Hello?

Probably not a lot of people still there but I've slaved over this for months! 6 months and finally an update.. that's terrible I know! My first year of university will nearly be over and though I hope to work during the summer, I'll have less distractions etc. to have a regular update pattern.

A thank you to Sharon (yankee countess) for all her help in proof reading and for wonderful advice :D

So without further ado...

Chapter 3

Same day

The unlocked servants door banged against the wall, the brute force made it swing free. Sybbie launched herself down the small steps into the hallways and kitchen. Her fists clenched and tears threatening to fall, she moved straight to the kitchen, the staff not so surprised to see her. They steered clear from her path as she paced the kitchen before slumping onto the worktop. Mrs Mason huffed as she saw the young girl, her hands on her hips.

"What now?" she sighed.

"Biscuits," Sybbie replied. After a moment, "Please."

With a smirk, the jar was placed in her hands, a muttered 'thank you' as the stone top slammed onto the counter. The jar was Sybbie's jar, it even had her name carved into the wooden top. It was kept in a corner of the pantry that only Mrs Mason knew where. Not even Sybbie knew because as a child many would go missing and she was always found to be guilty. Most of the time she didn't even bother to hide it. Sybbie ate, one after another, barely taking a breath between them.

"Steady on!" Mrs Mason warned, reaching for the jar, but the girl didn't give it up easy. "You might choke!"

"M'okeey," she chewed, some crumbs going onto the floor. "Bu' I don' car',"

"Don't care about what?" One of the kitchen maids asked.

"Hey! Have you done the meat for tonight?"

"No, Mrs Mason,"

"Then stop asking questions and get it done!"

Sybbie smirked, winking at the kitchen maid who simpered slightly. Sybbie did remember Mrs Patmore with mostly fond memories; the old woman would give her an extra large piece of cake on her birthday than was acceptable and she always had a glass of milk ready for her whenever she came downstairs to have her late night snack. Of course, most of the servants were still awake so it wasn't much of a secret. One thing that reminded her the most about her was Mrs Mason, or Daisy back then. She was just like the old woman now - of course more open to all the new technologies that was surrounding them day by day.

The kneading for the bread however still had to be done by hand and a long pause existed only with the sound of battered dough and crunching. Mrs Mason sighed, pushing and prodding the dough.

"So, come on, tell us all." she huffed. "There has to be a reason why you're demanding biscuits 20 minutes before your lunch!" Sybbie didn't falter under the pointed look, she just continued to eat. She didn't even meet the elder woman gaze, just let the crunch of the biscuits echo. "What's happened?"

Sybbie just kept still, contemplating what had just happened. She pushed a while biscuit in her mouth as anger boiled. She ignored the question, swallowed and instead asked one of her own.

"Where will Mr Pearce be sitting for dinner?"

Mrs Mason scoffed, shaking her head. "I don't think it's a good idea for me to tell you,"

"Why not?" She whined, jumping down from the counter. She wrapped her arms around Mrs Masons waist, hugging her - an old trick that she had learned as a child. "Come on! Please! I'll make dessert for tonight's dinner if you tell me,"

"Ha!" she burst, pulling out from the girls hug. "So you can poison Mr Pearce's dish? I don't think so."

Sybbie sighed. She placed her hands on her hips, jutting one out. She waved one of her hands in the air before hitting it to her chest, very dramatically. She said, "Urgh. You caught me."

She stayed in the ridiculous pose until she heard giggles in front of her. The other maids, Heather - Mrs Masons assistant cook - and even Mrs Mason herself were almost in a fit of laughter, but they managed to hold it in.

Continuing in her dramatic way, "I suppose I shall have to

Mrs Mason couldn't answer, but that gave the truth away anyway.

"He is isn't he?" she gasped. "They're going to stick him next to me!"

The biscuit jar slammed onto the counter, the china lid clattering to seal and the echoed footsteps carried Sybbie away from the kitchen. Tough perturbed at the disruption an distraction, Daisy could hear the words straight from her predecessor.

It'll all end in tears.

She pushed the subject from her mind, getting the others back to work.

