A Scandalous Affair

by Just-A-Beginner-2

AU: Lady Mary Crawley has just been arrested for being a prostitute and it's all Branson's Fault! A retelling of events if when Lady Mary persuaded Sybil to return home with Edith after trying to elope with Branson, Mary and Branson were arrested in a case of 'wrong time/wrong place'. Changing the course of events at Downton Abbey. Eventual Mary & Tom.

8. Chapter 8

A Scandalous Affair Chapter 8

Tom Branson entered the drawing room where the Dowager Countess of Grantham awaited him. Lady Violet was known for her poise and formality, but today, the matter at hand left little room for pleasantries.

She did not invite him to sit, and instead, she got straight to the point. "So, Branson, do you know why you are here?" she asked with her characteristic directness.

Tom didn't mince words. "Yes," he replied firmly, looking Lady Violet straight in the eye. There was no need for pretence or beating around the bush.

Violet raised an elegant eyebrow, giving Tom an encouraging look to continue.

"You want me to marry Lady Mary," Tom stated bluntly, not hesitating to address the heart of the matter.

Lady Violet was momentarily taken aback by the directness of his response. It was a departure from the typically more circumspect replies she encountered in her social circles. She recovered quickly and pressed on. "And will you?" she inquired.

Tom didn't falter. "Yes. It was my actions that ruined Lady Mary's reputation," he admitted, his voice tinged with guilt. He lowered his gaze to the floor briefly, the weight of his responsibility heavy on his shoulders.

With a nod, Violet continued her inquiry. "So, what was the original plan with Sybil?" she asked, her keen eyes studying his reaction.

A pained expression crossed Tom's face as he wrestled with his emotions. He swallowed hard before taking a deep breath to explain. "I have been writing for newspapers and magazines for many years—articles, poems, short stories. I have been saving money, and I have £800 saved. I've secured a reporter's position at the Irish Times, which pays well. I've even had a book of poetry published, and I receive a small annual royalty from that."

Violet couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope at the mention of his writing career. Perhaps this man held more promise than she initially thought.

"And the poetry," she inquired with a touch of hopefulness, "were they love poems?"

Tom looked ruefully at the Dowager. "Revolutionary," he replied, dashing any romantic expectations. Sometimes, reality fell short of what one might imagine.

Tom ventured another question tentatively. "Can I tell Sybil?"

Violet considered this carefully. "I think it's best if you don't," she said firmly. "A clean break for Sybil—no communication, no letters. You will be her brother once you marry Mary. This will give Sybil a chance to start anew. I have persuaded her parents to let her go to college."

Tom nodded in understanding, though a sense of sadness lingered. He would be married to Mary, bound by responsibilities he intended to honour. But Sybil would have a chance at education and a fresh start, and that was a comforting thought.

"And Mary, what does she think?" Tom inquired, curious about his future wife's perspective.

"I will speak to her," Violet assured him. "But I wanted to talk to you first." She went on to explain her plan for him and Mary, and Tom listened attentively, nodding at key points.

At the mention of his move to the guest quarters, Tom's face paled. The implications of marrying Mary were sinking in. He would become a true part of the Crawley family, even more so than what he and Sybil planned.

"I promise," he replied earnestly when Violet asked him not to run off or attempt to contact Sybil.

"Good. Robert had the motor collected from Carlton, and we will have your possessions moved to the guest room. It's best you dine in your room for now," Violet instructed him.

Tom's embarrassment about the motor was evident, but he understood the gravity of the situation he was now embroiled in.

Mary was curled up in bed, the covers pulled up to her ears. She lay there in a state of numbness, all the tears she could muster had been shed. She had spent ten years in society, she knew just how cruel her peers could be. The memory of being shunned when the rumours about Pamuk first surfaced still stung.

This new scandal would surely be the final blow to her already tarnished reputation. She had an inkling of what her grandmother might propose, and the thought of marrying someone so far beneath her station made her stomach turn.

A sharp knock on the door preceded her grandmother's entrance. Lady Violet entered with her usual air of authority, and her gaze was stern as she addressed Mary.

"Sit up, Mary. I am not here to converse with a mound of blankets," she instructed with a no-nonsense tone.

Mary sighed, complying with her grandmother's request as she pushed herself up to a sitting position. She knew she must look a mess, but there was no point in pretence.

"I know what you're going to say, Granny," Mary said, her voice tinged with resignation.

"Do you now?" Violet replied with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, you want me to marry Branson," Mary said with a tone that suggested she could hardly bring herself to utter the words. "I don't know if I can marry a chauffeur, even to salvage my reputation," she confessed.

"Good, because I wasn't going to suggest that you marry the chauffeur," Violet responded, leaving Mary visibly surprised and intrigued.

"Then what is your plan?" Mary asked with a puzzled frown.

"I suggest you marry Branson, the poet," Violet said, a faint smirk playing on her lips.

Mary groaned at her grandmother's choice of words. "Now listen, Mary," Violet continued, "I've spoken to Branson, and there's more to him than meets the eye. He has a job lined up in Dublin as a reporter, a good job. He is a published author, he even has a book of poetry published."

Mary looked at her grandmother in disbelief, though she couldn't help but grimace at the mention of Dublin. "Go on," she said, indicating her willingness to hear the plan.

"The story we will spin is that Branson is an eccentric poet who swept you off your feet," Violet began, "that he warned you about Sir Richard, that you were scared to call off the engagement as he had been threatening you. Branson asked you to marry him, and you agreed. You had to marry secretly because of Sir Richard's threats."

Mary raised an eyebrow, indicating her scepticism about whether such a story would be believable. "You think people will believe this concocted story?" she questioned.

Violet smiled with a glint in her eyes. "Oh, they will, Mary. Rosamund has procured you a marriage license backdated to before the incident in Carlton," she revealed.

This revelation captured Mary's attention. She was starting to see the ingenuity of the plan. "And how do we get our version of events out to the public?" she inquired.

Violet gave Mary a sly smile. "We give an exclusive interview to the Daily Bugle, confirming that you and Branson, the published author, are married, and that your motor broke down on the way to your honeymoon, and so on. The story will practically write itself. Whoever owns the paper obviously has a strong distaste for Sir Richard, so we can paint him as the villain. He has already published his version of the story," Violet explained.

Mary found herself liking the idea of getting vengeance against that scoundrel Richard. "Of course, the alternative is you emigrate to America," Violet proposed.

Mary didn't particularly relish the thought of emigrating to America. She had more reservations about Branson. She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the idea.

Violet noticed Mary's wavering and offered some encouragement. "Branson isn't the man I would have chosen for you, it's true. But there appears to be more to him than meets the eye. He's not terrible looking, he's intelligent, and he certainly has a backbone. Women have started with less and accomplished great things. With the right wife, something could be made of the man," Violet suggested.

Mary was starting to see the appeal of the plan. She nodded thoughtfully and then asked a practical question, "Where would we live?"

Violet was pleased. She knew that if Mary was asking practical questions, she was considering the plan seriously. "You will have to live in Dublin for the first year at least. Branson has a job with the Irish Times. You might even be able to persuade him to secure a position with the London Times," she explained.

Mary wasn't too keen on the idea of living in for a year Dublin. Maybe she could talk Branson around to living in London. Slowly but surely, she was starting to see the merits of her grandmother's plan.

Sybil lay on her bed, tears streaming down her face, her world crashing down around her. Her mother, Cora, sat beside her, gently stroking her back in a soothing manner.

"But I love him," Sybil hiccupped between sobs, her voice filled with despair.

Cora continued to offer her daughter comfort, understanding the depth of her pain. "I know, darling," she whispered consolingly.

Sybil's sobs grew quieter as she tried to catch her breath. Between breaths, she managed to speak, her voice broken and filled with heartache. "But now he must marry Mary... her reputation has been completely ruined," she said, her words laced with a touch of bitterness. After all, it was Sybil's actions that had set this disastrous chain of events in motion.

Cora leaned in closer to her daughter, her tone sombre but gentle. "Come now, Sybil. Dry your eyes and sit up," she encouraged. "Now, Branson will be Mary's husband. Your grandmother has spoken to Branson, and he has agreed to the marriage."

Sybil obeyed her mother's gentle prodding and sat up, wiping away her tears. She was still overwhelmed by the whirlwind of emotions, but she was gradually regaining her composure.

"Now, my dear, you will have to try and forget him. He will be your brother once he marries Mary," Cora explained, her voice filled with maternal concern.

Sybil's distress was palpable. "But how will I ever forget him?" she wailed, her heartache echoing in the room.

Cora exchanged a knowing glance with her mother-in-law, Lady Violet, who had been quietly observing the situation. Violet knew the pain her granddaughter was experiencing and decided it was time to intervene.

