A/N: The dreaded third chapter. The bane of my existence as a fanfic writer as it always is the hardest to write and is never satisfying. There is a LOT going on in this installment, and I think you might find it either overwhelming or disjointed or both, but hang in there. It's that necessary bridge to the rest of the story. Thanks to all reviewers, your observations have been truly helpful in directing the story!


The house was quiet in the early hours of the new year; everyone long since gone home or gone to bed. The silence of the dimly lit kitchen was only disturbed by the gentle ticking of the clock and hum of the refrigerator, which Mary found oddly soothing. She sat with a half-eaten slice of leftover cake forgotten on the table and an ashtray overflowing as she lit one cigarette after another.

That damned dress.

New Year's Eve

"You're sure it's alright?"

"Anna, you really must stop asking. It's been a tradition for too many years to count."

"I know. I just thought it might be an imposition with the party tonight."

Mary rolled her eyes. "It's not a party, just a dinner. Our world can't stop turning simply to accommodate Edith's wedding anniversary. Besides, Robbie would be crushed if Jack didn't spend the night. He's been looking forward to it all week." Anna smiled indulgently at the thought of her son. "Jack too. No matter what gifts we come up with for him his favourite part of his birthday is the annual sleepover." Her smile dimmed slightly. "I wonder how much longer they'll want to keep it up. I can't believe he's twelve already."

"We must remember to enjoy them while we can." She looped a necklace around her throat and stood back from the mirror. "What do you think of this dress? It's not too young, is it?"

"I don't think so, Milady."

"Alright. Well, you'd better get going if you want to have cake before you send Jack over."

"Thank you. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year, Anna."

Mary studied her reflection with a critical eye. Even if the dress was too young, she pulled it off. She was just adding the finishing touches when Henry came in. She caught his gaze in the mirror and sighed dramatically. "Come to fetch me to the gallows?" He let out a huff of laughter. "No, I've lost one of my cufflinks. You know, it wouldn't kill you to be nice to your sister more often."

"Well, it might." Mary could feel his eyes on her as he fixed his cuffs. She did a small twirl for his benefit. "What do you think?"

"You look spectacular. Is that new?"

She'd been in London earlier in the week running errands when she'd spotted it in the shop window, and she'd bought it impulsively. She'd immediately felt guilty about caving to such an extravagant whim but hadn't been able to resist. "Yes, but I haven't had anything new in ages." He took her by the shoulders and her skin warmed under the graze of his thumbs. "You deserve it, Mary. And even if you didn't it wouldn't matter." He kissed her lightly on the corner of her mouth. "You look too good for anyone to care." Mary relished the moment. She couldn't remember the last time Henry had spoken to her this way. "You know," she suggested slowly, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I'm sure they wouldn't miss us for a little while."

"I doubt that," he laughed, pulling back. The rejection stung more than it should have. She tried not to let it weigh on her as they headed down for the usual pre-dinner cocktails, but it was like a splinter festering in the back of her mind. The library was filled with their dinner guests and she was mildly embarrassed to realize they were the last to arrive, but as she'd predicted no one seemed to notice. Sybbie emerged from the crowd and latched onto her arm. "Oh, wow, Aunt Mary! Please tell me I can borrow that dress!"

"You're the envy of a seventeen-year-old," Henry teased. "How does that feel?"

For a split second, Mary was self-conscious. Maybe the dress really was too young. She suddenly wondered if she looked foolish. Then Sybbie poked Henry with a red-tipped fingernail, chastising. "Are you kidding? I can only pray I'll look this good when I'm her age." Gratitude washed over Mary, and with it her confidence returned. "Darling, for that you can have it. Now, shouldn't you have left already?" Sybbie rolled her eyes. "Yes, well, we're just waiting for Aunt Edith to finish parading Marigold like a show horse." Mary laughed and linked arms with her niece. "Let's go move them along. You don't want to keep the Sawyers waiting." The three of them had been invited to the family home of Sybbie's best friend for their New Year's celebrations, and while Mary thought it would be a nice change for the children, it had taken some arm twisting to get Tom and Edith to agree to send them unchaperoned. Sybbie leaned in conspiratorially. "I know I have you to thank," she said. "It means the world." Mary squeezed her hand. "Just behave yourself," she ordered, and Sybbie winked. "Always."

