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July 1913

'And when was the font installed?' Isobel asked, doing her best to look interested in the fifth church of the afternoon.

Edith stared past her, peering up the aisle to the back of the church where Matthew was standing talking to Sybil. She watched enviously as her sister put one hand to her mouth, covering her giggles, the other hand landing familiarly on Matthew's arm. Her stomach twisted with jealousy as she saw him smile fondly at Sybil.

'Edith!' Mary's voice cut sharply through the air.

'What?' Edith snapped, wrenching her attention from the galling sight of Matthew with Sybil.

'Cousin Isobel asked you a question,' Mary said, her voice as sweet as sugar, sliding her eyes meaningfully towards Isobel.

'Oh, right. I'm dreadfully sorry, Cousin Isobel. What was it you said?' Edith said, flustered. She wasn't by nature rude to people, and if she was to harbour any hope of gaining Matthew's affection, she certainly couldn't afford to get on the wrong side of his mother.

'I was just asking about the font, but it's really not that important,' Isobel said, turning sympathetic eyes on the middle Crawley daughter.

It was abundantly clear that Edith was carrying a torch for Matthew, but it was also equally clear to Isobel that her son did not reciprocate those feelings in the slightest. To her surprise, though, it wasn't Mary that he'd spent all afternoon talking and walking with but Sybil, who would rival Mary in looks as she got older but was already quite the sweetest of the three sisters.

Poor plain Edith had barely got a look in. Isobel couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

Mary listened to Edith parroting facts from her guidebook and dipped her head to hide a smile. She'd done her utmost to stick to Isobel like glue and force Edith to stay with them. She'd asked a multitude of questions about things she really didn't give two figs about simply to get Edith to look up the answers in that cripplingly boring guidebook she had brought along. And her apparent enthusiasm for the church trip had encouraged Isobel to ask questions too.

Edith had rarely looked so miserable as she glanced repeatedly over at Matthew, who was chatting up a storm with Sybil, the pair of them laughing and joking together. Mary would feel guilty, but Edith didn't deserve a catch like Matthew, and Sybil was obviously having fun with him. And now it was almost time to go home for tea. She silently congratulated herself on a job well done.

As Edith droned on about the font, she walked over to the high window of the church and rose up on her toes to peer through the coloured glass.

Tom was outside, leaning against the car, his face tipped up to the sun. Through the bright blue of the stained glass, he looked like a handsome angel, his cap haloing his head. She gazed at him, enjoying the chance to look at him without him being aware of it.

His presence this afternoon had been a guilty pleasure. She'd allowed herself small, snatched glances at him in the car as he'd ferried them around from church to church. And then there were those tiny squeezes of the hand as he helped her in and out of the car. Once, when she'd been the last to exit the car, he'd given her a quick, small smile that made her heart skip.

All in all, this afternoon had been much pleasanter than she'd anticipated. She'd thwarted Edith's goals, helped Sybil spend time with Matthew, and been able to be around her lover for an extended period, even if they'd been forced to play their public roles. Today had been a good day.


Cora watched out of the window as the motor drew up outside the house and, one by one, her daughters stepped out of it, aided by the chauffeur.

First came Edith, who stomped towards the house looking cross and sulky. Cora sighed, realising the afternoon with Matthew had not gone as Edith had hoped. This was not surprising news. Cora knew without a doubt that Matthew was not romantically interested in her middle daughter and never would be. And he had the luxury of options. He did not have to marry a Crawley daughter – the title, the estate and her money would be his regardless one day.

Next came Sybil, who seemed to be glowing with happiness. Cora watched with interest, wondering what had happened to put such a blissful smile on her youngest daughter's face.

Finally came Mary, her eldest, most complicated and most difficult child.

Cora thought back to the conversation she'd had earlier today with her husband when Robert had told her about the letter from his sister saying Evelyn Napier had apparently given up any thought of marrying Mary. As she'd said to Robert, this was not a surprise to her. She'd known since that wretched hunt that Mr Napier was not a man capable of capturing her daughter's attention, but it had been troubling to Robert, especially the suggestion that somehow Mary was at fault.

