Author's note: Thanks for the review, Depp! I'm so happy you're enjoying this story. Sybil knows their secret. You'll find out her reaction in this chapter. Thanks for reading and reviewing! I really do appreciate it.

May 1914

Mary and Branson were utterly engrossed in each other, and Sybil found she couldn't look away. She'd never seen her sister – her very proper, status-conscious, protocol-following sister – like this before. And certainly not with a man so far below her in social status. She'd seen her flirt with young men of their own class, but never anything like this. Indeed, she could hardly believe the evidence of her own eyes.

When it looked like Mary and Branson were beginning to pull apart, Sybil hastily stepped back out of sight, not wanting either of them to see her.

This secret she had discovered was huge. Her sister's reputation and Branson's future employment at Downton lay in her hands. She couldn't simply rush into anything. She needed to think about this before she spoke to Mary.

As quietly as she could, she crept away from the garage, her mind reeling with what she'd seen.

'My lady, Mr Crawley is waiting for you in the library,' Carson informed Sybil as she walked into the Great Hall, still distracted by what she'd seen in the garage.

'Is he? Oh, can you tell him I will be with him in a few minutes,' she said, a smile breaking over her face at the thought of seeing Matthew.

She ran upstairs to change out of her hat and coat, arriving breathlessly back outside the library just over five minutes later. She stopped, closing her eyes for a moment to calm her breathing, and then she smoothed her hair and walked into the library.

Matthew turned away from the fireplace as she came in, his face lighting up when he saw her and then clouding over as he took in the gash on her temple.

'Sybil,' he said, coming towards her, reaching out a hand to her injury before remembering himself and pulling it back. 'How are you?'

'I'm fine, Matthew, I'm perfectly fine,' she said, smiling reassuringly at him.

'But your head…' he said, gesturing towards her temple.

'It's nothing.'

'It doesn't look like nothing,' he said, feeling more wretched than ever about the part he'd played in the incident that caused her injuries.

Sybil took his hand in hers, determined to stop him in his tracks. 'Matthew, I'm fine. It's just a superficial wound. It's really nothing to worry about, I promise you.'

He pressed his lips together, still holding her hand. 'I've come to apologise to you for my part in everything that happened yesterday. I'm so terribly sorry.'

'You have nothing to apologise for,' Sybil reassured him, putting her other hand over his, clasping it between hers.

'But I do. It was my fault. I provoked that man,' Matthew said, earnestly.

'That man who arrived at the count looking for a fight?' Sybil countered, raising an eyebrow. 'Oh, yes, I'm quite sure he would have been as docile as a lamb if you hadn't said a word to him.'

Matthew's lips twitched as he tried not to smile. 'That's hardly the point.'

'That's exactly the point. There is only one person to blame for what happened yesterday, and that is me,' Sybil said, firmly.

'That's not true,' Matthew protested.

'It is. Papa forbade me to go to the count and I disobeyed him and went anyway. I lied to Branson and put his job at risk. I put myself in a dangerous situation,' she said, listing the reasons she was at fault. 'Nobody forced me to go to the count. In fact, practically everyone told me not to. Branson tried to tell me to go home. You tried to tell me to go home. I didn't listen to any of you. So, I can't blame anyone else for what happened. If I hadn't been there, I wouldn't have got hurt. That is the long and the short of it.'

'But, Sybil, I – ' Matthew began.

'No. I won't hear another word about it,' she insisted, pressing his hand, secretly thrilled to still be holding it between hers.

'Let's sit down, shall we?' Let me pour you a cup of tea,' he said, guiding her towards the sofa.

'Tea would be lovely,' Sybil said, letting him steer her towards a seat.

She watched him as he poured the tea, admiring how he looked in his suit. Her mind drifted back to Mary and Branson kissing so tenderly and yet so passionately in the garage ten minutes ago and she felt her cheeks heat as she imagined kissing Matthew like that. It was an intoxicating thought.

'Are you sure you're all right?' he asked anxiously, taking note of her heightened colour as he returned with a cup of tea.

Sybil smiled at him, a soft, beguiling smile that made Matthew never want to be anywhere else than by her side.

'I am perfectly fine. Nothing that a cup of tea and your company won't fix,' she assured him.

'Well, no matter what you say, I am sorry for what happened yesterday,' Matthew repeated. 'Have you seen Branson today? Robert didn't sack him, did he?'

Sybil shook her head. 'Papa hasn't dismissed Branson. I've just come back from the garage. I apologised to him for lying to him and giving him a sleepless night worrying about losing his job.'

