It was four days before Tom saw Lady Mary again. If she left the house in the intervening period, she did not call for the motor. Neither did he see her walking the grounds or the back roads of the estate.

When he did see her, he was shocked by how tired and drawn she looked. In fact, so drained and ill did she look that he began to worry he had got something wrong with the tea and it was his fault she seemed unwell.

The first time he saw her, he had no opportunity to speak with her as she was accompanied by her sisters and her mother on a morning visit to the Dower House. Several times, he caught her eye in the mirror, but no words passed between them. In fact, Mary barely spoke at all, looking listlessly out of the window most of the time instead of joining in the conversation going on in the back of the car.

Tom glanced at her repeatedly in the mirror, worrying about how quiet and drained she seemed, so disengaged from everything and everyone around her.

Then after luncheon, a hall boy arrived breathlessly in the garage with a message that Lady Mary had requested the motor. Tom put down his wrench, washed his hands and put his jacket, cap and gloves on, trying to ignore the nervous anticipation he felt at perhaps being able to speak with her again.

She came out of the Abbey, looking fragile and pale like she had the weight of the world on her thin shoulders. Tom offered her his hand as he always did to help her into the car, shocked to feel her fingers trembling in his as she took it.

'Where to, milady?' he asked when he was behind the wheel, looking at her in the mirror.

'Um, could you just take the road towards York, please, Branson?' she replied, only looking at him briefly.

Tom nodded, surprised not to be given a destination, and started the engine, driving off towards the main road through the village. He glanced in the mirror several times, worrying about how pale and withdrawn she looked, her dark hat emphasising her wraithlike appearance.

A couple of times, he opened his mouth to ask her how she was, but she was looking out of the window, seemingly lost in her own thoughts, so he swallowed his words.

The silence lay heavy between them until they were a little past the village. At a section of the road surrounded by fields, Mary finally spoke.

'Could you stop the car, please, Tom?'

He glanced at her in the mirror, surprised to hear her using his Christian name when he'd been back to Branson at the Abbey. 'Of course.'

Tom pulled onto the edge of the road in a spot next to a gate into a field, stopping the engine. A couple of cows wandered over, peering at them curiously over the gate.

He looked in the mirror again to see her looking back at him, huge dark circles under her eyes. 'Are you all right, milady?'

Mary shook her head. 'No, I'm not.'

'Is it the tea? Are you still bleeding?' he asked anxiously, twisting in his seat to look at her properly through the glass partition that separated them.

'No, no, that's all fine. That stopped a couple of days ago,' she said, shaking her head again.

Tom felt the relief punch through his chest. 'Thank God. I was worried you might still be… you know.'

Mary tilted her head, gazing at him. 'You were worried about me?'

'Yes, of course, I was. I still am. You're so pale, milady. At the risk of sounding both impertinent and ungentlemanly, you don't look well,' Tom replied, his concern for her mounting despite knowing she was no longer bleeding. 'If I thought what I'd done had harmed you in any way, I'd be taking you straight to Dr Clarkson and confessing all to him, so he could check you over.'

Mary bit her lip, still gazing at him.

'Should I be taking you to Dr Clarkson anyway?' Tom asked uncertainly, his worries growing.

Mary shook her head. 'No, I'm not ill.'

'Are you sure about that, milady?' he asked, doubtfully.

'I'm not ill,' Mary repeated. 'I'm exhausted.'

She dropped her face into her hands, her shoulders shaking. Tom put his gloved hand on the glass, wishing he could get in the back seat with her and take her in his arms, comfort her.

'Why are you exhausted?' he asked, gently.

'Because I can't sleep in that bed. I simply can't. I lie there every night, staring at the ceiling, staring at the space where it happened, where he… did what he did and where he died, and I can't sleep! When I try to shut my eyes, all I see is him looming over me and then collapsing on me. I can feel him on me, feel him squashing me, and I can't breathe, I can't catch my breath, and I start to panic. And I can't get away from it. It's impossible! I can't swap rooms; I can't sleep in another room without tongues wagging. I feel so trapped! I can't escape it!' Mary cried, trying not to sob.

Tom gazed at her, wanting more than ever to comfort her.

'Every night is the same. It's like it's playing over and over in my head like a motion picture, what he did to me, and then him dying on top of me. And I can't stop it. No matter what I do, it happens again and again, and I can't stop it,' she said, her voice breaking. 'And I'm so tired. So very, very tired. I can barely tell which way is up and which way is down anymore.'