As Sybbie tore up the stairs, leaving a trail of dirty and oil behind her, her mind was too preoccupied to smile at those who acknowledged her. Though most of them didn't, they steered clear to not get dirty and to not be shouted at. She heard them giggling as she left them behind but that wasn't high on her list of priorities. She needed to relax. She needed a bath. She calmed herself some and asked the next person she saw to help her get some towels down to not to ruin the other ones. The maid asked if she wanted her lounge dress bought to the bath room. Normally, that would be perfect and temptation was almost getting the better of her. It was a loose dress, one that she had made to wear when it was a short time until dinner. For family, it was suitable, though other company had seen it. Of course, it rouse comments but this time, she couldn't afford that. She had to show him that she was every bit a woman. She smiled.

"No, thank you, just my dressing gown. I think I may dare something smarter."

Jonathan kept a watch on the library door for almost the duration of the conversation around him even though however, deep within him, he knew she wasn't going to appear. The majority of the family were there, even Emma and her incessant daughter, who he met by chance in the port. He'd hurt Miss Branson, badly it seems, and no amount of wishing could bring her here. He was caught in his dreams when a question was asked.

"Jonathan?"

He looked blankly at the three women, trying to work out who it was that asked the question.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid my mind was elsewhere." he smiled. "Must be the travel."

Cora nodded, still keeping her mask smile. "Quite. I was just asking what properties you wanted to look at?"

And the conversation carried on as dully and Jonathan's mind wondered. He still nodded and smiled and looked interested when he was required, but his gaze still drifted to the door.

"Well, I have a few in London. My father had seen the prices of the houses plummet since the families had to sell and since this market crash, well, the owners are desperate for buyers! They're ours for the picking!" he laughed, but the look of fear and sadness on the faces of those around him showed that his statement was far from amusing.

"Wow," a voice broke the silence. Jonathan whipped his head round to see Sybbie leaning upon the door handle, smiling widely. "A whole family insulted in one day. That's a record even I'd struggle to beat."

Her smile, her quite charming smile he'd venture, had vanished by the end of her sentence and she walked into the room, shutting the door behind her. His mind went back to a conversation he had on the train with Annabelle, whom herself looked quite shocked, about Sybbie. Her description did not meet what he saw. Annabelle said that she would not bother with all the luxuries that the others indulged in, like jewellery and dressing for tea. She said, "Her practicality outweighs her upbringing. She'd much rather wear a sack if she knew it would last,"

Instead, she wore the palest green slacks and a white blouse that tied at the front tucked into them, showing the three silver buttons on the front. Her hair was now down and there was never a sign to her being in the garage, all dirt and grime was gone. A small green headband held back her wavy hair, silver earrings glistened beneath them. Her cheeks were reddened, the blush spreading down her neck and the aroma of roses lingered around her. Soap. She'd bathed. Jonathan spluttered, trying to disguise his own blush with a cough. She moved to the tea tray, self satisfaction showing on her face and made every step bounce. She could feel the awkward mood creeping upon her but her expression didn't falter. She was glad that the rest of the family got to see what a heartless man he could be.

Jonathan laughed, nervous and squirming on the small lounge sofa. He watched Sybbie scan the room to notice that the only seat available around the fire was, of course, next to him. He shook his head at the unfortunate circumstance. He felt the small seat shift as she flopped down next to him, the scalding tea almost spilling onto his lap. Almost. No one talked, only the sound of a spoon stirring and smacking the sides of the tea cup.

"Sybbie, please stop it," Mary hissed, both niece and aunt keeping glaring eye contact as Sybbie deliberately slurped her tea. Sybbie had inherited what George called the 'Crawley stare', a stare that was so intense, he swore that's how arguments were resolved - a long staring contest. He tried to perfect the art himself but he was told, quite poignantly by an 11 year old Sybbie that 'only the ladies can do this.'

"Fine," Sybbie answered after a moment and the stare was broken, meaning others could dare to speak.

George felt the call come upon him, breaking the silent argument. "So," he coughed, picking up his tea cup. "Jonathan, will you be joining us for dinner?" A daft question but he had to bring to conversation back up again.

"Of course he is," Sybbie surprised them all. "Because I've got the burden of sitting next to him,"

"And who has told you such a thing?"

