Chapter 18
After 84 years, an update. :)
If you’re still reading, you’re my hero.
You can read here or on AO3 and ff.net.
A tingling sensation skittered from his kneecap to his ankle as Dr. Meadows tapped his spine with measured precision, making Matthew nearly come out of his chair.
“Right there?” Dr. Meadows questioned, leaning forward to gauge Matthew’s expression.
“Yes,” Matthew replied, unable to keep from smiling, even though every nerve he possessed stood on high alert. “I still feel it, actually. It’s...lingering.”
Lingering. He’d never dreamed such a word would come to mean so much. For he felt--God--he felt! It didn’t matter that the current sensations weren’t exactly pleasant. Hell, he would welcome pain over the numb inactivity to which his lower extremities had been subjected since coming home from the front.
“The same tingling sensation you described earlier?” the doctor asked before tapping the same spot lightly once more. Small shards danced beneath Matthew’s skin, almost as if his left leg were simply beginning to awaken from an overly long nap.
“Exactly the same,” Matthew stated. “Only sharper.”
“Pins and needles?”
Another tap produced a fresh outpouring of whatever they were, making him grimace and laugh simultaneously.
“Pins and needles,” Matthew confirmed. “Although the tailor wielding them would seem to be a bit cross.”
He heard Doctor Meadows chuckle before the older man made his way around Matthew’s wheelchair to face him.
“That’s good,” the doctor said before kneeling down. “Very good, actually.” The older man paused, rubbing his stubbled chin. “Do you think you could wiggle your toes, Mr. Crawley?”
Matthew's breath caught in his chest, his thoughts racing faster than a motor car. Wiggling his toes--such a small task, something his infant son did with frequency. But for him, a grown man, the task seemed monumental, like crossing no-man’s land with a rogue shooter still at large.
“I don’t know,” Matthew replied honestly. “But I’ll certainly try.”
He shifted slightly in his chair in order to extend his left foot as best as he could. Dr. Meadows then removed Matthew’s shoe, placing his foot back onto the footrest and gazing at it intently. Matthew bit his lower lip, wishing he’d felt more than phantom pressure at the contact, but he pushed such thoughts from his mind, concentrating on muscle memory that had been dormant for far too long.
Left toes, he whispered to himself, staring at digits that remained stubbornly immobile. Move, damn you. Move.
Sweat broke out across his forehead, and he nearly cried out in frustration, feeling as if he were reaching for a prize dangled just beyond his reach. Small shards sped up and down his leg, bypassing his foot even as they encircled his ankle. He bit his lower lip, wondering if he would draw his own blood, ignoring the slight trembling of his hand just as the impossible occurred.
His toes moved.
“Ha!” he barked, feeling as though he might sprout wings. “I did it! Oh my God, did you see?”.
Dr. Meadows grinned broadly as he began to manipulate Matthew’s toes.
“Do you feel anything here?” the doctor asked, massaging one toe after another.
“Yes,” Matthew answered. “A little. It’s not much, but…” He paused, attempting to swallow down rising emotion.
“But it’s a start,” Dr. Meadows finished for him. The men gazed at each other, nodding, smiling, Dr. Meadows kindly saying nothing as tears began to pool in Matthew’s eyes. Hurried footfalls just outside the bedroom then drew their attention, their mutual focus broken as Mary threw open the door and dashed breathlessly inside.
“What is it?” she asked, her expression morphing from one of alarm into one of curiosity. “What’s happened? Is everything alright?”
Matthew hurriedly wiped his cheek, smiling back at her as he beckoned her forward.
“It’s more than alright, Mrs. Crawley,” Dr. Meadows replied, standing up slowly, several of his bones popping in response. “Your husband just moved his toes. Come and see for yourself.”
Matthew had never seen Mary’s eyes quite so large, nor her expression so eager as she practically sprinted to his side. She gazed back at him with the wonder of a child, the pure joy beaming from her eyes reminding him instantly of their son. He focused all his energy on trying to repeat what he’d just done, grunting slightly at the effort until sensation connected and contracted simultaneously.
“Oh my God!” Mary cried out, stepping back in amazement, her focus flying from his foot to his face. “Matthew!” He chuckled, and she clasped her hands together before leaning down and throwing her arms around his neck. “This is good news.”
“It’s more than that,” Dr. Meadows stated as he replaced the reflex hammer back into his bag. “It’s a definitive sign that the swelling around your spinal cord is decreasing, Mr. Crawley. And at a fairly rapid rate, at that.”
