Author's note: Thank you for the review! I can't tell you how much I appreciate them!


10th October, 1913

35 Belgrave Square,

London

My darling Tom,

I can't tell you how deliriously happy I was when your letter arrived. I did not for one minute dare dream that you would reply to me. Imagine my delight when I received your letter.

Imagine it and triple it. Quadruple it! Even that does not describe the happiness I felt.

To know that you miss me as much as I miss you fills me with joy. I should perhaps not say that because I do not wish for you to be unhappy, but I cannot help it. I should have been devastated to know that you do not think of me as I think so often of you.

I miss you so much. I miss everything, even the little things. I miss you squeezing my fingers when you hand me into the car. I miss sneaking glances at your beautiful blue eyes in the mirror as you drive me around when I am with my sisters or my mother.

I miss the smell of your pomade on the pillow as I fall asleep. I miss drinking tea with you. I miss chatting with you. I miss hearing your voice.

But most of all, I miss your body lying next to me, your strong arms around me, your lips on mine. I miss the way you look at me. I miss the way my heart skips when I see you.

I cannot wait to come home to you. I cannot wait to feel your arms around me. I cannot wait to kiss you. I cannot wait for you to put your lips on that spot on my neck. I cannot wait for you to finally kiss every inch of me.

London is still miserable and thoughts of you are all that keep me going, my darling.

So, until I see you again, tà grà agam duit, mo chuisle.

Yours from the bottom of my heart,

M

xxxxx


'Come in,' Cora called in answer to the knock on her door, dabbing her mouth with her napkin.

'Good morning, Mama,' Mary said, coming in and standing beside the bed where her mother was taking her breakfast. 'I'm going out for luncheon today. I thought I'd better tell you.'

'Really? With whom?' Cora asked, surprised but thrilled that someone had apparently thawed and asked Mary to join them for luncheon.

Mary hesitated briefly, knowing that her mother would make more of this than it warranted. 'Evelyn Napier.'

'Evelyn? Well, that's marvellous,' Cora beamed, her mind ticking over. 'Does that mean he's resumed his interest in you?'

Mary made a physical effort to refrain from rolling her eyes. 'No, it doesn't. He's practically engaged to Angela Semphill, Mama, you know that.'

'Yes, but she's such a plain, dull, little thing that I thought perhaps he'd had second thoughts. You are much more of a catch than she is,' Cora said, wondering if perhaps that might not be true whatever Mary said.

'Well, Angela will be at lunch along with several other people, so I shall pass on your regards to her, shall I?' Mary said, slyly.

Cora huffed out an irritated sigh. 'All right, I understand what you're saying, Mary. I am not to consider Evelyn as a potential suitor.'

'No, you're not. He's a friend. A very good friend,' Mary said, firmly. 'And he's being kind enough to help me try to break through this wall of disapproval you're forcing me to face.'

'And so he should. If he hadn't brought that man to Downton in the first place, none of this would be happening,' Cora groused, wishing – not for the first time – that Kemal Pamuk had never darkened their door.

Mary held her tongue, not wishing to tell her mother that Evelyn was well aware of that fact because he knew what Pamuk had done.

'Very well. I hope your luncheon is a success, Mary,' Cora said, picking up her orange juice. 'Could you ring the bell for O'Brien before you leave, please?'

Mary crossed the room to tug on the bell before turning back to her mother. 'Have a pleasant day, Mama. I will see you later.'


15th October, 1913

Downton Abbey,

Yorkshire

Dear Sarah,

I hope London isn't too much of a drag. Have you had a chance to get out of the house and do anything interesting?

It's as dull as ditch water here. But then you wouldn't expect anything different, would you? Even poking at Bates and winding up William isn't that much fun. There was something I wanted to mention, though, because you might be able to help me.

Branson got a letter from London. I thought it was odd because, as far as I know, he doesn't normally get letters from London. So, who's writing to him from there? That's when I thought it might be Lady Mary. It wasn't her writing on the envelope – it was addressed in capital letters, which I thought peculiar. I can't help thinking it is strange that he starts getting letters from London once she's decamped to that city.

