A/N: Lots of apologies to everyone who's been waiting for this update and hoping and asking and thinking that I've abandoned the project completely. Inspiration rather eluded me for a long while now, and since I could not bring myself to re-watch any D.A. for ages and I wasn't entirely sure where to go with this story...but, that said, it's lovely coming back to this AU tale after so long!

Many many thanks for the encouraging reviews this story got, it's really been the main incentive for me to sit down and try to continue with it. Btw, this chapter will also be posted on tumblr under the tag Mary & Matthew Alphabet Challenge ('A stands of All sorts of things')

Hope you enjoy ;)

Chapter 3

Mary scanned over the writing twice. All the legal jargon confused her. "But…what does it mean?" she finally asked.

"It means…that you are my sole heiress. Everything that I own, my half of Downton, it all goes to you after my death."

Mary blinked, her face stony.

"Are you ill?" she whispered, a delicate frown forming on her brow.

"No…no, my darling, I'm not." Matthew said hastily. "But, you know, in case something happened. See, I don't want there to be any confusion about this. I want you to have what should have been yours in name always."

Somewhere deep down, Mary was touched. She understood, even admired her husband's motives. Unfortunately, a significantly more dominant part of her was too disturbed to appreciate the gesture for what it was. "Well." She inhaled sharply. "Thank you. That's…very thoughtful."

Suddenly, Matthew wished he had had her unpack the surprise of the necklace first.

"My darling, what's wrong?" He leaned in closer and tried to touch her hand. "You do understand what I…"

"I do." Mary interrupted him. "And I thank you, darling." She put the piece of paper back into his hands with a little more force than was necessary. "If we want to make it to the opera, I need to call for Anna."

With that she stood and headed for the door, leaving a thoroughly bewildered lawyer behind.

In the Royal Opera Hall, the Queen of the Night bellowed out her aria with a vengeance, while Matthew heard nothing but the whirl of his own thoughts. Shifting in the seat next to Mary, his feelings swung wildly from utter confusion to indignant fury and back again. It was unfathomable! How could she not be pleased about the testament? It was virtually impossible to challenge, a watertight document to make sure that Mary would become mistress of Downton, no matter what occurred in the future. Surely this was what she had always wanted, the one thing she had desired above all else in life?

Mary could feel his eyes on her throughout the entire performance. She felt his silent anger and she was glad for it, because she herself was absolutely furious with him and it was always terribly annoying when he went soft on her and caved while she was still mad! From their seats, they had a perfect bird's eye view on the audience that night: elderly and young couples, fidgety debutantes in cream silk sitting next to bored widows draped in black...

All alone with plenty of money in a house in Eaton Square…I couldn't imagine anything better.

Mary winced. Did everyone imagine she still dreamed of such a fate? Did Matthew imagine she would happily outlive him to become a widow sitting on a pile of money? Did he still believe that a part of her only loved him for his fortune...

…Swire's fortune…

He whispered her name only once during the third act, trying again to touch her hand.

In a box across form theirs, an old couple sat huddled together. Both of them were either naturally short, or already so ancient that they had shrunken a few inches over the years. Mary pressed her lips together when the elderly gentleman leaned in to whisper into his wife's ear, eliciting a giggle from the white-haired lady.

This was what she wanted, Mary thought. To sit together old and shrunken to the size of her Granny, holding hands and laughing at some silliness he had come up with. Not to be left alone to count the pounds and shillings she would inherit from him!

Sole heiress!

What a ridiculous notion! Who ever made their wife their sole heir when they had a son?

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary peeked at him. She had not taken his hand and now his jaw was clenched and his mouth tight, the corners drawn down.

The sulk.

Not unlike George's expression whenever he was disgruntled.

She suddenly felt the urge to touch him, but Matthew had folded both hands over his belly, pretending to listen avidly to the tenor in his flamboyant costume who had just entered the stage below.

Mary suddenly wondered what they were doing at the opera. It had been one of Matthew's 'surprises' for their anniversary and probably meant as a sort of compensation for missing out on Dame Nellie Melba at Downton.

In another mood, it would have been a wonderful experience, but tonight, it felt like the longest performance in the history of music.