"I've spoken to your father, dear," Violet announced with an air of authority. "I've arranged for you to attend a preparatory college in London. It's a school that prepares young women for university."

Sybil sniffled, still drying her eyes, and regarded her grandmother with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "And Papa has agreed to this?" she inquired, wanting to ensure the sincerity of her mother and grandmother's words.

Cora nodded reassuringly. "We've been listening to your complaints, Sybil, about wanting more from life than just what our social circle can provide and that Mary seems content with," she said.

Sybil had indeed read the same damning newspapers that Branson had. When she saw the story about Pamuk, she knew that drastic measures were needed to save Mary from complete ruin. She also carried the weight of guilt, knowing that it was her own impulsive actions that had set off the chain reaction leading to this dire situation.

As the realisation settled in that there might be an opportunity for her to pursue a different path, Sybil started to consider the prospect of attending university. She had longed for a more fulfilling and meaningful life than the one expected of her in society.

However, as her thoughts drifted back to Tom and Mary, who would now be trapped in a marriage not of their choosing, Sybil couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for the opportunities that appeared to be opening up for her.

Cora, seeing the conflict in her daughter's eyes, spoke gently. "Do you think you can tidy yourself up and come down to dinner?" she asked, her concern evident in her gaze.

Sybil nodded in response, her mind still a whirlwind of emotions, but the prospect of dinner provided a small semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos that had engulfed their lives.

The blue room at Downton Abbey was draped in a heavy silence as the family members and their guests sat sombrely, sipping their pre-dinner drinks. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and everyone wore expressions ranging from concern to shock.

Matthew Crawley had read the shocking story about Mary that very morning, and as he entered the room, he couldn't help but feel a heavy weight on his shoulders. Deep down, he knew that the scandalous reports were true. His thoughts wandered back to the summer of 1914, a time before the world had changed so drastically. He remembered the days when he had asked Mary to marry him, and how she had been strangely hesitant, giving him mixed signals. At the time, he had assumed it had something to do with her mother possibly expecting a baby, but now he realised it was this secret she was too afraid to divulge.

Matthew wished that Mary had been honest with him back then. He couldn't be certain if the outcome would have been any different, but he hoped he would have been understanding and accepting. It was a secret sorrow he carried with him, one he could never share with his beloved Lavinia.

In the drawing room earlier that evening, he had noticed Mary's fragile demeanour. She wouldn't meet his gaze, and she seemed so brittle, as though any more shocks would shatter her completely. He had tried to smile at her, to convey that the newspaper articles hadn't altered his feelings for her, but it seemed that her world had crumbled, and there was little he could do to rebuild it.

Across the room, he also noticed the pale countenances of the Crawley sisters. Sybil, in particular, had red, puffy eyes from what appeared to be hours of crying. As he surveyed the occupants of the room, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. It was as though a dark cloud hung over them all, casting a shadow on the evening.

Just as Carson signalled that dinner was ready, Cora's voice broke through the heavy silence, announcing their move to the dining room. Matthew knew that this dinner wouldn't be a pleasant one, and neither he nor Lavinia were looking forward to it. However, as part of the family, they felt an obligation to show support to their cousins during this trying time.

As the dinner progressed, with Mary and Sybil barely touching their plates, Isobel, ever the pragmatist, decided to address the elephant in the room. She cleared her throat and asked, "Any progress on the issue with the newspaper?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, met with a series of awkward glances exchanged among the family members. It was Violet who chose to respond, her voice as direct as Isobel's. "Mary is getting married tomorrow," she stated.

Mary couldn't hide her discomfort, her grimace evident, while Sybil simply put down her knife and fork, her appetite vanishing.

Matthew's shock was palpable. He couldn't fathom who Mary might be marrying so hastily, but he couldn't help but dread the possibility of it being Sir Richard. The tension in the room was palpable, and even Carson and Thomas exchanged surprised glances at the revelation.

Lavinia, equally bewildered, couldn't contain her curiosity. "Who are you marrying, Mary?" she asked, her tone tinged with confusion.

The question hung in the air, met with an uncomfortable silence until Rosamund, who shared her mother's straightforwardness, spoke up. "Branson," she simply said.

"Branson!" Isobel, Matthew, and Lavinia exclaimed in unison, their shock varying in intensity.

Robert, unable to contain his anger, slammed his fist on the table, causing Edith, who was seated next to him, to jump in her chair. "That damn scoundrel Branson!" he exclaimed, his face turning red with fury.

Cora, ever composed, addressed their bewildered guests. "You are, of course, invited to the wedding," she calmly informed them. "We will explain everything after dinner."

Matthew glanced over at Mary, who looked even paler than usual and still refused to meet his gaze. Robert, on the other hand, was seething with rage, his grip on his knife so tight that his knuckles turned white.

As the meal continued, Matthew realised that this surprising turn of events was the logical outcome, especially following today's revelations. He did his best to continue eating, attempting to maintain a sense of normalcy, all while grappling with the depth of his emotions. He couldn't let Mary or Lavinia see just how profoundly affected he was by the news.

Carson was seething with anger, nearly matching Lord Grantham's own fury when he received the news that Branson, the chauffeur, was going to marry Lady Mary, a cherished gem of the county. For a brief moment, Thomas thought Carson might have a heart attack right there in the middle of the dining room.

After the family had retired to the blue room, and their drinks were served, Lady Grantham had approached Carson with a discreet request. She quietly asked him to have Branson moved to the guest room in the bachelor wing, where his belongings had been stored since Sprat retrieved the motor.

The very thought of having the chauffeur stay in the guest room was a bitter pill for Carson to swallow. But the fact that Branson was to marry one of the daughters of the house, well, that was a blow to his sensibilities that he found almost unbearable. What had the world come to?

Mr. Carson felt an obligation to fulfil this duty personally, escorting what he considered a blackguard to his new accommodations. He strode towards Branson's room with such force that he nearly took the door off its hinges when he flung it open.

His eyes flashed with anger as they bore into Branson, who remained seated calmly on the bed. Carson wasted no time, accusing Branson vehemently, "Well, I expect you think you've done very well for yourself, managing to ruin one of his lordship's daughters just so you can get your feet under the table, I suppose it didn't matter to you which one it was."

Branson, his temper flaring, rose from the bed and retorted angrily, "That's not true. I care for Sybil, I had plans for a good life for us."

The accusation stung Branson, and he felt compelled to defend himself. Carson, however, was unrelenting, throwing back at him, "Cared for Sybil, did you? You brought her to a brothel."

Tom flushed with shame and frustration, his voice biting, "I didn't know it was a brothel."

Carson, visibly struggling to maintain his composure, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He needed to calm himself before he lost control entirely. Spinning on his heel, he issued a curt command, "Follow me," over his shoulder.

Branson, in a mix of anger and apprehension, grabbed his jacket and quickly followed Carson. As they walked through parts of the house he had never seen before, Tom couldn't help but be struck by the grandeur and beauty of Downton Abbey. But his sense of nervousness about marrying into this family grew with each passing step.

Finally, Carson stopped in front of a door that led to the most ornate room Tom had ever stayed in. Without much ceremony, Carson told him, "Someone will be up with your supper shortly." Then, with a curt nod, he closed the door, leaving Tom alone in his new room, wondering what the future would bring as he contemplated the unexpected turn his life had taken.

Tom Branson, surprisingly, slept through the night. The combination of exhaustion from the last few days and the heavenly comfort of the bed contributed to his uninterrupted slumber.

However, his peaceful reprieve was shattered when Anna, the housemaid, suddenly appeared and flung open his curtains. Startled and half-asleep, Tom let out a most unmanly scream, his embarrassment quickly turning his face crimson. He watched as Anna tried to suppress a chuckle, a faint smile playing on her lips.

Regaining his composure, Tom accepted his breakfast graciously, as Anna explained the daily routine. It seemed that, after today, he would be expected to have breakfast downstairs. But for now, he could savour his solitude a little longer.

Anna also delivered the message that the wedding was scheduled for 11 a.m., with Reverend Travis officiating the ceremony. Any humour that had arisen from their earlier exchange dissipated instantly, and Tom nodded solemnly in response.

She further informed him that he needed to be downstairs and ready at 10 a.m. to meet with Mr. Murray, the solicitor, to discuss particulars. Tom was slightly puzzled but didn't press for more details.

Before leaving, Anna turned to him, her voice soft and concerned. "You won't hurt her, will you?"

Tom was taken aback by her words and responded with a touch of anger, "No, I won't hurt her. What kind of man do you take me for, Anna? You've known me for five years, and you think so poorly of me?"

Anna met his gaze steadily. "I don't mean physically," she clarified. "Lady Mary may seem cold, but she acts that way to protect her heart. She feels deeply, so don't be fooled by her apparent indifference."

Tom's anger cooled as he realised Anna's intention was to protect Mary. "I take marriage vows seriously, Anna. I would never hurt or disrespect my wife, no matter the circumstances of our marriage," he assured her.