Edith was indeed showing off Marigold, who couldn't have looked more mortified if she'd tried. Mary begrudgingly found the scene endearing but swooped in to rescue the poor girl. "Edith, if they don't leave now they'll be late for dinner."

"Oh, alright," Edith sighed with an apologetic smile for her audience. She turned aside with Marigold to give her several whispered instructions before hugging her tightly. "Go say goodbye to your Father," she said, and Mary smothered a smile when Marigold had to peel Edith off of her. "I'll be fine, Mum. I'm not going to war, for heaven's sake."

"Yes, alright. Have fun, and be good!"

Sybbie practically dragged Marigold out the door, scooping up George along the way. Mary watched them fondly and once again found herself envious. The most serious thing they had to worry about was getting permission to attend a party. She turned back to find Henry and Bertie had joined them, and Bertie smiled broadly at her. "You look splendid, Mary!"

"Yes, that is quite the dress..." Edith agreed drily, brow raised, then lowered her voice so only Mary could hear. "I thought your man-hunting days were over?" Mary pursed her lips and shrugged, giving her sister a blatant once-over. "It doesn't hurt to make an effort once in awhile," she replied pointedly. Bertie, either oblivious or ignoring the tension, spoke over them. "Did Edith tell you our news?" he asked, tucking his wife into his side. Mary marveled at how unconscious the gesture was, and wondered if Henry had ever noticed that Edith and Bertie never seemed be out of arm's reach of each other. One glance told her either he hadn't noticed or didn't care. "You're not pregnant, are you?" she accused coldly. Bertie burst into choked laughter. "Oh, heavens no! Could you imagine? No, we're taking an African safari in the spring. A second honeymoon of sorts."

"How nice," Mary managed through clenched teeth. They took a second honeymoon every other year, it seemed. She looked around desperately for an escape and zeroed in on Tom, who was in the corner chatting with Faye Delaney. She felt a pang of annoyance but endeavoured to brush it off, and leaned into Henry. "I didn't know he'd invited her," she remarked lightly. Henry shrugged, but in a pleased sort of way. The equivalent of socking his pal on the arm. "Nor did I. Let's go say hello."

"Yes, let's."

Henry chuckled. "You needn't sound so sinister. For Tom's sake, retract the claws." She held up her hands innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Tom's brows winged up at the sight of her, but when the look was replaced by obvious apprehension she knew she'd have to behave. "Ms. Delaney," she greeted pleasantly. "This is a surprise. I didn't know you were coming." Ms. Delaney laughed. "Well, Tom did warn me I'd be swimming with the sharks if I did, but I thought that would be too much fun to miss." Mary blinked. Tom? She hadn't the slightest clue how to reply to that, or even how to take it. She saw Tom and Henry both wince, but she was surprised to find herself more amused than anything. "Well, welcome to the shark tank, I suppose."

Ms. Delaney went on to tell them a little about herself and her work at the hospital, but Mary was far more interested in her own private study. Mid-thirties, lovely red-gold hair, animated in conversation. Mary fiddled with the delicate beading along her hip as she observed that Ms. Delaney's dress was nice but serviceable, and worn in a way that suggested the woman didn't really care. She didn't take her clear blue eyes off Tom for more than a moment, and Mary didn't miss the way his hand lingered on her arm when asking if she'd like a drink.

"I'll help," Mary offered. The moment they were out of earshot, she pounced. "Why didn't you tell me she was coming tonight?"

Tom raised his brows and poured brandy into four glasses. "Maybe because you've disliked every single woman I've ever brought around?" She waved a hand dismissively. "Only because none of them were good enough for you." She pondered feigning nonchalance but knew he'd see right through it. "I wasn't aware you were on a first name basis already."

"We're not," he insisted instantly. "Well, not like you mean. She's just progressive." He chuckled and handed her two of the glasses to carry back. "I was sure you were going to spontaneously combust when she said it."

"Oh, shut up. Maybe if you looked less like you were facing a firing squad... besides, I'm fairly certain I'm the most progressive person you know."

He gave her a sidelong glance and smirked. "Yes, I suppose you are."

"What are you two giggling about?" Henry demanded as Mary handed over his brandy. She and Tom shared a look and shrugged. "Progressiveness and firing squads," Tom explained, and Mary snorted into her drink.


