AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please note that the rating for this chapter is M as it contains several sex scenes which go a bit further than my usual way of writing them. They are still focused more on emotions than the mechanics, but I think it goes beyond T. If that's not your cup of tea, please stop reading after Mary and Matthew leave Amiens. All the parts most relevant to the plot happen before that ;)
Reviews are greatly appreciated. I only regret I don't have a way to respond to the guest ones!
Afterwards, they are lying in Mary's narrow bed, naked skin against naked skin, hands still caressing each other lightly as if they can't get enough of each other, even after the blissful release they just shared.
Matthew takes a deep breath.
"Mary, we have to get married immediately. I will make inquiries today and we will get it done as soon as possible, before either side starts another push," he swallows heavily. "I cannot have you possibly pregnant and unmarried if anything happens to me."
She looks at him with glistening eyes and a trembling smile.
"We were very stupid, weren't we?" she asks. "But I don't regret a thing."
"Me neither," gasps Matthew, hugging her tightly. "God forgive me, but me neither."
"I'm only sorry we won't get the wedding we wanted, with the chance of doing everything properly," says Mary wistfully.
Matthew frowns thoughtfully.
"We still can have it, you know," he says slowly. "We can have the wedding at the city hall here, just in case, but tell no one. If there is no child and if we both survive the war, we can go back to England and have another wedding, a proper wedding, in church, with nobody the wiser."
"Wouldn't it be illegal?" Mary gapes at him.
"No, why would it be? We wouldn't be committing bigamy. It would be like a renewal of our vows. And there is no central office for marriage records; nobody would be able to check that we have already married in France."
Mary bites her lower lip, deep in thought, then nods in agreement.
"I'm certain we can swear Sybil and Tom to secrecy," she says. "We are keeping enough of their secrets as it is. I just hope they won't follow our example; Papa would probably forgive us for eloping since there is nothing he wants more than our marriage, but if they did the same and it would look as if we encouraged that..."
Matthew winces.
"I definitely hope we won't get too embroiled in their situation. Although I don't think we will be believed if we deny any knowledge of their relationship."
Mary sighs. She does not believe it either.
"At least there was plenty of press coverage regarding our engagement," says Matthew, going back to their own affairs. "If a need arises for you to announce our marriage, it is good that the world has some awareness that we are engaged. It should make it look a little more proper."
Mary purses her lips unhappily. She agrees with Matthew about the need for them to marry immediately – she is not naive enough not to realise how deeply in trouble she could end up in if they don't – but she hates, simply hates dwelling on the scenario he's describing.
She is not going to announce she is Matthew's widow before she has a chance to be known as his bride.
But for now, they still have several hours until Sybil is expected to be back from her shift, so Mary pushes all such thoughts firmly to the back of her mind and leans to kiss Matthew again. Judging from his enthusiastic response, he doesn't mind at all.
xxx
Matthew still marvells that they have actually managed to pull it off.
His commanding officer did grant him a 3 day leave, which allowed for everything else. He and Mary got their passports and documents checked at the British consulate and then proceeded to the city hall. Since they don't need a sworn translator, both being fluent in the language, the wedding is arranged for the very next morning. They only need to find two witnesses.
Which is why they promptly arrange for a meeting with Sybil and Tom at a nearby café.
"You're getting married?!" exclaims Sybil, her eyes wide and round.
Mary huffs impatiently.
"Obviously, since we've just asked you to be our witness. So, will you?"
"Of course! But allow me a moment to be shocked that it's you who is eloping and not me," says Sybil, a grin slowly replacing stupefaction on her face.
"We would be honoured for you to stand as the other witness for us, Tom," says Matthew, making Tom's eyes grow wide as well.
"Are you sure? Wouldn't you rather ask one of your fellow officers?"
Matthew shakes his head.
"It's a private family matter. And since it seems we are both crazy enough to take on Crawley girls, we should stick together, don't you think?"
Tom sits straighter and nods with seriousness belied by a spark in his blue eyes.
"Then I will be honoured to do that for you," he answers simply.
"We need to figure out your dress!" says Sybil enthusiastically. "Do you even have anything decent packed?"
Mary gives her a superior stare.
"Of course I do," she says. "Nothing I would wear to a church wedding at home, but I am confident I can make myself respectable enough for a French city hall. Because I am not getting married in khaki."
xxx
It turns out choosing her wedding clothes is a more fraught task than Mary expected, even with Sybil's help.
