Edith sat in her windowsill until the sun came up behind the hills, trying to sort her thoughts and failing to come up with one clear notion to hold on to. Hoping her hasty departure and clipped answers hadn't startled Anthony too much, she moved to her bath. A hot shower would surely help clear her mind.

If Edith was totally honest with herself, she had to admit that she did like the way he had looked at her, how earnest his eyes were. It had scared her. Why, though, she couldn't begin to explain.

The water was good, refreshing. Edith hardly felt herself.

Bat that wasn't quite true. She might have felt more herself than ever before in her life.

"Good heavens," she moaned, putting her face in the hot stream of water and focusing on the way it almost burned her skin, trying to come to her senses. She was, after all, a sensible woman. There was a simple and easy explanation for the way her heart ached when she saw him, the way she felt so at ease and safe just by his entering the room, the familiarity between them like they'd known each other all their lives.

It couldn't be the sex, she was certain, because Mary had been boasting about her conquests since she was seventeen, and Edith knew Mary had never experienced something like this. But if it wasn't physical that left only the emotional, or the spiritual, or perhaps those were the same.

"Careful, you'll drown," Anthony said out of nowhere, causing Edith to jump about a foot into the air. When she had snuck into his shower he hadn't so much as blinked. Edith was not so smooth. His arms were around her before she could be embarrassed by her nudity, and it came naturally to her, the way she folded herself into him.

"You crashed my shower yesterday, it only seemed fair to return the favor," he explained, pressing a kiss to her wet hair. His hands were splayed across her back, soothing and comforting as if they knew.

"I suppose you're right," she managed, teetering on the edge of being seductive and wanting him to see right through her. Edith knew men feared virgins because they feared the inevitable attachment. She had always found the notion absurd, and a bit self-flattering for the gentleman in question, and always swore she wouldn't be some clingy, crazy woman. But she couldn't help the way she felt now.

"You left in a bit of a hurry. I came to check on you," Anthony said softly.

"Is that all you came for, Professor?" she joked coyly. But he didn't bite.

"Yes." Then, when Edith avoided his eyes, the man curved his great frame down, looping his arms all the way around her ribs to hold her. It wasn't an embrace that asked for something, a segue to his own purposes. It was one that gave only—comfort and strength and understanding and patience.

With Anthony stooped as he was, Edith was able to lay her head over his shoulder, pressing her forehead to his neck, arms folded beneath her so she was burrowed against him.

Edith couldn't be sure how long they stood that way, or when the tears began to spill down her already wet face. She looked up at him all the same, at his calm, concerned eyes and those beautiful thin lips.

"Anthony," she sighed, stretching the last little bit to reach his mouth in a kiss that was small, soft, but spoke volumes. Just as they separated, and Anthony was about to speak, there was a knock at the door.

"Edith?" came Cora's voice through the door.

"My mother!" Edith squeaked, both of them freezing in alarm. Luckily, Edith's tub had a solid curtain around it, but that didn't make her any less panicked.

"I won't make a sound, she'll never know," Anthony whispered. But just as Edith heard the door click open, she looked up to realize Anthony's head was well above the curtain rod.

"Anthony!" she hissed, urging him to crouch down. Out loud she called, "Mama? Is that you?"

Edith waited with bated breath for her mother's screech of disapproval, but it never came. Relief washed over her then, knowing that if Cora Crawley had seen a man in Edith's shower they would well know by now.

"Yes, Baby. I was wondering if you might run to town for me."

"Okay, can I shower first?"

Edith was blushing head to toe while also trying not to laugh. She was focusing desperately on not cluing her mother in and on ignoring the view Anthony was getting in his hunkered position before her.

"Well of course. It's just, Papa is going to take all the boys fishing and I want to bring a picnic to them. Mary's still asleep and I was hoping you'd run to Beryl's for some cakes and things."

Edith barely heard what her mother was saying because half-way through Cora's explanation, Anthony's lips found their way to Edith's skin.

"Mama, fine," Edith snapped. "Please, can I just have some privacy?"

"Of course, sorry," Cora said, her heels clicking away. But then Anthony unexpectedly grabbed Edith's hips, pulling her center directly to his face where he went straight to work. The deft maneuver took less than a second and provoked and involuntary "Ah!" from Edith.

"Everything alright?" her mother called from the door.

"Nicked myself shaving," Edith said, quite proud of how calm she sounded.

"Okay. See you for breakfast. I'll make a list."

The second the door shut Edith said, "Oh! Anthony Strallan!" She was trying to sound stern, to scold him, but one trembling hand was scrambling for purchase against the wall while the other held Anthony's head in place.

"Couldn't resist, sorry," he muttered, sounding far from apologetic. The vibrations of his sonorous voice drove her mad and Edith lost most rational thought.

"An-Anthony, I can't stand much longer," she said, worried her knees would give out. Surely he could feel the way they wobbled, what with his head cradled between them and all.

Without a word, Anthony guided her down to kneel before him. She did as he suggested with those great hands, and when he leaned to kiss her she was no longer surprised, but no less thrilled, by the taste of herself.

"Love the tub," he muttered, guiding her to lie back against the sloped end. He slipped his hands beneath her, forcing her hips up and her legs over either side of the tub before he began again.

"Mmm, me too," Edith gasped, feeling so close. Lifting her head she said, "Wait, Anthony—don't you want to… to…"

"No, Love," was all he said, and Edith couldn't help but smile at the endearment.

It was growing louder, that fear that was getting more and more difficult to ignore. It was a thrilling, sinking feeling, like the first big drop on a rollercoaster. Edith could only describe it as falling, fast and hard, and she was totally powerless to stop it.

Anthony was beginning to feel a bit guilty. Not only was he sneaking around with Robert's daughter in his own home, but he was ignoring the man to do it as well. It was all beginning to feel unforgivably disrespectful and untoward. Or rather, it had always been disrespectful and untoward and it was finally catching up with Anthony.

Still, Anthony couldn't quite bring himself to feel badly about Edith, when a chance meeting in the lower gardens turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him.

"Anthony, what do you say to a bit of fishing this morning? Relax before tonight's festivities, hmm?" Robert asked at breakfast, where Edith and Anthony were cautiously avoiding each other's eyes.

"Sounds good," Anthony said, fighting the urge to say he'd rather just go with Edith to town.

"Perfect weather for it," Tom added. "Matthew and I have a wager for best catch, you want in?"

"Think the safest bet is against my catching anything," Anthony said, ignoring the quip Ros made about being a catch himself.

Robert and Anthony had never been the sort of mates who need to discuss every little thing. Their relationship was sustained by comfortable silences and mutual respect and quiet understanding born of growing up at the same time in the same way. As such, as Matthew and Tom laughed and joked a hundred yards upstream, Anthony and Robert stood quietly, casting and reeling and frowning at their un-tested bait.

"Slow day for fish, I'm afraid," Robert grumbled.

"Mm-hmm," Anthony said, having always preferred the act of casting a line over the actual catching of fish. He liked the cool water against his hip waders and the sun in the trees and the smell of the creek. He did not like watching the frantic trout gasping and thrashing, eyes wide and bulging, and he hated smashing them against a stone to kill them. It felt selfish and brutal and cruel.

"What's she like?" Robert asked a while later.

Anthony nearly dropped his pole, his blood running cold for a moment before logic told him that Robert couldn't possibly know he was referring to his own daughter. Anthony gaped at Robert, probably looking like a trout himself, and began sputtering some sad excuse for a response.

"Easy, old boy. I know a woman's to blame for that dopey look on your face. No use denying it."

