Notes: I've used some dialogue from the show in the closing scenes of this chapter.

May 1913

'Are you ready for Madame Swann's tomorrow?' Mary asked as Sybil pulled the brush through her hair in what had become their regular nightly routine. 'All that pinning and measuring. For such an experienced seamstress, she always manages to prick me at some point during a session.'

Sybil pulled a face. 'I don't know why she even bothers measuring us anymore. She always makes exactly the same thing, just in a different colour or a different weight of material depending on the season. I suspect Madame Swann could run us all up dresses without even bothering to lay eyes on us, never mind measuring us.'

'Well, at least you'll have a new frock at the end of it,' Mary said, soothingly.

'Yes, but I do long so for something else, something different, something at bit… I don't know… avant-garde.'

'Avant-garde?' Mary repeated, raising an eyebrow. 'Like what?'

Sybil grinned, looking more impish than angelic. 'Well, I do have an idea in mind, but I'm not sure Madame Swann would be brave enough to make it without Mama's explicit permission. But I am going to go all out to try to persuade her.'

'Really? And what is it you have in mind?'

'It's a secret. I have this awful feeling that if I tell anyone, it will jinx it and it will definitely not come to pass. Do you think that awfully silly of me, Mary?' Sybil asked, pausing briefly in her strokes.

Mary smiled at her sister, looking so earnest. 'Darling, if you want to keep it a secret, you keep it a secret. You can show me the finished version when you get it because if anyone can persuade Madame Swann to create something avant-garde, it's you.'

Sybil grinned again, the imp trumping the angel. 'Oh, I do hope so!'

Tom watched William walk away, gathering the tattered shreds of his dignity after Thomas mercilessly humiliated him over the state of his livery simply because he could. Worse still, he'd not only done it in front of Daisy because he knew William was carrying a torch for her, he'd also succeeded in getting her to side with him in being mean to the lad.

Tom turned thoughtful eyes on the black-haired footman. They hadn't crossed swords again since that encounter in the courtyard some weeks back, but Tom couldn't shake the feeling that neither Thomas nor Miss O'Brien had let go of the mystery surrounding Pamuk's death and what Lady Mary may or may not know about it. He'd kept a careful if unobtrusive eye on the pair of them since.

Much to William's chagrin, Thomas seemed to be going out of his way to encourage the crush Daisy had developed on him, yet as far as Tom could see, Barrow himself had no interest in the girl. In fact, from what he'd picked up from the rest of the staff and gleaned from observing the footman, Thomas' inclination did not seem to be towards women at all.

Thinking back, Tom realised that tied in with his own initial interactions with Barrow, where the footman had been friendly at first, his interest in the new recruit waning when Tom didn't pick up on what he now thought may have been signals or subtle tests as to whether he was a lavender as well.

So, this curious little dance Thomas was doing with Daisy was a puzzle. It was possible, Tom supposed, that he was simply doing it to wind up William. Thomas did seem to take pleasure in causing misery to others. But there was also a possibility that he was doing it to butter Daisy up enough to get her to tell him what it was she'd seen on the night of the Turk's death. Annoying William into the bargain might just be a welcome side effect for Thomas.

If he got a chance, he'd do what he could to warn Daisy off the manipulative footman, Tom decided. Mary certainly didn't need Miss O'Brien and Thomas meddling in her life.

'I had a most interesting talk with Branson today,' Sybil said, leaning by the window as Anna styled Mary's hair for dinner.

Mary shot a surprised look at her sister, trying not to move her head as Anna pinned her hair. Her mind raced, wondering what on earth Sybil had been talking to Tom about.

'Did you?' Edith enquired, looking up from the magazine she was idly flicking through. 'What about? I can't imagine what I would say to Branson.'

'Oh, he's quite a surprising man,' Sybil replied. 'He has a lot of opinions and some very refreshing thoughts. It was a pleasure to talk to him.'

Mary felt her gut twist at Sybil's words.

'Really? Is he allowed to have opinions?' Edith asked, quirking a disapproving eyebrow. 'I'm not sure Papa would approve of that. Granny most certainly wouldn't.'

'Of course, he's allowed to have opinions, Edith! He simply works for Papa; Papa doesn't own him!' Sybil retorted, indignantly.

Mary glanced at Anna, conscious that her maid could hear all of this and Edith's archaic thoughts on servants having opinions. Anna's face was studiously blank, her concentration seemingly focused on Mary's hair.

'What did you talk to him about?' Mary asked, burning to know what Tom had spoken to Sybil about.

