Trying to Tell You

Sybil stood in the now bare grounds of Downton Abbey in early November 1914 and stared towards the garage. The last leaf had long since fallen and the trees stood bare against the early winter sky. "Why didn't he say anything?" she thought to herself. "I held his hand in public. Didn't he understand?" She stamped her foot in frustration. The rules of polite society had been ingrained into her by all of her nannies and governesses over the years, let alone her Granny and mother's lectures.

"Only touch a man in public if you would say, "Yes" to his proposal," they had lectured. "If you do not care for him decline his request for a dance and only allow your hand to be touched in greeting and never touch a servant." So many rules and the subtle details were sometimes beyond confusing.

"I doubt other people have all these stupid rules," she said out loud. She was eighteen years old. She was exactly the age when she was expected to attract a husband from among the wealthy elite or aristocracy. Her season in London had been entertaining, but that was about all. The only man she thought of with any romantic inclination was back at Downton Abbey doing errands for the housekeeper. Every time a man had complimented her or made any type of advance, her mind had gone to a pair of startling blue eyes that could change as fast as the sky on a spring day. When the young men had held her hand to dance with her, she had felt nothing. Well, nothing like when he held her hand to help her out of the car. When she had held his hand at the garden party with just her lace gloves between them, she had felt goose bumps travel up her arms despite the heat of the summer day. Her family wouldn't approve, but then they didn't approve of most of the choices she made.

Every time she looked into his eyes and thought she saw an unasked question there she wanted to scream, "Yes. Yes, I'll be your sweetheart. Yes, I'll defy my family for you. Just ask me and I'll say Yes." It had been two months since the garden party, but he never said a word on a personal note and remained polite and formal discussing politics and current events.

The war was changing things. Already young men were enlisting and lists of casualties filled the papers. All the predictions of a quick war looked like a pipe dream. The wounded were coming into the local hospital and things were getting harder to find in the shops. If it kept up women would be filling the job vacancies and social change would follow. Her suffragette group had agreed to put aside the cause till after the war, but other changes were coming, all one had to do was read the paper to see it. The class barriers would crumble. As far as Sybil was concerned they could go today if it would mean she could be with the man who invaded her dreams and occupied her thoughts.

"What if he enlists?" she thought. Just the thought made her blood run cold. "I can't let him leave without at least trying again, even if he rejects me. I wonder if he is afraid of my father?" Sybil didn't care about the title or the house or the cloths or any of the rest of it. She didn't know how to be an average wife, but she could learn. "What if he doesn't want a wife?" she thought. "Maybe he's just interested in loose girls. Why is this so hard?" She took a deep breath, pulled her sweater tighter around her and headed off to find the family chauffeur.

Tom Branson was laying on his back on a dolly under the front end of one of the family cars when a pair of shoes showed up beside him and a pretty face with dark hair looked down through the engine compartment.

"What are you doing out on a day like this? It's about to rain," he asked.

"I'm just out for a walk."

Tom swung himself out from under the car and wiped his hands on a rag.

"I was reading an article in the paper and I saved it for you. I thought you might be interested," he said.

"There it was again," she thought. "Polite conversation about current events." When Sybil looked at him, his eyes seemed to be pleading with her, wanting to say something that he thought was forbidden.

She moved to stand next to him at the tool bench and looked at the article he handed her. She had so much in her heart that wanted to spring out but she didn't know how to say it.

"Branson, can I ask you something?" she said after she read the article.

"What is it?"

"If you left here where would you go?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Just curious, I guess. I have thought of leaving here, but I'm not sure where I would go."

"Back home, I suppose," he said after a moment.

"Do you have a sweetheart there?"

"No, I don't. Why all the questions all of a sudden?"

"I'm trying to understand something," Sybil said. She was frowning with concentration and placed the newspaper article back on the bench before she shredded it with her nervous fingers.

"How do you know if a girl likes you?"

He was staring at her intently now and had turned towards her. Sybil still stood staring down at the tool bench. Not looking up.

"You just do," he said with a slight laugh.

"That's not how it works in my parent's world," she said. "I tried to tell someone once that I would like him to be my beau despite all the barriers, but I don't think he understood. There are so many rules for conduct in my life, I think it would all be lost on someone not raised with them."

Tom could feel his chest squeezing with jealousy. He wanted to tear whoever the man was to shreds. He was a lost cause with anything to do with her. He couldn't even resist answering her questions. If any of the rest of her family overheard them he would be chucked out on his ear before the end of the day.

"He must have been a fool," he replied barely above a whisper.

Sybil reached down and smoothed the newspaper article lying on the bench before she looked up into his face.

"Yes, you are," she said before she turned and hurried away.

Tom stood dumbstruck on the spot with his mouth slightly ajar. "Had he just heard what he thought he had?" he wondered. He reached for his jacket and hurried out the door to find her.

The rain had started to fall while Sybil was in the garage and now hit her face and sweater in fat, splattering drops. She headed towards the side door of the main house. Right now she didn't want to face her family or any of the servants. She couldn't believe how forward she had just been. She had watched her sister Mary toy with men and drop them as soon as she saw someone else she liked better, but those antics weren't for her. If he didn't respond, she would have to force herself to forget him and move on. She thought he liked her. He talked to her and seemed interested in her opinions, but he could just be polite and humoring his employer's youngest daughter. It was all so confusing.

It was raining hard now as she rounded the corner of the house. Sybil was almost to the door when she felt a hand touch her arm. Tom stood just behind her in his green uniform jacket that was now getting soaked from the deluge of rain. His hair was gathering water and it ran down his face in trickles.

"I've told myself and told myself you're too high above me," he said. "I almost can't believe what you said."

Sybil looked into his eyes. They were full of affection, affection for her. His face was so kind and sincere, so totally unlike the false flattery and compliments paid by the young men of her class.

"You can believe it," she said in a soft voice.

"Sybil, I know your family will be an obstacle, but they will come around in time. I can't offer you much but I will make something of myself, I promise you. I'll devote myself to your happiness, if you'll have me."

"Our happiness."

"What?"

"I'll defy my family. I'll throw convention to the wind if you devote yourself to our happiness, not just mine."

"Then your answer is…?"

"Yes."

Tom took a step towards her and tilted his head to kiss her.

"You can kiss me," she said. "But that is all until we are wed."

His arms moved around her as his lips met hers. Sybil thought she would drown in the sensation of his kiss. Her first kiss made her feel like the ground was spinning under her feet and she found herself clinging to his shoulders for support. When she regained her senses she realized they were standing in the rain getting soaked to the skin. They were against the side of her parent's house that was fully exposed to the view from the main gate. Thank goodness it was pouring rain and no one was outside or walking to the village.

"This is going to sound silly," said Sybil with a slight laugh. "But what is your first name? I can't very well call you Branson now." Her hand came up to touch the side of his face.

"Tom," he said. "You should go in before you're missed."

"I'll come and find you tonight after dinner. We can talk."

He only nodded as he turned to walk back to the garage through the rain.