#MM Secret Santa 2017 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

petercapaldork · 7 years

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A Secret Santa

Here is my MM Secret Santa gift for Apollo888 on Fanfiction.net, which I shared via Google Docs first. I wanted to make sure it was shared here as well. Happy holidays and enjoy!

Read on ff.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12774346/1/A-Secret-Santa

Pens scratched and pages rustled as students revised their essays, a hum of silence filling the room along with a hint of anxiety.

Mary watched in silence from her desk, on hand to help any who needed it.

It was difficult enough to encourage concentration so close to the holidays, but especially trying to maintain while students worked on essays over Jonathan Swift, Paradise Lost, and other Restoration period topics. Students were clamoring for next term and Gothic literature, like Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, or to delve into a bit of Austen.

But after a month-long holiday break. Mary was aching for it herself.

“Miss Grantham, how much longer until the period is over?”

The class looked up, all waiting with bated breath for her answer, and Mary glanced at the clock on her desk, about to respond with, “Half an hour,” when she heard a loud bang from down the hall. One of the girls nearest the ajar door screamed and dropped her pen.

Mary rose from her seat as the students began to murmur amongst themselves about the source of the sound, but she already knew where it had come from.

The chemistry lab.

“Please continue your revisions, I’ll be right back.”

Once out in the corridor she found Anna Bates, the French teacher and her neighbor.

“What on earth was that bang?” Anna asked, looking in the direction of the sound.

“I’ll give you a wild guess,” Mary said.

“Oh mon Dieu,” Anna said as Mary turned for the science wing. “Don’t be too hard on him.”

“The rest of us are working on revisions and studying for final exams and he’s going to blow up the school,” Mary replied, leaving Anna to mutter in French under her breath. Mary knew she could count on her friend to keep an eye on her own students while she told off the school’s very own mad scientist.

Her heels clicked their way down the granite corridor, taking her under holiday decorations that student groups had hung at the beginning of December. Holly and garland of evergreen boughs and Menorahs, paper snowflakes cut out and snowmen tapped to the walls made the entire school festive and ready for the season. Mary’s own classroom had been decorated by her students throughout the month to liven the place up, remind them of home, and give them a break before the final push for exams. And now it seemed they’d get another one.

“Now we just witnessed--Maggie what was the term for the chemical reaction I just showed you?”

“An exothermic reaction of ethanol vapor, Mr. Crawley.”

“It was combustion, more specifically,” another girl piped up.

“Yes, very good, Claudia.”

The students, or the female students at least, all giggled at the teacher’s praise before he returned to his lesson with animation.

“As opposed to endothermic reactions, in exothermic reactions, the enthalpy, or stored chemical energy which is a thermodynamic quantity, it is lower for the products than the reactants. So who can tell me what that means for this experiment?”

At this query, Mary knocked hard on the slightly open door. Twenty faces turned toward her, surprise on the face of Mr. Crawley while the students looked on in great interest.

“Ah, Miss Grantham, what brings you here?”

“May I speak with you privately?” she requested, plastering a smile on her face for the benefit of the students, most of whom were familiar to her.

“But of course.” He turned to his class. “I’ll be right back and someone better have my answer about the enthalpy for this chemical reaction. It might even have an answer that is quantifiable.”

He followed Mary out into the hall, leaving the students looking nervously at each other, but interested in what their teachers were discussing.

“What can I do for you, Mary?” He pushed a pair of safety goggles onto the top of his head. “What brings you down to our laboratories?”

Mary forced herself not roll her eyes at him and his antics of sometimes pretending to be a mad scientist. His getup complete with a white lab coat, it wasn’t much of a stretch, although it was adorable. Not that she’d let him know that. He had enough admirers from most of the teenaged girls in the school.

She’d known Matthew Crawley for over three years now and she still couldn’t figure him out. They weren’t the most chummy of colleagues, oil and water at times, but he loved to get her riled up.

“Well, Doctor Crawley, if you and your minions could refrain from blowing up anything else this afternoon, we’d be much obliged. The rest of the school is trying to study for exams, not put on a show and wonder if we need to call the fire department.”

He raised his eyebrows in amusement, clearly not troubled by her tone or her Despicable Me reference.

“My class is studying for exams. Did you not hear me drilling them on exothermic and endothermic reactions? We’ve already studied the Periodic Table and gone over units about ionic bonding, balancing equations. This is the final unit to review before we have our exam tomorrow.”

“And your review involves possibly blowing up the school?”

“I have a fire extinguisher on hand, but the combustion is pretty well-contained, I shouldn’t need to use it.” He smirked, and Mary’s frown deepened.

“Seriously? We are trying to keep things quiet for the students and maintain a bit of calm before the holidays. You know how hard that is, Matthew. You’re deliberately trying to break their concentration!” She was growing so angry that she had to drop her voice to a whisper to keep herself from yelling at him. Her fists clenched.

“I am not, Mary,” he said, holding out his hands in surrender. “Our subjects are just very different animals. Yours is all talking, writing, thinking. Mine is very hands-on. The students can’t learn about exothermic and endothermic reactions without seeing them in action. It’s chemistry.”

There was a half-smile, one that she found herself on the receiving end of more and more lately. The other women teachers called Matthew “charming.” Well, Mary knew he could be when he wanted to be. Apparently this was one of those times.

“It made one of my students shriek in surprise. So keep it down or I’ll complain to the headmistress,” she said, but could feel her resolve to be angry wilting slightly.

He smiled again, blue eyes sparkling.

“We’ll try our best to keep the explosions to a minimum, Mary,” he agreed, and Mary hardly dared to believe him. “I’ll see you at Dr. Hughes’ holiday party, won’t I, if not sooner?”

For the first time since entering the corridor, Mary happened to glance over Matthew’s shoulder, startled to see the door was not quite shut on Matthew’s classroom. From the narrow window beside the door, she could see that the entire chemistry class was dead silent and hanging on every word of their conversation. No one was trying to work out any equation regarding the chemical reaction. Mary couldn’t tell if it was because half the girls were in love with Matthew, or if they were interested for some other reason.

“Yes, I’ll be there,” she said, brief. “I should get back.”

“Happy Shakespeare-ing,” Matthew said, bringing down his safety goggles once more.

Mary didn’t bother to correct him, wanting to get away from the enraptured gazes of the students.

“Don’t burn the place down,” she requested, and Matthew laughed, giving her a salute.

“Aye, aye.”

Mary simply nodded stiffly before walking away.

Anna was still outside when she returned, but had clearly been flitting between their two classrooms to check on both groups of students in her absence.

“What happened?” she asked, crossing her arms with great interest.

“Matthew is doing some kind of experiment, an exothermic reaction that is obviously intended to drive us all crazy but not to burn down the school, according to him. I fully chastised him for conducting such a loud test right before exams, but he told me it was part of his review process,” Mary complained. “What a bunch of-”

“Des ordures.”

“In English.”

“Garbage,” Anna said. “I know he likes to get a rise out of you, but does it have to be at the expense to the rest of us?”

“You think he’s conducting experiments this close to exams to toy with me?” Mary asked.

Anna shook her head. “Not exactly. Just you’re really the only one who would be upset about it, aren’t you? La querelle d'amoureux.”

“La que...what? Amour? That means ‘love’. Anna, what are you talking about? Matthew and I are hardly friends, we’re not in love!” Mary dropped her voice again, agitated by her friend’s insinuation that there was something going on with her and Matthew. “What else did you say? I don’t remember anything from high school French class.”

“That makes me feel like my job is worthwhile,” Anna said, wrinkling her nose. I said, ‘A lover’s quarrel’. You really need to brush up on your French.”

Mary scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? The whole school has been talking about you two for the past term, even the students. What do they call it these days, ‘shipping’, I think? Oh, yeah, everyone ships you with Mr. Crawley,” Anna said, matter-of-fact.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous or not, it’s true,” Anna replied, backing into her classroom and leaving Mary dumbfounded in the hall.

The following day Mary returned from a hasty lunch in the teacher’s lounge to prepare for an afternoon of grading while her last group of students finished up their essay revisions. She was as ready for the holiday break as the students were and all that stood in the way was another day of final grading and tomorrow evening’s holiday party at the home of Dr. Hughes and her husband, Mr. Carson.

Mary couldn’t wait.

She turned on the light, absentmindedly walking over to her desk and about to unlock the drawer where she kept finished essays to grade when she noticed something out of order on her neatly organized desk. Two packages wrapped in brown paper and tied together with red ribbon had been placed in front of her chair, an envelope tucked beneath one of the bands of ribbon.

Frowning, Mary picked up the envelope and pulled out a nondescript holiday card. Inside, only two words had been written, “From Santa.” She didn’t recognize the handwriting immediately, but thought perhaps the gift was from Anna and her husband had written the card, or even a student had dropped it off on her desk during lunch.

The contents of the packages would prove her wrong.

After sliding the ribbon off from around the packages, both of which were clearly books, Mary removed the brown paper from the top one to find a book entitled, Coping with Difficult People: The Proven-Effective Battle Plan That Has Helped Millions Deal with the Troublemakers in Their Lives at Home and at Work. Reminded of the incident with Matthew yesterday, Mary again thought of Anna and laughed at the title of the older, which was evident from the worn, multi-color cover. She set it aside, picking up the next book to unwrap it.

Pulling the brown paper off and looking at the marbled hardback cover, Mary nearly dropped the edition she held. She felt as though she should be wearing gloves rather than hold it with her bare hands, and with bated breath Mary glanced at the spine of the book to read the words Mansfield Park. She exhaled slowly, gingerly opening the cover to look at the frontispiece: Mansfield Park by Jane Austen; Persuasion by the Same.

The publication date was 1833 by Richard Bentley, which Mary knew to be the second publication of Persuasion, her favorite Austen novel, and the first single-volume edition.

But who else knew she was such a nerd about it?

After gingerly wrapping the nearly 200-year-old book and tucking it away in her desk, Mary made a beeline for Anna’s classroom. She found Anna grading French exams at her desk.

“What’s the big idea?” she asked, not bothering to preface her visit.

“What are you talking about?” Anna looked up from her tests, confusion on her face.

“The books you left on my desk. That 1833 edition of Mansfield Park and Persuasion had to cost you upwards of £1,000 or more.” Mary’s tone was scolding and also baffled that her friend would purchase such an expensive gift for her. “What were you thinking?”

“Someone bought you a book that cost £1,000?”

“You can give it up already, I know it was you, Santa,” Mary said. “How many people here even know Persuasion is my favorite Austen novel? And the other book with it, Coping with Difficult People? Who would buy me such a book?”

Anna’s eyes widened. “Not me, I swear. And honestly, after the row you had with Matthew yesterday, that one sounds like a book he’d buy you as a joke.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t explain the second edition. The book that’s practically a paycheck. Why would he get me something like that?”

“Well, il est amoureux de toi,” Anna murmured, not meeting Mary’s gaze.

“You know I hardly understood a word you said except for ‘amour,’ but he is not in love with me,” Mary said, indignant.

“That’s exactly what I said, and we’ve all just been waiting to see how long it takes for the two of you to do something about it. It’s been three years and, God, it’s good so see Matthew finally doing something,” Anna said. “Plus, we’ve been taking bets in the teacher’s lounge and mine was about to expire.”

Mary’s jaw fell open. “I can’t believe you, my friend, have been making bets about my love life!”

“Oh, come on, it was harmless, and the whole school knows about you two. If you thought the students were bad, well, the teachers are even worse.”

“Clearly,” Mary said, eyes narrow. “But I really don’t think it was Matthew.”

Anna shrugged. “Who else could it be?”

“P-perhaps, Dr. Hughes-?” she began, but Mary was floundering. “Or a student.”

“What student is going to buy you a book that costs that much? Want me to ask Matthew tomorrow?”

Mary shuddered at the thought. “No, don’t bring it up,” she said. “I’m certain it wasn’t him. It has to be someone else. We don’t even get along.”

But the more she denied that it could be Matthew, the more she felt that she was wrong, and not just based on the facts in front of her.

His behavior over the last year had been so much different than it was before. In the past, they didn’t see each other much. Sure, they ran into each other in the teacher’s lounge or the halls on occasion, but ever since term began in September she saw Matthew practically every day, even on weekends as she shopped in town, which had rarely happened before. In these instances he’d gone out of his way to interact with her, making small-talk about her family, what she was doing in her off-hours, and generally being pleasant. So, in hindsight, she was wrong; they didn’t always get along, but it was clear that he often tried to be friendly when he saw her, especially outside of work.

And now she wondered, how did he know where and when she shopped, what she liked to read? Was he stalking her?

“He makes you laugh,” Anna said, interrupting Mary’s thoughts about her whereabouts last weekend when she ran into Matthew outside a shop while looking for gifts for her two sisters and their husbands. “Although sometimes you force yourself not to.”

Out in the corridor she could hear the sounds of students filing back from lunch for their final rounds of exams before the holidays.

“It wasn’t him,” Mary repeated, more and more unconvincing by the minute.

“Mmhmm,” Anna demurred, eyes returning to her exams as students began to file into the room.

Unfocused, Mary returned to her own classroom, the Austen edition weighing heavily on her mind as it sat locked at the bottom of her desk drawer.

The holiday party at the home of Charles Carson and Dr. Elsie Hughes provided a ceremonial bookend to the school term every year for the staff. Being welcomed into the home of the headmistress and her husband, while intimidating at first, was usually a highlight of Mary’s holiday season before she went home to a family visit that included happy sisters and their husbands and lots of nieces and nephews, as well as endless commentary on her own singleness. Plus, it gave the staff a chance to imbibe on the more traditional holiday spirits and richer treats of the season after completing final marks. But for Mary, this year she was keen to avoid Matthew. Or confront him. She hadn’t decided what she wanted.

As she stood in a corner of the sitting room, nursing some mulled wine that Mr. Carson had poured for her, she kept glancing to the door in expectation of Matthew’s arrival. She hadn’t seen him since receiving the gifts, but in the day that followed, she had resolved to bring it up when she saw him. And two glasses of wine in less than an hour had almost strengthened her resolve enough for her to see it through.

“How is he not here yet?” Mary finally spoke, interrupting Anna’s conversation with her husband John about some incident regarding students that Mary had not been paying mind to.

“Matthew, you mean? Perhaps he is, but you’ve trapped yourself as far away from him as possible. Good on you,” Anna said, taking a sip of her own drink more daintily than Mary’s final gulp of her mulled wine. “How many of those have you had?”

“Not nearly enough,” Mary said. “I’m going for a refill, does anyone need more to drink?”

“No, but some food would be good,” Anna ventured. “I saw they had those little puds, didn’t you see, John, the tartlets?”

“Maybe later,” Mary said, leaving the pair in search of more to drink.

She slipped through the crowd of her colleagues, issuing perfunctory greetings to those she hadn’t seen yet, but really making haste toward the dining room where the refreshments were being kept. She switched out her mulled wine for a glass of champagne, taking a long drink as others filtered in to refill their own glasses or plates. As she drank, she watched as Matthew entered the room, deep in conversation with Mr. Carson. Both men were in search of more food, already holding plates in their hands.

She wondered when Matthew had arrived, although it was obvious he hadn’t bothered to seek her out. See, Anna? It wasn’t from him.

“Now, that’s where I think you’re wrong, Matthew. Sure Manchester United has some quality football players, but when it comes to the Premier League, it has to be-”

No one heard Mr. Carson’s response because Mary found herself interrupting the two men’s conversation.

“Matthew, might I speak with you?”

Neither had noticed Mary in the room, as there were others about as well, but both were surprised at her interruption.

Looking flummoxed, all Matthew said to Mary was, “Sure.” To Mr. Carson he begged to be excused, setting his plate aside before following Mary from the room. Mary held onto her champagne glass.

She led him out to the sunroom overlooking the back garden, knowing the chance of being interrupted in there would be slim since it was chilly and almost like being outside. The wood-burning stove that sat in one corner of the room was cold, as the occupants of the house had not expected anyone to bother going out back, although they had decorated the room for Christmas. Lights had been strung across the ceiling along with garland and other tinsel, bringing the festive feeling of the house out into the back garden.

“What’s up?” Matthew asked. His original shock at seeing Mary in the dining room had quickly been replaced by ease.

But Mary was on edge. She hesitated briefly before saying what first came to mind.

It was like word-vomit, but more rehearsed.

“Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; there his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there any unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs changed naturally into pity and contempt as he turned over the almost endless creations of the last century; and there, if every other leaf were powerless, he could read his own history with an interest which never failed.”

Even reciting the first paragraph from her favorite novel did little to relax her as it usually could. During her speech, Matthew’s eyebrows had risen slowly out of confusion, but now he frowned at her monologue.

“What’s this? Are you going all English-major on me for some reason that I don’t understand?” he asked.

She sighed, aggravated, but no closer to figuring out where the blasted books had come from.

“Never mind. Someone left two books on my desk yesterday. Anna thought it might be you, but she was clearly incorrect. I told her it had to be someone else,” Mary explained.

She turned to go, champagne glass still in-hand, when Matthew spoke.

“I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.”

Mary halted abruptly, shoulders tense. She set her glass on a nearby shelf holding some books on bird watching and a pair of binoculars before facing Matthew again.

“What?” Her voice was a whisper, a hush of disbelief.

A half-smile played across his lips, eyes dancing.

“For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes?”

Mary’s heart throbbed madly in her chest, her pulse making it difficult to hear her own thoughts, if she even had any in her head anymore.

“What...what are you saying?” She shook her head. “You did buy those books for me?”

He nodded.

In spite of all the warnings from Anna, Mary was shocked. “Matthew, that book must have cost you over a thousand pounds.”

“It’s not important,” he said, gentle.

“But w-why would you do such a thing?”

Looking nervous for the first time, he moved a few steps toward her, reaching out to take her hand.

“Mary.”

He only spoke her name, but she felt a jolt of electricity move through her at his voice, his touch, willing her to step toward him.

She was closer to him than ever before, his blue eyes warming her like the sun on a summer day as she gazed at him. The current that she had felt when he spoke her name now hummed through her, and she wondered if he felt it too, that energy that had always lay beneath the surface now coming to life under the twinkling lights.

With her free hand she reached up and, after a moment’s hesitation, brushed her fingers through his hair. This final touch was all the encouragement Matthew needed to erase the remaining space between them.

He kissed her, the territory unfamiliar and yet she was completely at ease. Not that the kiss wasn’t exciting; no, her heart pounded wildly as Matthew backed her into a wall, she tugged on his hair and even parted his lips with her tongue. It wasn’t that.

She felt no embarrassment at snogging Matthew, even in the sunroom of Elsie Hughes and Charles Carson. If anyone were to discover them, she was sure she would shrug it off and, hell, even kiss him again. It felt right, as though they should have been doing this all along.

He pulled back from her, smiling once more and Mary found herself genuinely smiling for the first time that night.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he said, hands on Mary’s waist. “God, I’ve had such a schoolboy crush on you.”

“You hid it well,” Mary said, brushing her thumb against his cheek. “Especially the constant teasing and jokes about chemistry. And lately showing up at my regular shops in town? I was beginning to think I had a stalker on my hands. But never would I have guessed such a grand gesture was awaiting me. How did you even know Persuasion was my favorite Jane Austen novel? Did Anna tell you?”

“I wasn’t I going to ask her that,” he said, leaning into her touch. “No, last spring I overheard some of my students mention it so I started calling rare bookstores for early editions. It is amazingly difficult to find a first printing, so I had to settle for the second.”

“Last spring? You’ve been planning this for almost a year?” Mary was astonished he would put so much effort into a gift for her, but then she remembered Anna’s words from a few days ago, well, the English translation: he’s in love with you.

She felt warmth and panic at the same time.

“I may have gone a bit overboard,” he admitted, oblivious to Mary’s conflicting emotions. “I just wanted you to have something you’d enjoy.”

“Were you planning on revealing your secret identity to me, Santa?” Mary asked, her hand gliding down his neck until she laid it on his shoulder. She played with his shirt collar, fingers brushing against the knot of his tie to distract herself from any concerns she had regarding Matthew’s precise feelings for her. She felt like she’d already come to terms with her own, which were stronger than she realized.

“In good time,” he said, refusing to answer, but still grinning. “I didn’t expect you to drunkenly confront me before I got the chance.”

“I’m not drunk,” Mary said. “I just wanted a straight answer, which you hardly gave me.”

“Quoting from your favorite book isn’t direct enough for you? Next time do I need to ride in on a white horse?” he teased, kissing the end of her nose. “But wait, wait, wait. You know how I feel. What about you? Why’d you let me kiss you? As a courtesy?”

“No,” she said, feeling self-conscious now that he was asking Mary to share her thoughts aloud. She kept her eyes on his tie.

“As a ‘thank you’? What?” She could hear the growing frustration in his voice, as though he didn’t believe that it wasn’t some drunken kiss. That she regretted it.

She met his gaze again, for she did not regret it, only wanted to do it again. She was surprised he hadn’t pulled away from her, that his hands still remained on her waist, warm and reassuring.

“For someone who spends most of her time studying the works of great authors who write of beauty and glory and...love, well, I am not adept at sharing my own feelings at the ready.”

Matthew’s eyes softened. “Is it too much for me to ask you to try?”

She cleared her throat, resolving not to look away until she was done.

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”

Mary’s fingers wrapped around Matthew’s tie, pulling his face closer to hers.

“Contrary to popular knowledge, I didn’t memorize the whole of Persuasion to impress you. Just those few lines,” he joked.

“That line is actually from Pride and Prejudice,” Mary said, smiling in response.

“Haven’t read it and I didn’t see the movie,” Matthew said.

He rested his forehead against hers for a brief moment, and Mary half-wondered why she had fought Anna’s assertions the previous day about Matthew’s feelings for her, and her own feelings for him. But instead of contemplating them further, she kissed him again, all but forgetting her hesitation as their lips met.

“So, I should warn you about something before we go back in there,” Mary said, Matthew taking her hand after their prolonged snogging session.

“And what’s that? Have you been tearing the mickey out of me behind my back?” He joked. Other than the incident a few days ago, she couldn’t remember anything that would have caused her to speak of him to someone else at all, let alone poorly.

“Nothing like that,” Mary said, halting them on the threshold of the sunroom before re-entering the kitchen. “It seems the other staff had this bet going about when the two of us would get...romantically involved. Anna told me about it the other day.”

“Hmm.” He didn’t look overly nonplussed by the realization, but actually seemed to find it rather funny. “Do you think it’s too late for me to get in on some of that action?”

“Matthew!” Mary scolded him. “Since you’re one of the reasons they thought there was anything going on at all, there would be no way they’d let you place a bet.”

“I mean, the odds were actually only fifty-fifty that I’d win anything,” he observed. “And I could really use some extra quid. My girlfriend has expensive taste in books.”

Mary felt herself blush for the first time that night, but didn’t question his use of the word ‘girlfriend’.

“Well, no one told you to buy it,” she said, teasing him easily. She retrieved her champagne glass, not wanting to leave it for their boss to find later.

“You’ve known me for over three years now, Mary. You should realize by now that I am a man of big gestures.”

“Is that why your chemistry lab is constantly on the verge of blowing up the school?” she questioned, leading him back inside.

“It’s called hands-on learning, love,” he retorted as they walked entered the kitchen to find Dr. Hughes preparing to take more trays of hors d'oeuvres into the dining room.

“Mary, Matthew, what on earth were you doing out there? It’s bloody freezing-” She began to scold them in her Scottish brogue, but halted when she saw they were holding hands. “Oh, damn, I can’t believe I lost the bet!”

“You too?” Mary asked, setting the champagne glass aside. She was astounded even the headmistress of the school was involved in the petty gambling ring like the rest of the staff.

“Oh, everyone wanted a piece of the action, it was such a sure thing,” Dr. Hughes said. “But the key was timing. I thought it would take the two of you at least until next spring to soften up. Some of us hadn’t factored in the enchantment of the holidays.”

“Or expensive gifts,” Matthew muttered.

“Gifts? Do tell.” Dr. Hughes had all but forgotten the trays of brie and decorated biscuits that were in her hands.

“Matthew gave me a Bentley edition of Mansfield Park and Persuasion. 1833,” Mary explained, proud. Matthew shifted, uncomfortable for the first time that night, but Mary cast a smile at him and he rebounded with a small grin.

“My, oh my, how romantic,” Dr. Hughes replied, stunned. “And everyone knows what an Austen fan you are, Mary. Didn’t you take your class to Winchester last spring just so you could show them her final home and resting place in Winchester Cathedral?”

“I did,” Mary said. Visiting the places where her favorite authors once lived, wrote, and even died was, at times, morbid, usually invigorated Mary.

