Dear readers, I am an idiot! I accidentally posted chapter four yesterday, instead of chapter three. The update below is chapter four, now in its proper spot, so go please back one to read the proper chapter three. The fight in chapter four likely will make more sense as a result. So sorry for the confusion!

A week later.

"Branson!"

Tom looked up from his desk to see the political editor motioning for Tom to follow him into his office. Tom was a general assignment reporter and had been for about three years since he'd joined the staff. He enjoyed getting to cover a variety of stories, but he also knew that he needed to find a niche. He loved politics, but it was a tough beat and there was plenty of competition in terms of who got the plumb assignments. Ed Gardener, whose office Tom was stepping into, had a reputation for spitting up and chewing out novice writers. Tom had survived his gauntlet so far.

"I know you're working on the follow up to the hospital fire story from yesterday, but Sally's pulling you off that," Ed said, motioning for Tom to sit down. "I've got something better. I've got you booked on a train up to York. When you get there, a shuttle will be waiting to go to Downton Abbey—"

Tom recognized the name immediately. "Downton Abbey?"

"It's Robert Crawley's place. He's a power broker in the conservative party. Not a household name as he's mostly behind the scenes. His brother is—"

"Philip, secretary of state for health."

Ed smiled. "The very same. They're hosting a soiree of sorts for some of the movers and shakers in the party. Not usually the thing press get invited to, but they're trying to give a few newbies some publicity so they've planned a few public events and gave us two credentials."

"And you're sending me?" Tom asked, surprised.

"And a photographer. I saw Philip at a lunch yesterday and he mentioned meeting you."

"I'm friends with his niece—well, not friends, acquaintances. Not even that really. A friend of hers dated my brother for about five minutes recently, that's all."

"Well, whatever the connection, he remembered you, and we always seem to strike out in getting him to do a sit down. I was thinking you could play up whatever connection you had to see if we can finally make it happen."

Tom's mind was reeling. Philip Crawley had talked about him? He couldn't turn down the opportunity—it was too big—but taking it on meant he had something to thank Sybil for, which … well, he didn't like it.

"Train leaves this afternoon. Go home and pack, and I'll email you the rest of the details."

Tom nodded and stood. "Business dress, I assume?"

"Yes, and black tie for tomorrow night," Ed replied. "You have a tux, don't you?"

"I'm afraid I don't."

Ed took his glasses off and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, then said, "Just put it on your expense account."

Tom laughed nervously. "I don't have one of those either."

Ed put his glasses back on. "You do now. This will likely be the only thing you can expense this year, mind. I'll get the paperwork done and email that too. You'll be booked at an inn called the Grantham Arms, which I'm told is walking distance from the abbey. Print it, sign it and find a way to email it back before you get the suit."

"OK, anything else?"

Ed smiled. "Welcome to the political team."

A few hours later, Tom was sitting on the train going north wondering exactly how it was he got there. He was thrilled to finally be told that he'd get to cover politics full time, but he wasn't sure how to feel about the fact that his connection to Sybil Crawley seemed to be at least part of the reason he'd been tapped to take this trip.

He wondered briefly if he would see her there, but shook that thought out of his head quickly. He wasn't particularly interested in seeing her again. He knew that Jim had only heard once from Imogen since she and Sybil had all but fled Charlie's pub, and that was merely to cancel plans they'd made for the following week. Jim, being who he was, saw nothing in it and made every excuse in the book for why they'd left Charlie's so quickly. He was always giving people the benefit of the doubt. His unrelenting kindness was one of the reasons Tom loved his brother so much, but Tom couldn't agree in this case. Sybil had not only ruined Edna's life, but she'd also ruined his brother's chances with a girl Tom had started to believe Jim was genuinely in love with. Why Sybil kept trying to pop up in Tom's own life was another question entirely.

Checked into the Grantham Arms and knowing that the opening reception of the event at Downton Abbey wasn't until later that afternoon, Tom set out for the least expensive men's outfitter he could find. The village of Downton didn't offer much, but Tom eventually settled on a small locally owned shop.

