Downton Abbey 1. Chapter 1

"I hope the dinner came up to your expectation, Sir Anthony," Cora says as a car arrives to take Lady Grantham home. "It was indeed. Even beyond anything I had in mind, I can assure you," says Anthony in a happy manner.

"Are we to believe that you were not sure Downton can satisfy your grand standard the way it did before?" Violet asks, using his own words to corner him. She doesn't even bother to keep her strong objection towards his marriage with Edith to herself.

"I am terribly sorry if I have offended you with my words, Lady Grantham. But I can convince you that I did not mean anything bad. I simply did not think that I ever enjoyed a dinner as much as I did tonight," Anthony replies in a smile.

"I hope you mean it," Violet mutters.

"You do know he does, Granny," Edith retorts, getting annoyed by the way her grand mama treats her husband. When will they ever get enough over the fact that Anthony is by far her superior in age, and start to see him as a family?

"Well," Violets pouts, shrugs her shoulders while leaving her words unfinished.

"You should not speak the way you did to her, dear. She is still your grandmamma," Anthony tells her in a soft voice once they are inside their car.

"Well I'm sorry, I just couldn't help it. she can really get on everybody's nerves sometimes and still be very dull, very full of herself."

"Perhaps she is, but that doesn't justify your way of responding her earlier. It was just her way to protect you, thinking how you can get far way better man than me."

"Oh hush," Edith cuts off. "I don't want to hear any words about it. I couldn't care less about how many rich and good looking men are out there. The only thing that matters is that I choose you. It is _you _whom I want to marry. And they have to accept it, whether they like it or not. If Sybil can get married to a chauffeur and still be very much welcomed in Downton, I cannot see any reason for them to despise the idea of us."

She stops, reaches out for his hands, and brushes her thumbs against his palms. "I know what a gentleman you are, but I hate the idea of you think so lowly of yourself. It breaks my heart to think that I am the one who make you look at yourself the way you do. So could we just discuss nothing more about this?"

Anthony can't find anything to say, astonished by how highly she thinks of him.

"Or do you despise the idea of having me as your wife so much, for I've never been as beautiful as Mary?" she asks. He knows she says that to tease him, but still, he can't let it go as a joke. "I don't know how you could come with such an opinion. You are beautiful. Just because you believe your sister to be so heavenly beautiful, doesn't mean I have to do too. You are beautiful, you just don't realize it."

"Really? Looks like I wasn't the only one there, for I did not have so many admirers in the past as Mary," she laughs to hide her blushed cheeks.

"That's because they were blind."

"I have to tell you I am flattered, Sir. But you have to admit that Mary is a beautiful woman, you just don't want to hurt my feelings because I am your wife."

Anthony responds her with a smile. He is very much aware that it is still quite difficult for most of the Crawleys to recognize him as a new member of the family, but he has promised to work his best to make them bestow their approval on him when he decided to propose to Edith. He knows how precious that family is to her wife no matter what—he still finds it quite difficult to believe how a woman as lovely, as beautiful as Edith wants him, the old and poor Anthony Strallan, to be her man. And he vows silently he won't let her feel disappointed on her choice of husband.

* * *

"You were quite silent this evening," Matthew tries to make some conversation while changing into his pajamas.

"I believe that's because I didn't have too much thing to talk about," Mary answers from across the bed. He lets a deep sigh at the sight of his wife's back, knowing how disappointed she has been in him for his objection of the idea using Swire's inheritance to save Downton.

"You don't even pretend to be all curious about my trip to London?"

"It is a business matter anyway, I don't see why I have to be so curious."

"Mary," he murmurs as he gets on the bed, can't stand the idea of Mary's refusal even to look at him.

"Do you really hate me that much because I refuse to take the money?"

Mary sits up and turns around, looking at him with teary eyes. "How could you think such badly of me? You do know perfectly well that I cannot despise you, no matter how hard I try to." Her voice breaks at the last words, but she resists to pull herself together, not wanting to look so weak in his eyes.

"Then why were you avoiding me?"

"That's because I don't want us to keep fighting and arguing and disagreeing one another, something that apparently is the only thing we could do these days."

"Oh darling, you know I don't want it either," he whispers, taking Mary's hand in his when she immediately pulls off.

"Don't," she begs, having no more strength to voice something louder than a whisper. "I… can't."

Her heart aches seeing that hurt feeling in his eyes. She hates herself for rejecting his touch, but she is afraid she will break down the moment he pulls her into his arms.

"I am not your enemy, Mary, for God's sake! I am your husband. I just want to hold you, not breaking you into pieces."

_But that is exactly what you are doing, _Mary thinks, looking at the wall behind him, then the ceiling, anything to avoid his stare.

"Do you really have to punish me like this?" he asks, his voice all trembling and shaking.

She shuts her eyes, squeezes them to dismiss the tears, and inhales a deep breath before finally opens her eyes and look at him.

"Go to sleep, Matthew. You must be tired," she says, unable to bring a smile to her face.

