Mary stares at Matthew, wondering what on earth he can be about.

First of all, he's standing in her bedroom, a place no good man of breeding should be, although the very reason she's situated in his house in the first place is because a very different man entered her bedroom uninvited a few months prior. She finds she can't mind Matthew's intrusion at the moment, however, not when he's brought along a cool cloth to ease her discomfort.

It's then she realizes just how ragged her appearance must be.

But she doesn't ask him to leave, not because she relishes his company, but because of the words he's just uttered, words she can't quite wrap her mind around, words still dangling in front of her like a ball of yarn rolling past a cat.

Perhaps I can do something for your future.

"What on earth do you think you can do for my future?"

The question slides out of her mouth, taking on the bitter bite of the bile she's just wretched out of her body.

"May I ask you a question before I tell you?"

He doesn't wince at her sharpness, a fact that both infuriates and soothes her.

"No one's stopping you," she replies, settling back into her pillow to keep the room from spinning about. He smiles at her then, that lopsided, dopey sort of smile that has the unfortunate side-effect of making her actually like the man.

"I suppose that's true," he rebuffs, his good nature remaining as intact as his suit. "But I would never want to be accused of pushing in."

She laughs at this, a mirthless, pathetic sort of chuckle that burns a throat still raw from vomit.

"As if I haven't pushed in on you and your mother," she fires back, noting her aim has gone astray. "As if Kemal Pamuk…"

The words catch halfway out of her mouth, willing to tell a story she's kept hidden in deep places. She looks back at Matthew, fighting back the urge to bury herself under the bed quilts, forcing herself to meet his gaze head-on.

"What is it?"

His tone is tender, his eyes too soft, and she swallows down relentless fear as she adjusts the cloth of her forehead.

"Nothing," she replies, seeing something akin to recognition take root in his brow. "Nothing of consequence, that is."

He's unconvinced, but she hardly cares as a small swell of nausea washes over her like a rogue wave on an outgoing tide. But his next words are too close, too insistent, too close to a truth that still stings in its raw form.

"This Kemal Pumuk," he begins, watching her carefully. "Did he push his way into your bedroom?"

A dull ache turns into a throb just over her eye sockets, and she removes the cloth and relocates it around the back of her neck, breathing in as deeply as she can.

"I didn't invite him in, if that's what you mean."

She watches his face constrict with her words, making her feel the need to withdraw from everyone and everything into a realm of blacks and grays.

"Dear God," he mutters, rubbing his hand over his face. His eyes find her then, and she flinches, unable to accept anyone's pity, unwilling to see his.

"I don't want to discuss him anymore," she states, making herself sit taller than what is comfortable. "Besides, I believe you are the one who had something to discuss with me."

He studies her a moment more before before setting his jaw and leaning forward. Something is on his mind, there is no question of that.

"What are your plans for your future?"

Her eyes round as her mind freezes in place.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what are you planning to do after you've given birth?" Matthew clarifies. "Are you planning to give your child up for adoption, or will you attempt to raise him or her on your own?"

Her mouth falls open, her eyes trying to blink her cousin back into focus.

"Do you know me at all?" Her words a dull, their only edges meant to inflict pain solely on herself. "I am still in bed at an hour many would consider to be ungodly late. I'm selfish and vain and have even been referred to as heartless by members of my own family. What in God's name makes you think I would even consider trying to raise a child born out of wedlock on my own?"

Her tirade exhausts her, and she closes her eyes momentarily, wondering if he'll simply leave her before she opens them again. But there are no footfalls, no sounds of anything but birdsong from outside her window, and when she does open her eyes again, Matthew is still there.

"I wouldn't do well as a societal outcast," she insists. "I'm afraid the opinions of others matter far too much to me."

He smiles then and shakes his head.

"I doubt that very much." Her stare doesn't faze him, her open ire merely drawing him closer to her side. "The Mary I am coming to know is brave, irreverent, and doesn't give a wit about other people's opinions, especially mine."

Hot tears threaten, and she blinks them back, unwilling to show any more signs of weakness when he already has her at a disadvantage.

"That used to be who I was," she mutters. "But I cannot afford such luxuries anymore." Her past life dances through her mind as one hand settles on her stomach, the small mound now too pronounced to ignore. "There is no choice in this matter, Matthew. I have to give up this child, for his sake as well as my own."

The words slip out unbidden, and she wishes she could take them back as they are far too revealing. But they're out now, hovering between her and this distant cousin who unsettles her far too much for her own good.

"What if you didn't?"

Her eyes meet his, and she shakes her head.

"There are no what if's anymore," she rebuts. "Those disappeared the moment I realized that I was with child."

"Not necessarily."

"Stop living in a dreamworld, Cousin Matthew," she fires back. "Either I find a suitable home and family for this baby and return to my life at Downton, or I keep the child and both of us live in disgrace. What would you choose?"

She's breathing harder, her body now rigid, the cool cloth having fallen forgotten to the floor.

"I would choose to marry," he replies, his tone so soft she can barely make it out. "And to keep and raise my child."

Her laugh is biting.

"Men have that option," she states. "Whereas we women do not." She breathes in deeply, feeling hotter than she had only moments prior. "Just whom do you propose I marry, Cousin Matthew? What man do you know who would be willing to marry a fallen women and claim and raise the baby of a dead Turkish diplomat as his own?"

The birdsong seems out of place in the muffled silence surrounding them. Then he looks at her, his eyes too soft, his expression too sincere, his everything too much to be believed. But he says it just the same, one word that tosses her a lifeline in a sea of condemnation, one word she cannot fathom in the quagmire of her life.

"Me."