"Yes, well, I suppose," he stammered. Catching Robert's skeptical grin, he took a deep breath and conceded. "She's kind, and brilliant, and stunningly attractive, and utterly too good for the likes of me."

"There isn't a woman in the world that isn't too good for the man who loves her," Robert said sagely, flicking his line once or twice.

"Well it's certainly true for her. She's too good for anyone, though, and she doesn't even know it."

"And you love her," Robert said, a statement of fact rather than a question.

Anthony opened his mouth to argue, but the truth came out before he could stop it. "More than anything." He blushed then, and felt a brief flicker of panic at the realization. "I, um, I didn't know it could happen like that, feel this…big."

Robert nodded knowingly and shook his head, as if they were comparing war stories. "Big. Love is always like that. First love, great love, last love…"

"I'm afraid she may be all three," Anthony said, recasting.

Robert was looking out at his bobber contemplatively. Silence fell between them again. Anthony felt light, having unburdened the truth from his shoulders, but also terribly anxious. Once he had said it out loud there was no more denying it, especially to himself. Two days? he thought, questioning his own sanity. If he were a younger man he wouldn't have believed it possible, but Anthony had plenty of experience. He knew the difference between love and lust, real and imagined.

How would he ever get on after this weekend? He would have to, that was his only option. He wouldn't ask Edith for more, having taken so much from her already and being able to offer her so little in return. He would set her back in the water, so to speak.

"Stop brooding. You've never taken well to being happy. Maybe now's the time to learn," Robert groused, reeling in his line a bit.

"Did Cora tell you to say that?"

Robert blatantly ignored Anthony, which was a rather obvious yes, and they went back to fishing in silence.

An hour later, Rosamund's voice interrupted the tranquility, earning a regretful moan from both men. "How's the day's catch?" she called. Anthony's attitude improved greatly when he turned to see all the Crawley women coming over the crest of the lawn toward them, including his Edith.

She had a ribbon pulling her hair from her face, and was wearing a short skirt with a sort of sheer layer, a combination that allowed her gorgeous legs to be silhouetted against the late afternoon sun. Perfection he thought with a sad, capitulating sigh.

Anthony followed Robert out of the water, leaving their poles in their stands, as everyone gathered beneath a bank of leafy oaks. Cora was setting up low, folding tables and laying out rather un-picnic-like cakes and savory dishes.

"Is this why you were sent to town?" he asked Edith quietly, helping her unfurl a stack of blankets.

"No, Mama was trying to keep you out of my pants for a few hours," she said calmly. Anthony nearly swallowed his tongue before Edith laughed and squeezed his arm. "Anthony, relax, I was just kidding."

"You're a terrible person," he chuckled under his breath.

"You're an easy target, Darling."

Cora interrupted their hushed conversation with a gasped, "Damn," earning Edith's attention while Anthony struggled to tear his eyes away from her long arms and the milky white skin of her neck.

"Edith, I left the box of wine glasses up in the kitchen. Would you be a dear and run back for them? They might be heavy so Anthony could help, if you'd be so kind."

Edith and Anthony agreed together, neither risking a glance at the other until they were all the way across the expansive yard.

"It almost too easy," Edith observed, clasping Anthony's hand as soon as they'd reached the privacy of the cool, dark hall. "If I didn't know better I'd be certain my mother was trying to get us alone together."

"I doubt very much this is what your mother had in mind when she suggested I come for the 'country air and good company'," Anthony chuckled. Then, more seriously, he said, "Tonight's going to be torture. All these people I haven't seen in twenty years, talking about football and taxes and divorces. Being in the same room as you and not being able to touch you. Torture."

"Mmm," Edith agreed, deciding to seize the moment. She pulled Anthony's hand, tugging him without warning from the hall into the dark, abandoned wine cellar.

The wine cellar, which was roughly the size of Edith's entire flat in London, was perfectly square with low ceilings, wine racks lining the walls and crates of new orders stacked in the corner. A table stood in the middle, used to unpack and inventory. When Anthony reached for the cord that hung from the overhead lamp, Edith followed and turned it off again.

"The glasses we're meant to fetch, they're uh, not in here, are they?" Anthony asked.

"No. Are you very disappointed?"

"Terribly," Anthony said.

In the dark, Edith walked back slowly until her rear found the table, pulling Anthony with her by his sweater all the while. Taking a seat, she pulled Anthony between her legs, one hand at his neck urging him down for kiss. When his participation was more passive than she'd hoped, Edith trailed her other hand lower, cupping him firmly through his trousers.

"Edith," he warned, trying to step back, but she caught him with her heels at his thighs.

"Already hard, and hot," she murmured against the skin at the dip of his throat. "I love that I have that effect on you."

"Oh, you do," he assured, as if that might appease her and get her to let up. "You do, Darling. You've brought me back to life, in so many ways." She smiled against his neck, working on his belt and fly to free him. "But Sweet," he said, catching her wrists, "We really shouldn't do this now. There isn't time."

"I don't want this to be slow, Anthony," she whispered, her voice sounding as husky and animalistic as she felt. "I want you to take me, hard, and I want to feel you come apart. I want you to lose your control just this once. Take, me, Anthony," she demanded. Freeing his erection, she ran her thumb over the tip as she reached up to bite his ear and his jaw.

He bucked into her hand, a movement she recognized as wild and involuntary, even in the dark. "You're going to get me killed," he moaned. "What if someone were to walk in?" Edith was ready to do some more convincing when Anthony pulled her to her feet and turned her around in one swift, forceful movement. Even still, his hands were gentle on her arms.

"Yes, Anthony," she gasped. "How do you want me?"

She was goading him, she knew, and could only hope it was working. His hands traveled down her ribs to her hips, jerking her against him for a moment so she could feel his length through the thin fabric of her skirt. He kissed the back of her neck sweetly, and then without warning, cupped one arm around her stomach and put a hand between her shoulder blades, bending her at the waist.

There were no more words after that, at least none that formed sentences. Anthony spread Edith's arms wide, laying her body flat against the surface of the table. She could feel the thick grain of the untreated wood beneath her fingertips, her cheek, and against her breasts through the thin cotton blouse she wore.

He moved to her skirt next, flipping the sheer layer over her back and then pushing the tight miniskirt beneath up over her hips. He stroked her lower back affectionately before sliding her knickers down to her knees. He seemed content to leave them there, but Edith shimmied them down to her feet and stepped out of them.

"Edith," he moaned, running his length between her folds, spreading the liquid heat that had pooled there.

"Yes," she hissed, nearly coming undone from his hardness against her sensitive flesh.

Anthony didn't offer much warning before he entered her up to the hilt. When she lurched forward, the edge of the table almost painful against her legs, he mumbled a sort of apology. His hands found her hips, holding her in place against him, and Edith was certain she'd have bruises from his fingertips tomorrow. The thought thrilled her.

"Hard, Anthony," she said—half demand, half plea.

He moved, his pace quick and his thrusts deep and unrelenting. Edith couldn't do much but hold on, which left her free to enjoy the feeling of him, thick and throbbing, as he slid effortlessly out and snapped back in. The faster he went the louder the sounds became—her whines, his grunts, the slapping of flesh against flesh. It was a cacophony Edith never would have imagined enjoying before she met him, before she accidentally gave her heart away.

Absently, she wondered if such an act would be far more repulsive and disturbing with someone she didn't care about so deeply. But then he nudged her legs further apart with a knee, changing the angle just enough that all thought left her completely and all she felt was that searing hot need for more.

"Edith, I'm going to come," Anthony said, and the man sounded almost apologetic.