Anna nodded, turned, and left the room, leaving Tom to contemplate the peculiar situation he was in.

After Anna's departure, Tom checked his best suit. It was the one he had intended to wear when he married Sybil. He had purchased it with the £25 advance he received for his book of poetry. Although it was not fashionable, it was a classic dark navy suit of excellent quality. He had paid a seamstress 15 shillings to ensure it fit him perfectly. He knew he looked very well in that suit.

It struck him how eager he had once been to show it to Sybil, to prove himself as a man with prospects, worthy of a woman of her stature. Now, that very suit was to be his armour, guarding against humiliation when he stood beside his wife, preventing anyone from seeing him as an uneducated opportunist.

He thanked his mother silently for the lessons she had taught him about the value of good clothes all those years ago. Although he didn't possess an extensive wardrobe, he made sure his business suits were of high quality and well-fitted.

Tom proceeded to the bathroom, where he had hung his pristine white shirt. He let the steam from the bath help release the wrinkles from the fabric, another trick learned from his mother. Without the pomade he usually applied for work, his fair hair appeared several shades lighter. He combed it into place and, after a moment's contemplation, decided he looked presentable without the greasy product.

As he dressed, Tom felt grateful for the plain gold cufflinks he had found in a pawn shop and the polished brogues that completed his attire. Standing fully dressed, he assessed himself in the mirror with a smile. Today, he looked nothing like the chauffeur the family knew.

He looked like a professional.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for the day ahead and left the room, ready to face the uncertain future that lay before him.

Tom Branson made his way down the grand staircase of Downton Abbey, feeling a mixture of nervousness and anticipation. He couldn't help but notice the look of shocked surprise on Mr. Carson's face when the stern butler caught sight of him descending the stairs. For a moment, Mr. Carson seemed to have lost his voice, but he quickly regained his composure and said, "Mr. Murray is waiting for you in the small library."

It was undoubtedly an unusual sight for the butler, one that had likely never occurred in his long tenure at Downton—a chauffeur joining the esteemed family through marriage, no less. Despite his reservations, Carson begrudgingly had to admit that today, Tom Branson almost looked like a gentleman. The transformation in Tom's appearance, from a chauffeur's uniform to a well-tailored suit, was nothing short of remarkable.

Tom Branson, however, was still a somewhat perplexing presence within the hallowed halls of Downton Abbey, and Carson couldn't help but be both confused and surprised at how well the man looked as he directed him to the library.

Meanwhile, in the small library, Mr. Murray, a man of business and duty, waited patiently for the arrival of Tom Branson. He had received a telegram in the middle of the night, one that had filled him with dismay at the torrent of disinformation surrounding Lady Mary's reputation in the newspapers. He felt a deep sympathy for the young woman and a righteous anger on her behalf. His main objective was to ensure that everything that could be done to protect Lady Mary from the opportunistic chauffeur was carried out.

Lord Grantham had instructed Mr. Murray to ensure that as little of Mary's money as possible found its way into Branson's hands. However, he was equally determined not to let his daughter suffer any unnecessary hardship through no fault of her own.

A brief knock on the library door heralded the arrival of a visitor, and as it opened, a well-dressed young man entered the room. Mr. Murray, standing by the window with a sense of purpose, was taken aback by the unexpected sight. He couldn't help but be bewildered as he quietly inquired, "Can I help you?"

The young man, Tom Branson, met his gaze with a calm demeanour. "I am Tom Branson," he replied evenly, his voice steady and composed, "I was told to meet a Mr. Murray here at 10 am."

Murray's shock was complete. The man who stood before him, dressed impeccably, and exuding an air of self-assuredness, was not at all what he had been expecting. This was no longer the chauffeur who had driven cars for the Crawley family. This was a man who could easily be mistaken for any businessman in the bustling streets of London.

Realising that he had underestimated Tom Branson, Mr. Murray extended a polite gesture. "Please have a seat," he said, gesturing to a nearby chair, "while we wait for Lady Mary." There was an unspoken acknowledgment that this meeting would be far from ordinary.

Mary sat at her vanity, gazing at her reflection with a mixture of emotions. She did look better today, the colour returning to her cheeks, but her thoughts were far from serene.

Her scowl deepened as she considered her future husband, Branson. Until now, he had been just another servant in uniform, someone she never truly saw as an individual. She wondered about his appearance; he couldn't possibly compare to the striking beauty of Matthew with his golden hair and bright blue eyes. Regret washed over her for turning Matthew down all those years ago; she could have been happily married to the heir of Downton.

Her mind travelled further back, to the ill-fated encounter with Pamuk. Why had she encouraged him? It hadn't even been an enjoyable experience, with him dying midway through their encounter. She shuddered at the memory.

Mary realised that she would be spared the awkward conversations about the wedding night with Branson. It was a topic her mother would likely avoid, to Mary's relief. But then the harsh reality struck her: if she wanted children at all, she would have to lay with the man. The mere thought of Branson's oil-stained fingers touching her skin sent a shiver down her spine.

Anna entered the room, carrying a tea tray and some toast. She tried to brighten Mary's mood with a kind smile. "I thought you might like some toast," she said as she set the tray down on a nearby table and poured Mary a cup of tea. Mary accepted the tea with a nod but remained lost in thought.

Anna then turned her attention to Mary's wardrobe, asking what she planned to wear for the day. Mary responded sarcastically, "Something red, as I am a fallen woman." Anna gave her a reproving look but proceeded to pull out a pale green dress. Mary shook her head, "Not that one. Today is a day for sombre colours. What about the navy?"

Anna retrieved the navy dress, and they both considered it. It was a relatively new dress with a fashionable cut, featuring a wide white collar and white detailing around the waist, wrists, and hem. It was indeed a sober choice but undeniably flattering. Mary complemented it with pretty white shoes.

Mary asked Anna for her opinion, and Anna smiled warmly. "You look very well, my Lady," she replied, not a traditional bride but beautiful, nonetheless.

Her grandmother had spoken to her at length yesterday about her allowance and settlement of £30,000. She would have to meet with Mr. Murray and Branson to understand the legalities and sign the paperwork. They would do their best to protect her settlement, ensuring it would go to her or any future children and not to Branson or his family. Mary would also be provided a place to live in Dublin with her new husband, along with a £250 clothing allowance. Everything else, she would have to rely on her husband for, a prospect that made her grimace, given her uncertainty about what meagre income he might bring in.

With a sigh, Mary decided to gather her strength and face the impending ordeal. She leaned against the door for a few moments, gathering her resolve, before finally stepping out, ready to meet her fate head-on.

Below stairs in the servants' hall, chaos reigned. The news of Lady Mary's sudden wedding had thrown the entire staff into pandemonium.

Mrs. Patmore was the loudest voice in the room, complaining loudly about being ordered to prepare a wedding breakfast with just one day's notice. Both she and Daisy were working tirelessly to get the meal ready, their hands moving quickly to chop, stir, and cook.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Hughes was in a state of frenzy as she directed the maids in cleaning and polishing the main dining room. Mr. Carson, always one for perfection, was supervising the polishing of the silverware with a stern expression.

Mr. Carson himself was in a foul mood, furious that Lady Mary was being forced to marry an Irishman like Tom Branson. The thought of him benefiting from his hard work grated on Mr. Carson, and he muttered his discontent under his breath.

Thomas seethed with jealousy. He couldn't bear the thought of one of the servants ascending to the upper echelons of the household, while he was relegated to his position as a footman. Just a week ago, he had been sitting next to Tom, and now the man was to be married into the family. Thomas scowled deeply, vowing not to tolerate any airs or graces from Tom once he was part of the Crawley clan.

Amid the turmoil, Anna sought solace in her husband, Mr. Bates. She was deeply worried about Lady Mary's fate and the sudden turn of events. Mr. Bates consoled her, reminding Anna that they had always liked Tom. He reassured her that while Tom might be passionate about his political beliefs, he had always been kind and considerate to the other staff. There was no reason to think he would be any different as a husband. Anna took comfort in her husband's words.

Daisy, still bewildered by the news, couldn't contain her confusion. "I don't understand," she exclaimed loudly, drawing attention from those around her. "Our Mr. Branson is going to marry Lady Mary?"

Mrs. Patmore scolded her and instructed her to focus on her work. The kitchen was a whirlwind of activity, and Downton was in the midst of a truly unusual and strange day.

Mary hesitated for a moment by the library door, gathering her nerves before she took the final step inside to formally meet her fiancé for the first time. The mere idea of it had been daunting; after all, what could she and Tom Branson possibly have in common? Her usual topics of conversation revolved around social events, fashion, or estate matters. She knew little about motorcars, and even less about politics, the subjects she knew Branson was passionate about. With a deep breath, she pushed the door open and entered the room, her posture regal and composed, hiding any inner apprehension. Mary knew she had to maintain her dignity and the Crawley family's reputation, no matter what her personal feelings might be.

