Author's notes:

First, thank you to Depp for your review and your kind words. It means a lot to me!

Second, I've used some dialogue from the show in this chapter.

August 1918

It was Anna who took delivery of the telegram addressed to Lady Sybil Crawley as she happened to be outside in the kitchen yard when the sombre-faced young lad rode up on his bicycle.

She stared at it, her stomach churning, and then went in search of Mr Carson. When Carson took it from her, his face solemn, she darted off, seeking out Lady Mary. If it was bad news in that telegram – and when was a telegram ever good news these days? – Lady Sybil was going to need her sister.

'Sybil?' Mary cried, bursting into the drawing room just as her father arrived from the small library, having been alerted by Carson. 'What is it? What's happened?'

Sitting on the sofa, her mother by her side, Sybil looked up from the telegram in her hands, her face streaked with tears.

Mary felt her heart clench. Not Matthew. Please God, not Matthew.

'He's… he's been wounded,' Sybil croaked.

'Wounded? Then he's not… he's not dead then?' Robert let out an audible sigh of relief.

'How badly?' Mary asked, not sure yet whether Matthew was out of the woods.

'Badly, we think. They're bringing him here, to the military hospital at Downton,' Cora said as Sybil crumpled beside her, leaning against her mama.

'Then we'll nurse him, darling,' Mary said firmly, striding to her sister's side. 'You can be by his side every minute of the day. We'll get him through this and back to health. We will.'

Sybil sat up straight, sniffing back her tears, locking eyes with Mary and nodding, a steely determination on her face. 'Yes. Yes, we will. I won't let him die. I won't. Not on my watch.'

The sight of Matthew, pale and immobile on the stretcher when the orderlies brought him into the hospital at Downton, was almost enough to break Mary's heart. She could only imagine what it was doing to Sybil, but her sister reined in her emotions, remaining stoic, bending to help them move her husband onto the bed.

'Hello, my darling,' she murmured, brushing the hair off his forehead and bending down to kiss him. 'What have you been doing to yourself, eh?'

'He's breathing, but he's not been conscious since we've had him,' the orderly said as he stepped back.

'Well, he's home now, so we'll look after him,' Sybil said, bravely blinking back tears. 'I'll need to wash him.'

'How hot should the water be?' Mary asked, determined to help.

Sybil looked up at her, grateful she was by her side. 'Warm rather than hot.'

'Then I will see to that while you get him settled,' Mary said, pressing Sybil's arm before she left her alone with her wounded husband.

'What did Dr Clarkson say?' Mary asked anxiously when her father stepped out of the hospital room, leaving Sybil alone with Matthew and the doctor.

Robert shook his head mutely, and Mary felt her heart drop into her shoes.

'He's not… he's not going to die, is he?' she breathed, willing that not to be true.

Robert shook his head again. 'No, but Clarkson thinks he will never walk again.'

Mary's hand flew to her mouth, appalled that Matthew's injuries were that bad.

'And there will be no more children,' Robert said, heavily. 'Thank God for Jamie is all I can say.'

Mary pressed her father's hand, feeling it shaking under her touch, and then settled onto a hard wooden chair to wait for her sister.

Mary looked up as she heard her bedroom door open that night. Sybil slipped inside, her eyes red and puffy.

'Can I sleep with you tonight?' she whispered. 'I can't bear to lie alone in our bed with Matthew down at the hospital.'

'Of course, you can, darling,' Mary said, lifting the covers to let Sybil climb in beside her. 'How are you holding up?'

'Oh, Mary, I feel wretched. He's not in pain but that's because he can't feel his legs. I don't know whether to be glad he's not in pain or devastated that he's unlikely to walk again,' Sybil replied, her voice breaking. 'It breaks my heart to think I'll never stand beside him and look up at him again. He always made me feel so safe, standing so tall and imposing beside me.'

Mary slipped her arm around Sybil's shoulders, pulling her in for a hug as they sat propped against the headboard.

'He'll never be able to run after Jamie again, to play with him like he did,' Sybil mumbled, sniffing back more tears. 'And Dr Clarkson said… he said…'

Mary waited, rubbing her hand soothingly up and down Sybil's upper arm.

'He said Matthew won't be able to make love anymore. We'll never be able to be intimate again. We'll never be able to have more children,' Sybil choked out, her head dropping, her hands covering her face. 'And that feels like such a silly, selfish thing to be bothered about, but it does bother me.'

