Disclaimer: Downton Abbey and its characters belong to Julian Fellowes and ITV.

A/N: This is a piece I wrote for fun in a rather short amount of time today, after being struck with inspiration while reading Zelda Fitzgerald's Save Me the Waltz. I suddenly had to write about family life for the Bransons during the Jazz Age, and this is the result. As this was meant to be a short, fun piece to indulge my imagination, it is un-betaed, so please keep that in mind. (Also, for those wondering, the next chapter for Winter Rain is written and should appear very soon!)

Downton, May 1926

Tom Branson was exhausted. He had spent the better part of the last week in London, meeting with his editor at the Political Times. The meetings had consisted of one stressful hour after another until they finally culminated in a most favourable manner. Tom's articles had steadily risen in popularity throughout the early Twenties, and he had been recruited by the country's most esteemed political newspaper. Now, the newspaper's sister publishing house was asking him to write a book on the Irish Revolution, from the viewpoint of an Irishman who had spent the greater part of the conflict in England. Tom had hesitated to accept the project at first, having reservations about what he would be allowed to say. Though his political views had softened ever so slightly, he refused to write anything but his exact thoughts. Censorship was not something he would ever accept. Thus, he had been pleasantly surprised when the editor had told him just that: they explicitly wanted him to speak his mind. His tendency to so that was what made his articles so popular and what they hoped would make his book a bestseller.

The assignment of the project could hardly have come at a more perfect time. Martha Levinson, Sybil's eccentric grandmother, had invited the couple to join her in Newport for the summer. She was bored with her acquaintances and wanted the young pair's company. She had been enchanted with them during her visit to Downton several years ago, appreciating their charm and the freshness that set them apart from their contemporaries. Sybil had been delighted by the turn of events as many of her other family members had initially resisted accepting Tom in to their midst.

The couple having readily accepted the invitation, Tom had begun to wonder what to do with the newspaper during his absence. With many of his writings in syndication, the three months' vacation would not cause a financial drain on his family, but he wanted to avoid losing favour with his superiors. So, he had gone to London to bargain with his editor, prepared to argue that he had never before taken a leave of absence and that he would still submit articles by post. Never had he expected the offer he had been given.

He had been too excited by the deal, finalised a mere hour before he had caught the northbound train, to sleep on the journey home. Instead, he had scribbled away in his notebook, listing different elements he needed to include in his book. Now, walking up to the front gate of his home, the adrenaline had worn away, and all Tom wanted to do was to embrace his wife, play with his children and go to sleep.

The iron gate had barely swung open when his small son came running up to him, his even smaller sister hanging off his back. Before Tom even had a chance to tell the boy to slow down, he had latched on to his leg, causing his baby sister to chortle as she struggled to hold on.

"Hi, Timmy." Tom chuckled and ruffled the boy's already mussed, sandy curls – no doubt the result of a day spent in the garden. Dropping his briefcase on the gravel path, he knelt down and pried his daughter from Timmy's back. Settling her in to his side, he kissed her downy hair. "Hello, sweetheart. Did you miss me?" She chortled, mumbling something incomprehensible before placing a slobbery kiss on his cheek. Tom smiled. "I'll take that as a yes."

Turning toward his son, he adopted a more stern expression. "What have we told you about carrying Sophie without supervision?"

Timmy looked pensive, before shooting his father a sheepish smile.

"That's what I thought."

"Sophie doesn't mind though, do you, Sof?" Timmy beamed up at his sister.

Sophie waved her lace-clad arm in response before sticking her thumb in her mouth.

"See, Daddy? She doesn't mind."

Tom shook his head in amusement. "I'm sure she doesn't."

"Anyway, Mama said I could play with Sophie."

Tom frowned. He was certain Sybil and Timmy had had very different things in mind. "Where is your mother, anyway?" He was surprised not to find her outside on such a sunny day.

"She's in the morning room with Saoirse. They're learning a silly dance." Timmy dramatically rolled his eyes, causing Tom to suspect that the boy had spent time with his favourite aunt while he had been away.

"Let's go and see, shall we?"

"Do we have to? I'd rather stay out here and play. Please?"

Tom sympathised with the pained expression on his son's face. If anyone other than Sybil or daughters involved, he wouldn't have the slightest inclination to go inside and see anything having to do with a dance. "Alright. You can stay outside until dinner, as long as you stay where we can see you!"

Timmy ran off without giving an answer, drawing a sigh from his father.

Sure enough, the first thing he heard upon walking through his front door was the faint sound of jazz coming from the back of the house. Gently placing Sophie on the entry hall table, he deposited his suitcase and removed his hat and jacket before scooping the animated toddler back in to his arms and going to investigate.

