AUTHOR'S NOTE: Serious warning – this chapter might rot your teeth with sweetness. Pure fluff, really. Enjoy it while it lasts ;)
Matthew and Mary receive letters from Downton in the very same post.
"What has yours said?" asks Mary with a smirk.
Matthew shakes his head ruefully.
"Your father is elated for us. He couldn't be more understanding about me breaking the engagement with Lavinia and tying myself to you immediately. He would prefer to have a formal announcement sooner but accepts that it is better to wait a bit longer in our delicate situation. Seriously, he is more gracious than I have ever deserved. What about yours?"
Mary laughs.
"They are all positively gleeful. I won't even tell you what Granny is saying about it all, other than to summarise that she wholeheartedly approves. Mama and Papa are just as happy as he says in his letter to you. We are finally doing what they have always wanted us to do, after all."
What Mary doesn't tell him is that Granny wrote triumphantly that while it took Matthew way too long to come to his senses and realise that this little blonde piece is no way equal to Mary, Granny could not be happier that he finally did. She rather thinks it could make Matthew feel bad on multiple levels, both for his behaviour to them both and in offense on Lavinia's behalf, and the last thing she wants to do is to spoil their perfect happiness in this moment. They love each other, they are engaged, their family is overjoyed for them – or at least accepting, in Isobel's case – and since Christmas falls during Matthew's leave, they are going to spend it together. Pity that it's going to be in France, but Mary hardly cares considering everything else she has a reason to be happy about.
Which reminds her, she really should do something about a gift for him. She thought she had more time with his plan to spend his leave in England.
"Took us long enough," acknowledges Matthew ruefully, and Mary sends him a sardonic gaze in response.
"You know they weren't so insistent on the match out of consideration for our happiness or how well we suit each other. Not in the beginning, at least."
Matthew smirks.
"I'm well aware of it, yes. But I flatter myself that they are happy about more than securing the title and the money for the family by now."
Mary's eyes soften.
"You know they all adore you. You're really the son Papa has always wanted. Whatever motivations they had in the beginning, they are elated because they care about us both now."
Matthew grins.
"I got a letter from Edith too," he says smugly. "She welcomes me as her future brother, although she rather laments my taste in women. She's magnanimously willing to overlook it though, since this is the only way to make me officially her brother, after all."
Mary rolls her eyes.
"As if she has any room to criticise anyone's taste! Strallan, ugh!"
"Why have they fallen apart? Last I heard he was going to propose to her?" asks Matthew with interest.
Mary manages not to freeze, but it is a close thing. She has no wish to get into the whole debacle of Edith's letter though. Matthew has good relationship with her sister – she would even say that he has a soft spot for her – and whatever her own feelings regarding Edith, she does not want to spoil it for them. Or admit what she did in revenge.
"It was planned for the garden party. I guess we all had other things on our minds afterwards. Last I heard he was going to France himself, as part of diplomatic corps I think."
"Pity. I thought she seemed very keen on him. And whatever you say, he is a very nice man."
Mary scoffs.
"You only say so because you weren't pushed at him in a desperate attempt to marry you off."
Matthew gapes at her.
"You? They pushed you at Sir Anthony Strallan?"
"Yes," admits Mary with a huff. "At the salty pudding dinner. I was ordered to charm him to the best of my ability."
Matthew looks at her intently.
"Is that why you flirted so much with him that night? Because you were ordered to?"
Why does he have to ask all the wrong questions tonight?
"No," answers Mary honestly, "I made a stupid bet with Edith when she goaded me about me being unable to get every prize. I wanted to show her that I could have that old booby if I wanted to – and that I just didn't want to have him because I was not desperate enough to sentence myself to forty years of boredom and duty. Unlike her."
"You can be really horrid when you want to be," says Matthew in clear exasperation, but his eyes are more fond and amused than censorious, so Mary is not overly worried about possible repercussions of her confession.
"But you love me anyway, don't you?" she asks coyly and is promptly rewarded with a passionate kiss.
