Author's note: Thank you for the review! In answer to your question, I'm not planning on doing a standalone story to show what Tom is doing while Mary is in London. He's basically just working.

October 1913

'Well, if I were you, I would make every effort to make sure your daughter is not left alone with Percy Allingham, that's all I'm saying,' Rosamund said sotto voce to the matronly woman beside her as they watched the young couples glide around the dancefloor. 'I have it on very good authority that he behaved in a most appalling and ungentlemanly fashion towards a young lady of the highest quality at the Dunsany ball last week.'

'No! Do tell!' her companion urged, all agog at the gossip. 'What happened? Who did he compromise?'

'I will not name names. You know as well as I do, Cecily, how delicate a young lady's reputation is, but young Allingham grabbed her in an intimate area he had no business touching. Fortunately for her and unfortunately for him, she was not of a mind or a disposition to be trifled with, especially by a weak-chinned blackguard like him, so she was not compromised. But it was not through lack of trying on his part.'

'What happened, Rosamund? You must tell me! You simply must spill the beans,' Cecily asked, desperate for the scandalous details of the encounter.

'Suffice it to say that she did not take kindly to his advances, and she kneed him quite hard in a rather sensitive area,' Rosamund replied, raising an eloquent eyebrow.

'She did not!' Cecily exclaimed breathlessly, beside herself with the nature of this gossip.

'She did. He was walking with a limp for quite some time afterwards from what I hear. In fact, I do recall seeing him with a somewhat peculiar gait on the night in question.'

'She really… in the… the you-know-whats?' Cecily asked, her eyes wide, gesturing delicately downwards with her closed fan.

'Yes, she most certainly did,' Rosamund confirmed with a knowing smile. 'And thank goodness, she did. We all know the Allingham men take it for granted that their advances will be successful whether they are welcomed or not, don't we?'

'Yes, indeed. Like father, like son, I think we can agree. There are not many women who have not been groped by Francis Allingham at one stage or another,' Cecily nodded, tapping her fan thoughtfully against her chest. 'How very fortunate that the young lady in question maintained the presence of mind to defend herself.'

'Thank goodness, indeed. It is a cautionary tale, don't you think? Sometimes men feel so entitled to take what they want without fear of recrimination. I find this tale of a young woman defending her honour quite inspiring.'

'And you won't tell me who she is? This brave young woman?' Cecily pressed, eager to know the identity of the intrepid lady.

Rosamund hesitated, making a show of almost being on the precipice of telling her companion the name she longed to hear. 'No, I cannot. I promised I wouldn't say. All I will say is that she has recently been falsely accused of improper behaviour and that young Allingham took encouragement from that scurrilous rumour, but he miscalculated badly. She defended herself against him quite robustly.'

'Goodness me,' Cecily replied, her mind whirring. Although Rosamund had not explicitly identified the young lady, she couldn't help but think that it could be Mary Crawley. She was currently the talk of London for her alleged immoral behaviour with the young Turk who died at Downton. As she was Rosamund's niece, it wasn't a great stretch to see how her friend would know the spicy details of this encounter with Percy Allingham. And it was quite interesting to hear that the young lady in the Allingham affair was falsely accused of improper behaviour on a previous occasion.

Rosamund silently watched the seed she'd planted take root in her friend's mind and pressed down on a smile. If Cecily Halstead knew something gossip-worthy, it would be all over the ball by the end of the evening. Even if it didn't go any way to clearing Mary's name in the Pamuk affair, it would go some way to establishing a reputation for Percy Allingham as being untrustworthy with the young women currently hunting for husbands. And that would be a victory of sorts after what he'd tried to do to Mary.

'Oh, there's Sylvia over there. Would you excuse me? I have to update her on the details of a committee meeting she missed this week,' Rosamund said, bestowing a smile on her companion.

She moved off, circling to the other side of the room. She passed Cora on the way in conversation with yet another of the biggest gossips in the room. She smiled at her sister-in-law and gave her a quick nod. She saw Cora suppress a smile and knew her message had got through.

