Downton Abbey 1. Chapter 1  Reading

_Author's Note: Many thanks to Cyrillah for betaing this! It's the start of a multi-chapter fic about Matthew and Mary's engagement, mainly focusing on Matthew becoming ready to be married. Matthew's POV._

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><p>Mary was in the library, her head bowed over a book bound in red leather. He relished, as he always did, the sight of her sleek mahogany hair and her look of rapt attention. Admiring at her was much easier when her focus was elsewhere; sometimes her gaze back at him was entirely too piercing to be comfortable.<p>

After a moment, the jig was up and she glanced in his direction, her welcoming smile warm in a way that still surprised him. He had gotten used to seeing her enthusiasm under a damper, whether by the secrets she kept or the commitments that divided the two of them. Now her expressions, though still reserved, were infused with an honesty he hadn't seen before and were made all the more beautiful for it.

"You." He let out a teasing smile as he spoke to her, a strain of surprise in his voice that was only partially invented.

"Yes, and why shouldn't I be here, in my own library?" She replied archly. "No, don't answer that, I know the answer and it's too depressing." She pursed her lips in feigned suffering.

"Are our mothers' plans for the wedding going that well, then?" He asked, coming to sit down on the settee a safe distance from her.

"I think the main problem," she sighed, sweeping imaginary dust from her dress, "is that they are extravagant in entirely different ways. Your mother is bringing patterns and samples from French dress makers who will have me looking like one of Mrs. Patmore's iced fancies, and you're not going to be able to make your way down the aisle past Mama's flower arrangements."

"Oh dear," he groaned. "Makes me grateful that the only responsibility I have is to finalize the wine selection for the toast."

A small smile curled around Mary's lips that seemed entirely unrelated to the subject at hand. "So how are you going to decide on that?" she asked, a faint challenge in her voice.

He shrugged, helplessly. "Rely on the recommendations of your father, I think."

"Very wise," she responded drily.

"Speaking of your father, where is he? We had an arrangement to go look at a bridge that needs some mending, down in the vale."

"I see. Papa's not in any condition for that, I'm afraid, he's gone to bed with a cold."

"Oh dear. Nothing serious, I hope?" He watched her carefully as she spoke, remembering her stoicism when Cora had been struck with Spanish flu. His memory had been like this in the past few months, events came to him like a sunbeam through a gap in the clouds. Memories he had of Lavinia's suffering, of her ministrations while he was an invalid, of their plans for a future together had broken open. Finally he was able to remember Mary's concealed fear at Cora's illness or the times she had said just the right thing to him in the hospital, telling him the truth he could handle but no more. He remembered snatches of their conversation about her marriage plans and his own, and slotted the missing pieces of Pamuk and her desire for his happiness into the memories of her circumspection. Knowing all this, he didn't so much listen to her response about Robert as he watched it - watched the shape of her lips, the line of her jaw, noted whether she met his eyes or looked away.

"Oh, no, I think he'll be alright by tomorrow." Matthew relaxed as he assessed her lack of concern to be genuine. "I could probably show you the bridge if you like, though I think you'll be disappointed. It's only a tiny footbridge, and half of it has already been claimed by the creek. The game keeper will be very grateful to you if it's fixed, though. He has to add three quarters of an hour to his daily rounds with it out of commission."

"That would be nice, I'd like to get started on it before the wedding frenzy has hit in earnest." He paused, reluctantly considering social mores. "You'd better go along and change, first. And shouldn't we bring someone along, Edith, say, or that new groom...Henry?"

Her sigh was faintly exasperated. "It's only at the bottom of the field, I'll just hold up the hem so it doesn't drag on the grass. And I'm so tired of being chaperoned.

His lips twitched in amusement at her pique as they stood and walked to the hall. "Well, I'll just let your mother know where we're going then."

But she stayed him with a touch on his arm. "Better not," she replied briskly. "Easier to ask forgiveness than permission!" With a cheeky smile, she propelled him out the front door.

"Ahh, that's better," she exclaimed as her feet hit the gravel drive. "I hadn't realized I was feeling quite so caged." She linked one hand with his and held her skirt up with the other, and they walked in quiet contentment down the path to the creek.


	2. Chapter 2 Conversing

"Papa has been so pleased at the way you've moved forward with the grounds since we announced our engagement," Mary remarked as they passed the stables and rear entrance.

"Is he?" Matthew felt a bit abashed. "I'm afraid I'm getting credit where it's not due."

"Don't be silly." Mary squeezed his arm. "You've really come along, with the things that matter. And as for the things that don't, well, I expect once he has his bridge back the game keeper will find time to assist you with hunting technique."

Matthew laughed drily. "I wasn't even thinking of my shooting deficiencies, but thank you for reminding me. In truth, I feel I don't deserve the praise because the real reason I quit the job at Ripon and took on more responsibilities here was to see more of you."

He stopped walking and touched her cheek hesitantly with the hand she wasn't holding, and attempted to memorize her still, shining eyes. He heard her breath catch slightly, and she opened her mouth slightly without anything to say. "After all," he heard his voice deepen as he tried to lighten the moment. "Running Downton will be a cinch compared to being a husband for you."

"Are you trying to say that I am more complicated than the estate, or merely more tiring? I'm trying to decide whether I should take offence." She turned with a playful look and he followed her down the sloping path.

"Both, probably." His smile was small and cheeky, and she let him take her arm again as they approached the treeline. "Isn't it odd, Mary? I've loved you in spite of myself for all this time, and now I find there's more to know and understand than I would have thought possible."

"Turn left up ahead, we're almost to the spot." Mary's voice was light and her cheeks reddened, and the corners of her mouth twitched as if he had broken an unwritten rule. Still, he felt egged on by the curious looks she was giving him and her faint smile. "I'm not that daunting, surely?"

