"Are you sure you are well enough to go down to dinner, milady?" asks Anna, even as she is finishing her final touches on Mary's hair.

Mary meets her maid's eyes in the mirror and smiles reassuringly.

"I am truly well, Anna. I had the most peaceful nap in weeks in Captain Crawley's room and I ate every two hours. I can last through dinner and I am so excited to make the announcement to the family. Hopefully it should cheer them up. They have all been looking at me so mournfully the whole day."

"You gave them all a fright, milady," says Anna chidingly and Mary sighs. She understands, of course, that her fainting spell must have been extremely distressing to witness, but as soon as she emerged from Matthew's room and docilely went to her own to spend the afternoon in bed, she had a veritable procession of concerned visitors, whose vivid concern was in direct contrast with her own celebratory mood. She got the article clearing Matthew's name published and she learnt she is truly carrying Matthew's baby; who cares about anaemia?!

She refuses to dwell on the other part of Dr Clarkson's diagnosis. Shellshock seems too big a word for her minor complaints.

"Well, the baby should cheer them up anyway," she says brightly and puts her hand briefly on her still flat belly.

She's really carrying Matthew's baby! She feels like she could sing and dance.

xxx

It is impossible to suppress her excitement completely, so as they gather in the small library before dinner she writes it off as joy about the article in The Sketch.

"It was a brilliant move, I agree," acknowledges Violet with satisfaction. "There will still be gossip, of course, it can't be avoided with two versions of the story in circulation, but all those people volunteering to speak for Matthew and you are hard to refute."

"Besides, ultimately, there is little substance to this scandal in the first place," says Cora. "As foolish as it was of you to elope like that, all that really happened was a long engaged couple getting married earlier on an impulse. The talk will die out soon."

Mary rolls her eyes at her marriage being called foolish, but she does see and appreciate the relenting of its main opponents. Now that they know it took place and got over the first shock of the news, they are all too pragmatic to keep being angry about it. And since they are going to learn very shortly that one of their biggest reasons for disapproving of the marriage is no longer valid, she is reasonably sure that she is finally going to be free of its repeated criticism.

Isobel joins them and doesn't wait a moment to approach Mary with vivid concern in her eyes.

"I've heard you fainted, my dear. I would have come to check on you sooner, but I've been tied in two different committee meetings the whole day. Tell me, do you feel alright now?"

"Perfectly so," answers Mary airily, even though she remains quite tired and the nausea is still there in the background, although nowhere near as strong as in the morning, thankfully. She ignores the doubtful look Matthew sends her in response.

"And has Major Clarkson said what can be the cause?"

"A bit of anaemia," answers Mary, but of course she is not allowed to get away with it.

"And shellshock," ads Matthew grimly, causing Isobel to gasp and the rest of the room to fall silent.

"Nervous exhaustion," corrects Mary icily and she's never been so glad to hear Carson announce that the dinner is served.

xxx

Somehow dinner passes both lightning fast and maddeningly slow. Matthew can feel Mary practically vibrating in her seat and, to be perfectly truthful, the only reason he is acting relatively calm is because he is still so stunned by the news of her pregnancy that he can scarcely believe it. He notices Mother sending him curious looks – evidently, he is not acting as normal as he's thought – so he asks her about the current state of affairs at the hospital, a topic sure to keep her going and distracted for a while. She has entrenched herself there after coming back from France; nobody was brave enough to try to get her and Cora managing the convalescent home together again after the last time.

When the dessert course is served, Mary finally takes Matthew's hand and calls for everyone's attention.

"Matthew and I have a wonderful announcement to make," she says brightly. "I'm pregnant!"

A long moment of stunned silence is broken by Sybil's happy squeal. She shoots out of her seat and runs towards Mary and Matthew to hug each of them in quick order.

"Congratulations, my darlings! Oh, such wonderful, wonderful news for you!" she lowers her voice and blinks conspiratorially at them. "I am so proud of being a part of making it possible!"

