Author's note: I use dialogue from the show in several of these scenes involving Anthony Strallan at the start of the chapter. You'll likely recognise it when you see it. Also, Mary talks about her assault in this chapter.
August 1913
Mary fiddled with the clasp on her brooch, looking up into the mirror as she heard a knock on her door, seeing her mother glide gracefully into the room, looking as serene and elegant as ever.
'I'm coming,' Mary said, trying to hide her irritation at her mother apparently coming to chivvy her along. 'Do you think this brooch works? I can't decide.'
'It's charming,' Cora replied, perching on the side of Mary's bed.
Mary looked at her in the mirror and turned, a nasty sense of foreboding descending on her. 'Oh, dear. Is it another scolding?'
'Of course not. You're too grown up to scold these days.'
Apparently not, thought Mary, recalling the scolding her mother had given her about conversing with Tom the other week.
'Heavens. Then it's really serious,' she said with a sigh, wondering what she'd done this time.
Cora launched into her request for the evening. 'I'd like you to look after Sir Anthony Strallan tonight. He's a nice, decent man. His position may not be quite like Papa's but it would still make you a force for good in the county – '
Mary felt her heart sink and her irritation increase. 'Mama! Not again! How many times am I to be ordered to marry the man sitting next to me at dinner?'
'As many times as it takes,' Cora said, her tone brooking no argument.
'I turned down Matthew Crawley. Is it likely I'd marry Strallan when I wouldn't marry him?' Mary asked mulishly, trying to recall anything about Sir Anthony Strallan. All she could remember was that he was old.
Cora raised an eyebrow. 'I'm glad you've come to think more highly of Cousin Matthew.'
'That's not the point,' Mary retorted, annoyed that was what her mother had chosen to pick up from what she'd said.
'No, the point is when you refused Matthew, you were the daughter of an earl with an unsullied reputation. Now you are damaged goods,' Cora said, her voice calm but pointed.
Mary stared at her mother, shocked by her bluntness. 'Mama – '
Cora interrupted her, no longer prepared to sugarcoat the situation for her wilful daughter. 'Somehow - I don't know how - there is a rumour in London that you are not… virtuous.'
Mary blanched, knowing immediately how such a rumour could destroy her prospects. 'What? Does Papa know about this?'
'He knows it and he dismisses it. Because, unlike you and me, he does not know that it is true.'
Mary dropped her eyes to the floor, trying to fight back the potent mixture of emotions her mother's words stirred in her.
'Let's hope it's unkind gossip because if anyone heard about…'
'Kemal. My lover. Kemal Pamuk,' Mary ground out bitterly, glaring at Cora, reiterating what she knew her mother thought was the case.
'Exactly. If it gets around and you're not already married, every door in London will be slammed in your face.'
'Mama, the world is changing – '
'Not that much and not fast enough for you!'
Mary swallowed her bitterness, suddenly frightened by the possibility of her future disappearing into a black hole. Instead, she aimed for a conciliatory tone.
'I know you mean to help. I know you love me. But I also know what I'm capable of, and forty years of boredom and duty just isn't possible for me. I'm sorry.'
'I do love you. And I do want to help,' Cora replied, softening a little because she did love her daughter, very much. Which was why she was doing her best to arrange a suitable marriage for her.
Mary shook her head, desperate not to have to go through with this charade. 'I'm a lost cause, Mama. Leave me to manage my own affairs. Why not concentrate on Edith? She needs all the help she can get.'
'You mustn't be unkind to Edith. She has fewer advantages than you,' Cora said, a small, disapproving crease appearing on her brow.
'Fewer? She has none at all,' Mary retorted, angry now. 'Why don't you try fobbing her off on Strallan? He's more than she could ever hope for, even if he is an old booby.'
Cora rose, fixing Mary with a look. 'You will entertain Sir Anthony tonight and do all you can to make yourself attractive and amenable. He may very well be your last hope, Mary. You would do well to keep that at the forefront of your mind.'
With that she left the room, only just missing Edith fleeing from outside the door where she'd been eavesdropping, getting increasingly angrier and more upset.
Mary pulled the brooch off her dress and flung it on the floor. Maybe Tom was right. Maybe she should start to think about whether she could ever leave Downton and contemplate a radically different future.
As William cleared her plate, Mary wished wholeheartedly that this dinner was over. Sandwiched between Matthew and Sir Anthony Strallan, she couldn't help but feel that her life was closing in on her.