"I've written to Anna to send me three of my summer dresses when it looked like the situation was calming down and I would have a chance to actually wear something else than my uniform," she explains, pulling them out of her small trunk. "But now that I look at them, I'm not sure… Maybe I should have insisted we wait long enough for me to do some shopping."
She doesn't voice the reason why it would be very inadvisable, lack of proper wedding dress notwithstanding.
"Oh, I'm sure we can figure something out with what we have," says Sybil eagerly. "Show me which dresses Anna chose for you."
Anna, the treasure that she is, made her choice based on practicality. All the dresses are simple, of more durable fabrics, and some of the easiest for Mary to put on by herself. They both immediately decide that the set of a white silk blouse with a maroon skirt is too casual, so that leaves them with two dresses: a loose muslin one with long sleeves and embroidered little bouquets all over it, and the striped white and blue one, with short sleeve and white lace.
"The striped one is more striking," says Sybil.
Mary looks at it, her eyes haunted.
"It used to be my favourite summer dress," she says quietly. "But then I wore it on the worst day of my life when everything fell apart."
"Then maybe you should wear it tomorrow so it can be your favourite dress again," says Sybil reasonably. "You do look very good in it. And my hat would fit it marvellously."
But Mary looks at it again and all she can remember is that ghastly garden party.
"I will wear it on the honeymoon, but not tomorrow," she says finally, unable to get over the association. If she still hates it then, she can always spill some wine on it and buy herself a new one. But then she looks at the muslin one and falters. It is pretty and practical for the summer heat, but the design is so obviously from before the war… Not that Matthew will care for it, but she will!
"It's just a pretend wedding. A contingency plan. I shouldn't get so worked up over it," says Mary in utter frustration with herself.
"It isn't and you know it," says Sybil sternly. "And not just because it's legally binding. You are marrying Matthew tomorrow, after all that time and everything that happened. How can you not fall apart a bit over it?"
Mary looks at her with a trembling smile.
"I will take great satisfaction in repeating those words to you on the eve of your wedding."
"Will you?" asks Sybil imploringly. "Will you attend to me on the eve of my wedding? Even though he used to be our chauffeur?"
Mary's gaze on her is serious.
"I still think you are mad and it's a horribly bad idea," she answers honestly. "But if you persist in going through with it, I want to be there. I'm not missing my baby sister's wedding, not for anything."
They exchange smiles before Sybil gets back to business.
"The muslin one is pretty too," she says, looking at it critically, and then up at Mary with a devilish spark in her eyes. "And the material is quite sheer; Matthew will be able to see your corset through it. Do you think he will be able to remember enough French to actually make his vows?"
Mary first gapes at her in shock, then falls down on the bed in a fit of giggles.
xxx
Matthew enters his billet and immediately asks William to press his uniform and polish his shoes. His mood is so exuberant that William not only dares to ask what the occasion is, but does it with a twinkle in his eyes saying clearly that he suspects already.
The whole thing is supposed to be a secret of course, if their plan to have another, proper wedding at Downton is to have any chance of becoming reality, but Matthew just can't contain his joy, not now and not in front of William of all people.
"I'm getting married tomorrow, Mason!" he announces with the biggest grin on his face.
William's grin is matching his as he offers his most sincere congratulations.
"Is Mrs Crawley coming?" he asks afterwards, adding with some hesitation. "And what about his lordship and the rest of the family?"
Matthew looks at him seriously.
"This wedding is just for us," he explains. "Just in case anything happens… But if by some miracle we will get through it all, we want to marry at Downton church, with everybody present. So there will be nobody there but Lady Sybil and Branson, to serve as our witnesses."
William's eyes widen, but he nods. He still remains a bit puzzled though.
"Why Mr Branson, sir?" he blurts out. He obviously wants to ask why Matthew would ask Branson rather than him, but doesn't want to be presumptuous. It does put Matthew in an awkward position though. He doesn't want to hurt his batman's feelings – after everything, he is one of the closest men to him and he considers him a true friend, rank and class be damned – but on the other hand the reason he chose Tom is tied closely to another secret, a potentially much more explosive one than his elopement with Mary.
"He was there when we discussed the matter with Lady Sybil," he says evasively in the end, but William is a smart lad and puts two and two together.
"Oh," he only says, his eyes really wide now. "It's an understandable choice then, sir."
Matthew gives him a stern look.
"This is as classified as any of the army stuff, Mason."
William nods sharply.
"I do realise, sir. I can just imagine…" he shakes his head without specifying what it is he imagines, but Matthew can guess easily enough. There is no way Sybil and Branson's news won't result in an absolute pandemonium when it is out.
