A/N: Hello, everyone! Thank you so much for being patient while I worked on this chapter! I hope you all enjoy!


The Lady in Black

Chapter Thirty Four

Tom felt a hand settle on his shoulder. "You should let me take George for today," Mary said, tone light even though he knew she was worrying. It wasn't exactly a secret; all morning, she had been trying to find ways to save time for him, whether it be carrying the dishes to the sink to taking over on making sure George was dressed during the day.

"There's no need. I can manage," Tom said, not looking up from the piece of paper in front of him, half jotted down ideas staring back at him in black ink.

"Maybe… but I want you to be able to concentrate."

"I'm just trying to come with ideas for now," Tom insisted, finally turning around to face her. "I haven't settled on what I want to write about yet."

Mary's expression softened. "Darling, whatever you write will be brilliant."

"It'll be alright today," Tom told her, reaching for her hand to squeeze it. "George isn't a bother. If it becomes too much, I'll tell him that he needs to play in his room by himself for a while, alright?"

Mary still seemed hesitant but accepted his answer. "Very well." She leaned down to give him a chaste kiss, said her goodbyes to George, then left their flat and Tom to his work.


For a time, life became a bit of a juggling act for Tom. He was splitting his time between Kieran's garage, taking care of George, and trying to write his article for Edith's magazine. There were numerous directions he felt he could take— Lady Edith had essentially given him full freedom to write whatever he pleased. However, it was her editor he needed to impress, and he did feel the best issues to write on would be the kinds which concerned women.

However, staying at home meant there were other things he needed to do. Making food, shopping for groceries, taking care of George… all those sorts of things. Mary did her best to help him but the majority of the domestic duties fell onto him.

It wasn't necessarily a shock to Tom. He'd known exactly what he was getting into with Mary and he'd never expected her to suddenly change just because she was married to him; in fact, he'd never ask her to change, for he loved her just for who she was. However, that didn't make it any easier. Doing household chores wasn't so much the problem; he found that doing such as tasks as mopping the floors or scrubbing the tub were wonderful opportunities to let his mind wander and think up ideas.

But, seemingly as Mary predicted, George made it more difficult through no fault of his own. After Tom lost track of time, George came over and told him he was hungry. Then he'd accidentally dropped one of their dishes on the floor, meaning that Tom had to clean up the sandwich itself as well as the shards of glass, all while ensuring George didn't stand too closely, before making him a small snack to replace the rest of the sandwich. He was picking up his stride, finally jotting words onto paper, when he felt a small hand tugging at his sleeve and George was asking him for help reaching a glass because he was thirsty.

He wasn't cross about it. George was a small child and small children demanded quite a bit of attention. Besides, it had been at his insistence that George stay with him. He couldn't very well be upset about something of his own making… though he had to begrudgingly admit that it was making this process a difficult one.

When a glance inside their icebox showed Tom they were running low on groceries, it was another thing to add to the growing list of responsibilities that he was responsible for in addition to writing his article and tending to George. As Tom sat down and wrote his list, he was suddenly struck by an idea, something he was surprised hadn't managed to occur to him until now. Tom sat the grocery list aside for a moment, pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, and began writing while the thought remained fresh.


Time seemed to move slower now. Mary was beyond pleased Tom had finally found his inspiration but she couldn't deny she felt a little neglected recently. She tossed and turned on their mattress, unused to going to bed without him. The bed felt colder than it ought to be and it didn't feel right to roll over and not feel him there.

It didn't help that he was being very secretive about it. He'd been evasive when she'd asked, demurring and saying that he'd tell her later, "once he was convinced it was any good." Her repeated assurances that everything he wrote was wonderful was not enough to persuade him.

Eventually, Mary did doze off, only to wake up when she heard the door open, thanks to the creaky hinges. She stirred, eyes seeing Tom's shadowy figure enter their bedroom. He closed the door slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible, before turning around and seeing her watching him. "Did I wake you?"

"No," she lied, but her voice, thick with sleep, gave her away.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Mary rolled over, following him as he walked over to his side of the bed. Her eyes focused on his fingers, which were undoing the buttons of his shirt. He'd already shed his jacket at some point; if she had to guess, it was hanging over the back of the chair he'd been sitting in while he tirelessly worked. "I don't sleep well without you anymore."

Even though his features were too difficult to make out, Mary could tell her was smiling.

