Downton Abbey 1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello! Before you start to read, I just want to say that this chapter contains a lot of the dialogue that actually happened on the show, but it was necessary to get the story where I wanted to. The next chapters will have a different pace, I promise! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!**

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**Everything Is Not Lost: chapter** **1**

She was heading for her room when she heard it. The song was coming from the great hall and, as soon as she approached it, there he was; standing so tall and handsome right by the gramophone. _How she loved him, how she wished she could have him, comb her fingers through his golden hair, tell him how she felt_. But no, that would be wrong. _What right did she have? He was engaged and his fiancée had fallen ill only hours ago, how could she even consider this at such a time? _She took a deep breath and descended the stairs, unable to stay away from him however much she wanted to. Not wanted, never wanted; _tried_.

"Where is everyone?" she asked as she approached him.

"I'm not sure," he replied, "Cousin Violet has gone home."

"What about you?"

"I'm waiting for Lavinia and Mother."

_Oh Lavinia, of course_, she remembered sadly. "Doctor Clarkson wants Lavinia to stay here, he'll see her tomorrow," she told him. "I don't know this one," she noted as she heard the song that played.

"Actually, I rather like it," he smiled shyly, "I think it was in a show that flopped, Zip Goes a Million or something," he said and looked at her, hesitantly asking her to dance after a few moments. He knew he ought to be strong, but he just couldn't resist after seeing her so close to him; he just needed to touch her, to feel her scent, to hold her.

_He wanted to dance with her_, she thought and her blood went cold. If she was honest, that was all she wanted too, but wouldn't it be wrong? Of course it would. They were both committed to other people, how could she even consider this, especially when they were alone. But then again, it was Matthew standing right in front of her, _her_ Matthew, and who would see them? And so she haltingly took his hands, the thrill of his touch washing through her whole body.

"Can you manage without your stick?" She asked him, trying not to think that she was there, dancing with _him_ and that that would most likely be her last opportunity to do so before he was married. Married to another woman, married to _Lavinia_, who had fallen ill in her own house. _How wrong all of this was_.

"You're my stick." He smiled.

_Of course he didn't mean anything_ _more_, she lied to herself. He was merely saying that he would support on her, wasn't he? Even so, she had to say something; "we were a show that flopped," she smiled, trying to, once again, conceal her feelings from Matthew.

The truth to her words felt like a sharp knife ripping through his skin. Of course they had been a show that flopped, how could they not? They had always been so stubborn and proud and now their story was, indeed, coming to an end. _If only he had fought for her…_

"Oh God, Mary, I'm so, so sorry," _if she only knew how much_, "You know how sorry I am." He said and thought of how he dreamed of being able to hold her like this, but freely, without fear or guilty; how he wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to tell her that how he felt, to tell her that he _loved_ her. But he couldn't. He had committed to Lavinia and he would honor his word, _he had to_. Besides, how could he be sure of Mary? Did she love him back?

"Don't be," _if only she hadn't been to stubborn back in 1914_, "it wasn't anyone's fault – and if it was, it was mine." _Of course it was hers_, she admitted to herself, _how could it not be? If only she hadn't been so proud back in the garden party, or if she had been brave enough to tell him how she truly felt, and now, now he wouldn't ever know_.

"You know, cousin Violet came to me – told me to marry you," he said carefully, waiting for her reaction. Could she still love him? The Dowager Countess couldn't be so wrong, could she? If she had come to him, she must have seen something that he hadn't.

"When was this?" she felt dizzy and her heart felt as if it would explode, but she tried her best to keep her _Lady Mary_ facade.

"A while ago – when we knew I would walk again," he replied, still studying her closely.

"Classic Granny," was all she could say without giving her feelings away, "what did you say?" She regretted the question and soon as she asked it, after all she knew he couldn't love her like he did before the war. But she needed to know. It didn't matter how painful it'd be, she needed to be sure of his feelings before she could try to accept their fate and move on.

"That I couldn't accept Lavinia's sacrifice of her life, he children, her future and then give her the brush off when I was well again," he gazed at her and saw a hint of love, expectation and even sadness in her face, "I couldn't, could I?"

"Of course not," _did that mean he still loved her?_ She suddenly felt dizzy again.

"However much I might want to," he looked at her and saw the true Mary, not Lady Mary, but that vulnerable girl from 1914 again and, suddenly, a wave of genuine love washed through his body and he realized that he couldn't lie anymore. That not even his sense of honor would be able to keep him away from _her_.

"Absolutely not," she started, but before she could think or even say anything else, his lips found hers and they shared a long, sweet kiss. A kiss that had been on hold since that day in the concert, when Matthew came back to Downton with Lavinia and when he realized what a fool he'd been and when she finally admitted to herself all she had lost.

"No," she said as they broke apart, "we can't."

"Mary," he gazed at her and she saw that boy that proposed to her so long ago; that boy with such love and eagerness in his eyes.

"Oh Matthew," she took his hand in hers, "you know yourself we carry more luggage than the porters at King's Cross."

"But what if I had taken Cousin Violet's advice?" his voice carried so much hope and love that she thought she would faint. And then she couldn't help but to look right into his deep blue eyes; those same eyes that had been so angry before and that now showed nothing but adoration.

"Matthew," was all she could manage to say, the look on her face imploring him not to hurt her again. She knew that over much as they might love each other, they couldn't be together, not anymore. There were too much separating them; too much hurt, too many lies, Richard, Lavinia, _Pamuk_…

"Mary, please," he kissed her hand, "if there was no Lavinia, no Richard, only me and you, what would you say?"

_Was he saying what she thought he was?_ Her heart was beating so fast, her legs trembling and suddenly she just couldn't find her voice, so she kissed him. She stepped closer to him, put her arms around his body and kissed him, so passionately and full of love that it didn't leave any doubts as to her feelings.

As their kiss deepened, his hands moved from her back, to her waist and then to her sides and they both realized that they couldn't control themselves anymore. The need, the attraction they felt for one another stronger than anything they had ever experienced; stronger than their sense of property, than the fear of being caught, than their sense of honor towards Richard and Lavinia…

"Not here," she stopped and put her hands on his chest as he begun to unbutton her dress.

"Mary," his voice begged her not to stop, his eyes showing all the desire he felt.

But then she smiled and took his hands, leading him to a corridor a few doors past the Library.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Just follow me," she grinned teasingly as she guided him.

A few moments later they entered a dark room full of books and paintings, a room he had never been before and that he had no idea that even existed.

"Where are we?" he asked, his tone clearly tense, as she started to unbutton his shirt.

"Papa's personal collection," she replied as she turned towards him and begun to kiss him again.

"What if someone sees us? What if Mother decides to look for me?"

"No one's going to see anything. Your mother is with Lavinia, Papa is with Mama and both Sybil and Edith have gone up to bed."

At her reassurance, they finally gave in to desire and allowed their kissed and caresses to deepen as the door closed behind them.

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A/N: Soooo... Mary and Matthew finally realized that their desire for one another was strong than any other feeling they had. What do you think? Would you like me to go on? Please let me know your thoughts!

And by the way, yes, the title of this story is the same as that song from Coldplay because that song says a lot of where I want to go on the next chapters.

Xx


	2. Chapter 2

**Everything Is Not Lost: chapter** **2**

As the door closed behind them, they kissed ravenously, as if, at that moment, they could make up for all the years they'd wasted. Driven by instinct, they sunk in each other's arms and, as Matthew trailed kisses through her neck, gently sucking her soft skin and breathing the sweet smell of her, Mary worked on his shirt, impatiently trying to unbutton it, when, in reality, the last thing she wanted was to be polite. When she finally released him from his clothes, she noted, however, the marks from that horrid war on his body and it pained her to think of what he had been through those past few years. _If only she could have been there to help him, to hold him_. And so she gently put her hand to his chest and trailed her fingers along his old injuries, as if she could, somehow, make everything better. When he noticed her hesitation, he grabbed her hands and kissed them, "it's alright," he said and put his hand on her cheek, gently stroking it with his thumb before kissing her again.

He clutched the back of her dress and pushed her against the door. Hot desire spread through her body and she gasped at the thrill of his touch. She wanted to be his, utterly his and so she gave in completely. Her hands were all over him, his chest, his arms, his shoulders and then they finally found their way to his paints as she started to unfasten his belt whilst he tried to free her from her dress. As their clothes fell to the floor, Matthew trailed kisses all over her naked body, amazed by her beautiful figure, making her moan in pleasure, "Matthew."

