Here it is, the end! I can hardly believe it! Thank you to everyone who has read this and left a review. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I do have a couple of ideas brewing for Sybil and Tom stories (one of which may also have some Matthew and Mary, depending on how it goes), but both are still in very early stages of planning so I'm not sure when I'll start posting.
Random fun fact: When I started writing this story, one of the first lines of dialogue that came to me was the first line of this epilogue.
Thanks again for your support. Enjoy!
18 months later
"For fuck's sake, Mary, I don't care that you're the bride. The bloody best man plans the stag night and, like it or not, that's me!"
Sybil Branson was in actual tears laughing at her husband and sister fighting—as they had been doing more and more lately—over Matthew Crawley, Tom's best friend and Mary's husband-to-be. It wasn't that Tom and Mary didn't like one another. Most of the time, in fact, they got along quite well. Unfortunately, though, Mary and Matthew's pending nuptials had stirred up a selfishness in each of them with regard to Matthew's time that was not particularly becoming for either, providing a seemingly endless source of exasperation for Matthew and an equally endless source of amusement for Sybil. What it came down to, Matthew and Sybil agreed, was that Tom and Mary's egos were simply to large to fit in the same figurative room.
Sybil had been watching Tom pace the kitchen, increasingly annoyed at Mary, for the last fifteen minutes. She'd gotten up from bed a short while ago, gone to the loo and then, still in her pajamas, gone in search of Tom to share some news she'd been holding for the last several days, only to walk into the kitchen to this. Having heard his side of the argument, Sybil could only imagine what was being said on the other end of the line. Now that Tom had dropped a "fuck" and "bloody" in a single sentence, Sybil decided it was time to intervene before any real damage was done.
She stood up from the sofa, walked over to her husband and without warning took the phone from his hands.
Tom threw his hands in the air and announced, "I'm taking a bath."
Sybil laughed as she watched him walk upstairs. "Hi, Mary."
"Honestly, Sybil. Explain to me how you can live with such a man."
She responded cheekily, "Exactly how much detail would you like?"
"Ugh, must everything be about sex with you two?"
"Mary, why are you two getting so worked up?"
"With all this wedding madness I was about to say that I can see why you eloped, but I've realized that's the problem."
"What's the problem?"
"Tom didn't get a proper stag, so now he's trying to hijack Matthew's."
"Mary, you're being positively silly! Since when has any bride had any say in what the groom does the weekend before the wedding?"
Mary sighed.
"You need to relax, sister dear," Sybil continued, "Besides, whatever they get up to, it won't be near as fun as what Edith is planning for us."
"And what is that, exactly?"
"It's a surprise, of course. I'm not going to ruin it now just to appease you over what, quite frankly, is a very silly argument with Tom. You need to let them do what they want."
"Oh, all right. I just don't want them to get into any sort of trouble."
"I'm sure they will get into some trouble, but I told you already that I've warned Tom. If Matthew isn't at the altar looking his best on the day of your wedding, he'll get punished."
"Yes, I remember, no sex for one month."
"One week, actually."
"That's all!?"
"Well, I'm not going to punish myself! And trust me, when I told him, the message got through. A week is plenty."
Mary laughed, sounding, finally, at least somewhat relaxed. "Fine. You two really are quite a match."
"So are you and Matthew."
"That we are."
"Is all the other planning going well?"
"Other than mum driving me crazy, yes. Speaking of, don't forget that the dressmaker needs your measurements by next week."
"Mary, about that . . ." Sybil trailed off as she heard Tom come back into the kitchen freshly showered, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. "Actually, can I call you back tonight?"
"Sure. Is everything all right?"
"Yes. I promise. I'll call after dinner."
"All right, darling. We'll talk soon."
With that Sybil hung up and turned to Tom, who was leaning against the counter watching her and drinking a cup of coffee. He lifted his mug and asked, "Do you want some?"
"Um, no, thanks."
"Are you sure?"
"Listening to the two of you was enough to stir all the senses." She walked over to him, took his mug, placed it on the counter and put her arms around his neck. "I do wish you'd take it easy on her. It is her wedding."
He smiled and leaned his forehead against hers. "I know. I'm sorry." They stood like that for a moment, but then Tom pulled his head back rather suddenly and furrowed his brow. "Do you ever wish we hadn't eloped?"
"Tom, how can you ask me that? Of course, not."
"I don't know. Most girls like planning weddings and things. I just don't want you to feel like you missed out on something."
She laughed. "Honestly, watching poor Mary contend with mum and granny over this whole thing makes me grateful we avoided it."
"Me too."
"Besides, ours was still a very nice wedding, and it's not like no family attended."
It happened in late July, after Tom's first New Year's Ball at Downton. Sybil had been living in Dublin for four months (with him for three, as it took them a month to realize her getting her own flat was utterly pointless) and she was working part-time as a nursing assistant at a mental health rehabilitation center. She'd tried to find full-time work at first, but there wasn't much available in her field. So after a talk with her college advisor, she changed course. The research that she'd done in London on soldiers, her advisor told her, was enough to start on her doctoral degree in public health, if that's what she wanted. So instead of a permanent job, Sybil began looking for something to fill the time while she waited to enroll to at Trinity College in Dublin in the fall. Shortly after finding the nursing assistant position, they found an old house to rent in his sister Maura's neighborhood. Needing a break after the move and knowing how busy Sybil would be once classes started, they decided to take a trip to New York City to visit Martha, who was only too happy to host her two favorite people in the world.