'Oh, I'm glad about that. Mary read me the riot act last night when she found out what had happened. She said I'd be in both your and her bad books if I didn't confess all to Robert and tell him Branson wasn't to blame for your injuries.'

'Did she, indeed?' Sybil said, eyeing him thoughtfully.

'Believe me, she was quite vociferous about it. She was adamant that Branson should not suffer for it all,' Matthew said with feeling, remembering the cold anger Mary had shown last night when they'd discussed the incident.

Sybil gazed at him, understanding better now why her sister had apparently fought so ferociously to save Branson from being dismissed. If they were carrying on some kind of affair as it appeared they were, she would not want him to leave the Abbey.

'She was absolutely right, of course, but I was somewhat surprised, I confess,' Matthew continued. 'I know Mary is close to Carson, and to Anna, too, but I didn't realise she knew Branson all that well. She was very…'

'Very what?' Sybil asked, cautiously.

'Well, she fought tooth and nail to keep his job. It took me aback somewhat. Not that she wasn't right to do so under the circumstances. I was just… well, surprised that she was so invested in Branson's future here.'

'Hmm, well, Mary does have quite a keen sense of what's right and what's wrong,' Sybil said, defending her sister.

'Does she? Sometimes, she says things that can be quite unfair and even, dare I say, unkind on occasion,' Matthew replied, and then looked at Sybil in concern, wondering if he had perhaps overstepped the mark.

'She can be… spiky sometimes,' Sybil allowed. 'And she can say things she doesn't mean on the spur of the moment. Mary herself will admit that.'

'Well, I certainly didn't want to be in her bad books after last night. And I definitely don't want to be in yours,' he said, his blue eyes locking onto hers. 'I don't think I could bear it if you were angry with me.'

Sybil felt her heart jolt at the look in his eye. If she didn't know better, she would almost describe it as love. 'I can't imagine being angry with you,' she replied, softly.

He smiled at her, reaching out to lay his hand over hers. Sybil pulled in a breath at the warm, heavy weight of his hand on hers. An image of Mary and Branson in the garage flashed before her eyes again.

'Matthew, have you ever…' Sybil petered out, second-guessing the wisdom of asking Matthew whether he'd ever noticed anything untoward between Mary and Branson. He would wonder why she was asking, perhaps question her about it.

He waited, looking at her expectantly. 'Have I ever what?'

'Nothing,' Sybil muttered, glancing away from him.

Matthew squeezed her hand, gently. 'Sybil? If there's something you want to ask me, ask it.'

Sybil gazed steadily at him, debating whether to share the secret she'd just discovered. Eventually, she decided she owed it to Mary to talk to her first.

'It's nothing. I just wondered if you'd ever form a bad opinion of someone because they'd made poor choices that had caused difficulties for other people,' she improvised.

Matthew looked fondly at her. 'Are you talking about yourself yesterday?'

'Perhaps,' Sybil said, holding his gaze. 'I'd hate to think you thought less of me.'

'Sybil, I could never think less of you. You are passionate about the things that matter to you, and I wouldn't change that for the world.' He paused, his fond gaze turning more heated. 'In fact, I find it most attractive.'

Sybil felt a charge pass between them, something more intense than anything she'd ever felt before, and her heart started beating faster. 'Do you?'

'Yes, I do,' he said, tightening his hand on hers once again.

Sybil swallowed hard, wishing that she was brave enough to lean forward and kiss him even half as passionately as Mary had kissed Branson. Maybe one day.

'Hello, darling. Have you come to brush my hair? I thought perhaps you might be too tired tonight,' Mary said warmly, breaking into a smile as Sybil appeared in her bedroom that evening. Her smile faded at the look on Sybil's face. 'Are you all right?'

'I need to talk to you about something,' Sybil said determinedly, readying herself for the conversation she was about to have.

Mary looked at her curiously. 'All right. About what?'

'About you and Branson,' Sybil said, watching Mary's face carefully.

'Me and Branson? What on earth do you mean?' Mary said, trilling a nervous laugh, her mind whirling. What could Sybil possibly know about her and Tom? Nothing, surely. She hadn't so much as touched him when Sybil was in the garage with them.

'I saw you together. Today.'

'I know you did, silly. I was with you,' Mary said, her heart beginning to race. 'Has that bump on the head affected your memory?'

'No, I mean I saw you with him. I came back to book the motor and you were there in the garage. In his arms. Kissing him,' Sybil said, fixing Mary with a piercing look.

Mary cast a quick glance at her bedroom door, noting that it was firmly closed, thank goodness. She looked back at Sybil, desperately trying to think of something to say and coming up blank.

Sybil narrowed her eyes. 'Don't even try to deny it because I saw you, Mary. I saw you.'