They held each other tighter and tighter, he groaned into her mouth and she bit his lip, their tongues dancing together. She pressed him harder against her body and her lips found their way from his own to his neck and up to his ear, and he moaned as her hot breath tickled his skin.

Without letting go of one another, they moved towards the couch and he crawled on top of her, every inch of his body covering hers. For a brief second, she put her hands to his face and held it, gazing into his beautiful, loving blue eyes. At that moment, they saw how right all of that was. How right _they_ were.

He held her against him and leaned to press his lips to hers again. As they lay there, her hips on his, she was finally his and he was finally hers – utterly and completely. As it should have been years ago – as it should have always been.

* * *

"Marry me," he said and pressed a kiss to her head as they lay together. Matthew on his back with his arm around her and her head pressed against his chest.

"What?" he caught her off guard.

She felt glorious after being with him. He had done things to her that she had never believed one could do and now, now she couldn't imagine a life without Matthew, without being like this – their bodies pressed together, the thrill of his touch, the urge of his kisses. The madness of their bodies together, their lips touching, their tongues dancing, seeking what they never thought they would have together. The utter bliss and love of just laying there, her head on his chest as she could hear his heart beating and feel his chest rise and fall as he breathed in and out. _But how could they have that?_ She realized how hasty they had been as everything from their past, and present, came rushing to her mind. What about Lavinia? Richard? And… _Pamuk_. And she felt her blood go cold and her face fall as she realized the implications of her imminent confession.

"Marry me," he said again as he turned to her and started to press tender kisses to every part of her body he could reach… Her face, her lips, her nose, her ears, her neck, her breasts.

"Matthew," she half groaned, half protested. He stopped and gazed at her, the look on his face clearly searching for some kind of explanation. "What about Lavinia? Richard?" she asked.

"She's not seriously ill," he said as he continued to kiss her, "I'll wait for Doctor Clarkson to give her clearance and then I'll break it off with her. God help me Mary, but I can't live a day more without you."

"Matthew," Mary's voice trembled and she could already feel the tears the threatened to fall from her eyes, "there's something you don't know."

"Mary," he stopped kissing her and stared right into her eyes, the look on his face so similar to the hurt on that boy's eyes back in 1914.

"When you withdrew your proposal," she hesitated, "what my aunt said was not the only reason for my delay."

"What do you mean?"

"I listened to some of what she said, it's true – but you see, I did want to accept you," she laughed nervously, "I even told her you might end up Lord Chancellor one day."

"So what happened?" she noticed a hint of fear in his tone.

"When you proposed to me, there was something you didn't know and – and I felt, I feel, that if I didn't tell you what, I'd feel as if I had caught you with a lie."

"Surely it cannot be as bad as that," he said.

"You see, I didn't tell you back then, when I asked you to wait, because if you knew the reason you'd despise me and that I really couldn't bear."

"Even so, please tell me," the look on his face so hopeful, so naïve. And her heart ached because she could literally see what she was about to crush.

"Do you remember the Turkish diplomat who stayed at Downton before the war?" she shut her eyes to prevent the tears from falling.

He nodded and she told him. She finally told him everything.

"Please say something," she begged him as the minutes went by and he remained silent.

"Was it love?" he asked as he sat up to look at her, who was now standing next to the window, avoiding his eyes.

"How could it be love? I didn't know him," she cried.

"Then why?" it was clear how hurt he was.

"It was lust, Matthew! Or a need for excitement," she hid her face in her hands as she cried, "God, what difference does it make?"

"And is that why you stay with Carlisle?" he tried to reason.

"He says he won't publish if I marry him," she confirmed and continued, "I'm Tess of the d'Urbervilles to your Angel Clare. I have fallen, I'm impure," she cried.

"Don't joke – don't make it little when I'm trying to understand," he said and she noticed that he was standing right behind her.

"Thank you for that," she dried her tears and turned to face him, surprised to see him closer than she had imagined, "but the fact remains that I'm different by it."

"Did he force you?" he asked.

"No, but I didn't invite him either," she paused waiting for him to say something, when he didn't, she kept going, "I didn't want him there, Matthew, I certainly didn't invite him. I honestly don't know how he found my room," she sobbed again, "if I could have made him leave, I would have."

"But you said he didn't force you," he interrupted her.

"That's the thing, he didn't," she turned her face away from him, ashamed of herself, "when he came into my room I told him to leave and he refused. I said I'd scream and he told me that I'd be ruined either way if they found a man in my bedroom," she took another pause, "so I thought that if I just gave him what he wanted, he would leave in the morning and no one would ever find out about that night."

"But he died," he said, not to Mary, but to himself as he realized that, even though she wouldn't acknowledge it, she had been forced into that. Suddenly a wave of rage washed through his body and he wished he could have been there to protect her and he felt ridiculously powerless as he realized that, however much he wanted to, he couldn't have prevented it. He just wanted to kill that bloody bastard.

All this time Mary kept blaming herself, all this time this was what kept them apart and neither of them was to blame.

When he finally turned back and looked at her, his heart broke at the sight. Mary was shaking, her shoulders shrunken and her face hidden in her hands as she sobbed violently. _How fragile she was_, he thought and cursed himself for judging her, for thinking bad of her. And, at that sight, he also realized how intensely he loved her. How he couldn't imagine his life without her. What a fool had he been… How could he think that he could ever replace her?

"Oh Mary," he gathered her to himself and held her tight, "I'm so, so sorry," and for several minutes she sobbed violently, feeling safe in his arms.

When they finally broke apart, she gazed at him shyly, smiling weakly, "I'm sorry things have changed between us."

"Oh, Mary," he looked at her with genuine love and took her face in his hands. But before he could tell her that he would never, that he could never despise her, they were interrupted by a voice coming from the entrance.

"Doctor Clarkson," the voice cried, "thank God you're here! It's Lavinia, I don't think she's going to make it through the night."

It was Isobel's voice.

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_A/N: Soooo a little cliffhanger there. What do you think? I personally am very fond of them :) But seriously, I am very prod of this chapter and a hope that you enjoyed it as much as I did. _

_I have this story all planned out in my head and I can tell you that it'll be something around 13 chapters and that things are about to get REALLY good, so I hope you stick with me! Also, when I write a story, I like to update as often as possible, but I can't promise anything for this weekend, since I have lots of plans and I'll probably be too hangover and busy to write anything. I think the next chapter will probably be posted on Monday, alright? Let me know what you think so far! xx_

_Oh! And thank you so much for your lovely reviews on the first chapter. I too have always wondered what would have happened if Lavinia hadn't turned up, and it was about time someone wrote a story about that._


	3. Chapter 3

**Everything's Not Lost: chapter 3**

At his mother's words, Matthew's blood went cold and he unconsciously took a step back, freeing Mary from his embrace.

"Oh God," was all he could say while his eyes dropped to the floor, trying to conceal the shame he felt from Mary.

_How wrong they had been, how thoughtless._ But, as she took his hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze, his gaze moved back to Mary and he allowed himself to see how uncannily stunning she was, even more than he had thought before, now with her hair down, her pale complex lit only by the moonlight, her slim figure protected by nothing but his shirt; and he couldn't help but to think how right it had felt. How they seemed to fit perfectly, to complete each other, how they understood one another utterly. And yet, he couldn't keep his mind away from Lavinia. _Poor Lavinia_.

"Go," she said firmly, taking a step closer to him and looking right into his eyes.

He hesitated for a moment, never taking his teary eyes away from hers. The look on his face saying more than words ever could. The look that showed how he loved her completely, but also how torn he was between that feeling and the duty towards his fiancée. _Oh, how wrong it sounded to call another woman his fiancée_.

"I'm sorry," was all he managed to say as he shook his head and turned away from her to collect his clothes.

Minutes later, as Matthew had just left her, she braced herself, now completely dressed, and sat by the window, contemplating the rainy night in front of her and thinking of what they had shared – fearing that it'd all be taken away from her again.

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Matthew's mind was a mess as he walked in trembling legs through the hallways of Downton. He thought of Mary and everything they had shared, not only that night, but since the night when she called him a sea monster. _Maybe she was right after all_. What kind of man was he? The kind that would let himself be blinded by his hurt feelings when she told him that she _wanted_ to accept him, the kind that never listened to her, the kind that left her and tried to replace her. And, at that thought, he cursed himself. _Lavinia_. How could he drag her into this? How could he fool her like that when there would never be anyone else to him but Mary? _Mary_. How could something feel so right and so wrong at the same time? The world seemed to stop when they were together, but to think of everything that had happened while they lay in each other's arms…

His heart stopped when he finally reached Lavinia's room. The door was ajar and the light crept through it as he heard his mother voice telling Lavinia that everything would be alright and that Matthew would be there soon. _What kind of man am I?_ He thought one last time before stepping into the room.

