Sometimes an update you're planning gets away from you and decides to go in a *slightly* different direction. I hadn't intended to spend as much time on Tom Bellasis' POV in this story, but gosh darn it, he insisted on showing all of you a glimpse into his mind, as well as his heart, and what's been going on in his head since he met the lovely "Lady Sybil" (aka Miss Sarah Crawford). So I hope you don't mind!

And that question many of you have been wondering...what happened in the garage!? Well, you'll find out soon enough! ;o) but please don't jump ahead, enjoy the journey! :oP THANKS FOR READING! Who knows? Maybe I'll update this one again soon as well? ;o)

Chapter Fourteen

It had not been an unpleasant night's sleep, not at all; the bed was very comfortable, the mattress firm, the pillows weren't too downy, and despite the fact that it was a different room, one which he was not familiar with, he did manage to sleep the entire night in that pleasant, dreamless sleep that always leaves a person feeling well rested.

…But it wasn't home.

Never was this more apparent to Tom Bellasis than when he awoke shortly after the scullery maid had entered his room to light the fire. Actually, he was awake before the maid entered, but he had long since learned that it was best to pretend to be asleep while they went about their task, rather than startle the poor girls by rising and greeting them with an innocent "good morning". As soon as he heard the door quietly click shut, he sat up and took a moment to gaze at his surroundings with sleepy eyes, before rising from the bed and stretching, pulling his dressing gown on over his shoulders and moving to gaze out the window that overlooked the house's gardens. His own room back at Grassley had a similar view, and it was perhaps in that moment that Tom began to feel a bit homesick.

It had become his custom, since he had gotten involved with working side by side with his father's estate agent, to wake and rise early and begin each day (with the exception of Sundays) by walking the grounds and surrounding fields. And now, during the warmer months of spring and summer and early autumn, Tom would extend his walks, going further out and passing the various tenant farms, greeting and waving as the farmers led their sheep and cattle to pasture, before going about and working the earth before the sun grew too hot. The tenants had gotten so used to these jaunts of his, and seeing and greeting him when he passed, that when last spring he had fallen ill and was unable to take his walk, he had received several messages as related to him by the Grassley butler, sent by several tenant families, inquiring if he was alright. Despite the illness he had been feeling at the time, Tom couldn't help but smile at news, feeling very humbled by their concern.

He was very proud of the fact that he not only knew all the names of each and every tenant that worked on Grassley's lands, but also the names of their children. There was one family, the Johnsons, whose sheep pastures touched Grassley's southern boundary, and who, after a horrible storm in the late summer of the year before, had nearly lost the roof of their house. Tom had spent many weeks working side by side with Mr. Johnson and several others, in seeing that roof repaired, and thus had gotten to know the family very well. Bill and Nancy, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson's children, took a quick liking to him, and much to the shock and embarrassed horror of their parents, called him "Tom", and would beg him to hoist them up onto his broad shoulders and carry them around. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson would quickly apologize, but Tom would always laugh with good humor, and assure them that he didn't mind, before proceeding to do what Bill and Nancy had been begging him to do.

One morning, Mrs. Johnson surprised him by remarking, "You're so good with children, Mr. Bellasis! It's a shame you don't have any of your own; you'll make some lucky woman a fine husband!"

He had blushed deeply at her words, and tried to hide his embarrassment with a kind a smile and silent nod, but the remark stayed with him, long after the work at the Johnson farm had ended.

He knew his mother wanted him to marry. She was not so subtle on the matter. "Oh, I received a letter from my dear friend Emilia, Lady Claxton; her son just announced that they are expecting again! This will be Emilia's third grandchild…"

Both his parents knew he wasn't against the idea of marrying someday, although he refused to think of it as a "duty" because he was his father's sole heir. He didn't want to play the "mating ritual games" of Society. When the time was right, that would be when it would happen; not at some pre-arranged ball filled with matchmaking mothers, but…naturally so. A simple walk through a garden, or to the village; a discussion on books, and real events that were affecting real people, not Societal gossip. He wanted his future bride, whoever she was, to be…someone he could talk to, someone whose company he would long to spend with at the end of a long day, someone…someone with whom he could call a "friend" as well as a lover.

