September 1913

'London?' Mary repeated, staring at her mother in dismay.

'Yes.'

'When?'

'We'll be spending the weekend at Downton and leaving on Monday. I have engagements over the next few days and we have a dinner tomorrow night, so Rosamund and I have agreed we will all travel down together on Monday,' Cora said, folding her hands neatly on her lap. 'That gives her time to telegram her housekeeper and make sure the house is ready for us.'

'How long for?'

'About a month.'

'A month?' Mary echoed, flabbergasted.

'Yes. Tell Anna to pack clothes for all occasions. One never knows where one might be invited.'

'But the season is over,' Mary argued, trying to nip this in the bud even though she knew it was pointless. When her mother made up her mind, there was generally no changing it.

'The presentation season and the debutante balls may be over, but you know as well as I do that there are always dinners and events going on in London,' Cora said calmly, ready to ride roughshod over any excuses Mary may come up with to remain in Yorkshire.

'But I thought you said I was persona non grata in London at the moment. Is anyone likely to receive me?' Mary asked, puzzled by her mother's abrupt volte-face on the matter.

'Yes, well, I've given the matter some consideration and, on reflection, I feel it would be better for you to be in London to dismiss the rumours in person if they should persist.'

'Really?' Mary questioned, dubious about that whole idea. 'It feels more like you're intent on throwing me to the wolves. Although, why you would do that is beyond me given you've been so intent on making me as respectable as possible.'

'Don't be ridiculous. Of course, I'm not throwing you to the wolves. If anyone can haughtily dismiss a rumour as absolute poppycock, Mary, it's you,' Cora said, firmly. 'Both Rosamund and I feel it could make a difference.'

Mary paused, her mind whistling through scenarios and possible outcomes. 'And if it does, does that mean I will no longer be forced to consider Sir Anthony Strallan as a suitor?'

'We'll see,' Cora replied, unwilling yet to dismiss Sir Anthony as a prospect.

Mary eyed her mother steadily, weighing up whether a month away from Tom was worth it if it would help to consign the prospect of life as Lady Strallan to the rubbish heap where it belonged. She nodded, making a decision.

'Very well. I will come to London.'

Cora raised an eyebrow. 'You say that as if you have a choice. If I say you're going, you're going, my girl.'

'And what would you have done if I'd refused to go, Mama? Had Carson hogtie me and carry me to the train?' Mary enquired, not giving any ground.

Cora pursed her lips, displeased with her daughter's attitude. 'Must I remind you that I am doing all of this for you?'

'No, Mama, you're not,' Mary countered, tartly. 'And quite honestly, I can't see how you have the gall to say that to me.'

'I beg your pardon!' Cora spluttered, shocked by Mary's disrespectful demeanour.

'You're doing this for Edith and Sybil. My wishes and future happiness do not appear to carry any weight whatsoever. At least do me the courtesy of acknowledging that,' Mary continued, laying it out as she saw it. 'But if going to London and facing down scurrilous rumours will save me from a lifetime of stultifying boredom with Anthony Strallan, I will do it. Because no matter what you say, I will not marry that old man.'

With that, Mary turned and left the room, going to inform Anna that they would be spending the next month in London, leaving Cora open-mouthed in her wake.

If she was going to have to spend a month in London, Mary needed to see Tom and spend some time with him before she went.

It would be impossible to sneak away to his cottage on Saturday or Sunday, especially with the now pressing need to prepare for this wretched trip. That meant her only chance to see him was this afternoon, but unless he knew she needed to see him, there was no guarantee he would come to the cottage while she was there this afternoon.

After some deliberation, Mary decided to trust Anna once more as her conduit to Tom. She scrawled her note and put it into an envelope, once more leaving the front blank. She turned to her maid, currently checking in the wardrobe for the clothes Mary would need for their unexpected London trip.

'Anna, I need to ask you a favour,' she said, trusting her maid would once more do as she requested without asking any awkward questions.

'Of course, milady. What do you want me to do?' Anna asked, turning to face her mistress.

Mary held out the envelope. 'Can you give this to Branson, please? Discreetly.'

She watched as surprise followed by a flicker of uncertainty flashed across Anna's face, but the maid walked over to her dressing table, taking the envelope from Mary.

'Don't let anyone see you give it to him,' she warned, anxious not to raise any suspicions, especially with Carson, Mrs Hughes or the likes of Thomas and that nosey old maid of her mother's.