"Oh, god, I want you to. I want to feel it. Come for me, Anthony. Hard," she groaned, her voice stilted by his pounding.

He did, finishing her off with him. She felt him swell up and spasm, felt his warm release. He was panting, they both were, when he slipped out of her and sank down against the table leg at her feet.

They were quiet for a long while, Edith still bent over the table, though she reached back to pull her skirt down. She felt the trickle of him slowly dripping down her thigh, and suddenly his hand was there with a handkerchief.

"I should probably be embarrassed that you're cleaning me up," she muttered, her voice sounding dreamy, "But I can't for the life of me remember why."

"Maybe if we didn't know each other," he said. "As it is, there's nothing you could say or do that would make me think less of you."

Edith, her wobbling knees finally giving out, dropped down to Anthony's lap, facing him. A thin sheen of sweat dampened his forehead; she could taste the salt when she pressed her lips there.

"I didn't hurt you?" he asked suddenly, and even in the total darkness her eyes had adjusted enough to see the concern etched on his face.

Edith smiled. "Far from it. I love that you're so thorough and patient, but every once in a while I think I want to make you lose control. Does that make sense?" she asked, tucking him back into his trousers now that he was soft and sated again.

"Yes, and believe me, you make me long to lose control much more often than you probably realize."

"Well, feel free as often as you like," she giggled.

He kissed her, softly and sweetly. "I adore you," he whispered, and Edith felt that thrilling fear and excitement at once. Her heart pounded in her chest and her body wanted to sing.

After a few moments recovery, a crate of wine glasses was located in one of the storage rooms near the kitchen and Anthony carried them like the gentleman he was. Returning to the family after such an interlude should have been strange, Edith thought, but it wasn't. Rather, it felt right, like she and Anthony were just who and where they were meant to be.

The picnic and subsequent games were a bit of a trial for Edith. Not looking too much at Anthony, but not avoiding him too much either, trying not to clue anyone in on how wildly different she felt from her old self, and yet how complete—it took a great deal of effort.

"If I'd have known, I never would have started this," Anthony said, pulling Edith from her thoughts.

"What?" she gulped, wondering if he could read her thoughts and regretted the…attachment.

He frowned. "The charades. When I suggested it I was only kidding. I didn't think they'd take me seriously."

Edith felt a nervous laugh tumble from her as Matthew failed a short distance away. "It would have happened regardless," she assured. "Some things are just inevitable."

"Yes," the man said gravely, causing Edith to inspect him sharply. They held eye contact a moment longer than was probably wise before remembering themselves.

"Edith, are you boring poor Anthony?" Mary asked, her voice barely playing at jest.

"Oh, a mind such as Anthony's could never be bored," Ros said, causing Anthony to laugh in discomfort.

"Is Granny coming to the party tonight, Mama?" Edith asked, changing the subject.

"She said she was," Cora answered in that well-practiced tone and expression she often turned on when talking about Violet.

"If she comes Mama's sure to be displeased," Ros said. "The Grays are coming and she's been in a feud with Olympia Gray since the mid-eighties."

"That bodes well for no one," Anthony said quietly as everyone else turned back to the game.

"Yes, well, stick with me. I'm her favorite," Edith said. "Or at the very least I'm the most cynical and therefore get along best with her."

"I've been getting in trouble with Violet Crawley since before you were born," Anthony said, and the way he raised his brow and gave that crooked smile caused Edith to laugh. She stifled it quickly.

They'd been remarkably lucky so far without being terribly careful, having gone completely undetected. Still, she wasn't willing to risk it and openly flirting with Anthony in front of the whole family probably wasn't prudent.

Edith laid her hand on top of his in the blanket, just briefly, just because she couldn't bear to go another moment without touching him. She wondered briefly how she would manage without him come Monday.

Edith was aware, always, and had been her whole life. She was aware of how lonely she was, of how different she was from her sisters. She was aware of her strengths and her flaws. She was painfully aware of how drawn she was to Anthony, how irrevocably tied to him she felt. And she was aware, as ever, of that sharp bittersweet fear that kept pulling at her.

She was silent the rest of the afternoon, up until they all parted to get ready for the evening, and she knew Anthony probably noticed too.

Trying to distract herself from her own thoughts, Edith prepared for the party with a great deal more enthusiasm than she normally would. She wanted to look nice for Anthony, but also because of him. If he really believed she was beautiful she'd do her absolute best not to prove him a liar.

Edith pinned back her hair in a loose chignon and put on a touch of eyeliner and mascara. Her closet was a bigger challenge. Edith spent her life in jeans or leggings, cotton tops, and cardigans. She didn't own anything particularly alluring or overtly sexy. Fingering all the oxford shirts and jersey wrap dresses on hangers, she decided it wouldn't suit to dress so out of character anyway.

Anthony had said she was beautiful while she was in riding pants and a worn flannel shirt. Surely he wouldn't mind her skinny tweed trousers in burgundy and the deep-v tee-shirt that was cut just low enough to be a bit scandalous. She liked the way the pants hugged her rear, and that the tee was of a fine enough material to be properly dressed-up if she chose.

She took a long charcoal cardigan and a navy blazer, unsure which to pick. After a few minutes debate she went to Sybil.

"Cardigan, for sure. It's more you. And here," Sybil said, offering her a long bronze necklace that knotted at the bottom. "This will add just enough sparkle to make it party-appropriate. Plus it lies perfectly across your cleavage and shows it off. And you have to wear heels."

"I've got my nude pumps. Will that work?"

"Perfect," Sybil smiled.

Edith was standing in her room, in her heels, looking at her reflection. There was a woman staring back at her, and one who was happy. Edith hadn't seen her in a very long time. And something in the eyes, and the soft smile, said that the woman knew things, had secrets. Edith thought of Anthony, of his habits, of the fact he liked his arm around her while he slept, and grinned.

"Is that as dressed-up as you get?" Mary asked from the door, not bothering to knock.

Edith looked around uneasily as if there might be an escape. "I'm not trying to look too impressive. I just want to appease Mama."

"You'd appease her more if you put on some makeup and maybe wore something a little less frumpy," Mary offered. "You have such a little body, and you've no idea how to show it off. What are you going to do with your hair?"

"I already did my hair," Edith answered. "Why, is it bad?"

"Just messy," Mary shrugged. "I could straighten it if you like."

Edith felt a bit flustered. "I wanted it to look natural. This is what it does."

Mary came up behind her, looking in the mirror thoughtfully at Edith as she'd just done herself. But then Mary's nose wrinkled briefly, and she shrugged in defeat. "Suit yourself."

"Did you need something?"

"I just wanted to tell you that Matthew's going to propose tonight so make sure you're in the grand hall at ten.

"He's doing it in front of all of Papa's friends?" Edith asked. "I should think I'd like something more private for such an important conversation."

"Not me, I want fireworks and fanfare," Mary said, dropping into Edith's reading chair with a heavy sigh, her head falling back and her elbows draped over the arms.

Edith turned to her sister. Mary Crawley was striking. Long and elegant like carved ivory, every gesture she had served to enhance the line of her neck or the curve or her slim frame. Her skin was absolutely flawless and in perfect contrast with her black hair and eyes. On the rare occasion that she actually smiled instead of smirking or quirking an eyebrow, she could light up a whole room.

And none of that mattered, because on the night of her engagement Mary was staring absently at the rug and trying, Edith could tell, not to cry.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Edith offered, dropping to the stool at her vanity.

Mary pulled one hand to her head in a lethargic motion and sighed again. "Do you ever feel like your whole life was mapped out ahead of time? Like you've got no say in it?"

