A major hole in the story repaired. This is the uncut version of the S/T reveal to her family (sans Mrs. Patmore's boiling caldron of course; worse editing/WTF moment in DA2 if you ask me). As a novice fiction writer doing it mostly for my pleasure and your enjoyment, I want to thank you all for the lovely reviews, smart comments, and useful pointers. Enjoy!


Chapter 12 - You Knew?

Sybil sat at her dressing table. She thought the gold earrings and necklace would be apropos with the black dress this evening. She slid the long chain over her head and the slender pendant dangled in front of her mid section. She was pleased at this afternoon's latest developments with her beloved Branson, especially his promising job offer with the newspaper, but best of all that she could come with him to Dublin.

She looked around her bedroom. Very soon she would be leaving these familiar environs. She turned to her dressing table mirror to finish her preparations for what would most certainly be a trying family dinner.

She cocked her head as she observed herself: what will the future hold? Something about her countenance made her appear older, more mature. Was it the style of her hair perhaps or the way she held her chin? The girlish gloss of innocence had worn off and in its place radiated a womanly poise. She exuded confidence. She would have to draw on this reserve to get through tonight's revelation and the aftermath that was sure to cast a pall over the next few days.

She turned her head in profile and glanced back at the mirror. So this is what he sees when he looks so intently at me? She felt different. That tingly feeling when he was near, the racing pulse, giddiness, had manifested itself as a longing desire. She wanted to feel the heat of his skin, the pleasurable touch of his lips tickling her neck, his hand caress the small of her back. She knew enough about the intimate relations between a man and a woman to realize that it was her sexual desire for him that had become an aching passion—an urge that would have to be suppressed until their wedding night. Or did she really have to wait?

She turned her head back and looked herself over one last time. So this is what a woman in love looks like? A smile broadened across her face, she then breathed in deeply. In a couple of hours he would be at her side—standing together in front of her family and disclosing their plans to marry. How exactly would they phrase it to soften the blow? What are her mother and father going to say? How will her grandmother react? Why should this be so difficult to begin with—it was their choice after all? She should at least forewarn her sisters, especially since they had kept her secret. After leaving her alone for the better of two weeks, her sisters have probably assumed that her desire to run off with the chauffeur had been a passing fancy, a childish obsession, or perhaps some sort of emotional reaction to the sedate, humdrum life after wartime. But her heart told her something different and now it was time to tell them all. She stood up, grabbed her gloves from the bed, and went to go find Mary in her sister's bedroom down the hall.


Branson finished closing the top button on his uniform's jacket. Next, he held it up on its hangar to look it over one last time. It was certainly not going to be worn ever again after this evening. Neither was he going to live in this cottage—his home for the last six years—after tomorrow.

There would be many things he would miss about working at Downton. He had grown fond of his colleagues, even though in general everyone kept a polite distance and deigned to discuss personal matters. Over the years, including during the upheaval caused by the war, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had maintained a tight ship. They had treated the staff fairly—even giving a little latitude every now and then for certain indiscretions. He had experienced their tolerance firsthand after his escapade to embarrass General Strutt. In response to their trust, he strove on a daily basis to deliver the highest level of service. He took his duties with the utmost seriousness and never heard one complaint about his work.

Despite his affinity for those facets of his job, he would not miss, however, being in the employ of the aristocracy. To be sure, Lord Grantham had been a fair man who returned his servants' fidelity by paying respectable wages and providing decent lodgings. He only wished that more men (along with their families) cared so deeply about the welfare of their workers. But in the bigger picture, the concentration of wealth in the hands of the few had left many of Lord Grantham's class blind to suffering of the many. In the postwar new world order, this could no longer be the case. To forge ahead with plans to challenge and change these inequities, he knew it was time to move on with his life elsewhere. He had new prospects—both personally and professionally. Journalists after all do not don uniforms.