“Well, I suppose I should get ready to empty out my pocketbook. Charles will not be pleased.”

“How much had the pool gotten up to?” Matthew asked with interest.

“A couple hundred quid,” Dr. Hughes admitted. “Rather silly, but nearly all of it will go to Anna Bates.”

Mary snorted. “That seems like quite a conflict of interest. Shouldn’t there be some sort of regulations on whether Anna should be allowed to participate?”

“Maybe we can get her to donate it to the school trip fund,” she replied. “Or your wedding, hmm?”

With this, Dr. Hughes then exited with the trays, unaware of the discomfort she had left between Matthew and Mary.

“From secret Santa to wedding planning, huh?” Matthew finally spoke, breaking the silence that threatened to last for endless minutes. “Well, I hope Anna does contribute her gambling winnings, I haven’t the funds to throw a wedding.”

“Please don’t listen to them,” Mary requested, meeting his eyes once again. “They’re all much too invested in our relationship.” She could tell the blush that had happened upon Matthew calling her his ‘girlfriend’ was creeping back into her cheeks, and wondered if she could blame it on the heat of the room if he asked.

“You’re not embarrassed, are you?”

Mary could tell he was unsure, and she again wanted him to know that she did not regret a moment that had passed since they’d entered the sunroom.

“By you? Of course not,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. “Sure, I wish our colleagues were less involved in our relationship, but I’m not embarrassed.”

And to give him a final reminder, aware that they could be seen through the doorway to the dining room, Mary kissed her secret Santa.

#mm secret santa 2017 #for Apollo888 #downton fanfic #mary x matthew #downton abbey #my writing

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andthenwedance · 7 years

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A Downton Holiday

Film director Matthew Crawley escapes to a small town in Yorkshire for the holiday season to cure his broken heart. Mary Crawley publishes fairy tales for grown ups, but has never had one of her own. A holiday might just be the perfect opportunity for them to fall in love. ("The Holiday" AU)

Rated: T

Word Count: 13006

Written as a Secret Santa fic for the beloved @orangeshipper- Merry Christmas Claire! :)

If this was a film directed by Matthew Crawley, two time Oscar nominee and one time Golden Globe winner, it would definitely start with a sweeping shot over a exquisite manor house in Yorkshire on a misty morning, with a few windows lit. The next shot would be of a bright Los Angeles mansion, with a pristine pool and a tiled roof. Elaborate real estate and transatlanticism were trademarks of his films. It would be accompanied, as always, by emotional soundtrack masterpiece made by his usual partner in filmmaking, Tom Branson.

Keep reading on Ao3 or FF

#Mary Crawley #Matthew Crawley #downton abbey #downton fic #downton fanfic #da ff #MM Secret Santa 2017 #Mary x Matthew #Matthew x mary

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galindadaae · 7 years

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2017 Matthew x Mary Secret Santa!!

THANK YOU @orangeshipper Mary and Matthew have helped me through some of the toughest times of my life, and as such a great fic writer you were a huge part of that!! It was just as great of a gift to receive a present from you as the writing itself!

Merry Christmas!!

Better late than never, I hope you’ll enjoy this offering… I’ve decided to very happily revisit my All That Is Left universe!

In order to cover both happily married M/M (plus family), whilst still enjoying a bit of good old S2 angst, I’ve gone for Christmas 1918 - so Matthew’s home and the war is over, buuuuut, he’s still in his wheelchair. For reference (I’m sure I saw in your tags somewhere you’ve read ATiL!! I hope so!), Matthew and Mary having been married since the outbreak of war, their daughters Mabel (Bel) and Catherine (Kit) are around 3.5 and 1.5 respectively. This snippet would come between Chapters 24/25. If you haven’t read it, well, I hope you enjoy this snapshot of Matthew & Mary from it!

I wish you such a lovely Christmas, and all the very best for 2018. I’ve not followed you long on Tumblr, but I’m so glad that I started! Happy, Happy Christmas! And with that… I so much hope you enjoy the fic!

Claire (OrangeShipper) :) :)

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As Matthew awoke, though his eyes remained shut, he knew that it must be Christmas. They’d gone to bed shortly before midnight (he hadn’t been able to face the humiliating performance of getting to church for mass, even if it had been possible at all), and his fitful sleep had seemed long enough that it must be Christmas morning now.

He couldn’t feel Mary beside him, though there was warmth there that meant she was not long risen.

He couldn’t feel his legs, still, either.

Eyes opening in the darkness, his jaw set with determination as his hands clasped firmly up and down his thighs. Sometimes, just sometimes, he thought there was something… A whisper, a tingling, like pins and needles but never for more than a second or two, and each time his heart leapt… But Clarkson was sure it was nothing, and he didn’t dare to hope.

God, it was miserable. It was three years since he’d spent Christmas at home, and it had been the happiest of his life. He’d seen Mabel for the first time, and he and Mary had danced, loved, been together, so completely and so happily. The two intervening years he’d been at the front, and had missed them so terribly. What he wouldn’t have given, then, in the frozen mud and biting cold and restless, uneasy boredom, to have been with them at home. They’d made as much celebration of it as they could, and the fighting had held off in an unspoken truce for a merciful day or two. But oh, how he’d longed to be here instead. And now he was… yet a small, treacherous part of him longed to go back, because then at least he’d been able to walk, and the dream of making love to his wife hadn’t been an entirely impossible one, or the prospect of swinging his daughters up into his arms and… he’d been able to live. However much progress he’d made in accustoming to his new life over the past few months, he wasn’t sure yet that he’d ever fully accept it, or that the bitter sting of misery and regret would ever fully leave him.

He leaned across to the lamp, switching it on to see that he must have had a reasonable sleep after all, as it was now six o’clock. A quiet knock echoed from the door, which Matthew found belonged to Bates when he bid him come in.

“Good morning, Mr Crawley - I’ve come at Lady Mary’s request, to see if you were awake to sit you up a bit. And, may I say, Merry Christmas!”

“Is it, Bates, really?” Matthew returned with a sigh, as he worked with the valet’s help to sit up against the pillows. He couldn’t say as such to Mary, he knew, but Bates at least would understand.

“Yes, Sir, it is. Because you’re here, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Damn it, man, can’t you just agree with me for once instead of being so unfailingly optimistic?”

There was a light-hearted glint in his eye, and Bates chuckled warmly.

“Not on Christmas Day, I’m afraid.”

“Ah well. Optimism it is, then. Thank you, Bates - and Merry Christmas, too.”

He wasn’t left waiting for long after Bates had gone, and Mary’s absence when he’d woken became clear. The door cracked open and her face peered round, shining with excitement, breaking into a laugh as the door flew back and two small figures in their nightdresses hurtled in.

“Papa! Happy Christmas!” Mabel cried, with an indecipherable echo from Catherine, who clutched at the covers as her older sister helped shunt her up onto the bed.

“Merry Christmas, my darling little ones… What a lovely surprise to wake up to!” Matthew’s smile now was helplessly wide as both girls clambered their way onto his lap. “Thank you,” he murmured to Mary, settling in beside him.

He welcomed her soft kiss, but only for a moment as Mabel tugged at the collar of his pyjamas.

“Got you something, Papa! Close you eyes-”

“Present!” Catherine mumbled, tugging her thumb from her lips to clap as Matthew dutifully shut his eyes, waiting until he felt a small package pressed into his hands before opening them again.

“Well, what’s this?” He slipped off the ribbon.

“Only something little,” Mary smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. Mabel bounced with excitement, as Catherine looked expectantly on.

The wrapping paper slid to the floor, and Matthew’s eyes lit then stung with tearful affection as he turned the small Bible over in his hands. Small enough to fit in his pocket, soft leather, and just inside the cover… a photograph of Mabel and Catherine sitting together (recent, he could tell), and on the page behind it their full names and dates of birth. Underneath was written, in Mary’s elegant script, ‘With so much love, from all your darling girls.’

“Oh, my dears… Thank you, so much.”

“We choosed it, with Mama,” Mabel chattered as Matthew hugged both girls tightly, “and sat so still for the picture!”

“S’pretty,” mumbled Catherine around her thumb.

“You like it, Papa?”

He beamed, eyes glittering as he kissed the top of her head, then Catherine’s, blonde curls and dark that shone softly in the lamplight.

“Very, very much. I’ll keep it with me always.”

Mary rubbed his arm, thrilled to see his delight. “That was the idea, darling… Like a proper family Bible, but one that you can keep with you. For when you feel you need it.”

His smile trembled, and he held back a sigh. Darling Mary, she knew him so well. He’d had a pocket Bible with him at the front, of course; he’d tried to seek comfort in it when everything felt so senseless and dark. It hadn’t helped much but, still, he’d tried. Somehow it had been lost when he was wounded. They hadn’t spoken about it much, but Mary must have guessed that his faith had been terribly shaken by the pitiful state he’d been left in… and he wasn’t yet sure it was recovering, as all his prayers went unanswered. But at least, when he was ready to look again, now he’d have this - with his precious family safe in it too.

—————

The war might have been officially over, but still it lingered in Downton. While many of the convalescents had chosen (and been able) to return to their homes for the Christmas season, a fair number still remained, and the family and hospital staff tried to make the day as celebratory for them as they could. The decorations weren’t quite so lavish as before the war, but lent a cheerful atmosphere at least, with a modest tree in the hall and another in the small library, where the family now were enjoying their lunch and the rest of their gifts.

Matthew had remembered that they served themselves for this one day of the year, while the servants enjoyed their Christmas dinner downstairs… but hadn’t counted on the difficulty of doing so from his wheelchair. After trying unsuccessfully to manoeuvre himself whilst serving food to a plate balanced on his lap, and thanking God that no one seemed to have noticed his failure, he accepted Mary’s assistance and the excuse of holding Catherine while Mabel tumbled with Isis between everyone’s legs.

“Don’t you want to play, too, Kit?” he murmured against her hair.

“No,” she shook her head slowly, tracing sticky fingers over the colourful pages of a new storybook in her lap. “This!”

“Alright. Here, shall we read it again?” He smiled at the little girl’s eager nod, and turned the pages back to the start, reading softly until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Here’s your lunch, darling,” Mary passed him the laden plate (which smelt delicious), then lifted Catherine into her arms. “Come on Kit, let’s see what there is for you. Bel - no, watch where you’re going - yes, you too, you can play with Isis again once you’ve had something to eat.”

“Does Isis need lunch too?”

“I’m sure she does, my darling, but not from you!”

“Don’t worry,” Robert said fondly, “Mrs Patmore will make sure she’s well fed later on.”

Mabel seemed content with that, and trotted to the settee where Mary sat with Catherine, with Matthew’s wheelchair beside. Her small hands tried to smooth the creases from her dress - Matthew noticed his wife’s little frown, and smiled as he knew she withheld the chastisement that would normally come, because it was Christmas.

In the pleasant lull that came from full bellies and the calm after the morning’s excitement, Robert clapped his hands together.

“Right! Now we’ve all had a chance to recover somewhat, let’s get it out, then!” He stood and made his way to the sparkling new gramophone displayed on the table.

“Now?” Violet clasped her cane, raising her eyebrows. “Is that really necessary?”

“Oh, yes!” Sybil cried, as even Edith smiled beside her, “It is Christmas, Granny…”

Cora joined Robert beside it, and rifled through the few records there.

“Quite right. Mary, Matthew - thank you again, so much. What a lovely thing to bring some joy after the year we’ve all had.”

Matthew smiled graciously and nodded, feeling Mary take his hand and squeeze it. They’d ordered it months ago, and even after he’d been wounded it still seemed a lovely idea, a pleasant distraction from the darkness that still threatened at times to overwhelm him.

Though they were all a bit cramped in the small library, a reasonable space was somehow cleared, and as jaunty music crackled into the air the mood became infectious. Robert and Cora turned sedately together, while Sybil danced wildly with Mabel, and Isobel a little more carefully with Catherine, as the rest of the family watched with beaming smiles.

Matthew watched his daughters, his heart full. Mary’s hand was still in his own, slender and soft, and he turned to look at her. Her face shone, her smile wide as she watched the scene too. God, he loved her.

“You should dance with your Papa,” he said quietly.

She turned, her eyes meeting his, and though she tried to hide it he could see the sadness encroaching on her smile.

“Not just now. I’m perfectly happy here, with you.”

“Mary…” His voice cracked, and he gripped her hand more tightly. “Just because I’m stuck here, sitting-”

“Darling, please don’t-”

“No, I - I’d love to see you dance. I mean… of course, of course I’d far rather dance with you myself, but I… Oh God, Mary…”

It hit him like a blow to the chest, the finality of it, and he could barely breathe under its weight. Never being able to stand, or walk, was hard enough, but this… To never dance with his wife, or his daughters, to never feel that joy of movement and ache of love with those he held the dearest… It was such a little thing, but such a desperately unbearable prospect, he couldn’t bear it.

Her hand was at his cheek, her thumb stroking comfort, as she murmured, “It’s alright, darling…”

“It isn’t,” he gasped. “It's… damned hard.”

He felt himself falter, and was desperately grateful that Mary saw it, and rose swiftly to take him out before anyone else could see. That last thing he wanted was to cast a gloom on everyone else’s day, but how could he help it, wretched as he was? His jaw clenched tightly as they wheeled across the hall to the dining room, the nearest private space they could get to, where he finally broke down in his wife’s arms. She held him tightly, perched on a chair beside him, arms around his heaving shoulders and her cheek against his hair. She held him as long as he needed, as sobs began to subside to ragged, slowly calming breaths.

“Sorry for blubbing,” he whispered at last, scrubbing away his tears.

“Don’t be.” Mary held his face, kissed his cheeks with such tenderness, and stroked his hair back. “Don’t ever be sorry for that, darling. What can I do?”

With a sniff, Matthew turned his face into her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm as he clasped it.

“Well…” he said, with a trembling smile, “it would truly give me joy to see you enjoying yourself, my darling. So please, take me back in, and go and dance with your Papa, or with Bel and Kit. They’re having a marvellous time, aren’t they?”

She chuckled, kissing him softly on her way to stand.

“Yes, I think so! And so much better for you being here, too.”

“I know.”

If anyone had noticed them leave, no-one said a word when they returned, for which Matthew was grateful. Mary rubbed his shoulders affectionately before going over to Robert, and Matthew watched them dance, with a more heartfelt smile than he’d mustered all day. Catherine had exhausted herself dancing (Mabel showed no such sign of tiring yet), and toddled up to climb into his lap, with a helping hand from Isobel who sat down beside him.

“It’s a lovely sight, isn’t it,” she said happily, and Matthew couldn’t say how glad he was that she didn’t ask if he was alright, or anything else like that. She rubbed his arm instead, and that was enough to let him know how proud she was, and how pleased she was that he was here, and to reassure him that he was quite entitled to feel as miserable as he liked, and how she wished she could bear his pain instead. He knew it, because it was the same assurance Mary always gave, and he could see that the others felt it too in that glint of sympathy behind every smile, however they tried to hide it. Still, he was glad that none of them said it, because no-one’s sympathy could help.

He focussed instead back on the sight she’d drawn attention to, of his family dancing, so happily, and their smiles that radiated in the firelight. He held Catherine tighter on his lap.

“The loveliest,” he agreed.

—————————

“Happy Christmas, darling,” Mary murmured later that night, as they lay in bed together fighting off sleep to enjoy these last moments of peace in the quiet of night. He felt her curl against him, her arm slung over his waist, and his fingers played along the smooth skin of her shoulder.

“You, too… I can hardly believe we’ve been married four years, and it’s only the second I’ve spent with you. My darling, I'm… so happy to be with you. You know that, don’t you?”

She leaned up to face him, and tickled his chin. The memories of those early days when he’d honestly, truly rather wished he were dead had faded, somewhat, but still stung to think of.

“Absolutely, I do. I know it isn’t easy.”

He sighed, and brought her hand to his lips.

“It’s easy when I’m with you,” he said, and felt her shiver against him. Pulling her closer, he kissed her, eyes falling closed as his lips parted to hers, with such delicate tenderness it made him ache. Everything was easier with Mary, when it was just them (and their darling, innocent girls who were happy without question), alone and without intrusion… it was all so much easier to bear. Her warmth, her kiss, her gentle, loving hands, all helped him forget… helped him feel happy.

His hand slipped into her hair, like silk between his fingers. It was rare now that they kissed like this, it seemed always too tempting and too taunting a reminder of what they could not, now, do… but it was Christmas, and he loved her, and she tasted so wonderfully sweet… He hummed at the delicate tease of her tongue, felt her fingers skim down to his belly, with a sharp gasp as a shiver shot down his spine and down to his toes.

He was shocked into stillness, and their eyes flew open, breathless in the darkness.

“I love you,” he whispered fiercely, before she could ask what it was. “My God, Mary… I love you so much.”

He couldn’t bear to tell her, to let her hope, even the slightest bit. Not when it was most likely nothing… just the memory of a feeling, that was all, and it had been so brief he wasn’t sure (as with the other few times) if he’d imagined it after all. He filed it to the back of his mind. He’d prayed, and wished over the Christmas pudding (at Edith’s insistence they all did), that one day a miracle would come… It must just be wishful thinking.

His wife’s hand stroked affectionately through his hair, pushing it back from where it flopped over his forehead.

“I know you do,” she said, punctuated by one more soft kiss. “I love you, too… so terribly much. I hope you’ve had a happy day, however hard it’s been.”

“I’ve tried to,” he laughed gently, “for everyone’s sake - and I have, really. It started off quite perfectly… and it means the world to know that I’ll never miss Christmas with you again, not one. And you know, I can enjoy the gramophone’s music from my chair… Anyway I think Bel, particularly, will dance quite enough for the both of us!”

“I think you might be right!”

“And it was lovely to steal you away for a walk, briefly, in spite of the cold. Dinner was perfectly divine, and, well… I must say I’m enjoying our end to the day, too…” He kissed her nose, and grinned. “Merry Christmas, my darling girl.”

His arms wrapped around her, holding her close as she took his face in her hands and kissed him soundly, murmuring against his lips,

