'Alone at last,' said Mary, sipping her drink, as her father departed the drawing room for his bed.

Tom nodded, looking preoccupied.

Mary narrowed her eyes. Since retrieving Edith's abandoned car the other day, what with one thing and another, they'd barely had any chance to be alone together and it was making her antsy. Now they were finally on their own, she wanted his full attention and wasn't pleased she didn't have it. She decided to opt for shock tactics to pull him back to earth.

'Did I tell you Charles Blake kissed me the other day?' she said, airily.

Tom looked at her sideways. 'Did he? He's not throwing his hat back in the ring, is he?'

'Good Lord, no. He's going off to Poland for a few months. He lured me down to London to stage a little pantomime for Tony to persuade him that I do actually know my own mind and won't be marrying him. I think it worked this time.'

'Hmm, right. That's good.' Tom went back to studying the contents of his glass and Mary frowned.

'What's got you so pensive tonight, Tom?

'What? Oh, nothing.'

'Then why do you look like you lost a guinea and found a sixpence?'

Tom sighed, rolling the amber liquid around his glass. 'I had a chat with your father today after you went to see the Dowager.'

'Oh?'

'He's disappointed that Tony won't be his next son-in-law.'

Mary snorted. 'Well, I'm not. If Papa is that taken with him, perhaps he should look into adopting him. I certainly shan't be bringing him into the family.'

'It got me thinking. You'll have to marry again one day, Mary.'

'Will I? I don't see why. The estate has an heir, so that's taken care of.'

'I don't want you to be lonely.'

'I'm not lonely. I have too many people around me here to be lonely. And I have you.'

Tom wouldn't meet her eye.

Mary felt a glimmer of panic worming its way into her belly. 'Don't I?'

'Yes, of course, you do.'

'Then what is this all about, Tom? Is it about what I said in the car the other day? About how much I like doing this.'

'No, not really. It's just…'

'Just what?'

'I don't want to stand in the way of you falling in love again.'

'Well, you won't. We agreed, didn't we? This is a physical thing, just a new dimension to our relationship. It's not love, for heaven's sake!' Mary gave a small, shrill laugh, trying to tamp down her rising panic.

Tom took a slow swallow of whiskey, picking his words carefully. 'But what if this thing we're doing distracts you from looking for someone else, someone who can be everything to you? Or what if it stops me from doing the same?'

'There isn't anyone I'm remotely interested in falling in love with, Tom. Not at the moment.' Mary glanced at him sharply, the sliver of panic spiking hard. 'Why? Is there someone you're interested in? Oh, God, please tell me this is not about Miss Bunting.'

'No, it's nothing to do with her. She's gone and she won't be coming back.'

Mary sagged back in relief, then tensed again as another thought occurred to her. 'Do you want to stop? Is that what you're trying to tell me? Have I frightened you off with my big mouth?'

Tom hesitated, and Mary's stomach plummeted. 'No, I don't want to stop,' he said finally. 'Even though it scares me a little how very much I don't want to stop.'

Mary stared at him, relief and dread warring inside her. Quite obviously he still had something on his mind. 'Then what is this about, Tom?'

'There's something I need to tell you.'

'Then tell me.' Mary's fingers tightened on her glass, her heart banging wildly, as she waited nervously for whatever was to come.

'I got a letter from my cousin in Boston. I'm thinking of going out there.'

Mary was confused. 'To visit?'

Tom shook his head. 'To live. Sybbie and I.'

Mary stared at him in shock. 'To live? In America?'

He nodded.

'But why?'

'Because it's a good opportunity. Because it would be a fresh start. Because I don't belong here.'

'Oh, don't be so ridiculous! Of course, you belong here!'

'No, Mary, I don't. This is your world and you've accepted me into it, but it's not my world. Not really.'

'But you've come so far! You've fit in with us so well.'

'I'm still a fish out of water too many times. There are still plenty of your type of people who look down their noses at me and see me as the uppity chauffeur getting above himself.'

'Well, they can all go hang. That's not who you are at all.'

'And I've Sybbie to think about.' Tom quietly played his trump card.

'What are you talking about? We all love Sybbie! You know we do. She's a darling child.'

'I know that, but here, in this country, she'll always be the chauffeur's daughter with the dead mother who married beneath herself. Those same people who snigger at me will be unkind to her, and I won't have that.'

'Well, they'll have me to deal with if they do,' Mary said, fiercely.

'I know, Mary, and I love you for that. But in America, Sybbie can be whomever she likes. She'll have a clean slate with no history to hold her back.'

Mary stared at him, tears pressing at the back of her eyes. 'But Downton is your home.'

He shook his head. 'No. Downton is where we live. It's not our home.'

Mary felt like he'd slapped her. A tear escaped her, and she dashed it angrily away. 'Well,' she said as icily as she could, 'excuse me for thinking you might have grown to be fond of Downton and the people in it.'

Tom flinched and reached out to her. 'Mary, I didn't –'

Mary snatched her hand away. 'I've heard enough. I'm going to bed.'

As she stood, Tom followed her up from the couch, taking hold of her arm. She stopped dead and glared at him. 'Take your hand off me.'

Instead, Tom took hold of both of her shoulders and gazed at her imploringly. 'Mary, don't go. Not like this. We need to talk about it.'

She stepped away from him, shaking her head, her face an icy mask. 'There's nothing to talk about. You've obviously made up your mind. I hope you'll be very happy in America.'

With that, she turned on her heel and walked out, thankful that she made it all the way to the top of the stairs before her heart cracked and she started to sob.