Sorry for the delay! This is the problem when you write too many things :oP Anyway, from here on out, we'll be going back and forth between Downton and the Grantham Arms, to see how the twin sisters are handling things...and the two Toms. It's important to keep in mind (because it might get a bit confusing) that TOM BRANSON is staying at the Grantham Arms, with SYBIL (who is playing "Sarah") and TOM BELLASIS is staying at Downton Abbey, with SARAH (who is playing "Sybil"). Just keep reminding yourself of that as much as possible, and hopefully it won't confuse you too much :oP
I'm dedicating this chapter to the lovely broadwaybaggins (a *delightful* Sybil/Tom author whose stuff you should totally read!)
Chapter Eleven
Tom Bellasis was trying to concentrate on what Lady Grantham was saying to him. She was just to his right, and was telling him about her life in America before she came to Britain, and he smiled and nodded and encouraged her to keep speaking, because he honestly had been interested in learning more as he had always wanted to visit the United States…but he was finding it extremely difficult to pay attention…when his eyes kept wanting to glance back across the table, and look at the young woman who sat opposite of him.
Her face was pink; not as pink as it had been a little earlier, but still quite pink. The butler was going around the table, refilling wine glasses as a maid and a footman brought out the fish course and the sauce that would accompany it. He noticed how Lady Sybil's eyes grew wide at the sight of the tray the footman was holding, and how her eyes flew to the plate in front of her…dashing back and forth, it seemed, as if…as if examining her silverware.
He recalled how earlier, when they were having their soup, the Dowager Countess kept trying to clear her throat. She was just a few chairs away, on his left, and when he kept hearing her make the sound, he lifted his eyes with some concern, wondering if perhaps the woman was having difficulty with her breathing. However, he soon noticed that her eyes were fixed on the figure of another person…and he followed her gaze to the young woman whom he had escorted into the dining room, who was delicately sipping her soup. He frowned, wondering why the older woman looked so…displeased. Clearly she was trying to get Lady Sybil's attention without speaking her name, although Tom thought she might as well, as any hope to "discretely" draw Lady Sybil's attention was lost since everyone was lifting their heads and looking concerned or confused.
"Granny?" Lady Edith asked. "Are you alright?"
"Oh for heaven's sake," the Dowager Countess muttered, shooting her middle granddaughter a look of annoyance, before turning her eyes back to Lady Sybil.
Tom also turned his attention back to Lady Sybil…and it suddenly dawned on him why, perhaps, her Ladyship was making such a fuss.
Lady Sybil had been sipping her soup just like the rest of them…but Tom watched as her spoon dipped into her bowl…towards herself, and not away.
Suddenly, memories of his mother's instructions on how to properly eat soup filled his head. "Now Tom, you mustn't dip your spoon that way; you'll get soup all over your nice suit. Always dip the spoon and move it away…" He had been seven years old at that time, and thought it the silliest instruction as it was difficult to keep soup on his spoon when he moved it away rather than towards himself, but his mother insisted this was the "proper" way to eat, and so that was what he learned and how always ate his soup.
Lady Mary, who was sitting just to Lady Sybil's right seemed to make the same realization and he watched as she gently, but firmly, gave her younger sister a nudge to bring to attention to her "soup faux pas".
Tom felt his heart go out to the girl as she looked at her older sister with confusion…and then down at her bowl, then back at her sister and several others around the table, before suddenly realizing what it was that they were referring to.
As for himself, he quickly lowered his eyes and pretended he was completely unaware to what, if any fuss, was being made, not wanting to add to the girl's embarrassment, and that was when he turned to Lady Grantham and smiled and proceeded to ask her about America.
He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Lady Sybil, and watched as she lowered her spoon, clearly finished with eating her soup, lifting her napkin and trying to dab gently at the corners of her mouth, but the damage had clearly been done, and her cheeks were bright and pink with embarrassment.
