This was mean to be a one-shot, but as I started typing it up (from the entire Moleskein notebook I filled while lying in bed), I realized it was painfully long (like most of my stories) and would be better separated. As such, it will be published in three parts, and the others will be up within a day or two as soon as I can proofread them.

Also, this is my first fully M-rated fic. It's not PWP (I hope) but I felt the intimacy was necessary to the story. It's a modern AU, key word being modern, so you've been warned.

I've not forgotten about The Gentleman and the Adventurer, and will be returning to regular updates on that as soon as I've gotten this bit of fanfic therapy all up and completed. :)

Thank you, as always, for being such wonderful people and kind reviewers. I love our Andith community so much!

All my best,
Eleanor

The happy news that her sisters were returning for a long weekend was immediately marred by the further knowledge that they were only part of a welcome committee in honor of one of Papa's old school friends. Edith Crawley, who had been hiding in the shadows at Downton all summer as if it were a convalescent home, was immediately put off by the idea.

To see Sybil, and even Mary, meant she would have someone to talk with besides her parents and the revolving parade of workers that made the great house function. But if Mama was hosting a true Cora Crawley weekend, there would be dinners at seven and dress codes and expectations. And these days Edith was feeling quite incapable of polite small talk and the exchanging of obligatory pleasantries.

"You need to see people," Cora said gently when Edith voiced the kinder version of her displeasure. "It's been months, baby. You know you can stay here as long as you want, but you also know it's not making you any happier."

And damn if that wasn't the most accurate and spot-on thing her mother could have said.

So, Edith Crawley found herself putting on a bit of makeup for the first time in months, and dressing in something other than leggings and boyfriend cardigans, and reluctantly descending the grand staircase of her parents' over-large castle of a home to greet her Papa's friend and her family.

It was Thursday night, and therefore declared a casual dinner by Cora, which Edith understood to mean nice jeans and a blouse and perhaps the effort of some earrings. Her mother, who was wearing a blue chiffon dress and black heels, looked only mildly horrified by Edith's attire.

For a 'small gathering' there was quite a lineup. Her parents, of course, along with Rosamund. Her sisters stood shoulder to shoulder, comparing notes about upcoming nuptials no doubt, while their respective men, Tom and Matthew, were searching for common ground in the world of athletics. Nine people altogether, herself and Papa's absent friend included. Edith had the sudden urge to feign illness.

"Edith," Aunt Rosamund said, noticing her for the first time as Edith reached the bottom step. "How are you, pet?" Edith had a certain fondness for her aunt, despite the woman's pernicious tendencies and ability to make things most awkward. Even still, she had little desire to talk about the very thing Ros was alluding to.

"Fine, Ros. How are you?"

Edith made eye contact with Sybil and waved as Rosamund chattered happily beside her. Looking around, Edith couldn't help but think this would be awkward. A gathering of adults waiting awkwardly in the main hall for a practical stranger to arrive was an archaic tradition, and the fact that said stranger was late didn't help. If she were this friend of Papa's she'd come in, take one look at all the faces, and think My god, this must be a cult.

But it was Mama's way, mostly because it was Granny's way before that and Cora Crawley spent the first twenty years of her marriage accommodating her mother-in-law. Edith decided, as she swatted her mother's fussing hands away from her hair, that she would never kowtow to her in-laws, and further that if the man was right for her she wouldn't have to.

The line of thinking stopped abruptly when she realized it assumed she would have in-laws, and then that bone-deep loneliness reared its head again, and she felt the familiar, cold reminder that she was single in the extreme.

"Try not to look so morose, Edith, you have a life ahead of you," Cora said, and Edith heard Mary's satisfied laugh at the comment.

When Papa's friend did, at last, arrive, he seemed only momentarily surprised by the Crawley lineup. The man was tall, and broad, and what his gait lacked in confidence it made up in elegance. His gestures and movements were smooth, natural, not at all the stiff, disjointed efforts Edith made when it came time to step up and take his hand.

"How do you do," he said, smiling down at her, and only then did Edith realize she'd tuned out her father's introductions. Freezing as she struggled to conjure his name from the half-dozen conversations about this weekend, the tall man looked at her with a nearly imperceptible change in his expression.

"Well, thank you," she finally said, as her mother stepped up and said, "This is our Edith."

