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It was evening, two days after Mary's return from London. Matthew kept eying her hotly as she fussed at the vanity, and her stomach churned trying to think of a way to put him off. With her trip, it had been more than a week. They had never gone without so long before, not since they were married.
"Come to bed, my darling. I've missed you, you know." His voice was low and seductive; normally she couldn't resist. And of course he knew that, and so had no thought that she would wish to refuse again – her excuse of fatigue couldn't still apply, and he didn't suspect her fib. She could see it in his smile and the slightly rakish expression in his eyes.
She cursed herself for not coming up with something that would give her more time. Last night she had been sure to go to bed early, feigning sleep when he arrived upstairs. Tonight, however… He had been looking at her lustfully all evening, almost indiscreetly, and made his excuses bare moments after she left the drawing room. She met his eyes in the mirror and smiled wanly.
"Coming, coming. This earring is fiddly."
"It's lovely. But I insist you abandon it and come give your attention to me ." He held out his hand.
"Alright, I'm here." She placed the earrings in their spot in her jewelry box and walked softly over to her side of the bed, allowing him to pull her in.
"Shove up, Matthew, I couldn't possibly fit there."
Matthew quickly slid over. "I'm a bit eager, I suppose." His rueful smile, such a contrast to the seductive look of before, was very charming, Mary thought, feeling stressed by how lovely he was being. Normally she was very pleased to feel so desired by him, but now…
Once the lamp was off, Matthew immediately slid down to put his face between her breasts. He nuzzled each in turn, and began to mouth them through her silken nightdress as his hand slid down to its hem.
"Matthew…" She placed her hand on his head, playing with the slippery strands of his light hair.
"Mmm?" he said distractedly, his attention still on her bosom.
"Perhaps it would be best…" she tugged lightly. He looked up, more attentive now.
"What is it? Too fast? Or too sensitive today?"
"No, it's just, I'm not in the mood, to be quite honest…"
His eyebrows raised. "Not at all? I would have thought…" He thought better of continuing. "Never mind." He wouldn't be the kind of tiresome fellow who was always after his wife to come to bed even when she found it a chore.
He pulled away from her chest and gave a chaste kiss to her cheek. "Can I…" He looked at her face for a moment in the dark, deciding. "Can I at least hold you, my darling?”
Mary felt terrible at the hesitation in his voice. She wanted nothing more than to give in to him, but she knew she couldn’t, not if they wanted children. Besides, she was still hurting, and she was doubtful she would enjoy it much anyway.
“Of course, Matthew.” She nuzzled into his arms as he embraced her, kissing his collarbone.
“Not ‘of course,’” Matthew thought sardonically. “Perhaps you’d have gone off embraces, too.” Still, he wasn't worried, and felt consoled when she squeezed and caressed him as they fell to sleep. There was always tomorrow. He kissed the top of her head and they fell asleep with their limbs entwined.
Several days and a few more rebuffs later, Mary was woken in the middle of the night by a rhythmic rocking against the cleft of her buttocks. She was a bit surprised, as she gradually became aware of what was happening, that Matthew would do such a thing while she slept. It didn't seem like him.
"Needs must," she thought, her cheeks pinked. But, as she craned her neck to look behind her, she saw her husband’s sleeping face and realized he had no awareness of what he was doing. She wondered if he dreamed of her, of all the things she had lately prevented him from doing to her and with her. Did this sort of thing happen to other men? Was it because she hadn't let him come to her these few days? She didn't know.
Mary sighed. She knew Matthew would be embarrassed if she woke him. She resolved to enjoy the comfort of his embrace and allow his sleeping mind to continue playing out its erotic imaginings against her body. So, without bothering to disentangle herself from his arms or to disengage his lower half from hers, she laid her head back on the pillow and drifted in a drowsy state of arousal until she eventually fell back to sleep.
When Matthew awoke later, he was still wrapped around Mary and the trousers of his pajamas were stuck to him. He felt somehow both humid and crusty. He cursed under his breath; he couldn’t remember the last time…
He carefully unpicked the striped fabric from the hair of his right thigh and then gingerly unwrapped himself from his sleeping wife. She didn’t stir, luckily, and Matthew had a quick idea to check if he had soiled her nightgown, making to lift up the duvet. He then thought better of it, deciding it would be better not to chance waking her, and instead rolled out of bed, trying not to disturb the mattress.
Matthew then slunk across the cold floor to his dressing room, where he made an effort to clean himself up, somewhat shamefaced. He remembered mornings of youthful panic when he had first started becoming a man. He had no notion he might face the same predicament as an adult.
It was too early to dress, so he found another pair of pajamas, hoping Mary wouldn’t notice the difference in the morning. He did his best not to think of what the servants might make of his dirty nightclothes.
Matthew frowned as he got back into bed, thinking about Mary’s late disinterest in intimacy. What had changed? He didn’t believe Mary was angry with him; she seemed happy enough in the daytime, although as cool as ever, and unstressed as far as he could tell. She was still affectionate, kissed him each morning and stroked his hair as she liked to do. (He liked it too.)
He had always imagined Mary and he to be quite compatible in that area, had counted on it even before he really knew for sure. It was something his mind had occasionally lit upon during his engagement with Lavinia, much to his shame. Matthew had no way of knowing how other couples behaved, of course, beyond the likely exaggerated talk of the men in the trenches, but he rather thought they shifted along together well enough, quite enjoyably, and frequently too. She certainly seemed to like it – but perhaps that was the trouble; perhaps he was seeing what he wished to see. He definitely felt a strong enough desire for her; maybe it clouded his perception. Maybe something was wrong with his technique...
