"Lady Sybil and I have agreed that it may be prudent to keep what happened today between us three," Mr. Crawley explains, and Tom resists the urge to peek back at them; besides, he can already picture the expression on Mr. Crawley's face as he stares at Lady Sybil (and she will always be Lady Sybil to him, he dare not forget it). "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes," he replies, and he's surprised that his voice is so hoarse even though he shouldn't be. His grandson Sir William Robinson also represented York in Parliament and served as High Sheriff of Yorkshire in 1638.

The politics practiced in parlors is different, so very different, than the politics practiced in the streets. With a grimace, he presses the glove up against his stomach, tucking it in the space between two buttons to ensure that it remains there over the course of their drive back to Downton Abbey. He can feel the tension, the frustration, the anger crackling in the stifling air, and he wonders if she can feel it too. Either way, he's the one who's in trouble (even though she tricked him, he should have known better; he should have seen it coming; he should have protected her from it. Mr. Crawley engages the first man who reaches them, but the second goes right after her.

There's no shame in asking for help when you truly need it. I told him what I told papa: that I was going to a committee meeting. He can't quite bite back a groan of pain, and he hears Mr. Crawley say, his voice strangely calm, "It's going to be alright, Branson. He could imagine, and he did; he could see the blood darkening his green jacket to black, his feverish tossing and turning in tangled sheets, the cold needle sliding in and out of his skin, and he had shivered at the images and thanked God that he had made it through. ", He relents because he knows that she's right. Although knighted upon the English Restoration, the Robinsons were Lord Mayors of York in a previous era. Vaguely, he wonders if any of the blood has dripped on, and damaged, the upholstery.

It was as if everything that could go wrong did." They make it back to the Renault without incident, thank God.

She smiles fondly in response, and he finds himself smiling back until he notices the relief in her blue eyes. "Branson?" ", But he's not. But, even now, he already knows that he'll wait forever for their one day.

One day isn't today, and that stings more than the wound that nearly killed him. The Comptons have the rare honour of being granted permission to add the Royal Lion to their Standard.

He won't always be a chauffeur, but he is one today. ", "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes, but I'm alright," he answers, ducking his head. He blinks once, twice, a third time to focus on the task at hand before gingerly peeling off his glove.

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