Mary stared at her sister, panic churning in her gut, and then a calmness descended on her. She could talk Sybil around; she knew she could. Sybil wasn't Edith. She was kind and thoughtful, not nasty and vicious.

'All right. I won't deny it. You saw us,' she said evenly, holding Sybil's gaze. 'Now what? What do you intend to do? Are you going to tell anyone?'

Sybil shook her head, taken aback by Mary's unequivocal admission that there was something going on between her and Branson. She'd expected bluster and denial, not this swift capitulation.

'I want you to tell me about it.'

Mary gazed at her steadily. 'What do you want to know?'

'Everything!' Sybil cried. 'When did it start this... this whatever this is with Branson?'

'Last March,' Mary said, answering the question calmly.

'March,' Sybil repeated, nodding slowly, her eyes drifting to the carpet as she thought about that. Just a couple of months then.

'Yes, but nothing happened between us then, nothing romantic, not for a few months. The first time anything happened, the first time we kissed, was June.'

Sybil's eyes snapped up towards Mary, widening with shock. 'June? You mean this has been going on for more than a year?' she asked, incredulously.

'Yes, that's what I said. The start of it goes back to last March.'

'Last March? I thought you meant this March! I thought you meant two months ago! Not a year ago and more!'

Mary gazed at her sister, pressing her lips together, waiting for Sybil to say something else.

'How… how on earth have you hidden this for that long?' Sybil asked, astonished that Mary could have been carrying on with the chauffeur for such a long time without anyone apparently noticing a single thing.

'We've been careful,' Mary said as if that were nothing.

Sybil goggled at her. 'Careful? Well, I'd say that's a huge understatement! Does anybody know?'

'Anna does.'

'You told Anna?' Sybil asked, feeling a little hurt that Mary had confided in her maid and not her.

Mary shook her head. 'No, I didn't tell her, she found out.'

'How? Like I did? Did she see you together?'

'No, she found Tom's letters and notes to me.'

'Letters?'

'He wrote to me when I was in London last October.'

'And Anna read his letters? Your private correspondence?' Sybil asked, shocked by this apparent breach of privacy by their usually very discreet and loyal maid.

'No, not his letters, but she read his notes.'

Sybil frowned. 'What notes? When does he write you notes?'

'He leaves me notes when I... when I go to his cottage,' Mary said, belatedly realising she was digging herself a deeper hole, opening up more avenues for questions.

Sybil stared at her, her brain working furiously. 'You go to his cottage?'

'Yes,' Mary said, reluctantly.

'But… isn't he there when you go to his cottage? Why would he leave you notes?'

'No, he's not always there.'

'Then why do you go? If he's not there, why bother? What's the point if you're not going to see him?' Sybil asked, looking puzzled.

Mary looked uncomfortable, wishing she hadn't revealed quite so much.

Sybil fixed her with a determined look. 'I think you need to start from the beginning, Mary, and tell me everything. And I mean everything. How did this whole thing with Branson even start? Last March, you said. But didn't he only come to Downton last spring? He can't hardly have been here two minutes by that time.'

Mary nodded. 'Yes, that's right. He started working here in March 1913.'

'So, you... you began flirting with him or... or he began flirting with you from the minute he arrived here, did you?' Sybil asked, barely able to believe what Mary was telling her.

'No, it wasn't like that.'

'Then what was it like? Tell me, Mary, because I'm struggling to understand anything about this. How did you of all people end up in the arms of our chauffeur?'

Mary chewed her lip, realising she was going to have to tell Sybil the whole truth, including all of that terrible business with Pamuk. Without that fundamental truth, nothing about her and Tom would make sense.

'It's a long story.'

'Well, that's all right because I've got all night,' Sybil said, crossing her arms, a look of determination on her face.

Mary rose from her dressing table stool and walked towards her sister. 'Let's sit down then. Get into bed. If you're going to understand me and Tom and how we got to this point, I'm going to have to tell you some rather shocking things.'

Sybil stared at her, her eyes wide. 'Are you?'

'Yes, things that I'm sure Mama would rather you never knew.'

'Mama? Does… does Mama know about you and Branson?' Sybil asked, flabbergasted.

'No, of course, she doesn't, and I'd rather it stayed that way,' Mary said, sharply.

'But… then why… what are you talking about?'

Mary sighed. 'Look, I'll tell you everything, but I think we need to sit down if I'm going to do that. Come and get into bed with me.'

Sybil nodded, slipping around to the side of the bed, and twitching the covers down to climb in beside her sister. Mary settled next to her, preparing herself to relive everything that had happened that night Pamuk entered her bedroom.