'Have you not slept at all?'

'Not for any length of time. Not since I was with you at your cottage,' Mary whispered, glancing at him as if expecting judgement. 'I get up and sit on my chair when I can't stand being in my bed a moment longer, but I never drop off for more than half an hour or so, and then I jolt awake, fighting to get him off me, and it starts all over again.'

'Oh, milady,' Tom said, at a loss as to how to help her.

'I need to sleep. I just… I'm exhausted, Tom. I've never felt this tired before. Never. I need to sleep. I need to sleep so badly. But I can't sleep. Not at home. Not in my bed. So, I was thinking… I was wondering…' she said, then trailed off, biting her lip.

'What?'

'I know this is going to sound like madness, but when I saw you this morning, I couldn't stop thinking how the last time I got any proper sleep was when I was with you. That was the last time I got any peace. And I was wondering, if it's not too much of an imposition… if it's not too much trouble… I was wondering whether…' Mary stopped talking again, chewing on her lip.

'Go on.'

She lifted her head and looked him in the eyes, gathering her courage to make her request. 'I was wondering if you might allow me to come to your cottage again this afternoon and see if I could manage to fall asleep there.'

Tom stared at her, completely taken aback. That was the last thing he'd expected her to say.

Mary fidgeted as his silence stretched. 'I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It was a stupid idea, I know. I had no right to ask. No right at all. I'm so sorry for putting you in that position. Please forgive me,' she said quickly, her shoulders slumping.

'No. No, it's not a stupid idea,' Tom said, making a decision he knew could cost him his job. She was asking for his help, and he would not – could not – refuse her. 'Where have you told them you're going this afternoon?'

'To York. To an exhibition at the art gallery,' she said, hope lighting up her eyes.

'And what time do they expect you back?'

'The gallery closes at five o'clock, so no later than half past six, I imagine.'

Tom smiled at her. 'Then by my reckoning, you could get just over four hours of sleep in if we go now.'

He was rewarded with a smile of joy as Mary realised that he was agreeing to her request. 'You're sure? You're sure it's all right, that you don't mind? Please say so if you do. I won't be offended, I promise.'

Tom nodded, smiling back at her. 'I'm sure if you are.'

'Thank you,' she breathed, beyond grateful. 'Thank you so much.'

Tom turned to face forward again and started the car, pulling out onto the road then turning off half a mile or so later, taking the back roads to his cottage with Lady Mary as his passenger once more.

'Would you like some hot milk?' he asked as they entered his cottage. 'It might help you nod off.'

'I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try,' Mary replied, surprised at how much more relaxed she felt just walking into his cottage. It already felt like a weight was lifting from her shoulders.

Tom pulled off his cap and lay it on the table then looked across at her. 'Why don't you go and lie down? I'll bring the milk up when it's ready. If you're already asleep, I won't disturb you.'

Mary walked over to him and grasped his hand. This close he could see just how bruised the delicate skin under her eyes looked. He fought back the urge to cup her face and lay kisses over her poor, tired eyelids.

'Thank you, Tom,' she said, squeezing his hand. 'You're my saviour once again.'

'It's no bother, milady. If I can help you, I will. Always,' he murmured, feeling affection wash over him again. 'There's a blanket in the wardrobe if you want it.'

Mary nodded and released his hand, stepping back towards the door. 'Wish me luck,' she said, crossing her fingers.

'Good luck,' Tom replied with a smile.

He watched her go, heard her climb the stairs then took his uniform jacket off, settling it on the back of a kitchen chair, then he went to the pantry to get the milk out. He lit the hob, poured a cupful of milk into the saucepan, and waited for it to come to the boil. When it was ready, he took the mug of hot milk upstairs, knocking gently at his bedroom door to warn her he was there.

'Come in,' she called, softly.

Tom stifled a sigh as he realised she wasn't asleep yet. He went in and saw Lady Mary lying on top of his bed, the blanket from his wardrobe over her. He set the mug on the bedside cabinet.

Mary looked up at him. 'I thought the blanket might be less inappropriate than getting underneath your covers,' she said, shyly.

Tom nodded, his mind suddenly filling with images of her between his bedsheets. He blinked those pictures away, determined not to do anything to make her feel uncomfortable or vulnerable. 'The milk might help make you sleepy. Is there anything else you need?'