Dinner found Mary seated between Henry and Lord John Spencer, a childhood friend of Bertie's. He was around her age, handsome with an easy smile. She straightened a little in her seat "Why is it we're only just meeting?" she asked as the first course was served. "I'm asking myself the same thing," he drawled with blatant appreciation, and Mary allowed herself a moment of smug satisfaction. She made polite small talk while he flirted outrageously, which was a soothing balm on her confidence after Henry's rebuff earlier. "So what is it you do?"

"Mostly I do my best to spend my father's money as irresponsibly as possible," he said unapologetically, and topped off both their glasses of wine. "Wretched man. I consider it my civic duty." Mary didn't know how else to respond but to laugh. "Well, no one could accuse you of dishonesty." He grinned. "In fact, that's the only thing I've never been accused of." Mary felt a little flutter and cast a sidelong glance at Henry. He was deep in conversation with Isobel and Dickie, but rather than disappointed she was indignant. This rake of a man was practically propositioning her at the dinner table yet all Henry seemed concerned about was driver's licensing, or whatever it was had got him riled up. Alright then, she thought spitefully. If that's the way it is... But as she returned her attention to Lord Spencer she caught Tom watching her steadily, as if he could read her thoughts. She felt her cheeks warm guiltily and looked away.

After dinner they migrated back to the library for the countdown to midnight. Papa served up champagne, card games were started up and someone put a record on, and Mary found herself alone in conversation with Faye Delaney. She was still smarting from Henry's puzzling indifference over dinner when she was cornered.

"I must admit, I've wanted to meet you since I moved to town. You have quite the reputation."

Mary swirled the champagne around in her glass and tried to figure out how to be diplomatic with someone so forthright, especially when she was in no mood to make friends. "Good, I hope."

"Well, it would be more interesting if you had a bad reputation I think, but I'm a great admirer of any woman who breaks barriers the way you do. If Tom has your support behind him in the election, he's sure to win."

Mary was taken aback slightly and gave Faye her full attention. "I'm sorry, election?"

"For the City Council. He told me he was considering it this year."

"He did?"

"Well he mentioned it, but if he's not ready to make an announcement I'll keep it under my hat."

Mary inhaled sharply and fought the surge of irrational anger that jolted through her. Tom was thinking of running for an election and hadn't once mentioned it to her? Betrayal cut deeply and she narrowed her eyes. He was playing a card game with Henry, Bertie, and Papa and laughed loudly over a joke, and she resisted the urge to march over and demand an explanation. Instead she turned back to Faye. "How serious are you about him?" she asked bluntly, because if Tom was telling this woman things he wasn't sharing with Mary then he was pretty damned interested. To her credit, Faye was unmoved. "I don't know yet, but when I do the first person I tell will be him." Not you went unsaid but not unheard. Mary pursed her lips and decided she had to give respect where it was due. "More champagne?"


"How are you and Ms. Delaney getting on?"

"A great deal better than you and I at the moment."

Tom was instantly wary and more than a little annoyed. "Mary, you cannot get mad at me because you don't like-"

"I expect a little more credit than that," she snapped. Midnight loomed and the room had gotten louder and more jovial with each bottle of champagne, but at that moment she had no qualms about starting an argument. "As a matter of fact I do like Ms. Delaney. I'm angry because apparently you're planning a career in government and neglected to mention it to me." Tom's face fell and he heaved a sigh as he sank down onto the chaise next to her. "Mary, please, can we discuss this tomorrow?"

"I'm not even angry," she continued, ignoring his plea. "I'm hurt. How could you not tell me? This is a huge thing in your life and you didn't tell me?"

"I haven't decided anything yet. It was just an idea. And I didn't tell you because I knew you'd want me to do it, even with things the way they are." He didn't need to explain things. The only thing was the estate. "Running would take an enormous amount of time and energy and I can't just leave you when things are starting to get bad. We're in this together."

The rush of affection she felt was overwhelming, though to hear it acknowledged out loud that they were in trouble sent a shiver down her spine. Any resentment she harboured was obliterated and she marveled over his selflessness. "Well, you're right," she declared when she found her voice, "I do want you to do what makes you happy. I just wish you'd told me," she pouted. It wasn't sitting well that she'd had to hear it second-hand from a fling he was having, or that he'd told that woman before he'd told her. He smiled crookedly. "I'm sorry, but like I said, it's just an idea. Now it's almost midnight, you'd better go find Henry."