Hugging her sister tighter, Mary nodded. 'I know, Sybil. I know, but at least you have him back and he's alive. It could have been so much worse. Look at poor William.'

'I know, I know. I sound like such an ungrateful, horrible person. And I am glad Matthew is alive, of course, I am. I can't bear the thought that I might have lost him. It's just… it's just so hard to think of him not being the man he was.'

'But he's still your man, darling. He's a little damaged and a little distressed at the moment, but he will still be able to live a full life. Well, an almost full life,' Mary said, trying to soothe her sister.

'Yes, you're right,' Sybil said, wiping her eyes. 'I know you're right, but… but I did so love the full life we shared.'

'I know you did.'

'Am I a terrible person, Mary?' Sybil asked in a tremulous voice. 'For mourning what we cannot have any more when I'm so much luckier than so many other women?'

'No, darling, of course you're not. You love your husband. You're allowed to be sad that a part of your relationship you enjoyed will no longer happen.'

Sybil brushed away another tear. 'How would you have felt if this had happened to Tom?'

Mary pressed her lips together. 'I don't know that I can answer that.'

'Please. Try. I need to know.'

'If you're asking me what I would do if I had to choose between a celibate life with Tom or a life without Tom, then I would choose a celibate life with him every time. Because I know what life without him is like and sometimes it's… it's unbearable.'

Sybil took her hand, squeezing it. 'I suppose that's how I must think of this change in mine and Matthew's lives. It's better to have him than not to.'

'Exactly. I know it won't be easy to adjust, Sybil, but you love each other. You will face it together. And at least you have Jamie.'

Brushing away another tear, Sybil nodded. 'How I would have loved to have given him a brother or sister to play with, though.'

Mary hugged her sister again, guiltily pushing away the thought that she would have given anything to be in Sybil's position if it meant she would still have Tom in her life.

'Milady, I have to tell you something,' Anna said, looking worried.

'What is it?' Mary asked, twisting around on her dressing table seat, immediately fearing something terrible.

'Mr Bates' wife has turned up again and she's furious about him being back here at Downton. She says… she says…' Anna dropped her head, gathering her courage to say what she must. 'She says she's going to go to the newspapers with the story about you and Mr Pamuk.'

Mary closed her eyes and sighed. 'Am I never to be free of that?'

'I'm so sorry, milady. Mr Bates, he's already given her all the money he had. He's nothing left to bargain with.'

'It's not his fault, Anna,' Mary said gently, resigned to being manacled to these rumours forever.

'What will you do?'

'I don't know. I'll have to think about it.'

'But why would she do such a thing?' Cora asked, perplexed by the motivations of the vindictive Mrs Bates. 'What purpose does it serve? What can she possibly expect to gain from it?'

Mary glanced over at her grandmother and then shrugged. 'Money, I suppose, if she's selling the story. And she seems to think attacking Bates' employers will go badly for him.'

'That's ridiculous! Your father won't hear of letting him go.'

'Well, we know that, but apparently, she doesn't.'

'We must stop her,' Cora said, determinedly.

'How? If we offer her money, she'll only keep coming back for more time and time again. And anyway, why do we need to stop her? Is it really that important anymore? I am no longer a society darling, Mama, and I'm not looking for suitors. I shall simply stay in Yorkshire even more than I do now.'

Cora pursed her lips, shaking her head. 'But it doesn't just affect you, does it? We have Edith and her marital prospects to think of, too.'

Mary sighed, realising the old argument was rearing its head again.

'I have a suggestion,' Violet said, eternally regal and unflappable as she chaired this small council of war.

'Then do share it, Granny,' Mary said, willing to entertain any suggestions to put this current trouble to bed.

'Sir Richard Carlisle,' Violet pronounced, solemnly.

'What about him?'

'He owns a string of newspapers, doesn't he? Several of which are of the variety that would print this kind of salacious nonsense.'

'He does.'

'Then perhaps we could prevail upon him to buy the story and tie Mrs Bates up in a legal contract to ensure her silence.'

Mary and Cora stared at the Dowager, both of them assessing that proposition.

'But wouldn't he print the story?' Cora asked, doubtfully.