“And here’s to many more…”

~~~~~~~~~

Happy Christmas! xx

#MM secret Santa 2017 #mary x matthew #mary crawley #matthew crawley #downton abbey #otp: andromeda and perseus #da #submission

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klarinette49 · 7 years

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12 Years of a Crawley Christmas

Merry Christmas, Karine!!! Thanks so much for all your effort in putting this together and for your constant and amazing friendship! I’m thrilled to be giving you your secret santa gift! Enjoy twelve drabbles of MM Christmases.

All is Calm, All is Bright

1921

The bedroom was still dark when Mary woke, shadows from the bit of light streaming in from the covered window dancing around. The bedroom was so cold, she realized, pulling the blankets tighter around her. No wonder it was cold; Matthew was not in bed. It wasn’t entirely unusual for her to wake up without Matthew by her side— he had to leave early for work many days, and he was an early riser anyway— but it was certainly unusual on Christmas morning.

“It’s Christmas morning!” she said softly, to no one in particular. A little thrill coursed her as it had when she was a child. Of course, Christmas now was not nearly as exciting as it was when she was young, but the small thrill remained. And now she had a child to share it with.

And, of course, a husband, if he could be bothered to show up that morning.

` Fortunately, Mary didn’t have to wait too long before she found out where her husband was, for he very quietly opened the door and tried to tiptoe in before noticing that she was awake. In his arms, he held their three-month-old son. “You’re up!” he said, a note of surprise lingering in his tone.

“Well if I wasn’t already, I would be up by now since he’s bound to start crying soon,” Mary said, looking at her son as Matthew sat down on the bed. She couldn’t resist taking him from his father’s arms though. “Here, Georgie,” she cooed, in a voice that even struck herself as unlike her. But becoming a mother had changed her, at least in her interactions with her family. It had softened her somewhat. She was still the same Mary Crawley, but her priorities were different now. “And why do we have the pleasure of our son in here this morning?” she asked, her tone pointed at the abnormality of routine.

“Because it’s Christmas!” Matthew exclaimed, as if that were all the answer in the world.

For Matthew, it probably was. Mary had discovered in the first holiday season of their marriage that Matthew loved Christmas, perhaps beyond what was reasonable. His plans for decoration and celebration had been elaborate, he would hum Christmas carols under his breath (or even sing them when he thought he was alone), and Mary was certain he’d been out to the village at least five times and York twice to get Christmas presents. This year, his eagerness consumed him even more. Christmas was more than enough of an excuse to do something out of the ordinary. And spending more time with his son was always an appealing thought.

Mary thought this a rather simple excuse, but laughed. “Really?”

Matthew rolled his eyes and leaned over Mary’s arms to look at his son. “Yes it is, and we’re going to make George’s first Christmas wonderful.”

“You realize he’s not even three months old, he won’t remember any of this.”

“But we will. And soon enough he’ll be grown enough to be all excitable and he’ll be the one waking us up on Christmas morning, dragging us downstairs to open presents. But for this year, it’s all peaceful.”

Mary smiles softly. “Is anyone up yet?”

“I doubt it,” Matthew says. “It’s only half past seven, and no one in this house ever gets up before nine it seems. Even on Christmas.” He got off the bed and walked over to the windows, pulling the curtain open. There was no snow, unsurprisingly but disappointingly, simply rain. But the light streamed into their bedroom, the rising sun illuminating everything.

“I think it will be many years before we have a peaceful Christmas morning like this again,” Mary said. George wiggled in agreement.

“Well, then let’s enjoy it,” Matthew said, putting his hand on his son’s head. “George’s first Christmas,“ he said, shaking his head. “Really, it’s enough of a gift that we have him.”

“Oh good, I’m glad you say that,” Mary replied, trying to hide a devious smile. “I’m glad to know you won’t be disappointed when there’s no gifts from me for you.”

Matthew looked at her in shock for a second, but realized that the look on her face was one of mockery. “That is a cruel trick to play, Lady Mary,” he said, trying to hold back laughter.

“I couldn’t resist pulling that one,” Mary said. “But you’re right, we do have a gift in this little one. And we’ll have that for many years to come.”

Matthew kissed George’s head and then Mary’s. “Happy Christmas, to my two favorite people in the world.”

“Happy Christmas.”

—–

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

1922

Everyone had told her to rest. And how could she protest? Of course she couldn’t, she was just barely two weeks from her due date, her stomach protruded much farther than it ever had with George, and she felt tired, so she must have looked it. It was unfortunate, though, that she couldn’t refuse. Not with Matthew looking at her like that, not with how Clarkson had told her to take it easy to prevent a premature birth.

Now the worry of a premature birth was fading; this baby was taking its time.

Mary had briefly imagined giving birth on Christmas, how dramatic it would be, how both anxious and excited Matthew would be. She had suggested the idea of a holiday birthday to Matthew, who said he wouldn’t mind as long as the baby was healthy. But the prospect of a Christmas birthday for this one was diminishing by the minute, as baby stayed stubbornly put, only moving to kick once in a while.

Mary climbed up on the bed, her back aching. How she hated to miss the festivities! She had made it through the giving of presents and the luncheon, but had to concede to resting before dinner. But now she simply felt lonely and exhausted, with an aching back and tired feet. She lay down on the bed, and barely had closed her eyes before the door opened.

“Wan mama!” George shouted, toddling in ahead of his father.

“Rest, you said,” Mary murmured, giving him a side-eye.

“George missed you,” Matthew explained sheepishly. “And so did I. And we figured you’d want some company. But not for too long, since George has to go down for a nap too. But George wanted to read a story before sleeping, so we decided to come read it in here.”

Mary laughed. “Alright, but you get to do the reading. Maybe I’ll get to take a nap too, wouldn’t that be nice George?” she asked her son, as Matthew lifted him up onto the bed.

“Now George, what story are we going to read?” Matthew asked, holding out a few books for George to pick from.

“Dat!” George giggled, pointing to the book in the middle.

Matthew laughed. “We read that one last night! But alright, we can read it again.” He got onto the bed and took George into his lap, holding the book out in front of him. “Twas the night before Christmas, and all though the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse,” he read softly, occasionally stopping to point out pictures to George or to let George babble about something.

Mary found herself relaxing listening to his smooth voice glide over the words on the page, and she closed her eyes, her hands placed over her stomach where the baby kept its routine of occasional kicking up. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she heard Matthew read quietly, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night,” but she noticed George was asleep in Matthew’s arms.

“You’d best take him back to the nursery,” Mary whispered, smiling at her sleeping son.

“Yes, I think I’d better. How is the little one today?”

Mary moved his hand to rest on her stomach. “Moving, some. I don’t think he’s ready yet.”

“Well I hope that she comes at the right time, then. Not too early or too late.”

“Frankly, I’d rather be done with the pregnancy and have our little gift to look forward to. Another squalling baby for a few years, but he’ll be precious nonetheless,” Mary said, her words pragmatic but her tone sentimental.

“Yes, she will,” Matthew replied. “And it really doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl, not to me anyway. I hope you know it never mattered, despite the whole necessity of an heir. I wouldn’t care if we had a household full of girls or full of boys, I would love them just the same.”

“Of course we would.” Mary laced her fingers with his and smiled. “Of course, I enjoy being right also, but any healthy child is the child we’re meant to have.”

Matthew pulled George closer, relived that he was still sleeping. “I’m sorry you’re missing out on things, although there’s not a whole lot going on right now. And soon enough everyone will be dressing for dinner. Of course, if you don’t feel up to it…”

“Of course I’m going to Christmas dinner,” Mary replied stubbornly. “Baby or no baby, I”m not missing out on Christmas dinner. Now, go put George to bed and let me get some rest, and dinner will come before we know it.”

Matthew kissed the top of Mary’s head and slid out of bed. “Of course, darling.”

As he left, under her breath, Mary murmured, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”

—–

With Glowing Hearts

1925

“Are we sure we want to do this?” Mary asked, right before they entered the drawing room to open gifts with the family. “Perhaps we should put it off for a few days and let everyone focus on Christmas.”

Matthew shook his head. “Don’t you think they’ll all find it a lovely Christmas present?”

“Probably, but maybe now isn’t the right time, and to tell you the truth, I might like to keep it a secret for a few more days, so that no one is fussing over me.”

“They shouldn’t so much, you’ve done this twice before.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Let me remind you that you said that when you’re fussing over me in a few months completely unreasonably.”

Matthew had the good grace to at least look somewhat sheepish.

“Anyway, shouldn’t we tell the children first?” Mary asked. “They might not totally understand- George might, at least, but I think it’s important that they know first since they’re the ones getting a sibling.”

“Very well, we’ll tell the children before their nap time and then announce it at dinner tonight, how does that sound?

“I’d rather…”

Matthew sighed. “Tell me Mary, when will we be able to get all the family together like this again? Either we’d have to contrive something or we’d have to tell everyone separately. And I’m sure you’d like Sybil to know at the same time as everyone else, and they’re leaving two days from now. This is your best opportunity.”

“You are right about that, it’s just…”

“What?”

Mary bit her lip. “I’m just nervous about what they’ll think. About another pregnancy. You know it’s uncommon for aristocratic couples to have so many children in quick succession…”

“I think people are already aware that we love each other very much, there’s no need to feel ashamed of that.”

Mary smiled. “I suppose, I’m just… taken by surprise with this one.”

“I know we weren’t planning for it to happen now, but it has happened and I’m delighted that it has. The timing is never perfect and yet it always works out to be perfect.”

That afternoon, Mary and Matthew came into the nursery before the children’s naps. It wasn’t entirely unusual; Matthew liked to read a story before nap time to the children if he was home, and Mary often came to tuck them in, although less frequently than for bedtime. They asked the nanny to leave and sat down next to the children.

“George, Violet,” Matthew said solemnly, to his three year old son and his daughter just weeks away from turning two, “We have some very important news for you.”

“Okay,” George said.

“You’re going to get a new little brother or sister,” Mary said seriously. “George, do you remember when Violet was little and couldn’t play with you yet?”

George scrunched up his face and shook his head. “No.”

“Well, the new brother or sister will be too little to play for some time, but not forever, and then they’ll be lots of fun to play with. And,” Mary said, leaning down quietly and deviously, “since you’re bigger you can tell them what to do.”

“Wow,” George responded, his eyes wide. Maybe he understood, maybe he didn’t, but his response was amusing.

“So Mama might be very tired,” said Matthew, “and her stomach might get big, but that’s because there’s a baby growing in there. And when summer comes, you’ll have your new baby brother or sister. Is that a nice Christmas present?”

“Yes!” George said, clapping his hands. Violet followed suit.

“Good. Now let’s get you down for your naps,” Mary said, picking Violet up off the ground and setting her in her crib.

That evening, during Christmas dinner, to Matthew’s nod, Mary hesitantly stood. “Well… Matthew and I… we realized that we have one more Christmas present to share with you. We’re expecting a child, who should be born in June.”

A flurry of congratulations followed, despite the surprise that lingered on the faces of some attending the dinner. Mary realized, as everyone shared their excitement, that she too was very excited. And this baby growing inside her was somehow… different. But a wonderful kind of different.

Her heart was glowing with joy for the blessing that was the child inside her.

A few months later she would discover that the child was indeed children- the difference that she felt so clearly was that she was pregnant with twins.

—–

Let Nothing You Dismay

1926

Two days before Christmas, George had come down with a fever. “Must have been from one of the village boys he was playing with,” Nanny commented. George seemed to think little of his illness; he was simply disappointed that he was instructed to stay in bed and was missing out on the Christmas festivities.

On Christmas Eve, Violet woke up feverish. Mary had hoped George would fight off his sickness before Christmas and that everyone else would avoid it, but to no avail. George was delighted to have Violet stuck in the nursery with him; he had been lonely with all of the others relegated to the other room.

Unsurprisingly, that afternoon, the twins became ill. Lily started coughing incessantly, while Beth’s rosy cheeks blushed bright red, indicating that the six-month-old girls had not escaped the virus attacking the Crawley children.

This was certainly not what Matthew and Mary had planned for this Christmas.

“Why now of all times? It’s so cruel, for a child to be sick on Christmas,” Matthew said, as they were beginning to prepare themselves to go to church for Christmas Eve. “I don’t want to leave them alone tonight.”

“They won’t be alone,” Mary said. “But I agree, it is rather sad that this should happen now. We should make an appearance tonight, I think.”

Matthew pressed his lips together into what was quickly becoming a pout. “I just don’t want to leave them. Especially with the twins ill, it must be overwhelming for Nanny. And I don’t want George and Violet to feel abandoned, since they would be coming with us.”

“They’ll hardly remember it,” Mary protested, although her argument and her passion was weak.

“George is pretty sharp, he at least remembers much more than you would think.”

Mary sighed. “Oh, all right, we’ll stay back tonight. I’ll ring for Anna and tell her we’re staying with the children.”

Matthew didn’t even bother to change into any sort of evening clothes before heading to the nursery to see his children.

“Papa!” George exclaimed when he entered the nursery. “Nanny said you were going to church tonight, and we’d be asleep when you came back.”

“Well, your Mama and I decided it was more important to come here and spend Christmas Eve with you. So Mama is going to come in here soon.”

“What are we gonna do?” Violet asked, sitting up and gripping the side of her bed.

Matthew went over to the twins’s cribs and picked Lily, who was wide awake and sniffling dramatically, up. “Whatever you would like. We can read books or sing songs, anything like that. I know it’s sad to be sick on Christmas so we want to make this nice for you.”

“Will we still get to open presents? Even if we’re sick?” George asked.

Matthew laughed. “Of course, but that’s for tomorrow.”

“But we get to open one the day before!” George protested, his bright blue eyes wide.

“I’ll check with your mother on that, but perhaps since this is not a fun situation, she might be a little more merciful and let you open one tonight. But only if you promise to be good and sleep a long time tonight.”

“Okay!” George said, and Violet nodded her firm agreement.

“I’m going to go find your Mama, alright? Stay here, I’ll be right back,” Matthew said, Lily still nestled in his arms.

He ran into Mary right outside the door. “How are they?” Mary asked.

“Well enough, I think. They wanted to open a present tonight, I think we should let them.”

Mary sighed. “They would want to. But I suppose that’s fair.”

“I think tonight will be nice. At least we’re making the best of an unfortunate situation.”

“And they’re trying to get as much as they can out of it,” Mary said with a laugh. “I suppose they deserve it, in this case.”

Matthew grinned and kissed the top of Lily’s head, disregarding the prospect of spreading germs. “They do.”

—–

A Beautiful Sight, We’re Happy Tonight

1927

“Is that everything?” George asked, crawling underneath the Christmas tree in the hall to check for more gifts. He had insisted on handing out everything, and had taken on his task eagerly.

“I think so,” Mary said, trying to contain a laugh at the pout on his face. “What, did a very spoiled little boy not get enough Christmas presents?”

“I got lots,” George said, sheepishly.

“So did I!” Violet added, hugging her beautifully appointed new doll that was nearly the size of herself.

“I just wanted to give people more presents!” George protested. “And now I have to wait a whole year to do it. That’s a long time!”

Matthew ruffled George’s hair and picked up a large piece of wrapping paper off the floor. “As it happens, George, there’s one more thing, although I couldn’t fit it under the tree,” he said. “How about you and Violet go get your coats on, and come back downstairs.”

Mary gave Matthew a side-eyed glance. “What is this about, exactly?”

“You’ll see,” he replied. “Will the girls be alright without their coats? We shouldn’t be out there too long.”

Mary picked up Beth, who had been happily fascinated with a new teddy bear she had received that morning. “They should be. But really, what is all this about?”

“You’ll see,” he said.

“Should we come out too?” Robert asked, from his vantage point seated comfortably on a sofa.

“If you’d like to. It might help to keep more eyes on the twins, especially…” he looked around the room suspiciously, “especially since I don’t know where Lily is…”

Mary sighed. “Not again.”

“She slips away so easily, I’m not sure how she does it!” Matthew shouted, but he immediately started to search for her. It only took a few minutes for him to find her waiting at the base of the stairs, looking poised to climb up them. “There you are! Don’t run off!” he chided, picking her up. “George, Violet?” he yelled up the stairs.

George’s blond head appeared around the landing. “I’m coming!” he yelled back.

Violet skidded around the corner. “Me too!” They both hurried down the stairs. Violet quickly calmed herself and stood quietly by Matthew, but George ran all the way to Mary and began tugging on her arm.

“I want to see what it is!” he said. “Let’s go!”

Mary sighed but glanced back at Matthew. “Well, lead the way!”

Matthew balanced Lily on his hip and took Violet’s hand as they walked out the front door. “Now we’re going to have to wait a minute, so can you be patient?” he asked, his question mostly directed at George and Violet.

“Yes,” George replied seriously.

“Oh good because…” Matthew looked up with mock seriousness. “Who is coming down the drive? I don’t think anyone was supposed to be here for dinner this early.”

George and Violet squinted into the distance excitedly, and even Mary looked invested into what his surprise would be.

“I don’t recognize that car,” Robert offered, as the car came closer.

Mary’s eyes widened. “Matthew, what is going on…”

The car coming down the drive was rather long and large, and was a sleek, shiny blue. Mary could not see anyone in it, only the chauffeur driving it.

“You didn’t!” she said in surprise.

Matthew grinned. “This is for our family. See, since we’ve had a couple new additions recently, the cars here were quickly becoming too small. This one will seat all of us, with or without a chauffeur. So that we can all travel, together. And there’s no reason you couldn’t learn to drive it, either. So now we have a way to be together, just us.”

Mary’s eyes widened. She had not been expecting this.

“Car?” Lily asked, pointing to it.

“Yes darling, it’s a car for us.”

Mary’s mouth was slightly agape. “How much did you…”

“Never mind all that, I’ve got lots of stories to tell you later about how I had to try so hard to keep it a secret. But don’t you see Mary, this is our independence as a family!” His bright eyes were pleading with desperate hope that she would enjoy this.

“It is,” Mary said softly. “It’s a beautiful car. You know it makes me nervous when you drive…”

“I’ve gotten much more careful,” Matthew interjected.

“And I’m sure you will be when our children are in the car,” Mary said, trying not to roll her eyes.

Matthew nodded profusely. “Of course.”

“I think I would like to learn to drive it. But not from you. You know I love you, but you would drive me crazy teaching me how to drive,” Mary said.

“I think you may be right about that,” Matthew replied, laughing.

“Excellent. Well, I don’t think today’s the right day to go for an outing, but why don’t we go out tomorrow?”

Matthew took the few steps closer to Mary to kiss her deeply. “That sounds perfect.”

—–

The Silent Stars Go By

1931

It was a cold, but beautifully clear Christmas Eve, and as Matthew and Mary stepped out of the church with their children in tow, month-old baby William nestled in Mary’s arms, a palpable sense of joy surrounded them. The service had been lovely, Beth and Lily especially awed by the candlelight as the tones of ‘Silent Night’ echoed through the church. All the children were bounding with energy; Mary, however, was not.

“I think William’s begging to be fed again,” she murmured to Matthew. “He might not make it the walk home before breaking down.”

They had walked to the church; the evening was too lovely to squander, Matthew had said (and Mary suspected he wasn’t really comfortable with driving as the roads had been icy all day- not that she minded, as she wasn’t particularly comfortable with it either) and so they had all walked. But now the walk home seemed so terribly long, especially with a squalling one-month-old.

“Maybe you should get in the car with Robert and Cora,” Matthew suggested. “I’ll take the children and we can walk.”

Mary looked reluctant but William was beginning to whimper, so she nodded. “Alright. But don’t delay, or I’ll start to worry.”

Matthew kissed her cheek. “Don’t, we’ll be home soon.” He waved her off into the car and turned to the children. “Alright, are you all ready to go home?”

George immediately started running up the path that would eventually lead to the Abbey. “The sooner we get to sleep, the sooner we get to open presents!”

Lily and Beth looked at George with wide eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, it’ll make the time feel faster,” Violet said. She strode next to her father, trying to look as distinguished as possible. She really had turned out to be very much like Mary, but wise beyond her years.

“Let’s get home!” Lily said, running ahead to be next to George.

Beth, however, was dawdling, looking around at the night sky. “Papa!” she said, tugging on his sleeve. “Look, stars!”

Matthew stopped and looked up at the sky. “Yes, you can see the stars very well tonight!”

The other children stopped to look up as well. “Wow,” Lily said breathlessly. “So pretty.”

Matthew got down on one knee, putting a hand behind Beth’s back and pointing up to the sky with the other. “Look to the right of that tree. Do you see that really bright star right next to it?”

“I see it!” Lily exclaimed.

“Look at the stars next to it. Can you see the shape of a woman, spread out and lying down?”

The children squinted very intently at the sky. “Is she upside down?” Violet asked. “I think I see it.”

“I don’t,” Lily said.

“Well, sometimes constellations look nothing like what they’re supposed to look like. But that’s supposed to be Andromeda.”

“Who’s that?” Beth asked.

Matthew laughed. “Someday, your mother and I will have to tell you the story of Andromeda and Perseus, I think. Speaking of Perseus, if you look to the right of that constellation, the constellation next to it is called Perseus. It hardly looks like anything at all, I think, but Perseus is supposed to save Andromeda from the sea monster.”

“How do you know all this, Papa?” George asked.

Matthew stopped and pressed his lips together tightly. He had learned from a fellow soldier during the war, a young man who had been in university studying astronomy, but who had dropped out to serve. Private Thomson. Thomson had died of a bullet wound after suffering for hours with no medical transport arriving. With his last gasping words he remarked on how glad he was, if he had to die, to die under the stars.

Matthew swallowed and shook his head. “I learned all this from a friend. We spent a lot of time watching the stars together. Now come on, we’d better get home.”

“We should watch more stars,” Violet said.

“I still don’t think they look anything like what you say they look like,” George moaned.

Matthew laughed. “Yes, the names are rather a stretch. Now, remind me when we get back, your mother and I are going to tell you the story of Andromeda and Perseus.”

—–

Heedless of the Wind and Weather

1934

The wind had been blowing all of Christmas Day, as snow swirled about the house. Isobel had come up that morning, before the snow had really started falling, and was looking out the window, her lips pressed together.

“I’m not sure I want anyone to drive me home tonight,” she said.

“Of course you could stay overnight,” Robert offered. “There would be no problem with that, I’ll just ask Mrs. Hughes to make up a room.”

The lights flickered above them as another gust of wind pummeled the house.

Isobel returned to looking out the window. Despite the blizzard-like conditions, George, Violet, Lily, and Beth were all out in the snow, spinning around and throwing snowballs at each other. She looked to her daughter-in-law as Mary approached, three-year-old William on her hip. “You’re letting them play in this?”

“Matthew could hardly resist their begging. It’s been so long since it snowed, and… it looked like this when we got engaged, and of course he’s very sentimental about that sort of think.”

William tugged on his mother’s necklace as he looked at his siblings playing outside. “I wanna play,” he begged.

“It’s too cold out there for you,” Mary responded, moving the little boy’s hands off of her jewlery. “I’d rather they not be out there, personally, but Matthew caved.”

Isobel laughed. “Well, they should come in soon so they can all take hot baths before they change for dinner.”

Mary smiled. “I really should tell them that, shouldn’t I?” She put William down and strode to the front door, looking out. “Matthew!” she called. “They really should come in now.”

She could barely see anything through the blustery snow, but Matthew approached the front door and put his arm around her waist. “Yes, we’ll call them in in a minute. But isn’t this lovely?”

“It’s a little much, frankly,” Mary said.

“Oh, but doesn’t it remind you of the night we got engaged? When you made me kneel in the snow?”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Well, I had too many proposals that were a simple proposition and not really all that romantic. I wanted the real thing done right.”

Matthew turned toward her, putting his hands on her hips. “And I did it right, didn’t I?”

“Of course you did.”

To her surprise, he picked her up and spun her around, just as they had done years earlier, ebulliently full of joy.

When he put her down, she was breathless but grinning. “It really was quite romantic,” she admitted.

“It was perfect.”

“And this is slightly less romantic snow, and the children need to come in and take hot baths before dinner starts,” Mary said, snapping out of her dreamy eyed state.

Matthew laughed. “Of course they do. But that can wait another minute, because I need to do this.”

He took her face in his hands and kissed her.

—–

We All Will Be Together

1936

It was an odd feeling for Christmas, to say the least. Something- or someone- was definitely lacking, and the joy that had permeated Christmases past. Robert had passed away that October, a death which was very hard on everyone, but Mary especially had felt it. While she loved her husband and couldn’t have been more proud of how he had adjusted to his new role, it felt odd to see him doing what her father used to do, and some days her heart simply ached for the loss of her dear father.

The Christmas season, especially, had been difficult. She looked toward her father’s usual chair, espying to see him laugh as they played ‘the game’, but her heart ached to see him gone. The children had been upset at his passing, of course, but they still managed to find joy on Christmas Day. Mary, however, struggled.

That night, as she prepared herself for bed, she found herself fighting unexpected tears. Anna had left, and she was alone, sitting at the vanity, crying more than she had the night that he passed.

Matthew didn’t bother to knock when he came in; he had given that up long ago. So Mary was entirely unprepared when he entered the room and found her, red eyed and weeping. “Mary,” he whispered, rushing over to her. “What’s wrong?”

Mary sniffled and looked up to him. “I don’t know, I think it just… hit me tonight that Papa is gone. He was just always so happy at this time of year, he brought so much joy to the season and …I just especially noticed the loss today.”

Matthew rubbed her back softly. “It’s alright to feel that way. I remember the first Christmas after my father died, I barely wanted to come out of my room. I couldn’t stand the idea of him not being there, because he would always wake us up by singing Christmas carols throughout the house and… I didn’t want to wake up on Christmas morning any other way. That first year was very hard. And sometimes, you’ll still acutely feel that loss. The pain won’t ever completely go away, but it’ll dull, and you can take comfort in knowing that he was so loved and he loved you so much.”

Mary took a deep breath and nodded. “I suppose it’s not the happiest of Christmases.”

“No, and no one expected it to be. But there is joy to be found.”

—–

As We Dream By The Fire

1938

The evening was beginning to wind down; after rounds of charades and other games (all very competitive) and the singing of carol upon carol, Mary put William to bed and came back downstairs to the library, expecting that everyone else would have gone up to get ready for bed.

To her surprise, everyone was seated in the library, gathered around a roaring fire. Lily was spread out on the run between the sofas, engrossed in a book she had received as a present, while Beth was reading her own new book nestled in a corner of a sofa next to Matthew. George and Violet were playing a card game together, their quiet laughter occasionally breaking through the silence.

“You all look cozy,” Mary said as she made herself known, taking a seat next to Matthew.

“It’s been such a lovely day,” Matthew said.

“It really has,” Beth said, looking up from her book.

Lily rolled over onto her back, folding her arms behind her head. “You know, the worst thing about Christmas evening is that it means we have to wait an entire year for next Christmas.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be so special if it came more than once a year,“ Violet said.

“Yeah, but this time is just so perfect, you know? After today, everything goes back to normal. We’ll all go back to school, back to being busy, back to barely spending any time together… sometimes I just wish we could live like this forever.”

Matthew smiled. “I agree Lily, we should appreciate all this. Especially this year, since it’s our last before George heads off to university. We’ve got a big year ahead.”

“Can we go do something tomorrow?” Lily asked.

Violet rolled her eyes. “Have you not had enough excitement today?”

“No, I just want to continue this feeling,” Lily said. “I think we should take a drive somewhere tomorrow, all of us.”

Mary and Matthew looked at each other. “That sounds like a lovely idea,” Mary said.

“Thanks for making Christmas so wonderful,” Beth said softly from her corner. “I think it’s my favorite holiday.”

Violet gave an uncharacteristic smile. “I think so too.”

“I’m glad you do, because it’s my favorite holiday by far,” Matthew said.

“He used to be ridiculous about it,” Mary said. “He’s calmed down now… a little bit.”

Matthew laughed. “Well, when I only get to do it once a year, isn’t it reasonable to be a little excited?”

“Now you have to wait until next year!” George said.

“I can’t wait!” Lily said.

“Well, let’s focus on this and make it a happy Christmas.” Mary wrapped her hand in Matthew’s, resting their entwined fingers on his knee.

“A very happy Christmas to us all.”

—–

Christmas Eve Will Find Me

1939

Their next Christmas was far from what they had expected.

That September, war had begun. George had immediately joined up, to no one’s surprise and everyone’s both pride and disappointment. Matthew was recruited by the army to do diplomatic work in the War Office in London because of his legal training and position. The togetherness they had so craved was now in far more jeopardy than it had ever been, and this year, they weren’t all together for Christmas.

Matthew had managed to come home, which was a blessing in itself as he wasn’t sure that he could get off of work to come home. He hated being away from his family, but he would not let them come up to London as he feared it was a target for Germans.

But he was home for Christmas, and trying to be as spirited as usual, although to see another war so similar to the one he had fought in was difficult. And it couldn’t be the same, not with George so far away fighting in France. George had been there almost every Christmas of his and Mary’s married lives, and not having him there felt empty. The other children felt the absence too; they had literally never known a Christmas without their older brother.

That Christmas Eve was relatively dreary; they had a nice meal together, but everyone danced around the topic of the war and the empty seat at the table that was so conspicuous. Nobody felt much like participating in any normal traditions; they played a few cards games but spirits were low.

“Nothing feels right,” Lily moaned, throwing down her cards after another round was finished. “Without George to beat mercilessly, it’s much less fun.”

Matthew frowned. “I know, it’s strange. But hopefully the war will be over soon.”

“Over by Christmas?” Mary mutter bitterly.

Matthew pressed his lips together, looking down. “Yes, that’s what they said about the last one. And that one went on for far too long. And I wish this didn’t have to happen, but there is a greater evil we’re fighting here and…”

“Can we not…” Beth interjected. “Could we please not talk about the war?”

“I agree, it’s consumed everything far too much,” Mary said. She paused for a second suddenly, as if she was listening intently.

“Mama?” Violet asked.

Mary stood up. “I think someone is at the door.”

Matthew followed her out of the library and into the hall. “Who would be coming here at this time of night?”

Mary shrugged and reached to open the door. When she did, she stood speechless.

Time seemed to stand still.

“My God,” she whispered finally, upon seeing the bright face in front of her.

Matthew, too, was hardly registering it, his mouth agape at the surprise in front of him.

The children came running in behind them, confused as to what was going on, when they saw who was there.

“George!!!” shouted William, immediately running toward his big brother to give him a hug. “You’re home!!”

“But… how?” Mary asked, taking him into her arms, still in total shock.

“They told me a couple days ago they were giving me Christmas leave, and that was hardly enough time to get a message home so I figured I’d give you a little surprise. I hope it was pleasant?”

Matthew stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his son. “The most wonderful surprise.”

—–

The Weary World Rejoices

1943

For the first time in years, Downton Abbey was a full house for Christmas.

George was home for this Christmas— perhaps not for the happiest of reasons as he was recovering from a gunshot wound to his shoulder— but at least he was home. All the doctors said he would make a full recovery eventually and for that his parents were very thankful; glad he would recover but also glad to have him home for a time, for the months that he would be out of danger.

Matthew too had managed to get Christmas off, and he eagerly traveled home from London. He had grown very tired of London, of the fear in the streets and the warlike atmosphere the city itself had taken on. Coming home to the country was an escape, a much needed one.

Violet was lucky enough to get off of her job as an ambulance driver in London for Christmas as well— it may have helped that she was the daughter of an earl and that she generally refused her paltry salary— but in any case, she was grateful, and she and Matthew took the same train home, together.