Robert was not a complicated man, and Cora knew him intimately. He could not hide anything from her, so she was completely sure he had no inkling of the events of that distressing weekend of the hunt. And if she had her way, he never would. But the fact that Rosamund had put pen to paper about the gossip about Mary was troubling.

Cora looked out of the window again and frowned. Mary was still out there, her hand still in Branson's, still talking to him by the motor. They looked strangely intimate, standing there conversing like that. Cora frowned, something niggling at her. There was nothing wrong with it, per se, but it still seemed not entirely appropriate.

She narrowed her eyes, watching her daughter with the chauffeur. They weren't exactly flirting, but their postures indicated a closeness that should not be there between a lady of the house and a servant. By rights, Mary should have dropped Branson's hand as soon as she was safely out of the car, but she hadn't and her fingers were still clasped in his. She would have to speak to her about it.

That recurring and most unwelcome thought that perhaps Mary had enjoyed her encounter with Mr Pamuk wandered into her mind again. Once a sexual appetite was awakened, perhaps it could not quite be suffocated again. And Branson was a good-looking young man, a temptation to a young woman curious about the opposite sex.

Cora didn't really believe Mary would have an affair with a social inferior, but if she was even thinking about flirting with one of the male servants, it was definitely time to step up the quest to get her safely married as soon as possible. Perhaps it was time to write to Sir Anthony Strallan and invite him to dinner as she'd suggested earlier to a sceptical Robert.

'Carson, could you ask Lady Mary to come in here, please?' she said, turning to the butler.

'Certainly, milady,' Carson nodded, striding off to pass along the message.

Cora watched through the window as the butler appeared outside, speaking to Mary. Her daughter listened and said something back to him, her fingers still tucked into Branson's gloved hand as he stood beside her by the open car door. And then Mary looked at the chauffeur and smiled, giving him a small nod before letting go of his hand. Branson smiled back at her; a broad, bright smile Cora had never seen on him before. Hmm. That was definitely worrying.

Mary entered the room, looking expectantly at her mother. 'You wanted to see me, Mama?'

'Yes. Carson, could you leave us, please?' Cora said, waiting for the butler to withdraw and close the door behind him.

Mary looked at her curiously. 'Is something the matter?'

'What were you talking to Branson about?' Cora asked, determined to have an answer.

"Er, nothing," Mary said, colour appearing on her cheeks.

'You remained standing by the car talking to him, letting him hold your hand for quite some time,' Cora said, watching her daughter carefully. 'So, what were you talking about?'

'We were talking about the churches we'd been to today,' Mary replied, her familiar haughty veneer descending on her. 'What did you think I was talking to him about?'

'I don't know, which is why I asked. It looked quite…'

'Quite what?' Mary asked, tightly.

'Inappropriate.'

'Inappropriate?' Mary's eyes widened, almost comically. 'Discussing Norman architecture with the chauffeur is inappropriate?'

'You must have a mind to how things look, Mary.'

'I wasn't aware I was under such scrutiny in my own home!' Mary snapped, the colour in her cheeks flaring higher. 'And he wasn't holding my hand; he was helping me out of the car like he does all the time for all of us.'

Cora pursed her lips but decided to change tack. 'Your papa has had a letter from your Aunt Rosamund.'

'About what? Am I accused of discussing Tudor architecture with someone else unsuitable? A footman, perhaps?' Mary bit out, feeling under attack.

'Apparently, Evelyn Napier has given up thoughts of marrying you.'

'And?' Mary asked, not seeing how that could possibly be news.

'There's a suggestion that you are at fault for his change of heart,' Cora said, pressing the point home.

Mary shook her head. 'I don't believe for one minute that Evelyn would have said such a thing. He may not be who I would choose as a husband, but he is a gentleman through and through and a good friend.'

'Nevertheless, the rumour persists. And you know as well as I do that there are grounds for such a rumour.'

Mary narrowed her eyes at her mother, her temper picking up steam. 'Oh, and you think news of me talking to the chauffeur will only underscore my rank unsuitability for any respectable suitor, do you, Mama?'

'I think you must be extremely careful about how you conduct yourself or you may find yourself with very few prospects,' Cora said firmly, meeting Mary's gaze unflinchingly.

