A/N: Thank you so much for the lovely reviews and birthday wishes! I appreciate it!

From Yorkshire to New York

Chapter Two

Anna arrived to her room, a curious expression on her face. Mary didn't ask but noted it carefully. She lowered the breakfast tray on Mary's lap before saying, "Lady Mary... I've had rather a strange letter."

"Oh?"

Anna procured a small, folded sheet of paper from her pocket. "There were two, actually. One for me, one for you. It was from Ireland." Mary froze. "From Mr. Branson." Her stomach plummeted. "He... He told me to give you this." She offered the letter to Mary.

Mary took it without hesitation and ripped it in half. She thought she heard a soft gasp, but tore it again, and again, and again, before handing the scraps to Anna. "Please place this in the fireplace where it belongs," she told her maid stiffly.

Anna blinked before following her mistress's orders. Mary reached for her teacup, her face composed into a perfectly blank mask, but her hand trembled, the bottom of the cup rattling against the saucer.

"I— I hope you don't mind, but I read yours. He told me to, in his letter to me."

Mary did mind. Servants weren't supposed to read their employer's mail. Still, it was Anna, and she had earned Mary's trust long ago. And if Tom had told her to... He had probably predicted she would destroy it without reading it. She hated to know that after all this time he knew how she would react. "I don't mind. I trust there was nothing of interest in it, anyway."

"He said he was sorry." Mary nearly spilled her tea. "He said... That he was in the wrong. He didn't say what it was about but... he sounded sincere."

Mary felt tears forming behind her eyes. What had he been apologizing for? For leaving? For the night in the garage at Brancaster? For all of it? She pushed it aside, simply saying, "Well, he's not forgiven. And I'm sorry, Anna, but I don't wish to know anymore, so please do not tell me."

Anna looked confused but nodded. "Very good, milady."

Mary picked at her breakfast but felt sick the whole time. She cursed herself, for being so weak as to feel utterly nauseated by a stupid letter. She only managed a few bites before ringing for Anna again, ready to start her day.

"I haven't heard from Tom lately," Mama said, sounding troubled at dinner. She either didn't notice Mary's knuckles turning white or didn't care because she continued, "I hope he's doing alright."

"I'm sure he is," Papa said hastily, eyes trained on Mary, whose only sign of displeasure now was the downward turn of her lips. "How are things going with the hospital?"

"Well, I suppose," Mama sighed. "Speaking of which, I do hope Sybbie's recovered from her cold. Tom was so worried—"

"You should come up to London with me, Mary," Edith jumped in, cutting Mama off. "I'm meeting up with Bertie Pelham to go to some nightclub. You could invite Evelyn along, if you wanted."

An evening with Edith wasn't exactly her idea of a good time, but Mary genuinely appreciated her efforts to help divert the conversation. Since Tom had left, things had neither improved nor gotten worse between them, which was a shock to everyone... even Mary, who had thought that since Tom was no longer her target, she might direct her vitriol at her usual victim. "I might," said Mary, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "I'll see what Evelyn is up to."

"He's such a nice man," Mama said, Tom-talk finally out of the way. Good. "Are you serious about him?"

No. How could she possibly be? "Evelyn's a dear but he's just my friend for now." And, if she was being wholly honest with herself, he probably would remain a friend forever.

"Well, he's very nice. I'm glad you've been spending more time with him, Mary," said Mama. "Just try to make sure he knows where he stands."

Did Mama think she was an amateur? Just because there had been no one (that she knew of) since Matthew, it didn't mean she had completely forgotten how these things worked. "Don't worry, Mama." She rolled her eyes and reached for her water.

"Mummy," George said, perched on her lap during one of her daily visits to the nursery, "Do you miss Sybbie?"

Mary was stunned by the question. "Of course I do," she replied honestly, thinking of the darling little girl who had stolen her heart the moment she had entered the world. "I miss her everyday."

"So do I."

"At least you have Marigold to keep you company," said Mary, thinking of Edith's daughter. Edith had never confirmed such a thing to her, but it fairly obvious when one looked at a picture of Edith around that age. "Don't you like spending time with her?"

George nodded. "Do you miss Uncle Tom?"

Mary was momentarily taken aback. She could hardly stalk away from her son or cast him a withering glare for daring to utter his name... so she answered him truthfully. "Yes. Yes, I do. I miss him very much." It was nice, to be honest for once, and it wasn't as if George was going to tell anyone.

Mary didn't realize Edith was standing just outside the door, errand to the nursery forgotten as she listened in.

The nightclub was jam packed by the time the four of them arrived. Evelyn helped Mary out of his car, staring at her with unabashed reverence. Mary tried to encourage it, gracing him with one of her smiles, but the sincerity just wasn't there.

Edith and Bertie were content to go off on their own, which meant Mary and Evelyn were left to their own devices. "Will you allow me the honor of a dance?" asked Evelyn, and Mary accepted, figuring there was little else to do.

She tried to enjoy herself... really, she did. Mary had always liked dancing but she couldn't divorce this moment from the dance at Brancaster even though the music was coming from a live band instead of a tinny phonograph machine. She kept trying to notice the differences; the band onstage, full of uptempo rhythms, the sea of dancing couples surrounding them, Evelyn...

"You seem far away," he commented.

"Do I?" asked Mary. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I only wondered if you were alright."

"I'm perfectly fine," lied Mary, forcing yet another smile on her face. "Especially since I'm spending my evening in such good company."

