Matthew lies in bed, propped with pillows, and looks at his new bedroom.
It looks perfectly pleasant, if a bit on a small side. The walls are soft beige, the furniture made out of warm, dark wood. His bed is unfortunately one of the narrow hospital cots, but the bedding is linen and silk, most definitely not Army issue. The reading lamp on his bedside table has a fringed cream shade. All in all, the room is cosy and masculine, and most importantly after years in the Army and subsequent weeks in a hospital ward, completely private. For the first time in forever he is going to be alone, to have his own private space, and it is nearly overwhelming.
He does not allow himself to consider that he would gladly give up the luxury of this privacy to be able to share his space with Mary, as his wife. Not now, not when he finds himself enjoying this moment of relief.
His momentary solitude is soon interrupted by Robert, but Matthew can't say he really minds it. Robert has been so considerate of him ever since he's been brought from the front, always looking out to ensure his comfort and to put him at ease, that Matthew would consider himself a beast not to feel grateful. He's very conscious of the fact what his injury means for the future of Downton and how bitterly disappointed Robert must be about it, but despite it his cousin never mentioned it or hinted at searching for another heir in line. What's even more amazing, he's never even hinted at the possibility of breaking the engagement between Matthew and Mary and as astonishing as it is, Matthew starts to suspect he is not against them getting married despite it all.
"How are you, my dear chap?" asks Robert, looking at him with such sincere concern that Matthew finds it easy to smile at him reassuringly, despite his morose thoughts.
"Perfectly alright. Appreciating the fact that I have a bedroom again."
"I apologise that we could not give you a better room," says Robert, frowning at the smallness of it. "Unfortunately all the proper guest rooms are upstairs. I've been looking into installing a lift, but it seems like a bigger project that we can easily accommodate at the moment. Possibly only when the war ends and we close the convalescent home."
Matthew raises his hand hastily.
"Robert, there is no need to apologise at all! I'm perfectly comfortable here as it is, truly. Don't go to so much trouble on my account."
"How can I not?" asks Robert simply. "My dear boy, you are like a son to me. If there is something I can do for you, I will."
For a while there is silence, both of them looking awkwardly away from each other to get their bearing.
"Speaking of," rallies Robert. "I've talked with Bates and he agreed to be your valet for the duration of your stay here."
Matthew looks up at him in surprise.
"Surely there's no need for giving him so much additional work," he protests. "I have nurses and orderlies looking after me already."
"Oh, I am not speaking of this part," says Robert hurriedly, discomfited by the implication he does not care to think too deeply about lest he bursts into tears. "Just normal valet's duties – helping you with dressing and shaving and such. I'm sure the orderlies and nurses have other things to attend to, and Major Clarkson told me you should be able to attend dinner with us quite soon."
"He told me so as well, but surely I can eat with the other officers…"
"Eat breakfast and lunch with them, if you wish, by all means, but you're a member of the family," says Robert firmly. "I wouldn't have you treated otherwise."
Matthew sighs in defeat, but smiles at his cousin. He is struck by how much his staunch loyalty reminds him of Mary.
"Still, Bates has his hands full with taking care of you," he points out. "Shouldn't I send for Molesley instead?"
He proposes this with some reluctance, to be honest. He got used to Molesley, before the war, and he likes him just fine, but the thought of him tending to him now… Helping him dress his dead, uncooperative lower body… He knows Molesley would do his best to be tactful, but he still dreads those first days until they develop a routine.
Robert looks at him thoughtfully.
"You could, of course, if you prefer it," he says gently. "But I thought you might like Bates better for now. He lived through a war… and he suffered through an injury which put him in bed for months before he got back on his feet. I think you will find him more understanding of certain things than you expect."
Matthew closes his eyes, once again overwhelmed by Robert's consideration for him and his comfort.
"Thank you," he says, opening them. "If Bates doesn't mind the additional workload, I will gladly use his services while staying here."
xxx
Mary takes a sip of her tea and looks at Granny seated opposite her in the drawing room of the Dower House. It's a visit like hundreds of others she's made over the years, but she knows better than to expect idle gossip and gripping over the servants. Granny has a look in her eyes which promises a conversation not at all to Mary's liking.