'I'll be discreet, milady, I promise,' Anna said, bobbing her head and putting the envelope in her apron pocket. 'Do you want me to wait for a response?'

'No. It's quite self-explanatory,' she said, reaching out to put her hand on her maid's arm. 'Thank you, Anna. I know this is quite… unusual, but it's important that you give that note to Branson at lunchtime.'

'What if he's not there? He might be out driving someone somewhere.'

Mary bit her lip, hoping that wasn't the case. 'Then try to get it to him sometime this afternoon if you can.'

'I'll do my best, milady.'

'I know you will. Oh, and tell him not to open it until he's alone.'

Anna's eyebrows shot up at that, but she nodded obediently. 'All right. I'll make sure to pass that along.'

'Thank you, Anna,' Mary said gratefully, thanking the Lord above for Anna and her unquestioning loyalty.

At lunchtime, Tom stood at the sink in the boot room, scrubbing his hands clean before sitting down to eat with his fellow servants. As he dried his hands on the towel, Anna popped into the room with a pair of boots in her hand.

She put them down on the table and then hurried over to Tom, pulling a small envelope from her apron pocket.

'Lady Mary asked me to give you this,' she said quietly, casting a glance at the open door. 'She said you're not to open it until you're alone.'

Surprised, Tom took the envelope, pushing it into his pocket, feeling awkward as Anna gazed at him curiously, looking like she was itching to ask him about it.

'Why is Lady Mary sending you notes?' she finally said.

'I don't know until I read it,' Tom answered, trying to sidestep the real question.

Anna narrowed her eyes at him. 'I wasn't asking about what the note says.'

'No, I know,' he replied, meeting her gaze.

She chewed her lip, looking at him like she was trying to puzzle something out. 'You're not…'

'What?' Tom prompted as she petered out.

'Blackmailing her or anything, are you?' Anna asked suspiciously, ready to defend her lady if it turned out Branson was up to no good.

Tom let out a short, involuntary laugh. 'No, Anna, I'm not. I would never do anything to hurt her.'

Anna regarded him carefully, scrutinising him long enough for Tom to get the urge to squirm, and then she nodded her head.

'Good. Because I won't stand for that, do you hear me?'

Tom smiled at Mary's loyal maid. 'I hear you. And you don't need to worry. I promise. Lady Mary has nothing to fear from me.'

Anna nodded again, satisfied that Mr Branson meant her lady no harm but still curious about what they may be corresponding about. 'Right, well, let's go and get some lunch, then.'

'You go on ahead. I won't be a minute,' Tom replied, itching to read Mary's note.

Anna spared him another look and then left. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope, turning away from the door to open it.

I need to see you today.

Meet me at the usual place.

I'll be there from 2 o'clock.

Footsteps clattered along the corridor outside, and Tom quickly shoved the note back in the envelope, stuffing it into his pocket again. He wondered what was so urgent that Mary had risked passing a message through Anna. A hard lump of worry settled in his chest as he made his way to the servants' hall.

It was half past three before Tom could take the little car out for a spin and sneak over to his cottage.

'Hello? Mary?' he called as he came in the front door, shutting it behind him.

Mary came out of his little parlour, rushing down the hallway to throw herself into his arms.

'Woah! Goodness, whatever has happened?' he asked, catching her and wrapping his arms around her, his worry intensifying as she clung to him.

'Mama's taking me away to London. For a month!' she cried, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

Tom felt his heart drop. 'A month? When?'

'Monday.'

'Why?'

'She seems to think it will be better for me to confront the gossip head-on. That they will magically stop talking about me if they can see me face to face. As if that's going to happen,' she said, scathingly.

'You don't think that will be the case?' he asked, rubbing her back soothingly.

'No. I think they will relish watching me trying to face them down. The hunt's always more fun when you can see the whites of your quarry's eyes,' she said, miserably.

Tom hugged her tighter. 'You hold your head up high, love. You've done nothing wrong. You're worth a thousand of any of those small-minded gossips who will try to make you feel ashamed. Don't you forget that.'

'That's not even the worst thing, though, Tom,' Mary said, drawing back to look at him, her hands on his shoulders, looking as miserable as she sounded.

'What's the worst thing?' he asked, full of trepidation, wondering if she'd come to tell him she was engaged to Strallan.