'Right. Well, I shall bear that in mind in my interactions with the staff,' Mary said, stiffly. 'May I go now?'

'Just remember that you need to appear whiter than white at all times. You must do nothing that could see any accusation of impropriety levelled against you, Mary. Do you understand?'

Mary gave a swift, sharp nod of her head, her lips pressed mutinously together.

'You may go,' Cora said, inclining her head.

Mary turned and marched stiffly out of the room. Cora watched her go, a feeling of unease niggling at her.


That evening after dinner, Mary sat on one of the chairs at the back of the drawing room sipping her drink, replaying her mother's words.

It was worrying that Mama seemed to have seen something between her and Tom. Mary thought hard about those few moments by the car with him, but there really had been nothing to it. There couldn't have been – there was a footman within earshot all the time. She'd simply thanked him for driving them around all afternoon and they'd had a brief discussion about which had been the prettiest of the churches they'd visited. It was true that she'd left her hand in his, but he'd simply handed her out of the car, and they'd remained in that stance. They certainly hadn't been holding hands like they had when they'd wandered through the woods.

Still, Mama's eagle eyes had seen something. She would have to warn Tom that they must stick to their public roles at all times to avoid arousing any further suspicion. The last thing she wanted was for Tom to be dismissed for fraternising with a daughter of the house. If that happened… well, she really wasn't sure what she would do.

'What are you thinking about?' Edith said, creeping up and perching on the chair next to her.

'Nothing important.'

'Are you sure? Because you look like a bulldog chewing a wasp,' Edith said, cattily.

'Well, how charming of you to point that out. What do you want, Edith?' Mary snapped, irritated by her sister intruding so rudely on her thoughts and annoyed that her discomfort was apparently showing on her face.

'I just wanted to say that I know you think you've won, but you haven't,' Edith said, barely troubling to hide her dislike.

'What are you talking about?'

"Matthew.'

'What about Matthew?'

'I know you tried to keep me from him today.'

Mary narrowed her eyes. 'Me? I was with you and Isobel all afternoon. How precisely did I keep you from Matthew?'

'I suspect you told him to keep Sybil company just to spite me,' Edith said, petulantly.

'I did no such thing. Not everything is about you. You need to learn to be less self-centred!' Mary riposted with a roll of her eyes.

'Self-centred? Me? That's rich coming from you!' Edith sputtered, outraged by that accusation. 'Nothing is ever about me! It's always about you! Mary this, Mary that. It's like Sybil and I don't exist. Mary must marry the heir! We must try to break the entail for Mary! We must find Mary a rich husband! It's never about me!'

'Really, Edith, do you have to be so dramatic all the time? Nobody likes a self-obsessed crybaby, you know,' Mary said tartly. 'For your information, I said nothing to Cousin Matthew about you.'

'I don't believe you,' Edith snapped, colour flaring high on her cheeks.

'I don't care whether you believe me or not. You can think what you like. Or you could simply ask him yourself. He will tell you he and I did not discuss this trip at all.'

Edith glared at her, desperately trying to come up with a cutting response.

Mary smiled sweetly at her sister. 'Has it occurred to you that the reason Matthew didn't spend any time with you this afternoon was simply because he didn't want to? That he preferred the company of Sybil to you?'

'He preferred Sybil to you too!' Edith hissed, viciously.

Mary nodded, completely unruffled. 'Yes, but the difference is I wasn't fishing for him. You on the other hand, you hooked your line with what passes as the best bait you have, and he never so much as swam past it once. I think that should tell you something.'

Edith went puce with anger. 'I hate you!'

'Yes, well, I would say the feeling is mutual, but I simply don't care about you enough to hate you,' Mary said, watching her barb hit home with satisfaction. 'Now if you'll excuse me, I'm sure there's a flower arrangement somewhere I could be having a more interesting conversation with.'

She rose to her feet and walked away, a small smile on her face. Edith glared at her back, praying that her letter to the Turkish ambassador would soon wipe that nasty, smug smile off Mary's face.


'Oh, Mary, I had such a lovely afternoon today,' Sybil sighed, flopping back onto Mary's bed with a beatific smile.

