A/N: Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews and for being so patient! I cant even begin describe how much it means to me!

The Lady in Black

Chapter Twenty Five

It was mad. Mary knew that. Even so, it didn't stop her. She spent the rest of the day barely tuned in to what was going on around her, making her plans. She knew she would have to wait until it was late before acting upon anything she came up with throughout the course of the day and it was torture once she finally managed to put together a concrete scheme.

Firstly, she had to sit through dinner, participating enough in the conversation to not arouse any suspicion from her family, even though her mind was a million miles away. Her nerves made her appetite lessen as well, so she had to make a concentrated effort to actually eat her meal. Given how distraught she had been after the race and the way her family hovered about at the slightest indication of unease, the last thing she wanted was for them to call Dr. Clarkson and thus foil her big plans for the remainder of her evening.

Then came the after dinner activities, which consisted of Mary sipping on her drink— slowly enough to not become inebriated but also enough to calm her down— and conversing with Mama on her plans at the hospital. Truthfully, Mary was proud of her for taking on such a role, but tonight the York Hospital was the very last thing on her mind. Thankfully, however, Mama was perfectly content to ramble on and on about it without even realizing her daughter wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention.

Everyone had turned in after Isobel went home after dinner, and Mary followed suit. She perused through her nightgowns whilst waiting for Anna to come up and help change for the evening.

She was glad she didn't have to pass by anyone else's bedroom in order to sneak out once the time finally came; the thought of having to explain her actions was a mortifying thought, even though Mary was quite confident she could concoct a lie quickly enough. Light was spilling out under the library door as she crept past— most likely Carson tidying up— but Mary was able to move quietly and to the front door, finding the spare key hidden the drawer of a cabinet in the entryway. Opening it slowly, she stepped outdoors without making enough noise to alert the butler.

The walk down to the chauffeur's cottage was a short one and she strolled at a leisurely pace... but it didn't stop her heart from beating erratically. This was it: her wildest fantasies would finally come true tonight.

Mary knocked thrice on the door of his cottage, waiting outside with bated breath. When the door opened up, Tom's first expression was one of surprise. "Mary!" Elation soon replaced it. "What are you doing down here, love?"

"I wanted to see you." When he opened the door wider, she stepped in. "I know I saw you just this morning, but I couldn't help it. I missed you."

"I've missed you, too." The door was closed behind them. Mary took this as a promising sign. "But aren't you worried someone might have seen you?"

"My family's already turned in for the night. Carson was tidying up in the library for the when I came down but I expect all the other servants are to bed... though I suppose the Carsons will be walking home soon enough."

"Better pull the curtains shut, then." Tom moved over the windows, covering them with thin, green curtains. Mary wasn't sure how much good it would do but she helped him close the rest, succeeding in mostly shrouding them from view any potential passerby. "You have a way to get back into the house?"

"Yes. I've a key." She held it up before setting it down on his kitchen table. "I won't need your help sneaking back in this time."

Tom grinned from ear to ear over his shoulder as he dealt with the last of the curtains. "What a shame. I wouldn't mind being stuck in a cramped pantry again with you."

"Nor I," replied Mary, feeling something awaken within her. Not once had he said anything about risking her reputation or insisted she shouldn't be here... if anything, he was beyond pleased she was breaking all the rules. It only served to remind her of how different things were with him. She didn't have to observe any of the old rules. She took a couple steps towards him, invading his personal space. "Especially since I think we could have much more fun this time."

Without hesitation, Tom's arms wrapped around her, pulling Mary close to him. Mary gasped against his mouth, pleased that they seemed to be of one mind on this score especially when his tongue sought out hers. It was overwhelming, just how powerful her desire was, and with every brush of his hands against her body, he was further stoking the fire inside of her.

The need for oxygen was becoming more pressing with each passing second but Mary's need for him was even greater. Her mouth left his and began peppering kisses along his jaw. Tom panted in her ear, hands still fisting the material of her nightgown; she could feel his blunt fingernails digging into the skin of her hip through her nightgown. She wished he'd rip the damn thing off already— she didn't care if he ruined it, even if it meant slinking back to the house naked in the morning, not if it meant she could finally have him now.

Her hands slid up his chest, languid and purposeful. She wanted to ensure he felt that desire, too, that addicting, hypnotic urge that was overpowering her. As her palm moved over his heart, she felt its quickened rhythm, the same time she let her teeth scrape a sensitive area of his neck, drawing out a whine from the back of his throat. The sound only made arousal pool deep in her stomach. More. She needed even more.

