Hi all :) This is my first foray in Downton Abbey fanfic. Any and all feedback is much appreciated!

Resolution

The warm afternoon sun bathed the grounds of Downton Abbey and the Lords and Ladies gathered for the Earl of Grantham's garden party. She sat, at a distance, desolately slouched in a delicate garden chair, her whole demeanour of defeat a far cry from the proud elegance she normally displayed. Displayed was perhaps the appropriate word, for Lady Mary Crawley was well aware that the easy confidence she exuded was not often reflected in her soul. Not recently, anyway. No, for the past few months she had not felt confident or assured of anything. Of her feelings, of her position, of her own virtue... She sighed heavily, not caring who could see her or what they would think.

What had happened to her? She used to feel so sure of herself. But now? Well, now, Matthew had proposed, she'd been a fool, she'd dithered and delayed and now it was all too late. He was leaving, and her heart felt as if it were about to rip out of her chest. Oh, and to top it all off, to put the cherry on the cake, England was at war with Germany. Mary wasn't quite sure what that meant yet, for her or for Downton, but it surely was not a good thing. She wasn't really sure she cared, in any case. At this precise moment, she was quite beyond caring about anything but the gaping hole that Matthew would leave in her life. What pleasure would this place or any of the people in it hold for her now, without him?

Wiping away a tear that had escaped down her cheek, she considered what had brought her to this. She had never intended to fall in love with him. For heaven's sake, she had been determined to hate him! And so she should, this middle-class jumped up nobody swooping in to steal her inheritance. And yet, against her own desire, she had found herself becoming increasingly fond of her father's heir. No-one could deny that he was handsome, that he had an easy charm about him. It was more than that, though. Maybe it was because she had disliked him so at first that she had had no qualms in telling him precisely what she thought of him. To her surprise, he had not shied away in embarrassed defeat but had been frank and quick-witted in his comebacks. In some twisted way, this had led to her having a more genuine relationship with Matthew Crawley than she ever had with another man. She began to appreciate the fact that she could tell him what was truly in her heart, and that he would not shy away from that. In fact, he'd seemed to appreciate her all the more for it. And quite without her realising, before she knew it, she had fallen in love with him.

And then, he had proposed. Mary clenched her fists in her lap, screwing her eyes tight shut against the tears that would flow if she let them. Why did she feel this ridiculous need to be completely honest with him? She had desperately wanted to accept his proposal, but could not do so without telling him the terrible truth, which she knew would surely cause her to lose him. And so she had promised to give him her answer on her return from London, by which time she was sure she would have worked out just how to tell him.

And then, her mother fell pregnant. Oh cruel world, could the timing have been more unfortunate! It had just confused the whole issue even further in her mind. Of course, poor Matthew had become convinced that this was the reason for her delay in accepting him, how could he not? Yet as his frustration grew, and he pressed more fervently for an answer, the harder she found it to tell him. She could not bear the hurt in his eyes when she could not answer his simple question, did she love him enough to spend her life with him? Yes! Yes, she did! But she could not bear to reward his hope before crushing it again so cruelly with the sordid truth of her character, and so she stammered, and hesitated, and in doing so hurt him all the more and added fuel to the fire of his doubts in her affection.

And now, her mother had miscarried, and it appeared as if now her mind could be made up. And he had left. It was only in that moment that Mary realised that nothing else mattered to her, that she would marry him in a heartbeat whatever his position. But the realisation came too late. And damn him, to the last he had wished her well and wanted the best for her. Why did he have to be so noble when she could not?

Her parent's guests gradually began to disperse, while she sat still, sobbing into her kerchief, lamenting her loss that was down to nothing but her own foolishness.

Mary started suddenly at the light touch of a hand on her shoulder. She quickly wiped her eyes, rising quickly to her feet and smoothing her dress down.

"Oh, Cousin Isobel," Mary smiled weakly. Matthew's mother, quite possibly the last person she felt like dealing with just now. "I hope your afternoon has not been dampened too severely by my father's announcement."

"Mary." The older woman smiled sadly at the younger, noting the sad pretence at normality. "Listen. I'm afraid I do not know what has passed between you and my son, but I am sure of this – you must go after Matthew and talk to him." She reached out a comforting hand, resting it lightly on her arm.

"What?" Mary blinked, her facade crumbling as she realised how clearly Isobel could see her distress. "Oh it would be useless – he has made up his mind to leave. He hates me Isobel, and I cannot blame him. How could I possibly convince him of my affection now?" She paused for a halting intake of breath. "I'm afraid I have ruined everything, and have no-one to blame but myself."

"Well, whether that is true or not," Isobel retorted, "something must be done." She tightened her hold on Mary's arm. "Mary, I do not pretend to understand why you hesitated in accepting Matthew's proposal. But tell me one thing, now. Do you love my son?"

"Yes," Mary breathed, surprising herself at the ease with which the answer flowed from her lips. Why, oh why could it not come so easily to the one person that it mattered to the most? "Yes I do. And I am truly sorry for the pain I have caused him, but I'm afraid that it is too late for Matthew to ever believe me."

"It may be," his mother did her best to look reassuringly at Mary, her own heart hurting at the desolation she could see in the young woman's eyes. "I can tell you this though – I do know that Matthew loves you. And if you truly feel the same for him, you cannot let him walk away without a fight. Yes, he has been very upset by this whole matter. But," she fairly shook Mary's arm now, "if you each love the other, surely you would each be happier together than apart. You must at least try!"

"But there is no hope!" Mary wailed despairingly. "You don't understand, you cannot understand!"

"I understand this one thing, Mary," Isobel set her with a resolute gaze. "I can guarantee that there is no hope if you will not even try. If you do not fight for him now, he will leave, that is certain. Is that what you want?"

"No" she whispered.

And with that, Cousin Isobel walked away, leaving Mary alone with her thoughts once more. Maybe she was right... She did love Matthew. She resolved then that she still must tell him about Pamuk – he would not have her after that, she was sure of it, but at least then he would know that her hesitation was not anything to do with how much she loved him. He deserved that at least.

With a new determination she strode towards the village, in the direction of Crawley House.

Thanks for getting this far! More to come. Please let me know what you thought! :)