Mary closed her eyes again, comforted by his mere presence in the room. She listened to rustling of his clothes, the sound of his footsteps against the wooden floor, the occasional protest of old floorboards. It slowly began lulling her back into slumber, but it was not achieved until after Tom had climbed into bed beside her, one arm wrapping around her waist as he moved as close to her as possible. She smiled when she felt his lips brush against her forehead. "Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight, darling," she whispered back.

She didn't wake again until morning.


Tom waited, heart practically hammering in his chest as he watched Mary read his article intently after George had been put to bed. He'd been nervous about this; she may be his biggest supporter but he wasn't sure how she'd feel being a subject of his writing, even if he hadn't named her. He was sure gossip of their marriage had spread amongst the sorts of people her family associated with and no doubt anyone who knew who he was would know what he was talking about.

But the fear ebbed away as Mary's confusion turned into smiles before she lowered the pages.

"Tom, this is brilliant."

A sigh he hadn't even realized he'd been holding escaped him. "You don't mind? That I wrote about us?"

More specifically, he had detailed the life of the modern househusband— though he archly acknowledged he might be the only one of his kind before divulging how he managed the household and a majority of the child rearing whilst his wife worked all day. He had worried it was too personal to share, terrified he'd have to start from scratch with a new concept which he was less inspired by. Nevertheless, as he wrote on and on, the more he wished to share. He talked about how he felt directionless without a "real" career whilst also recognizing the amount of labor he was doing at home, the sorts of work women across the country and even the world did every day. It had been the sort of thing he felt readers of Edith's magazine would be drawn to, a man who could sympathize with their experiences.

But with each detail he shared, he knew Mary would be the first one he would show this to— not only because she had been his biggest support but because he wanted her permission. She'd made plenty of sacrifices for him already and he didn't want to relinquish their privacy or, heaven forbid, embarrass her.

But Mary was beaming at him. "Of course not." She reached out, her hand stroking his shoulder soothingly. "If Edith's editor doesn't hire you after reading that, than she's a fool and Edith should sack her."

Ordinarily, Tom may have lightly chastised her for saying that, but he was too happy to do anything but chuckle, marvel at her, and say, "I love you." They were but three words, but they said everything that he was unable to put into words.

"So you'll send this in?"

"I'll proofread it first, make sure I didn't make any glaring errors, but yes. Then I'll send it in."

"Good. It's a splendid article, but I must say it's been making me very jealous. I feel as if I never see my husband anymore and I've been very lonely without him." It was said with just the right amount of playfulness for Tom know she was teasing him.

Tom reached out, taking the pages from her, and depositing them on the table before he rose to his feet, taking Mary by surprise as he quite literally swept her off her feet and started carrying her bridal style. Mary let out an uncharacteristic shriek of laughter, arms wrapping around his neck. "Tom!" She exclaimed between shocked giggles. "What are you doing?"

"Paying attention to my wife," he said lowly, before turning down the hall and towards their bedroom as Mary continued to laugh.


A week later saw Tom boarding the train to London minutes before Mary and George were to set off for Downton. He had to admit that it was quite nice, having his two favorite people there to see him off.

"Good luck, darling," Mary said, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he boarded. "Not that you'll need it."

The ride was a long one. Thankfully, he'd had the foresight to bring along the morning paper to distract himself from his nerves, though it was impossible to put the upcoming meeting entirely out of his mind.

It was not until Tom found himself sitting across from Laura Edmunds that it truly hit Tom that it was happening.

"I must say," she began, a cigarette hanging loosely between her index and middle finger, "I wasn't entirely sure you were a real person."

"Pardon?"

Laura merely smiled. "Only it's so rare to find a man who would stay at home and not be daunted when their wives go out and do the work, let alone advertise he does as such in writing. I was convinced your article was the work of a practical jokester— albeit a very well written one." She paused, tapping the ash off into a silver ashtray on her desk. "But then Edith clued me in."

"So you know who I am."

Laura nodded. "I felt rather stupid, not piecing it together before. After all, there were enough hints throughout. I should have realized."

Tom's face felt warm. "I wasn't trying to— That is, I was only trying to speak honestly—"

"I know, Tom," Laura assured him. "Edith told me everything about the deal you two made. After I finished reading the article and singing it's praises, of course. I admire you for not taking the easy path." She smiled at him. "Which is why I'd be honored to offer you a position here with your own regular column."