'Not if he is as fond of Mary as you appear to think he is. He may relish playing her white knight.'

'But it may put him off her, too.'

Violet raised an enquiring eyebrow. 'Is that a concern? I was under the impression that Mary is not keen on the idea of joining in matrimony with the gentleman.'

'No, I am not,' Mary said, emphatically.

'But then why would he do it?' Cora asked, failing to understand why Sir Richard would save the reputation of a woman who would refuse to marry him.

'Would it be possible, do you think, Mary, to make Sir Richard believe you may be amenable to marriage if he were to do you this kindness?' the Dowager asked delicately.

Mary narrowed her eyes. 'You want me to string him along?'

'Well, that is not how I would have phrased it but, in essence, yes.'

Feeling her mother's and grandmother's eyes on her, Mary thought that over. 'I suppose I could be more… encouraging.'

Cora nodded, breaking into a smile. 'Of course, you could.'

'But don't think that means that I have changed my mind, Mama. I'm not going to marry him.'

'Of course not, darling. But you are quite capable of letting Sir Richard think you might.'

Mary sighed. 'Then we have a plan.

Sir Richard stared out of the window, looking over the impressive view of London from his office.

'Who'd have thought it? The cold and careful Lady Mary,' he said, turning to pin Mary with a calculating look. 'I'm surprised you haven't given me any extenuating circumstances.'

'Would you believe me if I did?'

'So, you gave yourself to him freely, this Pamuk character?' he asked, his voice sharp.

'I did not give myself to him at all. He raped me,' Mary replied, bluntly.

Carlisle's eyes widened, looking momentarily shocked. 'Is that the truth?'

'Yes, it is. But it seems very few people care about the truth if they can spin it into sensational gossip instead.'

He looked at her thoughtfully. 'And when I've saved you – if I can – what will my reward be?'

'Your reward?' Mary asked, willing her disgust not to show on her face.

'Yes. If I do this, what can I expect from you? You know that I hold you in great esteem and affection. Will you be more considerate of me and my feelings for you?'

Mary let him twist in the wind for a moment as she swallowed her feelings of repulsion. 'I will.'

He nodded, walking around the desk towards her.

'Of course, we both know if we marry, people – your people – will think you've conferred a great blessing on me. My house will welcome the finest in the land. My children will carry noble blood in their veins. But that won't be the whole story, will it? Not anymore.'

Mary rose to her feet, regal and composed, her voice glacial. 'Sir Richard, if you think it pains me to ask this favour, you'd be right. But I have no choice if I am not to be an object of ridicule and pity.

'Forgive me. I don't wish to offend you,' he said, coming closer. 'I'm simply paying you the compliment of being honest. No, in many ways, if I can manage to bring this off, we come to any marriage between us on more equal terms. And that pleases me.'

'So, you'll do it?'

'I'll try to do it, yes.'

'You must act fast.'

'I'll send a car for her as soon as you've left.'

'Please let me know what it costs. I'll find a way to reimburse you.'

'Never mind that,' Sir Richard said, taking her gloved hand. 'As my future wife, you're entitled to be in my debt.'

'Still, I would prefer it if I assumed the debt myself,' Mary said, anxious not to let him have any further leverage over her. 'I seek your help in silencing this woman; I do not expect you to shoulder the cost of it.'

'It is not necessary.'

'It is necessary. I am a businesswoman, Sir Richard, and I do not like to be needlessly indebted when I don't have to be. I'm sure you can understand that.'

He inclined his head. 'Very well. I will instruct my accountant to bill you for the cost of the contract to silence Mrs Bates.'

'Thank you. Then I shall leave you to handle it,' she said, nodding her head.

Sir Richard moved forward, leaning in to brush a dry kiss on Mary's cheek. 'I shall let you know when it is done.'

With an effort of will, Mary managed to wait until she was alone in the lift taking her back to the ground floor before she scrubbed at her cheek where he'd kissed her.

'Good God almighty!' Robert exclaimed at breakfast a few days later and then began reading aloud from the newspaper. 'The engagement is announced between Lady Mary Josephine Crawley, eldest daughter of the Earl and Countess of Grantham, and Sir Richard Carlisle, son of Mr and the late Mrs Mark Carlisle of Morningside, Edinburgh.'

Edith gaped across the table at Mary, looking stunned but not as stunned as Mary felt. She stared at her father in shock.