Evelyn seemed relieved. "I'm glad to hear it." There was a pause. "Mary, I wondered if I might ask—"

But Mary never heard his question, because her concentration was broken by him. She swore she had seen him— blue eyes, brown hair that was almost always slicked down even though it looked much better in its natural state, a bright smile that made her heart feel warm...

But when she looked through the crowd, he was not there. It had been a figment of her imagination, a mere illusion.

"Mary? Mary, are you alright?"

Evelyn's voice brought her back into focus. "Yes, of course," she said, meeting his eyes with a smile. She was ready to put on an act and pretend all was well, but then she realized her heart wasn't in it. "I'm sorry... I don't know why I said that. I'm feeling a little under the weather—"

"Do you need to sit down?"

"I think I might," said Mary, and without any further hesitation he guided her off the dance floor.

They sat at a table and Evelyn offered to get her a drink. "I insist," he said, when she tried to tell him it was not necessary. "What would you like?"

"A whiskey with wa—" Mary didn't even finish what she was saying before realizing it was a bad idea. It would only serve to remind her of nights she needed to forget. "I'm sorry. I don't know what— I'll just have a glass of water."

"Of course." Evelyn gave her a smile and walked towards the bar.

Bertie and Edith checked up on her, joining them and having a couple drinks before returning to the dance floor. She watched them enviously, wondering if she would ever be happy again or if those days were behind her now.

"Are you feeling any better?"

Mary shook her head, not daring to look up at Evelyn. "I'm so sorry to ruin your evening, but I think I had best go back to Aunt Rosamund's and rest."

Evelyn was on his feet without another word. "Of course." Then, "I'll just let Edith know." Mary didn't bother watching him as he left, simply staring at her half empty glass of water.

They took Evelyn's car back and everything seemed muted. Dull. Colorless, just as it had been shortly after Matthew's death. Colorless, just as it was now... but for a second in that club, Mary had sworn everything had returned to full vibrancy.

Evelyn parked the car in front of Aunt Rosamund's. "I do hope you start feeling better soon," he told her with the utmost sincerity.

"Thank you, Evelyn," said Mary, truly grateful in spite of her melancholy. She reached for his hand. "You're a darling."

She knew the effect her words had on him and yet she didn't let go of his hand, even though she knew she should. She waited a moment or two until he met her eye, all his emotions coming to the surface and impossible to hide, looking at her in awe. Impulsively, she leaned forward, kissing him, and, without hesitation, he reciprocated.

It didn't feel the same, but it didn't stop Mary. She deepened the kiss, causing Evelyn to gasp, wishing she hadn't. He didn't sound right... His shoulders weren't broad enough, lips not what she was used to. Still, Mary was determined to drive it away, pulling him closer with almost bruising force.

It wasn't working. This didn't make her forget anything, only reminding her of what she would never have again. Mary broke off the kiss with a sob that she didn't realize had been gathering in the back of her throat.

"Mary?" Evelyn looked stunned yet concerned.

The shame was beginning to fester inside her. "I'm sorry." She had used him, toyed with his feelings... "I'm sorry," she repeated. "Just... I wanted to forget for one moment."

Evelyn looked somewhat hurt but nodded. "Take your time, Mary. There's no need to rush anything." He paused before saying, "In fact... even if there never is anything, I hope you know I will always regard you as a very dear friend."

Mary let out a humorless laugh, wishing she had a handkerchief. The tears were welling up in her eyes. "You're always so kind to me... Far more than I deserve."

"Everyone deserves some kindness."

That phrase sounded like something he might have said, long before all the fighting began. "Thank you for the lovely time, even though I spoiled things," said Mary hastily, desperately needing to leave this car.

"You could never do that," Evelyn assured her. "Please... Go rest and start feeling better. And don't worry about me, please. I can handle it," He told her with a smile.

Mary returned it gratefully, knowing there was too much going on in her head to spend enough time devoted to worrying about poor Evelyn. Still, she was pleased that she waited long enough to break down into tears once she was safely in her room.

It was only a short while later before Mary paid another trip to London. She told Aunt Rosamund that it had to do with some estate business and left it at that. Dr. Ryder retained the utmost discretion, knowing she was a widow and not asking too many questions, quietly confirming her suspicions.

Mary returned to Downton, contemplative and reserved. She didn't know how to feel or what she was supposed to do...

All she knew was that she could no longer remain at Downton. Anna knew by now, she was fairly certain, but no one else had caught on yet, thank God.

It wasn't until Mary came to the nursery to see George that she found Edith in the rocking chair, balancing Marigold on her lap as she read her a story. Her sister stilled when Mary entered the room, seemed to rearrange herself and check every movement to make sure that she wasn't showing too much affection towards her own daughter.

Mary said nothing of it, merely picking up her son and announcing she was going to take him for a walk. She took him through the woods, down by the cottages, to that hill overlooking the estate, simultaneously trying to remember and forget at once. "All of this will be yours one day," she told him, well aware he could quite comprehend it just yet. "What do you think about that?"

George look up at her. "Everything?"

"Everything." She didn't tell him that it would be only become his when he was of age and his Grandpapa was gone. That was going to be a difficult conversation to have and at present, there was a heavier weight on her mind.

She waited until a few days had passed before all but cornering Edith in the hallway just before dinner. She stood behind a column, waiting for her to appear, before before out and grabbing her by the wrist. Edith was startled, eliciting a loud yelp.

"Mary, what—?"

"Be quiet," Mary said brusquely, desperation causing her to forget any of the manners Nanny had drilled into her as a young girl. She met her sister's wide eyes. "I need you to tell me how you did it."