William gets back to the more urgent topic on hand though and goes to fetch a boot polish.
"I will have you looking ready for a parade, sir," he assures Matthew with a smile. "So you will match Lady Mary."
xxx
In the morning, Sybil helps Mary get ready. The muslin dress has been sent to be pressed at the laundry, with a big tip to get it ready in record time, and they paired it up with Mary's white shoes, lacy gloves, Sybil's white hat decorated with white roses, used also for the bouquet, and a garnet pendant Mary got from Matthew for Christmas. To her delight, Sybil found a shiny silk scarf, which they used for the belt and the hat, adding some glamour to the ensemble. Looking at herself in the mirror, after Sybil helped her do her hair, Mary has to admit she does not feel shabby or plain at all. It is still not anything she has ever imagined herself to wear to her wedding, but she likes her overall look and she suspects Matthew will too.
Especially when she notices that Sybil has been right. The outline of her corset is visible in that dress.
xxx
Matthew doesn't think he will ever forget the sight of Mary, dressed in a white summer dress and a fetching white hat decorated with flowers and shimmering ribbon, her face radiant as they exchange their vows in the imposing room of the Amiens City Hall, with just smiling Sybil, Tom and William Mason in attendance. It is not at all how he had imagined their wedding – and yet, it couldn't be more perfect.
His voice is confident and sure when he repeats his vows after the French official.
"Moi, Matthew, je te prends Mary, pour épouse,
Pour le meilleur ou pour le pire,
Dans la richesse et dans la pauvreté,
Dans la maladie et dans la santé,
Et je promets de t'aimer et de te chérir,
Jusqu'à ce que mort nous sépare."
Mary's eyes shine as she repeats hers, her hand in his.
"Moi, Mary, je te prends Matthew, pour époux,
Pour le meilleur ou pour le pire,
Dans la richesse et dans la pauvreté,
Dans la maladie et dans la santé,
Et je promets de t'aimer et de te chérir,
Jusqu'à ce que mort nous sépare."
His hands tremble as he puts a plain wedding band on her finger, next to her engagement ring. He was lucky that the local jeweller had one in Mary's size available, there was no time to order one to be made. It is not customary for men to wear rings as well, but he saw other soldiers wearing them sometimes as the mementos of their wives at home and could not resist buying one when he found one in his size as well. He will need to keep it hidden most of the time, their marriage intended to remain secret for now, just an insurance policy really, in case their recklessness had any consequences – but he means every word of the vows he has just made, and he craves a tangible reminder of them. He thinks he can wear it on the chain of his dog tags at times when he needs to be careful with people who are able to see it.
Afterwards, they take several photographs with Sybil's small Kodak camera and then all five of them go for a celebratory brunch at a café near the city hall.
"When are you going to tell Mama and Papa?" asks Sybil curiously.
Matthew inhales sharply, trying to push away the thought of any scenario which would make such confession necessary.
"Never, hopefully," answers Mary calmly. "We hope to have a proper church wedding after the war with nobody in the family the wiser. We just didn't want to wait for it anymore after the last few months."
They all look down at that. She doesn't need to spell out that they did it because they might not have a chance to otherwise.
Matthew looks at William.
"So you can't write home about it," he warns him. Any downstairs gossip of this calibre would inevitably find its way upstairs in no time.
"I promise, sir," says Mason earnestly. "Mum's the word."
Mary looks at Sybil sternly.
"But don't you dare to copy us. You know that Matthew and I will be forgiven much more easily than you could ever hope for, in the circumstances."
"The circumstances being me," notes Tom dryly, but without rancour. Mary just rolls her eyes at him.
"Lady Mary is right though," pipes in William unexpectedly. "You know how fond his lordship is of Captain Crawley. He won't be able to be angry about it for too long if he ever learns of it. Not at him."
It takes Matthew a moment to remember that William and Tom were colleagues at Downton, he has not thought about either of them in that context for so long.
Mary snorts.
"He's right," she says, amazing him once again with how tolerant she is nowadays of things which she would have found impertinent beyond belief not a long time ago. They are sharing a meal with her former chauffeur and footman, and she not only accepts it, but has barely lifted her eyebrow over the idea! Not to mention the fact that one of them is set on marrying her sister. "He is much more likely to forgive you than me, when it comes down to it. You're the son he never had."
Matthew winces slightly.
"Papa loves you," says Sybil chidingly and Matthew looks gratefully at her, but Mary just shrugs.