Mary rose from her dressing table, still rubbing moisturising cream into her hands, and walked over to join her sister. "I noticed, darling. You and Matthew looked quite intimate, laughing and smiling together. And it drove Edith insane with jealousy, which was a most delicious added bonus."

Sybil pulled herself upright, scooting up the bed to slide her legs under Mary's covers and lean her back against the headboard. 'Poor Edith. I do feel a little bad to have ruined her day.'

'Don't. She was quite horrible to me this evening. She accused me of telling Matthew to squire you around all day to spite her,' Mary said, pulling back her covers and slipping in alongside her little sister.

Sybil shot her an apprehensive look. 'Did you?'

'No, of course, I didn't! Matthew chose to spend his afternoon with you all by himself,' Mary said, waggling her eyebrows at Sybil. 'I had nothing to do with it. And the fact that I'd tasked you with keeping him away from Edith is quite by the by.'

'You definitely didn't suggest to him that he walk around with me this afternoon?' Sybil asked, still not quite able to believe that her handsome cousin had chosen to spend time with her.

'No, I never said a word to him about it.' Mary nudged her sister and smiled at her. 'Maybe the fair Matthew is as taken with you as you are with him.'

Sybil blushed, letting out a small giggle. 'Do you think so? I really can't believe that. He's so… so…'

'So what?' Mary teased, watching her sister's face light up with excitement as she tried to find the words to describe Matthew.

'He's so clever and wise and knowledgeable. And I know nothing of any great importance,' Sybil finally said with a sigh, deflating slightly.

'You're young, Sybil. And you're a woman. Men don't expect us to know anything.'

'But I want to know things. I want to learn about the world and all its mysteries. I want to expand my horizons,' Sybil said, earnestly.

'And you will, darling. But you're only 17, you have plenty of time to learn more things.'

'But that's another thing. Matthew is older than me. He's a man. Why would he ever be interested in a silly, little girl like me?'

Mary turned, taking hold of Sybil's arm. 'Listen to me, Sybil. Don't ever say such a thing about yourself. You are not a silly, little girl. You never have been. You are a charming, young woman, who has so much to give. You're kind, you're patient, you're considerate. You're all the things Mama wishes I was but have never been.'

'But – '

'But nothing. I won't hear you say another word against yourself. You, my darling, are a catch. Matthew should count himself lucky that you give him the time of day, not the other way around,' Mary said, firmly.

Sybil smiled at her, leaning in to hug her. 'You are the best sister I could ever wish for, Mary.'

'Well, of course, I am. Your other sister is Edith. I mean, there's no competition,' Mary replied, wrapping her arm around Sybil's shoulders.

Sybil giggled and shook her head. 'I do feel sorry for Edith.'

'And doesn't that just prove that you are nicer than me? Because I don't. Not in the slightest,' Mary observed, making Sybil chuckle again as she snuggled against her sister's chest.

'You really think Matthew might like me?' Sybil asked again, still unable to believe that.

Mary shrugged. 'Well, on today's evidence, I'd say yes, absolutely. And there's always the other thing you have in your favour.'

'What's that?'

'He has eyes.'

Sybil gave a startled laugh. 'He has eyes?'

'Yes. He can see you are a beautiful young woman, and take it from me, men are rather partial to beautiful young women,' Mary said with the confidence of someone who had never doubted her looks.

Sybil smiled, shaking her head. 'And is there a young man who is partial to you?'

A vision of Tom's face floated across Mary's mind, and she smiled. 'Yes.'

Sybil looked up at her, intrigued. 'Yes?'

'Oh, yes, most definitely. Probably half a dozen or more,' Mary said airily, winking at Sybil.

Sybil giggled again, elbowing her sister. 'You never doubt yourself, do you, Mary?'

'Not if I can help it.'

'You know, I hope I am like you when I'm older.'

'Oh, no, darling. I don't think that's a good idea at all. I don't think Mama would be able to bear it,' Mary replied, only half joking. 'Be better than me. But never doubt yourself. The world – mostly men – will try to make you do that but don't fall for it. You do exactly what you want, whenever you can.'

Sybil nodded, thoughtfully. 'I will certainly try.'

