A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you for being so patient! This semester has been very demanding and it's been harder to find the time to write. I have no idea when the next update will be, as the chapter isn't finished yet (and is shaping up to be an extra long chapter!), but I will let you know once I'll be posting regularly. Until then, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Quick note: there are a couple scenes that I think qualify more as a T+ rating, so if you're not interested in that, skip over the segments of text that are in italics— Tom's letter to Mary is safe, though.

The Lady in Black

Chapter Twenty Four

It never seemed there were enough hours in a day. Mary woke around eight o'clock each morning of her own accord (far earlier than she used to rise, but it had become a habit once she started taking a more involved role in the running of the estate), r ek nbreakfasted with Papa and Edith, before going out front to meet Tom.

Of course, when they were standing in front of the house, everything was strictly professional. Carson was usually lingering nearby and it would be all too easy for one of her parents to pop out with one last request or question for her, so they kept a distance— at least, an emotional one. It was impossible, however, for either of them to completely lock their feelings away. Whenever he helped her into the car, Tom always squeezed her hand, thumb stroking her gloved knuckles in the mere seconds she spent climbing into the car, and Mary usually spared him a quick glance and coy smile when he did.

All this was nothing compared to when Mary was confident they would be on an isolated stretch of the road, at which point she would say, "Pull over here," and Tom would acquiesce. The moment the motor stopped, Tom was flying out the front seat and into the back, and from that point on it was nothing but mad frenzy of hands and lips seeking each other out, desperate for one another and eager to make up for lost time.

Mary always relished these moments, arms wrapping around Tom's neck and loving the feel of his hand on the side of her cheek. She couldn't believe she had been so foolish to wait so long to enjoy this— what had she been so afraid of? It all seemed so silly now, all her insistences to herself, all the hidden fears.

But kissing wasn't all they would do. Once they found themselves gasping for air and the urge to be pressed against one another abated, they would talk, just as they always had. The only difference is that now, instead of being separated by a pane of glass between their seats, they were side-by-side, hands usually joined together and resting idly on someone's knee. Though very few topics had ever been off-limits between them, the air of formality was obliterated completely and everything was allowed now.

"Bertie sent Edith another letter at breakfast this morning," Mary told him a few short days after she had returned, already enjoying her mornings a great deal more.

"Has she told him yet? About Miss Marigold?"

"You don't have to call her that, you know," she told him, playfully stern. "We're alone now. I'm certainly not going to tell you off."

Tom's lips twitched. "Fair enough... but I don't want to make it a habit. The last thing I need is for Mr. Carson to overhear me calling your father 'Robert' or something."

Mary tried to stifle her laugh at the thought of it. Papa's head would surely explode... "Very well."

"So has she told him?" Tom prompted her, reminding her of the conversation at hand.

"I don't believe so, no. She keeps putting him off. She does seem to be agonizing over something, though, so she probably hasn't. She doesn't tell me these sorts of things."

"I thought the two of you were getting along better now?" Tom asked with a frown.

Mary sighed, though she wore a smile. "Edith and I have a complicated relationship. I'm sure you've picked up on that by now. The fact is that we'll never be the best friends. Our relationship will probably be better once one of us is out of the house."

Tom grinned, remembering his own words to Mary several years ago. "With any luck, for all our sakes, she'll tell him and accept him."

Mary tried not to be irritated that it seemed he was anticipating Edith would have left the house before she had... though she supposed she wasn't irritated, exactly. The truth was that they hadn't discussed marriage at all, even after Mary had declared her love. She had thought it would be the next logical step, since she knew very well that Tom loved her, but thus far no such discussions had occurred, let alone any sort of proposal.

She supposed she couldn't blame him for holding off. After all, she had made him wait for some time whilst she tried to figure out how he was feeling, sending out all sorts of mixed messages. He probably wanted some time to ensure she was certain and then he would make some sort of formal proposal.

"We can only hope," she responded, keeping any displeasure she may have harbored out of her voice... which was quite easy. Whenever she was Tom, she instantly felt a million times lighter... and when he looked at her the way he was looking at her now, as if she were the center of his existence, it was impossible to feel cross.

It would happen. It would happen soon. He had been patient with her... and she would be patient with him.