When the train pulled into the station, both of them were asleep, exhausted from the work they had been doing. They only were woken up by the shouts of familiar voices outside the train car. Matthew woke up and glanced outside to see his wife and his four other children on the platform, yelling and pointing at the train car. “Violet, we’re here,” he said, trying to wake her softly but sounding rather frantic at the same time. “And we’ve got quite the reception committee!”

As they stepped down onto the platform, it was almost as if they were mobbed by family, so excited was everyone to be reunited. It had been so long since they all had been together, and everyone was so tired of the war, but so glad to have family.

“We missed you,” Mary whispered into Matthew’s ear as she embraced him. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. But today we have reason for joy.”

—–

May Your Days Be Merry and Bright

1946

Lily had set up her record player and was playing Christmas music, and the tones flowed through the house making everything cheerful. It was certainly much more cheerful than the last few Christmases had been; the war was over and new faces showed up in the Christmas celebrations. Violet was married to Andrew, a doctor she had met while she was driving ambulances during the war, and they seemed very happy. And George had brought home his girlfriend, Amelia, and they seemed very serious about their relationship. The celebration was much less formal than it had been in years past; music played as everyone gathered in the hall, drinking and full of merriment.

Matthew got up and stood in front of the Christmas tree, a glass of champagne in hand. “It’s been quite a year, hasn’t it? A year of peace for all of us. And I’d just like to say how delighted I am that everyone is here, that we’re spending Christmas together. I love Christmas, as my children tease me about often, and it thrills me to celebrate it with them. I’m so proud of all of them. Violet, my dear girl, not entirely mine anymore, but I suppose you never were. You’ve grown into an incredible woman and it makes me so glad to see you so happy. William, you’ve excelled so much in your education, and it makes me very glad to see that. Beth, you as well. If you had told me twenty years ago that my daughter would be studying at Oxford, I would have been pleasantly surprised, but now it is not such a surprise at all, because of how incredibly clever you are. Lily, your mother and I will miss you as you go to travel the world next month, but I know it will be an incredible experience, and we’re so proud of you for taking this leap. And George, what can I say? I’m so glad you made it through the hell that war is and came out a better man for it. And I…”

“Before you say anything, Papa,” George interrupted, “I have an announcement that may affect what you say about me in your speech. I proposed to Amelia last night, and she accepted me.”

The hall burst out into cheers and congratulations, and George and Amelia stood close to each other, blushing (George probably more than Amelia).

“Congratulations, my dear boy,” Matthew said. “I’m so grateful for all the joy we’ve experienced through the years, and what a lovely Christmas announcement to make.”

George grinned. “I’d like to propose a toast. To many more happy Christmases!”

“To many more happy Christmases!” rang out the reply.

#Thank you my dear!#IT'S PERFECT #MM Secret Santa 2017 #Mary x Matthew #The OTP love is strong #This is the best Christmas present #Fic rec #submission

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orangeshipper · 7 years

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A Downton Holiday

First of all- wow I can’t believe I was so lucky to get you as secret santa. You wrote some of the very first fic that I read in the fandom YEARS ago and I’ve always admired you as a writer. So truly, this is a give that you genuinely deserve for all the wonderful stories (and fantastic smut) that you’ve imparted on this fandom over the last few years.

Second- I’m SO glad you love The Holiday, because I’ve been dying to write a “The Holiday AU” for ages now and I was so happy to finally have the occasion to write it.

I hope you enjoy!! I might repost it on my page as well so I can attach a banner with it (for some reason you can’t submit images and text together in the submit area), but I’ll do that after you get a chance to read and enjoy. Until then- hope you are having the loveliest Christmas!

XO Megan (AndThenWeDance)

–

A Downton Holiday

Word Count: 12917

Rated: T

A Mary/Matthew Fic

–

This would create a nice transition to the composer in question who’d be seen in a studio hunched over a stack of sheet music, busily scratching away. He’d frown, crumple up the paper and chuck it into the rubbish bin, before taking out another paper and beginning anew. Through the window of the studio, one could see the waves of the ocean washing against the shore.

The next shot would show one young woman, her dark hair in a neat braid down her back, fixing a bouquet of flowers. She’d smile at the bouquet, then place it in the window of a small flower shop. The shot would zoom out to show the façade of the flower shop on a winding street of tiny English village. “Violet’s Village Booms” would be written over the door in swirling letters against a purple storefront. The sign at the door would be flipped to read “open” and a new day would begin.

Following this, would be a shot of the young filmmaker waking is his sumptuous, cushy white bed as his electric curtains rise from the window, letting the faint light of early dawn in. The man would turn, frown at the empty space beside him in bed, sigh, and then get out of bed to start the day. The camera would focus on the details of him running his hands through his golden hair, that caught the morning light. Then focus again on the mesmerizing blue of his eyes.

Then the final shot of the opening montage would feature another raven-haired woman, clearly the older sister of the florist, sitting in armchair by the window of what must be the elegant house featured earlier in the montage. The woman sips tea from a delicate teacup while reading over a used book in her hands, a gentle grin on her face as she flips the withered page. A blanket is tucked over her knees and in the window behind her, snow is just beginning to fall.

With the main players of the story introduced, the soundtrack fades out as the leading lady’s phone rings and the story begins.

��

“Hello? Ms. Crawley. It’s Daisy,” A voice on the phone piped up.

Mary tugged on the tartan blanket that was covering her. A phone call from Daisy on a weekday morning could only mean one thing- something had gone wrong at the shop.

Ten years ago, at only twenty years old, with the diploma still in her hand, Mary Crawley founded Downton Books Publishing. The idea for the company began when her grandmother Violet died. Violet had had two loves: flowers and books. Whereas Sybil had inherited her love for flowers, Mary had been bestowed her love for literature. At their grandmother’s passing, Mary had inherited her grandmother’s entire book collection. The old shelves of the abbey library contained so many of her favorite stories, most of them dating back to the turn of the century. Stories of aristocratic young ladies deciding to wed lower class boys with now prospects because of love. Stories of girls who run away to new countries to become governesses and create spectacular new lives for themselves. Stories that were more adult fairytales than real life stories. But well, life was hard and Mary thought that adults needed more fairy tales.

Which is what had prompted her idea for a business. It started as an online thing. She worked with old college friend Anna Smith who designed a series of beautiful new covers for three of Mary’s favorite old books. With rights secured, they republished three of the books with beautiful new covers and new life. With a bit of keen social media marketing, the business started to take off and they re-published five beautiful old stories their second year. In the third, Mary discovered some of her grandmother’s old journals and decided to put together some excerpts of those into a book. It was an instant hit. It was from there that the business really took off. Mary and Anna ended up opening a shop in York, close enough to Mary’s old inherited house in rural Yorkshire and not horribly far from where Anna lived in Leeds.

Mary spent most her time pouring over old books, trying to decide which new treasures to publish. This was a truly privileged career to have because it ideally meant she could spent most her time at home curled up in an arm chair with tea and an old book. In actuality, it meant more time for her to spend chasing after her four-year-old son. However, early mornings and late nights were her privileged reading time. People now sent books to her from around the country requesting publication. Her grandmother’s library remained her favorite place to find her new publications. Old Grandmother Violet, rest her soul, had immaculate taste in literature.

“What’s up, Daisy?” Mary asked.

“The store is completely packed,” the young shop clerk explained.

“Seriously?” Mary asked.

While her store did well as sort of a women’s literature cult sensation, it wasn’t particularly the kind of place that gets packed.

“Apparently, The Sunday Times wrote it up on an article about visiting York for Christmas markets. They said Downton Books was a must stop for anyone looking for a good ‘hot water bottle book’ for the holiday season,” Daisy said.

“Did they really say that?” Mary gasped, smiling. She could hardly believe such a good write up.

“Yes and it’s more than I can manage myself,” Daisy complained. “Can you come to town immediately?”

Bless her soul. While Daisy was a competent clerk and thoughtful literary critic, she could be easily overwhelmed.

“Yes, of course,” Mary promised. “I’ll even call Anna and have her come up as well.”

“Thanks so much,” Daisy sighed.

“I’ll have to bring George,” Mary added.

“It’s no problem.”

It was fifteen minutes later when Mary was dressed in a professional looking short black dress, tights, ankle boots, and a wooly holiday jumper. She’d had the unfortunate task of having of wake up her son, dress him, and take him out of the house early. For a small child, he was distinctly that wasn’t his favorite thing. She threw on her Longchamps purse and grabbed her car keys. She dashed out the door of the old abbey and made for her car.

After putting George in his car seat, she began scraping the snow off her car. She looked up at what the family affectionally referred to as “the old pile.” It had been in the family for years. Somewhere down the line, the Crawley’s had been a prominent family. They were still wealthy today, better off than most, but certainly not inordinately rich as they had once been. Mary’s parents lived in a humble apartment in London. Her sister resided in a quaint cottage on the abbey’s grounds. Mary was the only one who chose to reside in the old abbey still. Well, her and George. To Mary, it felt like being a character in one of her books. An elegant lady living in an old estate.

The only thing she was missing was a love story.

She thought of years before: a diplomat who loved literature, who gave her a ring just before getting on a plane to Poland, and then never returned. Not because he’d passed away, but because he’d found another woman- a younger blond who was more worth his time and affection. Grief, mourning- they were all emotions she promised years before. She was just grateful for George, her beautiful, tiny son that made the whole haunting ordeal worth it.

“Mummy,” He asked. “We go to York?”

“Yes, love,” She told him.

“We get cake?” He asked.

She smiled. Her little boy had her sweet tooth.

“Maybe after. I’ve got to go to work.”

“Okay Mum,” George said.

It was a busy day at Downton Books. Mary, Anna, and Daisy were occupied gift wrapping books, giving recommendations, and selling stacks of books. Mary smiled at each copy of her Grandmother’s journal she sold, happy to see people were still reading her zestful musings. She had never seen the store so alive, full of faces made rosy from the cold, the front window fogged up, and bits of evergreen peeking out from shelves. George stumbled around the building, playing with Daisy’s cat and drawing all over a copy of a book. It was a worthy sacrifice for the success of the day.

Afterwards, she treated Daisy, Anna, and George to cake and tea at a nearby café.

“We’ll have to get some extra help in for the Christmas season,” Mary said, spooning George a bit of chocolate cake. “I’ll put up a posting and see if we can find another clerk before next weekend. I’m sure we can find a literature student home from Oxford for the holiday or something.”

“Certainly,” Anna agreed. “Oh Mary, this new business is terribly exciting.”

“And the online orders have been insane,” Daisy remarked.

Mary pressed her lips together, practicing the particular English art of trying not to look too pleased with herself.

“That’s always a good thing,” She agreed. “I should head home though. George needs some real dinner and I think I deserve a glass of wine by the fire after a long day. We all do.”

The women bid their goodbyes, before heading to their cars. George fell asleep on the drive back, snow falling around the car, and Christmas music playing softly on the radio. Mary herself felt ready for a nap when she arrived home. She had never been more relieved in her life when she saw Sybil’s car parked in front of the abbey.

Something smelled delicious, Mary noted, as she walked into the old manor. George tottled sleepily over to the couch in the salon where some of his teddys were sitting, launching into some sort of game with them. Mary followed the smell into the kitchen where her sister was lingering over the stove.

“Sybil, darling, what a lovely surprise,” Mary remarked, crossing the room to give her sister a kiss on the cheek.

“Anna texted me,” Sybil admitted. “She told me I simply must come over and cook you dinner after your long day. I had a long day too, so I figured I could use some sister bonding.”

“Oh no,” Mary asked. “What happened?”

“Auntie Sybil,” George exclaimed loudly, running into the kitchen, his socks causing him to slide across the tile. Sybil caught him her arms, laughing.

“Play with me! Play with me!” He declared.

“I’ll keep cooking,” Mary told her sister. “You go play!”

“If you insist,” Sybil said with a cheeky smile, passing Mary a spatula.

Mary finished cooking the dinner, a vegetable curry that was one of Sybil’s specialties. She pulled out a few plates and dished it out. For George, she gave him just a plate of plain rice with some veggies picked out on the side. His palette wasn’t quite ready for curry and to be honest, she would be lucky if he ate some of the vegetables.

Tonight, he surprisingly did. Mostly because Sybil was feeding him. George adored his Auntie Sybil. Whereas Mary sometimes struggled parenting her son, he always listened to his lovely, young aunt.

“I’ll wash the dishes, if you tuck him in?” Mary offered.

“Come on George, off to bed,” Sybil cooed.

“Will you read me a story, Auntie?” Asked George.

Mary rolled her eyes as she watched her son trot off to bed. If only she could get him to be so excited to go to bed without Sybil here.

When she finished washing and drying the dishes, Mary poured two large glasses of red wine and took them to the salon, where Sybil was just arriving from putting George down.

The two girls settled on the couch.

“So you want to tell me why you’re so down?” Mary asked.

Sybil had mentioned it earlier and Mary knew that her sister hadn’t just popped over for dinner. She always wanted a good life talk.

The younger woman sighed. “You remember that accountant who works next door to the flower shop?”

Mary nodded, remembering the man that her sister had been crushing on for years. Personally, Mary didn’t think he was attractive or interesting, but she wouldn’t tell her sister that.

“Well today he came in and asked to buy some flowers. I was so excited, totally flirting and everything,” Sybil began. “I asked if the flowers were for his mum. That’s who they are usually for. But instead, he said they were for his fiancé.”

“Oh Sybil,” Mary sighed.

Her sister took a large gulp of wine.

“I feel so stupid,” Sybil said. “I mean, I never really made any moves. I just crushed hopelessly and painfully. I deserve it.”

“No, what you deserve is someone better, not a dry accountant with buggy eyes,” Mary told her sister seriously.

“If only, right?” Sybil said. “This is miserable. There aren’t many eligible bachelors in a small village in Yorkshire.”

That was exactly why Mary liked it. Her heart could hardly be broken if she was far away from any men.

“Have you thought about getting out for a bit?” Mary suggested.

“What like take a holiday someplace?” Sybil said.

“Sure, why not,” Mary said. “It’s been ages since you’ve taken a proper holiday, ages since you’ve left Yorkshire really.”

“That’s not true,” Sybil said. “I went to London for mummy and daddy’s anniversary last November.”

“Exactly,” Mary said, “You haven’t left the village since last November.”

“It’s the flower shop,” Sybil explained. “I can’t leave it for long, you know? Especially now at the holiday season. It will be packed with orders for poinsettias for Christmas.”

Whereas Mary had Daisy and Anna to help her with Downton Book, Sybil ran Violet’s Village Blooms all on her own. If she left the shop, even for a bit of time, it’s future was in jeopardy.

“Hmmm that is a predicament,” Mary said, wondering what could be done to help her sister.

She took a sip of wine, mulling it around in her mind.

“I have it!” Mary exclaimed. “What about a swap?”

“A what?” Sybil asked.

“A house swap,” Mary told her. “I was reading about a guy who does this house swap thing in Scotland. He’s got a bookshop and whenever he wants a holiday, he swaps houses with someone. The person who stays in his house gets to run his bookshop for a few days. It’s kind of a novelty thing and it books up straight away.”

“Oh Mary, I don’t think I could trust the business to a stranger,” Sybil sighed.

“I’ll be here,” Mary told her. “I can help if anything goes wrong.”

“But you’ve got enough to do with your business booming and holiday season,” Sybil told her.

“I’ve got enough time to help you,” Mary said. “I’m honest. You need a break. Take a holiday.”

Sybil rolled her eyes, chugged the last of her wine, and put down her glass.

“Fine, I’m in,” She agreed.

“Excellent!” Mary said. “Let me get my laptop. Let’s find the village a new florist.”

–

Matthew Crawley really needed to stop dating actresses. Particularly mean actresses. Particularly ones that were going to break his heart.

Ugh.

It had been a week since Lavinia had stormed out, chucked a shoe at his head, and slammed the door. It was weird that she was the one throwing shoes, considering she was the one who had cheated on him. The bruise on Matthew’s head had just faded, but the pain in his heart- well that wasn’t quite so mended.

He dressed and headed down the stairs, determined to make the biggest mug of coffee possible and throw himself into work for the day. He got in his car, heading for the studio and the crowded LA streets. He arrived at the soundstage just as the sun was rising, pulling into a parking spot and taking note of the usual flurry of activity.

“Good morning Mr. Crawley,” said an attendant as he got out of his car, the man passing him another mug of coffee and his notes for today.

“Good morning, William,” Matthew said.

“Filming the big love scene today I see,” William noted.

“Indeed,” Matthew said. “Big day today.”

“Good luck, not that you need it, you’re the master of love stories,” William said.

“I wish that was true,” Matthew said under his breath.

If he was actually the master of love stories, he wouldn’t be heartbroken right now. Would he?

He pushed the thought away as he made for the soundstage, looking through his notes for the day and trying to rev himself up for the big love scene.

It was an hour later when everything was finally in place to shoot the scene. It was the moment where the leading lady was finally vulnerable enough to admit her love for the leading man. The scene was going to end with a steamy love scene was just discrete enough to keep the ratings PG-13. Matthew knew it was important that this scene was perfectly acted as the whole film rested upon it.

“I’ve never said this out loud before,” The woman said, sitting on her bed in a low-cut red dress, running her hand through her hair. “But, I love you. There, I said it. I love you.”

“Cut,” Matthew announced, getting out of his seat to approach the actress. “You’ve got to be more nervous. You look like you are going to seduce him, but we aren’t there yet. This has got to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done in your life.”

“Right, okay,” The actress agreed.

“Let’s go again,” Matthew said, settling back in his head.

The scene started again. This time the actress seemed much more nervous, authentically stuttering through her words and fidgeting with her nails. Matthew was impressed. He loved this feeling of watching his vision come to life. That’s why he loved directing.

“I love you too,” The man replied, “Endlessly, thoroughly, always, forever. I love you.”

“Cut,” Matthew called again, moving from his chair to approach the actor’s again.

“I want you to try it again, but this time not as a speech,” He suggested. “I want you to sneak each line in between kisses. Her hair, her lips, each corner of her face. Make it adoring.” He turned the woman. “And you, as he does that, I want it seems like your worries are being washed away. Let’s see the relief pour out of you. Go again, shall we?”

The scene continued on like this, becoming increasingly more real and vibrant. Matthew’s heart began to soar as he watched the love scene play out, the leading man unzipping the woman’s red dress. All of sudden, he could only think of Lavinia, just two weeks ago when he unzipped her dress after a film premiere they’d attended. She’d been flirty and saucy. How could he expect to have the rug pulled out from underneath him? How was he supposed to know that she was cheating on him the whole while?

He shook his head, burying his face in his hand.

“Cut,” He said, his blood stirring.

“Are you sure?” The actor said. “I thought that was our best so far.”

“I still don’t think the scene is authentic enough.”

“What do you mean?” The actress asked.

“I mean, so what he takes your dress off. So what, you have sex. But then what? She’s probably cheating on you already,” Matthew began. The jaws of the actors started to drop. “I mean, let’s be realistic. She’s a bit too pretty for you. She’s probably dating another guy back in London. I mean, you are probably just expendable. You are probably just worthless. Love is worthless. All of this pointless and nothing is real.”

At this point, everyone in the studio stared at him, aghast. Looks of disbelief were etched into each of their faces.

“Uh, Mr. Crawley,” William pipped up. “Maybe you need a glass of water? And a break?”

Matthew sighed. This was insane. He was making a fool of himself.

“You’re right, William. I’m not in a good place right now,” He admitted. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Let’s stop for the day. I’m not in the right mindset to do this.”

“You want to stop filming for the whole day?” William asked, a bit of shock in his voice.

Matthew frowned and nodded. “Sorry, tell the cast sorry. I just can’t.”

With that, Matthew left the soundstage as quick as possible. He knew it was wasteful and selfish to end filming for the day, but he wasn’t in any state to make art. He got back in his car and turned it on. As he drove out of the lot, he used his Bluetooth to called Tom.

“What’s up, mate?” His friend asked as he picked up the phone.

“I left work early,” Matthew admitted, as he pulled onto the highway.

“Oh no, because of Lavinia?” Tom asked.

“How can I direct a love story when I’m heartbroken?” Matthew asked.

“Well, it’s your job, so you just do it anyway,” Tom’s voice tells him.

“I’m having trouble with it,” Matthew admitted.

“Sounds like you need a drink,” Tom told him.

“That’s for sure,” Matthew said.

“Meet at the pub in 40 minutes?” Tom offered.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Matthew and Tom met at The Pub eight years before. They were both young hopefuls in the film industry, both freshly arrived from UK. In their initial culture shock, the local Irish pub became a place of comfort for both of them, which led to their friendship. The friendship eventually grew into a partnership. Matthew directing, Tom composing. They started with a few short films. Then finally a few feature length films that appeared in a few festivals. By now, at 30, Matthew was now comfortable in his film career and Tom had made a career by composing the scores to his films. It was a partnership made in heaven as the two men got along so well and almost always saw eye to eye on the plans for the films.

40 minutes later, when Matthew walked into the pub, he felt the stress and sadness that had been weighing on him previously roll off him. Just knowing he would be talking to Tom made him feel better.

Tom was already at their favorite booth with two pints. Matthew slid across from, took two gigantic gulps before even looking at his friend.

“Rough day?” Tom said.

Matthew nodded, downing another gulp.

“Easy there,” Tom warned.

“I just am feeling a little burned out,” Matthew sighed.

“A little? Do you think?”

“Okay, massively burnt out. Massively heart broken.”

“When was the last time you took a break?” Tom asked.

“What do you mean break?”

“I mean a holiday? A proper holiday?” Tom repeated.

“Like a sun holiday, laying about on the beach?” Matthew scoffed, “You know I’m not fond of wasting time, not being productive. Besides, I’m in LA. I have more than enough sun.”

He took another gulp.

“Well maybe you need some time off,” Tom said. “Get over the girl, get some peace and quiet.”

Matthew scowled into his pint. He hated the very idea of vacation.

“It’s Christmastime,” Tom pointed out. “You deserve a holiday. You know, I read about an Airbnb in Scotland where you can stay in someone’s bookshop. You get to run the bookshop. I’m sure you can find some sort of workaholic vacation to take.”

Matthew didn’t answer, but Tom took out his phone and started searching.

–

“Have you had many takers for the florist holiday?” Mary asked, a few days later when Sybil stopped over for an afternoon tea.

George was playing in the snow outside and the two women were able to watch him play through the wall of glass windows in the library.

“Several actually,” Sybil replied, pulling a laptop out of her tote bag. “Want to help me decide?”

Mary smirked as George threw a snowball at himself. He wobbled on his feet, but stayed standing, giving his mum a wave through the window. She waved back.

“So there is one girl and she actually has experience in flower arranging,” Sybil remarks, “so I think she should be the one.”

“Mmm, let me see,” Mary requested, looking over at her sister’s laptop.

There was a very nice written letter from a young women with a smiling face.

“Oh she looks so lovely. Ooo, look,” Mary remarked, “here is one from an M. Crawley.”

“Is it really?” Sybil asked. “Have they a picture?”

Mary shakes her head at the application, one of the more vague ones.

“I think your best choice is the flower arranging girl,” Mary told her. “That way you know the show will truly flourish.”

“Flourish? Clever,” Sybil remarked. “I’ll offer the swap to her.”

“Where is she from?” Mary asked.

“Uh, Cornwall,” Sybil said.

“Ugh, dreadful,” Mary said. “I changed my mind. Don’t offer it her.”

“Cornwall is lovely,” Sybil said.

“You need something with sunshine,” Mary told her, pulling the laptop closer to herself. She flicked through the options. There was an older woman from Nice and that sounded much more promising. There was another from North Carolina, which might do in a pinch. Mary had been to Florida once and she thought that the Carolinas might be around there, but she wasn’t particularly sure.

Her eyes fell again on the mysterious M. Crawley with the grey little mystery face. The details of the account were vague- works in the entertainment industry, wants a peaceful holiday in country. Swap locations: Los Angeles, California.

“You’re picking M. Crawley,” Mary decided.

“You’re self-absorbed,” Sybil said, dramatically rolling her eyes.

“No, M. Crawley lives in Los Angeles,” Mary said. “You are definitely picking M. Crawley.”

“Cornwall could be nice,” Sybil murmured.

Mary clicked on M. Crawley. “Too late, deed is done! You are going to California!”

–

“Hey, what did that vineyard in Italy say?” Tom asked, as the two sat out on Matthew’s pool deck with a bottle of wine.

“What vineyard?” Matthew asked.

“The AirBnB where you got to help make wine and taste it and stay in Tuscany?” Tom said, recalling their holiday rental hunting from a few days back.

“It’s a no-go,” Matthew said, pausing for a sip of wine. “All booked till next May.”

“Yikes,” Tom remarked. “So no holiday then?”

Matthew cracked a smile at his friend. “I’m actually going to Yorkshire.”

“Yorkshire?” Tom dead-panned, clear unenthused.

“Yes, to work at a small flower shop.”

“You? Arranging flowers?” Tom laughed.

Matthew stood up and started to pace beside the pool. “Well, I figured that Yorkshire would be the best choice. It’s a small town named Downton, not far from Ripon. There is a small cottage on the grounds of larger estate. The girl who runs it now says that it should be easy enough- most just people picking up poinsettia orders.”

“Sounds utterly boring,” Tom commented.

Matthew turned to him, “But that’s the thing right. I just need to get away from LA, from the memories of Lavinia. I just need some quiet time to be myself. And, if I’m in Yorkshire for a holiday, that means I can visit Mum in Manchester for Christmas and I know that will mean everything to her.”

“I suppose it’s your choice,” Tom lamented. “When do you leave?”

Matthew grabbed his wine glass and took a sip, before spinning the glass in his hands. “Tomorrow.”

“Brilliant,” Tom said.

“Just take care of Sybil, will you?” Matthew said.

“Who is Sybil?”

“The girl who is staying here. The one doing the swap. Maybe you could show her around or something?”

Tom gave Matthew a cheeky grin, “I mean I suppose I could.”

–

Mary couldn’t remember the last time she was so alone in Downton. She was always surrounded by George and Sybil, that she wasn’t quiet used to the solitude of her abode. But Sybil was off to America to spend two weeks in the LA sunshine and she had dropped George off in London on her way out of town. George would be spending a few days with his grand-parents Christmas shopping in London. So, for the first time in quite a while, Mary was alone.

She had spent the day in Yorkshire working at Downton Books. It was easy to stay distracted with the store packed for Christmas. Mary had hired another clerk named Ivy to help out for the holiday rush, but it seemed as if she and Daisy didn’t get along particularly well. She had spent most of the afternoon sending the girls off in different directions to attend to costumers so that they wouldn’t have to interact with each other.

Now Mary was home in her quiet abbey with a stack of books to sift through and see which would be the next “Downton Book” to be published. A third of the way into a new book, she received a text from Mabel Fox. Mabel was an old childhood friend, who spent most of her time in America working in the fashion industry these days. Back in Secondary School, Mary had sort of accidentally stolen a boyfriend from her (long story) and they had spent two years not speaking to each other. Luckily, they eventually got over their differences after a few years of uni. Now, they always met up for a pint or two when Mabel was back in the village for Christmas.

Hey u hoe! Let’s get drinks! Xo Mabel

It was this text that led Mary to Grantham Arms, the local pub. Mary was normally the kind of woman who enjoyed a nice glass of wine or maybe some whisky on a cold night. But with Mabel, things always tended to get out of hand.

Mary couldn’t remember the last time she had had a shot. And now she was pretty sure she’d had at least 4. Besides, George wasn’t home. She didn’t have to be a mum for just a moment.

“I’m going to call you an Uber,” Mabel babbled, throwing an arm around Mary. “I’m going to call you an Uber and you are going to go home and sleeeeep.”

Mary rolled her eyes and pushed Mabel’s arm off her shoulder. “I’m fine, truly Mabel, I’m quite fine. I can walk home.”

“No, no, I’m getting an Uber for you,” Mabel announced.

She pulled out her phone and jabbed some buttons. Mary felt herself sway a bit and held on to the bar for support.

“Oh no!” Mabel whined, “There aren’t any Ubers in fricken Downton, England.”

Mary laughed, “Looks like I’m walking home!”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll be fine,” Mary said, taking an uneasy step towards the door. “I bet the cold air will sober me up.”

Mabel put a kiss on her cheek, “We’ll have to do this again before I leave!”

Mary wanted to protest that she was likely to never to get another opportunity and that she was far too old for this party life anyway. But she nodded and said, “Of course, darling. Text me, won’t you?”

With that, Mary stumbled into the winter air. She loved the walk from town back to her estate. It was a twenty-minute stroll, which was a lot of time to spend in the cold, but it looked magical with each tree dusted in snow. She pulled her coat close around her and closed her eyes, feeling the flakes brush her face. Merry Christmas me, she thought dreamily, the alcohol still tingling in her veins.

As the turned into the drive to the estate, she realized that she really needed to pee. There was still another ten minutes till she reached the old abbey and that seemed like torture.

In the distance, she noticed the lights in Sybil’s cottage on. Brilliant! Brilliant, brilliant Sybil!

Mary bounded through the snowy hills, snow dampening her boots and socks and the hem of jeans, as she made for her sister’s cottage. She skidded to a halt at the door, puffing a bit for air and still quite dizzy. She rapped on the door.

“Sybil! Si-BELLE!” Mary sing-songed. “Open the fricken door door door!”

She giggled to herself. She was never the kind of person who sang. God, she really was totally wasted. So much for the colder sobering her up, she was seemingly more intoxicated than before.

The door to the cottage opened and Mary was very surprised to find herself face to face with one of the most attractive men she’d ever seen. He had golden blond hair, bright blue eyes, and an attractive smattering of stubble over his jaw.

Wow. What did she even say to him?

“You’re not Sybil,” Was all she could come up with.

“Afraid I’m not,” The man said. “I’m, uh, Matthew.”

“Oh God! Right!” Mary gasped in a sudden moment of realization. “M. Crawley! You’re M. Crawley. I’m also M. Crawley. Sybil’s gone. God. I’m so stupid.”

“It’s quite alright,” Matthew said, “Would you like to come in and warm up for a moment?”

“Yes, and use your loo if that’s quite alright?” Mary said, shuffling through the door. “Well, Sybil’s loo. Sorry I’m so pissed. I really never get this drunk. You’re really lovely looking. I don’t mean to push in, honestly I don’t, but can I use the loo?”

The attractive man chuckled and gestured towards the toilet, “It’s all yours.”

Mary rushed in to relieve herself. As she washed her hands after, she took herself in. She was dressed in a pair of dark jeans that framed her legs alright and didn’t make her look like a mum. And a cozy tan jumper that didn’t really make her look that lumpy. Her hair was neat in loose waves, in her somewhat outgrown Princess Kate lob that she had cut a few months ago. Her eyes held the tell-tale glassiness that was a clear sign she was drunk off her arse.

She emerged from the bathroom and back into Sybil’s living room.

“Sorry for interrupting whatever you were doing,” Mary said.

“It’s no bother,” Matthew replied, giving her a shy grin. He nodded at the fireplace where a glass of wine and a book sat. “I’m just reading a book and having a night in.”

Mary wandered over to the book and twirled it in her hands, smiling at the familiar cover, “Oh nice choice.”

“I found it on the shelf,” Matthew admitted.

Mary smiled, “I figured as much. I published this and gave Sybil the first copy.”

Matthew gave a second glance, “Did you really?”

“I know it’s surprising when you meet me and I’m totally sloshed,” Mary said. “But, believe it or not, I am in fact a mildly successful publisher.”

Mary wobbled as she put the book down.

“Would you like to sit?” Matthew asked. “I’m afraid you might fall over.”

She nodded and plopped on the couch. “Thanks for that M. Crawley.”

“No problem,” He said. “Do you have a name?”

“Oh my god! I’m so so sorry,” Mary rambled. “I can’t believe I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Sybil’s sister. Mary. I live in the old abbey up the road.”

“Oh, you’re Mary,” Matthew said. “I got a note saying that if I needed any help with anything her or at the flower shop to just ask Mary.”

“Well, do you need any help?” Mary asked, propping her chin up with a hand.

Matthew smiled, “No, I think I’m fine so far. But would you maybe like some water or toast? To sober up a bit before you’re walk up to your house?”

“Am I that bad?” Mary asked.

“I mean you were just singing outside the cottage,” Matthew pointed out.

