I could have called this story by several different titles, Cyrano de Locksley being my next choice. You'll see why. In this story, Mary was not compromised by Pamuk, and Anthony and Edith did not meet at Downton but at a Ball given by their neighbours the Callendar Becketts earlier in the summer of 1914.

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After the ball is over,
After the break of morn –
After the dancers' leaving;
After the stars are gone;
Many a heart is aching,
If you could read them all;
Many the hopes that have vanished
After the ball.

-Music Hall Song, 1890s

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There is nothing more exciting Edith thought than getting ready to go to a ball. The dresses had been chosen the week before, and hers was a delicate lavender with peach lace trims. She thought she looked better in it than Mary did in her severe dark blue with beading that made her look even more stately and coldly distant than usual. But Edith knew that Sybil, in her dusky pink with ribbon decoration, looked the most beautiful of the three of them, and it wasn't just the dress that made her so. Edith so admired and envied her younger sister's effortless charm and allure. She was always so easy in company, whereas Edith, although older, had never been able to shake off the awkwardness of youth. Having to attend balls and parties with Mary didn't help, because whenever Edith made any sort of misstep Mary rolled her eyes, or giggled at her, or said a 'tsk' under her breath which was deliberately loud enough for all present to hear. It made Edith nervous and all the more likely to stumble.

Still, Edith loved the excitement of a ball. She enjoyed the dancing very much, but more than that she revelled in the possibility of finding that special someone who would make her feel she was worth more than she herself felt she was. When she imagined him, she thought he would be tall, handsome, and gallant with kind eyes and a turn of phrase that melted her insides. One day, or one evening, she would find him she hoped. She didn't think it was inevitable. She knew her parents didn't think it would ever happen, that she was definitely destined for spinsterhood and good works, and she knew they were probably right. That was reality. But on nights like this, as they got into the car to be driven to the Callendar Becketts' in the golden dusk before the ball, surely, Edith thought, surely she could be forgiven for wanting to forget reality, hoping, dreaming, longing for that night when she found him. Perhaps tonight would be that night.

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Anthony looked in his shaving mirror. There was no harm in going to this ball. He didn't have to dance. He would drink the Callendar Becketts' Champagne, make polite conversation with his neighbours, including, he reminded himself, trying to sort out that problem about the broken wall belonging to Grantham that bordered Strallan land, a discussion best had in a nice, neutral, informal setting and in a friendly way, and then he could make his excuses and come home. Balls were…uncomfortable reminders of happinesses and heartbreaks gone by. He had attended balls as a young man looking out for a suitable wife. He'd always enjoyed the company of women; he might even go so far as to say that he was a bit of a ladies' man…or had been in his youth. He was never a ladykiller, he was too unassuming for that, and what flirtations had occurred had been chaste inasmuch as they didn't go beyond kisses, and had always, always ended on good terms on both sides and with generosity of compliments on his. He'd always made sure of that. He liked to think that he'd never broken any woman's heart nor sullied her reputation and was as chivalrous a gentleman as could be found in England. And he loved dancing. He liked it because he was good at it. His tall, lean figure lent itself to grace and he had taken pains to learn how to dance properly. This social accomplishment had the advantage of making him a dancing partner who was in very great demand.

All that changed when his parents arranged his marriage with Maud because he'd reached the advanced age of twenty five without finding a suitable bride. Maud hated dancing, and hated him dancing because it made her jealous. After he had married her, drinking Champagne seemed to be all he did at balls, while his wife gossiped with her cronies. She never seemed to have friends: only an ongoing series of alliances and feuds. He also talked with his male neighbours, or at least he tried to between their distractions of dancing with their wives and other people's. It had worn him down over the five years they were married. Other things had also worn him down: she was not affectionate in bed, leaving him in no doubt that his body, and what he tried to do with it, disgusted her. There had been compensations: she was not stupid and they had stimulating conversations, but Anthony was sure that marriage should have been rather better for them both. When Maud died of pneumonia, almost ten years ago now, he had felt merely hollow. He'd continued in his role of local landowner, thrown himself into the management of the estate, and become more beloved by his staff and the tenants, who both liked him and gave him their loyalty and sympathy.

