As the last summer of the war turned to autumn, Sybil saw little of Branson. She was preoccupied with Matthew, certainly, and she was conscious of keeping her promise to Mrs. Hughes. The housekeeper was taking a tremendous risk by agreeing not to give her away and Sybil was terrified by the prospect of causing Mrs. Hughes – or Anna, to say nothing of Branson – to lose her position because of Sybil's actions. They were right, of course; her situation was untenable, particularly now as she felt she could no longer fully trust herself in Branson's presence. The temptation to lean into his embrace, to press her lips to his for once and forever was too great. Still, for reasons she could notexplain even to herself, she felt she must wait for the war to end before embarking on a new life.
"Mr. Branson asked about you this afternoon, milady," Anna said one evening as she helped Lady Sybil change for dinner. "He says he has not seen you for a great many days. He wanted to know if you'd taken ill."
The last time she had visited the garage he had commented on her absence as well, and she hoped that her assurance that she was not avoiding him but still considering her decision would be sufficient. Now another week had past and again he seemed concerned.
"What did you tell him, Anna?" She was not avoiding him, not really, and she was anxious that he not believe that she was."
"I told him that you'd not taken ill, milady, but that you were once again terribly busy with your nursing."
"Thank you, Anna."
"I also told him, milady, that you spend a tremendous amount of time wandering about this house and the grounds staring vacantly into the middle distance."
"Did you really, Anna?" Sybil was shocked that Anna would discuss her in this way with Branson, even if what she said was true.
Anna smiled. "Of course not. But that is what I have noticed and others as well."
"Yes. You see, I'm trying to imagine just what my life would be like if I married Branson."
"And what would it be like?"
"That's jus it, Anna. I don't know."
"Milady, I don't believe there is any way for one to know. Love is a leap of faith. Either you love someone enough to jump in with both feet and face an unknown future – together – or you don't."
What Anna said, Sybil realized, was another version of Branson's thinking that, if she loved him, the rest was detail.
Sybil decided after her conversation with Anna that she must find her way back to the garage. She did not want Branson to think she was avoiding him. The greater consideration she gave to a future as his wife, the more important it was that he not think she had made up her mind once and for all to stay at Downton. That night she managed a short trip, when she announced after dinner that she had forgotten to ask Branson to take her to the hospital first thing tomorrow. It was true, she had forgotten, although she had also asked Anna to relay the message to him earlier. He looked up when she entered the garage.
"Anna said you asked about me, Branson."
"I haven't seen you much. I hoped you weren't ill."
"Not ill, no. Just thinking about the future."
He smiled and relaxed perceptibly. "Do you remember what I said in York?" She nodded. Of course she remembered; how could she forget? Whatever she decided about her future, his words in York would be burned into her mind until she departed this earth.
"I still mean every word of it. Every waking moment." She had no doubt, but her heart leaped at hearing the words spoken again.
Damn, he thought after she left that night. He wanted to shake her, to make her see how obvious her love for him was, to prevent her from repeating Mary's mistakes, from breaking both their hearts. Damn, he thought again. Imagine marrying someone you don't love, spending half a century bound to him, because your pride and your fears prevented you marrying the man you love. Me. You love me. Bet on me. For everything had had already said, though, he could not bring himself to make this final closing case. Instead he wrote to his mother that he hoped to be home sometime early next year and to the editor he had met on his trip home nearly a year ago. Kindly inform me of any positions at your newspaper, he had written. Perhaps he could force her hand.
And then the war ended. After 51 months of bloodletting, the guns went quiet. When Sybil heard the news she immediately thought how neatly Branson had bookended this war for her: the war had begun at a sunny garden party where she had looked down to find her fingers interlaced with his and it had ended with his promise the night before. And, of course, she could not forget how, in the middle of the war, he had removed his hat, looked her in the eyes, and sent her world spinning and turning like a small child's top.
It was late November when the last of the convalescents – save Matthew – left Downton. Returning the great house from hospital facility to home required much physical labor and, with few healthy, young men available, Branson had been happy to help when Carson asked. The work had the added benefit of stolen moments in Lady Sybil's presence. They were careful never to speak out of turn – the miladys that he'd gradually dropped from their conversations returned in force – but if anyone had cared to pay attention, the two of them might easily have been found out by the furtive glances they exchanged at regular intervals.
She surprised him by coming to see him in dinner dress soon after the war ended. After years of nursing dresses and mourning clothes, he had very nearly forgotten how very fine a vision she was when turned out in the finest clothes money could buy. As he stood, soaking her in, he despaired for one fleeting moment at the prospect that, by marrying him, she should no longer attire herself in these beautiful garments. This thought was quickly overtaken, however, by the thought of her dressed not in this way, but honestly not at all. He studied her standing before him and in that moment, he would have sold his soul to the devil to hear her say she would follow him to the ends of the earth as his wife. It was not to be, however, at least not that night, and her smooth, gloved palm pressed to his cheek was a small consolation.