These two men represented the two ends of her parents' preferred choice of husband for her. The young, upcoming heir and the older baronet, way past his prime. And yet neither man would be her choice, although Matthew came much closer. Strallan was not objectionable, but the best - and the worst - thing you could say about him was that he was nice. Boring and nice. Mary knew beyond a doubt that she could not shackle herself to this man for the rest of his dull life. Even now, she could not bring herself to care what he was droning on about.
'Hmm. There's no doubt about it. The next few years in farming are going to be about mechanisation. That's the test and we're going to have to meet it,' Sir Anthony said, earnestly.
Mary thought longingly of Tom, wondering if he was downstairs with the other servants, working in the garage or sitting in his cottage. What she wouldn't give to be with him right now, sitting on his lap or lying in his bed, letting him kiss her.
'Don't you agree, Lady Mary?' Sir Anthony prompted when Mary failed to respond to him.
Mary snapped back to herself, automatically smiling at the older man, ignoring her mother looking reprovingly at her from the seat on the other side of him.
'Yes, of course, Sir Anthony. I'm sure I do,' she said with absolutely no idea what she was agreeing with.
Sir Anthony smiled at her and took another bite of his quail.
Mary turned to Matthew, who was talking to the lady on the other side of him, wishing she could talk to him instead.
'Are we ever going to be allowed to turn?' she muttered under her breath.
'Sir Anthony, it must be so hard to meet the challenges of the future and yet be fair to your employees,' Edith suddenly piped up across the table.
Mary looked at her sister in surprise, her mind whirring. What was Edith up to?
Sir Anthony nodded. 'This is the point precisely. We can't fight progress, but we must find a way to soften the blow.'
'I should love to see one of the new harvesters if you would ever let me. We don't have one here,' Edith continued, still paying attention to Sir Anthony at the expense of the gentleman next to her to whom she was supposed to be talking.
'I should be delighted,' Sir Anthony replied, beaming across the table at Edith, who smiled back at him but was unable to resist a quick, smug glance at her sister.
The tumblers clicked into place in Mary's mind. Ah, now she saw Edith's game. She thought she could take Sir Anthony from Mary. Well, let's just see about that.
'Obviously, it's an act of faith at this stage – Good God!' Sir Anthony broke off, lifting his napkin and spitting his mouthful of dessert into it.
'What on earth?' Robert began, staring in astonishment at his guest.
Strallan looked up, recovering himself and turned towards his hostess. 'I do apologise, Lady Grantham, but I had a mouthful of salt.'
'What?' Cora said, staring at him in confusion. Cautiously, she took a small taste of her own dessert and then pulled a face. 'Everyone, put down your forks! Carson, remove this and bring some fruit, some cheese, anything to take this taste away! Sir Anthony, I am so sorry.'
Up and down the table, conversation broke out between the guests at this unusual faux pas at the Granthams' dinner table.
'Fains I be Mrs Patmore's kitchen maid when the news gets out,' Robert said to his youngest daughter, sitting next to him.
'Poor girl. We ought to send in a rescue party,' Sybil said with a grimace.
Across the table from them, Mary caught Matthew's eye and the two of them began to giggle, Mary lifting her napkin to try to hide her mirth.
Edith narrowed her eyes at her sister's behaviour – especially galling as Matthew was joining in. Jealousy swept through her at the ease with which Mary and Matthew interacted when she herself always felt so awkward with him, like she was scrabbling to get his attention. And it was quite despicable how Mary was ignoring poor Sir Anthony.
Edith decided that could be to her advantage. She could be the one to address Sir Anthony, who was looking quite lost and abandoned.
'You must think us very disorganised,' she said to the baronet.
Sir Anthony smiled at her. 'Not at all. These things happen.'
'They do, but it is unfortunate that it happened to you, Sir Anthony. I do hope this won't put you off from dining with us again. It has been most interesting to hear your thoughts on the future of farming,' Edith said, pleased with herself for stepping in as a dutiful hostess while her sister disgraced herself.
'Indeed, Lady Edith, how could I refuse when the company is so charming,' Sir Anthony replied with another smile across the table.
Edith graciously inclined her head at him, seeing her mother nod approvingly from beside him. Perhaps another avenue of possibility was opening up for her.
'Poor Mrs Patmore,' Sybil said to her mother as the ladies followed Thomas to the drawing room. 'Do you think you should go and see her?'
'Tomorrow. She needs time to recover her nerves. I knew there was something going on,' Cora replied, thinking back to the cook's insistence earlier that day that she could not possibly change the dessert.
'It seems hard that poor Sir Anthony had to pay the price,' Edith observed, sitting daintily on the sofa.
'Good God!' Mary exclaimed in a fair imitation of Sir Anthony after he tasted the salty pudding, making Sybil laugh.
