Author's Note: Hello and Happy Holidays to all my readers!

This fic is a fandom Secret Santa gift for scarletcourt, who requested a story in which Sybil and Tom celebrate a wedding anniversary, and both of their families are somehow involved. The prompt got away from me somewhat, so it might not be quite what you were expecting, but I hope you like it nonetheless! For those wondering, this takes place in canon era (so, 1920), but is AU for post-3x05. You know what that means-LADY SYBIL LIVES! Merry Christmas to scarletcourt, and I hope you like it...and that it was worth the wait!

"If you don't hurry up soon, we're going to be late."

The words were said gently and with a smile, but Tom Branson knew his wife well enough to know that she was not kidding. He had been lying in bed for the past ten minutes or so, drifting in and out of sleep while Sybil had retreated to the nursery to retrieve their daughter, wanting to feed her and spend time with her before their day officially began. Now she sat in the corner of the room in the rocking chair that had been spirited away from the nursery just for this purpose—Sybil might still be an Earl's daughter, but she was an Irishman's wife, and she was determined to be as involved in the raising of her daughter as she could possibly be. Thankfully, the nanny that had been hired to help care for the baby Branson, a sweet girl by the name of Clara who had come highly recommended, was only too happy to let Sybil have her own way. Her family might make a fuss, but Sybil at least knew that she had the support of Tom and Clara…support that something told her she was going to need, especially on a day like today.

Tom groaned again and turned over to look at his wife, rubbing his sleepy eyes like a child as baby Sybbie nursed happily, nestled tight in her mother's arms. "I know," he said, his voice groggy from sleep, "I know. I'm sorry." He blinked a few times, trying to wake himself up enough to drag himself out of bed. The early morning sunshine of the September day seemed almost blinding to him, and he resisted the urge to cover his head with the blankets and refuse to come out, as he had done as a child when his mother had come to wake him up for school. His body felt as if molasses was flowing through his veins, his eyes drooping somewhat from tiredness. When he saw the dark circles under Sybil's eyes, he knew immediately that he was not the only one who'd had a rough night. "You couldn't sleep either, love?" he asked quietly.

Sybil shifted the baby in her arms, nodding slowly. A tiny, weary smile crossed her face as she looked up at her husband. "Not a wink," she admitted. "Sort of fitting, really, considering what we have in store for us today…" She chuckled as she rocked Sybbie slightly in her arms, looking down adoringly at her daughter's face in a way that almost made Tom's heart burst with love for the two most important people in his life. He nodded in agreement, for it was his nervousness over what was to come that had kept him up as well, tossing and turning and finally dozing off only to wake up again an hour or so later, a vicious cycle that he couldn't break. Now he felt awful that he hadn't realized that Sybil had been experiencing the same problem. If he had known…

"I'm sorry, love," he whispered softly, but Sybil only shook her head again, as if telling him that he didn't need to apologize.

"It's all right," she whispered, running her hand over Sybbie's downy head gently. "I just have to keep telling myself that everything's going to go perfectly today…that they'll all be able to push aside whatever differences they have and just get along, if only for Sybbie's and our sakes. That is why they're here, after all…to celebrate us. Our family."

Those simple words, spoken with such sincerity, were enough to bring a true smile to Tom's face as he finally sat up. His mind had been foggy with worry and sleeplessness before, but Sybil's heartfelt words had reminded him of the true meaning behind today's festivities. He pulled the covers back and stood up from the bed, crossing the room to place the softest of kisses on his wife's forehead before capturing her lips gently. "Happy anniversary, love," he whispered, resting his forehead against hers as their eyes met.

"Happy anniversary, Tom," she responded immediately, her smile lighting up her entire face. "Although…" she said after a moment, a cheeky grin on her face, her blue eyes shining with mirth, "technically our anniversary was nearly two months ago…"

"All it matters is that we've been married one year," he corrected her with a wave of his hand and a wink, bopping her lightly on the nose. "The rest, my love, is detail."