Mary still paid visits to Matthew daily; that part hadn't altered. They were much shorter visits now, though. She typically filled him in on how George was getting on, as well as the goings on at Downton, such as how Mr. Mason was getting on at Yew Tree Farm and Granny's latest letter from her holiday in France.

However, she had forgone all thought of venting her more deeper emotions by his graveside now— not because she no longer felt Matthew deserved to know, but because there seemed to be no need. She certainly wasn't feeling blue any longer, all of the woe she had felt over the past few week replaced by delirious happiness. Besides, if there was someone she needed to talk to concerning some grave matter, she had Tom.

Upon confession her feelings, any pretense of formality between them had been obliterated. Truthfully, for some time now, there hadn't been much to speak of in the first place, but nothing was off limits now. She told him everything that was on her mind, from family matters to how she felt. It wasn't easy for her, being so candid about her emotions, but after how long she had kept him waiting, Mary felt he probably needed some reassurance as to where they stood… and because if her relationship with Matthew had taught her anything, it was that forever was not a guarantee. So whenever Tom told her that he loved her (which was often; he seemed to lack the reservations she had), Mary would always respond in kind.

Finding time alone wasn't always easy; she did have obligations to the estate that she needed to maintain and her family still expected certain things of her. Thankfully, however, she was used to contriving excuses to be away from the estate for hours at a time without arousing suspicion. She soon found herself making "appointments" in York, just as she had before, which granted her and Tom a few hours alone in the serenity of their field.

Mary always had enjoyed the alone time she was allowed with Tom but she loved it all the more now. She loved being able to join him in the front seat now, grasping one of his hands in her own as they drove down the road, the wind blowing through her hair. She loved laying out their blanket across the grass before joining him on the ground, the pent hold tension boiling over as they sought one another out, kissing hungrily and hands grasping at one another.

It never went too far, though. At some point Tom would draw away, hand still on her cheek, gazing into her eyes with the most love struck look, panting, before putting a physical distance between them. However, the distance did not extend to their emotions, for Mary had never felt more close to him than she did now.

"Would you believe me if I told you I've been wanting to do that here for some time now?" She asked as she tried to recover her breath, unable to stop herself from smiling at him.

"Yes," Tom replied without hesitation. "I always had faith in you."

"Did you really?" asked Mary.

Tom's hand slid from her cheek before picking up her hand, cradling it between his. "Well, I won't lie and say I wasn't as certain a few weeks ago... but I am now."

Shame burned in her chest. In the euphoria of her revelation, she'd managed to mostly avoid reminders of her coldness towards him before, the callous way she'd tossed him aside when he laid his heart out for her. "I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am, my darling," she whispered as a warm wind blew through. Strands of hair tickled her face and the wildflowers bobbed in the breeze.

Tom's gaze softened even more. "It's in the past," he murmured in response.

"Is it?" When Mary had accepted Matthew's proposal, she'd initially had fears that the specter of Mr. Pamuk would haunt every argument, something to be held against her. She worried this could very well be their version of it. "Can we really say that it's in the past when it was only a few days ago?"

"We can," Tom said almost immediately, "because it already is for me."

"So you've forgiven me?"

"I don't think you need my forgiveness. If you were intentionally trying to be hurtful, then perhaps things would be different, but I know you were confused. You didn't know how to feel. And I know you must have had your reasons. It's a very big thing."

She had— reasons she had not yet divulged to him. It wasn't intentional; it was merely that they'd been so preoccupied in reveling in their love for one another that there hadn't been much time for substantial conversation. Given how emotionally constipated she could be, Mary would gladly kiss Tom senseless in favor of being vulnerable. Tom didn't sound accusing in the slightest but in that moment, Mary knew she had to tell him.

"It is a big thing," Mary admitted. "For so long, I was just... torturing myself. Not allowing myself acknowledge what I was feeling, making excuses for my behavior so that it could be anything but the truth. But when I... When we weren't speaking to one another, I was so miserable."

"I know. And I'm sorry," Tom said hastily. "I know that was my fault."

Mary shook her head. "Don't apologize. It was hurting you, too. And it hurt all the more when I acted as if nothing was wrong when I'd broken your heart. I could never blame you for protecting yourself, my darling." Even though they were speaking of painful matters, she didn't miss the way Tom's lips twitched after calling him that. She made a mental note to do it often. "And it only helped me realize that... it helped me to realize how much you matter to me. I needed that." She took in a deep breath. "I just... I suppose I never thought I could ever be brave enough to tell you."

