Greetings to all of you wonderful readers! I was completely overwhelmed by your response to the last chapter, and I once again want to thank you so very much for your words of encouragement! I also love hearing your opinions on the various aspects of this story and so appreciate all of you who take time to read and review. For those guests to whom I cannot respond personally, please know that your reviews are read and digested, and I now heartily send my warm regards for the kind notes you have dropped my way.
I did have a few of you wondering why I made the choice of Charles Blake as Mary's new suitor rather than Anthony Gillingham, who is currently being touted as the most likely possibility for Mary's new beau for S4. It was simply a personal decision due to the fact that the actor set to portray Mr. Blake is an incredible singer, and I have a rather decided weakness for musical theater and dark-headed tenors (I married one!) And Mr. Fellowes does have quite the knack for surprising us, doesn't he?
I have no words big enough to thank On Either side the River Lie and R. Grace for the time they have taken to read, review, make suggestions and comments...you make this journey even more enjoyable!
And MinervaDeannaBond-you are just a sweetheart!
So now...on with the story. And I do hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Blessings to you all!
Chapter 6
There was simply no way to tell who was more surprised by the sudden turn of events. Mary had grasped the door handle, hoping in passionate desperation to run into freedom and fresh air. But she had instead collided rather solidly into a man's chest, his arms grasping her tightly to keep them both upright.
"Are you alright, my lady?" an all-too familiar voice inquired, making Mary shiver all over as she kept her head bent in an attempt to stall the inevitable.
Dear God—how had this happened? He was here…she was in his arms…at her grandmother's house!
It was the worst possible scenario!
Mary took a deep breath and hesitantly raised her eyes to his, hers already round from fear as his widened in absolute surprise.
Oh, yes, he had recognized her.
"Lady Mary Crawley, I presume," he spoke, breaking his hold of her gently as they were both now steady on their feet.
All speech and sense had completely deserted her, and she found she could only nod in response.
His mouth turned up into a smile as his warm eyes took her in, making her shiver all the more. "My name is Charles Blake," he continued, realizing that she was in a truly agitated state. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"
She wanted to scream for him to leave, to run, to not let her grandmother see him! But her tongue seemed too thick for intelligent speech, her mouth too dry to do anything but swallow.
She could only shake her head in response as she took a step backwards, futilely attempting to put some space in between them so she could at least try to gather her thoughts before…
"Mary? Are you quite alright?" Her grandmother's voice sailed through the walls, prickling Mary's spine as she turned quickly in the direction from which it had flown. What believable answer could she possibly give? Dear God—why could she not stop trembling? This was so unlike her!
"You are not well," Charles stated firmly as he caught her in two steps, his eyes boring into hers. "Dear God, you are shaking like a leaf. Here—take my coat."
He quickly divested himself of the garment, wrapping it around her before she had the strength to protest. The warmth of it spread intoxicatingly through every limb of her body, as did its scent…a combination of spices and peppermint that made her legs inexplicably weak.
"Forgive me, Lady Mary," he requested suddenly, sweeping Mary up in his arms before she was able to voice any type of protest, clutching her firmly to his chest as he carried her purposefully back to her grandmother's sitting room.
"Just what do you think you are doing?" she finally managed, a stream of hot outrage boiling over inside of her as she railed at his utter impertinence.
"I am so glad to hear you can speak," he smiled, his utter tranquility grating irritatingly against her every atom.
Blasted man! How was it that he was so calm while she was coming apart at the seams?
"I am taking you to have some tea," Charles continued, pausing just before they reached the entrance of the sitting room. "You need to sit and recover your warmth. Are you now strong enough for me to set you down?"
"Yes, of course!" Mary hissed in response, the flashing anger in her eyes seeming only to feed the vexing grin teasing her so mercilessly. "Please release me at once."
"As you wish, my lady," he replied, setting her with gentleness and stepping away from her just as his aunt and her grandmother reached the door in quite a state.
"Good heavens," Violet cried, taking in the pair standing by the door. "What on earth is happening out here?" She then looked very pointedly at Mary and demanded, "And why are you wearing Mr. Blake's coat?"