"What's the point?" She muttered, though he heard well enough. Tom turned to face her, propping his elbow on the sofa back, and gave her a searching look. "I thought you and Henry were on better terms lately?" He asked carefully. She hesitated, glass poised at her lips. "So you have noticed," she said dully, and swallowed the last mouthful of whiskey, relishing the way it burned through her chest.

"Of course I have," he said gently.

"You never said anything."

"Neither did you," he said, and she thought back to all those different times he'd tried to get her to talk, and all the times she'd resisted. She'd thought it was because it would have been inappropriate, but she realized suddenly it was out of fear. If she said it out loud then it would become reality. "It started because of all the pressure I've been under," she said in a rush. "But it just...grew, and now I don't know how to talk to him. Things seemed to get better over Christmas, but now – tonight – I may as well be a piece of furniture." She felt the prick of tears but blinked them away. There was no use in getting emotional. Tom took her hand and forced her to meet his gaze. "I can't speak for Henry, but believe me, you're impossible to miss. There isn't a man in this room whose attention you don't have."

"There's at least one."

She was surprised to see impatience flit across his face. "Ok, that's enough. This isn't you. You don't take things lying down and I'm tired of seeing you sad. You don't deserve it. So go over there and tell him to get his head out of his arse and remember how damn lucky he is to have you." Mary's mouth fell open slightly and she felt laughter bubbling up. "Well there's nothing like a good pep-talk." He laughed with her, then sighed. "All couples go through hard times, Mary."

"Of course you're right." She leaned over and kissed his cheek, grateful for the kick in the pants. "Thank you." She stood and straightened her dress, determined to follow Tom's advice. "Oh, and don't think we're finished discussing this election business," she warned as he gently pushed her away. She felt better about things as she searched out Henry.

"What was that about?" Henry asked when she did find him. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He was clearly troubled and trying to pretend otherwise. Mary shook her head and looped her arms around his shoulders. "Nothing, just chatting."

"What about?"

"It's not important. Truly," she insisted as everyone started counting down, and when the clock chimed twelve, she kissed him. He pulled back quickly, however, and frowned. "I think I should decide if it's important for me to know or not. You promised me, Mary." Her heart thudded at the look he gave her: angry, impatient. She scrambled to catch up. "What did I promise?"

"To talk to me. I won't be brushed off anymore."

Her temper flared instantly. He wouldn't be brushed off? After the night he'd spent ignoring her? "Fine," she seethed. "Ms. Delaney told me Tom was thinking of running for City Council and I was asking him about it because he hadn't mentioned it to me. That's it." She wasn't about to admit Tom had been giving her relationship advice. Henry had the grace to look chagrined but things between them remained chilly after that.


It was well after one o'clock when Henry shut their bedroom door and loosened his tie. Mary pulled off her necklace and tossed it at her dressing table, not concerned with casualties as it sent her makeup pots spinning. "What are you mad about now?" He asked wearily, draping his jacket over the chair. Mary took a calming breath but found it did nothing to quell the wave of emotion that that threatened to burst out. "I'm not mad, I'm confused. I thought things were going well this week...even this afternoon, but tonight I may as well not have been there at all. You couldn't have shown less interest if I'd been a potted plant." He gaped at her a second before letting out a laugh of disbelief, which not only fueled her ire but hurt as well.

"You're angry because I wasn't paying enough attention to you? You do see the irony here, right?" He shook his head. "I don't see how you even noticed, you had plenty of admirers as it was. John Spencer couldn't say enough about you, and you and Tom looked pretty cozy on that sofa."

"You're not serious?" She spluttered. "John Spencer is nothing but a shallow flirt; I can't believe you'd even care about that. But Tom? You're not seriously implying –" If Mary wasn't so shocked she would have laughed. "Where is this coming from?"

"Faye said something to me tonight. When you two were off getting drinks she said she hoped she and Tom would be that close one day. The woman he is dating."

"So, let me get this straight," she replied slowly. "You decided to ignore me all night because you're jealous?" He gave her a long, searching look before scrubbing a hand across his brow. "I wasn't ignoring you, Mary. It's…you can't just put on a pretty dress and expect things to change when it suits you." She looked down at her dress, which clung in just the right places and shimmered gold even in the dim light, and felt a mixture of disbelief and embarrassment. She set her jaw and raised her brow imperiously. "What exactly do you mean?"

"I mean that attraction has never been the problem. You're beautiful no matter what you wear. Our problem is a lack of communication. You don't need to impress me, you need to talk to me."