"Daunting? Mary, you're impossible!" He stopped walking as they arrived at the bridge and turned to watch her face dappled by the forest light. "For a start, you've got more layers than an onion, and I can only see them in hindsight."

Mary seemed honestly confused by his reference to root vegetables. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

He took one of her hands, cool to the touch. "Well, ever since you told me about Pamuk, I've been thinking." He felt her stiffen and hastened to explain himself. "Not in the way you might think. Knowing what that meant for you, before the war and after you met Carlisle, it changes everything. I couldn't understand you so much of the time, you were so pragmatic. It hurt me that you were willing to marry someone without loving them- I let it hurt me, because I didn't see what was at stake for you."

"But you thought it was right to marry Lavinia?"

"I think perhaps then I didn't know the difference between thinking someone was wonderful and truly loving them." He suddenly became very aware of the stillness and quiet of the wood, and how their voices were scarcely above whispers. "I've been very naive, Mary. I probably still am. That's why, in part, the idea of running Downton one day does not terrify me nearly as much as the idea of making you my wife in three months."

She laughed, then, deep and quiet and slightly breathless. "I wish I could reassure you on that score, then. You are doing a fine job of it." She gently untangled her hand from his and placed them at his temples, framing his face with her fingers.

They stood like that, eyes seeking out those of the other, enjoying the silence of being alone and having this freedom. He placed his hands on her waist and drew her closer. It was an odd feeling, the vibrations he felt when close to her seemed so separate from the way he adored her. He couldn't quite reconcile the desire he felt to be close to her, to stroke her smooth skin and kiss those beautiful lips, with the aching discomfort he experienced when she was in his arms and she kissed him. Trying to bury these doubts, he dipped his head and kissed her gently but firmly.

It was satisfying, particularly the contented sigh that escaped her lips as he kissed her and the softness of her lips as they met his. But then he broke the kiss and kissed her again more firmly, lips pressed tightly together and his arms encircling her, and nothing crescendoed as he felt it should. It was not a new feeling, this sense that the passion he felt was escaping around the edges as they kissed, that he'd missed an essential step in the proceedings. He broke away and looked down at her, and wished he was comforted by her hesitant smile.

He glanced over her shoulder. "I suppose I should look at this bridge, or it will not serve as a very good excuse when I take you back to the house with a soiled hem." He stepped back, squeezing her hands but not meeting her gaze. The timber of the bridge's upright support posts looked horribly decayed, so he gave it an experimental shove and the top of it gave away entirely. "Damn. Looks like it's rotten all through. We'll have to get someone who knows basic engineering and construction, to build a completely new one." He brushed off the slime of the damp wood absently, then dropped his hands carelessly by his sides.

Behind him, Mary finally moved forward. "Yes, it looks as though you're right. It'll be an extra expense, but Papa will think it's worth it I'm sure. Matthew, what's wrong?"

She reached his side and he was belatedly aware that his jaw was slightly clenched. "Oh, I don't know. It's nothing."

"No dear," she contradicted him, briskly. "I'm fairly sure it's not nothing at all." Her eyes were expectant, and he shrugged uncertainly.

"It's just-" He sighed, fighting off a wave of inadequacy. "Mary, when I kiss you..."

"Yes?" She encouraged him with a light touch on his arm.

"Am I terrible at it?"

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><p>Oh, Matthew. :( Do you think his fears are warranted?<p>

Author's Note: Many thanks again to Cyrillah for betaing this!


	3. Chapter 3  Kissing

"No, not terrible. Not at all. Why?"

"But I'm not very...good, am I?" Her hesitation told him what he needed to know, and he couldn't help himself from slumping slightly. "I see. I knew it didn't feel quite right."

"You mustn't let it upset you." Her face was placid and smooth, like a lake when the wind had died. He didn't trust that face, knew that she was attempting to be kind by holding something back.

"How could it not?" He heard his voice becoming strained and faintly bitter, and he fought against it.

"Papa always says that there's little worthwhile in life that one doesn't have to work at." Her voice was a little uncertain, and Matthew did his best to shake off his slighted ego and restore the mood. "We're only a month into the engagement, dear, we do have time to improve," She finished, her lip curled in a slight grin.

"Well, the opportunity to practice is certainly a heartening prospect." He took her hand tentatively, then kissed the back of it impulsively. "I think I'm going to have to commandeer you for this bridge project, even after your father's well. It will provide us time for regular...practice."

Mary wrinkled her nose slightly at the prospect. "Geometry and woodwork are not exactly strong subjects of mine," she began.

"Oh, don't be so gloomy," he chided. He leaned down, his lips against her ear. "Think of it as an escape from guest lists and fittings," he murmured. He stroked her fingers, cradled gently in his hand, with one thumb.

"I suppose that's true," she acknowledged, her voice wavering in a way that betrayed her indifferent words.

Emboldened by her reaction, he gently brushed his lips against her ear, and he was quite surprised at the response it garnered, as he felt a slight shake of her frame and heard a faint gasp. He looked down at her face and noted the parted lips, the flush travelling up her neck. "And besides," he finished, hearing his voice turned deep and raw again from seeing her desire, "I would rank marital compatibility a bit higher than carnation boutonnieres, wouldn't you?"

He pulled her to him, hands firmly on her upper back, as he began slowly kissing her temple, then her jawline, then the blushing skin of her neck. He felt her reply as a vibration inside that beautiful porcelain throat, a gasped "Yes!" that only urged him forward. Wanting to hold the sound there, he pressed his lips harder against the perfect curve where her jawline met her neck. She was so warm and so pliant, and he felt chills down his back as she threaded her fingers through his hair and stroked his face. Here in the woods sound was insulated so that all he heard was their shallow breaths and the quiet noise as his lips touched her skin.