'Then my work here is done,' Mary said, dropping a kiss onto her sister's dark hair. 'Matthew will be a lucky man if you choose him as your husband.'


Her hat lay on his kitchen table. Tom stared at it, his heart racing. He hadn't seen Mary alone for over a week now, and hadn't spoken to her since he'd driven the Crawley sisters home after their afternoon visiting church after church after church with Mr Matthew and Mrs Crawley.

He smiled, set his uniform cap down beside her hat and then ran up the stairs, pushing open the door to his bedroom,

She was curled on her side, her book lying where it had fallen when she nodded off. Tom scooped it up and put it on his bedside cabinet and then he lay down next to her, propping himself up on his elbow to gaze at her.

It never failed to amaze him that this beautiful young woman chose to spend time with him. She could – quite literally – have any man she wanted, and yet she was here, in his cottage, lying in his bed. It made his heart swell dangerously.

He leaned forward and gently kissed her forehead. When she didn't stir, he kissed the tip of her nose. She wrinkled her nose slightly but didn't wake, so he kissed her cheek and then dipped down further to press his lips to hers.

This time Mary did stir, sleepily coming to, responding to his kiss, her lips moving under his. She gave a little moan that sent a bolt of joy arcing through Tom.

'Hello, love,' he whispered, pressing another kiss to her lips.

'Hello, you,' she murmured, reaching up a hand to lay it on his cheek.

'Did you sleep well?'

'Hmm. What time is it?'

'It's only early yet. I had to take the little car out to turn the engine over and I thought I'd stop in and see if you were here. I've missed you,' he said, softly.

'I've missed you, too,' Mary muttered, tugging at the neckline of his waistcoat. 'Come here and kiss me again.'

Tom smiled and leaned in, slipping one arm around her waist, scooping her closer, and kissed her, long and deep.

'Oh, I've missed that too,' Mary murmured as the kiss broke, sighing as he dropped small kisses on her jawline.

'Have you been busy? I haven't seen you in almost a week,' he asked, pulling back slightly to look at her.

She sighed, reaching up to push his hair back. 'I know. I had to stay away from you for a little while. I need to talk to you about something.'

A shadow crossed his face. 'Oh, that does not sound good.'

'No, it's not.'

'What is it? Tell me,' he said, fearing the worst.

'Do you remember when we got back to the Abbey after you drove us around all those churches with Matthew and Isobel?'

'Yes.'

'Carson came out with a message that Mama wanted to see me.'

'Yes, I think I remember that,' Tom said, unsure where this was going.

'She was watching from inside the house and saw us standing together by the car. She asked me what we were talking about and lectured me on how inappropriate our behaviour looked,' Mary told him, watching his face for his reaction.

Tom frowned, puzzled, casting his mind back to those few moments.

'Inappropriate? What were we doing? It can't have been much because we were standing outside the front door of the house.'

'We weren't doing anything! Well, I still had my hand in yours after you handed me out of the car, but that was it. We were talking about the churches, remember?'

Tom nodded. 'And her ladyship thought it looked inappropriate? Why?'

'All I can think was that she saw something in the way we were talking. We need to be careful, Tom. We can't do anything that might arouse any suspicions that you and I are not simply… well, you know,' Mary said, reluctant to voice the disparity in their social positions.

'Lady and chauffeur,' he said heavily, reality encroaching on their haven.

'Yes,' she mumbled, feeling awkward and heart sore at having to bring it up.

'But we weren't doing anything.'

'No, I know we weren't. But perhaps there's some kind of…'

'Some kind of what?'

'Chemistry or some such thing between us that will give us away,' she muttered, feeling suddenly shy.

Tom grinned, curling his finger under her chin. 'Chemistry?'

'Yes, that's what they call it in the romance novels.' She narrowed her eyes at him as he chuckled. 'Are you laughing at me?'

'No, sweetheart,' he soothed, his eyes dancing with mirth. 'I've just never heard it called that before.'

'Well, what would you call it?' she asked, indignantly.

He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, his face turning more serious. 'I don't know. Attraction? Adoration? Love?'

Mary went still, her heart leaping in her chest. 'Love?'

He lifted his gaze from her lips to her eyes. 'Maybe.'