"No one has to tell me," she huffed. "I have a brain that is capable of working out logistical manners,"

Jonathan couldn't pretend that he wasn't hurt but he did have to try not to laugh. She seemed to have an answer for everything, though he suspected not for things she was ignorant about. Even then he could be wrong. Maybe when she was in a better mood he could test this anecdote. He coughed nervously, chuckling slightly.

"You make me sound quite the demon,"

He watched as she seemed to bear no reaction on her face, but he was not mistaken when he saw her fingers twitch and pulse. She swallowed slow and careful, taking a breath. She was dramatic, he mused, but she was still terrifying. She made it so he was tiptoeing around her, never getting to close.

"I have said nothing of the sort," she murmured finally.

"You don't have to," he retorted back, just as sharp. "Your judgement has made it quite obvious,"

That sent her over. She was furious. But she must still keep control, that's what Auntie Mary had told her. Keep control of a conversation darling, and they'll fall quite willingly into your palm. She took a deep breath, pushing out her rage and she didn't miss the twinkle in Annabelle's eyes when she thought that she would lose it.

"My judgement? That's rich, coming from you,"

For a moment, he swore her eyes glowed, the grey flecks within them glistening, highlighting the blue, the softness within them. The shadows and wrinkles around her eyes become more prominent in that second; though she didn't show it, she looked exhausted.

No wonder, tinkering away at a car all day long.

He admitted defeat, his shoulders slumping, a long breath escaping his mouth. He wanted to rid her of this spiteful mood she was in, he wanted a fresh start, to get to know her as the bright girl she could be, not the bitter person he saw in front of him.

"What judgement?" Tom interrupted, and Jonathan looked down, clenching his hands on his lap. neither of them spoke as Tom cast his eyes, from one to the other, on each of them. He just sighed, shaking his head, picking up his newspaper again. "Come on, out with it, one of yous'"

"Oh its nothing Da," Sybbie muttered. "Jonathan just... misplaced my character,"

"Why, where did he put it?" Tom smirked. George did too, covering his mouth with his closed fists.

"Tom!" Emma hissed.

He chuckled, "What? I'm just making light of it! Why, Mr Pearce, what did you say?"

Jonathan just stared, he expected to be ignored in this discussion and shouted at when the time came. He didn't expect to be asked directly what had happened. He cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter.

"I met Miss Branson in the garage. I said she was a mechanic," he admitted. The harsh clinking of china next to him proved his answer unsatisfactory.

Tom just shrugged. " Well, he's not the first to say it is he, love? You are down there all the time,"

"Mr Pearce isn't telling you the whole truth, though, are you?"

"No, but-"

"No, you insinuated that I worked here,"

"What?" Tom threatened.

"I did, but-"

"And the worst part is that he hasn't even apologised yet,"

"Yes, well I would right now if you would let me get a word in, and I would have then if you hadn't run away!" Jonathan exploded, almost shouting at Sybbie. The room went silent around them, Sybbie's mouth agape with shock. Never had a guest spoken to her like that, they usually have to sit and take her bad moods, smile and chuckle and brush them off so not to seem discourteous. Sybbie thought it terrific fun to watch those who she considered unwanted squirm awkwardly. But this one wasn't. Not even now, when the stare between them had gone unbroken for quite some time.

She cleared her throat, turning back to her tea cup. She stirred the liquid slowly, watching the waves form and disappear, the one there before it engulfed.

"I apologise, everyone, completely." Jonathan recomposed himself, straightening his jacket and turning to his hosts. "I did not mean to shout at your granddaughter Lady Grantham,"

Tom scoffed, "Don't worry about it, she needs shouting at every now and again,"

"You're making it worse," Emma chided. "Shh,"

"Shh," Tom mimicked, sticking his tongue out. Emma smacked him, making him laugh.

"Why do you act like children all the time?" Sybbie asked, for some reason embarrassed at her father's behaviour.