Mary stood and laced her fingers within Matthew’s, giving his hand a tight squeeze.
“Which means what, exactly?” she asked.
“Which means that your husband is regaining the use of some parts of his body that have been previously unresponsive,” Dr. Meadows explained. “How many and to what extent is still unclear, however…”
The older man’s voice trailed off as he rubbed his whiskered chin.
“However?” Mary prodded, taking a step in the doctor’s direction. He smiled at them both, rocking back on his heels as he seemed to consider his words. “However, the rate at which Mr. Crawley is experiencing new sensation along with the vast range of locations where these sensations are being felt leads me to believe that his recovery will be profound.”
“Profound?” Matthew echoed, his heart pounding so heart it was a wonder it didn’t crack his ribs.
“Complete,” Dr. Meadows clarified. “Or at least complete enough that the chair upon which you currently rely could eventually be replaced by a cane.”
He heard Mary breathe in, feeling his world both narrow and broaden as he gazed at his physician.
“You mean I’ll walk again?”
Matthew tried to swallow, even though his throat was now devoid of moisture.
“I can make you no promises,” Dr. Meadows stated. “But yes, I believe that you will walk again, Mr. Crawley, and fairly soon, at that.”
A cry erupted beside him as his own heart lept, and he squeezed Mary’s hand as her other flew to cover her mouth. He couldn’t tell whose eyes held more tears, his wife’s or his own, but it hardly mattered as he smiled up at her, as the chains of both physical and emotional confinement began to fall away. Then she was clasping him, holding him, and he pulled her into his lap, uncaring of the fact that Dr. Meadows was witness to their actions. He kissed her hard and open mouthed, pressing his lips into hers, allowing her to kiss him back with equal fervor.
“I believe that is my cue to leave,” Dr. Meadows stated, making his way to the bedroom door. “Besides, I should be making my way to the train station if I am to meet your mother and transport her back here.”
“Thank you,” Mary stated, breaking off their kiss as she stood and walked towards Dr. Meadows. Matthew felt her loss immediately, his lap actually missing her weight. “For everything.”
Dr. Meadows smiled as he took her hand within his own.
“It’s moments like this that make my profession worthwhile, Mrs. Crawley. Now if you will excuse me, I shall take my leave.” The older man stepped out of the room before sticking his head back inside. “It will be at least two hours before I return with your mother, Mr. Crawley. I suggest the two of you make good use of your time.”
With that, he winked at them and shut the bedroom door.
“I believe he just instructed us to have sex,” Mary said, unable to keep from giggling as Matthew extended a hand in her direction. He chuckled, he couldn’t help himself, feeling as if champagne had just exploded in his veins.
“Then come over here and kiss me,” he stated, feeling his body come alive at her touch. She straddled his chair as best she could with her skirt, rucking it up in a most unlady like move that lit a brushfire inside him.
“Christ,” he muttered as her hands settled on his shoulders, as her mouth moved dangerously close to his ear, as her inner thighs hovered just above what he prayed would soon once again be functional.
“Far be it from me to ignore a doctor’s advice,” she breathed, setting off fireworks down his left leg that shot straight to his groin. He grabbed her face and pulled her lips to his own, devouring her, claiming her, feeling every part of him respond to her until he thought he might explode. Her fingers stroked his legs, his inner thigh, and he moaned as he felt--yes, felt her touch, at least on his left leg. It moved reflexively, and she kissed him harder, careful to keep her weight off of him even as her tongue pressed in hard.
“I want you,” she murmured, and if he hadn’t already been on the verge of combusting, her words nearly hurdled him over the precipice.
“What is it you want, Mary?” he whispered as his lips claimed her jawline, gratified by the shudder that wracked her body. “My fingers? My mouth?”
A gutteral hum rose out of her depths, washing over him like liquid fire.
“All of you,” she breathed, kissing him open-mouthed as her hand traced a trail down his torso. “Eventually. But right now, I want this.”
He nearly jumped out of his seat when her fingers closed around him. God, had he really just felt something...there?
“Mary,” he managed, her name both a summons and a prayer. “I...I…”
“You feel it, don’t you?” she noted with a smile, pulling back far enough to look from his groin to his eyes as he forced himself to nod.
“Yes,” he breathed, the word rubbing him raw inside, her touch cocooning him in a realm of wonder. “Christ...yes...Mary.”
