March 1914

The battle between winter and spring is in full force, there are days when the weather is cold and wet and then other days when there is a small amount of warmth to the watery sun and the days seem brighter. However, the weather is still changeable with wild, blustery winds one minute and calm sunny days the next.

My father always used to say, 'March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb,' to which my mother would heartily agree with a 'ne'er cast a clout till May's out!' As we walk home from church one Sunday in early March, I find these phrases rather fitting and pull my coat firmly around me against the chilly wind.

I rather enjoy these Sunday walks back from church, I usually walk with Gwen and Mr Bates, and we talk of simple things such as the weather or gossip we may have heard from the village. Since Christmas, there have been no further developments between myself and Mr Bates. We still sit together and talk, are often to be found in each other's company and actively seek out the other when we have free time. But nothing more.

Things seem to be much more like how they were before that day on the road to the flower show, even since he gave me that book at Christmas; the only development between us is how comfortable we are together. He speaks no promises, mentions no declarations, it's as we always were – friends.

However, there are times when I catch him watching me with an expression that seems almost melancholy or wistful. Occasionally, I look up from my work to see him smiling softly in my direction, lost in thought, and when he sees me notice him, he'll look away, embarrassed.

There have been times when he's passed me in the corridor, said something low so that only I can hear him, his mouth close to my ear, his body lightly brushing against mine as we pass. Times when he's found me, conveniently alone, in a room and has stopped to help, making soft jokes that have me giggling. Sometimes at night, as we sit together after dinner, he'll show me the paper, invite me to offer my opinion on the latest news and listen carefully as I speak, eyes on me the whole time.

I may not be experienced in love, in fact, my experiences of love are mainly based on stories I've read and the people I know. But, it doesn't need experience to work out that he's interested in me.

So, why doesn't he say so?

I start to understand that perhaps, time is exactly all he needs. That he works at a slower rate in life than I do. Maybe, he needs time to realise that the one he wants is right here and still waiting. Waiting for him to want her. And I think he does want me.

I'm happy to wait, I realise, happy to spend my days with him and though I don't ever mention my feelings for him, I quietly keep them known to him. Occasionally I'll flash him a coy smile at the dinner table. When he speaks to me, I reply with a tone that some may call flirty. I don't do it all the time, just occasionally, when it seems appropriate. When chance arises, I'll tease him lightly, my eyes sparkling at his reaction and though I don't make this a regular thing, I seek out as many opportunities as I can, enjoying the crease of his eyes as he teases me in return.

I keep it light, but I know it's clear. I'm still interested.

On this particular Sunday, as we walk back from Church, I'm struck by how much time has passed since my feelings for him began. I recall, with some surprise, that it's almost a year since he brought the dinner tray to me when I was unwell. However, I'm sure I loved him before that; I think that event just confirmed it to me. Therefore, it must be well over a year now that I have been in love with him, a whole year of yearning and I'm still no further forward. I have to wonder, just how much longer will I wait? How long before my attachment disintegrates and I step away from him and this waiting?

"You're awfully quiet."

His voice cuts through my reverie and I look up a little startled. I realise I haven't spoken since we left the church, too lost in my own thoughts. Gwen had been walking with us but glancing about, I see she's melted away to join Daisy and William.

"I don't mean to be, I was just thinking." I reply, casting him a soft smile. The thought of walking the rest of the way home together is a thrilling prospect and I turn my full attention in his direction.

"I know, I could hear you from here." He smiles back, making my stomach flutter excitedly.

I give a soft laugh, "I was just thinking how quickly time passes."

"In relation to anything particular?"

I give a little sigh, should I tell him about my thoughts on how time has passed and yet I'm still no clearer on where I stand than I was this time last year? Should I hint at where my thoughts had been lingering? Should I make it clear to him, my feelings are unchanged?

"I was just thinking," I begin rather tentatively, "how the seasons change and time passes, yet many things stay the same, many things remain as they always were."

It's a rather guarded explanation, filled with the riddles he likes to use, I wonder if my hint is large enough to prompt a reaction.

"And that's a bad thing?" he questions, not meeting my gaze. "In such a constantly changing world, consistency can be a rare thing. Sometimes, it can be a comfort if some things stay the same, don't you think?"

He certainly seems to have taken the bait and is playing our favourite game of 'understand the riddle.' I try to decipher his code, wondering if, like me, he's referring to our constant and unchanging relationship.

"It's not a bad thing, no," I answer, turning my gaze back to the road. "But eventually everything has to change, no matter how much we may want it to remain a constant, change has to happen. Especially if we are to progress."

"Very true," he agrees, and we both fall silent, left alone in our heads to decipher the codes and work out our next move. Almost like a game of chess.

"But, sometimes, change can be hard to accept. No matter how much we may want to accept change, it may not be the right thing," he adds, breaking the silence.

