There were voices. Too many voices; too loud. They pounded within Mary's skull, each resonating at clashing frequencies which made her head spin.

Where was she?

Mary strained her ears to listen, before realising it was her brain preventing her from understanding the words they spoke. She could not see them, either - could not see anything, in fact, for her eyes did not seem to be working.

A burst of panic erupted within her as she realised that her brain was filled with a swirling fog. Casting her mind back, she drew nothing but a decided blank, which only served to terrify her further.

Where was she?

The most sensible option, Mary decided, would be to explore her surroundings - but aside from the fact that she could not see, her body also seemed to feel peculiarly heavy, as if she no longer had control of her limbs. Coupled with the swirling fog in her brain, Mary appeared to be in a very sorry state indeed; a thought which caused her breath to hitch as a fresh wave of panic rolled over her.

Taking a few deep, steadying breaths, Mary forced herself to try and comprehend what the voices were saying.

"... do not know what you are doing!" one of the voices was saying. Its tone was clipped, and full of frustration - and also familiar.

"You are a fool if you truly believe this to be in her best interests!" it continued, with the hissing, snake-like quality of one wishing to express anger without speaking too loudly.

"I am far better acquainted with her than you - therefore I believe I do have greater authority to speak on the matter of what is best for her," replied a second voice.

The deliciously mellow tone of the second speaker - even whilst full of barely-suppressed rage - sent a tremor throughout Mary's body. She found herself wishing more than ever that she could see, but despite further desperate attempts to force her eyes open, still she saw nothing but blackness.

"Very well; but do you consider yourself to have greater authority on the matter than a doctor?"

It was the first voice again. Mary felt an inexplicable flash of frustration towards the speaker, for he had appeared to silence the second voice - the one she so dearly wished to hear again.

How could a voice cause such strong feelings to stir within her? This sudden, fierce pull of emotion scared Mary far greater than any other aspect of her terrifying circumstances; it was completely alien, and completely overwhelming. It provoked a completely unbidden lurch deep inside her, as if her heart were about to take flight - accompanied by a sudden flood of memories, of dancing, and laughing, and swishing along luxuriously-carpeted corridors in an impossibly elegant gown.

"Sir Edmund!" Mary realised aloud, her voice a good octave lower than she had been expecting.

There was a brief pause; Mary had clearly stunned the owners of the voices into silence.

"Mary!" cried Sir Edmund, followed by a swift rustle of movement.

"No!" insisted the other voice. "You - must - not - disturb - her!"

"We were not to disturb her until she awoke," replied Sir Edmund. "She is awoken now, so I must have this opportunity to speak with her. There are matters to be discussed which simply cannot wait, Godwin - I would not behave so irrationally were it not of the utmost urgency and importance."

"Very well," conceded Mr Godwin with a sigh.

Mary wondered at Mr Godwin's attempts to prevent Sir Edmund from speaking with her. Mr Godwin could usually be counted upon to be reasonable and level-headed; why, then, would he be reluctant to grant Sir Edmund the opportunity to speak with Mary, when it was clearly of such great importance to him?

In one horrible, heart-wrenching moment, it all came flooding back.

Not in a slow trickle, or a steady stream of consciousness; but rather with the force of a tidal wave, jolting Mary's eyes wide open as she lurched upright, palms clammy and heart beating frantically.

"No," she murmured, fighting back the flow of memories currently assailing her relentlessly. "No, no, no!"

Suddenly she was back at the fountain in the gardens of Alverton Hall, watching helplessly as the man she loved turned his back on her and strode away, unable to overcome her great betrayal of him.

Yet he was here, before her - in what she recognised to be her old guest bedchamber at Alverton Hall...

Unless she was hallucinating, which at present seemed the far more plausible possibility.

Whilst Mary's mind was busy meandering down this topsy-turvy path, the dream-Sir Edmund had crossed the room to kneel beside her, attempting to capture her gaze.

Turning to face him, Mary suppressed a gasp - there was no chance she was capable of imagining the earnest, yet tortured expression on his face in such great detail. Somehow, despite their incredibly painful last conversation, he had returned.

"Is it your head?" he enquired softly, clearly mistaking Mary's painful memories for a physical ailment. "Does it trouble you? Shall I send for the doctor?"

Mary began to shake her head, but with a terrible twinge of agony she decided perhaps it would be best to remain still.

"No, I shall be comfortable as long as I remain still, like so," she replied, unwilling to allow Sir Edmund out of her sight in case he never returned.

Sir Edmund turned to face Mr Godwin, who was still hovering at the doorway.

"I shall leave you be," he conceded, with a reluctant sight. "Be sure to alert Sir Edmund immediately, Mary, should you feel any excessive pain."

"Yes, Mr Godwin," replied Mary absently.

Mr Godwin clearly thought ill of his decision; nevertheless, he promptly left the room, the decided snap of the door as it shut behind him highlighting the terrifying fact that Mary was now completely alone with the man she loved.

There was a lengthy pause, during which each of them appeared to ponder how best to open the conversation after the dreadful conclusion of their last. Mary, having no idea of Sir Edmund's intentions, elected to remain silent until he had spoken - but she was forced to endure a seemingly endless wait whilst he gathered his thoughts.

"I am so very sorry for my hasty departure during our conversation at the fountain earlier," he said eventually.

