Author's note: Thank you very much for the review, Depp. I am thrilled you are enjoying this story.


September 1913

'Is Mama really intent on marrying you off to Sir Anthony Strallan?' Sybil asked, sitting at Mary's dressing table and holding a pendant necklace to her throat, seeing how it looked on her.

Mary pulled a face as she searched through her jewellery box for the matching drop earrings. 'Unfortunately, yes.'

'But he's so… old,' Sybil said, looking up at her sister in sympathy.

'I know. Papa isn't keen on the match. He told me as much the other day, but Mama is pressing ahead with it,' Mary said with a sigh. She had been hoping her father's opposition to the match would swing things in her favour, but no such luck.

'But why?' Sybil asked, a perplexed frown on her face.

'Because she's lost all her senses,' Mary said, only half joking.

Sybil glanced at her again as she fixed the necklace in place. 'No, really. Why is she so fixed on marrying you to Sir Anthony? You're beautiful, Mary. And you're not so old that you're on the shelf yet.'

'Thank you for setting my mind at rest,' Mary said, dryly. 'I had feared that 22 was verging on decrepit.'

'Oh, you know what I mean. Why is Mama trying to push you at a man older than Papa? And then there's the fact that he's only a baronet. I thought for sure that she had loftier ambitions for you. Granny certainly does. She was so disappointed the Duke of Crowborough didn't ask for your hand.'

Mary shrugged, trying to think of a way to explain the situation without telling Sybil the truth. 'Well, you know that Mama was 21 when she married Papa. So perhaps for her 22 is decrepit as far as being a bride goes.'

'Well, that's ridiculous,' Sybil said, her sense of justice outraged by that. 'I simply don't understand it. Why doesn't she just take you to London for a while if she's so desperate for you to be married to someone? I bet there are plenty of men closer to your age there who would be delighted to take you for dinner.'

'Hmmm, maybe,' Mary said noncommittally. Tom's face flashed before her eyes as she realised that she really didn't want to go to London and have to pretend to be interested in men who weren't him. At least the rumours spared her that. She handed Sybil the earrings. 'Here, try these on.'

'She's mad if she thinks you'll be happy with Sir Anthony,' Sybil said, taking the earrings. 'And if even Papa can see that, heaven knows why she's persisting with it.'

'Well, with a bit of luck, she'll realise that and drop the idea,' Mary said, circling around behind her sister to look at her in the mirror. 'There. They look lovely on you.'

Sybil turned her head this way and that, looking at herself in the mirror. 'They do, don't they? It's such a pretty set. Are you sure you're happy for me to borrow it?'

'Absolutely. A word of advice if you'll take it. Make sure to keep touching the necklace tonight, won't you? Just toy with it a bit,' Mary said, a small smile forming on her lips.

'Why?' Sybil asked, puzzled.

'Because it will make Cousin Matthew look at your decolletage more,' Mary said, her smile blooming cheekily.

Sybil blushed. 'Mary!'

'What? If you want him to think of you as a woman and not a girl, you need to make sure he notices you're a woman. And you definitely have a womanly shape, Sybil. You've got more curves than either me or Edith. Why not make the most of it? Wear a low-necked dress and this necklace and show off your embonpoint. You'll have him eating out of your hand all night.'

Sybil blushed harder and then looked at herself again in the mirror. 'Do you really think so?'

'I know so.'

Sybil grinned, a delighted giggle slipping out of her. 'Then I will.'

Mary smiled back at her excited sister and squeezed her shoulders. Even if she wasn't destined to have a happy marriage, she would do her damnedest to make sure Sybil got the husband of her dreams.


Cora put down the letter, sighing with disappointment. It appeared that Sir Anthony Strallan had slipped the hook. She'd invited him to dinner, but he'd declined saying he was visiting his sister and then taking an extended break in the Lake District.

She thought back to the last time Sir Anthony was here, recalling how Mary had been polite but distant despite instructions to the contrary. She could hardly blame the man for not showing more of an interest when Mary had been so cool towards him.

She hadn't given up on Strallan completely yet, but perhaps it was time to cast her net wider.

Now she knew that Mary's encounter with Pamuk was involuntary, her worries about her daughter actively seeking a new sexual partner had receded, which was a blessed relief.