But no – surely she couldn’t fake that , not when he could feel it all 'round him. His Mary was passionate, even if the rest of the world found her cool. And why should she pretend? He interrupted his examination of the specific proofs of her enjoyment; even within the security of his own head he felt slightly uncomfortable to think overlong of how she felt on him as she took her pleasure. And aroused, the last thing he needed.
Matthew fretted. It seemed clear to him that his war injury was causing them difficulty in conceiving. Whether or not she enjoyed the act in the moment, and he was sure she did, perhaps Mary felt it wasn’t worth making love if there was no chance of a child. Maybe she only truly liked it when there was a greater goal in mind.
Or only liked it with him with a greater goal, he frowned, remembering the Turkish diplomat. He really hoped that wasn’t the case. He had never considered such a thing, that they might stop once they had done their duty to the estate. He imagined them continuing their marital intimacy for their whole lives long, if he ever thought of it at all.
And it just seemed so unlikely! He was sure she was attracted to him still. Just yesterday, the way her hand lingered at his knee, stroking against the nap of his trousers… He blushed, and determined to give Mary a few days. Matthew had no wish for that aspect of their marriage to end, but he didn’t want Mary to feel pressured by his needs. Maybe time would sort the issue. Mind made up, he snuggled under the bedclothes and delicately shifted Mary back into his arms before falling asleep once more.
Later that week, Matthew thought on things again as Molesley readied him for bed.
“Five days,” he thought. “Surely it’s not coming on too strong if I try again now.”
He was cautiously optimistic. Mary had been particularly affectionate that day, he had noticed, and in his experience that was usually a harbinger of her particular enthusiasm in the evening when they were alone. In fact, in the past it had frequently coincided with an increase in Mary’s appetence , occurring around once a month, he thought, not that Mary had ever (or would ever!) put words to it. He idly wondered whether that was something that medical scientists could explain, but quickly shut down the train of thought before he could speculate on the opinion of his father, uncle, grandfather or mother on the subject.
Matthew felt a frisson as Molesley slid Matthew’s cool silk robe over his arms, gooseflesh raising on his skin. Chagrined, he thought, “This is why a grown man shouldn’t be dressed like a doll,” his old refrain. Nothing worse than to be touched by someone you don’t want while in a state of arousal. Luckily it hadn’t progressed to anything visible as yet. He pursed his lips. “Get yourself together, man!”
Still, these meandering thoughts couldn’t quite repress his eagerness. He knew he should manage his expectations, but it was hard when his wife’s smile seemed so sultry as he approached the bed, and when she immediately curled her dainty feet into his calves as he climbed in.
“Shall I turn off the light, darling?” he asked, gesturing at the book which lay closed on her chest.
“Mmm. Yes, I’m quite finished for tonight.”
Matthew smiled as he turned towards the lamp. Perhaps Mary was as eager as he.
Mary had put her book up and moved to her side in the meantime. If she meant to show her back as a barrier to his advances, Matthew didn’t notice. He turned towards her and edged forward delicately, his hand flat on the mattress between them, giving her time to react. He feathered the fingers of his other hand along her upper arm, and then brushed them more securely along her hip as she didn’t pull away. Shimmying yet closer, Matthew kissed Mary’s nape, and nosed into her hair. He inhaled the remnants of her perfume, and Mary hummed in approval. He kissed the side of her neck in earnest, and thought he felt Mary moan. “So far so good,” Matthew thought, and tentatively trailed his hand around her ribcage and pushed against her from behind. As the tips of his fingers reached her pubic mound, Mary pushed back into him. But she must have clenched something internally in her arousal; she felt a twinge from her incision, and was suddenly dropped back into reality. She jerked away, almost violently, and Matthew blinked in shock and hurt.
“I’m sorry, darling, I’m just so tired lately.” It was falsely bright, and patently false – Mary had been out for a brisk ride that very day. Mary cringed in the dark at the feeble excuse.
He swallowed, and managed, “Ah.”
“I hope you understand.”
“...of course.” His voice was low and husky, almost a whisper.
As Matthew turned to face the other direction, he was glad the light was off. He adjusted himself, gave a single sniff as he stretched out his face, and quickly used the heel of his palm to wipe a tear from each eye. He squeezed them shut, willed his shoulders to relax and his arousal to go away, and eventually fell asleep.
Matthew knew it wasn’t fair to take it out on Mary if he was unhappy with how little interest she now seemed to have in being with him. Still, he couldn’t quite pretend the next morning to be unaffected by all that had passed the night before. Her rejection stung, and Matthew’s mood careened wildly between petulant and morose as he readied himself for the day, thankful when he was able to rid himself of Molesley at last.
Matthew walked out of his dressing room and back into the bedroom. Although he chastised himself for being immature, he couldn’t look his wife in the eye, and didn’t wish to touch her at all. Mary stood in her robe, her eyes skidding all around the room, landing anywhere but him, and she clenched nervously at her hands. She felt on the verge of tears when Matthew ducked away from the kiss she tried to brush on his jaw as he stood needlessly fussing with his tie.