'I won't see you for a month. A month!'

He smiled, relief shooting through him. 'Oh, Lord, I thought you were going to say something much worse than that.'

'Like what? What's worse than not seeing each other for a whole month?' Mary asked, a small frown creasing the skin between her eyebrows.

'I thought you might have been pressganged into getting engaged to that old fella,' he admitted.

Mary wrinkled her nose. 'Oh. Yes, well, that would have been worse, but no, thankfully not. And I'm hoping this trip will help me avoid that fate.'

He grinned at her, chucking her under the chin. 'So, you'll miss me then?'

'Of course, I'll miss you!' She narrowed her eyes at him. 'Won't you miss me?'

'With all my heart,' he said softly, smoothing his hand over her hair.

'That's why I needed to see you this afternoon. I have to get my fill of you now while I still can,' she muttered, looping her arms around his neck again. 'Do you have to take anyone anywhere this afternoon?'

'No, nothing's scheduled. I told Lynch I was taking the little car out for a run to keep the engine in tip-top condition. I said he was to tell anyone who came by asking for me that that was what I was doing.'

'Good. So, you can spend the rest of the afternoon here with me, then,' she said, relief flooding through her.

'Aye, I can.'

She released him, trailing her hands down his chest to take hold of his hands, and then she backed away, tugging him towards the stairs. 'Let's go upstairs then.'

'Are you tired?' he asked, a small smile on his face.

'Not in the least, but I want to lie on your bed with you and just talk and hold each other,' she replied, returning his smile.

'No kissing then?' he queried, waggling his eyebrows teasingly at her.

'Oh, there absolutely will be kissing,' she said, her smile getting broader. 'Just you try and stop me. I have a month's worth of kissing to get in before I leave here today.'

He chuckled. 'Lucky me.'

'Lucky you, indeed. Now, let's get upstairs, so we can start with all the kissing,' she said, tugging at his hands again.

Tom grinned and walked towards her, smacking his lips together. 'Come here, wench.'

Mary giggled and turned, keeping hold of his hands, pulling him with her as she dashed up the stairs.

'You know I won't be able to sneak out to see you again before we leave,' Mary said sadly an hour or so later, playing with his fingers where their hands lay entwined on his chest.

'No, I suppose not.'

'So, this will have to be our goodbye,' she said, feeling the heavy weight of sadness settle on her.

'I speak Gaelic,' Tom said out of the blue, turning his head to look at her.

Mary squinted at him, taken aback by this sudden non sequitur. 'Do you?'

He nodded. 'Yes. And as far as I know, there isn't another Gaelic speaker anywhere near Downton.'

'No, I don't suppose there would be,' Mary replied, wondering why he was telling her this.

'So, if I said something to you in Gaelic, nobody would understand what I was saying even if they heard me say it.'

'Oh. Oh, right,' Mary said beginning to see where he might be going with this. 'But I don't speak Gaelic either, so…'

'You don't need to speak it. You just need to understand what I'm saying to you. So, if I teach you one phrase, that's all you need to know,' Tom said, shifting onto his side to look at her, his hand on her hip, rubbing gentle circles.

'All right. What is it?'

'Tá grá agam duit,' he said, fluidly.

Mary frowned, having no clue what the unintelligible string of sounds he'd just made meant. 'Say it again.'

'Tá grá agam duit. Tá grá agam duit. Tá. Grá. Agam. Duit,' Tom repeated, breaking it down into single words on the third time.

'Tor graw uhgum ditch,' Mary repeated, haltingly.

'Yes. Tá grá agam duit.'

'Tor graw uhgum ditch,' she said again, trying to commit the strange words to memory. 'What does it mean?'

Tom cupped her face with his hand, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. 'I love you. It means I love you.'

Mary stared at him, her heart jack-rabbiting in her chest. 'Tor graw uhgum ditch.'

'Yes. That's it,' he whispered, his thumb still sweeping over her cheekbone.

'No. I'm saying it to you,' Mary said softly, emotion welling up inside her. 'Tor graw uhgum ditch. I love you.'

Tom gazed at her, happiness flooding through him. And then he leaned in, closing the small gap between them and kissed her, pouring everything into it.

Mary slipped her arm around him, curling her hand up his back, over his shoulder, pressing herself as close to him as she could as she kissed him back.