Robert looked up, flabbergasted by what he'd just read. 'Is this why you went to see him? Why didn't you say it would be in today's paper?'

'I didn't know!'

'Well, surely he asked your permission?'

'I don't think asking permission is his strongest suit. He hasn't even asked me to marry him!'

Robert's mouth fell open in shock. 'That's very high-handed,' he said, disapprovingly, a frown on his face. 'You can't let him get away with it.'

'Well, it's done now,' Edith said, astonished by this whole carry-on.

'We'll see about that,' Mary said, tightly.

31st August, 1918

Downton Abbey

Tom, my darling,

I'm not sure if you bother to keep up with the society and announcement pages of the British press – I am not even sure you are in the country to read them – but if you do, you might have been shocked to read the announcement of my engagement.

Believe me, you could not have been as shocked as I was. I have not had a proposal from the man claiming to be my fiancé, nor would I have accepted it if he had deigned to ask me before publicising an impending union between us.

I have no intention of marrying him, no matter what he thinks. In fact, I am bound and determined that it will be a cold day in hell before I walk down the aisle with him.

Although I don't wish to cause you any more hurt than I already have, I must confess that a part of me hopes you did see the announcement and it prompts you to get in touch with me.

Even a letter of disapprobation would be welcome, my love. Anything to hear from you again.

Write to me and take me to task if you wish for my apparent shallowness in accepting a proposal from a rich man when I refused your proposal when you made it. I beg of you. All I need is a return address to be able to correspond with you and put you right. And perhaps establish a renewal of our connection. That would be my dream. It would be heaven.

Whatever you think of me, whatever words you want to throw at me, throw them. I will catch them willingly. Even a morsel of communication from you would lift my heart to heights I have not known since the day you left.

Please, my love. Write to me. Scold me. Rail at me. Show me you still care. Oh, heavens, I hope you still care.

I remain always in hope of being once again,

Your Mary

xxxxxxxxx

September 1918

'Sir Richard Carlisle,' Mead intoned, showing the baronet into Rosamund's most imposing drawing room in Belgrave Square.

'Lady Mary,' Sir Richard said, striding across the room to take her by the arm and kiss her.

Mary stepped back, pulling away before his kiss could land on her cheek.

He frowned at her. 'Have I done something to offend you?'

'Yes, you could say that,' she replied, coolly.

'And what might that be?' he asked, equally cool.

'You announced our engagement.'

'Yes. Why is that a problem?' he enquired.

'Why is that a problem?' Mary echoed, astounded. 'Well, for a start, you haven't even had the courtesy to propose to me.'

He frowned again. 'But our conversation in my office the day you asked me for my help with Mrs Bates… we discussed marriage then.'

'We most certainly did not. At best, it was fleetingly mentioned as a possibility at some unnamed point in the future.'

'That was not my understanding,' Sir Richard said, stiffly. 'I distinctly remember saying to you that as my future wife, you were entitled to be in my debt.'

'And I told you I did not wish to be in your debt,' Mary retorted. 'At no point did I agree to be your fiancée. That I would have remembered.'

'So, you're saying I jumped the gun.'

'I'm saying you more than jumped the gun. I'm saying you presumed far too much,' Mary snapped, her anger getting the better of her.

He narrowed his eyes, a dangerous look crossing his face. Swiftly, he stepped forward, grasping her arm.

'I will say something now I hope I won't have to repeat. If you think you can jilt me or in some way set me aside, I tell you now, you have given me the power to destroy you. And don't think that I won't use it. I want to be a good husband, and for you to be happy, but don't ever cross me. Do you understand? Never.' He leaned forward and kissed her hard on the lips. 'Absolutely never.'

'Take your hands off me,' Mary bit out through gritted teeth. 'Right now.'

He loosened his hold on her arm and Mary wrenched herself free, putting space between them.

'You know I had some of my investigators look into your story about Pamuk,' Sir Richard said, the conversational way he said it at odds with the dangerous tone of his voice.

Mary glared at him. 'Why? Didn't you believe me?'

'People lie all the time to get what they want.'

'I did not lie.'

'No, I don't believe you did. Not about Pamuk. But neither did you tell me the whole truth, did you?'

Mary stared at him, wondering what he was talking about. He knew everything about Pamuk, except for her mother helping her and Anna to carry the body. That remained a secret from him.