"But you are," Tom said softly. "You're one of the bravest people I know."

"I don't think so," admitted Mary. "I just think I was scared to lose you. One fear outweighed the other."

"You know that I'd never have turned you down, don't you?" Tom asked. "Even if it had taken you a while longer?"

"I certainly hoped you wouldn't," Mary said. "After what I said before leaving from London, I wasn't so sure you'd be here when I got back."

"I couldn't leave. Not after I heard about the crash," Tom replied quietly. Mary's heart ached, but in a good way. He loved her. He loved her so much.

"Even if you had gone... I'd have tracked you down. Just so I could tell you."

Less than a second after the words finished leaving her mouth, Mary was cut off by Tom's lips pressed against hers. She melted against him, smiling into the kiss, and resting her hand against his chest. Nothing could compare to this. Nothing.

Tom had a book in front of him yet his mind was like a sieve, unable to absorb a single word. All his mind could focus on was Mary. If he thought she had distracted him before, it was nothing compared to now. Back then, all he'd had to agonize over were occasional slips of the tongue and lingering touches. Now... Now he had promises. Proclamations. Kisses. All of it affirming the obvious, which was that Mary loved him just as he loved her. She wanted to be with him.

And he wanted to be with her, too. He daydreamed of it constantly, the life they would build together. He just had no intentions of rushing things, not when she wasn't ready. Just because they were in love didn't necessarily mean she was prepared to be married again, especially not when he knew she still cared for Mr. Crawley. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel pressured. He knew she loved him; that was enough for him to be content.

No— not even content— happy. He was overjoyed, constantly in wonder at how his life had turned itself around in the span of a few days.

Anna obviously knew the reason why. She would exchange furtive smiles with him in the servant's hall when she came down to let him know Mary was ready. They didn't speak much of it, but the day after Mary had come down to the garage and put him out of his misery, she'd sat by him at breakfast so she could whisper that she was "very happy for the both of them." He knew she meant it.

But she wasn't the only one to notice.

"I'm going to take a step outside," Jimmy said, sitting down on the bench in the place closest to Tom's chair. "Do you mind keeping me company?"

Tom was jerked from his thoughts, but he nodded regardless, closing his book and following Jimmy out to the servant's courtyard.

Almost immediately, Jimmy had questions. "You seem happier than you were before. Did something happen with Lady Mary?"

Tom blinked, somewhat stunned by the baldness of what Jimmy was asking, but he nodded. After all, it wasn't as if he didn't already know how Tom felt. He would have had to be an imbecile not to notice that he had gone from moping to smiles. "Yes."

"Well, go on!" Jimmy nudged him lightly with his elbow.

Tom let out a soft laugh. "It seems she feels the same way about me after all. She told me so after the family returned from Brooklands."

"Is that so?" Jimmy grinned from ear to ear. "Well, good for you, Mr. Branson!"

"It's safe to say I'm not leaving. Not for a while, at least." And not without her.

"I'm glad for you. Truly. It's a wonderful thing, you know, being with someone you love... or so I've been told."

Tom repressed the urge to roll his eyes. "It is wonderful, isn't it?" He mused, leaning against the brick wall with a smile. "I trust I don't have to ask you to keep things quiet?"

"Course not."

Even from Thomas, Tom wanted to add, but he didn't. "Is Mr. Barrow still sore with me?" He asked instead, thinking it might serve as a reminder of what could be at stake. If Thomas even had an inkling of what Tom felt towards Mary, let alone her feelings, he'd be over the moon and tripping over himself to tell his Lordship. The last thing Tom wanted was to be separated from her now, just when they had finally found their way together.

Jimmy sighed. "'Fraid so." He pulled a cigarette from his pocket. "I am trying to get him to calm down, though."

"I know. And I appreciate it," Tom said honestly.

"Doesn't realize he's shooting himself in the foot," mumbled Jimmy around his cigarette, searching his pockets for his lighter. When he finally procured it, Tom recognized it as the silver one Thomas always carried with him. "He's heard the rumors about staffing cuts and yet he hasn't given any thought to who'd be on the chopping block if it came to it. I mean, how many houses have an underbutler anymore?"