He pulled away slightly, to feast his eyes on her face, so vibrant and eager, and kissed her lips with chaste firmness. "Oh, Matthew," she breathed, and her eyes shut limpidly. But that was all he knew to do, and he drew away, feeling that the territory they were entering was foreign to him but not quite to her, and not knowing how he could make that not matter. How could he kiss her unreservedly, while he feared opening his eyes afterwards and seeing her happiness tempered by a slight disappointment?

He leaned down and kissed her delightfully-perfumed hair, then regretfully stepped away. "They will miss you if we haven't appeared by luncheon," he explained with a small smile that he worried didn't reach his eyes. He extended his arm to her, and she again pulled up the hem of her dress, already damp and muddy, and they set back on the path back to the house.

It had been overwhelming, this boundless need coupled with tantalizing freedom of solitude. It made him realize that one day soon he would escort her into a room and shut the door and be expected to carry out the responsibilities of a husband. Fear was creeping up on him, despite having spent most of the last four years as an engaged man, and he knew why these thoughts would never have crossed his mind with regards to Lavinia but were proving so hard to ignore when he was with Mary. The truth was that he could not bring himself to tell her that, not in so many words. However much Mary might smile, or encourage him with a coy remark, however much adoration he saw in her brown eyes, he had never seen her undone to the extent that she would have abandoned her life's reputation at his touch. He didn't know whether he was capable of bringing her to that point, and he knew it would matter terribly to him if he didn't. He continued to walk with her by his side until the silence felt companionable and not fraught with things unsaid.

As they approached the front of the house, Mary stopped walking and squeezed his arm gently. "Before we go in..."

"Yes?" He glanced down at her and was surprised to see a hint of shyness on your face.

"Well, perhaps you'll think me terribly forward, but I've thought of something you might find helpful." She was fingering her pearl necklace as she did when flirting or embarrassed.

"I'm sure I won't find it forward of you, though if it was I might not mind."

"I just remembered a silly little pamphlet that Anna mentioned once, some of the housemaids were giggling over it in the servant's hall and Carson caught on and confiscated it. It was called 'The Art of Kissing' or something." She glanced up slightly and smiled. "Might not be useful, but at the least it would be amusing to look at, wouldn't you think?"

He was torn between relief that there was a text he could consult and chagrin that he had to admit needing it. "Yes, it might be. Did Anna say- Did the girls seem to find it much help?"

"Oh, I don't think so," she started, her eyebrows arching mischievously. "They focused on the bit about how to shock your lips with an electric battery!"

Matthew couldn't prevent his face from looking stricken. "Crikey."

"But," she hastened to continue, "I'm sure most of it is much more pedestrian. I'll ask Anna if she can fetch it."

Matthew was still reflecting on what could possibly be pleasurable about an electric battery, but a slow realization dawned. "Dear, I don't think I could ever look Carson in the face properly again if he knew that I'd asked-"

She waved away his objection. "We can count on Anna's discretion. And as a married woman, she has more reason to have such a guide than the rest of the staff! Carson's a softie at heart, he won't deny her much that she asks for, with her husband where he is."

He grinned at her wryly and took her hand as they finished their walk up to the house. "Sometimes, Mary Crawley, I am positively terrified by the prospect of you and Anna presenting a united front under my roof. I don't believe that any man has a chance of prevailing when you two are firmly decided."

Mary inclined her head in amused acknowledgement. "I'm just glad that you're resigned to it already!" As they entered the foyer, Cora called from the hall.

"Mary? Where on earth have you been, we were about to give up and start- oh!"

Mary and Matthew swiftly dropped each others' hands and did their best to appear apologetic.

"I'm sorry, Cousin Cora. I came about that bridge repair not knowing Robert was ill, so Mary offered to show it to me." He took off his homburg hat as an afterthought.

"I'm sure she did." Cora's voice held a mild warning, but she didn't look entirely displeased. "You'll stay for luncheon, of course."

Matthew smiled in acquiescence. "Thank you, I'd like that."

Cora smiled briefly. "I expect to hear all about your plans for the bridge." As she swept ahead of them into the dining room, Matthew and Mary shared an abashed look.

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><p><em>Thanks again to Cyrillah for the beta!<em>


	4. Chapter 4 Studying

_Author's Note: The pamphlet described here is a real one, The Art of Kissing by Hugh Morris, that was printed in 1936. I thought that it was very plausible that earlier such writings were kicking around well before then, and have changed some details to suit my purposes. The block quotes are directly from Hugh Morris (sometimes with additions from me), though! Thanks again to Cyrillah for her helpful beta!_

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><p>Several days later, Mary had slipped him a brown package as they said goodnight after dinner, which Matthew declined to unwrap in the car on the way home despite his mother's obvious curiosity. Abruptly changing the subject, he said, "Mary had some unpleasant news tonight."<p>

"Oh dear. What is it?"

Matthew kept his eyes fixedly on the scenery passing by. "Carlisle has got hold of a scandalous story that involves her. He means to publish it in the next few days."

"What?" His mother's voice was rushed and strained, but Matthew didn't care to elaborate more than he had to.

"One of his papers is the Manchester Gazette, so some of our friends from home will probably see it. Hopefully it won't matter to the ones who count, but-" He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

"But surely you can bring a suit against him for libel!" He knew his mother, she was unable to confront any unpleasant situation without thinking of how it could be fixed. While this was normally a positive trait, it was a bit trying tonight.

"Only if he's lying." Matthew bit the words off tightly.

"So the scandal is true, then?"

"In part at least, yes."