No, there was nothing wrong with attending the Callendar Becketts' Midsummer Ball. After all, nothing of any note would happen.

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Cora had been very firm with her daughters that none of them should drink more than two glasses of Champagne, but had allowed that they could dance all they wanted. That suited Edith just fine. She could take or leave Champagne, although she didn't much care for feeling squiffy, but she wanted to dance every dance that evening, preferably with a different partner each time until she found the man she was looking for, and there were so many men there. It seemed to her that the flower of Yorkshire manhood had come. Surely one of them, just one was all she wanted, would prefer her over Mary or Sybil? She made an effort, she was polite and cheerful, she talked about interesting things to lots of people, men and women, but she was not asked to dance a single time in the first hour of the ball. She wasn't surprised to see Sybil fighting off requests, and of course Mary had her choice of partners. Once, she saw Mary look at her standing by the buffet table picking at bread while Mary was led out to the dance floor again. Mary's eyes held nothing but contempt for her. Edith turned to the wall knowing this was just how things always had been, and always would be: Mary, the stately beauty; Sybil, the charmer; Edith, the wallflower. She turned quickly without looking to go outside for a moment to get some cooler air, and knocked the Champagne glass out of the hand of the man standing behind her. It tinkled on the floor as it smashed. Edith was on the verge of tears already, and that little incident pushed her over the edge. She began to weep whilst mumbling her apologies, as footmen began to clear the mess.

"There's nothing to apologise for. It was an accident. No harm done" Anthony started, and then saw that the girl was crying. He bent down to her, speaking in a much gentler voice.

"Oh my dear…please…don't be upset, truly. Don't let it spoil the evening for you." He whisked out his handkerchief and gave it to her. She looked up at him with glistening eyes, and Anthony's heart gave a little leap.

"Thank you so much. I…" but she saw Mary looking over to see what Edith had done this time, and she couldn't stop the sobs that overtook her.

"Would you permit me to take you outside for some air, my lady?"

Edith could only nod. Anthony took her arm and guided her to the French windows and the gardens. He found a seat for them both where she couldn't be seen from the ballroom, and let her have time to calm herself before speaking again.

"You know, at my second or third ball, an awful long time ago, probably before you were born, I was so nervous I managed to spill wine over the prime minister when I was introduced to him, who at that time was Lord Salisbury, thank God. If I'd tipped Champagne over Gladstone, someone most assuredly would have had me put in the Tower and beheaded!"

She gave a shy laugh at that, covering her mouth with her gloved hand, causing Anthony to catch his breath again. This girl, (she couldn't be more than about twenty years of age), was so…so…

"Please" she murmured "we haven't been introduced. And you've been so kind."

Her voice was musical and sweet, and she tried hard to be polite even in her agony of embarrassment. Anthony felt himself fall just a little further before he thought Good God, man, get a grip!

"I am Sir Anthony Strallan of Locksley."

"It is lovely to meet you, Sir Anthony." He waited longer than he thought was necessary for her introduction, and when one didn't come he prompted her.

"And you are…?"

"But you know who I am. You called me 'my lady'."

"Just a convention to err on the side of caution. I am yet to have the pleasure of knowing my sweet companion's name."

He called me his sweet companion; he said it was a pleasure. Since he'd led her out to the garden she had been thinking what a really nice gentleman he was. He was gallant, and so tall she could hardly see his face without craning her neck as they were walking together. But now she also saw he had the most startlingly blue eyes, and such a nice, kind smile. When he looked at her, there was a deliciously quivery feeling in her stomach that she wanted to last forever.

"I'm Lady Edith Crawley, my father is…"

"Oh now I know who you are! We are neighbours. But I don't see you about much. Have you been away to school?"