A cab brought them from the opera to the hotel where they took their seats in the restaurant, though neither felt particularly hungry. Matthew had placed an order for a late dinner before the day had taken such a terrible turn, so that the waiter brought champagne at once, along with an assortment of entrées that were Mary's favourites.

She had enough good sense and politeness to thank him and taste the treats, though Matthew's own stance did not seem to soften. Again, Mary wished herself back at Downton where there would be other people to take the edge off when things became tense between them.

Not even the champagne seemed to help and they continued to eat in silence.

"You're overreacting, you know." It finally broke out of Matthew over dessert. He angrily shoveled cream cake into his mouth, eyes blazing in the dim light of the restaurant. It took Mary a moment to take his meaning.

"Me?" she hissed under her breath, conscious of the public setting.

He nodded curtly.

"I only meant to…and I don't see what I'm supposed to have done wrong." Matthew put the fork down and finished the last of his champagne. He had a mind to order something stronger from a passing waiter, but thought better of it.

"Shall we go up?" Mary said tersely, and rose without waiting for a reply. Despite his anger and confusion, Matthew jumped at once to follow his wife out of the public eye.

As she fumbled to get her left earring off, Mary regretted having given her maid the night off. On their honeymoon in France, Anna had often been obsolete in the evenings since Matthew would always be more than eager to assist his wife out of her dress...

Mary felt an unbidden flutter in her stomach when she cast him another glance, furtively watching how he struggled out of his dinner jacket, then ripped angrily at the white tie around his neck to come loose.

She suddenly felt as if the room had become inexplicably warmer.

Turning towards the mirror in the corner, she raised her arms to tease out the hairpins that Anna had skillfully arranged hours before, until the heavy dark mass of hair cascaded down over her back. In the mirror she could see that Matthew had abruptly paused in his energetic strip, blue eyes resting on her...

"Would..." He had to clear his throat. "...would you like...some help?" He pointed rather awkwardly at the back of her dress.

Mary smiled inwardly. By means of a reply, she merely pulled the curtain of her hair away to expose her bare back to him. It took him two seconds to cross the room and she marveled at the simple pleasure of feeling the warmth of his presence behind her. Matthew struggled with the small hooks and buttons that held the dark blue silk dress together, his hands hadn't been so clumsy since that first night...

Their eyes met in the mirror.

Mary would still find it impossible to recount the exact order of events that followed...everything just seemed to escalate in a sudden wild blur.

A loud rip of fabric...the smack of heated, bruising kisses...onto her shoulders, all over her back and up along the slope of her elegant neck...

Once she managed to turn around, her mouth was ravished with the same hunger, those breathless, greedy kisses that still tingled on the skin of her upper body. Somehow, inexplicably, she found herself hoisted upon the vanity cabinet, the content of which scattered and crashed noisily to the floor…

And although most of it became a mad jumble, Mary still noticed when his hand came out to carefully cup the back of her head before it collided with the mirror. She heard the little whimpers that he tried to surpress when she grew bold and pulled him out of his trousers, teasing him into such a state that his knees buckled precariouly.

Long slender legs, sheathed in finest black silk, wrapped firmly around his waist.

Mary cried out against his lips, shamelessly enjoying the moment of becoming one flesh with the man she loved - a split second of bashful exposure, rewarded with the indescribable feel of absolute closeness - the frantic union of needful lovers. Sighing, she forced her eyes open to look at him. He still tried to control himself even as he thrust up and against her with measured force.

"Harder." Mary gasped, staring into bright, hooded eyes that widened briefly at her request. "Harder, Matthew!" she insisted, cradling his head between her hands now. He hesitated and then whispered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse before he claimed her mouth with a sudden force that took her breath away. "Mary," he grunted helplessly.

More items tumbled to the floor as the last bit of propriety, or even sanity, slipped away and Matthew found himself thrusting into his wife with all the strength he had in him...

Very distantly, Mary recognized the sound of breaking glass, just at the moment of highest pleasure when his name tumbled from her lips in a senseless cry of blinding joy. She almost laughed at the expression on his face when Matthew came completely apart in her arms, shaking and sobbing out his release into the soft skin of her breast.

