"There," Bates said with a smile, making sure one final time that Tom's collar was straight, "all set for dinner, sir."

"Thank you, Bates," Tom said with a smile, looking himself over in the mirror, taking a moment to run his hands over the front of his dinner jacket to make sure there were no creases or lines in it. "You know, I hope you aren't too put off by helping the three of us."

"Not at all, sir," Bates said with a smile as he glided towards the door, collecting the towel he had used when shaving Tom's face, draping it over his arm. "It gives me a bit of a challenge."

"Still, it does create more work for you, even if you enjoy the challenge. Perhaps I should speak to Matthew about it."

"Perhaps wait until him and Lord Michael aren't fighting?" Bates suggested.

Tom pressed his lips together. "Quite," he said before letting out a sigh. "I don't understand those two some times, Bates. There are moments where they are as close as can be and then the next they are feuding."

"That is the way it is sometimes, I'm afraid," Bates said, moving to get the door for Tom.

"Well I wish it wasn't," he muttered as he headed out the door.

He just barely made it down the stairs before he heard the gong ring throughout the house, his head naturally snapping in the direction of Mrs. Hughes who was looking at him with a critical eye. He sighed and made his way over to Lord Merton, shaking his head.

"I think someone is cross with me," he muttered as he took his place besides Michael, Matthew just beyond him with Isobel and Lord Merton at the front of the line. The rest of the servants were waiting, doing their best not to shift.

"Maybe if you'd come down on time," Michael said with a slight smirk only for the doors of Cavenham to open, admitting their guests.

"May I present Mary Crawley and her grandmother, Violet."

"Ah," Matthew said softly under his breath, "the one that is to be thrown at me."

"Quiet, Matthew," Isobel hissed before plastering a smile on her face. "Hello… welcome to Cavenham."

"Delighted to be here," Violet said.

"What a reception," Mary said rather tactlessly and Tom winced at her breaking decorum.

Violet quickly though spoke up, moving to Isobel. "Whatever shall we call each other?"

"I was thinking her Ladyship and Mrs. Crawley," Isobel stated, somewhat icily.

As Matthew moved to talk to Mary (rolling his eyes as he did so after she made some comment about how shocking it was to see wealth displayed in such a way), Tom found himself drawn away from the party and instead outside to the garage.

"Shouldn't you be at the party?" Sybil Crawley said as she pushed herself out from under the car she had been working on. Her face was streaked with motor oil and grease, dark stains on the overhauls she was wearing, hair tied up in a messy bun.

"I wanted to check on you. I know you aren't… please with me and what I told you the other day."

"You mean how I told you that I loved you?" Sybil asked.

"I know you think that-"

"I know that," Sybil told him. "Just like I know why you don't think it will work. You have this delusion in your head that because of your status we can't be together but we can. Anything is possible in this world… you just have to have the will to do it."

Tom though shook his head. "Sybil, we can't. I have duties to the family!"

"And those duties require you to not be happy?"

"I… wait." Tom frowned, looking around. "This isn't right."

"Of course it isn't," Sybil said. "You and I… I don't care about our stations! I know that-"

"No," he said, cutting her off. "I mean this isn't right. I'm… I'm not some lord. You aren't the chauffer. Mary isn't some rebel that hates high society! Why does Anna suddenly have a limp?" he pointed to Anna who was walking by, using a cane to get by. He rummaged in his pocket, pulling out some bills. "And I am pretty sure Daisy isn't the Queen of England!" He thrust out the bill to Sybil.

"…you just want to avoid talking about our relationship."

"We are… we are in a relationship!" Tom exclaimed. "We're married and we're going to have a baby and…" He blinked his eyes. "This… this is a dream, isn't it?"

"If it is then we can make love here in his lordship's card, right?"

Tom opened his mouth to protest only to decided that was a very good idea-

And then he opened his eyes fully to find himself lying down in the guest room that had been declared his and Sybil's. Not her old rooms, as Sybil had stated that those were the rooms of a child and as a woman grown she deserved something more mature. No, they were in the rooms Robert had given them to do with as they wished, that would be theirs any time they came to Downton. Far better than the ones they had been given in their last life, when Robert had still been bitter about their marriage. Larger, more spacious, with a side room even that had a typewriter set up for doing his articles. One that showed his status as not just Sybil's husband but also Robert's friend.

Tom groaned and pressed a hand to his forehead.

"Are you well?" Sybil asked, looking over at him from the vanity. She was still dressed in her night clothing, washing away the sleep from her eyes. "You were mumbling."

Tom sighed. "All of this talk of me being Lord Grey's heir… its giving me strange dreams."

"Strange as in you arriving at dinner without clothing or strange as in you have an elephant's head and being captain of a ship that can fly to the moon?"