Sybil was right, of course—technically, the date of their wedding anniversary had already passed. Between their panicked escape from Ireland to the relative safety of Downton, the end of Sybil's pregnancy, and the baby's difficult labor and delivery, the festivities had gotten lost in the shuffle. Aside from some whispered words and handwritten cards, they had not done much to mark the occasion, promising to make up for it next year. As long as Tom still had his wife by his side—for a while after Sybbie's birth, it had seemed so certain that he would lose her—he didn't very much care whether they celebrated their anniversary "properly" or not. Other couples might mark the day with expensive gifts and dinners out, lavish parties or secret getaways, but they were the Bransons. They had never been traditional, and Tom wouldn't have them any other way.

It hardly seemed possible that a year had passed since they had stood in that tiny Dublin church and exchanged their wedding vows, and yet here they were—married and settled with a beautiful daughter. The past year had brought both joy and heartache to the growing Branson family. They had burned bridges and then mended them again between themselves and the Crawleys, they had made a home in Dublin and had then been forced to flee from it, taking refuge back at Downton Abbey, the one place that Sybil had never thought she would ever find Tom Branson willingly calling home. They had their precious daughter, their beautiful Sybil Saoirse Branson, but the birth had been so difficult that they had almost lost Sybil herself in the process. Her recovery had been difficult, but now a month later she was finally almost back to normal—just in time to celebrate her daughter's christening with both the extended Branson and Crawley clans.

When Cora had first brought up the prospect of inviting Tom's family to celebrate Sybbie's christening, both Sybil and her father had been convinced—for very different reasons—that she was trying to make a joke, or else that she didn't truly understand the implications of what she was suggesting. She made it sound so simple, writing to the Bransons and extending an invitation, but both her daughter and husband knew that it was far more complicated than that. Robert couldn't imagine the Bransons actually agreeing to not only allow the Crawleys to pay for their passage to England, but also to stay as guests at Downton—nor did he want them to. Sybil, on the other hand, refused to believe that her father would actually let Cora make such an offer, even if she begged him. However, try as she might, she couldn't help but be tempted to take her mother up on her suggestion. It had been a long year since she had last seen her mother-in-law, and Tom's siblings that she had grown so fond of. Their letters, while treasured, were less frequent than either party probably would have liked, and a poor substitute for actual time spent together. Beyond that, Sybil knew that Tom missed his family more than he was letting on, and that they would be eager to see the baby for themselves. And yet the sensible part of her told her that it was too much to hope for that they would come. There were too many divisions between the Bransons and the Crawleys, as much as Sybil liked to pretend that there weren't. Surely they would not be able to coexist under the same roof, even for a short amount of time. It was a dream, nothing more than that. It would never work.

And yet, to Sybil—and Robert's—shock, it had.

After weeks of pestering, Robert had finally given in, agreeing to pay for the Bransons' passage and allow them to stay on at Downton if they wanted to attend Sybbie's christening. Letters had been sent off to Dublin at once, with Robert urging Cora all the while not to get her hopes up. "The Irish are very proud," he'd explained to her, his voice always veering towards patronizing. "They might not want to accept an offer that they see as charity…"

"It isn't charity," Cora had said, her stubborn American side shining through brighter than ever, for she unlike her husband was actually excited to meet the family that her baby had married into. "It's inviting our family to stay with us, to see Sybbie's christening and celebrate Tom and Sybil's anniversary." The moment Cora had realized that there had been no formal celebration to mark the occasion, she insisted on combining the festivities. Tom and Sybil hadn't had the heart to stop her once she'd seen how excited she was, how determined she was to bring the whole family together as if the class divisions between them no longer existed.

"All I'm saying, darling, as we had a hard enough time getting them to come up for Mary and Matthew's wedding when they couldn't afford it," Robert said, looking at his wife over the rim of his teacup. "Don't expect his family to be any different. I can hardly imagine them jumping at the chance to spend a week in the country with an Earl and his family."

"We'll just see about that."