"What sort of story is it?" She was using her sharp, deliberate hospital voice, the one he only heard when patients were particularly vulnerable and she was pressing the doctor for more details.

"If you must know, read tomorrow's papers. You aren't going to hear the story from me." His hand tapped with irritation on his knee, mentally urging the motor forward so that the wretched drive could be over.

"I see." Her words were heavy.

"I just wouldn't recommend accepting invitations to dinner from casual acquaintances for the next few months, if you get any," Matthew continued. "And there might be talk you have to contend with in the village."

"Well," said his mother with forced briskness. "I won't read anything about it if you don't want me to."

He didn't respond. It was damnable, knowing the opinion of his family, friends, and associates hung upon their reaction to news that would become public within the day. He had spent the evening's guest list discussion in silence, mentally tallying up the people who would attend their wedding having known about Pamuk before they ever met Mary. There were officers from his regiment, the partners from the firm in Manchester, the odd friend from university who had made it through the war, his mother's extended family. Public opinion or whisperings at society balls he could tolerate - the former had a short attention span, and the latter was increasingly irrelevant. But he had been filled with dread about the wedding since Mary had shown him Carlisle's telegram after dinner. Why couldn't they have just had a small, quiet affair?

"That's a terrible shame, to have something like this put a damper on the wedding plans." It was as if he had spoken aloud. Her tone was full of outrage and hurt for him.

He shook off his feeling of foreboding, embarrassed by his doubts and knowing that he was not being as resolute as he should be. He replied more forcefully than he'd intended. "I'm glad it's happening before we are married. This way no one will think that I wouldn't have married her if I'd known." He couldn't keep the bitterness or the hurt from his voice, and above all he couldn't communicate to her that he was grateful for her understanding, her motherly indignation. After that the drive finished in silence, and Matthew retired upstairs with little else said.

When he had shut the door behind him , he unwrapped the package to find 'The Art of Kissing' by 'A Gentleman Scholar of the Science of Attraction'. On the cover was a print of a man and a woman locked in a fevered embrace. Tearing it open, he scanned the Table of Contents. The chapters had titles like 'Different Types of Kisses,' 'Preparing for the Kiss,' and 'Techniques of Kissing.' It was rather a lot to handle. Matthew thought for a moment that perhaps reading it was going to give him more anxiety rather than less. But he chalked up that feeling to overtiredness, and slipped the leaflet into a drawer on his bedside table.

The next morning he awoke early, and was glad to see with a glance at the wall clock that there was well over an hour before Mother would expect him at breakfast. Sitting up in bed, he slipped the booklet from the table, letting it fall open to an early section. On 'Why Kissing is Pleasant,' the author had this to say:

_"In the first place, two people kiss because they are satisfying a hunger within them, a hunger that is as natural as the hunger for food, water and knowledge. It is the hunger of sex. This hunger is instinctive, that is, we are born with it, all of us, and we cannot learn it or acquire it in any way. Once this hunger for the opposite sex evidences itself, there occurs in the human body what is known as tumescence which, in simple language, is the rhythmical contraction of the various muscles of the body together with the functioning of certain glands not well understood. Gland specialists know, by performing certain operations, that the adrenal, pituitary, gonad, and certain other glands, control the sexual behavior of human beings. As is well known among the eminent psychiatrists, satisfying this sex hunger is essential for producing equilibrium in the mind of young women, the absence of which can result in the development of female hysteria."_

It certainly was a lot of science. And abuse of the common comma. Matthew wished he had a small portion of his father's knowledge of physiology, given all the talk of glands. He thought he understood the bulk of it, though, and it was simultaneously comforting and alarming - comforting in that it spoke reassuringly of the need and legitimacy of urges that he often thought of as dishonorable, that it framed sex as a biological imperative that need not carry shame when conducted within the proper confines of marriage. It was alarming, though, in that it described sexual satisfaction as necessary for a strong marriage, and possibly (he was confused about the last bit) for Mary's health as well.

So he read on. After getting through sections on 'Approved Methods of Kissing' and 'Kissing as a Prelude to Love' (overly didactic and hopelessly syrupy, respectively), he was hopeful that he'd located the real meat of the advice.

_"Don't be afraid to kiss with more than your lips. After your lips have been glued together for some time, open them slightly. Then put the tip of your tongue out so that you can feel the smooth surface of your kissee's teeth. This will be a signal for her to respond in kind. If she is wholly in accord with you, if she is, truly, your real love mate, then you will notice that she, too, has opened her lips slightly and that soon her teeth will be parted. Then, if she is all that she should be, she should project the tip of her tongue so that it meets with the tip of yours. Heaven will be in that union!"_

He imagined Mary's mouth opening under his, recalled her little gasp of pleasure as he caressed her a few days previously. Perhaps this was what she had been waiting for. Well, that would be a good start. He tucked the book back in its drawer and rang the bell for Molesley.

Down at the breakfast table, Matthew was aware of his mother's excessive carefulness and artificially restricted conversation. It would only last as long as she was stumped. Soon she would think of something with which to foil Sir Richard's intentions, and he would have no peace until he entertained it. That was, unless he redirected her energies.

"Mother, I wonder if you might have some of father's books here related to female hysteria and its treatments." He assiduously buttered some toast as he asked.

When she spoke, she sounded taken aback. "Well, it wasn't a particular specialty of your father's, no. But there's bound to be something regarding it in one of your father's texts. What did you need it for?"

Matthew had to try extremely hard not to shift uncomfortably. Generally when he wanted to get information from Mother without giving her too many details, he said it related to a case. Of course, that rationale wouldn't serve now. "It was just mentioned in something I was reading, and I realized I didn't know much about it."