She thanked God for not being so cruel as to let him wear pajamas with a button down shirt. Her hands snaked down again, fingertips reaching beneath the hem of his shirt. She was ready to yank it off, to see him undone. She moved her lips back to his, bruising in her intensity. Tom made yet another noise, low and stirring her desire all the more. She began pulling it up—

But then Tom's hands left her side, one grasping her wrist, the other setting itself on her hips and lightly pushing her away. "What're you doing, love?" asked Tom, still breathless and pupils blown wide.

"I should think it's obvious," Mary told him, not letting her eyes leave him for a second. "I want you."

She could see how her words had affected him. His eyes darkened even more, breath hitching in his throat, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, fingers twitching and tightening on her hip. It was gratifying, knowing she wasn't alone in this... not that she had doubted it for a second.

With a smile, she stepped forward again, taking his face into her hands and kissing him once more. Tom practically melted into her, tongue brushing against hers as they luxuriated in the feel of one another. Mary didn't hurry it this time; her fervor for him hadn't waned by any means but she didn't want to relinquish any bit of this. It was like heaven, standing close to him, tasting and savoring him like this. Besides... it would be their first time together; it wouldn't do to rush it, now when it would be something so special.

Soon, one of Mary's hands was at the nape of his neck, the other tangled in his hair. Their kisses became slightly more urgent, especially when Tom pulled her flush against him... which meant she now was able to feel how much he wanted this. He groaned against her mouth. She was about pull away in order to suggest they go into his bedroom when it was Tom who wrenched himself away. His eyes met hers for a moment, so full of love and longing... which meant it was perplexing when he released her, pained as he weakly uttered, "We can't."

To say she was stunned was an understatement. Had she misinterpreted this somehow? "But why?" She had never been turned down before. Suddenly self conscious and insecure, she asked, "Don't you want me?"

Tom laughed suddenly, the sound low and rough in a way she had never heard before. It only served to further to fan those flames of desire. "What do you think? Love, of course I do."

Anxieties quelled, Mary was still left with confusion and questions. "Then why stop now?" She implored.

Tom closed his eyes, inhaling deep through his nose. He took a step away from her, leaning against one of the high backed chairs at the kitchen table. Mary watched him, suddenly worried until he said, "Because I'm the chauffeur."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Mary couldn't see how his profession could possibly matter, now when it came to them. Maybe it would be different if they were in broad daylight where they could be spotted, but they were in the privacy of his cottage. He wasn't even in his uniform; right now, they were just a man and a woman.

"Everything."

"How?" She demanded. When he didn't immediately respond, she said, "It doesn't matter to me what you do for a living. You're the man I love."

"I know."

"Then what is the problem?"

"Look where we are, Mary."

Perplexed, Mary slowly said, "We're in your cottage."

"Yes. The cottage I only have because I work for your father."

"So?" challenged Mary.

"So... this isn't where I want this to happen."

"Then where?" She would gladly go anywhere he wanted in this moment, desperate for him in a way she had never been before. Before Matthew, despite any earlier experience with lust, she hadn't understood what it entailed. Mary knew exactly what it was she was missing now, knew from his sparing touches and deep kisses alone how good it would feel with Tom, and she wanted it. Desperately.

"Somewhere where we are equals."

She didn't understand. What did he mean? "You are my equal," she replied, somewhat agitated. Surely he didn't think he was beneath her or that she could ever possibly view the man she loved as less than in some respect. "You're more than a match for me, in every possible way."

Tom shook his head. "Not here." When Mary merely gave him an incredulous look, he gestured in direction of the house and said, "To everyone in that house, you're someone far above me. You're the great lady and I'm just the man who drives you around."

"You're more than that. So much more," refuted Mary immediately. She wouldn't listen as he put himself down in this matter.

"To you. And I know I am, too." His voice was gentler now. "But I'm not to them. Not your parents, not your sister, not Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes or the footmen or the maids..."

"None of them are here now, Tom. They don't matter. It's just you and me."

"And what will happen afterwards, Mary?" asked Tom, sounding pained. "You'll sleep with me, in this shabby cottage, where it always grows cold in winter and there's water stains on the ceiling, and then you'll make your way back up to your life of splendor in your illustrious country manor?"

Mary felt as if she had been slapped. His words caused tears to prickle behind her eyes. Is this what he thought of her? "I'm not some overheated maid drooling over a photograph of Douglas Fairbanks," she told him lowly, allowing more of an edge to creep into her voice. "I love you, Tom, exactly as you are. I wouldn't just use you to satisfy myself and then just abandon you afterwards."

Tom's mouth fell open. "Oh, love," he said softly, "that's not what I was saying. Not at all." He took a couple steps towards her but Mary, feelings still bruised, took one step back. Tom froze in place, evidently realizing just them how deeply his words had cut her just down. "I only meant, as long as I am the chauffeur, there will always be a disparity." Though what he said made sense, she still couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye. Her gaze was trained to the floor beneath her, noting the uneven floorboards; yet another physical reminder of how drastically different their daily lives were.