Speech disintegrated into breathing, into touching, into sensations so overpowering he clung to her for support.
“You’re quite aroused, you know.”
Her words shot sparks from his knee to his inner thighs, and he swallowed, nodding, breathing, closing his eyes so he missed nothing, memorizing the tease of intimate touch.
“More than I realized,” he confessed. “I mean, I knew I was aroused, I just hadn’t realized that…”
His words trailed off as slender fingers teased his trousers.
“That you were so erect?”
He nodded, his ears burning as her teeth nipped his neck.
“Yes.”
She licked her lips as she undid the top of his trousers, untucking his shirt to grant her easier access to exactly what she sought.
He was in the verge of begging.
“Can you feel me?”
He hissed as her fingers wrapped around him, as she applied gentle pressure, as her thumb stroked his tip.
“Yes. God, yes.” The words scorched his tongue, burning him alive as he felt what he never dreamed he’d feel again. She was touching him, stroking him, making love to him with her fingers as her mouth branded his skin.
“Christ.”
The word nearly stuck in his throat as she squeezed harder, and he clasped her skirt to keep himself grounded. His head found itself between her breasts, the cloth of her blouse a barrier he’d like to strip away. But his hands seemed incapable of following instructions, as if they’d been robbed of the ability to function as his lower body asserted itself for the first time in months. Then it began to build, sensations so strong they struck him everywhere at once, aching, pulsing, then burning him alive as his stomach clenched and sweat broke out across his forehead.
God. He was going to come apart in her hand.
“Mary--I…” The warning fell to pieces as his insides shattered, as he crashed into her with a climax that devastated him with its intensity. He spilled onto her fingers, into her palm, but she didn’t stop until he stopped her, until the stimulation became too much, until the pleasure she brought him bordered on pain. Breathing was an effort, but not one he minded, and he closed his eyes for a moment to regain his focus, something he wasn’t certain he’d be able to do.
“Was that alright?”
Her words rubbed him like crushed velvet, and he fisted her skirt even tighter as he kissed her until he had to come up for air.
“It was amazing. You’re amazing.”
He opened his eyes then, nearly losing what composure he still had left in the intensity of her gaze.
“Now you know how you make me feel.”
Her words were hushed, wisps of air that made him tingle from his scalp to his toes. Pride swelled inside of him, making him feel as if he could rise from his chair and sprint from here to Downton.
“I’m so glad,” he breathed, his mouth brushing her cheek. “And I’d like to make you feel that way again. Right now.”
She bit her lower lip and tossed him a coy smile, her grip still wrapped around what was quickly deflating. He looked down, then, seeing her hand now covered with his seed, wondering just how such a sight could spark another surge of deep arousal.
“God, I’ve made a mess, haven’t I?”
She grinned back at him from under dark lashes.
“I’ve always wondered what it looked like,” she mused. He laughed then, and she did, too, a free, unhindered sound he resolved to draw from her more often. “Strange to think that this can create a baby. That it created Christopher.”
He managed to locate a handkerchief in his pocket to wipe off her fingers, his insides turning cold as he remembered the afternoon their child was conceived. God, he’d deserted her inside of that cabin, after coming inside her with a mad rush of anger and arousal, after cloaking his pride in the devastation of feeling deceived, after donning his uniform of self-righteousness and posing as a man of honor.
He’d been a complete ass.
“Leave that day behind us,” she whispered, cradling his face with her hands. “It doesn’t belong here, Matthew. Not here between us. Not anymore.”
His mouth covered hers then, loving her more with each second that passed, needing her in a manner words couldn’t convey. He didn’t want to talk at the moment, not about their past, not even about their future. He wanted to show her the miracle that she was to him, to paint his adoration onto her body, to press his devotion into her skin. He wanted her, wanted to make her climax as blindingly as he just had, wanted to stroke her, to taste her, to share his first physical orgasm since their marriage with her.
“Lie down for me, Mary.”
Her eyes blinked open, heavy and dark. Christ, he wondered if seeing to her needs would make him climax again.
He somehow managed to wheel them the short distance to the bed, uncertain if new sweat was from that exertion or the heat that was Mary. He guided her towards the mattress, licking his lips when she sat on the edge and glanced back at him in curiosity.
“Lie back,” he breathed, the words so thick he nearly swallowed them whole. Her eyes widened as understanding took root, but she did as he asked, her breath catching in her throat as he guided her skirt up her thighs.