"I see." His mother sounded like she saw more than Matthew would have liked her to. "Well, I can give you the Ashwell volume, certainly, but to be honest I recommend talking to Dr. Clarkson. He'll just answer any...specific questions you have, without wading through the things that you might prefer not to know about."

"Hmm, perhaps I will." With a look of unconcern, Matthew swiftly redirected the conversation to her plans for that day and the upcoming wedding.

A few hours later, when Matthew ducked his head through Dr. Clarkson's office door, the good doctor did not look at all surprised to see him. "Matthew, come in."

"I had some questions, if you have a minute," Matthew explained unasked. Dr Clarkson nodded and indicated for Matthew to seat himself. "I've been reading something and it mentioned female hysteria." He took a seat in the leather chair opposite the desk. "And I was just wondering-"

"Yes, yes," the man cut him off smoothly. "Your mother mentioned you might be by. And I'm happy to answer any specific questions you may have, but I was wondering if it might be a good time to speak more generally."

"About?" Matthew pulled up short.

"Well, your father died when you were quite young, yes?" Matthew nodded uncomprehendingly. "And you'll be married soon to Lady Mary. I wondered if it might be a good time to talk about sexual health and the," here Matthew began to cringe, "...intimate aspects to marriage."

Matthew shifted. "We did get training in the army, prophalactics, how to avoid VD, that sort of thing. The men could visit brothels if they chose."

"And did you? Choose?"

Matthew's mouth was dry. "No."

"So," continued Dr. Clarkson persistently. "I thought you might have questions."

Matthew sighed. "Look, I think perhaps my mother has given you rather the wrong idea. My education has been perfectly adequate on the mechanical side of marital duties." He found annoyance rising in him, fighting somewhat with the overwhelming feeling of embarrassment.

"So you have no uncertainties regarding it, then?" The good doctor was poor at concealing his skepticism.

"No." Matthew rather doubted that stylistic pointers were Dr Clarkson's forte.

"Well," the man said briskly, "We can discuss your specific questions, then, but first I'd like you to allow me to perform another physical exam on your spinal response. You've not needed the cane for awhile now, is that correct?"

"Three months," Matthew said, brightening at a happy shift in topic.

"It all seems like it's coming along well, but I notice you still have a slight hesitation in your step, so let's go see if Nurse Trevor has a spare examining bed we can use."

In the ward, Dr Clarkson set to testing the places that had become so familiar to Matthew - the back of his ankle, the tap of the hammer below his kneecap, pricks at his skin down his legs and feet.

"Your responses are continuing to improve slightly, but your right leg is still a little less responsive than the left. You may always have a slight limp, I'm afraid." Dr Clarkson stood up and put the reflex hammer back in his medicine bag."

Matthew rolled his trouser legs back down. "I barely notice it."

"Good. And everything else? The sexual reflexes work like they did before the war? Usual signs of arousal?"

Matthew was very glad they had been in one of the curtained compartments. He remembered his body's response as Mary whimpered in the woods, his mouth on her neck. "Yes, that's...fine."

"Excellent!" The doctor's voice took on a cheery note. "Keep me apprised of any changes, but I think we can consider you out of the woods and cleared for duty."

"Thank you," replied Matthew. He was growing restless and suspected that, as per usual, he was over-thinking things. Somewhere between the clinical descriptions in the book and the detachment in Dr Clarkson's voice, his nervousness and anticipation over intimacy with Mary had been warped into somewhat of a chore. Dr Clarkson couldn't tell him what he needed to know, and probably no book could either. He made a show of remembering something, and checked his watch. "Better run actually, I'm afraid. I've got an arrangement to see Robert and Mary shortly."

Dr Clarkson nodded and they walked through the hospital corridor together. As Matthew reached the door, the doctor remarked "Everyone has jitters, Matthew, worries about performance. I wouldn't let it trouble you. Often the best times in a marriage are when you don't know all the secrets yet."

Matthew felt himself flush, but he smiled all the same. He mused on the doctor's last words as he turned left up the footpath that led to the estate. Perhaps he had been too focused lately on the painful secrets instead of the ones that would be a joy to discover. He thought of Mary's face framed by tall birch trees, heavy-lidded with desire, and felt a frisson of heat and tension.


	5. Chapter 5 Practicing Part 1

Robert, when Matthew arrived, was bounding with the energy of the recently-recovered and already in his walking tweed. "My dear chap," he exclaimed, unaware that Matthew had arrived a full forty minutes before their arranged meeting time. "Shall we get down to the bridge then? Have you given any thought to my recommendations about who should do the repairs?"

Matthew did his best to let him down gently. "Actually, I was needing to talk to you about that. Would you mind terribly if you were kept in the dark a bit?"

Robert's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Whatever do you mean, Matthew?"

Matthew shifted his tack slightly. "Mary and I would really like to see if we could handle this ourselves, as a sort of practice for married life."

Robert settled back on his heels, and Matthew had the impression he was casting about for some more context.

"We spoke about it when you were ill the other day, and well, we both feel that it would be good for us to try and muddle through on our own. It'll be a bit of a test, a wedding present to Downton." Matthew found himself smiling entreatingly. He regretted quite earnestly the look of disappointment in the other man's eyes.

"And Mary's keen?" There was a strong current of disbelief in Robert's voice.

"Yes, surprisingly. I'm free to work on estate matters full-time now, after all. So there'll be plenty of time to devote to both the grounds work and any other house matters." He saw Robert hesitating, on the verge of being offended or disheartened. "Perhaps you'd like me to help sit in on the interviews for second footman? I'd be interested in your advice about choosing household staff."

Robert's energy seemed to return, and his face brightened. "Of course I'd like your help! There's been a daunting number of replies already. I fear it shows that there are a great many men back from France who haven't yet found an appropriate position."

