April 10, 1912

I had the dream again last night.

In it it's always the same. I'm reading Little Women out in the garden, the copy that Papa gave me from the library…the one that used to belong to Mama. It's a warm day, clear and sunny, and when I look up to turn the page I see a flash of purple out of the corner of my eye, like someone has just turned the corner ahead of me. The next part of the dream always differs slightly, depending on my mood it seems. Sometimes I close my book right away and get up to investigate, following whoever it was who has come upon me in the garden. Other times I think nothing of it, returning to my reading until I hear the voice calling to me. Just my name each time, once or twice in a row, but somehow it has a more powerful effect on me in this dream than hearing my name ever could in the waking world. For it is only in my dreams that I would ever be able to hear such a voice. It's a voice I haven't heard in years, but I would still recognize it anywhere—I might have forgotten nearly everything else about her, but I know her voice. It's Mama.

Once I realize that, I'm on my feet in an instant, running as fast as I can to follow her. Sometimes I fall and tear my stockings, as I used to do when I was a little girl at play on the grounds of Downton. I remember trying to hide the holes from the governess, knowing what a scolding I would receive from her if she ever found out that I had ruined yet another pair…how is it that I can remember such mundane things as that, but not the happy moments with Mama that I so crave? Other times I simply run, wanting nothing more than to catch up to her just so I can see her face and feel her hold me in her arms once again. I can hear her laughter ringing throughout the garden, which sometimes looks more like a maze, leading me further and further into the dark after her. She sounds so happy and carefree, as if none of the events of the last ten years ever happened, and I run as fast as I can to try and catch up with her. I never can. It's as if with every step I can feel her slipping further and further away from me. "Sybil," she calls to me, her voice echoing amongst the flowers. "Sybil, my darling, come and find me…I'm right here in the garden. Come find me!" Then she laughs again, as if we're simply playing a game of hide-and-seek as we did when we were children. "Sybil, my sweet girl…I'm right here…"

I can never find her before I wake up.

Most nights, I wake up in tears, hating myself for being so close to Mama and yet still unable to reach her. It's as if my dreams are punishing me for having so few memories of her, the way that every step I take towards her seems to just take me farther away. I thought reading the book Papa gave me would help me connect with her, but I haven't touched it properly in days, for every sweet passage about the March sisters and their dear Marmee makes me want to weep for what I have lost. I don't think that's what Papa meant when he gave it to me, but I almost cannot bear to finish it. What sort of daughter does that make me if I cannot even connect properly to the book that my mother adored so much? I wish I could talk to Mary and Edith about it, but I know in my heart that they wouldn't understand. How could they? Mary was ten when Mama died, and Edith eight. They have proper memories of her, memories to me that are as disjointed and fleeting as images in a kaleidoscope—ever changing, depending on which way I look at it—or rather, who's telling the story. Telling them would only cause them to fuss over me…no, they could never understand, and for that I don't blame them. No, instead I trudge through the book a little more every day, taking breaks when the pain becomes too much to bear and trying not to compare the easy harmony of the March home with the way I and my sisters argue. I am rather enjoying reading about the character of Jo—I'm quite jealous that Mary was the one to be named for her, for she seems as much a role model to me as Elizabeth Bennet is for others! Taking on the responsibilities of the "man of the house" while her father is off at war, writing stories and reading novels all day without a second thought to whether or not people might judge her for it, wearing men's clothing and speaking her mind even when it gets her into trouble—How exciting it all seems to me! In fact, I would quite like to have read a book simply recounting Josephine's adventures…if a girl could do all that in Massachussetts during America's civil war, why then are we still denied the same rights nearly fifty years later? I suppose that is the beauty of fiction, and the fact that Marmee never once told her daughters that she wanted them to marry for anything but love…

Speaking of marrying for love, Granny is bringing a guest for dinner tonight. She's being dreadfully mysterious about it, and won't say a word about who it is. Everyone has their own suspicions, but everyone seems to preoccupied with the news of the successful launch of the ship Titanic's maiden voyage to properly speculate on just who is coming to dinner. I would much rather talk about the launch of the unsinkable ship myself, but Granny's unknown dinner guest makes me uneasy. I can only hope it's not that horrible Larry Grey—it would be just like her to refuse to tell me if it was him, knowing just how I would react if I knew it was him. I stand by what I said at the garden party, if he didn't want ice cream all over that new suit of his then he shouldn't have insulted Gwen when she was standing right in front of him the way that he did…