“Oh God,” she managed when his lips grazed her inner thigh, her hips hitching, her legs falling open in an invitation of utmost trust. “Matthew…” Then words dissipated into sounds, soft moans that spurred his mouth forward, edging, kissing, covering until her fingers found his scalp and her body began to rock. He held her thighs, bringing her closer, ever closer to him, losing himself to her taste and textures, wondering why in God’s name he hadn’t given her this before now.
“Matthew.”
His name was a summons, guttural and deep, prompting him to feast, to take her higher, to make her keen and buck until she was pulling his hair and rising off of the bed. She was falling into him, shattering, surrounding him in a manner so intimate it nearly singed him alive. Then she pressed him back, needing space, needing to breathe, something he understood and granted her as he sat up in his chair and gazed down at his wife.
“God, you’re gorgeous.”
She laughed, an airy, breathy thing, her arms now thrown back over her head, her skirt still ruched up around her thighs. He knew then that she was a goddess.
“I’m going to have to change before your mother arrives,” she managed, pushing herself up on her elbows. “You’ve made me untidy.”
He chuckled, reaching out to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her hair, adoring how mussed it now looked, loving the flushed nature of her skin, enraptured by the rumpled state of her blouse.
“Good.”
She quirked a brow at him before making herself sit up, before sliding to the edge of the bed, before kissing him and moaning into his mouth at the taste of herself.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he murmured as she drew back. Noses touched, fingers caressed as they remained cradled in this private world that smelled of sex and felt like heaven.
“For how long?” she whispered. “Days? Weeks?”
“Years, actually.”
That made her sit up straight.
“Would you consider me a lecherous man if I told you that I’ve dreamed of kissing you like that since the night we first kissed?”
Her mouth fell open, and she gaped at him several seconds before licking her lips.
“You’re staring at me as if I’d just claimed that I could produce a rabbit from a hat,” he mused, chuckling when she shook her head.
“It’s not that,” she began, pausing to order her thoughts. “It’s simply that I never realized…”
She swallowed, looking down at her hands.
“That I wanted you so badly?”
Eyes met and held, the very air between them suspended in time.
“That you wanted me so badly,” she echoed, looking rather like a girl of nineteen again. “It almost seems like a dream, doesn’t it? Life before the war?”
Images blurred together in his memory, like a prized Monet left out in the rain.
“A dream of sandwiches and wine,” he mused. “And lips that I could no longer resist.”
Warm breath feathered over his cheek as another hair escaped from its confines.
“Are you a creature of duty, then?”
He blinked, smiling at her words from years passed.
“Don’t tease me,” he breathed. She tossed him a half-grin before leaning in to press her lips to his neck, and he swallowed, unable to think clearly as her tongue grazed his jawline. “I don’t deserve it. Especially from you.”
Her chuckle was deep and earthy, the nip that followed both playful and heartfelt.
“Oh, Matthew,” she murmured. “You must never pay attention to the things I say.”
Emotion struck him as soundly as any bullet, and he drew back then to look at her, to memorize her, to take her in and press everything about her into marrow and bone.
“I love you, Mary. So very, very much.”
She looked away as tears gathered, and then she swallowed, licking her lips before feathering her mouth over his. He pulled her to his chest then, cradling her, holding her, kissing her forehead, her temple, her cheek, claiming every part her as he should have done in that cabin, cherishing her as a man should cherish his wife.
“I love you, too,” she whispered, her words felt more than heard, their delicacy more exquisite than a butterfly’s wings. His heart fluttered before it swelled, before he wept, before she joined him, and they held each other for what seemed like hours until Christopher’s wails cut into their solitude, forcing them back into their surroundings.
“Let Nanny Logan tend to him,” Matthew said, not caring that his request bordered on a plea. “Stay here with me--just a few moments more.”
She closed her eyes and touched her forehead to his, nodding as she held him, as she accepted him, as she loved him in a manner now sacred to them both.
____________________________________________________________________________
“Matthew! That’s marvelous!”
Isobel’s exclamation had them all beaming as Matthew wiggled his toes once again. Mary eyed him, gratified to see that her husband didn’t seem to be feeling like a prized exhibition at the local fair.
“It is rather exciting,” Matthew agreed, chuckling at his own understatement.
“It’s a life-changer,” Isobel argued. “And I’m so happy for you, Matthew. For you and Mary, both.”