He paused, deep in though, before saying, "And I don't know if I could bear it... having you and then needing to act as if it never happened in the morning."

Mary looked up then, able to face him, then. Now he was the desperate one, the one pleading with her to hear him out. A part of her felt sick for being responsible to put that look on his face in the first place. "There's another reason, too," he revealed hesitantly. She couldn't speak yet, so he waited until a pregnant pause passed them by, and said, "If you were to become pregnant… Well, I don't think that it would be the best way for everyone to learn about us. And… they would assume I seduced you. That the only reason we could every be drawn to one another would be for something purely carnal. I'd rather not fuel their suspicions."

His point about pregnancy was a fair one. That horrible experience with Mr. Pamuk had been terrifying for a number of reasons, but one of the worst parts had been the waiting required before definitively learning that she wasn't pregnant… especially since, if she were, there would be no way to hide it other than a hasty marriage to another man, and even then it might not be convincing enough to save her reputation.

But it didn't mean it didn't sting. Even though what he was saying was perfectly rational, it vexed Mary when she realized this was another way for Tom to say that marriage was still not yet in the cards for them and she would need to wait a while longer.

But the part about people finding them out and drawing conclusions was worse, in her opinion, than his other explanations. Why did it matter, what everyone thought? Out of the two of them, she though she was supposed to be the one who was concerned with the opinions of others. Why should what they thought matter? She loved him, she wanted him, he wanted him... Why did it matter, when he was all she wanted? At some point, she wanted the whole world to know the truth and once they did, they would still have their own thoughts and conjectures on how their unlikely relationship came to be. She wanted to tell him all these things, argue her point…

But she didn't want to lose him.

Maybe it was a silly thought to have, given how many times in the past he had ample opportunity to pack up and leave Downton and her and had yet to do it, but all Mary could think about were those petty little arguments that marred the earlier parts of hers and Matthew's romance. How much time had she wasted with him? How many stupid fights had kept them apart over the years? She couldn't begin to imagine how much more time they might have had, if they had simply heard one another out and communicated.

Her relationship with Tom wasn't the same, but one part was a constant: herself. And she was doing what she always did; she was trying to lash out and push the one she loved away. They were still in the earliest stages of their love and yet they had already overcome so much. She had already put him through enough of her contrariness. What would it take for him to suddenly decide she was no longer worth it?

So Mary ignored her baser instincts, squelched her pride down as best as possible, and levelly asked, "You wish to wait, then?"

Tom looked relieved and Mary immediately knew that, despite it going against what her emotions were telling her, she had made the right choice. "I wish we didn't have to, but I truly think it would be for the best."

"Very well."

They simply stood there, several feet apart, uncertain and silent. Mary had come down for a singular purpose and now that was not going to happen. What else could she do? Should she leave? She didn't want to but Tom...

Before her thought could be completed, Tom took a step towards her. When she didn't back away, he took another. Then another. Once he had reached her, he said, "Thank you, darling. For understanding."

She didn't understand. Not fully. Mary doubted she ever would. Clearly this disparity in class was something that weighed more heavily on his mind than hers, on a level she hadn't ever contemplated. Of course she had considered the social ramifications if and when her family and acquaintances learned about them, but she didn't think about how it must feel to him.

Mary was startled by the sensation of something solid and warm hesitantly touching her hand. Her eyes fell downward, her she saw Tom's fingertips hovering beside her hand. Without a second thought, she linked them together. Though it was nothing compared to the consuming closeness she had felt when pressing their bodies together, it thrilled her all the same.

"You can still stay the night," he whispered. Her eyes returned to his face... Well, more precisely to his mouth, finding it hard to believe he had said that. In fact, she wasn't entirely certain she'd heard him correctly, especially after the conversation they'd just had. "If you want to." Then, as if sensing her reluctance, "I'd like it very much if you did."

"You wouldn't be tempted?"

"I'd certainly think about it," Tom revealed, almost shyly, with a wide smile. "In fact, I think it would be impossible not to... but I'm comfortable in my self restraint. After all," he said, grin growing even wider, "I waited this long for you, didn't I? What's a little while longer?"

Mary returned the smile, even though she was less certain of her own resolve. Even now, despite their minor quarrel, she found it was incredibly easy to forget all about it. She could imagine how much easier it would be to smooth over hurt feelings, especially if she were lying next to him, able to simply reach over and touch him, to breathe him in the whole night long.

