The concert planning was in full force the next time Sybil was able to slip out to the garage. She waited for an evening she was certain no one would miss her. The stars seemed to align one Wednesday when Mary and her father were in London and her mother had taken ill. O'Brien sat patiently at her mother's side, coaxing her to swallow a bit of broth and even Thomas was at the hospital with Dr. Clarkson reviewing the files of men who were soon to transfer from the hospital to Downton.

"Anna, I'm going out to the garage. If Edith asks after me, please assure her I've gone to bed for the evening."

The lies, always the lies. Sybil hated lying and she hated asking Anna to lie, but it had been several weeks now since she had had a proper conversation with Branson and she could not bear to let such an opportunity as presented itself this evening pass. True, she occasionally had cause to request the car, if she was needed at the hospital and the weather was especially raw, and once last week her mother had asked her to run an errand in town, but for the most part even her drives with him were rare these days.

"Good evening, Branson."

"Milady, I wasn't expecting you. It's been ages since you chanced a trip out here."

"The night before you left for Ireland, if I recall."

"So what brings you here tonight?" He folded away his papers and focused on her.

"Nothing really. It's been a long time since we had a proper conversation." She gestured to the papers.
"You could start by enlightening me with all that you've read."

He smiled. "Do you really want to hear about the boat loads of Yanks on their way to fight the Hun?"

"I do. Or maybe it's just enough for me to know that they are on their way. The war must be over soon now, mustn't it, Branson?"

"I should think so. It's a stroke of good fortune that America's sending over so many troops. Things have looked especially bleak these last few months."

It was true. The ranks of men were increasingly thin. France had been forced to begin conscripting 17-year-olds and Sybil had read recently that England was releasing convicts to create new battalions in an effort to shore up the numbers. To make matters worse, the Russians had just signed a separate peace treaty, removing them from the war and allowing Germany to concentrate its attention firmly on the Western Front. Sybil imagined that Branson's heart murmur must be very bad indeed for the army to still not rescind their order that he was medically unfit for duty.

"It has lasted so many years now, Branson, that it shall seem strange to me once it's finally ended."

"I know what you mean, milady. And the world will be a different place."

"Do you really believe it will be? That the old order will be replaced by something new?"

"My belief that a new order will replace the old is the only thing that keeps me going some days, Lady Sybil."

He rarely used her first name and hearing it spoken, coupled with the quiet, lonely timbre in which it was said startled Sybil very much. She raised her gaze to meet his and for one sweet, fleeting moment Branson had thought she might lean into him for a kiss. She dropped her gaze quickly, though, and then changed the subject.

"Will you attend the concert?"

"If Mr. Carson or his lordship request to the staff to attend, then yes, I'll be there."

"Mary and Edith are singing a duet. I'm grateful I can claim nursing duty so that I shan't have to join them!" She let out a peal of laughter.

"I might have to hope to go just to see the two of them getting on together."

From his first weeks on the job, Branson had learned to dread any trip that involved both Lady Mary and Lady Edith. Their constant sniping set his teeth on edge and even the Dowager Countess seemed helpless to hold them at bay when they were set against one another. He could not imagine how this duet had come to be, but the thought of it made him smile.

They continued their chatter, with Sybil telling Branson of the fierce arguments she overheard between her mother and Cousin Isobel, Mary's caginess whenever anyone mentions Sir Richard's name, and even the whispered news she heard from Anna that Bates were working in a pub in Ripon. (He laughed when she belatedly added, "That might be a secret though. You can keep a secret, can't you?")It was poor form to so much as have a personal conversation with a chauffeur, to say nothing of gossiping about family matters. Had anyone in her family heard any of this, Branson would have been on the next boat to Ireland and she on a train to London. More and more there were no secrets between them, however, and Sybil never considered that she shouldn't say these things to him. In no time it seemed the hour had grown late. Stifling a yawn, Sybil excused herself.

"I best be off now, Branson, good night."

"Good night, milady."

As she reached the threshold he added, "The next fair day we have, I'll be working on the car outdoors."

As she ran back into the house she nearly bumped in to Mrs. Hughes as she had Anna back in December.

"Lady Sybil, whatever is the matter?"

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes! Goodness, I'm sorry. I, I'm just looking for Anna. I forgot to give her something for the mending basket earlier tonight and I've just remembered."

It was a lie, an obvious lie, and both women knew it. Mrs. Hughes was no fool; she tried to warn Branson years ago, and had the gnawing feeling (as she suspected everyone downstairs did, save perhaps Mr. Carson) that her warning had fallen on utterly deaf ears. She heard how frequently the back door opened and closed late at night, and she often glimpsed Lady Sybil's silhouette between the house and the garage when she ought to have been sleeping. What they were doing broke every rule of service and every code in society. Secretly, though, Mrs. Hughes admired this and had quietly begun to wonder if she might have been incorrect. Oh, sooner or later Branson would lose his position, there was no question of that. But more and more she began to think he might not end with a broken heart. And between the two, she knew which one was worth more.

