Thank you for the reviews! I do love to read them. To answer some of the speculation, you're going to find out more about what Tom's thinking about this whole affair shortly, although not in this chapter. I've used dialogue from the show in a couple of places in this chapter and then embellished it.

Back at Downton, Mary sensed something was changing between her and Tom, but she didn't try to force it. She didn't attempt to seduce him again, but now she knew for definite that she could if she put her mind to it. And, more to the point, so did he.

She caught him looking at her more and more often and was coming to enjoy the victorious thrills she got when he realised she'd rumbled him and he guiltily jerked his eyes away. He didn't speak to her about it or make any moves on her, but Mary was growing increasingly sure that Tom wasn't as certain about his course of action anymore.

All she had to do was wait it out until he came to his senses.

One morning, a few weeks after their London trip, she came into the office slightly later than usual having taken breakfast in her room instead of downstairs with Tom and her papa. Tom was already there, hard at it.

'You're off the hook,' she told him casually as she made her way to her desk.

He looked up at her, puzzled. 'What hook was I on?'

'I'm not pregnant. You don't have to worry about me producing a baby Branson.'

'Oh. Right. That hook.' He looked back down at the papers in front of him, fidgeting with his pen.

'Yes, that hook.' Mary narrowed her eyes speculatively at him as she sat down. 'If I didn't know any different, Tom, I'd say you looked more like a man disappointed than a man relieved.'

'Of course, I'm not disappointed,' he said, quickly. 'Don't be silly.'

'Hmmm,' said Mary, thoughtfully. 'If you say so.'

'I do say so,' Tom replied, bending his head over his papers, very definitely not looking at her.

Mary studied him for a few minutes more, her mind going fifteen to the dozen, before getting down to work.

The day out to Brooklands to watch Henry race had been more horrific than she'd ever imagined it could be.

Mary had decided to go for several reasons. First, she was beginning to think she needed to get over her hatred of cars as they were quite obviously here to stay. Second, Tom loved cars and she loved Tom. She knew he'd have been unlikely to go to Brooklands without her, and she simply didn't want him to miss out. Third, Henry had rather annoyingly written to invite her whole family to watch the race. While Mama would have been happy to decline, Papa was thrilled by the thought of venturing out of his sick room for something as exciting as motor cars. Even Edith was swayed into going by the news that her new beau, Bertie Pelham, was going to be there. All of that put Mary in a position where she could hardly say no.

At the racetrack, she'd been seized by a fit of jealousy when she saw Tom chatting and laughing with Edith's new and moderately attractive lady editor. But then she'd caught him casting lingering glances her way when he thought she wasn't looking and she'd relaxed a little, her confidence returning.

Henry had dragged her with him when he was called to race, kissing her proprietorially at the door in full view of everyone, which she wasn't thrilled about. She'd have to put a stop to that and let him down gently as soon as possible she decided, especially when she'd turned around to see Tom watching her from the other side of the room, a wistful expression on his face. As fond as she was of Henry, he wasn't the one for her and it was unfair of her to let him continue thinking he might be.

Then overshadowing everything in terrible fashion, there was the horror of the crash that killed poor Charlie Rogers. When they heard it happen, Tom dashed off to help and Mary panicked, visions of him getting caught up in the carnage overwhelming her. Despite his warning to stay where she was, Mary hared off after him, her distress even frightening Edith into running after her sister.

The scene of the crash brought Matthew's death back to her, but this was even more horrific. She'd only seen the aftermath of Matthew's crash, the scarred earth and echoes of a violent end. At Brooklands, the fire raged and men raced this way and that, with both Tom and Henry in the thick of it, Henry trying to get to his friend in the twisted, burning wreckage of the car, Tom battling to keep Henry away from the flames.

Mary felt her heart stand still in her chest, transfixed by the awfulness of it all, as Edith stood beside her, her hand on Mary's sleeve as if to stop her plunging in any deeper.

That evening after a bleak dinner en famille at Rosamund's, Tom came to tell her Henry was on the telephone. She tried to get out of it, but he insisted she speak to him and so she was forced to break Henry's heart over the telephone on the day he lost his friend so tragically.