Edith glared at her. 'As for you giggling like a ridiculous schoolgirl with Cousin Matthew, it was pathetic!'
'Poor Edith. I am sorry Matthew's proved a disappointment for you,' Mary said silkily, smiling sweetly at her sister, delighted to be able to needle her.
'Who says he has?' Edith bristled.
'Matthew. He told me. Oh sorry. Wasn't' I supposed to know?' Mary continued, enjoying twisting the knife.
Edith coloured up, her mouth flattening into a thin, angry line.
Cora watched the exchange, her annoyance with her eldest daughter growing. 'You were very helpful, Edith, looking after Sir Anthony like that. You saved the day.'
Mary rolled her eyes, something Cora did not miss.
'I enjoyed it,' Edith replied, basking in her mother's approval. 'We seemed to have a lot to talk about.'
She cast a smug glance at Mary, who pulled a face, coming closer and sitting next to Edith as their mother was distracted by Thomas serving her a drink.
'Spare me your boasting, please,' Mary hissed, casting a quick glance at Cora.
'Now who's jealous?' Edith retorted in satisfaction.
'Jealous? You think I couldn't have that old booby if I wanted him?' Mary fired back, her competitive side rearing its head again.
Edith eyed her calmly. 'Even you can't take every prize.'
'Is that a challenge?'
'If you like.'
Cora turned back to her daughters, narrowing her eyes at the sight of Mary and Edith glaring at each other. If there was one thing she wished could be different, it would be that her two eldest children would get along with each other.
'I hope our salty pudding didn't spoil the evening for you,' Robert said to Matthew as the men left the dining room to join the ladies.
'On the contrary,' Matthew replied, smiling again at the memory of that evening's unexpected entertainment.
'I'm glad you and Mary are getting along,' Robert continued, casting a glance at his heir.
Matthew nodded and smiled but said nothing to Robert's disappointment.
'There's no reason why you can't be friends,' Robert prodded, hoping to get a reaction.
'No, no reason at all.'
'I don't suppose that you could sort of… start again?' Robert asked, anxious to see if there was any chance of an engagement between his heir and his eldest daughter, a union that would solve so many problems.
'Life is full of surprises,' Matthew said, his eyes falling on Sybil as the men entered the drawing room.
Robert smiled, seeing the possibility of wedding bells for Mary and Matthew dancing before his eyes.
Mary and Edith rose as the men came into the room, both making a beeline for Sir Anthony, Mary beating her sister to him.
'I've been waiting for you,' she said warmly, slipping her arm through his and guiding him over to a side table. 'I've found a book on the table over her and I think it's just the thing to catch your interest.'
Edith hastened to Strallan's other side. 'I was very taken by what you were saying over dinner on the way we – '
'You're so right, Lady Mary,' Strallan said, apparently failing to either see or hear Edith, entirely engrossed in his interaction with Mary. 'This is exactly what we have to be aware of.'
Mary shot Edith a triumphant look before turning to look at the book with Sir Anthony. Edith pursed her lips and then retreated going to stand beside Matthew.
'It seems we have both been thrown over for a greater prize,' she said, wondering if perhaps she could turn this defeat into a victory by making inroads with Matthew.
He gave her a slightly puzzled look. 'I'm sure Sir Anthony will be delighted to hear your thoughts on farming, Edith. If you'll excuse me, there was something I wanted to speak to Sybil about.'
With that, he gave her a polite nod and headed towards the sofa where Sybil was sitting talking to her mother.
Edith watched him go, frustration and anger building up inside her. Was it her lot to be ignored by every man in favour of her sisters?
Across the room, Robert gazed at his middle daughter with sympathy. He'd seen the way Mary swooped in to monopolise Sir Anthony and his instinct told him that she'd done it simply to spite her sister. She'd had no interest in the man at the dinner table.
He knew of Cora's hopes for Mary and Sir Anthony, but he also knew it was a match made in hell. Mary would never be able to stomach being the wife of a country baronet older than her own father. She simply wasn't cut out for it. Edith, on the other hand, could be a perfect match for Strallan, even though the thought of his young daughter dedicating her life to effectively being a nursemaid to an older man turned his stomach.
But what concerned him more was that Mary's game-playing could well cost her a second chance with Matthew. While she was intent on getting one up on her sister, Matthew was free to look further afield for a wife. Not that he was doing that now, Robert thought, looking fondly at his heir chatting with his youngest daughter, but that was hardly the point. Mary needed to learn that if she put down a toy, it may not necessarily be there when she wanted to pick it up again.
His mind wandered back to that curious letter he'd had from Rosalind, saying that there was gossip in London about Mary and the Turk who had died so unfortunately under their roof back in March. He simply couldn't understand where this gossip had come from.