'What are you talking about?'

'My investigators, they are good. They are the best. That is why I employ them. And they uncovered another secret in your past.'

Mary said nothing, her heart racing.

'If I said the name Tom Branson, what would that mean to you?'

Still Mary said nothing, her jaw clenching in anger at the sound of Tom's name coming from this odious man's mouth.

'My information is that he was your lover,' Sir Richard continued, his gaze penetrating, ice in his voice. 'He was your family's chauffeur, and you took him to your bed. Would that be correct?'

Mary glared at him, unwilling to admit anything to him.

'So, it's true then,' he said, his eyes narrowing. 'You bedded a servant, yet you will not allow me to even kiss you.'

'No, I will not,' Mary said, her head held high.

'Yes, you will. You will let me kiss you. You will let me bed you. And you will certainly wed me,' he said, a dangerous note in his voice. 'Because if you don't, I have the power to ruin you.'

'Do you think you can bully me into marrying you? Blackmail me?' Mary hissed, white-hot with anger.

'I should not use such ugly words if I were you,' Sir Richard said, fixing her with a look. 'A woman like you has nothing so valuable as her reputation, and if I were to print rumours of your sexual escapades with the Turk and the chauffeur, your reputation would be in shreds within hours.'

Mary gazed at him, her fury giving her strength. 'I have done nothing I am ashamed of.'

'Oh, you say that now, but that's only because no-one yet knows the extent of your transgressions.'

'No, you don't understand,' Mary replied, her voice dripping with loathing. 'Tom was not a transgression. I loved him.'

'Loved him?' Sir Richard sneered, finding himself insanely jealous of a man he did not know. 'You loved the chauffeur?'

'I did. I do. You couldn't hope to live up to him. For all your success in business, you are a small, mean-spirited man. Tom was worth a thousand of you,' Mary said, conviction ringing through her voice.

'Yet I can give you a life he never could.'

'I don't care what you can give me. I don't want a life with you,' Mary said clearly, looking him directly in the eye, her head held high.

He took a step forward, looming threateningly over her. 'Be very careful what you say, Lady Mary. I can ruin you if you don't agree to be my wife. And don't think I won't do it.'

'I do believe you will do it because I have no doubt you are the cold, calculating man I have always thought you were. What I do not understand is why you would want to marry a woman who has nothing but disdain for you.'

He shot his hand out grabbing her arm. 'Because I burn for you. I yearn for you. You are the challenge I must conquer. You are my Everest.'

Mary twisted her arm, pulling free of him. 'I am not your anything. And I never will be.'

'Then I will ruin you. I will destroy your life,' he hissed, his eyes glittering with malevolence.

Mary huffed out a wry laugh. 'No, you won't.'

'Yes, I will. Do not make the mistake of underestimating me or thinking my fond feelings for you will stay my hand if you rebuff me.'

'I am not making that mistake,' Mary replied, calmly. 'I have every expectation of you carrying out your threat. What you don't understand is that my life is already ruined.'

'What are you talking about?'

'My life was ruined the day Tom Branson walked out of it. The worst has already happened to me; I have lost the love of my life. There is nothing you can do that will ever hurt me as much as losing him did.'

He shook his head. 'I don't believe you.'

Mary shrugged. 'That is your prerogative, and to be honest, I do not care what you believe. Print whatever you want and be damned.'

'You don't mean that.'

'I do.'

'Then why did you ask me to silence Mrs Bates?' he growled, confused and angered by the turn this conversation had taken.

'Because my mother asked me to do so to protect my family's reputation and my sister's marital prospects. Left to my own devices, I would simply have stayed in Yorkshire and waited out the scandal. And that is what I will do if you print whatever nasty little story you have in mind.'

'So, you would sacrifice your sister for your own selfish ends?' he provoked, trying to get the upper hand again.

'My sister only has herself to blame for letting the rumours about Mr Pamuk abound,' Mary said, knowing even Edith couldn't deny the truth of that.

'And your family's precious reputation? You would happily tarnish that too?'

'Even my family would agree the price you are asking is too high to pay. Today's rumours will be tomorrow's fish and chip paper soon enough,' Mary said, trying to ooze a confidence she didn't entirely feel.