“Matthew…”
“Yes, Mary.” He gazed steadfastly at his reflection, clenching his jaw.
“Shall we… Would you read to me today? I thought we might go sit at the bench under the cedar if the weather holds. You know how much I love to listen to your voice.” Mary’s own voice was tremulous, although she tried for an affectionate lilt. A peace offering, Matthew knew, but he needed some time; he still felt raw from all her rebuffs, and no longer trusted his ability to read her. He was starting to feel that he had better stop reaching out, and just let his wife come to him when she was ready. The thought was only partially motivated by petulance.
Mary knew he was upset with her because he still refused to meet her eyes; he stared fixedly at the tie he repeatedly adjusted. “I can’t, darling, I have to go Mother’s for tea, remember? I’ll see you this evening, I’m sure. We can read after dinner.”
Mary nodded sadly. “Right, of course, silly me.” She climbed back into bed and grabbed her breakfast tray, giving the jam spoon unwarranted concentration. Matthew pressed his face to his hand and inhaled heavily through his nose. He couldn’t leave it like this.
He walked to Mary’s side of the bed and picked up her hand for a kiss. “I love you, my darling. I’ll see you later.” Mary smiled weakly in response, watching his tense shoulders and the back of his downturned head as he walked stiffly out the door.
“Oh Mama! Maybe I should have told him! I didn’t know this would be so difficult.”
Mary met her mother’s eyes in the mirror as she fiddled with her jewelry before dinner. Her mother smiled.
“Mary, no man ever died from being turned away from the marital bed. He will be fine . In a few weeks you’ll be good as new, and it will be like it never happened.”
Mary frowned. “Easy for you to say; you didn’t see the look on his face this morning. You don’t understand… The way we are together… The difference in our... or between before and now...– oh I can’t talk about it! But it’s miserable.”
“He isn’t pressuring you, I hope.”
“Oh Mama. It’s like you’ve never met him.”
Cora chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. I can’t imagine him trying that. And I wouldn’t want to!”
Mary rolled her eyes. ”You’re being tediously American.”
Cora tutted. “Come dear, we’ll be late. Quit fussing, everything will be alright. Matthew loves you, he won’t be mad for long.”
Mary grit her teeth in frustration. She wasn’t worried he was mad! She was worried he was hurt . She was worried she was damaging the intimacy and honesty between them, injuring their closeness . It was impossible for Cora to understand. Her mother may have come to love her father, but as far as Mary could tell she still believed that Robert was someone to be managed , whatever Robert might think about it. That’s not how Mary was with Matthew, and it’s not how she ever wanted them to be. She considered, again, telling Matthew about the operation, but again decided against it. She couldn’t bear to talk about it. “Besides,” she thought sardonically as she quit the room, “when did communicating ever help any relationship?”
Although Matthew spent all morning in a fit of pique, by lunch he began to see the injustice of his petulant mutterings, and to regret them. By teatime the self-recriminations had begun. And when the dressing gong was rung, he had been flagellating himself for more than an hour.
It was terribly unfair, he ruminated, to punish Mary for not wanting to make love to him. Who I am, he fretted, to decide what that part of our relationship should be like. If she no longer has desire for me, he gulped, then so be it.
"I still love her, and shall always love her, even if we never make love again." He went on and on in this vain, without ever realizing what a great leap it was, from short dry spell to lifelong celibacy. He hadn't, after all, quite recovered from his hurt, and so overcompensated with an attempt to be principled and understanding – not such a bad coping mechanism, all things considered, but it made him rather dramatic.
"Perhaps I should bring it up with her," he thought, reasonably, but in the end decided he couldn't quite bear it. He was also worried it might amount to more needless pressure. "This morning's performance was quite bad enough!" he thought, shaking his head at himself, foolishly setting aside the best idea he had had all day.
Mary was astonished that upon meeting Matthew before dinner to dress he was at his most charming and affectionate.
"Well, my dear, you have bid me read to you. What'll it be? Shall we pick up with Forster? I don't think the Lawrence would be altogether appropriate," he smirked, looking through the small stack of books on her bedside table. "Where did you even get that?"
She smiled coyly. "I have my ways."
“As a woman in love, perhaps you were drawn to it.”
“Perhaps I was.” She looked through her lashes at his reflection.
"Forster, then?"
"Why not."
Matthew smiled at her in the mirror as he approached behind her seated at her vanity. He played with an unpinned lock of hair and bent to kiss her neck.
"I like this frock. Is it new?" He fingered the neckline by her shoulder.
"I thought you might. It was just finished yesterday."
"Well the color is smashing on you, darling." "It's any wonder I can keep my hands off you," he almost said.
Mary stroked her hand back and forth along the surface of the vanity. "Thank you. I can always rely upon you for a pretty compliment."
"That you can." He smiled. "I'll just get out of your hair. But don't be too long, your father is still trying to corner me about the Walters farm. I won't be talked out of my opinion, and I can't stand to go in circles about it endlessly. It will just make us both irritable at dinner."
"I won't. Now shoo." Mary sighed in relief as he closed the door. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all, she decided. Matthew seemed to understand that she just needed a little time, and surely they wouldn't be worse the wear for the delay.
Of course she spoke too soon. Mary was feeling distinctly uncomfortable about Matthew’s attitude all throughout the evening. There was something of the saintly about him, and it made her narrow her eyes in suspicion. She wanted the push and pull, not whatever this was.