He hung up the chauffeur's jacket in the cupboard. He removed his grey jacket from the other hanger and slipped it on. He brushed off the sleeves then adjusted his tie and collar pin. He swallowed hard. As had been his routine, he had picked up the dinner guests, but had discreetly asked Edward to return them home. Sybil would be waiting for him in the drawing room about now and would be by his side when they defended their decision to her father and family. She had chosen him when she could have had her pick of the eligible young suitors in London. He cherished her love and it gave him the strength to face anything. He longed for her physically in a way he had never yearned for another woman. A smile broadened across his face, he then breathed in deeply. He opened the door of the cottage, stepped out into the cool evening air, and walked up to the house.

At the servant's entrance, he stopped for a moment and pulled out his watch—9:28. He knew that the kitchen staff would be dining, the wait staff would be clearing the dinner table and serving platters, and others would be preparing the bedrooms for the evening. With everyone busy at their stations, he quietly made his way through the downstairs' hallways. He climbed the stairs up to the main level and walked into the great hall. This grand space seemed deathly quiet after the flurry of convalescents who filled it with daily activity for more than two years. He stopped at the door of the drawing room. It's time. He turned the doorknob.


Sybil was uneasy all evening. She barely spoke during dinner. All the talk about the forthcoming wedding seemed idle chatter in comparison to what she knew would be topic of conversation later in the evening. From time to time, Edith and Mary shot knowing glances her way that telegraphed the not-so subtle-messages: "for heaven's sake not now," "how could you?" Piling onto her mountain of anxiety, Violet complained incessantly about feeling faint and fatigued attributing her maladies to rumors of this "influenza business" that had been spreading throughout the county. She waited—he would soon be here.

The women adjourned to the drawing room for coffee while Matthew and Robert had a brandy in the dining room. She fidgeted with her gloves and stared intermittently at the clock. The men eventually joined them at a quarter past nine.

Sitting elegantly in a side chair in her red evening gown, Cora commented to her and Lavinia about how impressed she had been earlier in the day with Isobel's list of organizations to aid the war's refugees, "there will be much that can be done even from here I suspect."

"Indeed, Matthew's mother has done her due diligence," Lavinia complimented her soon-to-be mother-in-law to Cora. "You know once we're settled after our honeymoon I hope to assist her charitable cause in some way."

Just then the door opened and Branson strode in. He looked around and quickly noted that they were all there.

Lord Grantham turned around from his conversation with Matthew and addressed his chauffeur's sudden intrusion into his family's private gathering, "Yes?"

His eyes locked on Sybil and declared: "I'm here."

"So I can see," replied Lord Grantham assuming the chauffeur's cryptic statement was addressed to him.

Mr. Carson seemed alarmed at the appearance of the household's driver unannounced during after dinner coffee, "Mr. Branson is there some sort of emerg…"

But before the butler could finish Sybil stood up, approached him, and quietly uttered her concerns, "I don't think this is such a good idea, we mustn't worry Granny!"

Now was the time and he had to bolster her confidence he realized. He responded insistently, "You've asked me to come and I've come."

He was right they had to tell them. Sybil turned to stand by his side and face her family. Confusion overtook the room. Edith and Mary were mortified at what they knew was about to come next.

Violet was now very intrigued as to why the chauffeur, clearly out of the chauffeur's uniform, was standing in their midst. "Would someone please tell me what is going on or have we all stepped through the looking glass?" she queried the group.

To her humorous albeit perceptive question he responded assertively, "Your grandmother has a right to know as much as anyone else."

"Why don't I find that reassuring?" quipped Violet.

Again Mr. Carson tried to intervene in what was quickly becoming a very uncomfortable situation for all in the room. "I apologize your Lordship this is clearly some minor misunderstanding," he hastily addressed Lord Grantham. "I will take care of it at once, if you will pardon me a moment," he asked as the butler placed the coffee pot back on the tray.

"Yes, please do Carson," Lord Grantham requested, clearly annoyed by the interruption and desirous of enjoying this time with his family.

