Because, like I said, I'm obsessed. Kirsty, I'm sorry, I couldn't help it :)

'It comes down to whether or not you love me. That's all, that's it. The rest is detail.'

Sybil sits on her bed, replaying the words over and over in her head. She's already sent Anna away early, desperate to finally think this whole thing through properly. It's still hard to get her head around the fact that Branson, the chauffeur, is in love with her.

Ever since that day months ago when he dropped her off at nurse training, she's tried to work out the exact nature of her feelings towards him. He understands her in a way that no one else does, that's for certain, and she's told him things she would never tell her family in a million years, but what does all that mean? She knows what he'd say, of course. It means love. He'd said as much in their last conversation.

'Look, if you didn't care, you'd have told them all months ago.'

'Oh, I see! So just because I don't want you to lose your job, it must mean I'm madly in love with you!'

'Well, doesn't it?'

Does it?

She's tried and she's tried to fathom it out. In the beginning, she admired him for his stand on politics, and had been relieved to see that she was not the only one that cared about things like that. Then, she'd begun to look upon him as her confidante, especially after he'd given her those pamphlets on women's rights. After the accident at Ripon, her whole family had been shocked as she'd screamed at her father, threatening never to speak to him again, to run away if he dared fire the chauffeur. And on that last golden day when he had taken her hand, she'd felt a strange fluttering in her stomach as he'd whispered, 'I don't suppose…' in her ear. Of course, they'd been interrupted, but she had felt something.

Then the war had been announced and everything had changed.

Suddenly, people were dying and men were being called up and everything was in chaos, and she'd wanted to do something, anything, to help. Isobel had suggested nursing, and so she'd gone.

It would all have been so simple, if he'd only kept silent.

But now she's sat here, confused and worried, yes, but also ever so slightly happy. She hadn't been able to stop herself smiling back when he'd told her what she hadn't realised, that she had used the word 'us', spoken about them as a pair. As a couple.

She shakes her head. Of course they aren't a couple. He is a good friend who's told her something he shouldn't have, and this is just the consequential feeling of guilt at not being able to make him happy in the way that he wants. That's all.

And yet, that feeling she'd first experienced at the garden party when he'd held her hand…

She can't deny she's imagined what it would be like to run away with him, to marry him even. It would be difficult for any girl not to picture it after a declaration of love like that.

But does she actually want it? Is she in love with Tom Branson?

She pictures his face once last time, takes a deep breath, and finally admits it to herself.

Yes, she is.

A smile appears on her face fleetingly as she allows this acknowledgement, and she lets herself bask in the happiness of it just for a little while.

She knows what this means. She can't tell him, or anyone else, not just yet. The war, and everything that has come with it, is too much right now, but it won't stop her smiling to herself when she's alone, or thinking about it at night.

But until the day she cam finally tell him the truth, she can dream about it as much as she wants, and that will have to be enough. For now.

Thanks for reading! Love to all,

Iliketotastetherainbow x