And that was important too, though he kept that thought to himself. His uncles kept mistresses; he knew several friends from university who frequented brothels whenever they went to London. No, he would not follow in their footsteps, he refused to do so. Perhaps it was naïve, but he didn't care; his wife would be his only lover.

Tom sighed as he moved away from the window to the wash stand, and proceeded to splash some cold water on his face to help wake himself up. It was going to be a busy day, and he saw no sense in wasting his or the Crawleys time by having a "lay in" simply because he was a guest and this was his first day. Though he had been invited to stay for a fortnight, Tom felt that if he was able to help Mr. Crawley and Lord Grantham sort things out fairly quickly, well, there was no reason he needed to stay longer than was necessary. Besides, THAT had been the reason he had been summoned, not for…"other" reasons.

His face burned at the memory of the previous evening, the way the Dowager Countess of Grantham had insisted he escort her youngest granddaughter into the dining room, the way she and even Lady Grantham kept glancing at him during the meal, before glancing over at Lady Sybil, and then of course he remembered his own mother's suspicious warnings about the possibility to why he had been sought out.

Perhaps it was all a coincidence?

…And perhaps he was a monkey's uncle?

Tom groaned and ran a wet hand over his face, hoping the cold water in the basin would relieve the heat from his cheeks. Not that there was anything wrong with Lady Sybil—no, not at all! True, he didn't really know her, but…well, she seemed…what? What did she seem?

Quiet. Unsure. Scared, even. His brow furrowed as he recalled their time at dinner table. She didn't speak unless it was absolutely necessary, and even then there was a great deal of reluctance. He also noticed how she avoided other people's gazes, how intensely focused she was on the place setting before her, and he even recalled noticing the way her brow furrowed at one point, as if she was trying to…solve a problem or something. And of course he recalled the way her grandmother had brought to everyone's attention how she was eating her soup "incorrectly", and how she seemed to somehow shrink away even more. It must have been pity that moved him, that was the only explanation he could think of, but…he had felt such a deep need to…speak up for her and…and defend her, in a manner of speaking.

He certainly recalled the strange tug on his heart as he gazed at her struggles, as well as the stab of disappointment he felt, when he and the rest of the men entered the drawing room after dinner, only to find that she was not amongst the other women, suffering from a headache, apparently, as he was told by her grandmother. But even more so, he recalled his confusion at watching her more or less cower there at the table, when earlier she had strode into the drawing room, her face beaming, her eyes sparkling, and her smile full of such…such radiant confidence, that truly, it was breathtaking to behold!

He would be lying if he denied that for that brief moment of seeing her enter that room, dressed in blue silk trousers, that his heart skipped a beat.

But that was simply out of shock and surprise by her attire, surely?

Still…what had happened to turn that beautiful, confident woman, into that quiet, cowering girl?

Tom froze as he realized what he had just thought. Beautiful? Well, yes, she was beautiful; Lady Sybil was a very beautiful woman, just as were her sisters. All three daughters were blessed with beauty, so really, taking notice of that wasn't unusual…

He shook his head and once more, splashed some cold water on his face, before removing his dressing gown and flinging it across the bed and proceeding to enter the attached bathroom to bathe and shave and finish preparing for the day. God, what he wouldn't give for a good walk right now; he suddenly felt like a caged tiger in this room. He would speak with his host; ask him if it was alright that he take a turn in the morning before breakfast about his grounds. Hopefully that would help with getting his…thoughts…in order. And possibly, under control.

In the next forty-five minutes he was washed and dressed and walking out of his room. He was staying in what was called "the Bachelor's corridor" of the house (a wing that was far removed from the rooms of any ladies), and though it was not a great distance from the staircase that would lead him down, the house and it's many corridors were so vast, that it was easy to make one wrong turn and find yourself lost.