'Well? Are you going to tell me?' Sybil said impatiently, nudging her elbow against Mary's, looking at her expectantly.

Mary took a deep breath. 'Do you remember Mr Pamuk?'

Sybil frowned, surprised by this opening gambit. 'The Turkish gentleman who died here? Of course, I do, but what's he got to do with anything?'

'Everything,' Mary said, heavily. 'That night after everyone retired for the evening, he came to my room.'

'What? You mean… did you invite him?' Sybil asked, shocked that Mary would have been so brazen.

'No, I did not. Far from it. But somehow, he knew where my room was and he came here in his nightclothes, and he… he…'

Mary took a deep breath, seeing Pamuk striding across the carpet towards her bed once more in her mind's eye.

Sybil waited, her fingers clutching the bedspread, getting a horrible feeling about what Mary was going to say.

'He attacked me,' Mary finally said.

'Attacked you?' Sybil repeated. 'How? Do you mean he hit you?'

'No, not that kind of attack,' Mary said, her cheeks flushing with colour. 'He forced me to… to… have relations with him.'

Sybil stared at her sister, feeling sick and absolutely furious at the same time.

'Do you understand what I mean, Sybil?' Mary asked, unsure whether Sybil would be worldly wise enough to know what happened between men and women in the bedroom.

'I think so,' Sybil said in a small voice. She may not know precisely what happened when people made love, but she knew it was an intimate act that no-one should be forced into.

'He took my maidenhead,' Mary said, bluntly. 'And then he died.'

'Serves him right! Serves him right that he died when he got back to his room after he did that to you,' Sybil said, fiercely. 'Horrid man.'

'No, Sybil, you don't understand. He died in the middle of taking my maidenhead. He died here in this bed while he was still on top of me,' Mary said, watching her sister carefully.

Sybil blanched, gazing at Mary. 'He died while he was…' she gulped, not sure she could be hearing this right, not even sure that what she was picturing in her mind was right, '… while he was attacking you?'

'Yes.'

'Oh, my God. Mary.' Sybil reached for her sister's hand, grasping it tightly. 'How horrible.'

'Yes, it wasn't pleasant,' Mary acknowledged, ruefully.

'But… but didn't Thomas find him in his own bed? How did he get there if he died here?' Sybil asked, casting her mind back, feeling confused. She looked up at Mary, horror on her face. 'Heavens, did you drag him back to the Bachelor's Corridor?'

Mary shook her head. 'No. I could never have managed that on my own. I could barely wriggle out from underneath him. I certainly couldn't move him. Not by myself.'

'So, what did you do?' Sybil asked, curiously. 'Surely you didn't summon Branson to help you?'

'No, of course, I didn't. I'd barely even registered that we had a new chauffeur at that point. No, I went to Anna for help and then I went to Mama,' Mary replied, calmly.

'Mama?' Sybil echoed, astonished.

'Yes, I knew she'd help to keep the family name from being dragged through the mud.'

'Mama helped you move a dead body across the house?' Sybil said in disbelief, gawping at her sister.

'Yes, between the three of us, we managed to carry him back to his room and put him in his bed. It was awful, but it needed doing,' Mary said, shuddering a little at the memory of hawking Pamuk's dead weight for what felt like miles across her home.

Sybil sat silently, digesting that before she spoke again. 'So, Mama knew that he attacked you then. She must have been furious.'

Mary shook her head, wondering how to handle this next part of the story. 'No, she thought I'd allowed him to come to my room and that I'd willingly, um, had relations with him.'

'But… why would she think that? Didn't you tell her what had happened?' Sybil said, a frown marring her features.

'Not exactly, no. I was in shock, I think. I was upset and tired and I couldn't think straight. I thought it must have been my fault. He said I'd led him on that he knew I wanted him like he wanted me, and so I thought it was my fault,' Mary said, remembering all the lies that fell from Pamuk's lips that night. 'It was Tom who helped me see that it wasn't my fault, but by then, Mama thought I'd let him make love to me. She was so angry with me, Sybil, that I couldn't persuade her of the truth until a long time after.'

'Oh, Mary,' Sybil whispered, reaching once again for her sister's hand and squeezing it. 'I'm so, so sorry you had to go through all of that.'

Mary nodded, patting Sybil's hands, not wanting to dwell on this aspect of her story.

'But I don't understand how Branson fits into all of this,' Sybil said, gazing up at Mary. 'What does any of this have to do with you and him?'

'Ah, you will. Do you remember that morning, after Thomas found Mr Pamuk?'