"Mr. Branson," she greeted him with a polite nod and a cool, measured tone. She expected the encounter to be awkward, but what she didn't anticipate was the man who stood up to greet her. She knew it was Branson, her former chauffeur, but she was stunned to silence, just blinking a couple of times. Surely, he hadn't always looked like this? She would have noticed, she thought, as she took in the handsome man before her. His fair hair reflected the morning light, and his well-fitted suit did marvels for his stature. It was only when she saw his knowing grin that she came back to herself in a rush, blushing at being caught staring like a girl just let out of the schoolroom.

Mary quickly regained her composure, her training in social decorum kicking in. She couldn't afford to be flustered now. Tom escorted her to her seat, and as they moved toward it, she couldn't help but notice how their outfits seemed to match perfectly, unintentionally mirroring each other. She couldn't help but wonder if this was a sign of things to come.

Tom and Mary settled into their chairs, facing Mr. Murray, the solicitor who would guide them through the settlement. Mr. Murray began to explain the particulars of Mary's settlement, outlining how it would go to any children if Mary should die before Tom or return to the family coffers. He described how Mary would be granted access to the interest, but if she wanted to spend a lump sum, she would need permission from the trustees of the account. Tom couldn't help but bristle at the implication that he might try to take his wife's money or that Mary was incapable of managing her own finances. However, he didn't protest, as Mary seemed to be content with the arrangement.

As the discussion shifted to accommodation and living expenses, Tom's objections grew more pronounced. He was perfectly capable of caring for his own wife and paying for their own home. Mary, on the other hand, argued that it was unrealistic for Tom to expect her to manage household chores or cook, prompting Tom's realisation that he was dealing with Mary, who had never done a day of housework in her life. Reluctantly, he agreed to the need for the family to pay for an apartment and hire staff, though he vowed that this would only be until he could find a way to support them on his own.

The negotiation continued, with both Mary and Mr. Murray surprised by how tenaciously Tom fought for what he believed in. Mary, in particular, was beginning to feel anxious about her clothing allowance. When the matter of her clothing allowance came up, Tom's eyes widened in disbelief. "How much?" he exclaimed upon hearing that the Earl intended to grant her a £400 per year clothing allowance. "There's no way one woman needs £400 a year for clothes!" he protested vehemently.

Mary sighed, growing exasperated with Tom's stubbornness. She couldn't understand why he was being so ridiculous, especially considering his own humble background. Mr. Murray intervened, calmly asking Mary how much her dress cost. "£8 3s," she promptly replied. Tom just looked at her in astonishment. "Evening gowns, coats, and shoes can cost two, three or sometimes more multiples of that," Mr. Murray explained patiently, having dealt with Lady Cora's own clothing allowance from her deceased father.

Tom shook his head in disbelief at what he saw as extravagance. He was certain that he could find decent, well-fitted clothes for a fraction of the price at second-hand stores and have them tailored to fit perfectly. He suggested this, and Mary regarded him with a mixture of disbelief and distaste. "You expect me to wear clothes that somebody else has already worn?" she asked in disgust.

"My suit is second-hand, as well as my cufflinks," Tom defended his idea, feeling a bit self-conscious. Mary seemed surprised, as Tom did indeed look quite well in his attire. However, she also noticed that it was a style that had been popular just as the war had started—a reflection of his modest means.

Mary conceded that Tom looked well in his suit, but she was not prepared to wear second-hand clothes. Tom huffed and puffed, but eventually, they persuaded him to agree. The most difficult part of the day seemed to be over, as Mr. Murray finalised the settlement agreement. Though he had never encountered a prospective husband who was so resistant to accepting money, Mr. Murray was satisfied that Tom Branson wasn't marrying for money. Now, all that remained was for Lady Mary and Mr. Branson to sign the settlement agreement and then, after the marriage ceremony, lodge a copy with the registrar in Ripon.

The family slowly gathered in the music room, which offered one of the best views of the park with its large French windows leading out to the terrace. Lady Grantham had always thought it was a particularly picturesque room and believed it would be perfect for this intimate wedding. If nothing else, it would provide the guests with a beautiful backdrop to distract them from the unconventional circumstances surrounding the ceremony.

Meanwhile, Mary and Branson were still in the library with Mr. Murray, who was overseeing the signing of the marriage settlement. Cora furrowed her brow slightly, wondering what could be taking so long. She could see Robert growing increasingly frustrated as he attempted to appear composed and nonchalant, though he couldn't help but pace the room from time to time. His impatience seemed to grow with each passing minute, and in Cora's most secret thoughts, she couldn't help but find it somewhat hypocritical of him, considering he had married her for her money.

Cora did her best to engage in conversation with Reverend Travis while simultaneously attempting to signal Robert to calm down. It was a delicate dance of distraction and reassurance.

Sybil and Edith stood together, finding solace in each other's company as they silently supported one another. Both felt a profound sense of guilt for the roles they had inadvertently played in necessitating this wedding. They were keenly aware of Mary's views on marriage and knew she would never agree to a divorce. Sybil also grappled with the fact that her dearest sister was about to marry the man she had been planning to wed just a week ago. To combat the sorrow, Sybil tried to focus on the positive aspects, such as moving to London and pursuing a college education. She slipped her arm through Edith's and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

Matthew stood with his mother, Isobel, and his fiancée, Lavinia. He couldn't help but feel a sense of confusion as he observed Lavinia's surprisingly buoyant demeanour on this day. Lavinia had her own motivations, secretly delighted that Mary would now be unequivocally unavailable to Matthew. Isobel surreptitiously watched here son, she understood that his seemingly calm and pleasant manner concealed the emotional turmoil he was experiencing. Isobel had long been aware of her son's enduring love for Mary but believed that Mary would never make Matthew truly happy. In her eyes, Matthew had a better chance of finding happiness with someone like Lavinia.

Rosamund sat beside her mother, the Dowager Countess. She felt a measure of satisfaction for the resolution of the family's predicament, although she didn't particularly care about the outcome for Mary herself. In her opinion, it was Mary's initial involvement with the dreadful Mr. Pamuk that had set the stage for this day. However, she wisely chose to keep these thoughts to herself, knowing that neither Robert nor Cora needed any additional burden on this already trying day.

Violet, after her conversations with both Branson and Mary, harboured no significant concerns about the marriage. She believed that Mary, as an intelligent and capable woman, could easily handle Branson. In fact, she suspected that Mary's passionate temperament, often misconstrued as coldness, could potentially complement Branson's fiery personality. As a result, Violet couldn't help but smile, contemplating that this unexpected union might turn out quite well for Mary indeed.

As Mary entered the music room, there was a noticeable change in her demeanour. The weight of the recent events seemed to have lifted from her shoulders, and she radiated an unexpected vitality, due to the battle she had just waged to save her clothes allowance. Her complexion was flushed with a rosy hue, and her eyes sparkled with a newfound sense of purpose. It puzzled some of the wedding guests, who had expected her to appear more solemn on this unconventional occasion.

However, it wasn't until Branson followed her into the room that the true source of the amazement became evident. Gone was the familiar chauffeur uniform, replaced by a finely tailored suit that accentuated his tall, lean frame. The room fell into a collective hush of surprise, broken only by Lavinia's whispered "golly!" Matthew, who had been wearing a thoughtful frown, couldn't help but acknowledge that Branson looked unexpectedly dashing in his new attire.

The women in the room exchanged discreet glances, their expressions filled with a mixture of astonishment and admiration. Branson's transformation had left them momentarily speechless, and even the Dowager Countess, Violet, couldn't hide a smug smile as her earlier prediction seemed to be coming true ahead of schedule. Sybil felt a sense of vindication, her attraction to Branson suddenly validated.

Robert, however, remained torn between anger and confusion. He couldn't deny that Branson, despite his origins, didn't seem out of place among the family in his well-fitted suit. The sense of being deceived by Branson only deepened his irritation.

Cora observed the couple with a hint of surprise, realising that Mary and Branson, despite their unconventional circumstances, looked remarkably well together. Their attire complemented each other, and there was an undeniable chemistry in their presence.

Reverend Travis moved gracefully to the French windows, signalling the start of the ceremony. The room's occupants took their designated places, and the wedding began in earnest.

With solemn voices, Tom and Mary pledged their unwavering commitment to each other, reciting the traditional vows that had united countless couples before them. It was a poignant moment, filled with sincerity and determination.

Once the vows were exchanged, Lord Grantham and Lady Edith stepped forward to sign as witnesses to the union. A copy of the marriage certificate was handed to Mr. Murray, who would soon take it to Ripon to lodge with the registrar. Tom and Mary were now officially husband and wife, and a quiet sense of resolution filled the room, replacing the earlier surprise and uncertainty.