His eyes faltered for a moment, and she saw the shard of fear he was desperately trying to keep hidden. The uncertainty of when and where progress could take him or cease, the need to keep his hopes from rising above the point of no return--these were fears she shared. Yet the improvement he was already experiencing was worth celebrating in full, something they’d done intimately in a manner that made her blush to remember. She moved to his side then, passing Christopher to his grandmother much to both the child’s and Isobel’s delight before moving to Matthew and clasping his hand.
“That it is,” Mary said. “It’s more than we used to believe possible.”
He squeezed her palm.
“And far more than I deserve.”
His voice cracked, and she felt the small tremor in the hand she now held.
“Life isn’t about what we deserve, is it?” she replied, needing to pull him back from the ledge on which they had been teetering for nearly two years now. “It seems to me it’s more about living with whatever circumstances we’re dealt and making the best choices we can at the time.”
Matthew looked up at her then, his eyes shining, his vulnerability on full display.
“I fear that if we were all dealt the hand we deserved, humanity would be a miserable lot, indeed,” Isobel stated as her grandson let out a happy squeal.
“Here here!” said Dr. Meadows as he raised his saucer of tea. “Well said, Mrs. Crawley.”
Isobel looked at the pair of them once again, as if she still couldn’t believe the progress they’d made as a couple. Of course she’d be stunned, Mary reminded herself. The last time Isobel had seen them had been directly after their wedding. She herself was rather amazed at the healing that had taken place between them since then, a painful but necessary journey she now knew was worth every step. She looked at her husband before swallowing and clearing her throat.
“I for one am thankful that Matthew and I chose to face life’s challenges together. They’re far less daunting that way.”
“That they are.”
His tone caressed her as intimately as his tongue had but hours ago, and her heart swelled to the point of bursting, the strength of her love for this man now a balm rather than a wound.
Silence descended until Christopher let out another squeal and kicked his chubby legs.
“So what’s the next step, Dr. Meadows?” Isobel asked.
“I’ve given Mr. Crawley some exercises,” the doctor replied. “To help strengthen the muscles he’s been unable to use.”
“I had to make him stop earlier,” Mary added. “Lest he wear himself out before the pair of you arrived.”
Had she imagined Dr. Meadows raising his eyebrows, or Isobel’s hasty glance in the older man’s direction?
“Therapy should be repeated on a regular basis,” Dr. Meadows stated after clearing his throat. “But within reason. Keep in mind that exhaustion is never the desired outcome.”
Matthew’s face reddened.
“Trust me,” he stated, shooting her a glance she felt all over. “I’ve no intention of causing myself any further damage, no matter how stimulating testing my limits may be.”
Mary’s cheeks heated instantly.
“Well,” Isobel intervened. “Whatever exercises you took on before my arrival must have agreed with you, Matthew. You both look better than I’ve seen you in months.”
Mary bit her lip then, struggling to keep her composure intact.
“The benefits of therapy can be staggering,” Dr. Meadows stated, taking another sip of his tea.
“How is everyone?” Mary managed, needing to steer the conversation away from such intimate ground. “At Downton, I mean.”
“Very well,” Isobel returned as she bounced Christopher on her knee. “Your mother sends her love expressly, as does Carson, although not in so many words.”
A smile pulled at Mary’s cheeks.
“Dear Carson,” she murmured, moving to sit down close to Matthew. “I think I miss him most of all.”
“Not surprising,” Isobel returned. “He’s quite bereft without you, I’m told. And he gave me specific orders to tell you that he hopes to see both you and Master Christopher for Christmas.”
She shared an uneasy glance with her husband.
“We haven’t been invited,” Matthew stated. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Not even by Cora?” Isobel queried.
“Mama says she is planning to come here for a visit over the holidays,” Mary explained. “I suppose she thinks that it would be easier for everyone involved.”
“And how do you feel about this?” Isobel asked, her brow furrowed. Mary sighed, her shoulders slumping as she felt Matthew squeeze her hand.
“I’m not entirely certain,” she replied. “Hurt. Frustrated. Relieved.”
“Cora coming for a visit brings little to no stress into our lives,” Matthew added. “Whereas planning a trip to Downton right now…” He sentence faded into the room, only Christopher unaffected by the weight of it's meaning.
“We’re happy here,” Mary interjected. “Our neighbors are both kind and helpful, we don’t have to worry about whether or not we are the topic of whispered conversations or innuendo. Whereas at Downton…”
Her words faltered this time, and she squared her shoulders, sitting up taller in the process.
“You needn’t say any more,” Isobel intervened. “I know the difficulties you face there, but I also know there are many who miss you terribly and would welcome your presence with open arms.”