"My dear," begins Violet, not without understanding. "It's obvious that you love Matthew passionately."
"Then why – ?"
Violet raises her hand to silence Mary and finish.
"However," she stresses. "There won't be passion in your marriage. And it may seem fine now, when every emotion is still so raw and exalted by the dangers you faced together, but this will fade in time, leaving only frustration and unfulfillment in its wake. And we both know you are not above letting your passions lead you into imprudent choices, don't we?"
For a moment, Mary is convinced that Granny somehow learnt about what passed between her and Matthew in France.
"I don't know what you mean," she says stiffly, trying frantically to plan how to do damage control on this.
Violet rolls her eyes.
"Half of London talked about you and that Turk for years. Did you think I wouldn't ever hear of it?"
Mary freezes.
Part of it is the shock that Granny knows. That she has known for years and never said anything. But part of it is the contrast between the two memories brought to the forefront of her mind like never before: Downton and France, Pamuk and Matthew, and the feelings those two memories, contrasted with each other so starkly, create in her are so opposite, so incomparable, that for the very first time since that night Mary defends herself.
"That," she finds herself saying quietly but harshly, "wasn't something I wanted."
Because she knows now what it feels to want a man, to desire his touch desperately, urgently, wildly – and she remembers vividly that she felt nothing like it that night.
The realisation that she truly didn't want him or any of the things he did to her, seems somehow like a revelation to her. She convinced herself so thoroughly that it was her choice to submit, to agree; that the decision, however stupid and reluctant, was hers and she's been blaming herself ever since. But she feels certain, so absolutely certain that she feels it seemingly in her very bones, that she didn't want any of that and he was the one in the wrong, not her.
It definitely is a revelation for Granny who stares at her in shock.
"My dear girl," she says. "Why have you never said anything?"
Mary shrugs uncomfortably, avoiding her Granny's eyes.
"I was ashamed," she admits reluctantly. "And I didn't understand the whole meaning of it."
Granny nods gravely, then looks sharply at her.
"Why hasn't your mother said anything when she talked with me about it?"
"Because she doesn't know that part," says Mary in all fairness. "She did ask me if he forced me, but I did not know how to answer it. He did not... It was not so straightforward. But it wasn't what I wanted either."
Granny nods again.
"Those matters are not always as straightforward as people think," she says, looking at Mary intently. "Being married to your father... Cora may not realise it."
As much as Mary does not want to think of her parents in such a context, she gets Granny's meaning. She thinks that if the only touch she knew was Matthew's, she likely wouldn't have understood it either.
Which makes her look at Granny with new and horrified eyes.
"Not all marriages are like your parents'," Granny answers her unspoken question. "Nor are they necessarily horrible. There is a lot of grey area in between."
She doesn't seem inclined to elaborate, so Mary just nods in response.
"But it doesn't change my basic point," says granny sternly. "Marriage is a long business for our kind of people. There is no getting out of it, so when you choose, you must choose wisely. You may well spend forty or fifty years with the man in question."
"I know that, Granny," answers Mary, with more patience than she would have shown at the beginning of their conversation. "And I believe I did. I understand that you are concerned for my happiness, as is everyone else, but Granny, you all don't realise – you can't realise – what you're asking of me. I can't give him up. Not after I nearly lost him in so many different ways."
"It's hard to think when this kind of passion clouds your judgement," says Violet, once again with the air of somebody who understands perfectly. "And yet one must try. Try to envision the long term consequences, not just short term satisfaction. To envision how the future will likely look like and everything which would have to be given up. There might be regret – there might always be some regret – for what could not be, but in the end life usually proves that a rational choice is better than a passionate one."
Mary swallows.
"I did envision it all, Granny. Many times and for many reasons. I tried to build my life without Matthew and to be happy with it. But it did not work. I can never be as happy with anybody else as I am with him on any terms, even those. I really wish you'd believe me."
Granny sighs impatiently.
"You tried to build your life with that ghastly man, of course it did not compare. But there are better men out there."
