Hello again, from series 2 AU land! This note is going to be long, so brace yourselves ;) As I explained in the first chapter note, this story initially came from a prompt babageneush sent me on tumblr. When I first posted it here, I intended to come back to it, but then inspiration for it kind of dried up. So even though it took forever, here finally is a second chapter, by request from repmet.
Since a lot of you wanted to go back to the moment when Tom proposes and see Sybil's decision, her eventual yes to Tom, their wedding and their wedding night. I'm going to structure this story a bit like Physical Therapy (another story of mine) so at the start, each chapter will begin with a flashback that is set off in italics. The first chapter started the first week of Sybil's return from her nursing training in York. This chapter flashes back to Sybil's perspective immediately after the proposal (which you can assume happened as it happened on the show), then the action jumps forward to three months after Sybil's return from York which is when episode two of series two takes place. The timeline will follow the action of the show and should make sense as the story goes along, but I will mark month and year before each section, just in case.
I mention "French letters" here, which was what British soldiers called condoms. I don't know if that term was in use during WWI, but after an admittedly brief internet search, I couldn't find the colloquial word for condom from that era with any certainty.
Lastly, for those of you who don't remember in episode two, the dinner that Sybil attends at her mother's insistence is Richard Carlisle's first dinner at Downton and the dinner during which Carson has a minor heart attack and Sybil momentarily steps in to help him. I don't include those scenes here, but you can assume that they happened in this story as they happened on the show. If you don't remember and don't want to go back and watch, no big deal, not really necessary to understand this story, but just know that the family meets Richard Carlise and Carson gets sick in the middle of serving dinner and Sybil helps him.
Anyway, enjoy!
November 1916
"I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness."
In the quiet of her small dormitory room, Sybil says the phrase aloud to herself over and over in an effort to try to discern its meaning.
"I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness."
She tries to imagine its impact if she had said it to someone. If she had said it to him.
What would it feel like to say the words? She thinks to herself.
"I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness."
What would it feel like to say the words and mean them?
Sybil has no doubt that Branson meant them. She can still feel the lingering intensity of his eyes, the desire and longing in his voice, hours after his declaration. His proposal. Proposal. That's what it was, wasn't it? A proposal of marriage. He asked her to marry him, not by using those exact words—will you marry me—but by telling her that he'd give her a happy life. Not even that, actually. He only promised her that he'd comit himself to a lifetime trying. And yet there was so much in that promise. There was no doubting his sincerity or his love.
She is lying back on her bed, still in her coat. When she walked into the empty room (her assigned roommate was not to arrive until the next day), she had dropped the suitcases at the door and thrown herself back on the bed without bothering with anything else. It wasn't as comfortable as her own at Downton, but that hardly mattered. Nothing mattered now, not when those words had been spoken to her, by the person who most easily stirred her passions without ever having to try.
"I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness."
She panicked. She tried to suggest to him that he not vocalize what they both knew and had been dancing around for months. She tried to deflect the offer. She tried to make light of things. What was she supposed to say, after all? What did he expect?
Sybil treasured his friendship and understood its nature well enough to know how important it was to keep it secret from her family, even her sisters, who loved her so well but who would never comprehend why he meant so much to her. But despite having made that concession in her heart, she had not allowed herself to think beyond the boundaries of that friendship. At least, that had been her intent.
She acknowledges now, though, that those boundaries were left behind long ago. His admission of love did not surprise her, not really. She knows how he feels, just as she is sure he knows how she feels. Branson is impetuous and determined, but he is also clever, observant and thoughtful above all things. She knows this was not a step he would have taken had he not been confident in the belief that deep down she returned his feelings.
Sybil feels a tear escape her eye and slowly roll down the side of her face. She doesn't bother wiping it away
He is right, of course. She does return his feelings. And now that his have been laid out so selflessly at her feet, she must confront this truth. She loves Branson. She loves Tom Branson, despite any previous pretense to the contrary.