He remembered Mr Pamuk casting appreciative looks at his eldest daughter, and Mary had indeed been flattered by his attention, but there had been nothing improper about it. Indeed, the man had only spent one day at Downton before his sad demise. There had hardly been time for anything improper to have occurred. It must simply be some scoundrel with nothing better to do stirring up trouble. But it had the potential to ruin his daughter's reputation, and he could not be having that.
Cora was right about it being time to get Mary married off, but Robert had not yet given up hope that something might yet be arranged between Mary and Matthew. That would be the ideal scenario. Certainly not Sir Anthony Strallan.
For the second time that evening, Cora knocked on Mary's door before letting herself in.
Mary was sitting at her dressing table, ready for bed, with Anna flitting around picking up her evening clothes. Cora sank regally down onto the easy chair near the dressing table.
'I thought I was going to have to have words with you about Sir Anthony, but you redeemed yourself somewhat after dinner. You appeared to be having a téte á téte with him in the drawing room.'
Mary rolled her eyes. 'Oh, Mama, he was boring me to tears about farming equipment.'
'And yet you stayed talking with him for quite some time.'
'Because I knew Edith was trying to talk to him. That's the only reason,' Mary said bluntly, turning towards her mother. 'I only spent so long with Sir Anthony to put her nose out of joint.'
Cora's mouth tightened in anger. She glanced across the room at Anna, who was doing her best to be invisible. 'Anna, have you finished your duties here for the evening?'
'Yes, your ladyship,' Anna replied, gathering up the last piece of Lady Mary's eveningwear.
'Then you may leave us.'
Anna bobbed a curtsy, cast a quick look at Mary and then left the room, closing the door behind her.
'I will invite Sir Anthony to tea, and you will be bright and warm and welcoming to him. You will encourage his attentions and let it be known you are amenable to an engagement,' Cora instructed, turning to her daughter.
Mary shook her head. 'No, Mama, I won't. I will not marry that man. I would suffocate within a week.'
Cora shot out a hand, gripping tightly onto Mary's arm, who looked at her in surprise.
'Half of London thinks you entertained that Turk in your boudoir before he died,' Cora hissed, her fingers sinking deeper into Mary's flesh. 'They think you gave yourself to him. And they are right. So, you cannot afford to be choosy, my girl. Sir Anthony may be boring, but he is respectable and respectability is what you need right now.'
'Mama – '
'No. I will not have you drag this family's reputation into the gutter, do you hear me? Your actions reflect on all of us, and you have already let us down beyond anything I might have imagined. Edith and Sybil will pay for your lack of morality if we do not fix this, and I will not have it. Do you understand?'
Mary stared at her mother, sensing for perhaps the first time the iron will that propelled an American heiress to become the Countess of Grantham.
'So, I am to be sacrificed so Edith and Sybil can enjoy a better future, am I?' she said, bitterly.
'I hardly think you can call it a sacrifice when you brought it all on yourself with your actions,' Cora retorted. 'Actions have consequences, Mary, and it is about time you understood that.'
'He raped me, Mama!' Mary hissed, her cheeks flaming, her anger about the injustice of it all boiling over. 'That man raped me!'
Cora flinched, pulling back. 'That is not what you said happened.'
'Because I was upset! I hardly knew what I was saying or doing that night!' Mary erupted.
'You told me he did not force himself upon you,' Cora insisted, remembering that quite clearly.
'You think I was calm enough to think straight when you asked me that? That man raped me, and he died while he was doing it!' Mary shouted, making her mother jump.
'Keep your voice down,' Cora hissed, shooting a glance at the closed door.
'Why? Because you're ashamed it happened under your roof? Because you're ashamed you never thought to ask me about it again after that night? Or are you just ashamed of me for foolishly getting myself raped?'
'Because the rest of the household does not need to know what happened that night! I asked you whether he had forced himself on you and you said no. You were quite unequivocal about that.'
Mary huffed out a bitter laugh. 'I was in shock! He was still inside me, still raping me when he died, Mama. Can you imagine how that felt? Do you even care?'
'Of course, I care! Although I do not need that level of detail. And I am very sorry if that happened to you, Mary, but – '
'If?' Mary interrupted, sharply. 'If? So, you still don't believe me?'
Cora paused, eyeing her daughter steadily. 'I will confess that I cannot be sure you are not trying to rewrite history, but if you say that is what happened, I will concede that that is what happened.'
Mary stared at her mother, feeling like she'd been slapped. 'So, you don't believe me. You think I'm lying about this.'
'No, I did not say that.'
'Yes, you did. You said you think I'm rewriting history!'