Despite Matthew’s misgivings, he and Edith and Mary had somehow landed on the subject of Lawrence’s newest work. As usual, Edith made a show of her modern thinking; Mary was pragmatic; and Matthew was thoughtful and open-minded.
He spoke in an undertone, lest Robert – or worse, Carson – overhear. "...and we know not every marriage need be alike. Love can come in many forms." Matthew looked at Mary knowingly. “We shouldn’t judge if a man and a woman, or even two men, come to an understanding about how they wish things to be between themselves. It’s no one’s business but their own.”
“Hear hear!” Edith enthused.
Mary frowned, puzzled. What did he mean? He had seemed to be speaking directly to her. It didn't seem like a dig, and really that wasn't Matthew's style anyway. Surely he didn’t think her reluctance to engage with him was their form of love. She was annoyed at the very idea, and began to play the coquette in earnest. Anything to wipe that beatific look off his face.
Matthew could only regret it a little bit when Mary rather rudely boxed Edith out of their discussion. He gave his sister-in-law a somewhat rueful smile before turning his attention to his wife, laughing at the clever anecdote she artfully linked to the novel they had just been talking of. Matthew delighted in Mary’s wit, and she knew it and delighted in his delight. Even if he could never take his pleasure in her body ever again, he did so love his Mary – in whatever form she preferred.
Standing in his dressing room, Matthew decided that, perhaps, given how Mary looked in her dress tonight, and how she had flirted and charmed him after dinner; and given that he didn't wish to pressure her, or to have a repeat of his nocturnal emission of the other day…
Well, he would never be so cold as to shun their bed for his dressing room, but at least he might prepare himself to share a bed with her. Once the door clicked shut after Molesley, and hearing the soft sounds of the sheets as Mary climbed into bed, the murmur of her conversation with Anna fading away, Matthew took himself in hand and began to quietly pleasure himself. Thinking of the swish and softly shuffling beads of his wife’s gown, it took little for him to come to full hardness.
How familiar, he thought ruefully, remembering all those times before his marriage where he found himself in this very situation – desperate for Mary, thinking of her as he abused himself. Little did he think that he'd be back to this, and maybe even for the rest of his marriage!
His embarrassment and despairings faded quickly as Matthew gave himself over to the sensations created by the stroking of his hand, seeing in his mind’s eye how Mary's new frock might look lifted over her waist as he entered her from behind. A familiar scenario, used in aid of a familiar task, but the dress, at least, was new.
Mary, meanwhile, was impatient. Where had her husband gone? She clicked the lamp back on, fixing her gaze on his dressing room door. She was sure she hadn’t heard him leave, but where was he? They couldn’t be together, of course, but she wanted a cuddle before sleep, not that she would use such an undignified term. She was sure she heard Molesley leave ages ago. Was he still in his dressing room? Surely he wasn't planning to sleep there.
Mary's brow crinkled in puzzlement, and she screwed up her face in concentration. She heard... It sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.
She padded to Matthew's dressing room on silent feet, the rhythmic sounds becoming more distinctive as she approached. She began to hear heavy breathing and whispery half-moans or grunts, almost inaudible. Suddenly, recognition hit her, and she slapped her hand over her mouth in shock. Surely not! She felt torn between laughing, and crying, and... arousal.
Poor Matthew, dear Matthew. His dignity was taking quite a hit lately, and all her fault!
She hesitated, reaching out to softly touch the door. She wondered if he thought of her. Then she wondered if she could perhaps help in some way. But no, she knew where that would lead. Surely, though, she could stay and listen, just to be sure he got what he needed. There was no harm in that...
She stood, mesmerized, as the rhythmic noise grew faster, until finally she heard a familiar low groan, and knew it had ended. Her right hand had been playing idly with the silk of her shift, pulling it taut against one nipple. She must have stayed in aroused contemplation by the dressing room longer than she realized; she only had time to walk two hasty steps as she heard the door knob turn, narrowly missing having it opened onto her by her surprised husband.
"Mary!"
Matthew raised his eyebrows in surprise at her nearness, then turned bright red to the tips of his ears. God help him if she had heard!
Mary realized there was a familiar smell, too, to what he had just been doing. She was surprised to find she had even missed it, although she wouldn't have thought of it before. And, unobserved by her as she awkwardly smiled at Matthew, it increased the arousal she had been cultivating in her voyeurism, evident in her peaked nipples. Matthew looked pointedly elsewhere, remarking to himself that the room didn’t really seem cold.
"I was wondering where you got off to. Just coming to check your dressing room. Are you ready to sleep?"
"Of course, my dear." He leaned down to kiss her, putting his arms about her waist. Mary involuntarily canted her crotch towards him, but Matthew gently pushed her hips back with his thumbs even as he continued the kiss. When he broke it, he brushed her hair from her face lovingly before turning to walk to the bed, unseeing the frustration written on Mary's face. Mary didn't realize how much he desired her, he thought, and maybe didn’t realize doing things like that only stoked his desire. "Perhaps she assumes I feel as she feels," he pondered, climbing into the bed. "I know she doesn't mean to tease, not this time. I know how she is when she's playing with me, and that wasn't it. Maybe it was just instinct." He willfully ignored how unlike Mary it would be for her not to notice her effect on a man.