"Well, how splendid!" Isobel exclaimed once Mary conveyed the good news. "Please pass along my congratulations to Tom!"

Mary could stop herself from smiling, cheeks aching. "Of course I shall," she promised. Then, hesitantly, "I hope you don't mind, but with Tom's new job… Well, George might be spending more time here."

"Of course we don't mind!" Isobel's reaction was immediate. "I'll be sure to let you know ahead of time if we'll be busy with Dickie's appointments or whatnot, but George is always welcome. I don't want you worrying about anything like that in the slightest."

Mary let herself sigh in relief. She worried they were exploiting Isobel's good nature by having George spend so much time here, but it seemed her mother-in-law had no qualms whatsoever.

"We ought to celebrate," Isobel said suddenly. "I could throw a small dinner, so we can all give Tom our warm wishes."

Mary wasn't sure when she'd become so emotional, but she couldn't help but feel tears prickling in her eyes at the suggestion. "Do you mean that?" She asked, astonished.

"Of course!" Isobel was agog. Mary could practically see the cogs spinning in her mind. "Why don't you invite Tom's brother as well? After all, I'm sure he's proud of his brother and I've heard nothing but good things about him from George."

"I'll be sure to," Mary assured. "When would this dinner be, pray?"

"Why don't you talk to Tom about it? He'd know his own schedule best and he can tell us when it shall work for his brother."

"Of course," said Mary, happier than words could describe.

"And we should ask Edith, too," said Isobel. Mary felt her mood deflate almost immediately. And just when she was thinking it would be perfect… "She is, after all, the one who offered Tom the job."

"So she is." Mary supposed it wouldn't be right to exclude her… and even though they didn't get on, it didn't mean that Mary wasn't grateful for her intervention. Tom seemed so much happier now and it pleased her greatly. "Very well. Edith should attend, too."

"Brilliant!" Isobel started searching around her desk before producing a fountain pen and a scrap of paper before instructing Mary to tell her what Tom's favorite meal was so that her cook had enough time to purchase the necessary ingredients.


The following Friday was chosen for the dinner at Isobel's. Once that was out of the way, Mary decided she would invite Edith to the gathering herself… mostly because she wanted a chance to thank her in person.

She sent a letter up to the house one morning with specific instructions it be sent to Edith, waiting in her office until her sister came down. She didn't appear until luncheon, with a basket laden full of food. "Mama insisted," Edith said, arching an eyebrow and exchanging smiles with Mary. They knew how she could get.

"I just wanted a chance to thank you in person. For offering Tom a job. You don't know how much it means."

Edith glanced away, though she was smiling. "I'd say I had a rough idea."

"Why did you, though?" Mary asked, genuinely curious. Edith had never been known to go out of her way to do Mary a favor.

"Because he's a part of our family now," Edith told Mary honestly. "I've never once had a problem with him. I know Papa's upset, but… You're not the sort of person who would upend her entire life for a servant unless you were convinced he could make you happy."

That was true enough. Mary nodded… but then she started thinking.

"That wasn't the impression you'd given me when we first returned to Downton."

Edith rolled her eyes. "Think about it from my perspective, Mary. I finally get engaged, after all this time, and to the Marquess of Hexham, no less. Everyone was pleased. Something was finally about me… and then suddenly Anna's come back, saying you've taken off and married our old chauffeur." She sighed. "I had a few hours to celebrate my upcoming marriage and then it was overshadowed by you and your runaway marriage and the scandal it would bring."

Mary measured her words. "Well… It wasn't my intention."

"I know. Anna told me as much… or at least, she told me that you must have had it booked for a while in advance."

Just like my blasted haircut, Mary thought to remind her, thinking of that ridiculous argument, but she didn't. Instead, she stayed silent. "I am sorry," she said, realizing she hadn't apologized. "To you and to Bertie. I didn't mean to steal your moment."

"Thank you," Edith said quietly, and Mary could tell how much she truly appreciated it.

"And since I know I didn't say it properly, congratulations on your engagement."

Edith smiled again, glancing at her in amazement before asking, "Who are you and what have you done with my sister?"

Mary rolled her eyes in response before saying, "My mind was a little preoccupied that day."

"I imagine," Edith huffed, leaning back in her chair. "So what was it like? Your wedding?"