"See, you've made it worse now," Tom smirked. "You shouldn't hit me,"

Emma scowled, forcing herself not to laugh, ultimately giving in to his jokes. The others around were used to their playful arguments, they sometimes even dared to join in, George usually would be the first to make some kind of comment. Instead, Sybbie just left, leaving her cup and saucer on the floor. She didn't bother closing the door behind her, she just ran to the stairs, hiding behind the corner in case someone came to look for her.

She placed her head in her hands, embarrassment and anger radiating off her. She stayed there, no one had come after her - clever them she snidely thought - and she thanked God for her moment of peace. She gently rubbed the cross around her neck in thanks and slumped up to her room.

Barrow just huffed, almost breaking the chair as he pulled it out. He didn't know what it was, but that Mr Pearce wasn't making a good impression. On everyone else yes, but on Miss Sybbie, not at all. Such an abhorrent dislike almost instantly set off alarm bells.

"Are you alright, Mr Barrow?" Anna asked. She smiled, though it was still laced with concern. Sweet Mrs Bates. Thomas and the Bates' had made their peace in the past, making for a more harmonious work life. He sighed, taking out his cigarette box. He was grumbling, until an intelligible sentence came together.

"I don't know, just something isn't right with that gentleman,"

"Is that because he is involved with Miss Branson, Mr Barrow?" a maid, Florence, asked.

He glared at her, silently reprimanding her for eavesdropping.

"I didn't realise it was any of your business," he challenged, not breaking his stare.

She tucked her chin to her chest, mumbling about some work she had to do, which Anna agreed with. She sent the young girl on her way, knowing full well that there wasn't a lot to be done. The other sat around got back to their tasks, whether it be reading, sewing or chatter, all keeping up the facade of not listening.

"Anyway," Thomas continued. "The way he shouted at her in the library, he had no right to do it, not to someone who lives here,"

Anna smiled, reaching for the teapot.

"Well, some do say that she does have it coming at times. Everyone needs shouting at every once in a while,"

"Not by a guest they don't!"

Anna chuckled, "What did she do to deserve such a dishonour?" Thomas narrowed his eyes at her, trying not to laugh at her teasing. She didn't blame him for being a little bit protective of the girl but sometimes it reminded her of Carson. He didn't take kindly to that. He silently lit his cigarette, looking away from her.

"She did nothing wrong. She was only saying that he hadn't apologised for insulting her earlier in the day," Thomas puffed out the vapours from his cigarette, Anna coughed. She knew that was for the earlier remark. She didn't regret it one bit.

"Why, what happened?"

"She came running through here, demanding her biscuit jar," Daisy called through the hallway. Brisk footsteps echoed through and a worn pair of hands took the tea pot. "So it must have been bad,"

The table chuckled, the biscuit jar still left on the side. It had to be refilled, though Mrs Mason could have sworn she'd only done it the previous week. She would have to think of a new hiding place to keep the sweet treats away from the impertinent Miss. No matter how many times Mrs Mason warned the girl that her waistline would suffer for her snacking, Sybbie just didn't care.

"Had something been said outside then?" Anna asked, Thomas just sat back, evaluating the information put in front of him. The women continues to talk, discussing the possible insults said to her.

"Where's Mr Jefferson?"

The two women stopped, interrupted and looked slightly bewildered at the strange question.

"Well, he'll be in the garage. There was a problem with the car this afternoon. Mr Branson had to sort it out," Anna stuttered, standing to follow Mrs Mason who wanted to discuss the upcoming weeks dinner menus.

"Well we can all rely on Mr Branson," Thomas mumbled.

Anna sighed, taking his empty tea cup.

"Come on now, you can't still be bitter, not after all this time."

He looked at her, eyebrows raised, putting away his cigarette case and pushing his chair out to stand.

"I can be as bitter as I like," he countered. The other staff, depleted as it may be, still stood when he demanded their attention. "Come on the rest of you, best start preparations for dinner,"

The table set and perfectly prepared, Annabelle was the first down. She slumped into the comfortable seats, musing over what had happened at tea. Though just an observer, which was sometimes the best place to be, she could see the malice Sybbie held for the American. She smiled, maybe this one won't fawn over her step sister, he didn't seem to like her that much in return. They had quarrelled ever since he arrived, which in Annabelle's mind was just childish as she barely knew him, however, that didn't deter Sybbie from staring just that little bit longer than was necessary.

