Thank you to everyone for the kind reviews. I could always use more...

I own nothing.

"And then of course there's that cream dress which she adores, but I've never seen why. It makes her eyes look so small and puffy…"

Sybil groaned inwardly. For the past ten minutes, her watch assured her that it was not an eternity like she imagined, she had been listening to Edith's criticizing of every single article of Mary's clothing. Her eyes flickered momentarily to the mirror where she could see nearly half of Branson's face in the reflection. The cold sense of dread that had lay, curled and waiting in her stomach worsened. She had not seen him smile once today.

It had been a cold greeting this morning, not at all like she was used to. Granted Edith was there, but still, it didn't explain how his hand didn't give hers a friendly squeeze when he helped her into the carriage, it didn't explain how his eyes never met with hers for more than an instant, even though she kept trying to search them out, it didn't explain why he didn't occasionally glance in the mirror to wink at her or flash her a smile.

Why! Sybil thought despairingly, It's as if there's nothing between us at all!

She was struck by her own thought. She immediately chided herself for it. There wasn't anything improper, they were simply- friends. The connection between them had been so natural and easy that Sybil had never really stopped to think about it before. Branson was easy to talk to, easy to be around, fun to be around. He listened to her, never chided her for her ideas, never scoffed at her for being young and foolish, as Mary and Edith were apt to do. It was as if he saw her for the woman that she truly was, instead of seeing her as the youngest, or the Earl's daughter. He was fond of her and she was – rather fond of him.

Now she had ruined it all! She had lied to him, taken advantage of him, almost gotten him fired! She was certain he was angry with her, why else would he be so stiff and formal?

She stared at the back of his head and had the sudden, overwhelming urge to kiss the sliver of skin that showed right above the collar of his uniform. To press her lips against his warm skin…

"Sybil!"

Sybil snapped her attention back to her sister, who was glaring daggers at her.

"You're not even listening to me."

"I'm sorry Edith, but you have to remember that Mary is my sister as well. I can't bear to hear you speak of her as if- as if you hated her."

"I see," said Edith, bristling, "You're on her side."

"I'm not on her side!" Sybil said, offended "If Mary were to speak of you so acidly, I wouldn't allow it either!" She took Edith's hands in her own and at that her sister seemed to soften. "I would like it very much if we could all simply get along."

Edith looked into her eyes and Sybil thought she saw a flash of remorse before the famous Crawly stubbornness returned and Edith pulled her hands out of her younger sister's grasp, looking out the window in silence. Sybil sighed, Edith was becoming evermore of a stranger to her. Her eyes darted to the mirror again, hoping against hope that Branson would grin at her, let her know it was all alright, but he was focused on the road.

They rode in silence until they reached the Crawley's and again, when Branson helped them out of the car, he did not pay Sybil any special attention and for some reason, she didn't know why, it felt as though he let go of her hand earlier than he usually did.

"Thank you, Branson," she said, trying to elicit a response.

He met her eyes briefly and nodded, but that was all and Sybil walked into Crawley House feeling much less chipper than usual.

Mrs. Crawley was happy to see them. She remarked on how well Sybil looked and insisted on looking at the wound and applying a salve. All in all, the visit was pleasant; Matthew was at work, which meant that Sybil couldn't fetch the book she wanted. It was a private relief to Sybil who wanted nothing to do with the book Matthew had borrowed, Popular Tales from Greek Mythology. Over tea Edith and Mrs. Crawley were speaking about another tour of the churches in the county and Sybil's mind wandered once more to Branson, and how she was going to make things right.

"How is it that you came to be a chauffeur?" she asked, as she watched him fix a flat tyre, sitting against a tree only a couple of paces away.

"Got a mechanical mind," Branson answered, looking back at her and grinning, "And my Ma wanted me out of the house."

"But why not just go straight into politics?"

"Well," he said congenially, "All of our fathers can't be Earls now can they?"

How was it, Sybil wondered, that anyone else saying that would have made her absolutely furious? But she knew that Branson didn't resent her for her position in life. She looked at him admiringly. He had given her his jacket to sit on, so as not to get her dress dirty. And now that he had rolled up his sleeves, she watched his forearms in fascination, the muscles flexing and relaxing and straining under his skin. She wondered briefly what it would be like to be held in arms not unlike the ones in front of her, before quickly dismissing the thought.

"A career in politics takes money," Branson continued, "and while chauffeuring isn't exactly a well paying job, its good, decent work. Besides that I have a lot of free time to read, I can't say I mind the company," he gave her half a glance before returning to his work, Sybil felt her heart rate increase slightly " and you hear the most interesting conversations."

Sybil played absentmindedly with one of the brass buttons on his jacket sleeve.

"And have you turned all of your employer's daughters into stark-raving radicals?" She tried to make her voice sound as if she had meant it as a joke, but deep down she was yearning to know the answer.

She could not look at him, even though she knew that he had turned around fully this time to look at her, after what seemed like a year she finally lifted her eyes to find him staring at her with an expression that left her breathless .

"No, milady," he said, "you'd be the first."

Sybil sighed, remembering the conversation that had taken place almost a year ago. There had been many conversations since then, but that one always stuck out in her mind as important.

"Are you alright, dear?"

It took Sybil a moment to realize that Mrs. Crawley was speaking to her. Her eyes focused on the concerned face staring at her above a cup of tea.

"Yes, perfectly fine."

"It was just that you seemed a little… lost."

Sybil smiled and sipped her tea, which had been clutched in her hand, quite forgotten, for some time. Edith chimed in before Sybil could compose an answer.

"Probably thinking about women's rights."