Disclaimer: I don't own Downton abbey (sadface).

May 1920.

Sybil never wanted to get on a boat again. Throughout her pregnancy her morning sickness had never really lived up to it's namesake, being all exclusive to anytime and anywhere. And on the rocky Irish crossing to Liverpool her insides nearly imploded. Sybil spent the majority of the journey on deck, breathing in the supposedly refreshing sea air in the moments when her nose was not stuck in a paper bag.

Throughout this her husband kept her tucked under his arm and she felt her lips in her hair as she hurled up.

'You did say for better and for worse, but I think this is taking it a little literally.' Sybil smiled weakly up at him as Tom gently wiped the edge on her mouth.

'Jus' doing my job milady.' He replied with a grin.

'Oh, shut up.' Sybil muttered darkly snuggling into his shoulder, secretly pleased with the nick name. Before groaning as her stomach twisted and her skin turned ashen once more.

No, Sybil never wanted to get on a boat again, but mama's letters which had grown warmer by nature after her revelation in the New Year. Had also become increasingly insistent. 'Now Sybil darling,' She would write. 'surely it would be safer if you could come over here to have the child. With all of us and Dr Clarkson, who really knows you.' Conveniently forgetting of course that Sybil who was working as a nurse at the hospital would be well acquainted with all the doctors and midwives. But Sybil had been prepared to ignore all of it, even when papa had written a letter ordering her to return at once. But when the real power behind the throne had made contact there was no question about it. The Dowager Countess had got on the phone nearly a month before, rendering both of them to scared to answer it for at least a week for fear of her calling again.

'Now, Sybil dear I am certainly not trying to be rude. But who knows about the water in Dublin. You have to be careful about these things you know dear.'

'Oh but Granny…' Sybil had snorted, thinking about Tom's family most of whom had been born in Dublin and were reasonably normal.

'No no,' Violet had lamented with a great sigh. 'It's really troubling me dear. I rather think I should come and stay with you while all of this is going on. They do say a death makes good for a life.'

When Sybil had got off the phone, she belted upstairs (well waddled a little.) and began to pack. Tom had entered the room and shot her a very concerned look. 'That was Granny on the phone.' Sybil explained, throwing in dress after dress. 'She's threatening to come here for the baby if we don't go to Downton to have the baby.' Five minutes later, Tom Branson could be seen jamming on his hat and rushing down to the docks to but two tickets for the ferry out to Liverpool. 'It make's sense.' Sybil sighed, after she had calmed down. 'Matthew and Mary are going to get married in July so we would have had to gone out then anyway. June isn't too much earlier. Of course you'll have to go back and forth a little after the baby's born.' She added worriedly. 'You don't mind to much do you?'

Tom had shaken his head and sat down next to her. 'Not a bit sweetheart.'

Now on the train to York, Sybil closed her eyes putting both hands on her bump and relaxing into the seat. 'It's going to be perfect.' Tom pats her hand' absolutely perfect.'

'So your not scared then?' She whispered.

'Me?' He laughs and bends his lips to her neck. 'Absolutely terrified.' He straightened up. 'But I'm excited to and happy in fact I don't think I could be happier. It's strange to think that merely six years ago we could barely hold hands and now…' He shot her a cheeky grin.

Sybil mocked scowled at him. 'Let's just say we've done a lot more than that.' She replied dryly.

'Jus' three more weeks to go now sweetheart. God, I hope we haven't been invited so that they can roast me on a barbecue. I've heard it's been lovely weather in York, they might want a garden party or something.'

Sybil giggled, swatting at him 'honestly don't be so morbid! Besides I'll be looking after you the whole time, in case anyone tries to have a nibble. And when I'm a little preoccupied having a baby, your sister Kaitlin will look after you. I have to say she's the horse to bet on, even against Granny.'

They both laughed glad for Tom's dark humour to lighten up the subject both of them were secretly worried about.

But Sybil couldn't help but wish that her family would accept it and not just by way of a few begrudging blessings and letters, really accept Tom the way they accepted Matthew. She wished above everything else that her family could accept that 'Lady.' was just a word and it was the name and person that followed it that mattered. And that a chauffer was only a job and not a person. But for this to happen she couldn't just hope and pray for- what she and her husband saw as a better and fairer world. Sybil would have to demand it.

They didn't ask for a car to meet them at York, there seemed something a little surreal about that. Like the beginning line of a joke. So instead they took a taxi to the abbey, a motor one obviously. Tom had a bit of a thing against horses; he suspected that as a former chauffer they could tell that he had been putting them out of a job. The journey seemed to short; soon they were rolling through the gates. And even though she was carrying a beautiful child and the hand she was holding now was that of the man she loved. But as the taxi pulled up with a crunch of gravel, Sybil looked up at her old home silhouetted against a mackerel: grey, blue sunset. A funny feeling bulged in her throat, it wasn't quite sadness. But it was hollow and painful. The driver did not get out to open the car door, so Tom got out first and walked around the back to open her door. And gripping tight to her husbands arm, Sybil gazed out to the row of black and white servants before her. Customs and traditions of another lifetime.