Sir Richard glared at her, feeling his control of the situation slip away. 'I will publish the stories about you if you cast me off.'

'No, you won't,' a new voice cut through the air.

Sir Richard turned to see Lady Rosamund standing just inside the room, a man unfamiliar to him next to her.

'Lady Rosamund, I – '

'Don't bother, Sir Richard,' Rosamund said, her voice loaded with disdain. 'Mr Murray and I have heard all you have had to say.'

'You cannot blame me. She used me!' he retorted, shooting a vicious look at Mary. 'And she is in breach of contract.'

'What contract?' the gentleman standing beside Rosamund asked.

'What's it to you?' Sir Richard fired back.

'Ah, yes, allow me to make the introductions. Mr Murray here is the lawyer to the Crawley family,' Rosamund replied, satisfaction flooding through her at the look on Carlisle's face at that bit of information.

'What contract?' Mr Murray repeated.

'She agreed to marry me.'

'I most certainly did not,' Mary said, firmly.

'Is there a document affirming this alleged contract?' Murray asked, calmly.

'No, it was a verbal agreement,' Sir Richard said.

'Then it is her word against yours, and no court in the land would enforce it,' Murray said, looking the press baron dead in the eye.

'I can still print the rumours about you,' Carlisle said viciously, swivelling his head to look at Mary.

'You could,' Murray agreed. 'But we would sue you for defamation.'

'It's not defamation if it's true.'

'But can you prove it's true? Mr Pamuk is dead and so cannot confirm or deny any rumours. And if you print that he was a rapist, I would surely expect his estate to sue on behalf of his family. And my client has not given you permission to discuss her private business in public, and she also has an expectation of privacy.'

'I'll find Branson and pay him for his side of the story of their affair. That's a scandal that will sell well. The earl's daughter sleeping with the chauffeur.'

Mary felt her heart banging against her ribs at the thought of Carlisle finding Tom. It might even be worth it if she could find out where he was.

Murray's voice was icy. 'My understanding of the situation is that Mr Branson would not be receptive to such an offer.'

Mary shot a surprised look at Murray as Carlisle narrowed his eyes at the lawyer. 'You've been in touch with him?'

'No, I have not,' Murray replied, inadvertently dashing Mary's hopes. 'But I know enough of the matter to be sure that he would not betray any confidences.'

'You don't know what people will do given enough financial enticement,' Sir Richard bit out, confident in the lure of easy money to a working-class man.

'Not Tom,' Mary said, certain of that despite the years that had passed. 'He's an honourable man.'

'Not that honourable if he bedded his employer's daughter on the sly,' Carlisle sniped. 'And anyway, I can print what I like in my newspapers.'

'No, sir, you cannot,' Murray said, still as calm as ever. 'You must abide by the laws of the land as much as any other individual. And if you malign my client in any way, we will sue you.'

'Yes, but you might not win.'

'No, we might not. But we will tie you up in the courts until you wish you had never started this battle,' the lawyer vowed, his cool, calm gaze fixed on Sir Richard.

'And while Mr Murray and his colleagues are handling the legal side of this business, I shall make sure that all the salons of London are closed to you,' Rosamund said with a froideur that echoed that of her mother.

'You… you couldn't do that. You don't have the power,' Sir Richard stated with a confidence he did not feel.

Rosamund gave him a thin smile. 'Do I not? I think you'll find it best not to test that perception. I have an extensive network of friends and acquaintances, including a number of the Royal Family. I'll wager my black book of contacts is far bigger and far more prestigious than yours. There are many people in this city who owe me a debt, and if I asked them to refuse to receive you, they would do so without question. After all, I am old money and old blood. You, on the other hand, are merely an interloper with new money. So, you see, Sir Richard, it would not be in your best interests to print so much as a single word about my niece.'

Sir Richard glowered at her, experienced enough in the ways of the world to know when he had been bested.

'Now, I think it would be best if we part company, don't you?' Rosamund continued, her blue eyes as cold as the Arctic.

Carlisle threw one last furious look at Mary before stalking towards the door.

'Sir Richard,' Mary called, stopping him in his tracks. 'You will quietly announce the dissolution of our engagement in a month or so's time. There's no need to make a song and dance about it. If anyone asks why, tell them we found we were not suited to one another. And please make sure to send me the bill for the cost of Mrs Bates' contract. As I said before, I do not intend to see you out of pocket.'