"You're safe," Tom reassured him. It sounded like an argument Jimmy'd already had half dozen times or more. "Both of you. Mary's already told me that as long as people are willing to stay here, she wants to keep them on for as long as possible. She wants Andy be a farmhand to Mr. Mason sooner than later to cut costs. Thomas might end up being more of a glorified footman than anything else... but it's better than nothing."

"S'pose you're right," Jimmy muttered. "Won't be happy about that, though. And it's not as if he couldn't do more, you know. Once Carson retires..." he trailed off.

"Hopefully I'll've left service by that time," Tom said, albeit teasingly… though there was an element of truth to it. He'd stay here as long Mary needed, give her the time to before marrying, but he didn't want to be a chauffeur forever. "I don't think I'm his favorite person by any means."

"It doesn't mean you won't still have to deal

with his wrath," Jimmy pointed out, knocking his elbow into Tom's arm, wearing a knowing smile. "After all, just because you're leaving service doesn't mean you'll be leaving Downton Abbey."

"Doesn't it, though? Eventually, at least."

Jimmy gave him a dubious. "Does Lady Mary want to leave Downton, then?"

"Well… no." Mary loved Downton, almost as much as she would a person. In fact, the way she spoke sometimes made it sound like Downton Abbey was a living, breathing entity. "But I don't imagine her family will be thrilled once they hear the news." Truth be told, Tom wasn't sure how things would play out once they were ready to take that next step forward.

"That's true," admitted Jimmy. "Still… they'd have to get over themselves eventually. Lady Mary's part of the family. It wouldn't be forever, at any rate. And you wouldn't be such a bad son-in-law."

Tom grinned. "Thank you. I'm not so Lord Grantham will agree, but I appreciate it nonetheless."

After a few more minutes of talking and joking with one another, Jimmy's cigarette dwindled away into ash and he was stomping it out on the ground. That seemed a natural conclusion to their conversation and they made their way back inside— Tom returning to his paper, Jimmy to whatever tasks Carson had waiting for him.

Tom had just sat down in the rocking chair when he heard the sound of small feet running in. "Mr. Branson!" George exclaimed, greeting him with a wide grin. "I was looking for you?"

"You were?" The smile that spread across his own face was a genuine one. It was important to him that Mary's son like him.

"Anna said you were outside with Jimmy."

"Well, I was. But I'm back inside now." Tom laid his book back down on his lap. "What have you been up to today?"

"I'm hiding from Nanny," George said earnestly.

"Hiding?"

"She wants me to take a bath!" George's face screwed up.

Tom stifled a laugh. He remembered being the same way as a boy. "I won't tell," he vowed. "But I think you ought to go find her. Bathes are important… and you'll be in much more trouble the longer you're gone."

That seemed to be the right thing to say, a very serious expression crossed George's face. He was quiet for a moment before saying, "I'll go upstairs soon, I promise, Mr. Branson… but could I have a sweet first?"

"I don't see why not," Tom said, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and pulling out a small bag of chocolates. "Remember to share with Miss Marigold, now."

George nodded eagerly. "I will, Mr. Branson."

"And don't tell your mother," Tom added hastily as George gladly accepted the bag.

He didn't exactly know why he said it; after all, there was no harm in it… except perhaps for the sweets, as he'd learned just the other day that chocolates were Mary's favorites, and had a feeling she'd snag more than a few for herself. But he did like sharing a special connection to George, something not solely linked to Mary. He always found himself lighting up whenever the litt.

"I won't," promised George, before thanking him again and running out the door. Tom stared after him fondly before picking up his book again, unaware of George's delighted shriek upon seeing, "Mr. Barrow!" and the presence of the man himself walking past the servant's hall, wearing a smug grin.

The tranquil, glassy waters of the pond were lovely, but nowhere near as lovely as the woman beside him. Mary's head was tipped back, enjoying the sun's golden glow and warmth, a large sun hat shielding her from most of its rays.

He couldn't tear his eyes off of her. For so long, it had felt like he couldn't dare to watch her for too long, lest he be caught out. But now… Now he had nothing but time.

"I love it here," she sighed. "It's so peaceful."