'Well, votes for women for one thing,' Sybil said, turning towards Mary, her eyes shining.

Edith blew out a sigh. 'Oh, not that old chestnut again. I thought you'd forgotten about that.'

'No, I certainly haven't! And I won't ever forget about that, Edith,' Sybil retorted, sharply. 'It's important. Why shouldn't women have the vote?'

'Maybe Edith's worried she's not intelligent enough to understand politics,' Mary put in slyly, unable to resist a dig at her least favourite sister.

Edith glared at her, simmering with anger. 'Of course, I understand it. Well, I'm sure I would if I was interested, but it's simply too boring to bother with.'

'You sound just like all those politicians telling us women not to worry our pretty little heads about such things. If women don't care about learning about political issues, it's no wonder they don't want to even discuss giving us the vote,' Sybil said, passionately.

'Goodness, Sybil, I do worry that one day we'll get word that you've chained yourself to the railings in Downing Street just so you can harangue the Prime Minister through the window,' Edith observed, making it clear that she did not approve of that kind of behaviour.

'Maybe I will one day!' Sybil declared, hands on her hips as she glared at Edith.

'What did Branson say about it?' Mary asked, pulling the subject back around to Tom and the chat he apparently had today with her baby sister, something akin to jealousy prickling under her skin.

'Oh, quite a lot. He was very knowledgeable about it. And he brought me some pamphlets to read that he thought I might be interested in,' Sybil replied, turning away from Edith and back to Mary.

Mary pursed her lips, not liking this development. 'What kind of pamphlets?'

'Well, there were several; most written by some of the prominent suffragettes and one written by a man supporting votes for women. They were very informative as was talking to Branson. I really quite enjoyed it,' Sybil said, her face lighting up.

To her horror, Mary felt a jolt of animosity towards her youngest sister as she listened to her talk about her interaction with Tom today. She looked down at her dressing table, fiddling with her fingers as Anna continued to silently dress her hair, willing this horrible feeling to go away. She didn't want to be jealous of her beloved Sybil.

'So, he brought you pamphlets?' Edith enquired, a calculating look on her face as looked at Sybil.

'Yes.'

'And he started talking to you about the vote, did he? He brought the subject up?'

'Yes.'

'So, he initiated the conversation?' Edith persisted, making both Mary and Sybil look at her, wondering where she was going with this line of questioning.

'Yes, I've already told you that,' Sybil said, a touch of impatience tinging her voice.

'That was very forward of him,' Edith pronounced.

'He is allowed to talk to me. We're not princesses living in a glass tower, Edith. We can speak to the servants,' Sybil said, sounding as close to snapping at her sister as Sybil ever got.

'But it makes me wonder…' Edith said, leaving her sentence hanging.

Mary bit her tongue, determined not to ask, but Sybil caved.

'Wonder what?'

'Well, if he's initiating a conversation with you and bringing you pamphlets to read on your favourite topic, do you think it's because he's interested in you?' Edith asked, a glint in her eye.

'Interested in me? You mean like he's interested in my thoughts and opinions?' Sybil questioned, a slight frown on her face.

'No, I mean, is he attracted to you?' Edith said, bluntly.

Mary stuck her hands under the table, digging her nails into her thighs, cutting her eyes quickly to Sybil as Edith voiced the very thing she'd been wondering herself.

'Attracted to me?' Sybil squawked, her eyebrows scooting up her forehead. 'I highly doubt that.'

'Why not? You're very pretty, Sybil. And he's a man. I'm sure he's noticed,' Edith said, half disapproving, half enjoying teasing her little sister.

'Well, as kind as it is of you to say so, there is more to me than how I look,' Sybil said hotly, her temper beginning to unfurl. 'To suggest that the only reason Branson would want to talk to me is because he finds me attractive is disrespectful to both me and him, Edith, and I will thank you not to say anything so ridiculous again.'

'It's not ridiculous!' Edith protested. 'Men are rarely interested in anything a woman has to say. All they are interested in is whether we are pretty or not. Why should Branson be any different? You'll back me up on that, won't you, Mary?'

Mary hesitated, not wanting to bolster Edith's argument, but finding that, in her experience, she couldn't disagree with her point.

'Mary?' Edith pressed her.

'Well, I…' Mary hedged, pinned by looks from both her sisters, Edith expectant, Sybil annoyed.

'Come on, Mary. I know it might kill you to actually agree with me, but how many times have both of us sat through dinner with eligible men and had them not listen to a word we've said?'