Mary hesitated, still looking up at him.

'What? Ask me. If I have it to give, you can have it,' Tom said, gently.

'Could you stay?'

'Stay?' he said in surprise. 'Here? In the bedroom? With you?'

'Yes,' she said, her cheeks blooming with colour, knowing how bold she sounded. 'Like you did before. Please. I'd like you to. That's if… if you wouldn't mind. If it wouldn't make you too uncomfortable. I know it's not… proper, but you make me feel… safe. Like nothing will hurt me while I sleep.'

'Nothing will. I won't let it,' he said, realising too late how tender his voice sounded.

'Then please, Tom. Will you stay with me?'

Tom stared down at her, at her big brown eyes pleading with him and knew he couldn't refuse her even though he should. If he had any sense, he should firmly but politely decline and leave the room, but instead he nodded. 'All right, I'll stay.'

Her face broke into a smile, filling him with warmth. 'Thank you. I wondered if you might read to me. You have quite a collection of books there.'

'Some of them are not bedtime reading, milady. Not for you,' he said with a smile as she picked up the mug of warm milk.

'Oh? Are they controversial?' she asked, a playful note in her voice.

'Many of them are political treatises,' he said, watching in amusement as her eyebrows flew up in surprise. 'But I am reading A Tale of Two Cities too at the moment. I think that might be a more suitable choice.'

'Bloodthirsty citizens guillotining feckless aristocrats? I'm sure that will give me the sweetest of dreams,' Mary said dryly, smiling as he chuckled at her observation. She shuffled over on the bed, her cheeks still pink, and patted the empty space beside her, feeling quite bold. 'Come on then. Transport me to the French Revolution.'

Tom grinned and sat on the bed, propping himself up against the bedframe, and picked up his copy of the Dickens novel. 'I'll start at the beginning, shall I?'

'I think that might be wise,' she said, taking a big swig of her drink.

Tom cleared his throat and began reading aloud. Ten minutes later, Mary passed him her empty mug, and snuggled lower onto the bed, tucking the blanket under her chin.

'I like listening to your voice,' she muttered, her eyelids drooping. 'It has such a lovely, pleasing cadence.'

Tom glanced down at her and smiled, continuing with his narration. After only a few more minutes, her breathing deepened, and she was asleep. He kept reading aloud for another ten minutes, worried that if he stopped, it might wake her.

Once he was sure she was fast asleep, he wasn't certain what to do. Should he leave her and go downstairs? It seemed the most appropriate thing to do, but when he tried to get up, she stirred, rolling over and burrowing close into his side.

Tom froze, sure he should move away from her, but loath to do so in case it woke her. Eventually, he decided it was more important that she sleep than he should observe rules he had already broken, so he settled back against the bedframe, dropping his arm over her shoulders.

He flipped forward in the book to where he'd got to in his own reading of it and continued to read, silently this time, stroking absently at the top of her arm as she slept beside him. As the light faded outside, he put the book down, finding his own eyelids drooping. And then he too slept.

When he awoke, Tom had a momentary panic, wondering what time it was and whether there might already be a full-scale search on for the young woman lying curled beside him, her head tucked on his chest. And then the church bell rang. He counted it silently. Five strikes. Five o'clock. They were all right; nobody would be worrying about her whereabouts quite yet.

He looked down at her, realising just how much she'd rolled into him while she slept. She was pressed up against his side, her arm over his stomach, her head pillowed on his shoulder. He liked the feel of her warm against him.

As he looked at her, he felt the urge to drop a kiss on her hair, to squeeze her tighter, to keep her safe. He held himself still, resisting the urge, feeling it would be wrong, like he would be taking advantage of her by kissing her – even just her hair – without her consent, especially after what she'd been through.

Instead, he lay there quietly, listening to her deep, regular breathing until the church bell marked the half hour. It was probably time to wake her.

He took another long look at her, lying in the crook of his arm in the fading light, committing the image to memory.

'Milady,' he said, softly.

Nothing.

He shook her gently. 'Milady.'

Mary's eyes fluttered open then closed again.

'No, milady, don't go back to sleep. It's time to wake up.'

She groaned, licking her lips. 'So soon?'

'It's just gone half past five, milady. You've been asleep for about four hours.'

'Really?' She lifted her head, looking up at him in surprise. 'Then it worked!'

'Yes, it did,' he said, smiling softly at her.