The wedding ceremony had concluded, and the newly married couple, along with the rest of the family, made their way to the elegant dining room for the wedding breakfast. The dining room was bathed in soft, natural light from the large French windows that provided a picturesque view of the park. Had been adorned with the finest silverware and crystal glasses, exuded an air of elegance and sophistication. The long table, dressed in pristine white linen, was adorned with meticulously arranged floral centrepieces that added a touch of colour and vitality to the room.

Tom, still getting accustomed to the customs of the Crawley family, felt somewhat uncertain about how the proceedings would unfold. The dining table was laden with an array of delectable dishes, and Carson and Thomas moved about the room, offering drinks to the guests.

Tom stayed close to Mary, his new wife, still marvelling at the turn of events that had led to this unconventional marriage. He briefly wondered if he should apologise to Mary for the dreams, he once had of sharing his life with her sister Sybil. Even now, just minutes after becoming husband and wife, he felt a twinge of guilt for thinking about another woman.

He was determined to take his vows seriously and be a good husband to Mary. With a tentative smile, he turned to her. "Would you like me to get you a plate?" he offered, indicating the bountiful table.

Mary seemed to have momentarily forgotten Tom's presence and, realising he might be unfamiliar with this sort of occasion, proceeded to explain the usual order in which the various dishes were to be consumed. They moved together to the table, where Tom's appetite suddenly kicked in, having had little to eat since his arrest.

Tom surreptitiously observed Mr. Crawley to gauge how much was considered appropriate to consume, and upon realising that Matthew wasn't eating much, he restrained himself from indulging too eagerly. Instead, he opted for a few select items.

Mary then signalled to Carson, who was offering drinks to the guests, and soon they were both holding glasses of champagne. Now, Tom found himself in a predicament, with both hands full and unsure of how to juggle his plate and drink.

He saw old Lady Grantham give him a tilt of the head as she moved to the next room. Tom smiled again and indicated that he was going to follow Mary's grandmother.

Violet led Tom to a settee and placed her champagne glass on a nearby table. She balanced her plate on her lap, filled with tiny sandwiches. Violet observed Tom looking glumly at his three finger sandwiches and a little egg tart. "You can get more once you have eaten what you have," Violet kindly told Branson.

"Thank you, my lady," Tom replied gratefully, relieved that he could get more food if he liked.

"Lady Grantham, not my lady when speaking to the family—Lord Grantham, Lady Grantham, Mr. Crawley, and so on," Violet corrected Tom politely, who was grateful for the guidance before he inadvertently made a fool of himself or embarrassed Mary.

Tom carefully ate his sandwiches, tasting the champagne, which seemed to be more palatable than he had expected. He was feeling awkward; he had just gotten married but didn't know who to talk to or about what subject.

"When do you have to report to your newspaper?" Violet asked politely, breaking the silence.

"Next Monday, I will have to leave for Dublin in three days' time," Tom said, "I can stay with my mother until the flat is ready, and Mary arrives in Dublin," he added with a blush, thinking about living with Mary.

"Mr. Murray said he has an associate looking for flats around Merrion Square, and if Mary wants to come before the flat is ready, she can stay at one of the Dublin hotels," Tom continued, realising that it would be unrealistic to expect Mary to stay in his mother's little two-bedroom flat.

Violet listened attentively and nodded, satisfied with his response.

Mary, who had been speaking with another guest, rejoined Tom and interrupted their conversation with a sardonic tone, remarking, "It's usually expected that the happy couple do a lap of the guests." Tom quickly finished his last sandwich and stood up, ready to accompany Mary around the room as tradition dictated.

Their first stop was Reverend Travis, to whom they extended warm gratitude for performing the unconventional ceremony. They then moved on to Rosamund, who offered congratulations and a perfunctory kiss on Mary's cheek.

Tom and Mary continued to greet the guests, making their way to Isobel, Lavinia, and Matthew. Matthew, his manner tinged with awkwardness, offered a somewhat stiff handshake. His gaze shifted between Tom and Mary, revealing his uncertainty about the unconventional union. Lavinia, standing beside him, was a stark contrast. She beamed with genuine happiness, her eyes sparkling with warmth and sincerity as she offered her heartfelt congratulations and asked Tom about his availability for their upcoming wedding. Tom expressed his regrets, explaining that he needed to be in Dublin before the following Monday due to his new job at the Irish Times.

Isobel inquired about their living arrangements in Dublin, and Mary explained their plans for securing a flat. Tom added that Mary would be moving to Dublin as soon as the flat was ready, though he had to think practically about accommodating her and hiring staff for their new home.

Finally, the time came to face Sybil, who appeared slightly teary-eyed. Edith, standing nearby, was unsure how to react to this unexpected turn of events.

Sybil, with a catch in her voice, spoke kindly, "You look very handsome together," as she observed the couple. Tom dipped his head briefly in acknowledgment, his heart heavy with a mixture of emotions. He felt compelled to offer his apologies to both Sybil and Mary.

"Sybil, I am so sorry I didn't listen to you and for getting all of us in this mess," he said with genuine regret, acknowledging the part Sybil had played in the events leading up to this day.

Then, turning to Mary, he expressed his remorse more fervently, "Mary, I am really sorry for dragging you into this scandal. I truly can't express how sorry I am." Tom's passion was evident in his voice as he looked at his new wife.

Mary, who had momentarily looked away, composed herself before turning back to the group. "Well, it's done now," she said calmly, attempting to bring a positive note to the conversation. "We all will have to make the best of the situation." She also brought up the prospect of Sybil attending college soon, aiming to steer the conversation toward brighter prospects.

"Sybil," he began gently, "I... I had wanted to talk to you about your plans." His voice wavered slightly, uncertain of how she would react.

She turned her gaze toward him, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "What's there to talk about, Tom?" she replied, her voice tinged with sadness.

Tom took a deep breath, his heart heavy with the knowledge of the pain he had caused her. "I just want to know what you'll be doing now," he explained. "You deserve happiness, Sybil."

She looked down at her hands, her fingers now gripping her glass stem tightly. "I'll be leaving for London on the 2 pm train with Aunt Rosamund," she began, her voice trembling. "I'll stay with her for a while, and then I plan to enrol in a preparatory college for young ladies."

Tom nodded, absorbing her words. He knew how much education meant to her, how passionate she was about making a difference. "That's a good plan," he offered, his tone filled with genuine support.

Sybil's gaze finally met his once more, and she managed a small, melancholic smile. "I want to further my education, Tom, and perhaps even pursue a career. It's time for me to find my own path."

Tom's heart ached for her, knowing that his marriage to Mary had shattered her dreams of a future together. "I believe in you, Sybil," he told her, his voice filled with sincerity. "You'll do great things, I'm sure of it."

She appreciated his encouragement, and for a moment, the weight on her shoulders seemed a bit lighter. "Thank you, Tom," she whispered, her eyes reflecting a mixture of sadness and determination. "I hope you find happiness too, in your new life with Mary."

Tom's smile was tinged with regret as he nodded. "I'll do my best," he promised, aware that their choices had brought about a profound change in their relationship.

As Sybil shared her plans with Tom, Mary stood beside her new husband, her heart aching with a mixture of emotions. She watched her husband attentively, knowing that his relationship with Sybil was not one that could simply be forgotten or pushed aside. The bond they had formed over the years ran deep, and she could see the sadness in his eyes as he listened to Sybil's words.

When Sybil finished speaking, Mary couldn't help but step forward. She walked up to her sister and kissed her tenderly on the cheek, a silent gesture of support and affection. "I'll miss you, Sybil," she whispered softly, her voice filled with genuine warmth.

Sybil's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she returned the kiss, holding onto the fleeting moments of sisterly affection. "I'll miss you too, Mary," she replied, her voice catching slightly.

Tom, feeling the weight of impending separation, stepped closer to Sybil as well. He offered a heartfelt farewell, his voice filled with a sense of sadness and finality. "Take care of yourself, Sybil," he said, his eyes locking onto hers. "I'll be in Dublin when you return."

Sybil nodded, her own gaze filled with a sense of understanding. She knew that Tom and Mary needed this fresh start, even if it meant saying goodbye to what could have been. "Thank you, Tom," she replied, her voice filled with sincerity.

Mary watched the interaction between her husband and her sister with weariness in her eyes. She knew that a clean break was necessary for any of them to find happiness in the future, even if it meant saying goodbye to a period of their lives that held precious memories.

With Sybil and Edith's goodbyes exchanged, Mary led Tom over to her parents, Lord and Lady Grantham. Cora, Mary's mother, expressed her enthusiasm. "You look beautiful, darling," she enthused, her warm smile directed at Mary. Robert, Mary's father, was less forthcoming and conceded, "You look very well, Mary," though his reluctance to fully accept Tom into the family was evident.