"Please, Lady Sybil, the next time…the next time you need to find Anna, you might do so more quietly – and more cautiously. You'll wake the whole house if you're not careful. And it might not be me you have to answer to next."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes, you're right, of course. I shall do as you say."

Mrs. Hughes discreetly took her leave then, hoping that Lady Sybil would choose to return to her own room once she had gone, rather than feel the need to continue toward Anna's room and awaken the poor girl. No one in service slept much, but Mrs. Hughes knew since Mr. Bates left that what little sleep Anna did get was often restless. There was no sense in Lady Sybil disturbing her in order to convince Mrs. Hughes of a story which they both knew to be false. She hoped her ladyship would heed the warning, for while she would keep the incident quiet, there was no telling what O'Brien or, perhaps worse, Mr. Carson, would do.

The next fair day had come within the week and so after lunch she had made her way to the garage where she found Branson working on the car as she had expected. He was in a foul mood, grumbling about both the car, which was proving more challenging to adjust than he'd anticipated, and Mr. Carson, who had grown weary of Branson's frequently expressed political beliefs. Perhaps it was an irrational fear that in a pique of frustration with Mr. Carson he might hand in his notice and leave that possessed her to ask him, essentially, why he stayed at Downton and when he would return to Ireland. Perhaps it was something else.

She knew as soon as the words left her mouth that it had been a mistake, but nothing could have prepared her for his response. He would stay at Downton until she wanted to run away with her? She was too scared to admit it but she was in love with him? How dare he presume to know her feelings! To think she might ever run away with him! Why, the very idea was mad!

A knot formed in her stomach as soon as she realized Mary was approaching and Sybil had stalked away furiously and gone about her afternoon in a daze. She had expected Mary to confront her at some point about her conversation with Branson (Dear God, she hoped, Mary had not been able to hear their actual words), but had also hoped it might not be until the morning when she would have had a chance to calm her nerves. Naturally though, Mary had confronted her before dinner. Afterwards, it had taken everything Sybil had to sit through each course as though she hadn't a care in the world. Finally, dinner had ended and back in her room she rang for Anna, although she knew doing so would most likely interrupt the servants' dinner.

They had just finished eating downstairs when the bell rang; all eyes shot to the bells, for it was extremely unusual for any to ring at just this hour.

"That'll be Lady Sybil," Mrs. Hughes said, looking back to Anna.

"I wonder what she needs. She doesn't usually ring at all," Daisy observed.

"I'll say. Only one of them who ever gives us a moment's peace," Thomas added. Despite himself, he had come to admire Nurse Crawley, as he now of thought of Lady Sybil, and recognized that she was more than a bit different from from the rest of the Crawleys.

As Anna rose to attend to her mistress, she caught Branson's glance. Slowly, wearily he closed his eyes. I should have known, Anna thought. At that moment she might gladly have kindled an entire fire rather than face whatever havoc they had wrought unto each other's lives today, for she felt certain that Branson would be there at the table quietly reading his paper long after the others had cleared out that night.

Lady Sybil's eyes were red with unshed tears by the time Anna arrived in her room.

"Milady, what is it?"

"It's awful, Anna, just awful. He's so full of himself and then, of course Mary would be standing there, and I don't know what she heard and then, of course, she's got to confront me about it before dinner tonight and I've just been waiting all this time and I don't know what I'm going to do. How can he say that? Why would he say that? And what will I do about Mary?"

Nonsense. It was utter nonsense and if Lady Sybil expected Anna to offer her any advice she was going to have to settle down.

"Milady, I'm sorry, but I'm unable to follow what you've said. Please, can you tell me one thing at a time? Let's start with Mr. Branson. Tell me what he said."

Sybil filled her lungs with a great breath of air, released most of it, and in a voice and tone far calmer than she had possessed just seconds before, she started over.

"I was talking to Branson today, Anna, and I don't know why but I told him I didn't think he'd be content to stay at Downton forever."

"Perhaps you said that because you are concerned that he might well leave."

"Yes, perhaps that is it. But when I said that, he told me he would stay at Downton until I want to run away with him."

Anna raised her eyebrows. That was bold, even for Mr. Branson.

"But the worst of it Anna, was the thing he said next. He said to me, that I'm" and here she dropped her voice and did her best Irish accent, "too scared to admit it, but that I'm in love with him!"