"No, Granny," says Mary firmly. "It won't work with anybody else, for all kinds of reasons. I did all my thinking and I am sure. And I won't be discussing it further. Matthew and I will be married as soon as he is well enough to last through the ceremony."
"And where are you going to live?" asks Granny. "What will your life look like? Have you thought of any of that?"
Mary sighs, but strengthens her back defiantly.
"I have," she says. "And although Matthew and I still have lots of things to discuss and plan, we will probably just stay at Downton for the foreseeable future. Matthew will need months of physical therapy and it is a convalescent home as well as his inheritance. He wanted for us to get our own house when we marry, but obviously it got more complicated under the circumstances."
"And you are determined?"
"Yes, Granny," answers Mary, holding her gaze firmly. "I got what I wanted. I didn't get it how I wanted it, but I have it nonetheless and I am never going to regret it or give it up."
xxx
Soon after Robert leaves him, Matthew receives a letter from William.
"Sir,
I've only been told yesterday how you are, since until then they've only been telling me that you're still recovering. I'm sorry to hear that it's so bad, but I'm glad that you're going to be alright otherwise. I'm not sure how much details they've given you about my condition, but I'm going to be alright too. I have broken eight of my ribs, some in the back, some in the front, and got punctured lungs too and something called flail chest, but it's all getting better. I am getting sent to a convalescent home at Baldersby Park, which is good for dad, since it will be much easier for him to travel there than to Leeds and it will cost him less money. The doctors say it will take me at least two more months to be well enough to go back to the front, but that the war will end before that if I'm lucky. Pity it didn't end two months ago, with both of us right as rain, but that's war for you.
I heard that Lady Mary is alright too and that it was her who got us both out. I'm going to thank her properly when I am well enough to be released, but please convey my thanks now. I'm glad she got a medal for that, she truly deserved it, sir, and I hope you will tell her that too from me. Mr Carson must be prouder than a lord over it.
If the war really ends soon, I was wondering if I could work for you, sir, if it's not too presumptive of me to ask. I don't know where you are planning to settle after you get better, but if you have a place for a footman or a valet, and if you think I could be good for the position, I would be very glad to serve you again, sir. I know how lucky I've been to be chosen for your soldier servant and I could not have asked for a better CO. But of course I will understand if you'd prefer somebody else or if all positions in your house are already filled.
I hope your recovery goes as well and as quickly as possible.
Yours sincerely,
William Mason"
Matthew puts the letter down on the blanket and frowns. He is glad that William is going to be alright, extremely glad, especially because he knows that things have looked quite grim initially. But William's question about a possible job makes him realise that he hasn't given any thought to how his life is going to look like.
Oh, he has thought a lot about all the things he won't be able to do and all the daily humiliations he will be forced to endure, but what he hasn't thought about at all are any practical details like where he – and Mary, he reminds himself with a sigh – are going to live, or on what income, or with what kind of staff.
He glares at his immobile, dead legs and curses bitterly under his breath. He is painfully reminded all over again about the dreams and plans he had before Amiens and their utter impossibility now. He abruptly puts William's letter away, telling himself he is going to answer it later, when he figures out what the hell he is supposed to do with what remains of his life.
Right now he has no bloody idea.
xxx
Mary goes to see Matthew in his new room after lunch, weary but determined. They do need to discuss what they are going to do about the marriage issue. She has no illusions that she's managed to get Granny off her back for good and there is still Mama to consider. She wouldn't have caved in to their persuasion, of course, even if she did have the option, but it would be such a relief to have the matters settled for good and not up for seemingly endless discussions and debates.
There is also the fact that she was barely able to eat anything at lunch because nearly everything smelled funny to her. Which probably just means that her meeting with Granny distressed her more than she thought, but still… It would be good to have matters settled.
When she's sitting by Matthew's bed in his new room, she soon realises that she's obviously picked a bad moment to raise the topic. His face closes off immediately when she mentions it.
"Why now?" asks Matthew tiredly.
Well, Mary certainly isn't going to tell him she is fed up with people trying to make her break up with him.
"Because the family wants answers and they are pestering me to death," she says evasively instead.
Matthew raises a sardonic eyebrow.