Tom, conscious of the tense atmosphere, returned Cora's compliment, even adding a faint blush to his cheeks. He remembered to address her properly, using the honorific "Lady Grantham" as a sign of respect. Uncertain of his status and access to the family and the house now that he was married to Mary, Tom politely inquired, "I need to write to my mother to explain my recent marriage to Mary. Might I have some writing materials to do so?" He blushed further, feeling that perhaps he should have referred to Mary as "Lady Mary" in front of her parents.

Cora kindly responded, "Of course, Tom. Just come down to the small library. You'll find all the necessary materials there for writing your letter. I'm sure Mary can show you where everything is." Tom expressed his gratitude, relieved by her understanding. Robert, however, continued to glare at his new son-in-law, unable to hide his disapproval.

With this matter settled, Tom and Mary returned to the table. Tom, unused to mid-day alcohol consumption, inquired about tea. Mary directed him to Thomas, who was serving tea, and they walked over to get a cup each before settling on a love seat with their plates of food.

As they enjoyed their tea and light meal, Tom couldn't help but feel a sense of curiosity about their future. "What happens next?" he asked Mary directly.

Mary, her cheeks slightly flushed, explained, "Well, if this were a usual wedding, you and I would be embarking on our wedding trip." Tom's eyes widened in realisation, but she continued, "But when it looks like all the guests have had their fill of food and drinks, Mother will give us the signal. We stand by the door, they congratulate us one final time, and we thank them for coming. Then we are free until dinner."

Tom felt relieved to have a clear picture of the immediate future. "So, what do we do in the meantime?" he asked Mary, genuinely curious about their plans.

Mary considered his question before suggesting, "When everyone has left, why don't I give you a tour of Downton to get your bearings? We can finish in the library where you can write your letter." She smiled, appreciating the gravity of the day and the need to accommodate him.

Tom was struck by Mary's kindness and accommodating nature, especially on a day that must be emotionally trying for her. He knew he would have to return the favour when Mary arrived in Dublin. "Thank you, Mary. You are being very kind today, and I appreciate it," he said sincerely, wanting to convey his gratitude.

He then added with a warm smile, "I would love for you to give me a tour of your home. I've been here for five years and have no real idea of the layout of the house." Tom was genuinely excited about the prospect, eager to learn more about the place that was now his new home, at least part of the time. Mary's straightforwardness and willingness to accommodate him had won him over.

Tom had always been a man who took pride in his appearance, and even more so now that he was part of the Crawley family. He had four finely tailored suits that he reserved for meetings with his editor and publisher, each one chosen to present himself as a respectable and accomplished writer. Five crisp white shirts hung neatly in his wardrobe, ready for any occasion that required a touch of formality. However, as he stood there contemplating his wardrobe, he couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety.

Three of his best suits had already made appearances before the Crawley family, each one marking a significant moment in his life—first while he was still the disgraced chauffeur, then as the prospective groom, and finally as the new husband. Today, the last of his good suits remained untouched, waiting for its turn to make an impression. He quickly selected the last suit, a dark grey, and paired it with a dark blue tie, his sister had given him one year as a birthday gift, ensuring that he still looked presentable.

He also owned a practical green woollen waistcoat and tweed jacket he used for travel. They were durable and warm, designed for rugged journeys, and he thought they might be suitable for any outside activities the family might expect him to participate in while still at Downton.

As he dressed, he couldn't help but think about the future expenses he would face, especially when it came to clothing. He had never been one to squander money, and now that he was married into the Crawley family, he knew there were certain expectations to meet. A visit to his favourite second-hand shop in Dublin seemed inevitable to fill his wardrobe with more suitable attire.

His thoughts then turned to breakfast, and a sense of apprehension washed over him. This would be the first full day where he would be expected to dine with the family, and he hoped he wouldn't disgrace himself. The memory of pouring tea for the maids in the servants' hall just a few days ago was still fresh in his mind, and the thought of facing Lord Grantham and Mr. Carson alone at the breakfast table was daunting.

However, as he entered the breakfast room, a wave of relief washed over him. Lady Grantham and Lady Edith were already seated at the table, and their presence provided a welcome buffer. With a polite greeting, he acknowledged their presence, relieved that it wouldn't just be him and Lord Grantham facing each other in this potentially awkward meal.

"Good morning, Lady Grantham, Lady Edith, Lord Grantham," he greeted them, grateful for the warm welcome extended by the ladies and bracing himself for any residual coolness from his father-in-law. "You can just call me Edith, you are my brother now after all," Edith said kindly.

Edith's thoughtful words brought a small but sincere smile to his face. "Thank you, Edith," he replied, his gratitude evident in his eyes. The acknowledgement of their newfound familial connection helped ease the awkwardness that had settled in the room.

Lord Grantham, although still visibly reserved, couldn't entirely ignore the effort Edith and Lady Grantham were making. "Good morning, Tom," he acknowledged with a nod, his tone less frosty than it had been in recent days.

Mr. Carson, on the other hand, remained mostly silent, focused on his duties as the household's butler. It was clear that his disapproval hadn't wavered, but Tom knew that mending that particular relationship would take considerable time and effort.

The breakfast table was set, and the atmosphere in the room was tense but not unbearable. As the meal began, Edith, ever the diplomat, sought to break the ice by steering the conversation toward lighter topics, such as the estate and local events. She shared stories about the grandeur of Downton and its storied history, offering Tom a glimpse into the world he had married into.

Tom appreciated Edith's effort, and though the tension hadn't completely dissipated, her presence, along with Lady Grantham's kindness, made the meal more bearable. Tom knew that navigating his new role in the Crawley family wouldn't be easy, but for the sake of his marriage to Mary, he was determined to find his place among them.

Tom had never been one to waste time idly, and even though he had some free moments before his scheduled walk with Mary, he wanted to make the most of them. After deciding on his choice of clothing for the walk, he carefully dressed in his wool trousers and tweed jacket, a sensible choice for a stroll around the estate, especially with the unpredictable British weather.

His well-worn boots, which had seen their fair share of mud and miles, were the perfect footwear for an outdoor adventure. He made sure to wear them, not wanting to soil his more formal shoes while exploring the damp grounds of Downton.

With the majority of his preparations complete, he couldn't help but muse about the habits of the upper classes. It seemed to him that their frequent changes of clothing were driven by a sense of boredom, a need to fill the hours with wardrobe choices and costume changes. He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought, finding it amusing that such trivial matters occupied the minds of the aristocracy.

As he glanced at himself in the mirror, he couldn't deny that these clothes fit him just as well as his suits, a testament to the tailoring skills of the local seamstress that had fitted and altered his wardrobe. Despite his working-class background, he had always believed in presenting himself with pride and dignity.

With still half an hour before his rendezvous with Mary, he contemplated spending the time in intellectual pursuits. The library was a tempting option, but he didn't feel comfortable using it without Mary by his side. Instead, he turned to another passion of his, writing.

He retrieved his trusty notebook and pencil, tools that had been his constant companions during countless hours of writing and reflection. However, his muse led him in a different direction today. Tom remembered that he had a copy of his poems tucked away in his luggage, and curiosity got the better of him.

As he rummaged through his trunk, he retrieved the collection of poems. It was a significant part of his personal history, filled with verses that spoke of revolutionary ideals and Ireland's struggle for self-determination. He couldn't help but smile as he reminisced about the time when he had penned those words, fuelled by passion and conviction.

Inspiration struck, and he decided to add a personal touch to the gift. He took out his fountain pen, a cherished possession gifted to him by his mother when he had earned his first pay check from a magazine for his writing. It had a sentimental value that couldn't be measured in monetary terms.

With care and precision, he penned a dedication on the inside cover of the book: "To Mary, on our wedding, Tom." He was about to add the date of their wedding beneath it, when he thought of the Dowager, and added the date recorded on the marriage certificate, just in case anyone decided to snoop. It might not have been the most conventional wedding gift, but it was something deeply personal, a piece of his heart and soul captured in those pages.

Once he was satisfied that the ink was dry, he closed the cover of the book and tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket. He checked the time, making sure he wouldn't be late for his meeting with Mary, and then made his way downstairs to begin a new chapter in his life as a married man.

Mary relished the freedom of being a married woman and decided to have her breakfast served in bed that morning. Anna, as attentive as ever, bustled about the room, assisting Mary in selecting her attire for the day.

"What would you like to wear this morning?" Anna inquired, her gaze directed towards the wardrobe. Mary contemplated for a moment, her thoughts momentarily drifting to her husband. "I promised Branson we could go for a walk around the estate," she said, blushing at the slip of her tongue, "I mean Tom," she quickly corrected herself.

Anna nodded, understanding Mary's intention. "Would you like the green tweed walking suit?" she suggested, knowing it was a suitable choice for their planned stroll.