Sir Richard ground his teeth together, apparently contemplating a reply before thinking better of it and storming out of the room.

'Well, that was a job well done,' Rosamund said as they heard Mead shut the front door behind the baronet. 'Thank you for your assistance, Mr Murray.'

'Not at all, Lady Rosamund. I'm glad I was able to help. That gentleman did not seem much of a gentleman to me.'

'No, he was not,' Rosamund agreed, fervently.

'Then I will take my leave. I bid you both a good day,' the lawyer said, nodding courteously before departing the room.

Mary let out a sigh and slumped down onto the nearest seat, the tension leeching out of her. 'Thank you, Aunt Rosamund. I fear that could have gone badly without you and Murray playing your part.'

'I told you it was prudent to have Murray here, did I not?' Rosamund said, sitting elegantly across from her niece.

'And I'm glad he was here. And you, too. Sir Richard could have become… problematic.'

'I never did like that man,' Rosamund pronounced, ringing the bell for Mead. 'Far too full of himself and his own self-importance. As Mama says, give these little people an ounce of power and it goes to their heads like strong drink.'

Mary sat up straight, staring at her aunt in disbelief. 'Then why on earth did you keep throwing him at me?'

'Because you, my dear, are the stubbornest wretch I ever had the misfortune of encountering. You simply will not do as you are told.'

Mary laughed out loud, shaking her head. 'Oh, Aunt, why do you expect any different when I come from a long line of women who do not like to do what they are told?'

'You mean your grandmother,' Rosamund said, rolling her eyes.

Mary chuckled again. 'And you.'

'Yes, well, I always know better than other people when it comes to what is right for me,' Rosamund allowed, a small smile playing on her lips.

Mary looked directly at her. 'So do I.'

Rosamund raised an eyebrow, inclining her head. 'Touché.'

Mary met her aunt's gaze, hoping that this horrid matter with Sir Richard had finally put an end to her meddling in Mary's life.

7th September, 1918

35 Belgrave Square,

London

My darling Tom,

Today is a happy day! I am finally free of the clutches of Sir Richard Carlisle! No more will I have to waste any time or energy thinking about him. I cannot tell you how happy that makes me.

I will say, though, he did do one thing that may be of value. He got me thinking that perhaps I could look for you. I'm unsure yet as to what my end purpose would be. Ideally, of course, I would find you, you would hold out your arms and I would fall into them, and we would declare undying love for each other, and live happily ever after. But I am not a child; I know that is but a fantasy.

I wonder if just knowing that you are alive would give me some peace of mind, though. I think about you so often still, Tom, four long, lonely years after I last saw you. I am beginning to think perhaps I should try to stop thinking about you. But then again, if it was as easy as all that, I wouldn't have to make an effort to stop thinking about you, would I? It would have just happened. But it hasn't. You are on my mind all the time. Except perhaps when I am working and I have other things to occupy my mind – but I can hardly work all the time, can I?

But what if I found you? I can't be sure that you would want to have anything to do with me after the way I treated you. Why would you? I know I broke your heart. Why on earth would you give me a second chance?

And then, of course, there is the possibility that you now love another. Perhaps you are married. Perhaps you have children. I have thought about that and, honestly, it quite overwhelms me. It makes me feel sick to my stomach to think of you with another woman. I know that is incredibly selfish of me. I am a terrible person for wishing and hoping that you are still alone and as full of love for me as I am for you.

But knowing you as I do, knowing the goodness of your heart, your kindness, your loyalty, how could you possibly still be unmarried? How could you not have been snapped up? And that's even before I think about how handsome you are, how well-formed you are. Any sane woman with eyes would look at you and feel her heart beat faster, would want you as I want you. And if you become her lover… well, she's never going to be foolish enough to let you go. Nobody but me would ever be that foolish.

The truth of it is that I am not sure I could survive the heartbreak of knowing you are a husband and father now but that your wife is not me and your children are not ours.

So, you see, Tom, I am in a predicament. However much I may have changed in the years since you last saw me, I am still a selfish, cowardly creature. Because I think perhaps I would rather not know a truth that would irrevocably break my heart.

Thinking about it, it may be wiser for me to remain ignorant of your whereabouts. At least then the dream stays alive.

In hopelessness, I remain,

Your Mary

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