Notes: I've taken Cora's words to Mary at the start of this chapter directly from the show.

May 1913

The house was silent, everyone else deep in sleep as Mary sat in her easy chair, her robe wrapped around her, her legs drawn up and her toes tucked under her nightdress. She pulled the blanket she'd draped over her closer to her chin, her mind going back over the events of the evening.

It had been a difficult one. First, she'd had to endure her father talking about Matthew as if he were the son he'd always longed for. It was incessant – Matthew this, Matthew that, Matthew, Matthew, Matthew. Another cruel reminder that she was surplus to requirements simply because she'd been born female.

And when it became too much for her and she'd escaped to the prison that her bedroom had become, her mother followed her instead of leaving her to sob out her frustrations alone.

To her surprise, Mama had initially been softer and more sympathetic than she'd been at any point in the last two months, reassuring her that her Papa loved her, but Mary had not been in the mood to be soothed. Instead, she brought up the elephant in the room, accusing her mother of not caring that Matthew would now get everything that should rightfully be hers because Cora now considered her unworthy after Mr Pamuk.

And Mama had not actually denied that. True, she hadn't confirmed that was the case, but she certainly hadn't denied it either. And when she left, her parting advice rather underlined Mary's observation.

'Don't quarrel with Matthew,' Cora had said.

'Why shouldn't I?' Mary challenged.

'Because one day, you may need him,' Cora replied, standing by the door, sending a warning look across the room to her daughter.

It had taken a few seconds, but then Mary understood what her mother was saying, the meaning sinking in, and white-hot anger flashed through her. 'Oh, I see. When I've ruined myself, I must have a powerful protector to hide behind,' she said, bitterly.

And Cora had not replied, her expression and her silence confirming Mary was correct in her analysis. And then she'd left without another word.

Hours later, Mary still felt the sting of it. It seemed her mother would never forgive her for Mr Pamuk, and the injustice of it all burned inside her. Even if she told Mama everything, told her how Pamuk had barged into her room and forced her onto the bed, Mary doubted she would believe her. And all because in that split second when Cora has asked her that night if he'd forced her, Mary had been too shaken, upset and confused to reveal the truth.

Nobody would believe her. Nobody but Tom. And perhaps Anna.

She glanced at the bed, once more seeing Pamuk sprawled on it, naked and dead. She shuddered and closed her eyes, resolutely turning her thoughts to Tom, the one thing that always calmed her when panic started threading through her.

She thought back to their conversation by the car yesterday and how she'd ended up revealing far more than she'd ever intended and wondered if perhaps he had too. She'd gone there to reprimand him for being overly familiar with Sybil, but he'd seen through her, accurately homing in on the jealousy she felt when she thought of him talking and laughing and joking with her sister.

But then he'd said he thought of her while lying in his bed and Mary's stomach had performed a series of somersaults. Now, she pictured him asleep in his bedroom, pictured herself lying next to him, watching his face in the moonlight while he slept, and warmth flooded through her, pushing away the loathsome image of Mr Pamuk.

Tom would be going to the fair tonight. How she wished she could have said yes to his invitation for her to go with him. Walking through a fair with her young man was something any ordinary young woman could look forward to – but not Mary. Not when the young man in question was her father's chauffeur. It was so unfair.

And then a thought popped into Mary's mind. One that made her straighten up and smile as she turned that thought over and over in her mind.

'Sybil, darling, do you have a moment?' Mary said in a low voice to her sister as Sybil sat on a sofa in the morning room, frowning at the embroidery hoop in her hand.

'Oh, absolutely,' Sybil said with feeling, tossing the hoop to one side in relief. 'Mama is making me practise my embroidery, although heaven knows why. I was never very good at it, and I doubt I will ever embroider anything in my entire life unless it's a life-or-death situation, and I simply can't imagine what kind of scenario that would be.'

Mary smiled, remembering all too well how many times her mother had made her embroider trinkets to gift to far-flung family members.

'What's up?' Sybil asked, giving Mary her full attention.

'Well, I was wondering whether you might like to accompany me to the fair in the village this evening,' Mary said, holding her breath in hope a little. If Sybil said no, her plan would be dashed. She knew Papa wouldn't let her go alone.

'The fair? Oh, yes! What a delightful idea!' Sybil replied, brightening up immeasurably. 'What on earth made you think of that?'

'Anna mentioned it the other day, saying some of the servants were going to walk down and take a look at it. I thought it might be fun for us to do the same.'

'Oh, yes, definitely. But do you think Papa will agree?'