"I would have thought that they would advise the opposite of haste. The only way they would like you to act in a hurry is to find somebody else without my limitations."
"Papa doesn't," Mary counters immediately. "And neither does your mother."
Matthew rolls his eyes.
"They both let their fondness for me obscure their care for your welfare. Which is understandable for Mother, but I'm truly surprised at Robert."
"He's made it clear for years who his golden boy is," says Mary with more bitterness than she intended to reveal. Apparently certain things keep hurting despite drastic change in the circumstances and her own feelings.
Matthew instantly notices that he's misspoken and grasps her hand in apology.
"Very well, I'm the one who wants us to be openly married and live as a married couple. Don't you want it?" she asks, her heart in her throat at the sight of his closed off expression and his downturned mouth. " I thought you decided to accept that there is nothing you can do to change it. So what's the problem with making it official?"
Matthew closes his eyes, but not before she notes how full of pain they are.
"I want us to have the kind of married life we had and talked about in Wimereux. But since that is obviously off the table, I'm in no hurry to start living the twisted version of it left available to us. Why are you?" he asks quietly, his eyes remaining closed. "I'd suppose the reprieve should be welcome."
"Then you'd suppose wrong," snaps Mary, deeply disgruntled that they are going down this path yet again. "Matthew, I'm tired of pretending we are not married. I'm tired of keeping my distance from you. I just want things to be as they were."
"Which they can't be and will never be!" cries out Matthew, opening his eyes finally but only to glare at her. "Which part of impotent cripple haven't you understood?"
Mary huffs with impatience.
"I understand it very well," she answers in a clipped tone. "But unlike you, I am trying to think of a way to move forward with our lives. It obviously can't be everything we dreamt of, but I told you before: the alternative was so much worse. We can find our own way to be happy, even with all of this."
"That's either mighty optimistic or terribly naive of you," parries Matthew then closes his eyes again. "May we discuss it later? I'm tired. Getting transported here really took the stuffing out of me."
As much as Mary hates being dismissed, she does see how pale he is and how stiff his shoulders look, so she reluctantly agrees and leaves his room in an even worse mood than she came in.
xxx
It doesn't take Matthew long to start regretting his behaviour towards Mary horribly. She was perfectly right to demand action from him regarding making their marriage known and official. However much it pains him under the circumstances, they are married and pretending that they aren't serves no one besides himself, and such selfishness is deeply unfair to her. However much his insides twist in terror and regret at the prospect of living together as a married couple and everything it would necessarily entail, Mary deserves honesty about their situation. The secrecy has always been planned as a short-term solution after all, hasn't it?
He rubs his forehead, trying unsuccessfully to stave off a tension headache. It all comes to selfishness and cowardice with him, as usual. It was his selfishness which led him to make love with her at Amiens which necessarily moved forward their more reasonable plan to marry after the war was over. He was so convinced he was going to die without ever knowing how it would be to know her in such a way, so worried, halfway to insanity really, that she was going to die too… He was not thinking straight, that's for sure, and now here they are, irrevocably tied to each other and forced to forge ahead to make something out of the whole mess. And the worst thing is that a small, selfish part of him is happy that there is no way for him to release Mary, that they belong together, that he won't ever have to give her up.
He abhors that selfish part of himself with a passion. How can he be happy to have Mary trapped like this in his miserable situation? Of course he needs her, wants her, craves her exactly the same as before if not more – nothing has changed the love he feels for her after all – but shouldn't that very love mean that he would want her to be away from him and happy more than he craves her presence by his side, even if she is the only person able to take his mind out of the darkness clouding it most of the time and make him forget his broken body for a moment? It should if he was a more decent, less selfish man, which he obviously isn't. He wants Mary, period, even though he has nothing to offer her anymore. He thinks of the way her kisses in the hospital corridor made him feel, so much like a man, even though obviously they could not lead to anything more, and curses when he realises he again feels the tendrils of phantom desire coursing through what's left of his body. It's pure torture, being able to feel that and all the while knowing it will inevitably lead to nothing but frustration, for either of them.
Mary deserves more.