A red-haired housemaid was passing, holding what looked like a sewing basket in her arms. "Excuse me," he whispered, not wanting to raise his voice to startle her. The maid paused and whirled around, looking a little surprised by his address, but not frightened. He put on a pleasant smile and made a gesture down the corridor which he had come from. "I don't suppose you could point me in the direction to go downstairs?"

The maid blushed a little but smiled and nodded her head, giving him the directions he needed, before giving a little curtsey when she was finished. He thanked her and turned to go in the directions she had given him, but…something, some strange sense of…curiosity, got the better of him, because he was turning back and asking her retreating figure, "Is…is anyone else awake?" he felt rather embarrassed by his silly question, especially since he knew that a majority of the staff were already awake (and had probably been awake for quite some time) but there it was, no going back now. "Sorry, I…I'm just a bit of an early riser," he confessed, poking fun at himself as a means to cover up his embarrassment. "And I don't want to get in any one's way—"

"I…" she blushed as she spoke, but carried on. "His Lordship always goes for a walk with Isis—his dog—around this time. I'm sure he'll be back very soon," she explained.

He smiled and nodded his head in thanks, turning to go in the direction she had given him again, but was stopped short by her next words.

"Lady Sybil is an early riser as well."

Tom practically stumbled over his own feet. "W-what?" he stammered, wincing at how idiotic he sounded (and no doubt looked).

If the housemaid thought his behavior strange, she didn't comment on it. "Lady Sybil," she repeated, as if he hadn't heard her. "She's awake too; also an early riser," she explained once more. "She'll be down for breakfast as well. I'll be sure to tell her that you're—"

"No! I mean," he coughed, trying to get his voice (and the incredible heat that was burning his face) under control. "I mean, that…that isn't necessary, thank you though," he assured. Now the housemaid was looking at him strangely, and Tom couldn't deny that he wished a giant hole would open up beneath his feet and swallow him. "I wouldn't want to her to feel obligated in having to come and…and entertain me." God, where was that hole? "Thank you, again," he murmured one more time, before turning on his heel and walking away for good this time, groaning to himself for how stupid he had just sounded. Oh God, would the housemaid go and tell Lady Sybil about her strange encounter with him in the corridor? And why did he suddenly care if she did? Why did he suddenly care what Lady Sybil Crawley thought about him? He didn't know her, he didn't know anything about her, other than the fact that she was lovely (just like her sisters, he was quick to add), and...and now, an early riser.

But as much as perhaps he wished to deny it, he couldn't help but find himself…curious about her. Curious about the beaming confident woman who had disappeared into a quiet shell at dinner last night, before disappearing completely afterwards. What had happened to her? And…even though it had just been one night and one dinner, he couldn't help but wonder (and hope)…would he see that beaming, confident woman again?

Tom shook his head from such thoughts. "Remember why you're here," he muttered to himself. He had a job to do, a duty to perform for the father and brother-in-law of his own father's friend. That was why he was here, that was why he had come, not for any other reason, despite what the dowager countess or even his own mother may have wished.

Feeling renewed by this "sense of purpose", he went downstairs and was pleasant surprised to greet not only Lord Grantham, but Mr. Crawley as well, who had joined his father-in-law for an early morning stroll. The three men chatted briefly in the hall, while the Downton butler and several maids from the kitchens prepared the breakfast room for their arrival. Soon they were helping themselves to the piping hot food, and sitting and continuing their chat that had begun in the hall, though at this point it was more of a chat between Mr. Crawley and himself, than with Lord Grantham, who was much more invested in his newspaper than in the younger men's conversation.

