Epilogue

August, 1920

Tom and Sybil sat on the dock of the lake at Downton Abbey, splashing the water with their bare feet while their hands wandered and explored. After a year of marriage, Tom still wondered how this had happened to him, a working class son of Ireland. He marveled at the fortune that had brought him here, that had given him Sybil.

She was his universe; his sun and moon and the stars by which he steered his life. If he was never able to return to his homeland, if he was stuck in England for the rest of his life, it would be all right, as long as Sybil was by his side.

He glanced back at the imposing edifice of Downton Abbey rising majestically behind them, and thought on the direction his life had taken. In his wildest dreams he never could have imagined that he would find his soulmate in the midst of the British aristocracy, that at the end of the day he would be the son-in-law of an earl.

It certainly hadn't been without its bumps and scrapes. He and Lord Grantham—Robert—were never going to be completely at ease with each other, not given the history that had brought them to this place, but they were working on it.

Cora had been his champion, so mortified at what had been done to him that she could not do enough to welcome him into the family. And she was American; so there was that.

Mary had been standoffish at first, but she was a pragmatist; if Sybil was happy, she would be happy. And it was obvious that Sybil was very happy, so Mary would adjust. Besides, she and Matthew had finally admitted their feelings for each other, which meant she had more to think about than him.

Surprisingly, Tom had found an unlikely ally in Edith, sharing a camaraderie born of the early days when he had taught her to drive and shored up her courage in the face of ridicule by her older sister.

Even Sybil's Granny, the Dowager Countess and a formidable force indeed, had decided that Tom had skills with which they could work…and perhaps, she said, they could attach him to the Bransons of Cork—members of the Irish aristocracy who had absolutely no connection whatsoever to the Bransons of Dublin, but no matter. It was all in the presentation.

He had been somewhat surprised at first by the support from Matthew and his mother Isobel, but he supposed he should have expected as much from Sybil's middle class cousins. They had once been fish out of water in this world themselves, and thus understood his learning curve. And, like his Sybil, they just didn't care much for all that nonsense.

Oddly, it was the staff who had been the most wary of his new status. While some, like Anna and Mrs. Hughes, seemed delighted at a relationship they had always suspected, there were others who were simply appalled, or newly shy in his presence.

Carson treated him with a frosty respect, and Barrow studiously avoided him whenever possible. O'Brien, apparently, had left mysteriously during the night without giving notice…thank God. And although Mrs. Patmore still fed him well when they visited, it was now at the big table, and impersonal. After the first time, when he'd tried to show them he hadn't got too big for his boots, he rarely ventured downstairs.

The wedding had been held at Downton, a small private affair that was all they wanted and much more than they had ever expected. They lived in London now, where Tom had moved up quickly at the Westminster Gazette and Sybil worked at a small women's hospital, having finished her first year of training at the Royal College of Nursing.

Their flat was small but it was theirs, paid for with their own money. It was sparsely furnished, mostly from the Downton attics and with only the very basic necessities. Their one luxury was the big double bed which took up almost every inch of the tiny bedroom; everything else, after all, was non-essential.

Things were not perfect, of course. Sybil was a terrible cook and Tom wasn't very good at pretending that he loved burned food. They argued about the things all couples argue about. Sybil's pay was minuscule and Tom's hours were erratic, and at the end of the day both were often exhausted. But they were exhausted together, which was all that mattered.

Now Tom shifted his position on the dock to look into his wife's face, marveling again at the beauty he found there. He still had trouble sometimes believing that this exquisite woman was his, that she had chosen him when she had so many other choices. The world was truly an amazing place.

His hand found its way beneath her shift, caressing the small bump that cradled their unborn child. Yes…truly amazing.

"Do you have any idea how much I love you?" he murmured.

"Well, since I had to chase you down and explain it to you, I think I do," laughed Sybil, her husky voice tender.

At her words, Tom suddenly went still. His eyes narrowed as they studied her face carefully, then focused on the bushes behind them.

"What is it, love?" Sybil asked softly.

"Mmmm…you don't have any snakes around here, do you?"

Sybil had learned not to be too terribly surprised by some of the more fanciful things her husband said. She put her arms around him and nibbled on his earlobe, causing him to shiver and melt into her.

"No, darling, no snakes. Just the three of us."

And Tom Branson was content.