This was the moment she would carry with her during the long weeks of separation while she was in London, she knew it was. Her and Tom, lying together on his bed, kissing one another, both of them knowing for the first time that they loved each other.

Sybil picked up the brush and stroked it through her sister's hair.

'So, you're off tomorrow then,' she said, sadly.

'Yes. Unfortunately,' Mary replied, heavily.

'Are you not even a little bit excited? You usually like going to London.'

'No, not this time. I shall feel like an exhibit in the zoo all the time, I know I will.'

'Why?'

'Because Mama intends to parade me around, fishing for a suitable husband for me. Apparently, any taker will do as long as he is respectable,' Mary said, unable to hide the bitterness in her voice.

Sybil twisted her lips, keeping up her long, regular, soothing brushstrokes. 'You never know, perhaps you will meet the perfect man for you.'

I already have, Mary thought, except he's not socially acceptable husband material.

'Maybe,' she said in reply.

'I'm going to miss you, Mary,' Sybil said softly, her eyes finding Mary's in the mirror.

'I'll miss you, too.'

'Who am I going to confide in when Matthew does something that makes my heart stutter?' Sybil asked, a small smile on her face. 'As he seems to do without fail every time I see him.'

Mary returned her sister's smile, doing her best to push aside her sadness at leaving behind the people she loved the most for a whole month.

'You must write to me. Keep me apprised of developments between you and Cousin Matthew. Promise me you will. I do not wish to return home in a month and find you engaged to be married and me the last to know,' she said, sternly.

Sybil giggled, her cheeks turning pink. 'I hardly think that is likely.'

'You never know. Stranger things have happened,' Mary replied, a teasing smile on her face.

'Well, if it does, I promise you will be the very first to know,' Sybil said, slipping her arms around Mary's shoulders and hugging her.

Mary reached up, patting Sybil's arm. 'I'd better be. If you tell Edith before you tell me, I shall be most unimpressed. Not least because I want so badly to see her face when she realises you have succeeded where she failed,' she said, grinning wickedly.

Sybil erupted into giggles. 'You really are terrible, Mary.'

'And yet I am still your favourite sister, am I not?'

Sybil straightened up and resumed brushing Mary's hair. 'I couldn't possibly say,' she said, diplomatically.

Mary smiled, confidence oozing from her. 'I'm taking that as a yes. Just so you know.'

Sybil grinned and silently kept brushing.

Monday morning dawned grey and chilly. Mary couldn't help but think the weather reflected exactly how she was feeling. She hadn't seen Tom since Friday afternoon when they'd spent those precious hours together at his cottage, and she was already missing him even though she had not yet left Downton.

Several times on Sunday, she'd been tempted to sneak out to the garage and see if he was there, but each time she'd tried to escape, her mother had collared her giving her instructions to do one thing or another. If Mary didn't know better, she'd suspect Mama of deliberately keeping her in the house, away from any possibility of seeing Tom. That was fanciful, she knew, because Mama knew nothing of her clandestine romance with the chauffeur, thank God, but that was how it felt.

Right now, she stood in the hallway waiting for her mother to put in an appearance, angling herself so she could see Tom through the open doorway, strapping their luggage to the back of the car. She watched him, trying to imprint him in her mind, hardly able to believe that she wouldn't see him for a month.

Anna was with him, helping him arrange the luggage in a suitable order, a hatbox clutched in her hands. Briefly, she wondered if her maid had an inkling of the relationship between them. She hadn't said anything, but Anna was not stupid and Mary had used her as a go-between twice now.

Edith hove into view, a sour look on her face.

'So, you're going to London then.'

'Yes.'

'For a whole month.'

'Yes,' Mary said, her voice clipped, wishing Edith would go away and leave her to enjoy her last looks at Tom in peace.

'And why is that? Why do you get to go to London for a month? Why can't Sybil and I go, too? Why are you the favoured child once again?' Edith said, bitterly.

Mary shot an incredulous look at her sulky sister. 'The favoured child? Is that really what you think this is?'

'Isn't it?' Edith snapped.

'No. Far from it. Believe me, if I could change places with you, Edith, I would. In a heartbeat.'

'I don't believe you.'

Mary shrugged stiffly, doing her best not to let her frustration and irritation overwhelm her. 'Suit yourself. But I would much rather spend the next four weeks at Downton than in London.'