And within those moments, within that morning greeting with Lord Grantham and Mr. Crawley, within that conversation about some of the work he had done at Grassley, and hearing Mr. Crawley relate his impressions of Downton when he had first arrived back in 1912 after learning he was Lord Grantham's heir, within all of that, Tom Bellasis forgot all about Lady Sybil and the possible "nefarious scheme" to have him come there, and was completely focused on the task at hand, on helping his hosts find ways to economically improve Downton—

Until she entered the room.

He had just been in the middle of telling Mr. Crawley about some of the modern farm equipment that had been introduced to the tenants at Grassley, when the color pink caught his eye, and in a single glance his eyes widened and his mouth fell open as she stood in the doorway…her own gaze meeting his.

And the next thing he knew, he was on his feet, before either of his hosts or even the Downton butler realized that they weren't the only ones left in the room. "Lady Sybil," he greeted, his voice soft but reverent. He noticed that she started to blush, and despite the tea he had just been drinking, he felt his throat go dry at the sight…and the smile that curled at the corner of her lips.

Both Lord Grantham and Mr. Crawley turned to notice her, and greeted her pleasantly, Mr. Crawley rising to kiss her cheek, before the butler stepped forward, handing her a plate to help herself to some breakfast. Tom had finally sunk back down into his chair, but his eyes remained on her back as she moved along the buffet. She still seemed…unsure of herself, but it wasn't like the previous night. If anything, she looked very hungry, and he couldn't blame her—the breakfast was quite good, especially the sausages. A smile broke out as he noticed her take several sausages and added them to her already large pile of eggs and tomatoes on her plate.

She turned then and met his gaze, and for a brief moment, their eyes locked and everything else around him seemed to fade into nothing…

"Mr. Bellasis?"

Tom suddenly realized that someone had been calling him—someone being Mr. Crawley. He felt his face grow hot, and he tried to hide his embarrassment by coughing and clearing his throat before reaching for his tea, taking a deep drink and muttering an apology under his lips, saying something about "having a dry throat", before taking another long sip, and attempting to resume the conversation before Lady Sybil had entered.

God, what was wrong with him? Why was he having such difficulties in focusing? He was talking to Mr. Crawley, going over again about one of the more modern tractors that Grassley had invested in and were now going about the task of training the tenants to use, but all the while he was very much aware that she was standing just to his side, now looking at the table and trying to decide where it would be best for her to sit. And it was that that moment that Lady Mary entered the room.

Once again, he rose to his feet, but Lady Mary was quick to make a gesture with her hand, telling him to sit back down at once.

"Good heavens, what are you doing?" Lord Grantham questioned his eldest daughter, clearly surprised to see her up and about. Tom judged that by his question, it was customary at Downton for married women to breakfast in their rooms. He recalled how during his childhood, his own mother would do this, but as he grew older, he noticed his mother growing more and more out of the custom, and it would not be so unusual for him to return from one of his morning walks, and find both his parents having breakfast together.

"While being married does allow a woman 'the luxury' of breakfasting in bed, because today is a special day, I thought it best to simply join all of you."

"Special day?" Lord Grantham questioned.

"Oh yes," Mr. Crawley explained, while rising and pulling a chair out for his wife to sit. "We thought we would take Mr. Bellasis on a tour of the estate—show him the farms, the fields, everything surrounding the village."

"We?"

"That's right, Papa; Matthew and I will one day be Earl and Countess of Grantham, and as such, we feel it's best to approach all decisions in regards to the future of Downton…together."

Tom couldn't help but smile at that. In some ways, Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary reminded him of his parents; his mother could be just as insistent when it came to having a say in how things were managed at Grassley, and his father always believed that such decisions should be made together, as partners and equals.

Yes…if he ever did marry, that would be something else he would want his wife to be: a partner.

"Sybil, why on earth are you standing there like that?"

Tom stiffened slightly at Lady Mary's voice, or rather, at whom she was addressing. Though there was some distance between the two chairs, Lady Sybil did take the seat that was next to him, and just as he had tried to do moments before Lady Mary entered the room, he once again did everything he could to keep his focus…away from her.