Her voice returned to normal, but the indignation rose. "How can he say that?"

"Perhaps because it's true?"

Sybil was stunned.

"I don't…I don't know. Do you think it is?"

"That's not for me to say, milady."

"I just don't understand why he would say that."

"Lady Sybil, do you remember several months ago when you were especially upset with Mr. Branson and I suggested that perhaps the two of you argued so fiercely because there is much between you that is left unsaid?"

Sybil nodded her head, hesitantly.

"It seems to me that it's about time for what's been unsaid for so long to be spoken."

Sybil was quiet then and Anna hoped she was reflecting on the feelings of her heart. Anna saw how Lady Sybil lit up when she was in Branson's presence. She knew the precious pages that lay between the mattresses, the times her ladyship risked the cold for a late night trek to the garage, the way a simple lace shawl had become a sacred possession. If this was not love, what was? She wanted to shake Lady Sybil sometimes, but instead after giving her a moment to think, Anna moved on to the next problem.

"Now, milady, how does Lady Mary fit into this story?" This Anna did not want to know, for surely Lady Mary could recognize a lover's quarrel when she saw one and, if she in fact had, Anna knew it was only a matter of time before she heard of this from Lady Mary as well.

"When I looked up, she was standing there. Not immediately in front of us, mind you, but near enough to see that we weren't discussing the weather."

"And could she hear your conversation?"

"That's just it. I don't believe so, but of course I don't know."

"Well it seems to me that since you can't be certain what she did or did not hear, you ought not to worry about that. And, if she had heard, don't you think she might have said so when she spoke to you before dinner?"

Relief flooded Sybil's face.

"I suppose you are probable correct. Thank you, Anna. Good night."

"Good night, milady."

Branson would be waiting for her in the servant's hall, but she could not face him, not tonight. Her work for the evening was done and no one else would notice if she retired directly to her room. Quietly she turned her steps away from the servant's hall and to her own room, wishing all the while for Mr. Bates.

Early the next morning Anna found herself alone with Lady Mary.

"Anna, do you think there's anything between Sybil and chauffeur?"

"You mean Mr. Branson?"

"Yes, him."

"I really couldn't say, milady." This much was true. Just as she had sworn to bear Lady Mary's shame in silence, so too had she vowed to keep Lady Sybil's secret.

"So she hasn't said anything to you about him?"

"No, milady."

Fortunately for Sybil, Anna shared this conversation with her later that morning. When Mary confronted her about Branson later that day, Sybil then at least knew for certain that while Mary was suspicious, she definitely had not overheard their exchange. Sybil believed she was truthful with Mary when she said she didn't think she liked him like that. It wasn't until after, when she contemplated what would happen if Mary gave him away, that she realized – no, that she admitted – what she had long known. She could not live without him in her life.

Her trek to the garage that evening had felt like a mile, the knot in her stomach growing with each step. She felt like her mouth was full of sawdust by the time she got there and choking out 'I've told Mary,' was easily the hardest phrase she had ever uttered. And then it all went topsy-turvy. Branson had been delighted by her use of the word 'us;' finally after all these years might he have a real reason to hope that he might one day be bound to Lady Sybil in the eyes of God? Naturally, then, he ruined it by demeaning her work as a nurse. She had parted from him furiously and the thought entered his mind for just one moment that she might be cross enough to have him sacked then and there.

The last thing he wanted now, truly, was another fight with her. He sat hunched over his desk until the early hours of the morning trying to craft an appropriate apology. If he waited for her next visit to the garage, he may have to wait weeks and now, so close to hearing her admit that she loved him, he would not let his pride come before the apology he knew he should offer. The next morning at breakfast he handed Anna a plain sheet of paper, folded in half. On it he had written, "Nurse Crawley: You do fine work." It was only six words but they had cost him hours of sleep in his quest to find the right words. He hoped she would accept the apology good-naturedly and not wish to draw out this dispute.

He needn't have worried. Sybil, too, had been anxious to put their argument to the side. She had been speechless with anger when she returned to the house, but by the time she opened the door to her room she knew he did not honestly believe that what she did was without meaning. Before she climbed into bed she had dashed off the quick note as a peace offering. As she drifted off to sleep, she dreamed of Irish officers in Dublin hospitals.

As Anna tucked Branson's note into her apron, she withdrew another paper and passed it to him. Opening it he read, "Do officers in Ireland need hot drinks?" A broad smile formed and he began to laugh.

"Mr. Branson, is everything alright?" Carson asked from the head of the table.

"Yes, Mr. Carson, everything is alright. It's going to be a great day."

The staff, Anna included, looked at him as though he might be a little mad, but he didn't care. Lady Sybil loved him.