Tom spoke from behind her as she hung up the telephone. 'I wish you wouldn't.'

'Do you know the worst thing?' Mary rounded on him, tears glittering in her eyes. 'When they said it was Charlie and not Henry who was dead, I was glad! Think of that! I was glad!'

'You're not seeing straight. Today brought up Matthew's death and all the rest of it. You're in a black mist.'

'It's not what I want!'

Tom came to her, clasping her hands in his, an intense look in his blue eyes. 'You're frightened of being hurt again. But let me tell you this. You will be hurt again, and so will I. Because being hurt is part of being alive. But that is no reason to give up on the man who's right for you.'

Mary stared at him, blinking back tears. 'I haven't given up on the man who's right for me. I've given up on the man who's wrong for me. Why can't you see that?'

She walked away, releasing Tom's hand, too drained and sad to do anything other than go to her bed and wish this day had never happened.

Life settled back down into a normal routine except for two things.

The first fly in the ointment was the perfectly horrible revelation that Bertie Pelham was the new Marquess of Hexham. Mary liked Bertie, even if she found him a little dull, and would have been pleased for his good fortune if it hadn't meant her irritating, younger sister would suddenly be elevated to one of the grandest ladies in the North of England when she married him. As Tom had rather gleefully pointed out, that meant Mary would have to curtsey to Edith, a fact that made her teeth itch.

The second thing was the resolution of a mystery she'd been worrying at like a terrier with a bone for several months now. Marigold, it transpired, was not simply a lucky little farmer's daughter. She was Edith's illegitimate daughter, a fact that Tom already knew and had hidden from her. Mary was not impressed by his treachery, regarding his loyalty to Edith as both a stain on his character and a salvo against their own complicated relationship.

Then Tom blotted his copybook even further by conspiring with Henry to ambush her at Downton. Mary was having a perfectly nice afternoon with the family, George on her knee, Sybbie by her side, watching Tom and Bertie put on a Punch and Judy show for the children when Carson's booming baritone announced Mr Henry Talbot to the assembled company.

Mary whirled round in shock, sliding George off her knee. Henry was gazing fondly at her, obviously pleased with his ludicrous plan to corner her on her own territory. Mary instantly suspected Tom of being complicit and turned on him accusingly, wondering why he was persisting in this fantasy that she and Henry belonged together.

And then while she was still reeling from all that, her mother also betrayed her by inviting Henry to stay the night, which was simply the absolute limit. Mary could not have been more furious at this turn of events. In her view, it was nothing more than entrapment. She settled on the sofa with a paper, shaking with anger and steadfastly ignoring Henry, Tom and every other wretched person in the room.

For the second time that day, Henry saw Mary and Tom arguing, presumably over him again. The first time, at the top of the stairs, Tom had stalked off in anger. This time, it was Mary who shoved her drink at Tom and stormed out of the room.

Henry excused himself to Edith and Bertie and followed Mary, chasing her up the stairs.

'Mary, wait. Wait!'

She kept going, clenching her jaw and shaking her head. Henry bounded up the stairs to stand in front of her, forcing her to stop.

'Look, I made a mistake. I'm sorry. I thought I could present my arguments more effectively in person. Clearly, I was wrong.'

'I can't bear to be manoeuvred,' she said, shaking her head fiercely.

'But you see, I think we love each other very much. For some reason, you're fighting it. I'm not.'

Mary shook her head, rolling her eyes in frustration.

'My birth is respectable, so it can't be that. Which forces me to believe it is my lack of money and position that present the problem.'

Mary stared up at him, hardly believing what she was hearing.

'Aren't you better than that?' Henry asked.

'What?' Mary said, incensed.

'It just seems rather small to me,' Henry continued, seemingly oblivious to both the offence he was causing and her mounting fury. 'Not to marry a man for lack of money is the same as marrying him because of it.'

Mary pushed past him. 'Get out of my way.'

'Am I not right?' Henry said, raising his voice to demand an answer.

Mary spun round, eyes blazing. 'No. You push in here, into my home, uninvited, in order to call me a grubby little gold digger? You've got a nerve! Well, you're wrong. I won't marry you, but it's not because of your birth or your lack of money or position, it's because I don't love you. I think you're charming and good company for the most part, but I don't love you.'