She did not give him an answer. She only told him, when he suggested that his departure was a necessary consequence of her refusal, that he not go. Sybil might have said that she needed him to wait so she could consider whether she returned his feelings, but it would have been a falsehood. She already did. But having given him nothing but a plea that he stay, as he walked away, perhaps that is what he believed she had asked for, time to learn to love him back. In truth, though, all she wanted was for him to wait until she had made peace with the consequences of her decision, a decision that in her mind she had already made. It would still take days for her to admit it to herself and say it aloud, and it would be weeks before she would act on it. But the decision had been made.
She had made it when he said the words.
"I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness."
XXX
April 1917
"Branson, when you've finished unloading, run down to the hospital and remind Lady Sybil that we expect her here for dinner," Cora said to Tom as he walked to the front of the motor from the rear, where he'd unloaded the suitcases of Lady Rosamund and one Sir Richard Carlisle.
Tom could barely contain his smile at Cora's words, knowing the reaction this would elicit from his beloved, who enjoyed nursing for numerous reasons that included the built-in excuse to skip dressing up for dinner.
"And tell her I mean it," Cora continued. "Really. They're working her like a pack horse in a mine."
Tom narrowed his eyes a bit at the woman who did not know she was his mother-in-law and ventured to answer a question she had not asked.
"I think she enjoys it, though," he said. That wasn't quite right. He knew she enjoyed it, but speaking out of turn would be enough of an affront. Suggesting that he knew Sybil better than her own mother might have gotten him sacked.
As it was, all Cora did was turn abruptly, rebuking him with her eyes and repeating her request. "Please tell her to come home in time to change."
He nodded and turned back to the motor, rolling his eyes only when he knew he was out of Cora's sight. It hadn't been the first time someone had tried to remind him of his place. He was used to condescension and had learned to ignore it. But what he could never learn, could never understand, was how the Crawleys could so miserably fail to see Sybil for who she really was. Tom was disappointed in her family, but not surprised. How could he be when despite the realities and atrocities of war, their lives continued on marked by the same questions as before—who was coming to dinner, who was coming to stay. They were questions that Sybil had easily resolved she had no time for.
Working had taught Sybil numerous important lessons, but the one that frustrated her the most was that time was a luxury. In the days before the war, when life was little but sitting in the drawing room and waiting for the next meal to be served, she had all the time in the world, time that possessed no value to her.
Now, she had a job, a pile of medical books to read on Dr. Clarkson's suggestion to better her skills and knowledge about nursing and medicine, and a family that still expected her to dress and sit and wait for dinner. And she had a husband, one with whom she wished to spend all of her time and for whom she had almost none. The precious minutes spent alone with him were so valuable to her for their rarity and their intensity.
Sybil loved what she was doing and what she was learning, but there was so much for her to do and so little time to contend with every day's new demands. There was no task she was willing to give short shrift. She was a devoted nurse, a devoted student of medicine and, even within these odd circumstances, a devoted wife. She tried to remain a devoted daughter and sister, but what that required of her—the dress, the waiting, the doing nothing—felt increasingly burdensome and decreasingly important.
When she and Tom made the decision to return to Downton as if nothing had changed and to wait out the war before revealing their marriage to her family, Sybil had known that it would be difficult, but she'd imagined that the difficulty would stem from the need for secrecy, not the lack of time she and Tom would have for each other. Three months later, it was still barely more than a handful of nights that they'd shared as husband and wife, only occasional the meals they could eat together, usually off the side of the road when she was off from work and had concocted an outing that did not spark the interest of another passenger. The kisses occurred at least once a day, a promise—nay a challenge—they made to each other, but there were never enough. The only thing that existed in abundance in this, their unique and peculiar union, was love.