She steps back with a grin, delighted to make them blush furiously.

Happy, if astonished, congratulations from others follow in quick succession. Isobel and Cora both have tears in their eyes. Robert looks stunned but elated.

"You don't know how happy you made me, my boy," he says, clapping Matthew on his shoulder. Matthew sends him a dry look.

"It's quite happy news for myself, too."

"Of course it is!" agrees Robert readily. "I just hope you are better at making boys than I!"

An awkward silence falls over the room. Cora sends Robert a hurt look and Mary a poisonous one. Matthew finds himself automatically stepping into his old role of peacemaker, even though he is annoyed with Robert as well for undermining his effort to stop Mary from fretting over the baby's sex.

"If I have a daughter as lovely and smart as all of yours are, I will be delighted enough."

"Well said!" says Isobel, glaring at Robert as well. It is clear that she considers it an insult that a child of Matthew, such a miraculous child in the circumstances, could be greeted with disappointment for being a girl. She quickly redirects her attention to Mary though. "My dear, but couldn't it have contributed to your fainting today? How do you feel?"

"I really am well," answers Mary with a bright smile Matthew hasn't really seen since their honeymoon and relishes seeing again so much. "I have terrible nausea sometimes, which made me eat too little and that's all there is to the show this morning. Now that I know I need to eat more, I will, so you all really don't need to be so concerned for me."

He sees his own doubt clearly mirrored by the rest of the family.

"You can't expect to faint like that and everybody to ignore it by evening," says Edith of all people.

"Most assuredly not," agrees Robert. "You really must take care of yourself and allow us to take care of you too."

Mary rolls her eyes but doesn't quarrel further.

"We need to figure out where Matthew and I are going to live," she says instead and Matthew does his best to keep his face impassive and not betray his tumultuous feelings on the issue.

Isobel looks at her with a frown.

"Surely you must know that Matthew can't go anywhere for the foreseeable future," she protests. "He is still in the Army and assigned to the convalescent home at Downton. Not to mention, he needs the treatments he's receiving here."

Matthew knows the expression on Mary's face very well and he is relieved that she tempers her tone and words for his mother's sake. Apparently Mother's recent regard for her is reciprocated.

"I know," answers Mary patiently. "But it doesn't mean we have to live on separate floors."

"But there is no free space on the ground floor," points out Isobel.

"Isobel is right," agrees Cora reluctantly. "The convalescent home took all available space as it is. Matthew's room is one of the very few which could have been reasonably turned into private bedrooms, and it is too small to accommodate the two of you."

"I know," repeats Mary, "That's why I've been thinking of the Countess's Cottage. Is it in good enough shape, Papa?"

They all stare at her, her family in surprise, Matthew and Isobel in incomprehension. The name sounds familiar to Matthew, but it's been so long since he was on the tour of the estate with Robert…

"Why, I think it might be," answers Robert slowly. "It hasn't been in use since before the war – a few years longer, probably – but there shouldn't be any major problems which couldn't be repaired. We can walk there in the morning with Wilson and inspect it."

"A cottage?" asks Isobel with concern as Matthew tries to wrap his mind around the fact that his wife, Lady Mary Crawley, just offered with perfect seriousness to live in one. "Won't it be too small for Matthew to move around in any kind of comfort?"

"Hardly," answers Violet derisively. "It's not a tenant cottage. We are not quite so desperate for living space. It is a cottage orné, built as a rustic retreat for the family or guests."

"Be as it is, he's not ready to be driven around the estate," protests Isobel and now it is Matthew who has to stop himself from rolling his eyes at his mother. He is sitting right there and can speak for himself. Especially since he managed to remember the cottage when he heard Cousin Violet describing it.

"There won't be any need for that, Mother," he says reassuringly. "It's just on the other side of the kitchen courtyard, behind the stables and the line of trees."

"But can Matthew move there while remaining the patient?" asks Sybil, looking questioningly at Robert and Isobel.

Robert frowns thoughtfully.

