So I too have now jumped on the S3 speculation band-wagon, and offer a story of my own, with a *few* spoilers (as shown in the S3 ITV trailer).

This story, for the most part, was a form of "therapy" for me. While I doubt the events of the show will appear as they do in this story, I am VERY hopeful that there is some kind of confrontation will take place between Robert and Sybil about the fact that while she is there to celebrate her sister's marriage...he was not present at hers. I really like the character of Robert, but I found his disregard for attending his youngest daughter's wedding hard to forgive, and I really hope it's brought up in some way in Season 3.

I hope you enjoy this emotional, sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes fluffy story. Also, I'm considering writing a second, follow-up chapter to it, so please let me know if that is something you would like to see! THANK FOR READING!

"Father of the Bride"

By The Yankee Countess

They were late.

He was supposed to be at the church twenty minutes ago, standing by as his future brother-in-law's best man, an honor he still hadn't digested. He concluded it had to be because of tradition; since he was married to one of the bride's sisters, he was the natural choice for such a position. Still, when Matthew asked him, Tom was utterly speechless. When he had found his voice, he said "yes" without delay; finally…someone other than his wife in the Crawley family who seemed to accept him!

He wanted to make Matthew proud; he felt a strange camaraderie with him, possibly because they both had fallen in love with Crawley women. He also wanted to prove to his in-laws, especially his stubborn father-in-law, that he could do this right; that he could stand beside the man whom he knew his father-in-law truly approved of, and show him and the world that he, Tom Branson, was a man of value and importance.

A selfish, self-serving thought? Yes, he was ashamed to admit—but after some of the things he had to put up with since their arrival back at Downton, he needed some "healing" for his ego.

But where was Sybil? The wedding guests were gathering, and Mary and her parents had gone on ahead. Matthew and his mother would be coming from Crawley House in the village, and Edith had fallen back, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sir Anthony Strallen, before joining the others. So where was his wife in all this?

Since he refused to be waited on by anyone (and because he also assumed they wouldn't want to do anything for him) Tom knew it was up to him to make sure his suit was pressed and ready for the celebration. So as he came up from the Servant's Hall after finishing his task, he watched his sister-in-law, who indeed looked very lovely and was smiling radiantly at her father who walked beside her, pass with the rest of them out the front door…minus her youngest sister.

Where was she? He quickly went to their room, hoping everything was alright; was the pregnancy making it difficult for her to dress? Perhaps he should have stayed? "Sybil?" He knocked on the door before entering…and found the room empty. Was she in the lavatory? Oh God, he prayed she wasn't feeling sick. He remembered how she awoke in the middle of the night, groaning about cramps, and he tried to soothe her by massaging her back and her belly. But no, she wasn't there, either.

I'm going to be late—no, we're going to be late, and even though they should have waited for her, somehow I'll be the one to take all the blame, because I'm everyone's favorite scapegoat!

He groaned and tried to keep his mind and emotions calm; the last thing he wanted to do was take his frustrations out on his wife when he found her. "Sybil?" He walked down the hallway, still feeling like a rat lost in a maze even though he had been there for over a week. "Sybil?" Please, love, just answer me? Where are you? "Sybil?"

Then he heard it.

Sniffling?

He stopped where he was, and turned his ears to the sound, trying to see if he could tell what direction it was coming from…and behind which closed door…

But he knew those sniffles, and he felt his heart break at each one.

With hurried steps, he started opening various doors, not bothering to close them if he peeked inside and didn't see her. "Sybil? Love, answer me, please!"

The sniffles came to a stop, or rather, he heard the sound of someone trying to choke them back and keep themselves under control.

…And from just behind the door to his left.

He pulled the door open and there she was, sitting on the floor, her new blue dress pooled around her and her fingers hastily trying to dry her eyes. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'll…I'll be right there," she muttered, quickly turning her head away, as if she were ashamed of her tears.

But naturally, he didn't listen. To ensure that no servant would wander down the hall and catch them, he quietly shut the door behind him and knelt down beside her, his eyes filled with nothing but love and concern. "Sweetheart, what's wrong? What happened?"