"I - I must apologise also, for becoming so vexed," replied Mary, refusing to meet Sir Edmund's gaze. Whilst she remained uncertain about the direction this conversation was heading, it was wisest to remain guarded - no matter how desperately she wanted to ask Sir Edmund what had prompted his decision to return.

"I had all but reached Chester when I realised what an utter fool I had been," Sir Edmund informed her, voice laced with self-deprecation. "There was so much still unsaid between us; I knew I had to return immediately. Never did it occur to me that my return might almost have been too late to..."

Sir Edmund's voice cracked, the sound finally drawing Mary's gaze to his face. His face was ghostly-white, his blond hair tousled beyond any semblance of a style. Mary noted the lines of worry creasing his forehead, realising that his gaze rested upon her own temple - towards which she reached out and touched, confused as her hand met with a thick layer of bandaging.

"What happened to me?" she asked, terror clutching once again at her windpipe as she attempted to dredge up memories, finding only pools of blackness. "I recall our conversation in the grounds, but nothing further. How did I come to be in my old bedchamber?"

Sir Edmund frowned, as if wondering whether he wished to disclose the truth.

"Do not trifle with me as if I were some delicate lady," said Mary impatiently. "We both know that not to be the case."

It did not take long for Sir Edmund to understand the meaning of her words.

"Mary," he began, a sense of urgency to his tone. "With regards to - what was said between us - I must beg you believe me when I say that you misunderstood my words."

Mary remained impassive; determinedly refusing to betray the violent thudding of her heart. She kept silent - not trusting herself to speak - and so Sir Edmund was forced to continue.

"You believe that I no longer wish to be acquainted with you, now that I know you not to be Miss Thorpe," he said. It was a statement rather than a question, and so Mary simply nodded.

"It is not the case."

Mary's head snapped up despite herself.

"It is not?"

"No - quite the contrary, in fact. Oh, Mary, do you not see? Discovering that you were not Miss Thorpe did not in any way lessen my love for you - I was vexed only as I realised how greatly it would alter society's view of a potential union between us."

She had misheard; misunderstood. His words could not be correct. She was a maid - he would never...

"I thought..." she began meekly, hardly knowing what she was trying to say.

"I understand now what you thought," Sir Edmund told her, reaching forwards to brush her bruised face with the gentlest of touches which sent a tingle scurrying down her spine.

"You thought I would no longer wish to be associated with you, for you have far too little regard for your own worth. The person I became acquainted with during the winter is the one I fell in love with - and that person is you, Mary Preston. My frustration was only partly due to the sense of betrayal I felt - much of it was the frustration that society dictated I must now terminate our acquaintance, which I had no desire to do."

Mary found herself blushing at this open display of his warm regard for her; melting in the fierce blaze of affection in Sir Edmund's eyes. So many hours spent hoping and dreaming, but never truly believing - not until now.

"It was this I struggled with as I rode away from Alverton Hall earlier today," continued Sir Edmund. "Were it only myself the decision affected, I would propose marriage this very instant - but it is of you I am concerned, for it would be you facing the wrath and ridicule of the people I am forced to associate with. I cannot ask you to endure such a fate simply because I desire to make you my wife, and so I must ask you, first, whether this is something you believe yourself equal to.

"Please do not think that I doubt your strength - truly, you are the strongest person I have ever met - I ask more out of guilt, for I despise that my title must place this dreadful obstacle in the way of our love."

Mary's face was so flushed that she was positive it now identically matched the shade of her hair. Such beautiful, elegant words of love had never been spoken to her - certainly not by such an esteemed man - and she felt quite unequal to making a reply.

"It matters not to me what they think or say," Mary found herself saying. "I neither respect nor revere the people of society I became acquainted with last winter, and so I care not what they think of me in return."

"I am so glad to hear you say so," replied Sir Edmund delightedly. "For nothing would give me a greater sense of pride than to have such a remarkable woman by my side as my wife."

Mary's first instinct was to deny Sir Edmund's words; to convince him that she was not remarkable at all, instead rather loud, clumsy and often over-zealous.

But as she regarded the hopeful glow in Sir Edmund's eyes, Mary decided just this once to let her feelings guide the way instead of pausing to analyse each and every potential response.

"I would love to become your wife," said Mary, half-laughing as her merriment spilled over into her speech. "If you are certain you wish to neglect social convention in such a dramatic fashion?"

Sir Edmund's reply was to softly press his lips against her own, sealing the proposal with a heartfelt kiss of affection which set Mary's insides fizzing. She had lost count of the times she had imagined the sensation of kissing him - thinking then, of course, that her imaginings could never come to fruition - but to her utter delight, she found the reality far surpassed anything she could have dreamt. The sense of union; of oneness with another human being; was the most beautiful experience Mary had ever encountered.

Were that moment to have lasted forever, Mary would have been perfectly content - but alas, they were disturbed far too soon by a disgruntled voice in the corridor.

"I expressly asked to be informed the moment there was news!" Lady Helena was saying.

Mary's eyes met Sir Edmund's, finding them to be dancing with amusement just like her own. Although slightly frustrating, neither minded Lady Helena's interruption too much - after all, they were to have a lifetime's worth kisses ahead.

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A/N: Well, there we go! Mary and Sir Edmund, together at last <3 <3 <3

I've been so excited to write this scene pretty much since first coming up with the idea for this novel, and now it has finally made its journey out of my head and onto the page :D I'd love to here what you thought, so please let me know with a comment or vote.

Join me at the weekend for the penultimate chapter!