The cabinet creaked under their weight as they collapsed back against it, still wrecked by little aftershocks.

When Mary finally went slack in his arms, Matthew stirred. "Darling...aright?" he slurred, his speech rather impeded for the moment. She nodded weakly. "Careful." he added softly as he pulled her forward, away from the broken piece of furniture.

Very dimly, Mary began to see why.

"You're bleeding!" she gasped and held up his hand that had sheltered the back of her head from the shattered looking glass.

"Nevermind it." Matthew said, laughing weakly. "Kiss me."

Before she could argue and demand to tend to the wound, his lips had recaptured hers.

On shaky legs, they managed to reach the decidedly more comfortable bed and kissed tenderly while divesting each other of the few remaining garments that clung to sweat covered skin. The room was filled with the sound of rapid breathing and lazily shuffling bodies as they enjoyed the blissful stupor that came after love-making.

At last, Mary had a chance to inspect the injured hand.

"Matthew!" she chided, making him chuckle at her disapproving tone. Three knuckles were cut, the skin broken. "I regret nothing." he declared, grinning broadly at her with unabashed love. Mary could not help but to smile in return. For now, her handkerchief would have to do, if only to keep the wound clean.

Both glanced at the mess they had caused. What an escalation!

"Are you still mad at me?" Matthew wondered tentatively even as he wallowed in the dark wild mass of her hair that engulfed them both.

"Yes." she admitted, then searched and found his eyes. "But you don't know why."

He blinked at her, unwilling to go back to the terrible spat that had dominated the past hours before the storm broke. "Then tell me, please. So I can understand it"

The sensation of her soft body against his, gentle hands caressing his chest, legs lazily sliding up and down his…it was only too easy to let Mary lull him in and distract him from asking uncomfortable questions. She was vey good at that...only now, he needed answers…

Mary sighed. "In 1914…"

All at once, Matthew was quite alert.

"…I spent so many days and nights, thinking about nothing but the possibility that you might be dead."

She did not look directly at him, but her eyes had involuntarily settled on a long, angry scar on the left side of his chest. "Every morning, when Papa opened the post or received a telegram, I was terrified… "

"My darling." he whispered softly.

"Of course it's a possibility that you die before me…of illness, or an accident…but Matthew, I don't want to think about that now! Not anymore! I don't want to even contemplate what life would be like without you! I know it's rather childish and I said we must not take each other for granted, but…" Mary's voice trailed off until finally she would look at him.

"What you did…it's so wonderful, so considerate and I am grateful." Dark eyes darted over every feature of his face, still flushed from exertion. She smiled sadly. "I just can't bear the thought of losing you."

Matthew was silent and very still.

She had already settled to rest against his chest, when he finally found his words. Mary was almost startled by the sound of his voice and immediately recognized the tone. He was about to speak of something he would not usually speak of…

His tongue darted out quickly to wet his lips. "In France…" Matthew paused, collecting his thoughts. When he spoke of 'then' it always became a 'sorting out process' of which memories he would allow to the front of his brain and which ones to keep safely in the recesses of his mind.

"…I never allowed myself to imagine...that my cousin Mary thought of me...that she might miss me a little bit." A rueful smile ghosted over his lips, unseen by her. "But I still did...sometimes." Even if I shouldn't have, he thought, particularly at a time when all his thoughts of home should have been consumed by another.

Poor dear Lavinia.

When he found her eyes, his gaze was intense. "I always loved you, Mary. Only you." he whispered. "And I wish to God that I had let you know..."

Mary stirred and raised her head. "I knew." she decided, with a conviction that surprised herself. Despite their silences, despite the distance, despite Lavinia and Richard. A small part of her had always known. "Good." He smiled and turned to kiss the shoulder that was closest to him.

"I think I knew that you loved me, too."

One perfect eyebrow cocked up. "And I think you're fibbing now." Mary's capacity to change the mood at the blink of an eye never ceased to amaze him. Pure mischief was dancing in her black eyes as she smiled wickedly into the face of her husband. Matthew closed his eyes, letting her lightness help him in storing away the darkness of his memories.

