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Mary gathered her courage, took a deep breath and knocked on the door of the butler's office.

'Come in,' came the sonorous voice of the man who had worshipped her since she was a child.

She twisted the handle and stood in the open doorway. 'It's me, Carson. May I still come in?'

Carson looked at her, po-faced, then transferred his gaze to the calendar pinned to the wall across from his desk. 'Of course, milady.'

Mary closed the door and took a seat opposite Carson. He said nothing, still refusing to look at her.

'I'm so sorry, Carson. I'm sorry you had to see that. I know you must be very disappointed in me.'

Carson pressed his lips tightly together. 'I was certainly very shocked, milady.'

'I know. Understandably so. I very much regret putting you in that position.'

'Can I ask one question?'

'Of course. The very least I can do is allow you to speak to me freely.'

'Did he… did he force you into that position?'

Mary clenched her jaw, appalled and angry that Carson would think so little of Tom. 'Certainly not!'

'It's just that he has a history with the daughters of this house.'

'Be very careful, Carson. I will not hear you speak so about Mr Branson. He is a most chivalrous man.'

Carson looked her dead in the eye at that. 'There was no chivalry in what I saw today, my lady,' he said, crisply.

Mary looked away, chastened by the butler's admonishment. 'I know you may be shocked to hear this, but I was there willingly. In fact, Mr Branson was there at my instigation. If anyone is to blame, it is me, not him.'

Carson looked down at his desk, suddenly feeling old and tired. 'It did not look to me like this was a first liaison between you and… Mr Branson.'

'No,' Mary confessed. 'It wasn't.'

'May I enquire how long this…' Carson paused to choose his words carefully, '… this affair has been going on?'

Mary was silent for a few seconds. 'Several months now.'

Carson digested that before making his pronouncement. 'It's not right, milady. Even if I approved of you having a gentleman friend – which I do not unless he plans to make a respectable woman of you – he is your sister's widower.'

Mary cringed inwardly, feeling like a naughty child. 'I know,' she whispered, unhappily. 'But I can't stay away from him. He means such a great deal to me, Carson.'

Carson's thick brows rose slightly at that. 'Will you permit me another question, milady?'

Mary nodded.

'Do you love him?'

'I… I can't answer that.' To her consternation, Mary found herself at a loss, unable to even think about that particular question.

'Because you can't or because you won't?'

Mary stared at Carson, her insides churning. 'Because I can't.'

He nodded, looking away again. 'Will you end it now?'

Mary shook her head. 'No. At least, not yet. It is coming to an end, but not yet. He's leaving soon. He's taking Miss Sybbie to go and live in America.'

Carson looked across at her, consideringly. 'We had heard rumours about that downstairs. So, it's true then?'

'Yes.' In the safety of Carson's office, Mary's sadness about Tom's departure came spilling out. Her face crumpled and she buried her head in her hands, tears falling.

Carson's expression softened at her distress, but he didn't move to comfort her as he normally would have when she was upset and they were alone. He waited until her shoulders stopped shaking before speaking again. 'Does anyone else know?'

Mary wiped her eyes and composed herself. 'No, just you.'

Carson regarded her silently, disappointment written on his face. Eventually, he nodded, apparently coming to a decision. 'Very well. I will keep your secret, milady. I do not condone what you are doing, and I certainly do not wish a repeat of what happened earlier, but I will keep my own counsel on the matter.'

'Thank you, Carson. Thank you.'

'I note that Mr Branson did not come to speak to me.'

Mary gave him a small smile. 'He thought you might take a poker to him.'

Carson pursed his lower lip at that, nodding slightly. 'He may not have been entirely wrong about that. He always did have a good nose for danger.'

'Please don't think badly of him. He's a good man.'

Carson snorted slightly. 'He's not a bad man, I'll give him that. More than that, I will not say.'

Mary rose and slipped round the desk to press a gentle, grateful kiss to Carson's cheek. 'I am in your debt, Carson, as I always am.'

The old man blushed, infinitesimally adjusting the blotter pad on his desk. 'You should go and get changed for dinner, milady. I'll be ringing the dressing gong in a few minutes.'

Mary rounded the desk and headed for the door until Carson's voice stopped her. 'Milady.'

'Yes?'

'Be careful. If he hurts you…'

'He won't, Carson. Not intentionally.'

'Maybe not. But the heart cannot always tell the difference between intention and accident.'

Mary stared at him, taking that in. 'I'll… I'll bear that in mind. Thank you again, Carson.'

She opened the door, lifted her head high and stepped out into the corridor, leaving Carson to watch her go, concern on his face.