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He gave her a half hour, thumbing idly through a book about hunting dogs that had been left out for the entertainment of the guests, cold tea at his elbow. To keep from wondering what she was thinking about alone in their room, he thought about how in the world he would begin to explain all this to his mother.

She sat on the corner of the bed thinking about momentum, the life-blood of rebellion. She wished they had kept driving, farther and faster, too fast to think about the recriminations and consequences, her parents' reaction when they learned the chauffeur had indeed burned the place down and she had lit the match. They didn't have to stop- why did we stop?- it didn't have to be Gretna Green, any town in Scotland would do, they could have chased the dawn all the way to Edinburgh.

Scotland - 130km

Once they were safely on the road and out of town, Edith asked again about the letter. Mary reluctantly took it out of her pocket. "I can't read it, there's not enough light," she fibbed. "Anna, would you do it?" Anna took the letter and, swallowing hard, read the few sentences aloud:

To my family,

By the time you read this, I expect it will be morning and I will be taking that sacred vow to love, honor and be ever faithful to Tom Branson. I know this will come as quite a shock to you, but it is not a rash decision for us- we have been speaking of marriage for two years. I asked him to wait for me until the end of the war and with the war now over, it is my wish to be married immediately. We've taken the car to Gretna Green and shall return shortly.

I hope you will permit me to tell you more later, though I am prepared for the possibility that you will not wish to speak to me again.

Regardless I remain,

your loving daughter,
Sybil

"Two years?" Edith exclaimed. "Anna, did you know about this? Did they know downstairs?"

Anna didn't know what to say- she didn't want to lie, but the letter Mr. Branson had left for Lady Sybil wasn't her secret to tell and she had expressly promised she wouldn't. Fortunately, she was saved by Lady Mary. "Edith, don't be stupid. Of course no one knew. Carson will be as furious as Papa."

"Well, that's what I would have assumed," Edith huffed. "But obviously you knew and never said."

Mary was taken aback by Edith's assertion, but she didn't argue and Edith knew she was right. "I would never betray my sister," Mary informed her pointedly. "Not to our father and not to you."

He wasn't quite sure what to expect when he opened the door, but she was still dressed and sitting on the still-made bed. She startled a bit when he entered.

"Everything alright?" he asked tentatively.

She smiled. "Just fine."

"I thought you would be asleep."

"Oh. Right." She nodded towards the bed. "I wasn't sure what we wanted to do."

"I'll sleep in the chair." He couldn't quite decipher the expression on her face, but it wasn't the relief he expected. It looked like she might want to quibble, but decided against it- another iteration of how everything had been this evening, a little off-kilter, trying to dance but never quite finding the rhythm. The practical realities of being on the run were doing much to frustrate the romantic notions of running away together. They never write about this part in books.

"Mind if I wash up?" The words were an awkward intrusion into the silence.

"Not at all."

The bathroom door shut. Sybil sighed and got up to search for extra blankets. Yes, we should have kept driving, all the way to Edinburgh and tomorrow because then it would be done and they would be in a hotel room knowing exactly what they were supposed to do, instead of fumbling around the bed and the chair and each other.

Scotland - 120 km

They raced through the cold, black night in silence. Mary spent most of the ride watching the road and gripping the inside handle, thinking it was entirely likely she would meet her end tonight at the hands of Edith's driving. Any time spent not fearing for her life or shooting daggers to her right after an especially jarring swerve or brake, she spent thinking about what she would say to Sybil. If Edith doesn't kill us first.

Sybil was not even the age she had been that fateful day when Evelyn had brought a foreign visitor to the house. Mary thought about where her mind and her heart were at that point in her life. I know how she feels, but she has no idea how much she doesn't know. She thinks she's prepared to bear whatever comes, but she can't imagine how hard it will hit her or how long a lifetime is to live.

But good luck trying to convince Sybil of that. It had taken Kemal Pamuk all of a day to talk Mary out of her future; Branson had been working on Sybil for five years.

The easy part will be arriving alive, she thought, glaring at Edith as the car banged over another pothole.

He came out from washing up, still toweling off, and she went to trade places, taking a few toiletries she had brought with her. "I found some extra blankets. They're on the bed." She indicated the hand towel he was holding. "Are you done with that? I can hang it up."