Coming to the end of the hallway, he peered in to the morning room. The gramophone the Dowager Countess had reluctantly gifted them all those Christmases ago played a cheerful tune he had never before heard. (Doubtlessly, Edith had brought it back with her from Paris on her last trip to Downton.) Sybil had her back turned to him and was engaged in practising ridiculous twists and turns while their six year old daughter attempted to mimic her every move.

Tom was unable to hold back his laughter at the endearing sight. "What have we, here?" Mother and daughter halted their actions in unison and turned to greet him.

"Daddy!" Saoirse exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him before taking Sophie from his arms. "You're just in time. Aunt Edith's come to visit. She brought new records with her, and she taught Mama and me a new dance. She said it's very popular in Paris and London and in New York."

"Is that so?"

Saoirse nodded enthusiastically, her curled bob doing justice to its name. "Mama's very good at it."

"Is she really?" He threw his wife a playful glance. "You'll have to show me before dinner."

"We'll see." Sybil chuckled. Reaching up on her toes, she pecked him on the lips. "It's about time you're home," she breathed. "Was your trip successful?"

"Very." Tom grinned, leaning down to kiss her more soundly.

"Granny says that's terribly improper," Saoirse interrupted their kiss, wrinkling her nose. "I don't see why."

Tom guffawed. "I'm sure your granny thinks a lot of things I do are terribly improper."

"No, I don't think so. Last time she had me over for tea, she was telling Grandmamma and Aunt Mary all about something you had written. She sounded terribly pleased."

Tom widened his eyes, throwing Sybil a questioning look. Sybil shrugged. "I wasn't there. Mama picked Saoirse up on her way to Grantham House. It would hardly surprise me, though. You know how much Granny has warmed up to you."

Turning towards his eldest daughter, Tom settled on to the settee. "Thank you for telling me, darling." He gave Saoirse a smile. "Did you learn anything else while I was away?"

Saoirse looked pensive. "Well, I finished The Wizard of Oz, and Aunt Edith has a new beau."

"Really?" Tom looked at Sybil in surprise, only to see her suppressing her laughter at Saoirse's sudden change in topic.

"Yes, he's an American novelist who has been living in Paris. I think you'll quite like him." Sybil looked pleased at the prospect.

"Did she bring him to Downton?"

"Heavens, no! Granny wouldn't be able to stand it. She has brought him to London, though, and she wants us to meet him when we're passing through next week. Would you mind, terribly?"

"Not at all. I'm curious to meet the fellow. It's about time Edith found someone who will make her happy."

"I quite agree!" Saoirse chimed in, to her parents' amusement.

"Do you, darling?" Sybil turned to her.

Saoirse nodded. "I think it's romantic. He's a writer just like she is, and they love each other. It's just like in the fairy tales you tell me."

Tom burst out laughing at this. He had told his daughter all of the traditional stories of princes and princes, but he had invented his share of stories as well, filling her head with tales of an ambitious writer winning the heart of a modern, young Lady. He had no idea his wife had done the same. Sybil caught his eye, grinning as she shrugged.

"Besides," Saoirse interrupted his thoughts, "this means I can wear a pretty dress! I've never been to a wedding before!"

"I wouldn't go there quite yet, Darling. Aunt Edith isn't engaged. She's simply happy."

"Oh." Saoirse looked dejected at the thought.

Sybil frowned at her reaction, hoping she didn't consider the two to be synonymous. Not wanting to upset her daughter, she added, "I wouldn't say it's out of the question, however." She turned to Tom. "I've never seen Edith this happy. She's positively glowing."

Saoirse seemed placated at the thought and turned to Tom, swiftly changing the subject, once again. "Would you like to see us dance the Charleston, now? We can teach you, if you'd like. That way you and Mama can be stars in New York!"

"Hmm…" He traded glances with Sybil. He was still exhausted, and she didn't look particularly excited about giving dancing lessons before dinner, either. "How about you and Mama show me what you've practised, and you can teach me this weekend?"

"Alright!" Happy with the compromise, Saoirse skipped to the gramophone, resetting the record to the correct spot.

Sybil kissed Tom on the cheek and whispered in his ear. "Thank you, but don't you dare tease us."

Tom shivered at her proximity. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Come on, Mama!" Saoirse exclaimed as the music began to play, bouncing impatiently, until Sybil joined her.

As Sybil and Saoirse danced, arms swinging and skirts flapping about, Sophie clapped her pudgy, little hands together, and giggled in delight. Watching the three of them, Tom forgot all about how drained he had felt upon arriving at the Downton station and simply marvelled at the beautiful family the remarkable woman standing in front of him, laughing and dancing along with their daughters, had given him.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading this piece as much as I did imagining and writing it! Please let me know.