She told him that she had almost decided, but this was not true. She knew when she entered the garage that night that she would bind her fate to his, but before she told him this, she needed to carefully consider what came next. They could not stay at Downton, obviously, but she wasn't sure they should sail – unmarried – for Ireland either. She would be Lady Sybil Crawley or she would be Mrs. Tom Branson, but she would not be mistaken for the mistress of a chauffeur. She loved him too much, and had too much dignity, for that. And did he have enough saved to tide them over until they could both find work? Where would they live? These were the thoughts that filled her mind night and day; for the first time in her life, she felt she had no one to show her the way.
Who knows how long she might have existed in this overwrought state, desperate to announce her decision but made restless by the overabundance of questions in her mind, had Matthew not regained the ability to walk. The look on Mary's face when Matthew and Lavinia announced their engagement for a second time was all the impetus Sybil needed to admit her decision to Branson and embark on a new life. Secure in the knowledge that her family was basking in the joy – or ruminating in the heartbreak – of wedding news, she slipped out of the house and toward the garage, undetected. Here, two full years after he had sworn his love to her, she announced her decision and sealed it with a kiss.
He felt his ears may be failing him when at last she revealed she would be his bride. And the kiss, her kiss, he had never shared one sweeter. He could have stood there forever with her in his arms, savoring the moment he had long dreamed for, even prayed for, but could scarcely believe when it did. Yes, God knew, he had waited long enough. Sybil had much on her mind, however, pulling back from him and looking him squarely in the eyes.
"I think," she began hesitantly, "that perhaps you might call me Sybil now. And I would like to call you Tom."
How many years had he waited to hear his names, his proper, given name, cross her beautiful lips? She had said it once, three Christmases ago, when he had asked how she knew his initials for the handkerchiefs she monogrammed. For nearly three years now, the mirthful way she had laughed his name danced in his mind, sustaining him on his darkest days. Remembering this, he removed one of those same handkerchiefs from his pocket, a reminder of a different time. She smiled at this and delicately took both the handkerchief and his hand into her own.
"Very well, Sybil," he said seriously, dropping his eyes to the ground before bringing them up to meet her gaze again.
"While we are speaking of serious things, I must say this: I love you, Sybil Crawley, and I have loved you desperately and completely for many years. But I do not want to be your ticket to some other life. I want to be your husband. God knows, you deserve to be happy and to marry a man whom you love above all others. Do not choose me because I can take you from this place. Choose me because you love me and you want to spend your life with me."
She drew in her breath sharply.
"Tom Branson, you can be a real fool." He was startled by the force of her words and the tone of her voice, to say nothing of the content of what she said, but decided it would be wise to allow her to continue.
"I dare say I may have loved you for as long as you have loved me. It is not for nothing that I tried to hush you in York, that I begged you not to leave when you threatened to hand in your notice, and that I have fought to keep you here when Papa would have dismissed you. I have spent years telling lies to nearly every person who lives and works in this house and I have endangered the livelihoods, to say nothing of the respect, of half the staff working here. When I leave here with you, I will be leaving this place – my home, my friends, my family, and all I have ever known – to travel to Ireland, where I know no one and nothing. It will be with little money and fewer prospects and it will be to a country that is soon to be at war with my own. I hope you will never again question whether I love you."
Her speech, the most impassioned words he was sure he had ever heard spoken, stunned him. He had rarely stopped to consider the cross that she must bear all of these that he had toiled in the garage waiting for their next encounter. She had drawn others, like Anna, Mary, and Mary and Mrs. Hughes into their secret, in a way that would have repercussions for her and her family for years to come. He had no words; all that had gone unspoken between them for years was now said. There was nothing for Branson, for Tom, to do then except to pull her into his embrace and kiss her with the fervor and the passion that had grown unchecked for so many years.
When at last she pulled away, she asked for the time, which was later than she hoped.
"I really must go now, Tom, although I am sorry to have to leave you."
"Soon enough we will not be parted except by choice." He could hardly believe that this would finally be true.
"But please tell me, Sybil, when I will see you again. We have lived this way long enough, too long even, God knows, and we must now make plans. I can't live this way much longer."
"Tomorrow then. I do not know when, or whether it will be a visit to the garage or a drive to town, but you will see me tomorrow. It will not be long now, but until we have left we must continue to play this game."
"Good night, Sybil. I love you."
"Good night, Tom."
Neither of them slept a wink that night, as each carefully relived the events of the day and considered how greatly their lives were about to change.
Anna was the one to notice, or at least to acknowledge, that Lady Sybil's demeanor had changed. She seemed more lost than Anna had ever known her to be and Anna noticed that not only she, but Lady Mary and Lady Edith as well often had to repeat themselves when they spoke to her. It was not difficult to for her to guess at the cause for this behavior; it also was not lost on her that Lady Sybil had begun to request a tray for breakfast, but hadn't yet been in her room when Anna brought it. Yes, for the past several days Lady Sybil had absented herself in the early morning hours, rather than in the evening. Anna also knew that Mr. Branson did not join breakfast in the servants' hall, as was frequently his custom. Anna would have had to be daft to not put two-and-two together.
