Richard alights from the train at Downton and immediately searches for his fiancée. He finds her standing a little apart from the crowd of passengers, gloved hands holding a clutch bag in front of her. She greets him with a tight smile and a unnaturally cheerful "Welcome back."

"I trust Matthew and Lavinia's wedding preparations are going well?"

"The wedding is still going ahead if that's what you mean."

"No, that's not what I meant. It was a perfectly innocent enquiry."

"I wasn't aware you made innocent enquires, Richard."

He hears the challenge in her voice, daring him to respond in a similar manner. Instead he takes her arm and stiffly leads her off the platform while his irritation subsides. Mary's sharp intelligence had been one of her main attractions. He knew she would question him and play an active part in his life. Still he yearns for the affection she so generously bestows on Matthew Crawley.

The silence between them is broken only when he sees the vehicle she has led him to. It is not a vehicle at all. It a carriage - undoubtedly from the last century and distinctly out of place in the sea of cars around them.

"You cannot seriously expect..." His voice rises in incredulity and annoyance, looking with distaste at the horses snorting and stamping their hooves. He briefly considers the possibility of commandeering a motor car.

"It's that or the governess cart." She doesn't smile, but the mocking tone betrays her amusement at his plight. He reluctantly concedes, still grumbling as he helps her into the carriage:

"Problem with the motor?"

"Problem with the chauffeur."

"Oh?"

She looks out the window while telling him the tale of her sister's wartime love affair. Richard momentarily forgets his annoyance with Mary and the discomfort of the rattling carriage. He can already picture the story in one of the dreadful romance novels sold on the station platform: "Lady Sybil and the Chauffeur". He smiles at the thought.

"So he made the announcement last night? Your parents must have been astonished?"

"They are up there with her now, trying to change her mind."

"I expect this news elevates me somewhat in your father's estimation."

She finally turns round to look at him, disdain evident in her expression: "I wouldn't get too carried away, Richard."

"Your threats are hollow, don't you see? I won't be received in London, I won't be welcome at court? How can I make you understand, I couldn't care less?"

Robert has sunk to a chair in defeat. Cora has to admire her daughter's spirit, if not her judgement. She had always expected Sybil would fight to do something radical and different. Never had she imagined the fight would be over her plans to marry their chauffeur.

"Let me talk to her..."

"Why?" he spits. "So she can twist you round her little finger? So you can both make plans for the wedding?"

"I don't think your approach is working, darling." Her voice is calm and measured, a marked contrast to her hostile glare and the anger racing between them. Finally unable to bear the tension any longer, she sweeps out.

Her composure crumbles as soon as she gets outside. She stands uncertainly in the corridor, biting her lip to stem the tears, too pre-occupied to see the figure coming towards her:

"How are you getting on? Has Robert promised to disown her yet?"

She instinctively straightens up under the regal gaze of her mother-in-law: "Not yet."

"Nil desperandum, my dear," the Dowager proclaims in her inimitable style. "Sybil may be headstrong but she's not foolish."

Cora nods, not certain whether the words are meant as encouragement or reproach. She is nevertheless glad to see her - Robert's temper and wilder threats may be regulated by his mother's presence. She walks away, resolving to speak to her daughter in private later.

She remembers the Dowager's repeated questions during the war: Are you sure she has no one in mind? When I was her age... She had shrugged off the speculation. Sybil would take a different path from her sisters - a career, an education, even a political venture...Not the well-worn route to marriage and a family. She is disappointed, both in Sybil's choice and in herself for not spotting the burgeoning romance. You would have noticed, she chides herself, if you weren't so pre-occupied during the war...

She is glad to reach her room and sink back luxuriously into the chaise longue, enjoying the time alone without her husband's glum presence or O'Brien's knowing sympathy. O'Brien's expected week-long leave of absence had lasted just two days. She was certain her maid's sudden return and Jane's equally sudden departure was her husband's doing, but she hadn't asked any questions. She had naively assumed everything would go back to normal when Jane left. They had together tried to resurrect their care-free, pre-war habits - the leisurely conversations after breakfast, walks in the grounds, night-time intimacies...It hadn't worked. The cheerful teasing and banter was gone, replaced instead by a strange civility, in which they both danced around sensitive subjects. She had became bored of the same routines and started using Matthew's wedding preparations as an excuse to leave.

His passion and desire in her bed was a striking contrast the usual daytime restraint. Even as he moved fervently against her, lips clamped to her neck, she tried not to think about what he did with Jane. How was it different? What did they do? What did she do? What does he prefer?

The loud footsteps in the next room indicate Robert's return. She listens to the sound of drawers being wrenched open and slammed shut. Clearly he is angry with Sybil's defiance, but what is he doing in his dressing room? She walks to the connecting door and pushes it open without bothering to knock.

"Robert?"

No answer; he has already left. Her eyes sweep round the room and pause treacherously at the bed. She resolutely twists her head, having no desire to relive her already lurid imaginings of what when on there.

As she turns round, she recognises a small notebook on the floor - the personal account book Robert takes into the town or to meetings with Murray. He must have dropped it in his haste to leave. She picks it up and flicks through, smiling fondly at the laboured calculations and numerous crossings out. Robert has never had a 'head for figures,' yet he still stubbornly insists on maintaining a personal ledger. She recognises several names - Knowles, Cross, Moorsun...

Moorsun. She quickly turns a few more pages, counting the name at least once more. Jane still lives in the village, she realises. He is paying her small amounts for trinkets or clothes.

She breathes in deeply as her shock turns to anger. She is tired of the casual rebukes and humiliations; she has no doubt the staff all know about Robert's liaisons. As she breathes out, she comes to a decision - toconfront him and demand an explanation for his behaviour.

She throws the account book back onto the floor and rushes out. She heads downstairs, mentally rehearsing what she will say to Robert when she finds him. It is only when she descends the staircase that she becomes aware of someone watching - studying - her intently. She peers down, inwardly groaning when she sees the slim figure waiting for her in the Great Hall.

Sir Richard Carlisle.

A/N: This chapter ended up differently from how I planned it (hence the rather lame chapter title)! I know melancholy Cora might be getting a bit much - but she has good reason, and... it gets better. (You know where this fic is heading!) The next chapter (The Project) will require some thought (and I also have some work to catch up on). I will try to get something up for next weekend.

Thank you so much for the reviews so far. Each chapter seems to produce a new crisis of confidence (especially when I read some of the other fics on here), so any feedback is much appreciated.