So, I thought maybe you might be up for a little bit of sleuthing. Do you think you might be able to poke around and see it she's writing to him or even if she's getting letters from Downton that can't be accounted for by the family?

Let me know if you find anything out, won't you?

Your friend,

Thomas Barrow


Miss O'Brien folded up Thomas' letter and pushed it into the pocket of her dress as the bell sounded summoning her to her ladyship's room.

So, Branson was getting letters from London, was he? Well, it wouldn't hurt to have a bit of a discreet snoop, see if Lady Mary was sending love letters to the chauffeur. At least it was something mildly diverting to entertain her in this place.


The opportunity to begin her investigation into Lady Mary's correspondence came quicker and earlier than Miss O'Brien expected. As she was approaching the countess' room, Lady Mary came walking along the corridor, dressed to go out and with a number of letters clutched in her hand.

'Good morning, O'Brien,' Lady Mary said, politely.

'Good morning, milady. Are you going out?'

'Yes, I am.'

'Would you like me to take care of posting your letters? I have some to dispatch for her ladyship,' Miss O'Brien said, taking care to sound like a good, helpful lady's maid.

'Oh, er, yes, thank you,' Lady Mary said, handing over the letters without any hesitation.

O'Brien took them, suppressing a smile. 'I'll make sure they get away this morning.'

Lady Mary nodded and continued on her way. Miss O'Brien watched carefully until she was out of sight and then looked down at the letters in her hand, sifting through them. One for Lady Sybil, one for the Dowager, one to the Honourable Laura Drumgoole and one addressed to Madame Swann in Ripon. All were in Lady Mary's customary flowing writing.

Miss O'Brien pursed her lips, disappointed by the lack of evidence that Lady Mary was writing to Branson but not discouraged. It was early days yet.

She pushed the letters into her pocket and knocked on Lady Grantham's bedroom door.


'Mary, I'm so glad you could come,' Evelyn said, standing up and stepping forward to kiss Mary on the cheek as she arrived at the restaurant.

'Of course. My diary will never be too full for you, Evelyn,' Mary replied, smiling gratefully at her friend.

'You remember Angela, don't you?' he continued, gesturing at the woman beside him, the one he was rumoured to be courting.

'I do. It's lovely to see you again, Angela,' Mary said politely, flashing another smile. She couldn't help but think that her mother had described her perfectly: a plain, dull, little thing.

Angela Semphill nodded, but said nothing, not looking in the least bit pleased to see Mary there.

'And this is my friend, Stephen Hollander and his fiancée, Margaret Smithers,' Evelyn continued, concluding the introductions.

'It's very nice to meet you,' Mary said, nodding at the other couple at the table.

Stephen nodded back, retaking his seat as Mary sat. Margaret shot a quick look at Angela, and then muttered, 'Good afternoon', gazing at Mary with interest.

'Mary's down from Yorkshire for a few weeks,' Evelyn said companionably, 'so I thought it might be nice to invite her along to lunch.'

'I hope you don't mind,' Mary said, smiling brightly at the other three.

'Not at all,' Stephen replied, returning her smile. 'The more, the merrier, I say.'

'Well, that's not quite true, is it? It does rather make the numbers somewhat uneven,' Angela said, unable to quite hide her displeasure.

'Oh, I don't know about that. I find five to be quite a nice round number,' Evelyn said, smoothly. 'Shall we order?'

Mary picked up the menu on her plate and lowered her eyes, striving to keep her tongue in check. Evelyn had been kind enough to invite her to luncheon. She did not want to repay him by taking his putative fiancée to task for her rudeness.


Miss O'Brien glanced up and down the corridor, checking the coast was clear, and then twisted the handle to Lady Mary's room, slipping inside. She took a quick look around, spied what looked like a correspondence folder on the dressing table and made a beeline for it.

With another quick glance at the door, she flipped it open, flicking through the contents. There were opened letters inside, several from Lady Sybil, one or two from the Dowager, and a number from friends of Lady Mary, but there was no sign of a letter from Branson or even one of a remotely romantic or lascivious nature.