"Like destiny?"

"Like prison. Like complete lack of autonomy."

Edith folded her hands in her lap, trying to remember the last time she'd had a real conversation with Mary. And then she thought about certain choices that had been taken from her. "I don't know if I'm spiritual enough to believe in unchangeable destiny, but I know better than most we don't always have a say."

"What do you mean?" Mary asked, frowning slightly.

"Well, nature didn't ask me whether or not I wanted children," Edith answered, struggling with the words. Mary closed her eyes, looking truly sorry. "I would have liked to choose for myself."

"Of course, Eed, I'm sorry. I can be abysmally obtuse sometimes. How is that whole thing, by the way?"

Edith shrugged. "Nothing's changed. They made me better, just at a higher cost than I would have liked. Anyway, we were talking about Matthew, not me."

"We were?" Mary asked sardonically. "Oh, yes."

"Don't you want to get engaged?"

"I don't know. I mean yes, of course, yes. I do," Mary took a deep breath as if the conversation were causing actual physical pain. "I do love him. I just wonder if Papa doesn't love him more, if all I'm meant to do is marry the man of Papa's dreams and continue being… whatever it is I am."

"You have to forget Papa and the family for now, and think really hard about Matthew, and you. If everyone else disappeared would you still want him?"

Mary thought for a while and nodded solemnly.

"Well there you go," Edith said. "It's terribly frightening, I'm sure, such a big thing as marriage. But you can't gain something, no matter how wonderful, without losing something too. Even good change is change, and no matter what you're bound to mourn what used to be before."

And then, like an anvil, Edith's words struck her. The terror, the anxiety, the gut-wrenching, bone-deep fear she felt sometimes with Anthony all made perfect sense suddenly. Of course she was afraid—her whole life had changed in a matter of days. But it was a wonderful thing.

Mary was looking at Edith as if her head had just spun all the way around. "That's the smartest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"Don't mock."

"I'm not," Mary assured, sitting up and looking much more alert. "I mean it. That was exactly what I needed to hear. I was actually considering taking off in Papa's car and literally running away before ten. And now I don't have to. I feel loads better, honestly Eed."

"Don't look so surprised," Edith said dryly.

Mary reached out and took Edith's hand. "I know we won't ever be friends, but we don't have to be because we're sisters. And I'm really, really sorry you were sick. Whatever happens—happened—I'm glad you're better."

"Thank you darling. I'm glad you're feeling better about things. Tonight will be a good night."

Mary nodded, standing and gliding out of the room without another word as she was apt to do.

"Even if it's just this last night, it was for the best," Edith told her reflection, nodding firmly. She smiled as she recalled Anthony's voice at the stables reciting Tis better to have love and lost. A cliché, certainly, but so apropos.

Anthony had never enjoyed good luck when it came to parties. When he was eight he'd come down with acute appendicitis in the middle of his mother's annual New Year's bash and barely made it to hospital before going septic. When he was sixteen he was making a dubious attempt at courting a girl, under pressure from his father, when he accidentally stumbled both of them into the catering table and managed to set her tulle gown on fire with one of the propane warmers.

He met Maude at a drunken pub crawl for a friend's birthday when he was twenty –five and she was nineteen. He had been enduring a faculty mixer when she died, though he didn't find out until he got home to discover the refrigerator door open, the stove on, and Maude lying on top of a dozen broken eggs.

Anthony Strallan did not enjoy parties at all.

"How on earth can you look so morose in a room full of people and a drink in your hand?" Rosamund joked, sneaking up on Anthony where he stood with his back to the wall in the lounge. She hooked her hand through his arm without much permission and leaned in conspiratorially. "I'm certain at least one person in this room can capture your attention, no?"

Anthony laughed nervously, searching for a particular head of copper hair. "Have you ever known me to be the life of the party Rosamund?"

She shook her head and watched the milieu with him for a while, sipping at her martini. "We've known each other a long time, you and I," Ros said suddenly, to which Anthony nodded. "You were such a gangly thing when we met, but I always found you rather dashing. You weren't at all rakish like the others, who seemed intent on doing as all men must."

"I seem to remember you liking the rakish ones, Ros," Anthony said with a fond smile.

"Well you have me there. Only in hindsight do I realize what a catch you were. You still are, you know."

Anthony grew tense. Rosamund was an old friend, undoubtedly, and he knew she liked to say shocking things but was mostly harmless. Still, he didn't know what she was getting at and he certainly hoped to avoid any embarrassment.

"Relax, Anthony, I'm just suggesting you get your feet wet again, that's all. There are plenty of ladies who would snatch you up in a heartbeat. Don't be so hard on yourself all the time, hmm? You take life entirely too seriously and you always have."

With that Ros kissed him on the cheek quickly before waving at the newly arrived Garrisons and flitting over to them. Hugh Jarvis and his wife Helen were there as well, a dozen or so men from Robert and Anthony's Oxford days and their dates were in attendance, all looking rather worse for wear from how Anthony remembered them. A handful of people Ros invited from London had come, and a number of the younger generation who, presumably, were with Mary and Sybil.

Anthony felt not the least bit interested in any of it, but tried to look affable enough while still keeping his distance. The servers kept passing, offering plates of things and refills on drinks, and all the while Anthony felt a bit disoriented. Until, that is, Edith came into the room.

He felt her before he saw her, though he dismissed the notion immediately. He turned to catch her enter with Sybil, surveying the room and nodding at a few greetings before her bright brown eyes finally landed on him. Her cheeks flushed a sumptuous rose, and Anthony couldn't dismiss the smile she gave him so easily.

Edith took a few steps toward him as Sybil moved for Tom, but a young man with thick hair and a tan said, "Eeds! Princess!" Anthony could do little but watch as the man hugged her tightly and dragged Edith off to a nearby sofa.

Anthony Strallan did not only not enjoy parties, he officially hated them.

Hours later, though it felt like days, Anthony found himself leaning against the balustrade of the stairs, watching everyone talking and eating and drinking. He couldn't make himself pretend to be nicer, so he chose to spare everyone and hide in the dark second story corridor.

Much as Anthony would have liked to blame his mood on his antisocial tendencies, the truth was much more self-indulgent. Mostly, he just missed Edith.

Edith had been fulfilling her obligations as a member of the Crawley family, greeting guests and old friends and looking stunning the whole while. He'd admired her simple outfit and natural beauty all evening, glad she didn't feel the need to look fake and plastic like the other women.

So Anthony watched, falling deeper every moment, and keeping time in terms of how much he had left. Thirteen hours until his train, then twelve, and all this time he was wasting without Edith to talk to.

Anthony dropped his face into his hands, feeling tired and helpless and annoyed with himself. He was too bloody old to be moping over something he knew he couldn't have. "Shit, damn, bloody, fool bugger," he grumbled to himself.

"I hope you're not referring to yourself, Dr. Strallan," came Edith's voice, and relief washed over him in waves. He looked up in time to see her coming off the last step and into the shadow where he lurked.

"I've two degrees and a doctorate, a steady career and a house and I'm nearly fifty years old, and I still run and hide at parties," he groaned, happily accepting Edith as she moved to stand between his legs.

"What did I say before? You're too honest to be good at pretending, and no one in there save a select few are worthy of the effort anyway. I've just spent the evening rebuffing the awful Larry Gray, who thinks I'm pitiful, awkward, and dull and still tries to get in my bed. Ugh," she complained, folding herself into Anthony's chest.

"I'm sorry sweet. You looked perfectly lovely and at ease, for what it's worth."