The man who greeted him seemed about 100 years old, and when Tom mentioned that he was in town for the gathering at Downton Abbey, the man, who had identified himself as the longtime owner, gushed to no end about the Crawley family, their generosity and everything they'd done for just about everyone in the village. It was a different picture entirely than Edna had drawn. Apparently, there were three daughters, all of them beautiful, all of them successful, and one son, George, who had done a bit of mischief a few years ago but had since set himself straight and was now en route to a life of respectability worthy of the title he would inherit.

Tom didn't want to be rude, of course, so he let the old man prattle on while he took Tom's measurements—something he insisted on doing in order to find the right fit "the first time." Despite the annoyance to him however, once it was time to try on what the old man had brought to him, Tom couldn't help but be impressed. The tuxedo he had brought for Tom to try fit like it had been made for him.

He was so impressed (and so focused on the task of putting it on) that when he stepped out of the dressing room, he was surprised to find there was someone else in the shop. Tom first saw a young man who didn't look much older than his brother Liam, who was 22, standing behind a rack of clothes only a few feet away.

"I don't know why you let them get to you," Tom heard the young man say. Tom couldn't see who he wasn't talking to, but as Tom turned back toward the three panel mirror outside the dressing room, he heard her.

"I can't help it. I hear bullshit policy ideas, I have to respond. Bloody Tory wankers. I wish—"

Sybil stopped short when she stood up, having bent down to find something in her purse, and saw Tom.

"You wish what?"

Sybil blinked a few times, seeing Tom.

"Sybil, what is it?"

Turning back to her brother, who was looking at her confused, Sybil said, "Oh, um, this is Tom Branson."

The young man turned to Tom with a wide smile of recognition. Clearly, Sybil had also spoken to him about Tom. He walked around the rack of clothing he'd been standing behind and walked toward Tom with his hand out.

"George Crawley, nice to meet you."

"He's my younger brother," Sybil put in quietly, looking a bit embarrassed at having run into Tom like this—again.

"Tom Branson," Tom said as the two shook hands. He looked back and forth between George and Sybil. "I'm here to cover the summit, and I was told there was a dress code so … " He raised his arms so as to make obvious why he was at the shop.

"I wish I could tell you that you're in for a treat," George said, "but I'm afraid papa and uncle Philip aren't really ones for excitement. I usually clear out of town for the weekend every year, but Sybil—"

George stopped short, looked at his sister, who Tom saw was starting to blush, and then continued. "Well, point is I decided to brave it this year. I'm not usually one for politics. Sybil is the only one who is, really, other than papa. They're on opposite sides of the divide, though, so mother forbid them talking on the topic years ago."

Tom looked over at Sybil in surprise. "You don't share your father or uncle's politics?" he asked.

Sybil shook her head, while George threw his head back laughing. "That's nicely understated," he said.

Tom's brow furrowed slightly in a way Sybil could tell was surprise. It seemed there was nothing she could reveal about herself to him that didn't surprise him. Sybil couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing.

Just then, George's mobile rang. He pulled it out of his pocket quickly, and seeing who it was, he motioned to Sybil that he was going outside.

Turning back to Tom, Sybil looked him up and down with a small smile and said, "I think this is the one."

"Pardon me?"

"The suit … I just mean, um, you look very nice."

"Oh!"

He'd somehow completely forgotten he wasn't wearing his own clothes. "This is a bit out of my element, but apparently, it's the house rules?"

"Yes, there isn't an arcane rule of 'propriety' that my father isn't keen on enforcing to the letter." Sybil had raised her hands to "quote" the word propriety, which made Tom chuckle in spite of himself. "I think he just likes showing off."

"This is probably old hat to you," Tom said.

"Sort of. I was forced to attend endless cotillions as a child, but not so much anymore. Work hardly leaves time for it anyway, which totally delights my parents, as you can imagine."

Tom chuckled again at her sarcasm, surprised that, now that she didn't seem a bundle of nerves around him, she was actually rather warm and funny.

"Your family doesn't like the fact that you're a doctor?"

"It's not so much that they don't like it as they don't think I'll go through with it. Like it's a phase I must get out of my system."

Tom didn't reply, but just looked at her, once again confounded by what he saw and what he'd assumed. Feeling a bit pinned down by his stare, Sybil blushed slightly.

Finally, she said, "I'm sorry. You probably just want to be left to your shopping. Anyway, this is a good choice."