'I don't see why not. It's only in the village, so it's hardly like we'd be traipsing into the seedy underbelly of a great metropolis, is it?'

Sybil laughed. 'No, although that sounds like it might be fun too! We should ask Edith if she wants to come.'

Mary pulled a face. 'Must we?'

'Of course, we must,' Sybil chastised. 'Think how upset and left out she'd feel when she finds out we're going and haven't asked her.'

'Very well. If you insist,' Mary said, rolling her eyes slightly. She knew Sybil was right, but she really couldn't bring herself to care if Edith felt left out.

'I'll invite Edith and you can ask Papa for permission,' Sybil said, squeezing Mary's hand.

'Actually, I was rather hoping we could ask him together. You know how he can never refuse you anything,' Mary said with a sly, knowing look at her sister. 'You can wrap him around your little finger.'

Sybil's throaty laugh rang out again. 'And you think you can't? Mary, you underestimate your own powers of persuasion. But all right, if that's what you want. We will win him over together. Between the two of us, he's bound to say yes.'

Mary smiled and nodded, satisfied that the idea that had come to her in the wee small hours of the morning was coming to fruition.

'The fair?' Robert repeated, looking at his three daughters as they stood in a row in front of him. 'You want to go to the fair?'

'Yes, Papa. We think it might be fun,' Sybil said, favouring her father with her most winning smile.

'Is it appropriate, though, for three young ladies?' Cora put in from her perch in her armchair.

'It's a travelling fair in our local village, Mama. It's not like we're asking to wander unescorted around Whitechapel at night,' Sybil said, turning to look at her mother.

'But should you have a chaperone?' Cora persisted.

'Several of the servants are going tonight, so there will be people we know there,' Mary said, demurely.

Cora gave her a stern look, clearly not yet having forgiven her for the Pamuk incident. 'Perhaps Matthew could accompany you.'

'Oh, I'm sure that's not necessary,' Mary said quickly at the same time as Edith said, 'I could call in at Grantham House and ask him.'

'If Cousin Matthew wants to accompany us, he would be most welcome,' Sybil said, smiling prettily at her mother, a picture of sweet innocence. 'But I know he's a busy man and we wouldn't want to put him out. And there will be three of us. I'm sure we'd be a match for any ne'er-do-wells.'

Mary shot a look at her sister, almost seeing their chances of going to the fair slipping away with her last words, but to her surprise, their father chuckled.

'Now, that I can well believe,' he said, genially. 'I don't see why not. It is only in Downton, after all. It's hardly a den of iniquity.'

'Marvellous. That's settled then. Thank you, Papa,' Sybil said, stepping forward to plant a kiss on her father's cheek as Mary beamed at him, excitement bubbling in her belly that everything was going to plan so far.

'I think I might still call on Matthew and invite him to join us,' Edith said, heading off to put her coat on, delighted to have an excuse to call on their cousin.

Mary forced herself not to roll her eyes.

Matthew had agreed to accompany the sisters to the fair, but had been immediately monopolised by Edith, who it appeared had not yet given up her pursuit of him.

Mary smiled as she listened to Matthew answering Edith's questions about working in an office, pitying the poor man for being trapped with the most boring of the Crawley sisters. She thanked her lucky stars that she was walking with Sybil ahead of the other two as they made their way towards the lights of the village and the fairground.

Sybil kept up a steady stream of conversation, oohing and ahhing at various stalls when they reached the fair, pulling Mary to look at things as they passed by until Edith and Matthew were no longer with them, Edith having tugged him away to look at different stalls. Mary couldn't help but think that Edith would be delighted not to have her sisters there competing with her for Matthew's attention.

Now, Mary was walking along beside Sybil, feigning nonchalance as she surreptitiously scanned the crowds for Tom.

After reliving her conversation with him at the garage for the umpteenth time last night, Mary had decided she didn't want to wait until Monday to see him again. The idea had popped into her head late last night that even if she couldn't go to the fair with him, there was no reason why she couldn't go to the fair anyway. And if their paths happened to cross, well, that was simply coincidence, not any kind of pre-arranged meeting that may raise either eyebrows or suspicions.

Her heart leapt in her chest as she spied him at the same time as Sybil.

'Oh, look, there's Branson over there,' Sybil said, pointing to their chauffeur. 'We should go and say hello to him.'

Mary found herself trying to curb her smile as her sister tugged her towards the shooting stall where Tom was taking aim at a row of tin ducks a few yards away.