Miss O'Brien shuffled the letters back into place and closed the folder, replacing it carefully exactly as she'd found it and then she straightened up to look around the room. She crossed to the nearest bedside cabinet pulling open the top drawer and rifling through it. Again, there was no sign of a letter. Disappointed but undeterred, she shut the drawer and made her way down through the remaining two drawers on this side. Again, there was nothing.

She moved to make her way to the other side of the bed and froze as the door opened. Hastily, she stepped away from the bed.

Anna walked in with some of Lady Mary's clothes over her arm and stopped dead in surprise as she saw Miss O'Brien standing in the middle of the room.

'What are you doing in here?' she asked, suspicion creasing her forehead.

Miss O'Brien pulled herself up straight, head high. 'I was looking for you, actually,' she said, fronting it out.

'Me? What for?'

'I found this button on the floor in her ladyship's room,' she said, pushing her hand into her pocket and pulling out a button she'd found a couple of days ago. 'It's not from any of her ladyship's things, so I wondered if it might be from one of Lady Mary's garments.'

Anna walked over, taking the button from Miss O'Brien and examining it. 'No, I don't think it's off one of Lady Mary's things.'

Miss O'Brien took the button back and returned it to her pocket. 'Well, it was worth asking.'

She turned towards the door, making her escape until Anna's voice stopped her.

'Miss O'Brien.'

'What?' the lady's maid bit out, impatiently.

'Next time you want to see me, come and find me in the servants' hall. There's no need for you to wait for me to come to Lady Mary's room. I don't think she'd like that,' Anna said, her tone polite but firm.

'I wasn't waiting for you. I was looking for you. There's a difference,' Miss O'Brien responded, testily.

'Maybe. But you didn't simply poke your head around the door, see if I was here and leave when you saw I wasn't,' Anna said, not willing to let her point go unheeded.

Miss O'Brien glared at her colleague. 'I thought perhaps you might be in the bathroom.'

Anna met her glare with an unmoved stare of her own. 'Well, as I said, in future, please seek me out in the servants' hall or quarters.'

Miss O'Brien huffed, gave a grudging nod and left the room.

Anna looked carefully around, wondering what the lady's maid had been up to in Lady Mary's room. Nothing appeared to be out of place or missing, but it was decidedly odd, and knowing Miss O'Brien, she was definitely up to no good.

She would have to keep an eye on her because whatever she was up to, it was unlikely to be something in Lady Mary's interests.


'And then Archie ran screaming from the pond, holding his trousers up,' Stephen finished, laughing heartily along with Evelyn, Mary and Margaret. 'I don't think he's so much as set foot back in Rutland ever since.'

'Oh, Stevie, darling, you do tell the best stories,' Margaret giggled, putting an affectionate hand on her fiancé's arm.

'Well, I don't think it's appropriate to tell stories like that in public,' Angela sniffed, dampening the spirits at the table.

'Why not?' Margaret asked, ready to defend her man.

'He was not properly attired!' Angela exclaimed. 'I'm sure Archie wouldn't like people knowing that.'

'Do you know him?' Stephen asked.

'No.'

'Then there's no harm done, is there?' he replied, picking up his wine glass.

'And there was nothing salacious about it,' Mary put in.

'Wasn't there? Well, I suppose you'd know all about that,' Angela said, cattily.

'Angela,' Evelyn said, looking at her in surprise.

'Oh, don't look at me like that, Evelyn. We all know she's only here because you're the only one soft enough to invite her,' Angela snapped.

Mary regarded Angela across the table, an icy calm settling on her after the initial flush of shame that had shot through her at the woman's words. 'And why would that be?'

'You know exactly why.'

'No, I'm afraid I don't. Perhaps you would care to enlighten me.'

Angela glanced around the table for support, only to see Margaret looking down at her plate, Stephen narrowing his eyes at her and Evelyn clenching his jaw. She pressed on regardless, unwilling to back down.

'Reports of your behaviour with that Turk are all over London. Don't pretend you don't know that.'

'Well, reports of my behaviour are woefully incorrect,' Mary said, coolly. 'I have done nothing to be ashamed of. And certainly nothing that warrants talking about.'

'That's not what we've all heard.'

'Angela, I have told you that the rumours about Mary are lies,' Evelyn said, leaning in to keep the conversation private from the people dining nearby. 'I thought you understood that.'