"I don't see why not," he says finally. "We will of course confirm with Major Clarkson, but since he would remain on the same property, just in a different building, I can't see the difficulty. What do you think, Isobel?"

Matthew sees her throwing a concerned glance at him, but she answers honestly that she can't see any official reason for objecting to it either.

"If Major Clarkson won't think that transporting him to the main house for treatments is going to be too much, of course," she adds firmly.

"Mother," says Matthew with exasperation. "I am taken for daily walks three times longer that the distance to that cottage."

"It's decided then," says Robert. "We will check in the morning and see if it is a reasonable option for you two."

Matthew sees Mary's bright smile again and does his best to hide his dread.

xxx

Everybody wanted to go with them and see the cottage for themselves, but in the end they manage to whittle it down to just Robert.

"Let us see it first and discuss it properly in peace," says Mary sternly, and Matthew doesn't miss a quick concerned glance she throws at him. "If we decide it's a possibility, you can all come and offer all kinds of advice you can think of."

Robert absolutely insists on pushing Matthew's chair over the gravel path himself rather than allow Mary to do it.

"You're pregnant," he says with horrified exasperation. "And you have anaemia!"

Mary rolls her eyes.

"I know my limits, Papa," she says sternly, even though Matthew can see she knows she is not going to win this particular fight. Predictably, Robert is unmoved in the slightest and pushes Matthew's chair all the way to the house. Matthew silently swears he is going to work twice as hard in physiotherapy to be finally able to bloody wheel himself.

The Countess's Cottage is really not far, just behind the service courtyard and a thick patch of oaks and hedges shielding it from the noise and bustle of it. It is surrounded by an overgrown garden and has gabled slated roofs, large French windows and a frankly ridiculous amount of ornamentation. What's most important, however, is that it consists exclusively of a ground floor, except for servants' rooms in the attic.

"It was built in 1810s for my great grandmother, the wife of the fourth earl," explains Robert, "The fad for cottages orné was slowly passing by then, but I've been told that she wasn't fond of her husband's lavish parties, especially since the big house was much smaller back then, and craved a more peaceful retreat for herself when he was entertaining his friends."

"And his mistresses," mutters Mary, earning herself a dismayed look from her father, who would clearly like her to at least pretend she is not aware of what a mistress is. Matthew notices her slight smirk and stifles a laugh.

"Anyway," says Robert firmly, "the cottage was built in the 1810s, but has been extensively modernised since then. It has indoor plumbing, at least. No electricity, I'm afraid, but it should be a short work to connect it to the main house generator. Rosamund and Marmaduke preferred to stay there when they were coming for extensive visits in the summer."

"Granny was still the Countess of Grantham then," explains Mary with a playful smile. "And as much as Aunt Rosamund enjoyed spending August here after the Season ended, she liked to have an escape from her mother."

Robert gives her another quelling look.

"Shall we come inside?" he asks with visible exasperation.

The doorstep is mostly flat, thankfully, so he manages to push Matthew's chair in with relative ease. Inside, a corridor goes from the front door to the back, in keeping with the typical design of an actual cottage. There are double doors on both sides, to the sitting room on the left and the dining room on the right. In the back there is a kitchen, a scullery and a servants' bathroom, as well as a narrow staircase to the attic. From the sitting room another door goes into a corridor leading to three rooms and a master bath; a similar door from the dining room leads to a small library, a study and a winter garden.

It's small, intimate, exceedingly charming, especially with the French windows showing the garden in full bloom of mid-September, and everything Matthew would have adored for a home to share with Mary before.

Wilson, the master builder, comes in and Robert takes him to the kitchen to discuss the necessary updates to be added there. Matthew looks gloomily at the brightly lit, if rather dusty, sitting room and tries to feel excited. Mary walks ahead, lifting sheets covering the furniture and inspecting it.

"What do you think?" she asks. "It needs work, obviously, but it's in good enough shape that we shouldn't be forced to wait longer than several weeks at most. Renovating the bath will probably take the longest, but I think the comfort is worth the wait."

