January 1914

'So, it's the Servants' Ball tonight, Branson,' Mary said, her eyes twinkling as she once more waited by the car for her mother.

'Yes, milady,' Tom said, conscious of Thomas lurking in the doorway with his eagle eyes and ears like a bat.

'It will be your first one, won't it?' Mary continued, the picture of carefree innocence.

'Yes, it will.'

'Well, I hope you enjoy it.'

'I'm sure I will. I'm told it's a lot of fun.'

'It usually is, yes,' Mary said, tilting her head to look at her lover, a slight smile on her face. 'Do you dance, Branson?'

'I have been known to dance on occasion, milady,' Tom replied, half hoping he would get to dance with Mary tonight, half thinking that it might be the worst idea in the world, and they might give themselves away far too easily.

'And are you any good at it or should I fear for my toes?' she asked, teasing him.

'Are you asking me to save you a dance, milady?' Tom said, an answering smile tugging at his lips.

'I believe I am,' Mary confirmed, her smile widening.

'Then how can I refuse?'

'You can't, Branson. It would be most ungentlemanly. It's as simple as that,' Mary replied, raising an elegant eyebrow, watching Tom smile.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Thomas watching their exchange with interest, almost transparently cataloguing every word for closer examination. She turned towards him.

'And what about you, Thomas?'

The footman looked startled for a moment before recovering his aplomb. 'What about me, milady?'

'Would you care to dance with me tonight?' Mary asked, sweetly.

'Er, well, of course,' Thomas replied, taken aback that Lady Mary was asking him to dance with her at the ball that night just as he was thinking she might have slipped up and revealed her fondness for Branson.

'Excellent. It will be nice to dance with young men of my own age and not just Carson, the head groundsman and a hall boy,' Mary observed, her eyes twinkling, knowing she'd completely thrown Thomas just as she intended. 'Ah, here comes Mama now.'

She turned towards the car, stretching out her hand to Tom, and winked at him as he helped her into the car. It was all he could do to keep his face straight.

Tom waited by the rear door of the car as Lady Grantham lingered in the hallway, exchanging a few final pleasantries with her hostess.

Once more, Mary preceded her mother to the car.

'You were playing a dangerous game earlier,' he muttered to her as she stopped to stand by him.

'Was I?'

'With Thomas; talking about the ball,' Tom elaborated.

'Oh, don't worry about Thomas,' Mary replied, completely unconcerned. 'I knew all along he was listening avidly to every single word. That's precisely why I asked him to dance with me, too.'

'I know, but even so…' Tom said, sliding her a quick look. 'And do you think it's a good idea, us dancing together at the ball?'

'I don't see why not.'

'You don't think there's a chance we might give ourselves away?' Tom asked, voicing his worry.

A smile twitched on Mary's lips. She turned towards him, her back to the entrance to the house. 'Are you worried you won't be able to keep your hands off me?' she asked, sotto voce, her face lighting up with mischief.

Tom cast a look at the doorway before replying. 'Maybe you won't be able to keep your hands off me,' he said, his eyebrow rising slightly.

'Maybe I won't,' Mary replied, a grin breaking out on her face. 'Heavens. Wouldn't that be a grand scandal? Lady Mary groping the chauffeur in the Great Hall!'

Tom shot her a look.

'Lord knows it's hard enough to keep my hands off you right now,' she whispered, her eyes skipping blatantly up and down his body.

Tom bit his lip, trying not to laugh. 'You're a menace.'

'Given half a chance, I would menace you,' Mary breathed, stepping slightly closer, careful not to breach the rules of etiquette with her mother so close behind her.

Tom's lips twitched again. 'Stop it.'

She fixed her eyes on him, turning more serious. 'I want to dance with you tonight, Tom. And I think if you're honest, you'll admit that you want to dance with me too.'

His face softened as he shot her another quick look. 'Yes, I do. Of course, I do.'