But in spite of all of that and although her dishonesty toward her family stung her deeply, Sybil had no regrets. Tom, for his part, only regretted that he could not give her more from married life. But even in this one, he could see her thriving and blossoming into the woman he always knew she could be. If anything was wearing on her that Tom could see, it was the continued pressure from her family to pretend that the war was not changing life, not changing her in all the ways it obviously was. It worried Tom that they could remain so oblivious to what Sybil really wanted from life, and it angered him that they could not see how work and usefulness made her happy. He knew of Dr. Clarkson's support and encouragement, as well as Isobel's, and Tom was glad that Sybil was not without champions. They were going to need all the support they could get when the time came.
Once all the suitcases and trunks had been taken into the house, Tom set off for the hospital. He pulled the motor into the alley behind the building and came around to the front to enter, leaving behind his hat. He waved to the nurse at the front as he walked in. Most of the hospital staff was used to him coming in and out with Sybil—the service of a chauffeur was the one mark of Sybil's position that she was willing to accept while she worked, for reasons that had to do with wanting to keep his company, rather than a desire to seem above her co-workers. Her efforts had done much to get them to welcome her as an equal. They all knew that she had become a nurse despite arguments against it from her parents, so most assumed Tom's attentions came at Robert and Cora's insistence. An assumption of which Tom and Sybil took full advantage.
Finding her walking about the main wing, checking on her patients, Tom walked up to her and delivered her mother's message.
Sybil's response was exactly what he'd expected. "I couldn't possibly come! Really, Mama is incorrigible!"
Isobel, who was at the nurse's desk in the corner, spoke up, "It's not poor Branson's fault."
Sybil continued her work, now with some frustration in her step. "But what is the point of Mama's soirees? What are they for?"
Walking between Tom and Sybil, Isobel responded. "Well, I'm going to dinner tonight and I'm glad. Is that wrong?"
Sybil and Tom exchanged glances, his helpless, hers frustrated.
Seeing Thomas walking in their direction, Isobel addressed him, "Thomas, you can cover for Nurse Crawley, can't you?"
"I can," he replied.
Sybil's shoulders drooped. There was no getting out of it now. She looked once again at Tom, who smiled in an effort to make her feel better.
Outside? he mouthed to her silently.
Sybil gave a small nod and mouthed, Ten minutes.
In an effort to kill some of that time while she finished her rounds, Tom followed Thomas, who was making up a bed.
"So you're back, then," Tom said sardonically. "Safe and sound."
"That's not how I'd put it with my hand the way it is," Thomas said in his usual uppity manner. "But yes, Major Clarkson's found me a place and I'm grateful."
Sybil came up behind Tom and handed Thomas a small cup. "Can you give Lieutenant Courtenay his pills?" She asked, irritation still marking her tone.
"Of course I can," Thomas answered, looking over at the patient. "I'd be glad to."
Tom followed Thomas' line of sight and saw a young man with bandages on his eyes. Sybil had been meant to look after him, whoever he was, but her family "needed" her at dinner. Tom thought again of Cora looking down at him for speaking out of turn, and let out a sigh. Sybil looked at him with a question in her eyes, but he simply tipped his head, letting her know he'd be waiting outside.
A little over ten minutes later, Sybil came to the alley to where Tom was leaning against the motor. Seeing no one else around, she snuck up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. He sank into her embrace.
"I suppose this means you won't be stopping by the cottage on your way back from the hospital tonight," he said with a smirk.
She pulled away so he could turn and nestled herself into the crook of his neck as he wrapped his arms around her.
"I'll sneak out," she said determinedly into his shoulder. "But why can't they just let me be? They know how much this means to me."
"We all have our ways of coping through uncertain times. Your family seems to want to cling to its traditions."
"I don't know why," Sybil said, reluctantly stepping out of the circle of his arms, cognizant of the fact that someone might happen by and see them.
"The newspaperman who is courting Mary is here," Tom added. "I think that's tonight's reason."
"I still can't believe Cousin Matthew is engaged. Surely he must know what that's doing to Mary."