* * *

As Mary entered her bedroom, she immediately rang for Anna. Without saying anything, she allowed the maid to undress her and ready her for bed, never looking into her eyes, still unable to face anyone as guilty and fear overcame her. Guilty for doing what they had done and being so utterly happy while other people – _while Lavinia _– faced death just steps away from where they lay together. And fear, fear of losing all of that they had shared, of losing him – _her_ Matthew.

"Are you alright, milady?" Anna put the brush down and lay a comforting hand on Mary's shoulder.

"Oh Anna," was all Mary said as she burst into tears and hid her face in her hands – just like she had done years before, that night when Edith told her about Lavinia.

Minutes went by and Mary cried, cried and cried. However, when she finally pushed her head up and decided to tell Anna what had just happened (maybe she would feel better if she let it out), she was interrupted by Edith flying into her room.

"Mary, it's Mama," she cried, "she's worse."

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"Mother," Matthew said as he stood by the door to the guest bedroom.

"Where were you?" Isobel stood up and met him at the door.

"I – I," his voice trembled, what could he say? However, Lavinia coughed before he could think of something, drawing their attention to herself. "What happened?" Matthew asked concerned – and avoided confronting his mother.

"It's a tricky disease," she replied sadly, "it's bad, I'm afraid."

"I don't understand – when I was with her she was talking, she was fine," he cried.

"It's a disease with sudden changes," Clarkson said, "I'm terribly sorry."

"What can I do?" he asked.

Before any of them could say anything else, they heard Lavinia call Matthew's name and he immediately moved closer to her, sitting by the bed and taking her hand in his.

"I'm sorry," he cried, "oh Lavinia, I'm so sorry."

"Matthew?" she whispered.

"My darling, it's me. It's Matthew. I'm here."

"I'm so glad you are," she cried, "isn't this better?"

"I don't understand," he looked at her and then at his mother and wondered what could she possibly mean.

"Be happy, for my sake. It's all I want for you," she finally said as her eyes closed and Matthew felt her grip loosen on his hand.

* * *

"Mama," Mary cried as she entered her parents' room. Her hand immediately flew to her mouth and she was shocked by the image in front of her; Cora was lying in bed, all covered in sweat, blood draining from her nose.

"Mary," Cora cried and held out her hand to her daughter.

"I'm so sorry," she said as she moved closer to the bed, "oh Mama."

"No," Edith cried as she saw more blood in her mother's face, "what does that mean?"

"It's a hemorrhage of the mucus membranes," Clarkson replied, "it's not unusual."

Before the doctor could say more, Cora was sick again and everyone in the room froze, afraid of what could happen next.

"It's alright Mama," Mary said as Sybil and O'Brien helped Cora.

_How could she have been away when her mother needed her? What if… What if the worst happened? How could she ever forgive herself?_ She tried to push the thought away.

"How bad is it?" Robert asked.

"If she makes it through the night, she'll live," the Doctor said and everyone looked horrified by his words.

"Mama! Mama, please," Mary cried as Cora's grip loosened around her fingers and her mother's hand escaped her own.

* * *

Hours later, Mary entered the library only to find Matthew there, sitting in a corner, facing the window with a glass of scotch in his hands.

"Matthew," she called as the closed the door behind her.

"How's Cora?" he asked still facing away from her.

"Doctor Clarkson says she should be fine," she said relieved, "the fever's broken."

She stood in silence for a few moments before stepping closer to him, "and – and Lavinia?"

He didn't look at her, not immediately anyway. When he finally did, she could see his red teary eyes and she knew the answer.

"Oh darling," she rushed to the couch and sat by his side, stroking his hair in an attempt to comfort him.

He finally gazed at her, at her adoring eyes, and he realized how much he loved her. Throughout all of this, one thing he knew, that he loved her. But now, now he also knew that he didn't deserve her. What kind of man was he? He had been untrue to her when he proposed to Lavinia and he had been untrue to Lavinia when he lay with Mary. How could he do any good to this woman sitting in front of him, comforting him, taking his hands in hers when he had done all of that? This woman that he loved more than life itself...

And he finally broke down. In Mary's embrace, he cried and cried and cried.

"I'm sorry," he said several times in between sobs.

"I'm here," she tried to soothe him as she tightened her embrace around him, "everything's going to be alright."

_What kind of man am I? _He thought one last time before closing his eyes and allowing himself to seek comfort in Mary's arms.

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_*A/N: Lavinia is dead, what a surprise! lol Seriously though, I did consider not killing her while I wrote the first chapter, but her death would give me such a creatinve range to work with that I couldn't resist. A lot of you have asked me not to go down the guilty route and I can confirm to you that I don't plan on it. I do need one (maybe two) chapters of grief, but Matthew won't blame Mary for what happened and he won't blame himself either (although he will be **very** conflicted because he doesn't feel he's worth of Mary's love) . Lavinia's death is going to be much more of an inner journey for both of them and it's definitely going to test the strenght of their love. And there's also Carlisle, how will Mary handle him? Will she tell Robert about Pamuk? I'm very excited to write more of this story and I hope you want to read it. :)_

_Anyways, I'd LOVE to know your thoughts. The last couple of reviews were **very** helpful and it's much easier to write if you know what your readers are interested in or even if they like the path you've chosen. I'd also love to hear it if you have any suggestions._

_I managed to update this sooner than I'd planned because my internet was down this morning and I didn't really have anything to do, so I wrote this chapter. But I'm a little busy with college right now, so this won't happen always. You can look for updates on Mondays, Fridays and during the weekends though. Xx_


	4. Chapter 4

**Everything's Not Lost: chapter 4**

He wouldn't allow himself to feel anything. If he did, he would not be able to fight the urge to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her. But no, he couldn't do that. Not now, not ever.

It had all been too sudden. Although he didn't resent what they'd shared – how could he? He wished he had been stronger. Strong for her, for him, for Lavinia. Oh _Lavinia_.

And now, now he could only think of how his actions had led to that.

_What on Earth had he done?_

* * *

After he freed himself from Mary's embrace, carefully though as not to wake her, he went straight to Crawley house and lay wide awake in his bed, wondering – thinking of – everything he could had done to prevent _that_.

If only he had listened to her back at that garden party, if he hadn't been so stubborn and proud. Why couldn't he had just accepted the truth that he would never truly love anyone but Mary? If he had, maybe they'd had been married years before, maybe all of them would be happy – Lavinia would have been spared – maybe she would even be _alive_.

But all he could think of was himself and now it was too late.

When Mary never accepted him, all he could hear was no, no and no; he never listened to her saying how she _wanted_ to say yes, but that she couldn't. When he met Lavinia, he only ever thought of how she would always love him more than he would love her. When Mary took care of him, all that mattered to him was that Lavinia came back, ready to give up her life for him; he never saw (or never allowed himself to see), however, that Mary had always been ready to do exactly the same. All of that because _he_ was afraid of getting hurt, he was afraid that _he_ couldn't bear it again.

And, just like that, he decided that he wouldn't allow himself to feel. If he didn't feel anything, he wouldn't be afraid. If he wasn't afraid, he couldn't blind himself and hurt the people he loved again.

* * *

Two days after that horrid night, he saw they lower Lavinia's body into the ground and cover it with dirt and he still didn't allow himself to feel anything. He did cry, however. He cried because she was too young, too good, too naïve… And now she would never live, get married, have children. And all of that because he hadn't been strong, because he couldn't be.

Then he thought of Mary, whom he had been avoiding since he left her sleeping in the library's couch, so beautiful, so innocent, so perfect. _Oh Mary_. To think of all she had been through and to think that he had only made it worse. And he cursed himself once again. But he still didn't allow himself to feel.

But then, as people left the place Lavinia now rested, he finally saw _her_. And he felt everything he didn't want to feel.

For two days he hadn't looked at her, talked to her, stood near her. But now she was standing right in front of him, her face red from crying, her deep dark eyes wet in tears, and he couldn't help but to look at her, to really look at her and see the woman that he loved more than he thought it was possible. The woman that was so strong and so beautiful. And suddenly all he wanted was to step closer and take her into his arms, to hold her tight, to press his lips to hers. But how could he do that? After everything he had done… No, she didn't deserve that. _He_ didn't deserve _her_.