Matthew nodded, resigning himself to the depressing task of reading and rejecting veterans' resumes in exchange for the possibility of private time with Mary. "How is she, today?" It wasn't just an attempt at redirection. Matthew had heard from Carson as he arrived that there had been a temporary switch to the New York Times at the breakfast table, and that they'd unplugged the upstairs phone for the time being. He wasn't aware that anything unpleasant had happened to instigate these precautions, but he was grateful for them all the same.

Robert tilted his head uncertainly. "Alright I suppose, but she's jumpy. We all are." Their conversation came to a standstill, and they caught each other's eye awkwardly. They'd never talked together about the Pamuk story directly, and neither was particularly eager to start now.

"The thing is, I think it might do Mary good-" Matthew corrected himself rapidly. "It might do us both good to have a project to occupy us for the next few weeks."

Robert stared at him, and his gaze was both appreciative and impressed. "You're right, of course," he started, his speech slow and accepting. "I'll let Trenton, the groundskeeper, know that you and Mary will be taking charge of it. He'll have some suggestions of skilled local men we've used before."

Matthew smiled as he thanked him, and caught a glimpse of Mary over her father's shoulder as she slipped into the library.

"So, it's settled then?" She tilted her head slightly at him with a smile, and Matthew returned it impulsively. She didn't look like a woman harried by scandal and shame. "Excellent. I fancy a ride today. Let's take the horses to Trenton's cottage and then visit his recommendations in the village."

Matthew shared a rueful smile with Robert. "My lady calls," he murmured, putting his hat on again and raising it in his direction.

"Indeed," Robert replied, his voice showing only a faint hint of his earlier disappointment. "You two had better be back for luncheon, or we'll all catch it from her Ladyship."

"I will make sure we are," responded Matthew, feeling a thrill go through him at the prospect of so much private time with his fiancee.

* * *

><p>Matthew found himself thinking longingly about luncheon several hours later, but he and Mary were immersed in the ideas for the bridge and the whole plan was getting alarmingly complicated. Trenton, the groundskeeper, had anticipated them and invited a local farmer's son to the meeting. His name was Harold Cooper, and he'd worked in the Taurus Mountains during the war, doing repairs on the Baghdad Railway that had been so critical for bringing oil to the frontlines.<p>

"Ah won't be much use for the heavy lifting," Harold had started apologetically, gesturing to his stump of a left arm, "but ah could draw up some good plans fer it."

"Of course you could," replied Mary, but behind her brisk tone something was melting, Matthew could hear it. "But it seems too simple a task for someone with your work experience."

Matthew slowly raised his head as Harold began to stammer a protesting response. He saw the quirk at the edge of his lips and held his tongue.

"I mean to say, Mr. Cooper, that of course we'd like you to draft plans for the bridge, but have an idea for some additional work that you could assist us with."

Harold's relieved response was lost on Matthew as he blurted out "We do?"

Mary looked ever so slightly bashful. "Yes, I think we should build a little gazebo there, a small folly. It's for my mother, mainly, and Edith. It's a lovely spot, but there's nowhere to sit and enjoy it, and with all the mud about, their clothes are liable to get soiled." Here they shared a fleeting guilty look at the memory of her dirty hem and their brief clinch in the very spot they were discussing.

"I think it's a wonderful idea," he said, his heart welling up unaccountably.

"But will the sum Papa gave us stretch to it, do you think?"

"Not at all," Matthew replied with certainty, but added "I'll cover it, though. Given your father's generosity, Mother and I have been working the past several years with little to spend our income on."

Mary smiled gratefully. " We will have to make sure to mention to Granny that it was hard honest work that financed our masterpiece, once she's admitted she adores it!"

And so their three heads bowed once more over the drafting table and vellum, until the designs for a gazebo with sitting benches had begun to take shape and the sun was high in the sky. It was only when Matthew's stomach had begun to gurgle uncomfortably that he thought to look at his watch.

"Crikey, look at the time!" he exclaimed in dismay. "Mary I'm afraid we are going to be _very_ late. Mr. Cooper, do you have enough to work with for the moment, do you think?"

"Of course, sir." Harold started blotting the ink with neat movements and cleaning off his nibs, as Trenton returned with their outerclothes and hats. Matthew fairly bustled Mary out the door, with growing alarm at the thought of an enraged Cousin Cora.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading and sorry for the long wait. This is just an intermediate chapter, because this one got a little extended for a single chapter! Hope it's going in an interesting direction... Beta thanks go again to Cyrillah.<p> 


	6. Chapter 6 Practicing Part 2

Once they were back on their horses, Matthew could sense Mary's tension - impatience, perhaps, or her thoughts returning to the newspapers her friends would be reading. She spoke little, and allowed Diamond to press impatiently in front of Penny on the trail. Matthew, having been strongly exhorted by Dr Clarkson to pursue horseback riding with care, was alert to the slight ache in his back and was keeping Penny on a short rein despite their tardiness. His requests for a slower pace were their only attempts at conversation for the first several minutes.

"What gave you the idea for the gazebo?" He ventured eventually.

Mary murmured noncommittally. "Nothing particularly. I just thought the view could do with a bit more comfort."

"I liked the alterations you made to Mr Cooper's designs. You have a good eye for shapes."

Mary made no reply, but watched the trees as they passed by them.

Matthew was clutching at straws. "And it's good of you to think of doing something particularly for Edith."

"Matthew," Mary stated, warningly.

"What?"

"Stop being so tender to me," she snapped. "Don't you imagine I got enough of that this morning? The house feels like it's in half-mourning. Edith almost started crying at breakfast."