His heart squeezed with pity once more, and he wanted to tell her it was alright, nothing to feel embarrassed about, it was just a little soup and quite honestly, he thought the whole thing a bit silly (and even sillier of her grandmother to make such a spectacle out of the situation), but he didn't. Better that he feign obliviousness about the matter than bring any sort of attention to it. Besides, he was just a stranger to the Crawleys, and he most definitely was a stranger to Lady Sybil.
But that being said, he couldn't deny that he was…curious, about her, especially now as he watched her fingers run along the forks to the side of her plate, as if trying to decide which one to use, before settling at last to the one on the outside.
He couldn't help but smile at the gesture, but he lowered his eyes again and turned his attentions back to Lady Grantham, not wanting to bring any further attention (or dining room censure) to Lady Sybil for the evening.
She was very pretty, that could not be denied. Although "pretty" didn't seem like the appropriate word. "Striking", perhaps? "Surprising", even? Yes…surprising was very appropriate. She certainly surprised him when she floated into the drawing room, adorned in blue silk and looking like a princess straight from the pages of Arabian Nights! He didn't know what to expect when the Dowager Countess informed him that they were waiting for the youngest Crawley girl to join them before proceeding into the dining room, but it certainly wasn't that! The fact that she was beautiful didn't so much surprise him (both of her sisters were very lovely, as was their mother), but her beauty was different—unique, almost…fey-like.
His mother had told him stories that had been passed down to her from her Irish nanny; stories from her homeland about faeries and leprechauns who wove magic spells and played tricks on mortals. As a boy, visiting Drumgoole in the summers of his childhood, he was determined to find one of the fey-folk, as his mother called them; determined to capture one and ask for a wish. His searches naturally proved fruitless, but he always wondered how he would know if and when he ever came upon such a magical being.
Looking at Lady Sybil, watching her glide into that room, a lovely smile on her face just radiating like the sun as she stood before the entire room, beaming with pride in her strange and enchanting frock…
That was the perfect word. Yes, that was the word to describe Lady Sybil Crawley and his thoughts upon first seeing her: enchanting.
He stared at her, dumbfounded, as she smiled at everyone, and he swore his breath caught in his throat as she turned her eyes to Lord Grantham, who was standing just next to him and who he had been in deep conversation with before she had entered the room.
There was…just something so…pure, about that smile. Something so genuine and emotional and…well, beautiful, really. The way she looked at Lord Grantham, as if…she hadn't seen him in a very long time! He even swore he saw a shimmer in her eyes, as if tears were forming. So beautiful…
But then her eyes drifted to him, and if his breath hadn't caught before, it certainly did now as he locked eyes with hers.
Blue; bluer than the very silks she wore.
There was a beautiful glow to her cheek, a healthy, radiant color enhanced by her blush. And his eyes suddenly fell to her lips, full and lush, and his heart seemed to skip a beat as he heard the tiniest intake of breath escape between them.
Lord Grantham was in the midst of introducing him, but he suddenly found himself practically stumbling towards her, interrupting his host and extending his hand towards her, finishing the introduction himself by offering his name and smiling back at her…because it was impossible not to.
Yes, like the fey-folk from his mother's stories, Lady Sybil had indeed enchanted him.
Of course the enchantment her presence had cast quickly disappeared when her grandmother asked him to escort Lady Sybil into the dining room.
Several days ago, his mother had found him in the Grassley library, going through the books that the estate agent had left. She asked him if he was making himself ready for the journey to Downton Abbey, and without looking up, he confirmed that he was. She meandered a bit in the room, before continuing the conversation, saying that she had learned a little bit about the Crawleys, making some sort of mention about how they were connected to his father's friend, Sir Anthony Strallan, and how the future heir to earldom was in fact a middle class solicitor from Manchester, which certainly intrigued Tom and made him smile. She continued going on, about how the Lord and Lady Grantham had three daughters; Lady Mary who had recently married the future heir, Lady Edith who was married to Sir Anthony, and Lady Sybil…who was not married.
At the time, he was too engrossed in his work to really pay much attention to what his mother was telling him, but suddenly, now as the Dowager Countess gave her command for him to escort Lady Sybil in, that conversation came crashing back.