Cora shook her head as she remembered that paranoid moment she'd had of watching her eldest daughter talking to the chauffeur and wondering whether there was an inappropriate attachment there. It seemed quite ridiculous now she knew she'd been worrying about nothing regarding Mary's sexual appetite.

But the incontrovertible fact remained that Mary was getting too old to remain unmarried. With new debs coming up every year, 22 was verging on too old to be acceptable, almost embarrassingly so. Much longer and people would begin to wonder why one of her year's most celebrated debutantes was yet to hook herself a husband. And even more worryingly, if Rosamund's letters were anything to go by, the rumours surrounding Mary and Pamuk had yet to shrivel up and die a permanent death.

Yes, there was work to do here, Cora thought, picking up her address book and beginning to rifle through it. And there was no time to waste.


'Hello, handsome.'

Tom spun around from his workbench, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Mary stood at the open door of the garage, smiling at him, amused by his shock at seeing her there.

'What are you doing here?' he hissed, hurrying forward to take her by the elbow and pull her inside, out of sight of the yard.

'Aren't you pleased to see me?' she pouted.

'Yes, of course, I am, but you're not supposed to be here.'

'I'm here to order the motor. What could be more innocent? And to get a kiss or two from you, which admittedly is maybe less innocent,' she answered, tapping him on the chest, smiling cheekily at him.

Tom glanced nervously over her shoulder, scanning the yard for any prying eyes and pulled her deeper into the garage, still worried about someone happening upon them. 'I thought we were supposed to be keeping things strictly professional outside of the cottage.'

'Well, yes, we are, but there's nobody here right now to see when I do this, is there?' Mary said, leaning forward and tilting her head to press her lips to his, sliding her tongue along the seam of his lips until he opened up for her.

Tom groaned, his hands flying to her waist to pull her closer to him, kissing her back despite his reservations about this display of affection in a place where anyone could walk in.

'Mmmm, I could do that all day long,' Mary sighed happily when they broke apart.

'So could I,' Tom replied, feathering kisses on her cheek and her jawline, dipping his head to kiss the side of her neck, unable to stop kissing her now he'd started.

'Oh, that's lovely. It makes me feel all fluttery inside when you do that,' Mary breathed, tipping her head to the side, her eyes closing in pleasure.

Tom chuckled, kissing her neck again, nuzzling against her soft, warm skin. 'Does it?'

'Yes. It makes me wonder what else you could do to me to make me feel fluttery,' she said, her voice dipping low. 'Where else you could kiss me.'

'Oh, God, Mary, don't say things like that,' he muttered, lifting his head to claim her lips again, trying not to think of all the things he'd like to do to her, all the places on her body he'd like to kiss her.

Mary kissed him back, the gorgeous, tantalising feelings inside her growing until she was breathless with them.

'We should talk about that,' she murmured when the kiss finally ended.

'About what?'

'About what other things you can do to me to make me feel so wonderful. And what I can do to you.'

'Mary, I'm not sure that's a good id – ' Tom began, alarm bells ringing faintly through the fog of arousal clouding his mind.

She put her finger over his lips, silencing him. 'Shh, don't say no straight away. I'm not saying we have to make love properly. I know that needs careful consideration. But there must be other things we can do. Things that can make us both feel wonderful but won't put me at risk of having a baby. And you must know about them.'

'Oh, must I?' he said with a smile, his eyebrows rising again.

'Well, you've been with at least two women, so your experience in this department far outweighs mine. But I want to know, Tom. I want to learn. I want to… to experiment.'

'Experiment?' he echoed, his heart racing.

She reached up, caressing his cheek and gazing into his eyes. 'Yes. Experiment. There are things I want to experience. For example, I long to feel your hands on my body,' she said, boldly.

He swallowed, arousal pooling in his stomach. 'Do you?'

'Yes. Sometimes, when I'm lying in bed trying to sleep, I think about it. About you touching me all over. I think about your hands on my bare skin and it makes me feel… excited. Fluttery and excited,' she breathed, stepping up closer to him, pressing herself against him, and putting her lips next to his ear. 'Last night, I lay in bed and imagined what it would be like to feel your hands on my breasts, caressing me, and I can't tell you how excited that thought made me feel.'

'Oh, God,' he murmured, picturing it in his mind.

'I want to take my clothes off and stand naked in front of you. I want to let you look at me. And I want to look at you too. I want to see you naked,' she whispered, simply saying the words making her feel bold and excited. 'When I saw you without your shirt on that time… it was glorious, Tom. Utterly glorious. You made my mouth water. I want more of that.'