But he had made his position firm... and though she didn't like it, she respected it. She supposed, when she really thought about it, he was right. This was hardly the ideal place and having to put on a mask in the morning and pretend he was just her chauffeur would be difficult… not to mention painful. Besides, being allowed to sleep by his side sounded marvelous, if only because it promised he would be the first thing she saw when she woke up.

So Mary managed a smile and nodded, letting him lead her into his bedroom.

It was smaller than she remembered it from her first visit here all those years ago, more cramped than it had been in her memory. The bed was not a sizable one, either; Mary, however, couldn't help but pleased. It only promised that, in spite of how far Tom tried to give her space in the night, they would almost be guaranteed to be touching in some way. It wouldn't achieve the purpose of alleviating her desire but Mary knew that merely being able to spend a night in his arms would be well worth it.

After Tom had lifted up the covers for her to slide under, Mary was perplexed when he began taking steps away from the bed. "Where are you going?"

"To the sofa," said Tom. He paused before asking, "Did you want me to stay?"

She did her best not to laugh at him. "Yes." Honestly... she had come down with the purpose of seducing him and he was asking her that? "Unless you don't think you can control yourself?" She lifted an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

"I can," insisted Tom, plopping down on the mattress beside her, jostling it slightly. "But I didn't want to presume."

"Presume all you like with me," she found herself saying, scooting her body as close to his as she could... which wasn't hard. His bed wasn't a spacious one, not like her own.

"You say that now," Tom said, voice quiet, yet amused, "but I have a feeling that if we were talking about anything else, you'd be put out."

"Perhaps," she murmured back, hand sliding over his chest. She felt his breath hitch at her touch. She smiled to herself. She would respect his wishes, of course... but she wasn't about to make it easy for him. "But I doubt I'd be upset with you for long."

Tom hummed back, hand reaching for hers. She watched as he lifted it up, bringing her palm to his lips in a quick, chaste kiss before letting it fall back down, right over his heart. She felt the steady thudding beneath his chest, causing her to smile before she rested her head near the crook of his arm. She doubted sleep would come easily, but right now she felt more relaxed than she had in ages.

Morning seemed to come far too soon. The alarm clock on Tom's bedside was shrill, noisily letting them know it was five in the morning. Mary groaned, eyes squeezing shut as Tom sat up to silence it.

"Mary," Tom said softly. "It's time to get up, love."

Mary ignored him. It was almost easy to do, considering how soothing his voice was, and the warmth beneath the blankets they'd shared. She buried her face further into the pillow, which smelled of him.

Of course, it was hard to stay asleep when she felt feather-light kisses trailed along her jawline. "Mary, wake up," Tom mumbled against her neck before pressing a kiss to it.

At last she opened her eyes. It was still dark out; he hadn't opened the curtains yet or anything. "What time is it?"

"Almost five. You need head back to the house soon if you don't want to be caught sneaking in."

A part of Mary wished she would. Then their secret would be out in the open and she wouldn't have to worry anymore about concealing how she felt... but that was no way for her family to find out. She wanted to be able to tell them of her own volition, with a clear plan and even clearer intentions of what she and Tom wanted to do. Besides, if they found out like this, they might think she had been too ashamed or embarrassed to tell them upfront, when it couldn't be further from the truth. The only reason things between her and Tom were secret were so they could savor what they had now without the added pressure of her family's disapproval.

"Very well," Mary sighed, eyes meeting his ceiling. She supposed she understood now what he meant, now that she'd had a (mostly) full night of sleep and the fog of lust had diminished; his cottage was far from glamorous, especially compared to her own bedroom in Downton Abbey. No doubt he must think she would be constantly comparing them when here before drifting back and forth between her two worlds.

But Mary knew she wouldn't… at least not like that. Even though the physical differences were undeniable, all she would be able to focus on now was how lacking her beloved home would seem. Her bedroom would feel so empty once she returned to it, all because Tom wouldn't be there.

Tom insisted upon wrapping his robe around her shoulders when he walked her back up to the house (even after she pointed out she had her own gown to cover herself and could certainly manage the trek by herself). The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon as they walked up to the house. Once she reached the front door, she slipped off the robe. "Thank you," she whispered, now feeling the chill of the morning air creeping beneath her flimsy dressing gown.

"It was no problem," Tom replied, eyes and voice soft. "I'll see you in a few hours."

Mary's lips twitched at that reminder. That's right… it would only be a couple of hours. She could manage that. She leaned forward, brushing their lips together for a chaste kiss, so different from the ones they'd shared in his cottage last night. "See you soon," she whispered before drawing away. She reached for the door handle, testing it before pulling out the key from her pocket, finding it unlocked. Tom waited patiently to ensure she was able to go inside undetected before turning around and leaving.