'You don't mean that,' he said, patronisingly.

'Why does nobody ever believe me when I tell them the truth?' Mary said in exasperation. 'Read my lips, Henry. I. Do. Not. Love. You.'

'I don't know why you're insisting on making this hard. You know you'll give in in the end. I'll tell you now that I don't give up easily and I won't let you push me away.'

'Oh, for heaven's sake!' Mary exclaimed, rolling her eyes again at the arrogance and stupidity of the man. 'I don't love you! I don't! I love someone else! I've been using you to make him jealous and I'm sorry for that, I am. I didn't mean to let it get this far with you, Henry. I've been hellishly unfair to you and I apologise.'

Henry looked at her sharply, narrowing his eyes. 'You love someone else? Who?'

Mary looked away. 'That's not important.'

'Well, quite obviously, it is. I want to know who my rival is.'

Mary could feel her patience dangling by a thread. 'He's not your rival because you're not even in the running.'

'Who is it?' Henry frowned, clearly running through candidates in his head. 'It's not Evelyn because you've already told me he will pine for you forever. It can't be Charlie because he's dead. I had heard rumours about you and Tony Gillingham, but he's married now, so who is it?'

'Leave it, Henry,' Mary said, turning to go up the stairs.

'It's not… no, it can't be. You're not... you're not talking about Tom, are you?'

Mary stopped dead, keeping her back to him.

'You are, aren't you?' Henry said in astonishment. 'You're talking about your brother-in-law.'

She turned round to face him. 'Yes,' she said, calmly.

Henry goggled at her. 'But… but… Tom's been… he's the one who encouraged me to come here. Does he even know?'

'He thinks you're the right man for me.'

'But you don't.'

'No.'

'Have you ever thought I was the right man for you?'

'No.'

'But you were happy to let me think I stood a chance.'

'Yes, and I'm sorry about that.'

'So, you dangled me on a line in the hopes of landing a different fish.'

The thread holding Mary's patience snapped. 'Yes, I did. I've said I'm sorry about that, Henry, and I am. I'm really not sure what else you want me to say.'

'I want you to say this is all a big joke.'

Mary gazed steadily back at him, her silence speaking volumes.

'So, you've simply been making a fool of me all this time, then?'

'I'm sorry, Henry.'

'And is he in on it? Tom? Have you cooked up this little plan together?'

Mary looked at him like he was stupid. 'Don't be ridiculous. Why on earth would Tom want to make you look foolish? He likes you, considers you a friend.'

'Then he's in the dark about how you feel about him?'

'Not entirely. He just doesn't believe me.'

Henry studied her. 'And does he feel the same way about you?'

Mary looked away.

'Answer me, Mary!'

'I don't know,' she said, sullenly.

'So, you're willing to throw away what we have on the off chance?'

Mary sighed, wondering how it was her lot in life to be surrounded by people who refused to listen to her. 'Henry, we don't have anything. I don't know how I can say it any plainer than that.'

'But I love you!'

'And as I've already told you, I don't love you. That's an end to it.'

'And what if he turns you down?'

'Whatever does or does not happen with Tom, there is no future for us. I will never be your wife.'

Henry glared at her. 'You really are a stone-cold bitch at heart, aren't you?

Mary met his glare defiantly. 'If I have to be. Tom once told me I know what I want and what I don't want, and I'm not prepared to compromise to make someone else feel better. He was right, and that's all you need to know about me.'

'Well, I wish I'd known that before. You've played me for a fool, Mary.'

'And I am sorry about that. It was unkind of me, I know. You're a good man, Henry. I hope you find someone who can love you like you deserve.'

'So do I.' Henry eyed her, bitterly. 'I would wish you well, but I'm not feeling particularly benevolent towards you at the moment.'

'I understand, but I hope we can be civil if our paths cross in the future.'

'I'm not sure I can guarantee that right now. But be warned, Mary, if Tom turns you down, don't think I will be waiting in the wings to pick up the pieces.'

'I don't expect you to. Goodbye, Henry,' Mary said turning to go up to her room, inwardly congratulating herself for refraining from rolling her eyes at the ridiculousness of the man's ego.