'Then we shall dance together tonight, and nobody will suspect a thing,' Mary said, confidently. 'No-one will guess that you and I know each other as intimately as we do. I promise.'

'So, you're not going to grope me while we waltz then?' he teased, keeping an eye on the front door for the appearance of the Countess of Grantham.

'I can be discreet when I need to be,' Mary replied, serenely. 'Although, I shall be mentally groping you, never fear about that.'

Tom fought to hide his smile as her ladyship finally began to descend the steps towards the motor.

The string quartet played a jaunty tune in the Great Hall as couples danced along to the music, twirling around, the Servants' Ball making for strange pairings.

So far, Mary had seen her mother dance with Carson, William and a beetroot-faced hall boy. Her father had whirled Mrs Hughes, Mrs Patmore and Anna around the floor, and even her grandmother had graciously danced with Thomas and Carson.

She and her sisters had taken a turn around the dance floor with their fair share of the staff too, but she had yet to dance with the one man she really wanted to dance with.

She'd seen Tom dance with both Sybil and Edith, conversing civilly with both of them. He and Sybil had waltzed past her while she was dancing with Thomas – who was a surprisingly good dancer – but Tom had not yet taken her in his arms. And that was something she was determined to rectify.

After the under-gardener released her and murmured his thanks, she scanned the room, spotting Tom at one of the tables covered in white linen and small vases of fresh flowers that were dotted around the Great Hall, a mug of beer in his hand, talking and laughing with Bates and Anna.

Mary walked up behind him, laying her hand on his shoulder, making him look up to see who it was.

'There you are, Branson,' she said crisply as if he'd been hiding from her. 'I believe you promised me a dance. You're not trying to wriggle out of it, are you?'

'No, of course, I'm not, milady. I was just catching my breath for a moment,' he said with a smile as Anna looked on, watching them carefully for any hint of the relationship she knew was between them.

'Then catch it quickly because I am claiming the next dance,' Mary told him, a twinkle in her eye. 'Anna, are you having fun?'

'Yes, milady. It's been a most enjoyable night so far,' the maid replied, her eyes darting to the man sitting beside her, Mary noticed with interest.

'Bates, are you going to take Anna for a spin?' Mary said, turning to her father's valet.

'No, milady, at least not until the music slows down. This leg of mine doesn't allow me to move as fast as most of these dances require,' Bates said, mildly. 'Anna deserves much better than a lumbering old lummox like me treading on her toes.'

'Oh, no, Mr Bates, I'd be happy to dance a slow dance with you,' Anna said, quickly, her face lighting up at the prospect.

Mary smiled, wondering if perhaps Mr Bates was the man who made her maid's heart flutter. 'Then that's settled, a slow dance it will be, Bates. Perhaps Branson could dance one of the faster ones with Anna. After he's danced one with me.'

Tom grinned across the table at Anna. 'I'd be happy to.'

'Maybe. Thank you, Mr Branson, but I believe Lady Mary is intent on claiming you for this one,' she said, smiling back at him and flicking her eyes up to her mistress.

'I am, indeed,' Mary confirmed. 'Come on, Branson. Let's see if you have any dancing skills.'

Tom put his mug down and rose to his feet, turning towards Mary. 'Well, I'll aim to impress, milady, or at least not to stamp all over your feet.'

Mary smiled as he held out his arms. She slotted into them and off they went, galloping around the dance floor.

'There she goes, Lady Mary dancing with her boyfriend. She's got some brass neck, I'll give her that,' Miss O'Brien sniffed in an aside to Thomas, failing to notice Lady Grantham walking past behind her.

Cora paused, looking over her maid's shoulder to see Mary dance past with Branson.

'What was that, O'Brien?' she enquired, her voice glacial.

O'Brien started, her cheeks flushing as she turned to see the countess behind her. 'What was what, milady?' she asked, fighting to keep her voice even, kicking herself for not being more careful.

'You said something about Lady Mary.'

'Oh, it were nothing. Nothing at all.'

