Guess who decided to add to this story out of the blue! Because I guess I thought all my other works-in-progress weren't enough? I am incorrigible.

Anyhoo, assuming you've re-read the original one-shot to re-familiarize yourself with what happens, this chapter picks up the day after the final scene, flashes back to one day earlier and then returns to the action following the first scene. I have one more chapter planned, which I've already started and will post in the next few days. I don't plan to get into what's going on with the other characters, but based on dialogue in the first scene, you'll see that what happened on the show in the end of the first series (Mary and Matthew not getting engaged) happens here.

Huge thanks to everyone who reads all my stories for your patience with me. Sometimes, the only way to get the writing muscles to work for the big story updates, I have to warm them up with something like this :)


Mary smiled as she watched Sybil come into the library and walk toward one of the shelves with a calm expression that belied the tension and acrimony between Sybil and her parents that had kept her in her room for most of the time the family had been back from London. Tension and acrimony that had been in place since Sybil announced to them that Tom Bellasis had proposed to her, and she had declined his offer.

Sybil put the book she was holding back on the shelves, then perused the titles in its vicinity for a few minutes before choosing one and walking over to one of the chairs near Mary and sitting down to read.

"I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to step in here again," Mary said, finally.

"I finished my book," Sybil said airily, not looking up.

Mary smiled again. "I wouldn't have thought you would be one for self-imposed punishment."

Sybil looked at Mary from the side of her eyes. "I'm not. Mama said to stay out of her sight and I'm trying to comply with her wishes. I'd happily take my meals in my room too so as not to bother dressing for dinner, but apparently she does want to see me doing that at least."

"You know she didn't mean it," Mary replied quietly.

Sybil threw her sister a knowing look, which made Mary laugh.

"Well, not for more than a few days. We've been home from London for almost a month!"

Sybil sighed. "I know. I suppose I was trying to avoid everyone's disapproving looks."

"Am I being accused of looking at you in such a way?"

Sybil looked into Mary's eyes and saw the teasing behind the question. "Not any more."

"Fair enough," Mary said. After a moment she added, "It isn't about disapproval so much as . . ."

"So much as what?"

"I just don't understand why you would turn him away. If I was ever sure of anything in my life I was sure that you would be Mrs. Tom Bellasis one day."

"Why were you so sure of that?" Sybil retorted. "Did you ever hear me pine over him? Talk about how much I loved him and looked forward to being his wife?"

Mary looked at Sybil for a long moment before losing away and shaking her head.

"Right. Well, then it shouldn't be a surprise, should it?"

"Sybil, you can't deny that you were close. He was your best friend growing up and even if you hadn't outright agreed to marry him, you knew those were his intentions. He was your beau, and you never said you wanted otherwise—at least until . . ."

"Until I said I wanted otherwise?"

Mary smiled sadly. "You know what I mean."

Sybil smiled too. "I do."

"Your coming out ball just seems an odd time to make such a decision. Why then?"

"He asked me to marry him. Should I have said yes so as not to ruin his evening and then renege in the morning?"

"You could have told him you would think about it."

Sybil shook his head. "No. To be honest, Mary, I didn't even have to answer. He saw my face and knew what I was going to say. I'd been feeling unease about our unspoken understanding before he asked that he didn't really see until that moment. And in that moment, there was no hiding it from him."

"Well, if you had thought of it before, if you knew you didn't want to marry him, why did you wait until he asked. He didn't have to ask the question for you to set him straight."

"Because I didn't know, at least not until—"

"Not until what?"

Sybil smiled and felt her heart swell at the thought of a stranger on the Underground, a rally, a kiss . . .

Mary didn't miss the wistful look in her sister's eyes. Her brow furrowed in concern. "Not until what, Sybil?"

Mary's voice brought Sybil out of her reverie and the stern line of Mary's brow reminded Sybil that the memory could only ever be hers. Nobody in her family would understand, certainly not Mary—at least not now.

"Nothing," Sybil said quietly.

"It's obviously not nothing if a major life decision hinged on it."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "It was nothing. I went out on my own one afternoon while we were in London, and my eyes were opened. I saw what life could be if I lived it independently, and I decided that's what I wanted."

"You could have done that with Tom."

"No. No, I couldn't. He was—is—a dear friend, but he is too much like the things I don't want." Sybil saw that Mary was going to speak up and said, "And if you parrot mama and papa and say that I am too young to know what I want, I'll come over there and smack you!"

Mary couldn't help but laugh. "You would do no such thing."

Sybil laughed too. "Well, not to you, but you can hardly lecture me about life decision considering you turned away Cousin Matthew."

Mary looked away. "I didn't turn him away."

"You didn't accept him even though you wanted to."

Mary sighed. "It's not that simple."

"Well, then you know how I feel."

Mary smiled again. "All right, truce. No more talk of marriages that are not to be."

Sybil smiled. "May I ask one more question . . . is he really going back to Manchester?"

"No, the war's changed that. He's enlisting. So are Thomas and Pratt. Papa doesn't seem to think the war will last long, but it's sure to affect things around here, at least for a while."

"Will Thomas and Pratt be replaced?" Sybil asked.

"I don't know about Thomas, but a new chauffeur was taken on. I believe he started yesterday."

"What's his name?"