"It is," Tom agreed. It wasn't his most substantive answer but his mind was almost pleasantly blank. Mary had that effect on him at times; his brain was usually running a hundred miles a minute, fixated on something or other, never slowing down… but around Mary, he relaxed.

Mary finally tilted her head away from the sun, face cast by shadow from the brim of her hat as she turned to him. "Do you like it here? Truly?"

"As long as I'm with you, I'm happy," Tom answered honestly.

Mary beamed widely, the sight making his heart light. Before he knew it, she was moving forward, walking on her knees so that she could take his face in her hands and kiss him. Tom melted into her, gladly accepting everything she had to give. He'd never felt so alive in his life.

He didn't protest, didn't move away when he left one of her legs slid over his, straddling him. In fact, he crushed her towards him, needing her closer to him. They didn't break away from one another for an instant, even as their clothing fell away.

"Tom," Mary moaned, the sound so beautiful to his ears. He loved it when she said his name, loved it when she kissed him like this, loved it when her short nails dug into his skin.

He loved everything about her.

Tom awoke a short while later, groaning when he realized that it had all just been a dream. It had felt so real… if he closed his eyes, it was like he could still feel her.

But as nearly all dreams did, it began to fade away. Indistinct images of Mary and the pond flashed in his mind, the taste of her lips and her soft skin beneath his fingertips. All thing he knew he would experience once the sun rose in the sky and she was up for the morning. They'd find somewhere isolated and they would cling to one another, trading kisses and sharing their innermost thoughts. But it would go no further than that.

It wasn't easy. Tom wanted her. How could he not? He was a man, after all, with desires. He was a patient one nonetheless, though. After all, he had waited this long, hadn't he?

But, patient though Tom was, he sincerely hoped that she would be ready soon.

He sighed wearily, pushing himself out of bed. If he traversed down that line of thought too long, he'd have a situation on his hands that would require some attending to, and he didn't want to be late for work. Instead, Tom decided to distract himself with something else. He rose to his feet, walking over to the small desk between the two windows, and pulled out a small scrap of paper and his pen, and began to write.

Lady Mary's bell rang around seven in the morning— it was early for Lady Mary, but it was becoming increasingly common these days. Anna supposed she remembered what it was like, that flush that came when you realized you loved someone. Anna used to toss and turn all night back in the day while Gwen slept soundly in the next bed over and then wake up before Daisy knocked on the door, already anticipating the next time she could see Mr. Bates down at the breakfast table.

"Anna," Mr. Branson whispered lowly before she stood. He had a slip of paper in his hand that he offered to her below the table. She didn't even need to ask who it was intended for. Anna took it, discreetly sticking it in her pocket, before heading towards the stairwell.

It truly was marvelous, seeing Lady Mary in brighter spirits. She was already by her boudoir, brushing her hair. "Good morning, Anna."

"Good morning, milady. I've a special delivery for you."

"Have you?" Lady Mary turned around, eyebrows raised up.

"From Mr. Branson," Anna said, pulling the small note out of her pocket.

Lady Mary accepted it almost greedily, unfolding it so she could write just what he'd written. Anna tried giving her some privacy, wandering over to her wardrobe to find her some clothes for the day. When she turned around, Lady Mary had a hand pressed to her mouth. She couldn't tell if she was emotional or concealing a smile. "Milady? Are you alright?"

"Quite well, Anna, thank you," Lady Mary replied as she looked up. Her eyes were shining with tears though her smile revealed they weren't sad ones. "Did you read this?"

"Of course not." They were close, yes, friends even, but Anna would never dream of presuming to read her personal correspondence... no matter how curious she was.

"I don't mind," Lady Mary insisted, waving her over. "Please, read it."

Anna crossed over towards her, hunching over Lady Mary's shoulders to read Mr. Branson's spindly scrawl.

My love,

A part of me feels exceptionally silly for writing this letter when I know I will be seeing you in a short while, but at the same time I cannot help myself. I awoke earlier than usual this morning from a dream about you.

To be honest, I can't remember much about it now. Now that I'm awake, most of it has vanished from my mind. All I can really recall is the pond and you. I know we were there together and I know we were happy— and I know I was happier than I've ever been before in my whole life. Perhaps someday we could go there together, just us two, and then I'll be able to remember it. Even if I don't, it will be all the worth it as long as I'm with you, my love.