"Mr. Branson I do not know what this is about, but please leave now," he sternly reprimanded the errant driver.

Sybil responded calmly, "No Carson it's quite alright. He can stay. I've asked him here this evening."

"Pray tell me, why might you have summoned Branson to us?" Robert asked his youngest daughter.

"Yes Papa…you see," she started. Branson discreetly took her hand and looked assuredly at her. "We have an announcement to make," she revealed as she surveyed the room.

"We? An announcement about what?" Robert replied now utterly confused at the turn of events unfolding in his drawing room.

"We are…," she started and he gently squeezed her hand. "We are going to be married," she finally informed her family as she looked over to him for reassurance. He cracked a faint smile and nodded that she had done well.

They next turned to the room and stared out into an abyss of dead silence. Their announcement hung over the room like a dark cloud waiting to deliver its punishing rain, it had rendered everyone speechless.

"Ha, ha, ha," Robert's nervous laughter cut through the thick tension. "Who's played this joke upon us? Is this something you girls put together as some sort of pre-wedding prank?" he asked as he turned to Mary and Edith for confirmation of his suspicions.

Neither Mary nor Edith validated his hunch. "Well?" he prodded, his smile quickly fading.

Edith replied regretfully, "I'm sorry Papa, but I don't believe Sybil is joking."

"Surely you jest my dear," he turned back to his youngest child. "You can't possibly intend to marry the chauffeur, Branson here?" Lord Grantham gestured and inquired in a more serious tone as he came to the realization that this may not be a joke after all.

"He has made a proposal of marriage and I have accepted," she repeated—confidently prepared to stand her ground. She looked over at her mother who was now looking very pale. Violet glanced down as she absorbed the earth shattering news. Matthew and Lavinia stayed politely silent.

"But this cannot be, it is not possible? It's just not done, we don't marry the servants," Robert stated what he assumed to be the obvious. He turned and placed his hand on the marble mantelpiece as he came to terms with the implications of his daughter's unusual announcement.

"It's true Papa. We are going be married," she repeated and waited for what was sure to be a barrage of accusations and endless questions.

"How could this happen?" Robert shook his head. "I want to know when did this happen?" Robert adamantly requested as he turned back to Sybil.

"I accepted Tom's proposal a few weeks ago. We waited to find the right time to tell you," she replied trying to maintain an atmosphere of civility.

Branson stood by her patiently keeping quiet, knowing his words would add fuel to the brewing anger of her father.

"Oh so now's the right time, as a fitting prelude to Cousin Matthew's wedding I suppose?"

"I'm sorry Papa. I don't mean to put a damper on the festivities, but we had to tell you at some point," she offered—still firmly grasping his hand.

"And you kept it from your mother and me this long? You were planning to marry the chauffeur and you told no one?" he asked in a sarcastic tone that exposed his simmering rage.

Sybil and Branson let go of their hands and said nothing more.

Mary put down her coffee cup and walked over to her father hoping to contain the damage. "I'm sorry Papa, but I've known about it for sometime now," she confessed regretfully.

"What do you mean you knew?" Robert raised his voice at Mary.

"I hoped it would blow over," Mary made her excuses. "I didn't want to split the family when Sybil might still wake up."

"Clearly it hasn't blown over and your little sister is lost in some fantasy world she's dreamt up," he bristled as he then turned toward Branson—clearly the person at the root of the wreck and ruin now heaped upon his family. "And you! What do you have to say?"

"We've decided to wed and will do so as soon as possible," he replied to the now seething Lord Grantham.

"What gives you leave to make such an offer to my daughter?" he bellowed no longer containing his anger.

"I made a proposal of marriage and your daughter has happily accepted it," he tried to remain calm in the face of his employer's tirade, rage stoked by what her father perceived to be duplicitous behavior on both their parts.

"And all the time you've been driving me about, bowing and scraping while seducing my daughter behind my back," Robert yelled unleashing his fury at the man who was laying to waste his daughter's sterling reputation.

