This story is officially more than 100 pages long on Word! Thank you everyone for reading! Now for some girl talk, from Sybil's perspective.

Sybil

It was almost 10 p.m. by the time Sybil and Mary got back to Sybil's flat. A minor delay during takeoff, what felt like ages waiting for her suitcase at Heathrow, killer traffic, but finally, she was back in her own room. And yet sitting here on her bed trying to motivate herself to unpack and not leave it until morning, Sybil couldn't help but admit that she longed to be in his room instead. To be with him. It'd been less than half a day and the 29th, when he'd be coming for New Year's, already couldn't come soon enough. She had to laugh at herself, and did so loudly, falling back onto her bed. Lovesick and with no hope of a cure—that's what Mary had said in the car, rolling her eyes but clearly amused at seeing her little sister in such a state.

Sybil sat back up hearing Mary coming to her bedroom door.

"Travel-induced delirium?"

Sybil, trying to repress her smile, said, "Will you roll your eyes again if I say love-induced."

"Oh, dear God, Sybil." And Sybil let out another chortle as she saw her sister, indeed, roll her eyes again and walk back toward the living room.

Sybil supposed she couldn't blame Mary. Sybil had talked her ear off the entire way home about what a wonderful time she'd had, how wonderful Tom was, how she still couldn't believe she'd finally found the Tom Branson she'd been daydreaming about for years, how much she loved his family, how much she loved Dublin, how she couldn't wait to move there, how she couldn't believe that this was true love felt like, how she couldn't believe that she'd ever considered living without it, how—no matter how much time she'd wasted with Larry—she couldn't hate her parents because how could someone this in love hate anyone?

At this, Mary had said, "Well, I suppose they'll be glad to hear that at least."

Sitting on her bed now and looking around at the artifacts of the life she had run away from just two weeks ago, Sybil wished she could go back in time and tell herself, "It'll be OK. You're going to find him."

That version of herself probably would have been embarrassed by all of Sybil's prattling on, but Sybil couldn't help it. That girl didn't know what Sybil knew now: How different living is when you have someone to live for.

She stood up from her spot on the bed, went over to her purse and took out the small note that Tom had left for her there, without her noticing, while she was checking in at the airport. She found it just after sitting down on the plane.

Dearest Sybil,

Next time, stay forever.

Yours, Tom

PS. Is the white-tie thing really non-negotiable?

PPS. I've been told I look quite dashing in a sport coat.

PPPS. I'm bringing one just in case you change your mind.

She smiled, reading it for the bazillionth time, then walked over to her vanity and slid it into the side of the mirror.

"I'm making some tea, would you like some?" Mary called from the kitchen.

Sybil stood up and walked out into the living room. "Oh, thank you! Yes, please."

"It's only tea, darling, or is that, 'Thank you for listening to the Tom Branson love litany in the car.'"

Now sitting on the kitchen table, Sybil could see the teasing smirk on Mary's face as she poured their tea on the counter and brought the cups over to the table.

"I must have really exhausted you if you're not bothering with the tray," Sybil said with a laugh.

"I don't know about exhaustion, but I did consider jumping out of the car the third time you mentioned how much you loved the sound of his voice."

"I did not mention it three times," Sybil said, then paused and, eager to tease Mary back, started batting her eyelashes and added in an exaggeratedly breathy voice, "He does have a lovely accent, though." She laughed as her sister shook her head and rolled her eyes at her—again. "You volunteered to pick me up, didn't you? Gwen would have been all too happy to hear about my romantic exploits."

"I suppose I did ask for it, but only because I have my own news to share."

"Oh?"

"I'll start with Edith. She and the editor are officially an item."

"What? Isn't he technically still married?"

"It's just haggling over money at this point, or so Edith keeps saying. Apparently, it's been going on for some time, but she told mum and dad over Christmas because she'd like for him to come to the ball?"

"What did they say?"

