A/N: Thank you so much for your kind reviews and patience! My conference went well and I'm glad to be back to this story!

Happy Easter to those who celebrate!

The Lady in Black

Chapter Six

"What do you mean you'll be busy then? Milton wants to go over things this week!"

"And we shall," said Mary, remaining composed. They were the first two down for dinner, waiting for everyone else to show up. "But I have some errands I need to run in Ripon that day."

"Well, you can't go." Papa looked pleased as Punch. "That's Branson's afternoon off."

"I've already spoken with him about it," said Mary, unable to stop herself from gloating. "As it happens, he was planning on spending the afternoon there as well, so he has no qualms about driving me. Some political rally or whatnot."

"I hope you aren't attending," Papa narrowed his eyes and Mary schooled her face into a neutral expression. "It was bad enough when Sybil was going through her political phase— he might be our hero, but I won't have Branson radicalize another one of my daughters."

"Do you really think that's likely?" Mary asked, rolling her eyes. When Papa hesitated, she said, "I trust you've no further arguements— unless you object to Branson driving me out of uniform?"

Papa let out an exasperated sigh. "I just want to get all this settled," he said, refering to the meeting with Milton.

"And it will be." Then, Mary said, "We can do it tomorrow. You don't have anything going on, do you?" When Papa nodded mutely, Mary beamed. "Excellent!"

"Just what sort of errands are you running in Ripon?" Papa asked suspiciously.

"Oh, you know. This and that. I need a new hat." Papa gave her a dubious look and Mary reminded herself to actually go out and buy a new hat. She could show it off once she came home.

Any further questions Papa had were abruptly cut off by the door opening and Carson announcing the arrival of Granny and Isobel.

It was strange seeing Branson out of uniform as he pulled up to the front of the house in a tan suit. Mary didn't comment on it, merely climbing into back seat and settling herself down. "The tickets are here, milady," said Tom, handing her two slips of paper.

Mary glanced down at them. Isobel had commented on this very rally the other night at dinner, mentioning she wanted to go. Mary had been terrified until she revealed all the tickets were sold out and thankfully Isobel had already committed herself to some charity, anyway. Nevertheless, it sounded as if it was going to be a full house and Mary firmly intended upon sticking close to the one person she knew the whole time she was there.

"Maybe you shouldn't call me that... at least not at the rally." When Branson gave her an astonished look, Mary said, "They might bring out the guillotine."

Branson shook his head, but was clearly amused. "What shall I call you, then?"

"Well, I suppose Lady Mary will work well enough, if you must refer to me as anything." It maintained that sense of formality that was required, but it was also something one of her peers might call her. She resisted smirking as she said, "Should we invent some title for you?"

"I doubt we'd convince anyone."

"Well... maybe not a nobleman. Maybe someone with a knighthood. If I knew your first name—"

"It's Tom."

Tom. Mary blinked. It was ordinary name, a common one... almost as popular and commonplace as Mary. Still, she supposed it suited him in an odd way. "Sir Tom Branson, then," she said, which made him laugh before telling her he would stick to his own name.

"You're acting peculiarly today," he remarked, without any worry she might misinterpret him.

Mary shrugged, surprised by her own whimsy. "It's not every day I go to a political rally for a labor MP."

"Hopefully you'll enjoy it."

Mary wasn't confident she would. She hardly knew what to expect— it would either erupt into chaos or be dreadfully dull. "Do you consider yourself a liberal, then?"

Branson shook his head, starting up the car. "I'm still a socialist."

"Goodness me."

"You sound frightened."

"Not really. I figure if you wanted to burn our house down, you would have done so ages ago." She chewed on her bottom lip. "You've been with us a long time."

"Almost ten years now."

"And you've never thought of pursuing another path? A different sort of life?" She couldn't think tinkering around with cars and driving them around was a mentally stimulating job, especially not for a man with Branson's brain. He had already proven himself invaluable on the sheep— Milton seemed pleased by the advice he had imparted thus far and Mary was grateful to have it.

"I've thought of it."