'Yes, that's true,' Mary said, finally. 'It's a rare man who is interested in more than a woman's appearance.'

'Well, I don't believe Branson is like that,' Sybil said, stoutly. 'Anna, you know him better than any of us. Is Branson like that?'

Startled to be pulled into this conversation, Anna looked up to find all three of the Crawley sisters looking expectantly at her. 'Well, er, if you pressed me to say one way or the other, milady – '

'Yes, I'm sorry, but I am pressing you,' Sybil said, firmly.

'I'd have to say no, Mr Branson is generally more interested in people's opinions than their looks. He talks to me and Gwen about current affairs quite often downstairs, and I've never felt that he's doing that for any other reason than he likes to discuss and debate issues.'

'That's what I thought,' Sybil said smugly as Edith harrumphed.

Mary breathed a quiet sigh of relief at Anna's defence of Tom. It both tallied with her own opinion of the man she knew better than either of her sisters did and set her mind at rest a little that he hadn't simply been flirting with Sybil. Although she couldn't quite rule out that possibility completely yet.

'Well, he's unlike any other man I've ever met then,' Edith sniffed, put out to have lost her argument.

'Except Matthew,' Mary put in. 'He's interested in our thoughts and opinions too.'

'Yes, exactly,' Sybil exclaimed, pointing a triumphant finger at Edith. 'Matthew wants to know us for ourselves, not our looks.'

'Well, that certainly applies to you, Edith,' Mary said snidely, thinking back to her sister's unsuccessful attempt to woo Matthew through the medium of medieval churches.

Edith sent her a filthy look and stuck her nose in the air. 'Well, I just think you should be careful, Sybil. Branson is the chauffeur, not suitor material, so if he does have a little fancy for you, you should not encourage it.'

Sybil flushed, whether with anger or embarrassment, Mary couldn't quite tell. 'If I want to discuss politics or anything else with Branson, Edith, I will. I neither asked for nor need your opinion on the matter,' she said, spikily.

Edith gazed at her coolly, rising to her feet and adjusting her evening gloves. 'Just don't say I didn't warn you when he asks you to run away with him,' she responded, tartly. 'Now, I think I will go downstairs and wait for Granny to arrive.'

With that, she swept from the room, leaving Sybil fizzing in her wake.

'Well! Can you believe that?' she cried, swinging around to look at Mary through the mirror. 'Why does she have to reduce everything to attraction between the sexes? It's perfectly possible for a man and a woman to be nothing but friends! Look at you and Matthew!'

Mary felt a little startled at that pronouncement. 'Do you think Matthew and I are friends?'

'Yes, of course. Well, you seem to be now you've forgiven him for being Papa's heir.'

'Oh, well, yes, I suppose perhaps we are,' Mary said, surprised to realise that Sybil could be right on that subject.

'See? And I think of Matthew as my friend too, even though he doesn't discuss things with me the way he does with you.'

'Perhaps he will when you're a little older, darling. You haven't even come out yet,' Mary soothed.

Sybil pulled a face. 'Come out. I'd rather have the vote than a debutante season. How is it right that women are considered old enough to marry and start popping out babies in our teens, but we're never considered old enough or wise enough to have a say in things?'

Mary cut a quick glance at Anna in the mirror, seeing her maid return her look with a slight quirk of her lips as Sybil got once more onto her soapbox.

Once again, Tom watched William walk out of the servants' hall, his shoulders slumped, after Thomas beat him to asking Daisy to the fair.

The atmosphere in the hall was awkward as Mr Bates cursed Thomas for cruelly crushing William's hopes while the footman sat there smoking and smirking, completely unperturbed.

Tom got to his feet and picked up his teacup, talking it through to the kitchen to place it with the rest of the washing up.

Once there, he listened to Daisy excitedly telling Mrs Patmore how Thomas had asked her – her! – to go to the fair with him.

'Thomas did?' Mrs Patmore queried, frowning as she stirred a great pot of something.

'Yes! Asked me himself if I wanted to go with him, he did!' Daisy said, bouncing on her toes with excitement.

'He meant with him and the others, I suppose.'

'That's not what he said. He said with him; he didn't mention anyone else!' Daisy corrected, happiness radiating from her.

'I think he meant with all of us,' Tom put in, making Daisy and the cook look across at him. 'There's a few of us going.'

'That doesn't mean he doesn't want me to walk out with him,' Daisy said stoutly, her smile dimming.

