Thanks for the lovely response on the first two parts. Sorry this bit took so long - I got stuck in a writing rut after the series 2 finale, and the holidays complicated things as well. Hopefully it won't be such a long wait for the next part. Happy New Year! :)

III

Yes, a heart should always go one step too far.
Come the morning and the day winding like dreams,
come the morning every blue shade of green;
come with me, go places.

It was night when they reached the west side of the Irish Sea, and Sybil's first glimpse of Dublin was through a heavy fog.

"I wrote my ma to tell her we were coming, but I never did hear back," Branson said as they waited to disembark. "There wasn't time. But I'm sure it'll be fine."

Sybil examined his profile. Branson seemed confident of his family's welcome, but she found herself beset by an anxiety she hadn't previously had much time to entertain. She had wondered before, of course, but suddenly it was an immediate concern: What would his family think of her?

Sybil worried her bottom lip. She would have asked him, except it seemed rather too late to ask such a question as that, and she suspected that the answer Tom would give her would contain more optimism than truth.

They made their way off the ferry with the other passengers, and Sybil found herself standing on Irish soil for the first time. Or Irish docks, at least.

"Well," Sybil said, holding tight to the handle of her valise and trying to regain her confidence. "I hope you know the way from here, for we're rather more in your element than mine, now."

Branson pulled his cap down more firmly on his head and was on the verge of a reply when there came a shout through the darkness.

"Tommy!"

Branson peered off into the distance a moment before giving an excited sort of yelp that made Sybil jump. He ran forward a few steps to meet a man who came jogging towards them. Branson nearly threw himself at him, and the two of them greeted each other noisily, each one clapping the other on the back.

Finally Branson seemed to remember Sybil and broke the embrace, leading the other man to her with a wave of his hand. The man was taller than Branson, and leaner. His hair was darker than Branson's and reddish, and his face showed wear that Branson's didn't. But he had the same clear blue eyes.

"My," said the man as he approached, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Who's this now?"

"My name is Sybil Crawley," she replied, not waiting for Branson to introduce her. She stuck out her hand.

The man looked at her hand for a moment before glancing at Branson, a sardonic smile crossing his face. He grasped her hand in his for a brief moment before letting it go. "The name's Danny Branson, and the pleasure's all mine."

"In fact she's Lady Sybil Crawley," Branson said, coming to stand at her side and taking her hand. "For now, anyhow."

"Oh goodness," Sybil said, frowning. "Don't introduce me that way, for heaven's sake. In any case, I'm not entirely certain, but I think I may have relinquished any claim to that title when I ran off with you in the dead of night." Branson grinned.

"Ah," said Danny, looking down as he dug around in his coat. He produced a cigarette and lit it, tossing the match aside. "Ma was mighty pleased to hear that you were on your way home to us, but I have to tell you, Tommy, I don't think she quite believed you when you said you were bringing the Earl's daughter with you."

"Hell," Branson swore, rolling his eyes. "What did she think I meant?"

"I'm not sure," Danny laughed. "But I reckon you'll soon get an earful. Come on. I've got the motorcar parked just up here."

Danny led the way, and Sybil only half-listened as Branson explained that Danny and their brother Patrick worked as drivers for a taxi company, which is how Branson had gotten his start as a chauffeur when he was younger. Sybil tried to take the story in, but truthfully she was too busy worrying about what Mrs. Branson would have to say when they showed up on her doorstep.

Danny drove them through the dark, damp streets of Dublin, complaining that he'd been at the docks for every ferry arrival since Branson's letter, not knowing which one they'd be on. As Branson leaned forward to talk to his brother, Sybil stared out the window. It all felt rather like a strange dream until Branson's hand found hers on the seat. With a start, Sybil turned to look at him.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his brows drawn together in concern.

Sybil considered telling him that she was not all right, that she was frightened, and suddenly quite worried about meeting his family and finding a place at one of the hospitals and making friends. What if no one liked her or wanted her there, no one at all in the whole of Ireland except him?

