
Mary finished her morning preparations and returned to their bedroom to select her clothes for the day. It was times like these that she missed Anna's presence. It used to be a lovely start to the day, talking with her maid, deciding what to wear and then Anna helping her dress. As it was, she had to perform contortions to do up her buttons, usually she required help from Tom or Mrs Murphy to finish her off. She really missed having Anna to style her hair each morning.
Mary sighed she hoped Tom keeps his promise and they can go to Downton for Christmas. Mary daydreams for a moment. By Christmas Tom's book should be published with her illustrations. Mary dreams of giving her father a presentation box, with a copy of the book to be proudly added to the Downton Library. How surprised they will be to see her name included. Mary smiles lost in happy thoughts as she slowly brushes her hair. She absently sprinkles her hair with rose water. She likes how it smells and brushes it through her long dark hair.
"Do you want some apple? Or some pear?" Tom asks popping his head around the bedroom door, eyebrow slightly raised in question. A lock of blond hair falling across his brow. Woken from her dream Mary smiles at Tom, "maybe half and half," she replies.
Tom disappears back to the kitchen, as noisy as ever. They have learnt it is best to have a light snack before leaving for Mrs Branson's house. Mrs Branson was an excellent if absentminded cook. Tom and Mary could never quite predict when lunch would be served.
Back to herself Mary quickly twists her hair up into an elegant chignon, the one style Mary can reliably do herself.
She looks at herself critically in the mirror, a quick dusting of powder and a little pink rouge, she thinks. She quickly applies a light coating of makeup. She finishes of with a dab of rose oil behind her ears.
She goes to the living room where Tom has kindly set out a glass of lemonade and slices of apple and pears.
Tom is looking at her latest illustration in the morning light, it her imagining of Queen Méabh, long red hair, swirling around a green dress, standing by a large castle window in the art nouveau style. "What do you think?" Mary asks, referring to her drawing, her fingers nervously plucking at imaginary lint on the sofa's cushion.
"This is beautiful Mary, just how I imagined it. I am sure Button is going to love it," Tom said, smiling broadly, with little crinkles around the eyes. Face full of admiration for his wife. "Do you really think so?" Mary asked again with a shy smile. "You my love, are an absolute marvel," Tom said. Mary smiles, pleased with the compliment.
Tom puts Mary's sketch on a nearby table. Grinning up at Mary, Tom takes Mary's hand and pulls her in to his lap and kisses her thoroughly. They break apart, cheeks flushed, breathing a little heavier.
"A marvel I say," he says tenderly, followed by a quick peck on the lips.
"Now Mrs Branson, eat your fruit and drink your lemonade, we don't want to miss the bus," Tom encourages her.
Smiling through a mock frown, "if Mr Branson didn't distract me, there would be no chance of missing the bus," Mary gave a little wiggle in his lap to arouse him before standing to finish her food.
"Tease!"
Tom stood from the sofa and tidies away the Sunday paper and one of Mary's magazines, before going to the closet to fetch his jacket and Mary's beautiful green summer coat. The coat, a new purchase, has little pink and white pansies embroidered on the collar and pockets.
Tom helped Mary on with her coat while she finished the last bite of pear. She washes it down with the lemonade. Tom takes the plate and glass to the kitchen, while Mary goes to the hall mirror to fix her dark green hat in place. She uses her favourite hatpin, decorated with an enamelled butterfly, that Tom had bought her when they finalised the book deal with the publisher.
"Ready?" Tom asks, as he picks his hat from the stand, fitting it to his head.
"Yes," Mary says and walks through the door Tom has opened for her. Tom locks the door behind them and slips the keys into his trousers' pocket.
As they are walking down the carpeted stairs to the front door, Tom asks, "Have you decided what you are going to write to Lavinia?"
"Not yet. I will write to her after work on Tuesday. I am bound to have thought of something by then," Mary says briskly, back to her practical self.
Tom opens the front door and smiles at Mary as she walks past him into the bright summer sunshine.
Mary and Tom hurry down the street to catch the bus.
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