Across the room, Mary looked after him mournfully and clenched her thighs in arousal even as she still felt some pain from the surgery. "Only a few more weeks, and then we can be as we were. As if nothing has changed, just as Mama said." And, contrarily, apparently forgetting everything up until that very moment, "It's as if he doesn't notice at all." With a sniff, she made to climb into bed and embrace her husband chastely. As they lay together and spoke softly about their plans for the next day, Mary began to shift uncomfortably against him.
"Darling?"
"Sorry, sorry, just a bit of an itch," Mary murmured, reflecting that it wasn't quite a lie.
"You don't know from itch," she thought wryly a week later, fidgeting at the unreachable sensation in an area she didn't wish to think about.
Having passed through the crucible – that most amorous time of month – she thought the rest of her convalescence would be a cakewalk. And yet somehow, this seemed worse – this infernal itch, and Matthew… Matthew had seemingly settled into a pleasant, unstressed attitude of blasé disregard for the state of their sex life.
She was sexually frustrated, and irritated not to find him similarly situated. "If it were him," she thought, "he would merely be happy that I'm happy and try to make the best of it." And so he had. But of course Mary and Matthew were very different people, and Mary only felt offended pride and wounded vanity. She had little care for how “fair” she was being in blaming Matthew for his attempts at consideration for her feelings.
"How's he been taking it?" Cora asked sotto voce as they sat down alone to tea. She gave Mary a knowing look.
"Well enough," she said breezily. "He seems to have lost interest. He's stopped trying."
"Good man," Cora chuckled. "I doubt any other would have given up so easily."
Mary's back went up. "I've half a mind to make him regret the lack of attention," she said in a supercilious tone.
Cora gave her a look of fond exasperation. "Don't torture the poor boy."
Mary scowled, and glared at her mother tetchily. "Well, what if he's decided to give it up entirely!" She jangled her bracelets, annoyed.
"Oh Mary," her mother looked at her fondly again. "I doubt you need to worry about that. You'll soon be trying for a baby, after all. But I'm glad you've been able to get some enjoyment from that part of your marriage." She gave a mischievous smile.
"To think you wished to marry me off to Anthony Strallan," Mary needled, in revenge for the thought her mother put in her head – that perhaps Matthew didn't desire her as much as other men desired their wives. She shuddered at the thought of being repeatedly importuned by that broken down old booby, her mouth a delicate moue of distaste.
Now Cora scowled. "Don't speak of that man to me!"
"Yes, Mama." Mary smirked. She really could be horrible when she wanted.
After dinner, Mary was determined to prove to herself and to her Mama that she still had power over Matthew. She gave little thought to the fact that she was making life harder for herself, and didn't consider that it might be cruel to toy with her husband in such a way.
Sitting by the fireplace, Mary played with her necklace flirtatiously as Matthew spoke with her father on estate matters. She triumphed internally as he grew distracted and lost his train of thought, working his throat as he dragged his gaze back to Lord Grantham, who luckily remained oblivious to this byplay.
Until that moment, Matthew had all but given up on the idea of intimacy any time soon. He was determined to respect Mary's desire for celibacy as long as it lasted, though he had tempered his earlier dramatic avowals to find the unique form their own love would take, even if it looked nothing like he once imagined . He instead hoped that they were merely in a bit of a rough patch, with an eventual renewal of ardor at a later date.
He bolstered his flagging morale by regularly cloistering himself inside his dressing room in the evenings. Matthew wondered what Mary thought he was doing, not realizing that Mary had taken to eavesdropping whenever she noticed he was delayed after Molesley's departure. He would have been mortified if he knew of her recent forays into voyeurism. Blithely unaware, his eyes twinkled at Mary in happy anticipation. Perhaps tonight! He felt giddy as a schoolboy.
If nothing else, Mary's determination to keep him at arm's length would keep him on his toes, he thought wryly, ensuring the marital act retained its excitement and novelty. He hadn't thought that was a problem for them, but he wouldn't put it past her to play a game like that. He didn't think she really had been, though, and was just pleased at her attentions, which seemed genuine. What Matthew didn’t realize, of course, was that when it came to him, Mary always got caught up in her own games. It was part of the reason she was more vulnerable with him than with anyone – in the face of his steadfast support and plain goodness, she had ever found herself feeling when she had rather remain detached. She could never retain the requisite distance, not even in the beginning, really. And so it was entirely possible for Mary to be both genuine in her attentions and to have an angle, though she was as likely to get burned as not.
Mary had not, however, been lying when she told herself that Matthew and she weren’t like her mother and father, and that she would never work him the way Mama worked Papa. Unlike her Mama and Papa, she and Matthew were equals in their relationship, much as Matthew let Mary pretend she had the upper hand. In her mind, this little bit of teasing didn’t count because she regarded a game between equals as a sort of foreplay. And Matthew’s intuition was correct: she wouldn’t toy with him on anything that really mattered, at least not anymore.
As Robert excused himself to refresh his drink, Matthew moved to Mary's settee and sat next to her. He picked up her left hand in his, and began to trail the fingers of his right up and down her forearm, occasionally pausing at the top to play with her bracelet. Her breath quickened, and she shifted in her seat, allowing his knee to rest lightly against her outer thigh.
"Are you enjoying the discussion? You've been unusually silent over here…"
"Mmm, well, you seem to have everything in hand." She shivered in sensual pleasure at his light touch, very aware of the public setting. She unclasped his hand and pulled lightly at the hair she found at his wrist.