Matthew closes his eyes for a moment to block out the sight of her hopeful face. She is trying so terribly hard to make the best of things and all he can think about are his old, impossible dreams of them having a home of their own. He tries to quench a bitter thought that the main reason he was dreaming of needing privacy with his wife most cruelly doesn't exist anymore but is miserably unsuccessful. He can barely think about anything else, here in this house which is intended to be theirs.

He still feels like a murderer every time he considers what a travesty it is to have this brilliant, beautiful, vibrant woman shackled to a wreck of a man he is now, for all that he accepted he is and is going to remain her husband.

Still, he reminds himself that she needs him and he did promise her to try to be as good a husband to her as he possibly can. Besides, she is waiting for his answer.

"You are truly willing to live here?" he asks with forced playfulness. "Lady Mary Crawley residing in a cottage – even a cottage orné?"

"France lowered my standards," answers Mary with a wry smile. "At least I have it on good authority that there is a working fireplace in every room. It was the first thing I asked about."

"Pity," answers Matthew, cheered unconsciously into a real smile by the memory she brought up. "I liked keeping you warm."

It takes seeing Mary's eyes widen to make him realise what he's said and how far he forgot himself.

"Not that I would be able to do that now anyway," he says quietly and sighs, when he notices her frown. He hates making her more miserable than she has to be anyway. He tells himself sternly to make more of an effort. "How do you plan to use the rooms?"

She's still frowning but accepts his change of topic.

"We could take the corner room for our bedroom, with the other two a dressing room for each of us," says Mary thoughtfully. "Or use one for your study, since we'll probably convert the existing study into a nursery."

Matthew is not sure which part of that plan to object to first.

"You would like to have a nursery so far from us?" he asks, picking the less fraught topic.

Mary's eyebrows rise.

"This is a small house," she says pointedly. "We will probably be woken up by the baby wailing as it is."

"But why would you want to go such a distance at night?" asks Matthew, only getting more frustrated when Mary is staring at him as if he's missing something very obvious.

"I won't," she says. "A nanny will sleep there with the baby."

Ah. Of course she would expect it to be like that. He considers it for a moment and decides not to quarrel about it now. There are still seven months until the baby is born; he hopes she will change her mind about it when it'll become more real and they had some time to discuss their ideas for parenting their child in peace. He's never thought about it properly, but it is natural that they may have very different views on the matter, considering how vastly different their upbringing was.

He goes for another, more difficult and immediate subject instead.

"You said we will take one of the rooms as our bedroom," he asks, frowning. "Don't you mean bedrooms?"

She looks at him steadily.

"Why would I ever want to have separate bedrooms? Even my parents don't."

"Don't play oblivious," Matthew chides her angrily. "You cannot imagine we would share a bedroom, not to mention a bed, now."

Mary raises her chin defiantly.

"Why ever not? It is what I fully intend to do."

Matthew grabs the armrests of his wheelchair so hard his knuckles get white.

"Absolutely not," he says. It is bad enough that she insists on visiting him in his bedroom and sees him helpless in bed like a beached fish on a regular basis. To think of her sharing his bed while being unable to be intimate with her is pure torture. The thought of soiling himself while she is next to him nearly makes him gag here and now. He rarely needs a nurse to change him at night, the matters having regulated themselves somehow in that department, but it still happens occasionally and there is no way, no fucking way, he would ever expose Mary to that.

His resolve must show plainly enough on his face, because Mary huffs angrily, throws her hands in frustration and uncharacteristically backs off from the quarrel.

"Very well," she says in a clipped tone. "We will make this room my bedroom and the connecting one yours, with the one after that a dressing room for both of us. I think it unnecessary, but if you insist, it can be done – we thankfully have enough space and I do want you to feel comfortable in your own home."

"It's your father's house," he says petulantly, still aggravated by their discussion. He appreciates her acquiescence to his wish but feels awful about the reasons making it necessary.

