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“It’s not too late to claim a work emergency and turn back,” said Richard. His frown lines deepened as the Abbey came into view.
“Oh, Darling, don’t start this again,” Mary said wearily. “It’s only a few days.”
“A few days of foolish games, cooing over the baby, and listening to the sister you hate go on about her silly little Mr Gregson. Really, Mary, why do you even want to go?”
“Why? They’re my family, Richard, don’t be so tiresome,” she snapped.
A partial truth, like everything in their world of false smiles and money slipped beneath resplendent tables. The person she really missed was the one they were all expecting her to avoid. The one she’d never meant to fall in love with. The one she wished she could forget.
Lavinia had consumed Mary entirely from the first moment their eyes met across the crowded room as the concert went on around them. Music played, wars were waged, and through it all, Lavinia Swire’s eyes haunted her dreams.
God only knew what that gorgeous face of hers would do to Mary when she saw it once more.
Dinner was as much of a trial as she’d expected.
“Lavinia’s been doing a marvellous job,” said Cousin Isobel, with just a hint of superiority. Mary knew she’d never quite forgiven her for snubbing Matthew. “She’s been such a help to Cousin Cora, and I hear they all simply adored her up at Duneagle.”
Lavinia flushed and ducked her head. Mary felt a mad urge to reach out and twine her fingers through the silky ginger hair.
“Isobel’s exaggerating horribly,” Lavinia said. “I made an awful muddle of things at first.”
“Nonsense, darling,” Matthew said. “Rose could barely stand to be apart from you, and Lady Shackleton’s being singing your praises to Cousin Violet.”
He squeezed Lavinia’s hand, and they shared a little smile. Wishful thinking, no doubt, but Mary thought Lavinia’s looked a shade away from genuine.
I can barely stand to be apart from you.
The old thorns of bitterness ensnared her heart, squeezing the tender thoughts out of it.
They’d loved sweet little Lavinia at Duneagle, had they? She’d probably spent the days chatting with Rose, charming Shrimpie, and maybe even thawing Susan’s icy heart. Probably hadn’t thought of Mary once.
Not that it mattered to Mary, of course. It wasn’t as if she’d spent sleepless nights writing and rewriting letters, only to burn them when dawn came. She hadn’t left parties early after allowing her heart to soar and crash back down to earth when she caught a flash of ginger hair out of the corner of her eye.
Mary had never been as foolish as that .
Matthew had won it all in the end.
She clutched her glass so hard it almost snapped, and threw Isobel a false little smile.
“Of course they adored her,” she said. “Who wouldn’t love our Lavinia?”
Edith rolled her eyes, but the others exchanged relieved smiles. Lavinia frowned, her eyes caught on Mary’s for just a moment, but Mary knew she saw right through her.
She could always do that to Mary, strip away her masks with a look, tear down her defences with a word. Rip away her clothes with soft hands and lips full of promises.
Mary stared at the table cloth
“What have you been up to, Mary?” Lavinia asked after a pause. . “Edith never seems to bring back news of you from London.”
“Well, you can never count on our sisterly bond,” Mary said, in a tone of feigned disinterest. “The best way to keep in touch is always a letter.”
Lavinia’s lips pressed into a thin line and looked away. Mary felt a spike of vindictive pleasure at the low blow. The last real letters they’d exchanged had been cruel ones, and even now the words sprung free of the place where Mary had locked them away in the depths of her mind to sink their fangs into her heart.
Matthew glanced between them with a furrowed brow, but he’d find nothing. Mary and Lavinia mastered the art of lying to the poor fool long ago.
Mary wished she’d listened when Richard had told her it wasn’t too late to turn back.
Lavinia caught her in the corridor, wrapped in the same dressing gown Mary had pulled off her on their last night together.
It was a deep, dark blue, the same colour as both their hearts had been when Mary had run half-dressed from Lavinia’s chamber.
The only words they’d exchanged after that had been cold and short. As if their words were blades tearing at the walls between them.