Her eyes slid to the back of Danny's head as he turned the steering wheel. She looked back at Branson and forced what she supposed was a weak smile.

"I'm fine," she replied. "Only a bit tired, I think."

Branson lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Not much farther, now."

He was right, for only a few minutes later Danny turned the car down a street, and then another, and pulled up before a long row of red brick terraced houses.

Danny parked the motorcar, and they all got out. Danny led the way up the walk, and Sybil was grateful when she felt Branson's hand take hers and give it a comforting squeeze.

"Look what I found down the docks," Danny shouted the moment he opened the door. They walked into the narrow foyer, and Sybil looked around her with curiosity. Branson had told her very little about his family or his childhood, save for their names and a story here or there, and Sybil found that the reality did not match up with what she had been left to imagine.

The house was smart and tidy, with a staircase leading directly up to the second storey, a little parlour to the right, and what looked like a kitchen through the back. It was plainly furnished, but warm, and its cozy charm more than made up for what it lacked in elegance.

A thumping on the staircase stirred Sybil from her observations, and she looked up to see a young man with a slight build and a shock of dark hair staring at them from halfway down the stairs. There was another clatter of feet on the steps and an aggravated shout as someone barrelled into the back of him.

"Patrick! You're blocking the whole bloody stairwell, for Christ-"

"Ah," said Danny, smiling widely. "Don't let ma catch you talking like that."

"Danny!" cried the would-be blasphemer, shoving Patrick aside to fly down the last few steps and launch herself into Danny's arms. The girl was about fourteen or fifteen, Sybil guessed, and one of Branson's younger sisters. Her fair hair was pulled fashionably over her ears, and she too had bright blue eyes.

"Maggie!" Danny exclaimed. "You're getting too damn old to throw yourself about like this, girl. What'll the fellas think of you?"

Maggie made a disgruntled sound and detached herself from her oldest brother, giving him a savage jab in the ribs for his trouble. She turned and seemed to notice for the first time that there was company, and her scowl disappeared as she abruptly turned shy.

"Tommy?" she asked softly, looking at Branson with something resembling confusion. Sybil realised with some horror that it had been years since Branson had seen any of them. She suddenly felt terribly guilty, as though she was solely responsible for keeping him from them.

"It's me," Branson replied. "Come give us a hug, would you?"

The girl took a step forward and Branson swept her into a firm embrace, lifting her right off her feet and earning a girlish giggle.

Sybil wondered when the last time was she embraced one of her own family. She found she could not remember.

Branson, meanwhile, was chatting animatedly with Danny and Maggie, and Patrick had descended the rest of the stairs and was staring at Sybil with a great deal of curiosity.

Feeling desperately and uncharacteristically shy, Sybil was tempted to shrink behind Branson, not wanting to intrude on this reunion, but at that moment he turned and took hold of her hand.

"This is Sybil Crawley," he said, "my fiancée. She's the youngest daughter in the household where I was -"

"Good God in heaven," exclaimed yet another new voice, this one coming from down the short hallway.

In the doorway to the kitchen stood a stout, middle-aged woman with strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a tidy knot, and the same bright blue eyes as her children. She wore a dark brown dress which was slightly out of fashion but very smart, and which fit her perfectly. Although her stature was slight, her look was foreboding.

"Are you sure you haven't just kidnapped the poor girl, Tommy?" asked Maggie. She was staring at Sybil with eyebrows raised in a sceptical expression – much like her brother's – which suggested she found it hard to believe that any girl would run away with Branson of her own accord.

"I haven't kidnapped her," Branson replied, frowning. "We've eloped. Tell them, Sybil."

Sybil swallowed, and struggled to find her voice. "It's true," she said. "We decided to run away together."

"You're married, then?" asked his mother.

"Er – not just yet," Branson replied, sounding somewhat sheepish. "We thought it best to get the benefit of distance first, and to let her family think we'd gone over the border to Scotland to marry."

"You must be mad!" Branson's mother exclaimed. "I thought you were making a joke in that letter of yours. I didn't think for a moment you truly meant that you were bringing the Earl's daughter here to marry her."

