It was during the war that Sybil realised how many relationships were making and breaking all around her. There were early marriages, made in case the husband would die in war, and death would ruin families and break up homes. She always felt so lucky that her parents were happy together, and could trust and rely on each other in difficult times. Sometimes she would catch them exchanging looks during dinner, and it made her smile to see that they still loved each other after so long, even if the intimacy of their glances almost made her blush. On one occasion, she had even seen them together in the library during the day; Mama sitting on Papa's lap, with his mouth crushed to hers, with the door not even properly closed so anyone passing by could see his tongue slide into her mouth and hear her sigh. Sybil, at the time, had raised her eyebrows lightly and closed the doors properly, but now she understood more about their relationship she thought it was quite romantic that they defied the conventions of the aristocracy to be with each other even when it wasn't appropriate.

One day, during the war, as she was walking to an outside store cupboard to fetch some clean bed linen, Sybil was surprised to see her parents walking together in the gardens. Though they walked together often, they looked very close and Sybil was pleased for them.

As she watched them idly, she saw her mother suddenly put her hand to her face and sob, and her father, full of worry and concern, lead her to a bench and wrap his hand around hers. Sybil, wanting to comfort her mother about whatever might be wrong, hurried closer to her, yet when she saw her father speak to her mother so gently, she hovered between helping Mama and leaving Mama and Papa alone. Though she didn't want to eavesdrop, she found herself being drawn to their conversation, and somehow she couldn't leave. She was worried for Mama, of course, and also curious at this unexpected picture of her parents – they were completely alone and genuine, and she couldn't pretend to be more than a little curious.

'I heard this morning,' Mama was sobbing, 'Lady Beaumont wrote to me about it, but I don't think it truly sank in until now…Elizabeth was my oldest friend, my closest confidante for so many years, and for her to die so suddenly just weeks after her poor son…'

'I know, my darling. It seems so horribly unfair that the people we love are taken from us so mercilessly.'

'This war…I hate it so much. I hate all the needless arguments and fighting and the way we hear news of the death of a friend so frequently that it feels like it will last forever - as though this war will never end and each of us has been scarred by memories of someone lost to the gunfire or the grief that follows it…'

'I know, my darling. I know,'

Mama buried her head in Papa's shoulder, and he held her hand and kissed her forehead as she cried, sobbing helplessly into his chest. Papa rubbed her back comfortingly for untold minutes, until Mama shared her memories of Elizabeth from when they met at a London ball to receiving her final tear-stained letter from her, recounting her son's death. Sybil felt uneasy watching her Mama talking about her dearest friend to her husband, completely unaware that her daughter was watching, so Sybil crept away, but from that day on remembered how strong the love between her parents was.

Mary loved and admired her parents, who she believed were the epitome of nobility and grace, even in the darkest of times. However, it was only after her marriage to Matthew that she understood how much her parents loved each other – true love, not just fondness or companionship, but a deep-rooted love that had survived many obstacles.

When her father was in America, Mary realised how much her mother missed him. Constantly, Mama would look across the table to where Papa sat, and would bite her lip and cast her gaze downwards when she saw his empty chair. She smiled through meals and welcomed guests as graciously as ever, but inwardly Mary knew she was lost without him. Day after day, Mary could see that Mama would wrap herself up in preparations for the Bazaar, as a means of something to do, something to get her mind away from her loneliness.

Mary was passing the drawing-room one evening, when she heard Mama's giggle coming from the room, and since the door was slightly open and she had never heard her Mama giggle like that before, and was surprised to hear it now when Papa was away, she looked through the gap in the door inquisitively. Mama was sitting at the desk, reading a letter which was close enough for Mary to recognise that the handwriting was Papa's, but she couldn't see any of the words on the page. A deep crimson blush was spreading over Mama's cheeks as she continued to read, and she smothered another giggle. Although unaware there was another person in the room, habitually she shielded the passage she had read with her hand, suggesting it was unsuitable for anyone else to read. When she had read the final passage, though, Mary could see her eyes were shining with tears, which she wiped away quickly with the back of her hand. Mary, however, could not just stand there and watch her mother cry, she had to say something but she didn't want to reveal she had been watching her read a letter from Papa, so she entered the room naturally, acting surprised to see Mama there.

'You should really burn scandalous love letters, you know,' she smiled, and Mama laughed, still clutching the letter but smiling back at Mary, knowing her daughter was trying her best to cheer her up.

'You are alright, aren't you?' Mary asked gently.

'Yes,' she insisted, 'I'm fine,'

'He'll come back soon,' Mary told her, knowing what it felt like to love someone who you missed every single day.