"No." She gave a small, bitter laugh. "No, I'm a bit of an embarrassment to my family, I'm afraid. I have a talent for little upsets like the one you've just witnessed. So they don't let me out much, and certainly not by myself. My sisters…Lady Sybil…she's my younger sister…she doesn't mind being with me, but my elder sister, Lady Mary…" Despite all her attempts not to, she began to cry again.

Anthony watched her lose her composure for only a second before his sympathy for her overcame his decorum. He leaned over and put his hand on her shoulder.

She calmed immediately. His touch was warm, kind, and gentle. She looked up into his eyes again.

"Don't worry about what your sister thinks, Lady Edith. She is young too and doesn't yet understand just how much it hurts to be treated that way. You are a very special person, I can tell." He paused knowing from her expression that she didn't believe him. He nodded towards the dusk in the west.

"Look over there where the Evening Star is rising. Soon the sky will be dazzling with stars, but the people in the ballroom won't see them. Why? Because they are too preoccupied with what's going on under the light bulbs and candles. Yet the stars undoubtedly are brighter, and more longer lasting; their beauty is far more powerful. No poet ever praised a light bulb. And not all beauty shines in society."

She gazed at him still, now with a strange affectionate light in her eyes.

"Your time will come, my lady. I pray it may be soon."

Without thinking she slipped her arms around his middle and leaned to him resting her face on his chest. She was so grateful to him, and there was so much more that she was feeling that she had never felt before, that she didn't know what to think. He'd almost smothered her in kindness and understanding. It was in such stark contrast to all she usually experienced. It had opened a floodgate in her that she knew would never close again, and she didn't want it to.

It had been the best part of twelve years since any woman had touched Anthony affectionately. This young, beautiful creature had hugged him spontaneously, instinctively, and it felt so good. Two minutes previously, he had been master of himself; sure of what he had to say. Now, he could not find any words at all. Gingerly he laid his cheek on her hair, and settled his arm around her shoulders. They stayed like that for less than a minute although to them it felt like hours. Sybil calling for her disturbed their reverie. They pulled away from each other guiltily before Sybil saw them.

"There you are, Edith. Hello Sir Anthony. Please excuse us."

Sybil nodded to him politely, then took Edith's arm.

"Edith! I thought you wanted to dance!"

"I did…I mean, I do…but…"

"Archie Campbell asked after you, and Mary and I have full dance cards already. I've convinced him to dance with you. Come on!"

And with that Edith was pulled away. Anthony was left alone to consider The Hon. Archibald Campbell, (twenty five years old, dark, handsome, eligible – supremely dense and arrogant with it) and he felt the bitter regrets of old years seep back into his ancient bones.

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After a suitable delay Anthony followed Edith back into the ballroom. He watched as Sybil led Edith to Archie, and as Archie asked Edith to dance. Anthony didn't want to watch the young couple waltz around the room, but he couldn't stop himself. And it was utter torture for him to see Archie finish the dance with a flourish raising Edith's hand to his lips. Edith turned away from Archie, smiling, her eyes as brilliant with joy with Archie as they had been glittering with tears with him.

Completely forgetting the dispute over Grantham's broken wall, he made his excuses to Lady Callendar Beckett and left. For the first time in years, his heart was in tatters.

Edith spent the rest of the ball looking around the hall for Sir Anthony, but he wasn't there. She'd nursed a hope that he might ask her to dance too. No one else asked her for the rest of the evening, but really she didn't care. She thought only of Anthony. At the end of the evening, Archie Campbell bumped into her again and they exchanged the required pleasantries. Edith said he should come to Downton to tea. Archie said he would drop her a line sometime. They parted and that was the last Edith thought of Archie Campbell for several days. Her head was too full of Sir Anthony Strallan. He was thoughtful, intense, and had the soul of a poet. He spoke so beautifully. And his eyes…

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