"Madly," answers Matthew when their lips part briefly. "Absolutely madly."
xxx
He never has nightmares in the trenches. He suspects that he is either not sleeping deeply enough to get them or, at times, is just too bloody exhausted to dream. But he is not in the trenches now, so of course he should be prepared to get one while at Mary's house. They are par for the course with him.
He somehow hasn't expected it though – maybe he thought he is simply too happy for one – so he is both mortified and cross when he gasps awake in the middle of the night, the remnants of his dream still flashing in front of his eyes and Mary's concerned face over him.
"Shhhh," she says softly, her slender hand caressing his cheek lightly, anchoring him in here and now. "It was just a dream. You are safe and everything is perfectly alright."
He pants, trying and failing to get his breath under control. It takes him a long time to become aware of his surroundings enough to notice that Mary is dressed in her nightgown, a cardigan and has a heavy blanket over her shoulders but is still shivering in the freezing room. There are no fireplaces or stoves upstairs, and the temperature outside has been steadily dropping for the last few days.
"You should go to bed," he says reluctantly, hating the thought of letting her out of his sight. His nightmare hasn't been about him.
"It's not any warmer there than here," she answers and hesitates for a moment before adopting an expression that is somehow both resolute and bashful at the same time. "Maybe you could make some space for me and we could sit together for a while. I don't think I will fall asleep anytime soon and I could use some warmth."
He gapes at her in shock and she obviously thinks better of what she's just said because even by the uncertain light of a single candle he can see her blush and start to withdraw from him. His hand shoots out and stops her without his conscious thought, as the other one opens his own blanket in an invitation.
"I could use some warmth as well," he says, when she still hesitates. "And frankly I don't want to be alone right now."
That does it and she sits gingerly next to him as he wraps the blankets around them both. The cot is narrow and forces them to snuggle quite close. It would never, in a million years, happen at Downton – Matthew shudders in horror at the very thought of what the reaction to something like that would have been like there – but here it just feels natural and right, so very right. Matthew's arm sneaks around Mary's back and her head rests on his chest, and it is just as it should be, they fit so well together.
Also, the additional warmth their proximity gives them is welcome in the icy room.
"It feels nice," says Mary, obviously thinking alongside the same paths as him.
"As nice as nice can be," he confirms and wonders if it would be very caddish of him to kiss her now.
Thankfully, she kisses him before he has time to decide and it would be very ungentlemanly not to kiss her back, wouldn't it? So he does and soon they are so lost in it Matthew promptly decides that if he could spend the rest of his days doing one thing, it would be kissing Mary. He can hardly imagine anything more blissful.
Except his body has some ideas how he could expand upon it and he needs to break away from Mary's lips for a moment before he does something he definitely is not supposed to do.
"Maybe kissing wasn't such a great idea right now," he says in a voice that he barely recognises as his own.
"Why?" asks Mary and she sounds so sultry and tempting, her eyes huge and dark in the dim light and her mouth red from kissing that it takes all Matthew's considerable willpower to stop him from immediately descending on them again.
"Because," he forces himself to say even as his whole body is screaming at him and calling him an idiot, "I'm afraid I won't be able to stop myself if we continue as we were."
"Oh."
"Yes," says Matthew with a sigh, closing his eyes against the temptation in front of them. Not that it helps much, considering how tightly they are pressed together and how aware he is of every inch of his body touching hers. Thank God for their thick clothing! "Maybe you should go, after all. I'm sorry for being such an uncontrolled brute."
"You shouldn't apologise," says Mary firmly, making him open his eyes to look at her in surprise.
"Why?" he asks and the smile she gives him can only be described as positively sinful.
"Because I am not sure I would want you to stop if we continued."
Matthew blinks. Well, that was certainly... unexpected. Not at all unwelcome – God, not at all, the opposite actually! – but unexpected.
"Should I apologise?" asks the little minx in his arms and he glowers at her. He has never felt so much in love with her as he does right now, even though he wants to strangle her for teasing him like this when he barely holds to his self-control by his very fingertips.