He allows this painful thought, a refrain constantly going through his head really, to pass through it again, but then tells himself to focus. Wallowing in the very truth of it is not helpful. It does not change the basic truth that however much Mary deserves more than what he can give to her now, she is his wife. What she deserves and what is still possible for her to get, is his best effort to assure her happiness, in whatever way he can. She spelled out to him one thing she wants – to be known as his wife, for them to live together – so what is the right thing to do is for him to pull himself together and figure out how to do this.
He sighs, rubbing his aching eyes. The very thought of living together with Mary terrifies him now, even though he also wants nothing more than to have her constantly by his side. But when they live together, as a proper married couple, all the aspects of his injury which he can push out of his mind for a while in her presence would be unavoidably there in the open. She would know it all. Of course, she already does, he knows she's been informed of it all, but she hasn't lived the reality of it, the pathetic and disgusting details his life consists of now. He imagines lying in bed with her in his arms, only to realise he needs a nurse to attend to him, and shudders in revulsion. He thinks that to even be in her bed in the first place he would need to be put into it by a servant, like a bloody baby, and nearly weeps. But the purpose of the exercise was supposed to be to find a way to make it happen, so he grits his teeth and thinks past his instinctual wish to recoil from it all.
He inhales deeply. What can he still do to convince himself that he is able to make their relationship into at least a semblance of a marriage? To give him enough conviction to look their family in the eyes and announce this wonderful woman is going to be his wife and it is right, not a travesty of the worst kind? He knows all the reasons why this is selfish, wrong, unfair to her, but to make it work he somehow needs to find some arguments why it's more than that.
He thinks of the way he helped to protect her from the blackmail and scandal brought by that vile, vengeful man and frowns. He can list a dozen things which would make his return to any kind of work impossible or at least extremely difficult, but the fact is his mind is one of the few things left to him. He was able to focus, to research properly, to write appropriate legal documents just as well as he used to before the war. He is still a lawyer, even if mostly an immobile one. He would have to research and learn all kinds of laws and regulations which undoubtedly changed in the last four years, but if he has anything to spare, it is time. He would need to get stronger, to be able to withstand sitting in his chair for hours, but that surely will come in time as well, if he puts proper effort into it and he is determined to do just that. There are still the issues of travel and offices with stairs and of course finding anyone willing to hire a cripple in the first place, but if they can be solved… If he could feel and show the world that he isn't perfectly useless after all…
Matthew reaches for the pen and stationery stashed in the drawer of his bedside table. He still has no idea what he is going to answer William, but it's time he started to figure out at least a part of his future.
Mary deserves at least that.
xxx
When he dreams that night, he is again with Mary at the beach at Wimereux. The day is bright and sunny, but they wandered far enough from the town that they are alone, the sea and sand stretching in both directions, their shoes and stockings in their free hands as they stroll hand in hand through the warm sand. Suddenly, Mary drops hers and pulls him eagerly towards the water.
"Come!" she cries with a playful expression he only rarely gets to witness. "Let's see how cold the water is!"
So he drops his shoes and stockings as well and he eagerly lets her drag him into the sea, only for them to jump away with a shriek from the sudden icy cold of it.
"It's freezing!" laughs Mary, "Come, let's try again, maybe it's just the contrast with the sand."
So they run straight back in, still holding hands, Matthew's trouser legs folded up, Mary's skirt hooked into her belt. The water is nearly bearable this time, but they see a big wave coming their direction and they run away from it to avoid getting completely drenched. They are laughing so hard they nearly fall over, their breaths fast, Mary's hair starting to come out of its pins and her eyes shining so bright Matthew just can't resist kissing her.
Matthew smiles in his sleep, but tears are running down his cheeks.
xxx
Mary's dream is unfortunately less pleasant that night.
She should be used to finding herself back in the birch copse, it happens so very often in her dreams, but somehow it is impossible. This time it is seemingly empty and eerily quiet, the thick fog obscuring anything farther than a few yards ahead. Mary walks through it carefully, certain that the dread filling her is not there without a reason; that there is something terrible lurking in the fog. She walks and walks, but the birch copse is impossibly large and she just can't get out whichever direction she tries. It is still so quiet, so unnaturally quiet, with neither birds nor the sounds of battle to break the silence, and Mary's dread keeps growing till she can barely breathe.