"Yes, I believe we shall," he had retorted with a grin. He was indulging Cora for the moment, letting her have her way because he was convinced that he would be proven right in the end. Cora would see that her idea had been foolish from the start, and they would be able to enjoy Sybbie's christening without the added burden of Tom's Irish relatives. She would see…

No one had been more surprised than Robert when a letter had arrived at Downton not long after, saying that the Bransons would be happy to come and visit Downton. Instantly the house had been flown into preparation for the arrival of the seven Bransons—Tom's mother, Margaret, and his six siblings. Much of the last few weeks, it seemed had passed in a blur, with half the family dreading the encounter for one reason or another. Only Cora, and to a certain extent Sybil and Mary, had remained optimistic throughout it all, determined to make it a good visit for everyone involved.

The results had certainly been…unexpected…and to think it had all started with Tom's youngest sister…

"They're already over a quarter of an hour late, Your Ladyship," Carson said to Cora under his breath. The Crawley family had assembled outside to wait for the Bransons, with the servants lined up opposite them, ready to be introduced and assist them as needed. "This isn't boding well."

"It most certainly isn't," Robert agreed, loudly enough for Sybil to hear, but his wife cut him off, shaking her head.

"Their train was probably just late getting into the station," she said, her blue eyes wide and full of scolding. "Try not to judge them before they've even arrived, Robert."

"I'll do my best," her husband said stiffly. The family stood there for a few more minutes, staring out over the drive that would bring the Branson clan to Downton. An uncomfortable silence had fallen over them, and Sybil reached for her husband's hand, squeezing it gently, knowing that both of them needed comforting right about now. All she could do was hope that this week would go off without a hitch…

"Er…how many siblings do you have again, Tom?" Edith asked, wanting to break the silence and lighten the tension any way she could. He'd explained this before, but Edith was so desperate to generate some form of conversation that she no longer cared.

"Six," Tom answered good-naturedly. "One older brother, two younger, and three younger sisters."

"That's quite a lot," Edith said with a tiny smile. "Are the youngest ones very young?"

"Relatively," Tom replied. "Bridget, the youngest, turns twelve in a few weeks. She was my parents' big surprise. They thought they were done having children until she came along."

"Good God," Robert muttered under his breath, and his wife elbowed him sharply. Another hush fell over the family, and Tom felt the tips of his ears begin to grow hot. His family had not been over here just so they could be ridiculed and judged…

"Thank heavens Grandmama isn't coming over until tomorrow," Tom heard Mary whisper to her husband. He sighed. Cora had also written to Martha to tell her of the festivities, and instantly the Levinson matriarch had dropped everything, insisting on coming over to join the party. She had missed Sybil giving birth, and Edith's attempted wedding. According to her, it was the least she could do to come over for the christening…just another piece in the already topsy-turvy puzzle. Tom felt exhausted and the week had hardly begun yet…and he knew he wasn't the only one.

It was Matthew who finally broke the silence, pointing into the distance with what looked like a smile of relief on his face. "I think I see them now."

Sure enough, a few moments later two cars were pulling into the drive. They had barely come to a stop before the door to the first one was flung open, revealing a girl in a bright blue dress with an unruly mass of curly brown hair the same shade as Tom's. "Tommy!" she cried delightedly, running straight into his arms with such enthusiasm that it drew a smile from the nervous crowd. Tom grinned as his sister's arms tightened around him and he picked her straight up off the ground, spinning her around in a circle as he had done when she was small. "I missed you!" she cried out, her little voice slightly muffled by his coat.

"I missed you too, Bridget," he said brightly, not caring what the Crawleys thought of this particular display of affection. He loved his family with all his heart, and his littlest sister was no exception. Just because some English hearts were traditionally made of stone didn't mean that Tom's had to be as well. "But I'm afraid you might be gettin' a wee bit too big for me to hug you like that much longer. I swear you've sprung up another inch since the last time Sybil and I saw you!"