'And are you?' Cora flung at her daughter, her temper bubbling, not sure what to think about these revelations of Mary's.
'Do you want to know what happened? What really happened? He let himself into my room, he told me he wanted me, and when I said no, he said everyone would think I'd let him have me anyway. He said that's what people would think if I screamed. And then he pushed me onto the bed, pulled up my nightdress, climbed on top of me and pushed my legs apart,' Mary said, her voice low, thrumming with anger.
'Stop it,' Cora said, rising from the chair, not wanting to hear this.
Mary lunged for her, grabbing hold of her arm, making her listen. 'Oh, no, Mama, you haven't heard it all yet. He made me touch him, he made me stroke him, and then when his thing was hard enough, he pushed it inside me. And then he held me down while he kept pulling it out and pushing it back in. He didn't care that I'd said no, he didn't care if he was hurting me. He did it anyway and there was nothing I could do to stop him. And then he died.'
Cora stared at her daughter in silence, horrified by the picture she was painting. In truth, although she hadn't thought Pamuk had raped Mary, she had never stopped to think about the fact that he'd died during the act. She'd been too busy nursing her anger and disappointment to consider how horrible that must have been for her daughter. But now that Mary was telling her it was rape – was describing it to her in uncompromising detail – she felt ashamed that she had not spoken to her again after that night, not tried to find out the truth.
'I had to get out from underneath him, get his thing out of me while he was dead on top of me. Dead!' Mary cried, all the anger and horror welling up and pouring out of her.
'Mary,' Cora said, her voice catching as she reached for her daughter.
Mary batted her away at first and then she put her head in her hands and sobbed, her shoulders heaving. Cautiously, Cora put her arms around her, holding her until Mary's stiff body relaxed and she wound her arms around her mother's waist, clinging on to her.
'I'm so sorry, my darling, I'm so sorry,' Cora whispered, rubbing Mary's back, holding her tight.
'Why did you never ask me again, Mama?' Mary wept, feeling strangely relieved to have told her mother the truth about that terrible night.
'I was angry with you. I thought… well, you know what I thought.'
'I needed you. But you wouldn't even look at me,' Mary said, pulling away, wiping at her eyes and her cheeks.
'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'
'I only had Anna and – ' Mary broke off suddenly, biting back Tom's name.
'And who?'
'Sybil,' Mary said, wiping more tears away, substituting her sister's name for her lover's.
Cora looked at her sharply. 'Sybil knows about… about…'
Mary shook her head. 'No, but she knew I was sad and upset about something. She knew I wasn't myself, so she made sure she came to me every night. She brushed my hair to try to help me to sleep.'
'She always was a sensitive soul,' Cora said softly, thinking of her youngest daughter's kind, caring nature, relief flooding through her that Mary had not confided in Sybil. 'I'm glad you had her to comfort you.'
Mary nodded, her tears subsiding.
Cora reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Mary's ear. 'I'm so sorry that happened to you, my darling girl.'
Mary nodded again, trying hard not to let any more tears flow now her mother was being kind to her. 'Do you believe me now?'
'Yes. But the damage is still done,' Cora said, gently. 'Even if it was not your fault, the rumours are out there now. And we have to limit the damage as best we can.'
Mary pulled back, staring at her mother, a terrible sense of foreboding rising within her. 'What are you saying?'
'I'm saying that I don't want to see you ruined. And Sir Anthony Strallan is currently your best chance at avoiding that,' Cora said, calmly.
'No. No. I can't… I can't marry that man,' Mary said, backing away, shaking her head. 'I can't! It would be like a living death!'
Cora blew out an impatient breath. 'Oh, don't be so melodramatic, Mary. It wouldn't be that bad. Sir Anthony is a perfectly nice man.'
'Who is older than Methuselah!'
'He is not.'
'He's at least Papa's age if not older!'
'He is respectable, Mary. And he is respectful too.'
'And you want me to marry him?'
'Yes.'
'And I suppose you expect me to sleep with him and bear his children too then?'
Cora nodded, frowning slightly, not liking the direction this conversation was taking. 'Of course. That is a wife's duty.'
'But I don't love him! I don't even like him that much!'
'You didn't love Patrick, but you were going to marry him,' Cora retorted, her patience wearing thin.
'That was different and you know it, Mama! You can't expect me to marry an old man I barely know and let him make love to me! It would be like being raped all over again, except this time I'd be trapped forever and it would keep happening until he's too old to do it!' Mary cried, beginning to shake with the anger and horror that thought filled her with.
'Mary, stop!' Cora demanded, taking hold of Mary by the shoulders, and shaking her. 'It would not be like that at all!'