"Matthew," she said, almost whispered, as she walked towards him. He had been so distant after Lavinia's death and she didn't know what else to do. She had tried to talk to him, but he just wouldn't allow her to get any closer. She knew his character and she knew he would blame himself for what had happened, but if she could just hold him, she knew she could make everything alright_. If only he weren't so stubborn_.

"You must tell me if there's anything I can do," she said and touched his arm, "anything at all. But please, Matthew, just look at me – talk to me," she begged.

"Thank you," he said as he put his mask back on – _oh how Lady Mary of him_, "but I don't think so."

"Matthew," she begged.

"That night when we were," he hesitated, "_together_ – Lavinia was alone. She was alone because I couldn't control myself."

"I'm so sorry," and she truly was.

"I don't regret it though, you know" he cried, "I love you," And he did – so much.

"Then why won't you talk to me?" she cried.

"Don't you see it, Mary? Don't you see what kind of man I am? Look at what I've done to Lavinia. God, look at what I've done to you," he shook his head at the truth of his words, "I would only hurt you again."

"Matthew," she implored.

"Don't," he interrupted her, "we would never be happy, don't you see?"

Of course they wouldn't. If he had been capable of leading Mary to believe she was the one in the wrong for so many years, if he had led Lavinia to believe he could love her (when he knew he couldn't), if he had left Lavinia alone through all of that, how could he be worth of Mary's love?

He did not blame her though; he didn't blame her for anything. How could he when he was the one who kissed her, he was the one who couldn't wait. He had blamed Mary for so many things before, things that he shouldn't have held her responsible for, and now he wouldn't make the same mistake again. Especially now when he knew how strong she was – so different from him. But he still couldn't allow her to get near him; if she did, he knew he would hurt her again.

"Matthew, please," she said as the tears she had been holding back finally started to fall.

"No, Mary," he cried, "it's done. There's nothing to be done about it."

"Matthew," she begged one last time.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he turned away and left her. That would be the last time he had allowed himself to feel anything, he had made his choice.

* * *

As the time went by, days turned into weeks and suddenly it all felt like a distant dream. Lavinia had been dead for over a month, they had lay together over a month before, he hadn't talked to her for a month.

That day at the cemetery, he had decided that he wouldn't let Mary anywhere near him – it didn't matter what it took. Mary deserved a real life, a chance to be happy and he knew that she wouldn't get it with him. So he started to push her away. For a month he hadn't dined at the house, he hadn't asked for her after his meetings with Robert, he hadn't even looked at her. And she missed him. She missed him desperately. She just wanted to hold him, to see him, to talk to him. Couldn't _he see that she would never be happy without him?_

But he wouldn't allow her to get anywhere near him.

And one day, one evening it all became unbearable. That night, he had gone up to dine at the Abbey and just he couldn't help but to stare at her that was when it became almost impossible to fight the urge to take her into his arms and never let go of her again. And it was then that realization came rushing through him. He knew how families like theirs worked, if he lived there, he would have to see her, to talk to her. How could he have been so naïve to believe that he would be able to avoid her forever?

And it was that night that he made his decision. He would go back to Crawley House, he would pack his things and he would take the first train back to Manchester in the following morning.

And so he did.

It was a hasty decision, but he knew it to be for the best. Now Mary would have a real chance to be happy and now he would not be able to hurt anyone again. And maybe, if he kept telling himself that, he would, someday, believe his own words to be true.

* * *

It wasn't until the following evening that Mary found out that Matthew had left. Isobel had come up to the Abbey to break the news to the family and, before leaving, she secretly gave Mary a note from her son.

At first Mary didn't open it, afraid of what he could have written, but once she was in the secrecy of her room, she allowed herself, with trembling hands, to unfold the paper sheet:

"I'm sorry, so sorry. Please try and be happy. Matthew."

And so curled up in bed like a child and cried. Cried for herself, cried for Matthew, cried for them.

* * *

_*A/N: Please don't hate me. And I'm sorry, alright? But I did need to go there if I wanted to remain somewhat truthful to Matthew's character (I think that because of his sense of honor, he'd never have been able to just get together with Mary after all of that, Lavinia's death and discovering about Pamuk. He'd have gone through a bit of a crisis no matter what). _

_I don't plan on keep going through the guilty route (I hate it as much as everyone else), but you'll understand why I went there on this chapter by the end of the next one. The thing is, the way I see it, had Matthew learned about Pamuk before Lavinia's death, he'd blame himself for everything that happened because he would think that he might have been able to avoid it all and, because of Pamuk, his sense of honor and guilty would have made it impossible for him to blame Mary for anything else, thinking that she'd already been through enough. Also, because of this sense of guilty, I believe he'd have behaved just like he did when he thought he would no longer walk, pushing everyone away because, in his eyes, he would no longer be worth of love._

_Anyways, I hope you're still with me. The next chapter will be focused on Mary and how she takes it all in, but I do plan on making Matthew see the mistake he's made (happiness is coming! lol)._

_I want to update before the weekend, maybe on Friday, but I don't know if I'll be able to seeing that I have lots and lots of stuff to read for college, quite a few plans with my friends and my german classes have started. But I promise I'll do my best not to keep you waiting._

_Please share your thoughts! I'd love to know what you think so far and where do you want me to go next. :) Xx_


	5. Chapter 5

_*A/N: Thank you so much for your lovely reviews and encouragement! It means a lot! :)_

* * *

**Everything Is Not Lost: chapter** 5

On the days that followed Matthew's departure, Mary felt as if she didn't have the energy to do anything. She did feel dreadfully tired, but more than that, she felt something else, something she could not quite define. She was sad that Matthew hadn't talked to her, she was disappointed that he had not trusted her and, more than anything, she was angry. She was angry because he had abandoned her again, because he'd chosen the easy way out instead of facing his – _their_ – troubles, because he had left days after asking her to marry him – _How original_, she rolled her eyes as she remembered 1914 and cried as she thought of how, in his arms, she had believed everything to be past them. But she didn't have the time to be sad, she realized as emptiness consumed her. She knew she ought to put her mask back on and pretend to be perfectly alright because she had a duty towards her family and… _Richard_. And, again, she cursed herself for being so naïve.

The days then turned into weeks and Mary still couldn't stop crying. Not only for Matthew, but everything seemed to affect her at that moment. Of course, though, she would only cry in the solitude of her room. W_hat would she tell her family if they asked her what the matter was?_ And she laughed a bit imagining the horror in their faces if they ever found out about her less than proper behavior – or the repetition of her dreadful behavior from years before anyway, and she shivered at the memory.

On that same night, however, she also realized that her spirits had not been the only part of herself to change during those past few weeks. Looking at the plate in front of her, she felt a little sick and suddenly it struck her that she hadn't been able to palate any dinner, breakfast or luncheon for weeks. But she pushed the thought aside. Why would her body behave properly when it didn't have any reason to? _Of course there was no motive to worry_.

But she did worry and she kept worrying until she was finally alone in her bedroom. When Anna closed the door behind herself, Mary rushed out of bed and gazed at her figure in the mirror, turning aside and pressing a hand to her stomach. _No, it couldn't be_. She was indeed a little late, but she had never been regular and, although she did feel a bit nauseous in the mornings, she had never believed it to be anything more than a simple malaise. _It was nothing but her body reacting to all the stress she had been under. Of course it was that. It had to be that_.

A couple of days later though, she noticed that one of her shirts would not button up over her breasts, which were very tender, she also remarked. And, as she felt even more irritable than usual, she decided that she must do something, that her inaction would do nothing but destroy her.

And, three days after that, her fears proved to be true. As she lay in bed in pure shock, desperation even, the words float around her head: "congratulations, Mrs. Levinson!" the doctor in London had said, "you're indeed pregnant – around ten weeks, it would seem."

_Pregnant_.

_How could it be when they had only been together once?_ She wanted to scream in desperation, to cry, to find Matthew and shake him for not being there to bear the shame of what they'd done with her. But then she gazed down and saw where her hand had come to naturally rest and the sight made her heart swell with such genuine love that it brought tears to her eyes. How could she feel anything but love for that child within her? The child she had always dreamt of having, but never believed she would. _Matthew's child_. And suddenly she felt something even stronger, a fierce sense of protectiveness as she realized what people might think of her baby because of the circumstances it had been conceived. At that, she decided that she would find a way to write to Matthew. She knew he would help her. In spite of everything, she knew he'd come if she asked him to.

