"How are we getting home today?" Mary asked, looking excessively bored after a full day of shopping, and attempting to shield her eyes from the hot afternoon sun. Sybil made no such efforts, tilting her face at the sky; she felt the few times a year it didn't rain in Yorkshire should be thoroughly enjoyed.

"Papa's sending the new chauffeur to get us," Edith replied wearily. So Taylor had started his teashop after all! How lovely for him. But a bit of a shame for Sybil - he'd been such a friendly soul! She barely glanced at the man who now opened the car door for her, too busy struggling with her many boxes and bags and trying to sweep her skirt elegantly out of the way before she stumbled.

"Careful there, milady," the chauffeur's warm hand closed around her elbow and raised her effortlessly into the seat by Mary. She had just enough time to register a startlingly blue gaze and a youthful grin before the door was closed and they were on their way, her mother and sisters chatting languidly about nothing in particular. Sybil mused on the difficulties of skirts combined with her natural tendency to gracelessness. Sometimes she wondered if only she could wear trousers… there'd be nothing to trip over… what a thought! But perhaps she could… nothing immodest of course... a picture bloomed in her imagination of herself as a lady in an Turkish harem, draped in loose silks as blue as the new chauffeur's eyes…