"Forgive me, your ladyship," Charles answered smoothly, casting Mary a reassuring glance before answering, "Lady Mary has taken a chill, so I gave her my coat to warm her."
"How very gallant of you," Violet responded, quirking her eyebrow at the young man in a strange mixture of interest and exasperation. "Mary—I am afraid you have given us all quite a start. I insist that you come back inside and sit down until you have calmed yourself enough to make a proper exit."
"But George—" Mary tried, cut off quickly by a piercing stare from her grandmother.
"I insist," the Dowager Countess commanded, leaving no room at all for disagreement. "Mrs. Crawley is perfectly capable of caring for him a bit longer. It is you who concerns me." She turned and made her way back to her preferred chair, Lady Catherine following suit after turning to give the pair of them a quick smile.
Mary remained frozen, trying to sensibly digest everything that was swirling out of control so dreadfully. There seemed to be no possible means by which she could now make a hasty exit. Her heart began to pound forcefully, making her feel slightly sick as her brow creased in consternation. How had she gotten herself into this mess? What should she…
"After you," Charles interrupted, bowing slightly as his arms indicated the sitting room. "Or would you prefer me to carry you in, my lady?"
That did it. Mary suddenly snapped back to herself, her pride and ire straightening her spine as she shot him a look of fire and replied, "Don't look so pleased by the prospect, Mr. Blake." She then brushed by him, hearing an unmistakable chuckle rumble deep in his chest.
Had he been this infuriating on the train?
"I take it the two of you are already acquainted, for all of your wearing of coats and secretive glances," Violet stated, her tone making it clear that she would not believe any type of denial.
"Mr. Blake introduced himself at the door," Mary responded quickly, still unwilling to volunteer any information about their journey on the train. "He caught me just as I was going out."
"Quite literally, I'm afraid," Charles responded, giving her a sideways grin that prickled up and down her spine. "I was not paying proper attention to where I was going and nearly trampled your granddaughter. It was so very unexpected that I believe it may become a memory that I shall carry with me always."
Had she really heard him correctly? Mary flashed him a glance of incredulous disbelief which he caught expertly, raising one eyebrow playfully to match hers as he tossed her a dare. "Thankfully, she has forgiven me."
The nerve!
"Of course I did," Mary returned, determined that he should not get the best of her. "How could I not forgive someone who was blundering about so dreadfully? It would be so uncharitable of me."
His eyebrow quirked even higher in a silent touché as Mary brought her teacup to her lips, the warm liquid beginning to settle her like a magic potion. Carry her in, indeed!
"I must say, my dear, you look much better than when you made your overly-hasty exit," Lady Catherine intervened, leaning in towards Mary intently. "You had us both quite worried. I hope I said nothing to distress you."
"Oh, no," Mary insisted a bit too hastily, "Nothing like that. I just needed some air, as I told you."
"You did look rather flushed when we met at the door, Lady Mary," Charles interjected, enjoying himself far too much for her comfort.
"Yes—she was terribly flushed," Lady Catherine agreed, "and I can't for the life of me remember what we were discussing that upset you so."
Thank God for small miracles!
"There was nothing, I assure…" Mary tried, decidedly cut off by her grandmother in mid-sentence.
"I remember perfectly," Violet interjected, narrowing her eyes at Mary in a manner than would unnerve the Prime Minister himself. "We were discussing the fact that Mr. Blake had offered to give you a lift home."
Mary's stomach dropped like a stone. Her grandmother's quick mind which she always readily admired was about to be her undoing. She could not look at him—it would give too much away! But she sensed his response all the same as she heard his soft intake of breath.
Charles Blake now understood. He had realized that she did not want to discuss their encounter on the train.
"It was not the ride itself that distressed me, Granny," Mary began, praying continually that her voice sounded normal. "I just remembered that I had a letter that I had neglected to post, and I wanted to do so before it was too late."
"It must have been an important letter, then," Charles replied smoothly, his unnerving wit practically brimming in his eyes. "I could give you a lift there now if you like so you can post it before the day is over."
"No, I would not want to trouble you any further," Mary responded, looking towards Lady Catherine as she continued. "Your kind offer to drive me to Downton is more than sufficient."