"Simple. We just popped down the registry office. It was lovely."

"It's so strange," mused Edith, "to think of you doing something without all the fanfare."

"I already had a big wedding. I didn't see the need for a second," Mary said with a shrug. "Besides, it wasn't exactly without excitement… But I think I missed out on a great deal of it."

"I'd wager you did." She paused. "You must truly love him."

"Is that such a shock to you?"

"It shouldn't be," Edith said, leaning back in her own chair. "After all… Matthew changed you so much. I'd never seen you nicer or happier than when you were with him… and then his death absolutely destroyed you." The atmosphere within the office became quite solemn as they became lost in thought. "And no one has seemed to compare to him… until Branson… I mean, Tom," she hastily corrected.

It was true enough, but all the same, Mary couldn't help but feel somewhat squeamish talking in such depth about hers and Tom's relationship with Edith of all people. It was one thing to speak of it to Mama or Isobel, who'd scarcely ever not been supportive of her. There had been so much strife between the two of them, a distinct lack of trust. So instead, she decided to ask, "What about Michael? Did it destroy you, to lose him?"

Edith was confounded clearly, but she didn't seem unwelcoming to the question. "I've never thought about it like that," she admitted. "And it was somewhat different… I had suspected he was gone for quite some time, but it was… It hurt, once it was confirmed. And in some ways, it was made even worse, being without Marigold."

Mary sat there, silently thinking of the harsh words she'd thrown at her sister so shortly after she'd learned the news. Had she even been remotely aware of Marigold's existence and parentage… Well, she wouldn't have said what she'd said. She wasn't certain she would have been any nicer, but she wouldn't have thrown the fact that she had George in her sister's face like that. She wondered if Edith ever harbored regrets for some of the crueler things she'd said and done to Mary over the years.

"I suppose… He wasn't my first love," Edith said. "But he was the first man who I'd ever loved who seemed to love me back on return."

Mary was shocked, asking, "But what about Anthony Strallan?"

"I don't know," Edith replied. "I know I… I certainly thought I loved him. I wanted to, at the time. And perhaps I did, or would have eventually if I didn't… but I think I loved being loved by him more. He was the first man who'd ever paid me a compliment and didn't think I was boring… and the first one to actually prefer me over you, in the end," she said, smiling before it faded. "But… I don't know. I wish he hadn't done what he did, or certainly not the way he did it… but without it, I wouldn't have Marigold or met Bertie."

Mary contemplated it quietly. She'd never quite thought of her life under those terms. If Matthew had lived, she certainly never would have looked at Tom twice. They may not have even become friends. In some ways, it was almost as if Matthew's death had bright them together, even; without those daily sojourns, would he have even felt comfortable enough around her to break that heavy, oppressive silence? Or would they have remained strangers all their lives?

Edith suddenly laughed, startling Mary. Before she could even ask, Edith was saying, "it's rather strange, isn't it? You and I, having a conversation and actually getting along."

"I suppose miracles are bound to happen occasionally," Mary said dryly, albeit with an amused smile, whilst Edith laughed at her joke.

"Do you think… we might get along better in the future?" Edith asked once she'd sobered.

Mary was quiet. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "I think us living separately is something which has helped us. I'm not sure if we'll ever be destined to be the best of friends… but I need all the allies I can get just about now."

"How touching," Edith replied dryly.

"I'm hardly the most sentimental of people," defended Mary. "But it's hardly as if I hate you. After all, you are my sister. And that counts for something."

Mary wasn't sure if that was the response Edith wanted… but she seemed to accept it. "The only person who's against you is Papa," Edith said, "and he'll be bound to come around at some point. After all," she said, a touch morosely, "you've always been in his good graces."

"I don't know," Mary said, "You're the one marrying a marquess. I'd say that puts you in the best standing of all of us."

"Maybe so," Edith acceded. "But you and he have always got on. It hasn't been about what you've achieved or who you've married. It's because the two of you are the ones who love Downton the most." It momentarily surprised Mary, to hear her say that… but then again, it was true enough. Sybil didn't care much about their way of life and while she was certain her youngest sister had fond memories of home yet, she was more than happy in New York City in a flat with a friend. Mama and Edith, though both sad when Downton seemed on the brink of ruin, weren't as torn up by losing it as she and Papa. "Do you ever think you'll move back here?"