“Oh god. I was, wasn’t I?” Mary said, shaking her head. “Yes, please then.”

Matthew walked out of the room and into the kitchen. Mary found a blanket on the couch and pulled it around her, trying to warm up from the walk. She picked up the book again, trying to see what part he was at. Ooo, a very good part indeed. The meet cute where the main couple meets for the first time in an endearing, abet embarrassing way. She snuggled down and started read, her eyes fluttering immediately.

–

When Matthew arrived back in the living room, Mary was sound asleep on the couch, the book half covering her face. He chuckled softly to himself and removed it from her face. She had a very beautiful face, he thought, smoothing out a bit of her hair that the book had jostled. He placed the cup of water and toast next to her, before going back into the kitchen to get a few pain relieving tablets for when she woke up. After leaving those beside the water, he smiled at the lovely young woman’s sleeping form before turning off the light and heading up to Sybil’s bedroom.

In the morning, Matthew woke with a smile. The room was bright from the light reflecting off of the snow outside his window. Here he had worried that Yorkshire might be too grim for the holidays, but with the snow and cozy cottage- he found it to be great. And the unexpected visitor last night. She was certainly great. Her silly drunken rambling had charmed him. Her literary prowess had impressed him. And she was undoubtably attractive.

Getting out of bed, he changed into some jeans and a button up shirt. He briefly stopped in the bathroom before he trotted downstairs softly, remembering that he had a sleeping visitor below him. Mary stirred at his steps, her dark eyes blinking awake.

“Oh fuck. What am I doing here?” She asked, sitting up, pressing a hand to her forehead.

“Aspirin tablets right beside you, love,” Matthew said.

Mary mechanically grabbed the medicine and downed it. “God, my head is killing me.”

“I’m sorry,” Matthew said. “You’ll feel better in a bit.”

Mary blinked again, her forehead crinkling. “You’re M. Crawley? I somehow thought M. Crawley was a woman.”

“Matthew Crawley,” He introduced, for the second time, waiting for the moment of realization of hit her. But there didn’t seem to be any recognition in her eyes.

“It’s nice to meet you, Matthew Crawley,” She said. “I’m also M. Crawley.”

“You said that last night,” Matthew told her.

“Did I? I don’t remember much,” Mary admitted.

“I can remind you if you like,” Matthew laughed. “Sybil. Sy BELLE!”

Mary ran a hand through her hair. “Well, that is embarrassing.”

“Not to worry,” He said. “We’ve all been there.”

Mary made a moaning noise and chugged the rest of the water.

“Would you like a coffee?” Matthew asked, wandering into the kitchen and smiling at Sybil’s shiny Nespresso maker.

Mary shook her head and standing up. She pulled on her coat. “I really should be going. I’m so sorry for ruining your holiday.”

Matthew turned back to her. “Please don’t apologize. You definitely did not ruin my holiday.”

He watched her leave and create a path in the snow up to abbey. He truly hoped that it wouldn’t be the last he saw the other M. Crawley.

But in truth, he didn’t have much time to pine after Mary, because well, running a flower shop was quite the full-time job. He had people constantly coming in and out picking up orders of poinsettia. There were plenty of people looking for centerpieces for holiday parties. Matthew had fun with these. He was quite the amateur at making flower displays and he knew some of them were truly dismal, but he crafted a good amount that he was rather fond of.

He kept hoping that Mary would stop by the flower shop to check in on him, but there appeared to be no such luck. He was happily reading his way through Sybil’s bookshelf, reading the beautiful copies of “Downton Books” that lined them. Each volume was full of cozy story that could be read perfectly next to the fire. He was finding a fond place in his heart for each of her publications.

Yet, he never got to see their illustrious publisher. That was until his fourth day on the job, when he accidentally locked himself out of the flower shop. There were several families lined up outside the shop already, looking to pick up wreaths and poinsettias.

“Dammit,” Matthew cursed, worried he was going to single-handedly ruin Sybil’s business.

He found the note from Sybil with Mary’s contact information on it in his pocket and dialed her number.

“Sorry to ring you,” Matthew mumbled. “But I’ve accidentally gotten locked out of the flower shop. Could I bother you to let me in?”

“Oh,” Mary said. “It’s no problem. I’m just at the abbey. I’ll be right there.”

“Oh you are brilliant,” Matthew said. “I can’t thank you enough.”

–

Mary ran into the bathroom to change. She couldn’t believe she was going to see him again.

Mary had been avoiding M. Crawley since they met. She was completely mortified that she’d been basically black out drunk, stumbling around the cottage, and actually singing. Mary never sang. Not even on Christmas. What had gotten into that night?

Well, vodka. Obviously way too much.

Since then, Mary had gone out of her way to avoid Sybil’s cottage and its handsome occupant. That was, till two nights ago, when she’d decided to enjoy her solitude with a cozy Christmas movie. After making a large cup of cocoa, she picked one of her good old favorites films off the shelf and popped it in. She loved the story, a beautiful transatlantic romance, but what made it even better was its sweeping score and practical real estate porn.

At the end of the movie, she was feeling oh so snug and nearly was ready to drift off, when she caught the credits.

A Matthew Crawley Film.

Matthew Crawley? As in M. Crawley?

She had grabbed for her laptop, quickly googling the director. There he was, the dashing man from Sybil’s cottage two days before. His blond hair slicked and dazzling smile glittering on the red carpet. She looked through his films, several of them she already adored, but several more she had yet to see. She immediately started binging them on Netflix. As she watched, she researched more about this mysterious tenant. An article told her about his recent break up with Lavinia Swire, a Hollywood actress who had starred in his previous film. No wonder he was in Downton. He was doing the same thing that Sybil was trying to do- escape unhappy memories and mend a broken heart.

Mary’s heart softened for the man. After all, he’d been nothing but kind to her when she’d been an embarrassing drunk mess on his doorstep.

Still, she her plan remained to avoid seeing him again, at least in person. Until ten minutes ago when he called and told her he’d been locked out of the shop. Apparently, another encounter with M. Crawley was inevitable.

Dressed in a loose grey dress, tights, and ankle boots, she pulled on a coat and scarf before heading into town. She was just grateful that George was still in London for one more day, so she didn’t have to worry about bringing him around.

Mary saw the crowd outside Violet’s Village Blooms before she even saw the building. She felt a feeling of dread. This was the kind of thing that Sybil had been worried about happening when she left. Mary hoped that the customers hadn’t left because of the wait.

She parked and worked her way through the crowd to where Matthew was standing awkwardly outside the door.

“Oh, you goddess,” Matthew exclaimed.

Mary almost laughed at his acclamation, her cheeks blushing. “Oh please. I’ve just got a spare key, that’s all.”

She opened the door to flower shop and a stream of people began to pour in. She knew that she couldn’t maroon Matthew to the chaos of all the customers.

“I’ll take the wreath orders; you do the flowers?” She suggested.

He flashed her a grateful look. “Thank you.”

The morning turned into a busy blur. They fretted over orders, helped load wreaths and flowers in older customer’s cars, and tried to make sense of all the money. Finally, after a few hours of work every initial customer seen to.

“I think we’ve earned quite the lunch break,” Mary declared.

Matthew raised an eyebrow. “Would you care to join me? I feel like I owe you after your dashing rescue this morning.”

They made their way to the tavern next door. It was decorated for Christmas, with evergreen garland strung around the room and lights over the fire it. It was very cozy indeed.

They both got glasses of warm mulled wine and sipped them by the fire as they waited for their food.

“I feel as if I should apologize for the other night,” Mary told him. “You truly saw a side of me I’m not sure if I’ve seen before.”

“It wasn’t a problem at all. In fact, it was the most interesting thing that’s happened so far to me in Downton,” Matthew laughed.

“I couldn’t even tell you the last time I was drunk. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever been that drunk,” Mary admitted.

“Not even in uni? Well, then you do live a quiet life,” Matthew commented.

“I can’t say the book publishing and editing world is that raucous,” she said.

“So, what kind of editor are you?” Matthew asked.

“A very mean one,” Mary teased, making a surly face.

Matthew laughed.

“No, actually, we publish lesser known works of women’s fiction from the early 20th century,” Mary explained.

“Oh that’s brilliant,” Matthew said. “I’ve read a few the books of your collection that I found on Sybil’s shelf and I really like them.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Mary grinned.

“How did you end up working there?” Matthew asked, taking a tip of the warm wine.

“Well I inherited my grandmother’s love of books and her therefore her entire library. I wanted to share some of my favorite books from her library with others, give them new life. And my old friend Anna wanted to design covers,” She explained, “So truly it was a match made in heaven.”

“Wait, sorry, let me get this straight,” He said. “You founded the publishing company?”

Mary nodded, “I know. I usually don’t tell people. It can be a bit intimidating.”

“Consider me very intimidated,” Matthew said.

“But I figured that since you are a film director, you probably work alongside lots of endeavoring women and therefore won’t be intimidated by me,” Mary told him.

He gave her a sideways smile. “Ah, so you do know who I am.”

“I didn’t when we met,” Mary admitted. “I was watching one of your films a few days ago and made the connection.”

“And did you like it?” Matthew asked.

“Like what? The connection?”

“The film?” Matthew laughed.

Just then a server arrived with two plates of food and laid them before the pair. Mary took a chip off the plate and nibbled it.

“I did,” She said. “A very cozy Christmas film. And the soundtrack was gorgeous.”

“Well, all of that credit goes to my friend Tom Branson,” Matthew explained. “He’s the mastermind behind the music.”

“You’ll have to give him my full compliments,” Mary told him.

“I told him to give Sybil a tour, help her out,” Matthew said, picking up a chip from his own plate and dabbing it in vinegar.

“Hmm,” Mary said, “I’ll have to ask her about it.”

There was a moment of silence where they both picked at their food.

“So, how did you end up in Los Angeles?” Mary asked. “You sound like you’ve got a bit of a Manchester accent.”

“Only a bit,” Matthew said. “It’s sort of faded a bit in LA.”

“Only a bit,” Mary nodded for him to continue.

“But yes. I studied film in Reading for uni and then got offered a chance to work on a set in Los Angeles. It was all grunt work at first, fetching brews and the like. Then slowly I worked my way up, did some short films on the side, met Tom, did a quite successful indie film- and well. Then the whole thing was history.”

“That’s impressive,” Mary remarked. “Consider me intimidated.”

He laughed.

“Is there anything you’d like to do while you are here?” She asked. “Got anything on your Downton bucket list?”

Matthew took a sip of mulled wine and his forehead wrinkled.

“I’d actually quite like to see more of your estate,” Matthew remarked. “The abbey. The grounds.”

Mary smiled gracefully, her mind quickly calculating how much time she’d have before George arrived home. She’d have to show it to him today.

“Of course. What time do you finish in the flower shop today?” She asked.

“Just after three,” Matthew told her.

“Good,” She said. “Come up to the abbey after and I’ll show you around.”

“Really?” Matthew asked, smiling. “That’s so kind of you.”

“Nonsense,” Mary teased. “I’m just hoping you’ll feature my house in your next film.”

“I am quite keen on lovely bits of architecture,” He commented, his voice a bit lower now.

“Good,” Mary said, “I look forward to seeing you later.”

–

Later arrived soon enough. Matthew made his way up to the old house as soon as he finished in the flower shop. He made small bouquet to give to Mary- dark red roses and springs of holly. The sun was just beginning to fade as he made his way up to the old house. The winding road through the soft rolling hills was quaint and calming. He could see sheep from neighboring farms wandering through the distant fields. It was the exact pastoral tonic he needed to save him from the Los Angeles toxicity.

Mary was standing at the door when he arrived. He gave her an awkward wave as he approached. She was still dressed in the fetching outfit from earlier, a few flakes of snow decorating her hair.

“Are these for me?” She asked, raising her delicate eyebrows, when he presented her with the flowers.

“Only Violet’s best blooms for milady,” Matthew said dramatically.

Mary smiled and took the flowers. “Shall we walk? There isn’t much daylight left.”

They started walking across one of the lawns.

“How did you acquire such a lovely estate?” Matthew asked, fascinated by this beautiful woman.

“A gift from my grandmother,” She explained.

“The same one who left the books?” He asked.

“Exactly,” She said. “Violet.”

“Oh I see,” Matthew said.

“Technically, the abbey should have gone to my parents. But they live in London and have a nice apartment there. And Sybil loves that little cottage. But I like old and grand things. I love antiques and the stories behind the little details of the abbey. So, everyone knew it made sense to be mine,” Mary explained.

“I look forward to seeing all the details,” Matthew said.

“Well if you look over here,” Mary laughed gently, “You’ll actually see one of my favorite follies. It’s an old Grecian style ruin.”

Matthew walked up toward it, climbing up the steps of the old ruin.

“It’s obviously not a Greek ruin,” Mary said. “But it was added when that was the sort of thing in vogue.”

Matthew ran his hand up along the pillar slowly.

“It really is remarkable,” Matthew said softly.

He turned slowly, to see Mary leaning against a pillar. He walked slowly towards her. He let his hand move along the pillar, just to the side of her head.

“There are lots of remarkable things about Downton, in my opinion,” He said, his voice but a whisper.

Mary shivered and her eyes fluttered close. All of a sudden the mood had completely changed. He was totally aware of what he was doing and the soft smile on Mary’s face encouraged him to keep going.

“And what are those?” She asked.

“Excellent flower shop,” He said, leaning in, placing a kiss on her right eye.

“Excellent Grecian ruins,” He said, kissing her other eye.

“Excellent old abbey,” He whispered, pressing a kiss on her nose.

“Hmm, that all?” She asked, her eyes opening again.

Rich, dark chocolate, he thought of the color.

“Beautiful book publishers too,” He said, kissing her lips.

Her hand slipped down to grip his, a smile on her face.

“Let’s keep this tour going?” She said, her voice a whisper. “It’ll be dark soon.”

–

She had kissed him.

Okay, well he had kissed her. The beautiful film director who randomly showed up out of the blue. M. Crawley whom she’d totally made of fool herself in front. Matthew Crawley whom she totally adored.

Mary was smitten. And of course, this meant that she should apply her tried and true relationship technique- play coy. She ducked her head and nodded him on the tour.

They walked through the grounds. She showed him the rose gardens, now frosty with snow, and the greenhouses, still warm inside. They bid Happy Christmas to the neighbor’s sheep. They climbed the largest hill to another of her favorite follies- a domed observatory.

“Do you actually see stars here?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I heard that my great-grandfather kept a telescope here. And maybe one day we’ll bring it back.”

“I can see it being rather nice, all curled up in the little observatory, looking at the stars,” Matthew told her.

“Well, if you want to buy me a telescope, be my guest,” she said.

“I mean, technically, I am your guest already,” He told her. “So I might actually owe you one.”

She laughed and look her head. “You aren’t a guest. You’re welcome here.”

“Are you cold?” He asked, reaching for her hand.

“A bit,” She shrugged.

“Why don’t you show me the abbey now?” He suggested.

They headed down the hill, down towards the house, snow just beginning to fall. The sun was nearly entirely below the horizon now.

Would they kiss again? Mary really, really wanted to kiss him again. Honestly, she wanted to do more than just kiss him. But she would certainly settle for kissing.

It was warm inside the abbey. Mary was constantly grateful that she could enjoy living in an old abbey in a modern age where she didn’t have to worry about lack of indoor heating or plumbing.

“Welcome to Downton Abbey,” She told him.

His eyes were wide, taking in the foyer, where the large tree lingered in the center of the house, the stairs encircling it.

“Did you decorate this yourself?” He asked, stepping forward to look at the tree.

Mary nodded, “A mix of my grandmother’s decorations and things I found at antique shops.”

“It’s lovely,” He said. “You can see whole stories on this tree.”

“We have that in common, don’t we?” She said, toying with a vintage angel ornament.

“What?” He asked, pulling his eyes from the tree to look at her.

“We both like stories,” Mary said.

“Oh yes,” He said.

They moved into salon. She put on a few low lights, revealing the garland hung around the room and the string of cards that she and George had worked to put up together. Mary bent to light the fire, luckily a gas fire and easy to light.

She straightened to find Matthew right behind her. Very close.

Oh God. He was going to kiss her again. She knew it. She very much wanted him to.

“It’s quite cozy in here,” He said.

She nodded, her nose brushing his, as he hands fell to her waist.

“One of the best qualities of Christmas,” she murmured. “Excellent coziness.”

“I’m glad we feel the same way,” He said, looking at her in the eyes.

His stupid disarming bright, bright blue eyes.

Then their lips were on each other- all over each other. Mary felt silly at first, her coat still on. But, she soon realized, coats, like other things could be quite easily removed.

Was this really happening? She thought dizzily, when Matthew lowered her down before the fire. The old ornate Persian rug felt funny beneath her bare shoulder. But he put a kiss behind her ear, then at the crook of her neck, then tip of her shoulder, then at this part of her stomach that made her positively squirm. And by the time his lips reached the jut of her hip, she was quite sure of three things:

1) Her life was slowly turning into a Matthew Crawley film.

2) If not that, her life was definitely a more risqué version of a Downton Book

3) She was a hundred percent okay with this.

–

The next morning, she awakened in her bedroom to feel a warm body beside her and a phone ringing.

Matthew. Right.

The night before had been nothing but excellent and she was still both dazed and sore from the whole affair. In fact, all she wanted to do was stay inside and avoid snow and responsibilities with him.

But alas, her phone continued to ring.

She slipped out of bed, pulled on a dressing gown, and grabbed her phone, ducking into the corridor.

“Hello,” Anna’s voice pipped up. “I just thought I’d tell you that I’ve got George in the car and we are headed towards York.”

Anna had been in London visiting friends that past couple days and was able to pick up George from his grandparents. Mary was grateful that her friend was able to save her a trip.

“Oh that’s delightful,” Mary said. “So I’ll see you in a few hours?”

“Definitely,” Anna said.

Mary smiled, “I’ll start making a pot of soup and you can have lunch when arrive.”

“Oh brill. Here, I’ll put George on,” Anna said.

“Hello George darling,” Mary cooed.

“Hello Mummy!” George replied.

“Did you have fun in London?” She asked.

“Lot’s of fun. Grandmama took me to the museum and then ice skating and then we got lots of toys at the great big toy shop,” He rattled.

“That sounds quite lovely,” Mary remarked.

“I missed you, Mummy!” He said.

“I missed you too, my darling,” She soothed.

“See you soon? With lots of hot chocolate?” He asked.

“See you soon,” She told him.

She ran a hand through her hair.

Shoot, she definitely had sex-hair. She was going to need a shower before her son and best friend arrived. And unfortunately, she was going to have to kick Matthew out.

No matter how much she just wanted to just climb back in bed with him.

She reentered her bedroom, hoping to make a b-line for the en-suite, but Matthew was awake and lounging on the bed. She took a deep inhale. He looked like some sort of Greek god stretched out, naked, his hands behind his head.

“Good morning,�� He said.

“Good morning,” She replied.

She sat gingerly on the side of the bed.

“I heard you on the phone,” He said. “Who is this Mister George? Anyone I need to be jealous of?”

Mary let out of a snort of laughter. “Oh no. He’s- He’s my-“

But she couldn’t bring herself to tell Matthew the truth. It was easier this way to just be Mary. Mary, 28, book publisher, light-weight, abbey dweller, lover of stories and old things. Not Mary Crawley, professional mummy.

She wouldn’t trade George for the world and would gladly live her life with just the two of them in their large house without complaint. But she also knows that when it comes to dating, children are baggage. As soon as you mention a child, everything becomes serious. All of sudden there are excuses like, “I don’t want to meet George in case things don’t work out,” or “I don’t know if I’m ready for a family.” And then just like that everything fizzles out.

Mary knows because she’s done this time and time again.

It’s probably better this way. Matthew is just a blip in her life. A famous film director dropped into her world for the holidays, but to be whisked off in the New Year. He’s not permanent. He can’t be. There isn’t any point in him knowing about George.

“Never mind,” Mary said, shaking her head. “What do you say about hot shower?”

Matthew smirked and followed her. She was grateful for men and their one-track minds.

–

A few hours after Matthew had left Mary’s cottage, he found himself curled up in a corner of Sybil’s cottage. More snow was falling outside and he was thumbing through another Downton Book he’d pulled off his shelf.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Mary. About her soft brown hair, as it fell just over shoulders. About her easy smile once you got to know her. About how deliciously wonderful she’d looked naked against that Persian rug.

She was smart, driven, and beautiful. Who would have ever thought he’d find someone like that in a small country town? After his break up with Lavinia, he hadn’t thought that anything remotely resembling affection was in his future. But for a brief moment, in her lovely abbey, Matthew had seen a bit of future worth having.

It was as the sun began to dip low that he made his mind. He was going walk back up to her house and tell her what he thought. Sure he’d just met her, but he had to give it chance.

He put his book down. It was now his fifth Downton Book completed since arriving and his favorite, a collection of Mary’s grandmother’s journal entries. He grabbed his coat and scarf. The snow was still falling. He didn’t think it actually snowed this much in England, but this week seemed to be an exception.

His stomach tingled as he walked up to the house. He shouldn’t be nervous, hardly anything made him nervous, but yet he was. He hoped that she wouldn’t be put off by his frankness in just showing up, but he thought she might like it. She was a quiet woman alone in a large house, maybe she needed something to shake her life up.

He knocked at the main door and paused as he heard footsteps approach and then open the door.

“Hello,” a voice said.

He looked down and surprised to see it belonged to such a small individual. A small blonde boy was at the door of the abbey.

“Hello,” Matthew said uncertainly.

“George,” Mary said in the distance, the sound of her feet padding to the door.

George, Matthew thought suddenly. How silly had he been to think that George was some sort of man to be jealous of.

But wait- if Mary had a son, did that mean she had a husband as well?

Matthew all of a sudden realized he knew nothing about Mary Crawley. He felt disoriented, as if his time with her was all a lie.

“Oh, sorry Matthew,” She said. “Is everything alright at the cottage?”

“Who are you?” George interrupted.

Matthew laughed, shifting awkwardly. “I’m, uh, my name is Matthew.”

“I’m George,” the boy said, putting out his small hand.

Matthew shook it. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Would you like to come in? Mummy and I were just making hot chocolate! You can have some if you like.”

Matthew agreed and walked into the foyer.

“George, darling,” Mary said. “Can you set out some biscuits for us?”

George have a little salute and ran into kitchen, slipping on his wooly socks.

“Are you married?” Matthew asked quickly, as Mary fussed over his coat.

She shook her head.

“Divorced?” He asked again.

“Abandoned because he went on a diplomatic mission to Poland and never returned. He found a pretty young thing and forgot all about his knocked up fiancé back in England,” Mary said quietly.

“Oh Mary,” He hushed.

Matthew felt his face wrinkle with concern. Poor, poor Mary. She didn’t deserve that. Raising a child on her own, feeling abandoned. Mary should have a life full of love with a man who undoubtedly loved her.

“It’s okay,” She said, lifting her chin. “I don’t need pity. It’s been almost 5 years.”

Matthew nodded, “Of course.”

George’s feet came tapping back.

“Cookies complete!” He announced. “Time for cocoa?”

Mary smiled at the boy and turned to Matthew. “Are you at all interested in hot chocolate?”

They walked into the kitchen. Mary went for the fridge and took out a carton of almond milk, which she poured in a sauce pan and began to heat up. Matthew sat with George at the table as the small boy began to assault him with questions.

“What do you do?”

“I direct films.”

“Do you get to be in films?”

Matthew shook his head. “No, I tell people where to go and what to do.”

“That sounds very boring.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Matthew said.

“If I worked in films, I’d want to be on screen,” George told him.

“I think you’d do very well.”

“Will you make a movie about me?” George insisted.

“I’m not sure,” Matthew said, “have you got any talents?”

This launched George into some of singing-dancing-footballing act that he did around the kitchen. It took just enough time for Mary to finish mixing in chocolate, before heading to the table with three mugs filled with marshmallows and sprinkles.

“Here we go,” she said.

Matthew smiled, taking the cup. The liquid was sweet and cinnamon-y.

“This is superb,” He said, after a few sips.

“You’ve got a moustache,” laughed George.

The boy now attempted to get his own hot chocolate moustache. Even Mary was giggling now. Well, that was until George got a little too out of hand and accidentally spilled the hot chocolate on Mary’s dress.

“Oh no!” George exclaimed.

“Oh no, indeed,” Mary said. “I’ll just go change quickly.”

Matthew watched her walk away.

“Are you going to marry my Mummy?” George asked.

“Oh well, I’m just her friend,” Matthew said.

“Oh,” George said. “it’s just that she gets awfully lonely. Just so you know. Maybe if someone married her she’d be happier. That’s how it goes in fairy tales.”

“Do you like fairy stories?” Matthew asked.

“I like all stories,” George said. “Do you want to go play a game?”

Matthew smiled, “Of course.”

George led the way to living room, where he immediately began setting up a board game on the floor. Upon further inspection, it seemed that this was a game hobbled together with five game boards and a variety of pieces from various board games and a few knickknacks found around the house.

“How do you play?” Matthew asked.

The young boy immediately began rattling off a complicated list of rules and explaining each of the unique pieces.

“Oh no, George. You aren’t not to make Matthew play that game with you,” Mary complained when she entered. She was dressed in just leggings and jumper now. Once again, she looked splendid. “He made it up himself. It takes ages to play and it’s horribly difficult.”

“You don’t like games?” George asked Matthew, a frown already on his face.

“I love games,” Matthew said.

“Good, then you’ll love this one,” the boy informed him.

So, that was how Matthew got sucked into the world of George’s Game. They played the game for hours until it was very dark outside and George fell asleep on one of the game boards.

“I’ll take him upstairs,” Mary said softly, lifting the boy and taking him upstairs.

While she was gone, Matthew inspected the frames that he hadn’t noticed the night before. Mary holding George as a baby. Mary and Sybil and George visiting London. Mary and George drinking tea together. It was evident that they were a family, George and Mary.

“I can’t imagine anyone being a bigger hit,” Mary admitted when she came downstairs.

“But I just can’t understand why you didn’t tell me,” Matthew said softly.

“It didn’t come up?” She said, but then shook her head and sat beside the fire. “No, it did. I suppose. I don’t always like to be the poor, lonely single mother. It’s nice to have a life where it seems like I spend all my time doing proper literary things, being a successful entrepreneur.”

“You are all those things,” Matthew told her, walking over to sit beside her.

“But I’m also a statistic, an un-wed mother,” She said. “The best part about my job is that I can spend my time at home reading a few days a week so I don’t have to send George to a playschool full time. And I get hot chocolate spilled on me. I’m never able to have nights out or date or have much of a life besides running Downton Books and being a full-time mum.”

Matthew nodded, realizing that he couldn’t be upset with Mary. Not for this.

“Do you despise me for not telling you?” She asked, her tone indifferent.

“I could never despise you,” He whispered.

“You aren’t going to run away? Because I have a kid?” She asked.

“On the contrary,” He said, playing with a lock of her hair. “George only endears you to me more.”

She smiled, but looked towards the fire, a rueful look on her face.

“I was actually on my way to tell you how much I like you,” Matthew admitted. “That’s why I came up tonight. I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

“That’s nice,” Mary said.

“Nice?” He repeated, putting a kiss behind her ear.

Just that morning she’d been flirting and giggling. Now she seemed more reserved.

“It’s just never going to work,” She said finally. “You are going to go back to LA. I’m going to stay here with Downton Books. This is never going to work. You’ll head back to Hollywood and fall in love with another actress or model or something and I’ll just be here, heartbroken, picking up the pieces again.”

“What if we found a way to make it work?” Matthew said.

“Like what?” Mary said, turning to face him.

“I don’t know, but we are both smart people. I bet we could think up something,” He told her, running a hand through her hair again.

“I don’t know, Matthew. You are asking me to take a huge risk Matthew. If you break my heart, I might not come back from it. And I can’t put George through that,” She told him.

He rested his head on her shoulder, resigned that despite how much he absolutely adored this woman, she would never be his.

“Tell you what,” Matthew proposed. “I’m going to spend Christmas with my mum in Manchester before coming back here for a few days. ‘While I’m there, I’m really going to do some thinking about how to make this work. If I can come up with an idea for how this could possibly work, I’ll tell you then.”

Mary nodded, her eyes still trained on the fire. “Okay.”

Matthew grinned, “I’ll think of something. Until then, Happy Christmas.”

–

Christmas came and went. Sybil was still in America. Mary’s parents came up from London. She hosted them in the abbey and they did the usual- presents, Christmas dinner, and a game of charades. It was nice to see them, as always. They doted over George, complained about Mary’s lack of love life, and commented on nice the Old Pile looked for Christmas.

As her parents left the day after Christmas, she knew this meant that Matthew would be returning soon. The thought of him and his proposition made her nervous. In her fit of nerves, she decided it would be best to drive down to York to check on the shop. She took George with her. They took their time in York, walking along the castle walls, wandering through the shambles. Anything to avoid driving home.

However, eventually they really did need to get home to start dinner and bedtime routines. Mary looked out the window as they approached the estate, seeing the lights in Sybil’s cottage on and knowing that meant that Matthew was back.

Just knowing he was there, her heart skipped a beat.

It was silly wasn’t it? To put him off just because she didn’t want to take a risk? It was silly to not give him a chance.

But it wasn’t. The last time she put her heart out there, she got so impossibly hurt. She couldn’t imagine doing it again for a man she had only really spent time with for three days.

So then why was the thought of him leaving already starting to break her heart?

She got home and immediately started on work on dinner. She needed something to throw herself into. As she was putting a chicken in the oven for roasting, she heard the doorbell ring. It was him. Definitely him.

In hopes of not disturbing George, she went outside instead of inviting Matthew in. If he made her cry, well, at least her son wouldn’t see.

“Mary,” he said, when she exited, closing the door as quietly as possible.

“Hello,” she replied softly.

“Will you be alright? It’s a bit cold out here,” he told her.

It was snowing again! She could hardly believe it.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied.

Her stomach flitted with nerves again. What would he say?

“I did some thinking and I know it’s going to be hard and I know we each have baggage and that we’ve each lived separate lives. But I really do think we should try, in some sort of way, to give this a chance,” he declared.

“Okay, but how?” Mary gasped, running a hand through her hair.

Matthew gave a huge grin now. “I have just the idea.”

She pursed her lips together and tried not to smile, but he did look quite excited to tell her.

“Well I found your grandmother’s journals in my shelf of Downton Books and I loved it. Mary, you did such a good job of piecing together her story. It’s marvelous. It’s exactly what I need to do next for my career. Don’t you see? We can work on the film together- you can help with the writing and historical information. I can produce and direct. And best of all we can film it here- this way, I won’t have to leave. At least not yet. But by then, well, we can figure out the details. But what do you think?”

Mary’s mouth opened in a very un-Mary-like gasp.

“Well, I think that that’s quite the proposition,” she told him.

“And?” He said, encouraging her.

And well, she could think of tons of ways this wouldn’t work. What if the filmmakers didn’t treat her grandmother’s journals the right way? What if they cast the wrong person? What if having the film set in her house was a disturbance? She could think of tons of ways this could go disastrously wrong.

But she couldn’t say no.

Not when it was the best and most intriguing idea she’d ever heard.

“Yes,” She said softly, as he swept her off her feet into a spin. Her lips were on his and it all just made sense.

–

“Just letting you know,” Mary said to Sybil over the phone. “Matthew will be here for New Years actually. He’s not staying in your cottage, so don’t worry, but he’ll be here for the party.”

They had actually just returned from sledding with George and the two boys were dusting the snow off of them in foyer while Mary spoke to her sister.

“Oh M. Crawely is staying with you is he?” She laughed. “Interesting plot twist, because um, well I’m bringing Tom back with me as well.”

“The composer?” Mary asked.

“The very one,” Sybil replied. “He’s actually been telling me about an interesting new project him and Matthew are already working on. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

“Hmmm,” Mary said. “Sounds like we’ll have a lot of catching up to do when you return.”

“Oh yes,” Sybil agreed.

–

All that can be said about their New Year’s celebration is that the scene was the perfect ending of a Matthew Crawley film. There was feel good song playing, everyone well-dressed in their holiday finest. There was a lot of drinking and dancing: Sybil swaying with George, Matthew swirling Mary, and Tom ducking into to steal a dance with Sybil. It was magical and happy and the daudience was left with such an overwhelming feeling of togetherness that they couldn’t help but believe the main couple would endure anything and like a fairy tale for grown-ups, would live happily ever after.