"Nonsense," he stated, taking a sip of his tea. "I am more than happy to lift you as often as needed."
She could not help the incredulous look that came upon her face. How dare he? Was he determined to keep her off her game?
"I believe you meant to say that you would be happy to give her a lift," Violet declared, turning her inquisitive gaze upon Charles which he took in stride rather admirably.
"Precisely. Is that not what I said?" he asked innocently. Oh, he was good at this game. She would have to watch herself carefully.
"No—not quite," her ladyship replied, her eyes beginning to sparkle in such a manner that Mary now knew she was enjoying herself.
And she realized with a start that she was as well.
"I'm sure that lifting me about quite frequently would get rather tiresome," Mary stated, her own eyes flashing as she took up the challenge. "Besides, I rather enjoy a walk."
"Walking is good for the soul," Lady Catherine chimed, the only person at the table who seemed to be taking the conversation at face value.
"That it is," Charles agreed, leaning back a bit. "However, I would certainly not recommend it this afternoon. A storm will be here soon, I'm afraid. Surely a lift would be much preferable to a walk under these circumstances. Wouldn't you agree, Lady Mary?"
"I suppose that would be a matter of opinion," Mary rallied, "based upon the quality of the lift being offered." She gave him a self-satisfied smirk, catching a rather dangerous gleam in his eye as he took a sip of his tea.
"That is precisely what Lady Mary said earlier," Lady Catherine agreed, looking meaningfully at her nephew. "That a storm was brewing. Perhaps one more lift may be in order. What do you say, Charles?" She then turned to Mary, patted her hand in assurance and smiled, "He is rather good at it, my dear."
She nearly choked on her tea.
Dear heavens—did she know? Had Lady Catherine secretly deduced that she and George were her nephew's companions on the train? Mary studied the older woman carefully, instantly apprehensive of what she may have figured out. Maybe it had been just an innocent remark.
But Mary was hardly willing to take that for granted.
"I am at Lady Mary's disposal," Charles stated, his brown eyes daringly sincere as he looked from his aunt back to Mary.
"I am sure that you are," Violet put in, just loud enough for everyone to hear but quietly enough to make them wonder if they had heard her correctly. She then quite adeptly directed the conversation to exactly where she desired it to go but where Mary feared the most.
"So you took the train from London to York yesterday, Mr. Blake. Did you have a pleasant trip?"
The thudding of Mary's heart in her ears threatened to drown out his reply, so she stared at him desperately, pleading with him in absolute silence to guard their secret.
"I had a most pleasant journey, thank you," he answered, drinking his tea as if nothing were amiss. Oh—if she could only make him understand!
"I am glad to hear it," Violet stated, looking pointedly at Mary as she made her next remark. "I find that one's travelling companions can make a trip either enjoyable or quite tiresome."
"Granny, I'm sure that Mr. Blake does not wish to discuss his trip from London with us," Mary cut in, willing her voice not to betray the edginess prickling her pores. "That could prove to be quite tedious conversation indeed."
"Especially if one's company is behaving tediously," Violet remarked, not to be put off quite so easily. Mary did not flinch though every nerve ending in her body was standing at attention.
"I was blessed indeed to enjoy the company of some most excellent people yesterday," Charles stated, his eyes grazing over her just enough to make her shiver slightly. "Especially those with whom I shared a berth."
"I understand you were quite taken with a little boy," Violet proceeded, not willing to let the topic drop for a moment. "Your aunt told us that you played some sort of game with him involving a teddy bear."
"He was a beautiful child," Charles answered, his genuine smile when he spoke of George touching a chord in Mary that unleashed a disturbing warmth. "I do not get to enjoy the company of children very often, your ladyship, so I must admit to being delighted by his enthusiasm."
He had no children, then. But why should she give a fig about such a matter? He was just a man, wasn't he?
She was jolted back to the conversation at hand rather harshly when her grandmother revealed, "What a strange coincidence that my great-grandson's favorite toy is a rather garishly large teddy bear and that he was also aboard a train from London to York yesterday. Do you not find that odd, Mr. Blake?"