"I wasn't-I just meant-"

"It's just a little drawing," Mary steamrollered him, dismissively. "Mr. Cooper did the real work. Don't patronize me."

Any response Matthew could have offered sounded weak and pleading even to him, and he did not attempt one. Instead, he ground his teeth slightly and they continued on the route back to Downton. It must be nearing 2pm, he mused, and whatever prickliness he was experiencing with Mary would be a slight discomfort compared to what he faced with Cora. He had not quite expected the rigidity of the protocol that had descended after he and Mary had announced their engagement, had been dismayed by the way in which it somewhat changed their relationship to a more tentative and public affair, bounded by chaperones and segregated by wedding preparations.

If Mary felt this way, not just the chafing of the interminable meetings about church decorations or dining patterns, she did not show it. In fact, it felt like she was waiting for something from him, that the tentativeness he felt was simply her expecting something that was due from him. When he felt impelled by circumstance and emotion to speak of his feelings, as he had done by the bridge the other day, she had egged him on while emanating unconcern. He hadn't expected this, the feeling that everyone else read from a script he hadn't read. But, in a way, it was also familiar, like each one of his transitions into this grand life among his stately family.

It was a self-pitying line of thought, and a quick glance at Mary brushed such concerns aside, at least for the minute. Even given their careful pace, Mary's cheeks were flushed and her breathing more deep than he had seen it before. Exercise suited her, and her smile was leonine as she leant down, whispering sweet nothings to Diamond and occasionally indulging the horse's desire for a looser rein. She slapped the reins, tossing her head at Matthew as she did so, and her horse enthusiastically left the path and trotted through the adjacent woods instead. Feeling stung by her coolness, Matthew accepted the unspoken challenge and took advantage of her slower progress through the stand of trees to encourage his own mount. The ungainly motion of trotting gave his back the occasional spasm of pain, almost electric, but it relieved some of the tension he felt. When he heard Diamond's hooves hit the path again, they were behind him.

"It seems the gentleman would like to race, Diamond," came her haughty voice at last. "Perhaps his earlier protests were an attempt to lure us into a false sense of security." Diamond came alongside Penny, so close that Mary's leg jostled his for a moment. When sitting in saddle and wearing a top hat, she was every inch as tall as he was, and he looked at her in awe and appreciation. They felt so much closer than they would do at the same distance on a Downton settee, and Matthew felt a wave of lust at her reddened lips and strong pose. Here was the woman he had met eight years ago, strong and frightening and as beautiful as a goddess.

"Hardly," he replied, his voice breathless from more than the burst of speed. "Actually, my back's playing up a bit. Could we dismount for a bit?"

"Certainly," she replied, in that smooth voice that he knew heralded concealed concern on her part. Removing all the slack from the reins, Mary lifted herself and in a single movement swung her right leg over, dropping gracefully onto the ground. When Matthew made a move to do the same, she said. "I'll hold Penny for you. I didn't think, riding must be quite hard on your spine. I'm sorry I didn't bring Lynch, we've got no step to help with dismounting here."

Matthew grimaced slightly as he shifted his weight to his left foot and began to slide slowly over the side of the horse with considerably more effort than Mary had. "Nonsense, I'm perfectly able to manage." He felt Mary catch hold of his arm and support him as he lowered himself.

"Of course you are." Her mouth was just by his ear as his toes touched the ground, and her voice purred with amusement and a hint of teasing.

"Now you're just humouring me, I must look a sight." He belied his rueful words with a playful sideways glance. She made to drop Penny's reins and lead the horses off the path, but he stopped her by placing his hands on either side of his face. "You, on the other hand, look magnificent." He enjoyed her look of surprise at the ardent compliment for just a second, then captured her mouth with his. She wasn't expecting his momentum and was pushed slightly against Penny, who whinnied in response. Ignoring the horse, Matthew enjoyed the velvet texture of her lips and the pressure of her body against him. He dropped his hands to her hips and pulled her closer, enjoying her expression of surprise and his own feeling of hunger. He released her lips for just a second, only to capture her lower one briefly again and suck on it gently. The quiet gasp he elicited made him smile teasingly against her mouth, and he felt her hands on the back of his neck come up to angle his face as they touched.

"You must tell me what you want," he told her, his voice deep and lilting. Her fingertips were stroking the back of his neck, and he felt goosebumps and heat simultaneously where she touched him.

She let of a sound of pleasurable frustration. "For you to kiss me again, of course." His responding laugh was throaty.

"Like this?" He left breathy kisses at her jawline, her ear, the side of her mouth, savouring her as all his recent reading had taught him. She was deliciously warm after their ride, and he noticed with reverence the way a flush travelled along her skin where he had kissed her.

"Mm," she assented.

"What about..." He brought on of his hands from her waist to her cheek, and stroked it with his thumb. Then he dipped his mouth to her lips again, catching her mouth slightly open and enjoying the layering of their lips together. It felt like sinking into her. Mary sighed quietly, almost wistfully, and behind him Diamond nickered softly in response. He continued to stroke her face and throat, enjoying the pressure of her leaning slightly into his touch. Then tentatively, awkwardly, he allowed his tongue to come forward in his mouth and slide gently against her lips. Her intake of breath was sharp, and for a second he thought she had found it unpleasant or unwanted. As he was about to pull away, though, he felt her mouth ease open encouragingly. He flicked his tongue deeper into her mouth and she shuddered gently.

It was so foreign, this feeling of exploring someone's body in this way. In one sense it felt invasive, wrong, but Mary's lips were so soft and the slight friction of their mouths was so satisfying. Then, Mary's hand pulled him forward, deepening the kiss, and as Matthew felt her tongue slide against his, a flame of intense need burned through him.