No…surely that isn't the reason to why I am here?
Lord Grantham's letter had contained some details as to Downton's current situation, and indeed, the estate's problems did mimic the ones Grassley had suffered for many years. He was more than happy to offer any sort of help he could, and humbled that his father's friend, Sir Anthony Strallan, had recommended him. Although, as soon as his eyes caught sight of the grand estate upon his arrival, he quickly realized that this was going to be a very daunting task. Still, he welcomed the challenge, and put on a smile as he pulled his car up the drive to greet his hosts, who were standing at the entrance, ready to greet him, along with many of their staff.
No, that's not intimidating at all, he joked to himself as he took in the number of faces there to welcome him. Introductions were made, although Lord Grantham did seem momentarily taken aback when he stepped out of his car to shake the man's hand. Tom couldn't deny that it struck him as being rather odd, however his Lordship shook his head and put on a smile (although it looked a little forced) and muttered something about "déjà vu", before informing him that Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary, both of whom had arrived not long before himself, would be joining them for dinner, as well as Mr. Crawley's mother, and his father's friend, Sir Anthony Strallan and his wife, Lady Edith. He was then shown to his room (after the imposing butler managed to get over the shock that he had brought no valet, nor that it would be necessary to provide him with one), where he set about settling himself in and changing from his travel suit to his dinner jacket. He was pleased to see that he wasn't the only man in such attire (he much preferred a dinner jacket to white tie and tails), although he did notice how the Dowager Countess (who had had met shortly upon entering the house) seemed a little…displeased…by his choice of evening wear.
When he entered the drawing room, Sir Anthony was the first to greet him, heartily shaking his hand and saying how good it was to see him again, that he had changed considerably since he was ten years old, which brought a chuckle from around the room. Tom was quickly introduced and acquainted with everyone else…or so he thought. Until he overheard the Dowager Countess mutter something about "What is keeping Sybil?" and Lady Grantham offered a polite apology, before sweeping out of the room to find the missing person.
And now he knew. Now he remembered what his mother had said, about Lord Grantham having three daughters, and the youngest one being unmarried, and the possible hint that she was trying to give him.
Tom knew that one day, he would have to marry. That it was expected of him; after all, he was his parents' only child, as well as the heir to Grassley; his grandparents, if they were still alive, would tell him it was his "duty". The problem was he hated seeing marriage like that: a duty. He was not close to any of his uncles or aunts, and he saw what those marriages were like: unhappy. They had all married because they had a "duty" to perform, but he was well aware that one uncle kept a mistress and had more bastard children with her than legitimate children with his wife who lived in some lonely country estate while he gambled his fortune away in brothels and gaming halls, and another who truly hated his wife so much, that they both lived in separate houses and barely interacted at all. And then there were his friends from university! They married for titles or fortune or both…and yet none of them seemed very happy. Not once, with the exception of his parents, did he encounter any such couple who had married or were married because they loved the other.
No, he was not going to be like his uncles or his friends. Yes, one day he would marry, but it would be on his own terms and to a lady of his choosing because he loved her, and for no other reason. Money and titles mattered very little; in fact they didn't matter at all as far as he was concerned (although he felt it best to presently keep this information to himself). He had danced with different women during the years he attended The Season, escorted several to various balls and such, and had even shared a kiss with a few, but nothing more. They were all very beautiful and charming…
Yet there was no stirring in his heart.
The conversations always felt so flat, and the ladies themselves seemed more concerned about "playing a certain part" in trying to win his affections, than just…being themselves. And there was nothing he disliked more than a woman of intelligence acting silly and pretending she had no opinion of her own, because she believed that was the way to win a proposal.
No, he quickly learned that the London Season with all its courtship games was not for him. He loved the country, preferred the country, and found that he would much rather spend his time improving Grassley and working with and beside the tenants of his father's land, than inside a London ballroom or gentleman's club.