They stared at each other in the dim light, both hardly daring to breathe. Lavinia, quiet, timid Lavinia, was the one who broke the silence.
“Why did you say that?” she said. “About the letters, I mean.”
Mary turned red.
“I don’t know,” she muttered.
“Yes you do,” Lavinia snapped. “And so do I, actually. You’re Mary bloody Crawley - sorry, Carlisle - you did it because you’re miserable and you wanted me to feel the same.”
If it had been anyone else, Mary would have turned her back in a fit of cold indignation. Leaving Lavinia behind had broken her heart once before, though, and she wasn’t sure she could stand to do it again.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I was just so jealous.” Stupid girl. Why did you say that?
Lavinia stared at her for what felt like forever. Someone less adept at self-containment than Mary would’ve broken down and told Lavinia everything, smothered her with apologies and begged for forgiveness.
Mary remained silent.
Lavinia turned away.
The sight of her retreating back was too much, “I missed you,” she whispered, just before Lavinia turned the corner out of her life.
The other woman did not reply.
They met again in the library the following afternoon, and Mary tried to duck away with a polite smile.
Instead, Lavinia said, “Wait. We need to talk… about everything.”
“What for?” Mary asked hollowly. “Isn’t it better for everyone if we forget we were ever more than friends?”
“Forget the best months of my life?” Lavinia’s voice was painfully tender. “I couldn’t, Mary, even if I wanted to. And I know you couldn’t either.”
“What on earth makes you say that?” Mary asked, failing to keep her voice from trembling.
“ ‘I miss you’ doesn’t sound like a goodbye to me.”
The words should have been light, but a shadow dragged them down. They would say goodbye in mere days, whether they wanted to or not.
Lavinia took a step towards Mary. God, they were so bloody close, it would be so easy, so lovely to reach out and embrace her and forget they’d ever been parted.
“It has to be goodbye,” Mary choked out. “I couldn’t stand it - getting close to you again only to leave you behind once more. What would be the point of more heartbreak?”
“The point? The point is that I love you, Mary. God knows I wish I didn’t, but I do, and maybe I always will.” The uncertainty in Lavinia’s eyes faded as she bared her heart. She had always been the stronger of the pair. “You’ll leave, of course,” she continued. “And I won’t huddle in my room in a state of perpetual misery. I’d hardly dared to believe you could still care for me, but you do, and I want to love you as much as I can.”
How long had it been since someone had spoken to Mary with such unrestrained feeling? Certainly she’s never heard it from Richard. It warms her, rekindling the flickering embers in her cold heart. Not even Matthew could touch her so deeply as Lavinia.
“It won’t be easy,” Mary said at last.
“It will be worth it,” she spoke with such conviction, with such hope shimmering in her eyes, and Mary felt her walls collapsing inwards.
“Even after everything?” she asked desperately. “Everything I said? Everything I did? All my thoughtlessness?”
“Does it matter now?” Lavinia asked. “Things will never be as they were then, but we can make something new.”
She was so, so close, and Mary realised that it didn’t matter at all. Only Lavinia mattered in this haunted place.
Lavinia extended her arm, reaching out across a chasm made by a year spent apart, by cruel words thrown on wedding days, and short letters that said The weather really was lovely here today, followed by ink stains over blotted out words that haunted Mary’s nights.
What would she have said? Lovely like you. Would’ve been lovelier with you. Even lovelier without you. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. I don’t care about the weather or the papers or any of them. Come up to London my darling and we’ll run away like mad women and damn the consequences forget Matthew forget Richard i love you i love you i love you.
Lies, of course, like most things that spilled from Mary’s mouth or pen.
She did care what the others thought. She liked the comfortable ease of living as Richard’s wife, and even enjoyed his company when he wasn’t too glued to his papers to provide it. However much she loved Lavinia, she had neither the courage nor the will to throw it all away for her.
Lavinia knew that. And yet here she was, ever the peacemaker, offering up her heart to Mary for whatever snatches of time they could steal away from the greedy jaws of the cursed real world.
Mary twined her fingers through Lavinia’s, and for that moment, it was enough.