Mary felt the color drain from her body, seeming to pool in a puddle at her feet as she awaited his response.
"I am sure that I would have enjoyed time with your great-grandson every bit as much as I did with the child I met on the train," Mr. Blake stated, turning his brown eyes directly to Mary's as her pulse raced at a merciless speed. "But I am afraid that I did not have the privilege of introducing myself to Lady Mary until we met just a few moments ago on your doorstep."
Thank God! She was finally able to actually fill her lungs with air for the first time since she had realized Charles Blake's actual identity. And she drew it in greedily, a small measure of relief stroking her senses.
Her eyes flashed in admiration of how he had managed to both truthfully answer her grandmother and conceal the truth of their encounter simultaneously. How very thankful she was that they had not shared introductions upon the train! Mary gave him a slight nod, hoping it would convey her sincerest gratitude for his discretion, knowing that it was not enough.
Charles Blake had protected her. And she was most sincerely in his debt.
"I still find it quite interesting," Violet mused, her eyes boring into Mary's in such a manner that Mary knew she was not yet satisfied. No—she was not yet off the proverbial hook in this matter.
At least not with Violet Crawley.
"As do I, Granny," Mary responded, setting down her teacup gently. "Interesting, indeed. And I'm sure that Mr. Blake would make a most excellent travelling companion. Perhaps I shall have the good fortune to run into him the next time I take the train."
"It would be my pleasure, Lady Mary. You can save me from having to carry on with any tedious company." Charles concluded, his smile unnerving her again as his dimples seemed to wink at her from across the table.
Conversation settled into more mundane topics much to Mary's relief, but she remained on alert, seemingly ordinary details striking her with pinprick clarity as if her environment had been unnaturally amplified. Words, whispers, glances, even the clearing of throats made her skin shiver as if she was experiencing these details for the first time. Was this how the world felt to a new baby, she wondered to herself, trying to brush off this uncomfortable sensitivity in exchange for tougher skin. But a roll of distant thunder brought all talk to a momentary cessation, drawing everyone's attention to the impending storm brewing outside.
"Perhaps I should bring the car around, Lady Mary," Charles began, glancing out the window to the dark gray clouds that were pushing in. "I fear the storm will be upon us shortly, and I would very much like to deliver you and your son home safely before the worst of it arrives. Shall I meet you out front?"
"That would be lovely, Mr. Blake," Mary stated, "Providing Granny will release me from her custody."
"Don't be cheeky, Mary," Violet ordered, making no attempt to disguise her frustration with her granddaughter. "Of course you must go and fetch George before the storm arrives." The corners of her mouth lifted slightly, her eyes narrowing as she concluded, "However, you might want to return Mr. Blake's coat to him, my dear. I am sure that he could use it before he goes out to face the elements."
"Of course," Mary agreed, embarrassed by her oversight as her stomach began to flutter nervously much to her chagrin. He stepped behind her when she stood, his nearness parching her throat as all air seemed to desert the room. She shivered as he slid the garment across her skin, stirring up a longing to be touched in a manner that she forcibly ignored. Dear God, what was wrong with her?
And when had the room become so unbearably hot?
"Thank you, Granny," Mary managed, unable to make eye contact with anyone as Charles took his leave from the room. She drew a deep breath to cleanse her thoughts, breathing in the very scent of him that still clung to her, only serving to make her want to scream out in frustration. She suddenly felt very exposed and shivered despite the heat coursing through her body. She forced her thoughts from him, trying to cool the source of unbidden warmth that had sprung up within her as she somehow politely asked, "Lady Catherine, will you be riding to Downton with us?"
How very foreign her voice sounded to own ears, as if she were moving her lips in collaboration with speech originating from an outside source quite detached from her.
"Oh no, dear. I shall wait here and visit as much as I can until Charles returns for me." Lady Catherine responded, looking entirely too satisfied with herself at that response.
Oh, yes—Mr. Blake's aunt was craftier than Mary had at first suspected.
The thought of being completely alone with Charles Blake even for only a few minutes completely unnerved her. She was far too aware of the man, her senses seemingly out to betray her where he was concerned. But she did need the opportunity to thank him for his confidentiality, and the trip home would provide her with that chance.