'I understand that for whatever reason, you feel protective of her. That does not mean the rumours are untrue,' Angela maintained, her jaw tightening with anger as Evelyn defended Mary.

'Do you know, I haven't actually been privileged enough to hear the rumours,' Mary said, as casually as she could. 'Perhaps you'd be good enough to tell me exactly what it is that people are saying about me.'

All eyes swivelled to her, surprise on their faces.

'You can't be serious?' Angela hissed, her cheeks flushing.

'Oh, but I am. How can I fully refute them when I don't know precisely what they are?' Mary replied, meeting Angela's gaze without flinching.

'Mary – ' Evelyn began, only to be cut off by Angela.

'They are saying that you… you gave yourself to him.'

'Right. And is that all they are saying?' Mary enquired, calmly.

'No. They say that you might have had something to do with his death. That you might even have killed him,' Angela continued.

'Goodness. And how did I do that? Lead piping to the head? Arsenic in his tea? Perhaps I set the fox hounds on him,' Mary said, her voice clear but cold.

'No, of course not,' Angela retorted.

'Then how?'

'When you… while you… oh, you know exactly what they are saying,' Angela snapped.

'Oh. Are they suggesting I was too much for him in the bedroom, too voracious perhaps, and that's why he died?' Mary asked, fighting to keep her voice calm.

'Yes. That's exactly what they are saying.'

'Well, you're right,' Mary said, seeing all four heads at the table whip around towards her in shock. 'That is salacious. And completely false. I did not give myself to Kemal Pamuk. I have never given myself to anyone. And I did not kill him.'

'Well, you would say that, wouldn't you? You're hardly going to admit it's true, are you?' Angela sniped.

'And you would be one of those small-minded people who believe every piece of unfounded gossip they hear, wouldn't you?' Mary snapped, narrowing her eyes at Angela. 'Quite honestly, I could tell you that it is all untrue until I am blue in the face, but you would rather believe the lie, wouldn't you?'

'We only have your word that it's a lie.'

'That's not true. You have Evelyn's word too,' Mary observed, nodding towards her friend. 'And he has the advantage of having been there. And yet you choose not to believe him either. Which is very odd if you are indeed hoping to marry him.'

Angela glanced uncomfortably at Evelyn, who stared back at her, unimpressed with her behaviour. 'Yes, well, Evelyn is very loyal. He may be blinded by that.'

'Evelyn is also possibly the most honest person I have ever met,' Mary retorted, fixing Angela with a look and then turning towards the man in question. 'Evelyn, how did Mr Pamuk die?'

'He had an aneurysm.'

'And where was he found?'

'In his bedroom at Downton Abbey.'

'And is that bedroom anywhere near the family quarters?'

'No, it was on the Bachelor Corridor next to mine.'

'And did you hear anything that night that suggested I was with Mr Pamuk in his bedroom?'

'No, I did not,' Evelyn said, unequivocally.

'And was there any suggestion that I was involved in his death while you were at Downton?'

'No, not in the slightest. There was no suggestion other than Kemal had suffered an aneurysm during the night and died in his bed. That is what the local doctor concluded and it was confirmed by the inquest,' Evelyn said, looking around the table. 'Mary had nothing to do with it.'

'That doesn't mean she didn't sleep with him,' Angela insisted, flashing a look of intense dislike at Mary.

'It's true that Kemal showed an interest in Mary,' Evelyn said, calmly. 'But I saw her actively avoiding his attentions that evening.'

Mary glanced at Evelyn, grateful he had focused on the latter part of the evening after Pamuk had kissed her and she'd subsequently steered clear of him instead of mentioning her flirtatious behaviour at the hunt and immediately afterwards.

'So, as one of the few people who were actually there that evening, do you believe I gave myself to Kemal Pamuk?' Mary asked, aware that everyone at the table was hanging on her every word.

'No, I do not,' Evelyn said, clearly. 'You retired for the night at the same time as your sisters. Kemal and I remained downstairs with the rest of the men for half an hour or so after you withdrew, and then we walked upstairs together. The last time I saw him was as he went into his bedroom. To my knowledge, apart from the servant who acted as his valet that night, I was the last person to see him alive.'