However his mother had warned him that even if he avoided London as much as possible, that wouldn't necessarily stop the "marriage hounds" from trying to sniff him out for their daughters, especially now after so many young men had lost their lives in the War.
…And it seemed that perhaps his mother had been right. Because there was no mistaking that little gleam he saw in the Dowager Countess' eye when she encouraged him (ordered him, really) to offer his arm to Lady Sybil. And while yes, he did indeed find her most beautiful and charming in that first introduction, he could not abide the thought that he had been possibly deceived into coming to Downton Abbey for a purpose other than to help Lord Grantham with the management of the estate.
However…if Lady Sybil was in on the scheme, she was a very good actress. She clearly looked just as surprised by his presence as he was by her entrance. And when he put on a polite smile, not wanting to give away his suspicions, and offered her his arm, his heart skipped a beat at the bashful and…nervous smile, that graced her lovely face.
"I must say, Mr. Bellasis, your arrival couldn't have been more perfectly timed," Mr. Crawley spoke from across the table, bringing his attentions back to the present.
Tom paused in cutting his fish to look up at the other gentleman with curious eyes. "Oh?"
Mr. Crawley nodded. "Yes! I would say it all worked rather perfectly, you coming and managing to visit just when Mary and I were returning to Downton from our honeymoon—I am eager to do what I can in helping Downton, but as a man who up until several years ago was nothing more than a solicitor, my knowledge in estate management is very minimal, and I must confess, I do not think that Mr. Jarvis has a great deal of patience for me," he chuckled.
"Nor I, I would say," Lord Grantham sighed with a bit of embarrassment.
"Yes, it did work out wonderfully, I suppose," Sir Anthony added with a smile. "As if it had all been 'arranged' by some greater force," he turned then to Lady Edith, a somewhat confused expression on his face. "What is that word, my dearest?"
Lady Edith's brow furrowed. "Word?"
He nodded. "Yes, it's a rather strange word, one not used too often, but it explains exactly what I'm trying to say—"
Kismet, Tom thought to himself.
"Kismet?"
All eyes turned to the youngest Crawley daughter, who had spoken up for the first time since they had entered the dining room. Everyone looked surprised, but none more than Tom himself. As for Lady Sybil, she was looking around the room at all of them, and suddenly seemed to shrink under their gazes, before quickly turning her attentions back to her meal and trying her hardest to…disappear, it seemed.
Tom's brow furrowed, and he felt a tremendous urge to…reach across the table and take her hand in his and offer a comforting squeeze. Was she always like this? So shy and…unsure? But that didn't seem right, not at all; when she had walked into the drawing room, she was beaming with such confidence that it was positively breathtaking!
What had happened to that young woman? He felt a strange ache in his chest, a longing to see that side of Lady Sybil return.
"I was thinking that very thing, actually," he found himself murmuring before he even realized that the words had slipped past his lips.
She looked up at him through her lashes, her expression still shy and unsure, as if she was wary. Did she think he was making fun? He offered a small smile, hoping she would see that he was being sincere, as well as encouraging. Yes, he very much longed to see that confident woman again.
"Well, I suppose it was 'kismet' the two of you thought the same thing!" Mrs. Crawley, Mr. Crawley's mother, added with a soft laugh, which quickly earned a chuckle from around the table.
Lady Sybil's cheeks flushed and she lowered her eyes once more, but Tom was happy to see a soft smile lifting at the corners of her mouth, which brought a smile back to his own.
Indeed, he couldn't help but feel curious about Lady Sybil Crawley. However he quickly shook his head and resumed his attentions to his meal as the conversation was carried elsewhere, smiling and nodding to whatever his hosts had to say, and trying with great difficulty not to be distracted by the woman across from him.
Even if it were possible that he had not been invited to Downton for the purpose which his invitation had indicated…he would not let that stop him from accomplishing the task which he had come to do. That would be his first and foremost priority to anything else. If matchmaking was on the Dowager Countess' mind, well, she would simply have to be learn to be disappointed. Because despite how "enchanting" Lady Sybil seemed, it just wasn't possible for a man to lose his heart and fall so deeply in love that he would want to propose marriage in the span of two weeks.