Only she can do this, he thought, only she can chase it away.

"Matthew." Her voice was suddenly loud to his ears. He had not noticed how close he had come to falling asleep. "Yes, my love." Her fingers rake through the tousled blonde mess of his hair. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." he said automatically, idly wondering what she was referring to.

"I mean thank you for putting me into your testament." Mary sighed. It was still a morbid gift, but she wanted to appreciate it for what it meant: that Matthew cared about her future, that he wanted her to be secured in her position, and that nobody could ever disregard her rights again.

Now it seemed to be his call to lighten the mood. "As it is," Matthew cleared his throat and rose slightly from where he had been splayed out on the bed. Mary frowned when he shifted and turned towards a table next to the bed.

"I have another little something to give…"

Mary was amused to see him acting a little bashful when he handed her a wrapped gift box. "I hope…you like it. Well, I thought…" he muttered until she kissed him. "I will. Thank you, my darling." she assured, before she had even opened the offering.

It was not the first necklace that Matthew had bought her. In France, he had her choose a long pearl and diamond chain from Cartier, as a 'reminder' of their honeymoon, when they had passed through Paris. This, however, was something different.

"It's called 'Andromeda's chains'" Matthew whispered, delighted to see the faint flicker pass over her features. She remembered. "Oh, no." Mary laughed as she let her fingers glide over the delicate 'chains' of gold and sapphire. She held it out for him to fasten around her neck, then turned to look into the direction of the mirror. After their rumpus, the broken shards were of course still scattered around the vanity. In the absence of a looking glass, she simply looked down at the gift.

"It's beautiful. Thank you, darling."

His arms wrapped around her from behind to pull her back against his chest, lips finding her cheek. "You are beautiful." Matthew uttered softly and almost as if she needed a distraction, Mary became interested in his right hand again, pulling the bandage she had wrapped around it back into place. At last, she let herself fall back against him, feeling rather pleasantly tired now.

Shortly before she drifted off, a fleeting thought crossed her mind. "Andromeda's chains…" she mused, eyes closed. "...so she could not escape from the sea monster."

A dark chuckle resonated against her ear as he wrapped himself fully around her from behind. "Mad." Mary commented sleepily, though her lips curled up in a satisfied smile. when he nuzzled the side of her face and whispered, "Mad for you." all the same.

Almost perfect happiness, Mary thought...were it not for the tiniest ache in her chest which reminded her that one thing was still missing.

"I bet he's started to call Tom 'Mama' by now." she muttered into the pillow. A low rumble of amusement told her that Matthew knew whom she referred to. "We'll have to look to his Christening soon." he replied, his voice thick with approaching sleep.

"If Papa hasn't gobbled him up beforehand." Mary said wrily. Her father's obsession with his grandson and heir was taking on bizarr forms of late.

God knows what they would come back to after leaving George in the care of their family for more than a day...

Tom closed the door to the nursery softly. The babies had not slept very well, he fancied, with the noise of the concert and a large party of guests in the house. It had been an exhausting few days for him as well. New names, new faces to greet, some of whom he had only known from newspaper articles. The sort of people he had always regarded as the 'enemy' but whose hands he had to shake now or ask for as dancing partners…

If only Sybil was here. He could bear it all, if only he had his Sybil back.

"Hello?" The word came out sharper than he meant when he approached a single man lurking in the library. He stood with his back to Tom, apparently in the process of perusing the framed family photographs on an ante table. Tom's voice made him turn.

"Oh. Hello there."

Tom was almost relieved when he remembered the guest. Anthony Foyle, a friend of the family. He felt a bit idiotic now that he also remembered that it was quite 'normal' for house guests to go snooping around their host's property.

Upper class people called it 'exploring' - where Tom came from, all strangers who rummaged through your personal belongings were simply called 'thieves'.

His eyes fell on the frame that the stranger held in his right hand.

"The Grantham's three daughters, aren't they?" He held up the frame.

"Ah…yes." Tom nodded.

"Who would have thought." Anthony Foyle shook his head with an amused smile, then turned to Tom with an expression of curiosity. "Shame only Lady Edith's at home. I'd have liked to meet them all. The last time I was here, we were all still children."