"Perhaps I do. How was your day, today? Not too tiring, I hope."
"Oh, not at all, just tea with Mama and a quick visit with Granny after." It was a misstep. Matthew was feeling her out, she realized, and she'd just walked herself out of a ready excuse. She cursed her stupidity, but could barely care for the consequences, not when he talked in that low and sultry tone, and his wandering fingers caressed so tenderly along the downy hair of her arm.
"I'm glad to hear it. I know you've been spread rather thin of late."
Mary looked down. She should back off now, probably, but she so enjoyed having a man in her power. And, in Matthew's case, she enjoyed being in a man's power too.
"A bit. But things will calm down soon, I hope. We could spend a bit more time together, perhaps after your trip to London."
"I would like that very much." Mary didn't doubt it, based on the look in his eyes. It was hope, she realized, and her stomach sank. Too late, she remembered she was playing with fire. She enjoyed their flirtations in the moment, and her vanity was gratified, but she was, as her mother warned her, torturing the poor man. He loved her, missed her, and was injured by her recent rejections. He wouldn’t feel put upon when he realized she would again push away his attempts at intimacy; he would feel wounded. Mary had a rare moment of shame, imagining the hurt on his face when she once again claimed indisposition.
Matthew must have seen something in her expression; he stopped the stroking of his fingers, and instead grabbed her hand firmly, in comfort rather than to titillate. "She tried, but it’s not time. Something's still holding her back," he thought determinedly. And, his goodwill only a little forced, "But I'm glad she tried for my sake."
He paid no mind to the small part of him that twinged at the memory of Mary’s admitted lust for Kemal Pamuk, and at the small hurts leftover from when he was one of the men Mary picked up and put down at will. He shoved down his own wounded pride and injured vanity, and did his best to ignore the dawning sense of mortification that he had once again got ahead of himself. It seemed ironic that the old uncertainty was revived even after their marriage, and that it wasn’t his spine after all stopping him making love to his wife. Still, he soldiered on.
Mary saw it all in his face, alive to each subtle change of expression, his eyes flickering through hurt and confusion before eventually landing on a brave, resigned understanding. She mourned the loss of their honesty with each other, not considering that perhaps there was a simple, direct way of overcoming the difficulty. Instead, she gripped his hand and sighed as he angled his body slightly away from hers.
Although her husband had perfected the act of the martyr, Mary thought irritably later that week, he could sometimes really be an absolute brat. Matthew was in a snit. He and Mary had been sniping at each other all day, his frustration mounting by the hour. He wondered, since this experiment in forced distance began, whether there was something about the act itself that helped smooth over those little bumps and irritations that any two people in such close daily contact experienced. He felt they were bickering more, but perhaps that was just his own frayed patience. Later, when his better angels prevailed, he would vow to work on it, but at this moment he felt only short-tempered and full of self-pity.
"Mary, you must have known I'd never agree. I can't believe you've committed me without asking."
"Oh Matthew, it's just one afternoon. Honestly, you're being such a baby. Make nice for a few hours and then you’ll be back at Downton in time for tea."
"Perhaps if I was coming back to my wife's open arms! It's not enough you push me away every night, now you shove me off to the neighbors during the day too!" Matthew spat out bitterly as he paced. After a moment he stopped, stricken. He hadn't meant to lash out, certainly not about that. It was wrong of him, as he well knew. He rubbed his face exhaustedly.
"Well now it's out," Mary thought. Perhaps she ought to be happy, given how unhappy she had been when he appeared to have the patience of a saint. But Mary could only work against herself; she'd be damned if they talked about it now, never mind that it's exactly what they should do. She couldn't bear the process of expelling the poison, she couldn't.
"Mary-"
She interrupted before he could start down that path.
"Matthew, of course I don't wish to be away from you. How can you say that, after everything I've been through, all we've been through together?" She was shameless in playing on his guilt; anything to avoid the dreaded subject. And Matthew did, indeed, look guilty, though he knew just what she was doing. He knew she referred to how she waited and pined for him, though she would never admit it aloud or call it "pining." All the while he rejected her and got engaged and inadvertently toyed with her affections, and even lashed out at her in his own pain at Lavinia's death...
He took too much on himself, of course, and Mary relied on it to press her advantage. The tears glittering in her eyes, however, were real.
"I really had no notion it would bother you so much. It isn't so very bad, is it?" She walked to him and stroked the collar of his nightshirt soothingly.
He flushed, feeling childish. He was overreacting because of his hurt and frustration over the other thing. "No, no, of course not darling. I'd be happy to go. It's just been rather a trying day."
"I know, my darling, I don't take it personally. Perhaps you should come get some sleep."
"Yes, perhaps." He grabbed her wrists where her hands rested on his chest and leaned down for a lingering kiss. Mary felt rather breathless as he pulled away. Looking into his blue eyes, she also felt him stirring below, and was unsurprised when he angled awkwardly away from her and made up an excuse to duck into his dressing room.
"He's lucky," she thought, climbing into the bed, "That Molesley hasn't ever interrupted him."