'Good evening, Branson,' Mary said, a split second before he pulled the trigger.

Tom jerked in surprise, his shot flying wide. 'Erm, good evening, milady, Lady Sybil' he said, turning to nod respectfully at the sisters, his eyes darting repeatedly to Mary.

'Oh, Mary, you put him off! You should have waited until he'd taken his shot to speak to him,' Sybil said, jokily chastising her sister.

'I do apologise, Branson,' Mary said, smiling widely at him, her heart thumping at the startled look on his face. 'Are you usually a good shot?'

'I'm not bad,' Tom said, hefting the small rifle. 'My grandfather taught me to shoot on his farm.'

'Really?' Mary replied, tucking that nugget of information away to ask him about it at a later date. 'Well, perhaps I might be so bold as to suggest we have a shoot-out.'

Tom gave her a surprised look. 'Do you shoot, milady?'

Sybil laughed. 'Oh, Mary's – '

She stopped as Mary put a hand on her arm.

'Now, now, Sybil, don't spoil the game. It's a competition now. Let's see who is the better shot, me or Branson.' Mary turned to the stallkeeper. 'How much is it?'

'Tuppence for ten pellets, miss,' the portly, bewhiskered gentleman said, holding out his hand for her coin.

Mary fished in her handbag, pulling out her purse and extracting tuppence from it. She dropped the money into the man's outstretched hand and took the rifle he proffered.

'Are you up for this, Branson?' she enquired, turning back to Tom.

'I am,' he said, a broad grin splitting his face. 'Although I fear you have a shot on me already.'

'Easily remedied,' Mary said, idly aiming the gun at the ducks and then looking back at Tom before pulling the trigger. Her shot – casual as it was – hit one of the ducks, pinging the metal back on its hinge.

Tom stared at it, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, and then looked at Mary, a mixture of amusement and admiration on his face. 'Well, I think perhaps you might be hiding a talent as a sharpshooter, milady.'

'Well, let's see, shall we?' she almost purred, smiling widely at him. 'I believe it is your go.'

He inclined his head towards her and then adjusted his stance, sighting down the barrel before pulling the trigger. One of the ducks dutifully snapped backwards as his pellet hit it.

'Hmm, you're not a bad shot,' Mary observed, casting him another smile before turning her attention to the ducks and aiming at another of them. Once more, her shot hit the mark.

'Same to you, milady,' Tom replied, returning the compliment.

For the next six shots, they matched each other, Tom shooting first and hitting a duck, Mary following suit almost effortlessly.

And then on the eighth shot, Tom missed, his duck remaining stubbornly upright.

'Oh, dear, this could be the decider,' Mary said, holding Tom's gaze, her lips curving into a smile.

She raised her rifle, sighting down the barrel.

'Gwen!' Sybil suddenly called beside her.

Mary turned an irritated look on her sister. 'Sybil, really. You know better than that.'

'Sorry. I'm just going to go and say hello to Gwen,' Sybil said, pointing vaguely at a place somewhere to the right and behind them, and then she scampered off.

Mary turned back to Tom, giving him another smile, glad to finally be alone with him. 'Sorry about that.'

'No, it's fine,' he replied, returning her smile. 'I believe you were just about to shoot.'

'Yes,' she said and sighted down the barrel again, squeezing the trigger and watching the little tin duck fall backwards.

'Nine, eight. I think you might win this contest, milady,' Tom murmured, swivelling his eyes from the duck back to Mary.

'It's not over yet, Branson,' she said, softly. 'There's still everything to play for.'

Tom smiled again and lifted his rifle. This time, his duck crashed backwards. 'It's yours to win or lose now,' he said, turning to Mary again.

Mary sighted and took her last shot, the crack of the pellet on the tin duck echoing back to them. She looked over at Tom to find him gazing back at her, apparently having not even bothered to look at the duck.

'And it's a clean sweep for the lady,' the stallkeeper announced. 'What'll you take as your prize, miss?'

'My prize?' Mary asked, still looking at Tom.

'Aye. Take your pick from these fine items here,' he said, sweeping his arm over the shelf beside him. 'This is the ten-pellet shelf.'

Mary pulled her gaze from Tom and cast her eye over her prospective prizes. It was a motley assortment of items, with a few homemade dolls, some cheap-looking pipes, a tin snuff box and so on. At the end of the row was a stone pot of honey. Mary smiled; her choice made.

'I'll take the honey, please.'

'Right you are, miss,' the stallkeeper said, picking up the earthenware pot and handing it over.