'Thomas isn't the kind of man to walk out with young ladies,' Mrs Patmore said, giving a small nod of thanks to Tom for backing her up.

'You mean you think I'm too young for him,' Daisy grumbled, her face falling. 'But it's better to have a husband who's older and wiser than you, isn't it?'

'A husband! Hark at you putting the carriage before the horse!' Mrs Patmore exclaimed.

Daisy flushed, looking embarrassed.

'I don't think Thomas is thinking of marriage, Daisy,' Tom said as gently as he could, trying to hide his smile at the girl's inadvertent disclosure of her hopes.

'Well, no, of course, he isn't,' Daisy snapped, embarrassment making her cross. 'We haven't even started walking out yet, but that doesn't mean it could never happen. He's got to marry someone!'

'Has he? I don't think he's the marrying kind,' Tom replied before he could think better of it.

'Exactly! I'll be the Queen of England before that lad marries a woman,' Mrs Patmore declared.

'Why are you both being so horrible?' Daisy snapped, her cheeks flaming red. 'I'll not listen to this anymore!'

With that, she flounced off to the pantry, leaving Tom and Mrs Patmore to stare after her.

'Well, thanks for trying to warn her off him, Mr Branson, but I think we've taken the wrong tack there,' Mrs Patmore said, casting Tom a look. 'It's like telling a hall boy the freshly baked biscuits are off limits. You know for sure a few will go missing before they come off the cooling rack. Our Daisy will moon after Thomas until she realises the truth of the matter even if we try telling her different until the cows come home.'

'I just don't want to see her get hurt. Not by him,' Tom said, kicking himself for his misstep with Daisy.

'No. I don't know what his game is, but he's spun a web for her, and she's walked right into it. Stuck fast, she is,' Mrs Patmore said, heaving a sigh. 'Well, it'll all come out in the wash, I suppose.'

'Yes, I suppose it will,' Tom said, knowing he'd lost his chance to bolster Daisy's resolution not to tell anyone – especially Thomas – about what she saw on the night of Pamuk's demise.

The next day, Mary stood at the top of the lane leading down to the garage watching Tom work. He was wearing a beige boiler suit and washing one of the cars. As she watched, she found herself musing that he cut a finer figure in his dark green livery.

He picked up the bucket and threw water over the car, then turned and paused when he saw her standing there watching him. He looked around quickly and then, obviously deciding the coast was clear, he waved at her.

Mary glanced around, seeing no-one but feeling uncomfortable that someone might be around to witness the familiarity with which he greeted her.

She set off over the gravel towards him, determined not to let him charm her into not saying what she needed to.

'Hello,' he said, giving her a big smile when she drew near. 'Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes? You look lovely today.'

She looked around quickly before focusing back on him, squashing the warm glow his words gave her. 'You can't say that sort of thing to me. Not out here. Anybody could hear.'

'There's nobody around, Mary. I checked before I waved at you.'

'Lady Mary,' she corrected, perhaps a tad harshly. 'We're not at the cottage now.'

He gave a slight frown but nodded. 'My apologies, Lady Mary.'

'Someone could be watching us from the house.'

'Well, even if they were, they wouldn't be able to hear what we're saying.'

'Still, better not to risk it,' she insisted, determined not to let it go.

He paused, looking searchingly at her. 'Right. Well, then how can I help you, Lady Mary?'

'Sybil said you gave her some pamphlets yesterday,' she said, getting straight to the point she'd come to make.

'Yes, I did.'

'You can't do that.'

He looked surprised. 'Why not?'

'It's not appropriate, you giving her incendiary political pamphlets.'

Tom raised an eyebrow. 'Incendiary? Is that what she told you?'

Mary pressed her lips together, reluctant to admit she may perhaps be embellishing the truth a little, but then she relented. This was Tom after all. 'No, she didn't. She said they were very informative.'

'They were about the suffragette movement. I thought she might find them interesting after hearing her speak the other day when I was driving her, Lady Edith and Lady Grantham back from the village.'

'I know what they were about,' Mary snapped. 'And you can't go giving her things like that.'

'Why not?' he asked again.

'Because Mama and Papa wouldn't like it.'

'Wouldn't they? I think they should be proud to have raised a daughter who thinks for herself.'

Mary bristled. 'Unlike me, you mean?'

He blinked, taken aback by her response. 'No, of course, I don't. Nobody could accuse you of not thinking for yourself.'

'Why are you chatting to Sybil and bringing her things anyway?' Mary blurted out, getting to the crux of what was bothering her.