Tom had assumed that Mary's visit to his cottage would be nothing more than a one-off incident. He couldn't deny he had been equally thrilled and surprised to find her at his door, and especially more so once he learned her intentions, but considering he'd decided they shouldn't go further, he assumed it would be the end of it.

Truth be told, Tom was somewhat surprised by the stance he'd taken. He was no saint and he desired Mary… so it seemed astonishing to him, even in hindsight, that he'd turned her down when presented with the opportunity.

It had never once occurred to him that Mary would ever be willing to take such a risk and thus assumed that it would never need to be something he would even have to consider, but evidently he'd been mistaken. It hadn't been until they started nearing that point of no return, when all sense of self control would be lost to them both, that Tom reluctantly realized they shouldn't go further. There was too much at stake.

So when a couple nights later, as he sat in his chair listlessly paging through a book and heard a knock at the door, he was mildly surprised to find Mary waiting there for him, pulling him into an embrace within seconds. "Is this going to become a regular occurrence?" He asked between kisses.

"Do you mind if it does?"

"God, no," Tom gasped against her mouth. "Come as often as you like."

Mary must have taken it as an invitation, for after that night there were scarcely any they spent apart. She became a fixture in the cottage, at least during the hours he was there. Soon, he became accustomed to her presence there when he returned after driving Mrs. Crawley home. It had surprised him at first, but it was still more than welcome.

One evening, Tom found her sitting at the desk in his room, eyes trained downward and focusing intently. "What have you got there, love?" Tom asked.

She mustn't have realized he'd returned, for she started at the sound of his voice. "Oh, Tom! You startled me!"

"Sorry," Tom said, though he admittedly didn't sound very sorry when he was grinning. "What've you got there?"

Mary looked hesitant all of a sudden, embarrassed. "I hope you don't mind, but… Well, I was starting to grow a bit bored, waiting for you out there, so I came in and I noticed these papers on your desk and… Tom, did you write these?" Mary turned back to the desk, gathering up bits of scrap paper, and turning around.

Tom felt his cheeks grow pink. He'd had a bit of down time during the day, working on cleaning out some old drawers when he stumbled across some old things he had written, back during the war. He'd been so frustrated with the state of the world, about what was being done to Ireland, and he'd vented by pouring his thoughts into words onto a page. He had thought about sending them in a few times but always decided against it, for one reason or another. It was strange, reading it now when he was some years older. But then one of the hall boys had knocked on his door and told him that Lady Grantham needed a ride into York, so he'd obliged and left the papers scattered across his desk. "I did. Yes." He scratched the back of his neck.

"It's brilliant," Mary said, beaming. "You're very talented, you know. Have you ever thought of doing it professionally?"

"Yes," Tom admitted. "A long time ago."

"Well, you should. You've a gift." Mary rose to her feet, gently placing the paper back on the desk. Tom leaned against the door jamb, simply watching her as she walked towards him. "You aren't mad I read them, are you?"

"Of course not." Once she was close enough to wrap into an embrace, Tom did so. "Everything I have is yours."

Her eyes softened, lips curling into a smile before she leaned in to kiss him, and then the whole world melted away.

Mary was in the midst of penning a letter to Sybil when the door of the library swung open. She turned around, surprised to find Thomas. "Barrow," she addressed him, straightening herself up.

"My apologies if I have disturbed you, milady, but her Ladyship wanted me to inform you that she won't be going to the hospital this afternoon after all, so if you require Mr. Branson, he is at your disposal."

Mary forced herself to school her face into a neutral expression. She didn't need to give away their secret now... especially to Thomas. While she was certain they could have been a fearsome, dynamic duo, she was well aware he was harboring a grudge against Tom and wouldn't hesitate to go to her father if he suspected anything was going on between them, just to spite Tom. "Thank you for informing me, Barrow. You may go." When he lingered reluctantly by the door, Mary narrowed her eyes. "Unless there is something else you wish to discuss?"

Thomas smiled at her in a way Mary knew to be insincere. "Well, there was one thing... about Mr. Branson."

"What about him?" Mary asked, hands tightening her skirt.

Thomas hesitated, as if deliberating with himself, before saying, "I've noticed he seems to be taking an interest in Master George, milady."

"Has he? Well, I think I can hardly blame him for that," said Mary with a touch of pride. "If the rumors are to be believed, you have as well."

For the first time since he stepped in the room, Mary noted that the smile on Thomas's face was a genuine one. "I suppose we can't, can we? He is a very sweet little boy." But the smile soon faded, giving way to an artifice of concern, "Which is why I think it only prudent to tell you that I noticed something strange the other day."