…Or so he told himself.
"So why is he staying here?"
Mrs. Patmore groaned. "For heaven's sake, Daisy, I'm not a fortune teller; I don't know all the details, simply what Mr. Yardley told me!"
The kitchen maid frowned, but more because she was confused than for any other reason. "And he'll be having supper with us every evening?"
"I don't know about every evening," Mrs. Patmore muttered as she removed the pot from the stove to cool. "Wouldn't be surprised if he has some suppers up at the big house."
Daisy smiled at this, a somewhat faraway look glowing in her eyes. "Did you have suppers up there, Mrs. Patmore? When you helped the cook that one time?"
Mrs. Patmore sputtered at the idea. "Good heavens, Daisy, it was the Servant's Hall! From the way you're talking, you'd think I sat with his Lordship in the dining room!"
"Whatcha talkin' about?" piped up another voice. Both Daisy and Mrs. Patmore turned to see Edna's pretty blonde head come around the corner, holding a tray that was littered with dirty dishes.
"Never you mind," the cook dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Are your tasks complete? All the men have been served? Where's Sarah?"
Edna groaned and rolled her eyes. "Out there flirting," she muttered.
Mrs. Patmore frowned at this. "I asked about Sarah, not yourself," she retorted with her own eye roll. "Go and fetch her."
Edna's frown became a scowl. "Me? No! I've been working all day and she just waltzes back here after her afternoon at Downton Abbey, thinking herself so high and mighty—"
"I'll go fetch her," Daisy mumbled, partially because she didn't want to be present for yet another argument between Edna and Mrs. Patmore. She quickly wiped her hands on her apron and went to poke her head beyond the kitchens, to look in the main room of the pub…and was surprised to see Sarah, standing there in the middle of the room…smiling and laughing with all the men!
She wouldn't call it "flirting", just friendliness. In fact, she quickly realized that what Sarah was doing was simply…telling jokes! Quite innocent really; still…it was unusual, seeing Sarah be so…so…
Well…not at all like her usual quiet self.
"That was fantastic!" laughed one of the men, which Sarah grinned and thanked, while topping off his pint glass with her pitcher. "Where did you learn such jokes? I'll have to remember that one."
Sarah blushed and put a finger to her lips. "I can't give away all my sources," she said, trying to look mysterious and secretive, but clearly teasing. This just caused the men to laugh even harder.
She lifted her eyes finally towards Daisy's direction, and the mirth on her face quickly changed. "Well, I'm afraid I must bid you all a goodnight," she announced, to which the men groaned and a few even protested, but in the end they murmured their goodbye as she topped off the last of their glasses, before quickly turning to join Daisy.
"Is everything alright?" Daisy asked, looking at her with curious eyes.
"Of course!" Sarah grinned, looking over her shoulder and giving a little bow of her head, to which the men lifted their pints towards her as if to offer her cheers. She giggled and turned back to Daisy. "They're not so bad, actually; I'll admit I found them intimidating at first, didn't quite know what to make of some of their teasing comments, but in reality I see that they're just like any other gentleman…" her voice trailed off, and Daisy wondered if she was confusing herself with her own words. Why not? Daisy was confused by them.
"Come now," she mumbled, taking Sarah by the wrist. "Mrs. Patmore has finished with supper and we best eat quickly, so we can get to the washing up; you know how long that can take," she groaned, before turning and leading Sarah back to the kitchens.
Actually, I don't, "Sarah" (Sybil) thought to herself as she followed the kitchen maid. Still, despite how daunting Daisy had made the task sound, she couldn't help but smile at the thought. So far, her first day and evening at the Grantham Arms hadn't been so bad! Yes there was that close call with her father (she still didn't quite understand why he was there), not to mention that rather embarrassing encounter with...
Her cheeks quickly heated as she once again remembered (she honestly had lost count with how many times), her brief "meeting" with Mr. Tom Branson.