"Why haven't you?"

Branson shook his head. "To tell you the truth, I don't know. I wish I could tell you." There was a silence as they drove down the road before he said, "It's as if I can't leave. I don't know why."

"Perhaps it's started to feel like home," offered Mary. It certainly was hers. She abhorred the idea of ever leaving it... and she wouldn't blame anyone else for feeling the same way.

Branson shook his head again. "It's not that. This is home... for now. But it's as if I'm still waiting for something before I set off."

Mary wasn't sure what he meant but she suspected Branson didn't, either. "Hopefully you'll find it before you decide to fly the nest," said Mary, ignoring the strange feeling inside her chest at the idea of Branson leaving. Despite knowing him for about ten years, he had become a sort of friend in matter of months. She supposed that if he were to leave, it would make her oddly sad.

The venue in which the speech was to be given was full by the time Branson and Mary arrived there. There were two empty seats together near the middle, next to a woman wearing a beige hat. "Well," said Branson, eying them, "that looks like our best bet."

Mary grabbed ahold of his arm, desperate not to lose him in the crowd, though she let go once they entered the empty aisle. She felt rather out of place; nearly everyone here was a man with a small percentage of the crowd actually being women, and she was undoubtedly the only upper class woman in attendance. She was beginning to think she had made a mistake. "Excuse me, but are these seats taken?" Branson asked the woman next to the empty chairs.

"The one next to me is for a friend, but the other one is free," she replied.

"Right." Branson turned to her. "You take it." Before she could protest, he said, "I can stand. It's alright. I don't mind."

"Thank you," she said to him, letting him scoot out of the way before taking the seat nearest to the aisle. She stared at the empty seat beside her and the woman next to it before fixing her gaze at the back of the head of the man in front of her. It hadn't occurred to her that she wouldn't be near Branson... Mary felt rather alone and more uncomfortable than before. She rather resented the woman; the event was set to begin in only a few minutes— if her friend was really going to come, then they should have been on time. She doubted it was a date, at any rate— she couldn't imagine anything more boring and less romantic.

Soon, the MP began speaking, which gave something for Mary to focus on instead of her own discomfort. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I'm John Ward. In a while I'll ask for questions so please remember what made you indignant when you last read a newspaper."

There was a sort of waving motion near her, and Mary turned her head to see the woman motioning towards someone. Probably her friend... "Are you trying to attract my attention ahead of the rest, madam?" Mr. Ward asked, somewhat amused.

"I just wanted him to take this chair," said the woman. Mary was somewhat surprised— perhaps this was a date after all.

"Do you know this gentleman?"

"No."

Confused, Mary turned her head to see Branson trying to maneuver his way through the crowd. Honestly! She made him go through all that trouble... and for what? Mary couldn't help but be annoyed. Clearly she needed help to make up her mind.

"You just wanted to sit next to him?" asked the MP, eliciting laughter from nearly everyone in the room aside from Mary, Branson, and the woman.

"Er, no, it was because he asked," said the woman, starting to sound as annoyed as Mary felt. She was the one who had orchestrated this whole series of events, so why was she surprised when she began drawing attention to herself?

"He asked to sit next to you? Ladies and gentlemen, we've been made privy to a very romantic story!" declared the MP, inspiring more laughter. Mary hadn't realized she had come to see a comedian perform, but thus far she was wholly unimpressed with the experience.

"I wouldn't say that, not when he's brought his wife with him," said the woman indignantly, now gesturing to Mary. Mary blinked, flushing deeply especially as more people began laughing.

"Why don't I sit down?" said Branson, not refuting the woman's assumption yet sounding highly embarrassed nonetheless by this turn of events if his pink tinged cheeks were anything to go by. He shuffled past Mary, who felt lingering eyes on her as she stood up to let Branson in.

Thankfully, Ward decided then to actually discuss the issues at hand. "Of course, the question uppermost in all of your minds is, why the split between Mr. Asquith and Mr. Lloyd George?" Branson settled down beside her and at once Mary felt more at ease. "Because a divided party spells electoral defeat. Well, can I say this?"