* * *

And she wrote to him – not only one but two, three, several letters. However, as the days went by and there was no response, she finally understood that she was on her own – or rather they were on their own. And that baby – her baby would be protected, whatever it took, she would never let anything happen to them. She would have to act fast though, she was well aware that there was no time to waste.

* * *

Close to Christmas she began to wonder if it were the hormones or if Richard was really starting to get on her nerves. However, it was during the shooting party that the confirmation that she could never accept him came. Not only because she was pregnant, she could have fooled him into marrying her without telling anyone about the baby, saving her family from scandal – if they married, she knew he wouldn't uncover the lie and risk making a fool of himself for the whole society. But what would he do once he knew he was to raise another man's child?

"Where's the damn loader?" he shouted irritated.

"Looking for your damn peg, I imagine."

"What was your father saying about Matthew?" he asked rudely.

"Matthew? I don't know," but her heart sunk at the mere mention of him, "no one has heard from him in months."

"Good," he said, almost boast, "I thought I'd never be free of him."

"Of course you won't!" she cried and suddenly felt sick at the idea of a life with Richard – _a life without Matthew_, "you know how families like ours work and he'll be head of it one day."

"I might understand if you let me think for a solitary moment that you preferred me over him," she could sense the anger in his tone and it scared her to see how he was nearly losing control, "but even now that he's gone I can see that you haven't forgotten him."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I have tried, Mary. I've done everything I can to please you."

"You mean you bought a large and rather vulgar house," she replied dryly, regretting the words as soon as she noticed the spiteful look on his face though.

"Don't ever talk to me like this again," he shouted and turned to her, his seemed furious; his face bright red, "do you hear me? Don't you ever do that again," he continued to walk in her direction and she shivered as fear spread to every part of her body. She had never seen him like that and she honestly couldn't tell what he was going to do. She took a step back and pressed a protective hand over her still flat belly, praying for him to back away.

"Is something the matter?" Robert interrupted, worried after hearing Richard shout.

"Richard's loader seems to have got lost and he's missing all the fun," she forced a weak smile, trying to convince her father that nothing was wrong when, in reality, all she wanted was to fall into his arms and cry; to tell him how everything was wrong and thank him for saving herself and her child from whatever Richard might have done if he hadn't appeared.

And, at that very moment, she finally admitted what she'd known for weeks – what she'd always known. She wouldn't marry Richard. She could bear a lifetime of misery to save her family from scandal if she had to, but now it didn't matter anymore. She knew that she already loved her child more than life itself, that they were all that mattered and, suddenly, she just knew that she would do anything to protect her baby.

But how would she break things off with Carlisle? How could she let the scandal break upon her family? She felt her heart rate increase and her legs tremble as she realized that she didn't know how she would - how she could do it.

* * *

"There was an awkward moment tonight between Mary and Carlisle this afternoon," Robert said as he entered the bedroom he shared with Cora.

He had worried about Mary for weeks; she hadn't been herself since Matthew's departure, everyone had noticed, but now he feared that she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life. It was clear that she didn't love Carlisle and that they would make each other miserable, he just couldn't understand why she still insisted on marrying him.

"I'm sure Mary has him under control," Cora replied hesitantly. Truth being said, she too worried about her daughter, but what could be done? She was doomed anyway. Her marriage with Richard would obviously be a loveless one, but without him she would probably end up as a spinster.

"Does she?" he said concerned, "I look at her and all I can see is a tired woman with a tiresome husband, not a bride on the brink of heaven. I wish I could understand why she goes on with it. Do you think there's some element I might have overlooked?"

"Yes," she said anxiously, "perhaps it's time," she decided that maybe, if she told Robert, they'd be able to save Mary from a lifetime of misery. Of course Mary had made her mistakes, but she was her still _her Mary_.

"I was hoping you'd say I was wrong."

"You're not wrong," she paused and gazed at him, "but if I do tell you, swear not to fly off the handle. And try not to be too hurt."

"Now you must tell me because nothing could be worse than my imaginings," _Oh Mary. What could his girl have done?_

"Very well," she begun carefully, "do you recall a Turkish diplomat who stayed here before the war?"

"I think I can be relied on to remember any guest who is found dead in his bed next morning," he said as he wondered what that man could possibly have to do with anything, still unable to make the connection.

"Well, that's the thing," and she finally told him. She told him everything.

"Robert," Cora tried to bring his mind back to Downton as several minutes had passed and he was still silent, facing away from her. Robert gasped after hearing her voice, but he still didn't say anything. Instead, he turned away and flew from the room, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

The distance from his room to Mary's seemed like hundred miles as he walked fast, taking long, rushed steps and feeling his breathing quicken. He needed to see his daughter, talk to her, hold her. But when he finally reached her door, he stopped and stared at it, gathering courage to tell her that he finally knew everything.

_Oh Mary. His daughter. His darling girl._

_How could he let that happen?_ And he realized that he, more than anyone, could understand what had led her to do that. That need of excitement or something that comes with a life of duty and being told what to do, of not being able to choose. Like it had happened to himself, Mary had never had the chance to speak for herself. She just needed to allow herself to feel something, to discover a world she'd never know, to challenge the rules. _Like he had done_, he admitted sadly, shivering at the shame of his own actions.

When Mary was born, Robert remembered, he felt as if he had swallowed a box of fireworks. Of course they all had hoped for a boy, but when he saw that tiny perfect baby, all he could think was how much he already loved her, how he wanted to give her the world, how he would never let anything happen to her. But now that delicate little girl was a woman – a _strong woman_, he thought proudly. And he had failed to keep his word. He failed when he promised her to Patrick, when he refused to break the entail for her, when he tried to make her marry Matthew, _when he accepted Pamuk into his house_. And if she was going through all of this, it was because she had never been given a choice.

"Yes," Mary said as she heard a knock on her door.

"Mary, it's Papa."

"Oh," she was surprised to see her father in her room so late in the evening and she worried that something might have happened, "come on in."

He entered the room quietly, closing the door behind him and moving to stand a few centimeters away from the end of her bed. But he remained silent, unable find the words that he knew would leave her devastated.

"What is it? Is something the matter?" she asked concerned as he gazed at her.

After a few moments of silence, he finally decided it'd be better to just get it over with, "Do you stay with Carlisle because he's threatened to expose the story of Mr. Pamuk dying in your bed?"

_How did he know? _She could feel the tears forming in her eyes as her blood went cold and shame overcame her.

"When did you find out?" she looked away, unable to face him.

"Your mother told me when I asked why you were still with Carlisle when you are so tired of him."

"How very disappointed you must be."

He was disappointed indeed. He had never imagined that his girl would act so harshly. But he was also disappointed in himself for not protecting her, for allowing her to get involved with someone like Richard because she felt she should protect their family – something he should have done. And he just couldn't judge her or bring himself to be mad at her.

"Your mama chose her moment well. And – you're not the first Crawley to make a mistake," he admitted. Yes, she had made a mistake, but hadn't he done just the same?

She didn't understand what he meant, but decided not to ask, she had enough on her plate at that moment.

"To answer your question, it is partly true, though not entirely. In Mama's phrase, I am damaged goods now," _and I'm carrying your grandchild_, "Richard is, after all, prepared to marry me in spite of it," she paused and sighed, "to give me a position, to give me a life."

"And that's worth it? Even though he already sets your teeth on edge?"

"Oh Papa," she cried, "I don't want to – I can't marry him, but what other choice do I have?" There. She had said it. She knew she couldn't marry Richard and she had finally admitted it. But what would she do? How would she protect her baby? She wished she could tell her father about it, but would it be possible for him to take it well now that he knew about Pamuk? Wouldn't he be furious because she, apparently, hadn't learned anything? And she buried her face in her hands as she cried in distress.

"Oh, my darling girl," he rushed to her side and gently stroked her hair, "what about Matthew? Does he know about the late Mr. Pamuk? Is that why he left?"

"He knows," she admitted – the mere mention of him making her heart ache, "but that's not why he left. There were other reasons for that – to do with Lavinia."

"And those reasons are final?"

"They seem to be final for him," _he abandoned me and our child, so yes, they are_.

"Here's what I think," he said as he put his fingers under her chin lifted her face so she would look at him, "break with Carlisle. He may publish, but we'll be a house of scandal anyway with Bates' story. Go to America, stay with your grandmother until the fuss dies down. You may find the New World is to your taste."

"He'll keep my secret if I marry him."

"Once, I might have thought that a good thing, but I've been through a war and a murder trial since then – to say nothing of your sister's choice of husband."