"Depends how strange the idea of us redoing our first life only I was the lord's child and you were the chauffer."

Sybil slowly turned, a saucy little smile on her lips. "Oh… now that isn't a game we've played yet." She walked towards him, trailing her fingers along the sheets. "Did you find me for a bit of forbidden fun? Or did I seduce the sweet and innocent boy with my evil lower class ways?"

Tom chuckled at her comment, flopping back down onto his pillow. "It was literally us reenacting the first time we danced around our feelings. Only you were the one saying to hell with our stations and I was the one worried about society."

Sybil pouted at that. "I like my idea better."

He reached out and grabbed her wrist, Sybil letting of a gasp of surprise as he pulled her back to bed. "Oh believe me, my darling, I prefer your ideas too." He began to pepper her face with light kisses only to groan when Sybil suddenly reached down and took matters into her own hands. "Sybil!" he gasped.

"You've forgotten a few things, my love," she informed him. "First… how last time pregnancy made me rather… ravenous."

"I didn't forget that. I already warned Mrs. Patmore to make extra foo-OOO!" His eyes nearly bugged out of his head as his minx of a wife slipped her hand into his pajama bottoms.

"Second, I had to watch you prance about without a single memory of us for quite some time and even all the love making we've had recently hasn't made up for that lost time."

"I-"

She made it clear she didn't want him to talk. "And finally… in this life I am FAR more willing to TAKE what I WANT."

"S-Sybil," he gasped.

"You are clearly stressed, Tom," Sybil said, shifting so she was straddling him, one hand remaining in his bottoms while she leaned down and began to bite at his lips and his ear lobes, pink tongue darting out to occasionally lap at his skin. "And I know JUST how to… release… that stress."

Tom rolled his head back and groaned.

"And maybe I'll see if I can't find a mechanic's outfit for myself…"

~MC~MC~MC~

"Where are Sybil and Tom?" Robert asked, looking about in confusion. He was seated at the dining table, having already served himself breakfast. Mary and Matthew had come down to eat already, with Matthew in fact almost half way done with his meal; Robert had once asked him about that and Matthew had admitted that the War had gotten him used to waking up early. He hadn't pressed him after that, understanding that running the hospital had meant many long and stressful days. "They are usually very punctual."

"One slip up isn't too terrible, Robert," Matthew said with a smile.

"Still, perhaps I should have someone check on them. Sybil is pregnant… I would hate if there was trouble."

"I wouldn't, if I were you, papa," Mary stated.

"And why not?"

She sighed. "I think I know why they are preoccupied."

"…and?" Robert asked.

Mary rolled her eyes. "Trust me on this papa but it is something you don't want to discuss with me and certainly not while we eat breakfast."

"Whatever could it be then?" Robert asked.

Matthew leaned in and whispered, "What was Mary's mother like when she was pregnant? When it came to being with you?"

"Well she was… oh." Robert eyes went wide as he remembered how… possessive Cora had been when pregnant with Mary. It was honestly the reason why the two of them shared a bed, even now; his mother had always suggested they have separate beds, if not separate rooms, but Cora had been so needing of him and his touch that…

He shook his head and stared at Matthew who merely smiled.

"You can't be serious," Robert replied.

"I merely suggest you not traumatize the maids."

Robert huffed at that but conceded the point. "Very well." He began to dig into his breakfast again only for his mind to return to the subject of Tom and Sybil. "This early in the morning though?"

"Papa!" Mary exclaimed. "Come now… none of us wish to discuss… that."

"Right, right," Robert said, embarrassed that he'd become focused on that lewd topic. Wanting to change the topic he said, "Mary, I am curious… why do you not have breakfast in bed? I would have thought you'd prefer it?"

"I tried it, once," Mary admitted as she stirred her coffee. "I honestly don't know how mama can stand it. You can never get comfortable… beds are designed to be laid in, not sat upon. My back began aching after five minutes and every time I even so much as wiggled I felt like I was a boat caught in a hurricane, everything was shifting about. Oh, the little table they brought was nice enough but the mattress was the problem. I was always afraid I was going to shift and send all the food spilling about."

Robert smiled at that. "To be honest that was always my worry too. I was rather glad that I had the excuse of being man of the house to avoid even the notion of me doing that."

Mary nodded. "And then there was the positioning. I am used to eating at a table… it is the right height for me to do everything I need to. In bed… well, I felt like I had been placed at Sybie's table because you'd run out of room, told to make do with my knees up to my chin."

"Again, I've though must the same when I've seen your mama eat. Its either that or she has to slouch down and then the table might be too high."

"My mother always said that lying down to eat wasn't healthy," Matthew stated.