'Thank you,' Mary said and then turned towards Tom. 'Branson, would you mind awfully accompanying me for a while until I find my sister again?'

He grinned and stepped up beside her as she turned away from the shooting stall. 'Of course, milady.'

Mary waited until they were several feet away before speaking again. 'I told you I wanted to come to the fair with you. This is the best I could do,' she said in a low voice.

'This is more than I believed possible,' Tom murmured back, a solid presence by her side, comforting yet paradoxically exciting. 'I didn't expect to see you here at all, let alone get to spend any time with you.'

'I decided there was no reason why I couldn't come to the fair even if I couldn't come with you. And if we happened to bump into each other, well, that's an entirely different matter, isn't it?' she said, shooting him a small smile.

He answered her with a smile of his own. 'It is. I'd offer you my arm but…'

'… but that's a step too far, I know,' Mary said, understanding completely that they had gone as far as they could with their precious moments together in a public place.

They exchanged looks, their eyes lingering on each other and if the affection Mary saw in Tom's eyes was mirrored in her own, she knew it could get them both into trouble if anyone saw them. Regretfully, she tore her eyes away from Tom's, trying to hide her feelings.

'What made you choose the honey as your prize?' he asked, a teasing tone to his voice. 'You could have had any one of those lovely ragdolls.'

'Actually, it's for you,' she said, stopping and holding out the pot to him.

'For me?' he said, surprised. 'Why?'

'Well, I feel guilty for startling you and sending your first shot wide.'

'But you'd still have won because I missed two shots.'

'Yes, but still. And I don't know whether you've ever tried it, but honey is most delicious in a cup of tea,' Mary said, her eyes sparkling. 'I thought perhaps you could make use of it when you have visitors to your cottage.'

Tom bit his lip, another grin threatening. 'I only have one visitor.'

Mary held his gaze, trying not to let her smile spread across her face at that admission. 'Good. Right. Well, that's very interesting. I'm glad to know you're discerning about the company you keep. And as it happens, I have it on excellent authority that your visitor is very partial to a little honey in her tea.'

Tom's grin broke free, and he reached for the pot of honey as she held it out. 'Well, in that case, thank you, milady. I'll take it and keep it safe for when I have company.'

'You do that,' Mary murmured, her eyes locked on his, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest.

'I'm back! Sorry for deserting you,' Sybil announced, arriving beside them with a flourish.

Mary found herself wishing her sister had stayed away for longer, given her more precious moments alone with Tom.

Sybil eyed the pot of honey in Tom's hand. 'Oh, Branson, did you beat Mary? I felt sure she'd beat you. You weren't far wrong about her being a sharpshooter.'

'No, milady, I lost,' Tom said honestly, then wanted to kick himself for telling the truth when Lady Sybil was bound to ask why he had the pot of honey if he'd lost the competition.

'Yes, my reputation as a crack shot is still intact, Sybil, but I did feel it was a little unfair of me to challenge Branson to a contest when he had no way of knowing I have been shooting since I was small, so I've given him my prize,' Mary said, smoothly.

'Oh, well, that's very nice of you, Mary,' Sybil said, approvingly.

'Yes, thank you, milady,' Tom said, looking at Mary again. 'I'm sure it will go down a treat.'

'You are very welcome,' Mary said, inclining her head graciously. She held out her gloved hand. 'I thank you for a close competition.'

Tom looked down at her hand, then shifted the honey to tuck it in the crook of his left arm and took her hand, shaking it. 'I think I can safely say the best shooter won.'

Mary smiled. 'You were a worthy opponent, Branson. Perhaps we could have a rematch the next time the fair comes around.'

Tom sketched a small bow, still holding Mary's hand. 'It would be my honour, milady,' he said, smiling up at her.

Sybil looked between them in amusement, standing there gazing at each other, Mary's hand in Branson's. 'Goodness, you two are funny. You remind me of those stories of medieval tournaments where the knight carries the lady's favour into battle. Although, I suppose it would be quite hard to joust with a pot of honey under your arm, Branson.'

Tom chuckled, amusement on his face. 'I imagine it would be, milady. And I can't say as jousting is one of my talents. Plus, I don't think Lady Mary needs me to stand up for her. She's perfectly capable of doing that for herself.'

Sybil laughed, nodding. 'Oh, yes, Mary doesn't take any prisoners, that's for sure.'

Mary exchanged a quick look with Tom, glad that Sybil didn't know about Mr Pamuk. 'Oh, I don't know, Branson. I think there's something to be said for old-fashioned chivalry, and I would be honoured to have you as my white knight.'