'I was just being friendly. I like Lady Sybil,' Tom said, looking at her curiously. 'I've heard her talking about women's suffrage, so I thought she'd find those particular pamphlets interesting.'

'Well, I don't think it's a good idea. People might start talking.'

Tom stared at her. 'About what?'

'About you and Sybil and your familiarity with her!' Mary said in exasperation.

'Me and Lady Sybil?' Tom echoed in surprise. 'Why in heaven's name would anyone do that?'

'Because you're talking to her in an overly familiar way! It will set tongues wagging! It doesn't take much, you know.'

'But we only talked about politics.'

'Yes, you know that, but other people won't know that, not if they just see you driving her about, chatting up a storm!'

Tom stared at her and then a slow smile spread across his face. 'Mary, are you jealous of me talking to your sister?'

'No, of course, I'm not!' she said, quickly.

His smile grew broader, making her heart trip inconveniently. 'You are! You're jealous.'

'I am not!' Mary insisted, the thump of her heart belying her words.

Tom glanced around again and then took a couple of steps towards her, his eyes fixed on hers. 'You are. And I like it.'

'You like it?' she sputtered, not at all sure what to make of that.

He nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at her. 'I like what it tells me.'

Mary paused, narrowing her eyes at him. 'Oh, yes? And what do you think it tells you?'

'It tells me that you care about me.'

'What?'

'It tells me that you think about me when you're not with me.'

'Well, um, yes, of course, I do. Sometimes, anyway,' she said, feeling flustered. This was not how this conversation was supposed to go.

'Did you think I was flirting with Lady Sybil?' he asked, his eyes crinkling at the corners, delight lighting up his face. 'Is that what this scolding is really about?'

'No! Yes. Maybe. I don't know! Were you?' Mary blurted out, shocked at herself for coming straight out and asking him.

'No, I wasn't.'

'Are you sure about that?' Mary asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at him, her heart hammering against her ribs. 'Sybil is very pretty.'

He took another small step closer to her, still a respectable distance away, but close enough for her to see the navy and green flecks in his blue eyes.

'I wasn't flirting with Lady Sybil,' he said, quietly but firmly. 'She's not the sister I think about the most.'

Mary swallowed, no retort ready, as he gazed at her, his face alive with affection.

'No?' she asked, her heart still jack-rabbiting in her chest.

'No,' he said, not taking his eyes off hers.

Mary gazed at him, floundering in the unaccustomed feelings brimming inside her. 'Do I need to reprimand you about talking inappropriately to Edith too?' she asked weakly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

'No, you don't,' Tom replied, his voice soft and intimate, an answering smile creeping onto his face. 'The only Crawley I lie awake thinking about is you.'

'Is that right?' Mary murmured, her smile growing, any thought of onlookers and eavesdroppers forgotten as the intimacy of the moment deepened.

'Yes, it is. Especially when I can still smell your perfume on my pillow,' he said, his voice dropping lower. 'Are you going to tell me off for that and how inappropriate it is?'

A shiver skittered down Mary's spine, taking her deliciously by surprise. 'Well, I probably should, but I won't.'

'Because you don't mind me thinking about you when I'm lying in my bed?'

'Well, I suppose it's rather flattering,' Mary said, wondering if her cheeks were as warm as they felt.

'And do you lie awake thinking of me?' he asked her boldly, heat flaring in his eyes. 'Because I know now that you do think of me. Even just a little bit.'

Mary hesitated, knowing she shouldn't tell him the truth, that it opened the door wider in this unconventional, inadvisable relationship that was growing between them.

'You of all people should know that I lie awake every night, Tom,' she answered, eventually.

'Yes, but do you think of me while you're lying there?' he persisted, his eyes holding hers.

'Maybe,' Mary said, feeling both bold and uncomfortably yet thrillingly flayed open. 'But a lady never reveals her secrets.'

He smiled, his face lighting up with happiness. 'And a gentleman never presses a lady for an answer,' he said, giving her a slight bow. He looked up at her as he straightened up. 'But I'm taking that as a yes.'

Mary blushed, warmth spreading through her.

Tom smiled at her, every line of his body betraying affection, and Mary suddenly realised they could be interrupted at any moment. She glanced around again, relieved to see they were still alone, no curious eyes or flapping ears spying on them.

'Can I book the motor for Monday afternoon?' she asked, making a sudden decision.

'Yes, of course. Where am I taking you?'

Mary gave him a small smile. 'I'm not sure yet. Maybe not too far, although we may be out for several hours.'

Tom's smile grew broader. 'Oh, one of those trips.'