'I feel like you're punishing me even though you know the truth now!' Mary cried, swallowing back a sob.
'No! No! That's not true at all! I'm trying to save you!' Cora replied, willing Mary to understand how much danger she was in from the London society gossips.
'This won't save me, Mama! This will kill me! If you don't know that, then you don't know me at all!'
Cora let go of her daughter and took a step back, stung by that accusation. 'We're in an impossible situation here. I'm simply trying to fix it. And I don't see that you have any other options.'
The memory of Tom asking her to run away with him if it came to it floated through Mary's mind. For the first time, she could imagine a scenario where she might consider it.
'You don't know what options I have,' she said, quietly.
'I do, my darling. And none of them are good,' Cora countered. 'I will invite Sir Anthony to tea, and we will see how things go. But you must be sweet to him. You must charm him like I know you can because he may well be your saviour.'
Mary bit her lip, looking skyward, willing the tears not to start falling again. 'Can you leave now, please, Mama? I think I need to be alone.'
'Mary – '
'Please.'
Cora nodded, reluctant to leave Mary alone when she was still obviously upset but knowing her daughter well enough that nothing good would come of her remaining here when Mary wanted to be alone. With a bit of luck, she'd spend the night thinking things through calmly and she would come to the same conclusion Cora had – that Sir Anthony Strallan was the answer to their prayers.
She stepped forward and pressed a kiss to Mary's forehead. 'Goodnight, my darling.'
Mary said nothing, didn't move, simply stood there. Cora sighed and left her alone to contemplate her future.
'Lady Mary's asked for the motor at one o'clock,' Thomas said from the door of the garage, peering inside with a look of disdain on his face.
'Today?' Tom asked in surprise. He hadn't expected to see Mary, to have her order the motor out of the blue, especially not while they were trying to throw her ladyship off the scent.
'No, yesterday,' Thomas replied, rolling his eyes. 'Of course, today.'
'Did she say where we're going?'
'No. Surprisingly enough, she doesn't keep the likes of me informed about her private business,' Thomas said sarcastically, and then he quirked an eyebrow, a smirk appearing on his face. 'I'm sure she'll tell you, though, Tom.'
Tom scowled at him. 'Well, she'll have to, won't she, if I'm driving her somewhere. I just thought it would be handy to know beforehand in case it's somewhere I haven't been before.'
'Well, I've given you the message such as it is, although why Mr Carson couldn't have sent a hall boy, I'm sure I don't know,' Thomas said, put out by being treated as a lowly messenger.
'Beneath you, is it? Bringing me messages?'
Thomas fixed the chauffeur with a look meant to convey exactly how beneath him he felt this kind of a chore to be. 'Yes, it is.'
Tom grinned, unable to stop needling the man. 'But I do outrank you, so…'
Thomas narrowed his eyes at him, a wave of dislike surging through him. 'Only technically.'
'There's no technically about it. It's a fact. Until they have to call you Barrow or Mr Barrow, you're below me in the hierarchy. So, if Mr Carson wants to send you to bring me messages, you'll just have to grin and bear it, won't you? However galling you find it,' Tom said, watching with satisfaction as Thomas clenched his jaw in anger.
'You'll be out on your ear when Mr Carson finds out about you and Lady Mary,' Thomas spat, his temper bubbling up.
Tom raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms and leaning against the car, summoning every ounce of nonchalance he could. 'And what is it you're going to tell Mr Carson about me and Lady Mary? That she calls me Tom now and again? You think Mr Carson is going to reprimand her, do you? She's the boss's daughter – she can call me Tom Thumb if she wants to and there's not a single thing either me or Mr Carson can do to stop her.'
Thomas narrowed his eyes, annoyed by the simple truth of that. The quality could do what they liked. Mr Carson might not like the familiarity with which Lady Mary addressed the chauffeur, but he would be pushing the boundaries of his fond relationship with her if he were to call her out on that. If it was the other way around and Branson was being overly familiar with her, Carson would pounce on that, but Thomas had no evidence of that.
He sniffed, deciding to back away from this argument for now. 'Well, whatever she calls you, she wants the motor waiting for her out front at one o'clock.'
'Right, well, I'd better make sure I'm there ready and waiting then, hadn't I?' Tom said, pushing off the car and reaching for his polishing cloth.
Thomas eyed him as he began to buff the car and then sniffed again, turning on his heel. He'd bide his time. If something funny was going on with Branson and Lady Mary, one or the other of them would slip up soon and he'd be there waiting, ready to milk any advantage out of it that he could.