"Until that change happens, how will you know if it's right or not?" I ask, my voice is rather shaky and I make a show of rubbing my hands together, feigning cold. In truth, I'm feeling rather hot; my shaky voice is purely thanks to this conversation and the depth of hidden meaning lurking beneath the layers of words.

"You won't know for certain," he answers, and I hear a tone of uncertainty in his voice. "You just have to make your decision based only on the facts before you."

"I always do that," I answer rather quickly and he looks at me with a smile.

"But that has its downfalls. For sometimes, what you see isn't always what you get and you may end up regretting your change."

"Or, you may find that change was exactly what you needed," I add with optimism.

He merely smiles softly at this. "Maybe," he agrees, rather wistfully. I come to a halt, taking him by surprise as I did all those months ago in August. But this time, I've no intention of making things awkward.

Instead, I offer him a coy smile. "Well, when you're ready for a change, let me know. I'm sure I could arrange something for you."

Before he has any time to respond to my blatant flirtation, I start walking again, my footfall light, and I cast a glance over my shoulder, a brazen smile on my lips and allow my twinkling eyes to meet his. The smile on his face erupts and he sets off after me, following me like a puppy and I am elated, a faerie, a siren, an all-powerful being. He will be mine.

One evening, a week or so after that Sunday, I enter the servants' hall to find Mr Bates sitting alone, arms folded and a rather dark look to his features. I know that look, something has happened to upset him, he always looks that way whenever he is hurting and usually only after a run-in with Thomas or O'Brien.

I sit quietly at his side, straightening out my apron and resisting the urge to touch his leg. "What's the matter?"

He inhales sharply. "Nothing. Just…" he pauses and looks at me, eyes betraying the real hurt he's experiencing, "Thomas and his usual pleasantries."

I give him a sympathetic smile. "Nothing new there then." I give a little sigh, "What's he said now?"

"Oh, the usual comments." Bates sighs, shifting slightly in his chair.

I'm about to question him further when Thomas' ever faithful side-kick appears. Her usual scowl deepens further as she observes us. "What are you doin' 'ere?" she demands, comment aimed purely at me. It seems we're both in for an awkward time. "'Aven't you got work to be doin'?"

"I could ask the same of you, Miss O'Brien." My retort is sharp and I sense Bates shift again, clearly uncomfortable.

"'Er Majesty's done for t'night. I'm goin' to do some sewin' down 'ere, if that's alright wi' you?"

"You can please yourself." My answer is rather impertinent, but my light tone helps to make up for it.

I glance at Mr Bates but his expression is blank. Miss O'Brien has now settled herself at the table and any hopes I may have had for a conversation with Mr Bates is well and truly over, the woman's sharp eyes are on us both, calculating, plotting.

Mr Bates shifts again and this time rises slowly from his seat. I look up at him questioningly and he offers me a quick look that tells me what I already know. He'd rather not spend any longer in Miss O'Brien's company, I understand the sentiment completely.

He doesn't make it to the door before William comes through, Thomas close on his heels. William's face is flustered and his hands are full with a tray of empty glasses.

"Anna, Lady Mary was asking for you, I think she's heading up to her room," William announces, glasses clattering unsteadily.

I rise from my seat, "Thank you, William."

William turns on his heels and straight into Thomas, the glasses clang and clatter, tumbling over on the tray. By some extraordinary luck, none of the glasses break and William manages to keep control of the tray. Although no harm is done, Thomas seizes an opportunity to bully the poor boy.

"Watch out! Yer clumsy….!"

"Leave him alone," Mr Bates instantly interjects.

"What'yer doin' carryin' all them anyway?" Miss O'Brien snaps.

"Well, seen as we don't have Mr Bates' help, what with his condition, we all have to work a bit harder. Not that we complain, do we William?" Thomas, says, his voice pure poison.

"I don't min-" William begins.

"We all need to pull our weight, it's just we do a bit more than Mr Bates." Thomas sneers, his venomous glare on Bates. Mr Bates, standing firm, returns the glare. The atmosphere is quickly changing; William's glasses tremble with his nerves.

I feel the anger rising but before I can say anything in Mr Bates' defence, the man himself speaks up.

"I see you've got nothing in your hands."

Thomas straightens his jacket but doesn't remove his eyes from Mr Bates. "I've done my work, no thanks to you. Everything in its rightful place."

"Even the wine?"

I silently cheer at Mr Bates' response, it's not often he resorts to this kind of thing but when he does, I feel myself fall just that little bit more in love with him. Thomas needs putting back in his place and I would pay good money to see Mr Bates do that.

Thomas' eyes flash with anger and a hint of nervousness at Mr Bates' intimation. As far as I know, Mr Bates has told no-one about Thomas and the wine except me, and Thomas is obviously ruffled.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Thomas demands, eyes burning and nostrils flaring.

"Only that you should be more careful where you put it," Mr Bates retorts, voice heavy with meaning.

Miss O'Brien looks from Thomas to Mr Bates, if she understands the reference, she doesn't let on. This situation could easily blow out of control but thankfully we are saved by Mr Carson.

