Sybil made her way home from work through the familiar streets of Dublin, head down in another April shower and smiled as she turned the final corner to see her husband's motorcycle parked up. She never liked it when he was out past dark in bad weather on it, snaking through the hordes of motorcars to make his way to some newsworthy event or other, and although the nights were starting to get shorter the heaviness of the sky brought the darkness forwards to early evening. She tried to hide her overprotectiveness and worry from Tom on the matter of his bike but still said a silent prayer of thanks every time she saw it there in one piece. More than once she had seen the results of motorcycle accidents in the hospital where she worked; more than once she had seen a mop of blonde hair caked in blood and stopped breathing for what seemed like an eternity.

As she made her way through the flat's front door and started to haul herself up the flights of stairs she started really hoping that Tom had been home long enough to get dinner started. She was hungry and exhausted, the pregnancy taking it out of her and making it increasingly hard to spend much of the day on her feet. She knew it would not be long until she could not keep it up, but loved her work so much and felt she was making a positive difference that she was not quite ready to stop just yet. She did find herself getting more emotional at the sad scenes she witnessed as she had found herself on another completely different battleground in a very different yet no less serious war here in Ireland.

Tom had been home for about half an hour and after quickly changing out of his wet clothes, he picked up the mail and took it with him to the kitchen. He had spent the day going about his business as quickly as possible to get home before Sybil so he could cook for once. He didn't mind cooking but she was usually the first one back on a weekday so did most of it. Although he tried to cover it up, he was worried about her still working this late on in her pregnancy. He could tell she was starting to get overly tired and emotional, but he didn't want to get overprotective of her and closet her away; it was her choice. He couldn't help how he felt about it, and was concerned she would see it as being as anti-women's rights as her upbringing so he was determined to control the way he portrayed his fears.

Once before he had fumbled his way through a conversation he found important with Sybil, when he first tried to convince her to bet on him and have a relationship together, and he knew it hadn't gone all that well. So now he was determined to try to order his impulsive mind and try to work out what to say to her. His hands dexterously chopped the vegetables for the soup and cut the loaf of bread while he decided that it would be far better to ask what her plans were in terms of continuing with work than to tell her his thoughts on it to start off with. There was no harm in his discussing it with her, as long as he made sure she knew he would support her decision. He planned to relax her this evening – do the cooking and wash the dishes, and prepare lunch for tomorrow while she relaxed with the book on Catherine the Great she had started 2 weeks ago and had barely made any headway with, and then he would sit with her feet up and massage her feet and ankles – he knew from his observations and what he knew of pregnant women from his female relatives that they would be very swollen. That would give him a step into which to broach the subject.

His hand brushed against the small pile of letters and he stopped in his task, soup deliciously simmering away, to look at them. One was from a cousin of his in Cork which made him smile, one he recognised as being to Sybil in her mother's handwriting which made him frown. She received letters from her mother about once a week and they tended to be nice, but still set her in some level of gloom, perhaps from missing her family but more so, he suspected, from her father's grudge against their lives. His absence from the letters was all too noticeable.

Before she had gotten pregnant herself, Sybil had helped to set up a way by which mothers could continue working but in supporting each other. She had spent many a night looking at timetables and financial considerations before finalising a proposal she had made to the hospital. After a few amendments she had been shocked that they had accepted and at once a number of pregnant women had signed up to the scheme. Before long mothers who had not been working at the hospital in some time returned and it was heralded a success. Of course, the hospital took the credit but Sybil didn't care – she had made a real difference in the lives of her colleagues. Many of them knew precisely who to thank – the English girl they had once scorned was the one who made it possible for them to consider having a family while not sacrificing their independence in its entirety. And it was good for the hospital as well – they had many people coming in all the time from the products of the war and could not keep training up nurses just for them to go off to have children a year or two later.

Tom remembered with a smile how gleeful she had been and he was sure it was during that time of celebration that their first child had been conceived. He was so proud of her, and delighted in writing about the scheme in his paper. But then he also remembered that when he asked her if she had told her family about it she had quietly replied she did not intend to – they would not understand. His own mother, who tried at first to dislike Sybil but found she could not, was impressed though slightly uncertain about the new way of things according to Sybil's plan; but it only went to highlight how she would never get that level of appreciation from her own family.