"For goodness sake," she hissed, throwing down her hand on the arm of the chair. It hurt, she certainly wouldn't do it again but it sparked a plan. Though Sybbie didn't know Jonathan, she did. She'd known him a day longer and they had spent a day, perfectly comfortable in each other's company. Sybbie wouldn't care, why would she when she'll have all the most eligible men flung in her direction come next summer? London will soon be out of the question to keep her novelty, not that she wasn't completely infamous anyway. She was almost like those poor creatures who have to endure the staring in their cages to the circus. Annabelle snickered, imagining her step sister with an abnormally large beard, like she had seen in photographs.

"What are you laughing at?" Sybbie huffed, shutting the door behind her.

She barely acknowledged her entrance, only tilting her head the slightest to the door. Annabelle shook her head, but as Sybbie moved in front of her, she almost doubled over in shock.

"What are you wearing?"

"I asked the first question," Sybbie ignored her, moving an errant curl from her face. "Come on, out with it, why so gleeful?"

Annabelle just couldn't fathom any words. She was sure that Sybbie didn't care, the awful words, the argument in the library. Positive. She looked up to the younger girl through thinned eyes, but even her obscured vision couldn't take away how her clothing portrayed the complete opposite. Her exposed back, defined two slopes of navy blue fabric. It was almost the same at the front, though not nearly as low, but the top of her chest could still be seen. Silver buckles sat on the shoulders, the same on her waist and lower back, fixing a sash around her middle. Her jewellery complimented the silver yet she still donned her modest cross. Annabelle always thought it strange that someone as disobedient and as spiteful as Sybbie could be so pious. She swore that Sybbie could charm and please those around her and get away with murder.

"What are you staring at?"

Annabelle hadn't realised shed been staring. She just shrugged it off, smiling wryly.

"Who are you trying to impress?"

"Are we going to play the question game all night?" Sybbie spat. "Just answer my bloody question!"

Annabelle laughed, standing. She slowly circled her step sister, her eyes peeling off every shield and mask Sybbie had put up, her heart was vulnerable. Her breathing increased, the urge to run high. Though Sybbie could talk a good fight, she could probably throw a good one too, she could never and would never be as intimidating as Annabelle. She knew all the looks, the right heart strings to pull, even blackmail had been on her despicable list of tricks. Whether it was jealousy or something else that spurred her, Sybbie always hoped that Annabelle would find something, anything to make her content. But she never was. Sybbie dared not to move as Annabelle circled her for a second time. She felt her pull at the delicate fabric, her finger twiddled the blue material around her finger, pulling it taught, threatening to tear.

"Please don't do that," Sybbie whispered. "It cost Da a lot to get me this,"

"Of course, let's not upset daddy. " Annabelle snickered. "He would be very disappointed,"

"Stop it,"

She pulled again, holding it at strain.

"Now listen to me," Annabelle asserted. "You may think that you can throw around your weight and everyone will listen to you, but I know you will have been told to behave tonight. And don't think that I am stupid, I know who you are wearing this for,"

"But-"

She pulled even tighter, Sybbie had to stumble forward a few steps. Her voice was right by her ear, making sure she heard, and heard well.

"But I promise you, if you dare to make a move towards him, your plans for London will be a distant dream, and I'd venture that these would never speak to you again. Because you know I have whatever I need to destroy you,"

Sybbie just nodded, never meeting her eyes. She didn't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing the tears welling, that she had successfully broken all her barriers. She let out the breath she had been holding as the tension on her skirt had been let go, Annabelle walking away, but that wasn't without making an almost hiss like noise in her face. The girls stood in silence, a choice word and it would all end in violence.

"You know," Sybbie broke the silence. "They think I'm being unreasonable when I don't want to involve myself with you."

She took a deep breath, advancing on the other girl. She didn't look alarmed, until Sybbie began to speak again. Annabelle straightened, ready to rip out the perfectly placed hair, starting with the sharp gold comb that sat in the back.