"Really?" Robert said, interested. He'd never liked that Cora ate in bed… he thought breakfast was a chance for the family to all get together, to discuss their plans for the day. It always felt wrong that Cora wasn't there to join them but he'd never pressed her on it, understanding it was something she enjoyed. Even if he loathed it…

Matthew nodded. "Yes… I forget exactly what she called it but she said that it causes a greater risk that the contents of the stomach, including the bile, will come rushing back up the throat."

"Hmmm," Robert murmured, trying to remember if Cora had complained about that. "Perhaps I should ask Isobel to talk to Cora about that, give her some more information."

"Purely so she knows the dangers, papa?" Mary teased.

"But of course." He buttered some toast. "Sybie?"

"Pardon?" Mary asked.

"You mentioned being placed at Sybie's table… I haven't heard anyone call your sister that in years." He chuckled. "A good thing she and Tom are… taking a while to get dressed… so she didn't hear you call her that."

"…yes, quite," Mary said with a smile, returning to her meal.

"So," Matthew asked, "what do you have planned for today, Robert?"

"Well," he answered, "what with everything with all of you and the end of the war… I put off the requests the universities had made for books they hope I might have. I thought today might be a good chance to look through the stacks, see if anything pops up."

"Do you want some help?" Matthew offered.

"Oh, if you aren't busy…" Robert said.

"I'm not," Matthew said. "And besides if I help you then you can help me go through Downton Place's library."

Robert tried not to grin too broadly at that. He had been trying to work up the nerve to ask Matthew if he could go through that library, see if there were rare books there. While they were all on much better footing he still understood that he could only ask for so much. Yes, technically Downton Place was still his but he had gifted it to them and he didn't want to alienate either of them. "I'd be willing to make that exchange, to be sure."

Mary huffed. "You just want to get out of Tom's lessons."

"Yes," Matthew said honestly. "I mean no offense but I'd rather join the Spaniards in racing away from bulls than be there when you and Tom go over edict."

"You believe he can't do it?"

"Can't? Oh no. I am sure he could learn easily? Its more a matter of… want."

Robert hid his own smile as Mary scowled.

~MC~MC~MC~

"Mrs. Bates?" Lang said, knocking on the office door. "There is a gentlemen here asking to see the owner. Mr. Bates is out so…" he trailed off, clearly not wanting to offend her by saying that he didn't see her as the owner but also not wanting to overstep any potential lines when it came to how much she actually wanted to do when it came to the hotel. After all Anna would be the first to admit that she was a woman and there were certain issues and dangers that came with that.

Still she smiled and stood up. "Show him in, please."

Lang disappeared and after about a minute she brought in a taller man with brown hair that had streaks of dark blonde running through it, a worn but friendly face, and warm eyes. He smiled openly as he extended his hand to her, already winning some respect from Anna that he didn't seem put off by talking with a woman.

"Mitchell Bar," the man said.

"Anna Bates," she returned, gesturing for him to take a seat. "My husband John is out for the moment… we have a son, Noah, and he's at the age where the only way to get him down for his naps is to let him run about till he finds every bug hill and dirt clod in the village."

Mr. Bar chuckled at that. "Aye, I remember that time. My son was just like that when he was a wee tyke. Of course now that he's 18 he's still like that only he's chasing after cars and lasses."

Anna let out an amused huff. "Believe me, as much as he wears me down I'm more than happy for him to stay little. Would you like something to drink?"

"If it isn't trouble," Mr. Bar said.

"None at all." She went to the door. "Mr. Lang, could you have Imogen fetch us some tea?" The bartender nodded and Anna returned to her seat. "If you don't mind me asking… your accent sounds familiar…"

"Yorkshire," Mr. Bar said. "Or Sheffield depending on what side of the family you ask. Which I don't, if you don't mind me saying, as I'd rather avoid the fights." Anna smiled at that and Imogen arrived with the tea, Mr. Bar thanking her before pouring for himself, waving her off when she attempted to help him. "Quite alright, quite alright. My grandmother insisted that all of us know how handle our tea…" He set the pot down for her and soon they were sitting down enjoying a cup. "I am sure you are wondering why I have arrived unannounced."

"I did but I wanted to be polite."

Mr. Bar nodded. "I will be honest with you, Mrs. Bates… in the time that you and your husband took over the Grantham Arms there has been steady improvement with it. While it was always known as a fine establishment your management of it has only seen its prestige come forward in leaps and bounds."

"Well… you certainly make it sound grander than it is," Anna admitted. "We aren't some four star establishment in London-"

Mr. Bar cut her off. "Of course not. And I mean that in the best way. People…" He paused. "I think I should start at the beginning, since I have the feeling you do not know who I am. As I stated I am Mitchell Bar… what you do not realize, clearly, is that I am of the London Bars. We have been in the hotel business for over 213 years."