Mary smiled back at him and then her expression shifted as she suddenly appeared to realise how much of an embrace they were lying in.

'Oh, goodness. I'm terribly sorry. I appear to have trapped you here with me,' she muttered, feeling embarrassed as she took her arm from over him and wriggled back a bit putting some space between them.

'You did rather, but I didn't want to wake you, not when you were finally sleeping. And it's not like I could go anywhere, is it? Not when everyone thinks we're in York,' he said, gently.

'I suppose not.'

'Do you feel better for having slept?'

'I do. Although, I also feel like I could turn over and sleep for a whole day.'

'Best not to, milady. They'd definitely be sending out a search party for you then.'

'And can you imagine the furore if they found me in your bed?' she said wryly even as her cheeks flooded with colour at the thought. 'My reputation as a fallen woman would be well and truly sealed.'

'Then perhaps I should get you back before that becomes a reality,' Tom said, pushing himself upright.

Mary looked up at him. 'Do we have time for a cup of tea before you take me back to the real world, do you think?'

Tom smiled. 'Oh, I think we can manage that. It's only going to take ten minutes or so to get you home. I'll go and put the kettle on while you tidy yourself up.'

'I'll be down shortly,' Mary said, with a smile.

Tom headed for the door, stopping and looking back at her as he pulled it open. 'Don't fall asleep again, will you?'

'I won't, I promise.'

He grinned at her and then disappeared through the door.

Mary looked up at the ceiling, stretching luxuriously, feeling a dozen times better than she had when she'd left the Abbey this afternoon. She couldn't put her finger on what it was, but something about this place and Tom stopped the noise and the turmoil in her head. Coming here had been exactly what she needed.

Sitting at Tom's kitchen table, Mary sipped her tea, feeling halfway human again for the first time in days.

'Thank you. I needed that so much,' she said, looking over the rim of her teacup at him.

"The tea or the sleep?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

Mary smiled. "The sleep. Although you do make a very fine cup of tea."

'Well, you're very welcome – for both the tea and the sleep. I'm glad it worked.'

'I didn't dream about it, about… him,' she carried on, wonder tinging her voice. 'In fact, I don't think I dreamt at all.'

'Do you dream about it every time you manage to drop off, then?' Tom asked, trying to imagine how oppressive and frightening that must be.

Mary nodded. 'Yes, every time I've managed to sleep since it happened. Sometimes, I relive it. Sometimes, I wake up trying to fight him off. Which, of course, I didn't do at the time. Perhaps my mind is scolding me for that.'

Tom hesitated, an idea flitting into his head. 'Would you…'

'Would I what?' Mary asked, wondering what he was going to say.

'Well, I was just thinking, I wonder if it would help if you were to learn how to fight off an attacker. I can't imagine that was part of your syllabus with your governess.'

'No, definitely not. We were taught only how to entice a man, not how to fight one off. Be polite, be demure, but be receptive. All offers are to be entertained, apparently. All attentions encouraged,' Mary said, bitterly. 'Nobody ever said there might be consequences.'

Tom remained silent, watching her carefully.

'Are there ways I could have fought him off then?' she asked, curiously. 'Even though I'm just a woman?'

'Yes, there are.'

'Could you… could you see your way to teaching me those ways? Or some of them at least. Just in case I… I find myself in that position again.'

He nodded, thinking it through. 'Yes, I could do that. I could show you some things you could do to defend yourself.'

'Like what?'

'Well, it depends how he's holding you, but if you're face to face with him, you could knee him hard in the ba-… pardon me, between the legs. That will put him off his stride for a while.'

Mary bit her lip, a giggle escaping her. 'I'm sure it would! Why didn't I think of that?'

'You probably weren't thinking straight, milady. But you'd have to make sure you did it really hard and swift. You don't want to antagonise him like that and leave him standing.'

'No, I suppose not.'

'You can knee him if he gets you horizontal too. Bring your knee up hard then push him off you and run.'

'Yes,' Mary said thoughtfully, thinking back to Pamuk on top of her. It had never occurred to her to do that. He had seemed so in control of everything that happened that night. 'What else could I do?'

'You could poke your finger in his eye or use your nails to scratch him. You could even stick your fingers up his nose and yank it hard towards you. That would make his eyes water something fierce.'