A few more days passed in this uneasy truce, with Matthew feeling guilty he had pressured Mary and Mary alternating between a self-destructive compulsion to tempt her husband and the guilt engendered by that compulsion. Matthew began to sense that Mary was leading him along the primrose path, but also saw that she couldn’t quite help herself. He still didn't understand what, exactly, was the hold up, but he was resolved to learn from his mistakes. He wouldn't press her.
Mary, meanwhile, monitored daily the condition of her incision. Finally, one Thursday morning, it felt completely free of itching. She wondered if that might mean marital relations could recommence. She felt butterflies in her stomach as she picked up the phone to call Doctor Ryder, pacing a short circuit as she waited for his secretary to fetch him.
“Doctor Ryder?”
“Mrs. Levinson. How can I help you?”
“Well… I don’t quite know how to say this, but…. I think I’m healed, really, is all, and I was wondering…” She paused, uncertain how to continue.
“You wondered if you might begin relations with your husband again.”
“Yes, exactly,” she said coolly, but with cheeks pink.
“It would be better not to until I’ve checked you out, I’m afraid.”
She couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice. “Oh?”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Levinson, you’ll be trying again for that baby in no time at all. In fact, I can move up your appointment, if you’d like, so you can get the go-ahead as soon as possible.”
Mary rolled her eyes in frustration – as if it were the baby she was worried about! “Yes, thank you, I would appreciate it. When shall I come in?”
The doctor perused his calendar, noting a blank space after a block labelled “Crawley, M.” “Here we are, Mrs. Levinson. Will you be available a week Tuesday?”
“Yes, that would be perfect.” He jotted down “Levinson, M.” underneath Mr. Crawley’s appointment.
“Then I’ll see you then. And don’t fret, Mrs. Levinson; if you’re feeling healed then I have no doubt things will be looking up for you very soon.”
“Thank you, doctor.” Mary hung up the phone with a jingling rattle, a bit excited, but mostly grumbling that her plans to surprise her husband had been ruined. “Only a bit more than a week,” she said to herself with a nervous flutter. “You can manage just fine.”
It turned out that she needn’t have worried after all; the week flew by. Matthew was incredibly busy, trying to tie up several loose ends before he went to London on his own errands. As a result, he was knocked out most evenings, and his back then began to act up after he spent so many days in a row running hither and thither on the estate.
Matthew mostly kept his distance, waiting for a signal from Mary that his advances would be welcome. There was one final close call, on Sunday.
Mary watched her husband drag himself across the room from her position on the bed, where she sat reading.
“Heavens, whatever happened to you? You look done in.” She wasn’t exaggerating. Matthew barely picked his feet up from the floor, distractedly rubbing his lower back as he made his way to his side of the bed.
“Hmm? Oh, nothing in particular, only my back sometimes gives me a twinge after a long day.”
“Poor darling. Can I help?”
He looked doubtful. He was slightly fearful of the prospect of yet another abortive attempt at physical intimacy, but a strong spasm from the muscles around his lower spine convinced him to indulge in his lovely wife’s salutary caresses.
“Would you mind?” he said, pulling back the bedclothes as he lay on his stomach and lifted his shirt in the back. “Just there,” and pointed to a spot right above where his trousers rode low on his hips. A rumbling moan vibrated his chest as she dug her nimble fingers into his aching muscles. “Yes, that’s it,” he hissed.
Curiously, Mary began to feel a stirring in her genitals. Touching him, she supposed, or hearing him, was enough in her present state of anticipation. She ignored it, remembering the doctor’s advice, but her hands became less therapeutic and more sensual as she listened to her husband’s appreciative noises.
He had no idea of his effect on her. However, the more stroking her hands became, the more he became aware of her effect on him . His pelvis unconsciously began to roll as she massaged his hips and sides, occasionally dipping her hands down to caress his buttocks. Eventually, he was thrusting into the mattress in earnest, and his breathing became ragged. As she continued her motions, he realized that perhaps he was pushing things beyond what she intended.
“Mary...?” he choked out, trying to crane his neck to look at her, but she never stopped touching him, and in fact seemed to be encouraging him on.
“It’s alright, my darling. Go ahead.” Her voice was a near whisper.
He let go, pressing his hips faster and faster into the bed until he came with a strangled shout. Mary petted his hair as his breathing gradually slowed.
He turned his head on the bed to face her. “Mary…” He was too satiated and drowsy to feel embarrassed.
“Shhh. Let’s sleep now.” She leaned down to kiss his cheek before unfolding her legs and pulling up the covers from the foot of the bed to slide over them. She was frustrated, but too flustered to ask for his assistance, and ultimately pleased she had been able to give him that, at least. As she dozed next to him, she considered that perhaps it would have been a better tactic if they had engaged in this sort of thing from the beginning. She fell asleep before she had a chance to think on it further.
In the end, the couple didn’t have the opportunity to figure things out together, as a chance meeting ended all further need for secrets and put an end to their awkward dancing around the subject.
Two short days later, Matthew was in London. Mary was, too, although Matthew didn’t know it. He was pensive as he heard Dr. Ryder’s door close behind him after the end of his appointment. He wasn’t sure he fully believed the man, but he acknowledged that he couldn’t very well remain stubborn in the face of “probability and logic.” He would just have to wait and see. Of course, that was assuming Mary was even willing to try… Walking down the stairs, he wondered whether his news would make any difference to her recent attitude towards love-making. Although, he supposed, things had been looking up in any case. But then his jaw dropped as he realized there she was, his wife, giving her mother’s maiden name for her own appointment with the fertility specialist! He blinked, and then pulled her aside discreetly after the receptionist asked her to wait a moment.