There was silence around the table as that sank in.

'Well, it sounds fairly unequivocal to me,' Stephen said, finally. 'I've known you for a long time, Evelyn, and you've always been an unfailingly honest chap. I see no reason to start disbelieving you now.'

'Neither do I,' Margaret agreed, giving Mary a quick smile.

'Angela?' Evelyn asked, turning his head towards her.

She glared at Mary before answering him. 'I think you believe what you're saying, Evelyn. But that doesn't mean that it is entirely true.'

'Oh, for goodness sake,' Evelyn groaned, his patience wearing thin

Mary pursed her lips and nodded once. 'So, I was right. You are the kind of small-minded person who would rather believe a salacious lie than a boring truth.'

'I am not small-minded!' Angela hissed, her dislike of Mary written all over her face.

Mary bent to pick up her handbag. 'Thank you for the invitation, Evelyn. As ever, it was a delight to see you. Stephen, Margaret, it was lovely to meet you and I hope to see you again.'

'You're not leaving?' Evelyn said, appalled that Angela's behaviour was driving his guest away.

'I think it's for the best, don't you?' Mary replied, rising to her feet, the gentlemen standing with her. 'Please enjoy the rest of your meal.'

With that she turned and walked away, refusing to let herself shake until she was safely outside the building.


17th October, 1913

35 Belgrave Square

London

Dear Thomas,

I hope this note finds you well. Although why I should hope that is beyond me since your request almost got me into trouble.

I've done as you asked and examined Lady Mary's correspondence, both outgoing and incoming. I offered to post her letters and can inform you that none of them were addressed to Branson nor were they written in capital letters.

I also took the opportunity to enter her room while she was out and look through her correspondence folder. There were no letters in there either from or to our Irish friend. I was in the process of checking her bedside cabinets. I looked through one and found nothing and was about to search the other but Anna nearly caught me at it. I had to make up some cockamamie story about a button to explain why I was in Lady Mary's room. I don't think she believed me either. Not that she's done anything about it, but that's hardly the point. The point is that I won't be rootling around doing your dirty business anymore. I do not wish to be dismissed from my position.

So, to whit, if you want to find out if Lady Mary is indeed writing some kind of lovey-dovey letters to the chauffeur, you're going to have to get chummy with him and ask him yourself. Or something of that ilk; it's up to you. Either way, kindly refrain from involving me again in this business.

Your friend (although begrudgingly so at the moment)

Sarah O'Brien

PS Please make sure you burn this letter after reading it. I do not want any evidence lying around that I violated Lady Mary's privacy because, as I said before, I do not wish to lose my position. Especially not just to satisfy your curiosity.


As luck would have it, her mother was coming down the stairs as Mary walked in Rosamund's front door.

'You're back early,' Cora said, in surprise. 'I thought you'd still be lunching.'

'It turns out the company was not to my taste.'

'Evelyn?' Cora frowned, wondering what on earth the unassuming, affable Evelyn Napier could have done to upset her daughter.

'No, Angela Semphill.'

'Evelyn's intended?'

'Yes.'

'You didn't like her?'

'It was more that she didn't like me. And that she believed the rumours about me to be true, even when Evelyn tried to vouch for my good character,' Mary said, bitterly.

Cora glanced at the footman by the door and took hold of Mary's arm, tugging her into the drawing room and closing the door behind them. 'What happened?'

'Exactly what I told you, which if you'll remember is exactly what I told you I thought would happen if I came down here. But, no, you wouldn't have it, would you?' Mary snapped, pulling her arm out of her mother's grasp.

'It's better to face the rumours and pour scorn on them,' Cora insisted.

'Well, you'll be pleased to hear that's exactly what I did, although a fat lot of good it will do. It's out there, Mama, and it appears you can't put this particular genie back in the bottle no matter how much you might want to,' Mary bit out, all the frustration and hurt she'd bottled up on the way back from the restaurant boiling over.

'We can try.'

'We? There's no we, Mama! It's just me! I'm the one being gossiped about! I'm the one they're pointing at and whispering about! Me!' Mary cried, sick and tired of being in the firing line every time she left the house.

