Matthew was out walking. Last night's dinner at Downton had been rather interesting, and it had been good to be able to talk with Robert again, but he was horrified that Mary actually seemed to intend to marry Sir Richard Carlisle. How could she possibly even think of marrying such an awful man? It wasn't that Matthew had a specific dislike for newspaper men, but there was something about Sir Richard that he couldn't stand, even though he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was that made him hate the man so much. He was surprised at himself; it wasn't often that Matthew developed a spontaneous and unreasonable hate for someone he barely knew. In fact, as far as he could recall, it had never happened before. But there was just one word to describe Sir Richard and that was odious.

He took a few steps around the corner and came across a slender, dark-haired figure seated on a bench in the outer reaches of Downton's parkland, her back to where he stood. For a split second he thought she was Mary, and his heart raced. But she wasn't, of course she wasn't. He felt a strange mixture of disappointment and relief when he realised this, but then he saw that it was Sybil and he smiled, remembering his silent promise to himself the previous night. He could explain his feelings to her and trust that she would never tell.

"Cousin Sybil!" he called out and watched her turn at the sound of her name.

She looked startled to see him.

"Oh, Cousin Matthew," and for a moment he thought he had disturbed her silence and wished that he could go away again, but then she smiled and he knew she didn't mind.

She smiled the same smile that Branson was thinking of at that very moment, the same smile that made Branson's heart beat just that little bit faster every time he saw it. But Matthew didn't know that. To him, it was just a smile.

"What brings you here?" Matthew asked as he approached.

"Fresh air and the need for some thinking time," Sybil murmured, gesturing for him to sit beside her.

Matthew hesitated.

"You're sure I won't be a nuisance?"

Sybil flashed that smile again. "Of course I am, you could never be a nuisance," she told him warmly. "I'm just glad you're back safe."

He sat down.

"I'm not sure. Sometimes it's harder to be the survivor."

She laid a hand on his arm; and for several minutes, neither of them said anything. Silence prevailed, as two people from very different backgrounds, very different lives, sat together and said nothing. There was nothing to be said.

It was Sybil who broke the silence.

"Cousin Matthew?"

He turned to her, eyes swimming with deep thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Can I tell you something? Only I don't see who else I could tell," and she paused, watching his face.

He beamed encouragingly. "Certainly, you can tell me anything."

"You must promise not to tell a soul."

The look he gave her was filled with doubt, but she hastily interjected with "Don't worry, it's nothing bad, I promise; I just don't think the others would approve."

Matthew nodded, trusting her judgement.

"I won't tell a soul," he promised.

She took a deep breath.

"To be perfectly honest, I hardly know where to begin."

"The beginning?" he suggested, the hint of a mirthful smirk present on his face.

Sybil rolled her eyes, and decided she would simply have to spit it out, before she regretted it.

"Well...you know Branson, don't you?"

Matthew was puzzled. "The chauffeur?"

"Yes."

"Well, I wouldn't say I know the man, but I know of him. Why do you ask?"

"He loves me and he wants us to run away together."

Matthew blinked. "What?"

"Don't judge him before you know anything about it," Sybil warned. "He's well aware that if we run away together, there won't even be a penny. He loves me and he's offered me marriage; it's perfectly respectable."

"I don't doubt that it is, it's just - " Matthew paused for a second, unsure where his train of thought was heading. He thought of Branson, the socialist chauffeur, unabashedly professing undying love to the daughter of an earl, someone who's very way of life ought to have conflicted sharply with his own. It made Matthew feel ashamed of himself. Why couldn't he just tell Mary how he felt?

"Just what?" He could tell from her tone that Sybil was confidently expecting him to be outraged.

"It's just that I didn't think he had it in him, that's all," Matthew grinned.

Sybil's whole face softened. "Well, he certainly does. He's frightfully sure of himself."

"And are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Sure of yourself?"

That smile instantly fell from Sybil's face. "No, I'm not. I wish I was, but I'm not. I don't know what to feel."

Matthew nodded. "So you haven't decided your answer?"

"No, not yet. I keep going around in circles. On the one hand, he makes everything sound so easy and perfect that I could run away with him tomorrow, but then there's my family, and he's just the chauffeur, and it's just so wrong, and I don't know what to do or think or feel..." She trailed off, eyes staring distantly. When she spoke again, her voice was the lightest thread of sound, and Matthew had to dip his head closer to her in order to hear. "It's all such a mess. I'm so confused."

"I presume you haven't talked to your family about it?"

Sybil hesitated. "I told Mary some, but then I had to because she caught me talking to him one day by the car... She only knows what he's said to me, though. She has no idea that I'm actually considering... And none of the others know anything at all, and you mustn't tell them. He could lose his job if Papa finds out."

Matthew nodded again. "I won't say a word."

There was a momentary lull in coversation, until Sybil said "What do you think I should do?"

"I can't tell you that," was Matthew's reply. "You have to decide on your own. It might take time, but no-one can decide something like that for you. You have to decide yourself."

She sighed. "I know, and that's what makes it so hard."

Once again, silence was prevalent.

She turned to him. "Thank you, Matthew."

"That's alright."

"You can talk to me about... about Lavinia and things, if you wish."

Matthew looked at her. Here was his chance, his golden oppurtunity, to tell her all. He could feel his secret feelings burning on the tip of his tongue, begging to be released. He could feel his own need to talk about Mary, and Lavinia, and the complicated mess his love life had become. And who better to talk to than Sybil?

He blinked, and made his decision. He opened his mouth and began to tell her.