"We will one day, I'm sure," Mary mused, though that day seemed so far off. "Once George is the Earl, I'd still like to remain nearby. I don't know what his plans will be, but I mean to help him through it. Let him know Downton as well as I do… but perhaps, if Papa was open to it…" she trailed off.

Edith looked somewhat sad. "Well, I hope it isn't long… if not for your sakes, than for mine. I don't want any fights at my wedding."

Mary smiled, not surprised. Tom had already let it slip that they were guaranteed an invite. "I promise to be on my best behavior. I can't guarantee the same for Papa."

Edith nodded, accepting it. Mary wasn't under any illusions she was happy— Mary knew she wouldn't be if the situations were reversed— but it was nice to know that she wouldn't be blamed for any unpleasantness.

"I have something I want to invite you to as well," Mary began, "though it's much less exciting than a wedding."

"What is it?"

"Isobel's hosting a dinner next Friday for Tom and his new job. Since you're the one we have to thank for that, you're on the guest list."

"I'm hardly the one to thank for that. Tom did all the hard work himself and Laura is the one who approved it… but I should be glad to come," Edith replied, acting as if it were completely unexpected.

"Good," Mary said. "I'll be sure to inform Isobel."

"I'd best be on my way. I need to go to Granny's."

"Tell her I say hello," Mary said, already turning back to her work.

"Of course," Edith said, a bit flustered, before leaving.

Even though most of her attention was focused on the sums and figures before her, Mary couldn't help but feel that maybe perhaps hers and Edith's feud was coming to an end at last.


When Friday finally came, Mary packed along a suitcase with her to work that day, something which Tom eyed curiously. "My clothes. For dinner this evening," she explained.

"You're changing?"

"Well, of course," Mary said. "I can't very well show up dressed like this." She gestured to her outfit, which consisted of a matching brown jacket, skirt, and hat paired with a white blouse and dark red tie.

"Why not?" asked Tom. "You look lovely to me."

Mary smiled. "You'd say that even if I showed up in a potato sack."

"Because you would be," Tom insisted. Mary rolled her eyes good naturedly, exchanging smiles with him. "You never change before we eat dinner here."

"That's because I'm usually famished once I get home," replied Mary. "Besides, this is different. When it's just the three of us, it doesn't matter so much. But this is such an important occasion for you and I want to look my best."

Mary could see the corners of his lip twitch, as if he were suppressing a smile… only for his brow to furrow. "I'm not going to have to change, will I?" He sounded positively aghast by the prospect.

"Not unless you want to," Mary said, amused… so amused that she had to bite the inside of her cheek stop herself from bursting into giggles. "You're the guest of honor. You can do what you like."

"Oh, good," Tom said, relieved. Mary had to stifle more chuckles.

Upon arriving to the Abbey after dropping George off at Isobel's, Mary handed a note to Stark. "Would you please pass this along to Anna?"

"Of course, milady," the chauffeur said, flummoxed. She supposed she couldn't blame him; she only ever sent notes up to her family ordinarily.

"And please give her a ride down to my office before the gong," Mary said.

"Very well, milady," he replied, more confused now than he had been before.

Sure enough, Anna appeared at her office at precisely the right time. "Oh, Anna, look at you!" gushed Mary upon opening the door. "You're glowing!"

"Thank you, milady," Anna said, smiling and touching her rounded stomach with her free hand as she stepped in. "It's ever so lovely to see you."

"And I you. I've missed you so much."

Mary started closing the curtains as they caught up on everything they'd missed in one another's lives. Mary learned that Anna had been seeing to Edith when she was home, which worked out well for both of them— though Anna was quick to assure Mary that she missed her and it was only a temporary arrangement. "She's gone to London quite a bit, so I have more downtime than I'm used to," said Anna.

Mary privately thought that might be a good thing, even as Anna lamented how she "hardly knew what to do" with herself. After all the issues she'd faced early in her pregnancy, rest and relaxation surely would be beneficial to her. "Well, I'm glad you're able to help me tonight." She procured the suitcase from under her desk, where she revealed her dress. It was one of the ones she'd purchased just before she and Tom married and was much more suited for a dinner than her everyday officewear.

"Oh, this is lovely," Anna said, holding up the beaded gold dress.

"I haven't had many opportunities to wear it," Mary said, a bit sadly. "I'm glad to have an excuse now."