"No," he growls. "But maybe we should not make a habit of sharing a bed like that until we're married. Just to be on the safe side, since apparently neither of us is to be trusted."
"I think you're right," she says mournfully. "A pity though. You are so wonderfully warm."
He does feel warm. Actually, his body feels on fire, which is both pleasant and torturous at the same time.
"Maybe stay just a little bit longer," says Matthew, as loathe to see her go as she seems reluctant to do so. "We should be able to behave responsibly, shouldn't we?"
The answer is: they are. Mostly.
But there are more kisses that night.
xxx
Mary wakes up in Matthew's arms and thinks she never wants to leave them.
She doesn't know if it's the narrowness of the bed, the bitter cold permeating the room, or their need to be as close to each other as humanely possible, but they are entwined together, with Matthew's arm around her and with Mary using his chest as her pillow, with her arm also hugging him possessively.
She hasn't slept so well in months. Possibly since she came here.
She raises her head and looks down at his face, relaxed in sleep, and so very dear, in the subdued light of a cloudy December morning. He's smiling slightly, as if dreaming of something pleasant, and she is so glad to see it after being summoned to his room by his tortured, frightened screams in the first place.
She thinks with wonder that when they are married every morning will look like that and for a crazy moment yearns to wake Matthew up and run to the nearest city hall.
Especially since last night showed them clearly enough that they have more than waking up together to look forward to in their married life...
The strength of her own desire for him surprised her greatly in the best possible way. Ever since Pamuk, she has been wary of it, blaming the attraction she initially felt for him for everything that happened. She did not manage to supress it completely – knowing now much better what could happen between a man and a woman, there have been many nights when she did imagine herself with Matthew in that way – but she feared such thoughts and feelings too. And she feared – sometimes even despaired – that if there ever was a time when she could express her desire for Mattthew, her less than pleasant experience with intimacy would intrude in some way and destroy everything. After all, wasn't that what damaged goods meant? That she was spoilt for the man she truly loved in some crucial, unrepairable way?
But when they were kissing, their bodies pressed most deliciously together, rubbing against each other in a way which was driving her literally mad in the best possible way, there were no intrusions from that night. There was only Matthew, his lips, his hands, his body against hers, and the only thing that she could think of – if you can even call that thinking, she was not exactly coherent – was that if he wanted more, she would agree to it without the smallest hesitation, damn the consequences, because she wanted him so terribly much that in that moment nothing else mattered. Thankfully Matthew showed enough restrain for both of them, because as shameful as it was to admit it to herself in the light of day, she was incapable of any.
But as much as she blushes over her feelings and thoughts from last night, she is elated too, with so many of her fears put to rest. She feels confident now that when the time comes and they are married, she will be able to be a proper wife to him – and that she will enjoy herself beyond belief.
She shakes off those fanciful thoughts with effort and reluctantly crawls out from under the covers and the wonderful source of heat Matthew is. As much as she would love to stay exactly where she was, the sad truth is they are not married yet and it wouldn't do to be caught like this.
So of course she runs into Sybil coming back from her nightshift at the hospital. Of course.
"Nothing happened," growls Mary furiously, bunching her blanket over herself like a robe in the freezing hallway as Sybil vacillates between looking aghast and amused. "He had a nightmare, I comforted him, and we fell asleep. End of story so you can stop smirking, thank you very much."
She walks back to her cold bedroom with her head held high.
xxx
The weather only gets colder. The whole Europe is caught in the grip of a cruel winter and it's definitely the worst either Mary or Sybil have ever encountered – at least without roaring fires in every room tended to round the clock by servants.
"The Seine is frozen over for the first time in 120 years," says Mattew from behind the morning newspaper as Mary enters the kitchen.
"So is the water in my pitcher," says Mary sourly. "Which tells me that my bedroom barely counts as habitable."
"Neither of the upstairs room is right now," agrees Sybil. "I think we all should sleep in the kitchen tonight, to be honest. If we find something to burn in the stove, that's it."