Between the two of them, they would be leaving here with the information about Percy Allingham's reprehensible behaviour towards Mary firmly seeded amongst the protective mothers in attendance. And if there was a suspicion that Mary was the young woman who robustly defended herself against him, then that was an added bonus. It wouldn't do to mention her specifically in case the rumours about the Pamuk affair overwhelmed the Allingham gossip, but it may help to plant doubt about the veracity of the Pamuk rumours.

'Once again, I am so sorry for Angela's behaviour at luncheon,' Evelyn said as he whirled Mary around the room.

'It's hardly your fault, Evelyn. You don't need to keep apologising,' Mary replied, happy to be dancing and not stuck being the evening's most prominent wallflower.

'No, but still. I feel somewhat responsible for putting you in that position.'

Mary was silent for a moment, casting a quick look at her old friend's face. 'Are you really going to marry her?'

Evelyn sighed, looking resigned. 'My mother is pushing for it. She is old friends with Angela's mother, and they have decided between them that we would make a fine match.'

'I don't see it myself. I can't see how anyone could think you would be a good match with Angela. You are a much more honourable person than she is. I think you can do so much better than a small-minded woman like her,' Mary observed.

'Can I?' Evelyn replied, meeting Mary's eyes, looking at her frankly. 'I'm not enough for a woman like you.'

'Oh, Evelyn, you don't want someone like me. I'm not good enough for you either, and you are certainly far too good for me,' Mary said, trying to keep her reply light, aware that her friend would be open to more between them and not wanting to hurt him.

'I beg to differ,' he said, his tone equally light despite his feelings on the subject.

'Oh, don't, I'm being serious. I'm a spiky, argumentative creature. You need someone much more amiable than me. Someone closer to your own genial nature. As much as I love and value you as a dear friend, I think we would drive each other mad if we were to move towards matrimony,' Mary pronounced.

'How so?' Evelyn asked, curious to know.

'Well, I am quite forthright when I disagree with someone as you might have noticed. You would be forever pouring oil over the troubled waters I leave in my wake, which I imagine would get tiresome fairly quickly,' Mary said, offering him a small rueful smile. 'It would lead to a less than harmonious life. Especially when you tire of putting out fires everywhere and attempted to make me change my ways and upset fewer people. I suspect we would fall out quite often if that happened.'

Evelyn smiled, any faint hope of Mary changing her mind about the nature of their relationship slipping away. 'You sound like you've given this some thought.'

'I have. For reasons you will understand only too well, my mother is keen to marry me off as soon as possible and has floated your name as a possible husband. But I respect you and value your friendship too much, Evelyn, to cast you as the sacrificial lamb in this scenario. Truthfully, I am not ready to marry, especially not for these reasons, and I know myself well enough to know that if I am forced to do something I do not want to do, it will not go well for my unfortunate fiancé or husband,' Mary said, honestly. 'I do not wish to lose one of my dearest friends because we had been forced into an inadvisable marriage.'

Evelyn gazed down at her as they continued to twirl around the dance floor, appreciating her honesty, even if it was not the outcome he might have preferred. 'Then you and I shall remain dear friends, Mary. And I shall treasure that.'

Mary returned his smile, relieved to have faced up to that awkward moment and got through it unscathed.

'And Angela? Will you go through with it?' she asked, hoping that Evelyn would realise he deserved far more in a wife than Angela Semphill.

He sighed again. 'We shall see. Mother can be quite indomitable in will when she sets her mind to something and she appears to have decided Angela is the wife for me.'

'But you are the one who will have to live with her,' Mary pointed out quietly.

'Yes. And that is why I am dragging my heels somewhat,' Evelyn admitted.

'Perhaps you could take some time away. Visit the continent maybe to think things over before committing yourself,' Mary suggested, delicately.

'Yes, perhaps. That might give me a temporary respite at the very least,' he replied, looking thoughtful.

'I hear Paris is lovely in the winter,' Mary said, raising a cheeky eyebrow.

Evelyn chuckled. 'Yes, so do I.'

'Might be worth a visit. Have you ever seen the Eiffel Tower? It's apparently very elegant.'

Evelyn smiled. 'Then perhaps I should find out.'

'Well, send me a postcard, won't you? I should love to know what it's like,' Mary said, smiling back at him.