Oh Lord; she honestly didn't know if she was glad or disappointed that she hadn't seen him in the pub that evening.
After her…encounter…Sybil had rushed back to the kitchens, hoping for something to distract herself. She found that distraction in helping serve supper to the inn's patrons. In some ways, it reminded Sybil of when she would help serve meals to the officers at the convalescent home. Indeed, her skills as a nurse had proven to be most helpful in a way she would never have imagined. When one of the patrons made some remark to her (similar to the remarks "ol' Billy" had made earlier that afternoon), instead of clamming up as she had then, she lifted her chin and offered a "cheeky retort", as she had seen her fellow nurses do when dealing with what could only be described as "randy officers".
The retort did the trick, because it caused the men to burst out laughing. And soon, Sybil found herself laughing alongside them, sharing the different jokes she had learned by both nurses and patients, and any tension or unease she had felt earlier seemed to wash away. The room became quite merry, and Sybil couldn't stop smiling. Indeed, this was very different to some of the "stuffier" meals she had been enduring at Downton as of late. Poor Sarah…
"There you are!" Mrs. Patmore sighed, placing a basket of bread on the servant's table, just next to a stewpot. "Come on, grab some bowls and spoons and tuck in!"
Sybil smiled and nodded; even though the woman was very brash, she found that she liked the cook very much.
She looked around the table as she fetched her bowl, taking in the other occupants. There weren't many; a few teenage boys who she gathered served as the equivalent of hall boys for the inn, herself, Daisy, Mrs. Patmore, of course…and Edna.
Sybil's smile faded.
She and the blonde maid had not gotten off on the best foot, and there was no mistake that the woman had been scowling at her when they were both serving in the pub earlier. Even now, as Sybil went to sit down opposite of Edna, it was quite obvious the woman was scowling and even attempting to hide her disdain for her.
Why? What did I—or Sarah, rather—do?
"Mrs. Patmore?" Daisy murmured as she sat next to Sybil. "Should we wait?"
Sybil noticed how Edna's brow furrowed at the kitchen maid's words, and then turned to look at the cook in confusion. "Wait? Wait for whom? Is Mr. Yardley joining us?"
"No, not Mr. Yardley," Mrs. Patmore corrected, although she didn't bother to explain Daisy's question, either. Instead, she glanced at the clock on the other side of the kitchen and shook her head. "No, no, I think it best that we eat now, while the food is still hot and the hour not so late. He'll just have to learn to be prompt next time."
"He!?" Edna piped up, her scowl from earlier having washed away completely. She was grinning and sitting up a little straighter. "Who is 'he'?"
"Just some tardy Irishman who hopes he hasn't been keeping you from enjoying your supper," murmured a man's voice from the kitchens doorway.
Sybil swore her heart came to a stop at the sound of his voice…and his sudden appearance.
There he was again, Mr. Tom Branson…although unlike the last time, he was a bit more…"dressed up", not only wearing a clean shirt, but a brown suit jacket and tie as well.
"Mr. Branson!" Mrs. Patmore exclaimed, and she suddenly rose to her feet, as did Daisy and the hall boys. Sybil quickly followed, not wanting to look like the odd one out (or to give anything about herself away) and couldn't deny that she was rather proud of herself for rising before Edna, who was the last to turn and look and finally manage to stand.
"Oh my," Sybil heard the other woman murmur, before a dazzling smile broke out across her face. Sybil's reaction to this was a deep frown.
"Oh please," he lifted a hand, indicating that he wish for them all to sit down. Sybil's eyes darted to Mrs. Patmore, and watched the cook for direction on what to do next. "Please, don't get up on my account; you make me feel like I'm some noble or a something!"
The boys to Sybil's right began to chuckle, although they quickly stopped at the stern look Mrs. Patmore gave them. However, the cook seemed to nod her head, before sitting herself down, and everyone else followed suit, including Sybil.
"No need to worry, Mr. Branson," Mrs. Patmore explained. "We'd just sat down. Please grab a bowl and join us."