"Yes, that will do," Mary agreed.

With her attire decided upon, Mary left the warmth of her bed and walked over to the window. She glanced outside, observing the cloudy sky. Although it didn't appear to threaten rain, the English weather could be unpredictable.

After her brief moment of contemplation, Mary headed to her bathroom to begin her preparations for the day. Curious about Tom's whereabouts, she asked Anna, "Did Tom go to breakfast?"

"Yes, Mr. Carson said he had breakfast. Lady Grantham and Lady Edith had breakfast downstairs today," Anna replied, providing the update. Mary couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for leaving her husband to fend for himself that morning, for she knew it was important for both of them to establish a comfortable rapport here at Downton.

As Mary gazed at her reflection in the mirror, she noticed that her looks had fully recovered after the ordeal of her arrest. Her grandmother had arranged for a reporter to visit that afternoon, aiming to help her regain her reputation amid the lingering gossip about her. With Tom by her side, she felt a renewed sense of confidence and was no longer concerned about being seen with her handsome husband.

Feeling ready to begin the day, Mary knew it was time to head downstairs to meet Tom and embark on their walk around the estate, a gesture meant to help them bond as husband and wife.

As Tom and Mary made their way towards the top of the grand staircase, their paths converged from opposite directions. It was a symbolically appropriate moment, as their lives were now intersecting in ways they could only have imagined before.

Having been given a tour of the sprawling house by Mary the previous day, Tom had a sense of the family's living arrangements. He couldn't help but contemplate how, in the near future, he would likely be residing in the family wing of Downton alongside his new wife. It was a prospect that both thrilled and intimidated him, considering the expectations and traditions that came with it.

As Mary drew closer, Tom couldn't help but take in her presence. She carried herself with an air of elegance and poise, a testament to her upbringing and the refinement that came with being a Crawley. In his eyes, she was the epitome of beauty, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of pride that she was now his wife.

However, Tom couldn't shake the nagging thought of the letter he had written to his mother the previous day. It had been a difficult task, pouring his feelings onto paper and explaining the unexpected turn his life had taken. He knew his mother well enough to anticipate her reaction, and it weighed heavily on his mind.

In the letter, he had expressed his concerns about disappointing his mother, especially given the stark contrast between the woman he had often spoken about—his now dear sister Sybil—and the actual woman he had married. While he had frequently regaled his family with warm stories of Sybil, the same couldn't be said for Mary, who had been largely absent from his conversations.

Now, the reality of introducing Mary to his mother was something he couldn't avoid. He wondered how his mother would receive her, whether she would be warm and accepting or distant and disapproving. The uncertainty gnawed at him, and he hoped that Mary's grace and charm would help bridge any gaps that might emerge.

As they finally met at the top of the stairs, Tom offered a warm smile to his wife, momentarily forgetting his anxieties in her presence. There was a sense of reassurance in her eyes, a silent reminder that they were in this together, come what may.

"Good morning, Mary," Tom greeted her with genuine regard, his heart warming at the sight of her. He couldn't help but think that, despite the challenges they might face, they were embarking on a new journey together—a journey that he hoped would lead to happiness and understanding.

Mary's smile, as Tom greeted her at the top of the stairs, was a heartwarming sight. The elegant couple, both dressed in complementary outfits, seemed to be a harmonious match, their attire reflecting a subtle unity between them. She couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment as she looked at her new husband.

Tom's greeting, marked with a tender kiss, caught Mary by surprise, momentarily flustering her. It was a small, affectionate gesture, but it spoke volumes about the effort he was making to bridge the gap between them and build a connection.

"Good morning," Mary replied with a soft smile, her eyes meeting Tom's. "Did you sleep well?" Tom asked, "Yes, I slept very well, thank you."

As they descended the grand staircase together, they made their way towards the great hall. Mr. Carson, the venerable butler, warmly wished lady Mary good morning, his familiarity a stark contrast to his pointed indifference toward Tom. Mary, ever mindful of her new role as Tom's wife, addressed this oversight with a subtle rebuke, ensuring that her husband was recognised.

"Mr. Carson," Tom acknowledged politely as he passed the old butler, his voice carrying a hint of formality but also a touch of expectation. His position as the newest member of the Crawley family was one he intended to assert with grace and dignity.

When they stepped beyond the portico, Tom offered his arm to Mary, a symbol of their partnership and the promise of their walk together. They strolled through the meticulously landscaped gardens and the lush greenery of the estate, the atmosphere serene and their conversation comfortable.

At one point, they paused to look back at the magnificent house, its grandeur stretching before them. Tom couldn't help but express his admiration. "It's a beautiful aspect," he remarked, his voice touched with genuine appreciation.

However, as he gazed at the imposing structure, Tom found himself pondering whether Mary had ever ventured far from the comfort of Downton or the Townhouse in London. He knew that, in many ways, he was uprooting her from the only home she had ever known. A pang of remorse settled in his heart, a reminder of the weighty decisions they had made together.

Trying to provide solace, Tom offered reassuring words. "We can come back again soon," he said, his tone gentle and comforting. "You really think so?" Mary asked, a note of hopefulness in her voice. Tom's next suggestion brought a radiant smile to her face, a glimmer of excitement dancing in her eyes. "Maybe we can return at Christmas," he proposed, and the prospect of future visits to Downton seemed to brighten their path ahead.

As they continued their leisurely stroll through the grounds of Downton, Mary held onto her husband's arm, the tight grip indicating she had something important on her mind. The idyllic surroundings provided a serene backdrop for their conversation.

"I think we should discuss our future in Dublin," Mary finally broached the subject that had been weighing on her. Tom nodded in agreement, fully aware that this was a crucial step in their journey together.

Mary confirmed, "You are leaving on Friday for Dublin and starting work on Monday." Tom affirmed her statement, saying, "Yes, I will be staying with my mother until a place for us is ready to live in."

Mary went on to share some information she had gathered. "Murray told Papa that his colleague has found three suitable properties, and he'll be sending the details for Papa to review."

The mention of her father's involvement in their housing arrangements caused Tom's expression to shift into one of annoyance. He couldn't help but feel irked that, despite being the one with previous experience of living in Dublin, he hadn't been consulted or allowed any input into the selection of their future home. Tom fervently hoped that the chosen property wouldn't be inconveniently distant from his workplace.

Observing Tom's discontent, Mary realised the importance of accommodating his preferences. "Would you like any particular feature in the flat?" she asked, her memory harking back to the somewhat contentious discussion they'd had during the settlement signing regarding their shared accommodation.

Tom's reply was straightforward and practical. "Mainly the location should be no more than two miles, three at most from the Times offices, ensuring I can get to work easily enough."

Their conversation flowed as they wandered through the scenic Downton Park, Tom sharing insights about Dublin and what Mary could expect in their new home. He even made a promise to take her to his hometown of Bray on one of his days off, offering a glimpse into his life outside of Downton.

Suddenly, Mary surprised Tom with a suggestion that caught him off guard. "I think we should share a room," she blurted out, her words hanging in the air. Tom's eyes widened in surprise, his cheeks turning a shade redder as he hadn't anticipated such a proposal.

"I don't know," he stammered, his Irish brogue more pronounced when he was flustered. "Is it not too soon?" he asked, voicing his reservations.

Mary, however, approached the matter with a mix of pragmatism and anticipation. "I think it will be easiest to share a room from the beginning," she explained. "We will have to if we ever want children, and I am 28 years old, after all."

The mention of children elicited another blush from Tom, who couldn't help but think about the intimate activities required to bring those children into the world. He quickly reassured her, "You do want children, don't you?"

Mary's response was heartfelt. "Oh, yes," she affirmed.

"I always wanted a daughter," Tom wistfully said, Mary's smile was radiant as Tom added, "With you as her mother, she is guaranteed to be a pretty little thing."

Mary then wondered aloud, "I thought all men wanted a son to carry on the family name?" She shared the weight of societal expectations that had always made her feel inadequate, that her only value in a marriage her ability to produce a male heir.

The conversation shifted to the expectations surrounding gender and inheritance. Mary questioned Tom about the prevailing desire for sons to carry on the family name, a practice she had grown up with. Tom, however, held a different perspective.

"I have plenty of cousins who can carry on the family name for me," he confidently stated, hinting at his more progressive views on inheritance and family legacy. Tom confidently defied those norms. "Well, I am not one of your lot. When I die, I can leave my money and property to my daughter if I choose," he stated firmly.

Mary's eyes widened in realisation as she absorbed Tom's words. The idea that her father's obsession with having a male heir could be challenged was revolutionary to her. She contemplated what it would be like to have a daughter without the burden of gender-based expectations. Tom's words offered her hope for a different future.