Anna sat on the floor of Lady Mary's bedroom carefully wrapping her handbags in tissue so she could pack them into her trunk for the journey back to Downton. As she reached for the one Lady Mary had carried during most of their London trip, she heard and felt the crinkle and rustle of paper.

Puzzled, Anna opened up the bag. Normally, Lady Mary emptied her handbags after using them, transferring the contents to her bedside cabinet until the next day. Perhaps she'd simply forgotten tonight.

She reached inside and pulled out two letters and a handful of notes. She put them down on the floor, intending to put them on Lady Mary's bedside cabinet and then paused, her eyes snagging on the pile of notes.

The one on the top read: Milk is in the pantry. Pan is on the hob. Book is by the bed. Help yourself to anything else. Sweet dreams. TB

Anna frowned. That was odd. This was not the kind of note she would expect anyone to write to Lady Mary. Perhaps it was for someone else and Lady Mary had simply found the slip of paper and for whatever reason had kept it.

She hesitated, knowing she shouldn't pry but curious about the other notes. She picked up the next one and read it: Don't forget to set the alarm, sleepyhead! You don't want to be the subject of a manhunt. Sleep tight. TB

Anna chewed her lip, her mind working overtime. Each note was signed TB. They must have been written to Lady Mary. It was highly unlikely she would have found notes written by the same person to someone else. And if she did, why would she keep them? But it didn't make sense for these notes to be written to Lady Mary.

She picked up the third one: Thank you for the offer, but my milk comes from the big house, so you'd be paying me for something your father already pays for. I can't in good conscience take the money. Please don't feel beholden to me. I want you to feel welcome here, to treat my home as a safe place for you to rest. I remain, as ever, your friend. TB

This note confirmed beyond all doubt that Lady Mary was the intended recipient of the notes. The author talked about the big house and her father paying for the milk. That could only be Downton Abbey and Lord Grantham.

As she thought about it, a suspicion formed in her head. Someone was in correspondence with Lady Mary. Someone on the estate with their own home, not someone living in the servants' quarters. Anna connected the dots in her head. The chauffeur had his own cottage. TB. Tom Branson.

She felt her heart thud in her chest, shock racing through her, wondering how this could be true. The notes suggested that Lady Mary was going to Mr Branson's cottage to sleep. She thought back to the two occasions Lady Mary had asked her to deliver a note to the chauffeur. She'd wondered then what they could be corresponding about, but she had never dreamed it might be something like this.

She sifted through the rest of the notes, realising with astonishment that the tone of them became increasingly more affectionate. Some of them even indicated that he might be able to sneak out and see her that afternoon.

Anna put the last of the notes down and picked up one of the envelopes. The writing on the front matched that on the notes. Had Tom Branson been writing to Lady Mary while she was here in London? Incredible as it seemed, it looked like he had.

She chewed her lip, staring at the envelope in her hand. It was postmarked York, not Downton, but it was definitely the same writing and if she was right and it was Tom Branson's writing, he was more often in York than any other staff member. His lordship usually ventured into the city at least once a fortnight if not once a week. A quick look at the other envelope showed it had also been posted in York.

She put the envelope down. Although curiosity burned inside her, she would not violate her lady's privacy like that. The notes were one thing – they were not concealed inside an envelope – but opening and reading a private letter was quite another thing.

But still, the thought that Lord Grantham's chauffeur could be writing not just notes but letters to Lady Mary was shocking in the extreme.

Was it simply a friendship, this apparent relationship between Lady Mary and the chauffeur? Was it something more? Why was she going to his cottage? Was she really sleeping in his bed?

Anna sat back, her mind racing, wondering what she should do. Should she do anything? Should she simply pretend she'd never seen the notes? Should she say something to Lady Mary? Should she wait and speak to Mr Branson once they were back in Yorkshire? Should she say something to her ladyship? For once, Anna was at a loss as to what to do for the best.

Mary sighed in relief as she slipped off her dancing shoes. She'd danced more tonight than she had at any other point during this visit to London. Evelyn had more often than not partnered her, but some of his friends had also asked her to dance. Whether they'd done it as a favour to him or because they wanted to dance with her, she wasn't entirely sure, but it had been nice to not feel like such an outcast after the trying weeks she'd had.