“Mary? What…”
She flushed. “I’ll explain after. We can go to tea. Can you find somewhere to wait?”
“Oh yes, yes, of course. You must get to your appointment. I’ll be just there.” He pointed to a café across the street and Mary nodded and then hurried up the stairs to Dr. Ryder’s office.
Matthew sat in the café, still in a state of shock. He wondered whether this had anything to do with… But best not get ahead of himself. The wait was interminable, but eventually Matthew saw Mary’s elegant figure through the window as she stepped out of the doctor’s. He quickly paid his bill and made his way to her. Then they set off for tea.
Mary could remember few times she felt more awkward than she did at that moment. All this trouble to avoid the subject, and now she had to explain it to him anyway, and in a public place no less.
But it was over, now, and she no longer had to struggle to make up excuses and watch him close off that part of himself from her.
When Mary finally revealed the true reasons she had been refusing to engage in those intimacies she had previously seemed to enjoy, Matthew could have been knocked over with a feather. Suddenly everything made sense. Although he only said, “I thought you’d gone off me,” there was a seismic shift in his brain. He decided, with only slight exaggeration, that the only other time he felt more relieved was on that other occasion he regained the possibility of intercourse within his married life.
They didn’t stay long after that. As it became apparent it was time to go, Matthew got jumpier and jumpier in his seat. Walking out the door, he leaned down and breathed in her ear, “Do you suppose Aunt Rosamund would be terribly shocked if we stopped in to make use of a guest bedroom?”
Mary gave him a look, but didn’t stop him as he told the cab driver Rosamund’s address.
They made their way to the bedroom Matthew had been occupying without incident. Luckily, nobody found it odd that Mary wished to retire after her errands, or when her husband decided to join her.
The minute the door was closed, Matthew pulled Mary into a close embrace. He kissed her cheeks, and then held them and looked into her eyes.
“Was that really all it was? You’re quite sure?” Doubt crept into his voice.
Mary felt terrible. She realized, now, that she had been hacking away at his belief in her regard for him without even knowing it. Much as he told himself that she could love him without wanting him, it was very hard on him to imagine that that part of their relationship was so unequal.
“Oh darling, of course I’m sure. These weeks have been miserable without you. I’ve missed you very much.”
“Truly? I’m so happy to hear it. I began to think I must have been imagining so many things…” He undid several buttons at her back before switching his attention to her gloves, which he pulled off before kissing each of her palms. Mary laughed at his lack of focus.
“One thing at a time, Matthew.”
He looked up. “What?” then, realizing, “Oh, of course.” He chuckled at himself sheepishly. “It’s only that it’s been so long…”
“I know, darling, and I’m sorry.” He shook his head in denial of her apology.
“No, no. I should have had more faith. But I am very glad things can now go back to normal.” Mary smiled, and pulled his face to hers for a long kiss. She could feel the gradual shift from tender affection to passion, her breaths coming shorter as Matthew caressed her bosom and she felt him press his hips into hers.
“Oh Mary,” he moaned into her neck as he felt along her back and buttocks, “You cannot know how much I missed you. Every day it seemed you devised another way of torturing me. That new frock, in particular...”
“But I do know,” she stated archly, smiling a mysterious smile.
He pulled back to look at her face. “What? What do you mean?”
“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? Hiding away all the time in your dressing room, grunting behind that thin door? ‘Oh Mary, Mary!’” she mimicked in a breathy voice.
Matthew went hot. “You never heard!”
“Perhaps you ought to have been more quiet.”
Matthew groaned in embarrassment and hung his head. “Oh God.”
“Not to worry.” She leaned up to whisper in his ear, “I rather enjoyed it.”
He looked at her in amused suspicion. “Toying with me again, are you?”
She outlined the shape of his lips with one finger. “Not at all. I may have even…” She lost her nerve and couldn’t finish. “You know.” She was adorably embarrassed, refusing to meet his eye.
Matthew was positively delighted. “Oh, well, in that case. I expect a full reenactment,” he breathed into her ear.
Mary giggled as Matthew pulled her hand between her legs, and all talk ceased as they were swept away with the pleasures of their long awaited reunion.
Later, as they nuzzled and caressed each other in a slightly sticky embrace, Matthew observed to Mary that perhaps a lot of trouble might have been avoided if they’d just spoken about it all to begin with. “You may think me a martyr,” he noted, “But perhaps in this case burdening you with a little of my unhappiness in the beginning might have saved us both a lot of unhappiness in the end.”
“Not,” he said, seeing her wrinkle her nose, and kissing it, “that we need have discussed details. But the big picture, perhaps, might have stopped all that sturm und drang fomenting within my own mind.”
“Perhaps,” Mary conceded, not very graciously; she wasn’t fully convinced.
“Let’s make a deal, darling. We must be open about those things that affect each other. You may have your feminine secrets and mysteries, God knows, but for Heaven’s sake you mustn’t keep me dangling.”
Mary laughed lightly. “Mustn’t I?” He met her with a challenging look before kissing the mischievous smirk right off her mouth. “Now tell me what you’ve missed most, my darling wife.”
Mary’s last coherent thought, before succumbing to her husband’s ministrations, was that there might be something to this communication thing after all.