'It was. And I'd like you to repeat it to me.'

'It were nothing, milady, honestly. Just me having a stupid little joke with Thomas,' O'Brien insisted, flustered by her mistress' direct approach to the subject, seeing Thomas edging away from her out of the corner of her eye.

'I enjoy a joke as much as the next person. Please let me in on it,' Cora said, still in that same steely voice.

'Well, when I say a joke, it wasn't really very funny,' O'Brien blustered.

'No, it wasn't, was it? I believe you said Lady Mary was dancing with her boyfriend,' Cora said, unwilling to let the matter go. 'Is that correct?'

'Yes, milady,' O'Brien admitted, lowering her eyes.

'And why would you say that?'

'Um, well, it were just that… well, Lady Mary can be quite familiar with Mr Branson. I told you that some time ago, milady. You must remember that,' O'Brien said, deciding that if she was going to get into trouble, she was going to make damn sure that Lady Mary would be dragged into it too.

'I do remember that, yes. But I would thank you to not pass comment on Lady Mary, especially not comments like that. It is all too easy for rumours to start and what may seem like a joke to you could have serious consequences. Do you understand, O'Brien?' Cora said, coldly, fixing her maid with a look that brooked no argument.

'Yes, milady, I do,' O'Brien said, her eyes downcast but her jaw clenched.

'Very good. Then we will say no more about it,' Cora said before continuing on her way.

Miss O'Brien waited a few seconds and then turned to smack Thomas on the arm.

'Ow! What was that for?' he complained, rubbing his arm.

'Why didn't you tell me she was behind me?' Miss O'Brien hissed.

'Because I didn't know. I was looking the same way as you were,' he pointed out.

'Yes, at him and her waltzing around the room, bold as brass! And her ladyship has the nerve to pull me up for mentioning it!' O'Brien snapped, her anger at being reprimanded like that in public boiling up.

'Well, to be fair, it is the Servants' Ball,' Thomas said mildly, playing devil's advocate. 'He's danced with all the Crawley sisters. So have I. And Lady Mary has danced with loads of people. It's not like they have only danced with each other.'

O'Brien glared at him. 'Shut up. Whose side are you on? Do you want to catch her out or don't you?' she hissed again under her breath, taking a careful look around.

'Of course, I do, but it's not as if we've got any proof, is it? We've got nothing more than her calling him Tom,' Thomas said, trying not to lose his temper with her. 'That's hardly a story worth publishing, is it?'

'Something's not right,' O'Brien said, stubbornly. 'And we're going to find out what it is if it's the last thing we do.'

'You look very handsome tonight,' Mary murmured to Tom as they whirled around the dance floor to the fast music. 'Blue really does suit you.'

'More than green?' he asked with a grin.

'I like you in both, you know I do.' She glanced around and then looked back at him. 'Or in neither.'

Tom's grin got wider. 'Steady on. You'll have me blushing.'

'Aren't you going to tell me how lovely I look?' Mary asked, smiling back at him.

'You do look lovely. You're the most beautiful woman in the room. But then you always are,' Tom replied, keeping his voice low, his eyes on hers.

'I picked this dress because I thought you would like it,' she murmured, holding his gaze. 'I know how much you like my back, and this dress shows off more of it than most of my others.'

'Oh, I do, I really do,' Tom agreed, his mind flashing back to kissing the creamy expanse of her back the last time they were in bed together. 'I wish…'

'What?' she whispered, her heart beginning to race.

'I wish you were coming to mine tonight,' he said, longing to hold her closer, to kiss her neck and the slope of her shoulder, but ever mindful of the need not to arouse any suspicion about what they truly were to each other.

'So do I,' Mary agreed, fervently.

For a few precious seconds, they gazed at each other, both of them giving themselves over to their feelings but, inevitably, that couldn't last for long, not in a room full of other people.

Tom tightened his hand very slightly on Mary's back, his fingers making the tiniest of stroking motions.