Behind her, Anna silently undid the fastenings on her gown. Mary glanced in the mirror, looking at her maid in concern. Anna had barely said a word since she had returned, which wasn't like her. Normally, she would ask questions about the ball and how it had been. Tonight, though, she hadn't said anything more than 'Good evening'.

'I'm so sorry I'm back later than I said, Anna. I do hope I'm not keeping you up too late,' Mary said, feeling a little guilty that perhaps her maid was tired and just wanted to go to her bed after a long day.

'That's quite all right, milady,' Anna replied, the usual warmth missing from her tone.

Mary couldn't help but glance at her in the mirror as Anna continued with her work. 'Is everything all right?' she asked finally, wondering if something had happened to upset her maid.

Anna paused in her work, glancing up at Mary and then dipping her eyes again, an expression on her face that worried Mary.

'Anna? Has something happened? Has something or someone upset you?'

Anna stopped, looking up again to meet Mary's eyes. She opened her mouth and then shut it, seeming to think better of whatever she had been going to say.

'What? What's happened?' Mary asked, turning around to face her maid, taking hold of her hands, worried now. 'Tell me.'

Anna gazed at her and then tugged her hands free, walked over to the half-packed trunk and pulled out the handbag Mary had been using during the day.

'I was packing up your things ready for the journey home, milady. And I found… I found these,' she said, reaching into the bag and pulling out Tom's letters and the notes he'd left for Mary in his cottage.

Mary felt a red-hot wash of shock shoot through her as she stared at Anna standing there holding her greatest secret in her hands. Mutely, she raised her eyes to meet Anna's, unable to think of a single thing to say.

Anna stared back at her and then thrust the letters and notes towards her. 'Is this Mr Branson's writing?'

'What makes you think that?' Mary hedged, her heart freefalling even as she desperately tried to think how she could salvage this situation.

'TB. They're all signed TB,' Anna said, holding the pile of correspondence higher as if offering up evidence. 'And it's someone with a cottage on the estate, that much is obvious. Mr Branson has a cottage. And I've taken two notes from you to him in recent weeks.'

Mary swallowed, feeling sick. 'Have you read them?'

'The notes, yes. Not the letters,' Anna admitted. 'TB. Is that Mr Branson, milady?'

Mary was silent, her eyes locked onto Anna's, and then she nodded, unable to deny it.

Anna dropped her arm, the letters and notes still clasped in her hand, and stood there, staring at Mary in disbelief. 'What's going on, milady? What are you doing?'

'I… I…' Mary stammered, not knowing quite what to say. Whenever she'd imagined confiding in her maid, she'd thought Anna would be happy for her, that they would giggle and laugh and she would share Mary's happiness, but Anna looked far from happy right now.

'He's written to you while you've been here in London?' Anna asked.

'Yes,' Mary admitted, shaken by the disapproval in Anna's voice, the look on her face.

'And have you written to him? Or is this all one-sided?'

'I've written to him,' Mary confessed.

'So, it's not one-sided, then. Whatever this is,' Anna said, heavily.

'No.'

'I thought not. Otherwise, you'd have had him dismissed,' Anna said, staring at Mary, dropping her hand to her side, the letters and notes still held tight in her fingers. 'Then I'll say again: what are you doing?'

Mary stared at her, helplessly.

Anna sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, something she would never normally do in Mary's presence. 'Talk to me, milady. I don't know what to think about all of this. Help me understand what's going on here.'

Mary crossed to the bed and sat beside Anna, worrying her lip. 'What do you want to know?'

'I want to know what's happening here. What is there between you and Mr Branson? How is there even anything between you and Mr Branson? What he says in these notes; what does it mean? Are you visiting his cottage?' Anna asked, questions tumbling out of her as her thoughts whirled.

Mary was silent for a moment and then took a deep breath. 'You know how I haven't been able to sleep properly in my bedroom since… since that man.'

Anna nodded. 'I thought that was getting better though. You seem more rested now.'

'I am, but only because I go to Tom's cottage and sleep there in the afternoons several days a week,' Mary said, letting Anna in on part of her secret.

Anna stared at her in amazement. 'You've been going to the chauffeur's cottage to sleep? For how long?'

'Since a few days after Pamuk attacked me.'

'Since March?' Anna squawked, astonished.