~~~~ Thank you, thank you!! What a fantastic scenario, set-up and story - a perfect blend of The Holiday and M/M deliciousness (the ‘proposal’ was a genius touch!). I enjoyed it so much! Happy Christmas!!!

#MM Secret Santa 2017 #Matthew x Mary #andthenwedance #submission

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cowherderess · 7 years

Text

A Christmas Lesson

Hello! It is I your secret santa! I have for you the first part of an MM story that will ultimately consist of a few chapters. This is based off a crappy netflix movie called “Christmas Inheritance” that was begging to be MM-ified. I hope you enjoy, as this is the first time I’ve written modern MM and I desperately want you to enjoy your holiday gift. Here you go!

The music was pounding in her ears, speaking to her hips as they indulgently swayed back and forth to the delight of the audience in the back room of the gala. The lights were dark, and as the song she was singing ended, the room erupted into applause. She blushed and began to make her way off of the room’s makeshift stage of dinner tables pushed together- a feat in her short and tight Marchesa dress, not to mention her Louboutin’s.

“One more song!” One of the men in the room pleaded with her.

“Really, I must get back to the main room—” Mary began to respond.

“I’ll double my donation for the night.”

Mary’s mouth dropped open (this was one of the highest rollers of the evening), but she quickly regained her composure. “Write me the check first so I know you’re not bluffing.” She smirked at him in challenge.

He whipped out his checkbook, and Mary accepted the small piece of paper, hiding it in her dress as she made her way back to standing. Once more, Mary let the beat in her heart come out in her song. She flirted with the audience members just a little too much, most likely due to the buzz she had acquired from her glasses of champagne throughout the night. She did a little spin on the table and everyone cheered as she launched into the chorus.

Even through the high of singing and the buzz of alcohol Mary noticed that some people had started taking their phones out to record her. Well, let them, she reasoned. She was having a better time since she could remember. She felt free- from the family company, from having to be the perfect daughter, and from—”

“Mary? What on earth are you doing?” His strong voice caught her off guard. One of her spiked heels fell between two of the dinner tables forming the ‘stage’ and she unceremoniously fell forwards and landed at the feet of her audience. She looked up and her eyes met a myriad of cell phone cameras.

Fuck, she thought. The press is going to have a field day. Her buzz was definitely gone. She was back in reality.

“Mary?” He reached his arm out to her and rather unceremoniously lifted her onto her feet before dragging her out of the room. His stride was large and Mary had to hop a little to keep up with him. He finally stopped them in the hallway outside the ballroom.

“I’m sorry, Richard, I was just— “

“You were making a fool out of yourself, Mary. And at Grantham Industries biggest charity event of the year!”

“I know, I was only—“

“Your father is going to be furious with me. I was supposed to keep an eye on you tonight.”

“I’m a grown woman. You’re my fiancé, not my babysitter. Yes, I know Papa will be furious, but I can handle him.” Richard looked away, peeved. To appease him, Mary straightened his tie. “I know you want to impress Papa.”

“I shouldn’t have to say anything for me to impress him. Carlisle Publishing speaks well enough of itself, I believe.”

“Yes, your hard work has paid off. Now, let’s go in and tomorrow I will deal with Robert Crawley’s wrath. Tonight, we collect donations for the poor and cheerfully smile at everyone who looks our way.” Richard rolled his eyes and walked inside with his irritatingly self-assured swagger. Sometimes Mary wondered why she was still with him. She rolled her eyes and followed him, waiting to remain on his arm for the rest of the night.

—–

“I have no words.” Robert Crawley, CEO of Grantham Industries, unceremoniously threw the morning’s paper on her desk. His voice was cold and unforgiving. “’Party Heiress’ makes her splash return, it says here.” He flops another down on her desk. “Mary Crawley lets out wild side at Grantham’s biggest charity event of the year- and our cameras were there for it all.” He plops a final one on the top of the pile. It’s simply a picture of her right after she fell. She looks horrible. Her hair is in her face and her dress is nearly risking much worse headlines about the previous night being published.

“I had hoped you wouldn’t see those.” Mary sat tall in her chair.

“How could I not? I received emails from many old friends this morning asking if you were alright. I had multiple calls from newspeople asking for a comment on your behavior.”

Mary hesitated. “What did you say?”

“I said nothing, of course. Why give them anything more to talk about? You already gave them more than enough.” She could no longer meet her father’s eyes. She felt the full sting of remorse.

“I am sorry, Papa. I behaved in a very uncouth manner. I shamed the company.”

“I know that you want to take over one day Mary. God knows you’re the only one I would want to succeed me. Edith and Sybil never had any interest in the company, but you were in and out of the office since the day you were born. After Cora- er, your mother, passed, we both used this place to cope.” There was a sad silence.

“And now you’re either going to put off retiring for as long as possible or not even choose me to take over.” Mary stood up abruptly. She had to make her father see sense. “You can’t choose anyone else over me. I had to fix three of Jeremy’s mistakes this week alone! And Martha, don’t even get me started on her.”

“Mary. Relax. I still want you to be CEO. And I wouldn’t mind retiring soon. But I must know you will behave in a way that lives up to our company name. Our family wasn’t always one that dined in splendor and held a grand charity gala around the holidays. When I started this business alongside your mother, we were living in a one bedroom flat outside of London.”

“Yes. I know this story. You and Mama were living in Boroughbridge and having dinner in Jessica’s Diner like you did every Sunday night.”

“And we wrote our business plan down on a napkin…”

“…That is still framed in your office today. But what does this story have to do with me taking on the company?” Robert sighed at Mary’s obvious impatience. His beloved daughter, ever the pragmatist.

“Every year, I take a letter I’ve written to your Mama, updating her on how the company and our family is doing, to our old flat. You know this. I bought the flat back after the company took off and we were living quite comfortably. When I make my visit to Boroughbridge, I put the letter in her dresser drawer, and visit with the friends who knew us before we were ‘The Crawleys’.”

“Sorry to be impudent Papa, but again, what does this mean for me?” Mary’s eyes searched her father’s but could not find a clear answer.

“It means, I want you to take the letter to the old flat to deliver to your Mama this year.” Mary cocked her head to the side quizzically.

“What?” Her tone was one of surprise.

“I need to know you will act in a mature way. I need to know you will take this company as seriously as I do, and as your mother did.” He took a shuddering breath. “It was her life’s work.” Robert was beginning to tear up, and Mary took his hand as her eyes began to fill with tears as well.

“I’ll do it. I’ll make you and Mama proud.”

“I know you will.” There was an awkward silence as they pretended not to notice the other’s intense emotions. “Now, I’ll need you to leave tonight.” Mary nodded. That wouldn’t be a problem. She would just have to let Richard know. He wouldn’t be pleased that it was right around Christmas. He had planned for them to leave in three days in order to spend Christmas in Majorca. She thought it was a bit extravagant, but her fiancé was a man who knew what he wanted. Well, he should encourage her to complete this assignment. He had always wanted her to take over the company ever since she met him. He couldn’t stop supporting her now. Mary turned to her desk to start setting up her plans to leave but her father stopped her.

“There’s one more thing. Sometimes, when your Mama and I would go on trips, we would only give ourselves one hundred dollars to spend, so we could remember how things used to be for us. After she passed, I carried on our tradition by only taking one hundred dollars with me to deliver her letter to her dresser each year.”

“And you want me to do the same? I admit, it’s a challenge, but if you and Mama could do it then I’m sure I can.”

“You can and you will if you want to run this company, Mary. This may seem like a silly way to prove your worthiness as a successor, but I assure you it’s what matters most to me and this company.” He finished and patted Mary’s hand. She looked at him. She was a little nervous to do something so out of her comfort zone, but she was confident in herself.

“I promise to do exactly what you ask.”

“Good,” Robert replied, and kissed her forehead. Mary’s eyes widened slightly at this unusual show of affection from her father, then looked back at her desktop. “Now I’ll let you get things settled with Richard. Remember, you leave tonight. The tickets are already in your bag. Good luck, my dear.” And with that, he walked out of the room.

——

“What do you mean you’re leaving tonight? Our trip is in just a couple of days!”

Mary stopped her packing and looked at her fiancé incredulously. “Really, Richard, I thought you would be glad for me! Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? If I can pull this off, I become CEO. We will become the power couple you’ve said we could be from the beginning!”