"I think you ought to take the lady's opinion!" The shopkeeper called out from the other side of the store. It wasn't a particularly large space, but hearing him made both Tom and Sybil laugh. Sybil turned to go, but immediately turned back around.

"Listen, um, Tom," she began tentatively. "I was wondering, um, well, tonight …" trailing off, she scratched her forehead, laughing slightly at herself. "Would you believe that I can string a full sentence together normally."

"I would. It'd be hard to get through medical school otherwise."

Sybil smiled. "Right. I just can't seem to do it with you around."

Tom wasn't sure what to make of that.

"You'll probably think this is mad. I know I do. Um. I don't usually … anyway, I'm not really sure why, but … I like you. I have since we met. I don't know why we keep running into each other, but it's all I can think about every time I see you, and, well, I thought I'd just put it out there and, um, since you're here, ask if you wanted to have dinner tonight."

Tom blinked several times, wholly unprepared for what had just come out of her mouth. She's asking me out?

When he was so long in answering, Sybil looked down. "I'm probably being presumptuous in assuming you don't already have plans tonight, but if you do, maybe some other time or when we're back in London. I just—"

"You're asking me out?"

His expression was one of surprise and … annoyance? Sybil couldn't decipher it, but she could tell right away his answer would not be yes and wished immediately that she'd just left when she'd had the chance.

Sighing, she finally answered. "Um, yes … it's all right if you're not interested, I just thought … well, I don't know what I thought."

"You thought I would say yes?" he said incredulously and sounding rather irritated.

His words and tone took her aback. "Have I insulted you?"

"No, I just can't quite believe my ears."

"Just pretend you didn't hear any of it, then," she said curtly, turning on her heel.

But Sybil didn't make it two steps before she felt him take her arm. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm really rather curious as to why you would think I'd go out with you."

Sybil crossed her arms in a huff. "And I'm really curious as to why you think it such a horrible proposition that you have to question me about it!"

Tom let out a sarcastic laugh. "This is not about me. This is about you getting in the way of Imogen and Jim."

"What?!"

"Last week, you came to our friend Charlie's pub and were barely there five minutes before you turned your nose up and hightailed it out like the place was on fire. Imogen—who was clearly delighted to be there—also suddenly had to leave, and the next day canceled plans with my now heartbroken brother."

"What? You think I made her break up with him!?"

"I don't have to think! I saw them together with my own eyes. They were in love—or genuinely close to it—but once you see the kind of place we, and the rest of the normal world frequent, she follows your lead and now they're done. That was your doing and don't deny it unless you want to insult my intelligence!"

During his tirade, Tom had gotten closer to Sybil, but in her own anger, she didn't back down. "That was not me! If Imogen ended things with Jim, I didn't know and I didn't encourage her to do it. If she left that night, it was out of solidarity with me, yes, but that's because she's a loyal friend and there were extenuating circumstances that you couldn't possibly understand."

"I understand them perfectly," he said with a sarcastic smile that infuriated Sybil further.

"How could you possibly!"

"Because I know Edna. She told me what you and your family did to her."

Now it was Sybil's turn to laugh. "Ha! Of course, Edna told you."

"Yes," Tom said. "She told me that you ruined her chances to go to school, and that you took her mother away from her. You have no sympathy for people who aren't just like you and whether you admit it or not, that will always separate you and me."

"Yes, that sounds precisely like the Edna I know," Sybil said with a glare unlike any Tom had seen on her face before. "A heartless liar who lures people in with a nice little sob story until she's gotten what she wants, and then she runs away again. Everything that comes out of her mouth is a self-serving lie, but she seems to have worked her magic on you, so you won't believe me until you see for yourself. And you will because I know her, and I know what she does."

Sybil looked down and took a deep breath, when she looked up there were tears in her eyes. "Or maybe you are the man I think you are, and you'll figure it out before she hurts you the way she has hurt everyone else in her life. I'm sorry I wasted your time."

With that, she turned and left.

Tom walked back into the dressing room, sat down on the bench and buried his head in his hands. He was angry and frustrated.

Angry because he couldn't believe she'd had the gall to ask him out.

Frustrated because a tiny part of him had wanted to say yes.