"Practice," she grumbled, sighing happily as Anthony ran his hands over her back.

Looking down, he noticed something was different. "Have you changed?"

"Only my shoes. Heels don't really work for what I had in mind."

"Oh?" he asked, hooking a finger under her chin and pulling her face toward his. "What did you have in mind?"

Edith kissed him—the long, slow kiss of two people who knew each other thoroughly—and smiled. "Everyone's sufficiently boozed up and soon they'll be distracted by Mary's engagement. I think we can sneak away and not be missed."

Edith led Anthony away from the rest of the party, downstairs through the kitchen, and out a back door. They seemed to be on a meandering route, but determined as she was he just followed her in silence.

When they were out of view of the grand house, windows alit on the ground level and casting gold squares across the damp lawn, Edith reached out and took his hand. Anthony ignored the tremble it caused, unsure whether it was in his fingers or hers.

When they took to an age-worn stone path that turned steeply downhill, Anthony finally said, "Where is it we're going, exactly?"

"You don't like being surprised?"

"I suppose I don't."

"You'll like this one," Edith assured, pulling him left behind a bank of trees.

There was a small pond, not even large enough to row around, with a plankwood dock stretching towards its middle. More remarkable than the hidden trove, lit by the twilight sky and low-hung moon, was the half-dozen pillar candles lit and grouped in threes on either corner, the folded flannel blanket, and the large thermos near the end.

Anthony turned to Edith, mouth all agape despite himself. "Well this is all quite picturesque," he said coolly.

"I thought it better than the great party inside. If I was wrong," Edith trailed off with a little smile, knowing full well she'd hit the mark.

Anthony spread the blanket, Edith poured the hot cocoa, they sat quietly while they sipped and watched night bugs skip over the glassy surface of the pond as they leant against one another. Anthony couldn't help but indulge in these little moments, even knowing they would make his return to London and regular life that much more painful.

"Oh, I nearly forgot the last touch," Edith said suddenly, breaking from the arm Anthony had around her shoulders to fish in the pocket of her cardigan. She soon produced her iPod and turned on the speaker, allowing it to play soft little nocturnes and concertos.

Anthony lay back on the blanket, legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles, one arm crooked back to cushion his head while the other was open, an invitation for Edith, which she immediately accepted.

Bundled up against the late-summer evening, it wasn't exactly the most physically intimate moment they had shared. But there was something about his hand roaming her right side while her left was pressed against him, about feeling each other's breathing and listening to Biret and Chopin and Purcel while Nature went about its business around them. It felt more intimate than anything they had done their whole three days together.

Perhaps that alone is what caused Anthony to ask, "What would you have done, if you could have more say in things, in your life?"

Edith took a deep sigh. "I don't know that I'd change so very much. Despite my awkwardness and my complete inability to understand my family, I like who I am."

Anthony turned and kissed her head in acknowledgment that he too liked who Edith was. Immensely.

"I would, if I could," she began again, "Change that I can't bear children."

"Poor darling," Anthony muttered, kissing her again.

"I would have had as many as I could. I would have liked daughters, I think, but maybe because that's all I know, having only sisters."

"A whole line of little strawberry blonde girls, following after their Mama."

"Something like that. I would have given them books for their birthdays, and I would have taken them to Town for the theater, letting them get all dressed up, and while we were in Town we'd order room service and they'd be allowed dessert first.

"And I would have told them how special and important they were, and to value their little minds over how others perceive them. The poor darlings, they probably would be bookish little outcasts just like me, but I would have treasured them.

"I always thought that I'd like a husband who would dote on them and have secrets with them I didn't get to know about. Something special, you know, and we'd go to bed each night happy, and wake up each morning to our little ones arguing and climbing into our bed making demands for waffles."

To that Edith let out a sad huff of laughter. He assumed she was imagining a whole brood in long pajamas with messes of curly hair climbing over the two of them on a cold morning. At least, Anthony imagined himself in the painted image of domestic bliss she had described. He couldn't help it, and something in him broke all over again, not just for his own long-lost child, who was still very much with him, but for Edith's loss as well.

"Oh, Anthony," Edith whispered. He couldn't understand her tutting or her tone until she reached up and wiped tears from his face.

"You can still do that," Anthony said. "All of it. Adoption and what not."

"I know," Edith said heavily, nuzzling against his neck. "But it's not the same. I wanted that moment, newborn set in my hands with you looming over my shoulder, both a mess of tears and laughter, of a swollen belly and feeling the baby move, of that first realization that I was pregnant at all, at being able to tell the family, the conception. All of it."

Anthony was tearing up again, and he couldn't remember the last time he had cried. Edith's honesty, all that she had lost, and at only twenty-five, made his heart ache. He wondered briefly if she knew she said, 'you looming over my shoulder,' but let it go. For someone so close to youth, to be so aware of how much had been lost, well it was almost too much.

The words pushed against him, screaming in his head and fighting on his tongue to be released. I love you. But it was a selfish thought, he knew, to tell her now, while she was vulnerable and sad, not to mention presumptuous. The last thing Edith needed was some middle-aged man with his own miserable past latching onto her like she was the last good thing he'd ever touch.

And she was, he was most certain, the last great moment in his life, the last flicker of something bright and good before he sank into the dim, fading future.

"I'm sorry," Edith said, "I didn't mean to ruin the mood."

"Not a thing is ruined, Sweetheart. I'm glad you told me."

"I'd tell you anything," she said quickly, and when Anthony glanced down she was hiding her blushing face in his shoulder.

Another few moments passed, and the music playing finally registered with him.

"Is this your music?" Anthony asked.

Edith lifted her face, quirking one eyebrow at him. "Of course. It's my iPod. Why do you ask?"

"This is Orfeo ed Euridice, Che Faro Senza Euridice."

"Yes," she said slowly, as though he were being slow. "Agnes Baltsa singing. Orfeo is often sung by a woman."

"Because Castrati ceased to exist before modern recording."

"Precisely," Edith said. "Don't question my taste in music again or I'll do very real physical harm," she warned with a laugh, all the while wrapping an arm over his ribs and squeezing him closer.

"My mistake. I only, well it's not the most popular of operas. It happens to be my favorite."

"Mine as well. There's so much loss, so much mourning, but it has a happy ending. I'm not often a crier, but every time Orfeo gives in because he can't bear another moment without seeing his love, and then realizes what he's done, I bawl like a child."

"What shall I do without Euridice? I have lost my Euridice," Anthony quoted, nodding. "I do too, really. But then Amore comes and saves everyone."

"Because true love always wins out in the end," Edith finished.

"A hopeful, if not somewhat misguided message," Anthony said, earning a pinch from Edith.

"It's lovely, and perfectly true," she scolded, leaning up and over him. Her weight rested on him, her breasts pressing into his chest, her face close and eyes bright. Oh, how Anthony wanted to believe her, in that moment of all moments.

"My mistake."

"Kiss me," she said, as if exacting punishment. And so, like any man who wronged a woman, he accepted his punishment and did as she asked.

Making love in the open, where anyone could see them, and where several field mice and night-birds most definitely did see them, turned out to be a much better idea than Anthony originally anticipated.

They moved slowly, savoring and seeing each other, taking time to commit it all to memory. There was something primal about joining their bodies surrounded by the night, as if they had been doing it since the beginning of the earth itself, as if time and Mother Nature had laid down for them for the moment. Anthony knew he wouldn't recover from it, not ever.

They lay together for a while on a bed of their clothing and under the flannel, but when Edith began to shiver, Anthony insisted they get dressed and move to his room. They didn't even bother climbing the stairs separately, given that the few remaining guests were either inebriated beyond comprehension or passed out on various sofas.