"Mam says I'm going to be as tall as her one day, but I don't believe her," Bridget said as Tom set her back on her feet. She turned and threw her arms around Sybil by way of greeting as the other Bransons began to file out of the car, the Crawleys eyeing them curiously. One by one, Tom and Sybil were greeted by the rest of his siblings in turn—Kieran, Ava, Sean, Patrick, and Kathleen, ranging in ages from Kieran who was a year older than Tom to Kathleen, who at the second youngest had just recently celebrated her seventeenth birthday. Tom embraced each of them tightly before turning to his mother, Margaret, who said not a word as she wrapped her arms around her son. No one spoke a word as Margaret Branson, usually so strong and unwavering, buried her head in the crook of Tom's shoulder and fought back tears. For the first time, Tom realized how difficult this whole ordeal must have been on his mother—their hurried flight from Ireland, no doubt leaving her frantic, followed by months of only letters to let her know how her son was faring. Suddenly, Tom wanted to take back every harsh word he'd ever said about Cora's plan to bring his family over for the christening.

"My sweet boy," his mother whispered raggedly. "My Tommy. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Mam. But you're here now. That's all that matters."

Margaret nodded and pulled away, kissing his forehead as a smile crossed her face. "Aye, you're right about that."

"You didn't have any trouble getting here, did you?" he asked, directing his question to all of them. "There weren't…any problems?"

"You mean with the police?" Kieran asked immediately. Tom nodded, and Kieran gave a wry smile, although his eyes told Tom that he was less than happy to be here, and that Tom's escape from Ireland in the dead of night without telling a soul hadn't exactly been forgiven. "No, they didn't give us any trouble. It's you they wanted, after all…they could care less about us."

Tom nodded gratefully. "Good," he whispered, that one word containing so much emotion that he almost surprised himself. His foolish actions had already ruined the lives of his wife and child. He couldn't stand the thought that his deeds might have consequences for his family as well. "Well, I suppose you…you probably want to meet everyone, don't you?"

Throughout this entire exchange of greetings, the Crawley family had stood quietly, watching the reunion and waiting their turn. Now the Bransons, in turn, gazed upon the grand house and the large welcoming party with a mixture of interest and wariness. Cora looked at Robert, as if silently posing a question, but he remained unresponsive. She gave a quiet sigh before stepping forward.

"Welcome to Downton," she said, her voice as serene as a lady of the house should always be. "We're so happy to have you here."

Her words were met with nothing but smiles and nods of agreement on both sides. No one seemed to want to make the first move to introduce themselves…no one, that is, except little miss Bridget Branson

"Where's the baby?" she demanded immediately, forgetting her manners. "Where's baby Sybil?"

"We call her Sybbie, actually, so it isn't too confusing," Tom corrected her gently, tugging on a loose curl. "And she's inside with her nanny right now," he added with a glance to Sybil, not meeting the eyes of the rest of his family. He could feel their gazes on him, and all he could do was hope that they wouldn't judge his new way of life too harshly. It wasn't as if he'd had much of a choice… "We thought it might be a little too cold for her, waiting outside. You can meet her in a minute, after you've said hello to everyone else." He grinned in spite of himself. "It's only polite, after all."

Bridget nodded, apparently accepting his words for now. She turned back to her family, setting her hands on her hips. "Well, what are we waiting for?" she demanded with a smile. As her family looked on, she turned to the first Crawley she saw, which happened to be Mary, standing patiently next to Matthew. "Hi! I'm Bridget."

Mary looked to her husband for a moment, her eyes dancing with surprise and maybe amusement, before turning back to the young girl. "It's very nice to meet you, Bridget," she said quietly, giving a polite but reserved smile. Tom wouldn't have expected anything less from his sister-in-law, but he at least knew Mary was trying. "I'm Mary, and this is my husband Matthew."

"You look like a princess."

That prompted a little laugh from Mary and a few of the Bransons, and Tom allowed himself to relax. "Thank you, Bridget. That's very kind of you to say. But I'm afraid I'm not a princess. Some days I think I'd like to be, though."