'Yes. He's been letting me use his cottage to rest. To sleep. I couldn't sleep in my own bed. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him, I felt him on top of me, and I couldn't breathe, I couldn't relax, I certainly couldn't sleep.'

'I remember,' Anna said, casting her mind back. 'I remember how tired you were. But what I don't understand is how Mr Branson came to be involved in this.'

Mary chewed her lip again, thinking back to the beginning of all this. 'The day after it happened, I went walking on the estate to try to clear my mind. But it was all too much, and I was sick. Literally. I was vomiting in the woods, and I fainted. Tom found me there and he took me back to his cottage for a cup of tea.'

'He took you back to his cottage?' Anna questioned, frowning, aghast that the chauffeur should be so forward.

'Oh, no, no, only because I asked him to,' Mary assured her quickly, immediately seeing the misunderstanding. 'He wanted to take me back to the Abbey, but I couldn't face it. My mother was so angry with me and everyone was talking about Mr Pamuk and I just… that was why I'd gone out in the first place because I couldn't stand being there for one minute longer. I asked him to take me to his cottage instead. And he did because what else could he do?'

'And then what? He suggested you sleep in his bed, did he?' Anna asked, not yet willing to let go of the possibility that the chauffeur had somehow forced the issue, had taken advantage of her mistress. He'd never seemed that type of man to her, but that didn't mean he wasn't.

Mary shook her head. 'No. It wasn't quite as clear-cut as all that. I was upset. Very upset. And he… well, he was quite wonderful actually.'

'What do you mean?'

'He… he listened to me. I told him what had happened and – '

'You told him?' Anna squeaked, shocked beyond measure. 'What do you mean: you told him? What did you tell him?'

'I told him what had happened with Pamuk,' Mary said calmly, thinking back to that day and realising for the first time in a long time how shocking it was that she'd confided such a personal thing to a stranger and a man to boot.

'Oh, heavens,' Anna muttered, really not sure what to think about all of this.

'He helped me, Anna. He didn't judge me; he helped me. He was the one who made me realise that it wasn't my fault,' Mary said earnestly, desperate to make her maid understand.

Anna stared at her, trying to come to terms with everything Mary was telling her. 'You really told him everything?'

'Yes. Everything.'

'Oh, my goodness.'

'And I'm glad I did because as it turns out, he was the one person who could help me.'

'What does that mean?' Anna asked, a frown creasing the skin between her eyes. 'How did he help you?'

'His mother is a midwife, so he knew about a tea I could drink to… to stop me having a baby,' Mary said, her voice low. 'Pamuk, he… he left his seed in me.'

Anna thought back to that strange conversation she'd had one morning with Lady Mary where she'd said she'd made sure there would be no child. 'So, I was right, you did do something to prevent a child,' she murmured.

Mary raised her head high. 'Yes, I did. And Tom helped me. He was… he was remarkable. He made the tea and he stayed with me while I drank it and afterwards when it made my womb cramp. He never left my side.'

Anna reached out a hand, taking hold of one of Mary's hands. 'Oh, milady. You could have come to me. I would have helped you.'

'Would you have known how to make such a tea?'

'No, but I could have tried to find someone who could.'

'But Tom could, Anna. He knew how to make the tea. And it worked. I didn't become pregnant, did I?'

'No. No, you didn't.'

'So, a few days later when I had barely slept, I ordered the motor and then I asked Tom if I could use his cottage to rest. I was at my wits' end. I needed to sleep, and I couldn't at home, but I'd fallen asleep at his cottage after I'd drunk the tea, so I asked and he said yes,' Mary said, explaining how her visits to Tom's cottage had begun. 'And it worked. It worked. I felt safer at his cottage than I did in my own bedroom, and I slept.'

Anna lifted the correspondence in her hand and looked at the top note, the one wishing the reader sweet dreams. 'So, are you still going to his cottage to sleep?'

'Yes.'

'And you… do you sleep in his bed?' Anna asked, her heart in her mouth.

'Yes. Well, I sleep on it. I don't get under the covers. I take a blanket from his wardrobe, and I put that over me when it's cold,' Mary said, keen to elaborate and let Anna know she'd never actually got between the sheets of Tom's bed. That seemed an important distinction to make.

