A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews!

From Yorkshire to New York

Chapter Three

It was strange, that Edith had become her unlikely confidant. They organized things quietly, careful not to arouse suspicion from the rest of the family. They made sure not to congregate when Mama and Papa were around, putting on a show of trading insults with one another when in actuality Edith was the only person Mary had entrusted with her secret.

"Will you tell Anna?"

Mary nodded. It was just a matter of when. She couldn't keep from her for long, especially when she knew her maid already suspected something was awry. She had been making little comments here and there, asking Mary if she was certain she was alright and whatnot. "I doubt she'll go with me, though, once I do leave." She hated leaving Bates behind for too long and Mary would never dream of asking her to leave him, not when she would inevitably be gone for some months.

Edith nodded. "It is hard... managing without someone when you are used to it, especially when you're that size." Her voice had taken on a different timbre. Mary could tell she was lost in a memory. "And I imagine it will be hard, not having someone you trust there with you... even for the sake of companionship."

"I won't be alone. I'll have Grandmama."

"Yes, but it's hardly as if we know her well," pointed out Edith.

"Well, I'm sure I'll get to know her better when I'm in New York."

Edith sighed. "It's not going to be easy. I hope you know that." And then, with a hint of bitterness, "It will be harder for you to pull it off, considering you were so hard on me about Marigold."

Mary hadn't thought of that. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."

Edith was silent for a moment or two. "I wish you'd tell me whose baby it is."

"I know. But I'm not about to tell you." Edith had already demanded to know if it was Evelyn's when Mary confessed her secret in a hushed, panicked whisper and given how emotional and flustered she was, Mary had foolishly admitted it wasn't. Perhaps it would have better to have not done so, as then it would shroud it in even more mystery and keep suspicion from casting on him...

Not that Edith would ever guess it was him.

"Does he know, at least? The father?"

"No."

"You ought to tell him, whoever it is," said Edith, evidently annoyed. "Theres no sense in traveling across the ocean when you could tell him and he might marry you."

"Who says I want to marry him?" Mary said tightly, because she did not... not even if he asked. Not that he ever would, because he would never know. Ever.

"Shouldn't you have thought about that, before going to bed with him?"

"We didn't exactly make it to a bed."

Edith wrinkled her nose, grimacing. "Why must you be so crude?"

"You're the one sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. I thought you would appreciate the detail."

Edith shook her head, looking annoyed and faintly disgusted. Mary realized it was unwise, antagonizing her sister when she was the only one who will help her now. "Well, whoever he is, you clearly care enough about him to keep his child."

Mary's motions stilled. Damn. "It's my baby, too," she said finally, returning to her task.

"I'm not trying to pry—" Mary scoffed, "—but I do think you should tell him. It might make things easier. If Michael had been able to, I certainly would have."

"You're assuming he wants anything to do with me," said Mary, closing the doors to her wardrobe with a slam. It wasn't quite true; there had been that letter... but if Anna had been instructed to read it, she doubted there would be anything alluding to their brief affair.

"Was there no talk of love between the two of you?" Edith almost sounded scandalized.

Mary was quiet. There had been plenty of talk before, about how much he loved them all as a family. Then there was letters about how he sent his love... "Talk doesn't mean anything." Mary resumed her task. Actions spoke louder than words... especially louder than those words that had always been on the tip of her tongue even during their worst arguments, the trump card she had never played.

The announcement she was going to America took everyone by surprise. "But why?" Granny asked, easily the most mystified of them all.

"I need to get away for a while. I'm hoping New York will help me."

"Couldn't you have picked a better time?" Papa demanded. "We've the fair coming up, and with Tom gone—"

Mama noticed the way Mary flinched and interrupted her husband to say, "I thinks it's a good idea. Hopefully you'll start feeling more yourself." She glanced over to her husband. "I'm sure you can manage, and we can temporarily hire a new agent, can't we?"

Arrangements were made in short order. The plan was to say she would stay for three months, then stretch it out longer. Edith had tried persuading Mary to take George, insisting that she would miss him. "I know I will," said Mary, already regretting everything. "But he's young... and what if he were to say something when we returned? It isn't fair to expect him keep a secret of that magnitude."

Their goodbye was a tearful one. "I'll miss you very much, my darling boy," she assured him, kissing his head. She wished it would be possible to take him and somehow ensure her everything would remain safe... but she had made her bed. Now she must lie in it. "It won't be long," she tried telling him, but knowing it would feel like eons to them both.

It didn't take Grandmama long to figure out why her eldest granddaughter, who was more English than the king, had decided to stay with her. On the first night, she offered Mary some champagne, and when Mary politely declined, she shook her head. "So that's why you've come."

Mary froze. She had been hoping to prolong things, break it to her once she was more accustomed to New York and her grandmother's company, but she supposed there was no sense in denying it. She looked down at her lap. "You were going to let me stay here to ride out the storm before. I am hoping you'll allow me the opportunity to cash in that favor."

