Author's Note: After finishing series four I really had a hankering to go back to the happy, easy days of series one.
What Makes A Man
Getting the day off from work had come as a pleasant surprise. Over breakfast Carson had informed him that the entire family, those were his words exactly as he had made note of them, would be going on a hunting trip that would likely last from the late morning until sundown so there would be no one to request a motor. Although upon seeing him perk up at the news Carson had made sure to impress upon the fact that there was always the possibility of someone needing a ride should an accident occur during the trip or after but he had gotten accustomed to the fact that he could be asked for anything at the drop of a hat. This was still a day off in his world even if it technically meant he couldn't leave the estate.
He decided to spend his morning working on the cars out in front of the garage which gave him a nice view of a whole team of horses trotting away and leaving the upstairs of Downton mercifully empty save for the usual servants going discreetly about their work. He hadn't intended to be devious about his afternoon plans but while he knew Lord Grantham would lend out his books to him, as he already had on several occasions, the atmosphere was still permeated with an unspoken rule that the chauffeur's place was the garage and he was not meant to be seen inside unless explicitly asked. If he felt like borrowing something, he preferred to wait until he could slip into the library without encountering anyone.
Thinking the house to be free of Crawleys, he gave little thought to decorum when he abruptly pulled open the door to the library, his eyes falling on a bowed head of dark, wavy hair behind the large red couch. The woman quite literally leapt startled from her seat and onto her feet, turning towards the door.
His heart stopped for a second, worried that he had just terrified Lady Grantham or Lady Mary, but he felt himself ease into a gentle smile when he was instead met with the startled blue eyes of Lady Sybil.
She too seemed relieved to see her friend as she left out a heavy breath and placed a hand over her heart.
"Branson, you gave me a fright," she said exasperated.
"I'm sorry, milady," he apologized sincerely, his words dragging out a bit as he got distracted watching her try to subtly glance away from him to the couch and do something that, from his hindered perspective, looked like she was brushing the seat as if she was trying to get crumbs or dust off of it, paying particular attention to the space between the cushion and the armrest.
"I thought everyone had left for the hunt," he added, now eyeing her curiously as he walked around to the front of the sitting area. She quickly took a seat in the corner she had been sitting in as if nothing strange had occurred.
"I try to avoid them when I can," she admitted. "It's just so . . . barbaric, really. And all these men strutting about, trying to prove themselves with how many birds they can shoot? I can spend my day much more pleasantly away from all that nonsense. Thank you."
In both his rational mind and his own experience, one killed animals so that there would be something to eat for dinner and it certainly wasn't seen as some kind of display of strength or skill, but more of a necessary evil that anyone could perform if they had to. He could see the barbarism and it struck him as no surprise that Lady Sybil in her kind heart would too, preferring to hide in the library instead.
Tom couldn't help but smile fondly at this. Sometimes it truly stumped him how someone of her spirit had come from such a world.
"I can see that," he said with laughter in his voice. His gaze traced the armrest she was leaning against to where he could just about see the edges of a book wedged between the cushion, clearly the result of her behavior earlier. "What were you reading?"
She looked just as shocked as when he had walked in.
"What?" she asked with feigned innocence.
He decided not to bring her poor hiding skills into the open, she was embarrassed about something and he didn't need to add to it, but her evasion of his question made him all the more curious.
"You were pretty engrossed in something when I walked in. What was it?" he asked again, trying not to sound too eager. Experience had shown him though that if Lady Sybil was hiding something, it was something he would definitely want to hear about.
"Oh, it's nothing," she said casually, waving it off. "Just some little fluff novel. Nothing you'd be interested in."
She could be quite the actress, he knew, but she was neglecting the fact that he had an unusually sharp memory, especially when it came to things she told him. One time when they had been discussing literature on a ride into town she had told him that she enjoyed reading trivial little novels on occasion but only before bed as a means of winding down when she was teetering on the brink of sleep. She preferred to save her serious, or at least more substantial, reading for the day when she could give her undivided concentration. And it was very much the middle of the day.
He narrowed his eyes at her and tilted his head slightly, a clear look of suspicion. When she still didn't falter, he raised his eyebrows, unwilling to let her go with that remark.
Finally she sighed in resignation as her composure left and she got very stern.
"Can you keep a secret?" she asked seriously.
It took all of Tom's strength not to burst into laughter at her question.
"All the situations you've gotten me into that could put my job at risk and you're asking me if I'm trustworthy?" he questioned in disbelief.