Which is not an easy task. Wood, when it can be found at all, fetches astronomical prices and, with much of the country in the industrial north overrun by the Germans, coal supplies in this fourth winter of the war are more meagre than ever and there is precious little fuel to spare for civilians.
Matthew's face sets in a determined expression.
"Well, I cannot let you freeze to death, and since I am the only one currently free, I guess I am going on supply run today. There has to be some wood or coal somewhere in the area."
"I am free as well, actually," says Mary. "The things are so slow that my supervisor gave me the day off. How about I will ask if I can borrow one of the lorries? We could widen our search."
Matthew smiles at her widely.
"A road trip with my fiancée. The day just got better."
xxx
Mary feigns nonchalance at Matthew's admiring look as she deftly manoeuvres their borrowed lorry around people, vehicles and shell holes on the roads, but inside she is basking in it. She knows she's good.
"This is nothing," she says. "It was raining most of the autumn and the mud even on the roads, never mind the vicinity of the battlefields, was just indescribable."
"I know," points out Matthew drily. "I was there too. Covered in it more often than not."
She looks at him with a challenge.
"But were you trying to drive through it?"
"No," admits Matthew. "But have you tried to pull a howitzer through it?"
Mary has to admit that she didn't, but quarrels that pushing an ambulance loaded fully with the wounded has to come close if not be actually worse.
They debate the relative weight and size of a howitzer against an ambulance, the distances involved and the general level of awfulness of each task until they reach the next market town. Which, unsurprisingly but frustratingly, has no coal and no wood.
"Everything has been sold out," explains a grumpy seller. "People are cutting down trees in the park as it is."
So they go to the next one and the one after it. When they finally find a stocked warehouse, Mary nearly kisses the owner. The price is exorbitant, of course, but there are some advantages to being a daughter of the Earl of Grantham – like Mary's pocket money.
"I'm trying not to think what I could have bought for that amount at home," grumbles Mary in English, but hands out the required sum.
Matthew restrains himself from pointing out how lucky they are she can afford it in the first place and gets busy loading the wood into the lorry.
He drives on the way back and Mary is forced to admit that he is not bad either – but she still is better.
xxx
"Where have you learnt how to split wood?" asks Tom curiously, watching Matthew's prowess with an axe as they are both working through the pile of wood Matthew and Mary triumphantly brought home.
Matthew grins.
"Would you believe me if I said it was one of my chores at home?"
Tom gives it a proper consideration and finally shakes his head.
"I wouldn't put anything beyond Mrs Crawley when it comes to keep you humble, but you're a city boy. Haven't you used coal in Manchester?"
Matthew laughs at this characterisation of his mother, which he must admit is quite on point.
"We did," he says. "I learnt in the Army."
Tom's eyebrows rise in surprise as he reaches for another piece of wood.
"I thought officers were exempt from physical labour?"
Matthew shrugs, wiping sweat off his brow.
"Boredom and cold can induce a man to learn all kinds of skills. There's not much to do in the trenches in winter months except killing time and avoiding freezing to death."
Tom nods, accepting his explanation.
"So you don't expect much action when your leave is over?"
Matthew frowns unhappily.
"Not immediately, no," he says, his eyes going automatically in the direction of the front, even though the view is completely obscured by nearby buildings. "They will come at us in the spring."
Tom looks at him seriously.
"You think the Germans will take the initiative this time?"
Matthew nods and splits his piece of wood with more force than strictly necessary, spilling splinters in all directions.
"With Russia practically out of the running, they will move their eastern divisions here. And with us spread thin until the Americans manage to cross the pond..."
"They have a real chance," Tom finishes for him.
For a moment they look at each other, acknowledging the grimness of the situation they might both soon face, but then, in unspoken agreement, they just reach for more wood to split.
It's Christmas, after all, and they are not facing the Germans yet.
xxx
They do all huddle together in the kitchen for warmth that night, including Phryne and Ivy from their equally freezing billet next door. A cosy nest is built around the burning stove out of blankets and sleeping bags and they are all bundled up in warm clothes, but it still is something they collectively decide never to mention back home.