Still, I can't help but feel I'm being a bit too hard on my grandmother. Perhaps, in this one instance, she deserves to be given the benefit of the doubt. It's not her fault that whenever a guest comes to dine at Downton, there is usually an ulterior motive in mind…

Sybil jumped as there came a knock at the door, and she quickly closed her diary before placing it safely in the drawer of her writing desk. She stood up and smoothed her skirts, making sure there were no ink stains marring the fabric, before she spoke. In many ways she knew she was already enough of an embarrassment to her family, making sure she looked presentable seemed the least she could do for the moment. "My lady?" came Gwen's familiar voice, and Sybil relaxed. She smiled softly, settling herself back down into her chair. "I'm in here, Gwen. Come in…"

"I can't imagine why Granny would want to be so secretive about all this," Mary said several hours later as she sat at her vanity, trying to discern which pair of earrings would be best suited to the new crimson gown she had chosen to wear for dinner that night. Edith sat behind her on the bed, idly flipping through a magazine while Anna was busy doing up the buttons on the back of Sybil's dress. "It isn't like her at all. Who could she possibly be bringing that's so awful she doesn't even want to give us fair warning first?"

"Don't be like that," Sybil said, but her tone did not match her words. " We don't know they're going to be horrible."

In the mirror's reflection, Mary gave Sybil a withering look. "Sybil, it's a guest of Granny's. Chances are we'll find something to dislike about him—"

"What makes you so sure?" Edith piped up, acknowledging Mary for the first time. Apparently they had gotten over whatever their latest squabble had been, although Sybil would have bet money that the ceasefire between them would not last. "They might be perfectly kind…good-looking, sweet…"

"What makes you so sure it's a man?" Sybil asked curiously?

Mary hid a smile. "Why, of course it's a man, dear," she said indulgently, as if Sybil were five years old. She tried her best not to take offense. "Why else would Granny bring someone here? It's another one of her attemps to find husbands for us. She never tires of that, you know. I rather think it's her favorite hobby. I suppose Edith might be right, though…she may have actually brought us a catch today." She rested her chin on her upturned hand, her eyes growing far away as she tried to picture their dinner guest. "He could be perfectly agreeable—handsome, well-read, titled and rich, of course…"

"What difference does it make to you?" Edith asked petulantly. "You're already spoken for, in case you've forgotten. If she's brought a gentleman over for anyone, it would be for me and Sybil—and since Sybil's too young, he's likely to be for me. After all, I'll be making my debut in a few months." Edith's eyes shone at the prospect of her own upcoming Season, something she had been dreaming of—and envying Mary for, if she was being brutally honest with herself—since Mary had made her debut two years before. "Stop thinking of yourself for a change and let us have a bit of fun. You're to marry Patrick, it's already been decided. You should just accept it-you're already taken.

"Not officially," Mary said flippantly, as if they were discussing the weather. "There isn't an engagement ring on my finger just yet. There's no harm in looking, you know…call it shopping around, if you like, making sure you examine all the possibilities before you settle on the one that you want." She grinned as she reached for her gloves and began to pull them on. "After all, you wouldn't stop going into bookshops altogether just because you had declared one book your favorite, would you?"

Edith looked appalled. "What a horrid thing to say!" she cried out. "How can you possibly be so ungrateful? Patrick is very fond of you—he'd make an excellent husband…" Her eyes darted down to her lap, as if she realized she had accidentally said too much. "And you're wrong, you know, with that ridiculous bookshop metaphor," she all but hissed. "I might…if I had found the right book."

Mary's eyes flashed, and Sybil knew she had to jump in before another fight escalated. "You're both overreacting dreadfully," she said as calmly as she could muster. "We don't know if it's a man and we don't know what he'll be like, so there's no point in fighting over it now. Besides, we don't need to worry. Even if Granny did bring a man for us to meet, Papa would never force us into a marriage with someone we didn't care for…" She watched Mary and Edith exchange a glance, and her resolve wavered just a bit. "Wouldn't he?"

"No," Mary assured her, quickly shaking her head. "No, of course he wouldn't, not if we truly objected. You know he wants us to be happy, Sybil…he wants that more than anything. Granny, on the other hand…she loves us, same as Papa does, but she just wants us settled. You know what she's always saying, how love is something that should develop within a marriage over time and all that…" Mary trailed off, realizing the hypocrisy of her statement when she was herself to a man that she did not love, a marriage of convenience for everyone involved. She sighed and shook her head, her eyes meeting Sybil's in the mirror. "I have a feeling getting the three of us down the aisle is going to result in a battle between the two of them like we've never seen before…and I only wish I knew for sure just who would come out victorious in the end."