God, where did the list even start? Of course, the closest he had actually come to termination was the time she had tricked him into bringing her to the Count and then gotten knocked unconscious when a riot started. That certainly hadn't quelled her political fervor by any means but at least now when he told her to run, she did so without question. Then there were the secret driving lessons she had asked for, the first of which almost ended with the Renault imbedded in a tree had it not been for his rapid application of the hand brake. They could laugh about it now but at the time it took a full twenty minutes for both of them to calm down and then it took another ten minutes of him encouraging her to try again after she realized the danger she put them both in. Also, although they technically weren't breaking any discernible rules, the amount of time that they spent talking familiarly in the garage and the amount of times that he had purposely taken a long route back to Downton in the name of spending more time with her would probably raise a few concerns if her parents knew the half of it.
Oh, and then there was the time she had decided that she wanted to go incognito to a pub because the rules of society and her father said she was not allowed to go but she wanted to see what it was like. He had been adamantly against that one at first but had given in when she showed him her plan, meeting him behind the garage in clothes she borrowed from Gwen, insisting that the clothes were disguise enough because, "there are some advantages to being only the third daughter." He actually remembered that day happily: how they walked through town together without anyone noticing, how he had been able to sit at a table with her in the pub and buy her a drink, the endearing way her face scrunched up when she tried her first sip of whiskey . . .
Oh, yes. She was trouble. And unluckily for him, he loved indulging in her schemes.
"Yes. You're right," she admitted guiltily. Slowly, as if she was questioning her decision every second, she moved herself over slightly so she could remove the hidden book from the crevice of the couch. It looked fairly innocuous, brown faux-leather binding, decent condition, but she held it shamefully in front of her, staring down at it for a moment before offering it to him.
"I found this in the shelves," she murmured furtively as he took the book from her and looked at the cover.
Helena's Affair.
His eyes grew wide at the sight, his mouth falling open. He certainly hadn't expected this. His mind was vacant as she continued to explain, her pace increasing as she tried to justify why she had it.
"I probably wouldn't have even removed it had it not been for the fact that it was very clearly out of order, tucked away in a corner, so I starting flipping through it and," she paused, taking a breath. "I can't believe my father owns such a thing," she said emphatically.
Tom's expression of astonishment had faded with her words and he now looked down at the book with indifference as he walked over to the other side of the couch and sat next to her.
"I can. I'll admit I'm a bit surprised that he keeps it in his library instead of hidden somewhere a bit more discreet but I don't think he'd imagined anyone finding it. Let alone one of his daughters."
That was pretty careless of him. It's fortunate that of all the women in the house who could have found the book and discovered what it was about, Lady Sybil was bound to be the least scandalized by it. Lady Mary probably would have thrown a fit and Lady Edith would surely never recover from such knowledge. Who knows how Lady Grantham could have taken the news about her husband?
Lady Sybil's brows drew together in contemplation as she stared off at the other side of the room.
"So it's normal for men to own this sort of thing?" she clarified, feeling unexpectedly like she knew far too little about the secret lives of men and wishing to learn more.
"It's certainly not unheard of," he answered evenly, watching her process the knowledge as if she wasn't quite sure what she thought of it or what it meant.
" . . . You know what it's about then?" she asked, looking over at him challengingly.
She hardly missed anything and he had vowed long ago to be nothing but abundantly honest with her.
"Yes, milady. I do," he answered, humbled but not ashamed.
"Have you read it?" she inquired further, that deliberating expression still covering up her personal feelings about his reply.
He found himself having to look away from her probing gaze, not knowing if she found him despicable and vile for being aware of the book or if she was simply unfamiliar with men's desires and was trying to understand. And it mattered. Oh, did it matter. The thought that anything he said on the topic could scare her away from him made him feel powerless, the book nearly slipping from his grasp as he stared at the silver, embossed lettering on the front.
"My brother, Kieran, had a copy of it," he started quietly. "I think he stole it from some drunk . . . or purchased it while drunk. I can't quite remember. And when I was 12, he lent it to me and told me it would teach me how to be a man." Against his better judgment he found himself chuckling softly at the thought.
"Do you believe it did?" she asked, her tone icy.
"No," he said assertively. "I couldn't relate to the male character . . ."
"Angelo."
He lifted his head towards her when she spoke, her face attentive, and it dawned on him then: in order for them to even be having this conversation, she would have to have read it. He didn't know if she had read from the beginning or if she had just opened to a random page and found some choice words not spoken in polite company but either way, she had read some part of the book herself.