'That's not fair! What do you think I've been doing all this time? Do you think it's been easy for me to face all the society matrons? Don't you think they've been whispering about me too?' Cora flung back at her daughter.

'Then why didn't we stay in Yorkshire? Why didn't you let me stay out of sight and out of mind?' Mary shouted, at a loss to understand her mother's thinking.

'Because you weren't out of mind! I was getting more and more hints in letters from friends and acquaintances that something was amiss, that rumours were swirling! I couldn't just ignore it and hope it would go away! I had to do something!'

Mary glared at her mother and then dropped into the nearest seat, shaking as her emotions got the better of her. 'I can't bear it, Mama. I can't bear them talking about me. I can't bear men thinking they can take a shot at me because they've heard I'm an easy target.'

Cora frowned, shooting a worried look at Mary. 'What do you mean? What men?'

Mary rubbed her hands wearily over her forehead, wishing she'd never said that.

'Mary? Has something happened? Has someone… has someone approached you?' Cora asked, coming to sit on the chair beside Mary, her protective instincts coming to the fore.

Mary sighed and sat up straight, looking her mother in the eyes. 'Percy Allingham. He cornered me on the terrace at the Dunsany ball. He let me know in no uncertain and very descriptive terms that he considered me ripe for the plucking and that I should be grateful for his attention.'

Cora narrowed her eyes, her heart leaping into her mouth. 'What happened?'

'He put his hands on me, but I kneed him in his privates and then squeezed him hard enough between the legs to make his eyes pop and water. I left him in no doubt that his advances were unwanted,' Mary said defiantly, waiting for the inevitable censure.

Cora stared at her daughter in astonishment and then to the surprise of both of them, a laugh erupted from her. She clapped her hand over her mouth, looking shocked that such a noise had come out of her.

'You didn't?' she said, taking her hand away.

'I most certainly did,' Mary told her, looking at her mother in surprise.

Cora laughed again, reaching out a hand to grasp one of Mary's. 'Oh, my darling. I am so proud of you.'

'You are?' Mary said warily, waiting for the catch.

'I am. I am proud of you for defending your honour and giving that vile little oik a lesson he richly deserved. How dare he treat you like that!' Cora said, her anger rising.

Mary stared at her mother, not quite sure that she was hearing this right.

'Do you know, his father once propositioned me back before your papa and I were engaged,' Cora confided. 'He was uncouth and ungentlemanly too. Apparently, the apple doesn't fall very far from the tree. Francis Allingham appeared to think that because I am American, I must have looser morals than English girls. I wish I had been quite as brave as you.'

'What did you do?' Mary asked, curiously.

'I stamped on his foot and fled. I would not dare have done what you did.'

'That's not to be sniffed at, Mama. At least it helped you escape and prevented something much worse from happening,' Mary said, feeling a grudging respect for the twenty-year-old version of her mother, who appeared to have had more presence of mind than she'd had when Kemal Pamuk entered her room.

Cora sobered, her smile fading. She squeezed Mary's hand. 'I am so sorry for what happened to you, my darling girl. I am sorry that I was not more supportive. And I am sorry that you are having to pay a price for something that man did.'

Mary nodded, a lump rising in her throat at her mother's acknowledgement of what had happened to her.

'It's not fair,' Cora continued, gently. 'I do know that. I know you think I don't, but I do. I'm just trying to do what I can to fix it.'

Mary put her hand over her mother's, looking up at her sadly. 'I'm not sure we can fix it, Mama.'

'I think we have to try, Mary.'

'Can't we just go home?' Mary begged, desperate to leave this harsh city and go back to the fresh, clean air of Yorkshire to be with people who loved her without judgement.

Cora pressed her lips together, meeting her daughter's gaze, seeing the pressure she was under. 'We have another ball on Saturday.'

Mary's shoulders slumped in defeat, already envisioning another miserable night of having to weather the storm of speculation and gossip and condemnation.

Cora leaned forward, clasping her hand tighter. 'We will go to the ball with our heads held high, my darling. And then we will go home.'

Mary lifted her eyes to her mother's, hope leaping in her chest. 'When?'

'Next week.'

'We don't have to stay for the full month?'