"Nothing!" she lied, still trying to avoid his eyes. He noticed there was something lying on the ground next to her, something that she was holding…something lacy and white. His brow furrowed as he tried to discern what the object was, and once her eyes realized what he was looking at, quickly tried to hide the object behind her.

"Lord, is that the time?" Sybil murmured, her eyes lifting to the mantle clock above a nearby fireplace. "We better go; Matthew will be expecting you—"

"Don't do that, love."

She finally lifted her gaze to him, and he gently cupped her chin, looking deeply into her eyes…clear and blue and puffy around the edges from her weeping.

"Tom…" she was trying to release his hold, as well as his gaze, but his other hand rose and began running soothing fingers across her cheek, feeling the residue of her tears. "Tom, please, we can't be late; you'll be missed—"

"I doubt that," he grumbled beneath his breath, knowing very well how much his father-in-law wished Sybil had come alone for this wedding. "And even if they do miss me, they'll miss you even more, but I'm not going anywhere until you…tell me…" his words began to trail off as he felt his wife's chin tremble beneath his fingers…and he saw new tears, shimmering in her eyes and threatening to fall. "Oh God, what is it, sweetheart, what did I say?" He hated seeing Sybil cry, because he felt utterly helpless. He had promised to devote every waking minute to her happiness, but when she cried like this, he felt as if he had failed her. "Please, love…please, tell me what's wrong," he begged, his heart breaking with each sniffle and each attempt to keep her emotions at bay, which was truly proving to be a futile effort.

He moved his hand from her chin, and held her face tenderly between both hands, his thumbs moving to wipe away her tears, before bringing his forehead down to touch hers. Gone were those previous worries about becoming the Crawley scapegoat for his tardiness. Nothing mattered more than his beloved Sybil. "Did…did someone say something to you?" he asked. Lately, Sybil had become very self-conscious about her weight and figure. While he saw nothing but beauty, she would complain that she had become a heifer, and the other day she had burst into tears when the new dress she had brought from Dublin for the wedding, wouldn't fit. He never thought he would say this, but thank God for O'Brien; her talents with needle and thread saved the day. Was this why she was so upset? "Do you know how gorgeous you are?" he murmured, before kissing her forehead. "While others may rise and turn their eyes to the bride, I'll be looking directly at you—the most beautiful woman in that entire church."

He had hoped his loving words would make her smile. But sadly, they seemed to have the opposite effect.

A wail, unlike anything he had ever heard before, erupted from her throat and without warning, she threw her arms around his shoulders and buried her face against his chest and began sobbing. He sat frozen for a moment, completely taken aback by the sudden reaction; then his instincts finally got the better of him, and his arms were immediately around her, drawing her closer and holding her tightly. "Shhh…shhh…it's alright, love, it's alright…" It clearly wasn't, but what else could he say? All he could do was try to provide some sort of comfort, so he held her against him and gently ran his fingers up and down her spine. He turned his face into her hair, and began murmuring comforting words in Gaelic, something he only did when either trying to soothe her, or when lost in the passion of their lovemaking. How he wished it was the latter; at least then he could make her smile.

She mumbled something against his chest, but he didn't quite understand her. "What was that, sweetheart?"

She sighed and lifted her head away from his chest, trying to regain some composure. "I said, no…it's not alright," she took a deep breath, and lifted her hands to wipe at her cheeks. "Lord, how I must look—"

"Stop that," he scolded, lifting her chin to look up at him. "You are beautiful Sybil Branson…and I won't let anyone…even you, say otherwise."

His heart lifted at the tiny smile she gave him, but he was still concerned by whatever had brought on this feeling of despair. "Now, what do you mean, 'it's not alright'?"

Sybil sighed once again, and opened her mouth to speak, but paused…and then pulled out the white lacy thing he had noticed earlier when he first found her. "She had two…" she whispered, looking down at the strange piece of fabric.

"Two?" he asked, confused by what she meant, and what she was holding.

Sybil nodded. "Two veils," she explained. "Mary…she couldn't decide which one she liked more…the one with lace...or the sheer one with pearls." Tom looked down at the fabric, realizing that she was holding the lacy veil which she had just described. "They were both so lovely…so Papa got her both."