As it turned out, none of their predictions about their grandmother's dinner guest turned out to be entirely true. Except, perhaps, for Sybil's.

Lady Clara Louisa Belcourt was the youngest child and only daughter of Lord George Belcourt, the Viscount of Torrington, and his wife Lady Althea Belcourt. The family was an old and well-respected one, and Violet had been well-acquainted with the elder Lady Belcourt for years, for before her marriage she had been a Bellasis. Lady Clara Belcourt had spent the last several years living abroad on the Continent with one of her aunts, and had only recently returned to England for an extended stay with her Bellasis cousins before venturing home to the family seat in Hampshire. The moment Violet had heard of the lady's arrival she had begun planning. She had given her son far more than the appropriate amount of time to grieve for Cora's loss, but he had refused every single one of the many eligible young women she had invited to dine with them in the last few years. She could only hope that Lady Belcourt would prove more successful. After all, time was running out, or so it seemed to the Dowager Countess. Within a few years all three of the girls would be either out in society or approaching their seasons. They needed a mother more than ever, in Violet's mind, and more importantly the estate needed a countess to fill the place Cora had left behind. Mary had done the best she could in her mother's stead, but she should be preparing for her own marriage now. When she herself was settled with Patrick and had become the Countess of Grantham in her own right, she could return to helping manage the estate as she did now. For the time being, though, it was time for someone else to shoulder those responsibilities. Violet could only hope that Lady Belcourt could be the one.

She was a petite, pleasant-looking girl of twenty-six years, with curly auburn hair and a complexion nearly as pale as Mary's. She was polite and soft-spoken, almost bordering on shy, and perhaps it was for that reason that Violet felt as if this dinner was already a disaster. The girls eyed her with a mix of curiosity and horror, each of them wondering what their grandmother had been thinking by bringing a suitor for their father who was closer to Mary's age than to Robert's to dine with them. Every few minutes one of them would politely ask Lady Belcourt a question which she would endeavor to answer, and then the small talk would once again dissipate until the only sound was that of silverware delicately hitting the plates. The girls would then exchange glances while Lady Belcourt blushed into her soup, looking up at Robert every now and then. He attempted to engage her in conversation as well, but that did not do much to diffuse the obvious tension in the room. When he was certain no one was looking he gave his mother a hard look, as if asking her what gave her the right to parade women through his house like this hoping that one of them might eventually catch his eye. She tactfully pretended not to notice.

The silence was driving Sybil mad, and she spoke up as Thomas and William began to serve the first course. "I assume you have heard about the launching of the Titanic, Lady Belcourt?" she asked politely, earning an encouraging smile from her grandmother that she tried her best to ignore. "Isn't it exciting?"

Lady Belcourt smiled. "Yes indeed, Lady Sybil, very exciting indeed. As a matter of fact, I know two of the passengers on board—one of my cousins on my father's side and his wife. I don't know his wife terribly well, for they married while I was abroad, but from what my mother wrote to me, my cousin Malcolm was very eager to be the first to travel aboard the unsinkable ship. It's quite amazing what today's technology can do in this remarkable age, but I'm afraid I wouldn't fancy a trip to America very much—"

"And what's wrong with America?" Mary asked immediately. Her tone was nonchalant, but a whiff of her usual temper lurked beneath the surface, ready to strike if Lady Belcourt dared to insult the country of her mother's birth.

"Oh, nothing!" Lady Belcourt said quickly. "I'm just not very fond of overseas crossings. The passage back to England from France was bad enough, I don't think I could ever endure a trip across the Atlantic. If I didn't succumb to seasickness first, I'm sure the boredom would be the death of me. There's only so much time I can spend reading or drawing on the deck before I begin to go absolutely mad from boredom."

Sybil smiled as she brought her glass to her lips. "I don't know, that doesn't sound all that unpleasant to me, Lady Belcourt. Sitting outside and reading like that…I can think of nothing better to pass the hours, provided one has the right book."

Lady Belcourt gave Sybil a smile not entirely unlike the one that Mary had given her while they were getting ready, once more treating her like she was much younger than her sixteen years. "I suppose you're right. Do you like to read?"