With a contented sigh, Mary hugged Tom's arm close to her, embracing the idea of daughters. "So, we will share a room in Dublin?" she inquired, seeking confirmation. Tom, his initial surprise giving way to a shy smile, replied, "Yes, if you like."

As they continued their walk, they had taken a significant step forward in their relationship. The path ahead seemed brighter, filled with possibilities, as long as they kept talking to each other and understanding each other's desires and perspectives.

Mary led Tom to her favourite bench on the estate. It was nestled under the protective canopy of a tree, offering both privacy and a side profile view of the majestic house. She gestured toward it with a warm smile. "This is my favourite spot. It's secluded enough that I can have some privacy, but still in sight of the house," Mary explained, a touch of nostalgia in her voice. "There wasn't much opportunity for privacy when we were younger, here on the grounds at least."

Mary's gaze wandered toward the distant past. "Even when I went riding, I had to have a stable hand with me," she lamented. Then, a sudden thought occurred to her. She turned to Tom, curiosity dancing in her eyes. "Can you ride?" she asked her husband, genuinely interested.

Tom grinned at her mischievously. "Only bareback," he replied, a twinkle in his eye. Mary gave him a scandalous look, her curiosity piqued. "How did you direct the horse?" she inquired, her tone suggestive.

"Mainly with my legs," Tom explained with a chuckle. "I had a bit of rope for the halter."

Mary's scandalous look only deepened, and she seemed intrigued. "We could go for a ride together," she suggested playfully. "You would have to use a saddle and the correct riding tackle, of course. It shouldn't take you too long to pick it up, though," she added with a wink.

Tom looked ruefully at his wife, his expression softened by affection. "Mary, I only own four suits, and what I'm wearing now. All my other clothes are only suitable for working in the garage or labouring," he gently informed her.

Mary looked faintly embarrassed, her enthusiasm dimmed by her oversight. "Oh," she said, momentarily crestfallen.

Tom, ever considerate, sought to ease her concerns, "maybe I can find some second hand riding clothes at that shop I was telling you about," Tom said, Mary just wrinkled her nose in distaste, causing Tom to laugh.

"There's probably not many places you can go riding in Dublin," Mary said glumly.

Tom nodded in agreement. "There are some riding paths and riding schools that I know of. I'm not sure if there will be anywhere close to our flat or where you can find a horse. But we can investigate when you arrive. I can ask at the paper; I'm sure there will be someone there who can let me know what's available, in the area" he reassured her.

Seeing Mary looking disheartened, Tom realised that it was the perfect time to present her with the gift he had prepared. "I have something for you," he told Mary, his voice filled with a mix of shyness and excitement. Mary looked at him curiously, her interest piqued. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim book, handing it to his wife.

Mary accepted the book, examining it with curiosity. She opened it to the cover page, where it read 'The Collected Poems of T. Fionn Branson,' with Tom's personal inscription underneath. Mary looked at Tom, touched by the thoughtful gift. She only regretted that she hadn't thought to get him something in return.

"But why does it say 'T. Fionn Branson' and not 'Tom'?" she asked, her brow furrowing in curiosity.

Tom explained with a gentle smile, "Oh, there was already another Tomas Branson writing for the magazine I first submitted to. They said I needed to write under a different name, and Fionn is my middle name."

Mary smiled warmly at her husband, her appreciation evident. "Anyway, thank you," she said, holding the book close to her heart. "Shall we return to the house?" Tom suggested. Mary nodded in agreement. "Yes, it will be lunchtime soon," she agreed. "And no doubt, we'll both have to change again. We're meeting that reporter from the Daily Bugle at 3 pm."

Mary accompanied Tom to the train station on the day of his departure for Dublin. It was a bittersweet moment for both of them, a mix of sadness and anticipation for the days ahead. As a compromise, Tom had purchased a second-class ticket so that Lady Mary wouldn't have to suffer the indignity of waving her husband off in third class along with the villagers who might be making the journey that day. Although Mary had offered to buy Tom a first-class ticket, he had firmly refused, and Mary didn't argue. She had a feeling that they would have many financial discussions in the future, and this compromise was something she could live with.

The days between their hasty marriage and Tom's departure had flown by. They had managed to give a convincing interview with the reporter from the Daily Bugle. Tom had provided the reporter with his pen name of 'T. Fionn Branson,' and Mary had shown him the book of poetry that Tom had gifted her. She wisely allowed the reporter to examine the book of poetry, including the inscription with the back dated wedding date, the same as what was recorded on their marriage certificate. With Tom's pen name, the reporter will easily be able to confirm that Tom is a published writer.

When the reporter asked him why Tom had been working for the Earl of Grantham,
Tom just shared a knowing smile with the reporter, reminding him that the earnings of a freelance writer was unpredictable and that by working as a chauffeur it gave Tom plenty of time to dedicate to his writing and making it able for Tom to save for his future, until he had built up his reputation as a writer and could get a staff position.

The servants had been firmly warned that they would be dismissed without reference if anyone disclosed anything about Lady Mary and Tom Branson's marriage. Only Anna was allowed to provide a quote to the reporter, as she could be trusted to protect Lady Mary's reputation.

However, the only hiccup occurred after the interview when Mosley, Matthew's valet, showed up at the house with one of Matthew's old evening dress jackets and dress shirts. Tom had never been opposed to wearing second-hand clothing, having come from a humbler background, but he was resistant to the idea of being dressed up like a doll by the Dowager Countess, who had arranged the gift.

In his bed chamber, Tom explained to Mary that he would feel like a fraud in the outfit, as it didn't belong to him. Mary, always astute, knew how to smooth over Tom's objections. She pointed out that refusing to wear the evening wear would be seen as an insult to the Dowager, who had kindly offered it as a gesture of goodwill.

Mosley, skilled at his work, was able to make quick alterations to the jacket and trousers so that they fit Tom properly. However, the embarrassment of being dressed by someone else, especially when he had shared many cups of tea with Mosley over the years, was not lost on Tom. Mosley assured him that the outfit would be fully altered by the following night.

Tom did feel a bit like a child being dressed by a parent, but his discomfort lessened when he entered the dining room that evening. He realised that he didn't look out of place compared to the other men at the table. Moreover, Mary looked particularly stunning that night in a red dress with intricate black beading, and he felt proud to be her husband.

Dinner went surprisingly smoothly, thanks in part to Mary's efforts to steer the conversation in a pleasant direction. She shared with the table the book of poetry that Tom had gifted her, which led to a general discussion about Tom's budding publishing career and the world of publishing in general. Tom was knowledgeable on the subject, and the family seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say.

Tom then surprised everyone by announcing that he was currently in negotiations with his Dublin publishers to release a book of short stories he had written. This revelation piqued the curiosity of those at the table. Tom explained that the stories were based on the Irish myths and legends his grandfather had told him as a child, as well as the tales of his grandfather's old friends.

Mary, in particular, seemed intrigued by the progress of his negotiations. Tom shared that the biggest challenge he faced was finding an illustrator. He mentioned that if he paid for and provided his own illustrations instead of relying on the publisher, he could negotiate for larger royalties from the book.

As the dinner conversation continued, Tom could sense that he had pleased the Dowager Countess and, more importantly, his wife. Mary's frequent smiles throughout the evening filled him with happiness and optimism for their life together in Dublin.

Back at the train station, the moment of departure had arrived. Tom and Mary stood together on the platform, holding hands. They were the object of curiosity for the other passengers waiting nearby. Tom squeezed Mary's hands and reassured her that they would see each other in two weeks, emphasising that the flat Mary had chosen was conveniently located within two miles of the Times offices. It came mostly furnished, and her father's solicitor had arranged for a deep cleaning before her arrival. Tom would inspect it himself next week, and Mary would take a look when she arrived. She planned to temporarily stay in a hotel until they could find a cook and a maid for the flat.

Mary promised to send Tom her travel details as soon as they were finalised, and Tom assured her that he would be there to meet her off the ferry.

As the train approached, it momentarily covered everyone on the platform in sooty steam. Tom leaned forward and tenderly kissed Mary goodbye. He then boarded the train with his hand luggage, while a porter placed his small trunk in the luggage carriage.

Mary wished Tom a safe journey and waved goodbye as the train pulled away from the platform. With Tom disappearing into the distance, Mary felt a mix of emotions after the hectic pace of the past week. Her life had irrevocably changed in just one short week, and she sighed, returning to Downton for the final two weeks before Matthew's upcoming wedding, contemplating what she needed to pack for her move to Dublin. She tried not to dwell on the people she would miss but couldn't help feeling a sense of longing. She wished she could bring Anna with her, but Anna was now married and couldn't be separated from her husband.

She would just have to face the future alone with her husband Tom.

The End

Note: Not sure if my stories are showing up or not as my statistics haven't changed in nearly a week. Anyway I hope you enjoyed this. This is the last chapter.