Grandmama nodded, somewhat weary. "Does Cora know?"

"Nobody knows, except for Edith."

"Edith?" Mary detected amusement in her grandmother's voice. "Well, now you'll have to explain everything."

Mary did, figuring there was no sense in hiding yet another great grandchild from Grandmama, who was more likely to forgive anyway. "So what is your plan, then?" She asked once Mary concluded it.

"I am going to say you and I went to an orphanage for some charity work and I saw the baby and wanted it for myself."

Grandmama sighed, shaking her head. "What's the point of it, Mary? Your parents seem to have accepted Edith and her little girl well enough... Why are you bothering with the pretense?" Mary said nothing. "Does it have anything to do with the baby's father?"

Mary's muscles tightened. "I can't bear the way they would look at me. That's all."

Grandmama sighed. "The only person who believes that, my dear, is you. That is, if you even believe it at all." She swirled her drink. "Let me tell you what I think: I think it's because this man is someone you shouldn't have been seeing." Mary looked away. "Maybe he's married, maybe he was just undesirable to your people, but you don't want them knowing about it, whoever he was." Grandmama seemed fairly confident, and she continued with, "I'll only take a minute to remind you that this will be his child, too. If they know who he is, there's a good chance they'll be able to guess."

"Then we had best hope it looks like me," said Mary, irate and in no mood to be lectured. "Thank you, Grandmama, for your hospitality and your discretion, but I think I shall retire."

When Mary reached her room, she collapsed on the bed, exhausted and fatigued. The conversation with Grandmama had been draining. Mary had a feeling New York wouldn't be a peaceful respite— it would simply be her safe haven the next few months.

For the most part, Grandmama let Mary do as she pleased. There was a flexibility that she was allowed that she hadn't truly had in England, an anonymity in a huge city like New York. While she enjoyed it every now and again, she spent most of her time in Grandmama's home.

"You ought to go out," urged Grandmama. "You're young and there'll come a point in time where you won't be leaving this house much at all, so you might as well live while you can."

But Mary had little desire to go to parties held by people she didn't know or venture into speakeasies to watch people drink. She instead spent evenings in Grandmama's library, paging through thick tomes until her eyes grew tired or listening to records.

She exchanged letters with her family, never disclosing her real reasoning. Edith would inquire after her and Mary did her best to answer her questions without giving anything away, writing things like I am in good health and Little has happened yet, but I know it is a matter of time. The last thing she needed was for anyone back home to suspect anything in the event Edith was careless and left it out for anyone to read.

Mary's condition was still easily concealed by a larger dress, but she inspected herself carefully, marveling at herself at the small bump before Klein came to dress her in the morning. Though she had noticed the gradual changes to her body, Mary found that things were starting to be a little more obvious now. The nightgowns from home, which she still wore, did little good to hide it.

"Happy birthday, dear Mary," Grandmama said when she joined her downstairs for breakfast. She presented Mary with a gift, a new novel that she thought Mary might enjoy, with the comment she would fly through it quickly given how much reading she was doing lately.

The rest of the morning remained uneventful... until Grandmama's butler Olsen arrived into the parlor, a bouquet of roses in his hand. "This arrived for you earlier, Lady Mary."

"Oh?" Grandmama's interest was piqued. "Who's it from?"

"It doesn't say," Olsen replied as Mary accepted it, finding a small card hidden amongst the flowers.

Happy birthday, Mary. I am sorry I cannot be there to celebrate with you just yet, but I'll be there soon.

"How fascinating," Grandmama said, eyes twinkling. "It seems you have a secret admirer."

"Unlikely," said Mary, certain she knew no one in New York who would address her so familiarly to call her Mary. She checked the back of the card to ascertain an identity but had no luck. "It must be someone from home who's forgot to add their name."

Grandmama didn't seem convinced, but Mary had bigger problems to sort out. The just yet worried her; were Mama and Papa planning on visiting? Had Edith sent it? Either way, the last thing she needed was a surprise visit from Mama or Papa. Knowing Grandmama's attitude, she would try to bully Mary into telling them about the baby.

She popped out mid afternoon in order to send a telegram to Edith, demanding to know who had sent her the bouquet, so that she might have a warning of some kind of who to anticipate.

Grandmama greeted her at the door when she returned, beaming and looking exceptionally pleased. "Oh good," she said excitedly. "You're back. I have a surprise waiting for you."

"A surprise?"

"Well, I'll admit, I didn't coordinate it... but it seems you have a very special guest."

Special guest? Dread sank in. "Grandmama—"

But Grandmama refused to listen to her protests, practically shoving Mary down the hallway. She flung the drawing room open, allowing a stunned Mary to stagger in through the door... Only for her to freeze in place.

Tom rose from the armchair, a smile on his face. "Hello, Mary. Happy birthday."