"I'm not sure who would hit the roof first, Carson or Papa," says Mary with amusement, drinking her cup of steaming hot chocolate.
"I'm sure they would howl to the moon in unison," laughs Matthew, as Sybil adds mischievously.
"With Granny leading the choir."
"I don't know," muses Tom. "Lady Grantham is tough. I could imagine her sitting here with us, as regal as they come under her sleeping bag."
The picture is just too much for Mary, Sybil and Matthew. They laugh so hard they nearly fall over, with Phryne and Ivy looking at them puzzlingly.
"Sorry for the inside jokes," apologises Sybil when she finally can speak again. "You really would have to know the people involved to get the humour properly."
They soon find plenty to laugh about in the things and circumstances they are all familiar with and when they finally fall asleep, it's in the pile of blankets and happy young people who like each other very much.
xxx
Since there is still very little need for ambulances, thankfully, Sybil ropes Mary into helping with decorating the hospital. When they are done, and they are buttoning their coats and waving a last goodnight and 'Happy Christmas', a sergeant of the up-patients calls out:
"Wait a minute, Nurse!"
Then leaps on a chair and starts to sing.
Two young fellows were talking about their
Girls, girls, girls,
Sweethearts they'd left behind,
Sweethearts for whom they pined.
One said, 'My little shy little lass
Has a waist so trim and small,
Blue are her eyes so bright,
But best, best of all, …"
Every Tommy is listening and watching, waiting for the cue.
"Come on boys, all together!"
My girl's a Yorkshire girl,
Yorkshire through and through.
My girl's a Yorkshire girl,
Eh! By gum, she's a champion!
Though she's no factory lass,
And wears some fancy clothes,
I've a sort of Yorkshire relish
For my little Yorkshire rose.
Even the boys who are too weak to sit up join faintly in the cheers, as the chorus ends. Mary looks at Sybil, who for once in her life is completely speechless. The ward with its long rows of beds, the bandaged soldiers under red blankets, their beaming faces, the lights, the Christmas tree they've just finished decorating, must swim in front of her suddenly teary eyes, and Mary has never felt prouder of her little sister and the devotion she inspires in others by her relentless kindness and compassion.
xxx
They were going to attend Midnight Mass at the British Army camp, but it is so incredibly cold that they go to a Catholic church down the street instead. Another thing to be never mentioned at Downton unless there is a desperate need for a distraction of some kind. The mass is in Latin, of course, so only Matthew understands the words, but it is Tom who is telling the rest when to kneel and when to rise. The sermon is in French though, and it is nice, full of hope in the bleakest of hours. Sybil translates it quietly to Tom. They don't take communion - for the Anglicans among them it would be going too far and Tom hasn't been to confession since he left Ireland, mostly because he decided that organised religion is part of the oppression of the masses. Now they are walking back and Tom is busy explaining to them how being a socialist who abhors all oppression, religious included, and an Irish Catholic who fully intends to be married and buried by a priest, is not in fact a contradiction. Mary's eyebrows manage to convey to Sybil exactly what she thinks about Sybil intending to marry in a Catholic church and the impact of that blow on Papa without saying a word, and so does Sybil's annoyed huff in response. Matthew is mostly trying not to laugh.
xxx
Christmas Day is lovely. Miraculously, none of them is on shift, so they can all gather around the crate which arrived from Downton and dig into its contents.
"Tom, those packages are for you," says Sybil, handing him a small mountain of gifts as his jaw drops in surprise.
"For me? But who would..."
Turns out most of the servants, both Ladies Grantham and Mrs Crawley, who all pitched in to add something small for one of their own fighting at the front. There is an equally big heap of parcels which Matthew is supposed to give to William.
"That's mighty kind of them," mutters Tom, not sure if he is more embarrassed or touched by the gesture.
Mary is admiring warm driving gloves made with feathery leather and fur lining. Anna added a small note in which she expressed her hope that the gift fits, cause even though the gloves have been ordered by Lord and Lady Grantham, it was her who provided the measurements.