"Well, I have, and we're here, and there's nothing anyone can do about it," Branson said, his voice taking on a tone of defiance as he squeezed Sybil's hand and pulled her closer to him.

Everyone went very still as their mother cast a stern look at the two of them. Sybil swallowed, feeling distinctly cowed, and glanced at Branson.

The woman came forward then and placed a hand on Sybil's shoulder. "You must call me Nora, dear," she said gently. She turned to Branson. "And you – I want a word with you."

She turned around and went straight back towards the kitchen. Branson gave Sybil an exasperated look before dropping her hand and following his mother, the door closing behind him.

"Well," Sybil said awkwardly, glancing at Branson's siblings, "I suppose we ought to give them some privacy -"

"Don't be mad!" chirped Maggie, dodging past her brothers and grabbing Sybil's hand, dragging her down the hallway to the door. She pressed her ear against it and gestured for Sybil to do the same. Danny and Patrick joined them, and off Sybil's surprised look, Danny winked at her.

"Not to worry, love," he said. "This is more excitement than this house has seen in months."

Sybil leaned closer to the door and tried to make out what the conversation happening on the other side.

"-can wipe that put-upon look off your face this instant, and mind your tongue as well. It's not me you have to fight; I'm on your side."

Branson grumbled something in reply to this that Sybil couldn't quite make out, and she shifted closer to the door.

"Well! What did you think I'd say?" Nora exclaimed. "That poor girl must be frightened out of her wits, you dragging her over hill and dale and across the sea and dropping her in with a pack of strangers besides!"

"For the last time, ma, I didn't kidnap her!" Branson protested. "And she's hardly feeble-minded. She chose to come with me, I've told you."

"Hmph! If I find out you've so much as touched a hair on the top of her head, by God, I'll -"

"Ma," Branson complained gruffly. "I love her, and she loves me. We're going to be married just as soon as we can get everything in order." His voice lowered. "And I never touched her. You know I'd never get a girl in trouble. You'd have my arse if I did, first of all."

Danny snickered, earning an elbow in his upper arm from Patrick and an eye-roll from Maggie. For her part, Sybil blushed and looked away.

"Well, it's a mighty relief to know you've that much sense, at least," Nora said. "Oh, but her family must be sick with worry. You must tell her to write them immediately. She mustn't worry them a moment longer than she has. When I think of the state I'd be in if one of my daughters did such a thing to me..."

"It's not like that," Branson replied. "You have to understand, ma, we didn't have a choice. They'd never have allowed it. One word about it and they'd have run me off the place, never let me see her again."

Nora sighed. "I reckon you did the best you could under the circumstances. 'Tis a shame, though. Folk can be so proud."

"Especially that lot," Branson agreed.

"It wasn't them I was talking about," Nora replied.

Sybil smiled. She liked the woman already.

"Well, you'll stay here until you get yourselves sorted. I want you down at the Registrar first thing to see about getting a license, do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma," Branson replied.

There was a pause, and Nora cleared her throat. "You've always been a passionate sort, Tommy. You've told us you've been in love before. Ever since you were just a lad. You'd be mad about some lass and convinced you were in love, and three weeks later you'd have fallen out of love and back into it with the girl at the shop 'round the corner, or one you saw pass on the street. So do you love this girl, truly? Enough to put her through all of this?"

"I do," he replied, his voice holding the same tone of quiet conviction it had every time he'd entreated Sybil to run away with him. "I've loved her from the moment I first heard her speak, and my love has grown every day since then, even when I had no reason to hope. I want only to be wherever she is, always."

"And does she love you the same?"

"She ran away with me, didn't she?"

Nora did not respond right away. Sybil listened intently to the silence, and was surprised to find that she was holding her breath.

"Yes, I suppose she did," Nora replied evenly. "Well. It's late and I'm sure you're both in need of a rest."

The door opened suddenly and Sybil jumped back, bumping into Danny behind her. Nora took in the assembly before her, her eyes stopping at Maggie. "I know you know better, at least," she said.