"Of course he does," she says dismissively. "But Matthew is his golden boy. I'm not going to complain about it when it may work in our favour."
"Where are you going to spend your leave, sir?" asks William, ever the diplomat. Matthew thinks that he really has hidden depths. "You have three days, don't you?"
"Yes," answers Matthew, smiling widely at the thought of it. "A proper honeymoon, if a bit on the short side."
"But you're not going to spend it in our flat?" asks Sybil, then ads with a cheeky look and a devilish smirk, "Because if you do, I need to find somewhere else to be!"
Tom nearly chokes on his wine as Matthew feels his face heat with a blush. Mary blushes as well, but her eyes flash in a way promising Sybil severe retribution at the soonest possible occasion.
"Of course we're not staying there!" she says firmly. "We're going to Wimereux. I made the reservation yesterday. In fact, we're leaving as soon as we finish the wine."
"Aren't you worried that you will run into somebody who knows you?" asks Sybil more seriously. "There are multiple British hospitals in there, and the Royal Engineers."
"We're not hiding our relationship," answers Matthew, grasping Mary's hand over the table. "If we do run into some acquaintance or other, we will tell them that we decided to spend our leaves together in a nice beach resort. Which is true, after all."
Sybil's look conveys very clearly what she thinks of their sneaking around abilities – or lack of them, more likely – but Matthew is not truly bothered by a potential discovery. If somebody gets a wrong idea, well, they are married now and can explain. As long as the news doesn't spread too far they should still be able to get away with their plan to have an official wedding at Downton, although he would prefer to avoid the storm the revelation of their elopement would surely cause at home. He's not sure if he's afraid of Robert or Mother's reaction more, the thing is though, he feels too exuberant to care. He has just married Lady Mary Crawley. There is nothing in the world which could bring his mood down today.
"How are you getting there?" asks Tom and Mary smiles smugly.
"You'll see."
xxx
As it turns out, they are going to travel in style.
Tom whistles when he sees the shiny blue Peugeot 145S Torpedo Tourer parked in front of Mary and Sybil's house.
"Where have you gotten this beauty?" he asks, checking it out admiringly.
"I have my connections," answers Mary, visibly pleased with herself, as Sybil and William go upstairs to fetch their bags. "In any case, it's ours for the duration of our honeymoon."
She looks at Matthew, whose gaze is no less admiring than Tom's, much to her delight.
"I'm perfectly happy to let you drive for a change," she says, walking purposefully towards the passenger seat. "I won't hesitate to criticise your driving though if you do something stupid. I did promise to return it in the same condition we got it."
Matthew's grin as he jumps into the driver seat makes her melt inside despite her best efforts to keep her face severe, and she's very afraid it shows.
xxx
Wimereux is charming in July. Mary has found them accommodation in a little hotel located in one of the pastel seafront villas, with huge windows and a small balcony overlooking the English Channel; the water shimmering in the summer sunshine. There is no escaping the war completely, both due to Matthew's uniform and multiple soldiers, nurses and VADs crowding the streets and the beach, but it's also so far removed from the reality of the last months as Mary could possibly arrange on such a short notice and just for three days.
Turns out it's even easier to forget the war when they are locked alone in their luxurious rooms, naked, with Matthew's uniform placed firmly out of sight.
It shouldn't feel so new and exciting – after all they've already done it, they've seen each other naked, they've known each other touch and smell and taste, even though they shouldn't have – but it does, and Mary wants to laugh when she finally puts it into words, her smile equal part bewitching and brilliant as she looks at her husband.
"We're married now," she says, and her smile widens at the thrill those words make her feel. "Everything is permitted."
She sees Matthew's blue eyes flash with understanding and exhilaration of his own and is not at all surprised when he picks her up and spins her around the room, only to follow by carrying her to bed. Because this is it, isn't it? Whatever they've done before, as beautiful as it was, has always been done in secrecy and fear of discovery, tainted with the vague feeling that they shouldn't. And now, now everything is permitted, expected and right. They are married, they are husband and wife, and if they want to lock themselves in the bedroom in the middle of the afternoon and impatiently divest each other of their clothes so they can taste and touch every inch of each other's skin, they can.
