"There's no reason to give up on a man that's right for you," he pleaded, holding her slender hands in his warm, large ones.
Here it was, the opportunity she had been waiting for. "Come on Mary, tell him. You know he feels the same way," she silently implored herself. Looking intently into his deep brown eyes, her mouth opened, yet no words came out. Suddenly the tears began to flow.
Disengaging herself from his grasp and everything that felt right, she retreated and called out, "You just wouldn't understand Tom!"
Tom stood stunned at the foot of the decadent staircase. He had overheard Mary's conversation with Henry Talbot. The match made sense, the two were alike in many ways and he clearly adored Mary. Hard as it was for Tom, he openly encouraged the match. In some sense, he was putting everything that he had wanted to put into a romance with Mary into helping Henry to win her over.
One evening, as the men were about to rejoin the ladies in the drawing room, Henry had taken Tom aside and begged for his assistance. "She's just marvellous Tom," he'd said. Tom assured him that he did not need to be told.
"You see, I need your help. I know she's wary of relationships. Besides, I doubt there's a man living that knows Mary better than you do."
This had made Tom think, and think intently. Was that statement true? Surely Robert knew Mary best? Or perhaps Carson? Night after night, Tom lay awake for hours trying to make sense of it all. He supposed that he knew a different Mary to anyone else, in a way perhaps only Matthew had, or Sybil. The Mary he knew today was greatly altered. Long gone was the haughty twenty year old beauty who demanded he bring her to York at a moments notice. In her place was an equally beautiful woman, who had survived unimaginable tragedy to come out on top as a savvy businesswoman and loving mother. This woman also showed the former chauffeur another side of herself. This Mary laughed and joked with him over brandy late into the night. She challenged him, teased him, worked as hard, if not harder than him on estate matters. The new Mary shared her secrets and fears with him and was grateful for his unyielding support through her grief and heartbreak. So yes, he supposed that he did know Mary best. She was his best friend, his confidante and he loved her.
"I love her?" Tom whispered to himself in the dimly lit hallway. Climbing the stairs hurriedly, taking two steps at a time, he said again, in a shaky yet sure voice, "I love her!"
Reaching the door that lead into her bedroom at Painswick House, he paused to compose himself before tapping his knuckles against the solid oak door.
It's Anna who answers, opening the door a fraction and smiling at him as she called to Mary, informing her tearful lady of her visitor.
"Thank you, Anna, that will be all." Mary answered from her vanity, dabbing her tear stained cheeks.
With an nod, the faithful servant allowed Tom to pass before taking he leave.
They were alone once more.
"I want to know what I don't understand Mary," he huskily said to her back. She began to remove her necklace, determined to ignore him.
"Mary, tell me,"
She lay the pearls on the vanity and began to remove an earring.
"You're just going to ignore me?" He asked, trying to dull the combination of nerves and anger rising within him.
The second earring was now given its turn.
"Fine! I'll guess then. Or rather I'll tell you what you don't understand. Mary, you don't understand your feelings for me," he paused, nervously. "But that's okay, because I don't understand mine for you either!"
Finally she had turned around and he could look into her eyes. She was still crying.
"Tom," she stopped, the words still would not come out.
"What is it Mary? Please tell me," he moved closer and knelt at her knees, taking her hands in his once more.
"I love, I love," shaking her head, tears streaming down her face, "I love you." She whispered.
A grin spread across his handsome face as relief washed over them both.
He placed his warm hand on her cold pale cheek, then kissed her slowly. Mary's tears had stopped.
"God Mary, I love you too," he beamed as they broke away for air, before hastily embracing, their ardour increasing by the second.
"Promise me one thing." She whispered as she lead him to the bed.
"Anything mo chroí," he replied.
"Don't ever leave me,"
"I won't. Nothing will ever tear me away from you Mary. I am yours,"
Loosening his bowtie, Mary's thoughts were, for the first time in four years, entirely focused on a man other than Matthew.
Whoever said second loves were second best was kidding themselves.
They're equal in her eyes at least.