"Thank you," he replied, letting her take it and fold it. "Do you need help with your hair?"

"No, I pinned it myself. It'll come down easily enough." She smiled at him. "I won't be long."

The nervous, discordant energy bouncing between them proved too much to bear and he broke, his hand falling on her arm as she passed. "It's alright like this, you and me?"

"Yes." Her response was both automatic and true, she was relieved he had said something, and the relief quickened in his eyes tugged at her heart. "It's much better than alright." She didn't have a free hand so she reached her lips to his, their first contact since she'd come running down to the garage, suitcase in hand, a lifetime ago and he had swept her into his arms, marking the start of their new life with ardent kisses for courage and luck.

And just like that, it became much better.

Scotland - 100km

Anna sat in the back seat and thought about how Mr. Branson greeted her every morning, had greeted her this morning, with a cheerful hello at the start of what was to be another day of waiting, another day of fearing all would be lost today. Every day for two years- 730 days- he had asked; for 729 of them she had said maybe or not yet or flat-out no. How many of those days had he believed her? Anna wondered. But he hadn't ever given up. And then, on the 730th day, he got what he wanted, the words yes and now.

She thought about Lady Sybil earlier this evening, sitting in her bedroom and her world full of fine things, none finer than her birthright which would afford her any number of futures that Anna couldn't even begin to dream of. She had walked away from all of it, all for this love.

Lady Sybil was often dismissed by her family and the staff as naive, but Anna suspected she was just wise beyond the years.

What Anna did not think about was how Lady Mary had gasped out the words in Lady Sybil's letter- "Gretna Green" and "elope"- without ever mentioning with whom. It wasn't her place to wonder why that wasn't a surprise and she didn't. Anna wasn't actually one of them, as much as it might seem sometimes- like now, the three girls racing across the north of England in the second car stolen from Lord Grantham tonight.

He was fixing the chair into a makeshift bed when she came out of the bathroom. "I don't like this," she frowned. "It won't be at all comfortable for you."

"I'll be fine," he assured her. "It's just for a few hours. And I can sleep anywhere." That admission struck her; they had been friends for years, they had been pretending for years, but they had been engaged for only one day. There was so much they didn't know about each other- for example, sleeping habits- and so much they had painstakingly avoided, especially after York. She suddenly started to laugh.

"What is it?"

"I only just learned tonight how you take your tea. In five years, we've never had tea together before."

He pondered it for a moment. "That's true."

"Silly, isn't it? It seems like such an inconsequential thing, but we'll do it every day of our lives. It's a good thing to know about a person." She caught herself and amended, "A husband."

She was still amused, as she sorted through her suitcase, smiling and looking perfectly beautiful in plain clothes with her hair down. "I'm sorry that's the extent of our courtship," he rued. "One cup of tea, courtesy of an inn near to nowhere."

"That's terrible," she chided. "My grandmother would not approve."

"I'll bet."

"She would say you shouldn't be lamenting a one-day courtship," she clarified. "But rather, you should boasting that you hit my heart on the first try. We've got to work with what we've got and all that." She surveyed the room, hands on her hips. "I don't think I'm going to change. As you said, it's just for a few hours. Do you mind if I take one of the blankets?"

"No," he answered. "Lie down." She did and he spread it over her. "Good?" She nodded. "Good." She held his gaze for a moment, before he leaned over and kissed the crown of her head, lingering there. "Goodnight. And I am sorry. I know neither of us care much about rules or custom, but I would have been proud to court you properly, to take you places-"

"You are taking me places," she interrupted softly. "Places I actually want to go, not the town square of Downton."

"When we're married, I'll take you anywhere you like."

"Hmmm..." She pulled back to look at him. "How about the South Seas? Or a desert in the West?"

"Anywhere."

"Do you know where I'd like to go right now?"

"No," he whispered, brushing a loose stand off her forehead. "Where?"

"Nowhere." She reached her arms around his neck, taking him with her as she leaned back against the pillow. "Nowhere else in the whole world."

Scotland - 80km

Edith was not so seasoned a driver that she could afford to think much beyond navigating the road in front of her and keeping control of the car, but on the long, smooth stretches, she allowed her mind to drift. (She justified it as a lesser evil than turning and punching Mary square in the nose, which would surely send the car careening into a ditch.)