He was not going to be belittled by anyone including Robert Crawley the Earl of Grantham: "I don't bow and scrape and I've seduced no one." Nor was he going to stand idly by while her father dismissed Sybil's intelligence or her hard won independence. He boldly replied without the appropriate address of deference: "Give your daughter some credit for knowing her own mind!"

"How dare you speak to me in that tone!" Robert yelled back. He then ordered: "You will leave at once!"

Sybil had had enough of her father's intimidation, "Oh Papa! Please do not treat him in this manner."

"Oh and how should I be treating the chauffeur who is planning to abscond with my daughter?" Robert lobbed back at her. Trying to defuse his anger he turned away, "This is a folly, a ridiculous juvenile madness?"

Violet saw this an opportune moment to intervene in the disagreement. "All of this is getting us nowhere Robert. I want to know what this is about. Sybil what do you have in mind?" asked her grandmother firmly grasping the handle of her walking stick.

Robert disagreed, "Mama please, this is hardly the time or place for your meddling."

"No," the matriarch insisted. "I want to know what this is about, she must have something in mind. Otherwise she would not have summoned him here tonight."

She was relieved that her grandmother had at least asked about their plans. "Thank you Granny. Yes we do have a plan," she nervously started. "Tom's got a job at a paper. I'll stay until after the wedding. I don't want to steal their thunder," she looked over at Lavinia and Matthew. "But after that I'll go to Dublin."

Her latest revelation was too much for Cora to bear. "To live with him? Unmarried?" she gasped.

"I'll live with his mother while the banns are read. And then we'll be married," she tried to allay her mother's fears that she was running off to live in "sin." "And then I'll get a job as a nurse. I'm sure my training during the war will be useful," she looked lovingly at him as she narrated their plans.

"Well this seems like quite a grand scheme you two have cooked up," Violet observed of the wayward lovers standing in front of her. "What does your mother make of this?" she inquired of him.

"If you must know she thinks we're very foolish," he reluctantly, but honestly revealed his own mother's misgivings.

"At least we have something in common," Violet retorted trying to bring some levity to what was clearly a monumental family disaster.

Robert, however, failed to discern one iota of humor in this dire situation and was determined to end the misguided engagement before it progressed any further. "I won't allow it. I will not allow my daughter to throw away her life!"

Sybil was determined not to be cowed. She adamantly replied, "You can posture all you like Papa. It won't make any difference."

"Oh yes it will!" he railed.

"How? I don't want any money!" she fought back. "You can hardly lock me up until I die!"

Robert and Cora were shocked at this renunciation of her inheritance.

Sybil thought it was best to end it here before more was said that couldn't be withdrawn. Clearly her parents weren't going to accept Branson or warm to their plans of marriage. "I'll say goodnight. But I can promise you one thing," she warned, "tomorrow morning nothing will have changed." She turned to leave the drawing room, bidding him to join her.

With nothing more to add, he followed her out of the room.


She was furious at her family's reaction. "Arghh," she growled. "How could my parents be so unfeeling and unyielding? It couldn't have gone any worse," she said to herself as she treaded through the great hall clenching her fists in anger.

"Sybil," he tried to stop her. "Sybil," he pleaded again rushing after her.

Overwhelmed by the events, she didn't hear his call. She marched through the entrance hall and headed straight out of the front door into the night.

How could her father treat Tom with such disdain and ire, she fumed. She came to a stop just outside of the radiant glow of the massive house, her feet planted firmly at the edge of the lawn. The night air had a frosty bite even though it was late April.

He came to a halt right behind her. "Sybil," he called. She said nothing. She was still swimming in the torrent of her emotions. She was also shivering he realized. He took off his jacket and slid one of her arms then the other into its sleeves. "Here, I don't want you catching your death of cold," he offered.