'I know he will,' Cora said, sounding as though she was assuring herself of that, and Mary squeezed her hand, then, sensing she might want to be left alone, slipped away quietly.

When the day of the church bazaar arrived, Mary was proud of her mother for putting a brave face on things, clapping the children and setting up the stalls when all the time she had heard nothing from Papa. Then, suddenly, Papa and his valet pulled up, intent on surprising the family, and as Mary looked at her mother, she could see the pure, radiant happiness on her face. That happiness reminded her instantly of how she had felt at that long-ago concert, with Edith playing piano and her singing, and then seeing Matthew…how much she loved him still…but pushing all those thoughts away, she went to greet Papa. As she watched, he kissed Mama on the lips, in front of the whole village – something that would usually have Mary raising her eyebrows in surprise, but now had her smiling, at the thought that her parents loved each other so much they didn't mind if the whole world saw them.

Later that day, just after they had arrived from the bazaar, Mary was on her way to the library when she saw her parents with their arms wrapped around each other in a darkened corner of the hallway. Normally, she would have just rolled her eyes and told them how improper they were being, but somehow she felt as though she couldn't, and she didn't know why. As she moved closer, neither of them noticing her presence, she heard Mama say teasingly,

'So which is better – England or America?'

'Hmmmm, well, England has my beautiful wife, and alcohol, though as I learnt long ago they don't mix very well…'

Mary had never thought too much about her mother's appearance, but looking at her now, laughing at something her father had said, her eyes sparkling, she thought her truly beautiful.

'God, I've missed you, Cora,'

'Wasn't my brother adequate company?'

'Well, his three main topics of conversation are gambling, alcohol and women, none of which I can discuss with any certainty, so actually I prefer his sister when it comes to conversation, or anything else for that matter.'

'He'd be shocked to hear you say it,'

'He's the reason I've been separated from you for so long, so I think I'm justified in not been particularly affectionate towards him,'

'I hadn't thought about it that way,'

He kissed her, with more passion than he had at the bazaar, and Mary felt quite awkward watching them, so she quietly crept away from the sight of Papa kissing Mama's neck, but not before she heard him murmur, 'bloody Harold,'

Edith, in the months following her wedding that never was, hated anything to do with love and marriage. On her parent's wedding anniversary, the month after she'd been jilted by Sir Anthony, she paid very little attention, not wanting to think of all the wedding anniversaries she and Anthony could have celebrated. Mama had insisted that they wouldn't make any fuss over their anniversary, saying that it wasn't a special one, but Edith knew her mother didn't want her to become upset, and she was grateful for that. It felt like all the staff pitied her, and she hated it, but she was thankful that her family stood by her, and she felt lucky to have her mother's support.

On the way downstairs to dinner, she could see her parents slightly ahead of her on the staircase, her father's hand on her mother's lower back, and Mama laughing at something he was saying. It was so sincere that it was nearly enough to make Edith cry, and she blinked her tears away as she carried on walking downstairs, only to stop when she realised her parents had stopped. Papa was kissing Mama's neck, and she was giggling, and he was saying something that Edith couldn't hear, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to, because judging from the way Mama was blushing, it was clearly unsuitable for anyone else's ears.

As she watched, Papa clasped a diamond necklace around Mama's throat. Mama's eyes sparkled as she regarded the smooth stones, and Edith dithered hopelessly, not wanting to walk in front of them and disturb them or stay behind them and have them see her watching them.

'Oh, Robert!' Mama gasped, 'they're so beautiful!'

'They're not as beautiful as the woman wearing them,' he said softly, 'happy anniversary, darling.'

'Happy anniversary, my love. Is this why O'Brien didn't give me a necklace to wear tonight?' she added with a sudden burst of the curiosity which he found so endearing, 'have you two been plotting this behind my back all along?'

'Well, I wouldn't say plotting, sweetheart, but I wanted to fasten it on you myself,'

'Mmmmm,' she said as he kissed the base of her throat, 'you're much better at it than O'Brien is,'

'Really?'

'Mmmmm, I think she regards me with some wariness since last week, when I had to explain to her how it was a full glass of champagne got spilt on my new blue dress,'

'It was an accident!' he said defensively, 'they were both on the floor, my hand slipped when I was reaching for the champagne, you saw!'

'Yes, and thank goodness she didn't,'

They both laughed slightly guiltily, and Papa asked,

'So how did you explain it?'