Matthew does not say anything for a while, looking at her with hurts written all over his face. "I will sleep in the dressing room tonight. I don't think you can rest well with me being around."

He steps down the bed and leaves the room in instant, leaving Mary all alone in the room that suddenly feels too big for herself. That is when she finally crumbles, breaks down into tears she has been holding.


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

"Going away for a few days?" Robert repeats in confusion. "Surely not now when you just got back from London?"

"I'm afraid I would have to disappoint you, but it has to be today," Matthew confirms regretfully.

"Is it really an urgent matter?"

"I believe it is, Papa. Why would Matthew even bother to go if it is not?" Mary speaks, staring at her tea cup as if it is the only thing in the room that captures her attention. She never meets Matthew's eyes ever since they joined the room for breakfast.

"Well, that's unfortunate, but I believe there's nothing to do about it then?" Robert looks back at his son-in law—his heir, who can only throw a bitter smile as a confirmation.

Matthew looks at the woman sits across the table—his wife, his Mary, who keeps talking to their mothers most of the time and staring down at her food for the rest of it.

He looks at her elegant manner of having breakfast, captivated with her soft, husky voice every time she lets out a word or two to respond to their respective mothers. How he misses everything about her, from the way the morning rays fall on her hair like an angelic halo to the blush on her pale cheeks, from those amazing brown eyes to the way her fingers move as if they were dancing. God only knows how he aches for missing her so very bad, how much he longs to circle his hands around her, to pull her in a tight embrace, to caress every single inch of her skin with so much love, to kiss her and to have her kissing him back to assure him she loves him just as much as he does.

"Matthew?"

Robert's voice draws him back into reality, where he can only stare at her so longingly without being able even to touch her, let alone embrace. What did Robert ask? Something about his departure time, if he's not mistaken.

"Not long after lunch time, I suppose," he answers.

"When will you be back?"

"In about three or four days, I'm not quite sure. But I'll return home as soon as I can."

* * *

"May I know why you did not tell me anything about this trip?"

Matthew raises his eyes, leaving the book he is currently reading to find Mary standing in front of him, her face frowns in confusion. The last thing he needs before leaving is to have another fight with her over something so simple.

"I tried to. You didn't give me a chance."

"Of course," his wife responds in sarcasm. "It was always me, of course. Every time we argue, it must be either because of me being so insensitive or practical or selfish or stubborn."

"I never said that."

"But that's just how it sounds to me."

Matthew breathes, then closes his book and stands up. "I'm sorry, my darling. I never meant to make it sound that bad. It was a sudden plan, anyway, I thought of it while I was at London. And I really wanted to tell you, I really did, but I couldn't find the right moment."

"Do you really have a right moment just to inform me that you were planning to go somewhere?" she asks.

He doesn't answer, unable to think of anything with her standing there, so close to him he can almost feel her breaths on his skin. He lifts his hand in despair, silently begging her not to back away. She does not, thank God, Matthew thinks as he cups her cheeks with his hands, strokes his thumb across her soft silky skin with such tender.

"I miss you," he finally lets out those three little words. He does, he terribly terribly does. His voice cracks, heart bursts with joy from being finally able to touch her again. To feel her warm skin, kiss each of her eyes and nose and neck and, of course, her sweet lips. To finally be able to inhale that nice, relaxing fragrance she always has. He cannot remember how he could manage to stay in the dressing room last night without going crazy.

Mary releases a little sigh at his touch, her way of telling him that she misses him too, encouraging him to pull her closer, not wanting any distance between them.

"I know you do," she murmurs, tightens her hands around Matthew, feeling the urge to embrace him tight, hates the idea of having to let go. But she has to, of course.

"Kiss me," she pleads in his ear. Oh he will, he surely will even without her asking him to. And so he does, without any intentions to hold back. And she responds with no less passion. Lips are crashing, tongues are taking and giving as much as they can, gratifying their hunger towards each other.

Rather than a kiss, it's more like he's ravishing her lips. She clings to his neck, unable to trust herself not to collapse once she let go. He groans, she gasps for breath, both aren't willing to pull away.

Matthew is the one to finally break the kiss. He needs to, or he won't be able to stop. Resting his forehead against hers, he leans against the table to keep both of them stand. His breaths are uneven, heart races twice faster. He smiles at the sight of his wife, noticing that Mary is no better. Her lips swollen, cheeks blushed and warm when he reaches for her.

"Promise me you won't be away for long," Mary says after she managed.

"I'll be back as soon as everything is finally… settled," he whispers.

"And Matthew," she adds when he's about to leave the library. He turns, glances at their still-entwined fingers before looking back at her.

"We won't let Downton fall, will we?" she asks. She needs him to answer, to assure her.

"We will do anything we can." He kisses her slightly parted lips one more time before finally leaving.

"We will do anything we can," Mary murmurs once she is alone. "But you never promised me Downton won't fall."


End file.

Downton Abbey, Hurt-Comfort, Romance