Then the fog parts in front of her and she nearly stumbles over Matthew, lying on the grass, his uniform drenched in blood. She falls down on her knees, gasping, her hands frantically searching where the blood comes from, when he opens his eyes and grasps her hands to stop them.
"It's alright, Mary," he whispers, blood bubbling on his lips to her horror. "It's better this way."
"No!" she screams immediately. "It's not better at all! You can't leave me, darling, you just can't!"
"It is," insists Matthew, his eyes clouding over and there is nothing she can do. "You didn't find me in time, but it's alright. I don't want to live like that anyway."
"I don't care if you can't walk, darling," she sobs, even though she doesn't know why, the wound is on his chest, why is she thinking about his legs? "I just want to be with you, on any terms. Please, darling, stay with me. Please!"
But Matthew's eyes are fixed and staring at nothing, his hands on hers cold and stiff, and Mary screams and screams and screams.
xxx
Anna is there when Mary wakes up only to run into her bathroom to get properly sick into the sink. She holds Mary's braid back faithfully until she is done. Her eyes flicker to the drawer where she keeps supplies for Mary's monthly.
"Milady," she starts hesitantly, but with determination. "You've been back a month, but I haven't needed to replace those supplies at all… When was the last time you had your monthly?"
"Second week of July," groans Mary, splashing cold water on her face.
Anna gives her a significant look. It is the first week of September.
"It doesn't have to mean anything!" snaps Mary. "During the worst of fighting in France I went for three months without having my period. The one in July followed the one I had in the beginning of April."
She shudders at the memory of dealing with stomach cramps and bloody rags while driving for hours and hiding from German bombs. She was very glad that her cycle stopped until it got safer and calmer again.
But it does make matters much more muddy now than they would normally be.
Not to Anna, apparently.
"Milady," she points out factually. "There are no Germans shooting at you now and you're feeling sick."
"I would hardly call recovering from my own injuries, dealing with Captain Crawley's condition and fighting a threat of utter ruin normal and peaceful circumstances," quarrels Mary, reaching with shaking hands for a glass of water Anna gives her. "Besides, the doctors told me nausea is normal with a head injury."
"For weeks after you got it? And increasingly worse?"
"I just need to be sure!" snaps Mary, her tone getting more annoyed again, but it fails at getting Anna off her back. She looks apologetic, but she pushes on.
"Milady… the child is Mr Matthew's, surely… So it can't be too bad if there is one, can it?"
"Of course it is his! If there is one," Mary's face crumbles. "If there is one, it would be wonderful. But Anna, don't you see that I need to be sure? He would be devastated if I told him there is and I turned out to be wrong."
I would be devastated, she thinks and curls her hands into fists.
"I understand, milady," says Anna, her eyes full of compassion. "But surely you must see that you can't wait too long? What with organising a wedding and everything… With your monthly in the second week of July, if you are with child, you're approaching two months already."
"It would be less than that," says Mary tiredly. "If it happened at all, it could only have in the last week of July."
Anna nods, eyeing Mary carefully.
"It still means you should think about getting things settled with Mr Matthew, milady. Even if you aren't sure. There will be hell to pay if you don't."
Mary glares at Anna, ready to yell at her for her impertinence, more than ready to list all the reasons why everything is so much more complicated than she makes it to be, but somehow only slumps in defeat.
"I know," she says. "I know."
xxx
Matthew has his first physical therapy session when he spots Mary on the other side of the room.
It feels both fascinating and repulsive to see a nurse lifting and moving his legs when he doesn't feel anything – if he closes his eyes, he is convinced they are not even there at all, his body mysteriously ending at his waist. It's disconcerting to say the least and he wonders if he will ever get used to it, however impossible it seems now.
He likes the exercises for his upper body better, even though they result in an awful pain in his back and he sweats like a pig, his muscles weakened and protesting after a month of bed rest. But he is doing them himself, he feels every effort, every pain of it, and he has the goal of it all clear in his mind: to be able to sit in his chair without feeling like he's going to fall over, to be able to eat and write while in it, to be able to wheel himself around the house and grounds and maybe even, one day, to lift himself out of it and put himself in his own bed. To achieve any of that he needs to get stronger, much stronger, so he grinds his teeth, wipes the sweat from his brow, and pushes himself through another set.