"Indeed I do," Sybil said eagerly, hoping they had stumbled upon a topic that would keep the conversation going long enough to make her grandmother happy. Perhaps they could even coax her father into the conversation as well, at least for a while. Sybil was as opposed to her grandmother's actions as Robert no doubt was himself, but there was no need to take it out on poor Lady Belcourt. "In fact, at the moment I'm reading Louisa May Alcott's Little Women. It's an American novel, have you ever read it?"

Lady Belcourt laughed, a clear, bell-like sound that seemed to fill the room. Edith almost smiled at the sound until she saw Sybil's face fall, wondering what on earth she could have said that Clara had found so amusing. "Oh, yes, years ago. I'm afraid I couldn't stand it, though. I found it so dreadfully dull…"

"That was my mother's favorite book," Sybil said darkly, looking down at her plate. She felt as if any affection she might have had for Clara Belcourt had faded immediately. Clara, to her credit, seemed to realize her mistake as she felt the eyes of all of the Crawleys on her, and she blushed crimson and took a hasty sip of wine. "Forgive me," she said softly, not looking any of them in the eye. "I…I did not mean to offend…"

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Mary's eyes met Robert's across the room, begging him to say something. He cleared his throat and tried to smile over at Lady Belcourt, who looked as if she wanted to melt into the floor. He couldn't help but feel pity for the poor girl, who had simply come along at Violet's invitation hoping to get better acquainted with him and his daughters. It was through no fault of her won that they had been less-than-welcoming, and although that little jibe against Cora had stung him nearly as much as it had Sybil, he knew it had been entirely unintentional. "There's no harm done, Lady Belcourt," he said softly, making the girl look up at him. She really was no more than a child, only six years older than Mary—what had his mother been thinking?

You know exactly what she was thinking, he told himself stubbornly. She was thinking that you've already refused to consider everyone else.

He smiled at the young lady again and inquired about her time living in Italy and France with her aunt, telling her that he was certain his daughters would be interested in the stories she had to tell. Mary, eager to play hostess as she felt was her duty, piped up with her own questions, and soon the dinner party was more or less saved although a note of awkwardness still hung in the air. Sybil remained morose throughout the rest of the meal, looking darkly up at Clara and only speaking when she had no other choice. When they had finished, the ladies retired to the drawing room for coffee and conversation. Robert joined them for a while, stealing glances every so often at the woman seated amongst his family. She seemed much more comfortable now, smiling and talking at ease with the girls. Robert almost smiled at the sight, although he couldn't shake the feeling that this was somehow wrong. Clara should be here as a friend to the girls, not as their mother. It wasn't right, given her youth and her inexperience—such a match, although advantageous from his mother's point of view, would only prove unfair to both her and his daughters. Try as she might, Violet was never going to find a woman who could live up to his expectations. Such a woman did not exist. The only woman he could ever see sitting beside him at dinner each night, falling asleep next to, countess of his house and mother to his children…was Cora.

He had known it all along, since the moment he had lost her, but still the realization was like a shock of cold water to the face. He stood up abruptly, making the table beside him rattle and the women turn to look at him in alarm. "I'm terribly sorry," he said absently. "I'm…I'm afraid I'm feeling a bit under the weather. You'll have to excuse me…Lady Belcourt, forgive me. It's been lovely to meet you, and I hope we can see you again. Please, feel free to remain here as long as you like—don't end such a pleasant evening on my account. Please, Mama, girls, excuse me…"

With that he turned and fled to the library, all but slamming the door behind him. He walked to his desk and poured himself a glass of brandy, all the strength seeming to leave him as he collapsed in a chair. He covered his face with his hand and tried to will the tears away, but it was useless. They came anyway.

Some time later, when Robert had composed himself, he heard a brisk rapping at the door that he recognized immediately as his mother's cane against the wood. He sighed heavily. He had known that this was inevitable the moment he had escaped the drawing room, but he had done it anyway. Now it was time to face the consequences of his actions. "Come in, Mama," he called gently, setting his brandy down on the table. You know how she gets when she's like this. It's best to just get it over with…

In an instant Violet had burst in, her face a mask of annoyance. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" she demanded. "The embarrassment that you have caused us here tonight? I've just seen Lady Belcourt off practically in tears, poor thing—if the Bellasis family ever speaks to us again it will be a miracle!"