It was a wonderful three weeks, during which they took a train ride to New Haven, so Sybil could show Tom where she'd gone to uni, and spent a few days at Martha's house in the Hamptons. Most of all, though, they enjoyed just being in the city. Because Martha's apartment on the Upper East Side was so close to Central Park, Tom took advantage and went for a jog every morning while Sybil slept in. One morning, two days before they were set to go back to Dublin, Martha found him on his way back in and asked him to follow her into her room. He would have protested, given his sweaty state, but he knew not to argue with her when she had her mind set on something, as she very clearly did just then. He stopped at the doorway and watched her as she went over to her vanity and took out something small and shiny from a small porcelain bowl. She held it out to him. It was a diamond ring.
"Are you proposing to me, Martha?"
"Oh, kid, that's how I know you're perfect for her," she said with a smile.
"What is this?" He asked walking to her and taking the antique ring.
"This is the ring you're giving to Sybil, you nitwit. It was the one my dear Leo gave to me when he proposed a zillion years ago. I've had it long enough."
Tom realized what she was giving him. "Are you serious?"
"Of course, I'm serious. The question is, are you?"
"Yes, I am."
"Well, now you have the hardware for when the mood strikes."
"Thank you. I'd hug you but . . ." he motioned at his sweaty self.
"Oh, there will be time enough for that."
Tom wasted no time, practically running to Sybil, waking her and asking her to marry him right then.
Her answer, naturally, was a resounding yes, followed by, "Oh, Tom, let's do it today!"
Martha was only too happy to oblige. She took them shopping that very morning and bought Sybil a simple tea-length white sheath dress and Tom a navy suit. Later that afternoon, the three of them walked into New York's City Hall. And just like that, Sybil and Tom were married. Martha and the groom of the wedding party waiting behind them in line were their witnesses. Their respective families were happy and not entirely surprised at the impulsiveness of the whole thing when they finally heard. Cora's lightly hurt feelings at not seeing her daughter get married were assuaged when Sybil told her she could host a reception for them at Downton, if she wanted. Sybil left all the planning in the hands of her mother, and it was a lovely event, a garden party, so the groom—whom Cora knew well by this point—wouldn't have to wear a tux.
Claire's reaction: "Oh, thank heaven! I thought it would never happen!"
The following December, back at Downton for the ball, Sybil and Tom's wedded bliss was made brighter by Matthew and Mary's announcement of their own engagement.
Tom had pushed Matthew in that direction after he and Sybil were married, but it had been Matthew's plan to do it at the ball all along. And the weather offered him a helping hand. On that night, sometime around 11:50 p.m., he pulled Mary out into the entrance hall. She had started to joke about their having abandoned the ball before midnight the previous year and making a tradition out of it, when she noticed snow falling outside. Excited for a snowy New Year's, she immediately walked through the doors and out into the driveway, leaving Matthew behind her. When she turned around to see if he'd had caught up, she saw him several steps behind her, down on one knee.
Her eyes brightened with tears. "Oh, Matthew!"
He held out his hands, and she, beaming, stepped forward to slide hers into his.
"Lady Mary Crawley, would you do me that honor of becoming my wife?"
After the yes, after the kiss, and after a bit of twirling in the snow, the two ran back inside to share their news as everyone was wishing each other a happy new year. They went to Robert and Cora first. Mary saw the tears in her father's eyes as she approached him and knew immediately that Matthew had spoken to him ahead of time. Matthew was not a stickler for tradition and didn't think it necessary to ask "permission," but he knew that giving that moment to Robert would mean a lot to Mary. Watching her as she hugged her father, he knew he had been right. Next, they sought out Tom and Sybil, who were so thrilled they pulled their sister and soon-to-be brother into a group hug. Mary might have thought it silly, if she hadn't been so happy.
Unlike Tom and Sybil's quiet afternoon in New York, Matthew and Mary's would be a traditional wedding. With all the pomp and circumstance—and headaches—that came with it. Mary would not have it any other way.
Sybil still had her arms around Tom in the kitchen when the doorbell interrupted what she was about to say, what she'd been meaning to tell him since she walked downstairs. What she'd been looking for a way to tell him for the last several days, in fact.
Tom went over to the door and a few minutes later brought a small parcel with him into the kitchen.
"What is it?" Sybil asked.
"Galley proof for the book. My editor said it would be coming this week."
"Oh, how exciting!" Sybil immediately took the parcel from him and ripped it open. He smiled at her excitement. She'd read the copy several times already, but she couldn't wait to do it again in actual book form.
It hadn't happened overnight, but Tom eventually overcame his writer's block. Being with Sybil had started the process and going through his father's old papers had brought it all back—why he'd wanted to be a writer in the first place. Writing became meaningful again, no longer just an empty exercise. Several months earlier, with help from Edith's powerful boyfriend Michael Gregson, Tom had found a publishing house that would take his new manuscript, titled "The Autobiography of My Father." He was still at the magazine because he thought it helped keep him focused, but he was, he felt, very much a real writer again. Sybil could not have been happier or more proud.
Once the galley was out of the box, she immediately opened it up to the first page. She was about to start reading aloud, when she got an idea and turned to the last page in the book.
"There's a problem with the about the author text."
"What?" He quickly took the book from her and looked it over. " 'Tom Branson is a graduate of Cambridge University and the author of The Radical Chauffer. He lives in Dublin with his wife.' What's wrong with that?"
"It should read, 'He lives in Dublin with his wife and baby.' "
THE END