So they do and Mary quickly learns how naive she has been in thinking that now she knows all about how making love feels like, because she has not expected Matthew to actually attempt to kiss every inch of her skin and yet he does, he is doing it now, and as she looks at his blond head between her legs while she clutches helplessly at the sheets in sheer pleasure she could never imagine existing, she makes a daring, astonishing assumption that there still might be more to discover. That instead of the act getting old and routine as they lose that enthusiasm of being allowed to act on their desires, it will only get better as they will get better at it. Although how it can possibly get better than this, Mary cannot say as she writhes in waves of bursting sensations travelling from her lower belly all the way to her fingers and toes, Matthew looking at her with a proud smile and eyes so full of love and desire she could drown in it if she wasn't already drowning in everything she's feeling and experiencing right now. She just can't imagine more perfect bliss and yet she greedily anticipates that there might be. They've just not experienced it yet. But as she pulls Matthew up to her with weakened hands and kisses him breathlessly, learning the new strange taste on his lips from all the wonderful things he has just done to her, she feels confident that they will learn.
They have whole three nights and two days yet.
xxx
They do leave their room, eventually – by evening their stomachs start to rumble, making them laugh with their well timed duet. They dress and walk alongside the beach to a promising looking restaurant with a wide terrace overlooking the sea. The evening is warm and balmy, the promenade full of young people determined to forget the war and enjoy themselves, and they fit right in.
"Our first dinner as husband and wife," says Matthew after he places their order, looking at her with so much love that Mary can't find it in herself to tell him off for being soppy.
She feels quite soppy herself, to be honest, her smile as bright as his when she looks at their hands on the tablecloth, laced together, their wedding rings shiny in the light of the candle in the middle of the table.
She can hardly believe they are really married. It seems too much like something out of a dream.
Except her dreams of late have been more often than not horrible and this is very opposite. She has never been so exquisitely happy.
Their eyes barely leave each other's gaze as they thoroughly enjoy a truly delicious dinner of fresh fish, vegetables and excellent wine; a real treat after months of canteen food and army rations. The longer it lasts though, the stronger the electricity between them grows. Mary sees the hunger in Matthew's eyes, a kind of hunger which matches her own and which has nothing at all to do with craving for food.
"Let's skip the dessert," proposes Matthew and Mary agrees with alacrity.
xxx
They are kissing fiercely as soon as the door of their bedroom closes behind them and Matthew wonders if it is always going to be like that, that fire between them, that impatience for each other's touch, that craving for each other so intense it's beyond belief, really. His fingers tremble slightly as he helps Mary to remove her dress and corset, awed all anew by the reveal of her milky skin, so much lighter than his for all he is fair himself. As he quickly gets out of his uniform, he watches greedily as she takes off her chemise and knickers, making him breathless at the sight of her standing there in the moonlight from the window, clad only in her stockings.
"Leave them for now," he says, his voice low and thick. "Please."
Her smile in response is light and smug, glad at the reaction she is causing in him, but he does not care, easily allowing her that victory over his composure. He feels like a winner anyway as he grasps her hand and leads her to the bed, spacious and sinfully comfortable after months of sleeping rough or in the best case scenario on some kind of army provided cots. He's not thinking for longer than a second about it though, not with the sight of his wife – oh God, his wife! – lying next to him, with her hair loose and thumbling on the pillow, and the smell of irises and vanilla and her all around them.
He kisses her like a man dying of thirst and the feeling of her body against his, her breasts pushing against his chest and her hands grasping his hair as they sneak up his neck drives him beyond rational thought. His own hands start to explore her body again – so slender, so soft, so absolutely wonderful – and touching every place he has been imagining for so many years and now is finally allowed to touch.
His imagination has truly turned out to be woefully inadequate when it came to the real thing. But how could he imagine how it would be to slide his fingers between Mary's legs and feel her shudder in response? How it would make him feel to hear her breathless gasp in response, to feel her hips thrust upwards to meet his hand, to urge him to get even closer, to drive her to completion? How powerful he would feel while he was kissing and pleasuring his wife, knowing that it was him to have such an effect on her? He's always known that Mary is a passionate woman, for all her icy and controlled demeanour, but how could he have ever imagined anything to equal this? He feels Mary tighten around his fingers, he kisses a cry off her lips as she shivers in his arms, and he thinks he would never, ever have been able to imagine something so perfect in his life.
Then he is inside her, her long legs wrapped around him, still in their silk stockings, her brown eyes dark and shining as she looks into his, her nails scraping his back as they move in unison, driving each other mad, the fire between them just growing and growing until their cries echo each other in the dark, moonlit room.
When Matthew falls next to her afterwards, his limbs loose and heavy, and kisses her messily in thanks, he can only think again that he can't imagine more utter perfection than this moment.
xxx
The next morning, Matthew comes to the conclusion that watching Mary getting dressed is nearly as erotic as watching her undress.