Mary looked down at her hands, spreading her fingers, looking at her manicured nails and realising for the first time that she could probably do some damage with them. 'Goodness, I didn't know I had so many weapons at my disposal.'

'Well, I doubt you've ever had to think of it before.'

'No, I suppose I haven't.' She looked up at him curiously. 'What if I'm not face to face with him? I won't be able to knee him or poke him in the eye then.'

'Stamp on him. And bite him,' Tom said, promptly.

'Stamp on him?' Mary frowned. 'How can I do that if he's upright?'

Tom put his cup down. 'I'll show you. Stand up.'

Mary stood, watching him move around the table towards her.

'Do you mind if I touch you, milady?' he asked, formally.

She smiled, surprised but touched that he'd asked before laying hands on her.

'Yes, of course, you may.'

'Right, I'm going to stand behind you and put my arm around you as if I'm restraining you.'

'All right,' Mary said cautiously, her heart beginning to thump nervously as Tom positioned himself behind her.

Her put his arm around her, draping it over her upper chest, his hand lightly clasping her shoulder, and then he put his other hand on her waist. Mary drew in a breath, not used to such an intimate touch. The gentle weight and warmth of his hand on her waist sent a pleasant feeling rippling through her.

'Right, now, in this position, you could lift your foot and stamp hard on mine. The arch of the foot is a particularly vulnerable place. Try it,' Tom instructed, pulling her attention back to her self-defence lesson.

'I can't stamp on you, Tom!' Mary protested, horrified at the thought of hurting him.

'Just pretend a few times to get used to the action then,' he encouraged.

Mary raised her hands, grasping his forearm then lifted her foot and mimed stamping down on his as he'd described.

'That's it. Try it again.'

She did it again and again, beginning to understand how it could work.

'If you can't get the arch of the foot, try a really good stamp on the big toe,' he suggested, and she mimed that. 'Good. Now, what else could you do to me in this position?'

Mary's mind raced, feeling the length of his body behind her, not pressed against her, not touching her, but close enough for her to feel his warmth. The tripping of her heart increased, but this time in excitement, not nervousness. She forced herself to ignore that and think about his question.

'Um, I could, um… I could bite you! Your forearm!' she said, remembering his earlier words.

'Yes, yes, that's good. Make sure you really sink your teeth in. Give it a good old bite like you're trying to eat an apple. What else?'

'Er… I could… um… I could… wriggle a lot?'

'Yes, you could do that. Make it hard for him to hold you still. What else?'

'Um, reach back and scratch your face?'

'Yes, good. At the very least, you could mark an attacker. What else?'

Mary thought hard, her mind coming up blank. 'Er, I don't know.'

Tom moved closer to her, his chest lightly brushing her back, making her breath hitch a little. 'Do you feel how I'm oriented against you? I'm not directly behind you; I'm offset a little.'

'Yes,' Mary breathed, butterflies beginning to float around her inside her as she felt just how close he was, his voice right in her ear.

'In this position, you could elbow me in the midriff, a good hard blow to the solar plexus.'

'Oh. I never thought of that.'

'Make a fist with your left hand,' Tom said, peering over her shoulder to watch her do it. 'Now, drive your elbow back towards me.'

'I can't! I don't want to hurt you.'

'We're just pretending, milady.'

Mary bit her lip and shifted her elbow backwards, hesitantly.

'No, you need to be more purposeful,' Tom said. He took his hand from her waist, the absence of it rippling through her as much as when he'd placed it there. He closed his fingers over her fist, encircling it, and then he pushed her elbow back sharply. 'Like that.'

Mary gasped, feeling her elbow making gentle contact with his body.

'Do you see? You try it.'

Mary moved her arm forward again, clenching her hand into a fist and thrusting her elbow backwards, stopping before she touched him.

'Better. Do it again.'

She repeated the motion.

'Again. Harder.'

She did it again, this time with more purpose, and accidentally connected with Tom, her elbow sinking into his side, making him 'Oof' behind her. She spun around, appalled to see him with his hand to his midriff, slightly bent over.

'Oh, goodness! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you?' she asked, her hands fluttering towards his stomach, stopping just short of touching him.

He grinned at her, still slightly winded, his hand on her shoulder. 'No, it's fine. That was good, really good. Do it harder than that and he'll probably let go of you.'

Mary felt a rush of affection for this man who had been so kind to her and was now teaching her how to defend herself. 'Thank you for showing me all this, Tom.'