"He might not. I don't mean to speak ill of your sister, but he proposed marriage and she never gave him a straight answer. He can't be blamed for assuming that she might move on and wanting to do the same."
"I don't know why she didn't say yes. It's two years now and it still baffles me."
"The question of the estate was in flux with your mother's pregnancy."
"I know, but I'll never believe that to be the only reason. There's more to Mary than that. I know there is."
Tom smiled. "Well, I'll believe it too, for your sake."
Sybil smiled back. "Aren't you glad I gave you a straight answer?"
"Very glad." Tom paused, looked around to make sure there was still no one around then looked at her again with a sly smile. "I don't believe we've had our kiss for today."
Sybil grinned. "We haven't."
Softly at first, his lips connected with her, but quickly instinct took over and the kiss grew heated. As it deepened, Sybil found herself in his strong embrace again.
A moment later, with a sigh, she pulled away. "You best get going."
Tom stepped away and hopped into the car as Sybil pulled out a cigarette from her pocket.
"I hate those things," he said.
Sybil smiled as she lit it. Smoking for her had started as a ruse, an excuse to go outside so they could meet like this, but she found she rather enjoyed it. "I do it for you," she said with a wink.
Tom laughed and after turning on the motor, waved and pulled away.
The motor was still visible down the street when Sybil heard footsteps behind her. It was Thomas.
"What was he still doing here?" He asked.
Sybil turned and handed Thomas one of her cigarettes before he had a chance to take out his own. "Apparently, the motor wouldn't start."
Thomas accepted the gift with smile. He still found it odd that she could be on such friendly terms with someone who'd been in her family's employ when the rest of the Crawleys could barely be bothered to acknowledge him. Nevertheless, he accepted her friendship. It was bound to have its advantages, and even his deeply cynical instincts couldn't help but warm to her kind nature.
Sybil watched Thomas as he watched the motor disappear into the distance. She'd also befriended Thomas out of necessity. But as with the cigarettes, she found she rather liked him.
XXX
It was a risk to sneak into the cottage after so much had happened.
The presence of houseguests alone was enough to keep the staff up later than usual, and tonight, in addition, Dr. Clarkson had been called in to see to Carson after his near collapse in the dining room. Sybil also knew that Mary had gone to see Carson and sat with him for some time after Dr. Clarkson had gone.
It was almost 2 o'clock before Sybil could be confident that the house was finally asleep. The prudent thing might have been to wait to see him in the morning when he'd take her to the hospital for her next shift. But how could she stay away? Much as they might want it, there was simply no way for him to sneak inside. The burden of their secrecy lay on her shoulders. Given that, the decision of whether they met at night was always hers. She didn't dare sneak out every night, but there was never one she didn't want to go to him. On this occasion, the events of the evening had made her too restless for sleep, so slipping on the dark grey coat that obscured the whiteness of her nightdress, she set off for his cottage.
When she stepped inside, she saw that Tom was still up and sitting with a book on his lap on the armchair in the cottage's small sitting area. But as she walked closer she realized that he was not actually awake. His head was angled back against the back of the chair and his mouth was slightly open. Smiling, she took the book from his lap and shifted his legs slightly so she could sit on his lap. When she laid her head on his shoulder, he shook awake.
As soon as he had his bearings, his arms tightened around her.
"Hi," he said quietly.
"Hi."
"I wasn't expecting you tonight."
Sybil smirked. "Is that why you waited up?"
"Well, I always hope you'll come, but hope is not the same as expectation."
Sybil's smile softened, and she kissed him lightly on the side of his head.
"Besides," he added. "I thought with everything that happened tonight that you might want to talk."
"I do," Sybil said, standing up. "Later."
Tom smiled and followed her to the bedroom.
