A/N: Thank you all for the kind reviews!

From Yorkshire to New York

Chapter Four

It had taken plenty of coaxing from Grandmama to get her back into the drawing room. "What's he done that is so terrible?" she asked as Mary tearfully demanded she throw him out. "The last time I was in England, you two were as thick as thieves!"

"We had a falling out," said Mary, unwilling to elaborate further.

"Over what?"

"He left."

"Well, now he's back. I would think you would be pleased, if you were truly upset about him going away in the first place."

It made sense logically but Grandmama wasn't in possession of all the facts. Mary's jaw tightened. Grandmama sighed. "He's come all this way for your birthday. You ought to at least give him a chance."

Mary didn't want to give him anything... but standing in the hallways whisper-fighting with Grandmama wasn't getting her anywhere. She was nearly as a stubborn as Mary.

Tom was as well... but Mary knew him better. And she knew what to do and what to say in order to drive him away. After all, she had done so well enough last time without even trying, she thought bitterly. It was a shame the pregnancy was more visible now; all it would have taken was seducing him again for him to head for the hills.

She composed herself, putting on dismissive, aloof air, not allowing her true self through. She reentered the parlor with her shoulders back and head held high.

Tom was standing near the window, overlooking the busy streets of Manhattan. When he saw it was her, his face broke out into a wide grin. "I didn't know if you'd come back."

It was funny he should say that, when she had been convinced he wouldn't ever be back in her life. She didn't acknowledge his statement, barely looking at him, both to cement an illusion of disinterest and because she knew if she dared let her eyes linger, she wouldn't be able to stop. Even though months had passed, Mary found she was still affected by his presence. "Who told you I was here?"

"Your parents... and Edith." Mary wanted to scream. How like her sister, to ruin things for her, even with an ocean separating them. "She said she was worried you would be lonely, so she gave me your grandmother's address."

"She shouldn't have bothered," said Mary cooly, taking a seat in an arm chair. "I'm doing well enough on my own."

"I can see that." With surprise, her gaze turned to him. His eyes were roaming over her carefully. A paranoid part of her worried that he would be able to see the ever so slight changes to her body. "You look lovely."

Mary's heart beat faster in her chest. Damn it. "New York seems an awfully long way to travel from Ireland." Her gaze averted to her knees.

"I take it you didn't bother reading my letter, then."

"I didn't think it contained anything important, so I destroyed it." She completed her statement with a smile, daring to look at him. He didn't look surprised, though he was somewhat disappointed.

He sighed. "I thought you might. But I figured it was worth a shot." He finally took a seat as well. "I wasn't in Ireland for long. I stayed with my mother for a month before leaving for America. I wanted to return to Downton but... Well, I've been working for my cousin in Boston for a month or so." There was a pause before he said, "I've been selling cars and farm machinery."

"I see. And how are you planning to sell farm machinery to the people of Boston all the way from New York?"

"I've left." There was an earnestness in his eyes. "Mary, I—"

"Where's Sybbie?" She interrupted, not wanting to hear what he had to say. She couldn't bear to listen to him going on and on about how he missed their friendship or that he had missed her... it would only serve to make things harder and more painful for her. "You didn't leave her behind in Boston, did you?"

"Of course I didn't." For the first time since starting the conversation, he truly sounded offended. She was glad to have struck and nerve and yet a reflexive part of her was recoiling at having upset him. "She's just with your grandmother's maid." Tom hesitated before asking, "Would you like to see her?"

Mary knew saying yes would cause her resolve to remain hardened and careless to crumble, but she couldn't say no, either. Not when it came to Sybbie. "I would."

Soon Sybbie was downstairs standing before Mary, smiling and hugging her. It took a bit of maneuvering on Mary's part, as she tried to ensure Sybbie wouldn't brush against her abdomen. She doubted she would even notice but Mary knew she needed to play it safe. "When did you get so big?" asked Mary, astonished at how much taller her niece seemed already. Sybbie only giggled in response.

Through it all, Mary fixated on only her niece. It was still easy to convince herself that she hadn't missed Tom, but it was impossible to pretend she hadn't missed Sybbie. Mary had went from seeing her every single day from the day of her birth... When she had been at Downton, there were times where she had been half convinced Sybbie would appear, running down the hallway and laughing, looking so much like Sybil...

But seeing Sybbie reminded her of her son and opened up the scab over her heart, especially when Sybbie asked, "Where's George?"