Sybil nodded. 'Yes. It was all anyone could talk about. Doctor Clarkson was here and the police sergeant and then the men from Grassby's came to take the body away.'

'Yes, it was bedlam, and I couldn't deal with it, with everyone talking incessantly about him. I had to get out of the house, so I went for a walk, but I couldn't stop thinking about what he'd done to me and I was terrified that he might have…' Mary tailed off, not sure how much Sybil really understood about what Pamuk had done to her that night.

'He might have what?' Sybil prompted.

'He might have left a child in me when he took my maidenhead,' Mary said, reluctantly.

'A… a child?'

'Yes. Has Mama had a pre-season chat with you yet? Well, I say a chat, but it's really more like a one-sentence warning,' Mary said wryly, remembering her own talking-to before she came out.

'No, not yet.'

Mary sighed. 'Right, well, when men and women lay together like that, that's how babies are made. And I was terrified that I might have a baby because of what he'd done.'

Sybil stared at her, suddenly seeing how the situation with Pamuk was even worse than she'd imagined. 'But you'd… you'd have been ruined,' she said, quietly.

'I know. And so would the family name,' Mary replied, recalling the panic she'd felt at the thought of having Pamuk's child. 'That's why Mama was so cross with me. She was worried that I'd be left with an illegitimate child.'

'But that wouldn't have been your fault!' Sybil protested. 'You didn't do anything wrong!'

'I did as far as Mama was concerned.'

'But that's… that's not fair!'

'No, but that's how it was. Anyway, I got myself in such a state while I was out walking that I was sick in the woods, and that's when Tom found me. He was driving around, trying to get the lay of the land, and he saw me by the road and stopped to see if I needed any help,' Mary said, a small smile playing on her lips as she remembered that day.

'That was kind of him,' Sybil said, nodding approvingly.

'Yes, he's a kind man. You know that yourself. I fainted and he carried me to the car. He wanted to bring me home but that just sent me into a panic, so I asked him to take me to his cottage instead for a little while.'

Sybil's eyes bulged wider. 'To his cottage? Just you and him? That's not like you, Mary.'

'No, but as I say, I was in a state, and I didn't want to go home. I couldn't go to Granny's, either. She'd have spotted something was wrong the minute I walked into the Dower House. That was all I could think of, so Tom took me back to his cottage. He let me use his bedroom to freshen up and he made us a cup of tea.'

'So, what happened then?' Sybil asked, curiously.

'He asked me if I was all right and if there was anything he could do to help. He was so kind to me, Sybil, and I'd had such an awful time. I needed to tell somebody what had happened and so I ended up telling him everything.'

'Everything?' Sybil squawked, her eyes like saucers. 'You told him that that man had taken your maidenhead?'

'Yes. I told him everything, and it was the best decision I've ever made. Well, truthfully, it wasn't really a decision – I just blurted everything out. But Tom, Tom was wonderful,' Mary said, emotion welling up inside her as she remembered that first day at Tom's cottage. 'He listened and he didn't judge. He made me understand that Pamuk had raped me and that it wasn't my fault. And then he helped me.'

'Helped you how?' Sybil asked, intrigued.

'His mother is a midwife, so he knew how to make a tea I could drink to stop me from having a baby,' Mary said, deciding she might as well give her sister the full story. 'So, he made it for me the next day and I drank it at his cottage. It was horrible, Sybil. It gave me cramps like the worst of your monthlies times a hundred. I was so scared at first. I really thought I might die at one point, but Tom never left me. He took care of me. He's still taking care of me.'

'What do you mean?'

'You know how I don't sleep well?'

'Yes.'

'Well, it started after that night. Every time I shut my eyes, I would relive it. I'd feel that man on top of me again. I couldn't sleep, couldn't get any rest, not in this room where it all happened. I was exhausted and I felt like I was losing my mind. But Tom saved me. He lets me go to his cottage and sleep in the afternoon.'

'That's when he leaves you notes,' Sybil said, that puzzle clicking into place.

'Yes. I have quite a collection of them now,' Mary said, smiling softly.

Sybil tipped her head, taking in the look of genuine affection on her sister's face as she talked about Branson and how he'd helped her in the aftermath of her attack. 'And is that when you fell in love with him then? When he let you sleep at his cottage?'

Mary shook her head. 'No, although looking back, I think it certainly helped to plant the seed of my feelings for him but, no, I didn't fall in love with him until later.'

'So, you are in love with him?' Sybil asked, still marvelling about Mary falling for their chauffeur of all people.

'Yes, I am,' Mary said, honestly. 'I am completely in love with him.'

