She is the third daughter, the youngest. Mary teaches her how to flirt and Edith demonstrates when not to, and Sybil, charming enough on her own accord, never worries about her prospects.
There were, though, only so many times one could have trouble and stall on the side of the road - stopping to converse about elections and societal contracts, all while the chauffeur examined the extent of the damages - before the passenger begins to suspect that perhaps it is the intent of the driver and not the fault of the machine.
In the quiet of the dark, she says the words aloud, trying them out like a new dress. "It is only an infatuation. It will pass soon enough." (She does not need her sisters to tell her this truth: in the stories it is always a prince that the princess will marry.)
It does not weaken nor fade, not in the slightest, but she will not let herself admit that perhaps it has become that much stronger, and that she has led him to this place. She is not the girl others would disparage of, utterly careless with someone else's heart. She is one, instead, that seeks to know her own.
He reaches for her hand at the garden party and she allows him to take it, tries to decipher the meaning behind such a small but grand gesture before Mrs. Hughes appears. He does not approach her after and she does not seek him, reminded of the eyes watching (constantly for her; as the moment required for him).
They regress soon after; a part of her is relieved. (The confrontation of the extent of his feelings - of hers - is once again delayed.)
They do not speak of it again, not for a while, not until they are driving back from Ripon and she asks for a change, to speak of anything but war. (The anxiousness of idleness, the fact that Cousin Isobel laments that men wake up screaming for the dead, and yet she still dreams of frocks and balls, rattles her.)
His apology is sudden but not entirely unexpected, though August seemed an age ago. She was born and bred a lady, and ends the conversation with a gentle deflection. "It's alright, Branson. We were all giddy about Gwen's good news. She wrote to say she finds her new position quite rewarding."
He is silent until they arrive home, does not spend a second longer meeting her gaze as she steps out of the car. For now, perhaps, that is answer enough. (She hopes it is.)
It is weeks before they can settle back into a comfortable pattern of conversation, of friendship. He is patient and she is glad for it.
Sybil may be daring, but she is not always brave, and should not have to bear the burden of constantly being so. She is the third daughter, the youngest, but she still has - wants - time to grow.