Tom's brow furrowed. He was beginning to sense the problem…

Sybil was still gazing down at the veil, lightly running her fingers across it. "I have to agree with her…" she whispered. "It is very lovely; but I suppose in the end, she chose the sheer veil with pearls." He noticed her fingers tighten a little around the veil. "I wonder what she'll do now with this one?" Before he could answer, although he didn't really have an answer, she continued. "Perhaps give it to Edith, if Sir Anthony has the sense to propose to her as he should have done before the War."

"Aye," he murmured, not really sure on what else to say. He could hear the change in his wife's voice, and he knew Sybil's emotions were going through a metamorphosis, from sorrow to frustration…to bitterness.

"Mary didn't ask Papa to buy her two veils," she continued, still gazing down at the fabric. "She told me it came as a wonderful, pleasant surprise, when Anna brought both to her this morning." Tom knew Sybil had been in Mary's room when he had gone downstairs to press his suit. She would have been there as Mary finished dressing; she would have been there when her family came to fetch her and take her to the church…

"You should have seen them…" Sybil whispered, finally lifting her head away from the veil that she clutched. "Mama and Edith and I were with her, of course, but…when she exited the room, Papa and Carson were standing just below…and…" she bit her lip, trying her hardest to fight the new tears that threatened to fall. "And the way they looked at her! I…I've never seen Papa look so…so…awed doesn't seem to be quite the word, simply because it's such a small, plain word, but…I can't think of a better one."

"Sweetheart…" he tried to draw her back against him, but she struggled out of his arms, and before he knew it, she was on her feet, wildly pacing the room, the veil still clutched in her fist.

"I know I'm not perfect," she muttered, not bothering to look at him, because he would certainly attempt to argue with her on that subject. "I wasn't the girl who cared for balls or dances or endlessly shopping for new frocks; I know that I've challenged the 'rules of society' by—"

"Marrying 'the help'?" he intervened, slowly rising to his own feet as she paced.

Sybil looked at him, but didn't stop her pacing. "You're ten times the man most so-called 'gentlemen' are," she growled under her breath. "But even before we met, Tom—my interests in the suffrage movement, in progressive politics, and then in nursing! Papa and I clearly saw differently on all these things, and I accepted that, truly, and I wouldn't change a thing!"

"Lord, that's a relief!" he tried to lighten the mood with a joke, but now was not the time.

"I meant what I said last year; that I couldn't care less about what 'fine society thought of me'. This…my life with you, was what and is what I have always wanted!"

He moved towards her, wanting to take her hand at the very least, but she moved away and opened the doors, continuing her pacing into the hallway. "I know he and I are very different, and I know that Mary is his favorite—and don't argue with me, Tom, its true! The two of them are so similar, and she has always held Downton in the same esteem he has."

He followed her down the hall, but she didn't go very far; she stopped just in front of the staircase, the very staircase her sister had descended in her finery. "And now she's going to marry a man he approves of," he added, as if reading her thoughts.

She turned to face him, and he was surprised to see her anger vanish, melting quickly to guilt and concern. "Oh Tom, forgive me, I didn't mean—"

"Hush, love, I know," he reassured, shaking his head and reaching for her hand once more. This time, thankfully, she took it. "I didn't say that because I feel sorry for myself; I…I knew this wasn't going to be easy…" However, he had never dreamed it would be as difficult as it had been. When he was trying to win her hand, he told her that he would welcome her family with open arms, and he meant it. However, he had also told her that her family would come around to the idea of him being her husband; sadly, this was proving to be much harder than he had imagined.

"I just…" she began, her face contorting with so many different emotions; frustration, pain, anger, sorrow, and perhaps the most heartbreaking one of all, defeat. "I never realized…how much it hurt, until I saw him look at her like that."

"Say it, love," he murmured, lifting her hand to his lips. "Let it out."

Her chin trembled once more, but she lifted it and held it high, before throwing her head back and all but shouting, "He wasn't there, Tom! On my wedding day, my father wasn't there!"

With a grunt, she turned and hurled the wedding veil over the stair railing, trying to throw it as one would throw a stone, wanting to smash the lacy object into a million pieces, the same pieces in which her broken heart lay.