"But I can't make the crossing during the winter," _I can't make it until the baby's born_, "what if he publishes before it?"

"Do you think you can hold the engagement for a couple of weeks more?" she nodded, "then we could arrange for you to stay in France until the weather allows you to make the crossing. You could break it off with him the night before your leaving, this way you won't be here if he publishes."

"Oh Papa," she hugged him and finally allowed the tears she'd been holding back to fall. In his arms, she felt like his little girl again. In her father's arms nothing could hurt her again.

* * *

She did it. Almost three weeks later, when everything was ready for her departure, she finally ended her engagement with Richard.

It hadn't been pretty. He shouted and threatened her, promised that he would ruin not only her, but her family as well. He said that, if she wasn't his, she wouldn't be anybody else's and he would make sure that everyone knew who she really was.

She couldn't bear it. She couldn't bear to hear his hatred words anymore; she felt she would suffocate if she stayed in his presence a minute longer. So she turned away and flew from the library, running to her room, already sobbing by the time she reached it.

"Mary," Cora said worriedly as she entered her daughter's room, moments after seeing her running up the stairs.

Mary was sitting on the edge of her bed, sobbing violently. _Just like the day when she found out her father wouldn't break the entail for her_, Cora remembered.

"Oh my dear," she rushed to Mary's side and hugged her, soothing her, telling her that everything would be alright.

"Oh Mama," was all Mary managed to say before she buried her face in her mother's neck, feeling her familiar perfume and tightening her arms around her in a comforting embrace. _Would she be like that with her own child? Could she be so loving and caring?_ She wondered as she kept on crying.

"Darling," Cora begun as Mary, after several minutes, lifted her head up and started to dry the tears from her red eyes, "why don't you stay a few days more? Surely, you can wait. You can't travel in such a state."

"Oh Mama," she gazed at her mother, the look in her eyes showing how vulnerable she was at that moment, "I'm afraid it'll be better for everyone if I leave as soon as possible."

"Mary," Cora started, but stopped as soon as she saw where her daughter's hands had come to rest, "you cannot mean…"

"I'm afraid so," Mary, still crying, interrupted her.

"When?" Cora felt her heart sunk thinking of how her daughter would have to, alone, bring up the child she carried.

"Summer, around June."

"Does Matthew know?" The Countess wondered.

"How do you…" she started, but, as the Cora looked pointedly at her, she noticed that Cora already knew everything and that it'd be pointless to even try to conceal the truth from her again. "He won't talk to me," she finally admitted in between sobs.

"Oh you foolish girl," the elder woman held Mary close and tried to soothe her. "It's alright, everything's going to be alright," she kept saying as she hugged her daughter, rocking back and forth. Mary felt so fragile, so small in her arms, as if was that little dark-haired baby again. And, at that thought, she tightened her arms around her daughter and didn't let go of her until they both fell asleep. Until Mary finally fell asleep for the last time in the only house she would ever call home.

* * *

A few days later, in a good-sized house in Manchester, a newspaper fell on the floor as the man who read it quickly stood up and rushed out of the room:

"Earl's daughter involved with Turkish Diplomat," could be read on the cover of it.

* * *

_*A/N: Phew! That was such an intense chapter to write! I hope you liked it though. I think it feels a bit rushed, but I didn't want to dwell on so many conversations and scenes that actually happened on the show, so I decided to just get it over with and finally move forward to the real AU I have in mind. Not to mention that I can't wait to get to this new plot I came up a few days ago._

_I have a few observations though. First, don't hate on Matthew. You'll understand why he didn't reply to Mary and no, he didn't abandon her. Second, I really debated whether to make Mary pregnant or not, but I felt it'd be the perfect plot device for a story I have planned. So, in order to make it a bit less cliché, I decided not to give Mary the typical symptoms, which would make it more difficult for her to suspect that she was with child, since it could all be associated with her depressed state after Matthew's departure. I also really wanted to focus on this emotional conflict of Mary,because the thing is, even though she would do anything for her child, she just couldn't abandon Downton, it had been who she was for a long time and she just couldn't simply walk away. And I hope I was able to pass that impression to you._

_Also, I always thought that the Robert really did understand Mary regarding Pamuk. Not only because Jane made him feel guilty, but because of how both he and Mary had been raised to do as they were told. And that was an aspect I was really eager to write. Not to mention that I absolutely love Robert, so I could never write him as 'Flopert', as many like to call him. :P_

_And the last thing is that I really wanted to change Richard's character... I was never a fan of his, but I don't believe he'd have acted this way. The thing is, for the sake of this story, I need Carlisle to be really mean and I needed him to publish lol_

_I hope you're still on board, the next chapter will come soon and you can look forward to a very antecipated reunion ;) Xx_

_Ps.: I finished this last night right after soccer night, so please forgive me for any grammar issues and inconsistencies... You know what beer does to one's brain lol_


	6. Chapter 6

**Everything's Not Lost: chapter** 6

"I will kill him," Matthew murmured as he dropped the newspaper and left the room.

He couldn't think straight, his mind was a blur and anger filled every part of his body, so he didn't know exactly what drove him there. Suddenly though, he realized, he was in his study, gazing at several letters in front of him – letters from Mary.

He'd had them for weeks and they had never left his mind, but he would not allow himself to open them. When the first one arrived, he decided that Mary was probably apologizing for yet another occurrence that _he_ should be the one to take blame for, so he put it in one of his drawers and locked it away. And so he did with the second, the third, the fourth one.

But, at that moment, he understood that if he hadn't been so obtuse maybe things could have been different. Perhaps she would even have been spared.

He sat there and he knew he ought to open the letters, but he still couldn't bring himself to do it, so he just kept staring at them. He didn't know how long he had been locked away, probably hours as he could smell lunch being prepared, but it wasn't until the sun was gone that he finally allowed himself to take the first envelop. With trembling hands, he held his breath and opened it.

As he read it, each word felt like a punch to his stomach and he cursed himself at the end of every sentence. _Idiot!_

He finished the first one and proceeded to the second, the third and so on until he had read all of them. And then he finally understood the urgency of the situation as her requests turned into pleas by the last of them.

_Matthew, there's something you must know_, the first one said._ Please, come to Downton_, was in the third one._ I need your help_, she finally wrote in the last letter.

He had left nearly two months before because he didn't want to hurt anyone – because he didn't want to hurt her. But right there, with her words still floating around his head, he admitted that he had once more acted harshly and that was the end of it, and it was entirely his fault again.

* * *

_Mary. Stop. He has published. Stop. I'm so sorry, my darling. Stop. Mama._

She had been waiting for that, she knew it'd come sooner rather than later, so she didn't know why it had struck her so hard. Maybe it was the baby, the hormones.

As she read it, the paper felt like burning fire and she dropped it. She dropped it, turned on her heels and locked herself away. And in the solitude of her bedroom she finally allowed herself to cry.

She cried and thought of her family, of how she felt terribly ashamed, of how disappointed they must be; and suddenly she only wished she could burry herself in Mama's arms. She thought of Richard and his hatred words and she felt her heart rate speed. She thought of Pamuk and she cursed him for all of that. She thought of Matthew... But she wouldn't allow herself to push the thought through.

And then, just as she tried not to think of him, she felt it. A little flutter or something, as if there was a small fish swimming inside of her. A tiny visitor announcing its presence, as if to say, D_on't cry, Mama. I'm here_. She gasped as her hands went immediately to the swell where her child lay and more tears fell from her eyes, this time though, tears of joy.

* * *

"Matthew," Robert called as he saw Matthew walking through the grounds of Downton a couple of days later. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to see Mary," he said as he kept walking, determined to get to her and make everything right.

"Oh my dear boy," he hesitated. "She's not here."

"What do you mean?" he stopped, his blood went cold.

"She is," he paused, choosing his next words carefully. "I trust you've seen the news," Matthew nodded. "You see, she went away to wait until it all dies down."

"Oh," his face dropped and he couldn't think of anything else to say. He could only feel desperation building up inside of him as he realized that, more than ever, he needed to find her. "Please, tell me where she is."

"I'm afraid I can't," he admitted sadly. "She's asked me not to say anything."

"Robert, please," he begged.

But the Earl didn't say anything, only offering him to go inside and have a glass of brandy instead.

"Matthew!" Cora called as he was about to leave the house.

"Cousin Cora," he greeted her.

"She's here," she said and handed him a piece of paper. "And don't thank me," she continued as he opened his mouth. "Just go after her, please."