"Of course you are," Anna said with a smile before assisting her out of her outfit.

Once she was redressed and had finished pulling on the matching gloves, Mary spun around. "Well? What do you think?" There was no mirror in the office, so unfortunately she couldn't see for herself.

"I think you look wonderful, milady. And I'm sure Mr. Branson will as well."

Mary beamed back, even though she couldn't help but feel somewhat melancholy. Talking with Anna, wearing her finer dresses, enjoying the luxury of being dressed by her maid… These we're all things which had been so commonplace to her but were no longer. She couldn't lie and say she didn't miss it, that she didn't feel quite herself without it.

Mary used her compact mirror for applying her lipstick and Anna helped place her headband just so on her head. Once they'd decided she was ready, Mary began gathering her things.

"Oh! Milady!" Anna's voice caught her attention. "I forgot to ask… Was this the book you mentioned in your note?"

Anna held up the book Mary had purchased so long ago in London, the one on the Bolshevik Revolution. "Yes, that's the one." Mary felt confident her husband would enjoy it, even though she had bought it for him so long ago, before she was even willing to acknowledge how he truly made her feel. It was hard to look back at herself during that time and not feel embarrassed.

"Are you giving it to Mr. Branson at the party?" Anna asked.

Mary shook her head, accepting it from Anna and placing it into her suitcase underneath her work clothes. "His birthday is coming up next month. I figured it would be something he'd enjoy. And I never found the right moment to give it to him."

"That he would," Anna said with a grin.


Stark drove Mary and Anna up to the house, where Anna got out and Edith got in. Mary and Edith managed to make polite conversation until they made it to Isobel's.

"Granny!" Mary exclaimed after Dickie ushered them into the parlor. "What are you doing here?"

Her grandmother wore an expression of unmistakable glee, clearly having received the reaction she wanted. "Well, to celebrate Branson, of course. When Edith told me you were having a dinner for him, I didn't want to miss it. I certainly hope my presence isn't an intrusion."

"No," Mary said, for it was the truth. On the contrary, it meant a great deal that she was here to support Tom. "Of course you're more than welcome."

"Why didn't you tell me she was coming?" Mary whispered to Edith once Granny's attention was monopolized by Isobel once again.

"I didn't know," Edith whispered back. "I only mentioned it in passing."

Mary began to wish she had told Tom to change after all, knowing the expectations would be elevated when her grandmother was present… only to chastise herself. Why was she so concerned with what her grandmother thought? This was a dinner between family and a relatively informal one at that. George would even be eating with them, it was highly unlikely Kieran was about to go out and purchase a set of tails for this specific dinner. And what's more it, it was Tom's own dinner. He shouldn't have to make himself to suit the desires of someone else. If Granny didn't like it, then that was her problem.

And if Granny did take any issue with his apparel, she had the tact not to say anything when he and Kieran finally arrived. In fact, everybody was quick to impart their congratulations and praise— from Edith letting everyone know how marvelous the article was to Isobel letting him know how excited she was to read it to Kieran clapping him on the back and saying that he was proud of him— "Even if it means losing my best mechanic." Tom flushed at that but he couldn't hide him bright smile.

But Mary was puzzled when Kieran continued, "Well, at least I'll have him for another couple of weeks." She meant to ask what he meant by that, under the impression he was going to be devoting all his time to writing, but soon dinner was announced and the party gathered in the dining room.

Isobel blessedly hadn't assigned seats, so Mary gravitated towards her husband, sitting on his right while Isobel took his left. "You look beautiful," Tom murmured, leaning over so the words were only heard by her ears.

Mary smiled, feeling validated in bringing along an extra set of clothes. "Why didn't you tell me you were still going to be working for Kieran?" She asked, though not accusingly.

Tom blinked. "It must have slipped my mind. I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I don't mind, of course," she added hastily, not wanting him to think anything to the contrary. "But won't that interfere with your writing?"

"I don't think so. At least, it shouldn't as long as I manage my time correctly. Though I'm not sure I'll be able to watch George as often."

Mary didn't oppose that at all. He took on so much; it came as a relief to hear he didn't plan on pushing himself past his limits. "Please try not to overwork yourself, darling. I don't want you overextending yourself."

"I won't," he promised, reaching beneath the table to squeeze her hand. That small, secret touch sent a rush of warmth throughout her body. Her eyes locked with his and she couldn't help but wonder if he would ever begin to know the full extent of what she felt for him.