'Do you really?' he asked, his voice low.

'Yes, I do. I want to find out where all that hair on your chest goes,' Mary murmured, moving closer, pressing up against him. 'I want to touch your skin. I want to kiss it.'

'Oh, God, Mary, I want that too,' he groaned, his hand sliding down from her waist to glide over her bottom, touching her more intimately than he ever had before. 'I want to do that to you too.'

She let out a little moan, thrilling to the way he touched her, the way he ran his hands over her body like he was sculpting her. She coasted her own hand lower to cup his buttock, rubbing it boldly. 'I want to see this too. It looks so fine in your uniform trousers, I'm sure it must look even better naked.'

Tom huffed out a small laugh, delighted by her boldness. 'Lady Mary Crawley, have you been looking at my arse?'

She nodded, her eyes sparkling, smoothing her hand over the curve of his buttock again. 'I certainly have. Looking at it, imagining what it looks like when you take your clothes off, longing to stroke my hands over it. Maybe even kiss it,' she purred, her voice low and intimate, pitched for his ears only, excitement bubbling in her stomach. 'Will you let me do that?'

He swallowed hard, excitement rushing through him at the thought of her touching him. 'Oh, God, Mary, I – '

Tom broke off as footsteps crunched over the gravel outside, heading towards the garage. Quickly, he let go of her, pushing her gently away from him, moving back towards his workbench even as Mary herself moved sharply away from him.

Not a moment too soon either as Thomas appeared in the doorway, his tall form blocking some of the light.

'Got a message for you, Bra- ' he started, stopping abruptly as he saw Mary standing there in the garage. Tom watched with a sinking heart as the footman's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze flitting between them. 'Oh, Lady Mary, begging your pardon. I didn't realise Mr Branson had female company.'

Mary graced him with a sharp look. 'Female company? I may be female, but I'm hardly company, Thomas.'

'No, milady, of course not,' Thomas said, obsequiously, looking from her to Tom, who was now standing near the back of the garage by his workbench. 'I was just surprised to see you here. In the garage.'

Mary raised an imperious eyebrow. 'Isn't that where I need to come to order the motor?'

Thomas cast an awkward look at Tom again. 'Well, it's just that Mr Carson wouldn't like it.'

'Why not? Am I not allowed to speak to the chauffeur myself?' Mary asked, her voice dangerously icy.

'Um, well, it's not that, exactly,' Thomas muttered, looking like he wished he'd never opened his mouth.

'Then what?'

'He, er, he wouldn't like the thought of you in here, um, alone with Mr Branson. Unchaperoned.'

Mary glared at Thomas, letting the man squirm under her scrutiny. 'Unchaperoned?' she repeated, her voice now as hard as flint. 'Are you suggesting there is anything untoward about this situation?'

'No,' Thomas mumbled, his cheeks flushing. 'Just that Mr Carson would prefer it if you passed messages to Mr Branson about the motor through the household staff.'

'And why would that be? Are you intimating that Carson distrusts either myself or Branson for some reason?'

Thomas looked stricken, like a man caught between a rock and a hard place. 'No, milady.'

'Then kindly refrain from trying to tell me who I may or may not speak to and where I may or may not speak to them, Thomas,' Mary said, her steely gaze slicing through Thomas. 'And if Carson has issues with how I conduct myself, he can take it up with me himself instead of you presuming to try to reprimand me on his behalf.'

'Yes, milady, begging your pardon. That was not my intention,' Thomas muttered, his eyes firmly on the floor, feeling thoroughly scolded and somewhat aggrieved about it.

'Well, that was how it appeared to me. Now, as I was saying before we were interrupted, Branson,' Mary said, turning towards Tom and playing the role of the earl's daughter to the hilt. 'Could you look in your diary and see if you are free to take me to York on the 25th, please?'

'Let me check, milady,' Tom replied, flipping the pages of his appointment book to the right date. 'What time were you thinking?'

'Around 11 o'clock.'

'I'm scheduled to take your father into Thirsk at 9 o'clock, but we'll be back by 10 o'clock, half past at the latest, his lordship said, so yes, 11 o'clock should be fine.'

'Excellent. If you could pencil me in for then, I'd be most grateful,' Mary said, nodding her head. She turned back to the silently seething footman. 'You had a message for Branson, Thomas?'