* * *

It had been almost a week since she had felt the flutter for the first time and, ever since, she hadn't been able to keep her hands away from the swell, always stroking, resting them protectively there.

She was smiling, feeling it again when the butler announced the last visitor she had expected.

"Mary," he stopped at the door, not sure if he should get any closer.

"What are you doing here," she asked dryly, looking at the window, facing away from him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I didn't…"

"Leave," she interrupted him. "Please."

"Just look at me," he said. "Just give me a chance to explain myself."

"There's nothing to be said," she said, fighting the urge to throw herself into his arms and cry. To tell him how desperate she had been, how she had missed him. But now there was someone she must take care of, and she wouldn't be able to do it if she allowed Matthew to hurt her once more.

"Look at me," he begged again. "Mary, please."

Suddenly she felt extremely conscious of her condition and she cursed herself for, out of all days, choosing that particular morning to wear that damned skirt.

And she turned.

He gazed at her and he saw it, the fabric of her skirt falling over the gentle curve, framing her changed figure. He gasped in shock; the sight crushed his heart and suddenly he could not prevent the tears from falling. How could he have been so blind, so stupid? How could he have not suspected? Of course Mary wouldn't have written all those letters for nothing.

"Oh God," he cried. "Oh God, Mary. I'm sorry, so sorry."

He felt a chair behind him and he just fell on it as he felt his legs succumb, unable to support the weight of his guilty. He sat down, hid his face in his palms and cried. "I'm so sorry," he kept saying in between sobs.

"Why didn't you come?" she finally managed to ask. Truth being said, she too wanted to cry, but she had to be strong because it wasn't about her anymore. And she covered her belly protectively.

"I…" he hesitated. He had rehearsed the speech a thousand times in his head, but nothing could have prepared him for that. He just couldn't find the words. "I never knew."

"I wrote to you and you never came," she bit her tears back. "You said you loved me, but you didn't come."

"I didn't read the letters," he finally admitted. "I thought they were about Lavinia and what we had done and I thought you might blame yourself," he paused. "I left because I didn't want to hurt you again, but I've only made it worse. I just, I never thought… We only did it once."

"It's all that takes, Matthew," her voice trembled. "Don't worry though, I'll move to America as soon as the baby's born. Hopefully I'll be able to pass as a respectable widow and, with Grandmama's support, we'll live comfortably enough," and her heart broke again at the thought of a life without him. But how could she be sure of him? How could she be sure of anything?

"Mary, please," it was almost a whisper as shame overtook him. Shame and the fear of losing the her – of losing them again. "It's my child too."

"Then where were you, Matthew?" she shouted. "I wrote to you, I tried to reach you, but you were too busy punishing yourself, worrying over a dead woman. This," she stroked her stomach, "this is real, Matthew. I am real," she pleaded and the tears she had been holding back finally fell from her eyes, every part of her body shivered as she sobbed.

"I know you must hate me," he said after a long pause. He tried to fight the urge to go to her, take her into his embrace and soothe her. He just wanted to hold her and tell her how much he loved her. If only she knew how sorry he was.

Oh, she did hate him. She hated him because, even though he had left her, all she wanted was to fall into his embrace, to press her lips to his, to be comforted by him, to tell him how wonderful it had been to feel their child within her. She hated him because she loved him too much. She hated him because she couldn't stop loving him.

"I could never hate you," she admitted shyly. _I love you_, she wanted to say. _Don't you see it?_

"Let me do something then," he took a step closer and stared deeply into her teary dark eyes. "I love you."

She tried to fight the urge that those words awakened inside of her, but it was useless. Suddenly her lips found his and she pressed her body to every inch of him as she could no longer hold back.

* * *

_*A/N: A small chapter this time, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. I must admit that I really wanted Matthew to read the letters after seeing the story on the papers and I really wanted him to find out about the baby the way he did. I know it's not the ideal, but I just loved the idea of him seeing Mary and suddenly everything becoming clear to him. Also, I love the idea of Mary being protective of her child and trying to fight her feelings for Matthew._

_I also wanted to thank you for all the lovely reviews. I read something really bad the other day and I was feeling a bit down, but you guys really did cheer me up. I love criticism, don't get me wrong... It's just that what I read really made me question my habitilies as a writer (especially because English is not my first language and I only started to read in it after I lived in California and now that I'm in college) and I questioned myself whether I should keep going or not, but your words were so lovely that I decided that I couldn't abandom my stories. So thank you for that! _

_Please, let me know what you think of this chapter and what you hope to see next. I need a few good suggestiosn as I'm still not sure about what I'll do about those two now. :) Xx_


	7. Chapter 7

**Everything's Not Lost: chapter** 7

She didn't know what she was doing, but his words awakened something inside of her, a feeling that she had, for so long, tried to bury, to forget.

_He loves me_, she thought and her whole body shivered.

She breathed deeply and tried to, unsuccessfully, fight back that urge again. And suddenly she just knew that it would be useless to keep fighting. It was Matthew, with those piercing blue eyes, standing right in front of her, telling her that he loved her, asking for another chance, apologizing. How could she resist?

So she kissed him. She leaned forward, rested her palm on his cheek, stroking it gently with her thumb, her dark eyes staring deeply into his and she finally allowed her mouth to find his.

She did it because she wanted to tell him that she loved him, that she had felt their baby move, that she had missed him, that she had been scared – that she _was_ scared. But she couldn't find the words, so she kissed him instead.

And that kiss allowed Matthew to feel something he hadn't felt in weeks: hope. It was her lips against his own, her body pressed against his, her hands all over him, her scent intoxicating the air around him that allowed Matthew to believe that there might be hope after all.

"Mary," he pulled away, suddenly very aware, afraid even, of how things were still unresolved between them.

"I want to," she stroked his cheek and gazed deeply into his eyes. "It's alright, darling."

He smiled against her lips and his trembling fingers tightened around Mary's as they allowed the kiss to deepen. He breathed again and his arms finally came around her, pulling her closer to him.

Burning passion washed over them as his fingers worked on her dress and her hands moved to his pants, quickly working on his belt. Her mouth moved to his ears and then to his neck and chest, trailing open mouthed kisses all over him. Meanwhile, his hands kept working on her dress as the urgency to have her grew more and more within him. And, before they knew it, they were both standing naked, bodies pressed together as her lips found their way back to his.

"Mary," he protested as they moved towards the couch, his voice low with gentle concern. "Is it okay? For the baby, I mean."

"Of course," she smiled playfully against his lips as they lay on the couch, her naked body atop of his.

"God, you're so beautiful," he noted as he finally looked at her beautiful, changed form. Her rosy cheeks, her swollen lips, her rounder, fuller breasts, and the gentle swell where their child lay. And he felt his heart flutter with love as he thought of how they had, during the last time they had been together, created that new person growing inside of Mary.

And suddenly it was as if there had never been anyone but them. As if the world was only right when they were together.

So he flipped her in a way that she would lay underneath him and he pressed kisses down her jaw, her neck, her breasts…

"I love you," she gasped, urgency in her tone as she felt Matthew inside of her.

He grinned against her mouth and she was finally his. Just like he was finally hers.

* * *

"You never answered my question that night," he said breatheless.

"What do you mean?"

"Marry me," he said as they lay together on the floor, her sweaty body cuddled against his, her head on his chest. "You never answered my proposal."

"Matthew," she protested in a barely audible voice. She should have seen it coming, but his question still caught her unprepared. Of course she wanted to marry him, but how could she be sure that he wouldn't leave her again? There was a child she must think of. But then again, would it be right to deny her child the right to know its father? To take it away from its family and make it bear her shame with her? Not only that, but she wasn't sure that she wanted live without him, that she could live without sharing what they had just done again.

"Mary, please," he said softly. "Just give me a chance to make it right," he sighed. "I know you're trying to protect yourself and the baby, but please, my darling, trust me."

"I can't go back to Downton," she sighed as she trailed her fingertips across his chest, feeling it rise and fall as he breathed.

"Oh darling," he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and brushed her hair off her face. "We don't have to. We could live here, I'm very fond of Toulouse, you know?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," she chuckled, "I think Cousin Agatha would like her summer house back at some point."

"This is her house?"

"Yes, she married a French Lord. This was his family's," she poked his side playfully. "They come here every year with the children. I don't think they'd be happy to give it to us."

And he smiled at the way she said _us_.

"Well then," he grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles, "I suppose we could travel. I've never been to Spain, you know? Nor Italy or Portugal. Maybe we could even go to America. I hear there's a place there, Hollywood or something, where they make good films. I'm sure the baby would love it."