No one had ever loved her- not John, not Sir Anthony, not Patrick or P. Gordon, whoever he was. Falling in love with Mary- God knows why- came as easily as breathing for men. Now, it seemed Sybil had been gifted with the same bewitching power as their older sister (along with the beauty and the confidence and the charm et cetera, et cetera).

For goodness sake, she had probably spent more time with Branson than Sybil, all those hours alone when he was teaching her how to drive. They had made conversation, perfectly fine conversation in fact, but he had never tried to, never showed even an inkling- quite right, of course, that's how it should be, he was not allowed to even dare think about it. But he had thought about it, feverishly, when it was Sybil. He fell under Sybil's spell, fell hard, spent two years of his life waiting, pleading, persuading, wanting to steal away with her, desperately in love, he'll never love another, she is the only one, they simply must be married, a life without her would not be worth living.

Meanwhile, that farmer's wife had sent a letter to the house to let her know her presence was no longer desired. Mary and Sybil were practically writing their own novels, while all she had were a few hastily-written kiss-off notes. God must have a real sense of humor.

And anyway, aren't Sybil and Branson too high-minded for all this romanticism, always going on about grave matters like equality and politics? Isn't this incredibly indulgent for a couple of self-avowed socialists, all this passion and urgency and to-hell-with-everyone-else-and-the-world togetherness?

Oh, what of it? Edith didn't know anything about their relationship, the only ideas she has about love are the ones she imagines for herself, once again gone to one of her sisters.

"Goodnight," he said- instructed, really- for the third time. She finally released his hand, looking at him from the half-propped pillow with a little pout and love-drowsed eyes. He blew her a kiss from the chair.

"It's really not necessary. You could just sleep on the other side, it's far more comfortable than that chair." She wanted him close because when he was close she thought only of the future; it was when they were apart that the past sneaked in.

"The light, love."

Sybil heaved a sigh of resignation and turned it out, before revealing into the darkness, "My parents share a bed." She wasn't sure why she was telling him that, other than it had been on her mind since visiting with her mother last night. "They pretend not to, but they do. I'm sure you didn't expect that. "

She heard him chuckle across from her. "I assure you I have never given one thought to your parents' sleeping arrangements."

"They weren't in love when they married. My father married my mother for her money. I'm not really sure why she married him. A title, I suppose, but she's so American it's rather funny to figure so. Maybe she loved him, I'm not sure. We're not supposed to know any of that, but Mama told Mary when Mary got engaged to Patrick and Mary told me. Mama's point to Mary was that a marriage that's loveless at the start won't necessarily be loveless forever."

"Did your sister believe her?"

Sybil smiled, recalling Mary's aghast face. "No."

"Clever girl."

"But Mary would have married him out of duty if she had had to, just like my father married my mother." She had a realization. "I think Papa won't accept my premise that I couldn't be happy any other way. He'll think I could be, I just didn't want to try to be."

There was a long pause before he asked, "What do you think about that?"

He thought she would take awhile, carefully choosing her words, but she answered immediately. "I don't think it's true for me. I couldn't be happy. Maybe it makes me selfish, but it's the truth." She was quiet for a moment. "Do you remember the first time you took my hand, at the garden party?"

"Of course I remember. But I didn't actually take your hand," he corrected. "I never intended to take it, I mean. It just happened."

"I felt something very strong when it happened," she confessed. "Different than with other boys. I thought it was just my age, but looking back, I don't think it was that. Looking back, I think, in that moment, I might have heard the faintest echo of yes."

Scotland - 65km

"Now listen up," Mary began, trying to steady her voice, trying to believe that Sybil had kept her word and her virtue, trying to convince herself this disaster could still be undone. "All we need to do right now is get Sybil in the car. We don't need her to say she doesn't love him or agree that marrying him will ruin her life. She doesn't have to break with him, she doesn't have to do anything other than get in the car and come home. That's it. So don't say anything stupid. In fact, don't say anything at all. Just let me do the talking."

"Do you think it was fate?" she asked quietly into the darkness.

"How do you mean?"

"Do you think we were supposed to meet, that you happened to come to England right as our old chauffeur was leaving?"

"I don't know," he answered. "What do you think?"

"I don't know either. But I suppose if we think that's fate, then everything else that happens must be fated too."

The conversation was stopped by a commotion in the stairwell and then the door to their room swung open.