The sensuous movements as she carefully rolls the stockings onto her long, slim legs – the same stockings he removed himself the previous night, following the fabric with kisses to every inch of skin he was revealing. The way her bottom looks as she bends to put on her knickers. The way her chemise softly wraps around her breasts, the light material sheer enough to tantalise him with the view of barely hidden flesh. The way her corset hugs her figure and accentuates her narrow waist. How elegant and sophisticated her dress is making her look, even though it's a simple summer dress, practical and perfect for strolling on a beach.
He watches in fascination as she starts to brush her hair and the memory of handling those locks in his own hands is so intense he can feel their touch on his fingertips despite sitting in an armchair six yards away.
"Allow me, darling," he finds himself asking.
"You would make a good lady's maid," says Mary playfully as he brushes her long hair carefully, making sure he gets all the tangles without causing her pain. "You're very delicate. Definitely more than O'Brien ever cared to be."
"But not Anna?" he asks with a smile, laughing when Mary raises her eyebrows in offence at the very suggestion.
"Anna is a treasure," she says firmly. "But you're the second best when it comes to brushing my hair, so I think I will keep you around."
xxx
They order their breakfast brought to their rooms and eat it on a little round table set by the open French door leading to a small balcony, with the view and sounds of the sea just in front of them as they enjoy their croissants and pain-au-chocolat.
"I like being married to you," says Mary, putting down her cup. "How on Earth will we manage to keep apart at Downton until we can get married there as well?"
"With effort and many cold baths," answers Matthew, reaching for another pastry. "I hate the very thought."
"Maybe we should just tell them what we've done," suggests Mary, but then imagines the fallout and winces. "Or maybe better not."
Matthew nods with a sigh.
"Unless we find ourselves in need of using it, it might be better to keep it secret," he says reluctantly, then smirks at her. "But let's keep our engagement short when we go back home."
"Oh, we will!" says Mary firmly, her eyes lingering on him in a way showing clearly how exactly her thoughts mirror his on this subject. Then she rests her chin on her hand and says thoughtfully. "Anyway, it's going to be several weeks before we know for sure whether there is any reason to reveal everything or not."
Matthew swallows. He knows that she means a possible pregnancy, but he can't help thinking about everything else which might happen in the next few weeks. He doesn't want to dwell on it today though, or to give voice to such thoughts. Not in their happy little bubble.
"So let's enjoy being married while we can," he says huskily instead. "In case we are going to be reduced to mere engagement for the foreseeable future."
xxx
There is something about the sunlight making both the sea and the sand under her feet shimmer that makes Mary feel carefree and light as they are strolling along the beach. Or maybe it's not the sunlight, maybe it's Matthew's presence by her side and his hand laced with hers, or the feel of the wedding ring on her finger. Whatever it is, it makes her bold and playful enough to take off her shoes, which she is carrying right now in her free hand, and pull Matthew, also shoeless by now, into an impromptu game of chase with the gentle waves of the English Channel. She sees how astonished he is by her behaviour, but also how clearly he loves her like that, which only makes her more giddy. There are not many people she feels comfortable enough with to show this side of her, but with Matthew she feels free to behave however she wants.
So when his attention is occupied by some ships on the horizon, she bends to splatter some water over him and nearly falls into the sea herself laughing at his indignant expression. But then she sees his eyes narrow and she knows that he is planning a swift revenge, so she runs away as fast as can through the soft sand, only to be caught and lifted into the air.
"How would you like to get more acquainted with the sea?" asks Matthew ominously, carrying her seemingly with no effort towards the water line.
"Not at all!" shrieks Mary, trying fruitlessly to wriggle herself free. "Let go of me!"
"Never!" promises Matthew solemnly, but instead of throwing her into the water as he threatened, he kisses her.
She finds herself kissing him back and does not even care if there is anybody else around to see them.
xxx
Making love with Matthew in full daylight has its advantages, thinks Mary, as she looks down at his body displayed sinfully under her. The sunlight filters through the white curtains, falling softly on him and making him look angelic among the rumpled sheets of their bed, with his blond hair and blue eyes. Or at least as angelic as a man in the middle of languid lovemaking can possibly look.