Maggie's eyes dropped to the floor. But Sybil's eyes were on Branson, who was beaming as though he didn't mind in the least that they had all overheard their conversation.

"Sybil can go in with Maggie tonight," Nora said. She fixed Branson with a sharp look. "I ought to send you out back to sleep by the jacks, but I'm a tender heart. You can kip in with Patrick. Jimmy can sleep in the front room when he gets home from the pub, and go upstairs when you're all up. Mind you lot don't wake him in the morning."

"I'd best be off," Danny said, settling his cap back on his head. "Can't leave the wife to her own devices for too long, eh Tommy?"

"Be off with you," Nora scolded. "And to bed with the rest of you."

Danny departed and Patrick and Maggie disappeared back upstairs. Nora turned out the electrical lights in the kitchen and the hallway. She lit three candles on the table in the hall and, after taking one for herself, turned to them.

"Don't be long," she said softly. "Only a few minutes, mind."

With that, she went upstairs, the candlelight flickering and casting shadows up the walls.

"Are you all right?" Branson asked. "They can be a bit..."

"I'm fine," Sybil replied. "Just tired. And you?"

"Happier than I've ever been in my life, I think," he said, grinning. "I'll have to find me a job and a place for us to live before we can marry, I suppose."

"And me a job," Sybil reminded him. "I believe I'll start canvassing the hospitals this week to see if they need nurses. It's never too early to start."

"Of course," he replied. His face sobered. "Will you mind it, living crowded in with my family for a bit?"

"You lived alongside my family for five years," Sybil said. "I can live alongside yours for a while, until we get everything settled and have a place of our own."

"Yes, but you must admit that Downton is a bit more roomy than this place."

"Perhaps, but it's fine, Tom! In fact it's lovely."

Branson regarded her with a fond look, as though she had said something remarkable. Sybil felt her face heat under his watchful gaze.

"I wish we could sleep tonight the way we have the last two nights, together," he said, his voice very low. "I'll miss the feeling of your head on my shoulder." His eyes were soft and dark in the flickering candlelight, and Sybil felt herself drawn to him even as a fluttering sensation of nerves gripped her stomach.

"Well," she replied slowly, "soon enough we'll be married. And then we'll spend every night together, I suppose. Can you wait a little longer for that?"

"Yes," he breathed, smiling at her. "Yes, I can wait a little longer."

Branson leaned down and kissed her, his arms sliding around her back to hold her close. Sybil held onto his neck, her fingers running through the hairs at the back of his head. Branson sighed roughly and broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers.

Sybil closed her eyes and felt his pulse pound against her wrist, and she counted the beats as she willed them to drum into her his optimism, his enthusiasm, his all-encompassing and certain passion. She had all of those things inside her, too, but every time he turned his bright eyes on her, she feared that the contents of her heart paled in comparison.

She tried to soak up his love, so that she might have something more to give back to him.

"Come on then," he said softly, pulling back to kiss her forehead. "I'll show you to Maggie's room."

With her hand sheltering her guttering candle, Sybil followed him up into the darkness.

"Are you really a proper Lady? Truly?"

"I am. Truly," Sybil replied, stealing a glance at Maggie. It was midday, and the two of them were standing side-by-side in the kitchen, peeling turnips. "Only I suppose that, as I've given all of that up, I don't count as one anymore. Not really."

Maggie considered this. "And do you have many brothers and sisters?"

"No, only two sisters. I'm the youngest, like you."

"Are you? And you have no brothers?"

"No brothers."

"Brothers are all right, but it's been awful boring since Katie married in the summer. Though I do like having a room to myself." There was a pause, and then she sent Sybil a worried look. "Not that I'm cross about sharing it with you, of course! After all, you're going to be my sister, aren't you?"

"I suppose I am," Sybil replied, smiling at the younger girl. Maggie smiled shyly in return, and then turned her attention back to the turnip in her hands. Sybil looked a moment longer at Maggie before following suit.

Sybil was grateful to have at least one ally in the family aside from Tom.