"As is Crawley House, Dower House and most of the village," Mary shrugs. "But this will be our home, making for a completely separate household. You can't tell me this is not what you want, because I know for a fact that you do."

"And we won't have to go to dinner with the family?" asks Matthew sceptically, warming up a bit to the thought. What Mary is describing is much more than he in truth expected.

"Not unless we want to," she says easily. "We have a kitchen here, after all, and a dining room. We just need to get our own cook and a footman."

"Or a maid, considering the lack of footmen Carson keeps complaining about," corrects Matthew dryly.

"Or a maid," sighs Mary, but with a smile. She is evidently pleased at getting him drawn into discussion. Her face turns serious a moment later. "Matthew, I know this is not how you envisioned our life together. It is not how I envisioned it either. But can't you see that we can still be very happy? We will be living together in a beautiful house, even if it is ridiculously small for your position. You will be able to work soon, when you get just a little stronger – you said yourself that you got a promise to receive some work from two different firms whenever you are ready. We are going to have a baby. It won't be the same as it could have been, but we will adjust. I really can see it; I am not putting on a brave front. I just wish you could see it too."

Matthew remains silent for a long time. As much as he wishes, he can't see it. He knows Mary is right about the practical side of it – it will be nice to live in this house, apart from the rest of the family until they wish for their company. It will be much easier to have everything arranged on the level he can access independently, or at least will be able to when he grows strong enough to push himself properly. She is even right about his career prospects – there are practical challenges to solve – how he is going to get to Ripon or how to arrange his office there, among others – but nothing which can't be solved, most likely. The responses he got both from Jack and from Mr Carter have been extremely encouraging. And their baby… Their baby is simply a miracle and he is looking forward so much to meeting them. But with all of that, he just can't see how they can ever be happy.

But he promised to work to make Mary happy, so he forces himself to smile. He doesn't want to lie to her outright, but it doesn't mean he has to tell her every upsetting thought which shows up in his head; he's learnt so much at least from his past mistakes with her.

"How do you propose to assign the servants?" he asks instead to break the silence. Mary sighs, clearly not satisfied with his evasion, but answers his question.

"I want Anna as my lady's maid," she says. "And I think we will ask for one housemaid assigned to our home exclusively, as well as a footman. What about your valet?"

Matthew bites his lip unhappily. He does need a valet nowadays. His days of dressing himself are definitely over, not to mention what a production getting a bath is.

"I want William," he says firmly. "When he recovers. Until then, I would prefer Bates to keep attending to me, if he and your father agree. I know it's plenty of extra work for him, especially if he needs to come over here, but I have to admit he makes me more comfortable than anyone else."

Mary nods.

"Not Molesley then?"

Matthew shakes his head quickly. He likes Molesley enough, but even a thought of his fussing while attending him makes him recoil. Bates, with his own war experience and, even more importantly, his own disability, is tact and understanding personified, just as Robert promised when he first offered his services to Matthew, and Matthew knows that William's no-nonsense, practical approach and steady, friendly presence will be just as soothing as it was in the trenches.

"No," he says firmly.

"Then I will speak with Papa, Mama, Carson and Mrs Hughes about the arrangements," answers Mary steadily. She hesitates for a moment. "Do you need a private nurse?"

Matthew clenches his teeth.

"Most likely," he says bitterly, humiliated that Mary has to ask the question and that this is the answer he has to give. "For now it can be as it is, one of the nurses from the convalescence home – I am still a patient, officially – but after the war ends, I will still need one."

He drops his head into his hand, covering his face. The thought that this is to be his life for another forty or fifty years is still completely unbearable. A thought fleets through his mind that thankfully paralytics like him are not usually living long lives, but he pushes it away. As horrible as it is to live this life, Mary needs him. Their baby needs him. He just has to find a way to endure it somehow.

"Do we really need a footman?" he asks in a desperate need for a distraction. "It's such a small house and there will be just the two of us. Can't a maid serve us at meals?"