As his hands hold her hips, directing her movements on him, she takes note again how strong he is now, how lean. So very unlikely the plump, boyish solicitor she has first fallen in love with so many years ago. The war changed him in so many ways, visible and invisible, but as much as Mary mourns the boy she loved, she loves the man in front of her even more fiercely. She sees scars on his body and she shudders thinking that she doesn't even know how many times it was just sheer luck which saved him to be with her now. It makes her move even harder on him, her movements getting desperate and a little awkward in need to show him what she can hardly put into words, even in her thoughts – how deeply she loves him, how necessary he is to her, how very precious. She told him she loves him, but it seems woefully inadequate, even if she was in the habit of saying it often which she isn't. What she feels for him seems so huge, so overwhelming, so fierce, that mere words never seem to be enough to express it, even if they came more easily to her than they usually do.
Matthew is surprised, although not at all unhappy by her increased passion, even though he can't know where it comes from. He raises towards her and his mouth captures one of Mary's nipples, biting on it gently as his hand plays with another. Mary's eyes close, the feeling of him inside her increased somehow by this additional stimulation of her senses, and it doesn't take long until she shatters, all her thoughts drowned in the sheer magnitude of sensations coursing through her, as Matthew's hoarse cry follows soon after.
xxx
They are daringly holding hands as they stroll through Wimereux, playing tourists and shopping for trinkets, Mary's rings glinting in seeming defiance through the lace of her glove at anyone who dares to look at them critically. Not many people do though, the atmosphere on the streets much more relaxed than it used to be before the war. People here have seen enough, have been through enough, to understand the fervent desire for love and joy and a bit of normalcy among war and destruction. They are most definitely not the only couple around behaving less formally then prewar customs would dictate.
They find a record store and buy several sets of French songs, some romantic, some playful, and none of them related to the war or sacrifice, although there is a big choice of those in the shop. The war is the last thing they want to think of.
They go back to their hotel instead and dance to their new records playing on Major Summers' gramophone, which William ingeniously has packed into their car with the rest of Matthew's things. They play 'If you were the only girl in the world' as well, later, when they make love again, whispering the words together as they feel the more and more familiar but not any less amazing bliss engulfing them.
In that moment they do feel like the only girl and the only boy in the world and it is perfect.
xxx
It's afterwards, when they are lying together, Mary in her by now customary place on Matthew's chest, his fingers tracing abstract shapes on her naked back, that he dares to do something he has avoided since the war started – he talks about the future. It takes more courage than he's thought he possesses, but here, with Mary, he wants to dream and believe. He knows that the only time he can be sure of are those three days, but in the heady feeling of love and satiation following their lovemaking he feels greedy. Three days are not enough. Fifty years would not be enough with this woman.
"You never answered this part of one of my letters or, if you did, I never got it," he says quietly, unwilling to break the perfect peace of that moment, the silence broken only by the sound of waves from outside the balcony and his own voice. "Where would you like to live after this is all over?"
Mary frowns slightly in thought, her own fingers playing with the light scattering of hair on Matthew's chest.
"It's hard for me to imagine leaving Downton," she says finally. "I've never really wanted to, although I did my best to reconcile myself to the fact that I have to, eventually. But you're the heir, it's going to be our own home one day… So I don't have to leave it anymore."
"It's a lovely house," admits Matthew, his fingers travelling up Mary's back to play with the soft locks of her hair instead. "It's your home and I want it to be my home, too. Just not quite yet. Besides, I doubt I would ever get used to taking you to bed with your father watching."
Mary laughs quietly.
"He's so relieved we're getting married, he wouldn't mind if you carried me up naked."
Matthew's face turns positively naughty as he bends close enough to whisper into her ear, his hand travelling to caress her bare breast.
"Careful, I might try it."
For a moment, the discussion must be postponed for the sake of a searing kiss.
"Where would you like to live then?" asks Mary when their lips separate.
Matthew looks into her eyes and allows himself to dream.
"I want us to get to know each other, to learn about who we both are without everybody being there. I want to come back from work to our own home and kiss you as much as I want," he demonstrates exactly what kind of kiss he has in mind and it's not one suited for company or witnesses, that's for sure. In fact, it's a kiss which takes Mary's breath away for a second. "I want us to share breakfast, just the two of us, as we read our newspapers or letters and share anything interesting which grabs our attention. I want us not to bother with dressing for dinner if we don't feel like it. I want to feed you dessert or kiss you at the table, like we did when I first proposed to you. I want to lie on a sofa with you, exquisitely warm by our own fire, and reminisce about icy cold French winters and how glad we are to leave them behind."
He hugs her tighter, his hand trailing slowly to Mary's taut belly as he whispers the final part of his dream, too precious and fragile to be spoken aloud, especially now, when he can't even be sure if he will live long enough for it to ever be possible.