'Do you… do you love me, Tom?' Mary asked, her mouth going dry as her pulse raced and her heart tripped.

He traced the back of his finger over her cheekbone. 'I think if I'm not in love with you yet, it's only a matter of time,' he said softly, locking eyes with her.

'Love,' she whispered again, quite unable to look away from him.

'Maybe that's what your mother saw. That I love you. Perhaps she recognised it without knowing it,' he whispered, stroking her face, his fingers as soft as a butterfly's wings on her cheek.

'Oh, Tom,' Mary breathed, melting into him, tipping her face up for a kiss, overwhelmed by the feelings fluttering through her.

He cupped her face and leaned in, kissing her softly, revelling in being able to hold her in his arms and show her how he loved her.


Cora picked up the envelope with the neat, orderly handwriting on it and slit it open, extracting the letter. She didn't recognise the hand, but as she began to read it, she smiled and nodded to herself.

Sir Anthony Strallan would be delighted to accept her invitation to dine with the Granthams at the beginning of August.

Excellent. Her plan to get Mary married as soon as possible was beginning to come together.


'Have you used all that honey I gave you?' Mary asked, wandering into Tom's tiny pantry.

'No, it's in there somewhere. Try the third shelf from the top,' he called, pouring hot water into the teapot.

'Ah, yes, there it is. I quite fancy a spoonful of honey in my tea,' she said, emerging from the pantry with the stone jar in her hand.

'Well, help yourself; you did win it after all,' he said, smiling as she tugged the cork from the jar and peered inside.

'Yes, I did, but then I gave it to you as a gift.' She frowned as she inspected the contents of the jar. 'And you've barely used any of it! Did you not like your gift?'

'Yes, I did, but I don't have as sweet a tooth as someone I could mention, so it takes me a while to get through a jar of honey.'

Mary put the jar on the table and went to the dresser to pull out a teaspoon. 'How can you not have a sweet tooth?'

He shrugged, putting the teapot down in the middle of the table. 'I just don't.'

Mary plunged her spoon into the jar and withdrew it all golden and glistening, a wide smile on her face. She stuck the tip of her tongue out, licking at the spoon.

'Oh, I do love honey,' she said, rolling her eyes in pleasure.

Tom watched her, his throat tightening up as she continued to lick at the spoon, making small noises that did unmentionable things to him.

'The only trouble is it gets everywhere,' she laughed as she finally put the spoon down and looked at her fingers.

'You have some on your face,' he said, gesturing at her cheek.

'Where?' she asked, raising her sticky fingers to her face.

Tom laughed as she only succeeded in smearing more honey on her face. 'Stop it. You're making it worse. I'll get it for you.'

He leaned forward, wiping his finger over the streak of honey. 'There,' he said softly, his eyes merry.

Mary grinned at him and then impulsively darted her head forward, sucking his outstretched finger into her mouth, her tongue licking at the honey.

Tom gasped, taken by surprise, staring at her as she sucked on his finger. He felt his body responding and groaned.

Mary heard the noise he made and knew instinctively that she'd pulled that noise from him. She slid her mouth further along his finger, her tongue dancing along his skin and he made another noise.

'Oh, God, Mary,' he muttered, his eyes going dark with desire.

She pulled her mouth back, drawing off his finger with a small pop. 'What?' she said, innocently, her eyes sparkling.

'You're going to be the death of me,' he said, reaching for her sticky face and kissing her, unable to stay away from her.


'Did you hide that snuff box properly in that old cripple's room? We don't want him finding it before it's time,' Miss O'Brien said in a low voice as she and Thomas stood in an otherwise deserted corner of the kitchen courtyard, puffing on their cigarettes.

'Of course, I did. I'm not an idiot,' Thomas said, crossly. 'Mr Bates will soon be looking for alternative employment and without a reference to boot.'

'Good,' Miss O'Brien said, viciously. 'Serves him right. Coming in here and stealing your job.'

Thomas formed an O with his mouth and blew out a smoke ring, watching it dissipate in the air. 'You know, when we've got rid of Bates, we should turn our attention to the chauffeur.'