He welcomed the distraction when Mr. Crawley tried to inform his wife about what they had been discussing, and was prepared to carry on the conversation again, when suddenly Lady Mary's voice rose to a shrilling level as she gasped, "good heavens, Sybil, what are you doing!?"

Tom turned, thinking perhaps that she had cut and hurt herself, or…something along those lines. But instead, he noticed that she was attempting to…spread jam on a piece of toast?

"You're going to make yourself ill!" Lady Mary scolded, before reaching across and snatching up the jam jar.

Ill? Tom glanced back at Lady Sybil, and noticed how her lovely face had gone pale at Lady Mary's cry, before now turning a dark red, and he even took notice at the way her hands were shaking, looking like any second she would drop her toast and the knife she had been using.

And just like the night before, the woman who he had greeted, who showed no shame in piling her plate with eggs and sausages, was gone again, replaced once more by a trembling girl, who sat next to him, frozen with fear.

"That's my fault," he murmured, feeling desperate to ease whatever anxiety had befallen her. "I had asked for the strawberry jam; never was mad about marmalade," he explained, his voice light in an attempt to bring in some humor to ease the sudden tension at the table. In the short time he had known Lady Sybil Crawley, Tom Bellasis quickly realized that he did not like seeing her in such an unsure, embarrassed state.

"It's alright, quite understandable and…well, no harm was done," Lady Mary sighed, ever the gracious hostess, before turning her eyes to her sister and whispering a warning about paying attention and being more careful. His Lordship then proceeded to tell him what he had already gathered, that Lady Sybil was allergic to strawberries; however, his Lordship also proceeded to tell him how her body responded to the allergic reaction, and once again, poor Lady Sybil looked utterly mortified at the embarrassment of having her condition laid out there for a practical stranger like himself, to see.

Which explained why he felt it necessary to share his own story. "That sounds like what happens to me when I eat crab," he spoke up, drawing all the attention away from the red-faced Lady Sybil, to himself. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and he gave her a sympathetic…and somewhat sheepish grin. "I didn't know I was allergic until I was twelve," he continued to explain. "We were in Ireland, for Christmas; I was now deemed 'old enough' by my grandparents to join them at the main dining table," he went on, remembering the time very clearly. "But not long after I consumed something with crab meat at the table, my face started to swell, my lips started to burn, and large, pink blotches began to appear on my skin—my poor mother, she was panicking, while my grandparents looked horrified that their Christmas dinner was being interrupted."

At the time, he had been terrified at what was happening to him. Years later, when his uncles still told the story about him "turning into a blowfish", he was absolutely embarrassed, and even angered that they were trying to humiliate him. But now, as he told this story from his past, he found himself chuckling, and felt a smile spread even further across his lips as he watched her, once again, begin to transform.

It was still a far cry from that confident woman he had first met the other night, but he could see her, hidden, in the depths of her lovely blue eyes and the shy smile which she returned. And oh, how he longed for her to come back…

"Well, we must make sure Mrs. Bird doesn't serve anything with crab while you are here then, Mr. Bellasis," Lady Mary remarked, bringing him back, forcing himself to turn his gaze away from the woman to his right, and back to his hosts across the table.

Remember why you're here. Remember why you were asked, and why you accepted the invitation!

The conversation from before truly resumed then, and it was decided that as soon as they were done with breakfast, he, Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary, would take their leave, so that he could see the lands surrounding Downton, and get an idea as to the amount of work that needed to be done. Lord Grantham was invited to join them, but he declined this time, and asked for them to kindly report back afterward.

The butler was called away to attend to something downstairs, apologizing before he took his leave, but by that point they were nearly finished with their breakfast. He glanced briefly at Lady Sybil, noticing how she was being quiet, even quieter than she had been the previous evening, and felt the urge to say something, just…to hear her voice. But Lady Mary was rising to her feet, and Tom rose to his out of respect, asking that they give her but a few minutes to properly change for their drive, and then she would be ready to go. He was about to sit back down, when Lady Sybil decided to rise at that moment too.