Anthony stopped counting the time he had left, choosing instead to focus on Edith. For a long time they just talked as if the world was going to end at sunup and they'd never have another chance. They talked about their childhoods and Oxford and books and hurts and fears. They talked like they'd die if they didn't. And when they finally made love again, neither of them wondered why it felt so sad.

Edith was forced to acknowledge that leaving Anthony's warm bed before sunup that morning was easily the most difficult thing she'd ever done of her own will. It was there, constantly, on the tip of her tongue—please take me with you, please don't go, please say we can be together. She was so enraptured with him she almost felt bad for the poor man who had become the object of her sad, lonely affection.

There was more at play, though, and Edith was old enough and wise enough and grounded enough to recognize it. She wasn't just some school girl with a crush, she had made the mistake of connecting with this shy and decent man at the soul level, and there was no undoing that. Still, it was easier to think she was a fool than to think she was about to lose her soul mate.

Anthony didn't wake as she slipped out of his arms and gathered her things. She took a moment to etch everything about this into her memory—the rise and fall of his chest, his thin, soft lips slightly parted and the slight crease in his brow as he doubtless graded papers or analyzed Spenser in his sleep.

Edith laughed at the thought, a sound that escaped from her in a gloomy, silent huff.

Three days ago she had been so certain she was incapable of feeling such things. It may as well have been a whole lifetime ago, another world altogether, where she was alone and terrified and constantly hurting. Anthony had been the first true light in her world, and it pained her to admit it, thinking herself a modern and independent woman. Surely she could stand on her own talents and skills, brave the world alone. She didn't need anyone else to validate or bring purpose to her life. But he had, and she did, and there was little room for rationalization there.

Back in her childhood room, Edith felt quite foreign to herself, as if she'd left her life and come back to find it too small anymore. She moved about her morning routine, knowing she would never get back to sleep. Everything was duller, sadder. She admonished herself, shaking her head, but it didn't help.

The morning fog bleached the color from the landscape, seeping away the greens of summer and leaving it white and gray, as lifeless and still and vague as she felt. Even Tennyson's muscles beneath her as she rode to her cottage seemed separate and distant, a memory from another life that seemed just barely familiar.

"Oh, stop moping," she told herself, patting her horse's neck and trying to sink back into her former self.

Bringing Anthony to her secret place was a mistake, Edith realized as soon as she dismounted. She could no longer see her little fortress, so thoroughly hers in every way. Now the ghost of Anthony lingered, smiling crookedly at her as if she were some sort of beguiling imp, while she artlessly fumbled through conversations and picked up the crumbs of information he scattered for her.

She pushed open the heavy wooden door, breathing in the familiar must and paint and turpentine smells of her most secret self. If Edith was Downton, her family knew only the winding drive and brick façade. Anthony was the first who discovered the intimate details of her cottage, of her truest self.

Edith couldn't take another step inside, instead letting her body slump against the door frame and her head thump against it painfully. She could easily imagine a sad future like Mrs. Muir and her Captain, a lifelong love affair with the ghost of a man who had once stood near that window and flipped through her paintings with care and interest.

Tennyson's impatient snort drew Edith away, and she shut the door, knowing the cottage would never be a solace like it had been in the past. Her peace now lay with the man who was most likely packing his things this very minute.

Edith took a sketch pad and some graphite from Tennyson's saddlebag and sat on the damp, cold earth that sloped toward the creek. She tried to draw the full trees shivering in the changing weather, roots warmed by ferns and wildflowers and moss. Instead her hand betrayed her, capturing a bright, shrewd pair of eyes, boyish wispy hair brushing a high brow, and a nervous, wry smile that managed to be confident and uncertain all at one.

And then Edith wept.

It was the kind of crying that seized up in her ribs and crushed her lungs and broke out in choked, pitiful gasps. She didn't even cry when the doctors removed an ovary and told her the rest was so badly damaged she would never have children. She didn't cry when she overheard her grandmother, a week into her recovery, bemoaning the fact that Edith was without purpose if she couldn't bear children. She didn't cry when Mary found Matthew or Sybil and Tom announced their engagement, or when her parents looked at her with a sort of wary concern every day, as if she were an old mine that was unpredictable, outdated, and apt to explode at any minute.

It seemed fitting to Edith that the fog never burned off that morning, but lingered and cowered, clinging to the ankles of the trees. She was halfway back to the house from the stables when the skies opened. The weather, at least, had the courtesy and respect to accommodate her mood.

"Edith." Cora Crawley's calm but urgent voice stopped Edith as she burst through the terrace doors, soaked through and puddling on the floor.

"Mama, what are you doing up so early?" Edith asked, catching her breath and glancing at the hall clock. It was just past eight.

"Anthony's catching the early train. Your father and I wanted to see him off. Since you're up won't you please go change into some dry clothes and meet us for breakfast. I don't want him to think he's been forgotten after the party."

"I don't think I can," Edith said. She meant it too. Looking him in the eye and saying goodbye as he left her might have been physically impossible.

Cora pursed her lips and dropped her chin, a look Edith knew well. It meant, Don't be ridiculous, Edith, and usually followed after Edith tried to open up to her mother about something important to her. "Be back down in ten minutes, please. And dress in something warm. It seems the countryside just remembered it's nearly September in England."

Dark jeans, a long grey shirt, a thick cream cardigan that could have been a blanket, her green Hunters, Edith felt sufficiently warm, and admittedly shielded behind her most conservative and practical clothing.

Anthony didn't join them at the breakfast table, a fact which left Edith as disappointed as she was relieved. If she was going to bid him farewell, she'd need all of her practiced stoicism and she didn't think she could maintain that for a whole meal.

"Edith, are your roommates missing you while you spend the summer here?" Rosamund asked, who looked suspiciously perky for the early hour and the amount of drink she'd enjoyed the night before.

"No. I live with them because I can't afford anything else, not because they can't. They're dears, but I think they enjoy the space when I'm away."

"You know," Rosamund said to Cora as though Edith's reply had sparked the thought, "Anthony was telling me last night about his townhome in London. It sounds like it could use a woman's touch, but I should think it would be more than adequate."

Edith scoffed accidentally and hid the noise by coughing and sipping at her tea. Rosamund was always on the hunt for her next husband and had been making bold statements all weekend about Anthony's eligibility. Edith would have been delighted with her privileged information, with the knowledge that she and not her Aunt Ros knew the face he made when he came or the way his arm felt wrapped around one's naked, sleeping frame, or the torch he carried for a child he lost years ago.

She would have been delighted if it didn't hurt so damn much.

"Anthony's been so long without someone in his life, I think it would take someone quite special to nab him," Cora said, looking out the windows and frowning at the worsening storm.

"No one should be alone like that," Ros said, smiling to herself like the spider admiring its web before the catch. She and Cora made pointed eye contact, and Edith wondered if this whole weekend hadn't been a ruse to lead Anthony into Rosamund Peniwick's well-placed bear traps.

Poor Anthony, Edith thought, understanding why he'd fled into the garden that night, and poor Rosamund, for having no clue that Anthony was seriously affronted by nearly everything about the woman.

"You look awfully pale and morose this morning," Robert observed from behind his paper, eyeing Edith with that tempered concern he reserved especially for her. Ever since the surprise surgery in May he had looked at her with a sort of paternal conflict, worried with her fragility while also giving her that "buck-up" encouragement.

"I'm fine. It's probably," she began, but her voice betrayed her and stuttered in her chest. "It's probably the weather."