"But they don't see the cruel things you do, nor hear the cruel things you say,"

The door opened then, cutting off the end and no doubt saving a lot of injuries. The others had entered, besides Cora, who had claimed ill and gone to bed early. Sybbie kissed her father and step mother on the cheek, strategically moving away from Annabelle to the safe presence of her father. Compliments came from all round about her dress, even from George who had no idea of fashion or even girls clothing.

"Hello there!" he smiled. "Cousin Sybbie, you look marvellous!"

Sybbie blushed, smiling and nodding. She took Georges hands as he kissed her on the cheek in greeting though he did not fail to notice the hard squeeze as she took them. He frowned at her, almost in pity, but she would have none. She just shook her head and smiled her first genuine smile of the evening. Annabelle just observed. Watching, seething as Jonathan entered, ignoring her wave and looking very nervously at Sybbie.

"I hope that's not on my account?" Jonathan asked. He couldn't deny that she was a beautiful girl, the folds and creases in the dress making waves down her body. He tried not to stare too long at the gentle slope of her bare back, though it was the little things he noticed the most. The way she would readjust her hair, move and slide the ornate cross that hung around her neck, pull and lift the top of her dress. She was putting on a show, and he wished she wouldn't. He just wanted to get to know her for who she was, not this pre debutante with a rather harsh attitude.

About to give a smart answer, she felt Annabelle's eyes on her, she venture that her whole body was facing, ready to attack. She heard her dress ruffle and brush along the carpet, her heels agonising with their movement.

"Of course not," she mumbled. "It's to welcome back my step mother and darling step sister,"

Though he could agree with her sentiment, he didn't miss the seething venom laced within the word darling. The smiles the two exchanged, even the hug that Annabelle had bestowed upon Sybbie looked very forced. It looked more like a warning, like when animals show their teeth; the full smile Annabelle was giving next to the tight lipped grin from Sybbie furthered his observation. And it didn't go unnoticed.

"Well, I'm glad, because I think now is the best time that I apologise, completely and I hope with no more resentment about today. It's been awful for the both of us and I would hate for it to forever taint your opinion of me. Perhaps a clean slate?" he gestured. She showed no expression on her face, she just looked up at him, waiting for him to finish. "Will you give me a second chance?"

She nodded, daring not to speak in case she uttered out anything that she wanted kept private, she didn't trust her nerve. She knew that she would have to sit next to him for hours, making idle conversation and it was much easier to do that if you weren't at odds with each other. So she agreed, though she didn't want to.

"I'm glad." He smiled, extending his hand. "Mr Pearce, but my friends call me Jonathan,"

She smiled wryly, taking his hand. They shook hands and on the surface, a truce resolved.

"Sybil, my friends call me Sybbie." she copied. He nodded, letting the handshake linger on a little longer than it should. He was about to let go, when she grasped his hand again, her face coming a little closer than what was comfortable. "But you can call me Sybil,"

He should have been offended but the softened grip of her hand and the brightening spark in her eyes told him all he needed to know. He chuckled as she quirked her eyebrow, releasing her to go and talk to her cousin. His bashfulness caught the eye of Annabelle, who just glared. His face heated, he rubbed the back of his neck with his palm, a nervous sweat lightly glazed upon it.

"Dinner is served,"

The dim lamp in the third, second story window of the Branson house glowed through the gauze curtain. Formerly a row of unused and neglected cottages, Tom had the houses converted into one and a small garage. Though they all had rooms back at the big house, Sybbie had begged for her own space and a place to learn the mechanics of looking after a house for herself. Even Tom had to beg a little in the end to convince Lady Grantham to allowing him to buy the houses. The house, fully wired with electricity - its only truly modern upgrade - was fairly simple. It held all the comforts of home, the pictures of family members, the mismatched side tables and dining area and the rugs to cover the wooden floors. Even though it all matched, some of the furniture that was given to him by Cora as a present was completely out of place.

The blue armchair, with a metal feet and a dreadful need for reupholstering, that sat by the fireplace was his. Even if it was the only free seat, no one sat on it. It was the chair Tom told stories to his daughter as she sat on his lap, listening to him with undivided attention and wonder. The small lounge that sat under the windowsill was Sybbie's chair. It allowed her to tuck her feet under or sleep if she wanted to. It curved up into an armrest at one side, a book or a magazine always rested upon it.

