Thank you for the wonderful reviews! They mean so much. I wanted to bring Branson back to report on a local by-election, but I was expecting that there wasn't one in the time frame that I had in mind, so I was expecting to have to make one up. However, I looked up the by-elections between 1918-1931 and sure enough, there was one in Ripon on 5th December 1925. I couldn't believe it! Anyway, we see now the depth of Sybil's regret and the awkward situation she will have to deal with.

Early November 1925

Sybil stood, with her clipboard in hand, watching aimlessly as her father, her dear brother in law Matthew, her two nephews Charles and Edward and Mr Carson helped pile numerous logs onto the ever growing bonfire. She was really supposed to be overseeing the arrangement of the stalls for this evening's celebrations, however, there really wasn't much to it; ordering a table here, a table there and the tombola here. Mrs Hughes, no Mrs Carson (she mentally corrected herself) seemed to have it all under control, and so she stood here, watching everything happen around her and feeling completely useless. She was once again reminded of that day nine years ago when she received news of Tom Bellisis' passing, and she felt something snap inside of her. The feeling of needing to do something was like a raging fire within her, and she found her calling in nursing. Her heart felt numb and empty now. No raging fire, no burning passion for anything, just a droning sense of regret. The letters TB seemed engraved on her heart, and it hurt like hell.

Shortly after the death of the poor Miss Lavinia Swire, Sybil had received the most unexpected of proposals from Matthew himself, yet she knew that it was simply what they called "the rebound" , she didn't feel anything for Matthew and that Mary would never forgive her if she accepted. Clearly she had made the correct decision to decline such an offer, as she was watching him now with his two sons, she can't imagine a more natural and happy looking family in the world. Mary was resting on the bench close to the house, wrapped up in a blanket and sipping hot coco as "She had never been more ill in her entire life!" She'd told Sybil earlier that day in the most unconvincing of ill-sounding voices. She couldn't say she wasn't the slightest bit jealous of Mary, or Edith for that matter with all the male attention she was receiving at the moment (a stark contrast from ten years ago, Sybil thought), but any envy was soon quelled with the sight and the knowledge that life was going well for them both now. She was happy if they were happy. Well, she could almost be happy.

"Sybil dear!" She was broken out of her reverie by her father. "Come help us with the bonfire!" She proceeded to walk over to large group, put down her bare clipboard and started piling the logs on. She noticed her granny coming to join in as well, and smiled as she came nearer, saying,

"Granny! We could use with an extra pair of hands!"

"Oh no my dear, I'm afraid the hands are long past their best. Anyway, Dr Clarkson advised against too much physical activity if I'm planning on holding on much longer!"

"Mama, please don't talk like that!" Robert protested.

"Well somebody has to! I'm surprised none of you have measured me for my coffin yet!" To that, the group shook their heads in disbelief, until Isobel came sauntering up.

"Ah! I thought I would find you all here!"

"Well, yes mother, when I told you I would be helping up at the house with the bonfire, I meant I would be helping up at the house with the bonfire." Matthew smirked at his youngest, who let out a tiny giggle.

"Anyway, I came to tell you some news that I thought you might like to hear." Isobel raised her voice a little. "I came to tell you that apparently your former chauffeur," Sybil's face shot up to meet Isobel's, "Tom Branson, is on business round Yorkshire next week, reporting on the Ripon by-election that's coming up in a month."

Silence. That's all she could hear. She looked round at the group and could tell that everybody else had a pleasant smile on their faces, but no one was speaking. The next thing she heard was her father's commanding voice.

"Well, we must invite him over." To this Sybil almost collapsed on the floor from shock. Her father? Inviting the Irish socialist former chauffeur to stay? Her pulse quickened to the point where she felt it was going to explode and she wanted to scream out.

"That's sounds like a wonderful idea Robert!" Violet's voice rang out.

"I hoped you would agree to that. It would be quite nice to catch up with him after so long, don't you agree?" Isobel asked.

"Indeed," was Robert's reply. "Especially now that he is in charge of one of the biggest newspapers in Ireland, I think we should welcome him back to the place he called home for five years." Cora's expression was that of worry for her youngest daughter standing opposite her. She wanted to protest; to try and spare her from the awkward situation they would inevitably find themselves in. She couldn't speak one word out against her husband's idea. She may want to spare Sybil from that meeting, but to give away a secret as personal as that to the one man she feared the reaction from most, would be nothing short of betrayal.

"Will he bring any friends or family with him?" Robert asked Isobel.

"I'm not sure. I'm only bearing the news, you'll have to ask him yourself when you invite him."

