Throughout dinner Mary and Tom's eyes kept meeting across the table but they couldn't speak. Everyone seemed oblivious of their glances, except for Edith and Bertie, who shared a few private smiles of amusement at the dilemma.

The general conversation centered around Yewtree Farm and the plans that Mason would bring to it. Mary paid only minimal attention to it, Tom was not much better. For the most part, Robert spent most of the dinner talking to himself, but he did not appear to notice.

After dinner they all gathered in the drawing room for sherry, Tom and Mary still kept looking at each other but did not speak. Mary was no longer mad, Tom was relieved to see. He could always read her expressions clearly, and right now her face utterly betrayed annoyance. Robert was talking his ear off about something or other, and Tom privately watched in amusement as Mary pretended to be interested in a book.

Finally, one by one, everyone started to go up to bed. Tom and Mary stayed behind. Robert was the last to go up, and after he finally said goodnight Tom sighed and sat down next to Mary. Alone at last.

"I didn't think Papa was ever going to leave," she confided.

"How long have you been pretending to read that book?" he asked with a smile.

"Since Christmas," she said as she put it down.

"I'll admit it was funny watching you wait and wait for your father to stop talking."

"He was on a roll, that's for certain. In any case," she said, turning towards him, "I had a feeling that you wanted to speak to me privately."

"I did," Tom confessed. He stood up and poured himself another glass of whiskey.

"You'll pardon my observation, but I've never known you to drink so heavily."

"Irish courage," he said with a grin. "I'm about to tell you something, and I need every ounce of strength to get it out."

"I'm intrigued," she said. "But since when are you afraid of anything?"

"I am afraid of this," he said, sipping his whiskey. "It's been on my mind for a very long time."

"Tom, what are you trying to say?"

Tom finished his glass and met her eyes. "What happened between us at the hospital – there's a reason it happened."

"Tom," she tried to stop him but he waived his hand. "No, honestly – whatever happened between us at the time, we were both half-asleep, crazy with worry, we were out of our heads. Please don't make more of it than that."

Tom took another swig of his drink. "No," he said, more to himself than to her. "I won't let you talk me out of it anymore. I won't let you change the subject again. I'm going to say it."

"Tom…." She looked at him pleadingly.

"I'm in love with you, Mary Josephine Crawley."

Mary couldn't speak. She just stared at him wordlessly.

"I've been in love with you for a very long time."

Mary breathed and blinked her eyes. "Tom," she sighed, "I know what's happened between us has been confusing, but I don't think you should rush to any declarations that cannot be taken back."

"You think I'm about to take them back, Mary?" he asked his eyes wide. "Do you know what it's taken for me to be able to say this to you?"

"It's late," she shook her head. "We've both been drinking, perhaps we should not talk about it anymore," she stood up.

Tom crossed the room in just three steps and seized her. "No," he insisted. "I'm not letting you run away again so easily. We've both been avoiding this conversation for too long. And I just can't let it go on unsaid any longer."

"Tom," Mary looked at him pleadingly, "please don't… just don't."

"I have to," he insisted. He got down on one knee. Mary's hand went to her mouth in amazement. "Lady Mary, will you be my wife?"

Mary couldn't speak for a minute.

"Mary?" he finally asked.

"No," she answered.