Tom smiled, the warm lights of the fairground lighting up the planes of his face and he looked so handsome, Mary felt her pulse hitch and her heart beat faster. He inclined his head. 'It would be my honour and my pleasure, my lady.'

'Oh, there's Edith and Matthew,' Sybil said, touching Mary's sleeve and pointing towards the pair as they made their way towards them. 'We should probably rejoin them. Matthew might need saving.'

Mary's lips quirked up at her sister's words, even though she didn't want her time with Tom to end.

'Well, I shouldn't take up any more of your time,' Tom said, releasing Mary's hand, his thumb sweeping unobtrusively over her hand, making her pulse race faster. 'I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, Lady Mary, Lady Sybil.'

'And you too, Branson,' Sybil said, flashing him a brilliant smile.

'Thank you, Branson. I've enjoyed our little contest. I hope the honey is to your taste,' Mary said, holding his gaze, reluctant to let him go.

'I'm sure it will be. Thank you again,' he said, nodding his head.

'Goodnight,' Mary murmured, nodding back.

'Goodnight, milady,' he replied and then he stepped back, slipping into the crowds as Edith and Matthew joined them.

Mary watched him over Edith's shoulder until he disappeared from sight.

'Where'd you get the honey from?' Thomas asked nosily when Tom came upon him with Daisy hanging off his arm.

'Won it,' Tom replied shortly, not about to reveal that Lady Mary had given it to him.

'Doing what?'

'Shooting.'

'Oh, right. Good shot, are you?'

'It would appear so.'

Thomas eyed him. 'Don't give much away, do you?'

'It's a pot of honey, Thomas. There's not that much to say about it.' Tom looked around. 'Where are William and Gwen?'

'William went off in a snit and Gwen went after him,' Daisy said, rolling her eyes.

'Why? What happened?'

'Oh, it were something and nothing,' Thomas said dismissively, blowing out a stream of smoke.

Tom cast him a look, sensing that William had perhaps endured another humiliation at the hands of the first footman.

'We saw Mrs Hughes, didn't we, Thomas?' Daisy said, delighted to be the one who knew the gossip for once. 'She's got herself a fancy man, Mr Branson! Can you imagine that?'

Tom narrowed his eyes, concerned by this uncharacteristic behaviour from Daisy. 'I'm sure that's not how Mrs Hughes would like you to speak about her, Daisy.'

Daisy looked taken aback and then glanced up at Thomas, who raised his eyebrow at her. 'We saw what we saw, didn't we, Daisy? If she doesn't want people talking about her, she shouldn't go wandering around a fairground arm in arm with a man, should she?'

'Exactly,' Daisy said with satisfaction.

'You're arm in arm with Thomas,' Tom pointed out to her. 'Would you like people gossiping about you?'

To his surprise, Daisy gave him a sly smile. 'I wouldn't mind,' she said, tightening her grip on Thomas' arm.

Next to her, Thomas' face stiffened and he pulled his arm free, switching his cigarette to the other hand to prevent Daisy from taking his arm again. 'I think I might go on the helter-skelter before we head back,' he said, beginning to walk away.

Daisy stared after him and then glared at Tom. 'Why'd you have to spoil things by saying that?' she bit out.

Tom sighed. 'He's not the man you think he is, Daisy. Don't go pinning your hopes on him.'

'I'll pin my hopes wherever I like, thank you very much,' Daisy replied haughtily, pulling herself to stand up straighter.

A few yards away, Thomas turned and looked back at them. 'Well? Are you two coming or what?'

'Yes!' Daisy called and scampered after him with one last glare at Tom.

'Branson?'

'No, I'm heading back,' Tom said, hefting his precious pot of honey.

'Suit yourself,' Thomas said then turned and headed for the helter-skelter, Daisy bobbing along in his wake.

Tom shook his head, sighing. It looked like Daisy had lost her head over Thomas, and that could be a problem.

Back at his cottage, Tom placed the honey on the kitchen table and smiled. Seeing Mary tonight had been an unexpected and very pleasant surprise.

The fact that she'd engineered a visit to the fair just to see him had touched him greatly. It made all those inadvisable feelings he had about her - the ones he'd been trying so hard to keep at bay - flutter to the surface.

If he could have had her on his arm for the evening, he would have been the happiest man in the world. But even that short interval where they'd been alone when Lady Sybil had disappeared had been precious. It had been more than he could have dreamed of happening.

And maybe, just maybe, she was having similar feelings to him.