I need to dress now and start my day. You're up in the house right now, probably still sleeping. I can't help but wonder if you're dreaming of me.

With all my love,

T

"My goodness," Anna breathed. "I never knew Mr. Branson could be so lyrical."

"Nor I," Lady Mary replied, voice hushed. "I don't know if anyone has ever written me something so beautiful before."

"Perhaps this is why Miss Bunting was always so insistent he become a journalist," mused Anna, recalling some of their conversations from back when the woman was a fixture downstairs.

Lady Mary jerked her head up. "What?"

Anna suddenly wondered if she had misstepped. Bringing up Mr. Branson's former flame wasn't exactly something she suspected Lady Mary would be interested in hearing about. "I'm sorry, milady—"

"Don't apologize. What do you mean? About… a journalist?"

Anna hesitated. "Well, back when Miss Bunting was at Downton, I couldn't help but overhear them talking at times… and she sometimes said he should write for a paper."

Thankfully, Lady Mary didn't look displeased, but she was unusually pensive. "I'm sorry," Anna said, starting to feel uncomfortable. She felt she must have ruined things. There was an odd sort of tension in the air. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No," interjected Lady Mary, snapping out of her gaze. "I'm glad you did." She pivoted her body towards her mirror. "I ought to start dressing for the day."

Mary watched her breath fog against the window of the car that she was currently pinned against, hands pressed against the door to stop herself from being fully flush with the vehicle. She could feel his breath against the back of her neck, his chest along her back. One large hand reached out to circle one of her wrists, thumb stroking over her pulse point gently in contradiction to his teeth scraping along her neck before being soothed by kisses. It was a most exquisite torture; on the one hand, she never wanted him to stop, but she was also growing tired of these games. She wanted him to touch her. Properly.

"Do you want this, love?"

Mary couldn't speak. All thought had been driven from her mind. The most she would have been able to manage was an inarticulate whine of need and that simply wouldn't do. She settled for simply nodding her head frantically, pushing herself back against him. She heard his breath stutter behind her, then his hand sliding up, up, up her arm until it migrated to her chest.

Mary tipped her head back onto his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. His other hand moved to her cheek, gently directing her head to the side so their lips could meet for a messy kiss, all tongues and teeth. She tangled her hand in his hair, using it to press their lips together more firmly, relishing that she could taste him.

"Mary," he said against her mouth, lifting up her skirt with one hand. The air felt too cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the fire burning beneath the surface.

"Oh, Tom," she gasped as he moved his mouth to her neck. "Tom, touch me, please."

"Mary?"

The real Tom's voice snapped her out of her torrid fantasy. The motor was silent, now that the car was parked by the cemetery. Tom had angled his entire body around to face her, brows furrowed in concern.

Mary felt her face grow hot. It wasn't like her, to become so caught up in her lustful thoughts that she grew completely unawares about the world around her, but clearly her frustrations had soared to new heights. It was no secret to her that she had wanted Tom for some time, but she had yet to broach anything of the sort with him, waiting patiently for that proposal of marriage which still hadn't come.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. Perfectly." Mary tried to reassure him with a genuine smile. "I was only too caught up in my own thoughts. That's all."

Tom seemed visibly relieved, but it didn't stop him from remarking, "It seemed rather serious."

"I wouldn't say it was serious, exactly," Mary said, deciding to test her luck. "Intense might be a better word."

"Intense?" Tom's eyebrows shot up. "Well, I must say I'm intrigued."

"Perhaps on the drive home, I'll tell you more about it," Mary said playfully, knowing very well that she needed to climb out… and not say too much more.

It wasn't until after she had climbed out of the car that she began seriously contemplating taking matters into her own hands. Why should she wait for Tom to make the first move when it came to this sort of thing? She was hardly a blushing virgin and it wasn't as if she were a stranger to defying convention; merely being in love with Tom was proof enough she was somewhat of a rebel after all.

Mary's heart beat fast in her chest as her gait became slowing as she drew closer and closer to Matthew's grave. She chanced a glance over to Tom, who was thankfully distracted by his paper, in order to admire him without reservations.

Perhaps it was time to take matters into her own hands.