Tom regarded the man in front of him with a blank expression.

"Lady Mary is on vacation with her husband." He trembled slightly. "Lady Sybil is dead."

"Oh." Tony Foyle seemed shocked for a moment. "When…"

"When our daughter was born."

Tom knew it was just plain ignorance, no malevolence. The man seemed harmless enough, not the worst toff he had ever encountered, but there was no reason why he had to suffer someone's ill-informed questions.

"Good God. I'm terribly sorry." Foyle said quickly. "I should have remembered."

Yes, you should, Tom thought. Nevertheless, he decided to accept the apology with a curt nod. In that moment, Carson entered the library. "Is something wrong?" Tom asked, stepping towards the butler, who looked only slightly on edege.

"Not at all, Sir." Carson said stiffly, mindful of the guest who carefully put the framed photograph down on the table. "Mr. Crawley has called. We may expect them back tonight." Tom smiled. This, at least, was great news.

Carson looked past him to where their guest was standing, then back at Tom. "A refreshment, Sir?" The butler said, surprising Tom by addressing him as 'Sir' for the second time and offering such luxuries as he would only voluntarily offer to the Crawleys. As unwilling as Carson might have been in viewing the former chauffeur as a member of 'his family', Tom realized that he had apparently been accepted as a part of it now – perhaps more so than he himself could sometimes stomach, especially in front of strangers.

"Thank you, Carson, not for me. But…if Mrs. Patmore could spare a plate of those strawberries for Sybbie…I mean, Miss Sybil."

"Of course, Sir." Tom fancied that he even saw a hint of a smile ghosting over Carson's stern features, before he turned to their guest again. "No, thank you. I'm off in a jiffy. My driver is waiting outside."

Just as well, Tom thought.

They were almost late for dinner, having spent far too much time tucking George into bed and watching over his sleep for nearly half an hour.

Mary observed her husband watching their son and bit her lip. On the trip back down to Yorkshire, he had grumbled about the brevity of their trip, that he would have loved to keep her for himself for a little while longer. And now, he had been just as eager to see his son again…

"He's grown at least an inch." he determined as his forefinger lightly tickled the sleeping boy's chin.

His mother's chin – thank God. Matthew smiled with no small amount of pride.

She finally took his hand and he willingly followed her downstairs. Time to rejoin the world of Downton.

"You're back." Edith cried half-loud when she spotted the pair in the hall. Ever since George's birth, Matthew had made a bee line around his sister-in-law, unable to forget that she had endangered the life of his wife and their unborn child. Mary threw him a look, neither pleading, nor threatening.

Only asking to be civil.

"How was the concert?" Matthew cleared his throat audibly, trying to find the easy words again he used to share with Edith over the years. The second Crawley daughter seemed almost taken aback to be addressed by her brother-in-law.

"Oh…wonderful actually." Edith said, clearly relieved by the change of tone, though it was plain to see that Matthew would never be as indulgent with her as he used to be.

The last guests had departed that afternoon, allowing for family and servants to return to the usual routine. When the ladies went through, Rose sidled up to Mary.

"So...did Matthew finally take you out to a club?" she wondered. Mary laughed lightly at the notion. "No. I don't think he ever will."

Rose nodded. "Hm. I thought he was only so uptight about jazz that one time when they pulled me out of there." She frowned. "I'm sure if you wanted to go, he'd take you. He'd never deny you anything." And if she was lucky, the event would turn into a group outing.

Mary pulled a face. "You make me sound like a spoilt child." Her tone was more teasing than disapproving. The beautiful sapphire necklace around her neck and the fact that half the roof over their heads was legally endowed to her now, gave rather more weight to Rose's words than Mary liked to admit.

Rose seemed to deliberate, then shot her elder cousin a queer look. "If you didn't go dancing...then what did you do in London?"

Mary looked aside. Quarrelling? Breaking hotel furniture?

"Oh, well...all sorts of things."

Across the room, she saw her husband turn around at her last words - a broad smile on his face.

A/N: Hehe. Thanks for reading :)

Not sure yet what the next chapter will be or when it will be published, but I'll stay on it!