Edith paused, looking at her consideringly. 'Then why are you going if you're so against it?'

'Because Mama is making me.'

'Why?'

'You'd have to ask her that.'

Edith pursed her lips, thinking about this, wondering if perhaps it was something to do with the letter she'd sent to the Turkish ambassador all those weeks ago. Perhaps it was finally paying dividends.

'Well, have a pleasant journey,' she said, her spirits somewhat restored by the thought that Mary was not relishing this trip.

'Thank you,' Mary replied, wishing Edith would just go away.

She got her wish as Edith turned, heading for the library. She cast another glance outside, seeing Tom waiting by the car. Almost as if he could sense her eyes on him, he turned his head, looking into the hall. Mary gave him a tiny smile and he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.

'All set then, Mary?' Rosamund said, coming up alongside her, pulling her gloves on, ready for the off.

'Yes, I suppose so,' Mary replied, unenthusiastically.

'You don't sound like you're very keen to get going,' Rosamund observed mildly, looking at her niece with some sympathy. She knew from bitter experience that facing down gossip about oneself was not the most pleasant of things to do.

'No, I'm not.'

Rosamund reached out, taking hold of one of Mary's hands, squeezing it gently. 'It might not be as bad as you think it's going to be, my dear. And your mother and I will be there with you to help you.'

Mary sighed. 'I can't think it's going to be as easy as all that, Aunt Rosamund. I'd rather stay here safely out of the way until somebody else becomes the talk of the town.'

'I know, darling, but sometimes you have to just have to hunker down and do these things. Hold your head up high and outlast them.'

'Well, I suppose we'll see, won't we?' Mary said in resignation. 'Mama is quite determined.'

'And she's right to be. Plus, you never know, you might find the eligible bachelor of your dreams waiting for you in some London salon or ballroom.'

Mary fought not to let her eyes drift back to Tom outside by the motor. 'I doubt that very much.'

Rosamund squeezed her hand again. 'Nonsense. A beautiful girl like you, they will be queuing up for your hand, you see if they don't.'

Mary gave her aunt a weak smile as her mother finally came down the stairs, dressed in her favourite travelling outfit, O'Brien trailing behind her with yet another hatbox.

'Ah, wonderful, you're both ready,' Cora said, smiling warmly at the women waiting for her in the great hall. 'We should get going if we're to make the train.'

She swept through the hall towards the door, leaving Mary and Rosamund to follow in her wake. Mary trailed behind, fervently hoping the train would not come and she could, by some miracle, stay at Downton.

Outside, Tom opened the rear door of the motor, standing to attention and offering his hand first to the countess and then Lady Painswick to help them inside. When it came to Mary's turn, she surreptitiously squeezed his fingers, her eyes meeting his, a quick look passing between them before she ducked into the car.

O'Brien handed Tom the hatbox she was carrying and followed the ladies into the rear of the car, claiming the small fold-down seat on the partition, hers by virtue of her outranking Anna as the only official lady's maid. Mary couldn't help but think Anna's supposedly sub-standard seat beside Tom in the front of the car looked much more comfortable and desirable to her. Not least because Anna got to sit next to Tom.

As they set off driving down to the village, Mary discreetly tucked one of her gloves down the side of the seat. For the rest of the ride, she tried to restrict herself to only the odd glance in the mirror at Tom, catching his eye once or twice, seeing those familiar crinkles by his eyes as he looked back at her.

At the railway station, Tom pulled up and left the driver's seat to open the door on the other side of the motor, helping both her mother and her aunt out of the car. With their backs safely to them as he handed Mary out of the car, she gave him a quick smile, receiving one in return.

'Come along, Mary,' Cora said, turning just in time to see Branson releasing Mary's hand as she stepped out of the car.

'I'm coming,' Mary replied tightly, trying to tamp down her irritation.

Cora faced forward, walking into the station with Rosamund beside her. Mary followed them, hearing Tom begin to unload the luggage behind her.

'Oh, bother,' she said, feigning irritation as she held up her single glove and waved it at her mother when she turned to see what was wrong. 'I think I must have dropped my other glove in the car.'

'I can go and fetch it, milady,' Anna said, promptly.

'No, no, you have enough to do making sure the luggage is properly stowed,' Mary said, quickly. 'I had it with me when I got into the car, so I'm sure it's just on the seat or the floor. I'll go and get it.'