"Me too," said Bridget eagerly before grabbing hold of Tom's hand, pulling him down the line to introduce him to the others. As the rest of his family began to make their own introductions, with a little help from Sybil, Tom was Bridget's guide as he acquainted her with the Crawley family. Finally, he found himself standing next to her before Robert and Cora, feeling nervous again. "And these are Sybil's parents, Bridget…Lord and Lady Grantham."

"Oh, you can call us—" Cora began, but one harsh look from her husband stopped her in her tracks. He turned back to the girl and gave her a rather reserved look that might, in some circles, been considered a smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bridget," he said, his tone far more formal than the girl was probably used to. "Now, you're probably all very tired from your journey…shall we go inside?"

Tom blinked in surprise, but his family was already agreeing, hoisting up bags into their arms before the servants had a chance to offer their help and following the Crawleys into the house. Sybil walked arm-in-arm with Margaret, already in deep conversation with the mother-in-law she had missed so much, while Sean and Patrick eyed the maids with interest as they stepped into the house. Tom found himself walking between Kathleen and Bridget, both of whom seized his hands immediately, as if reluctant to let him out of their sight. Tom didn't mind. What he did mind, however, was the way Kathleen's eyes seemed to linger for far too long on a certain dark-haired footman…

"Don't even think about it," he hissed to his younger sister as they stepped over the threshold and into Downton Abbey.

"You're right," Sybil agreed, startling Tom from his reverie. He hadn't even noticed that his mind had been miles away from their bedroom at Downton, lost in thought as he recalled the events of the last several days. "It's supposed to be a happy day, but it won't be if I'm worrying myself sick over it. I need to just trust that everything's going to work out the way it's supposed to…"

"That's right, you do," Tom agreed as Sybbie finished feeding and her mother lifted her onto her shoulder, patting her tiny back lightly. "Although it's sort of like the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it? I was just as anxious as you were. I kept telling myself that everything would go fine today, but…well, it's not like this past week has been living up to my expectations."

"I certainly never would have thought that my father would actually get along with your mother," Sybil said with a chuckle as Tom turned to the wardrobe, intending to get dressed himself. The move didn't keep his wife from seeing the embarrassed scowl that crossed his face, and Sybil chuckled.

"I hardly think it's funny."

"It's a little funny, Tom."

"A shock, yes, funny, no. How is it funny to think that my mother's idea of bonding with your father is telling him embarrassing stories of me growing up in Ireland?" Tom grumbled, but there was a faint smile threatening to creep across his lips as well. "You could've knocked me over with a feather the first time I looked over and saw them not only talking together, but laughing. Laughing at me, I might add. God knows what's going to happen if she ever runs out of embarrassing stories to tell…"

So far, the visit was going rather well, considering. The family had been introduced to the baby and had taken turns holding and cooing over her, although Bridget required a great deal of persuading before she agreed to pass the baby along to one of her waiting sisters. The entire time, Tom and Sybil had been hovering nearby, ready to placate Sybbie if she became too fussy. Thankfully, she seemed to be taking everything in stride, her huge blue eyes looking up at the sea of new faces without even a hint of fear. She was so much like her mother in that way…

Tom was so absorbed in watching as Sybbie reached up a tiny hand to tug at a loose lock of Kathleen's auburn hair that he hadn't even noticed that Margaret had struck up a conversation with Robert in the background. He strained his ears, trying to hear, curious as to what they could possibly be talking about when the rest of the Bransons were so busy admiring the baby.

"From what I understood, Tom was busy running a black market of sweets out of his desk at school—and believe me, the moment that his teacher found out she marched him straight home so that I could deal with him properly—"

"Mam!" Tom interrupted, a blush already creeping up into his cheeks. "You're telling him that story?!" Robert disliked him enough as it was, or so it seemed. The last thing Tom needed was for his mother's stories of his rather unruly childhood to tarnish his father-in-law's opinion of him even more…

But to his shock, Robert did not look scandalized—instead, he was laughing. "I seem to remember a time when my own daughter would hide from her governess for hours to avoid her lessons," he told Margaret between chuckles. "Maybe our children are more alike than I originally thought. And of course there was the unfortunate incident with a frog in the governess' bedsheets…"

"Oh, that's nothing! I don't suppose my Tommy has ever mentioned a certain fiasco with a pond when he was visiting my cousin's farm…"

Tom rolled his eyes, suppressing the urge to groan. This was already proving to be a very long day.

