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November 1916

His valise stood open on the bed. Efficiently, having had all too much practice at picking up and leaving, Bates folded clothes and laid them inside. That was the easy part. Harder would be the other possessions he had acquired during his stay here in this comfortable room at the top of Downton Abbey.

Two hours ago, this task would have been impossible. Each item put away would have brought him to tears. But now the worst was over—he had spoken to Lord Grantham, to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes … to Anna. He had made the break as cleanly and sharply as he could; he had willingly cost himself the respect and affection of those he had come to regard as family to preserve their happiness. With the decision made and the difficult conversations behind him, he felt calm and able to look ahead to his future. It was bleak enough. But it was bleak by his own decision, and he wouldn't have to see the Granthams—and Anna—dragged through the mud because of his poor choice of a wife.

He took a stack of handkerchiefs from a drawer. Anna had monogrammed them for him two Christmases ago. Bates couldn't help but smile remembering how she had teased him trying to find out his middle name to complete the set of initials. So all the handkerchiefs had a big space between the J and the B, so she could add the initial if he ever told her what it was. Now those spaces would stay blank forever.

Probably he shouldn't even bring them. Vera would know where they came from, and she would give him no peace until he got rid of them. The same was probably true of the volume of Shelley Anna had given him, and of the worn bookmark embroidered with tulips that he had kept all this time. He stood for a moment, indecisive, then put the bookmark into the book, and the book into the valise on top of the handkerchiefs. Vera could command him to leave Downton and put this life behind him, but she could not control his heart. And if she thought they would be having a real marriage after this, she was badly mistaken. He couldn't imagine touching her again, not for any reason … not even if Anna had never brightened his life the way she had. What he had shared with Vera died long before he confessed to her crime—and his time incarcerated had paid much of the debt he owed her. There was nothing left between them but a legal tie he saw no way to get out of and the blackmail she had chosen to use.

What could have happened with Pamuk? Had he been with Lady Mary before he died? Where did Anna come into the story? He would never know those answers now. Not that it was important that he did, but he admitted to being curious about it.

He kept thinking of Anna. Was it possible to go five minutes without thinking of her? It hadn't been, not for a long time … and Bates wasn't certain it ever would be again. And now, now that he had paused in the busy work he had been using to keep the memory at bay, he saw her face again, her chin quivering as she tried so hard to hold back her tears. If she had known how very much he had wanted to take her in his arms right then, to make foolish promises he couldn't keep, she would never have let him go. Part of him wished she hadn't. The generosity of her offer to live in sin with him made him smile even now. He had been touched by her bravery, but he hadn't been tempted by it. He might have been happy living that way, but Anna was too upright to do so. Part of Bates wondered if he ought to have told her what Vera had threatened him with … but what good would it have done? Anna couldn't have made the truth go away, and no one could soften the impact on Lady Mary's prospects and the reputation of the entire family if it did get out.

Closing the valise, he locked it and set it near the door so it would be handy when he was ready to leave in the morning. Hopefully Vera would arrive early enough that no one else would be about, so he could slip out unnoticed. She would want him to suffer, he was sure, but she would also be concerned that the more time he spent at Downton the more likely he was to find some way to avoid or delay her threats. If only he could! Then he wouldn't have had to break Anna's heart.

The sound of her sobs as he walked away from her would haunt him as he lay alone at night. She was young, he told himself desperately. What she felt would pass; she would find someone younger and more worthy of her. In time she would forget and be happy.

Never mind that in all the time he had known her, she had never wavered in any facet of her character. Never mind that she had stood up for him and believed in him despite all evidence to the contrary, including his own confession. Never mind that he and she had been connected from the beginning, finding joy in each other's company so naturally. Never mind the sweetness of her lips when she had kissed him. Never mind the despair that filled him at the idea of her kissing someone else. Never mind that she belonged with him, to him. Despite all those things, she had to find a way to be happy … because he could not bear to live knowing she was as miserable as he was. It was hard enough to contemplate leaving here and never so much as glimpsing her again—if he thought that she truly would never find happiness, he wouldn't be able to leave.

Savagely, he wished Vera had come for him tonight. If it had to be done, he might as well have it finished as soon as possible. Before he lost his nerve and couldn't do it at all.