She would just have to deal with her nerves. It would appear she had little choice in the matter.
Mary bid Lady Catherine good-bye for the evening, Violet standing and moving along with her as she called back, "I shall return in a moment, Catherine. I would like a moment in private with my granddaughter."
Not now! Every facet of her being was already on high alert, making her want to jump at the slightest provocation. But her grandmother would not be put off, so Mary willed her heart to beat as normally as it possibly could as her grandmother walked alongside her to the front door.
"Well, Mary, do you have anything you wish to say to me?" Violet inquired when they were out of earshot, pouncing with the all the speed and efficiency of a large cat spotting a weakness in its prey.
"Thank you for the tea," Mary offered smoothly, returning her grandmother's stare with a rather forced intensity of her own.
"Do not play with me, Mary Josephine," Violet ordered, leaning in even closer as she commandeered all the authority she so easily mustered, forcing Mary to conclude that even Elizabeth I could have garnered a few pointers in intimidation from her grandmother. "You know very well of what I speak!"
Mary sighed, tired of this familial battle of wills as her shoulders dropped slightly. "What do you want me to say, Granny? That I met Charles Blake in London and we made mad, passionate love with each other on the train ride back to York? Would that satisfy you?"
"Not exactly, but that is a better story than the one you are currently telling," Violet responded without a flinch, "although it would have been a bit awkward with George on board."
"I am sorry to disappoint you, but we did nothing of the sort," Mary stated firmly, turning to face her grandmother boldly eye to eye. "Believe whichever story you like, but Mr. Blake spoke the truth when he said that we were introduced to each other just today."
"Well, then," Violet murmured, pursing her lips together. "He made quite a first impression, I daresay."
And much to Mary's utter annoyance, her pulse leapt in agreement.
Charles miraculously arrived with the car at that moment, granting Mary the opportunity to kiss Violet's cheek as she whispered in undisguised relief, "Good-evening, Granny," making her exit as speedily as decorum would allow as she dashed towards the automobile. She would have flown out the door if she could have willed wings to sprout from her back.
The wind was biting now, and Mary knew that walking anywhere would have been an utter impossibility. Charles deftly helped her into the car, dashing quickly around to the other side before climbing in beside her and closing the door to the world around them, instantly creating a small sanctuary from the elements.
Mary simply stared through the window and focused on breathing evenly, feeling entrapped and pardoned simultaneously, sheltered from the brutal gale brewing outside the windows but horribly bound to the ridiculous nerves shackling her senses. She had to somehow pacify this conflict of emotions that seemed to drug her logical mind at the most inopportune moments. She could handle this situation.
She must.
"Your grandmother is quite a woman," he stated, gently coaxing her eyes to move to his in acknowledgement of his words. But his grin was absolutely infectious, imperceptibly persuading Mary to smile back, relief at being away from such exacting scrutiny making her suddenly quite giddy.
"You're being kind," Mary returned, allowing her head to drop back on the seat for a moment as a flood of relief doused her nerves, laughter breaking from its forced captivity as it coupled with his and filled the car's interior. They had survived the inquisition of Violet Crawley—thank God!
Well, at least the first round.
"Will you allow me to pay you a compliment and say that I like your hair very much?" he dared, a look of actual nervousness playing across his features as he quietly sought her approval of his rather bold assertion.
"Thank you," she answered softly, her senses responding all too quickly to his words. "I never turn down a compliment."
"As you shouldn't," he returned before a charged silence settled over the car. Why should the fact that he simply noticed and commented upon her change of hairstyle make her feel like debutante awaiting her first dance? It was too much yet just enough as she frantically tried to make some sense of it all, failing miserably as her logical mind scrambled to cope with unleashed sensibilities.
"When did you cut it?" he finally queried, raising a brow in question and pulling her out of her own private discourse.
"This morning," Mary responded, looking out the window at the leaves whipping violently in the harsh wind that offered them no mercy. "I thought," she paused, finally looking back up at him before finishing, "I thought it was fitting—something new for a new life."