"Our parents must have had similar thoughts when picking their gifts for us," says Matthew, showing her his own gloves, sent by Isobel.
"Pity they didn't send coal," jokes Mary, but she is touched by the obvious concern behind the gifts.
"I'm afraid my gift for you is less practical than coal, but I hope you will like it anyway," says Matthew, handing her a slim box. When she opens it, she finds a short simple necklace, made of a garnet pendant on a sturdy silver chain.
"I know I owe you a ring," he adds quietly. "But you see, I already have one for you back home – one which I had for a long time – and I would love to finally give it to you when I have the chance. So for now, accept this. I hope it is short enough that you will be able to wear it even here and maybe have a little reminder of me when we're apart."
"Oh, Matthew," she says, touching it lightly. "As if I needed a reminder... But of course I will wear it."
He helps her to put it on and admires the way the pendant settles against the hollow between her clavicles. He remembers how it felt to kiss that exact spot two nights ago and feels his cheeks grow hot at the memory.
"I'm afraid my gift pales in comparison," says Mary apologetically, unaware of his heated thoughts thankfully. "I got it before our relationship changed and I didn't have time to get something else when it did. But I asked Mama to send one additional thing from home which I hope will make up for it."
Matthew reaches for a small package curiously. The first item is a thin paperback of La Vagabonde by Collette – he smiles at her at the remembrance of their discussion at the estaminet – but his breath catches when he finds a photograph of Mary underneath.
"A little reminder of me," she says with a smile.
"I should have thought to sit for one for you as well," he answers, vexed with himself. She hesitates briefly, then smiles softly at him.
"I already have one," she confesses. "I stole one your mother gave Papa. It's been my most prized possession throughout the war."
She hesitates again before adding:
"I have been praying for your safety over it every night since you left for France."
Matthew gapes at her.
"The whole time?" he whispers. "Even when I left you in such abhorrent manner? Even when I came back with Lavinia on my arm?"
"The whole time," she confirms and he doesn't care that Sybil and Tom are in the kitchen with them. He simply must kiss her after learning that.
As their lips meet, he thinks ruefully that he really was a fool.
xxx
There is a New Year's Eve dance at the Army camp and they are all going.
"When this is all over," says Mary with an annoyed frown Matthew for some unfathomable reason finds unbelievably adorable. "I am going to go to a fashion show and order myself a whole wardrobe of new clothes. But for now, we are going to a dance, and I have to wear a uniform! Of all the shapeless, ugly, cumbersome things to wear!"
He wants to tell her about his reflections how she could wear a burlap sack and remain the most elegant and beautiful woman in the room but judges it imprudent considering her current mood.
"I will be wearing my uniform," he points out instead. "As will everyone else in the room."
She glares at him.
"You look incredibly handsome in yours," she snaps testily. "Mine is hardly tailored to my advantage."
"And yet," he says, grabbing her hand and pulling her close enough that he can whisper into her ear. "You're going to be the most beautiful woman in that room and my eyes won't leave you the whole evening."
To his delight, she does look slightly mollified by it.
xxx
The mess hall has been festively decorated and is crowded with soldiers of all ranks, nurses, and volunteers of every kind. The orchestra plays a lively tune and for all Mary's complaints about suitability of a uniform for dancing it turns out she can still float in Matthew's arms while dressed in it.
Matthew thinks that it's been the best leave he's had so far, even though he scarcely left France and has been cold for most of it. He looks at the woman in his arms - his fiancée now! - and feels such a mix of happiness and rightness that he thinks his chest might burst. He suppresses the knowledge that he needs to report back on duty tomorrow. For now, he is determined to enjoy this last evening to the fullest.
Mary looks to the side where Sybil is dancing with Tom and sighs.
"It seems she really does love him," she says unhappily.
Matthew, who could say the same after spending one day with the pair, never mind eight, shakes his head at the stubborn denial Mary is capable of when she wants to.
