Chapter 13
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Grantham House
London
Summer of 1886
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Rolling on to his back, Matthew stared a while at the ceiling. Trying to sleep, he had found, was rather futile. As he closed his eyes, they almost stung-open too long he supposed.
He had tried to fall in love again, he truly had.
After spending weeks in the company of many of the most charming women Matthew had met in his life, including the sweet and kind Lavinia Swire, he was still irrevocably hung up on his cousin. His heart bounded painfully in his chest at the thought of her...the only one he wanted, the one who most surely didn't seem to want him.
No matter how hard he tried, when Matthew closed his eyes Lady Mary Crawley was all he could see. Everyday he saw her, around the dinner table, in ballrooms or in her father's library, that was it; from that point on she was always on his mind. Her dark dancing eyes and tight lipped smile forever at the fridges of his thoughts.
There had been a time when Matthew had almost let himself believe that Mary felt the same way as he did, but not anymore. Most recently, she had seemed quite taken with some friend of Evelyn Napier's. He was a young Turkish diplomat by the name of Kemal Pamuk who, despite Matthew's attempts to see what Mary clearly saw in the man, gave him the most disconcerting of feelings.
Like poison, Matthew tried to swallow the jealousy that bubbled up in the pit of his stomach, it was a feeling he had sworn to himself that he would never own up to in spite of how his silence haunted him day and night.
Frustratedly, the heir to Downton Abbey threw aside his sheets and blankets stepping out on to the cool mahogany floor of his bedroom at Grantham House— desperately needing a drink.
Good God, he knew he needed one if he was ever to get to sleep tonight.
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London
Summer of 1886
...
Sybil felt her cheeks warm, flushed from an evening of dancing and sore from laughing and smiling. She giggled happily, never having felt freer.
"The vote on Gladstone's Home Rule Bill is taking place next week", Tom told her happily, recounted the news he had heard quietly from 'The Boss' himself down at the pub. "Parnell seems to think we've got a good chance of changing things."
Sybil glanced up at him, knowing how much support for this bill meant to Tom and the other members of the IPP. "That's fantastic news, Tom!", she replied genuinely. She may not have been Irish(or in any way close), but she cared quite a great deal about one Irishman in particular. "Do you think I could come along and watch."
Tom tilted his head sideways, as always surprised by her. "I don't see why not, if you want to."
Grinning Sybil, nodded decidedly. "Of course I do, I want to be there for you."
Her shoulder and hand brushed comfortably against Tom's as they made their way back to Grantham Place side by side. They took their sweet time strolling towards St James Square—purposefully prolonging their journey and postponing their goodnights.
"You'll never guess what Seamus said?"
"Oh God, it could've been anything. I wouldn't put much heed to what he says, Love. Especially after he's had a few."
Smilingly mischievously, Sybil recalled the friendly warning of Tom's childhood best friend. She knew that he had meant it in jest and would recount it as such, but that didn't meant that Sybil wasn't just a little concerned that there was some merit to his joking and teasing.
"He said to watch out for your mother. Apparently she tends to tear stripes of anyone who would dare hurt her little boy."
At this Tom reddened up to his ears, looking far more like a schoolboy than the twenty four year old man he was. Naturally, Seamus—and several others—had decided to recount to Sybil some of the more humiliating stories of his youth and his being a complete mammy's boy had become a particular topic for mortification.
Tom laughed slightly, shaking his head at the thought of his Mam back in Ireland. "There's probably some truth to that, darlin'. But I already know that Ma will be absolutely mad about you."
Overtly serious now, Sybil turned to face Tom properly, her eyes shining in hope. "Do you really think so?", she asked earnestly, a slight crease flickering between her brows.
If she was being honest, the situation regarding Tom's family—as well as her own—had become quite the subject of her worries as of late. Sybil knew that her own parents (her father especially) would be reluctant to accept the idea of someone like Tom as their son in law. However, she had also had come to realise that she, herself, may not be The Branson's idea of a suitable choice in wife for Tom either, what with their Irish Nationalists leanings and all...
"Because I do want to get along with them, your family."
Even though it was dark out, his bright blue eyes shone at Sybil's words. Tom was looking down at her in that same affectionate, proud, delighted way that he had been all evening—whether he'd been eagerly teaching her the steps to the Siege of Ennis or watching her adamantly defend her differing opinions amongst his equally political and hot headed friends.
This time however, it was his expression in the pub times ten.
"They'll love you, Sybil. They'd be fools not to."
Relaxing slightly, Sybil edged closer to him (to hell with propriety!). She couldn't decide whether her boldness was a product of the glass of Guinness she'd consumed earlier or just a more overwhelming than usual desire to be nearer to the man she...loved.
Her insides curled up in satisfaction at the admission, even if it was one she had not yet given voice to...she loved Tom...was in love with Tom. Goodness, how badly she wanted to tell him so.
It wasn't an admission that dramatically dropped out of the sky and into her heart like the hopeless romantic in Sybil always thought it would. It wasn't some grand lightening bolt moment where she suddenly realised that Tom Branson was the love she had always imagined. There was nothing unexpected or untoward about the revelation, it had simply crept up on Sybil, little by little, and engulfed her heart. It was just there, as plain as day...as real as the man himself who stood before her...looking at her with such openness and love.
Beaming, Sybil didn't think twice before reaching out and looping her arms around Tom—her Tom. A little hesitant, but as sincere as ever, she felt as his hands snake around her waist in return—as warm and natural as she could ever have imagined them.