Immediately Sybil castigated herself for her unkind thoughts. It was hardly the Bransons' fault if they didn't yet know what to make of her, or if they resented her interloping. She had only been there a fortnight. It would take any family time to adjust to such an abrupt addition, she reasoned.

If some selfish part of her wished they would adjust a bit quicker because she now found herself without a family of her own, she would not say so.

Sybil had sent two letters home to Downton to advise her family of her well-being and her whereabouts, as well as their plans, and to express her hope that she might hear from them.

She had not. In two weeks, there had not even been a telegram.

So if Branson's married sisters Anne-Marie and Katie turned their noses up at her, if Danny always looked at her as though she had just done something terribly amusing, if Patrick pretended not to hear her when she asked him about a book he's reading, or if she often caught Nora watching her with an expression too shrewd for Sybil's comfort, at least she had Maggie to rely upon for company. And Tom, of course, when he wasn't out scouring the city for work.

The front door opened then, a gust of wind rattling the kitchen door in its frame. Nora was a seamstress and used the front room for fittings, and Sybil had become used to a great deal of coming and going in the house during the day. So when the kitchen door opened, she assumed it was Nora coming through to make tea for a customer, and Sybil jumped in surprise when she felt arms go around her waist, and a voice speak right next to her ear.

"Good afternoon, milady," said Branson, kissing her cheek.

"Tom! You gave me a fright!" Sybil cried, dropping her knife and a half-peeled turnip to the counter and spinning about to face him.

Maggie made a vague sound of disgust. Branson turned and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Ma wants you," he said, tilting his head in the direction of the sitting room. Maggie replied only with a roll of her eyes, but grudgingly turned and left the kitchen. The moment the door swung closed behind Maggie, Branson leaned in close and kissed Sybil properly.

Sybil smiled and pulled back. "You're an awful brother," she scolded him.

"She'll forgive me," he replied blithely, returning her smile.

"What are you doing home so early?" Sybil asked. "You're never home before tea."

"I've good news and I couldn't wait to tell you," he said, taking a step back from her as he tipped his chin proudly. Sybil suppressed a smile.

"Have you?"

"I have indeed. Danny and Patrick have helped me get on with their company, after all. Wasn't sure they'd be able to, but it's all sorted. It'll do for now until I can find a place at another private home or such like," Branson said. He paused here, scratching the back of his neck and looking down at the table. Sybil watched as his brows drew together slightly in a frown.

"And how does that suit you?" Sybil asked.

At once he was cheerful again, taking her hands in his. "It suits me fine. Anything that'll allow us to have a place of our own, that'll help me do what I can to make you happy – why, that's what suits me."

"You don't have to put on a brave face for me," Sybil said softly, tilting her head to catch his eye. "Rather, I'd prefer you were honest with me. What would you like to be doing instead of driving people from place to place?"

Branson's shoulders slumped, and his smile faded. "I still want to be a part of the changes that must happen, in one way or another. Perhaps I will, perhaps I won't. I've more important things to consider now."

"Nothing is more important than your dream," Sybil argued, shaking her head. "I won't have you abandoning your ambitions in some kind of wrong-headed attempt to do the honourable thing for my sake. Don't give up now, Tom, just because we're to be married."

Branson's look was incredulous, and he gave his head a shake, as though he could not quite believe what he heard. "I love you," he said. He leaned in and kissed her, pulling her into his arms and holding her close.

Sybil closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his chest, pressing her face to his shoulder. As ever, she was uncertain what she had done to earn his admiration, or to encourage it.

"You know what this means, don't you?" he asked, his voice low and soft next to her ear. "It means we can find a place of our own."

Sybil smiled, picturing it. A small place for them, to be sure, but it would be theirs and theirs alone, a place they had worked for, had really iearned/i. A place of their own would hold such freedom for her.

"I can't wait," Sybil whispered, holding tightly to him.

"And we can be married after Sunday, when they've finished reading the banns," he said. He pulled back to look at her. "Are you happy?"

Happy. It seemed such an ordinary word to describe the riot of emotions she felt. She looked at Branson, at the happiness which very nearly beamed out of him. She smiled.