The only other piece that came from the house was Tom and Emma's bed. A period of worry happened when Sybbie and George were 8, they would disappear for hours on end, nowhere to be found in the house. But one day, as Tom, Mary and Edith on one of her rare visits scoured the house for the children, a door previously unnoticed was left ajar, a stream of light shone through. As the adults peered into the gloomy attic, they saw the shadows of their children playing under a dust sheet that covered the bed. Though the bed in the attic wasn't the only thing Sybbie had found, but that's a tale for another time.

The bed moved with them, the metal frame polished and reworked and some of it restructured so it could be slept on again. Their bedroom was big enough for more than the two of them, as the room was once two rooms as part of two different houses. The bedrooms were the only rooms to have carpet, and even then it was slightly threadbare. Small photographs of their children were on top of the fireplace alongside the parents they lost. The fireplace though provided heat, it combined with the light from the small bedside lamp on the side table gave the room a warm glow. With only one of the daughters in the house, and who had long been asleep, the parents let themselves be themselves, and had spent the last half an hour chasing each the around the house, in their pyjamas no less.

Emma giggled, surfacing from under the covers, fighting the fingers that tickled her sides.
"Alright! Stop it! Tom please, I surrender! Just stop!'
Tom chuckled, nibbling on her shoulder as she squirmed beneath him. Her back to him she couldn't push him away and his arms wrapped around her in a tight vice. He snuggled her neck, sucking in it.
"Did you not eat at dinner?" she laughed. He growled, lifting his head.
"Yes." He scoffed and rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. She scrunched her eyes, scowling and swatting him lightly. He began to kiss her again. "But this is another hunger, one only for you,"
She elbowed him in his chest lightly, huffing at him.

"Off!" she ordered as he moved. She smirked at his pout that slowly crept on his face and after it didn't go she winked, blowing him a kiss.

Tom chuckled, rolling onto his back.

"Don't tease me, woman," he whined, folding his arms across his chest like a child. Watching him in his playful mood, Emma didn't see the slight thinning and grey hue of his hair and the lines around his eyes from years of smiling and laughing. All was coloured, smoothed and restored. He wasn't almost 50 in her eyes. His aging was invisible, however what wasn't invisible was the quirked eyebrow she donned nor the fact that she had risen to rest upon her upper arms.

"Woman?"

"Fine." Tom sighed. He rolled to look at her, sarcasm thick in his tone, "Please don't tease me, oh wonderful wife I love so dear- oomph!"

"Ha! Don't be sarcastic." she snuggled into his side as he rubbed his shoulder. Arms wrapped around her and her nails scratched slightly at his chest. She felt his breathing slow and his voice lowly humming as she soothed him. She felt his own hands skimming her skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps.

"Cold?" he whispered.

She shook her head, kissing his side. She sighed, letting the peace gently settle over them. Thinking back to dinner, Emma could practically feel the hostility coming from Annabelle. She was sulking, constantly interrupting and belittling those around her, especially Sybbie. She knew they had never really got along, that was clear even before they were married, but she'd hoped that through their adolescence and into early adulthood, they may be able to find some common ground.

"Tom, what are we going to do about Annabelle? Something's wrong I can feel it," she muttered.

"She's jealous is all," he grumbled. "Though she has no reason to be. Sybbie hates the idea of the season." He paused, looking at the invitation on his bedside table. The thick cream paper Mary had chosen, a base for the thick black script that bore all the information needed for her ball in London. All this pampering and attention upon Sybbie, upon anyone else other than her, must be driving her mad. Tom sighed, mother and daughter were so different. Emma, who was peaceful enough to be contented with disappearing into the background with him, yet Annabelle was brash, always wanting more and to be seen. It would work, the only problem is that Sybbie likes to be heard, and that unfortunately is the trump card.

"I know, I try to appease her, I do but nothing is working. You saw that I let that awful makeup slide!" she reasoned. Tom laughed, hoping that someone merciful finds the handkerchief in the laundry. The last thing he needs are the others downstairs getting any ideas. "She looked like she was about to go on the stage!"