“And your father has to do this over Christmas? It’s the only time all year I get a break. It’s the only time we get to truly just be with one another.” Richard sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand. “Fine. Go. But I expect you to be back here tomorrow.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s only a quick trip, drop off the letter at the flat, and then back on the train to London. Now, can you give me my tickets? They’re in my bag on the table there.”

“I thought you only got one hundred dollars?” He asked her.

“I do,” she answered while sliding on a heeled boot, “But Papa gave me the tickets so I could at least get there and back. With the tickets, there should be an envelope with a hundred dollar bill in it. “

“Um, Mary?”

“What, Richard? I really have to be on my way to the train station. Thank God Papa got me first class seats, I don’t know what I would have done otherwise.”

“Well you won’t have to worry about first class.”

“What do you mean?” Mary walked over to Richard, who had the tickets in his hand with a slight smirk on his face. Her eyes widened and she grabbed her tickets to and from London and Boroughbridge. “Oh no. This has to be a mistake. I’ll call Papa.” Richard’s eyebrows raised dubiously. “You’re right. This is just another part of his test. Well, I must make do. I guess I’m…off to the…bus station then.”

“It seems you are. I’ll see you tomorrow then. And no later.”

“I will be staying the night at some inn, drop off the letter in the morning, and get on the bus back. I should be back in the flat in time for dinner. I’ll barely be gone for more than twenty-four hours.” Mary began checking to make sure she had all of her necessities packed. Satisfied, she made her way towards the door.

“Do you really need two suitcases for an overnight trip?” Richard called out mockingly as Mary opened the door.

“Papa’s motto is always be prepared, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She shut the door behind her and took a breath. “Now where in the world is the bloody bus station?”

Eventually, thanks to an Uber, and some directions from the man behind the desk at the station, Mary was able to find her way to wait for the bus alongside thirty other people. She handed the driver her ticket and found a seat all to herself near the back of the bus. Mary sighed and looked out the window, saying a quick goodbye to London for the day. She hadn’t been to Boroughbridge since her mother died. There were too many unpleasant memories, or perhaps too many happy memories turned bitter. Sybil and Edith couldn’t bear to go back either. Sybil had made them promise that they would all go back together one day. Mary hoped her little sister wouldn’t be too mad at her for breaking that promise as it was only because of her father’s orders that she had. Mary also hoped Edith wouldn’t portray the situation as Mary breaking Sybil’s promise intentionally, but Mary doubted that.

Before Mary could truly come to terms with the fact that she was going to be back in the town where her mother and father were first married, she was there. The ground had a thin layer of snow, and the streetlights had wreaths around them. She remembered this place, barely. She had tried to block out as much of the sadness as possible, and that had included this town. But now Mary smiled hesitantly as she stepped off the bus and into the snow. She could imagine her mother here.

Walking over to the man handing out suitcases, Mary noticed just how cold it was here compared to London. These buildings didn’t offer any protection from the wind the way the ones in London did. She tried to tip the baggage handler, but with only a hundred-dollar bill to give out, she knew he wouldn’t have change. She felt indignant when he simply said ‘Happy Christmas’ sarcastically and brushed past her, but quickly deflated once more after remembering how ridiculous it was of her to be carrying around a hundred. Why, oh why could her father not have given her five twenties or ten tens instead? Mary checked her wallet for her credit cards. What her father wouldn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Of course she had her own bank accounts! She was a grown woman, wasn’t she? Mary rummaged through multiple times before accepting…

They were gone. Richard must have nicked them while getting her tickets. She bet her father had asked him to do so. Sometimes Mary wondered who Richard cared about impressing more, his fiancé or her father. At moments like this, she leaned towards her father.

Well then, she would simply have to buy something and ask for change at the register. A couple stores down the way she spotted a rather dirty-looking fast food chain. She reluctantly turned to make her way there when a football hit her suitcase. Normally, she later reflected, this would most likely have just knocked over her suitcase, maybe popped it open. Half of her clothes would have been a little damp, and she could dry them wherever she was staying.

Instead, due to the snow, the suitcase slide across the sidewalk and onto the road where it was promptly run over and smashed in two before Mary could even make it halfway to the road. The car stopped, and Mary dragged her other suitcase along as she made her way to rescue her other destroyed property. So invested was Mary in examining the extent of the damage to her favorite Prada dress, that she didn’t even notice the driver of the car getting out to help her collect her clothes.

“I’m so sorry about this.” The blond stranger leaned down to help her collect the set of dresses that were covered in slush and spread all over the roadway.

Mary was not in the mood to be charitable. How was she supposed to replace all of the clothes she had lost with only one hundred dollars in her pocket? “Perhaps if you had been watching the road better, you wouldn’t have made such a stupid mistake.”

“Excuse me?” His voice was one of disbelief. She looked into his eyes. A clear blue disarmed her for a moment (but she wouldn’t admit that for many years to come), and she remembered why she was so angry.

“You’ve ruined my clothes. Do you even know how much it will cost to replace these?” Her tone was fiery, and she was surprised when he responded with equal ire.

“Don’t blame me! What was your suitcase doing in the middle of the street? That’s a stupid mistake!”

“I did not ‘leave it’ in the middle of the street. One of those kids kicked a football into it and it slid into the street- where you obviously weren’t looking- and then you ran over it.”

Grabbing the last of Mary’s many dresses and trying to stuff them into the hopelessly broken suitcase, he huffed. “I already said I was sorry. I have helped you collect your clothes. I can’t do anything else for you.”

“Well you could certainly start by paying me to replace what you have ruined.”

“As it was not my fault entirely they were ruined, and as they are brands I could never dream of being able to afford, I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline, Ms…”

“Crawley.”

“Sorry. Ms. Crawley. My name is Matthew, by the way.”

“Hm. There is one more thing you could do for me, Matthew.” Matthew braced himself for the worst. “I need to get to the Boroughbridge Inn. It seems to be the only one in this town. How would I make it there?” Mary knew she could stay in her parents’ old flat, but spending the night surrounded by memories of her deceased mother was not her idea of a good time.

Matthew’s eyes were surprised at her request. He assumed someone like her would have somewhere better to stay than the inn. “As a matter of fact, I’m heading there right now. Why don’t you get in the car and I’ll drive us there?”

“How do I know you aren’t lying to me? There’s always the chance that you’re a serial killer who runs over women’s suitcases to lure them to their demise.”

“I assure you that’s not the case. Trust me, Ms. Crawley. I will deliver you to the inn safe and sound.” Mary hesitated. “It also doesn’t help that the only other way for you to get to the inn is to walk. We don’t have buses here in Boroughbridge.”

“Or taxis, apparently.” Matthew smiled at that. “Uber?” Mary tried. Matthew laughed, eyes sparkling. Mary’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you laughing?”

“It’s just that anyone who’s been here knows the service for the telly is nonexistent. You won’t be using any apps here.”

“I have been here before. It’s just been a very long time.” Matthew’s eyes dimmed somewhat as he saw the seriousness of her expression. He stood up. They had been blocking that lane for quite a while. He reached his hand down and helped her up.

“Why don’t you get in the car,” he asked gently, “and I’ll put your stuff in the back.” Mary nodded and waited in the warm car while Matthew put her suitcases away in his trunk. This assignment was already turning out to be more of an ordeal than she had expected. At last, Matthew got in the car, and they started towards the inn.

The ride was silent, but not too uncomfortable. Mary got a closer look at Matthew. His blond hair and blue eyes were beautiful, she had to admit, but he seemed tired. Stressed. She guessed he was also having a rather hectic holiday season. When they reached the inn, Matthew got out with her and brought her bags for her despite her protests. She thought he would leave her at the door and be on his way, but after opening the door for her he followed her in. He passed her and walked behind the desk for check-ins.

“Welcome to the Boroughbridge Inn, Ms. Crawley. How can I help you this evening?”

————–

This is a great start and I can’t wait to see what happens next! Thank you so much! 😘

#MM Secret Santa 2017 #Mary x Matthew #galindadaae #fic rec #Downton Abbey #submission

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broadwaybaggins · 7 years

Photo

Hi Allison! Here is your Secret Santa present! It’s a modern AU, inspired by “Eloise at Christmastime”– which is, incidentally, my favorite Christmas movie, but I chose it here because I thought it provides a story for our dear Mary/Matthew and your original Downton OTP, Sybil/Tom. Because S/T is actually how I started following you, years ago now!

This is just part 1, an introduction really; the rest will come asap (December really got away from me) but I wanted to have at least a little something ready today. I hope you enjoy it!

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

It was the week before Christmas. Outside, the first dusting of snow had fallen, and inside, the staff were caught up in a whirlwind of preparations. Despite the hotel manager’s meticulous oversight and planning, there was always plenty to do– even before something went wrong, as it always did, and made extra work. That mishap, any time of year, usually could be traced back to the little girl who now stood in the middle of the great hall, watching as porters put up the Christmas tree.

She was examining them carefully, leaning first one way and then the other and then back again. Finally, she decided that the tree tilted just a little to the left, and told the porter so. However, she did not linger to see whether her recommendation was carried out (although it was), instead skipping off to the front desk, where she cut ahead of the line.

“Good morning, Mr. Carson!” she sang out, accompanied by a chorus of clucking from the two elderly ladies she had interrupted. “Are there any messages for me?”

“Yes,” the hotel manager replied solemnly, “–the Royal Ballet has asked you to appear as Clara in their production of The Nutcracker.”

Alice considered a moment, and then sighed dramatically. “I’m afraid I must decline. I shall be too busy playing Tiny Tim. But perhaps next year.”

He nodded. “Indeed. I must also tell you that Mrs. Patmore has just finished a batch of gingerbread biscuits and needs your taste-testing.”

“That, I can do!” she exclaimed, beaming.

“Now, Miss Alice, I’m afraid I have work to do. But I am sure I will see you later.” He looked to the ladies apologetically.

“Alright, I’m sure you will.”

She headed away, in the direction of the kitchen, but was soon distracted by a girl at the end of the line who was holding a puppy.

“Oh, he’s adorable! What’s his name?”

“Snowball,” the girl replied.

“How darling!” Alice petted the dog, as she kept talking. “Are you staying at Downton for Christmas? I hope so! It is truly the most wonderful time of year. It’s all decorated, as you see, and there’s the big tree, and there’s so many parties, and when it snows a little more there will be sleigh rides!”

“Yes, my family is staying here,” the girl said. “And yours? Have you been here before?”

“I live here, with my parents and grandparents. My family has always lived here, even before it was turned into a hotel after the war.”

“Oh!”

“It was called Downton Abbey then. Abbey, because monks used to live here a long, long time ago. But then it was the Crawleys, just by themselves. But my mum’s grandfather changed it to the Abbey Hotel, and I’m glad he did!”

The girl nodded.

“Well, maybe I’ll see you again this week! But I have to go now.” Alice kissed the dog’s nose, and then she was off again. On her way to the kitchen, she passed by the sofas in the hall where newly-arrived guests could rest their feet. On one, she noticed, sat a man in a grey trench coat and hat. Only his eyes were visible over the top of his newspaper. That was certainly peculiar; and even more peculiar, when he noticed her looking, he immediately raised his newspaper to hide entirely.

She decided not to investigate further at this very moment– the prospect of fresh-baked biscuits was too overwhelming– but she filed it away to think about later.

Upstairs was a coordinated sort of busy, but downstairs was chaotically so. Alice loved it– especially because Mrs. Patmore, the chef, always had a moment to spare for her (and a sweet treat to try). Everyone had a soft spot for the earl’s little granddaughter– even though some, like the housekeeper Mrs. Hughes, were more reluctant to admit it.

“Mr. Carson said you made gingerbread!”

“I did.” Mrs. Patmore wiped her hands on her apron, and led Alice over to the table, where trays of gingerbread people sat cooling.

Alice delicately bit off the corner of the gingerbread lady’s skirt, and pronounced it, “Scrumptious!” She reached for another for the road, but the cook intervened.

“Your mother will have my head if I give you two biscuits before breakfast.”

“It’ll be our secret! Pinky promise.” Alice smiled angelically, and truly it was difficult to deny that sweet little face. She had inherited her father’s blue eyes, and her mother’s bright smile.

“Alright, then,” Mrs. Patmore relented, and Alice tucked the second into the pocket of her jumper.

Someone approached behind them. “How fine these look!” he said. “May I?”

Alice turned around, at the familiar voice. “Tom!” she exclaimed. “You’re in the kitchen! Are you helping as a waiter again?”

Tom Branson was one of her particular friends among the Abbey’s staff. He worked as a driver, usually, and they had met when he began driving Alice to school. He was a wonderful storyteller, with his specialty being Irish history.

He nodded. “Mr Carson has drafted me, in anticipation of a special event due to take place on Christmas Eve.”

“Ooh, what’s that?” Alice demanded. She prided herself on knowing all that went on within the Abbey, and she had not heard of anything out-of-the-ordinary on Christmas Eve this year.

Tom shook his head. “It’s still a secret, even to us. You must let me know what you hear.”

“Of course. But wait–” Alice’s brow furrowed. “Does that mean you’re not going home to Ireland?”

“I’ll go that evening, after– and arrive in time for midnight Mass, to Mam’s great relief.”

Alice nodded. “Oh, good.”

“It’s nearly nine o’clock, dear,” Mrs. Patmore informed them. “Your parents have rung for breakfast.”

“I’d better go! Thanks for the biscuits! And I’ll tell you if I find out anything but you must also tell me if you do.”

“You can bet on it.”

And Alice took off running upstairs. She and her parents lived in a suite on the second floor, right next door to her grandparents. Her great-grandmother lived down the hall. There were two other suites there, for guests, and then individual rooms on the upper floors.

Mary and Matthew were still in their dressing gowns, just sitting down to breakfast, when their daughter burst into the apartment and let the door slam behind her. She took her place at the table, where there was a bowl of porridge waiting for her.

“Hello, Al,” Matthew said. “How were the morning rounds?”

“Full of ribbons and holly and jingle bell cheer! I helped them put up the Christmas tree,” Alice reported, “and I saw Tom. He’s being a waiter for something happening on Christmas Eve. Do you know what that is?”

Mary and Matthew exchanged a glance. They did know, for Mary was her father’s second-in-command in all hotel business.

“Ugh.” Alice sighed. “Is it something only for grown-ups?”

“No, you’ll find out soon enough,” Mary promised. “But your Aunt Sybil wants to tell you herself.”

Alice’s eyes grew wide. “Auntie Sybil? She’s coming here? When?”

The family had, for all of Alice’s short life, gone to visit Sybil in America. Alice sometimes had trouble believing that her favorite aunt had grown up at Downton too.

“She’s coming back for good,” Mary said, before suddenly and deftly catching Alice’s hand just as she was about to spill a fourth spoonful of sugar into her porridge and steering the sugar back into its proper bowl. “That is far too much,” she scolded. “Must we have this conversation every morning?”

“We must,” Alice replied, now stirring in a generous serving of cream. “Porridge by itself is yucky.”

“It’s good for you, darling, and I’m afraid some things that are good for you just won’t be terribly pleasant.”

Alice turned pleading eyes to her father, but to no avail.

“Listen to Mummy,” Matthew said. “She always knows.”

And Mary knew then to change the subject. “Aunt Sybil is arriving later this morning. I have some work to do, so will you keep a lookout and meet her for me?”

“Yes!” Alice took one bite of her by now syrupy porridge, before pushing it away. “I just have to feed Dinah and Mrs. Piggle-wiggle first and then I’ll go.” These two were her cat and pet hedgehog.

She slid off the chair, and went round the table to Mary. “Love you, Mummy.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. Next she went to her father, and did the same. “Bye, Daddy.” And then she ran off once more.

“I’ve assigned Tom to drive the Allsops to York,” Mary said, once Alice was out of earshot. “He’ll be gone all day.”

Matthew nodded slowly. “That’s one day. But they must meet eventually.”

“Well, we have one more day to prepare ourselves.” She sighed, before holding out one hand. “Help me up? I ought to get dressed.”

He let out a theatrical sigh as he did so. “Phew!”

“Oh, shut up,” she replied, but fondly, resting a hand on her rounded stomach. “If I’m too heavy, you have only yourself to blame.”

“True, and I’ll gladly take responsibility for that.”

Now it was her turn to sigh. “Ugh, why does Sybil have to be getting married now? We’ve never met the man– what’s the rush? I say wait til spring, so we’ll know this Larry properly, and I’ll have my figure back.”

“Both matters of equal importance,” he teased.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” His expression softened, and he put his arms around her and kissed her forehead. “It’ll all sort itself out, I know it.”

“Well, I admire your confidence.” She returned the hug, and then said, “Alright, time to go. Busy day– busy week– ahead of us.”

Oh my goodness, this is beyond cute! I love Eloise, and the best part about this is there’s MORE TO COME! I’m so excited! Thank you so much, my dear!

#MM secret santa 2017 #MMSecretSanta2017 #cowherderess #Eloise at Christmastime AU #TOO CUTE!#submission

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undisclosed-desires-nz · 7 years

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The Greatest Gift of All - My Matthew & Mary Secret Santa Contribution

Hi!! I’m your Secret Santa. Thanks so much for your patience. I had a family member hospitalized and have had to finish my Matthew and Mary story at breakneck speed. I do hope you like it. I won’t post here until you let me know you’ve read it. Will post on Fan Fiction page after Christmas.

The Greatest Gift of All

Christmas Eve, 1923

Lady Edith Crawley, the second born daughter to the Earl and Countess of Grantham, gripped the top rung of the wooden ladder she was perched on tightly as she bent sideways and stretched to place one of her favorite ornaments on the massive Christmas tree. Imported from Germany, the exquisite triangular piece she held in her hands was crafted with metal wire and hand blown mercury glass that was beaded into garland, framing two delicate glass bells that hung from the center in two tiers.

Returning to her original position on the ladder, Edith straightened and eyed the ornament she held in her hand appreciatively for a long moment, hanging it on a wide branch. Though relatively confident she had chosen the perfect spot on the Norwegian fir to showcase its beauty, she sought the opinion of her brother-in-law, who had so far given her excellent advice from his stationary position in the Great Hall, hanging back just far enough to take in the entire tree.

“Matthew, what do you think? Should I move it a bit to the right or should I leave it?”

Hearing someone clear their throat behind her, Edith turned her head and found her elder sister standing in the space Matthew had occupied for the last twenty minutes.

“I think it looks perfect exactly where it is,” Mary responded on behalf of her spouse.

Edith nodded and smiled, “I’m glad you think so.” Then surveying the room quickly, she added, “…but where did Matthew run off to? He was here a few seconds ago and seemed to be enjoying his mission in making the final call on the ornament placement.”

“I have no doubt he was, but I have found that he is unable to stay away from what he enjoys most for more than an hour or so. How long has he been helping you decorate the tree?”

“About that,” Edith replied, with a quizzical look on her face.

“I see …Well then, I suspect he is in the nursery as it is near the time Victoria is put down for her nap. In all likelihood, Matthew has dismissed Nanny Dale and is holding our daughter in his arms, singing her a lullaby at this very moment.”

Grinning atop her perch in spite of losing her assistant, Edith declared, She is blessed to have him…and so are you, But you know that already.”

Mary nodded, uncharacteristically in full agreement with her sister. Then she excused herself to join her husband and their second child, as she, too, found she could not stay away from the nursery for too long.

Reaching the first landing on her way to the Gallery and the bedrooms, she heard Edith enlisting Mrs. Hughes to fill Matthew’s vacant spot. Then the sound of his melodious voice filling the stairwell drowned out all others. It halted her ascent as she paused to imagine the scene she would soon witness and her eyes became misty.

Doing her best to compose herself, she blinked a few times to ward off tears that were threatening and took a long deep breath. Her sister’s words rang in her ears as she exhaled it and she took the remaining steps with alacrity.

“Blessed, indeed.”

Reaching her destination, Mary opened the door to the nursery that Victoria shared with her brother George and their cousin Sybbie, her late sister Sybil and Tom Branson’s daughter. At once, she found her imagination had not done the scene she conjured in her mind justice.

Though she had expected to find Matthew singing their daughter to sleep, the sight of him ensconced in the mahogany rocker with Victoria nestled against him nearly did her in.

The two-month old had with one tiny hand wrapped around her father’s index finger, her blue eyes locked with his. The sight touched her so deeply, that it stopped her dead in her tracks.

The knowledge that this time last year she had believed him dead and buried and now he sat before her holding their second child overwhelmed her, bringing fresh tears to her eyes that she could not forestall this time. As they trickled down her face, she silently berated herself for not having a handkerchief when she needed it most.

Whether it was a draft from the hallway that made its way through the now open door or Mary’s sniffling that caught his attention, Matthew stopped serenading Victoria and turned his head toward the entrance to the room. Finding his wife dabbing madly at her glistening face, the joyous expression that was planted on his own turned quickly to alarm and he began to rise from his seat.

Half way out of the chair, he asked anxiously, “Darling, what is wrong?”

Mary motioned for him to sit back down and he did, although his face still was creased with worry.

“I’m absolutely fine, darling,” she said with conviction. “It seems my hormones are still a bit out of whack since my pregnancy. That’s all. The sight of you singing to the baby just moved me to tears.” Then pointing to her face with both hands, she continued, “Rest assured that they are tears of joy, not sorrow. Now, you must stop worrying before you upset Victoria.”

At that, Matthew smiled and reached out his hand to her, an invitation to join him and their second child as he returned his gaze to Victoria. He noticed quickly that the smile that had graced her face moments earlier was now gone and he quickly heeded Mary’s words.

“All is well, little one,” he assured the infant as he gently tapped her button nose with his index finger. He then took hold of Mary’s hand, now in reach, and told their daughter, “Your Mama has come to sing to you and she has the voice of an angel. You are quite lucky.”

Victoria’s cherry colored lips rose upward and then she blew a tiny bubble with her saliva.

Matthew chuckled and then set his sights on Mary, who now stood beside him with a broad smile upon her face as she gazed lovingly upon their second child, and said softly, “As am I.”

…

Victoria slept soundly in the bassinet that had at one time or another held every child born and raised at Downton. Over the years, the color and style of the bedding had varied depending on the sex of the baby nestled in it; the current pale pink and white eyelet lace predominant until Matthew and Mary’s son George was born. Then the frilly border was replaced with a plain linen binding and color of the bedding switched to that of the future Earl of Grantham’s eyes – both of theirs.

Matthew and Mary stood silently side by side, watching their two month old daughter’s chest rise and fall, the two of them smiling in unison as the baby’s heart shaped mouth sucked on an imaginary nipple.

“How did you manage to get rid of Nanny Dale?” Mary whispered in a tone just loud enough for Matthew to hear.

He ginned mischievously at her before returning his eyes to Victoria and replying, “I tied her up, gagged her, and locked her in the closet.”

At that Mary covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a laugh that bubbled up too quickly for her to stifle it. Then she poked her husband in the side with her elbow.

“Seriously, darling….How did you manage to dissuade the nanny from performing her duties this time? “

Matthew hung his head sheepishly and bit his lip in order to quell his own amusement. Then he replied in as serious a tone as he could muster, “I convinced Sybbie and George to harangue her until she would take them down to the kitchen to get a cookie, or perhaps two, from Mrs. Patmore.”

Returning his eyes to the baby, he saw Mary glaring at him in his peripheral vision and added, “I assure you that neither of them needed much encouragement to come to my aid. They were both were willing and eager to oblige me.”

Mary rolled her eyes, took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “Victoria needs to bond with her nanny so that when you and I are not available to her, she still will feel at ease,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. “I know that intellectually you are in full agreement with me but have instead chosen to let your emotions rule your behavior. If I didn’t know better, I would swear you had an American ancestor somewhere down the line.”

Raising his eyebrows in mock horror, Matthew shot back, “Ouch!!! Knowing your feelings regarding American sentimentality, that stings.”

Then looking back at their daughter, who now displayed an angelic smile, he nodded in Mary’s direction.

“I’m sorry, darling. I do know she needs to become accustomed to Nanny Dale and though it won’t be easy for me to curtail my visits to the nursery, I promise to do my best to stop interfering with her.”

Seeing the resignation and sadness on Matthew’s face made Mary’s heart ache. She hated seeing him this way and quickly moved closer to comfort him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I’m not suggesting that you stay away often when she is bathed or put down for a nap”, she clarified. “Victoria would miss you terribly…and knowing first hand how that feels….,” Mary choked out, remembering exactly how she had yearned for him when he was gone. “Well, suffice to say I would move heaven and earth to prevent her from that heartache.

She looked up and found him smiling broadly at her and in the next second, planted a kiss on her head as he vowed, “You have my word that I will do whatever is necessary to do what is in Victoria’s best interest.”

