The last time he had been at this station was the morning he found out Kemal had died and left Downton Abbey. He had asked Mary for a walk in the gardens, so that he could tell her how he felt and ask her if she would consider courting him, but she had turned him down. Her rejection was polite, but it was clearly rejection, and it stung like nothing he had felt before that moment.

Evelyn sighed and cleared the thought from his mind. He was not here for round two of heartbreak. He only wished to speak with her, as they did in the old days, before he complicated things with a spontaneous declaration of love and subsequent proposal.

He had asked her to meet him in the village that afternoon, and was prepared to walk the small distance from the station to the corner cafe they had agreed to meet at, but as he stepped out onto the platform, he saw her waiting for him. He stood there, khaki fedora in hand, stupefied until their eyes met. She wore red-just as she did that last dinner party he had attended at her house before the war-and he realized not for the first time how becoming it looked on her. He smiled and donned his hat, approaching her and touching his brim.

"I didn't know you'd be waiting here," he said with a bright grin. She really did look stunning. She always did, he knew, but...no there was no way she had or would have dressed any differently for him. He belayed the thought before it could even take root.

She smiled at him then-her smiles were so rare, but golden. He treasured each and every smile she had given him, and the only thing he had prayed for in the trenches was to see her smile again. "You'd think me rude if I didn't. Besides, one always picks up one's guests at the train station."

Evelyn's head tilted in confusion. "Lady Mary, I didn't mean to impose...I only wished to walk with you; I wouldn't wish to prevail upon your hospital-"

She held up a hand to interrupt him. "You wouldn't be. I hardly think accepting an invitation to luncheon to be an imposition. Will you accept?"

He was surprised at this-the whole reason he had arranged an informal meeting was so that she and her family would not be under the impression that he wanted to pursue her. Of course...he did want to, but he did not see what good it would do-and it was obvious that she was not ready to move on. When or rather if she was, he would be waiting, if she would even have him. "Of course. It's kind of you-and your parents-thank you."

"Thank you for gracing us with your presence again after all these years. I know you told me what you've been doing since the war, but how have you been? Really?" Mary asked him as they started for the car.

"Alright, I suppose." Evelyn answered with a soft shrug, unsure what to make of the question. He figured it was polite concern but then there was that twinge of worry in her tone that nagged him.

"Your leg healed, I see." she commented with a pleasant smile, which was of course infectious to him. "You must be very glad."

"I am. It took a while but I think the time away in America did me a world of good." When the words left his mouth, he realized that he wasn't talking about his leg, not really. And it was a pitiful lie-it had done him no good at all because he loved her as much as he did the day he left Downton in 1917. "And you? How are you, really?"

"Fine...I'm fine as I can be. George keeps me busy." she replied in a voice he recognized as her trying to put on a brave front, but he could hear or sense the vulnerability beneath it. He watched her enter the car as the chauffeur opened the door and sat down in the back seat beside her, trying to ignore how close they were sitting.

He was silent for a few moments and then on impulse asked, "Is Sir Charles an acquaintance of yours?"

Mary looked surprised by the sudden question, and he began to regret it, feeling like a foolish schoolboy at Eton again, but she did not appear to be put off by it. "No. That is, Papa introduced him at the party, but I don't know him well enough to call him an acquaintance, really. Why do you ask?"

Evelyn felt inexplicable and irrational relief coursing through him, but tried to appear nonchalant. "No particular reason. I was just wondering-I've seen him at White's a couple of times."

"I take it that he is a gambler? You said something about Monte Carlo." Mary inquired, arching an eyebrow. She looked amused and...dare he think, grateful?

"He is. I'm sure he's a charming person..."

"Please, Lord Branksome. He was only there at Mama's request and I think we both know what she was trying to do. I should thank you, really."

Her directness and her smile arrested him, and he grinned back tentatively before looking away, finding her eyes to be more than he could bear. "It's alright, you don't have to thank me. I'd do anything for a friend." For you, he wanted to confess. I'd do anything for you alone. He raised his eyes to meet hers, which he was stunned to find had never left him. He swallowed and opened his mouth to speak, but the words never came.

"Here we are, milady."

"Thank you, Pratt." Mary's eyes lingered a little longer and he realized then that she knew. She knew that he still loved her. It was partially a relief to know that she did, but it also worried him. What did she think of him now? He truly did not come here to woo a grieving widow into marrying him; he only wanted to offer his friendship. Would she take it, now that she knew?

They left the car and Evelyn watched it drive away before glancing over at Mary.

"Why hasn't it changed?"

He blinked when she spoke, her eyes meeting his and rooting him where he stood. They were confused, demanding, and something indeterminate. "I...I think you know why." he muttered boldly, unable to look away by now.

Her eyes searched his and she turned away, the pair falling silent once again.

"Mary, you know that's not why I'm here..." he began, but she shook her head and faced him.

"Isn't it? That's the only reason I can think of that you'd be so impossibly loyal after how I've treated you in the past." Her tone was not accusatory, only puzzled.

Evelyn sighed in defeat and stared at the sky, cloudless and clear unlike his racing mind. "No, I haven't stopped, Mary. I've tried, I've struggled in vain-"

Her sudden burst of laughter shocked and then angered him. Did she think this was funny? A game? She seemed to read his mind and shook her head, smiling that damnable smile of hers that in this moment hurt and yet hypnotized him. "Austen. Not the exact quote of course, but...you remembered."

He blushed, as the quotation was unintentional, and smiled back bashfully. "Of course I did. You're very dear to me, Mary, and I know you're aware of that. I come here as a friend, not a suitor. If you don't want me here, then-"

"I do." she interrupted, her voice and eyes proving her words to be sincere. "And I am fond of you. I can't...I can't return what you feel-not now-but I do want us to be friends again. Until I'm ready, would you accept my friendship?" The hopeful, almost shy look on her face did him in, along with the suggestion that one day she might be able to love him.

His eyes had widened at this and he was dumbstruck. "Of course. I'll always be here...and I'd wait forever if you asked, because I am yours." he stated firmly, his eyes gazing into hers lovingly.

She smiled at this and looked down before gazing up at him again. "I may be stubborn but I doubt it will take that long, Evelyn, honestly." she teased.

He smiled back at her comment and then an idea occurred to him. "Would you be willing to take a walk with me? In the gardens?"

His request was modest and he doubted that she would remember the first time he had made it. Her eyebrows were indeed furrowed in confusion at his meaningful gaze, but then recognition flooded across her face. "I would love to." she accepted with a warm smile. In spite of his efforts not to appear too excited over something as simple and unassuming as a walk, Evelyn grinned. Yes, he would wait-as he had for ten years for the walk-but for now he was more content than he had been in years.