Mary felt instantly vulnerable, as if she had put herself on display for his inspection. Why, oh why did she keep telling this man such personal details about herself? The words seemed to pour out of her before she had the sense to filter her conversation, as if he were a basin into which they were destined to spill.
"Good for you," he simply stated, his words of approbation warming as quickly as his coat had done in the house. "That took some courage."
"Oh, I don't know about that," she doubted, shaking her head ruefully. "I was actually quite nervous about it."
"My point exactly," he stated, the admiration in his expression robbing her of any further argument, the unbidden smile that caressed her lips her sole response.
Charles took the keys in his hand and started the motor, prompting Mary to lean towards him, placing her hand hesitantly on his arm before she lost her nerve as she offered, "Before we drive away, please allow me to thank you properly for what you did for me."
"You mean not telling them about our train ride together?" he verbalized, his brown eyes drawing her in softly as she nodded back in affirmation.
"For that and the train ride itself," she admitted, glancing down at her lap as her cheeks warmed once more against her will. "I told you so much, things I haven't said to anyone else, you see." She drew a deep breath, daring to hope that it might somehow fill her with courage as she continued, "It somehow seemed so safe to share things with you, as I thought, I mean…"
"You thought you would never see me again," he finished for her, turning in his seat so he could face her properly and magically causing the car's interior to shrink in size. Once again, she could only nod in reply, treacherous nerves robbing her of intelligent speech as she wondered what he thought of her admission.
And why she cared so much about his opinion.
"Sometimes that is easier," he began, his sincerity evident, "to share such intimate things with someone you don't know. When you are grieving, it can be liberating to be in the company of strangers. There is no real fear of judgment among them."
"Precisely," Mary breathed, relieved that he understood so readily, yet confused by how he could know so well. "But how…"
The truth of it unexpectedly slammed into to her, a cold shiver gripping her core as she dared to state what she suddenly knew to be true.
"You have lost someone," Mary whispered, needing no confirmation from him but receiving it just the same as he looked out the window in front of him and nodded slowly.
"My wife," Charles confided, taking a moment before turning his gentle gaze back to her as an unwritten understanding was brokered between them.
She should have known! How had she not noticed before that there was hidden pain there, tucked away behind the laughter in the depths of his eyes? His words to her on the train, the absolute understanding he seemed to have of the sorrow and guilt she carried, his gentle compassion towards her when she could not muster the strength to keep any sort of composure…
It had come from his own experience. Charles Blake had walked in her shoes.
"I am so sorry," Mary said, the depth of his pain so very real that it seemed to creep into her bones. She understood it much too well.
He gave her a half-grin that did not reach his eyes as he quietly responded, "So am I."
"How long ago?" she asked, almost feeling like an intruder even as she traversed the same ground with him as he had with her just yesterday.
"Nearly five years," he replied, his voice steady as he took her in. "I will not lie to you, my lady. It is never easy, this journey that has been forced upon us, and not one that anyone would embark upon willingly."
Charles then leaned forward a bit closer and laid his hand atop hers for a fleeting moment, sealing this new bond as he assured her, "But I can promise you that it does get better."
"It has to, doesn't it?" she reassured herself, her voice barely discernable over the wind's lament keening outside the vehicle. She realized that perhaps her heart was undergoing the beginnings of spring's thaw, newly fertile ground allowing fragile seeds of hope to take root and grow within her…the hope of a new life, one nourished by the love, pain and experiences of her past.
And for one glorious moment, she could have sworn that she heard a lark's lyrical song echo in her ear.
"Thank you for that," Mary voiced, their shared pain suddenly forging a thread of closeness between them that shimmered as silver across her skin. "I am starting to believe it, you know."
"Then I am glad," he smiled, his thumb trailing a gentle course across her knuckles she felt all too keenly before releasing her had and starting the car. "I'll repeat it as often as necessary."
Sometimes things of importance need to be repeated frequently.
And Mary was undeniably aware that she might now be ready to listen.
They arrived at Crawley House just a few minutes after departing her grandmother's residence. Charles parked in front, turning off the engine just as a threatening crash of thunder pealed overhead.