He didn’t have to say it as Mary already knew he would. Since he had been back at Downton, he had proved to be an outstanding father to George and she knew he would follow suit with their daughter.

She took his hand then and leading him toward the door suggested the two of them might take a short nap, raising one of her eyebrows so that her underlying invitation would be interpreted correctly.

Matthew’s mood improved considerably upon hearing her offer and a mischievous smile formed on his lips as he quickly nodded.

They stopped once they stepped out into the hallway that led to their own bedroom, both turning their heads in unison to take one last look at the newest member of the Crawley family and wishing her sweet dreams.

Christmas Day, 1923

Having lived at Downton Abbey her entire life, Mary had become accustomed to the exquisite beauty and grandeur that surrounded her on a daily basis; a sight that left many who saw it in awe. Yet even she could not remain unaffected by it at Christmas, when Downton was decked out in all its glory.

It was almost as if the décor of the house was planned with that particular holiday in mind as the majority of Downton’s furnishings, draperies and carpets bore the traditional red, green and gold hues widely on display that special day.

Lovely garlands graced the banisters leading down from the Gallery to the Great Hall. Poinsettias, Christmas roses, holly and ivy wove throughout the evergreen boughs with large festive bows entwined around the creation every few feet.

Mistletoe hung in the archway of more than one door, tradition dictating that the lucky or unlucky as the case may be pair who found themselves standing beneath it to kiss.

As Mary reached the first landing on her way down to the library where the Crawleys would exchange their gifts, she paused to take in the massive tree with all its trimmings. Hundreds of ornaments in a multitude of shapes, sizes and colors hung in perfect harmony on its wide branches along with strands of silver tinsel that sparkled in the glow of the fairy lights that wound around the entire tree.

There must be thousands of them, she thought as she stood mesmerized by the sight before her, unable to take her eyes off the incandescent roping for a long moment as she found the spirit of Christmas washing over her. Then recalling she was already late for the festivities at hand, she blinked and took the next set of steps down to the main floor.

Not surprisingly, Mary was the last of the family to arrive in the drawing room and was welcomed warmly by her mother as soon as she spotted her.

“You’ve arrived just in time, darling,” Cora said without a trace of sarcasm. “This one is for you,” she added, passing a small box wrapped in festive red and green striped paper to her.

Mary returned her Mama’s smile and nodded thanks, instantly recognizing the handwriting on the card as Matthew’s. Spotting him standing near the piano chatting with their brother-in-law Tom, she called out to him.

Ordinarily, she would have not have interrupted the two men’s conversation, as it warmed her heart to see their camaraderie since Matthew’s return. Tom and Matthew had developed a strong friendship, akin to that of brothers since the day he served as best man at their wedding. He took the news of his death hard, especially coming on the heels of losing his wife, Sybil, her youngest sister in childbirth less than two year’s earlier.

However she felt compelled to interrupt the two men now as she had a special gift she had been itching to give her husband since the moment she picked it up in Ripon the day before and could wait no longer.

Fortunately she didn’t have to as Matthew crossed the room quickly upon hearing her voice, a broad smile on his face as he took in her appearance. He greatly appreciated the deep green velvet that hugged her curves, the color contrasting beautifully with his wife’s alabaster skin. Her cheeks, still flushed from their recent escapades enhanced the natural beauty of her face.

At Mary’s insistence, he had left her in her lady’s maid Anna’s capable hands 15 minute’s earlier to join the family as she was running a bit behind. Having arrived before she did, he had born the brunt of the family’s displeasure regarding his wife’s late arrival with pleasure, offering each of the Crawleys a mea culpa on Mary’s behalf. Even the Dowager Countess’s sarcastic rebuke rolled off his skin as he was still basking in the afterglow of his and Mary’s lovemaking.

“Thank you for representing us both in my absence,” she said, kissing his cheek. “No doubt you got an earful.”

Matthew smiled, “Your Papa and Mama didn’t make much of a fuss. Tom was grateful that you were late as we had some estate matters to discuss and there wasn’t a peep out of Edith. I gather decorating the tree yesterday took the wind out of her sails. I’m not at all certain she will be able to keep her eyes open during the “game” later this evening. She appears quite done in. In fact, the only one who complained was your grandmother and I didn’t mind. Our lovely interlude was worth her wrath and more.”

“Mary…Mary…here is another one for you,” her mother called out, standing next to a table with a pile of neatly wrapped gifts stacked by order of their size. “Come now, darling…You can chat with Matthew later…I’m in dire need of a cup of tea and won’t be able to have it until these gifts are distributed.”

“In a second, Mama,” she hissed. “I would like to open Matthew’s gift first.”

For the second time, she cursed herself for not having a handkerchief on hand as she opened the golden locket he had given her and found a miniature portrait of George and Victoria side by side.

“Darling, this is perfect. Thank you from the bottom of my heart,” she said, kissing his cheek before she asked him to help her with the clasp so that she could wear it.

She turned to face Matthew and looked down at the locket, smiling at the images of their offspring before she closed it. Then hearing her mother’s whine from across the room, she raised her eyebrows before giving his arm a gentle squeeze and calling out, “Coming, Mama.”

….

Lifting a crisp white linen square with an Irish lace border from its box, Mary smiled, “Thank you, Edith. Your choice of a gift for me is spot on as I have put off replenishing my supply of handkerchiefs and am in short supply. In fact I was just telling Anna the other day how much I…" Then as the penny dropped, she added, “It seems I must also thank her for relaying my need to you.”

Edith nodded, “I’m glad that I’ve given you something you will make use of,” before tearing the wrapping off the rectangular box in her own hands.

Tom moved closer to his sister-in-law as she opened his gift, his facial expression a bit apprehensive until he caught sight of her ogling the leather gloves he had chosen for her with glee.

“I find they enhance your grip on the steering wheel greatly,” he said standing over Edith’s shoulder.

“It still astounds me that you enjoy driving so much,” Mary interjected. “However, I give you a great deal of credit for sticking with your lessons until you mastered it…You, too, Tom, for being such a wonderful teacher.”

Edith and the Crawley’s erstwhile driver bowed their heads in thanks, the both of them knowing Mary’s compliments were not given lightly. The two then took a walk down memory lane, recounting some of the more humorous experiences they shared the first few times Edith sat behind the wheel.

The Countess of Grantham continued handing out presents – a hat sporting a peacock feather to her niece Rose, a box of Cuban cigars to her husband, a beige shawl with a black border to her sister-in-law Rosamund and book of Irish fairy tales to her son-in-law, Tom. The gift special as she and Robert had searched high and low for it, knowing how much he enjoyed reading to Sybbie at bed time.

The Dowager Countess and Isobel were deeply touched upon receiving a lovely framed family portrait of Matthew, Mary and the children, his mother pulling both of them into an embrace and going on excitedly having the perfect spot to display it in the drawing room at Crawley House.

Finally handing her resurrected son-in-law the last two items on the table, Cora was finally able to take her seat and a long sip of the tea she had been pining for.

Both were rectangular in shape with one much larger than the other and tied together with a wide, red velvet bow. By process of elimination, Matthew knew before looking at the card that the gifts were from Mary and he smiled at her.

She placed her tea cup on the side table to her right and rose from her spot beside her grandmother, making her way to Matthew as he pulled the ribbon loose and laid the long strand on the now empty table.

“I hope you like them,” she said, her eyes filled with anticipation as she was clearly eager for him to get on with it.

“No doubt that I will,” he replied, quickly removing the wrapping off the smaller box and opening it.

Inside was a pocket camera, labeled as such since it fit perfectly in a man’s vest pocket. It was all the rage since the Eastman Kodak company had exported their latest invention to Europe from headquarters in New York.

“Darling, this is wonderful,” Matthew declared, planting a quick kiss on Mary’s cheek.

Then peering through the camera at those huddled around him, he added joyfully, “I look forward to taking an unprecedented number of photographs of the children, which I feel certain we will cherish as they grow.”

Knowing that he had began recording daily events in a journal when he was an amnesiac living in London to ensure they were not forgotten, Mary was keenly aware of the value Matthew placed on the preservation of memories. It was what planted the idea in her head of giving him the camera. He would now have a visual journal to look back on.

“I assumed you would be quite prolific in that regard,” she replied. Then looking at the larger box he now held, she added, “Hence my second gift.”

Matthew smiled at her again as he pulled a leather bound photograph album out of its container, noticing quickly that the cover had “The Crawley Family” emblazoned across it in large gold type.

Deeply touched by Mary’s thoughtfulness, he placed the album down and pulled her into his arms. “Your gifts are perfect, darling.” he whispered in her ear. “I will treasure them always.” He stepped back then and taking both of her hands in his, he added, “As I do you and our children.”

At that, the Earl of Grantham cleared his throat while his wife reached for one of the handkerchiefs from the box that lay open nearby and dabbed her eyes with it.

“I think it is safe to say that Mary has won out this year in choosing the best gift. Robert announced. “Bravo, my dear.”

Hearing her father’s proclamation, she turned to him and shot back, “No, Papa. I must disagree. My husband’s gift surpasses mine by far.” Then seeing all eyes fix on her locket, she shook her head back and forth. “No, this is lovely, but it isn’t the gift I’m speaking of. That one was given to me nearly a year ago when Matthew returned to Downton and our life together. That was and will always remain the greatest gift of all.”

At her urging, Cora passed Mary’s box of handkerchiefs to Edith, who in turn handed it to Matthew’s mother. The Dowager Countess nodded, tapping her cane on the floor to indicate she was in harmony with her granddaughter’s proclamation.

“Here…here, I could not agree more, Mary.” her father cried out. Then he bellowed, “Happy Christmas to you all. I cannot imagine a happier one.”

Mary couldn’t either as she found herself once again wrapped in her loving husband’s arms.

The greatest gift, indeed.

Wishing you a Happy Holiday!

MsMenna

#mm secret santa 2017 #mary x matthew #matthew crawley #lady mary crawley #submission

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marymatthewsecretsanta · 7 years

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MM Secret Santa 2017

The time has come to begin submitting gifts!!!

Please refer to this post for instructions on submission and publication. If you have any questions, please contact one of us and we’ll be happy to help!

Don’t forget to enable your submit option if you haven’t already

Feel free to reblog this post to spread the word. Merry Christmas to everyone and happy gifting!

#MM Secret Santa 2017 #Mary x Matthew #Matthew x Mary #Downton Abbey

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hufflepuffhermione · 7 years

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I hope you like my MM Secret Santa contribution!! Merry Christmas!!

Thank you, I love it!! Merry Christmas!

#MM Secret Santa 2017 #matthew crawley #mary crawley #mary x matthew #haslemere #submission

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jaesti · 7 years

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hop hop!

#bnha #froppy #asui tsuyu #僕のヒーローアカデミア #animation #hahahha very messy and rushed #and rough #my art #2017 #wanna draw mirio but o-(--< might need to take a break from 'daily ' drawing in order to get caught up w secret santas #still gonna be drawing every day but not posting ( ? ? ) mm

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petercapaldork · 7 years

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Then what to my wandering eyes should appear…but your Secret Santa gift! It was me!

So I knew i wanted to do something Star Wars related for your present, but I wasn’t anticipating how challenging it would be! I’ve never written Star Wars fic before, so any “technical errors” are my own. I hope you enjoy it anyway! Merry Christmas, my dear!

And yes, it was very difficult not to make this all about Leia…what can I say, I’m weak! -@broadwaybaggins

—————–

“You’re demoted.”

If the general had reached out and slapped her across the face, Commander Mary Crawley doubted she would be more shocked than she was now. General Organa’s words seemed to ring throughout the hangar, echoing off of the fighters that they hadn’t managed to lose in the ill-conceived attack against the First Order. Mary’s ill-conceived attack. It was true, the carnage and the losses they had suffered could be traced back to Mary herself and her reckless decision to disobey the General’s direct orders. Mary could hardly blame Leia for her decision. Hell, if she’d been in her shoes, she would demote herself too.

She supposed she should consider herself lucky she hadn’t thrown her off the ship altogether. There was still a place for her in the Resistance—or at least she hoped—but Mary wondered if Leia would ever trust her the same way again. They’d lost too many good fighters, people that Mary had worked alongside for years, her friends, even…and all because of her. There could be no denying that. It was useless to even try.

Yet once again, her stubbornness seemed to prevail, and she found herself opening her mouth yet again. Mary took a step forward, seeing Matthew standing in the shadow of one of the X-Wings out of the corner of her eye. Her heart was thundering in her chest, but she told herself that was just the adrenaline of the battle still coursing through her veins. “General, please,” she began, but Leia cut her off.

“Do you have any idea how recklessly you behaved? We’ve just lost half our fleet!”

Mary shifted under the weight of Leia’s piercing gaze. So far, this wasn’t going as well as she had hoped. She took a deep breath. “We took out their Dreadnought. Along with a good deal of their TIE fighters. We might have been able to take down the Star Destroyer too if we’d had a bit more time.” We could have stopped them. We had the chance to end this here, today. I won’t apologize for trying to take it. Wouldn’t you have done the same thing all those years ago?

The general rolled her eyes. “So the sacrifices that we just had to make are meaningless as long as we got a few good punches in ourselves, right?”

“No, that’s not what I—“

“Do you have any idea of the danger you’ve just put all of us in? We’re more vulnerable to attack than ever and we’re running on fumes. And for what? Because you wanted to be a hero? That isn’t what this is about. People trusted you, Mary. They trusted you to lead them into battle, not disaster. You let them down. You let me down. ”

Okay, that stung. Mary bit her lip, looking down, unable to face the general for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

She heard a frustrated sigh. “Yeah, I know you are.”

When Mary looked up, for a moment it was not Leia who she fixed her gaze upon, but Matthew. Even across the hangar, she could see the anger and frustration in his eyes. For a moment, it seemed as if he were about to say something, and Mary shook her head. You’ll only make things worse. If that’s even possible at this point.

“I didn’t think—“

“No, Captain,” Leia said coolly, and this time Mary did flinch at the sound of her new rank in her hero’s mouth. “You didn’t think. And that’s how we got into this mess in the first place.” She looked Mary up and down, and suddenly she found herself wondering just how bad she looked. For the first time she registered a dull ache radiating throughout her body, the battle’s effect finally taking its toll on her. Her mouth tasted of metal—had she bitten her tongue when her X-wing had been grazed?—and there was a faint odor of smoke and oil and probably sweat about her. When she reached up to push a strand of hair out of her eyes, her fingers brushed her cheek and came away smudged with soot. When she looked at Leia again, there was a softness in the general’s eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” the General said softly. “But if you ever do anything like that again, I might just shoot you myself.”

In spite of it all, Mary barked out a half-hearted laugh. “That seems excessive.”

“Don’t push your luck, kid. Get yourself cleaned up, take care of your droid and your X-Wing. We’ll talk about this later.” Leia’s eyes held a warning in them, letting Mary know that this was far from over. “And Mary?”

“Yes, General?”

“Use your head next time. I mean it.”

With that, Leia turned to go. Mary knew she hadn’t heard the end of this yet—she’d be lucky if there wasn’t some other punishment in store for her later in addition to being demoted—but for now, it appeared she was off the hook. She knew it was more than she deserved. She could see it in the eyes of those around her, the angry glances and hushed whispers as Leia left the hangar and the crowd dispersed. No, Mary hadn’t heard the end of this. Not by a long shot.

With a sigh, she turned to make her way back to see what sort of damage her X-Wing had sustained in the fight. Just the thought of it made her stomach twist with dread. Suddenly, her body seemed impossibly heavy, and every step was a chore. Every muscle seemed to ache, and there was a dull throbbing sensation somewhere behind her eyes that made her worry about concussions. The fact that the crowd parted around her didn’t help either, and she tried to drown out the murmurs that followed her. In a way, she couldn’t blame them. She’d probably be saying a lot worse if she were in their shoes.

If she hadn’t been the one to start all this.

She turned to glare at the owner of a particularly vicious whisper, her tired eyes flashing with anger. Couldn’t they see that she was beating herself up enough already? Couldn’t they just leave her alone?

Of course, they didn’t know how much Mary was aching inside. They couldn’t know. They all considered her to be heartless, the cold and careful Mary Crawley, the one who never lets anyone get too close. Of course they blamed her. Of course they couldn’t imagine Mary feeling any remorse right now.

For a moment, Mary’s eyes stung, and she blinked a stubborn tear away. She was not—she could not cry. Not here, not now.

“Don’t you start with me too,” Mary said dully as she heard footsteps behind her. She didn’t have to turn around to see who it was.

The footsteps stopped, and Mary imagined the guilty look on Matthew’s face at being caught. It didn’t do much to improve her mood. Of everyone left in the Resistance, Matthew was the one who stood the best chance at being able to calm her down, but right now, Mary didn’t want to talk to anyone. She just wanted to repair her X-Wing and make sure her droid was okay and maybe, just maybe, get some sleep.

She felt like she could sleep for a hundred years.

“I was just coming to see if you were all right.” Matthew kept his voice down, as if not wanting to be overheard.

To hell with that.

“What the hell do you think, Matthew?” Mary demanded as she whirled around to face him, raising her voice so that it echoed throughout the hangar. So much for handling this calmly. Apparently, all of the anger that she had held inside during the conversation with Leia—hell, since the fight itself—was rising to the surface all at once. She would make a terrible Jedi, she thought with a bitter sort of irony.

Those who remained in the hangar quickly either averted their gaze or scattered, not wanting to have any part of what was apparently quickly turning into a very public scene. Mary no longer cared. Let the entire Resistance hear her, if that’s what Matthew wanted. “Of bloody course I’m not all right. How could I be all right? I just lost my rank and half my friends and the respect of General Leia Organa, all in the span of about five minutes. The Resistance just suffered another catastrophic loss and there’s no one to blame for it in the entire galaxy but me. It’s my fault. I gambled with people’s lives and I lost spectacularly, and now we’re all probably going to die, all because of me. Who the hell could be all right after that? We should all count ourselves damn lucky I haven’t launched myself through the airlock right about now.”

“Don’t say that.” Matthew looked pained.

“Why not?” Mary demanded through gritted teeth. “It’s true.”

“You still shouldn’t say it.”

Mary scowled. “Sorry if I don’t feel like sugar-coating things for you today, flyboy.”

“I’m not saying that all that isn’t true.” Mary almost flinched at his blunt delivery. “I’m just saying that you shouldn’t talk like that. About the airlock, I mean. We still need you. Maybe now more than ever.” He looked down for a moment before reaching out to brush a bit of ash off of Mary’s jacket. She moved back out of his reach.

“Don’t touch me right now.”

He gave an angry sort of sigh, quickly losing patience with her. “You could have been killed,” Matthew said bluntly, turning away from her.

“Do you think I don’t know that? I was there, Matthew. It’s not exactly the sort of thing one forgets, watching everyone around you go down and knowing you’re the only one left.”

“Damn it, Mary.”

“Yes, I could have been killed, Matthew. But I wasn’t.” But a lot of good people were. People that might have deserved to live more than I do.

He scowled. “Next time you may not be so lucky.”

In spite of everything, Mary gave him a little smirk. “What? Afraid that with me gone, there won’t be anyone to keep you on your toes?”

Afraid you’ll have to find someone else to drive absolutely mad?

“No, Mary, that’s not what I mean at all.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“What I mean is, what the hell were you thinking?”

“Weren’t you listening to the General? I didn’t think. I just…did. I just acted. And look at where that got us. Cold and careful Mary Crawley, not so careful now.” They had reached her X-Wing now, although Mary hadn’t even really realized they were still in motion. She had no idea where BB-8 had gotten to, but she supposed she’d have to worry about that later.

Still, she swore under her breath when she saw how extensive the damage was—much worse than she had originally thought from her journey back to the hangar. She turned to face Matthew again, crossing her arms over her chest. “Look, if you’re just going to lecture me, you can get in line behind the General. I’ve got better things to do than listen to you tell me what I should have done out there.”

He had the nerve to give her a snort of derision at that. Her hands clenched into fists, and for one glorious moment she pictured herself punching him. The fact that that wouldn’t exactly endear her to Leia was the only thing that stopped her.

“Fine,” Matthew said. “It isn’t as if you’d listen to me anyway.”

“Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Only that you always have all the answers, don’t you? Mary knows best, always. You always have to be right, no matter what. Always have to get the last word. And if you don’t like the rules, well then, so what? You’ll just bend them until you do, if you don’t outright break them first.”

“Breaking rules is how the Rebellion beat the Empire in the first place, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“And you see how long that lasted.”

“Are you seriously trying to argue with me about this?”

“As much as I know you like a good argument, no, Mary, I most certainly am not.”

“Then what are you trying to do? Other than keep me from repairing my X-Wing, which, in case you haven’t noticed, are in a bit of short supply around here today.”

“No thanks to you.”

She could have slapped him. “Why are you so angry with me?” she demanded.

“Because I’m trying to make you see just how stupid you were out there, Mary! You can’t keep doing that—treating your life like it was nothing.”

“No one is more important than the Resistance, Matthew! Not a single one of us!”

“You are to me!”

His words took Mary off-guard for a moment, and she blinked at him in surprise. He, too, looked a bit shocked by his outburst, and Mary tried to ignore the little flutter went through her when his piercing blue eyes met her own. Damn adrenaline.

“Well, that’s…that’s nice to hear, Matthew, thank you. I guess. But it doesn’t change anything.”

He huffed out another sigh. “Do you have any idea how infuriating you are?”

“I’m starting to see that, yeah.”

She turned to climb up back into the cockpit of her X-Wing, figuring that working from the inside out was just about as good a strategy as any. She hadn’t even taken a single step up before there was suddenly a hand on her arm pulling her back down. She landed with a thump and nearly lost her balance, turning to glare at Matthew, who was suddenly much closer than he had been before. His grip on her arm tightened. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Trying to talk to you, Mary.”

“Yeah, we did that.”

“You’re not listening to me!”

“Why do you care so much, anyway? I told you, you’re the last person in the entire galaxy I want to see right now, and—“

“Because I’m in love with you!”

His words seemed to echo throughout the empty hangar, or maybe they were just echoing around Mary’s aching head. She stared at him, her eyes practically bugging out, and watched his face turn several shades of crimson. “I didn’t mean—“ he began, but Mary had already seized him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him in close to her.

She wasn’t really sure what made her do it. Maybe it was the earnest look in his eyes letting her know that he wasn’t making this up, that every word he spoke was the truth. Maybe it was the feeling of knowing that for the first time, there was someone looking out for her besides herself. Hell, maybe it was the fact that Mary had almost died not thirty minutes ago.

Or maybe it was because that when Matthew spoke those words out loud, all of a sudden everything made sense to Mary. The way they verbally sparred with each other, trading insults back and forth all day long. The funny flutter in her heart whenever he was near. The way that when she was with him, she didn’t feel so alone.

They way being around him gave her hope.

When Matthew told her that he loved her, Mary realized that all this time, somehow, inexplicably, she’d been in love with him too.

He seemed a bit dazed at first as Mary’s lips met his, standing there frozen as if unsure what to do. She was about to pull away and ask if he needed lessons or something when he enthusiastically wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in close as he kissed her back. Mary pulled him closer in return as he backed her up so that her back was pressing up against the X-Wing. His lips tasted faintly of soot—from her, she was sure—but she didn’t care. She took the kiss even further, reaching up to run her hands through his hair. She kissed him like she might never get another chance to—because right now, she wasn’t sure if she ever would.

“Mary,” he whispered, pulling away for just a moment.

“I know,” she said as she kissed him again.

She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, oblivious to everything but each other. Mary never wanted it to end.

“Whatever happened to me being the last person you wanted to see right now?” he asked as they broke apart. Mary fixed her hair and tried to catch her breath, grinning mischievously up at him.

“What am I always telling you, Matthew? You must pay no attention to the things I say.”

He chuckled. “I’ll try to remember that.” He placed a soft kiss on her forehead, and Mary closed her eyes, trying to savor everything about this moment.

“Don’t ever do anything like that again, all right?” Matthew whispered, resting his forehead against hers for just a moment.

“No promises.”

He chuckled then, his lips brushing hers faintly one last time before pulling away. “They’re not going to win, you know.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because,” he said simply, wrapping his arms around her. “We are the spark that will light the flame that will burn the First Order down. We’re going to beat them. All of us…together.”

“Why, Commander,” Mary said with a smile, “that sounded an awful lot like hope.”

Thank you, Allison for the wonderful fic! I loooove it so much! And you know just what I like...MM and Star Wars. Merry Christmas and happy holidays, lovely MM shippers. <3

#mm secret santa 2017 #mary x matthew #downton abbey #broadwaybaggins #i love this story so much!!!!#submission

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