Author's note

Thank you so much to everyone who has read/followed/reviewed/favourited this collection so far! I always love to hear from you.

This story was inspired by a photoset posted by my friend the Yankee Countess (to whom this story is dedicated) on Tumblr of Tom in his livery, which got me thinking about how Sybil might have felt about him when he was wearing it. I wanted to find a home for it, and decided to add it into this collection, as a story from Sybil and Tom's courtship at Downton Abbey and their journey towards their life together in Ireland.

Senses working overtime

It was the little wordless moments with Tom that had started to provoke these thoughts, thoughts Sybil had never had before. The smell of wet wool after a rain shower in the close air of the car, the creak of his leather boots as he changed gears, the cut of his dark green jacket which emphasised his strong shoulders, the tang of engine oil on her tongue as she found another excuse to go and visit him in the garage….

"Lady Sybil – are you ready for me to dress you for dinner yet?"

"Anna, is that you? Sorry, I was off in a dream. Yes, I'm quite ready thank you. How are you this evening?"

They fell easily into the friendly chat that was the hallmark of their relationship. As Anna helped Sybil into her new evening gown and twisted up her long, thick plaits behind her head, Sybil felt herself thinking about the journey she had just taken to Ripon. Tom had been wearing his winter driving gloves as the day was chilly, and it was surprising what kinds of thoughts she had found popping into her head as she watched him. Now, sitting at the mirror, she imagined how she might feel if he touched her while wearing them…

"Stop it Sybil!" she mentally admonished herself. Lifting her head and blazing out a confident smile, she thanked Anna and headed out the door, down to the dining room. She found herself drifting off again and again over dinner – more than once, someone had to repeat themselves before she realised they were speaking to her, and somehow her chair felt really hard and she kept shifting in her seat. Finally, Robert snapped irritably – "Sybil, what's gotten into you tonight? You're madder than a March hare. Sit still, for goodness' sake!" Sybil blushed, dropping her head, and did her best to avoid attention for the rest of the evening.

Finally the time came for the ladies to withdraw, and Sybil approached Cora – "Mama," she murmured, "Do you mind if I go up to my room? I'm not feeling quite the thing." Cora's face was full of concern – "Of course, darling – do you want me to call Dr Clarkson?" "Oh no, Mama, that won't be necessary. I think I just need to lie down for a while."

Sybil headed upstairs slowly, waiting for her mother to go into the drawing room, and then, almost without realising it, her feet set a course for the front door. Dodging past Carson who was doing his evening rounds of the house to ensure everything was as it should be, she found herself in the cold evening air as she headed around the back of the house, towards the garage.

The light was on – she knew that Tom sometimes liked to work late on engine maintenance and repairs at a time when the family didn't often need a car. She knew she should not do this, but somehow she couldn't stop herself. Pushing through the heavy garage door, she looked around – "Hello?"

She heard a noise and Tom emerged from under the Renault, a smear of oil across his forehead. "Lady Sybil? It's quite late – is everything all right?" Sybil looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. He had taken his jacket off and his shirtsleeves were rolled up, showing off his muscular forearms. His fair hair was tousled and his eyes looked dark blue, almost black in the dim light. As he bent over to put down his wrench, Sybil couldn't help noticing the way that his breeches stretched tightly across his arse in a way that was quite mesmerising. She almost wanted to drop her handkerchief, just to see him do that again…

Tom stood across from her, his arms folded across his chest and with an unreadable smile on his face. He and Sybil had been getting closer over the last several months, particularly since the incident of the count at Ripon where she had stood up for him, but he could not remember ever seeing her look at him quite like this before. It was almost as if… could it be? Was Sybil Crawley looking at him, Tom Branson, not just as the family chauffeur but as a man, and a man she found attractive? He found the thought very exciting and it made his heart race.

Both of them knew they should break the silence, bring this meeting onto some kind of normal plane – Sybil could order the car for tomorrow and call him "Branson", or Tom could offer an opinion about the latest goings on of the Pankhursts, but somehow, once their eyes met and locked, neither could think of anything to say. They were tongue tied – some kind of Rubicon had been crossed between them recently and it had taken until tonight for them to become aware of it.

Without speaking, Sybil found herself moving towards Tom. She knew that she had to be the one to take the next, fateful step – much as she was coming to understand that Tom longed to be closer to her, she also knew that the protocols of correct behaviour between a chauffeur and his daughter's employer meant that he would never break that invisible, impermeable barrier between them unless she invited him to.

They were within arm's length of each other now, and Sybil could not resist reaching up and touching Tom's cheek. The look in his eyes called out to her very soul – how could she not have realised this until now! For the first time, she used his name – "Tom? Say something, won't you?" At her words, Tom could stand it no more. He reached out to Sybil and gently, hesitantly, put his hand on her waist. His touch burned through the thin fabric of her dress, and she could not move away from him, even though she knew she should.

She looked at him, starry eyed, biting her lip, and Tom was irresistibly reminded of his Catholic childhood, going to Mass at St Teresa's. The altar had had a picture behind it of the saint in holy rapture, just like Sybil's face at that moment. Somehow he knew – just one more touch, and there would be no stopping the passion between them….

"Mr Branson, are you there?"

Tom's hand dropped – covered in confusion, he stepped back from Sybil. Thomas came into the garage - his dark, saturnine face clearly showed he knew there was something going on of which his Lordship would not approve, and he carefully stashed this knowledge away for later in case it was needed. "Lady Sybil, is everything all right?"

Sybil flushed and kicked herself – if only she could learn to dissemble a bit more, like her sister Mary! "Thank you Thomas, yes I was just visiting Branson to …" – she hesitated – what could she say? Tom dived in to fill the gap – "Lady Sybil was just dropping in to see if she had left her gloves in the car earlier. That was it, wasn't it, milady?" "Yes, thank you Branson, that was it. Anyway, do keep an eye out for them, won't you?" It was clear to both of them that Thomas would not be leaving without Sybil, and as they looked at each other, both could see disappointment that what had flared so unexpectedly to life between them could go no further that night.

"Are you ready, milady?" Thomas walked to the garage door, looking over his shoulder to say – "His Lordship needs the car at eight tomorrow morning – he's taking the early London train." "Thank you, Thomas," responded Tom, unable to tear his eyes away from Sybil as she walked unwillingly to the door. She turned back to him and said "Thank you Branson, and good evening." "Good evening, Lady Sybil" – and sweet dreams, he added silently. He already knew he would get no sleep that night… and wondered if she would…