"I can't remember," Mary replied. "But if you'd like to find out, we can ask him to take us to that tea room you like in Ripon this afternoon. You can't be a hermit forever."

"All right, then, let's."

XXX

One day before

"I asked Mr. Pratt to write out the schedules of Lord and Lady Grantham, so you'd have an idea of what your regular duties will be," Carson said, as he escorted Tom Branson back down to the servants hall from the library, where Tom had met briefly with his new employer. "His lordship has regular business in Ripon and York, and her ladyship is the patron of several local charities and events, so they are the ones who need the motor most regularly. His lordship's tailor is in York. The dressmaker and cobbler are in Ripon. The boot mender is here in Downton, so the hallboys are usually the ones to deliver the ladies' riding apparel. Lady Mary is the only one who does it with any regularity any more. The young ladies take trips into Ripon now and again, so when your schedule accommodates you will be serving them as well."

"Of course," Tom replied. "Mr. Pratt's note said there were three."

"Indeed," Carson said. "Ladies Mary, Edith and Sybil."

At that last name, Tom stumbled slightly, but caught himself on the railing of the staircase that led to the servants hall. Carson, who had just reached the bottom, looked up, a stern expression on his face. "Are you all right?"

Tom nodded, but his heart was suddenly racing.

It couldn't be.

"My foot slipped," he said sheepishly, as he made it the rest of the way down. "Sorry. You were saying?"

Carson turned and continued walking. "Yes, the family. When they want to order the motor, they will usually send word to me, and one of the maids or hallboys will come to the garage to pass along the message. It's not uncommon for them to do so directly, if they happen to be outside and passing through the yard. But more often, it will be one of the staff. I trust that you'll have plenty to do with the upkeep of the vehicles and the garage to keep yourself busy otherwise?"

"I do. Mr. Pratt was less particular than I like to be about the cleanliness of the tools so cleaning them and the garage will keep me busy for the foreseeable future."

"Good," Carson said with an approving nod. They'd reached the end of the hall and were standing just inside the door to the yard. "Very well, Mr. Branson. That covers your duties. Mr. Pratt kept his own stores in the cottage, but you're welcome to help yourself from the cupboard here at mealtimes. The rest of us take lunch and dinner together, after the family."

"Is that all?" Tom asked.

Carson looked him up and down. "For now." Then, opening the door, Carson gestured for Tom to step out. Tom tipped his cap to the buyer and moved outside. He rubbed his hands at his sides. His heart still felt like it might pop out of his chest. The words of the butler rang in his ears.

Ladies Mary, Edith and Sybil.

Sybil.

I'm Sybil.

It can't have been more than two hours—three at the very most—that he'd been in her presence. Weeks had gone by, but still he could replay every second of it in his mind. The way she'd looked at him when he'd extended a hand to help her on the train, the excitement in her eyes during the rally, the kiss . . .

I live up north, in Yorkshire.

He'd applied because he'd needed the job. A Mr. Murray interviewed him in London a few days later and offered him the position on the spot. Less than a week had passed, and here he was. It had happened so fast, he'd barely had time to think. Now, though, as he walked back to the garage, Tom wondered if his subconscious had brought him here, to Yorkshire.

He knew there was no reason to look for her. There was a man in her life, and anyway, how likely was it that her family—for surely they were noble or rich or both—would accept the likes of Tom Branson as her friend. He didn't doubt the sincerity of her stated beliefs in equality, women's rights and all the things they had talked about that afternoon, but even so, she'd been careful not to offer any specifics as to her identity. When she'd introduced herself, he hadn't thought anything of how she'd done it, but in retrospect, it was obvious why she had not given him her family name. The kiss was an obvious sign of an impetuous streak, but at the end of the day, after she'd left him there, stunned beyond belief, she'd gone again without a word.

Even if, here in Downton, he was closer to her than he had been before. What were the odds that they'd ever cross paths again?

"Sybil," he said out loud, standing along in the middle of the garage. Not a terribly common name, but what did he know of the upper classes and what they chose to call their children. For all he knew there were dozens of Sybils scattered across the country's great houses.

Tom rubbed his face with his hands. Get her out of your mind and get to work, fool, he thought.

"And get a life while you're at it," he said aloud, laughing to himself.

XXX

Later

"I don't remember inviting you," Mary said as she spotted Edith coming toward her in the entrance hall.

"I invited her," Sybil said coming up behind Edith with a smile. "You don't mind do you?"

Mary rolled her eyes and said, "Branson's outside," as she headed for the door, which William was holding open for them.

Sybil felt something stir in the back of her mind. She fell in step with Edith, behind Mary, as they walked out of the house. "Who is Branson?" She asked. As the words came out of her mouth the motor came into view and the frame of a young man could be seen coming around the side to open the door.

The stirring in the back of Sybil's mind because a fluttering in her heart. She turned to look at Edith momentarily then back to the motor and the young man who was now looking squarely into her eyes. There was something in them. Shock? Recognition?

Sybil would not figure it out because as the blood rushed into her head she could no longer focus on anything, too bright were the lights shining in her eyes. She felt blinded and closed them.

She didn't remember falling, only opening her eyes briefly once again and seeing the faces of her sisters over her. And his.

It's him.

Then there was only black.