"So Tom," Isobel asked halfway through the meal. "What will you be writing about next?"

Tom wiped his mouth with his napkin before replying, "As a matter of fact, I was wondering if I could have your help for it next, Mrs. Crawley— that is, Isobel," he hastily corrected himself. "I was wondering if you knew of how I could get into contact with Ethel Parks."

Ethel? Mary strained back her memory before recalling precisely who she was.

"Ethel?" Edith said, surprised, clearly having made the connection as well.

"Who's Ethel?" Kieran asked, looking around the table at the expressions of surprise— and, Mary suspected, in the case of Granny, horror.

"Ethel was a former housemaid at Downton," Edith told Kieran, but her gaze didn't waver from Tom in the slightest, as if she was trying to decipher his reasoning for mentioning the woman… and truth be told, Mary was wondering herself.

"She worked for me here as well," Isobel added. "She was my cook, after the war."

"What do you want with Ethel?" Mary finally asked, voicing the thoughts of nearly everyone gathered at the table.

Tom faced her first, addressing her as if she were the only one in the room with him. "I was only thinking I might… share her story. I know she had a rather… well, a difficult time after war. I always felt sorry for her. We weren't close by any means when she worked there, but when she came back that day with—" he paused, glancing out of the corner of his eye, and Mary followed his gaze to Granny across the table, who was dealing him a silent, severe warning. "Well, that day she returned. And then I found out later what else had happened and… Well, I was just thinking about women in situations like hers and I wanted to talk about it. Have people thinking more sympathetically, rather judgmentally." He looked over to Edith. "That is, as long as there's no objections."

"No, of course not," Edith said hastily. "But I would recommend you give her an alias."

"Of course. I don't want to complicate her life any further."

"Well, I think it's marvelous," Isobel said, beaming at him. "And if Ethel doesn't want to do it, then I could get you into contact with the charity I worked with. There's bound to be somebody who would be willing to get into contact with you."

"That'd be wonderful, thank you," Tom said gratefully. "In fact, if you'd be open to it, I'd love to talk to you as well and your work you did. I think it would add an interesting perspective."

"Of course! I'd be honored."

"I remember Ethel," Granny said, attracting the attention of the entire room. Mary froze, eyeing Kieran and Dickie anxiously. They were the only two present who wouldn't know about who Ethel was or anything about her past. "I came over for a luncheon one afternoon— I believe you all three of you girls were there, too, with your mother— and she'd made a delicious Charlotte Russe." She smiled politely. "Do you know what we'll be having for dessert, Isobel?"

"I believe Mrs. Moore said we'd be having a chocolate cake— it's Tom's favorite," Isobel said, still a bit tense and eyes flickering to Tom.

"A splendid choice," Granny said, settling the matter and easing the tension from Mary's shoulders as well.


Tom hadn't known how this dinner would go, to be honest. Apart from that one dinner up at the Big House, he wasn't used to being on this side of things. He'd been a bit apprehensive about inviting Kieran to come along, to be honest.

However, he was pleased to see he needn't have worried. Mrs Crawley— who kept insisting he call her Isobel— wasn't exactly ruled by the tradition the same way most of the family was. As a result, it was much more of a laidback affair, without much awkwardness. He was relieved to have Mary by his side all the same, looking to her for guidance, which she always gave him wordlessly.

However, once the dinner (and dessert) itself was over, everyone migrated into Mrs. Crawley's— that is, Isobel's (it was so hard to remember he could call them by their Christian names now— in fact, it seemed nearly everyone wanted him to)— drawing room. Kieran was sticking close to him afterwards, clearly eager to head back to York before it grew too dark, but there was one thing he had to do before they did.

Tom quickly excused himself from conversing with Mary and Kieran, moving to the opposite end of the room. "Lady Edith," Tom said, approaching his sister-in-law, who had been in a conversation with her grandmother. "Might I have a word with you in private?"

"Of course," she said, turning to make her excuses to her grandmother.

They moved out to the empty hallway, where Lady Edith gave him an expectant look, waiting for him to come out and say it. "I was wondering if… Well, if it might be possible to receive my next paycheck early?"

"Of course," Edith said, surprised. "Can I ask what for?"

