"I need a Thomas."
"He's busy."
"A Thomas, not your Thomas. You've an underbutler and I've no head-housemaid."
"Now?"
"I need to train a housekeeper."
"You're leaving?" He glanced toward her bosom. It wasn't that again?
"I don't plan to die in my traces like you."
He'd thought to die at Downton and haunt its halls, but lately he thought of a cottage for one, nicely cramped for two, and the hazy figure of a woman with changeable eyes and his heart cradled in her hands. "Yes." Yes to the maid, yes to the heart, yes to it all. Yes.