"Yes, I'm happy. Terribly happy, Tom."

Branson grinned. "We'll tell them all tonight."

Sybil could only nod, and press her face to his shoulder again.

Sybil's wedding was not the splendid affair she supposed her mother must have imagined for her. She could vaguely recall talk of weddings when she and her sisters were younger; Mary declared church weddings dreadfully dull but a necessary evil, prompting Edith to scold her for blasphemy and launch into a defence of the wedding ceremony as a blessed tradition and a pillar of civilized society. Sybil remembered thinking it amusing at the time, for both of her sisters had, in the past, privately told her that they favoured a garden wedding in spring.

Try as she might, Sybil could not remember what sort of wedding she had wanted for herself. It was almost as though she had never imagined anything at all, but she must have. She must have.

They were married by the Registrar on a Tuesday morning. Only Nora and Maggie were able to attend, and so the sadness Sybil felt at the absence of her own family was allayed somewhat by Branson's disappointment that most of his family had to work on his wedding day.

"If you'd been patient and been married in church, we all might have been able to attend," Nora pointed out afterwards as they left the Registrar's Office.

Branson rolled his eyes and gave Sybil's gloved hand a squeeze. "Ma, you know we don't care about all that."

"I know you don't, for you've told me enough times," she replied. "I'm only saying."

But whatever Nora thought of their marriage, she prepared them a lovely meal that evening, and all of the family crowded around the table to enjoy it. Branson's five nieces and nephews were there, and later, when they moved to the front room, many aunts and uncles and cousins dropped by to offer their congratulations. Danny opened a bottle of whisky and toasted the newlyweds, and soon everyone was taking turns telling stories and offering all manner of advice.

It all felt like a holiday, like Christmas, and for the first time Sybil felt she was a part of the family.

The hour was very late when the party began to disperse, and even as she accepted more hearty congratulations and embraces at the door, she worried about all of them having to be up at dawn to work the following day. No one seemed to mind, however, and they went happily out into the damp spring night.

"Well, Mrs. Branson," Tom said to her as they stood in the doorway watching Anne-Marie and her husband Michael herd their sleepy children down the street, "what do you think?"

"I think we would not have had half so lively a celebration at Downton," Sybil replied. Michael scooped their littlest one up into his arms, and the family turned the corner.

"I can't say I'm sorry that things have happened the way they have," Branson said. Sybil turned to see him watching her pensively. "For if they had gone some other way, we might not be married now. But I am sorry that your family has not come 'round. Sorry for them, but sorry for you most of all."

Sybil swallowed the lump in her throat and tried her best to smile for him. "Don't feel sorry for me. Not tonight. If they come 'round, I'll be delighted. But if they don't, I have a new family now, don't I?"

"You do, Sybil," Branson replied, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. "You do."

Sybil closed her eyes, and did her best to believe him.

Sybil woke before dawn the next morning. She opened her eyes to find herself facing Branson, who was yet asleep. They had slept together for the first time as husband and wife, on a makeshift bed on the sitting room floor. Sybil thought of the lavish honeymoon trips to Italy and Provence her friends had planned, and wondered what they would say about her wedding night, spent in a tiny Dublin row house. It nearly made her laugh to think of it.

She blinked to clear her eyes, and looked at him. Branson's face was relaxed in sleep, the sardonic turn of his mouth softened. His jaw was darkened slightly with stubble, and his always neatly combed hair was all out of place. From her hands as much as a night of sleep, she supposed, biting her bottom lip as she blushed.

He had been so sweet to her when they were finally alone last night, his touch a bit uncertain, but gentle. Sybil had heard whispered horror stories of wedding nights, but hers had been nothing like that, nothing at all.

As Sybil looked at him, it struck her that she was allowed to touch him, and he her. It was silly that she should find the idea so fanciful now, after how they had spent the last weeks. But the years previous had required a gulf of propriety between them so wide that it seemed strange to her that it could now be crossed so effortlessly.

