Disclaimer: See chapter 1.
Special thanks to my awesome reviewers Queen of the Weevils, MissMattSmith, tic tac toe 03 & MontyPythonFan for all your lovely comments, this chapter's for you guys, hope it lives up to your expectations! :D
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The next few weeks seemed to carry on as normal, despite the news of the war which still loomed over the household. Sybil noticed how her father spent much more time in town, or hidden away in his study, getting news from London about the latest from the Western Front. Mary was the same as ever, though Sybil could tell she was still upset about Cousin Matthew, but the two of them seemed to be getting on better terms as the weeks went by, so Mary's spirits seemed to rise. She saw her mother and Edith now and again, but longed for the stimulating conversations on politics and national affairs that Branson offered her, so gradually seemed to take more trips into town to give herself the opportunity to talk to the chauffeur.
Branson, to his delight, found himself more and more in Sybil's company as the weeks progressed. She seemed to counteract the melancholy air that seemed to surround everyone since war was declared. Each time he drove her to one place or another he'd inform her of the latest news from the front, along with the politics of the war as her father was attempting to shield her from most of it. On the rare times Sybil had seen her father he would not answer her constant questions, so Branson was there to fill in the blanks.
It was a cold, late August morning when Sybil emerged from the front door, ready to be driven into town to visit a friend. She immediately spotted Branson when she exited the house, stood beside the car, and couldn't contain the smile that materialised on her face.
"Good morning milady" he greeted her with a smile in return and a polite nod.
As Branson's hand caught hers to help her up into the backseat, their eyes inadvertently met. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks and she attempted to hide the blush that had swept over her face. He didn't seem to notice though as his eyes remained focused intently on hers. Through that one glance they seemed to exchange countless unspoken words, but before either of them could do anything about it a voice called out from the house.
The moment interrupted, both immediately broke the gaze and looked over towards the voice to see Mary heading towards them. Branson's hand remained in Sybil's as he helped her back out of the car again, and they held contact for longer than was perhaps necessary as Mary approached them. Lady Mary seemed to pause for a second, taking in the two of them with a questioning glance as Branson released Sybil's hand, before turning her attention to her younger sister.
"Sybil" she began, "Would you mind terribly if you picked up some more wool for Mama? She's run out already, and all the servants are busy. I thought, since you were going into town anyway…"
Sybil smiled politely at her sister, "Of course not Mary, I'll pick some up on my way back".
Cora had all the girls knitting anything and everything so they could send them to the soldiers fighting on the front lines. Sybil wasn't particularly fond of knitting, but she wanted to do something for the war effort and this was her way of contributing, considering she couldn't just join the army herself.
Mary wavered slightly, deliberating, "Actually, how about I come with you, pick it up myself-"
"No" Sybil cut in, though quickly seemed to compose herself as she realised she may have spoken too harshly, "I mean, it's fine, I can pick it up for you, it's no problem".
Mary paused, then nodded "Thank you, I appreciate it", before sending a dazzling smile her sisters way. As she turned around to head back to the house, her gaze flickered between Sybil and Branson, the latter remaining silent and standing obediently by the car door. She seemed about to say something else before thinking better of it, and so left without another word.
Sybil took in a deep breath and smoothed down her dress, her smile returned and she turned back towards Branson, "Ready to go?"
He looked up from where his gaze had been focused on the ground and nodded with a smile of his own. "Yes milady" he replied, starting up the car and beginning the drive into town.
She realised she hated it when he called her that. It was strange. She had never really minded before, it seemed appropriate for her status for him to call her 'milady', but something had changed. Now it made her feel as if she was so much better than him, when all she wanted was for them to be on equal terms.
Then her mind came back to the question that had been with her for the past week; why couldn't they have been the same class? They could have talked whenever they wanted without it being seen as improper for a Lady to converse with a servant about anything other than what was necessary for the latter to perform their duty.
She was pulled out of her reverie by Branson's voice from the driver's seat, asking her if she was alright. Sybil nodded, and took the opportunity to strike up a conversation.
"Do you agree with what they're saying?" she began, "about the war being over by Christmas?"
Branson gave a small shake of his head before responding, "If you ask me, the government's saying that to keep up morale. From what I've heard that'll be unlikely, but I think I speak for everyone in hoping for a swift end to the war".
Sybil nodded in understanding, then seemed to consider her next question carefully, "Do you ever think what it's like over there?" she questioned.
Branson paused in thought as her words sent his mind back to the previous day.
He'd known immediately after the war was announced that he would soon volunteer in the army and, after hearing a call for volunteers in town, he had made the decision to enlist. It was so much simpler than he'd imagined it would be; he went, signed up, and was given instructions of where to be at what time to be sent to a local training camp. All he had to do now was hand in his notice to Lord Grantham, and tell everyone he'd soon be leaving.
He wondered how he was going to tell Sybil, and wondered even more how she would react. Would she be upset? Worried? Or was he overestimating how much she cared for him? He pushed the thoughts away and remembered she had just asked him a question. Instead of telling her he'd find out soon enough what it was like at war, he went instead for light humour, wanting to distract himself from imagining what he would see when he went to the front;
"It's probably cold milady, if here's anything to go by"