'Well, be quick,' Cora told her. 'The train will be here soon.'

'I will,' Mary nodded, turning on her heel to go back to the motor.

She hurried outside, seeing Tom stacking luggage on the station cart, the station master's lad helping him. Quickly, she crossed to the car, smiling as he noticed her coming back.

'Milady, can I help you?' he asked, walking towards her.

'My glove, Branson,' she said, brandishing it at him. 'I fear I've dropped the other one in the back of the car.

'I'll take a look,' he said, heading for the rear seat of the car.

Mary followed him, admiring his behind as he bent to enter the car. She came close to the door, swiftly checking that no-one was near them, pleased to see the station lad beginning to pull the cart towards the station entrance.

'It's tucked down the side of the seat where I was sitting,' Mary murmured, giving Tom a conspiratorial smile as he turned and looked up at her. 'I wanted an excuse to come back to the motor.'

He grinned at her, sitting on the back seat and sliding his hand down the side of it, retrieving her glove. 'Smart thinking.'

'Yes, well, I can be quite sneaky when I need to be,' she said, her smile growing wider and then falling slightly. 'I'm going to miss you so much.'

'And I you,' he said, softly. 'I'll be thinking about you all the time, though, you can be sure of that.'

'Don't go getting your head turned by any local girls while I'm gone,' Mary said, only half joking.

Tom reached out the hand holding her glove. Mary leaned forward, stretching her own hand out to take it from him. He caught her fingers, closing his around them as she took hold of the glove. With a quick glance over her shoulder, he swiftly bent his head, kissing the back of her hand.

Mary made a small noise in her throat as his lips brushed her skin.

Tom drew back and looked up at her, the love in his eyes undeniable. 'Tá grá agam duit, mo chuisle,' he said, quietly.

'Tor graw uhgum ditch,' Mary murmured in return, wishing she could lean forward and kiss him.

Reluctantly, she stepped back, letting Tom climb out of the car.

'What did that last bit mean?' she whispered as he straightened up beside her.

'Mo chuisle. It translates as my darling in English,' he said, his voice low, pitched for her ears only.

'Mo cushla,' Mary tried, warmth flooding through her as he smiled, his eyes crinkling up again.

'Good enough,' he said, nodding.

'I have to go,' she whispered, not making any move to go at all.

'I know.'

'Tor graw uhgum ditch,' she said again, her eyes on his.

'Tá grá agam duit,' he responded, his quiet voice caressing the words. 'Mo chuisle.'

Mary smiled at him once more, and turned blinking back sudden tears, but then glanced across in surprise as Tom fell into step beside her, walking towards the station.

'What are you doing?' she muttered.

'I'm going to check if the lad needs help loading the luggage. If I'm on the platform, I might be able to see you off,' he murmured back.

'Oh, right.'

As they walked through the arch from the station to the southbound platform, they stopped, Mary looking along it towards where her mother and aunt stood waiting as the station master opened the carriage door for them.

Anna and O'Brien were at the other end of the platform with the station lad, supervising as he and another young lad struggled with the cases.

'Goodbye, milady. I wish you a safe onward journey. I hope you have an enjoyable trip,' Tom said formally, coming to attention.

'Thank you, Branson. That is very kind of you,' Mary responded, playing her role as the earl's daughter.

Tom nodded at her and turned to stride down the platform towards the luggage carriage. Mary watched him go, unable to drag her eyes away from him until she heard her mother calling her name.

Reluctantly, she turned and walked up the platform. As she took the station master's proffered hand to step into the carriage, she chanced one more look down the platform and saw Tom looking back at her. She threw caution to the wind and sent him one last small smile before climbing up into the carriage and settling herself on the seat opposite her mother, her back to the engine.

Some minutes later, the station master blew his whistle and waved his paddle, and the train began to draw out of the station. As it chugged slowly away, Mary kept looking out of the window and suddenly they passed Tom standing there on the platform, watching the train go.

Through the window, she kept her eyes on him, knowing her mother could no longer see him. Tom raised his hand in farewell and Mary gave him a slight nod, knowing there was no way she could wave back.

She kept her eyes on him until he disappeared from sight, trying to ignore the solid weight of misery and longing that sank into her chest, pressing her down into her seat.

One month.

Four long weeks.

The countdown until she would see him again began here.