"It doesn't have to. He's wrong there," murmured Branson to her, looking intently ahead.

Mary was about to ask why when the woman beside them, who had evidently overheard, whispered, "But you support them?"

"Not really," Branson told her in a hushed voice, moving away from Mary. "I'm a Socialist. What happened to your friend?"

"I don't know. It just seemed silly to keep the chair empty."

"I'm glad."

"Shhh!" Someone behind them hissed, and Mary felt an immense gratitude to whomever it was. She had agreed to come to a political event, not be a third party on Branson's dates... though she felt it exceptionally poor taste for a woman to flirt with Branson so obviously when she was under the misguided assumption he was Mary's husband. She was only fortunate Branson wasn't; Mary knew if some woman had the gall to be flirtatious with Matthew when she was right there, they would come to regret it.

After that, Mary was able to concentrate on what Ward was actually saying and pleased it wasn't as dull as she had originally envisioned. Truthfully, there were many points which she agreed with him on; she didn't see a Labour government as the death sentence Papa and Granny did, though she couldn't agree on every point. Branson evidently did not, either. She wondered why he had wanted to come to an event, when it clearly did not align with his views... but then again, it was rare that a member of the socialist party came to Ripon. Perhaps this was the closest chance he would get to hear someone whose views aligned with his own.

"What did you think?" Branson asked once everything was concluded.

"I think my grandmother would be shocked and horrified by many of the things he was saying," said Mary as they stepped into the aisle, weaving through the crowds.

"I know she would," Branson said with a small laugh. "But I'm interested in knowing more about you and your views."

Mary chose her words carefully. "It may surprise you to know that I agreed with the speaker on several issues. Not all of them, I'll grant you, but some. It certainly gave me something to think about."

Branson's eyebrows shot up. "You're right. It would. I always thought you were the sort who'd lean more on the side of the conservatives."

"Just because their vision would be more beneficial to me doesn't mean I agree with them. I do have a sense of duty... and as much as I may personally dislike it, the world is changing and we must adapt with it," Mary said, amused by his astonished expression. She liked knowing that she could still shock.

"Pardon me," said a voice that was growing all too familiar. It was that woman yet again, sidling up next to her and Branson. "I just wanted to take a moment to apologize about the seat... and the jokes." For the last remark, she looked to Mary.

"That's quite alright. It's hardly as if I was going to take offense," Mary answered.

"Oh?" The woman raised her eyebrows. "So you don't mind people making jokes about your husband and me? You looked rather annoyed."

"I'm not her husband," Branson said quickly.

"Oh." For the first time since they had the misfortune of making her acquaintance, she appeared somewhat embarrassed. "I'm sorry— I just assumed... well, what with the ring and you holding his arm—"

"Well, you know what they say about people who assume things," said Mary blithely with a fake smile, growing weary of this conversation. Hopefully she could drive this woman away.

"It's fine," Branson said, contrasting her tone with friendliness. "Really. It was only a misunderstanding." Mary began wondering if perhaps Branson wasn't as opposed to this woman as she was, in spite of all the trouble she put him through. "But I'm sorry about that earlier."

"I suppose can't blame him for having a bit of fun," she replied, laughing as she did. Gone was the residual awkwardness, now replaced by an unabashed flirtation. Mary was rather astonished how quickly this woman seemed to have changed her mind... though given what little she had observed of her, it already seemed in character.

"There won't be much fun for them after the election."

"What do you care, if you're a socialist?"

"I'm not just a socialist, you know. I'm a man in search of a better world." It was perfectly succinct yet Mary rather liked it. That did sound like Branson...

"Why did you leave Ireland?"

"I had to look for work somewhere," said Branson, slipping into a far more casual air. It was a strange thing to observe, really. Here she thought they had an easy rapport with one about her, unencumbered by the social niceties she had to observe with nearly everyone else in her life. However, now she saw clearly he had been putting on an act for her sake; he was still not wholly comfortable with her yet. "But sometimes I ask myself that."