Still, he supposed, he would have to give her the letter as no matter what was inside, it was better than the silence from her father and if she started to think her mother was not writing she would surely get far more down about the situation. As anticipated Lady Cora was very animated in her replies about her coming grandchild but it made Lord Grantham's silence all the more noticeable, and Tom still felt frustrated that Lady Cora seemed willing to go against her husband to see her unborn grandchild, apparently welcoming them all to go to visit and planning on coming to Dublin, but would not do so for Sybil alone. Not for the first time he wished Sybil did not have any ties at Downton anymore. He felt bad for thinking it, but they were so happy all of the time that they didn't get reminded of Downton that he felt it was their one cloud; though he knew if it were gone for good Sybil would never be happy so that was something he really did not want.

He smiled as he looked at her name on the letter. "Mrs Sybil Branson". Lady Cora was very good at diplomacy and was the only one to write to her using that name, a name which Tom felt fitted her very well. He was amazed at how quickly they had settled into married life. Every aspect just seemed to work out perfectly and they were in sync with each other. Yes, they squabbled a little but he rather enjoyed that, and he knew she did too, and it was never anything serious. He had heard so many of his friends report that a sweetheart who had been intended for so long as a wife had seemed so different after marriage, and he was sure that the wives felt the same way about their husbands. But Sybil was as perfect for him as ever and he loved her more with every breath he took, even when they were apart. He loved the fact that she had changed from nursing English gentry and nobility to nursing the poorest of the poor from Ireland without a second thought. He loved how she made such an effort with his family and had earned their trust and respect where they had not anticipated giving it. And he loved how well she seemed to understand him and support his desires to make his country a better, freer and fairer place to live. Not once did she roll her eyes or get fed up when he started on a diatribe for an hour about the same subjects that haunted him and many times she had gladly spent an evening poring over some article he was writing and giving her comments. Now that she felt free to share her love for him he found she was a very loving and passionate woman and he had never felt so loved, often finding her watching him as he went about everyday life and smiling so elatedly. Their house might be small but it was the epitome of all happiness.

Today, however, this happiness was pierced by the third letter in the pile. "Mr T & Lady S Branson." The script was extremely fine and the envelope even more delicate than the usual ones from Sybil's family. His curiosity piqued, he opened the letter as it was addressed to him as much as to his wife, and read with eyes and mouth wide that they were invited to Lady Mary and Mr Matthew's wedding in June. He had been wondering whether Lady Mary had already married Sir Richard, and that they had not been invited since all mention of it had been omitted in letters to them, but now here was the summons he realised he had been dreading more than finding them overlooked in the wedding guest list.

He was pleased for them both – sort of. He could not help but think that, however much they loved each other, Mr Matthew was far too nice for Lady Mary. Sybil had defended Mary more than once but he found it hard to like her much with her steadfast stance against him. Sybil had even defended that point, trying to explain how much her parents focussed on her when they were growing up and how impossible it was for her to break any boundaries. Before their wedding she had managed to convince him to make friends with her sisters when they came over for their special day. He was glad that they at least made the effort for Sybil. But his mother later reported to him that she overheard more than once, and on the night before and on the morning of the wedding, that Lady Mary was trying to talk her sister out of it. Perhaps that was the only reason she had come to Dublin in the first place! But nevertheless her plan had not worked, and the responses Sybil had given her made Tom's mother really like her properly for the first time and believe in them as a couple. She openly spoke to Sybil before the ceremony about how happy she was for her son and gave her new daughter-in-law her grandmother's necklace. They had been very close ever since and Mary just had a sour face most of the day, which only brought more joy to most of the Bransons. Lady Edith fared a fair bit better, but she had gotten herself mucky on a farm, driven and proved invaluable in the convalescent home. She drank beer with the best of them and even danced with several of the men Mary had turned her nose up to. She seemed to enjoy her resumed freedom and he felt sure she would do well to leave the confines of Downton Abbey as well. She seemed less certain than her younger sister, however, and he felt for her.

That seemed to be one problem the elder two Crawley sisters had. Both of them had been madly in love before – Mary with Matthew and Edith with Patrick – but neither of them had been willing to put any risk into the venture, and now both were alone and heartsick at their little sister's wedding. That sister had risked everything but was consequently exuberantly happy, only the absence of her parents marred the day for her, and she was determined it would barely do that. He could see regret in both of their eyes and wondered at them trying to convince Sybil to join the ranks of loveless regretters. It hit him that they thought he was a worse option for her than that!

As the door to their flat opened, he thoughtlessly shoved the wedding invitation into his rear pocket and turned his focus onto the almost simmering over soup, turning it down before going to meet his wife.