"William, get those to the kitchens boy, before you break one!" His deep voice rumbles through the hall. William dances about, glasses clanking nervously, and muttering apologies, quickly leaves the room.

"Poor William, all this extra work he has to do, is really having an effect on him," Thomas sneers, eyes still fixed on Mr Bates, "Shaking like a dog he was."

"Thank you, Thomas," Mr Carson warns.

"Just thinking about poor William," Thomas sniffs.

I know I should have left a while ago and I can't put it off any longer, however, I can't stop myself leaving with a parting defensive shot.

"Careful Thomas," I say suddenly, walking towards the door, "you sound as though you actually care!"

"Only about himself," Mr Bates mutters, just loud enough for me to hear and I offer him a small smile as we leave the room together.

Confrontations between Thomas and Mr Bates become more and more frequent as the month passes. Whenever I can, I come to his defence, it infuriates me to see him being victimised in such a way. But wherever Thomas goes, Miss O'Brien is never far behind, and when the two of them get together to plot, it has me on edge. I can only wonder what will happen next, it won't be long before something else happens and I'm determined to be ready. I won't stand by and let them bully him, he doesn't deserve it.

One night, before the end of the month, another incident occurs. Although I'm not there, I hear of it from Gwen. It seems that Miss O'Brien and Thomas had been up to their usual tricks of making comments, attacking Mr Bates verbally, knowing he wouldn't fight back. Not unless he had to.

I'm infuriated by the whole thing, I wonder why Mr Carson doesn't do something about it, their blatant attacks are well known and yet still Mr Carson seems reluctant to reprimand them. I know how much it upsets Mr Bates, the poor man does not deserve it and I'm getting to the point where I won't stand for it any longer.

He doesn't appear at dinner that night and I quickly eat mine, determined to find him and make sure he's alright. I know exactly where he'll be and I make my way towards the yard, a bread roll wrapped in my handkerchief.

"I thought you might be hungry," I say, walking towards him. He's leaning against a crate, arms folded and cane propped up against his side. He smiles lightly at my approach and as I hold out the bread roll, his smile widens.

"This is becoming a habit, you bringing me food."

I drop my eyes and smile at the floor, "I thought you might be hungry."

He takes the bread roll lightly from my hand, fingers brushing mine and whispers a soft "Thank you."

"You shouldn't let Thomas get to you," I say softly. "It's about time he was put in his place."

Mr Bates shakes his head gently, "Not by me."

"But you can't let him treat you this way." My tone is indignant on his behalf.

"Thomas will get what's coming to him, but I won't be the one to do it." Mr Bates' tone is firm, "No matter how much I want to."

"Can't you tell Mr Carson about the wine?" I ask, still determined that Thomas should be brought down and preferably by Mr Bates.

He shakes his head firmly, "No, Mr Carson needs to find that out for himself, I won't be the one to tell him."

"You're a better person than me, Mr Bates," I say, smiling warmly. The look he gives me is anything but warm and for a moment I am slightly taken aback. His expression softens slightly and he tries a smile.

"No, I'm most certainly not," he states, his tone rather dark and sombre.

"Well I think you are," I reply, my tone slightly indignant.

He gives me a wry smile. "I know you do, and I'm grateful, your faith in me is admirable."

"Because you deserve it," I say simply. He meets my gaze, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles softly.

"I most certainly don't."

I frown slightly, "Of course you do!"

He sighs a little and looks away, shifting his weight slightly. "Anna, you don't know what I am."

"Then tell me."

He shakes his head, almost sadly, "I can't, Anna, I can't."

"You do know how I still feel about you?"

The words leave my mouth before I have chance to stop them. I silently curse myself for being so open and honest. Tonight is certainly not the night for such things; I may have just spoilt everything with my forward mouth.

If he's upset or offended, he shows no sign. Instead, gazes at me with such a wistful look that my legs tremble slightly and my breathing quickens. For a moment, I wonder if he will tell me now that he feels the same way for me. I hope so - I've been waiting long enough.

"I do," he replies, a simple smile on his lips, wistful look in his eyes. "And God knows, I don't deserve a champion like you fighting for me."

"But-"

His smile becomes almost apologetic, "But, I can't. I can't tell you all the things I want to tell you, I can't say them. It wouldn't be right."

"My feelings won't change," I say, almost with an air of defiance.

"But they will," he sighs. "One day, they will."

He hands me my handkerchief with a soft smile and taking hold of his cane, slowly begins to walk back towards the house, leaving me alone to watch his departure and ponder where my life is going. I'd been so sure at Christmas that things were moving forwards and yet it's March now and I'm still nowhere near the solution I want.

How much longer am I expected to wait? How much longer will I wait?

A/N: And of course, we know what happens next! That infamous and oh-so-infuriating near kiss! Listen up S2 writers, we want a kiss!

Thank you for reading! :D