From the minute he saw her as she came stalking out of the Abbey, Tom knew Mary was angry about something. Even if it didn't show on the look on her face, every line of her body was tense. He kept his servant's blank in place as he handed her into the car, then got behind the wheel.
'Take the York road, please, Branson,' Mary instructed, tight-lipped, an echo of the vague instructions she would give him at the start when she wanted a secret escape to his cottage.
He waited until they were halfway down the drive before he spoke.
'Am I taking you to the cottage?' he asked, mildly.
'Yes, please,' she replied, still clearly seething about something.
'And I take it you want me to be there today?'
'I always want you to be there,' Mary said, her face softening as she looked at him in the mirror, making Tom's heart thud. 'But, yes, today I need you to be there because I am so angry I feel like I could explode! And you are the only person in the whole world I can do that with and not worry about the consequences.'
'All right,' he said. 'Five minutes and you'll be able to rant as much as you want about whatever has happened.'
As good as his word, five minutes later, Mary was stalking into his kitchen, pulling the pins out of her hat and flinging it down on the table. Tom followed her, setting his cap neatly on the dresser.
'Come on, then. Tell me. What's happened?' he asked, wondering what had got her so het up this afternoon.
'Mama. I told her last night that Pa... that that man raped me,' Mary spat out, casting him a quick look as she stopped herself from saying that name just in time.
Tom stared at her, his mouth dropping open in surprise. 'Did you? What did she say?'
'At first, she didn't believe me. She said she thought I was trying to rewrite history, but I told her everything and she had to believe me in the end.'
'Everything?' Tom asked uncertainly, wondering whether this would be his last day at Downton Abbey.
'Well, not everything. Obviously, I didn't tell her about you or how you'd helped me. But I told her what he'd done to me. And I made it very clear that it was not my choice,' Mary said, pacing the kitchen.
'All right. And how did she take it?'
'She said she was sorry it had happened to me. But it doesn't matter because her knowing that it wasn't my fault doesn't change anything!' Mary cried, indignant that she was still having to pay the price for being assaulted.
'I don't understand. What do you mean?' Tom asked, confused about what she was telling him.
'She informed me that, apparently, a story is circulating in London that I behaved less than properly with Mr Pa… him, and I may even be implicated in his death,' Mary ground out, furious about so many things.
Tom stilled, his mind whirring. 'But how? How would that story have got out? Only me, you, Anna and your mother know what happened. How has it got out?'
'I don't know! But it has! And if that wasn't bad enough, Mama has decided that because I am damaged goods, no respectable man of my own generation will choose me as his wife, so she's taken it upon herself to line up a suitor for me!' Mary cried, still completely irate about the whole thing.
'A suitor?' Tom echoed, his heart falling to his boots.
'Well, I say a suitor, but the man is older than Papa! He's practically got one foot in the grave!' Mary told him, absolutely livid. 'It seems I'm only fit for old men who will take whatever soiled goods they can get! And I'm to be grateful about it! I'm to flirt with him and make him want me! Imagine that!'
Tom stared at her, feeling sick at the thought of his beautiful, vibrant Mary being palmed off onto an old man simply to keep up appearances for the Crawleys.
Mary stopped talking, raked her eyes up and down his body and then stalked over to him, crowding him against the dresser, pressing herself against him.
'I don't want an old man, Tom,' she breathed, her lips hovering over his, her hot breath sending shivers down his spine. 'How can I share a bed with a man older than my own father when I've shared your bed with you?'
She leaned even further forward, pressing herself tighter against him, and kissed him passionately.
Tom groaned and kissed her back, unable to resist her, but then he felt her fingers on the buttons of his tunic and he caught her hands, pulling them away.
'What are you doing?'
'Take me upstairs,' she purred, pulling back a couple of inches to gaze at him, her dark eyes gleaming, her fingers straying to his buttons again.
'Why? Are you sleepy?' he asked, his heart leaping in his chest as he pushed her fingers away from his buttons once more.
'No, far from it,' Mary said, determinedly returning to his buttons and succeeding in undoing one of them. 'I want you to take me upstairs and lie me on your bed and make love to me until I can't think straight anymore. We've got all afternoon. Nobody's expecting me back for hours.'
'Mary, stop. Stop!' Tom said, capturing her hands and pushing them aside. He wriggled out from between her and the dresser, twisting away from her, putting the kitchen table between them.
'Don't you want to make love to me?' she pouted, following him.
Tom kept walking, circling the table, keeping out of reach. 'Of course, I do, but we can't just… just… do it.'
'Why not?' Mary snapped, frustration beginning to boil inside her.
'Because it wouldn't be right.'
'Why not?' she cried, glaring at him.