Mary didn't like feeling left out. He had tried talking to her during the speech and afterwards, and yet she was being sidelined by this perfect stranger. "I think it's time we leave," said Mary, stealing his attention before the woman could have the chance to assault him with another question.

"You're probably right," agreed Branson, luckily not put out by her breaking this up. Her turned to the woman before saying, "Thanks for the seat. Goodnight."

"Before we leave town, I need to stop and pick up a hat," Mary informed him before they had completely left the woman behind... which meant Mary watched her roll her eyes. Irritated by her, Mary linked her arm with Branson's yet again, which thankfully wasn't too suspicious considering they were entering a crowd.

"Of course," said Branson, leading her through the group of people.

After procuring a black hat that met her satisfaction, Mary joined Branson in the car yet again. "May I ask you something?" Mary asked, thinking of the speech and his obvious distaste for the ideas the MP had.

"Certainly."

Mary was about to ask why he had wanted to attend when she found herself saying, "What did you think of that woman who sat by us?"

He shrugged, starting up the car. "I didn't think of her much, really. She seemed nice."

Mary blinked. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

Mary decided not to say anything else regarding her distaste for the woman. "It seems as though someone has a crush," she said glibly.

Branson turned pink but said, "Don't be ridiculous." Her eyes widened ever so slightly, but she wasn't upset by them. It was spoken fondly, the way friends spoke to one another... in a way that she was certain would raise her father or Carson's blood pressure should they hear him speaking to her in such a manner. Perhaps he was more comfortable in her presence than she realized. "I don't know her well enough to have a crush on her. I didn't even catch her name."

"Well, perhaps the beginnings of a crush," said Mary, smiling. Truthfully, the idea of someone as decent as Branson getting involved with a presumptuous woman such as the one they had made their acquaintance with was not an appealing one to her, but she supposed their chauffeur deserved to have some fun and go on dates every now and again... she just hoped that when he did, he would choose someone more pleasant.

"If you say so," relented Branson before holding open the door for her. She climbed in, exchanging a grin with him before he closed the door behind her.

Evelyn Napier paid Mary a visit a week or so later, asking to stay for a while for some for some governmental job on figuring out which estates were set to go under. She had accepted it immediately, knowing Mama would approve as she had always liked Evelyn. His arrival came the day before Papa's surprise birthday dinner and he brought along a Mr. Charles Blake. Mary had looked forward to learning about the status of Downton and find out what not to do... that is, until she had the misfortune of meeting Mr. Blake.

"Infuriating, you say?" Branson sounded amused.

"Yes!" huffed Mary. "Condescending, patronizing... he thinks very highly of himself." She didn't miss Branson's smirk in the mirror. "Oh, do be quiet."

"I didn't say anything."

"I can hear you thinking," she said, without any real malice, for she couldn't help herself from smiling. "Now stop it at once. I command it."

"That doesn't sound condescending at all."

Mary rolled her eyes but, in truth, didn't mind his teasing.

Mary was quiet the day after Papa's birthday, unable to stop replaying the scene she had witnessed after the party over and over again. When Branson commented on this, she merely replied, "It's nothing to trouble you with."

"It's not a trouble, milady."

Mary felt somewhat gratified to hear that but remained uncertain if it really was best to tell Branson about this... for a number of reasons. "I don't know if it is my secret to tell," she admitted.

"Well now I'm more curious than I was before... but I'll respect your decision if you choose not to say," he added hastily.

Mary smiled, in spite of herself. "Very well. What would you think, if a lady were to pursue a romantic relationship with someone socially below her?" she asked.

"I think it would depend upon the lady in question," said Branson slowly. "And the man she was with as well." He met her eye. "Forgive me, milady, but aren't you better qualified to speak on it than me? Mr. Crawley wasn't exactly one of your kind."