"Ghastly day for travel," Robert agreed, happily accepting her limp excuse.

"Oh, I don't know," Cora breathed casually, not looking up from the magazine she was perusing.

All too soon it was nine, and Anthony's bag was at the door waiting for the cab, the few roused Crawleys gathered in a line to bid him farewell in a last-ditch effort to appeal to the family's former social grandeur. When Anthony trotted down the stairs, looking far too eager to leave for Edith's liking, her heart withered a bit and fell like a leaf from a branch to the bottom of her stomach.

"Anthony, thank you so much for finally coming to see us. It was too long in the making, and you must come more often," Cora said in that maternal admonishing tone she had. She kissed his cheek, and Edith wondered if her mother noticed the feel of his prominent cheekbones the way Edith did.

"Cora, you're an absolute peach," Anthony smiled. "Thank you for feeding and housing me. Sorry I'm not terribly exciting company."

"Oh, nonsense," Ros interjected, stealing her own polite peck. "You've been quite entertaining indeed. And I dare say we'll all be seeing much more of each other."

Anthony blushed, and Edith cringed inwardly. Or she thought it was inward. Her father elbowed her before stepping forward to take Anthony's hand firmly. "Old chap, it's been very pleasant. I know you'll refuse, but do come see us again soon. Better for your countenance, I think, this country air. You seem far more robust after a few days with us."

It was Edith's turn to blush, and she noticed her aunt stifling a laugh. If Ros thought she could take credit for Anthony's change in mood she was sorely mistaken. Anthony dismissed the comment with a nervous laugh and some nearly incoherent thanks.

And then he turned to Edith. At first Anthony looked just over her left shoulder, unwilling to make eye contact as he muttered a banal goodbye.

"It's been lovely," Edith said, accidentally infusing her words with too much truth. His bright blue eyes flicked to hers, and Edith felt a sharp pain somewhere where her heart used to be.

"Lovely indeed," he muttered, numbly taking her hand, shaking it, and releasing it all too quickly. Turning back to the others, he said, "I really must be off before the train is washed away in this rain."

Edith watched as Anthony ducked his head against the downpour and ran for the cab. She watched as he disappeared into the back and shut the door behind him. Through the back window she saw him run a hand through his hair and settle back against the seat. The brake lights flashed as the car was put in gear, and the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires seemed sharp and severe.

In that car was the best thing she'd ever known. And surely, surely, it couldn't all be in her head. They hadn't had some sordid tryst, as she had originally believed they were intending. Oh lord, she thought, taking a shuttering breath, realizing they'd been falling in love this whole time. Or she had. Even if it were unrequited she had to tell him, didn't she?

Edith couldn't bear the thought of simply lying back and taking another blow in life. She couldn't control her body, or her family, or practically anything, but she could control who she let in, which risks to take. She didn't mean to give her heart away, but she had completely.

And her heart was currently making his way down the drive and out of her life.

"No," she said, her voice sounding strange to herself.

"Edith?" Robert asked, confused.

"No," she repeated firmly, not hazarding a glance to her family before she took after him. "Anthony!" she cried, sprinting across the gravel to the lawn where it cut into the drive, trying desperately to catch him. "Anthony! Wait!" Her voice barely made a dent in the heavy sheets of rain falling between them, and the closer that damned black cab got to the gate, the more true fear stoked her adrenaline.

"Anthony, stop!" she tried. She nearly slipped on the sodden grass as she tried to make up the distance between them. She couldn't she knew, but she had to try. Her life was rather hanging in the balance, after all.

Finally, finally, the red lights of the cab glowed as it came to an abrupt stop. Her lungs seemed to start working again when the tall, broad figure emerged from the back, looking somewhat like a man who had just been pardoned.

Edith's canter didn't slow. Not even when she reached Anthony where he stood, frozen in disbelief, by the open car door. She plowed into him at full speed, leaping into his arms is if she could keep him so long as she was close enough against him.

Anthony caught her, of course, his great arms snatching her to him as her arms and legs wrapped around him. Their faces met almost painfully, cheek pressed against cheek as she clutched to his neck and he buried her face against her shoulder.

"Oh god, I love you so much it hurts," Anthony heaved, releasing his hold on her legs to reach up and push Edith's hair away where the rain had plastered it to her face. His hands were warm, despite the weather and the fact he was now soaked through too. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to keep you, to hold you back, but I don't know how to let you go."

He was fairly shouting over the sound of the rain, and Edith saw her breath when she heaved a laugh. "I love you too. I was so afraid you'd think I was silly. I love you so much. Please don't ever, ever let me go."

"Never," he promised, "Edie, nev—" but he didn't finish because their lips had met in a wet, crushing kiss, as urgent and passionate as Edith's run had been.

After several moments the cabbie finally snapped an "Oy!" at the pair, and Anthony managed to get them both into the backseat without letting his hold loosen.

In the silence of the car, Edith straddling Anthony's lap, still trying to manage her labored breathing, they both grinned. "What next?" Edith asked, kissing him again and stroking his jaw with her thumbs where her hands cradled his head.

"The world," Anthony shrugged. "It's yours. You name it, we'll do it."

Edith knew her answer, leaning close to whisper it in his ear. He looked not remotely alarmed, which surprised her. "Won't be available on a Sunday, darling. Care to accompany me to my London flat until we can get an appointment?"

Edith nodded her approval, and even though she had known inherently he wouldn't reject her proposal, she couldn't help but feel relieved.

Back at the open doors of the entry to the Abbey, Robert stood stone still, eyes wide, as he watched his middle daughter drive away with Anthony Strallan. Turning to Cora, he expected a similar reaction, but she and Rosamund were watching with as much interest as one watches the end of a film they've already seen.

"I can't believe he got all the way down the drive before she made up her mind," Cora said, folding her arms.

Rosamund took a fiver out of her pocket and shoved it into Cora's waiting hand, never taking her eyes off the now empty lawn. "How'd you know she'd be the one and not Anthony?"

"He's far too shy to make the first move. If you hadn't driven him into the gardens they never would have spoken to each other. And he's far too reticent to think she'd go with him, so I knew she'd have to be the one."

"What in bloody hell just happened?" Robert boomed suddenly, catching both women's attention. He put particular, gravelly emphasis on each word.

"Edith and Anthony," Ros shrugged as if her brother was dense as the black clouds overhead. "Why else do you think Cora pushed for this weekend?"

"It was a setup?" Robert bellowed, feeling quite betrayed by all the women in his life suddenly.

"They're perfect for each other. And Edith needed to remember that she was still deserving of a life," Cora said.

"What? How? When, when did you decide all this?" Robert stammered, feeling he was losing the battle.

His wife, all blue innocent eyes, dropped her head to one side. "I knew they'd be right for each other when I found Edith rereading Crime and Punishment for fun a few months ago. I knew they'd finally figured it out when I caught Anthony in Edith's shower yesterday morning."

"You did what?!"

"Cora, you'll give him a heart attack," Rosamund said ruefully, quite enjoying the weekend's mischief. The redhead hooked her arm through Robert's, leading them back to the dining room. "I propose a new bet," she said, leaning over Robert to address Cora directly.

"Oh?"

"Double or nothing, they're married within the week."

Cora, ignoring her husband's whimper, said, "I'll take that bet. I'm assuming they won't leave his bed for at least that long."

"We, we have to, to do something," Robert said, trying to reestablish some semblance of reason in his house.

"Oh, Darling," Cora sighed. "Edith's finally happy. The only thing we're going to do is send her things to Anthony's and wish them luck." Then, with the satisfied smile of a mother who has done her duty she added, "Though I very much doubt they'll need it."