Sybil couldn't bare it any longer. She had to get some space.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm feeling a bit too cold. I need to go back inside now." Her excuse seemed reasonable, but not realistic enough for her mother. Of course she knew the real reason. Sybil walked faster than she had done for seven years back up to her room. Tom Branson, of all people had to come and report the by-election next month. She thought that maybe because of Irish independence he wouldn't cover foreign politics, but no! He had to come back to England, he had to come to Yorkshire. Ripon! Of all the by-elections in the country, he felt he had to come and cover that one. She knew how their meeting would go. She'd give a faint smile and shake his hand, he'll smile that usual smug smile and give her a quick wink, she felt so angry right now. By the time her thought process had reached this far, she had reached her room and collapsed back onto the bed. Then he would introduce his…his wife…and children, and then her father will ask over dinner when they both met, and how he knew he wanted to marry her, and their wedding and when their children were born, and it will be some other woman with the name Mrs Branson.

A few tears began to form in the corner of her eyes when she heard a short couple of knocks on her door and her mother entered.

"My darling!" She came hurrying to her daughter's side on the bed as she sat up, much like their conversation almost seven years ago.

"To think, soon he'll be walking through this house again. Upstairs as well as down." Sybil's tears began to tumble over as she utter the last sentence.

"Sybil, you know your father would not have accepted the marriage, barely anybody in the family would have."

"You know that I wouldn't have cared about that. Not being able to see them again was the stumbling block and that hardly seems like such a big issue now!" Sybil cried, wiping away her tears with her handkerchief.

"My dear. To become engaged at 21, at the end of a world war and in the middle of a war of independence, to a young Irish chauffeur who had no fortune and no expectations," Sybil let out another few tears upon hearing those words. Bet on me, she recalled. She believed him, her mother changed her mind and now she wished that conversation had never happened. "You would indeed have been throwing yourself away."

"I understand mama, but I'm 28! Look at him now, with his large newspaper rivalling Sir Richard Carlisle's, his comfy house and secure living in Dublin. I would have been happy with him without all of that, and now my only chance of happiness is gone!"

"Has he written to you?"

"No, but I fully expect him to arrive with a smiling, adoring wife and a good few children. Not that I've had any conformation of that fact, but that is what to be expected with him! Someone as eligible and wonderful as him!"

"Well, maybe the fact that he hasn't contacted you since then indicates that maybe his intentions towards you were not as sincere as you first believed."

"Not as sincere?" Sybil rose her voice. "Not as sincere? He waited slightly more than two years for my answer and he was prepared to wait for as long as it took for me to give it. He was prepared to lose his job, his reputation and the respect of his family, like I was prepared to do the same with mine!" Cora shifted uncomfortably. She'd always hoped that her daughter had gotten over this affair, yet what she was seeing now was a love far deeper than what she had experienced herself on her wedding day. "I may not have looked it mama, but believe me I have been very unhappy, and I think very differently now from what I was persuaded to think almost seven years ago."

"Sybil darling, I said it then and I'll say it again now. One day you will find someone who will love you as you deserve."

"Oh but he would've, if I had let him!" To this, Cora gave her daughter one last hug, before getting up and leaving the Sybil to her solitude.

5th November 1925,

Dear diary, the fireworks are popping and booming outside and the bonfire is burning fiercely; another successful fundraiser for the hospital! As always, I am enjoying the atmosphere of the event from the peace and quiet of my room, but I can still hear the bustling crowds from in here. I used to enjoy this night like it was Christmas. The fireworks bursting in the black night sky, like some sort of beacon for the future; a symbol of hope for tomorrow. Now all I can focus on is the dark sky surrounding me.

He's coming here. I can't bring my head around it, he's coming back here. Papa will invite him to stay and I will have to talk to him, dine with him, dance with him as if he were one of the eligible lords and dukes that I had to entertain on my coming out season. I mean…I know he's just as eligible as them, even more so, but it's the fact that I will have to see him again, after I broke his heart and broke mine in doing so. My only consolation (if that is what you can call it) is that I probably won't have to treat him exactly like an eligible bachelor, as I doubt…I doubt-I doubt he will be a bachelor. I can't bear the thought. He'll bring his wife…and his children no doubt! I mean, I haven't had any conformation of this, but of course he'll be married! Who wouldn't want to marry him now? I missed my chance and now I am having to pay the consequences for listening to my family over my heart.

I'm sorry for all the smudges; It's not easy keeping the page clean when you're crying like this. Honestly! What's wrong with me? I'm surprised this handkerchief hasn't shrivelled up from all the saline it's had to take in.

My chance of happiness is gone forever. I know it. I could never be happy with any other man. Even if he spoke words of equality and change, of devotion and love. Even if he had enough money to keep me satisfied and didn't quell my hunger to change the world. Even if he had the most beautiful blue eyes and a smile that could light up the world. Goodness, even if he had a heart-warming Irish accent and drove cars for a living! I never could be happy. It wouldn't be him. I wish him happiness and I wish him well, even if I can never be well again.