“Carson and Mama, perhaps,” Mary said.
“Along with your grandmother,” Isobel added. “Sybil, Anna, and your father.”
Mary’s eyes shot up, her heart leaping uncomfortably into her throat.
“Granny, Sybil and Anna I can believe,” she returned. “But not Papa.”
She felt so very young again, fighting down the familial shame now stinging her cheeks.
“I don’t know if he can ever forgive me,” she continued, her fingers plucking at her dress. “Perhaps if he had only to accept what happened between Matthew and me, but that along with my past with Kamal Pamuk.”
Isobel shot a quick glance at Dr. Meadows, the older man’s hands raising at once in a calming gesture.
“Dr. Meadows is aware of everything that has transpired,” Matthew hastily explained.
“And Mr. and Mrs. Crawley have my full support, I assure you,” Dr. Meadows interjected. “As well as my absolute discretion. Believe me, Mrs. Crawley, I am the very last person in the world who believes that a woman’s past should ever be held against her, nor a man’s for that matter.”
Mary smiled, her chest expanding at the freedom the older man’s words afforded.
“I knew I liked you for a reason,” Isobel said, eliciting a smile from the good doctor that actually verged on a blush. “But Mary, your father loves you. Your past has done nothing to alter that fact.”
“Nor does my present seem to be able to assuage his disappointment,” Mary observed, her ribs contracting yet again. “Regardless of the progress Matthew and I have made, I shall always be the fallen daughtern his eyes, the one with a patched up marriage and an illegitimate son.”
Matthew squeezed her hand then, and she held it, needing it, absorbing it into the core of her being.
“I see no illegitimate children here,” Dr. Meadows stated, waving at Christopher with a smile. “Unless by illegitimate you mean unconditionally loved and accepted.”
“I wish everyone shared your perspective,” Mary stated, her shoulders feeling heavier by the second..
“Sadly, not everyone enjoys the advantage of beginning life being labeled for something over which you have no control,” Dr. Meadows stated.
“Advantage,” Matthew echoed, shaking his head. “I know of no other person who would claim being born out of wedlock as an advantage.”
“It colors every element of one’s outlook, Mr. Crawley,” Dr. Meadows explained. “It reminds you that we human beings are a flawed lot, and that moral superiority is all too often a mask of the most brittle sort.”
“Don’t I know it,” Matthew stated, giving Mary’s hand a squeeze.
“We all must live with the choices we’ve made,” Mary added. “But we don’t have to let them define us.”
“Wise words, indeed,” Isobel stated, locking eyes with Mary once more.
“They’re far easier to embrace here than at Downton,” Mary continued. “I’m not entirely certain I’m strong enough to live them yet under the barrage of proverbial stones and scarlet letters. And with Matthew’s recent progress, I do not want anything to hinder our happiness this Christmas. Surely you can understand that.”
Isobel eyed her directly, nodding in affirmation.
“Yes,” the older woman replied. “I can, and I respect your decision, Mary. I do hope, however, that the two of you will allow me to spend the holidays here with you and my grandson.”
Warmth spread across Mary’s chest, allowing her to breathe in fully.
“We were hoping you would want to stay,” Matthew said. “It would mean the world to us, actually.”
“Yes,” Mary put in. “You’ve been missed, Isobel.”
The women’s eyes locked again, reestablishing a bond forged through weeks of hardship and new life shared.
“Then I shall stay,” Isobel stated, her voice thicker than it had been. “Dr. Meadows, would you and your sister like to join us for Christmas Dinner? You would be most welcome.”
Matthew coughed as Mary shot him a warning look.
“We’d be delighted,” Dr. Meadows replied. “I can speak for Felicity as it will save her from cooking, and that will make her Christmas happy, indeed. That is, if it is alright with Mr.and Mrs. Crawley.”
“I won’t be cooking Christmas Dinner,” Mary said with a shrug. “That’s Mrs. Jacobs purview.”
“Then I shall put in a request for her Christmas Pudding,” Dr. Meadows said. “It is legendary in these parts.”
“It would seem to be all settled, then,” Matthew stated. His right foot twitched then, catching Mary’s attention and lighting up her insides more brilliantly than any Christmas tree. A collective gasp filled the room, broken only by Christopher’s gurgling and the ticking of the ancient grandfather clock.
Yes, Mary thought. It was shaping up to be a Happy Christmas indeed.