"It took you until now to notice?" he asks sceptically and Mary gives him a withering glare.
"Of course not," she tosses her head. "But I hoped it was a passing crush. Unfortunately I am more and more convinced it is not."
"It won't be the easiest path for her," agrees Matthew gently. "But Tom is a good man and he loves her. I believe they have every chance to be very happy together."
"Even in crippling poverty and in a country hostile to everything Sybil is?" asks Mary wearily and he squeezes her hand in comfort as he leads her through the dance steps.
"I trust Tom to be sensible enough not to put her in a direct danger," answers Matthew seriously. "Or get her out if things get too hot. And as for the money... Is there no chance for Robert to give her her settlement?"
Mary scoffs.
"Have you met Papa?" she asks scornfully. "Whenever he is told about it all, he will hit the roof. There is no way he is going to do anything to help this marriage become reality."
"I realise that. But after they are already wed and there is nothing he can do?"
"Maybe then. But I'm not very optimistic about it and neither is Sybil. One thing she is realistic about."
"Maybe he is going to be in such a good mood after we get married that he will be disposed to be more open minded."
"For this level of open-mindness from him we would need to provide Downton with an heir," says Mary and immediately blushes scarlet when she realises what she said.
Matthew swallows, his mind crowded both with the picture of a baby he and Mary created together and with an act required to do so.
"Maybe we will one day," he whispers, instinctively pulling Mary closer to him.
"I doubt Sybil will be willing to wait long enough for it to happen," she scoffs, but he can see she is also affected by the vision she brought up.
He never wished more fiercely for the war to end.
They run into one of the nurses from the hospital when they go to get some of the punch later. She looks at them and sneers slightly at Mary.
"Are you two going to give us another show tonight?"
Before Matthew can answer, feeling for the first time properly guilty for kissing Mary in front of all those people at the concert, Mary's chin goes up in a haughty expression and her eyes flash, as her grasp on his arm tightens.
"When your fiancé gets back from being missing in action for days, Miss Rowlinson, let's see how much you are going to care about decorum in your joy at seeing him. That's if you ever find some man willing to shackle himself to you."
Head still held high, she deftly leads Matthew away, leaving Nurse Rowlinson gaping after them in outrage.
"Was that strictly necessary?" asks Matthew carefully.
"Yes," answers Mary curtly. "Insufferable woman! She wouldn't be half so sanctimonious if she wasn't jealous. She is a proper nurse, you see, and disapproves of VADs, especially from more privileged backgrounds. She's been beastly to Sybil at times."
"I still put you in an awkward position by my lack of thinking or impulse control."
"You can make it up to me by asking me to dance again. And by giving me that mysterious ring as soon as we are back at Downton."
xxx
They do dance several times more, in fact, none of them inclined to partner with other people and gleefully using the fact that there is nobody to disapprove or prevent them from doing so. Then, when the time comes, they loudly count the seconds until midnight with Tom and Sybil and Phryne and Ivy and dozens of other people present in the room. Matthew doesn't kiss her there, mindful to be more circumspect, but there is nobody to criticise them for kissing each other goodnight – or goodbye, when sadly the time for it comes in the morning.
"This was the best leave I've ever had," says Matthew, caressing Mary's face. "Be safe and keep warm, alright?"
"Shouldn't I be saying that to you?" answers Mary, leaning into his caress. "You're the one more likely to face the elements or the bullets."
"Hopefully not too many bullets, not in January," answers Matthew lightly. "I will come and visit you whenever I can get away."
"Just take care not to get lost again. Or give me any reason to pick you up in my ambulance."
"I promise to try my best," he pulls her into a tight embrace. "Oh darling, you know I love you so terribly much?"
"I know," answers Mary, hugging him so fiercely she is afraid she might be causing him pain. "I know."
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The scene with soldiers singing to their favourite nurse on Christmas Eve is based on real story which happened to Nurse Margaret Ellis at No.26 General Hospital at Camiers in 1917, as described in "The Roses of No Man's Land" by Lyn MacDonald.