Mary looks rather aghast at the idea but gives it a proper thought.

"We won't probably manage to find one now anyway," she admits reluctantly.

"Maybe William would be willing to serve," says Matthew, amused by her distress over it despite his black mood. "He certainly knows how."

"He will be promoted to being your valet," answers Mary with a frown. "Serving us at meals wouldn't be part of his duties."

"Molesley was doing both for me," points out Matthew. "You really need to get used to the idea of a smaller and more versatile staff if you're going to live in a cottage."

She rolls her eyes and sighs heavily, but finally nods.

"So," she says. "Anna as my lady's maid, William as your valet and our butler – at least it will be a true promotion for him – a cook, a housemaid, a nanny, eventually, and a nurse for you. That's six people and we only have four rooms in the attic. The nanny will have to make do with a bed and a set of drawers in the nursery, I suppose."

"We may not need a housemaid to live here," points out Matthew gently. "Again, remember it is a small house. If Cora agrees, we could have one coming over from the big house."

Mary nods again, this time quicker.

"I wonder if we could get Daisy as our cook," she says thoughtfully. "I heard Mrs Hughes tell Mama that she is quite good by now, and we wouldn't need elaborate feasts while living here anyway."

Matthew perks up.

"William's Daisy?" he asks and smiles when Mary confirms. "I bet he would be delighted to be able to work with her again. I know he hopes to marry her as soon as the war is over."

"Then I will talk with her, if Mama agrees," answers Mary with a responding smile.

Robert finally comes to find them, with Wilson on his heels.

"Wilson confirms that the house is in a very good shape and does not need any major work besides installing electricity, a modern stove for the kitchen, a new water heater and whatever updates to the bath and the rooms that you will wish done. If they're not too extensive, you should be able to move in mid to late October."

Matthew looks at Mary's delighted smile with a mix of anticipation and dread and tells himself firmly to get a grip.

He has several weeks to find a way to be able to live with his wife without falling apart and he is determined to succeed at it.

He won't make Mary any more miserable than she needs to be.

xxx

It's when they are back at the Abbey and have recounted all the details possible to their curious relatives, that Matthew notices how tired Mary looks. He pulls her into a quieter corner of the small library as soon as he can manage.

"How did you sleep last night, darling?" he asks with concern, only increased further when she smiles wryly at him.

"About the same as usual," she says casually.

"So not much at all," he concludes, distressed.

"It is what it is," says Mary philosophically. "Dr Clarkson offered me a sleeping draught, but I don't want to take it. I can't imagine anything scarier than being unable to wake up from one of my dreams. I usually fall back asleep after some time."

"But you're clearly not getting enough rest," says Matthew, his brain busy with desperate search for a solution. "You only stirred a bit when you were napping in my room yesterday, I managed to calm you down pretty quickly."

Mary looks at him seriously as if trying to decide how much to reveal.

"I have different kinds of dreams," she says finally. "Some don't concern you at all and I don't think your mere presence would be enough to help much with those. But there are other dreams…"

She trails off, clearly unsure whether she should tell him more.

"Tell me, darling," he says, locking his eyes intently with hers. "If I can help in any way, I want to know about it."

"Very well," she says, biting her lip briefly before continuing. "There are two kinds of dreams involving you, directly or indirectly. In the first one, something happens to you and I either can't find you or can do nothing to help. If I hear your voice then, or feel your touch, it may get me out of the dream and reassure me that you're alright."

"And the other kind of dreams?" asks Matthew gently, keeping his horror and the guilt at the way the nightmares are plaguing her left hidden to ponder later. Now is the time to focus on her. "How does it involve me?"

Mary takes a deep breath and squeezes his hand.

"They're about the dugout," she says and Matthew inhales rapidly as well, his fingers tightening on hers. This is a nightmare they share. "It's happening all over again. But this is what I dreamt yesterday afternoon. Then I heard your voice speaking to me and I knew you were going to rescue me again, so I didn't have to be afraid anymore."