"And one day, if we're very lucky, I would like to be able to touch you and feel our child moving inside you, without worrying about anybody else being there to comment. To know that we're going to make our own family, that we created something so wonderful out of our love."
He hears Mary's breath hitch at his words.
"Of course, you will think it all terribly middle class," he finishes, half jokingly, half sheepishly. Because, of course, his dream is terribly middle class. Doesn't make it any less honest and cherished one for him.
"No," says Mary, looking at him in such a way that he feels unexpected tears prickling at his eyes. "I think it sounds lovely."
xxx
"Should we visit Isobel on our way back?" asks Mary dutifully as they reluctantly start to pack their bags. On one hand she greedily wants to keep Matthew to herself for the last remaining hours of their honeymoon, but on the other… Isobel has been so kind in supporting Mary in those anxious months when she worried about him so much, even though she herself couldn't possibly worry any less about her only son. And she hasn't seen him for months, despite being in the same country.
Mary doesn't allow herself to finish the thought that it might be Isobel's last chance to do so.
Matthew's happy surprise at her proposal seals the deal for her.
"Oh darling, would you like to? I know Mother would love to have tea with us."
"With you, absolutely," says Mary drily. She has no illusions about her mother-in-law's opinion of her, for all her kindness in the time of need.
Matthew gives her a chiding look.
"She will not warm towards you if you don't allow her to know you."
"I proposed stopping to meet her, didn't I?"
Matthew puts down the shirt he has just been folding and comes over to kiss her lightly.
"That you did. And I couldn't be more grateful for your gesture. I do want the two women I love to get along."
Mary sighs, but raises her hand to caress his cheek.
"I will do my best," she promises.
xxx
Matthew calls Isobel before they leave the hotel and arranges a meeting for lunch at a nice restaurant not far from the Red Cross office. They drive there without incident, with the top down, enjoying the weather and the feel of sun on their skin.
It's only when they park that they remember to take off their wedding rings.
"We're really abysmal at this sneaking around business. Sybil will despair of us," mutters Mary as she puts hers securely in her purse.
"I don't know whether to admire or condemn her and Tom for their proficiency at it," agrees Matthew, putting his away in his pocket and offering Mary his arm for the short walk to the restaurant. "I hope we won't have to keep the charade too long. I hate the idea of lying to Mother."
"It was your idea in the first place," points out Mary, because it was.
They don't have time to quarrel about it properly, because they reach their destination and find Isobel already waiting for them, her eyes sharply registering every detail in a way which reminds Mary unpleasantly of teas with Granny.
"So you were both on a little vacation?" she asks bluntly after they exchanged greetings and placed their orders.
"We both got leave, but Matthew's was too short for a trip to England," explains Mary smoothly. "So we decided to spend it in a nice place which didn't require a long journey."
"And you had a lovely time?" Isobel's tone is kind and interested, but her eyes are shrewd.
"The loveliest," confirms Mary. She notes that Matthew wisely stays out of the conversation, obviously aware that he is the one more likely to give something away with his mother's better knowledge of him.
Other than the subtle interrogation, the lunch is nice and the conversation flowing for the most part. Mary does go so far as to say her goodbyes with true regret. They are going back to Amiens now and Matthew is leaving to join his unit in the morning. She hates the thought of again not knowing where he is and whether he's alright. She prays it's not going to last for months this time.
She watches Matthew embracing Isobel and giving her a kiss on the cheek and for a moment she feels intense kinship with her unwitting mother-in-law in their shared love and fear for that man.
xxx
They are mostly silent on the drive back which is much too short, despite taking more than three hours. Neither of them feels like talking with all the issues they have been firmly pushing out of their minds for the last three days looming over their thoughts now, as the moment of return to the reality of war is approaching.
They park in front of Mary's house and Matthew carries her bags upstairs. Sybil is on shift, so the flat is empty, but he doesn't have time to stay if he is to return the car before he leaves town.
Saying goodbye is not at all easier for being expected.
"God bless you, my darling," whispers Matthew, hugging her tightly and only letting go with the highest of effort. "Be safe and remember I love you so terribly much."
"I know," says Mary, valiantly doing her very best not to cry. "Please, be careful. You must come back to me, whatever happens."
"I will," promises Matthew fiercely, painfully aware that keeping this promise might not be in his power but unable to stop himself from making it anyway. "I will."
xxx
We've been living on a fault line
And for a while, you were all mine
I've spent a lifetime giving you my heart
I swear that I'll be yours forever
'Til forever falls apart