'I decided the best way was to be honest about it,' Mama said, clearly enjoying his look of alarm as he looked up from kissing her collarbone, 'so, I told her it was Isis,'

'And what else have you blamed on Isis?'

'Do you want the full list?' Mama asked and they both laughed, and Edith nearly gasped in surprise when he pressed her up against the wall, kissing her, his tongue in her mouth. To Edith's complete astonishment, her usually reserved mother was not admonishing her father and pushing him away, as she thought she would, but instead was pulling him even closer, wrapping her arms around his neck. They were both completely oblivious to the fact that any of the servants could pass by at any time, and would see the Earl and Countess of Grantham in such an undignified positon, which would spark endless rumours around London.

'Will they mind if we miss dinner?' Mama whispered as Papa kissed her neck, and to Edith's amazement, Papa said,

'It's our anniversary, they'll understand,' before taking her in his arms, about to carry her to her room, and then kissing her again. Edith almost ran up the stairs to her own room before they could see her, blushing madly and hoping to goodness nobody would ask her why Lord and Lady Grantham weren't at dinner.

After that ill-timed encounter, she had become aware of the affection between her parents, though she was still surprised when she saw the looks they exchanged when they thought nobody was watching, or the way they would always leave to go to bed first, and would be kissing before they'd even reached the top of the stairs. It shocked her to think of how unseemly they were being, but yet, in a way, she was almost envious. After Anthony, she didn't think she would ever find love again, but if she could, like the love her parents had, she would consider herself extremely lucky.

She was just thinking about this as she passed the study, when she heard her parent's voices coming from inside.

'I know something's wrong, Robert,' she heard her Mama say, and though she knew that after last time, she really shouldn't watch them when they were alone, she was worried about her father, if, like Mama said, something was actually wrong. Was he ill, and didn't want to tell anyone for fear of worrying them? With a sick feeling at the pit of her stomach, Edith realised that that must be it, the reason something was wrong – and though she really should walk away she was frozen to the spot, watching as Mama clasped Papa's hand.

'Nothing's wrong, sweetheart. Everything's fine, darling,' he said, attempting to smile.

'Well, now I know something's wrong, you haven't called me sweetheart and darling in the same sentence since the time we slipped away from Lady Beaumont's ball and you tore half the buttons off my gown – and, if I recall correctly, even then there was a very long gap between the words.'

Edith furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, but then realised what must have occurred between them, and was amazed at their daring and at how Mama was mentioning it so casually, and that neither of them were blushing as she was, but were gazing at each other again, their eyes full of love for one another.

'It's nothing to bother you with,' Papa said evenly, moving over to the desk and stacking a sheaf of his papers into a neat pile, which Edith knew meant he was worried about something, and she was glad when Mama followed him, taking his hand again.

'Robert, it's always something to bother me with,'

'Having Branson – Tom – here as my daughter's husband just feels so uncomfortable. It's so strange to see the man who used to drive us to dances and who probably saw me kissing you in the back seat after them now smiling at Sybil over dinner! I know she made her own choice, and I forgive her for it, but it's so difficult to accept it. She's so headstrong that she's just completely determined to go against our wishes, when we could have found her a perfectly pleasant husband.'

'Oh, Robert, be reasonable. No girl wants a 'perfectly pleasant husband', they want a husband that they love and that loves them, and Sybil has found someone she loves and that loves her, even though it's not convenient for us.'

'A chauffer, of all people...someone we've employed…'

'I know, darling, and that's just how I felt, but seeing Sybil so happy, happier than I've ever seen her, I think she was right to do what she did,'

'But the scandal of it will stay alive for years…'

'We've survived a foreign diplomat suddenly dying in the middle of the night and your valet being convicted of murder. I doubt there's much that will shock the village now, and, besides, Sybil should be allowed to marry for love. Sometimes the very best marriages are ones nobody approves of,'

'Like ours, you mean?'

'Well, we didn't have many supporters. You were too English for my family, and I was too American for yours, but we've been happy,' she said, snuggling into his shoulder, 'now don't you think we should let Sybil be happy?'

'If they're as happy as we are, then it's impossible for them to be any happier,' he murmured into her hair, 'and by the way, my darling, you're a much better advisor than Jarvis,'

'Mmmmm, really?'

'Prettier, too,'

'Well, I don't think that's very difficult,'

He laughed, swept her into his arms and kissed her passionately, and when the stack of papers was knocked to the ground and it didn't look as if either of them noticed or cared, Edith knew she should leave before she saw too much. One thing was for sure, though, she thought, retreating rapidly as she heard her mother moan softly, she wanted a marriage with as much love, affection and trust as theirs.