Anna nodded absently, staring intently at her mistress, another question weighing on her tongue. 'And Mr Branson, is he there when you're sleeping in his bed?'

Mary hesitated. 'Sometimes.'

Anna's gaze was piercing. 'And is he on the bed with you?'

Mary flushed, defiantly meeting Anna's gaze. 'Sometimes.'

'Oh, milady!' Anna breathed, her hand flying to her mouth. 'How could you let that happen?'

'The first time, he carried me upstairs after I'd drunk the tea because I needed to lie down – I couldn't walk, you see, I could barely stand – and I asked him to stay with me because I was frightened. The pain was so bad, I thought I might die, and I didn't want to be alone,' Mary said urgently, the words tripping out of her, desperate to explain it all to Anna.

Anna stared at her in silence, biting her lip.

'I asked him to rub my back and he did and then we fell asleep. And after that, well, the first time after that, I asked him to stay to read to me until I fell asleep because… because he makes me feel safe, Anna. He soothes me, and I thought, I thought I needed him there to help me fall asleep. But he said he couldn't keep coming to the cottage with me, he said he felt like he was taking time off he wasn't entitled to, which he wasn't, but anyway, now he leaves a key for me, so I can come and go as I please,' Mary blurted out, summarising the start of it all for Anna.

Anna continued to stare at her, chewing on her lip as she thought. 'So, you're still using his cottage to sleep?'

'Yes.'

'But he's not always there?'

'No. Most of the time, he's not.'

'So, you're friends, then? Is that what you're saying? You and Mr Branson are friends.'

Mary swallowed, knowing she was going to have to make a choice; to trust her maid completely or not trust her to know the truth.

'Milady?'

Slowly, Mary shook her head, her eyes fixed on Anna, watching her face.

Anna cocked her head, looking at Mary carefully. 'You're not friends?'

'Yes, we are; we were,' Mary corrected, her heart in her mouth. 'But now we're…'

Anna waited, letting the silence stretch, hoping against hope that Lady Mary wouldn't say what she had a horrible feeling she was going to say.

'We're in love,' Mary finally said, her heart tripping in her chest as she told another person the truth about her and Tom for the very first time.

'In love?' Anna repeated, her heart sinking.

'Yes,' Mary said firmly, that defiant look back on her face.

'Oh, milady,' Anna said, shaking her head.

'What?' Mary snapped, rattled by her maid's reaction. 'What's wrong with that? Am I not allowed to have feelings? Am I not allowed to fall in love?'

'Of course, you are! Just not with the chauffeur!' Anna snapped back, uncharacteristically sharp with her mistress.

'You disapprove then?' Mary said, bitterly disappointed. 'I didn't think you'd be so judgemental, Anna. I thought you were better than that.'

Anna sighed. 'Oh, it's not about disapproving or being judgemental, milady. It's about the reality of the situation.'

'What do you mean by that?' Mary bit out.

'I mean you're Lord Grantham's daughter and he's Lord Grantham's chauffeur!' Anna exclaimed, hardly believing she had to spell this out to Lady Mary.

'Do you think I don't know that?' Mary cried, pushing off the bed to whirl around and stand before Anna. 'Don't you think I already know that it's not an ideal situation? But I can't help what I feel! I love him!'

Anna stood, leaving the letters and the notes on the bed, and looked her mistress in the eye. 'Have you told him you love him?'

'Yes! And he loves me, too.'

'He's said the words, has he? He's told you that.'

'Yes!'

'Oh, milady,' Anna said, sighing again, her heart going out to the young woman in front of her.

'Stop saying 'oh, milady' like that! He makes me happy, Anna, so happy!' Mary cried, wishing Anna could be on her side like she'd expected her to be. 'Why can't you be happy for me? I've never felt like this before, and it's wonderful! Being in love is wonderful! Maybe if you'd ever been in love, you'd understand.'

Anna stiffened, Mary's words pressing on the part of her heart already owned and occupied by John Bates. 'I have been in love! I am in love! I know the joy and the pain of love, so I do understand. More than you think.'

Mary paused, cocking her head as she looked at her maid. 'You're in love? With whom?'