Mary raised an eyebrow. 'If you're amenable.'

'Yes,' he said, his voice dipping into that low, intimate register that sent a shiver rippling through her. 'I'm amenable.'

Mary's smile broke free. 'Monday, then.'

'Monday.'

She turned to go and then stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. 'And don't go flirting with my sister.'

He chuckled softly. 'I won't. I promise. I can't promise not to bring her more pamphlets, though.'

'Well, as long as you're just being political with her, I suppose I can make my peace with that,' Mary replied, her smile reappearing. 'Goodbye, Tom.'

'Goodbye, Mary.'

This time, she didn't reprimand him for neglecting to use her title.

'Whatever is holding Sybil up?' Cora asked, beginning to feel exasperated with her youngest daughter.

'She was banging on about her new frock,' Mary said, feeling slightly guilty that the thought had flitted across her mind that she was glad Sybil was currently the focus of their mother's ire and not her for a change.

'We'd better go in without her or it's not fair on Mrs Patmore,' Robert said, glancing over at the clock on the sideboard.

The Dowager looked askance at her son. 'Is her cooking so precisely timed? You couldn't tell.'

Cora shot an irritated look at her mother-in-law for the slight on their cook. Isobel caught the look and jumped in to smooth things over.

'I think her food is delicious.'

'Naturally,' Violet responded, the epitome of sarcasm elegantly expressed.

'Here she comes,' Matthew said, rising to his feet as the door opened.

Sybil came in, all airy confidence, displaying her new 'frock'. 'Good evening, everyone.'

Around the room, jaws dropped as each person took in the sight of Sybil in her avant-garde harem pants.

'What… what is she wearing?' the Dowager asked faintly, turning towards Cora, utterly perplexed.

'Something I did not approve,' Cora replied, tightly. 'I shall be speaking to Madame Swann about this.'

'Well, I like them,' Matthew said, a big smile spreading over his face as he stared at Sybil. 'I think you look wonderful, Sybil.'

'Thank you, Matthew,' Sybil said, beaming at him.

'So do I, dear. You look simply marvellous,' Isobel said, clapping her hands. 'How wonderfully refreshing.'

'I suppose you would think that,' Violet muttered, side-eyeing Isobel.

'Right, well, I think we should go in to eat now. We can discuss Sybil's… costume later,' Robert said, firmly, offering his hand to his mother to help her out of her chair.

'Costume?' Sybil said, indignantly. 'This is not a costume, Papa. This is fashion.'

Her father gave her a look as her mother rose and took a firm hold of her arm. 'We will speak about this later,' Cora said, not bothering to hide her displeasure.

Mary rose, smiling to herself at Sybil's boldness in her choice of attire. As she turned to make her way out of the room, a flash of something dark at the window caught her eye. She swivelled her head to take a better look and, to her astonishment, she saw Tom peeking in the window.

Quickly, she looked over her shoulder to check if anyone else had seen him. The rest of the family were disappearing out of the room, her mother still having a firm hold of Sybil, her father escorting the Dowager, Matthew offering his arm to his mother, and Edith bringing up the rear.

Mary spun back around to look at Tom. He smiled and winked at her through the window. She cast another quick look over her shoulder and then turned back and smiled at him, flapping her hand to shoo him away. He grinned at her again and then disappeared from sight.

Mary shook her head, astounded by his boldness, but convinced that Sybil must have shared her excitement with him about her new ensemble on the way back from Madame Swann's today. Still, he was taking an unnecessary risk, and she'd have to tell him off about it.

'Mr Branson!'

Tom jumped as he stepped back from the window, the grin still on his face. He turned towards the voice and saw Mrs Hughes standing at the corner of the house near the service courtyard.

'Don't play with fire, Mr Branson. You'll get burned,' she said, fixing him with a gimlet eye.

'Mrs Hughes?' he replied innocently, cursing himself for not paying more attention to his surroundings.

'If you've any sense, lad, you'll put all thoughts of her out of your head,' the housekeeper said, warning in her voice but sympathy on her face.

'Who?' he asked, feigning ignorance, hoping to God that Mrs Hughes did not know about his budding relationship with Mary.

Mrs Hughes sighed. 'She's a bonny lass, Lady Sybil, that's for sure, but she's not for you. And you know that as well as I do.'

Tom felt relief flood through him as the housekeeper named the wrong sister. Whatever she thought she knew, Mrs Hughes was way off beam, and that suited Tom just fine.

'I know,' was all he said.