"Who cares what she tells him as long as they get along? I thought they'd be at each other's throats like a pair of angry cats the whole week."

"Kind of like your mother and mine?" Tom said mildly, his face hidden within the wardrobe.

Sybil groaned. "Don't remind me…she's convinced your mother hates her."

"I can assure you she doesn't."

"I know that, Tom, but Mama doesn't, and to her that's the only thing that matters. I told you what she insisted she overheard your mother muttering something about how she would have expected her to leave all the work to the nanny or something like that…" Her voice trailed off as Tom began to button his shirt, her eyes growing far away.

Sybil wasn't sure the last time she'd seen her mother looking that irate. "The nerve of that woman!" she blustered, her voice low but filled with venom. "I could just—"

"What did she do this time, Mama?" Sybil asked, exasperated, for she had had just about enough of Cora's complaints about Margaret.

"You're telling me you haven't seen the way she looks at me every time I so much as come near Sybbie? As if I don't know how to handle a baby! I'm a mother, same as her. What right does she have to judge me?"

"I'm sure she's not judging you, Mama…" Over her shoulder, Sybil peeked into the drawing room, where the rest of the two families had gathered. Sean, the elder of Tom's two younger brothers, seemed to have taken a shine to Edith and was chatting with her quietly as Matthew entertained Bridget with a game of checkers. Robert and Margaret were talking and laughing together, and Kathleen was nowhere to be found. Tom, bless his heart, had been sucked into conversation with Martha and Violet, and was enduring it bravely as he rocked Sybbie in his arms. "She's just used to a different way of doing things. She doesn't mean any harm…"

"Oh, I believe she does. I told you what I heard her mutter under her breath—"

"You said you weren't sure you heard her right."

"I know what I heard, Sybil!"

"Well if it bothers you so much, Mama, why don't you just talk to her about it?"

But Cora was already shaking her head stubbornly, making Sybil sigh again. She loved both her mother and Margaret dearly, and the last thing she wanted was to be dragged into this feud between them. "Please, mama, just try to be cordial with her? If not for my sake and Tom's, then for Sybbie's. Margaret is her grandmother too, after all."

Cora gazed at her a long moment before she finally seemed to relent. "All right, darling. For the three of you, I'll try. But if this keeps up, I can't promise I'll be able to keep my temper."

"Is that so?" Sybil asked, mildly amused now. "Will you go all American on her?"

Cora gave a wry smile. "I just might. Now come on, let's get back inside before we're missed."

"We may never get to the bottom of that one," Tom agreed. "I just hope they can put aside their differences for the next few hours. All I care about is that we get through the christening. After that, they can go at each other all they want."

"You know she's trying, Tom."

"I do know she's trying, Sybil. I always liked your mother, you know that. I know Cora's trying. But my mother is trying too. Maybe they're just never going to get along."

"I hope that's not true." There was a silence as Sybil looked down at the baby in her arms, trying to hide her worried expression. "I just want today to be perfect."

"And I'm sure it will be, darling." Tom chuckled softly. "After all, it hasn't been a bad week, per se. Just a very strange one. Between Mam and Robert getting on so well, all the fuss with your mother, and my siblings sneaking off to the servants hall every few minutes, I'm surprised we got any sleep at all."

Half of Tom's siblings were missing, and the dinner gong had just been rung. Tom was in no mood to have Mr. Carson or Robert lecture him on the importance of punctuality, so he had taken it upon himself to locate Kieran, Patrick, and Kathleen…and he had a pretty good idea where they would be. As he strode towards the servants hall, a roar of laughter told him that he had to be on the right track. He rolled his eyes. Some things never changed.

