Carson walked into the library to look for Lady Mary, hoping she was tending to some estate business at the desk like she did most days. She buried herself in work, even more so after the dowager's death.

He did not particularly fancy the prospect of having to search around the entire house to find her. If it came to that, he would make sure to delegate that to Andrew. Inwardly, he sighed with relief when he saw her tall and slender figure sitting at the desk in front of one of the windows overlooking the grounds.

"My Lady?"

Mary, who was reading a telegram that had arrived that morning with a furrowed brow, put up a finger in the butler's direction to signal him to hold the thought. Only after having finished reading the few words written on the page yet again, she turned around to face the elderly man waiting patiently a few feet away from her.

She smiled at him — it was one of her special, genuine smiles, and those had been scarce in recent weeks. However, Carson always got the most sincere ones – he would always hold a special place in her heart and he knew that. She didn't even know why exactly, but their relationship was different compared to the relationships she had with the rest of the staff, even with Anna.

"Yes, Carson. What is it?"

"The doctor just arrived, milady. He says he came to see Lady Grantham."

Looking at him, she noticed that the butler seemed to be just as surprised by that fact as she was at that moment. For a split second, Mary thought that the doctor asking after Lady Grantham was referring to her grandmother, who was lying in her bed upstairs. For a split second, she thought that someone must have asked him to come to the house for another concerning cough or another terrible headache. For a split second Mary forgot that her grandmother was not in the same house any longer, that she had died a few weeks ago – and the moment she remembered that her beloved Granny had passed her breath caught in her throat, threatening to choke her.

And then it suddenly dawned on her – nobody else must have remembered to inform the doctor of her parents' plans to go to America. Had she seriously not sent the note down to the village hospital? She remembered writing one, but handing it off to be delivered? No, she had forgotten. How could she have forgotten such a simple thing?

"Thank you, Carson. I'll come and see him now," she said, her voice heavy with the emotions coursing through her entire being.

"Doctor Clarkson, I am truly sorry you have come all the way. I am afraid that neither Lord nor Lady Grantham are currently here to see you. Can I maybe help?"

Richard Clarkson seemed mildly surprised by Mary's admission of her parent's absence, trying to think of a reply quickly that would not cause too much disturbance in this household. He was aware that the death of their matriarch had shaken them all up considerably and sometimes, under those circumstances, other things were more important and needed immediate tending. Even though he felt that one's health should never be pushed over and neglected over something less and he was sure that it was indeed less. Still, he tried not to let his disappointment and, frankly, his lack of understanding for Lady Grantham's disregard of her health seep into his tone and words, it just would not do at a time like this.

"Oh, alright then. I shall return another time, when they are here. Would tomorrow be more convenient?"

"No, Doctor. I am afraid there is a misunderstanding. They are not gone just for the day but for a few weeks. You see, my mother wanted to see her family in America and so they took the earliest possible ship to cross the ocean. They left the morning after your last visit, I thought someone had informed you."

She hated that she had to lie to cover up her own recent mishap, but she just could not get herself to tell him of her forgetfulness and absent mind in recent weeks. After all, it could be expected with everything else going on – but she did not want to appear weak in front of anyone else.

"I see."

If the doctor was stunned, he certainly did not show it. "Well, can you please tell them to come and see me once they return? Even if her Ladyship stands by her decision, there are still plans that need to be made."

"I certainly will. Thank you, Doctor."

Nodding curtly, the older Scottish man turned and left the entrance hall of Downton Abbey. He should have known that they would go to America as soon as possible, most likely to convey the bad news to her family themselves. It was only natural. If he were fully honest with himself, he was sure that he would have done the same thing. That still did not mean that he endorsed any of their decisions, hers in particular.

Mary returned to her desk. Or her father's desk, or whoever it belonged to. She had put all pending correspondences in a stack on the left side of it, and the letters she had already read on the right side in different stacks and piles, depending on what kind of correspondence they were. That was the way her father had always sorted his correspondences, and she had adopted this, finding it very efficient with all the different kinds of letters arriving constantly and relentlessly.

Instead of returning to the letters and telegrams on the left side to read another unopened one, however, she went back to the telegram she had read when Carson had interrupted her. She picked up the yellow card, reading its very brief contents again. And again. And again.

The boat will land on the 18th. Will arrive home on the 19th. H

She knew that she should feel happy and relieved. Her husband was coming home and, in fact, arriving that same day after he'd been gone for a year. She should be overjoyed at the prospect of seeing him.

But she wasn't, not in the least. She felt strangely empty, void of all emotions. No, that wasn't right, she felt only void of good emotions, affectionate emotions — emotions one would associate with being reunited with one's spouse after months apart. She had not seen him in a year and her heart was not beating a hole into her ribcage and her stomach was not in a flurry. She didn't feel any love thinking of him, not any more.

Mary finally acknowledged what subconsciously she had known for a while, a few months at least. It felt as if she had finally found the missing piece in a jigsaw puzzle she had wanted to complete for a while.

At some point during her husband's year-long absence, her feelings toward him had started to change, gradually fading away, the process of which had mostly happened unnoticed by her. Now that she was thinking back on the year that had passed, she recalled the few telegrams and letters he had sent, how the periods of time in between each started to stretch longer and how she'd stopped expecting them altogether at one point during the summer. She realised that she had thought about him less often as the months had passed, and that she had got used to sleeping alone in her bed yet again.

Things had changed over the past year, she was certain. She had changed. And yet he hadn't. No matter how often he had tried to assure her in the past that he would change, he still had not. His actions had made it blatantly clear for her and everyone else to see, but she hadn't wanted to acknowledge that. His love for her would never come close to the love he had for cars and motorsport, even if he wasn't actively racing at the moment. She wondered if she even wanted his love for her to compete with that.

What was she to do? She could not just let things go on the way they were, or she would never know a day of true happiness again. But divorcing him would make her a notorious woman, a social pariah. And a divorce would sully the reputation of her entire family along with hers, even though there had already been a few divorces within the peerage. It was still highly frowned upon. Could she really be responsible for that when her husband had done nothing wrong apart from staying away and not taking an interest in her and their life?

Mary knew then that she had reached the crossroads of her life, and for the first time in years, she had no clue which path to follow. She knew that pondering about it on her own would only get her so far, and she was afraid she would only swallow it all down for the sake of everyone else at her own expense. But maybe someone else's view on the matter could help her make a more rational decision? She longed for her mother, who would without a doubt know just what to do. Her mother was always so rational about these matters, and Mary took subtle pride in the fact that she was usually just like her mother in that regard. Of course, Mary would never say that aloud to anyone, though — it was that American spirit. Yes, talking to her mother would be the right thing to do. However, that was not an option, not at the moment. There was an ocean setting them apart, quite literally.

Or maybe her Granny could have helped her come to an acceptable decision. However, that was also no longer an option, as she painfully recalled. Oh, how she missed her grandmother, she missed having her near and being able to talk to her, she even missed being subjected to her sharp tongue and quick wit. Her grandmother would have known exactly how to deal with this situation.

Then, Mary had an idea. It was her last resort and she would have never thought that there would come a day when she would do what she was about to do on her own accord.

Without tormenting herself for much longer, she did the only thing she could think of at that moment – she went upstairs to find her sister.