O'Brien tipped her head up, squinting at him in the sunlight. 'Why? Has he done something? Apart from thinking he's more important than he is, I mean.'

'I'm not sure yet, but I think there might be something going on with him and Lady Mary,' Thomas said, finally sharing the intelligence he'd gathered the other week.

'What do you mean? Like what?' O'Brien asked, a frown on her face as she tried to fathom his meaning. 'Do you mean like he's sweet on her or something?'

Thomas gave her a meaningful look, quirking an eyebrow. 'I mean that I'm not entirely sure that she's not sweet on him.'

O'Brien stared at him, her mouth dropping open. 'Give over. Lady Mary? Her family would be lucky if she had any kind feelings for any of them. I can't see as she's the type to go googly-eyed over any man, never mind a lowly chauffeur.'

'Well, I know for a fact that she calls him Tom,' Thomas said, playing his trump card.

'She never does!' O'Brien goggled at him for a moment and then a calculating look came over her face. She took another puff on her cigarette, dragging the smoke deep into her lungs before blowing it out. 'Well, well, well. Perhaps the ice maiden has a heart after all.'

'Aye, perhaps she does.'

O'Brien pointed her fingers at him, the cigarette still clamped between them. 'Keep your eyes peeled and your ears to the ground. We definitely need to know more about that.'

Thomas rolled his eyes. 'You say that like I didn't already know it.'

'This could be worth its weight in gold, Thomas.'

'I know.'

'Lady Mary. Hoity-toity cow that she is. I can't wait for everyone to find out she's no better than she ought to be.' O'Brien looked up at her partner in crime and favoured him with a rare if slightly scary smile. 'Oh, yes, this could be good.'


'We have to be careful, Tom,' Mary said, sitting on Tom's lap and leaning against him, her fingers – now clean of honey – toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. 'We can't afford for Mama to get any ideas that there is anything between us.'

'Then let's hope she doesn't see any more chemistry,' Tom said, teasing her.

She tapped his chest, impatiently. 'Don't joke about this. I'm serious. If she takes it into her head, that there's something improper between us, Mama could send you away, and I… I couldn't bear that.'

Tom sobered, the levity leaving him. 'No, neither could I.'

'So, you have to remain completely professional with me when we're not here at the cottage. And I must pretend you are nothing but the chauffeur to me. No more chats by the motor or holding my hand for longer than necessary when you hand me out of the car. No quick looks or secret smiles,' she said, her demeanour serious.

'I think that might be harder in practice than in theory,' Tom said quietly, his mind full of all the times they'd shared a quick glance in the mirror, every time they'd discreetly squeezed each other's hand as he helped her out of the car.

'I know. I'm sure it will be, but for now, at least, I think we have to. We can't risk doing otherwise,' Mary said, looking earnestly at him. 'I can't have them send you away, Tom, I simply can't. I can't lose you.'

Tom reached up and smoothed her hair from her face, an impossible thought barrelling into his mind. 'If that happens – '

'Don't even say it!' Mary protested, clapping her hand over his mouth. 'Don't tempt fate!'

He pulled her hand away, the thought forcing its way through his lips. 'You could come with me.'

She stared at him, not quite sure she'd heard him right. 'What?'

'You could come with me,' he said again. 'If they dismiss me.'

'Come with you?' she echoed, uncertainly. 'You mean… leave my family? Leave Downton?'

He nodded, his heart in his mouth. 'Yes.'

'I… I…' Mary faltered, at a loss as to what to say to that extraordinary idea.

Tom wavered, suddenly terrified of hearing her saying no to the proposition that had tripped so unexpectedly from his lips.

'It doesn't matter,' he said, shaking his head. 'Because it's not going to happen. Nobody's going to suspect a thing.'

Mary continued to stare at him, her eyes wide.

'I will be the personification of professional every time I drive you anywhere, I promise. Unless, of course, it's just us. Because then I can't promise to be professional at all. In fact, I suspect I may be very unprofessional,' he babbled, and then leaned in and kissed her if only to stop himself talking.

Mary kissed him back, her mind still whirling with his outlandish suggestion. It was... it was impossible. Leaving her life here and everyone and everything she knew and loved? No, it was unthinkable. Wasn't it?