Sure enough, he found his older brother seated at the big table in the servants hall, surrounded by the very people he used to work with. Nearby, twenty-year-old Patrick was deep in conversation with a very skittish Daisy, and Kathleen, always the bold one, was flirting unabashedly with Thomas, who was smirking and appearing to enjoy every minute of it. Tom almost groaned out loud.

"So this is where you lot have been hiding," he said, looking at the three in turn. "Come on. It's time to change for dinner."

"Change into what?" Kieran asked loudly. "A pumpkin?" His words caused Kathleen to burst into girlish giggles, laying her hand on the footman's arm. "Come on, Tom," Kieran continued, gesturing to the servants. "Come on, Tommy. They seem like nice people. Let's eat down here tonight, what do you say?"

"I think it sounds lovely," Kathleen piped up, never taking her eyes off of Thomas.

Tom was not amused. "No," he said firmly. "Come on, upstairs, the lot of you. You're going to make us late."

"What, you too good to dine with them?" Kieran demanded, but Tom was already beckoning to Patrick, who said a flustered goodbye to Daisy before coming away. Tom clapped him gently on the shoulder in thanks, grateful at least that one of his siblings was showing any signs of common sense. Flirting in the servants hall was one thing—Tom didn't mind that necessarily, not as long as his brother kept his wits about him, but making them all late for dinner was another matter entirely.

"No, of course not," he told Kieran, shaking his head. "But my mother-in-law has graciously invited you all into her home, and I won't let you snub her. Now come on. I won't ask you again. If you like, you can come and visit down here another time, but not when we're expected at dinner. Now come on upstairs with the rest of us."

Kieran gazed at him a long moment before finally nodding, something unspoken passing between the two brothers. "All right then," he said at last. "I suppose another dinner with your family won't be so bad after all."

Tom almost beamed. It was the first time any Branson had referred to the Crawleys as Tom's family.

With that settled, he turned and grabbed Kathleen's arm, pulling her away from Thomas and making her excuses for her. "Tommy!" she whined as soon as they were out of earshot. "Why'd you have to go and do that? Thomas and I were having a perfectly nice conversation…" She sighed theatrically. "He's so lovely, isn't he?"

"Trust me, Kath, you are not his type."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Tom bit his tongue to keep from laughing, trying to remember that he was supposed to be stern. "I'll explain it to you when you're older."

Tom chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Kath is still going down there every chance she gets," he explained. "She's smitten with Thomas. I can't decide whether I should find it funny or sad…but she won't be stopped."

"It's not like she's hurting anyone."

"No, but I'm sure she's driving everyone crazy with her flirting. When I confronted her about it, she told me I should be ashamed of myself, considering it was a 'cross-class romance' that brought all of us here today in the first place. She fancies herself half in love with him already."

"I'm sure Thomas loves that."

"Oh, he does," Tom replied, reaching for his tie, and Sybil laughed.

"No one said this was going to be easy…" Sybil began as Sybbie began to coo delightedly in her arms. "But…"

Tom smiled. He knew the look on Sybil's face well. "But what, love?"

"Well, you can't exactly say we've been starved for entertainment."

Tom burst out laughing, shaking his head. "I have to agree with you there," he told his wife affectionately. "Like everything else in our marriage…these past few days have been an adventure…"

"That they have," Sybil agreed. "And if we don't hurry up, Mr. Branson, we're going to be late for our next one."

The next few hours were a flurry of activity, everyone bustling around, eating breakfast and getting ready for the christening. Thankfully, the event itself was beautiful, going off without a single hitch other than the way Robert rolled his eyes every so often at the Catholicism. Even the photographs, usually a trial in themselves, went smoothly, with Cora making a joke about Father Dominic converting Robert that had everyone in stitches. Photo after photo was taken, pictures of the proud parents with Sybbie and of the two families both separate and together, forever etching the events of the day into their memories. Sybil couldn't help but think that, in spite of everything, it had gone perfectly after all.