"That it'll be a scandal, or course. The head of one of London's biggest newspapers can't have an affair with a columnist in the middle of his divorce from his actress wife without the gossip rags getting wind of it."

"Oh, dear. Poor Edith."

"Poor Edith?"

"Surely you don't believe, given everything that's at stake, that she'd have entered into the relationship if she didn't love him? If she's told our parents it's because she hopes to have a future with him, don't you think? Or are you so concerned with the scandal yourself, you haven't considered her feelings?"

"I just don't see why couldn't she have waited until it's all blown over."

"That's not fair to Edith. If she really loves him—"

"Oh, Sybil—"

"Oh, Sybil, what? You can roll your eyes at me and call me lovesick all you want, but love does change your view on things." Sybil watched her sister, always so prim and proper, as she sipped her tea, and Sybil tried to imagine Mary losing herself in someone. It's not that she considered Mary incapable of love—and, no, Mary would never be one to give Edith the benefit of the doubt when it came to anything—but for Mary, it would be hard if she always insisted on remaining in control. Sybil sincerely hoped that wouldn't always be the case, but she couldn't help but stick up for Edith. "I suppose you couldn't understand what she or I—"

"That's not fair!"

It was a stronger reaction than Sybil was expecting, but if Mary was going to push, she would push back.

"Isn't it? When have you ever felt the kind of urgency of wanting to be with someone that makes you want to jump out of your skin?"

"Oh, are you an expert now in matters of the heart, after two weeks?"

"No, but I know how much you like to antagonize Edith, and I won't let you judge her in this way. Not when you don't know what that feels like."

Mary set her cup down and put her hands in her lap, suddenly seeming to Sybil more hurt than angry. Quietly, she said, "I know perfectly well what that feels like."

Sybil narrowed her eyes, not sure about what to make of this revelation. Mary has been in love?

"With who?"

Mary sighed, and her lips fell into a small smile. "I didn't want us to be arguing when I told you this."

Now Sybil was even more confused. "Mary?"

"Matthew."

Sybil almost dropped her tea cup. Seeing her big sister there, looking on the verge of tears, delicate and vulnerable, but also rather proud of herself and defiant—a mix of emotions only Mary could be capable of—Sybil's eyes widened and her mouth stretched into a disbelieving grin.

"Matthew. As in Matthew Crawley? Who stayed—"

"Who stayed here at your flat, yes." At this Mary covered her face with her hands, as if to cry but when Sybil went over to her to pull her hands off, what she saw in her face were not tears but a smile as bright as any she had ever seen on her sister.

"How in the world did it happen? And I've been with you for hours, how could you not say anything until now?"

"Well, you were sort of going on and on."

"Don't give me that. You're telling me everything right now! Oh, Mary, do you realize? We're in love with best friends!"

XXX

"Do you mean to tell me you haven't had sex since the first night?"

The sisters' chat had moved from the kitchen where Mary had made her revelation, to the sofa where she filled the details in for Sybil on her encounter with Matthew on the first night and the series of dates that followed, to—given the lateness of the hour—Sybil's bed where they sat now facing one another, Sybil at the head of the bed under the covers, Mary at the foot of it sitting over them. It was a scene that had played out in their family's home many times over when they were young girls. The subject now, of course, of a much more mature nature.

Mary shook her head in response to her sister's question.

"Wasn't it any good?"

"Of course, it was fantastic. That's the point. I didn't want it to cloud my judgment. At the time, I didn't know he was planning on moving here, and I didn't want to jump into something with someone who lived elsewhere."

Sybil furrowed her brow, trying to understand her sister's logic. "Well, you have more will power than me. Tom so much as looks at me and my clothes fly off of their own accord."

"Sybil!"

"Oh, you can't be demure with me now that I know you've had sex in my flat."

Sybil had never talked to Mary liked this, and it was too much fun not to tease her. She could see now the difference in her. It was subtle, but it was there. Her eyes were brighter, she was more relaxed, she no longer looked like she was holding everything back, and then there was the fact that she was talking about sex at all.