Matthew swallows, his fingers still laced tightly with Mary's.

"Then come again to nap in my room," he blurts out. "We can't do anything about the nights yet, not until we move to this cottage, but come down after tea and try to sleep until the dressing gong. I promise I will be right beside you and will wake you up as soon as I notice a nightmare starting."

Mary looks up at him in shock.

"But don't you need to lie down yourself? From what I understand, you can't spend the whole day in your chair."

"I will rest between lunch at tea, I promise," swears Matthew, hating the necessity of it with a passion. But as much as he hates it, he will be no good to Mary if he drives himself into a bedsore. "Just come to me afterwards, so I can take care of you."

xxx

Mary comes in with perfect timing, just after he is back from his own tea with the officers, and lies down gratefully on his narrow bed.

"I feel very virtuous," she says, closing her eyes tiredly and grasping his offered hand as he settles his wheelchair by her side. "I ate three pieces of cake with my tea. I dared not even to try refuse Mama when she offered me the third one."

"Your mother can be just as scary as mine," answers Matthew with a smile. "She's just usually more subtle about it."

His smile widens when Mary chuckles softly in agreement.

"She is truly concerned," she admits quietly. "She really wants for this pregnancy to go well and not because of the estate – that's Papa – for us. She is not even half as displeased with me now that she knows."

"She was worried and trying to act in your best interest," says Matthew heavily. "As was everyone else objecting to you marrying me as I am."

She opens her eyes to glare at him.

"Well, they were wrong!" she says fiercely. "And now they know it."

She closes her eyes again.

"I am overjoyed we're going to have a baby," says Matthew in the same heavy tone. "But you have to admit, even with that you won't have anything close to a proper marriage."

"It's going to be proper enough for me," mutters Mary sleepily, but no less fiercely, even if she keeps her eyes closed. "And I won't have you think otherwise."

Matthew sighs, caressing her hand slowly as she falls to sleep.

xxx

When it first starts happening, Matthew can hardly believe it. He writes it down to wishful thinking, bodily memory, psychosomatic reaction, all kinds of things except the one he starts to suspect in complete disbelief. But soon he is certain, there is no doubt that this is real: seven weeks after he became injured, he starts to regain continence. It happens gradually but steadily and within a few further weeks he goes from the first inklings of returned sensation to full control over his bodily functions.

The immediate effects of this development on his daily life are so huge he can barely stop himself from grinning. He doesn't need a live-in nurse anymore. There is no need for a catheter or the blasted nappies, and Matthew doesn't think that anything in his life has ever given him so much satisfaction as ordering Bates to get rid of them. Instead, he adds an urinal to the collection of items on his bedside table and he loves the fact that he is able to use it alone when he needs it. He still needs help to the toilet, of course, which is beyond humiliating, but heaven in comparison to what he's been suffering before and with full conviction that it will never change.

When Clarkson confirms it for himself, he is baffled, but to his credit very happy to be wrong.

"You are very lucky, Captain Crawley," he tells Matthew as Mary and Isobel join them in Matthew's bedroom after the examination. "The lack of need for a catheter is the best possible thing which could have happened to you. As you know, it is the infection from the catheter which is the most common cause of premature death among people with injuries like yours, usually within months from receiving the injury. This development will prolong your life expectancy significantly, not to mention increase your daily comfort, I am very happy to say."

"And it must mean that my injury is an incomplete lesion, like Dr Coates said?" asks Matthew, trying to keep his desperate hope in check and wishing fervently that his mother and wife were not in the room. He doesn't want them to get their hopes up too.

Dr Clarkson winces at the three pairs of eyes looking expectantly at him.

"Yes, it is certain now that your lesion is incomplete. An improvement such as this would have been impossible otherwise."

"So we can expect further improvement, can't we?" asks Isobel and Matthew hates how very hopeful and tremulous she sounds. "When the swelling recedes further?"