Tom gnawed on his lip. "It's a surprise for Mary," is all he would reveal. He didn't feel comfortable sharing it with anyone else yet… especially since he wasn't even certain he had enough money to buy it for her. "It's a little pricier than what I normally spend…"

Lady Edith smiled. "She does have expensive tastes," she remarked… and well, Tom couldn't argue with that. She'd been a good sport these past few months but Tom knew how much she'd appreciate something nicer. "But of course, Branson. I'll write you a check tomorrow and send it."

"Thank you," Tom said, relieved. He figured between the extra shifts he was picking up at Kieran's and this, he should have just enough by the time he needed it. "Really."

"It's no trouble," Edith said sincerely, and they joined the others back in the parlor.


Mary was beyond surprised a few weeks later when, upon returning home from work on a seeming ordinary Thursday evening, she was pressed between the door and her husband whilst he kissed her passionately. It was far from unpleasant, yet something which caught her off guard. He had been so busy the past few weeks that, truth be told, she had started to feel rather neglected. Between working in Kieran's garage several times a week and writing his next article into the small hours of the night, Mary felt as though she had only seen him for meals and the one morning when he had rode into Downton with her and George to interview Isobel. "Tom," she gasped against his mouth, wondering what had gotten into him.

"Happy anniversary," Tom said, beaming before he pulled away from her, eyes twinkling mirthfully.

"Anniversary?"

"We've been married for three months now," said Tom. "I'd've done something sooner, only…"

Mary couldn't pretend that she wasn't touched. "You didn't have to do anything, darling." She reached up to brush his hair back, fingertips running through the strands.

"I know." Tom's hand found her free one and he brought it to his lips, brushing a kiss to her knuckles. Though it was a chaste gesture, there was something unspeakably erotic about it. "But I wanted to do something nice and give us an evening alone."

Mary's furrowed at that. "Alone? Where's George?"

"Out with Uncle Kieran. They're going to have dinner together and then they're going out to the pictures… so we have plenty of time to ourselves."

Mary felt a smile tugging at her lips. "However shall we occupy ourselves?" She asked coquettishly, reaching up to play with his tie.

Tom chuckled, Mary able to feel it due to her close proximity to him. "I have a few ideas… but first, I thought we'd have some dinner." It was at this point in which Tom extricated himself from her. "Speaking of which, I should check on it. I think a burnt dinner would rather ruin the mood."

Mary was a little disheartened but all that faded away when she saw the lovely roast chicken, golden brown to perfection. It tasted even better than it looked and Mary made sure to let Tom know that he'd truly outdone himself. He didn't seem to think her praises were too much until she said that he could give Mrs. Patmore a run for her money, to which he replied, "Don't let her catch you saying that. She'll have your head." Then he added, "Besides, Mrs. Patmore's far more skilled in a kitchen than I'll ever be. I couldn't do half the things she does."

Mary rolled her eyes, even as she smiled, and said, "Darling, would it kill you to accept a compliment?"

"I accept all your compliments!" Tom insisted. "But I think you're going a step too far with this one."

But the biggest surprise of all came after dinner. "We can do the washing up later," Tom said once they'd placed the food away. "Come on. Let me show you something." He held out his hand.

Mary took it instantly, curiouser and curiouser when Tom led her down the short, small hallway and to their bedroom door. What could possibly be in there which she hadn't seen before?

But when Tom pushed open the bedroom door, Mary's jaw dropped. "Well?" Tom asked, almost sounding nervous. "Do you like it?"

"My bed," was all Mary could say. It was the same bed from the second hand shop from months ago, the one she'd wanted so badly when they were moving into this flat, in all its ornate glory, right in the middle of their bedroom. "Tom— How…?"

"Do you like it?" He asked again, more eagerly this time.

She turned around to meet his eye. "I love it. But how did you—?" The pieces fell into place suddenly.

"That's why I was still working with Kieran," explained Tom. "So I could buy it. And Edith's already paid me for this next month—"

"Darling, you didn't have to do any of this," Mary interrupted, wanting— no, needing him to know that. He'd worked so hard to buy her this, when all she truly wanted was him.

"I know," Tom assured her, eyes never once leaving her, "but it was worth every penny and more to see the look on your face when you walked in."

Mere words could never be enough to describe the love she felt for him— not just in that moment, but always. So Mary pulled him for a bruising kiss, determined to show him in any way she could just how much he meant to her.