And then he sees Mary, in a simple grey dress, lifting her left arm repeatedly while holding a weight, her face sweaty and her expression as determined as his own must be, and he knows he is smiling when their eyes meet across the former music room. Then a nurse is barking orders at Mary, telling her off for getting distracted and Matthew laughs, he just can't help it, when he sees Mary's murderous glare in response.
xxx
He's so very glad when she comes to see him on the terrace after they both got cleaned up that he proposes they go together to their bench, if she is able to push him there of course. Mary just rolls her eyes and starts pushing him, telling him it is a good exercise for her arm anyway.
"I'm sorry for how I acted and for what I've said before," he says earnestly when she's parked his chair and sits opposite him on the bench. "I was in a beastly mood yesterday."
"I noticed," answers Mary drily, but then adds more conciliatorily. "I'm sorry as well for pushing you."
"You had a right to do this. After all, you deserve to be shown the respect belonging to a wife, not being treated like my dirty secret," he wipes his face tiredly. "I know this, darling, and my duty to you, I really do, but it is terribly hard to face."
"What is most terrible about it?" asks Mary. "What are you so afraid of?"
Matthew looks up at her.
"Disappointing you," he says. "Seeing the inevitable realisation of quite what you're tied to growing in your eyes and the despair that you have no way out."
Mary caresses his face immediately.
"It won't ever happen," she swears. "Darling, I know what I'm tied to. I'm married to a brilliant, kind, brave, wonderful man whom I love very much and who happened to suffer from a terrible injury. And the injury does not change anything about the first part of my statement."
"How can it not? I'm not the same man you married, Mary."
"You are the same man," insists Mary fiercely. "You just can't do everything you could before. It doesn't make you a different person or in any way a lesser man."
"It sure feels like it does though," says Matthew helplessly. "I don't want to increase your misery by constantly expressing mine, but it's so encompassing that it spills into half of the things I say."
"I hate that you're miserable, of course, but I have to say you're better at dealing with it than I," observes Mary thoughtfully. "When I'm miserable, I lash out at people."
She gives him a teasing look.
"Like comparing innocent bystanders to sea monsters."
Despite everything, Matthew huffs a laugh at the memory.
"My fierce Andromeda," he says fondly. "I didn't know whether I wanted to strangle you or to kiss you more that evening. You messed with my head and my feelings terribly."
Mary grins smugly.
"Which is of course what I intended," she says. "However horrid it was of me. I hope though that by now you want to kiss me more than to strangle me, even when I exasperate you."
"Oh, it varies," answers Matthew but his voice goes husky and his eyes dark in the way which makes Mary's toes curl and her breath quicken. "But right now I definitely want to kiss you."
"Good," murmurs Mary, bending her face down to his. "Because I definitely want you to kiss me."
So he does and for a blissful moment everything feels wonderful and right.
xxx
Mary needs to blink the tears away from her eyes when Bates wheels Matthew into the dining room so he can join them for dinner for the first time since his injury and she is not the only one. Robert and Isobel also look distinctly moved and even Cora gives him a beaming smile of welcome. But to see him dressed in black tie and sitting at the table with them, after weeks of seeing him only in pyjamas and for so long only in a hospital bed, seems truly wondrous, even though a closer look shows that his clothes hang a bit on his thinner frame and that he holds himself upright with visible effort as he serves himself and cuts his food. Isobel warned them that he is likely to tire himself pretty early into the evening, so they plan to keep the dinner short, but it is still so absolutely marvellous that they are all smiling throughout the meal, Matthew included.
He frowns slightly though when he sees another of Mary's plates taken away nearly untouched.
"You eat less than me tonight," he says questioningly. "And my stomach is all upset from the pain medication I took to be able to sit like that. Are you feeling ill?"
"Nothing to worry about," she assures him brightly. "My stomach is just a bit upset too. All the food smells wrong to me, that's all. But tell me, is it so very painful to sit with us like that?"