'Oh, my goodness. That's who you were talking about, isn't it? When you were talking about the thrill of dancing with a man you're attracted to after the servants' ball,' Sybil said, things falling into place now she knew about Mary and Branson. 'You wouldn't name him because you said there was no chance of a marriage proposal. I thought maybe you had a fancy for a married man, but you were talking about Branson, weren't you?'

Mary dipped her head, looking down at the bedspread, saying nothing.

'Oh, Mary,' Sybil said softly, sympathy in her eyes. 'All of this time, I've been waffling on about Matthew and how I feel about him, and you had this great love in your life, and you never said a word.'

Mary looked up and shrugged, the familiar frustration and pain tugging at her heart. 'How could I? Not when he's a servant. If Mama and Papa found out, they'd dismiss him. Nobody would be pleased to learn that I've fallen in love with the chauffeur.'

'No, I suppose not. What are you going to do?' Sybil asked, struggling to see a way this romance of Mary's could blossom into anything more permanent.

'There's very little I can do,' Mary said, picking at the bedspread in her lap. 'Nobody will ever accept Tom as a suitor for me, and I can't be the wife of a chauffeur. All we can do is continue to see each other in secret.'

Sybil bit her lip, studying her sister. 'He doesn't want to be a chauffeur forever. He's told me that much himself.'

'I know he doesn't. He wants to be a journalist or a politician,' Mary said, biting her lip. 'And he's clever enough to be either. He reads such a lot, and he knows so much about all kinds of subjects, but if he goes off to do either of those things, I'll lose him.'

'You don't know that,' Sybil said, earnestly.

'I do. He won't be here, will he? I won't see him every day or be able to spend time with him like I do now. And I'm selfish, Sybil – I don't want him to go off and better himself if it means I won't see him. I can't even bear the thought of it.'

'But maybe if he becomes a journalist or a politician, Mama and Papa will see him as a suitable husband for you,' Sybil persisted. 'They are both fine ambitions.'

Mary looked at her askance. 'Do you really believe that?'

'They like Matthew, and he's a solicitor, a working man.'

'That's different. Matthew is middle class, not working class. And he's the heir to the earldom. It's not remotely the same, you know it isn't.'

'But if Branson makes it as a journalist or a politician – '

'He'd still be a working-class man made good. Nobody would see him as a potential husband for an earl's daughter.'

'Does it matter what other people think?'

'Of course, it matters!' Mary cried, throwing her hands up.

'I'm not sure it would to me. Not if I loved him as much as you say you do,' Sybil said, trying to put herself in Mary's shoes. 'I think I'd be happy to be the wife of a journalist or a politician if I could be with the man I loved.'

'And that's the difference between you and me, my darling,' Mary sighed, outlining the obstacle she always returned to whenever she thought about the possibility of a future with Tom. 'I was brought up believing I would be the next Countess of Grantham. My whole future was predicated upon being a grand lady of the county, of using my position to do good for those less fortunate.'

Sybil gazed at her. 'But you're not going to be the next Countess of Grantham. Not anymore. Not unless you marry Matthew.'

'Which I'm not going to do. Let's face it, you're probably going to be the next Countess of Grantham, not me. But without a position in life, I don't know who I am or what I'm good for,' Mary said, getting to the crux of the matter.

'I think you're being a bit harsh on yourself there, Mary,' Sybil protested.

'Am I? I have no education to speak of, no passion to do anything useful. Even my needlework leaves much to be desired. How can I marry below me? I would have nothing to do and no purpose in life.'

'You'd be a wife. And you'd probably have your own household to run. You can do that,' Sybil countered. 'And you can still do charity work.'

'Sybil, darling, the man I love doesn't earn enough to run a household,' Mary said, shaking her head. 'I would have to do my own cooking and cleaning. Launder my clothes and his. There would be no maids, no footmen, not even a kitchen maid to help me. And I know my limitations. I can't do that. I wouldn't have the first clue where to start.'

'But you could learn! And surely Papa would help out.'

'Perhaps, but he might just as soon disown me. And I suspect that Tom would not accept charity. He is a proud man. He wouldn't even let me give him money for - ' Mary broke off quickly.

'For what?' Sybil asked, curiously.

'Um, milk. I was drinking a lot of hot milk when I slept at his cottage and I left him some money for it, but he wouldn't take it,' Mary said, neatly skipping away from any mention of the contraceptive sheaths she had actually been thinking about. There were some things about her relationship with Tom that Sybil didn't need to know.

'Oh, yes, then I can see how he wouldn't be keen on accepting money from Papa,' Sybil said, chewing her lip. 'But there must be something you can do, some way to make it work.'