The change in schedule was wise, Anna admitted to herself, for the end of the war signaled a return to more leisurely mornings in the house – there were no more early risers – but dinner could stretch late into the evening. Catching Lady Sybil one morning as she returned from one of these early outings.
"So you've made your decision, milady," Anna said mildly.
Sybil blushed and shifted uncomfortably.
"Yes, Anna, I have."
"I'll not say anything, but I'm happy for you, Lady Sybil. I know it's not been easy – for your or Mr. Branson. I hope you'll be very happy together."
Anna had felt with every bit of her being that Lady Sybil would choose a life with him over life in another version of Downton Abbey. Still, she was in awe of the decision, knowing her ladyship's inner turmoil and the strength it took her to make the decision. She truly hoped they would be happy.
"Thank you, Anna. You're right, of course, that it hasn't been easy. I'm afraid it may yet be more difficult – when Papa finds out."
Anna did not envy her – or Mr. Branson – the task of telling his lordship. He was bound to be furious and for a moment Anna hoped she would not lose her position when it came out, as it inevitably would, that she had known of their blossoming courtship and reported it to no one.
"So when will you leave?"
"I don't know yet. Tom and I were discussing just that this morning. I believe it will be soon though."
Arguing would have been a more accurate description of this conversation, Sybil thought a bit bitterly, but their fire was part of what drew them to one another, so it should not have surprised her that they would argue now. Unlike previous disagreements, however, when she would have turned to Anna for support, she now felt that, as his future wife, it would be disloyal to do so and she said nothing further.
That morning they had argued not only when to leave, which had been odd in that, ultimately, they each wanted to leave as soon as possible, but especially whether they would be married before or after they arrived in Ireland and even whether his mother would know they were coming before they landed on the docks in Dublin.
"I want her to meet you before she forms an opinion of you," he'd argued, he thought reasonably. Sybil however felt Mrs. Branson might be even more disinclined to like her if she felt her manners were so poor as to not enough extend the courtesy of an advance warning of her arrival.
"She won't like to have a stranger appear on her doorstep with no notice, particularly a stranger who may need lodging."
Sybil wanted him to write his mother and then await a reply before they departed. Here, Tom stood firm. A letter would take at least a week to reach Ireland and who knew how long he might have to wait for a reply. After waiting years, years, for her accept him, he could not abide this further, and to his mind unnecessary, delay. Even Tom had to acknowledge, though that whether and where they would live in Ireland depended largely, if not entirely, on whether they were married when they arrived.
"I don't want to arrive unwed, Tom. If people believe we haven't done this properly, I'll never find a place as a nurse."
The latter was a fine and valid point, for they both knew that they would need her income as well as his if they were to live an even moderately comfortable life.
"You can stay with my mam until we're married, Sybil."
"I want to be married first. If we've already traveled to Ireland – and if she doesn't even know the circumstances – she'll assume…" Sybil's voice trailed off and she blushed, dropping her eyes to her shoes.
"Tom hadn't thought of this, but Sybil was right. His mother would assume she was in trouble and however cool a reception he might expect to receive when he returned home with an English earl's daughter as a bride, it would be that much worse if he allowed his mother to draw her own conclusions.
"Fine. We'll marry first. But I'll not write my mother. We've waited long enough and I can't well write her and leave before I receive a response and I'm of no mind to wait to marry you until I receive one."
"Where will we marry, Tom?"
"If it were up to me, I'd marry in a Dublin church. If you want to marry elsewhere, you tell me where."
She promised a plan by the next morning, when she would meet him again. Obviously the village church was out of the question and she had few other ideas. Perhaps Gretna Green? She knew people married there when they had no other options, which pretty well described their situation. They would have to drive in order to avoid being detected at the station, but she was confident they could be married and back to return the car, within two days. Then they would be married and, however, angry anyone – and everyone – would be, nothing further could be done.
A great stroke of fortune befell them later that morning when Cora asked Sybil to fetch her some things from town. Sybil would not have to wait until the next morning to share her plans with Tom; perhaps they could even leave that night. As the car rumbled down the driveway and toward the main road, she told him what she had decided. His reaction was not what she expected.
"You want to steal your father's car when you run away with me?"
"It won't be stealing, Tom, it will just be borrowing. We'll return it the next day."
Tom was incredulous. Yes, he thought, I'm sure that's just the way his lordship will view it. This thought was followed almost immediately by the thought that Lord Grantham would certainly kill them, or at least him, when they returned. Sybil had gradually revealed to him the duplicity she'd been forced to resort to during their unusual courtship, but this topped everything.
"Well we certainly can't be married in the village church and I have no other ideas. … Anyway, I'll say I'm ill at dinner and leave a note. You can tell Carson or Anna that you're ill and by the time anyone has realized what happened, we'll be married."
Against his better judgment and out of other ideas to persuade her otherwise, he agreed. They would leave that night. And, God, he prayed, if we are ever so lucky to have a daughter, may she please never have cause to perpetuate against us the pain that Sybil is about to perpetuate against her own family.