"Oh?" Mary felt her heart rate pick up just then. Goodness, what had Tom done? Had he spoken about them to George?

"He gave Master George a package of sweets and instructed him not to tell his mother about it," Thomas said, both disapproving and smug. "I didn't think it right, asking Master George to keep secrets from you."

Mary had to bite her inner lip, desperately trying to appear upset when all she wanted to do was beam. "Quite right, Barrow. Thank you for bringing this to my attention." A sudden thought popped into her head. "Do you know where Mr. Branson is now, by any chance?"

"Last I knew he was in the garage, milady."

"Would you bring him here? Now? I wish to have a word with him."

Thomas was struggling to contain his glee. "Certainly, milady. It won't be a moment."

The second he left, Mary let her icy façade slip away, replaced by the smile she had repressed. She was overjoyed that Tom was already taking such an interest, without her even prompting him. It only seemed to affirm what she knew to be true: that there really was no one better suited for her than Tom.

A few minutes later, Thomas was bringing Tom into the room, with the latter somewhat bemused. "Thank you, Thomas. You may leave us now," she said as a haughtily as she could manage, rising to her feet and shifting her shoulders back.

"Very good, milady," the under butler replied before stepping out of the room.

Once they were alone, Mary let herself soften, walking quickly over to Tom, who still seemed confused as to why he was there. She glanced out the window quickly, making sure there wasn't anyone hovering about somewhere, before leaning in to give him a kiss. It was quite scandalous, really, to take such a risk within the walls of the Abbey, but Mary didn't care in the slightest. Papa could have walked in on them and she wouldn't have even cared, too delirious with happiness.

"What—" Tom began once they parted, only to be silenced by Mary's finger on his lips.

"I'm willing to bet Barrow is hovering outside the door right now trying to listen in," she whispered to him.

Understanding immediately, Tom nodded, pitching his voice lower to say, "Not that I didn't enjoy that very much, but what was that about?"

Mary wrapped her arms around his shoulders, lacing her fingers together behind his neck. "That was for being a dear to my son."

"Oh," said Tom, a smile tugging at his lips. She tampered the urge to kiss him yet again. "How—"

"Thomas," she explained. "Though I should be very cross with you, telling George to keep the sweets secret from me."

"I just didn't want him getting into trouble, that's all," Tom said, unworried... just as he should be. "And he let it slip to me a few weeks ago that they're your favorites, too, so I thought it only prudent to warn him to keep them away if he ever wanted some for himself."

"You've been giving him lemon drops?" Mary said, smiling with delight... before the penny dropped. "What do you mean a few weeks ago?"

Tom ducked his head down, suddenly bashful. "I've... Well, I've been giving them to him for a while now."

Mary's mouth fell open. "You mean... Before I even came to my senses?" When Tom nodded, she felt the weight of his words hit her chest. Even when she was dithering about, he'd been thinking of George. This wasn't merely some way to further win her over and prove himself (not that he needed it), it was out of genuine care for her little boy.

Mary kissed him again, deeper this time, hoping she could convey everything she was thinking with that kiss alone. She felt Tom's arms wrap around her, one hand settling on her hip before it drifted slightly lower, almost without his even thinking about it. As he started caressing her, it took all of Mary's self control not to let out a moan. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to where his hand had migrated and cause him to pull away again. She instead poured all her efforts into kissing him even more deeply… and hoping to God no one would barge in before she was finished with him.

It struck Mary, during a visit to the nursery, that Tom hadn't many opportunities to spend time with George… at least, not with her being present as well. There was the infamous ride down to Yew Tree Farm and livestock fair, but that was all.

That would have to change, she decided, hoisting him onto her lap. She read him his book, flipping through the pages while managing to come up with concrete plan for how they might all become better acquainted with one another.

She waited to broach the topic with Tom in the evening, after sneaking down to the cottage and settling themselves into his bed. She was using his chest as a pillow when she finally spoke. "I've had rather an idea... and I'd like your input on it."

"I'm all ears," replied Tom, gracing her with a smile as he glanced down at her.

"I want to do something with George, away from Downton. I sometimes feel as though I don't spend nearly enough time with him."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," he replied reflexively, and Mary couldn't help but smile. "But I think that's a lovely idea. What did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking a picnic."

"That does sound nice," agreed Tom.

"And it will be even nicer because I want it to be just us three. You, me, and George," she clarified, in case there was any confusion on his part.

"Me?" A slow smile began spreading across his face. "You want me there?"

"Of course I do," she told him. She found impossible not to smile at the expression of wonderment written across his face. "I want you to know my son and I want him to know you."

"I want to know him, too," Tom said, almost eagerly. "I don't have many chances to see him. He comes down into the servant's hall for treats from Mrs. Patmore sometimes and to see Thomas, but I'm not always there."