She wrenched the straps off her shoulders and kicked the dress aside. Clearly that had been a waste of time and money. She shoved her arms through the sleeves of her robe and belted it tightly. "You're right, I bought that for you. I only wanted one night of what we had at the beginning – to barely keep our hands off each other, or a night without any worry about the estate or anything else."

"But it's not just about what you want," he replied quietly, but firm. "It's late, I'm tired. Can we please just go to bed?"

She stormed past him and threw open the door. "Do whatever you like."


Mary absently stabbed the cake slice with her fork and let the cigarette burn down between her fingers. Henry's accusations weighed heavily on her and she hated that he was right, she didn't talk to him. The day he'd made it clear he didn't have any vested interest in Downton was the day she'd begun to shut him out. Naturally that left a void, and Tom fit neatly into it. Or more likely she'd never made space for him in that part of her life because of Tom. Admittedly she could see why Henry might be envious of her relationship with Tom, but they'd gone through so many things together that Henry just wouldn't comprehend.

She didn't understand, however, that odd insinuation about how cozy they'd looked on that sofa together. It was as if Henry thought –

Mary tensed when a loud clatter sounded from down the hall. She was on her feet before reason kicked in, and crept toward the service entrance. She could hear hushed voices speaking urgently and wondered who exactly was at the door at three in the morning. The scene that met her had her stopped in her tracks. "Marigold? George?"

They were in the open doorway, Marigold propping up George while fruitlessly begging him to be quiet. At the sound of Mary's voice Marigold turned white as a sheet. "I'm sorry!" She said immediately, still struggling under the weight of her cousin, who could barely keep his feet under him. Mary rushed forward. "What happened? George, are you alright?" He groaned miserably. "I'm sick."

"You're drunk," she realized as the smell of whiskey rolled off of him. "What is going on?" She demanded of her niece as her outrage mounted. It was just coming together for her that the children were sneaking around in the dead of night, drunk and who knows what else. Marigold was so terrified she started hiccupping. "We went... it was just... I didn't-"

"Do not lie to me, Marigold. Have you been drinking too?"

"No, I swear! I only had one glass of champagne!"

Mary's lips all but disappeared into a thin white line and she pulled her son's arm around her shoulders to take the weight of him. He blinked at her with bleary blue eyes. "Mum, I don't feel good," he whimpered and proceeded to double over and vomit on the floor. Marigold shrieked and jumped back. Mary rolled her eyes heavenward for a long moment before zeroing in again on Marigold. "Where's Sybbie?" Marigold nervously glanced back outside but shrugged, obviously torn between loyalty to her cousin and her abject terror of her aunt. Mary passed George off to her. "Get him to the kitchen and get some water in him, then straight to bed," she ordered furiously before marching out into the yard in her robe and slippers.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on, so Mary was prepared for the worst when she wrenched open the car door. Sybbie was in the lap of some young man, and it was impossible to tell where her mouth ended and his began. Mary decided to be grateful that they were still fully dressed, despite the fervor with which the boy's hands were roaming. "Sybil!" She barked, shrilly enough for Sybbie to jerk back in surprise and bump her head on the roof. "Oh shit," Sybbie uttered at the sight of Mary, then clapped her hand across her mouth. She straightened her skirt and slid out of the car as gracefully as she could. "Aunt Mary, I-"

Mary didn't let her finish. "Would you care to introduce me?" She asked, not taking her eyes off the boy still in the car. "You remember Lou's brother, Jamie," Sybbie replied miserably. Mary pursed her lips. "In fact, I don't. I trust you'll find your way home alright, Mr. Sawyer?" He could barely meet her eye as he reached for the ignition. "Yes, ma'am." Mary didn't watch as he drove away. She whirled on her niece, whose panic was palpable. "Aunt Mary, please don't-"

"No. This is how you repay my trust? I can hardly stand to look at you right now."

Sybbie's eyes welled and she took a hitching breath. Mary jabbed a finger toward the house. "Bed. Now."

Mary locked the door firmly behind her and leaned against it wearily. This had been the longest, most upsetting night she might have ever had. She felt the sting of tears in the back of her throat and gave herself a moment as the wave washed over her. After it passed she pulled herself together and searched high and low for a bucket and mop to clean up after George. It only occurred to her after her feet were half soaked with sudsy water that she'd never mopped a thing a day in her life. She'd always had somebody else to do her dirty work.

Happy New Year indeed.