'Yes. Her ladyship is going to visit Mrs Crawley at 3 o'clock this afternoon and she wants you to take her down there,' Thomas informed the chauffeur, locking down his anger at being spoken to like that by Lady Mary in front of Branson.

'Right,' Tom said, writing that down in his appointment book. 'Thank you, Thomas.'

'If that is your business here concluded, Thomas, perhaps you could walk me back to the house. Or would that be considered inappropriate behaviour by you and Carson too as you are an unmarried man just like Branson?' Mary enquired, determined not to leave Tom to face Thomas's wrath after she'd taken him to task over his comments.

'No, milady, I'm sure it wouldn't,' Thomas replied, stiffly.

'Then let us leave Branson to his work.' Mary turned to nod at Tom, flashing him a wink when her back was firmly to Thomas. 'Thank you, Branson. And I apologise for any offence Thomas' remarks may have caused you.'

Tom saw a flash of anger cross Thomas' face behind Mary's back before he schooled his features into his well-practised servant's blank.

'No offence taken, milady,' he said, hoping to soothe Thomas' wounded pride. He knew it was unlikely to work, but it was worth a shot if only to try to stop Thomas from gunning for revenge on Mary at a later date.

'Then I will wish you good day,' she said, nodding formally at him before turning to face Thomas. 'Shall we, Thomas?'

The footman nodded and stepped back to let her pass him. He shot a furious glare at Tom before trailing back towards the house in Mary's wake.

Tom came to the garage door, watching them go. He knew Mary had reprimanded Thomas to try to cut down any shoots of suspicion about the nature of their relationship, but he couldn't help but feel it may have done more harm than good.

He sighed and turned back to his work, thinking instead about the conversation he and Mary had been having before Thomas arrived. There was plenty there for him to mull over. It seemed his girl was becoming more and more impatient to make their relationship more physical, and Tom wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to resist her.


'She humiliated me in front of that jumped-up Irish git!' Thomas seethed as he stood smoking with Miss O'Brien in the kitchen yard. 'Tore me to strips for only saying what anyone else would! It's not right, a young lady being alone with a man like that!'

'Maybe she doesn't see him as a man, just a servant,' Miss O'Brien said, tapping the ash off her cigarette. 'You know as well as I do that sometimes we're invisible to them, just walking furniture, fetching and carrying for them.'

'Pah, I don't think that's true,' Thomas scoffed. 'Why does she call him Tom if he's nowt but a servant to her? She'd just stick with Branson if he was. No, I think she fancies him. Likes the cut of his jib if you know what I mean.'

'I know what you mean, Thomas. I'm a spinster, I'm not dead,' Miss O'Brien replied, caustically. She blew out a stream of smoke and cocked her head towards him. 'Has Mr Carson said anything about it to you? That incident in the garage?'

'No.'

'Hmm, interesting, that is, don't you think?'

'No, not really. It's a good thing. I don't need him giving me the rough side of his tongue too.'

'No, think about it. If Lady Fancypants was that bothered about what you said, wouldn't she have mentioned it to Mr Carson? Had him haul you over the coals, too? But she hasn't. What does that tell you?'

'That she thinks she did a good enough job of it herself?' Thomas griped, still smarting over his run-in with Lady Mary.

'Or that she doesn't want him to know that she was alone in the garage with Branson. Because she knows you're right and he won't like it. Because she has got something to hide,' Miss O'Brien said, thinking out loud, narrowing her eyes as her theory took shape in her mind. 'Maybe she's worried he'll tell her she has to send messages to the garage through the staff. Because if she has got some kind of dalliance going on with Branson, where else are they going to meet? It's got to be the garage, hasn't it?'

Thomas stared at her, turning all that over in his head. 'Maybe. Although I don't have any proof that there is something going on. I mean, I didn't catch them at it or anything. They weren't even standing close. He was up the other end of the garage from her when I got there. It's just a bit odd, that's all. Her calling him Tom, and him saying we'd be surprised who and what he knows when he's only been here two minutes.'

'Are you sure she calls him Tom?'

'I heard her, didn't I?' he said, grouchily. 'Do you not believe me?'

'Aye, I do believe you. I just need to be sure.'

'Well, I am sure.'

'Perhaps there's something I could do to stir things up a bit,' Miss O'Brien said, thoughtfully.

'What?'