"Possibly," answers Clarkson with visible reluctance. "But it is impossible to say what kind and to what degree. Captain Crawley's spinal cord is damaged, we have just learnt that it is not severed completely. Whatever further improvement may come, it is unlikely to be as significant as this one."

Well, there is one area which Matthew would give his arm to improve and it is not walking, but he doesn't dare to hope.

"But you will inform Dr Coates of this development?" asks Isobel, clearly not satisfied with Dr Clarkson's answer. He exhales a weary sigh of a person who must put up with a lot, but nods.

"I will send him my full notes and Captain Crawley's most recent x-rays," he promises, which seems to appease Isobel for now.

It's only when Clarkson and Mother leave that Matthew notices Mary's hands are shaking again and her eyes look haunted.

"What is it, darling?" he asks, immediately alarmed.

"You could have died," she says in a choked voice. "You have been expected to die and I didn't even know."

Matthew swallows, grasping her shaking hands.

"We were being very careful to avoid just that. You know that I have the best care possible, at a level unimaginable for a lot of other soldiers."

"But nobody told me!" cries out Mary, the tremble in her hands increasing alarmingly. "I thought you were safe! Terribly injured but safe."

The wild look in her eyes starts to scare Matthew, so he pulls her gently towards the bed, asking her wordlessly to sit, and caresses her cheek gently as soon as he can reach it.

"I haven't told you because I hardly thought of it myself," he lies and hopes to God he is convincing enough. "Clarkson gave me the news of all possible complications in the same breath he told me I will never be able to make love to you or control my bowels again; believe me darling, I was quite distracted."

"For nearly two months since that conversation?" Mary asks sharply, but before he can think of any defence for keeping it from her – not that he has any – her eyes widen in sudden, wild fear as she stares at him in horror.

"You said all possible complications," she whispers. "What else is there?"

Matthew curses his slip of the tongue bitterly as he desperately tries to both find a way to calm her down and tell her the truth without upsetting her too much. He knows that lying to her is pointless; now that she knows what questions to ask, she will find the answers one way or another.

"None as immediate as potential infection from the catheter," he starts firmly. "That's why Clarkson was so glad. The rest of it is much less likely and long term, and I can minimise the risks if I'm being careful – which I am."

"What are they?" insists Mary in a voice clearly stating that he better start talking or she's not going to be responsible for the consequences.

"Blood clots," answers Matthew reluctantly. "They can happen in immobile limbs. But exercising helps to avoid them and you know that I do exercise."

"And?"

"Bed sores, but this one you know of," she nods, gesturing for him to go on. "There is also a bigger risk of any cold developing into pneumonia, because of inadequate cough."

He doesn't mention potential blood pressure issues or the risk of stroke; he hopes he has given her enough information for her not to search for more.

She nods, her pulse still so rapid that he can see it on her neck, as she tries to absorb it all.

"You should have told me," she says finally, but with more resignation than anger now. "Or if not you, somebody else. Dr Clarkson or your mother, since I assume she knew."

"I haven't talked with her about it either," says Matthew defensively. "But she is a nurse; I assume she knew even before I got injured."

The very last thing he is going to answer her is that he never mentioned the laundry list of things which could finish him off now because he was afraid that he was going to sound glad while talking about it and even in his blackest hours he was aware enough that Mary would like it even less that the dangers of his condition.

She looks at him piercingly.

"Can you promise me there is nothing else you're hiding from me?" she asks fiercely and he caresses her hands with his thumbs as he thinks how to answer it.

"I promise," he says earnestly and mostly truthfully. "There is nothing important I am keeping from you."

But Mary is still looking at him as if she loved nothing more than to be able to open his skull and look directly into his brain.

"Then promise you won't keep anything else from me in the future," she insists, not giving an inch. "Nothing which concerns you or me."

He hesitates briefly, but caves in under her gaze, especially when he feels her tremble increasing the longer she is waiting for his answer.

"I promise, my darling," he vows. "I won't keep anything else from you."