"I believe we made it just in time," Mary observed, noting that what blue had been left in the sky had been crowded out by a thick, ominous gray.
"I think you are correct," he agreed, his brow creasing in observation as he looked to the sky. "I have a feeling we may be in for quite a stormy night."
And he would be driving home in it.
Her heart suddenly pounded in a most erratic way, her stomach instantly hollow as she asked hesitantly, "Must you drive back to York if the weather is too dangerous? I would not want you and your aunt to have…to…"
Oh, God. Mary could not finish her sentence. The unbidden terror she so despised that had stalked her since the moment her mother told her of Matthew's death was overtaking her, her breath coming again in rapid gasps, her hands trembling as she fought down the sensation of sheer panic.
She could handle no more accidents.
"Do not distress yourself, Lady Mary," he assured her quickly, moving closer to her in hasty assurance. "If the weather is too dangerous for travel, I shall not put my aunt or myself in any unnecessary danger. We shall find a place to stay in town if needed."
"I am glad," she managed, her voice thick as she did her best to blink back unbidden tears, seeking and quickly locating his handkerchief in her bag and clasping it tightly within her grasp. "I'm sure Granny would not mind your company, at all."
He laughed softly to himself before admitting, "The question is would I survive hers?"
Unexpected laughter welled out of her as she wiped her eyes, relief washing over her like a salve. "I'm not sure," she answered, casting him an amused glance. "That might depend on if you packed your battle armor."
"I knew there was something I left in York," he sighed, making her laugh again as another glorious release lightened her spirit and chased away any remnant shards of panic. "Do you happen to have a spare set lying about that I could borrow?"
"Oh, come now," Mary quipped, raising an eyebrow in his direction. "Have you not yet realized that we Crawley women have armor in our skin?"
"That would explain why you were so blasted cold back there," he returned, actually making tears of mirth spill down her cheeks as she held her stomach.
How grand it felt to laugh again!
A crackling flash of lightning brought all hilarity to an end, the impending storm rudely intruding upon their cocoon-like haven as Charles asked her sincerely, "Would you prefer me to accompany you to the door to retrieve George or to wait for you here?"
He would not force his company upon her in front of her mother-in-law until she was ready. Yes—he understood things very well.
"George will be glad to see you again," she voiced, making her decision as she realized with more than a touch of irony that as much as she had been dreading seeing this man again, she now felt unsteady at the thought of being without his company.
"Would you come with me?"
A pause of wonder whispered in the space between them, both a bit unsure of what had been spoken and received.
"Of course I shall," he voiced, her request touching him even as it caught him off-guard, offering her a smile that just barely revealed his dimples in return. Charles removed the keys from the car's ignition, sliding them into his coat pocket as his words reached out to her. "I did promise your grandmother that I was at your disposal."
"You had better be careful what you promise Violet Crawley, Mr. Blake," Mary grinned, her voice dripping with candor. "I have no doubt that Granny will hold you to it."
His brown eyes danced in lyrical sincerity as he replied, "I certainly hope she does, Lady Mary."
They moved to the door, nearly running as they sought to get out of the punishing wind that simultaneously pulled them from and pushed them towards their intended destination. As they waited for Molesely to answer the door, Mary was quickly trying to decide exactly what she would reveal to Isobel about Mr. Blake's identity. Of course, Isobel was a highly intelligent woman—she might just deduce the truth with no assistance from her at all.
There was no need for her to even bother concocting a plan, Mary suddenly realized, as she stepped back in astonishment when Isobel herself opened the door for them. The older woman was somewhat flushed, a rather flustered yet relieved look upon her face as she cried, "Thank goodness you are here, Mary! I just rang for you at your grandmother's house."
This should not be! Why would Isobel be searching for her with such vehemence, even phoning her grandmother to find her unless…
Dear, God! Vice-like panic seized her instantaneously, her heart constricting painfully as she looked around the room desperately for her son. "What is it, Isobel? Where is George?"
"He is upstairs in the nursery with Dr. Clarkson," Isobel replied, taking Mary's hand and practically pulling her into the house, Charles following closely behind and shutting the door to the brewing tempest outdoors. "George has a fever."