'There isn't,' Mary said, bleakly. 'Don't you think I've thought about it every which way? And I know myself. I'd be miserable and I would end up making him miserable too.'

'You can't hold him back from his ambitions, though. That's not fair. Not to an intelligent man like Branson.'

'Maybe not, but I don't have to do anything to encourage them either,' Mary said, looking Sybil in the eye. 'I know that sounds mean of me, but I don't think I can live without him, Sybil, I really don't.'

Sybil moved closer to her sister, tucking herself under her arm and hugging her. 'Oh, Mary. I still think that letting him reach his potential is the best way for you to be able to be with him. I understand why you're reluctant to let him go, I do, but I think you will have to consider it.'

Mary tightened her arm around Sybil, dropping a kiss on her dark hair. She knew that Sybil meant well, but she couldn't even think about letting Tom go. Not now, not ever.

Early the next morning, Tom threw the water over the car, rinsing the suds off it, ready for his day ferrying his lordship around. He turned as he heard footsteps on the gravel behind him, hoping it was Mary, even as early as it was. Instead, he saw Lady Sybil standing there, watching him.

'Milady,' he said, nodding his head. 'You're up early. May I help you?'

Sybil chewed her lip, examining him, assessing him in light of all this new information she now had. He was good-looking, she couldn't deny that. And unfailingly polite. He had passion too; she'd seen that first hand, both in the political discussions she'd had with him and when he'd held Mary in his arms and kissed her. All things Mary must see in him. He could definitely do more with his life than be a chauffeur.

'Milady?' Tom said again, beginning to wonder if she'd heard him as she continued to scrutinise him. 'Are you all right?'

'Can I talk to you for a moment, Branson?' Sybil said, pulling herself together.

'Of course,' he replied, looking faintly puzzled.

'Not out here. Can we go in the garage?'

'Er, yes, if you want to,' Tom said, misgivings beginning to stir in his gut. He extended his arm, gesturing for her to go into the garage and then he followed her in. Lady Sybil turned abruptly near his workbench and stared at him again, studying him intently.

Feeling uncomfortable, Tom tried not to shift on his feet. 'What can I do for you, milady?'

'Mary's told me,' Sybil said baldly, watching his reaction, seeing his eyes widen, a look of shock briefly cross his face before he brought the shutters down again with his servant's blank.

'Told you what?' he asked, carefully.

'Everything. About you and her.'

Tom was silent, weighing up what to say, what to do, wondering whether he should feign ignorance in case this was some kind of a ruse, a trick to get him to admit to something he was sure Mary would not confess to, even to her favourite sister.

'I saw you kissing her in here yesterday,' Sybil said, slamming the door on any hope that she was simply fishing for information.

'Right. Well, that's… that's… um, right,' Tom stammered, now wondering if this was going to be the end of everything.

Sybil gazed at him, seeing him in a different light now she knew about her sister's deep love for him. 'Aren't you going to say something about it, Branson?'

'What do you want me to say, milady?' he replied, his heart heavy in his chest. Lady Sybil may be progressive in many ways, but he was sure she wouldn't approve of him as a lover for her sister. She would surely tell her parents, which meant he and Mary were finished.

'Do you love my sister?' Sybil asked, curious to hear what he had to say.

He gazed steadily at her. 'Yes.'

'You're not…'

'What?'

'Trying to trick her or blackmail her or anything like that?' Sybil asked, almost certain that wasn't true even as she posed the question.

'No! I am not! I would never do anything to hurt her!' Tom replied, shaking his head.

Sybil tilted her head, studying him again. Finally satisfied, she nodded. 'No, I don't believe you would.'

'So, is this it? Are you going to tell your parents?' Tom asked, waiting for the axe to fall.

'No, I'm not.'

'You're not?' he echoed, surprised.

'No. She says she loves you, too,' Sybil said, seeing a look of relief flash across his face. 'So, I will not tell anyone your secret.'

Tom felt everything in his body slump in relief. 'Thank you. Thank you, milady.'

Sybil cocked her head. 'Do you call Mary milady? When you're alone, I mean.'

'No, not when we're alone. She's just Mary then or…' he stopped, unwilling to reveal his pet name for his lover.

Lady Sybil grinned delightedly at him. 'Do you call her darling or sweetheart of something like that?'

He nodded. 'Yes, something like that.'

'How lovely.'

Tom stood silently, not sure what to say.

'It doesn't feel right calling you Branson now, not when you're Mary's beau,' Lady Sybil continued. She grinned again as the man standing in front of her looked startled. 'You look surprised.'

'Um, well, I've never really thought of myself as her… beau,' he confessed, astonished to hear Lady Sybil describe him as such.