"Now now, Mama, I don't think it's as bad as all that," Robert began, but Violet cut him off. "How could you have been so selfish, Robert, so foolish? What were you thinking? The lot of you, treating her as if she were no more welcome in this house than—than…" Unable to think of anything suitable to say, she promptly changed the subject. "I'm ashamed of you, Robert. I thought I'd raised you better than that."

"Mama, please," Robert said, standing up. "I didn't mean to offend Lady Belcourt, I promise. It came as a shock, that's all, just a bit more than I could handle. Of course, I don't think I need to remind you that this all could have been avoided if you'd thought to inform me of your matchmaking plans before she arrived."

"What, so you could refuse her before you'd even had a chance to meet her?" Violet countered. "I did not tell you of my plans because I knew what would happen if I did." Her pale blue eyes flashed in anger. "Robert, I have done my best with you since Cora died, but this endless mourning of her has got to stop. It's been ten years, more than enough time to grieve her loss.

"Don't," Robert said darkly, "talk to me about grief."

His mother continued as if he had not said a word. "You should have remarried years ago, Robert, don't you see that? The girls needed a mother long ago." She sighed, her voice softening a bit. "I know better than anyone what it feels like to lose a spouse. I know the pain you've been feeling every day for the last ten years, Robert. Trust me, I do. But Robert, this problem of yours has gone on for long enough—"

"And you think Clara Belcourt is the solution?" Robert demanded. "For God's sakes, Mama, she's twenty-six years old. You really think I would marry a woman who's six years older than my daughter?"

"And why not?" Violet asked. "What's wrong with her? She's attractive, kind, from two prestigious, well-respected families…what more could you ask for?" When he did not answer, she sighed irritably. "Robert, be sensible. What sort of an example are you setting for your daughters? How can you ever expect to get them properly settled if you are not settled yourself?"

Robert had to fight to keep himself from rolling his eyes. "I hardly think proving to the girls the importance of marrying for the right reasons is setting a bad example. Or do you want them to end up with fortune-hunters who could care less about who they are aside from their beauty and their money?"

Violet scoffed. "You condemn fortune-hunters, yet have you forgotten the circumstances under which you and Cora married? It was a match of convenience. Love came later. Perhaps it can again for you and Clara Belcourt?" Robert looked away, and Violet sighed. "You are not the only one hurt by Cora's death," she said quietly. "We all miss her terribly. But this grieving has gone on long enough, Robert. It's time to move on."

"What, like you did?" Robert asked, and his mother's eyes flashed again. He knew he had hurt her by bringing up his father in such a way, but he could not take back his words. "You want me to replace the love of my life, Mama—do you even realizing what you're asking?" His voice had risen, but he seemed powerless to reign in his temper. "I cannot—I will not insult Cora's memory in that way. I'd rather live the rest of my life alone than…than…than give her up like that!"

The silence that followed his comment seemed to last forever until finally, Violet straightened up. Without so much as a nod to her son, she turned and strode out of the room, her head held high and her cane gently clicking against the floor. The moment she opened the door she found all three girls assembled before it, jumping back from where they had so clearly been eavesdropping. Edith's gaze fell to the floor, and tears glittered in Mary's brown eyes. Sybil looked past her grandmother to where Robert stood, something almost like pride written across her face.

Violet stood and kissed each of them briskly, whispering her goodbyes. Robert was extended no such courtesy. He knew how this would go. His mother would ignore him pointedly for several days before coming around finally, no doubt with some new plan up her sleeve to marry one of them off. He made no move to say goodbye to her, nor did he call out when she disappeared down the hall, no doubt searching for Carson to give the order to have the car brought around. The unspoken goodbye hung like a stormcloud in the hallway as he turned to his daughters. "It's late," he said, his voice hard and emotionless as stone. "You should get to bed."

He brushed past them, eager to retreat to his own bedroom and put this day behind him at last. The girls exchanged a frantic look as they watched him go, but it was Mary who raised her voice. "Papa," she called out, begging him for an explanation. "Wait—"

"Now," was Robert's only response.

Author's Note: A bit of an angsty chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed it, even if it was a bit difficult to write near the end, especially Robert and Violet's fight. What did you think of Lady Belcourt? I'm finding it interesting that Sybil is emerging more and more as the narrator of this story, even though I meant it to be an ensemble piece—maybe that can change in later chapters. Next chapter we come to the sinking of the Titanic and the beginning of the show! I hope you're excited! Once again, thanks so much to my wonderful readers/reviewers—I could not do this without you!