Writer's note: This is modern day, but not AU. The exact story of Downton set 100 years after the series. Focusing mainly on Sybil/Branson, Anna/Bates and Mary/Matthew but there will be more.

Lord Grantham got a new chauffer. The responsible driver company had assured him of the man's honesty, dedication and hard work, as well as his prior experience, so he decided to give him a chance. Besides, the last chauffer, Mr. Taylor, had retired and moved closer to London to pursue his lifelong dream of becoming a tea specialist. "Too English," Robert thought, as he bid farewell to his pas employee. And Branson seemed fit as a replacement – he was witty, broad-shouldered and, as his employer had put it, "a bright spark after poor old Taylor".

…..

"Sybil, you can go to Oxford Street, in London, to shop; if you like"

"Mama, you know I'd rather go somewhere less…-"

"Fancy," interrupted Edith.

"Yes," replied the brunette meekly, as they headed towards the car on their usual visit to their grandmother. "Well, Mama, I'll go… but can it be my choice, at least this time?"

"Isn't it usually?" Cora asked with what felt like the shadow of a giggle.

"You never let me wear purples or blues… only blacks for evening dinners, pinks for most of my normal day clothes and whites in general! It is getting quite tiring".

"I don't think purple would suit you. But you are wearing blue right now!," replied Cora with her caring eyes scanning her daughter's clothes for a few seconds.

Sybil looked at her clothes, realizing what she had said wasn't entirely accurate. "It is my only blue shirt, and my only proper pair of blue jeans. And you haven't even allowed me to- " she was stopped by her sister.

"Sybil, dear, you are exaggerating. Though… what would you like?"

"Something new and exciting!" Those words captured someone else's attention, one who had not been paying attention to the conversation – and the words that followed intrigued him even more.

"Oh, shut up, dear – she is gonna go on about feminism and double standards or whatever".

Branson found Lady Edith to be quite rude. Rivalry? Envy of the other teenager's looks? He couldn't know. Still, it bothered him.

"Sybil, darling, ignore your sister. You can choose whatever you like!"

"Thank you, Mama!".

Tom had already decided that he liked the Countess, and felt a slight preference to Lady Sybil over the other two daughters. He smiled; and Sybil did, too, not knowing that it was a grin shared by one more than those who were being driven around.

Tom was deeply interested in history and politics, more in the latter than the former, and often considered it as a career. His studies in Dublin consisted of both history and politics, though a part of him enjoyed journalism and writing as well. He knew that he could combine both, but he was unsure of his job opportunities, and working as a chauffer made him earn enough money to send back home – to his ill, middle-aged mother, his elder brother and young cousins, all suffering economically and with Tom as their sole support. He had some substantial driving training, after spending a year in a school specializing on chauffer training, and after his graduation, he started working as the chauffer of the elder, but busy, Mrs. Redgrave. When she passed away, he sought work elsewhere, until the Crawleys hired him. He was originally thought to be too young – 23 is not the typical age for a chauffer, particularly one for a rich family. Still, he got the job and felt proud of it. "It is for them," he'd think on some of the gloomier and sadder days, when he would miss Ireland and his family and everything he had left there.

….

"Edith, stop watching that terrible Bollywood film – you know I hate their culture!"

"Robert, it might not be the most pleasing of cultures, but you don't have to hate it," his wife said calmly.

Sybil was in the middle of reading for the third time her favourite novel, Persuasion, as she sat with Edith, curled up under the fleece blanket usually used to cover up the couch, when she thought of something incredible. Her cheeks reddened and she suddenly became quite cheery. He hates Bollywood. He hates their culture.

"What's with you?"

"Nothing"

It was not that. It was so much more.

….

"Sybil, how was your trip to Oxford Street? I am sorry Mama and I couldn't come, but I was busy and she had appointments at her office".

"That's alright, Papa," she said, giving him a half hug.

"Did you find anything good?," he asked with slight indifference.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did". Her lovely smile shone.

"That's good, honey". He changed conversational partners, switching from his youngest daughter to Mary and Matthew, who were discussing the latter's career so far and the former's time as a final year student in Oxford. Matthew had gone to Cambridge for his bachelor degree and to Oxford for his postgraduate, with a specialty in industrial law. He actually worked as a solicitor. Both interested Lord Grantham far more than his baby's trips to clothing stores.

Sybil's mind was captivated by other things; the conversation in the car with Branson, how he gave her those books on feminism and she hurried to hide them in her bag, how he spoke… She had never spoken to someone like that before. It made her heart flutter and that was all quite new to her. Although she was 16, nearly 17, she was homeschooled, and she had never met a boy or a man who spoke to her like that, with the same manner of respect and equality. As if they were equals. Her family treated her as their baby, so she never really felt equal to them, and the rest of her society and of course, the servants, treated her as if she were superior to them in every way. It captured her attention immidietely. Any boy she ever met treated her as simply the youngest daughter of the Earl of Grantham, a shy but spoiled rich girl. She didn't like being in the spotlight, and generally preferred to stay away from it; but besides her sensible mind, she had a passionate heart, which was far stronger and far more powerful than anything else. It ruled her.

"Of course, it's impossible… even if you ignore the fact that he's at least in his twenties, he is the chauffer. It's not far-fetched, it's impossible! It is not even a crush…" she tried to console herself by thinking those words for a little while. And that was all that she contemplated about on the matter.

…..

"Whatever is holding Sybil up? She should've been down here by now, she's usually never late"

Sybil was upstairs, still. After she had encouraged Gwen, a housemaid in her 20s who wanted to go to university but never had the chance to, she decided it was time to wear the brand new clothes she had bought. She asked Anna for help to do her hair, and when it was done… she went downstairs.

….

Her father was shocked, same as her conservative grandmother – her sisters and mother were flabbergasted, and Matthew and Isobel seemed to… approve? To be proud? Matthew knew of Robert's hate towards Eastern cultures, and found Sybil's choice of outfit adorable in a fun way. She was the sister he knew the least about. Edith had tried to initiate conversation with him many times, and Mary was very close to him, at least in comparison to the other Crawley girls. He felt very brotherly towards the 17-year-old and genuinely hoped they would be close friends in the future.

After her father asked her to go and change, and her sisters had made every possible Princess Jasmine and Bollywood joke they could come up with, she noticed someone staring at her from the window. She knew it! Branson had seen her. When she turned towards where she thought he was... he was gone.

"Thank you, Branson," she thought.