'Well, you are. Your first name is Tom, isn't it?'

'Yes.'

'Then may I also call you Tom? When nobody else is about, obviously.'

'Er, yes, of course, you can, milady,' Tom replied, torn between relief that Lady Sybil was apparently so accepting of his relationship with her sister and worry that there was yet another person now privy to their secret who might give them away, however inadvertently.

'Excellent. And I shall simply be Sybil to you,' Sybil said, her eyes twinkling. 'We shall be greater friends than ever, you and I, Tom.'

Tom nodded, uncertainly, not quite sure what to say.

Lady Sybil stepped forward taking his hands in hers, lifting them and squeezing them.

'Thank you. Thank you for looking after her and being such a good friend to her after... after that dreadful man... after he... thank you,' Sybil said, sincerely. 'I will be forever grateful to you for that.'

Tom's eyebrows rose once again. It appeared Mary had indeed told her sister everything.

'I'd not have seen her worry or suffer, mil- Sybil,' he said, equally sincerely, catching himself on her title. 'Not when I could do something to help.'

'And thank heavens you could,' Sybil said, fervently. She stretched up onto her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. 'Thank you, Tom. We all owe you a debt of thanks for being such a rock for Mary at such a terrible time for her.'

He gave her an awkward smile as she sank back down on her heels and released his hands.

'Now, I should go before someone comes. I should get back inside before Papa comes down for breakfast,' she said briskly. 'Good day, Tom.'

'Good day, Sybil.'

She flashed him a brilliant smile and then she was gone. Tom stared after her, more than a little flummoxed by their exchange.

An hour or so later and Tom once again heard the click of heeled shoes behind him in the garage. This time when he turned around, it was Mary.

'Hello, my darling,' she whispered, casting a quick look over her shoulder into the courtyard. 'I can't stay long, but I need to tell you something. Sybil knows about us.'

'I know,' Tom said, wiping his hands on a rag.

Mary looked at him in surprise. 'You know? How do you know?'

'She was here first thing this morning.'

'Was she?'

'Yes. She came to tell me she saw us kissing yesterday and that you'd told her everything,' he said, tossing the rag onto his workbench.

'Yes, I did. Well, not quite everything. I didn't tell her that we are sleeping together,' Mary said, throwing another look over her shoulder.

He raised an eyebrow. 'Because you're ashamed of that fact?'

Mary looked back at him, giving a short, surprised laugh. 'Ashamed? No, I'm most certainly not ashamed of that. But Sybil is still young. She doesn't need to know that I am enjoying relations outside of marriage. I don't want to put ideas in her head.'

Tom grinned. 'You mean you don't want her following in your footsteps.'

With one more cautious look over her shoulder, Mary walked forward, coming up close to him. She leaned forward, her face right next to his, her eyes bright.

'Tom, darling, I hope Sybil finds a man who makes her body sing the way you make mine sing, but I'm not going to encourage her in that regard.'

He caught her around the waist and tugged her a few inches closer until their bodies were touching. 'I make your body sing, do I?'

'You know you do,' she breathed, her hand on his hip.

He grinned again and dipped his head to kiss her. Mary groaned, kissing him back.

'Stop,' she murmured, half-heartedly pushing at his chest. 'I can't stay.'

'Are you around tomorrow afternoon?' he asked, dropping kisses on her lips.

'I can be.'

'Then think of an excuse and I'll book you in for the motor. We'll go for a drive and make each other's bodies sing somewhere quiet and secluded,' he said, his voice dipping low.

Mary smiled. 'Oh, what a delightful idea.'

'Isn't it,' he said, kissing her again.

'I have to go,' she muttered, pulling back slightly. 'Granny's due any minute.'

'Should we be worried about Sybil knowing?' Tom asked, keeping hold of her.

Mary shook her head. 'No, she won't give us away.'

'You're sure about that?'

'Yes, she thinks it's romantic, you and me.'

Tom nodded, his gut telling him that Lady Sybil was on their side. 'Tomorrow then.'

'Tomorrow,' Mary promised, reluctantly stepping away from him.

Tom kept his hand on her waist for as long as he could, smiling at her as she walked backwards towards the garage door.

'Oh, you're so divine,' she murmured, blowing him a kiss before she stepped into full sight of the yard.

Tom smiled and caught her kiss, pressing it to his lips and then blowing one of his own back to her.

Mary grinned and then turned and walked as sedately as she could back to the house. Tom walked to the door of the garage, watching her go, admiring the swing of her hips. Maybe it didn't matter that Lady Sybil knew about them. Maybe nothing else mattered than that his romance with Lady Mary was still in full flow.