'Leave it with me,' she replied, taking a last drag of her cigarette. 'Might come to something, might not. But we'll not be sorry if it leads to him going, will we?'

'Absolutely not,' Thomas said with feeling, squashing the butt of his cigarette under his heel. 'The sooner he goes, the better as far as I'm concerned.'

'Hmm, well, let's see,' Miss O'Brien said, heading back towards the kitchen, Thomas following her.


Mary watched Sybil toy with the necklace around her neck as she laughed at something Matthew had said to her. She smiled feeling vindicated as Matthew leaned forward, his eyes locked on Sybil, a broad smile on his face.

'What are you smiling about?' Cora said as she sat down beside her daughter.

'Oh, nothing. Just Sybil. I love to hear her laughing; it's such an infectious sound, don't you think?' Mary said, turning towards her mother.

'It is,' Cora agreed, casting a benevolent smile over at her youngest daughter. 'She has totally charmed Matthew. She'll be a delight when she comes out. The young men will be flocking around her.'

'Like they did for me, you mean?' Mary enquired, unable to resist the dig about her own successful debut in society.

'Yes. Although let's hope Sybil takes advantage of that more adroitly than you did,' Cora responded, returning her attention to Mary. 'If you'd accepted an offer then, things would be very different now.'

'I couldn't accept an offer, Mama. I was unofficially engaged to Patrick,' Mary pointed out.

Cora decided to leave that argument alone, given she could not deny the truth of Mary's observation. 'I've had a letter from Sir Anthony Strallan.'

'Oh?' Mary asked, instantly on edge, praying that it wasn't an offer for her hand in marriage.

'He is on an extended break touring the Lake District, so he will be unable to join us for the foreseeable future.'

'Oh, well, that's… that's nice for him,' Mary exhaled, unable to hide the relief she felt at hearing that news.

Her mother shot her a look. 'I know you think this is good news, that it means Sir Anthony is out of the picture now, but it is only a temporary respite. I will be inviting him to Downton when he returns to Yorkshire.'

Mary sighed. 'Mama, why can't you see that pushing me to marry Sir Anthony is a monumentally bad idea? If I did marry him, I'd be as miserable as sin. It would not be a happy marriage.'

'But it would be a marriage, and that is what you need – the protection of a husband,' Cora hissed, casting a quick glance around to make sure no-one else was close enough to overhear their conversation.

Mary regarded her mother, her steady gaze making Cora uncomfortable. 'Have you ever stopped to consider that perhaps I would rather weather the storm of gossip than marry Sir Anthony?'

'You don't mean that.'

'I think I do. Gossip passes eventually, but if I married Sir Anthony, I'd be trapped, possibly for decades. Longer than I would be by any rumours, that's for sure,' Mary said, willing her mother to understand the depths of her opposition to the Strallan match.

Cora met her gaze, reaching out to put her hand over Mary's, her sympathy going out to her, but the stakes were bigger than just Mary's happiness.

'I know you are reluctant to marry Sir Anthony, my darling. And I know that gossip passes, but I have to think about Edith and Sybil and their marriage prospects too. If the rumours about you resurface whenever a man shows interest in either of them, you may all remain unmarried and living on Matthew's charity for the rest of your lives. Is that really what you want?'

Mary felt her heart sink, her mother's words hitting her like a physical blow. 'So, that's what it comes down to then? Because there are rumours about me, I must sacrifice my future for those of my sisters,' she said, bitterly.

Cora hesitated and then nodded. 'Yes, more or less. I know it sounds harsh – '

'Harsh? It's barbaric!' Mary interjected, her voice rising.

' – but that is the reality we face,' Cora finished heavily, glancing around them to check nobody had heard Mary's exclamation. 'I am sorry, my darling, but that is the way things are in the world we live in.'

'It's not fair,' Mary whispered, staring down at her hands in her lap. 'I didn't do anything wrong.'

'I know,' Cora said, glancing around them again as she prepared to open up an avenue of conversation she never expected to have with one of her daughters. 'But have you thought that there is a chance marriage may give you more freedom than you currently have?'

Mary lifted her head, looking at her mother curiously. 'What do you mean?'

'Well, I know that some women who are – how shall I put it? – less than happy in their marriages have been known to…' Cora trailed off, hardly believing she was about to suggest this course of action to her daughter.

'Known to what?' Mary asked, her curiosity piqued even more.