He now understood the frigidness that had slipped into her formerly neutral speech and felt obligated to continue his assessment for her sake.
"Right, Angelo," he agreed. "I mean, his attraction to Helena is so entrenched in how naïve she is and how much power he can have over her and I just can't find that at all appealing, myself."
Lady Sybil let a small smile grace her lips at his words and he grinned back, the air of comfort that usually surrounded their conversations finally returning.
"What do you think of it?" he asked boldly although already sure of her answer, placing the book in her lap.
"Honestly, I think it's horrid," she practically shouted as if she was glad to finally declare her opinion. And once the gates had been opened . . .
"Helena just lets him do these things to her and she never knows what to expect and doesn't ask questions! I can't for the life of me understand why she seems to trust him so unfailingly when he keeps lying to her and playing games with her for his own amusement. Or why she's even drawn to him in the first place! He's so brash and unfeeling; he doesn't care to get to know her or respect her at all. Yes, confidence in a man is appealing but everything about him and how he treats her is just so repugnant!"
"I couldn't agree more, milady," he said, beaming at her. He loved when she shared her mind with him.
He loved everything about her.
And he knew he shouldn't ask, if he could cross the line further he would be doing so with this question, but he wanted, needed to know.
"Even though the characters are poor, how did you feel about the, uh, nature of the novel itself?"
She tilted her head as if looking for the right words as she absently traced the lettering on the front of the book, biting her lip in a way he found rather distracting.
"Well, I must admit that I was initially shocked to read something so frank but I found it very . . .informative."
He clenched his teeth together to suppress the groan that rose up in his throat at her confession. To think of her reading such descriptions that were worlds away more graphic and detailed than anything a mother would revel to her daughter on her wedding night warmed his blood in a way that made it difficult to think of anything else. All at once, 'informative' became the most salacious word in the English language.
In a desperate attempt to not let his thoughts carry further down the path of Lady Sybil and the things found in that book, he took a deep breath and let his cloudy vision focus in on her, now watching him as if waiting for a response. He prayed to God that his face hadn't betrayed a reaction to her words.
"You know, there are other novels of the type with better characters," he said, his voice coming out lower and huskier than he intended.
She raised an eyebrow at him and smiled tightly like she was trying to hold in a laugh and he realized what he had just reveled.
"I would suppose," he added, regaining his voice.
Her laughter finally broke through and the sound was heavenly. Soon he couldn't control himself and he was laughing along with her.
As their amusement dwindled to a relaxed silence, she looked away from him again and down at her hands folded gracefully over the book in her lap, her joy fading into a grim façade.
"We should cease having this conversation," she observed with what he hoped was a tinge of regret.
He nodded in solemn agreement, knowing with some comfort that it wasn't a matter of class. Perhaps there was some unsuitability in having a laugh with a servant as they were, but he knew she didn't think that way. This was a matter of gender. Had Lady Sybil been following the rules of society, and she wasn't exactly known for that, she probably would have never mentioned such a book in the first place to anyone and tried to expel it from her own memory upon discovering it. But instead she had invited the discussion and with a man at that. In any social setting, between people of any status, it was always inappropriate for a man and woman to be discussing such things. Perhaps it had started innocently enough, or as innocently as such a chat can be, but it had progressed so slowly that it took a moment of reflection for her to realize how intimate it had become.
"Understood," he replied.
He was saddened but a little relieved to change the topic out of concern for his own grasp on sanity. However, he quickly found himself smiling again as he recalled a private joke.
"So how's that reread of Wuthering Heights coming?" he asked, with all the earnestness he could muster while trying to conceal his grin.
A few months ago when Lord Grantham had seen her reading one of the political books Tom had recommended to her, he had questioned her motives and wondered if she wouldn't prefer reading something more suitable for a girl of her age like Wuthering Heights. When she had told him that she had already read it, he asked her why she didn't just reread it.
After it happened, she told Tom about it and they found themselves engaged in a discussion of whether her father's recommendation seemed reasonable coming from him considering the reputation of the book as a love story or strange that he would tell her to read a book where a poor and rude servant wins the heroine's heart (if not her hand) and triumphs in status and power. From then on, it had become a joke whenever she was indulging in reading habits her father would find unbefitting.
She smirked a bit in return and put on the best show she could, adopting the voice of a dreamy, love-struck girl.
"Catherine and Heathcliff are so well suited for each other, don't you know?"