For whatever reason, at that moment, Sybil's mind went to the sex talk their mother had given her as she was getting ready for her coming out ball, just after she'd turned 18. She'd always wondered what her sisters had thought of Cora's advice.

"Did mum talk to you before your debut . . . you know, about sex? Do remember what she said?"

Mary brought her hand to her forehead. "Ugh. I'm still trying to forget it. There I am trying to feel elegant and graceful and mama turns up the awkward dial to 100."

Sybil laughed. "Maybe it wasn't the best time to bring it up. But I've been thinking, since being with Tom, about what she said."

"And what did she say to you?"

"She said that now was the time when men would start taking an interest in me, and I when I took an interest in someone I needed to think in terms of the future. But then she said that once I did find someone, sex, if it was with someone whom I really loved, was supposed to be fun." Sybil puckered her lips and put on her best American accent, "the most terrific fun."

Mary smiled. "I got that speech, too."

"At the time, I think I was a bit cynical about it. I thought it was her way of telling me that in my role as girlfriend or wife, it was something that I had to do, so I might as well have fun with it. But with Tom, it is fun. What I feel with him is something I never want to let go of . . . I mean, I love it because I'm with him and we're together, but I also feel . . . good about myself. I never really thought a man could make me feel that. With Larry, it's not that it was terrible or anything. It just was never about me or us, even, it was always about him. The fact that I was present was almost a coincidence."

Mary laughed and put her hands over her ears. "And now you've said more than I've ever wanted to know about Larry Grey."

Sybil laughed too, but then got quiet again. "I guess this is my way of saying that I hope Matthew makes it special for you because you deserve it."

Mary smiled. "At the risk of sounding like I'm talking in euphemisms, he did and I know he will. And if there is a doubt in you, I'll clarify that I do very much want to do it again."

Sybil smiled. Then, in a conspiratorial whisper, barely containing her glee, she said, "Tom and I did it eight times the first day."

"SYBIL!" Mary threw herself on the bed and pulled the duvet over her head, which caused Sybil to howl with laughter.

After their fit of giggles had subsided, Mary sat back up. "You know, I would thank the good Lord for sending me Matthew except he's taking you away."

"Ireland's not that far," Sybil responded quietly.

"No. But there won't be much more of this for us."

Without thinking Sybil crawled over to her sister, and the two held each other in a tight hug.

Sybil, trying not to sound like there were tears pooling in her eyes, said, "Thank you, dear sister."

She pulled back, and Mary wiped the tear that had escaped and was running down Sybil's cheek with her index finger. "Thank you, darling." She stood up, saying, "I must be off to bed. I told mum, I'd take the train back tomorrow to help with the arrangements for the ball."

"Did you invite Matthew?"

"I did."

"Oh, good. They'll have each other to talk to." This gave Sybil pause. "Mary, do you suppose Edith will hate us?"

"Because our boyfriends are close? I don't know, but then she's always hated me."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Well, all the more reason for you to be easy on her."

"Oh, fine. I'll be nice to the editor. Goodnight, darling."

"Goodnight."

Sybil sighed as Mary closed the door behind her. Then, she smiled thinking about how, growing up, she was close with Mary in spite of the fact that she'd often felt as if they had very little in common. As adults, they remained very different people, but they were closer now than ever before. Like opposite sides of the same coin.

Sybil, already in her pajamas, a T-shirt and the boxer shorts she'd stolen from Tom, tucked herself into bed and reached for her mobile on her nightstand.

First, she texted Gwen: "Lunch or dinner tomorrow?"

Then Edith: "Mary told me about Gregson drama with mum and dad. Are you ok? Forget everyone and be happy! Let's talk soon. Love, Syb."

Then Tom: "You've surely heard by now re: M&M? That's how I'm referring to them from now on."

Then another to Tom: "I love you."

Then another: "I miss you."

Then another: "I will make the tails worth your while."

Then, he replied, "My darling, you drive a hard bargain."

Then again: "I love you too."