"And sit next to me!" Edna grinned, scooting over on the bench and patting the spot just next to her. Sybil clenched her jaw and tried not to roll her eyes at the rather obvious flirting. She had known several nurses, both in York, and at the village hospital, who seemed far more interested in flirting with their patients than caring for them. Edna reminded her a little of those women.
Mr. Branson smiled and nodded his head in thanks to Edna, before taking the spot she had offered…although his eyes drew to Sybil, and if Sybil wasn't sure if her heart had stopped earlier, she was certain now as his eyes locked with hers. "So we meet again," he grinned, rather roguishly. Sybil felt intense heat flood her face and she quickly looked down at the beef stew in her bowl.
His comment, however, was not lost on Edna. "Again?" she asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked across the table at Sybil. "What do you mean 'again'?"
Sybil's blush only darkened and she quickly glanced back and forth between Mrs. Patmore and Edna, unsure if she should say anything, not wanting to "break" whatever protocol Sarah was supposed to observe, although walking in on a man who was in the midst of changing his clothes was no doubt on the "don't" list.
Mr. Branson however came to her rescue, so to speak, and answered Edna's question for her. "She was very kind as to knock on my door and ask if I needed anything," he explained, his eyes finding hers and crinkling just at the corners as his lips once again spread into a warm, handsome smile.
Oh Lord, how that smile seemed to transfix her.
Good heavens, what has gotten into you?
"Oh," Edna responded, her own smile obviously forced as she turned and met Sybil's eyes. "Well, weren't you helpful?"
Mrs. Patmore cleared her throat, gathering everyone's attention at the table. "Mr. Branson is a guest of Lord Grantham's," she started to explain, which earned a healthy gasp from several around the table, including Sybil. He was a guest? But…if he were a guest, why wasn't he staying at Downton?
Mr. Branson chuckled at Mrs. Patmore's words and shook his head in amusement. "I don't know if that's the exact term I would use to describe myself, nor am I certain his Lordship would call me that, but thank you all the same."
Sybil's brow creased with confusion. What did he mean by that exactly?
"Well, you've met Sarah here," Mrs. Patmore began, going around the table and making introductions. "And this is Daisy, and this—"
"I'm Edna," Edna interrupted, grinning and practically pushing herself against him, while flashing him another dazzling smile. "And I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Branson."
This time Sybil didn't bother trying to stop her eyes from rolling.
Mr. Branson smiled politely back at Edna…although he did seem to lean away from her as well. "Pleased to meet you," he murmured, before turning and looking at everyone. "All of you…" he emphasized, and Sybil found herself trying to swallow a somewhat nervous lump in her throat as his handsome blue eyes met hers again.
Edna, however, was not to be deterred, and quickly did what she could to commandeer the conversation. "So, Mr. Branson; if you are a guest of Lord Grantham's, why are we the ones blessed to have your company?"
Mrs. Patmore frowned at Edna's question; however for the first time since she had met her, Sybil was grateful for the blonde chambermaid's boldness, because she too was very curious about this.
"Well, I'm not exactly a 'guest' of his Lordship," Mr. Branson politely corrected. "But rather, I'll be a 'guest' here, at the Grantham Arms for a few weeks, until things have been sorted out with my cottage."
Sybil's spoon clattered against her bowl. "Cottage?" she gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes.
Everyone looked surprised by her question, including the man she was staring at.
"That's right," he murmured, looking a little confused himself by her reaction, but still managing to smile. "Apparently there was some sort of…fire, from what I understand; nothing too disastrous, mind you, but…I was told it will take a few weeks to clear things up, so until then, I'll be staying here."
Sybil's mouth fell open as realization slowly began to dawn on her as to who Mr. Branson really was. And if she still needed clarification, Mrs. Patmore provided it.
"I'm surprised you don't know more about this Sarah, since you spent the last two days up at the big house," Mrs. Patmore chided. "Mr. Branson is Lord Grantham's new chauffeur!"