'I want to dance with you again,' she murmured, trying to make it look like she was simply passing the time of day with him.

'Won't people notice?' he asked, equally quietly, wishing he could spend every dance with her in his arms.

'I'll make sure I dance with other people more than once, then it won't look strange,' Mary said, thinking quickly. 'If I do that, no-one can accuse me of favouring you.'

He smiled, his love for his quick-thinking girl swelling in his chest. 'All right. Any dance in particular?'

'A slow one. A waltz,' she said, decisively. 'One where we have a reason to be physically closer to each other.'

Tom nodded, already looking forward to it. 'A waltz it is, then.'

From her seat, Cora watched Mary and Branson dance, watched them talking and smiling at each other as they moved around the floor.

O'Brien's words bothered her. Watching them now, there was nothing improper in their behaviour. Branson was not holding Mary closer or tighter than was appropriate or, indeed, any different to any of the other couples spinning to the music. And Mary did not appear to be favouring him in any way. As far as Cora could tell, this was the first time she'd danced with him. But…

Cora wasn't sure whether it was O'Brien's words or her imagination, but she had that same feeling she'd had when she'd seen Mary and Branson outside the house talking by the car. That something was different about them, that there was perhaps the hint of a closeness that should not be there.

As they circled past her once more, Cora studied them, looking for whatever it was that gave her this sense of an inappropriate intimacy between them. She could see nothing, nothing obvious or even a hint of anything more than a family member dancing with a servant on the one night of the year it was not only permissible but expected.

She gave herself a little shake, trying to dismiss the feeling, deciding it must simply be a reaction to O'Brien's thoughtless words. She could talk to Mary about it, but she knew her daughter would haughtily dismiss any suggestion that she was harbouring inappropriate feelings for the chauffeur.

Besides, she knew Mary and there was no way she would even consider throwing away her future on a futile affair with a social inferior. Especially not after these last trying months. No, if nothing else, this unfortunate Pamuk affair had demonstrated to Mary in excruciating detail just how fragile and precious her reputation was. She would not jeopardise it by dallying with a servant. Of that, Cora was certain.

Throughout the evening, Mary made sure to dance with several of the servants more than once, making doubly sure that number included one Thomas Barrow. She was determined to make sure that when Tom approached her for a slow dance towards the end of the evening that it did not stick out like a sore thumb that she was dancing with him again.

As the music slowed towards the end of the evening, she spotted him walking towards her as she was chatting with Sybil.

'Lady Mary, Lady Sybil,' he said, formally, bowing his head slightly towards them. 'I was wondering, Lady Mary, if I might be so bold as to ask you to dance a waltz with me?'

Sybil nudged her sister, her smile wide. 'Well, I would say that is too pretty and too polite a proposition for you to say no to, Mary.'

'Indeed, it is. I would be honoured to dance with you, Branson,' Mary said, holding out her hand to him.

Tom smiled and took it, backing onto the dance floor, drawing Mary with him, and she stepped into his arms. He held her as close as he dared as they began to dance, the slow waltz giving them an opportunity to be physically closer than before.

'I wish I could have danced with you more,' Mary murmured, her cheek close to his.

'I never really thought we'd be able to dance together this much,' Tom replied, his voice soft in her ear. 'You're a wonderful dancer.'

Mary smiled. 'And you are definitely not as bad as I thought you might be.'

He chuckled. 'That bad, eh?'

'No, that much better. You've danced before, haven't you?'

'Yes, I have. And Irish families love a good jig. Our dances at home with my aunts and uncles and cousins are a much more raucous affair than this. This is very genteel in comparison.'

'Really? Is it like the Scottish reels?'

'Well, I can't say as I've ever seen the Scots dance, so I couldn't possibly say. As a child, I remember my uncle playing the accordion and the adults dancing in a circle. My mother and her sisters would stand between the men, their arms over the men's shoulders and at the height of the dance, their feet wouldn't touch the floor,' he said, the memory flooding back to him. 'As the music got faster, their legs and skirts would be flying out, they were spinning that fast with the men's arms around their waists to support them. Us kids would have to stay well back to avoid getting clouted by accident, but we loved to watch them.'