He smiled again. 'It's no bother, milady. If any man tries to take advantage of you again, I'd like to think you can at least make it hard for him.'

She smiled back at him. 'I'll at least turn anyone who tries it black and blue.'

He nodded, his smile fading slightly. 'Yes, but do you know the best thing you can do?'

'What?'

'Scream. And run. Set up a racket the likes of which you've never heard before. Try and attract attention, so people will come to your aid. And the first chance you get, run. Run to safety.'

'But if I scream, people will know,' Mary said in a small voice.

'And that's a good thing because, firstly, people will come to see what's wrong, and it will stop him. And secondly, it's his shame you'd be exposing, not yours. If you're screaming and shouting for help, you're not a willing participant. People will see that.'

'What if they don't?'

Tom stood up straight, looking her in the eye. 'Then you make sure they know. You tell them he was trying to force you and you were defending your honour. Because men who attack women, they have no honour. You do. Never forget that.'

Mary nodded, blinking back unexpected tears. 'Scream and run.'

'Yes, scream and run. Don't let him get away with it.'

'Mr Pamuk would have got away with it,' she said, forlornly.

'Not if I'd got hold of him, he wouldn't,' Tom replied, grimly.

Mary gazed at him, her unlikely champion, feeling another surge of affection for him. 'What would you have done to him?'

'Beaten him black and blue for daring to lay a finger on you,' Tom said, firmly.

'You'd have been dismissed.'

'Probably,' he agreed.

Mary pulled her lip between her teeth, contemplating that. 'I would have fought for you to stay. I would have told Papa the truth about what happened.'

Tom smiled at her, warmth flooding him. 'I'd probably still have been sacked. Can't have servants going around beating up high society guests. But I appreciate the sentiment.'

'But what would have become of you? If you'd lost your job without a reference?'

Tom shrugged. 'There are always other jobs. And I don't intend to be a chauffeur forever.'

Mary tipped her head, looking at him curiously. 'What else do you want to be?'

'Someone with more say in the world than a chauffeur. A journalist, maybe. Or something in politics. That's where my passions lie, really.'

She smiled at him. 'Are you a revolutionary, Tom? Have you stepped out of the pages of A Tale of Two Cities?'

'No, not exactly. But I do think it's time for change. I think the world's going to be ready for it soon. And I don't want that change to pass me by.'

Mary gazed at him, thinking how glad she was that he was a chauffeur now – or more accurately their chauffeur – but that she could imagine him moving on to better things. 'Well, when you're a world-changing journalist or a trail-blazing politician, I do hope you will still think of me fondly.'

He smiled at her, his face softening with something that looked dangerously like affection. 'I don't think I'll ever forget you, milady.'

'No, maybe not, not after the last few days,' she said quietly, locking eyes with him.

Silence fell in the kitchen, both of them standing stock still, only inches apart, the air between them almost throbbing with a delicious tension as they gazed at each other.

The church bell struck the half hour, breaking the moment.

'Goodness, is that the time?' Mary said hurriedly, looking away from him, feeling a flush rising to her cheeks and trying to quell the butterflies soaring around inside her.

Tom cleared his throat, awkwardly. 'Half past six. We need to get you back to the Abbey.'

'Yes, I suppose we do,' Mary said, fervently wishing she could stay here with him. 'We don't want them getting worried, do we?'

'No. Mr Carson will have my guts for garters if he thinks something has happened to you, never mind your father.'

'Ah, yes, dear old Carson. He is rather protective of me,' Mary agreed, using the window to fix her hat back on her head once more.

'I think that might be an understatement, milady.'

Mary turned around, her hat firmly in place, the earl's daughter once again. Tom looked at her, realising afresh that whatever feelings he had fluttering around inside him for her, they were hopeless. She was way out of his reach.

'Are you ready then, Tom?' she asked with a bright smile, looking much less tired than she had when he'd first seen her this morning.

'Ready and waiting for my orders, milady,' he said, formally.

'Then take me home,' she said, willing the smile to stay in place. 'Before I decide to stay here forever.'

Tom's heart stuttered for a few seconds, then he pasted on his servant's blank and gave her a slight formal bow. 'I am at your service.'

A thought rose unbidden in Mary's mind that she wished he wasn't at her service, that he was her equal in society. How different things might be then...

'Then let's go, Tom, and leave this little sanctuary behind,' she said softly, walking towards the door.