Author's Note: All good things must come to an end. A hoary cliché, I freely grant you, which just goes to demonstrate its timeworn truth. ~ The most pleasant motor trip eventually ends when the destination has been reached. But we can always go home again. Tom and Edith await us at Downton. (Furthermore, Lady Edith, her sisterly love, her sharp tongue, and even her garage key are currently appearing in my prenuptial Sybil/Branson story A Kind of Purgatory.) ~ My deepest gratitude to all reviewers, followers, and favoriters: You can't know (unless you do) how much it helps to know someone is reading. So for everyone reading this: a chara, tá grá agam duit.

Disclaimer: I'm not even a custodian, my dears, let alone an owner. These characters and their settings are the work of others. I hope I do not offend with my homage.

The next morning, Lady Edith went out to the garage. There was no necessity for her to use her beautiful key: the big doors were open. She could see Branson inside working, though it was still quite early. Lady Edith herself had only just left the breakfast table. Branson, a clean beige coverall over his uniform, sans jacket, was working on the Cabriolet. The bonnet was open and she watched him detach a hose from its insides, look it over minutely, then stoop down. She heard the splash of water and came closer so she could see.

A bucket of water stood at the chauffeur's feet. The chauffeur himself was hunkered down next to it. He submerged the hose to fill it with water, then pulled it out, ends carefully held up, and watched the water drip back off of it into the bucket. There wasn't much. She knew he was inspecting the hose for leaks. It pleased her that she could now tell what he was doing without the necessity of always having to ask. She sat down on the workbench to watch.

Branson kept working, but looked over at her curiously, a shy smile lighting his features. "How was the dinner party, milady?"

"It was very nice. I enjoyed it."

"Were there a lot of people there?" he probed gently.

"There were. Some neighbors, Lady Daphne, Cousin Isobel, and Granny, of course... even Miss Swire."

"Miss Swire?" he asked.

As if he didn't know. "Cousin Matthew's financée? I'm supposed to believe you've forgotten who she is, you fraud? Especially since she let slip why she was there."

Branson had the grace to blush, but he knew Lady Edith wasn't really angry with him, so the corners of his mouth stayed up while he emptied, dried, and reconnected the hose. He selected another, disconnected it, and started the process over. Lady Edith watched him, saying nothing else.

Branson continued to work steadily, but couldn't help sneaking occasional glances at her. Lady Edith just continued to watch him work. The second hose was fine, too. He drained it, dried it off on a cloth, reattached it, and disconnected a third. He was looking at the hose, not at her, when he finally asked, "Did he give it to you, milady?"

"Yes, he did," Lady Edith nodded. "Well, technically Sybil did."

"Do you like it?" He was pretending to look at the hose, but was really looking at her now, actually somewhat worried, she saw to her amazement.

"I love it, Branson. It's very beautiful." Lady Edith saw his relief. How could he have thought she might be angry about so lovely and thoughtful a gift?

"And it was presented to you in front of everyone?"

Lady Edith nodded. "Yes, he told everyone I was Ready for the Road, and had Lady Sybil present it to me. Everyone applauded. I felt very proud to be so appreciated."

The chauffeur smiled his pleasure at her triumph.

"Branson?"

"Yes, milady?"

"It was your idea, wasn't it?"

"Well, I-"

"What does it matter, how he told me, or when or where he gave me the key?"

The chauffeur was looking at the concrete floor.

"Tell me why you wanted the announcement to be a public event. What did it matter... to you?"

He moistened his lips, but didn't speak.

"Branson," she demanded, but her tone was very gentle, "tell me why."

"Because..." She waited but he didn't continue.

"Because?" she prompted, quietly, but she wanted to know the reason, needed to know it, in fact.

"Look at me, Branson, and tell me."

The blues eyes that met hers were full. Lady Edith watched a tear spill over onto his cheek. Why was he crying? He put up a hand and wiped the tear away. He sighed. "I remembered what you said, that day, after the Hospital Benefit Concert, about your saying I had said you were ready for the road, and Lord Grantham saying I told him you weren't. That there were a lot of people there, and you were humiliated."

"That wasn't your fault, Branson. It was mine. I had no business saying that. You had never told me I was ready for the road."

"I know, but…"

"But you still you wanted to make it better?"

He nodded. "Yes, milady."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "It's what brothers do."

Lady Edith considered him thoughtfully. "Well, you did, brother. You did make it better. A lot better." She smiled at him.

Branson remembered the hose in his hands. He squatted down again and pushed it under the water. Lady Edith heard the gurgle as it filled with water.

"I was sorry you weren't there," Lady Edith continued quietly.

Branson looked over at her, pleased that she said so. "You know I couldn't be, milady."

"I know," she admitted. When he started to lift the hose from the bucket, she said, "Can you leave that and come sit for a minute?"

He nodded, left the hose in the water, dried his hands, and came to sit next to her on the workbench. They looked at each other.

"Thank you for teaching me," Lady Edith said.

Branson nodded. "You're welcome, milady...I enjoyed it." His use of her line made them both smile.

Lady Edith found she wasn't all that happy after all that she had 'graduated.' "Is it over?" she asked him.

"Yes, milady, it's over. You're Ready for the Road."

"Why do I feel so sad?"

"Because it's the end of our lessons."

"But I don't want it to be the end," she told him petulantly.

He smiled at her. "I don't either, milady, but a butterfly can't crawl back into its cocoon," he teased, gently.

"I'll miss you, Branson."

"I'm not going anywhere." He gestured at the garage around them. "I'll still be here. We'll still see each other. Even if you want to drive yourself from now on, I'll still be your mechanic. And I'll always be your friend, milady."

"If you're my friend, can't you call me 'Edith'?"

Branson shook his head.

"Not even now?"

"Especially not now, milady."

"Why not?"

"You know why not."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do...We both have keys to the garage, and we're sitting here alone. A dheirfiúr, how long do you think I'd still be employed here if anyone heard me call you 'Edith'?"

"That's absurd."

"To you it is, and to me. But to other people?"

"Then they're absurd." How could anyone think he would do anything bad to her? He was completely trustworthy. Had he actually been her brother, she could not have trusted him more. But she knew he was right.

Lady Edith sighed, and rose from the workbench, which of course caused Branson to rise to his feet as well. "All right then, Branson," she told him, defeated, "I'll see you later."

"Milady," he acknowledged, formally. If she was defeated, at least he was respectful, rather than triumphant.

Lady Edith started to walk away, then turned back. "But comes the revolution, you and I will really be brother and sister, and then you will call me 'Edith.'"

The chauffeur grinned at her. "Yes, milady," he agreed. "Comes the revolution, I promise I'll call you 'Edith,' and you'll call me 'Tom.'"