✔️ shadows of desire | downton abbey

chapter 27

BRANSON POV

The cold air of the Downton estate felt heavier than usual as I sat in the small servants' area, thumbing through the newspaper. The crackle of the fire was the only sound in the quiet room. Since Eden and Lady Sybil had left, the house felt emptier, colder—even though the halls bustled with the usual Downton activity. But without them, without the two people who ever made me feel understood, I had no allies left here. Sybil, especially—she made me feel alive. I had confessed my feelings to her, my thoughts and hopes, and while she didn't seem to understand fully, she didn't dismiss me for my beliefs. For my politics. She was someone I could talk to, a rare thing in a place like this.

The crackle of the fire was interrupted by footsteps behind me, followed by a voice dripping with its usual condescension.

"Aren't you going to make yourself useful, Branson?" Thomas Barrow's smug tone echoed as he stood behind me, pristine in his servant's uniform.

I didn't even bother looking up. "I'm a chauffeur, not a soldier," I replied, my voice flat as I turned another page of the paper. The ink smelled fresh, its words feeling distant and irrelevant.

Thomas, always one for petty victories, stepped closer, the soft tap of his polished shoes hitting the floor. "I expect every man to do his bit," he sneered. "Even Lady Edith does something around here. Take some responsibility for once, why don't you?"

That smug smile of his grated on my nerves. I lowered the paper and met his gaze. "When Eden was here," I said quietly, "you were a lot nicer."

Thomas's expression faltered, the smile dropping from his lips as if I'd struck a nerve. His eyes darkened, turning away slightly as if the name itself stung.

"Don't speak of her," he spat, his voice low with warning. "Eden's not here. She'll never come back."

"What makes you say that?" I asked, leaning forward now, curious. There was something in his tone, a sorrow beneath the venom that caught my attention.

Thomas's shoulders, usually so squared and rigid with pride, slumped slightly as he exhaled. His face softened, a rare moment of vulnerability passing over his features. "Wherever she is right now," he murmured, "she's better off than here. Every place is better than Downton."

The room fell silent, save for the crackling fire in the hearth. I could hear the faint clattering of dishes from the kitchen, the low hum of servants moving about, but none of it mattered in that moment.

"Why?" I pressed, unable to let it go. There was something deeper here, something I hadn't fully grasped about Eden's departure.

Thomas's sigh was long, tired, as though the weight of a thousand secrets pressed on his chest. "I don't have to explain myself to you," he began, his usual defensiveness rising. But then, just as quickly, it deflated. "But since you're so keen to be a noisy little chauffeur... Eden's life here—" He paused, searching for words, his eyes darting to the floor as though the truth was too heavy to bear. "It hasn't necessarily been good."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes—a mixture of pain and protectiveness. For all the bitterness he wore like armor, it was clear he cared deeply for his sister.

"You mean your parents," I said, the words falling out before I could stop them.

Thomas's eyes snapped back to mine, sharp and defensive. "What do you know about our parents?" he huffed, his voice cold. "You don't know them. You don't know what they've done."

I leaned back slightly, sensing the tension thickening in the room. "You're right," I said quietly, "I don't. But Eden's scars told me enough."

For a moment, the room seemed to still, as though time had paused in the space between us. Thomas's face hardened, but I could see the hurt in his eyes. He didn't deny it. He didn't need to. We both knew the truth of what had been unsaid all these years.