In spite of herself, Mary smiled. "No. No, he wasn't." She remembered her initial horror upon meeting him and realizing the man she was now expected to marry was unlike any of the men she had previously been acquainted with. Matthew had a job, which was scandalous enough, and he had no desire to give it up. He didn't know how to hunt, either, and she recalled cruelly accusing him of being to hold a knife properly. How he had ever fallen in love with her, Mary had no idea, but she was thankful for it every day. Still, she reminded Branson, "But Mr. Crawley was also my father's heir."

"But that isn't why you married him, is it?" pointed out Branson, grinning.

"You aren't wrong," said Mary, not wanting to utter the words You're right to him when he wore that cocky smile. "However, my point is that this situation is different. The man I'm referring to has no ties to society whatsoever. The only two variables we can consider are the couple themselves and the fact they seem to care for one another." Mary would have felt it was a touch melodramatic to call it love, since she doubted Jack Ross and Rose even knew one another well enough for it to possibly be... With Branson's insight, she hoped she could prepare for even the most extreme scenario. He'd been helpful in nearly every other area she had consulted him on.

"If they are in love, then I can't see the harm in it," said Branson, driving down the road. "But I think a lot could go wrong, if they decided to marry for the wrong reasons."

Mary nodded. Marriage was a tricky business; she knew that well enough. Rose didn't. "Suppose there were other complications," proposed Mary, wanting to gain the full scope of Branson's knowledge. When he gave her a look, she quickly said, "Something else about him my family might disapprove of." She wasn't worried about the members of her immediate family discriminating against Mr. Ross, but Susan certainly would... but even Aunt Rosamund and Edith, who were supposed to be the ones living in the changing world, had made their disapproval of Mr. Ross perfectly evident.

"Like what?"

"Like... his profession." A bandleader certainly wasn't the profession people in her station believed was appropriate for their daughter's husbands... in fact, having any sort of occupation might work against a man, but she supposed these days it was harder and harder to find a man who didn't work. If she mentioned Mr. Ross's race, she figured she would be giving it away.

Branson arched an eyebrow before shrugging. "Again, it would depend upon the lady."

Mary supposed that was the most practical advice that he could provide with what little information had been given. "Thank you, Branson," she said, sighing. She couldn't blame him for not providing substantial answers when she didn't give him substantial facts to work with. In the end, she supposed it didn't matter. Rose was flighty and young; the chances this would be a significant romance were slim to none. Mary figured that by next week, she would have found another suitor.

"So Lady Rose's seeing Someone unsuitable?" When Mary have him an incredulous look, he said, "You don't really think I would have thought it was you or Lady Edith we were talking about?"

"Not Lady Edith," said Mary, knowing her sister was as mysterious as a bucket. She had been down in the mouth since Mr. Gregson had left for Germany, which was clear to everyone. "But I am a little insulted you don't think me capable of engaging in a scandalous love affair." Surely she wasn't past her prime to be young and daring.

"You gave yourself away when you said it wasn't your secret to tell," Branson pointed out. "Though I suppose I didn't think to include Lady Sybil."

Mary laughed. "I don't think it would come as a shock to anyone if she married someone the family deemed unsuitable... though I think Mama is still holding out hope. Her heart is still set on hoping Sybil will snatch up some oil baron in the States." She didn't always bother with using their titles anymore; Branson did, of course, but when she spoke so familiarly with him, it was harder and harder to remember titles.

"That doesn't sound likely to me," said Branson wryly.

"Nor to me." Mary let out another laugh. "Poor Mama. Three unmarried daughters and one niece who isn't out yet... she has her hands full with the four of us."

"Do you think you will marry again?" Branson asked.

Mary was taken aback. She was glad he was no longer trying to figure out who Rose was seeing, but it wasn't the kind of question she expected him to ask. "I'm not sure yet." Truthfully, with each day that passed, the idea of moving on again seemed less and less implausible. Mary missed Matthew, of course, but she missed the things that came with a marriage. She missed everything from having someone to bounce her thoughts and opinions off of late at night to sharing a bed.