Anna nearly choked on her tea. "Goodness."

Mr. Bar though smiled. "Quite. We have The Eastwick in London and the Olympian in New York. The Old House in Boston, which is quite humorous because it is the newest of our hotels, and several other ones in England in the major port cities and destination spots."

He paused, taking a sip of his tea.

"Now, something else my grandmother insisted I and all my siblings know is the importance of information. Too many hotels… they live in the past, clinging to how things were once done and not understanding that the public changes and evolves. That is why you'll go to what were once grand dames of London and find them playing the same music in the same drably painted ballrooms serving the same over salted meat. I… have made it my business to understand the world of hotel service and see what people want. I refuse to be the Bar that drops the ball.

"Now, there are plenty of people who desire what my London hotels offer. The nameless, faceless servants that move more like phantoms to clean up the rooms. The desk clerk who says little. The chef who half the time cooks nothing because people are darting off to restaurants rather than eating in the hotel. That still makes us a good amount of money. But before the War we began to notice a change… and it has only grown as the War went on and then came to its end. People… people say they love change and long for the future but just as much they long for the past. They have memories of how things used to be and want to return to them. Of course that all depends on who one talks about. A young couple newly married, the husband having served in France while the wife helped raise funds? They want the new and the modern and the exciting. They want the jazz club and the negro singers and food from the Middle East and India. They want an adventure. But there are also those who look back to the small hotel where you walked in and the owner themselves introduced themselves to you with a smile and a cheerful wave and gave you suggestions on which shops to visit and desire that.

"The thing of it is," Mr. Bar continued, tapping his spoon against his cup, Anna quite sure he didn't even realize he was doing that it came off so idly, "the war has made people long for comfort. The Industrial Revolution… it took boys away from the farm and sent them to the cities to make their fortune but it also has taken England's soul and rather trampled on it. You must have noticed it yourself. Everything is faster, more mechanical. It feels like every business wants to turn their workers into machines if they can't be replaced by them. But the public… they don't want that anymore. For a while there was a taste for it, the desire to have everything in its own neat little box… but not anymore. They long for human contact. You are doing that here, at this hotel. It is… what I want to do as well."

Anna forced herself to smile. "Mr. Bar… you are not the first person to come and try to buy the Grantham Arms from us. Quite a few people, honestly, have come with proposals. But as we told them we are happy where we are. Now, I know you think that you can intimidate us-"

But Mr. Bar held up a hand and finally Anna stopped. "I'm afraid you misunderstand. My fault… I didn't realize that you'd have such bad experiences. Still… I am not here to buy the Grantham Arms from you. Nor, I suppose I should say, am I looking to be a rival that puts you out of business. Quite the opposite, in fact. I want us to be partners."

"…I'm sorry, did you say partners?"

Mr. Bar smiled. "I did. My vision is this: I would like to go into business with you and your husband."

"We… we are building up our funds, yes, but-"

Once more he cut her off. "I would be supplying all the capital. It is your talents and your training I desire."

"I don't… quite understand."

"I will find hotels that are already built that need to be brought up to snuff. Outdated or in need of repairs, those kind of things. I will take care of that while you and your husband will find me the proper staff to run the place. Ones that you yourselves would hire to run this hotel. The Grantham Arms, I should say, would remain fully in your control. I am not seeking to steal it away from you. What I want is for you to create new Grantham Arms all throughout England. Find people that will provide the service ones find here and at other lovely little hotels that used to dot the countryside."

Anna was speechless.

"We'd work out a time table of course for how long you'd need to train the staff, including a manager that would oversee the day to day runnings after you left and would continue the training of new hires. I am thinking a few months… perhaps one month before the hotel properly opens and then 2 once it has to correct any issues that suddenly arise. You know how it is. Then you would return here until I am ready with the next one. Eventually, if the endeavor proves fruitful, you wouldn't have to leave the Grantham Arms for more than a few weeks, having managers come to you for training here and then be sent on their way, with you and your husband only going to a new hotel if the problems are too much for who has been selected to run the place."

"That… that is…"

"It's a lot to take in, I know," Mr. Bar said with a smile, setting a business card down on the table. "Think if over and give me a ring when you decide either way." He stood up and offered his hand again, which Anna accepted automatically though it was more reflect than anything else. "I hope to hear some positive news from you soon."

And with that he was gone.

She must have sat there for twenty minutes before John finally came in, walking up and placing a hand on her shoulder. "What is it? Mr. Lang said there was a visitor?"

"Yes," Anna got out softly. "He… wants to change our lives."