For a moment Tom stared at his daughter in complete amazement. Whatever he had thought or hoped she would say, he never expected her to say that.

"Sybbie," he slowly took a sip of his tea, "what makes you think your Aunt Mary and I will get married?" he tried to keep his voice even, and also not too loud in case any of the other patrons at the restaurant might hear.

"You kissed," she stated firmly, returning back to her berries.

"You saw that?" he said a little too loudly. He remembered, perhaps too late now, that Sybbie had been there with them that first time that he had kissed Mary at the picnic. He had thought she hadn't noticed, but apparently his daughter was far more observant than he'd given her credit for.

And of course, to Sybbie, a kiss meant marriage. It was the age she was still at.

Sybbie didn't seem at all fazed by his question. She shrugged it off. Tom watched his daughter in complete wonder. This was his little girl, but for the moment, all he could see was Sybil in her. He could almost hear his late wife's laugh as their daughter completely called him out on his intentions. Tom couldn't even think of anything else to say; he was touched and amused and stunned all at the same time.

Meanwhile, he noted, Sybbie was still much more occupied with her fruit and other things. She started to talk about the new furniture in the nursery and Marigold's tendency to take her dolls without asking. Tom watched her talk in amazement. Apparently his marrying her Aunt Mary was a given – she didn't seem to think there was anything to discuss. And he loved her so much for that.

For her part, Mary was having a far less agreeable morning. After she'd chased Edith away she was left by herself in the office alone with her thoughts. She didn't like to dwell on things, and yet of course her mind kept going back to Tom.

Tom had asked her to marry him. TOM! Her co-agent, her late husband's friend, her brother-in-law, and as her father had put it last night: the ex-chauffer.

And she had said no. She had to say no, she told herself. She didn't want to marry him. How could she? But he hadn't accepted it. He had said he'd wait for her to change her mind – urgh, the complete arrogance in that infuriated her!

But what in the world had possessed her to tell her parents about it? She was having far too many thoughts far too quickly. She wanted a cup of tea, and then started to feel sorry for herself that she was at the office, not the house, and for once there weren't a dozen maids and footmen buzzing around behind the scenes. If she wanted a cup of tea, she'd have to make it herself.

She looked at the small stove in the next room and briefly considered it. No, she decided, she wasn't quite that desperate. Instead she walked outside for a moment to clear her head. She needed to think of something else - anything else. The weather was much better, she observed, and the flowers would soon be - oh to hell with it, she went back inside and started pacing back and forth. She couldn't not think about Tom.

If she were completely honest with herself, she had been afraid that Tom was falling in love with her for the past couple of weeks. And she really didn't want that to happen. She had tried to distance herself from him. Yes, she'd give herself that much credit: she had tried.

And then George's accident happened.

Of course she had clung to Tom then, she reasoned, he had saved her child's life. And she was scared and vulnerable and he had been the one holding her hand. She wasn't sure she should be held accountable for her actions at that time.

Well, that's what she told herself at least.

Then Tom had proposed. She didn't want him to, she had tried to stop him, and he did it anyway.

And to make matters worse, it seemed that practically everyone knew about it! Her mother and father, Edith and Bertie, probably Isabel, Granny and Aunt Rosamund would know by tea time. She suspected that somehow Rose and Atticus would learn of this all the way in New York. And then of course her other grandmother and Uncle Harold and probably all of Rhode Island and Boston. Oh, and add to that fact the servants - God only knows how many of them would put two and two together… she shuddered.

This would never go away, she realized.

She collapsed into her chair and pictured her life several years in the future… Every suitor she would ever have would at some time or other meet Tom, and then, invariably, the story would follow. This is Tom Branson, Mary's brother-in-law, he once asked her to marry him….

She again stood up from her chair in a fit of rage. She felt so angry at Tom for putting her in this situation. It's not that she'd never had a proposal before, in fact, she'd had four prior to this: two from Matthew, one each from Lord Gillingham and Sir Richard… why did this one bother her so much?

"Mary?" the man himself appeared at the office door.

Because he's always there, she answered her own question with an inner groan.