Nowadays Anthony wakes first. He loves the mornings, his Edith sighing in her sleep and murmuring little nonsensical things as he kisses her before rising. The house they found in the country is very much like her cottage back in Yorkshire. It's more modest than Locksley, but lovely all the same. Still, it's bloody glacial in the mornings, though Anthony doesn't mind.

In the mornings Anthony turns the heater on in the bathroom so Edith's feet won't freeze on the stone floor, and then he goes downstairs to start the tea, and the best part of his day is climbing back into their warm bed with two mugs and watching Edith wake.

It took them no time to adjust to living as one. They were married nine days after leaving Downton, and now Anthony has gotten in the habit of putting his dirty clothes in a hamper, and Edith has grown used to stacks of books and papers in the living room. Six months later, Anthony can't remember life before her. He remembers the emptiness, the pointlessness, but it isn't an acute memory, more a vague and hazy recollection of another time.

Edith stirs and sits up, a struggle with her belly. The protrusion still surprises him sometimes, especially in the mornings after he's had dreams of isolation. He reaches for it as soon as Edith takes the other mug from his hand.

"Good morning, Wife. And good morning to you, Little One," he says, kissing Edith's temple and then her belly.

It was October when Anthony came home from work to find Edith on the front stoop of the house in London, grocery bags forgotten beside her. She had been white as a ghost, and Anthony's stomach dropped to his knees the moment he saw her.

"What's wrong?" he had asked, sitting beside her and running his nose over her icy cheek. He realized then she must have been out there for hours. "Please tell me."

Edith's small hands were folded over her mouth, her elbows on her knees as she stared off into the distance. When Anthony spoke she just shook her head.

"Edith, Sweetheart. I'm your husband, you can tell me anything." Another five minutes passed and he said, "Love, we can either talk out here together, or go inside together, or wait here in silence on display for the neighbors until we thaw sometime in April."

Finally, she had straightened, looking at him as if she had just noticed his presence. "I, um, I know how you worry," she began, having to clear her throat before she could continue. "I didn't know, and I wanted to know before I talked to you."

Anthony's heart had stopped. His Edith had her health problems—nothing insurmountable but enough to make him fuss over her. The way she had looked so shaken, he immediately assumed the worst.

"Wanted to know what, Dearest?" he had asked, trying to sound steady and strong for his young, clearly frightened wife.

"Dr. Tapsell, my old doctor, he said without a doubt—his exact words—that it wouldn't happen, that it couldn't. He said everything was damaged, he talked about scar tissue and, and he told me over and over there wasn't any hope."

"Sweetheart?" Anthony had asked, thoroughly confused.

"But when I moved here with you I switched doctors, and I was feeling strange, and I didn't want to think… but I couldn't help… so I went, I went to Dr. Clarkson this morning, and he did the usual tests and ordered my records."

"I'm afraid I'm not following," Anthony said. And then Edith had turned to him with a watery, hysterical laugh and gave him the best and most terrifying news of his life.

"We're going to have a baby. Dr. Clarkson says I'm already ten weeks gone. He thinks it must have been that first weekend, Anthony."

And as she rambled on Anthony tried to follow her but he just kept hearing We're going to have a baby in his mind. He was going to be a father, and it was Edith's child, the one she'd always wanted.

"Please say something. I feel almost, well, guilty. I kept saying I couldn't get pregnant so we didn't use anything, and I know it's not exactly planned. I swear I didn't mean to," she was saying, so Anthony had stopped her with a kiss, wet and warm and passionate. He was so happy he could hardly contain himself. And then something had occurred to him.

"But why are you sitting on the stoop?"

Edith had looked sheepish. "Dr. Clarkson called just as I was getting home. I dropped the groceries, and then I guess I just got… stuck. He said there wasn't really much to worry about, that I should come in next week to talk about prenatal vitamins and have an ultrasound. He also said Tapsell should be hanged, but that's not really here nor—"

But then Anthony was kissing her again and carrying her into their house, the grocery bags abandoned altogether.

They had bought a home more suited to family as their Christmas gifts to each other, and now that it was February it feels as if they've been in it for years.

"Are you ready for today?" Edith asks, resting a hand on his shoulders as he's bent over their child. "Hopefully the snow won't be too much for anyone."

"It's going to be a lovely day," he says, breathing in the smell of Edith that he associates with home—all laundry and cotton and beeswax candles and lavender soap. "I think Robert may have finally forgiven me," he adds with a laugh.

"Papa was just mad he was the last to find out, because he's always the last to find out about everything. He couldn't pout forever. It's been six months, I think you're in the clear."

"I was thinking, though," Anthony says, sitting up. "If some bloke ever comes and takes my daughter away after one weekend, then calls two months later to say she's suspiciously two months pregnant, I'll kill him."

To this Edith laughs, a bubbling happy sound that Anthony has long-since vowed to hear every single day. "Oh Darling, we just won't have any house guests starting in, say, eighteen years. Alright?"

Anthony agrees and they talk a while longer before Edith goes to shower. Today they are having the family over for dinner, no special occasion, just the first weekend since the holidays everyone has been free at the same time. Mary and Cora will have wedding magazines, Edith will show off the nursery they've started to put together, the men will play cards or watch television, and Robert will look at Anthony with a sort of wariness Anthony now understands and can't blame him for.

"Love, will you hand me a towel?" Edith calls from their bathroom.

Anthony moves to the linen closet where a perfectly symmetrical stack of lush gray towels is stored. Anthony loves the way his wife folds towels, the way she takes such care to fold them in thirds long-ways, and then in thirds again, making sure they're even and flat and all facing the same way.

He also loves the way she lotions her pregnant belly and talks to their daughter while she's doing it. He loves the way their limbs always seem to find each other in sleep, and the paintings she has let him hang on their walls, selected from her cottage at Downton. He loves that they never run out of things to say to each other, and that their need to be physically close has only gotten stronger.

Anthony loves everything about his life, and the fact that he owes every bit of it to Edith. He doesn't know yet if they'll have more children, though Dr. Clarkson doesn't see why they shouldn't be able to with a little timing and maybe some help. They haven't decided on a name for their daughter yet, though Edith put her foot down against Euridice.

But he knows he will never again be alone, and that he'll always keep Edith happy and safe, and that he loves her more than opera and words and oxygen and light.

All that in mind, Anthony decides they have all morning before the Crawleys arrive, and he thinks back to that first morning they had together. Edith isn't at all surprised when he steps into the shower with her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and nibbling her neck.

"Why, Dr. Strallan," Edith purrs, immediately leaning into him, reaching behind her to run a hand through his hair while the other deftly snakes between them, touching him in a way that manages to be familiar and still shy at the same time.

"Are you up for this?" Anthony asks, knowing some mornings are better than others for his lovely, swollen wife.

"You certainly are," she giggles, pressing against him.

"For you, my Darling, always," he responds, and he knows them to be among the truest words he will ever speak.

That's all...

Oh my goodness. I'm am absolutely overwhelmed by your lovely reviews, PMs, favorites and follows. I was so, so nervous about posting this story, but as I said-it was a bit of therapy. I debated for a while about giving them a more tempered ending, but decided the beauty of fiction (and fanfiction especially) is unquestionable happy endings.

I really can't express how wonderful you've all been. THANK YOU. And also, there's no Gregson in this story because rather than having him be the villain I choose to make him completely non-existent. I wish JF would consider the same. :)

Annnnnnnd... 12k+ words for this 'chapter.' Sorry about that. :)

All my love,
Eleanor