Sybil lifted a hesitant hand and brushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. Branson frowned in his sleep, and his hand came up to bat hers away. She laughed in surprise, and his frown deepened before he grudgingly opened his eyes.

"Did you think I was a spider, or a mouse, perhaps?" she whispered as he awakened.

"Reckon I'm still used to sleeping alone," he replied, his voice rough with sleep. "Though I did have a mouse in the cottage who liked to run across the bed at night."

"How awful! You ought to have asked Mr. Carson to have a cat in."

"Nah," Branson said on a yawn. "Poor little beggar was just looking for a dry place to sleep and a few crumbs to eat, like anyone else."

Sybil smiled. "Your pity for all downtrodden creatures is unmatched, I think."

"The only thing unmatched is your loveliness," Branson replied, his serious gaze steady on hers.

Sybil blushed and rolled her eyes, and was about to upbraid him for being a shameless flatterer, but before she could say a word, he leaned up on one elbow and kissed her, pushing her gently back onto the pillows.

He kissed her soundly, and by the time he pulled back, they were both short of breath.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," she replied, smiling up at him.

He ran his thumb along the arch of her eyebrow, just looking at her. After a moment, he shook his head. "I can scarcely believe that you're here," he said, his voice soft.

"Where else would I be?" she asked him pertly.

"Why, anywhere!" he replied. "You might have married a Baron or an Earl, or not married at all and travelled the world -"

"Tom," Sybil interrupted him, scolding him gently, "I've married you."

"You have," he agreed. He regarded her a moment longer, and then relaxed back on his pillow, casting his eyes critically about the room. "It's nothing fancy, but it's a far sight better than a dank old haymow, don't you think?"

"Quite a bit, yes," Sybil replied, resting her chin upon her hand. "Even better will be a proper bedroom, our bedroom." She too glanced around them, and she could feel her cheeks heating. "Oh, goodness. I don't mind it, only I'm imagining what Mama would think. Never mind Granny. Or, heaven help us, Papa. He'd have a fit."

"Best that he doesn't know, then," Branson said ruefully. "In this case ignorance is bliss."

"Indeed," Sybil agreed, banishing the thought of her family before it could take hold and darken her mood. She sat up slightly and craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the grey sky through the drapes. The pale blue light of early morning was filtering into the room, and she shivered as the coverlet slid down and cool air touched her bare arm.

"I suppose we should get up," she said. "The whole house will be awake soon."

Branson propped himself up on one elbow, and Sybil became aware that he must not have put a nightshirt on after... She could feel herself blushing, thinking about it, and suddenly felt terribly silly and awkward, as though he was a stranger and she didn't know where to look or quite what to do with her hands.

"You look very lovely with your hair down." Sybil glanced at him. He was watching her with a curious expression on his face, as though she was something of a strange to him, also. He reached out a hand almost hesitantly and caught the end of one long curl, wrapping it thoughtfully around a finger before letting it go and dropping his hand to her waist.

"I'm sure it's a dreadful mess," Sybil said, feeling shy in a way she never had in his company.

"You might see it that way, perhaps," he replied, surprising her by leaning in and dropping a kiss on the top of her bare shoulder.

"Now you will see me in this state every day, I suppose," Sybil said. She struggled to get her bearings.

"Yes, I suppose I will." Branson's eyes did not leave her face. Sybil could feel the heat of his hand on her skin even through the coverlet and her nightgown. "I know we ought to get up and see about having a look at that flat Danny's found for us, but..." he trailed off, frowning. "The thing is, I think I'd rather stay where we are just a little longer. What do you think of it?"

Sybil swallowed, her throat dry. "I think that's what I'd like, as well."

"Sybil, do you want..." He frowned, discomfited. "That is, may I -"

"Yes," Sybil said. "Yes, for goodness's sake!"

Branson looked surprised for an instant, and then he grinned and pulled her close, his hand sliding across her side to her back. She shivered and pressed herself against him, kissing him.

Everything could wait, Sybil decided. His family, hers, jobs, a flat – it could wait. All of it could wait for this, their breathless joy.