'That's not important,' Anna said, shaking her head, unwilling to tell her mistress about her feelings for Mr Bates. That wasn't something she was willing to share with anyone yet.

'It's… it's not with Tom, is it?' Mary asked, a horrible thought striking her. Given her own feelings for Tom and how attractive she found him, it wasn't much of a stretch to think every other woman who knew him might also think the same about him.

Anna let loose a surprised laugh. 'No, milady, no. It's not Mr Branson.'

'You're sure?' Mary asked, suspiciously.

'Very sure,' Anna said, firmly. 'But my love life is not the matter under discussion here. Yours is.'

'I thought you might be happy for me, Anna,' Mary said, forlornly.

Anna sighed. 'I'm happy you're happy, milady, but how long for?'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean that if you're honest with yourself, you know as well as I do that this romance you're having with Mr Branson, it can't last.'

Mary bit her lip, clenching her jaw defiantly, not wanting to hear this. 'Why not?'

'Because you're from different worlds. You're a lady; he's a servant. For this to work, one of you would have to step out of your world and into the other's world. How likely is that?' Anna said, mercilessly pointing out the problems that lay ahead.

Mary gazed at her maid, chewing the inside of her cheek, not liking what she was hearing. Anna was saying all the things her own mind whispered to her in the wee small hours of the morning when she was lying in her bed trying and failing to sleep.

'Would Mr Branson be accepted into your world, milady? Would your family and society friends be prepared to accept an ex-chauffeur from Ireland as their equal? Or would you be willing to give up all your privileges to live in his world? Would you be happy living like the rest of us working-class people? Relying on Mr Branson's salary to fund your lifestyle? Because it wouldn't be anything like you're used to,' Anna said bluntly, not sugarcoating anything. 'It's hard not having money, working every day to keep afloat. And I'd guess it would be even harder when you're used to having money, to having everything done for you without having to think about it.'

Mary stared at Anna, her words reverberating through her. 'I… I know it won't be easy, but I… I haven't really thought about the future. I'm just thinking about how I feel right now.'

Anna let out another sigh.

'I suppose you think I'm foolish,' Mary said, a hint of resentment creeping into her voice.

'No, but I think you're…'

'What?'

'Naïve,' Anna said reluctantly. 'I'm glad you're happy now, milady, but I can't see how this is not going to end in tears.'

Mary dropped back down onto the edge of the bed. 'That's what Tom says, too,' she said quietly, remembering Tom's words in his kitchen when he'd asked her what they were doing.

Anna sat back down beside her mistress, her heart going out to her. 'I'm sure he's thought about the future even if you haven't, milady. He can't not have. When this all comes out, he's going to be the one who has to leave, the one who's going to lose everything.'

Mary looked up at her maid, panic flooding through her. 'You're not going to tell anyone, are you?'

'No, I'm not,' Anna said, shaking her head.

Mary stuck out her hand, gripping Anna's and squeezing it in gratitude. 'Thank you. Thank you.'

'I suppose that's one thing to hang onto,' Anna said, thoughtfully.

'What is?'

'He knows it's hopeless, but he's still told you he loves you,' Anna said, looking sympathetically at Mary. 'I suppose he must really mean it.'

A small smile tugged at Mary's lips. 'Yes. He says he does.'

'And you really love him?'

'Yes, I do. I've never met anyone like him,' Mary said, her heart tripping faster as she thought of Tom and how much he meant to her.

Anna gazed at her and then put her other hand over their joined ones. 'Then I suppose you had better enjoy it for as long as you can, this secret love affair of yours.'

'And you'll keep our secret?' Mary asked again, her heart in her mouth, needing the reassurance.

'Yes, milady, I will keep your secret. And I will be here for you when you need me,' Anna said, knowing the fallout from this affair was going to be both spectacular and ugly when it came.

'Thank you,' Mary breathed, feeling better already that Anna was on her side even if she thought everything with her and Tom would eventually come toppling down.

She pushed that thought aside, unwilling to think about that. All that was important right now was that she would be going home in a few days, and home now meant Tom, being reunited with the man she loved. That's what she would focus on, not the problems and obstacles that may or may not lie ahead of them. She couldn't think about that; she wouldn't think about that. That was a problem for another day, hopefully, one far, far in the future.