At dinner that night Mary could feel Tom's eyes upon her. She knew he wanted to speak with her, but she just was not ready for that conversation. Instead she focused on everybody else. Bertie Pelham was up to visit and there was a lot of talk about the past shooting party.

"We haven't heard from Henry Talbot in a while," her mother lightly suggested.

"I have," Mary declared with a bit of pride. "He is coming to York for a race tomorrow and will be stopping by for tea," she informed everyone.

"Very good, excellent chap," Robert declared. "He improved the numbers very well last autumn."

"Is it getting serious?" Cora asked her daughter.

"I hope so," Mary replied, finally meeting Tom's eyes for the first time that evening.

Tom felt his stomach drop. That glance at him said everything. Henry was in, Tom was out.

He didn't even bother to try and speak to Mary after dinner. There was no point. Mary had made it clear that she didn't want his attentions and had dismissed him. He retired early and went upstairs to think – and drink – alone.

Dismissed. And he hadn't even been allowed to speak. He had only realized his feelings that afternoon, and she would not hear them. And she had dismissed him as though he was another Lord Gillingham or Charles Blake. That angered him. He deserved more than that.

Why was he surprised? He asked himself. Lady Mary is famous for breaking hearts.

After drinking himself into a stupor, Tom collapsed and spent an uneasy night, all the while trying NOT to think about Mary.

For her part, Mary was certain she had done the right thing. Tom had been confusing her, and she hated to be confused. She wanted to be in control. That was why she had stated so loudly and firmly that she hoped to have things develop with Henry Talbot. It was the right thing to do. Tom's confusing actions were making her half-mad and she had to stop them before anything else happened.

Besides, she told herself, nothing could ever happen between them in the end. They had no future together.

That was what she told herself, anyway, as she too drifted into an uncomfortable sleep.

The next day Edith, Mary, and Bertie were walking in the gardens. Nanny had brought the children down for some lemonade, and Tom was with Sybbie. Marigold was with Nanny, and George was with Barrow. They were all awaiting the arrival of Mr. Talbot, and Tom was still in a bad mood over the whole thing. But he couldn't speak to Mary about it. All he could do was focus on his little girl and try not to be too distracted by his snobby sister-in-law.

Okay, that was not fair, he admitted to himself. He was in love with Mary, and she was distancing herself from him. That doesn't make her a snob. Cold and distant, but that's not the real Mary. Those are her defenses. Oh, he chose a complicated one when he fell in love with Mary… that's for certain.

His thoughts were interrupted by a fussy George who screamed to be put down and Barrow – completely out of breath – complied. What happened next happened incredibly fast.

George started running towards Mary, and ran across the gravel driveway. He slipped, and fell, his legs badly scraped. Just then Henry Talbot came driving up in his car. He slammed on his brakes but the car still slid forward towards the hapless George.

Mary screamed.

Tom dropped the lemonade, the cups shattered on the pavement. He ran towards the boy and picked him up and pulled him clear just as the car was about to hit him.

Still clutching his little nephew tightly, Tom tried to catch his breath. He hadn't even planned what he did, he just reacted. He looked back at Mary who started to spin around slowly. "Bertie, catch her!" he called. Edith turned towards her sister in surprise, but she and Bertie didn't have time. Mary collapsed on the ground in a faint.