"Yes!" Mary's voice was shaky and rushed and he had entirely forgotten that he had asked her a question. He felt warmth spreading from his lower belly up through his shoulders and arms and down through his legs, bringing with it a shakiness and a need he couldn't fill. Mary, too, seemed slightly unsteady, and Matthew brought one arm around her waist to pull her towards him more firmly.

The path suddenly felt quite quiet, and the redness that he felt filling his cheeks was a mixture of embarrassment and need as he heard the slight noise of their lips touching and sliding together. The sensation exacerbated the deep feeling of emptiness in his gut, and he sought to fill it by holding her even closer. Mary finally initiated a break in their embrace, not to rise back in approbation but to press the smallest of kisses around his mouth and to caress the tip of his nose with hers. The softness and shyness of their touching was entrancing and unbearable simultaneously, and he could not hold himself back for long before he captured her little red mouth with his once again, urging her lips apart so he could satisfy himself and her with deep languorous kisses.

* * *

><p>In all his conversations with Dr Clarkson, in all his worries of his performance and his ability to make Mary happy, he had not once thought to imagine what pitfalls might befall them if she was his truly - satisfied but wanting more, making soft pleading noises in the back of her throat. It was a result he'd barely dared to hope for, but now he felt his body beginning to betray him in a new and unanticipated way and he knew that somehow or other their touches must end soon.<p>

He drew his head away reluctantly, feeling every second the pull to lead her from the path and enter into all sorts of wickedness under the afternoon sun.

"We must stop Mary."

She opened her eyes only partly, looking slightly drunken and elated by the intimacies they shared. "Must we?" She inquired archly. "By the looks of things we have entirely missed luncheon so there is no great deadline until the dressing gong goes."

He felt himself twitch against her as he imagined kissing all of Mary in the late afternoon hours of this spring day, imagined his fingertips trailing along her stockings and underneath her riding dress.

"You know why we can't stay here, Mary. Don't shame me by making me say it out loud." He folded his hands on top of hers that were reaching again for his lips, and tried to conjure a rational and dispassionate tone. Instead, he heard himself whisper, in a hoarse and raw voice that belied his noble words. "Please."

Mary's fingers stroked the palms of his hands, and he found himself flinching as if struck with a hot poker. "I don't see that you have anything to be ashamed of."

"But I might do," he ground out, feeling to his embarrassment the length of him stiffening between them, "if we don't leave."

"No affianced woman," began Mary liltingly, standing on tiptoes in order to whisper suggestively into his ear, "would consider it shameful that her betrothed should show his need of her." Her shift in position had put even more of her body weight on him, and Matthew's senses were overwhelmed with the pressure of her body and the imprint of her silhouette on his humming frame.

Aware minutely of his foolishness, he bent his lips to hers and rubbed her lower lip, gently at first by then with more pressure, between his. Despite her flippant tone she bit back a high moan at the renewed contact, and she dropped his hands to rake her fingers roughly through the hair at the nape of his neck. The contact sent fire along his neck and one of his ears, gently brushed by her thumb.

He repaid the attention, tracing the shape of her left ear with one thumb and index finger as he dipped his tongue into her mouth with tentative movements. He was rewarded by an immediate stiffening in her body, and a deep flush crept up her neck as he continued his ministrations.

In the end, it was only his back that drew them back from the precipice with a more severe twinge this time, one that spoke reproachfully of his overexertion on horseback minutes ago and the bizarre, stiff postures he had inflicted on himself as he and Mary clung together. He was unable to prevent the tremor that ran through him, nor the sharp gasp that she immediately distinguished from his earlier moans of pleasure.

"You _are_ hurt," she cried accusingly, stepping away and looking him up and down as if afraid she would see some damage.

"Just a little twinge," Matthew replied defensively, but then admitted, "I don't think going back on horseback is a good idea, though, you'll have to go ahead and ask them to bring the motor." He felt horror at the thought of being rescued by a party from Downton.

"So it hurts to walk, then?" Mary was standing with a slightly lost look in her eyes, her gaze switching between the path ahead and his face. Matthew gingerly walked a few steps ahead, using Penny's lead as a support.

"Not terribly, darling, but I'll hold you up and you can ride fast without me - save the others from being concerned."

He was extremely familiar with the look of authority that slid back into place on her face. "We'll walk if you can, at whatever pace is comfortable. If Papa is worried, he'll send some people looking for us." It was not a statement that invited dispute, and Matthew found his arm brusquely taken as she supported part of his weight with her forearm. He couldn't say it wasn't a pleasant way to walk, the scent of her hair perfuming the air and the warmth of her body still noticeable in their current alignment. Still, it was not fraught with the same ardent suggestion of a few moments ago, and a great part of him found that relieving. The other part, however...the other part missed that sensation deeply.

They walked on, and Matthew felt his back ache intensify when one of the horses nudged him, or if his feet caught on a root in the path, and his gait was awkward. He knew Mary was aware of their slow progress but she would not relinquish her plan of delivering him safely home, and he was too proud to be assisted back to Downton like an invalid. Matthew stole a look at her face, unpitying and strong and outwardly serene. He was sure somehow that this was the first time all day her thoughts had truly slipped from the morning newspapers, and found some reluctant gratitude for his current predicament.

"I think I'm getting better at this," he announced cheerily.

Mary's relief was palpable. "Walking? Does your back feel better?"

"No," he replied teasingly. "At kissing."

Mary swatted his arm in irritation. "Oh. That." She gave him a rueful but amused sidelong glance. "Yes, I rather think you are."

* * *

><p><em>Hope that was a little more movement than you've had so far in this very tentative fic! Matthew is starting to get his game on...Thanks again to Cyrillah for the beta.<em>


End file.

Downton Abbey, Romance