Cora leaned in, Mary tilting her head closer to hear her. 'Take a lover,' Cora murmured, a faint blush staining her cheeks.

Mary's eyes widened and then she too glanced around them before replying.

'Are you suggesting that is what I should do if I marry Sir Anthony?' she asked, incredulously.

'Well, I'm not advocating it, of course, merely suggesting that it could be a possibility. I am aware that Sir Anthony is a good deal older than you, Mary, and because of that the physical aspect of marriage may not be as… appealing as it might be with a younger man. Indeed, there's a chance that Sir Anthony may no longer be quite so interested in or indeed capable of that side of things anymore,' Cora said, delicately.

'So, am I to understand that you are suggesting I marry an older man – a possibly impotent older man – and then I take a younger man as my lover, Mama?' Mary questioned, absolutely flabbergasted, and making a Herculean effort to keep her voice too low for anyone else but Cora to hear. 'Do you not think the society gossips would dine out in style on that little morsel?'

'Well, you would have to be discreet, of course, but you would be protected should you fall pregnant,' Cora replied, her voice equally low.

'You don't think Sir Anthony would wonder about his wife having a baby if he knew himself to be incapable of the act necessary to create one?' Mary asked, scathingly. 'I should think even he would have his limits.'

Cora looked at her daughter in exasperation. 'I'm not saying that's what you should do, Mary. Nor am I saying that Sir Anthony is incapable of that sort of thing. I'm merely pointing out that life as Lady Strallan may not have to be as bleak as you appear to fear it will be.'

'Right. Well, I shall bear that in mind when you're thrusting me at him next time he comes to call, won't I?' Mary retorted, her disbelief and ire rising in equal measure. 'And do you have any suggestions as to who I should take as my lover? Should I stick to the upper classes or perhaps someone more local would be more convenient? What do you think?'

Cora shot her a glare, then darted her eyes around again. 'It was merely a passing observation, Mary, not an instruction. But if you were to take a lover, I would strongly recommend staying within your own class. They tend to understand the rules better.'

Mary narrowed her eyes at her mother, a horrible thought entering her mind. 'You talk as if from experience, Mama. Have you… have you had a lover?'

'No! Absolutely not!' Cora hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion, especially from her daughter. 'I have not. There has been no-one but your papa.'

'Then how come you have all these pieces of wisdom to parcel out?'

Cora glanced involuntarily at her sister-in-law sitting with the Dowager. Mary followed her look, her eyes widening.

'Aunt Rosamund?!' she whispered, shocked. 'Has she…'

Cora said nothing, turning guilty eyes on her daughter.

'But… Uncle Marmaduke…'

'Marmaduke died a long time ago, Mary,' Cora said, keeping her voice low. 'And Rosamund is not an old woman.'

'So, she's had…'

'Yes.'

'And with… with men from a different class?' Mary asked in a whisper, seeing her aunt in a new light.

'Yes. But there have been… issues with one or two of the ones that do not share our way of life,' Cora said, delicately. 'Which is why I would suggest you stick to your own kind if that is the route you choose to take.'

Mary sat back, gazing at her aunt, her mind flicking to Tom and their affair. She wondered who Rosamund's Tom had been, whether it was anyone she knew from her visits to her aunt's London house.

Her mother reached out, taking hold of her arm. 'Do not tell anyone I told you this. I did not mean to compromise Rosamund's privacy.'

Mary shook her head. 'Who am I going to tell, Mama? Who could I tell who would not ask why this is a topic of conversation in the first place?'

'Good. Keep it that way. And think about what I've said. Sir Anthony could yet be the solution we need.'

Mary sighed, her shoulders slumping. It seemed her mother was dead set on a match with Strallan. It was a future she could barely contemplate. Even with the added prospect of being able to take a lover.


'Oh, Mary, tonight was so lovely,' Sybil sighed, flopping back onto her sister's bed, her arms outstretched, a dreamy smile on her face.

Mary dropped her earring into her jewellery box and reached for its twin. 'Well, you and Matthew certainly seemed to enjoy yourselves,' she said, a smile tugging at her lips.

Sybil sat up, beaming at Mary, raising an eyebrow. 'You were right, you know, about the necklace. Every time I touched it, Matthew looked at it. So, I touched it rather a lot.'

'It's almost like I know what I'm talking about, isn't it?' Mary replied, removing her second earring, and smiling at Sybil in the mirror. 'And I did notice you using it to keep him in your thrall.'