Mary smiled at him. 'Goodness, that does sound raucous. And it does rather remind me of reeling, which I love. It's great fun. I'd love to see one of your Irish dances one day.'

'I'd love to show you,' Tom said, pushing away the small voice in his head that nastily whispered he'd have a better chance of becoming the next Earl of Grantham than taking the earl's daughter back to Ireland to take part in his family's dances.

'I wish we could do this more often, Tom,' Mary whispered, stroking one of her fingers lightly on his shoulder, doubting he could even feel it through his jacket.

'So do I.'

'Maybe one day,' she said, knowing as she said it that the chances of that happening were remote at best.

'Maybe,' Tom replied, pulling her very slightly closer, knowing in his heart that it would never be the case.

'Wasn't tonight fun?' Sybil said, sinking back onto Mary's pillows beside her. 'I just love it when we can mix with the servants like that in a more social capacity.'

'Yes, it's a shame the Servants' Ball only happens once a year,' Mary said, thinking of Tom and how wonderful it had felt to do something as simple as dance with him.

During her lifetime, she'd danced hundreds if not thousands of times, often with men she would rather not have danced with given the choice. But the one man she desperately wanted to dance with was one she'd danced with twice tonight and would likely have to wait a whole year before she could do it again. It wasn't fair.

'Branson was very chivalrous when he asked you to dance,' Sybil said, pulling Mary's attention back into the room. 'I thought he was quite charming.'

'Yes, he was,' Mary agreed.

'You and he seem to get on quite well these days,' Sybil continued.

'Um, yes, I suppose we do,' Mary replied, trying not to seem too defensive about this line of questioning. 'Do you think I shouldn't get on with him?'

'Oh, no. Branson is a very genial type of man. I find him very interesting. He's the kind of person I think I could be very good friends with,' Sybil said without any kind of artifice.

'I thought you were friends with him. Doesn't he bring you pamphlets still?'

'Yes, he does. That's what I mean. He's about the only person who takes my interest in politics and current affairs seriously. Well, apart from Matthew,' Sybil said, a smile appearing on her face at the mention of their cousin.

Mary couldn't help but smile. 'Ah, yes, Cousin Matthew. I was wondering when you would mention him. I couldn't help but notice you danced with him rather a lot tonight.'

'I did dance with other people, too,' Sybil protested, somewhat defensively. 'Mainly with the servants because it was their ball after all. William trampled my feet, but Thomas was a surprisingly good dancer, didn't you think?'

'Yes, I did.'

'And Branson was much better than I expected him to be,' Sybil mused.

Mary grinned, tickled that her little sister had had the same expectations of Tom's dancing skills as she had. 'That's true. I said as much to Branson when we were waltzing.'

'Oh, Mary, you didn't? The poor man will think we were expecting him to be rubbish,' Sybil scolded, lightly.

'Pfft, he was fine about it. Now, back to you and Matthew dancing the night away,' Mary said, deftly turning the subject away from Tom and back to Sybil's favourite topic of conversation.

'Hmmm, yes, it was lovely,' Sybil sighed, looking all dreamy-eyed. 'Tonight was the first time I've danced with him. It was just wonderful to be in his arms.'

Mary nodded, recalling how she'd felt exactly the same when dancing with Tom. 'It's quite something, isn't it? Thrilling even, to be pressed up against the body of a man you're attracted to. Dancing is the only time it's socially acceptable to be so physically close to the object of your desire when you're neither married to him nor chaperoned so tightly that you can do no more than touch his sleeve.'

Sybil tipped her head, gazing at her sister keenly. 'And who has been the object of your desire then?' she asked curiously.

