Chapter 12
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Grantham House
London
Summer of 1886
...
Large and ornate flower arrangements of carnations and roses festooned the centre of the Crawley's dining room table at Grantham House, bathed in candlelight and firelight.
Having long since tuned out the ongoing conversation between her mother and Edith, Sybil's eyes wandered over the faces of each of her family members in turn, lips pursed and brows furrowed ever so slightly.
Silently, she couldn't help but imagine how each of them would react to the news that she was becoming increasingly prepared to impart onto them in the near future.
Easily, she could picture her father's anger and wounded pride, her grandmother's shock and disapproval and her mother's grave disappointment.
It pained Sybil to acknowledge the fact that her family would likely abhor the mere prospect of welcoming Tom as her husband. Despite this however, she knew her own determination would not waver in the face of her family's objection.
In spite of everything, in her heart Sybil had already made her decision and every time she would choose Tom Branson...her Tom.
With a faint smile playing about her lips, she thought of her response when the aforementioned Irishman first promised to wait for her, to wait forever if he had to.
(There was no way Sybil would have him wait forever!)
Recalling his words, even days later, still caused a contagion of warmth to swell deep in the pit of her stomach. Becoming more light-hearted by the minute, Sybil thought of the surprise and happiness she had seen light up his eyes when she responded to his question with her heart instead of her head, a perfect contradiction to the answer that both of them would have once expected.
She bit her lip, preventing her discreet smile from growing any more noticeable.
'I need more time. Will you wait?'
'I'd wait forever.'
I'm not asking for forever, just a few more weeks.'
Most of all Sybil mused over the quite decided shift that she had noticed in her and Tom's interactions since that night in the Napier's garden. She thought of how, in recent days, his hands sometimes strayed rather boldly away from just holding hers to touch her waist and lower back.
She thought of how she too had become bolder in her actions, having reached out and caressed Tom's cheek the previous day when he had suggested sneaking her out of Grantham House for a fun (but totally innocent, he had immediately assured her with a playful grin) evening out in London.
Sybil felt herself blush darkly at the recollection, wondering how anything to do with an evening spent alone with Tom could be considered entirely innocent.
It was a thought that made her stomach jolt a little (or perhaps more than just a little) with anticipation.
Even though she knew her behaviour to be discourteous. Sybil could scarcely stop herself from peering up at the large grandfather clock that her parents had been given as a wedding gift years previously.
With regret, she noted that it was still only a little after eight in the evening...far too early for her to slip away unnoticed.
Eyes leaving her parents and grandmother, Sybil turned her gaze to the end of the table—her eyes finding her eldest sister Mary, who seemed deep in conversation with an inappropriate suitor of her own.
Sybil watched curiously as her sister's cheeks darkened and the dark and handsome stranger beside her leaned in close to whisper something in the eldest Crawley sister's ear.
Mary smiled and giggled under the attention of Kemal Pamuk.
To the best of Sybil's knowledge, the young Turkish man was a friend of Evelyn Napier's. He had asked her father for permission to stay on with them at Grantham House when the Napiers were forced to return North on business. According to her father, the younger man had wanted to see the London season to its conclusion.
The full extent of the news had been relayed by Robert several mornings earlier at breakfast, much to the barely concealed delight of Mary, the intrigue of the family and the disappointment of their cousin Matthew.
Frowning to herself, Sybil wasn't entirely sure whether to be happy for her older sister or confused by the bizarre and unexpected nature of her behaviour.
For so long, Sybil had been certain that Mary had been simply withholding her feelings for Matthew, but now the latter was apparently cast out—seated between herself and Edith while Mary enjoyed the attentions of another .
Glancing over to the man on her own left, Sybil's eyes found the sullen face of her father's blonde haired heir. She sighed sympathetically, following his saddened gaze back to Mary and Pamuk.
Sybil half wished that she could assure Matthew of Mary's feelings but knew that in doing so she would be betraying her sister's confidence...something she would never do, even for her favourite cousin.
"How have you found your first London season, Matthew?", Sybil asked, grasping at straws in order to direct away her cousin's attention from her sister's smiles, smiles that were—much to the whole family's chagrin-not directed at him.
Matthew turned to face Sybil, eyes averted somewhat bashfully. It was evident to both of them that the youngest Crawley had noticed how her cousin's gaze had been consistently drawn back to Mary and her companion all evening long.
With a smile that did not quite reach his eye, Matthew responded to the question with a voice full of false mirth.
"Never mind about me, Sybil", he said dismissively, a touch of uncharacteristic sarcasm entering his voice.. "I'm always the very spirit of joy."
Sybil frowned a little, again finding herself struck with the urge to offer Matthew some verbal reassurance that Mary did-in fact- truly like him, but resolved not meddle in such sensitive and fragile matters...that was her grandmother's forte, not hers.
"Things will come right, Matthew", patting him on the arm, offering him the comfort of a friend and little sister. "I'm sure of it."
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To say Mary was enjoying herself was an understatement.
She liked how Kemal Pamuk's eyes flashed darkly beneath thick brunette lashes as he whispered suggestions of a total improper nature in her ear.
She liked how his hands, every so often, grasped at her knee through the thick silken fabric of her evening gown, causing her insides to curl up and purr even through her multiple layers.
As a distraction from her duties and pursuit of position, he was perfect.
More importantly than anything, Kemal Pamuk was not like Matthew...not in any way.
Matthew, the most true and perfect gentleman that had ever set foot in Downton, would never say or do the things Mary was sure her exotic and alluring Mr Pamuk would. It was part of the charm of the young Turkish diplomat, or so she tried desperately to assure herself...for he and her cousin were nothing alike.
With a man like Kemal Pamuk there was no danger of her falling, of her feeling anything more than she allowed herself to.
He had little but a wild streak, a large ego and a certain reckless abandon that she found wildly attractive...but nothing more.
For once, Mary believed herself on even footing.
He was a sinner, she saw it in his eyes, and that was all she wanted...or at least that was what Mary thought she wanted...
As Pamuk's lips met her ear lobe later in the evening as their party moved from the dining room to the drawing room, Mary felt her cheeks burn hotly.
She listened in disbelief to his proposition...it was certainly more than one step too far from her original intentions.
"You can still be a virgin for your wedding night."
A Short Note on Victorian Sexuality:
Lately, evidence has shown that Victorian sex was not polarised between female distaste ('Lie back and think of England', as one mother is famously said to have counselled her anxious, newly married daughter) and extra-marital male indulgence. These stereotypes of high prudery were famously critiqued by Michel Foucault as the 'repressive hypothesis': the idea that the Victorians could not mention sex. Foucault pointed out that, far from being silenced, sex was spoken everywhere in the 19th century in a wide range of contexts including the law, medicine, religion, education. Much academic and popular work since has considered the many ways in which Victorians did experience and speak of desire.
Instead many couples seem to have enjoyed mutual pleasure in what is now seen as a normal, modern manner. Certainly, the 1860s were briefly as 'permissive' as the same decade in the 20th century, while the 1890s saw an explosion of differing and conflicting positions that would later on characterise the era.
That being said however, sex outside marriage was looked down upon by the Victorians, with one guide for young women of the era warning that "kissing, fondling and caressing between lovers should never be tolerated unless there is at least an engagement to justify it".
Author's Note: I know, I'm sorry it's been a while but I do hope some of you are still enjoying this story. Let me know if you would rather me focus on this story or one of my others over the next few weeks.
Thank you all for your wonderful support so far. If you are enjoying the story so far (or even if you aren't), I would love to hear from you.
Pearlydewdrop xx