"Well, he's rather young to be ordering the car for himself," Mary pointed out with a smile. "So... I take it you're amendable to the idea?"

"Of course I am." Then, almost shyly, he added, "I'm looking forward to it."

Mary might have expressed how glad she was to hear that if not suddenly overcome by the urge to kiss him again. It seemed the easier way to convey just how she was feeling.

"Where are we going, Mummy?"

"On a picnic, darling."

"But where?"

Tom couldn't help but grin, stealing a glance into the backseat. They had only just pulled out of the driveway and Mary was still trying to settle George.

"There's a lovely field just outside York," Mary told him, her own eyes trying to meet his in the mirror. "Now you must keep seated, darling."

George listened to her yet chattered excitedly about what all was going on in the nursery. Tom was surprised by how interesting he found it; he didn't mind in the slightest that Mary's attentions were preoccupied by her son. He knew well enough how little time they spent with one another and didn't want to intrude upon it... even though she was the one who'd wanted it in the first place.

The night before, Mary had been already waiting for him at his kitchen table when he returned from dropping Mrs. Crawley off in the village. Tom knew that they would both pay dearly should she ever be caught going in or out of his cottage (though he was willing to bet it was he would suffer most in that particular scenario) but he was always so pleased to see her. It never felt like there were enough hours in the day to spend in her company.

However, her appearance wasn't solely one of their routine visits; she had come down to prep him for exactly what she planned. "I'm afraid I won't be nearly as familiar tomorrow," she told him solemnly, eyes somewhat imploringly. They were standing together in his kitchen, her fingers playing with the hem of his shirt, nearly driving him to distraction. "George is still so young yet and he would be sure to say something to his Nanny or my parents if I were to kiss you or hold your hand... and that isn't the way I want them to find out about us."

He couldn't deny that he liked hearing her say that. It made him more confident that this wasn't just some secret rebellion on her part, that one day the whole world, including all the inhabitants at Downton Abbey would know they were in love. Nevertheless, he understood the need for secrecy now; Mary's admission of love was a great leap for her to undertake and he knew she wasn't necessarily ready for marriage just yet. But when she talked like that, he was reminded it really would happen one day... and then they could tell everyone.

"Of course," he answered, kissing her forehead as to soothe any nerves.

"Though I hope you do know I want to." Her eyes seemed to best focused on her hands, now undoing the top button. Given the temperature of the evening, the air against his skin did not feel like nearly as much of a relief but her hand certainly did. "Very much."

"I think I have an idea," Tom said, voice strained as he undid a second button. "Love, what are you doing?"

"Don't worry," Mary uttered lowly, lips descending to his now exposed collarbone. His eyes fell shut, breath hitching in his throat. God, he wanted her. "I'll leave you to it in a moment. I just want to help get comfortable."

If her lips hadn't lingered on his neck, Tom was certain he could have managed a witty response about her winding him up instead of relaxing him. As it happened, though, he couldn't form any sort of words. He couldn't even manage coherent thought by the time she was through... and based on the smirk she gave him, Mary knew it. "Now why don't you get changed, darling, so we can go to bed?" She asked, a sparkle in her eye as she stepped back from him.

Tom watched her go, cursing his resolve to play things by the straight and narrow, and forced himself to think of significantly less appealing things as he changed his clothing. By the time he and Mary were tucked away in his bed, Tom felt more at ease and mercifully she was no longer intentionally trying to wind him up... though she was certainly still doing it. Being in such close proximity to her was the sweetest form of torture, one Tom wasn't about to relinquish anytime soon. He loved waking in the early hours of the morning because it meant she was laying beside him, arm usually having settled across his middle, chin tucked by his shoulder... even if he barely slept, too in awe that this was all real.

Mary seemed a little tired as well, no doubt still unused to rising at such an early hour. She was too preoccupied with balancing George on her lap to exchange a glance with him in the mirror.

Tom didn't mind. He kept his eyes straight ahead on the road, driving towards a destination that had become familiar to him and Mary.

Upon reaching their field, George was clambering to get out of the car. "George, you must be patient," Tom heard Mary instructing him sternly as he jumped up and down in the back, jostling the car about. Tom smiled as he opened up the door, stretching his arms out to help George out of the vehicle while Mary found their blanket.

"What are we eating, Mummy?" George asked once Tom had deposited him to the ground.

Mary took Tom's hand as she stepped out, brushing her thumb against the back of his knuckles as almost a silent reminder of her true feelings before saying, "I'm not sure yet. We'll have to see what Mrs. Patmore packed us."

"Mrs. Patmore made it?"