"I…I think I'll go back to my room," she murmured to…well, to no one in particular it seemed, or perhaps to all of them? He wasn't sure; she didn't seem to be sure either. She rose, taking her plate with her, then paused…looked at it, looked at where Lady Mary had been sitting, and then…with some reluctance, it seemed, lowered her plate back to the table, before quickly shuffling away from where she had been sitting.

Lord Grantham lowered his newspaper at her words, his brow furrowed slightly, but instead of asking if she was alright, gave a little shrug of his shoulders and resumed reading again. Mr. Crawley just gave a nod of his head at his sister-in-law, wished her a pleasant morning, and then returned his attentions to the last of his breakfast.

"Yes!"

Tom suddenly realize that the word had come from him.

She paused, as she had just about to leave the room, and looked over her shoulder at him, a little confused by the outburst.

In his mind, he was kicking himself.

"I hope you have a pleasant morning as well, Lady Sybil," he tried to explain, though he felt like an arse and once again, wished for that hole to swallow him up.

But then she smiled. A lovely, blushing smile…and there was a sparkle in her eye…and that sparkle seemed to shine when her lips broadened into a grin, and soft giggle rose up and escaped her throat.

"You as well…Mr. Bellasis," she murmured, before turning on her heel then and swiftly walking away, leaving him standing there, watching her retreat, the sound of her footsteps on the hall floor echoing in his ears.

…Or was that the strange, erratic beatings of his heart?

It was his idea to drive, though Mr. Crawley had started to protest as they approached the garage. "You don't know the land like we do," he had begun, but Tom shook his head with a smile.

"I'll need to learn it while I'm here, and this way I will," he argued. Mr. Crawley opened his mouth, but Tom was quick to stop him from many any further protests. "No, I insist, let me drive!"

And suddenly…for the first time in…years, really…an old feeling, a strange…tug…if you could call it that…resurfaced, and Tom Bellasis froze at the entrance to the Downton garage, as the feeling increased. Something was drawing in…

Tom stared at the garage, unsure why this old feeling had returned, or what was the cause for it. In all honesty, he hadn't felt this tug since his youth, when his family would regularly travel to Ireland in the summer. Even though he never cared for the city and all its hustle and bustle, when he was in Ireland he always felt a longing to go and see Dublin, though he couldn't exactly explain why. But…it felt as if something were calling him, that somewhere in Dublin, something was waiting for him, waiting to be discovered…

But what was it? He couldn't explain these strange feelings, nor did he really try. He kept them completely to himself, and if truth be known, they frightened him too. There were plenty of opportunities to go to Dublin during those summer holidays, but his fear of the unknown, or rather, his fear of not understanding why he felt this longing to find and reconnect with something in the Irish capital, was what kept him away and from insisting that their family take a trip.

And once again, that feeling had returned. Only it seemed madder, because now it was compelling him into the Downton garage of all places, and for whatever reason? Tom shook his head, deciding to blame all these strange emotions on the simple fact that he was in an unfamiliar place.

"Mr. Bellasis?"

He was shaken from his silent stupor by Mr. Crawley calling from behind him. He turned, gave his host a smile and waved his hand, a sign that he wouldn't be long, and moved to where his car had been parked.

"Can I help you with something?"

He froze at the voice. His heart suddenly began to throb, to the point that it actually hurt! Tom lifted his hand and clutched his chest, wincing slightly, but the throb soon became a dull ache, and then finally began to fade altogether, just as quickly as it had started.

He peered into the shadows, trying to see where the voice was coming from. There was no one else standing inside from what he could see…but there was a pair of legs sticking out from under one of Lord Grantham's motors.

"No…no, thank you," he murmured to the other man, his brow furrowed slightly with confusion. Had his ears misheard him? Or…had that been an Irish accent? The chauffeur I met briefly yesterday wasn't Irish, he recalled. Who was this man?