They returned to Downton and immediately threw themselves into preparation for the party, which was to include games, dinner, and dancing. Tom and Sybil excused themselves almost immediately, wanting to get Sybbie fed and changed before they handed her off to Clara to mind for the evening. However, nearly half an hour later, there was still no sign of the guests of honor, and Cora and Margaret excused themselves to go and look for their children. They spoke not a word as they trekked up the stairs, knocking softly on the door to Sybil and Tom's bedroom. When there was no answer from the other side, they opened it quietly, peering into the room.

The sight that greeted them melted both of their hearts. Tom and Sybil, exhausted from the events of the day, were both fast asleep on the bed, their chests gently rising and falling in rhythm with their breathing. Lying between them was the baby, sleeping peacefully as well. Tom's arm was wrapped around his wife's waist, and the other gripped Sybbie's tiny hand, as if trying to protect and watch over them both even as he slept. Cora's hand came to cover her heart at the sight, finding herself almost blinking back tears. "So this is why they didn't come downstairs," she said quietly, almost to herself.

"Poor little things, all worn out," Mrs. Branson whispered as she gazed at the three figures on the bed, clucking her tongue affectionately. "I tell you, Lady Grantham, sometimes it's hard for me to believe that my Tommy is actually all grown up and married, with a babe of his own now…"

"I feel the same way about Sybil," Cora agreed quietly. "Some days it still feels like she's just a little girl playing house."

"We should probably let them sleep a bit, the wee lambs," Tom's mother continued. "They both look like they need it. The party will still be waiting for them whenever they wake up." As she spoke, Tom shifted slightly in his sleep but did not wake up, wrapping his arm around Sybil's waist and pulling her closer to him as the baby lay nestled snugly between them. The sight was enough to warm the hearts of both of the new grandmothers, and Mrs. Branson laid a hand on Cora's arm gently. "Come on. Let's leave them be."

Cora chuckled quietly, her hand on the doorknob as they began to retreat. "For once, Mrs. Branson, I think there's actually something we can agree on."

To her astonishment, the Irishwoman actually laughed. "Well, it was bound to happen eventually, Lady Grantham."

"Cora."

"Beggin' your pardon?"

The Countess of Grantham smiled widely as she carefully closed the door behind her. "Cora. You should call me Cora now, Mrs. Branson. I insist. We are family, after all." She offered up another smile, this one more hesitant, as if afraid that the woman would not accept her offer.

Mrs. Branson gazed at her a long moment before a smile of her own spread across her face. "Aye, that we are," she agreed. "I think I could do that, Lady—I mean, Cora. I think I could do that. But on one condition."

"And what would that be?"

Mrs. Branson grinned triumphantly. "You start calling me Margaret. It's only fair. We are, after all, family."

With those words, a truce of sorts was declared between the two women. When they ventured downstairs to inform the family that the guests of honor were taking a little catnap and would join them later, the Bransons and Crawleys were shocked to find Cora and Margaret walking arm-in-arm, chatting as if they had been friends for years.

"Never thought I'd live to see that," Martha said approvingly from her spot in the corner. "Two days ago they couldn't stand each other, and now look at them, thick as thieves. It's practically a miracle. I never would have expected that."

"Oh, I did," Violet said crisply, although Martha could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging on the old dowager's features. She looked from Cora and Margaret, who were laughing animatedly over something or other, to Matthew and Kieran who were locked in a discussion about cars while Mary listened on, to Edith, Patrick, and Ava who were poring over an old photo album together. Kathleen had somehow managed to get Thomas by himself—a feat that no one, save Violet, seemed to have noticed yet—and was talking to him quietly, although to the old lady's surprise the footman actually seemed interested in whatever it was that the young girl had to say. Even her son was getting in on the festivities, telling Sean and Bridget some story of days long by as little Bridget sat on his lap as if she'd known him all her life. It had seemed an impossible feat, but somehow, the Bransons and Crawleys were getting along splendidly…and Violet couldn't help but feel a hint of pride at that revelation. She turned back to Martha, a rather victorious smile on her face.

"You'll find there's never a dull moment in this house."