Enveloped by the warmth of his jacket, she sensed his calming presence and her anger began to recede. From behind, she felt his body press against hers and then his arms encircle her waist. His cheek gently brushed against her soft hair. She relaxed back into his embrace. Their hands interlocked

The two lovers needed to feel their special bond after the tumultuous confrontation that had ended moments ago. They stared into the blue-black of the sky and remained silent for several minutes. They listened to the calls of the night. They felt the rise and fall of the other's breath.

"I'm sorry," he finally broke their silence.

She took in a deep breath of the evening air and let out a long sigh.

"I'm so very sorry for what happened back there," he said again.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," she whispered in a tone that conveyed her sense of loss. "They're the ones who should be sorry."

"I don't want you to be sad about losing your family. I'm sure they'll forgive you."

"I'm not sad. I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed of how they treated you, how they dismissed us," she answered back.

"They don't understand."

"My family had no right to treat you like that. They don't know you like I do. 'Bow and scrape'—that was terribly cruel," she huffed.

"They're just words—your father was venting his anger. He quite rightly felt betrayed. I want them to know the woman you've become. I stood my ground though. Anyway those things don't matter to us,"

"I'm glad you didn't back down. But what he said to you, demanded of me, it's not fair."

"Life's not fair sometimes, most of the time," he reminded her.

"I hate losing them," she confessed of their rejection by her family as a tear streamed down her cheek. "You're everything to me," she told him as she slowly turned around in his arms. Over his shoulder, she looked back at Downton with its many windows aglow like a large Chinese lantern—it seemed so monstrous, empty, and far away. Her new life was in her arms. She pulled away from their embrace and looked lovingly into his eyes.

He cradled her face in both his hands. The mute light from the house made her skin radiate against the dark night. Even with such sadness in her heart, her beauty nonetheless enthralled him. He gently wiped away her tear with his thumb. "I'm here," he comforted her.

She nodded.

"I'll always be here," he said again as he slowly leaned in and kissed her cheek where the tear had fallen. "I love you," he quietly affirmed as their lips softly grazed one another and then locked into a long kiss.

Feeling loved and secure after such a tumultuous confrontation, she placed her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. She quietly pleaded: "take me with you, I don't want to go back in there."

"You have to. We're not going to run. We'll leave in due time whether they accept us or not," he said thoughtfully refusing her request, not wanting to make that mistake again. As difficult as it had been, Lady Mary had been right—it was better to tell them than sneak off like a thief in the night.

"I guess we tried that and failed," she replied looking up at him remembering their disastrous elopement.

"Failed rather miserably mind you," he smiled back at her.

"Hmmm," she sighed. "You're right. But now they know, its out in the open and soon everyone will know."

"Indeed, I'll have to see Mr. Carson sometime tomorrow," he remembered his own forthcoming gauntlet of disapproval from his fellow servants now that their secret was public.

"You'll have your own mini-tirade to contend with downstairs I imagine. I don't know who'll be more beastly Carson or Papa?"

"We knew this wasn't going to be an easy road to follow," he reminded her. "But we made it through tonight together. We'll survive everything else that comes our way."

"That we will," she agreed. And she kissed him once more, this time her tongue danced eagerly with his as her intense desire for him bubbled to the surface. She caressed his strong shoulders wanting feel what was below his vest and shirt.

He pulled out of the kiss, afraid of his own rising passions. "I think we should say goodnight. Otherwise…" he pondered for a moment taking her back with him to his cottage.

"Otherwise what?" she flirtatiously asked.

"Let's just make it a chaste good-bye…for now," he offered and sweetly kissed her forehead.

"For now," she agreed.

He took her hand and walked her back to the front door. "Good night then," he said at the threshold Downton Abbey.

"No, it's a better night knowing that we're soon to be wed," she kissed him on the cheek. She took off his jacket and handed it back to him. "Thank you."

He opened the door and she disappeared inside the big house.

No matter what happened next, they confidently knew they had the strength to face down anything or anyone. They knew the power of their love.


I'm almost done-no really. Curious who you think of the downstairs staff was the most upset about one of their own running off with a daughter of the house?