At least one more chapter to go, possibly more about later in the series, I would like to keep this going. (Maybe a couple of reviews could make me write quicker... hint hint, wink wink, nudge nudge)
I own nothing.
Sybil fiddled with some samples of ribbon, watching out of the corner of her eye as Edith tried on a particularly smart hat. This was the last stop of a very long, very productive day. Sybil and her sister had been up, down and around the village for hours now, visiting shops, bringing old clothing to the church, attending a dreadfully boring luncheon with their Grandmother who was trying to instruct Sybil how to behave on her first season out in society.
And Branson had still not spared Sybil one solitary glance. She was positively depressed by now, and if anyone besides Edith were there with her, they would have thought something catastrophic had occurred to create such a cloud over the normally effervescent girl.
"What do you think Sybil?" Edith asked, surveying herself in the mirror.
"It's very nice," her sister said half-heartedly.
"Very well, I'll take it," Edith said handing the hat to the assistant waiting on her and then fixing her hair where it was mussed.
While Edith was having her hat wrapped and boxed, Sybil looked out the window at the car waiting patiently for them. She could see Branson's profile, head bent, reading a book, every so often looking toward the entrance to make sure he wasn't needed. A car pulling over on the other side of the street attracted her attention. A tall, fairly good-looking, middle-aged man stepped out. Sybil smiled as he noticed the car parked in front of the milliners and walked over toward it.
Edith had just finished paying for the hat and turned to look at her sister.
"What are you grinning about?" she asked irritably, then she saw the man apparently questioning Branson and her expression softened. She walked out of the shop, a spring in her step, while Sybil followed, grinning.
"Sir Anthony! What brings you down here?" She was smiling cheerfully now, hardly noticing when Branson took the hatbox from her.
"I was on my way to Downton," he said, smiling bewilderingly and fidgeting with the hat in his hands, "Your mother invited me for dinner. I – I saw your car parked and I thought I might stop and see who was about." There was a small awkward silence in which Sir Anthony's eyes darted from the ground to Edith's face. "This is rather fortuitous; I was hoping to ask you out for a drive before dinner. We could start out now, that is, if you're not too tired…"
"I would love to," she said happily, making Sir Anthony's smile widen temporarily before he frowned suddenly and his brow furrowed.
"Oh, but wont your parents be worried, you disappearing suddenly?"
"Nonsense, Sybil can explain everything to them, she's just going home now."
Sir Anthony started; he seemed to notice Sybil for the first time, standing behind her sister quietly. "Lady Sybil," he said bowing slightly, she smiled and curtseyed in response. He turned his attention to Edith once more.
"Well that's splendid," he said enthusiastically, holding out his arm for Edith to take which she did promptly. They started to walk toward Sir Anthony's car when he looked back at Sybil abruptly,
"You don't mind do you?"
Mind? Sybil could have kissed him if it wouldn't have made Edith's head explode.
"No, I'll let Mama know everything," she yelled, for they were practically across the street already.
"Much obliged," Sir Anthony said, before opening the car of his door for Edith.
Sybil watched with amusement as Sir Anthony cranked his car into life and then proceeded to jump in next to Edith. Sybil waved from the sidewalk, but the passengers neither noticed nor waved back as they sped down the lane.
It was a couple of moments before she heard Branson give a slight cough. She turned to look at him, and her smile faltered slightly. He held out a hand to help her into the car and she took it gratefully.
"Back to the house, milady?" he asked, closing the door.
"Yes please, Branson," he started to walk around to the front when she had a sudden idea. "Could we take the road that crosses over Helston brook?"
"Very good, milady."
They rode in silence, but it seemed to Sybil that it was an enforced silence. She felt rather like a child waiting to receive a scolding. For the first time she caught Branson looking at her through his mirror. His clear blue eyes studying her, he looked away as soon as their eyes met.
"It seems my sister will soon be the next Lady Strallen," she said tentatively, testing the waters.
"And will you be happy for it, milady?" he asked, his voice lacked all of its usual warmth.
"Edith will be happy, and there's nothing I can say against that," she said.
Branson nodded but said nothing. They rode in silence once more.
"Branson could you stop up here please?" Sybil asked a while later, as they were about to come to a small bridge. "I'd like to walk a little."
"Yes, milady," he said and through the mirror, Sybil saw his brow furrow in confusion. Faithfully he pulled the car over to the side of the road and got out to help her from her seat, only now, Sybil did not let go of his hand right away, but held it gently in her own.
"Won't you walk with me, Branson?" she asked. She had walked with him once before on the grounds at Downton, and she remembered how enjoyable it had been. He was looking down at the ground so she couldn't read his expression.
"I don't think that would be proper, milady," he said, his voice strained.
She sighed and leaned her back against the car, she let go of his hand, however reluctantly.
"Are you very angry with me Branson?" she asked, feeling more dispirited than ever.
To her amazement that did elicit an emotion from the chauffeur. His head jerked up to look at her now and his face showed nothing but surprise.
"Why should I be angry with you?" he asked.
Sybil stared at him, her speech faltering "You – I – I lied to you!" she said incredulously "When we went to Ripon, I – I said I had a meeting. I never listened to you when you told me to stay put and – and –" she felt her eyes beginning to sting from unshed tears, "I nearly got you fired! And all because I wanted to go to some stupid election! I didn't even think of the danger I was putting you in, you could have lost your job and then –" Then I would have never seen you again, she thought, for the first time. A sob forced itself out of her, thinking of what might have been. "And just now and all day you've been so cold and distant and I've no idea how to make it right!" She was sobbing in earnest now and she turned away wiping angrily at her cheek.
She felt a warm, gentle hand placed tentatively on her shoulder.
"It's alright, lass."
Maybe it was the lack of formality as he spoke or the warmth of his hand that shattered her reserve. She turned and hugged him, her arms wrapping themselves around his neck, her face pressed against the soft fabric of his jacket.
"I'm sorry," she said earnestly "I'm so sorry."
Slowly, very slowly, she felt his arms wrap around her waist and she felt his shoulders relax.
"It's alright," he said, soothingly "I haven't been angry with you. I've just been – trying to keep away because I thought you might want it. I see now that I was wrong. I'm sorry milady."
"Sybil," she corrected. He didn't reply.
"Did my father yell at you very much?"
"Well, yes," he said truthfully, "But, you see, I wasn't worried about my job, I was worried about you."
Sybil was glad that her face was pressed against his chest, for she was sure she was blushing.
"I told him it wasn't your fault. I told him I would runaway if he fired you."
She felt Branson pull back slightly, in order to better look at her, she let her hands untangle themselves from around his neck and fall so that they rested flat against his chest. She looked up at him and was surprised to see that his face was stern.
"Don't even think such a thing on account of me," he said, looking straight into her eyes, "I'm not worth it. Your father is a good man, despite being old fashioned. He was nearly scared to death over you."
"You are worth it," she said, her sense of injustice kindling, "I wasn't going to let him punish you for something I did. Would you have preferred that I didn't fight and he had fired you on the spot?"
"I didn't say that," he said softly, and he smiled at her. How she had missed that smile! She felt herself smiling in return. He let go of her waist and took a step back. Sybil immediately felt colder, despite the summer heat. The moment was over, and Sybil knew that she would not feel his arms around her again for a long while, if ever.
And yet, despite this, looking into Branson's clear, blue eyes, his beautiful smile, she felt the burden which had been weighing on her all week float away, lighter than air.
"Now," he said, offering her his arm, "I believe you mentioned something about a walk?"