"I am only starting to get the hang of my balance while sitting in the chair," admits Matthew with a sigh of irritation. "And with my hands busy with the cutlery I can't use them to make sure I won't topple over. The muscles in my back and shoulders get awfully tense as a result. But Dr Coates wrote in his instructions that it should get better with time and that it is a good exercise for me, although I shouldn't stay up too long at first and will need to lie on my stomach later."
"It is wonderful to be able to share a meal with you again," says Mary, her eyes shining as she touches his hand briefly. "Although I am so sorry that it's still so difficult for you."
"I find it wonderful to share a meal with you too," answers Matthew, his eyes not leaving hers. "And to be able to do it while properly clothed. Makes me feel more normal than anything else."
"Well," jokes Mary, eager to keep the mood light. "Your clothes can only be considered proper because Granny isn't here. If she was, she would tell you and Papa that you look like a pair of waiters."
Matthew laughs.
"Believe me, I did consider that matter with Bates before we settled on the black tie for tonight," he assures her solemnly.
She basks in the familiar, teasing sparks in his eyes and in the assurance that this part of him is not completely gone, just temporarily subdued.
"So, when is the wedding going to be?" asks Edith, pulling them away from their preoccupation with each other. "Judging from how little attention you give anybody else, it should be sooner rather than later!"
Mary feels Matthew stiffen next to her and wants to scratch Edith's eyes out, even though she can say that her sister's tone is friendly and teasing, not at all intended to cause harm of any kind.
"Soon," she answers firmly before Matthew has a chance to answer otherwise. "Don't worry, you will be invited when it happens. One doesn't have a choice with such close relations."
Edith rolls her eyes, but leaves them in peace to talk with Sybil instead.
"It is going to be soon," says Matthew suddenly. "I promise I won't keep things in suspense for much longer."
Mary has to swallow against an unexpected and utterly mortifying wish to cry.
"It's good to hear," she answers thickly. "I'm certain we will figure things out, you know."
Matthew smiles at her, even though she can see apprehension in his eyes.
"I've started working on at least one aspect of our future life," he says. "I wrote to my old firm and to my friend, Jack Weatherby, in London, and asked them if they can see any role for me despite my limitations. I've heard back from both of them in the afternoon post and they both said they would be happy to send me work here when I'm ready, until I am well enough to think about going to the office."
He takes a deep breath as Mary just stares at him, speechless.
"So you see, it wouldn't be a proper job in the beginning – I would just review a contract or write a will here and there – but it would hopefully get me gradually back into the thick of things and bring some money too."
"You know you don't have to worry about this part, don't you?" asks Mary. "As soon as we make our marriage official, I will get my settlement. You reviewed the terms of the entail and the deed of gift for Mama's dowry, you must remember that it's going to be more than plenty to live on, even without the stipend Papa gives you as the heir."
Matthew's lips turn up.
"Of course I remember, darling. But as much as I know I should consider myself a lucky chap for snatching an heiress, I have enough pride left to wish to earn my own money. I hope you remember that you're going to be married to a member of the dreaded middle class."
"If that makes you happy," says Mary with an eyeroll, but inwardly she is jumping in glee at this resurrection of Matthew's stubborn need for independence. "I think I can become used to being a solicitor's wife."
xxx
Breakfast the next day proceeds quietly as normal until Carson enters the dining room with the papers, looking unusually agitated.
"I beg your pardon, my lord," he says, but his apologetic gaze is clearly directed at Mary, not at Robert. "I know it is not one of the papers you usually read, but I felt you would want to see today's issue."
Mary looks up from her plate and freezes in horror when she realises that the newspaper in question is one of Carlisle's ones. She doesn't have to wait long to find out what piqued Carson's interest in it.
"What in hell?!" bellows Papa, staring aghast at it, then throwing it into Mary's hands. "Can you explain it?!"
Mary reads the article and feels the blood draining from her face. The letters of the headline swim before her eyes.
LADY MARY CRAWLEY MM AND CAPTAIN MATTHEW CRAWLEY MC MARRIED SECRETLY IN FRANCE!