"Soon I'll be as big as a house, you know?"

"We can stay here until the baby's born and then we can go to wherever you fancy."

"But you have to go back to Downton, you have a duty."

"Yes, I do. But this," he trailed his hand across her stomach. "_You_ are more important. I won't go back until you're ready."

"What if I can never go back? Not only to Downton, but to England."

"Then we won't," he replied honestly.

"Oh Matthew," she sighed. "There's still so much we ought to talk about. What about the wedding? What will we do?"

"We could marry in the village. I'm sure I can have everything ready in a few days."

"Do you mean we should elope?" she asked sadly, thinking of how her family wouldn't be there.

"I'm sorry, darling," he pressed another kiss to her hair, "I know this is not what you wanted."

"That's alright," she sighed and put her hand on top of his, where it rested on her stomach. No, eloping was not what she had imagined, but having a baby before marrying wasn't either and now they didn't actually have a choice. Of course she didn't regret it, but she knew they'd have to marry quickly because soon, even in her loosest dresses, she wouldn't be able to hide it anymore.

"Well then," he sat up and rested his palm on her face, gently stroking her cheek. "Does that mean that you, Lady Mary Crawley, will do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

"Yes!" She smiled and leaned forwards to kiss him.

And they were married a few days later in the village. Just the two of them, Mary dressed in a soft blue gown, Matthew in his tails; two witnesses they had asked to come and the Minister. It was a quiet, simple ceremony, but beautiful nonetheless. And, as he kissed her softly and they turned back and left the altar, her hand in his arm, the world felt right again.

* * *

It was gradual though. Her trust in him didn't come back straight away, but they both knew that everything would be alright. They knew it because Mary didn't kiss him because she was afraid of saying how she felt aloud, to avoid confronting him. Rather, it was Mary talking to him, telling him that she loved him when they lay together, it was waking up completely unclothed beside of her. It was the times when she would smile and press her hand to her belly because she could feel the baby move, it was Mary telling him about how her body had changed in the first few weeks. It was how she would open up to him and allow him to hold her when she cried.

And so, as the weeks went on, they settled into their own routine.

Every morning, they would wake up together, Matthew lying on his back and Mary's head on his chest. He would give her a good morning kiss and she would sit up and let him talk to the baby, tell it how much Mama and Papa already loved them, how Mama was strong and how he hoped that, boy or girl, the baby would be like her. Some days, he would even thank the baby, because_ if it weren't for you, I don't know if Mama would have forgiven me. I can be very stubborn, you know? But I'm so, so happy that you are both here._

"Oh darling,"Mary would smile and soothe him, stroke his hair and press a tender kiss to his lips; mentally thanking the baby too. Thanking it for giving her strength to bear it all and for bringing Matthew back to her.

She would still take breakfast in their bedroom, while he ate downstairs, but, every day, he would wait for her at the entrance, so they could walk together. Some days they would go as far as the village, during others they would just walk around the house, but they would always sit on a bench right outside and talk for hours. Talk about the weather, about how her dresses wouldn't fit anymore, about how she hoped the baby would have his blue eyes or how he wished it would have her dark hair and freckles, about where they'd go after the baby came. But there were also days when they would talk about home, about how Papa would be glad that they were finally married, how Isobel would have wrapped her in plastic because of the baby, how Granny would have been shocked by their behavior, about how she missed Sybil and how she wished they could raise their babies together – but her sister was in Ireland and she was in France and she didn't know when they'd meet again; and her heart would break at the thought. During those days, she would cry and allow Matthew to take her into his arms and soothe her, tell her that everything would be alright because they were together and soon there'd be someone who would always make her smile. And so she would press a protective hand over her belly and mentally tell the baby how much she already loved them, more than she ever thought herself capable of.

During the evenings, they'd always have dinner together. And, even though Mary insisted on dressing up, because it was important to keep up with tradition, their meals were usually quiet and very pleasant, with just the two of them.

Later, they would lie in bed and cuddle together, Matthew half sitting up and Mary resting her head on his chest, her arms around him while he read to the baby. They would do this almost every night as, according to Mary, his voice soothed their child, who, just like Papa, loved to keep Mama awake.

"_No principle of either would be violated by my marriage with Mr. Darcy_," Matthew read aloud to the three of them.

"Oh!" Mary cried out, making Matthew drop the book and sat up straighter.

"My darling," he said worriedly. "What's the matter?"

"Oh Matthew," she chuckled and took his hand, pressing it over her belly, where she had just felt a firm, strong kick.

"Is this…" his eyes widened as he felt the baby's tiny foot against his palm for the first time. "Oh my darling," he kissed her cheek and stroked the swell, feeling their child again.

"I think the baby's quite the Austen fan," she laughed. "She's always very active when we read Pride and Prejudice."

"She?" He gazed at her, surprised. "You think it's a girl?"

"I…" she trailed off. "I don't know. It's just that, whenever I think of the baby, I think _she_."

"Why haven't you said anything?"

"I'm not sure," she stroked her belly as she felt the baby shift. "Perhaps I'm just afraid that the baby will be a boy and that people will question his rights as the heir. You know, because of how things happened."

"We're married, it doesn't matter."

"I know," she hesitated. "But a part of me keeps worrying about it."

"Oh darling," he hugged her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, trying to soothe her.

"Would you mind much? If it's a girl, I mean," she said and he could see the worry in her eyes. It was clear to him how she feared that the baby might be a disappointment to him, just like she felt she had been to her parents when there had been no heir.

"Of course not!" He smiled and gently stroked her face with his thumb. "I'd be happy with a house full of girls, especially if they're anything like you."

"I'd be careful wishing that," she teased him, smiling in relief at his reassurances though. "I'm not sure we could handle another Mary, let alone a house full of them."

"See," he grinned as he felt another firm kick against his palm. "I think she might be just like you, darling."

"God, I hope not," she said playfully and leaned forward to press her lips to his.

* * *

On the following couple of months, their life kept going pretty much at the same pace. They'd do just about the same as before, although they'd walk not quite as far and Mary would retire a bit earlier as the baby had become very active during the past weeks and it wearied her. But they'd still sit and talk about the same mundane things, Matthew would still spend several minutes every morning just talking to the baby and feeling it shift beneath his palm, they'd still read together every night, although now Mary would complain about how their child seemed to be destined to be a cricket player, if its activities during the night were any indication.

One evening though, the butler told them that there was a call from Downton Abbey to Lady Mary.

Surprised, Mary looked at Matthew, seeking some kind of reassurance, but he, just like her, had frozen, fearing what that could mean.

"Go," he said as he noticed her gaze on him. "It'll be alright," he squeezed her hand in an attempt to comfort her. He, however, didn't believe his own words.

"Yes," she answered worriedly. She was completely aware that it could not be anything good if they were calling her there.

"Mary," Edith's tearful voice was on the other side of the line. "It's Papa, he's not well. Dr. Clarkson thinks it's his heart."

"Oh God," Mary pressed her hand to her belly as she felt her legs tremble, her heart flutter and the tears form in her eyes.

"He asks for you," Edith hesitated. "Please, come home."

* * *

_*A/N: First of all, thank you so much for your kind words! You guys are the best, really! You've made my week :')_

_Now let's talk about this chapter. Happiness at last! YAY! lol Seriously though, I wanted to give them a moment of blissfulness as there'll be quite a bit of angst in the next couple of chapters. But what do you think? I particularly like that she didn't just say yes, over much as she might want to, she knew there was other things to consider before accepting him. I also like their little routine and the P&P part was a shoutout to my pen name haha And a new cliffhanger! What do you think? Little tip, it's not what you think... So I hope you stay with me to find out where this will go ;)_

_Oh! I forgot to mention that I also wanted to make this chapter extra happy because I have to study Macroeconomy and Introduction to the International Relations this week, so there won't be another update at least until Friday. Wish my luck on my exams! lol Another thing is that I wrote the first half of this chapter right after soccer night (gotta love Libertadores Cup), so I was in a fantatic mood then... And the other half after an afternoon in the bar with my friends, so you know why that is in case there are some inconsistencies._

_Anyway, I hope you're still with me and I'll do my best to update soon. Please, review! I'd LOVE to know your thoughts on this chapter and what you hope to see on the next one. Also, boy or girl? Xx_

_Ps.: Thanks to the lovely Audrey C for her advice! :D_


End file.

Downton Abbey, Drama, Romance