'Oh, Sybil, darling, you can't imagine that I've been out for four years and not danced with a man I've been attracted to,' Mary deflected with a small laugh, wishing she had kept her mouth shut and not spoken so effusively about dancing with a man to whom one was attracted.

'Yes, but who are you talking about? It sounds like you're in love with him,' Sybil persevered, intrigued by Mary's description.

Mary leaned forward and tapped her sister on the nose, giving her a small smile. 'That, my dear, would be telling, and I am not about to divulge my secrets.'

'Oh, come on, why not? You know how I feel about Matthew.'

'Yes, but that is different,' Mary maintained.

'How?'

'Because you have every chance of becoming Mrs Matthew Crawley. I am not likely to marry the object of my desire, so I will not name him.'

'You don't know that, Mary,' Sybil countered, unwilling to see her sister give up on what seemed to her to be a secret love that had so obviously caught her in its net.

Mary gave her sister another small smile, this one tinged with sadness. 'Am I engaged?'

'No.'

'Well, then, I rest my case.'

'But perhaps there is a chance that the gentleman may propose to you.'

'No, there is not,' Mary said, shaking her head.

'Are you sure? Because – '

'Sybil, as hard as it is for me to say it, I'm sure. The love I am talking about, it will never lead to marriage. I know that and I have had to accept that,' Mary said firmly, trying to draw a line under this conversation.

Sybil gazed at her, wondering which young man had captured Mary's heart so and why she was so sure he would not marry her. She moved closer to put a sympathetic arm around her sister. 'Then I am sorry to hear that, Mary, because you deserve to be loved. If he cannot see how special you are, then he is not worthy of you.'

Mary hugged her sister back, touched by her words, thinking sadly that her love was worthy and did think her special, but she could never tell Sybil that. She could never tell anyone that. Suddenly, the happiness she'd felt dancing with Tom tonight faded away as the stark reality of their situation struck her once more.

February 1914

Valentine's Day 1914 fell on a Saturday, a day when Mary could not finagle a trip to the haberdashery in Thirsk or some equally redundant trip simply to spend time with Tom.

Although she had received Valentine cards in the past, she had never had a particular beau or felt moved to send a card of her own before. This year was different. This year, she had a lover, a man who had pushed his way deep into her heart, and she was determined to mark the occasion.

After her ride across the estate on Tuesday morning, Mary checked carefully for prying eyes, and finding none, she slipped into the garage.

'Hello, love,' Tom greeted her, his eyes doing the inevitable, instinctive check over her shoulder when she appeared in the garage.

She lifted her veil, darting her head forward for a quick kiss. 'I can't stay long, Mama's expecting me. But I wanted to ask if there was any chance you can escape to the cottage for a while on Saturday afternoon.'

'Saturday? I suppose I could say I was taking one of the cars out for a run-out to check the engine,' he said, smiling at her. 'Why? What did you have in mind?'

She gave him a brilliant smile. 'It's Valentine's Day, Tom. And I want to spend some time with my Valentine.'

He grinned, taking hold of her hand. 'And you're still claiming you're not a romantic, are you?'

'Well, maybe I am a little where you're concerned,' Mary admitted, casting him a fond look. 'Maybe you've changed me.'

Tom lifted her hand, planting a kiss on the back of it. 'Then I'm honoured. What time on Saturday?'

'Two o'clock? Any later and I won't be able to stay long because it will get dark.'

'Two o'clock it is,' he said, bending forward to brush a kiss on her lips.

Mary smiled and squeezed his hand before dropping it to pull her veil back in place. 'Don't be late.'

'I'll try not to be. Now, let me just check the coast is clear,' Tom said, heading to the garage door for a spot of reconnaissance.

Mary followed him, hanging back a little until he gave her the nod.

'Tá grá agam duit, mo chuisle,' she whispered as she passed him.

Tom grinned, his heart melting as the woman who owned his heart spoke words of love to him in his native language.