That thought filled him with warmth and hope. If she was thinking of him as he was thinking of her, could there be some hope after all?

Tom picked up the kettle and filled it with water, deciding to have tea with a bit of honey in it as an evening treat before turning in for the night.

As the water boiled, he thought about Mary, seeing her face once more lit up by the lights of the fairground, the mischievous look she'd given him when she challenged him to their shooting contest, her smile as she gave him the honey. Everything about tonight pointed to her having feelings for him. And that made him giddy with joy.

He poured the hot water over the tea in the teapot and waited for it to brew.

She'd looked so beautiful tonight. And she'd taken such a bold chance. If someone like Thomas had seen them together, Tom was sure he would have picked up on the looks they'd shared, the small moments that had passed between them.

He opened the honey and dipped his spoon in, stirring it into the hot tea, watching it dissolve off the spoon.

There was no way anything could happen between him and Lady Mary. The earl's daughter and the family chauffeur? No, it was unthinkable. She was too far above him, beyond his reach.

And yet…

She'd come to the fair to see him.

She'd given him her pot of honey.

She'd put her hand in his, right there in front of her sister.

Tom smiled and sipped his honey-sweetened tea.

Even if it was only a dream, him and Lady Mary, it was a lovely dream, and he would hold onto it for a little while longer.

Sybil stroked the brush through Mary's hair. 'Did you enjoy our evening at the fair?'

'Oh, yes, very much so,' Mary said, smiling at her sister in the mirror as warmth swept through her as she thought of Tom at the fair.

'I was surprised to see you getting on so well with Branson,' Sybil remarked.

'Why?' Mary asked, startled by that observation.

'I didn't think you knew him all that well.'

'Um, well, I don't, not really,' Mary lied, wondering if she'd given herself away by being too familiar with Tom this evening.

'No, but you chatted to him quite easily tonight. And you challenged him to that shooting match.'

'Well, I… I felt bad about putting him off his stride when he took his first shot. You don't think I was too forward, do you?'

'Oh, no, not at all,' Sybil said, reassuringly. 'Branson is a very amiable, genial kind of a chap. He's a bit opinionated sometimes, but I always enjoy my conversations with him when he drives me anywhere. I think you would enjoy speaking with him too.'

'I'm sure I would. He seems very nice,' Mary said, willing herself not to smile too broadly as she thought about how nice she really thought Tom was.

'He is. And you two seemed to get on tonight. I know Edith chastises me for being too friendly with the servants sometimes, but I think you can learn a lot from getting to know people from different backgrounds than yours. Don't you agree, Mary?'

'I suppose so,' Mary said, nodding as Sybil put down the brush.

'Well, I would highly recommend making friends with Branson. He's very interesting to talk to, even if you're not as interested in politics as I am,' Sybil said, squeezing Mary's shoulders.

Mary smiled. 'I'll bear that in mind. I'll be sure to engage him in conversation the next time I go out in the motor.'

Sybil nodded approvingly then bent to kiss Mary on the cheek. 'Excellent. Well, goodnight, darling. I hope you manage to sleep better tonight.'

'Goodnight, Sybil,' Mary said, watching her sister disappear out of the door.

She went over to the bed and slipped beneath the covers, still staying on the side of the bed she didn't associate with Mr Pamuk. Tonight, she closed her eyes and relived every moment she'd spent at the fair with Tom.

The minute she'd seen him, she'd felt a jolt of excitement, her stomach swooping, her heart tripping, her cheeks warming. It had been delicious to feel that thrill race through her at the sight of him. And the look on his face when he'd realised she was there beside him. He'd looked so surprised and so happy. The success of her little scheme to see him at the fair had thoroughly delighted her, far surpassing any expectations she'd had when the idea first occurred to her.

Once more, she found herself wishing they were equals in society, that he was a gentleman instead of a servant. If that were the case, she felt sure she would encourage him to court her as she had never encouraged any of the young men who had shown an interest in her during her seasons.

She sighed, her mood plummeting a little as she reflected on the fact that although Tom may not always be a servant, he would never be a gentleman either, not in the aristocratic sense. And that meant he was out of her reach.

He could never be a suitor.

But perhaps he could be a lover, a little voice in her head whispered.

Her eyes shot open, shocked at that thought slipping unexpectedly into her mind.

But he could be if you wanted him to be, the voice whispered seductively.

She shook her head, pushing the thought away.

Tom was her stalwart friend, her knight in shining armour, her sanctuary. That was all he could ever be. Wasn't it?