"Are you sure?" the disembodied voice spoke again. He made a motion to pull himself out from under the car he was fixing, but Tom spoke before he could.

"No, thank you, it's alright—I'm just here to retrieve my car," he explained. "The roadster," he added, in case the man needed to know which one he was taking. He didn't want to cause a member of staff any panic.

The mechanic, or…whoever the Irishman was, had made another motion to pull himself out and up, but stopped halfway, his head still blocked beneath the motor.

"Are you Mr. Bellasis?"

Tom froze at the question, more so because…the voice sounded eerily strange and familiar to him. That's only because he's an Irishman and it's reminding you of Ireland, that's all! Yet why was his heart having a more difficult time in believing the reasons his head was giving him?

"I am…" he answered, and not believing that just because his father was a baronet that made him "superior" over another human being, he took a step forward and asked, "And your name?"

"Branson!" the man gritted, his voice sounding very frustrated.

That ache he had been feeling in his chest tightened once again. Branson…why, why did that name sound so familiar? Why did that name FEEL so familiar?

The mechanic—Branson—started to mutter something in a language that wasn't English. And though Tom Bellasis spoke very little Irish, he did recognize a few words, including the curse Mr. Branson had just uttered.

"Are you alright?" he asked, taking a step towards the car Branson was hidden under. Was the man stuck?

"I'm fine!" he muttered in frustration. "Just…my sleeve," he explained. "It's caught on something…"

"Mr. Bellasis?"

Tom turned his head to see both Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary standing in the entrance of the garage, Lady Mary's fine eyebrows knit close together in a frown of confusion at what was taking so long.

"My apologies," he murmured to his hosts, before turning his head once more to the Irishman who remained stuck under the car. "And my apologies to you…Mr. Branson," he added, speaking the Irish mechanic's name for the first time, finding it both strange and familiar all at once. "I'll not keep you from your work, and I apologize for any distraction I caused."

It was difficult, but he forced himself to turn away from the mechanic, to turn back and face his hosts who were waiting expectantly to begin their journey. Had they not been there, he may have lingered a bit longer until Mr. Branson had managed to free his sleeve and rise up from underneath the car to speak with him face to face.

But the truth of the matter was, he did have people waiting for him. And just like Mr. Branson, he too had a job to do right now, so he forced himself away, wincing at the tug in his chest that seemed to tighten even harder now that he was stepping away, and without a backwards glance, climbed into his Roadster, started the engine, and as soon as both Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley were situated in the back, drove away from the garage, expecting that strange tug to lessen with each yard.

It didn't, however. Or it didn't right away. And he wasn't the only one feeling it. Because as soon as the car had managed to drive away, Tom Branson was able to free his sleeve at last and pushed himself up and out from under that car with such speed, you would think he was jumping from a burning building! He leapt to his feet and stared at the retreating car, wondering what on earth had just taken place, why the man with the strange Yorkshire/Irish accent sounded so…familiar to him, and why this strange, dull ache that had been dormant all these years, suddenly returned with full force while he was lying beneath Lord Grantham's motor, speaking to his new employer's guest.

Just who was this Mr. Bellasis? Why did he sound so strange, and yet so familiar too? He groaned as he realized that there was a rip in his sleeve (and this shirt was brand new, as well). Perhaps "Sybil-Sarah" could sew a patch for him? The thought made him smile, but only briefly. He was still troubled by what had—or hadn't, really—just occurred there between himself and the strange Mr. Bellasis.

AHHH! Please don't hurt me for not having them "meet" face to face yet :oP I know, I know, many of you are anxious for this to happen, but come on ;o) the story is only getting started! But be patient gentle readers, I promise to make it worth your while. But at least they got to speak to each other! And wonder...what the heck is going on? ;o) I hope this satisfies for the moment now! *ducking and hiding before you get pitch forks*