Mary was already at the cottage on Saturday when Tom arrived, her hat on his kitchen table announcing her presence. Tom laid his cap down next to it and headed to his parlour in search of her, one of his gifts for her in his hand.

She rose to her feet as he came in, flying across the room to throw her arms around his neck.

'Hello, darling. Happy Valentine's Day,' she purred and then kissed him, deep and slow.

Tom wound his free arm around her waist and went with it, kissing her back just as passionately.

'Goodness, what a lovely welcome,' he murmured when the kiss ended and Mary pulled back to smile at him.

She looked down at the bunch of snowdrops in his hand, tied with a white ribbon. 'Are those for me?'

'Yes, they are,' he said, holding them out to her.

'Thank you, they are so pretty,' she said, taking them from him. 'I do love it when you bring me flowers. I love that you've gone to the effort of going out and picking them just for me.'

Tom smiled, his hands going to her waist to pull her back in for another kiss. 'I'd do anything for you, mo chuisle. Picking flowers is not a hardship.'

'Well, I have something for you, and I want you to know that it was a hardship. I sweated blood and tears over this gift,' she said, pulling back and gesturing to the little parcel on the table alongside the tea cups and tea things she'd laid out.

Tom moved past her, picking up the parcel and opening it. Inside lay a pair of fingerless gloves in the same rich blue wool as the scarf she'd knitted him for Christmas. He picked them up and grinned, examining them and then looking over at her.

'You finished them!'

'Yes, I did. Finally. Admittedly with a little help and guidance from Anna, but I did. The wretched things caused me sleepless nights,' she said with feeling.

'You nearly always have sleepless nights,' he teased.

'Oh, shut up, you know what I mean. Try them on. See if they fit,' Mary said, anxiously. 'Although be warned, I may have a temper tantrum the like of which you've never seen before if they don't fit.'

Tom laughed and pulled on the first glove and then the second. One was slightly tighter than the other, but they fit. He held his hands up and waggled his fingers at her. 'They're perfect. My clever girl.'

A huge smile spread across Mary's face. 'Oh, thank heavens for that! I can die happy knowing I actually successfully completed that little challenge. Although look after them well, Tom, because I shall never make another pair.'

He chuckled and then reached into his pocket for another gift for her. 'Close your eyes and hold out your hand.'

'Oooo, what is it?' Mary asked, obediently doing what he'd said.

'Well, it's a variation on a theme,' he said, a little embarrassed at what he saw as a lack of originality. 'I hadn't realised it was Valentine's Day until you mentioned it the other day, so I had to quickly make you something again.'

He dropped the object onto her palm, watching her close her fingers over it.

'You've carved me something else?' Mary asked, opening her eyes and looking at the little wooden cat in her hand, curled up in a sleeping position. 'Oh, Tom, it's lovely. Did you make this since Tuesday? It's so perfect. Why a cat, though?'

'Because you remind me of a cat, sometimes,' he said, watching her examine the little carving closely.

'Do I? Why? Because I'm haughty and arrogant?' she asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

He laughed, shaking his head. 'No, not all. Because you're sleek and beautiful and very affectionate in private. When a cat trusts you, it trusts you for life. That's you, too, I think.'

Mary stared at him, her heart swelling with love for him. 'Is that really how you see me?'

He nodded. 'Yes, I do.'

She smiled, putting the little cat down on the table beside them. Moving close, she looped her arms around his neck, feeling his hands going to her waist.

'Nobody else sees me like you do,' she said, softly.

'I don't think anyone else knows you like I do,' he responded, a small smile on his face.

'That's true,' she agreed, nodding. 'Nobody has ever known me as intimately as you, that's for sure. You really think I'm affectionate?'

'Yes, I do. You are with me, anyway.'

Mary smiled, nodding her head. 'I am with you, yes. You bring out the soft side of me.'

'Because you're mine, mo chuisle. And I'm yours,' he murmured, leaning in for another kiss.

'Take me upstairs, Tom, and I'll show you how affectionate I can be in private,' Mary whispered, love and desire both rising inside her.