Branson pulled up to the cemetery. It wasn't until Mary was halfway to Matthew's grave that she realized she had told Branson something before she told Matthew. She usually waited to ask for advice or provide details only after confessing to Matthew, allowing herself a chance to form her thoughts into words in an adequate way. She glanced over her shoulder at the chauffeur, who was too engrossed in the book he had brought along to notice her, frowning to herself before joining Matthew to tell him about Rose and Mr. Ross.

Mr. Blake, as it turned out, wasn't as intolerable as he had seemed. After saving their bacon (literally), Mary found herself rather thankful for his presence at Downton. She repaid her gratitude by preparing him scrambled eggs, the only meal she knew how to make (courtesy of Matthew), her opinion of him vastly improved. It almost went without saying that her efforts to save the pigs were not unnoticed by Mr. Blake.

"I thought you didn't like him," said Branson, in an oddly strained sort of voice.

"I didn't," Mary insisted. "But I see him differently now." Perhaps that was because now he was much nicer to her, seeing her as more than a spoiled young woman with no ambition. She had proven herself worthy of Downton and seemed to respect that. Any instinctual resentment she had towards him was gone now after their night with the mud and the pigs, replaced by something softer.

"Oh," was Branson's reply. He sounded rather smug to Mary.

"Don't say it like that."

"Say it like what?"

"I mean it," insisted Mary. She knew what he was thinking but it was still too soon. Deciding instead to fight fire with fire, she thought of an offhanded remark Anna had made the other day and asked, "How is Miss Bunting?" She then smirked at his obvious surprise.

"Quite well." Then, with a quick, confused look from over his shoulder, he asked, "How did you learn her name?"

"Anna told me. I gather she's started giving lessons to Daisy, then?"

"She has."

"Are you upset that I know?"

"No," he replied quickly. "Not at all." He paused before saying, "I'm taking her to a tea shop in Thirsk on my next half day. We're looking forward to it."

A date, Mary realized. Something about it unsettled her slightly... but it was only probably because she didn't often envision their servants going on dates. "Well, I hope you have a good time," said Mary honestly, leaning back in her seat, wanting that strange feeling to dislodge itself as they drove down a bumpy patch of road.

Now that she was integrated back in the real world again, Mary now spent her time with George in the presence of her family and their guests. He was crying as Nanny brought him in, fat teardrops rolling down his red face, making Mary both panicked and saddened.

"Here," offered Mr. Blake— who had now requested she call him Charles— "I can hold onto him." He took her son in his arms, bouncing and talking to him. Mary observed the sight curiously, astonished. She had no doubt that a man like Matthew would have tried to comfort their son, but a man like Charles Blake attempting to soothe her baby? It was something she hadn't ever considered contemplating.

When George's tears hadn't abated, Charles shot her an apologetic smile and handed George to her. "I think somebody wants his mother," he said sheepishly as Mary accepted George. Indeed, her son began to quiet in her arms.

"Do you know much about babies?" Mary asked him, now frightfully curious. He had seemed such a natural, so at ease holding him... Was there a Mrs. Blake he had thus far neglected to mention? Mary was surprised to find herself hoping that wasn't the case.

"My older sister has several of her own," he replied easily. "I've two nieces and a nephew." He then listed off their names, some of their interests, all with the greatest enthusiasm.

"So you like children?"

"Of course," he replied, smiling at George. "He looks like you."

"Do you think so?" asked Mary, balancing him on her lap. He was calm now. "I see a lot more of my husband in him." The bigger he grew, the more of Matthew she saw. His dark hair, which she had lamented at the beginning, was even beginning to lighten. Soon she wondered if there would be any trace of her at all in George... but she was far from disappointed by it. The idea of being able to look at her son and remember what she'd had with his father was something she welcomed gladly.

"Well, I am afraid since I never knew him, I can't be an accurate judge," said Charles, a little apologetically as he let George reach out and squeeze his fingers.

"No— of course you couldn't," said Mary, a little taken aback by the stirrings she felt when she saw Charles Blake caring for George.

It's just because you miss Matthew, she told herself, diverting her eyes back to George... but Mary wondered if the fog was at long last beginning to ease.