'Because we wouldn't be doing it for the right reasons.'
She narrowed her eyes, her temper rising. 'What does that mean?'
'It means I'm not going to make love to you for the first time because you're angry with your mother!' he said, taking a stand.
'That's not why I want you to make love to me!' Mary cried, getting cross now.
'Isn't it? Are you sure about that?'
Mary glared at him, clenching her jaw with anger. 'You know, Tom, I'm beginning to think you don't want to make love to me!'
He held her gaze, shaking his head. 'That's not true. I do. You know I do.'
'Then why do you keep turning me down every time I suggest it? Am I not desirable enough for you?' she snapped, insecurity gnawing at her.
He huffed out an incredulous laugh. 'Mary, you're the most desirable woman I've ever met.'
'Then why won't you take me to bed? Why won't you make love to me?' she shouted, shoving at one of the kitchen chairs in frustration. 'Any other man would have had me naked and flat on my back by now, I'm sure of it!'
Tom bit back the inclination to snap at her, instead opting to keep his voice gentle. 'Maybe they would have, but I love you too much to take advantage of you like that.'
Mary stilled, his words stopping her in her tracks. 'You… love me?'
He nodded. 'Yes.'
'Really?'
'Yes. You know I do. I told you I was falling in love with you.'
'Yes, but…'
He waited, just gazing at her, doing nothing to hide his feelings from her.
'You said it wouldn't be long before you fell in love with me. I didn't think you meant you were already in love with me.'
'Well, I am,' Tom said with utter certainty.
'Then why don't you want to make love to me?' Mary asked, at a loss as to why he was refusing her.
Tom came around the table, taking her hands in his. 'Because when we make love for the first time, I want it to be about us, about the way we feel about each other. Just that. Just us. Nothing else.'
She gazed at him, emotion bubbling up inside her.
He reached out a hand, stroking her face. 'At the moment, you're thinking about your mother. You're thinking about this old man she has lined up for you. And you're thinking about the bastard who assaulted you. I don't want you thinking about any of that when I take you to bed.'
Mary bit her lip, listening to every word he said, his soft voice and tender tone pouring balm on her anger. 'When,' she whispered. 'You said when you take me to bed. Not if.'
He nodded, stepping closer to her. 'Because I want it to happen, I do. I can't imagine anything more heavenly than being your lover. But I want us to do it properly.'
'What does that mean?' she asked, her voice shaking a little.
'It means neither of us will be thinking about anything but each other.'
She bit her lip, gazing at him.
He took her face in his hands, cradling it. 'I want to be your lover, I do. But I want it to be special, not rushed and frantic because you're upset about something. I want you to feel cherished and loved and safe. Because I will never let anything or anyone hurt you ever again.'
She shook her head, curling her fingers into the front of his tunic. 'You can't promise that, Tom. You can't protect me from everything.'
'I can try.'
Mary gazed at him and then leaned forward and kissed him, gently this time, not the angry passion of a few minutes ago.
He kissed her back and then wrapped his arms around her, standing there holding her, just the two of them.
'Did you sleep last night?' he asked, quietly.
'No, not really. I was too busy stewing on all of this,' she replied, recalling how she'd paced her room, too angry to even try to sleep.
'Then let's go upstairs and see if you can rest for a few hours.'
She pulled back and looked at him, a small smile on her face. 'You're not worried I will try to seduce you once you're in bed with me?'
He grinned at her. 'Well, I suppose that's a risk I'll have to take. And I never said we couldn't hold each other or kiss, did I?'
'Thank goodness for that, otherwise I really would begin to think you're not really attracted to me.'
He gazed at her, his face turning serious. 'You have no idea how much I want you, Mary.'
'Are you sure about that?' she asked, dryly. 'Because you keep saying no.'
'Only because I want it to be perfect. I don't want it to be something you regret.'
She stepped forward, eye to eye with him, her hands on his waist, slipping slightly under his tunic. 'I will never regret being with you. Never.'
Tom swallowed, his heart pounding as he saw the sincerity in her eyes. 'Neither will I.'
'Well, then, perhaps I can wait a while then,' she said softly, giving him a small smile.
He smiled and leaned in, kissing the end of her nose. 'Go upstairs and make yourself comfy. I'll bring us a drink up.'
She darted her head forward, snatching a quick kiss, gave him a cheeky smile and then backed away, heading for the stairs.
Tom watched her go, his heart full of conflicting emotions: joy that she was here and, for now, she was his; sadness that it wouldn't always be that way; and worry that things were already beginning to change if her ladyship was plotting to marry Mary off.
For now, though, she was here and they were happy. And he was determined to keep it that way for as long as possible.