'No, I think three weeks is enough. I think perhaps we should retire from the field for a while. Plan an alternative strategy.'

'Not Anthony Strallan?' Mary questioned, her heart already sinking.

'Not necessarily. But I don't think we should burn that bridge. It's wiser to keep Sir Anthony as an option, even if it is as a last resort,' Cora said, finally willing to bend on that subject.

'Really?' Mary asked, hardly daring to hope.

Cora squeezed her hand again. 'I want you to be happy. I know you may not believe me, but I do.'

Mary let out a breath, wanting so much to believe that.

'Are you sure there's no chance that you might come to think of Evelyn differently?' Cora asked, tentatively lobbing up another option that she hoped had not quite withered on the vine.

'No, definitely not,' Mary said, shaking her head.

'Are you sure? He's very fond of you and you do seem to like him,' Cora pressed.

'I do like him. And that's exactly why I could never marry him. Evelyn is a fine man and he deserves someone who will look at him and want no other. That's not me, Mama. He would always be the man I settled for,' Mary said, honestly. 'He is a dear friend, so I want more than that for him. And for me.'

Cora hesitated. 'You might have to settle for someone anyway, Mary. You do know that, don't you?'

Mary sighed, thinking longingly of Tom, wishing there was some way he could be accepted by her family and friends. 'I know, Mama. But I can dream, can't I?'

Cora gazed at her silently, deciding not to push it any further.

'All right. I shall not pursue the matter further. And perhaps you are right, out of sight may well become out of mind if we give it time. I mean, how long can it really be before someone does something to attract the gossips' attention and give them something fresh to talk about?'

Mary nodded, feeling some of the weight lift from her shoulders. She'd be going home sooner than she thought, and that meant one thing – she'd be reunited with Tom sooner rather than later.

'Milady, some letters arrived for you in the second post,' Mead said, walking towards Mary with a silver tray as she left the drawing room and headed for the stairs.

'Thank you, Mead,' Mary said as she took the letters from Rosamund's butler. She glanced at the top one and her heart leapt with joy as she recognised Tom's writing. Once again, it was postmarked from York.

She ran up the stairs to her bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her and threw herself into the easy chair. She picked up his letter, pulled it open and took it out of the envelope.

15th October, 1913

Downton,

Yorkshire

Mo chuisle,

Your letter was balm to my aching heart. To see you list the ways you miss me... I can hardly believe I am lucky enough to have such a woman as you feel such things for me. I never dreamed this would be possible when I began to feel things for you.

I know perhaps I should err on the side of caution and not write to you again, but I cannot bear to have no contact with you now I know it is possible. I shall post this again from York, so there can be no suspicion about you getting a letter from Downton that is not from one of your family.

How are you, my love? I hope things have improved or that you are bearing up. I worry about you. Are you sleeping enough?

I lay awake last night thinking about you. I found myself lying on my side, gazing at the side of the bed where you sleep and imagining you there, the moonlight silvering your beautiful face and your dark, silky hair. If only that could be. How I should love to go to sleep beside you at night and wake up to you in the morning. To be able to reach out and feel you next to me, to be able to pull you to me and kiss you awake would be heaven itself.

Oh, Mary, my darling, it feels like an eternity since I last held you in my arms. When you come home, and I can hold you once again, I'm not sure I will ever be able to let you go. You feel so right in my embrace, like my arms were made to hold you and only you.

Tell me you will come to me when you finally come home. Tell me you will find me and fall into my arms and let me hug the breath out of you. Tell me you will let me kiss your lips and your cheeks, your jaw and your neck until we are both dizzy with it.

They do say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, mo chuisle. I did not believe I could be fonder of you than I was when you left Downton, but these last few weeks have put the lie to that. My heart is more full of love for you now than ever before. Sometimes, I feel like it might burst with how much I feel when I think of you.

I am, my love, entirely and completely yours. Every last piece of me is yours to do with as you wish.

Tà grà agam duit, mo chuisle.

Ever yours,

T

Xxxxx

Mary clasped his letter to her chest, her heart racing, euphoria flowing through her. Everything he said, she felt it too. She couldn't wait to see him. To fall into his arms. To kiss him.

Soon, she told herself. Soon.