Tom smiled down at her, a single glance that had the strange but wonderful ability to light her right up from the inside out.
And she loved him!
She loved him!
With Tom's arms around her, the heaviness in Sybil's stomach (caused by the looming uncertainty of their future) eased and melted into the hopeful fluttering of butterfly wings. She sunk into the warmth of his side, holding Tom tighter—but appreciating how he didn't push her, how he had given her the opportunity to back away should she have wanted it.
(Sybil found immediately, and with a resounding intensity, that she didn't want any such thing...)
His Irish Sea blue eyes were candles in the night, their bright light a spark of passion that ignited a fire beneath her skin. Unconsciously, Sybil found her gaze flitting downwards towards Tom's lips and she watched, somewhat coyly, as they quirked into a soft smile and that made her own cheeks darkened bashfully.
Tom breathed out a shaky laugh, interlacing his fingers soothingly at her lower back. Sybil grinned at him a little nervously in return...neither of them quite sure what was to happen next.
Running her fingers, rather boldly, underneath the cuffs of his already rolled up sleeves, Sybil could feel the goosebumps that lined Tom's skin—not the kind one gets in the cold, but the kind that meant nothing else mattered except that moment.
Sybil bit her lip, watching as Tom's eyes darkened to the deepest of navy. She shivered slightly as his hands left her waist, slowly reaching upwards to cup her cheeks. The pull towards him was stronger then it had ever been before, positively magnetic.
Her heart caught in her throat mid beat.
"We can do this, can't we Tom?"
"Oh my darlin'", Tom whispered softly, his thumb skimming affectionately over the cartilage of her ear as he drank in the sight of her. His words were whispered like a prayer, so close now that Sybil could feel the warmth of his breath upon her face. "I believe in us."
At first, Sybil had wondered why she hadn't kissed him that night in the Napier's Garden when Tom had almost asked her to marry him...she had known then that she had wanted to, the thought had reoccurred to her quite often ever since.
But the reality behind her actions only truly struck her now, now Sybil knew that if Tom kissed her there would be no going back. She would be firmly and steadfastly in love with him; throwing caution entirely to the wind for the sake of what they both so desperately wanted...to be together.
Sybil knew that choices would have to be made, choices that would greatly disappointment many of the people she held most dearly to her heart. She thought of her Mama, her Papa, her sisters and her Granny and pushed aside all thoughts of their anger, disapproval and dismay. They would come around.
Sybil glanced up at her truest love and saw the sincerity that glistened in Tom's eyes—the honesty and determination that reassured her of just how much he wanted this—wanted them—every bit as much as she did.
She chooses him, chooses him with ever fibre of her being.
"Tom, will you kiss me?"
His eyes widened almost comically in disbelief, leaving Sybil stifling a giggle at his expression of amazement and joy. Tom looked positively shocked, and his eyes searched hers for even the slightest measure of uncertainty. "Are you sure?", he asked gently.
Nodding decidedly, Sybil already knew in her heart and soul she had made the right choice.
"Tom, kiss me and be my husband."
Tom smiled softly in return, chuckling as he shook his head. He should have known that his darling wonderful beautiful suffragist would skirt tradition and be the one to ask him for his hand instead of the other way around.
With a final shared smile, Tom dipped his head and his lips fell to hers. That was his answer.
"I do love you, mo ghrá gheal. So much. "
"And I love you."
...
Grantham House
London
Summer of 1886
...
Distractedly, Mary did her utmost to settle back into her pillows—squirming in a dually unladylike and uneasy fashion. She huffed out a sigh, toying with the ivory lace of her nightgown, and tried to reassure herself that her concerns were purely paranoid nonsense.
''May I come to you tonight?'.
Mary shivered slightly, remembering the fateful words of Kemal Pamuk-words he had spoken to her earlier on in the evening. She remembered how his eyes glinted and how his lips tugged upwards into a smoulder at her refusal to respond to such a question.
Surely, he wouldn't have taken her silent response as consent to such scandalous plans, plans that could ruin her.
How foolish she felt! Already, Mary could feel guilt and shame pool in the pit of her stomach. She didn't want this, didn't want things between her and the young Turkish diplomat to go this far. Flirting with Pamuk over the family dining room table had been nice. She had felt more adult and sophisticated than she had in her life. However, Mary didn't want this...she didn't want him in her bed. Perhaps, she could turn him away.
Perhaps, he wouldn't even come.
Desperately, Mary tried to focus on the book on her lap—Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy—and berated herself for descending into such an unfounded frenzied state, one that she would have simply loathed anyone to see her in. Thankfully, Mary thought to herself, neither Sybil nor Edith had noticed anything amiss with her as Anna had helped the trio of sisters prepare for bed.
No one suspected anything, for now that would have to suffice.
Mary glanced upwards, as her door opened with an enthusiastic clatter—revealing the devilishly handsome and expectant face of Kemal Pamuk.
"Good evening, Mary", he whispered smilingly, adjusting the belt on his scarlet dressing gown.
Panic caught in her throat and suddenly Mary felt an overwhelming desire to run, to hide. Her fingers clutched at her bed covers, pulling them defensively up to her chest. Her brain synapses fired up like an internal aurora borealis.
What on earth was she going to do?
Thank you all for all of your kindness so far! I've absolutely loved hearing from all of you and really hope you are still enjoying this story. I truly hope this new update finds you all safe and well in these weird times we're living in.
Sending my best,
Pearlydewdrop xx