'Do you really think he'll start to see me as a woman instead of a girl?' Sybil asked, her youth and inexperience with the opposite sex betraying itself.

Mary rose and came to sit beside her sister, taking her hands. 'Darling, I think he already does.'

'Do you really?' Sybil asked, gripping Mary's hands hopefully.

'Yes, I do. I think he is utterly charmed by you. And why wouldn't he be?'

Sybil hesitated, nervous to put voice to her hopes. 'Then do you think… do you think there is a chance that he might one day… return my sentiments?'

Mary smiled, pulling one hand free and laying it gently on her sister's cheek. 'Yes, I do. And I think that if you carry on as you are, you won't have to wait very long before he declares his affections.'

'Really?' Sybil breathed, her face glowing with hope.

'Absolutely. Although, I do think you may have to wait until you are 18 before he can respectably make any overtures and speak to Papa. And I'm sure Mama will want you to be presented at court before you are engaged. But that's not that very long to wait, is it?'

'No, I suppose not. But do you really think things will happen that quickly? I'm due to come out next summer,' Sybil said, dubiously.

Mary shrugged. 'Well, all I'll say is that if Matthew wants you for his wife, he'd be a fool to wait too long after you're presented. You'll have suitors jostling each other for a dance with you.'

'Oh, Mary, I can't think that any man could ever hold a candle to Matthew,' Sybil said, colour rising in her cheeks. 'I do think him very fine indeed.'

Mary smiled, wrapping her arm around her sister's shoulders. 'I know you do, darling.'


In her ladyship's bedroom, Miss O'Brien removed the pins from her mistress' hair, uncoiling the elaborate creation.

'I wondered if I might have a word, milady,' she said, picking her moment carefully to drip poison in the countess' ear.

'Of course, O'Brien.'

'I wasn't sure whether to say anything, but I would never forgive myself if something came of it and I could have done something to stop it.'

Cora cocked her head, looking curiously at her maid. 'Goodness me, whatever it is, it sounds serious.'

'Well, it's just that, I was talking to Thomas, and he said something that concerned me.'

'Thomas did? And what was it?'

'It was about Lady Mary,' Miss O'Brien said, delicately.

Cora twisted in her seat, her heart leaping into her mouth, suddenly worried that rumours about Mary and that blasted Turk were now sweeping her own household. 'Lady Mary? What about Lady Mary?'

'Well, not about her, perhaps. More that she was involved. He said – Thomas, that is – he said that the other day when he was on duty at the front door, he overheard Lady Mary talking to Mr Branson and he said that she called him Tom,' Miss O'Brien said, keeping her tone one of polite concern as she released her arrow.

Cora stared at her. 'Tom?'

'Yes, that's his first name, Mr Branson's. Tom.'

'And Thomas said Lady Mary called him that? Not Branson?'

'Yes, he was very clear. She called him Tom. He remembers because he thought it was odd. By rights, she should only be calling him Branson.'

'Yes, she should,' Cora said, thoughtfully.

'I wasn't sure whether to tell you, milady, but in the end, I thought it was only right you should know. I'm sure you'll know the best thing to do.'

'Thank you, O'Brien. You did right to tell me.'

Miss O'Brien allowed herself a small smile as Cora turned away to face the mirror, almost seeing her ladyship's mind whirring. Sometimes it was too easy.

O'Brien was right, Cora thought. Mary should not be addressing the chauffeur in such a familiar fashion. She would have to speak to her about such a lapse in judgement. A picture of the two of them, Mary and Branson, standing together her hand in his outside the front of the Abbey flitted into her mind, her unease about that moment returning.

Knowing what she knew now about Mary's run-in with Pamuk, she did not seriously think Mary was flirting with a member of staff, seeking to replace a lost lover. But it still raised questions about her conduct and her judgement that they could ill afford at this point in time.

Perhaps a few weeks in London would be the very thing. Now she thought about it, it might actually calm the gossip if Mary was there with her head held high instead of appearing to hide away in Yorkshire. It may be easier to counteract any scurrilous rumours in person. And, of course, there were plenty of eligible young men in London who may be ready to overlook any faint whiff of scandal in return for an attractive, well-bred wife and her considerable dowry.

Yes, she would speak to Rosamund in the morning, and with a bit of luck, they would depart for the capital within the next few days.