"She makes all our food, darling," she said as Tom rummaged about the back for basket.

"I like Mrs. Patmore. She lets me lick the bowl after she makes cakes," George jabbered behind him. "Once she let me and Marigold play hide-and-go-seek in the kitchen!"

"That sounds like fun."

"Can we play hide-and-go-seek, Mummy?"

"I don't know if there's many places to hide out here, darling," she said once Tom had gathered everything up. She'd already laid the blanket out. "Come over here, Mr. Branson has our lunch."

Mrs. Patmore, as always, had prepared a lovely meal, even if it was just sandwiches. George peeled the crusts off of his and was only able to eat half before asking Mary if he could be done. "Very well," she said with a sigh, eyeing his plate.

"Can we play now?"

"Well, I'm still eating, darling," Mary said, holding up her own sandwich.

"I could," Tom suggested, glancing over to Mary. "I'm done… that is, if it's alright with you?"

"Of course it is. You boys have fun," she told them, trying to conceal her smile but failing miserably… not that it seemed she was trying very hard. There was no need to hide, not our here, not when it was just them.

"Alright, Master George," Tom said, "What shall we play?"

"Hide-and-go-seek!"

"Very well. How about I count to ten and you go hide!" George nodded enthusiastically as Tom covered his eyes. "One," he counted slowly. "Two… three…"

When the time was up, Tom could clearly see George hiding behind a tree, but he still made a show of hunting about for him. He even popped the hood of the car at one point, calling out for George, and earning laughs from both him and Mary, who watched on in amusement. When he finally "found" George, he feigned shock.

As the afternoon wore on and he listened to George counting to ten as he hid on the opposite side of the car, Tom couldn't help but feel they were a family already. He didn't want to rush Mary by any means, but he couldn't help that she would be ready to marry sooner than later, if only so days like these could happen more often.

The picnic ended up going perfectly. Mary never would have admitted it to Tom, but she had been quite nervous ahead of time. She had been plagued with worries that George would suddenly act out or either her or Tom would forget to restrain themselves, at which point she would have to explain to her son that she was in love with Tom but that he had to keep it quiet… which would almost very nearly be impossible. They would be operating on borrowed time, in constant suspense until George undoubtedly (and unthinkingly) said something to someone, unless Mary did it first… which she wasn't certain she was ready to do just yet. After all the drama that had preceded the start of their relationship, she was growing used to the easy simplicity of being together without prying eyes and wagging tongues.

But it seemed her worries were unfounded. It seemed quite clear that her son already adored Tom and the feeling was mutual. She'd been perfectly content to simply sit and watch them play, unable to tell which of them was having more fun. There was something so enchanting about watching the man she loved chasing her son around a field, listening to George's delighted shrieks of laughter, and seeing Tom smiling.

"Thank you," Mary told Tom, curling up closer to him. She had already snuck down for the night, crawling underneath his blankets as if it were second nature… because it was. Mary could hardly contemplate sleeping in her bed alone now.

"For what?"

"For today. For being so wonderful with George."

"It was nothing," insisted Tom. His arm was wrapped around her waist, thumb near her arm. "I enjoyed myself."

Mary sighed in relief. She'd expected it, of course, but even so… "You have no idea how glad I am to hear that." And it occurred to her, just then, to voice her thoughts. "Because... well, you know how I feel. And I want the two of you to know each other. To get along. I'd like us all to live in close quarters in the future and I want you to know one another."

A strange expression appeared on his face. Mary worried for a moment that she had said the wrong thing, that she had managed to misinterpret everything. But then he asked lowly, "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Mary held his gaze, unable to look away. "I don't know," she replied. "You've not asked me yet."

"I didn't want to be presumptuous or push you along too soon," Tom explained, his voice not as steady as it normally was.

Wanting to reassure him, she reached up and placed a hand on his cheek. "Tom, I love you. From the very moment I told you, I knew this is what I wanted. I knew I was finally ready to move forward with my life and I wanted you to be by my side."

Tom looked close to tears as he grinned from ear to ear but managed, "Do you want me to kneel down and everything or—"

Mary thought back to Matthew's proposal out in the snow for the briefest of seconds. Her romance with Tom was already so different... and she couldn't help but be too excited for her future to finally be set in stone. "Darling, I just want you to ask me already."

Laughter bubbled up and it sounded like music to her ears. Tom sat up in the bed, the springs creaking beneath them. Mary did the same, wanting to remain as equal to eye level as possible. He took her hand between his, cradling it between his own as he met her eyes. "Mary Crawley, will you be my wife?"

"Yes," Mary whispered before surging forth to kiss him. She only pried herself away in order to repeat, "Yes, yes, yes!"