He smiled against her lips. 'Are you sure you mean affectionate?' he asked, teasing her.

'Well, if you take me upstairs, you can decide,' Mary said, taking his hands in hers and backing away, tugging him with her.

'Should I keep the gloves on?' he asked, cheekily.

Mary laughed. 'No, take them off. I like to feel your hands on me. There's a callous on your right hand that gives me a particularly nice frisson at times,' she confided, her eyes twinkling.

'Oh, does it, indeed?' Tom asked, stripping off the gloves. 'Then get up those stairs and I'll see if I can't give you a bit of a frisson right now.'

Mary giggled and turned to flee up the stairs, Tom chasing after her.

March 1914

In a secluded lane off the main road to Ripon, Tom and Mary lounged in opposite corners of the back seat of the car, her legs over his lap, both of them somewhat dishevelled.

'Hmm, that was lovely,' she purred, looking across at him. 'I enjoyed that.'

He grinned at her. 'So did I.'

'It is a pity we didn't have a shield, though,' she said, quirking her eyebrow. 'We could have done it in the back of the car. I should imagine that might have been quite exciting.'

He chuckled. 'You're a bad girl, Mary Crawley.'

'If I am, it's your fault,' she said, grinning at him.

'I know. Guilty as charged.'

'How many shields do we have left?'

'Just one.'

'Then I'm going to give you some money and you're going to go and buy some more,' she said, holding up her hand and shaking her head to stop him as he opened his mouth to protest. 'Ah, no, no arguments, Tom. I know it was important to you to buy them the first time around, and I appreciate the chivalry involved, but I like making love with you, and I know you like making love with me, so you are going to take the money and buy some more of those things, so we can keep doing it.'

Tom grinned. 'Good Lord, I think I've created a monster.'

'A sex monster,' Mary said, giggling as she looked at him. 'And you've no-one to blame but yourself.'

'No, I haven't,' he agreed, reaching out for her hand. 'All right, I will take your money, but only because I know how much you will sulk if I don't.'

'I've brought it with me. And it's all in small change, so nobody will wonder why you're using a guinea to buy such things,' she said, grinning at him again. 'See? I have learned something.'

'If you ask me, you've learned quite a lot in the last few months,' Tom said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

Mary let out a laugh, gazing fondly at him. 'You're my favourite person, do you know that?'

'Well, I hoped I was, but it's good to hear that I am.'

'Am I yours?'

'Yes. By a country mile,' he said softly, gazing back at her.

Mary tilted her head, studying him. 'Do you know what today is, Tom?'

'No, not in particular. Why? What's today?'

'It's one year today since Pamuk died,' she said, watching him carefully.

His face changed, his expression becoming more serious. 'Oh, Mary, I'm sorry, I didn't know.'

'No, no, it's perfectly all right, I didn't expect you to remember the date. And I'm not upset, I promise,' she said, anxious to reassure him that she was all right. 'I just wanted to mark it. Not because of him, but because of us, me and you. For me, today marks one year since you found me in the woods and took me back to your cottage, and that is far more important a milestone than that man breathing his last.'

Tom reached out his hand and Mary slipped hers into it.

'Do you know, I would go through it all again, all of that awfulness with Pamuk,' she said, softly.

He shook his head. 'No, Mary, don't say that. You don't mean it.'

'I do mean it,' she said, her eyes locked on his. 'Because without that, we wouldn't have this. I wouldn't have you. And I simply can't imagine my life without you in it now. Without this wonderful thing we have between us.'

Tom stared at her, love for her flooding through him. 'Come here,' he said gruffly, emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

Mary scrambled forward, lying against him. 'I love you, Tom. I hope you know that,' she whispered, gazing up at him.

'I love you, too. With all my heart.'

Mary smiled. 'Good. Then we're agreed,' she said happily, and then she leaned up and kissed him, pouring all the emotion she felt into it.