"He's at Downton, darling," said Mary. Much to her horror, her eyes began filling with tears. For over a month now, she had suppressed every thought of her son, only for the floodgates to open now. Though they only spent an hour or so a day together, that time was precious. She thought of the tears she had hid, the quiet sadness that lingered over him when she told him she was going away for awhile, looking so much like Matthew...

Sybbie's expression became concerned as Mary frantically tried reining back her tears. Before she had a chance to compose herself, Tom was saying, "Sybbie, why don't you go find Grandma Martha?"

Mary couldn't look up when Sybbie toddled away, wiping her eyes. She looked down at the floor when Tom knelt down and joined her on the floor. "Why aren't you at Downton, Mary?" he asked quietly. "Why are you here, in New York, of all places? You used to scoff about America all the time... And why isn't George here with you?"

She wouldn't answer his first question. She couldn't give the excuses she had given Mama and Papa... He would see right through them. She took in a deep breath, steadying herself before meeting his eyes, imperious as ever. "I didn't want to tear him away from another one of his cousins. I didn't think it was fair to do that to a child."

She had wounded him. She could see the hurt written all over his face. A traitorous part of her immediately felt guilty, longing to soothe his pain, but she reminded herself that this was for the best. Instead of responding with anger, Tom let out a sigh. "Mary, I'm sorry." The words hung in the air. "I know I hurt you, and I don't think you know how much I regret it."

Mary could see where this was headed; he was looking for reconciliation, to take things back to what they had once been. Well... it was too late for that. "Don't worry, Tom. I know plenty about regret." She met his eyes, cold as ice, before rising to her feet and leaving.

Though she was still furious with him, though her blood still boiled whenever he was in her presence, it was like Mary couldn't bring herself to be away from him for long. He was seated across from her at dinner, with Grandmama inviting him to stay with her as long as he wanted. Mary was internally screaming but when Grandmama turned to her and said, "That is, unless Mary has any objections?"

Mary knew she should have insisted that, yes, as a matter of fact, she did object, but the words were like lead on the tip of her tongue. She settled for an artless shrug and carried on with her meal, listening to Grandmama and Tom talk about Boston and life since leaving Downton.

Grandmama dismissed herself early, claiming she was tired, but Mary knew better. The old woman stayed up later than her most nights, reading or listening to her records. Mary watched her retreating figure enviously, wishing she had thought to craft a headache so that it might be her leaving instead.

"You've been quiet this evening," Tom said once they were alone. When she didn't respond, he prompted her with, "What have you been up to since coming to New York?"

"Not much at all."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"And what do you know about me?" She tilted her head to the side, challenging him.

Tom was struck silent for a moment before leaning forward. "I know plenty." The words, though innocent, sent a thrill though her. She wondered if he would reference their night together only for him to say, "You're my best friend, Mary."

"Funny," she drawled without much thought, ignoring the tears stinging behind her eyes. "That's not how I treat friends."

Tom's face crumpled, shoulders falling. Mary felt sick. "You know I'm sorry." She said nothing again, forcing herself to look away from him, focussing instead on the brick fireplace. "And— And I understand if you aren't willing to forgive me, but... Can we at least have a drink? Like the old times?" He was pleading with her now. Mary looked over to him.

Their eyes locked and Mary was remembering evenings in the library again, sitting much too close on the couch, talking about everything and nothing. She remembered their hands brushing together as he passed her the glass of whiskey, diluted with water, but it always tasted better when it was on his lips...

"I can't." Mary rose to her feet, moving to the door. The fact she was tempted spoke volumes, but she wasn't about to admit it... or let him know exactly why she shouldn't be indulging in alcohol.

"Mary— Mary, wait—" Before she could twist the door knob, Tom reached out, his hand holding her wrist. If she wanted to, she could easily shake it off, twist open the door and leave, but his touch kept her rooted in place. "I made a mistake. I'm sorry." She let her eyes fall shut. "But I've missed you so much these past couple of months..." He trailed off, sounding close to tears. "Please tell me what I can do to make it up to you."

There was one thing... but she couldn't ask him that. She was much too proud and she couldn't bear the thought of forcing him into something he clearly didn't want. As loath as she was to admit it, she cared for him too much to subject him to a marriage that he never asked for. "There's nothing you can do," she managed to choke out, and then she fled the room.