"I guess she did, it didn't look nice." he chuckled. He felt her shift, trying to hold him just that bit closer, and his arms tightened, a hand stroking back her hair.

"Maybe I should take her somewhere. To London maybe? She could get to know the place a little for next year?"

Tom didn't speak, he just raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe not," Emma conceded. Tom nodded, smirking.

"She won't forgive you if you if that's the reason. Annabelle just needs something to distract her. Her goal at the moment seems to be Jonathan-"

"What do you think of him?" She interrupted.

"He's a nice lad, I'll give him that, but if it's true what he said to Sybbie... I don't know Emma." he rubbed her shoulder, easing her anxious lip chewing. "I just hope that she know you try, and I thank you for it but maybe we shouldn't be giving into her every whim. She's not a child anymore, she should-"

He was going to say, 'she should be married', but that made him no better than those around him who wanted Sybbie married. He couldn't be a hypocrite, no more so than he already was. He wouldn't.

"It doesn't matter," he brushed the sentence away, resting his head back onto the headboard, his eyes closing. The soft scratching had stopped on his skin, her eyes scratching at his curiosity instead. He knew she'd be looking straight at him, waiting.

"Come on, don't do that." Still nothing. He breathed heavily, though he knew it was in vain. "I know you're awake so there no point in faking,"

"How do you know?" he opened one eye, smirking.

"I know you too well, you forget, it's been almost 20 years since we first met."

He almost chocked on her sentence. "God, that long? I feel very old."

"You're not that old!" she mused, smiling widely. She soon turned serious, she moved onto her front, leaning on her elbows. She picked her nails, a habit that had sustained in her life since her adolescence, "You've had too much pain for one lifetime, more than any other could endure." she murmured, looking away. She knew all about Sybil, the horrors at the end of their story, the wonder at the beginning and everything in-between. Tom had made it very clear that Emma was not a replacement; Sybil was what he needed then - a partner in crime for passion and change and his young heart - and she is what he needed now - a reminder that hope is never lost. The two were different and she should never compare the two. So she never did.

"It aged you far too young," she continued.

"What about you?"

"Tom, I told you, I have many times. I loved Malcolm then, I love you now." He looked away, but that didn't stop her. She would tell him, and would keep on telling him until her last breath. "You say it is a different love, and I believe you, but it cannot be one rule for you and another for me. That's not how it works." Her throat started to tighten as his eyes fell, his fingers turning, over and over on top of one another. She continued, her voice wavering. "Yes, his death was... difficult, it was bloody heart breaking but the pain I felt then came from someone much younger than I am now. I have seen the world and know that it is just pain. However, most see it when they've had a lifetime of happiness with their loves and are near the end themselves, but some don't."

She stopped his hands, feeling the mutual roughness of skin. She held them, smiling as he squeezed their hands. She bought a knuckle to her lips before resting her chin on their entwined fingers. She whispered the last,

"And they are the very best of people,"

His heart lifted. Tom's slight simper cracked his sad expression, making both of them chuckle awkwardly. He nodded, agreeing with her statement.

"You know how to pull at heart strings don't you?" he teased, his hands cradling her back and head, inviting her to settle down closer. She just smirked, humming. "Ah, we're just a couple of old fools."

"Of course," she yawned loudly. "What would be the point if we weren't? But I still want to talk to Annabelle, Tom. She made me nervous at dinner, she's hiding something from me,"

He tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. The carved beams holding up the roof needed repainting. Emma's breathing had begun to level and slowed, almost into a snore. He reached for the light switch, careful not to jostle her and let the firelight settle over the room. Emma's worries played over in his mind. Annabelle needed a distraction, but maybe taking her away wasn't the right solution. Sybbie was his first priority and he couldn't compromise anything or leave anything to chance. The lead up to next year had to go smoothly, no excuses. He closed his eyes, shuffling down to rest his head against his pillow. He would talk to Sybbie tomorrow and hope that she would be agreeable.

A/N: Look! I did it!

What do you think? I need to figure out where this is going to go, to get to where I want it to be if that makes any sense... I know where it will end, and some of the bits in the middle, its just the rest.

Tell me what you think :D

GMJ xxx