Even though making love was still new to them, Sybil and Tom had developed something of a ritual. They would undress each other, teasingly sometimes, particularly on the nights she came straight from the hospital and needed to be rid of her uniform and undergarments and not simply her nightgown. Then, both naked, she would turn away so he could unfasten the chain on which she carried her wedding ring. Then, he'd slip it on her finger, always as reverently as he'd done so the first time. It was usually slow and deliberate, both wanting to savor the feel of one another, never quite sure when the next time would be. Tom would hold himself back until she had climaxed, and once she had, they would separate and he would spend into a small towel he'd set by the bed. They'd also discovered that there were ways to enjoy their marriage bed that did not involve any risk of pregnancy at all. Even the pages of Madame Bovary had not prepared Sybil for this, but it was a wonderful and empowering surprise.
Twice, they'd gotten their hands on French letters. A year into the war, before Sybil had become a nurse, Isobel had suggested to Dr. Clarkson that he begin stocking preventatives in the hospital to keep the many soldiers who were returning from the continent with venereal disease from creating an outbreak in the county—a decision they wisely kept from the hospital patrons. The supply was available to the hospital staff, but Sybil couldn't be caught taking them, lest her reason for doing so be discovered. But she'd nicked one each of the two times she found herself in the supply room alone. She and Tom made joyous use of them.
A big family was something they both wanted, but the prospect of children had to wait. The inability to love each other freely without thought to consequence might have felt tedious for them both had they not found a way to rationalize pregnancy prevention as a decision rather than a mere necessity. As a matter of fact, they'd turned the decision into a form of rebellion. Sure, an expanding belly for Sybil would give their secret away before they were ready to reveal it, but she had been brought up in a world in which the pressure of producing an heir reduced a woman's role and identity to her biological function. By taking care not to end up with child now, Sybil felt that the children she would eventually bear would be a welcome choice, not a social imperative. As such, the care they took to prevent a possible pregnancy was freeing in its own way.
XXX
Tangled in each other's arms, Tom and Sybil drifted in and out of sleep for about an hour after, eventually staying awake after the clock passed three.
"Is Carson going to be all right?" Tom asked breaking the silence.
"I reckon so," Sybil replied. "He's not ill so much as overworked."
"He wouldn't be if he weren't so fecking stubborn. I can think of worse tragedies than maids in the dining room."
Sybil snickered. "Well, there will be no avoiding it now. It's doctor's orders."
"So you got to skip dinner and be a nurse tonight, after all."
"I did. Matthew and Mary even seemed confident in my ability to help Carson."
"How are things between them?"
"It's hard to say. They both put on a good show."
"And their current prospects?"
Sybil sighed. "Miss Swire is very sweet. I hate to be against her and certainly don't wish her ill, but I can't imagine her with Matthew, not when I still believe he loves my sister."
"If you're right about that, he does Miss Swire no favors by staying with her. And Sir Richard?"
"He seems rather closed off. I suppose Mary being reserved herself, there is a similarity of manner between them, but beyond that, I don't know what she could possibly see in him. I can't imagine that he would make her happy the way she might have been with Matthew."
Sybil sat up and propped herself up on her elbow.
"I said as much to my aunt, actually—not about Matthew, but I asked her why Mary would like Sir Richard. Aunt Rosamund's answer was his money. Then she said something rather curious."
Tom pushed himself up slightly and leaned on the headboard. "What was that?"
"She said that money might not be sufficient reason for me, but it is for Mary."
Tom furrowed his brow.
Sybil bit her lip. "I overheard granny say something similar to mama once, when mama was still pregnant and the possibility that Matthew wouldn't be heir still existed. She said I would be content as middle class wife, but Mary wouldn't be. The conversation wasn't about me. It was about Mary, so granny's comment was rather innocuous, but I remembered it tonight. It makes me wonder . . ."
"Wonder whether they'd accept our marriage?" He asked raising a skeptical brow.
"No, I know that'll be a fight," she said with a soft laugh. "It makes me wonder whether they'll be very surprised."