Of course, a veil can't be smashed. And to defy her, it merely floated to the ground.

Tom never let go of her hand. He simply watched, along with her, as the veil slowly puddled into a lacy heap at the bottom of the stairs.

Sybil was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling as her emotions continued to be at war within her. "He never saw me in my wedding dress…" she whispered, looking down at the fallen veil.

"Pity for him," Tom said with a squeeze of his hand.

A sad smile curled at her lips, and she squeezed his back. "I'll never know what it feels like to be looked upon, like that..."

"That's not true," he softly argued. She lifted her eyes to him in question, and he released her hand, only to wrap his arm around her shoulders. "While he never saw you come down a set of stairs in your wedding dress, he has looked upon you with such pride, with such admiration, with such awe, sweetheart; trust me…I've seen it."

She opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came out. Tom smiled down at her, and leant forward to kiss her brow once more, before resting his cheek upon it. "Remember, I was a servant once—and we see things that you lot sometimes miss," he chuckled softly, but his words were full of sincerity. "When you came back from York with your test results; when you worked here while Downton was a convalescent home; when you returned from London after your first season…I saw how he looked at you. And…despite everything that's recently happened…he still looks at you the same way as he did then; you may just have to squint a little," he grinned, glad that he got a smile from her, and gave her nose a kiss. "But it's true love; while he doesn't agree with all your decisions, including this one," he pointed at himself, "I do think he admires you. I mean that, I do. I think…he's amazed by how…well, by how you have done it; followed your heart and never looked back. In fact, I think he even envies you a bit."

"Envies me?" she tried to scoff at the idea, but Tom shook his head.

"You said so yourself, like your sister, he feels duty-bound to this place. Downton was always his destiny; he had no choice. But you surprised everyone, including me," he murmured with a loving smile. "You chose the life you wanted…despite what others thought."

She moved her arms around his waist, and he smiled as he felt her head relax against his shoulder. "And I've never been happier," she whispered, meaning every word. There were times when Tom wondered if that were true; but that was when his self-esteem was at rock bottom. Sybil always found a way to make him believe that despite all the changes her life had gone through, and despite all these trials her family were putting her emotions through…she loved him, and she truly was happy.

"I'm a selfish creature," she guiltily sighed. "It's my sister's wedding day, and here I am...feeling sorry for myself."

He grinned and kissed her forehead. "I think you can be forgiven this time, milady," he chuckled as her elbow attempted to nudge him in the ribs.

"Mary and Matthew won't forgive us, though, for holding up the wedding," she groaned, reluctantly releasing her husband. "But despite all my…frustration…I really, truly am happy for my sister."

He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers, just as they had done for the first time seven years ago at a garden party. "I know, sweetheart, I know," he lifted her hand to his lips once again and kissed the back of her palm. "But I'm allowed to be selfish," he said with a wink.

Sybil lifted a brow at this. "Oh?"

He grinned that roguish grin of his and nodded his head. "As lovely as Lady Mary will look in her white sheer veil laced with pearls, she will never hold a candle to my own English princess, who I will be watching the entire time, while her older sister comes down the aisle."

Sybil stopped him, and to his happy surprise, took his face between her hands, stood on tip toe, and pressed her mouth against his, kissing him fiercely and passionately with all the love that he too possessed.

She only stopped when breathing became necessary. "Mary is a lucky woman, but I'm the luckiest," she panted, a dark blush coloring her face.

"That's because you married an Irishman," he joked, before giving her another kiss. How he wished to linger against her lips, to let the kiss deepen more and more into what was becoming a frequent occurrence nearly every night since their own wedding. But they were late enough as it was, and what Tom wanted to do with his wife would require many long hours without interruption. "To be continued, Mrs. Branson…"

"Yes, please," she wickedly giggled, before taking his hand once more and walking out the doors of Downton Abbey.

A housemaid came across the veil a little later; she stared at it with confusion, shrugged her shoulders, and returned it to Lady Mary's room. No one, save one couple, would ever know of its strange adventure.

THANK YOU FOR READING! Please leave a comment! And let me know if you are interested in a follow-up chapter :o)