Our Edith, she thought with an internal cringe. It implied she was different, helpless, in need of coddling or special understanding. And it was difficult, so difficult, in those moments to remember all her parents had done for her the last couple months, and that they had only good intentions at heart.

The man nodded as if to say, So what? and looked around for lack of anything better to do. The silence that followed was unbearable, but mercifully short.

"Anthony, pet, it's been so long," Rosamund said as the group instinctively moved for the dining room. Edith followed last, watching her Aunt take Anthony's arm between her well-manicured hands. Just when Edith thought things couldn't be much worse, she heard Ros say, "You know I'm single now, of course."

Dr. Anthony Strallan, as Edith now knew him, was placed between Rosamund and Mary and Edith couldn't help but feel for the man, who seemed quiet and reserved. After Ros, Papa was at the head of the table in all his Robert Crawley splendor, then Mama, Tom, and Sybil. Matthew had Mary on his left and Edith on his right, leaving her the awkward ninth at the empty end of the large table. This was just as well, being that Edith was in no mood to chat indolently about, well, anything.

"So you, Mary, are recently engaged?" Anthony asked, trying to sort out who was who.

Mary offered an airy, fake sort of laugh that set Edith on edge. "Oh, no. That's Sybil. We're not engaged yet," she said, and no one could miss the warning tone intended for Matthew.

"Tom and Sybil will be married next Spring," Cora explained, directing attention away from Matthew. Edith pushed some fingerling potatoes around her plate as Sybil shared some details about the wedding and Anthony made the expected replies.

"The curse of three daughters," Robert said jovially, taking a swig of his scotch. "Have to pay for the weddings. At least there will only be two."

When Edith's head snapped up to question her father, he sputtered, "That is to say, for now, because surely our Edith will find someone, right?" he laughed nervously as forks fell to plates and Cora muttered an Oh, Robert under her breath. "Not, not that you need to, Edith, of course. Independent sort that you are. You've done very well, without, without… anyone."

Edith could feel the heat flood her cheeks and the blood drain from her limbs.

"Robert, you're putting a foot in it, and anyway, all this talk of weddings is rather dull for Dr. Strallan, I'm sure. Unless of course you're back on the market, Anthony," Ros said, that bold glint in her eye.

"I, oh, well that is to say," the man stammered as Sybil openly gaped at her Aunt and dear Tom shot Edith a look that begged for help or an escape route. As if Edith wasn't embarrassed enough for herself, she now felt the second-hand embarrassment on behalf of the poor 'guest of honor' who was apparently within Rosamund's crosshairs. "Certainly there's more to being a Lady than fretting about marriage. This isn't a Jane Austen novel. Right, Lady Edith?"

Edith was torn between appreciating his attempt at support and being utterly affronted by his comment. She leaned over her plate, looking past Matthew and Mary (who was clearly enjoying the whole thing), and looked Papa's friend Anthony in the eyes. "I assure you, I don't 'fret' about becoming the little wife," she said with a bit more malice and anger than originally intended.

Finally, as if sent by the merciful Ghost of Society Dinners Past, Mrs. Patmore's waitress Daisy came in, hired for the night to cook and cater. "Are we ready for pudding?" the girl asked, proudly smiling down at the lavish dessert and totally oblivious to any tension.

"Oh, please god yes," Sybil said, stacking hers and Tom's plates to be handed to the young man that followed to help clear and pass around the final course.

It wasn't until they retired to the billiards room for after-dinner drinks that Edith was able to make her escape.

Heading through the kitchen she saw Mrs. Patmore's staff cleaning up, preparing the things they would need for tomorrow. Edith wondered if Mrs. Patmore just waited for Mama's phone call, begging for help. The woman would show up at a moment's notice ready to do whatever Cora bid, and Edith was fairly certain Beryl's annual income came solely from Cora's need to impress.

Those thoughts kept her occupied long enough to skirt along the side of the house, the edge of the back patio, and down to the lower gardens. The land surrounding the great house was largely flat, but the garden was cut into the lawn, deliberately creating a sense of view from the highest point where there wasn't necessarily a vantage before.

In the lower gardens one could easily hide against the stone walls and lush greenery, especially when the summer months made everything fuller and overgrown, so as to avoid being seen by anyone in the house or on the terrace above. At

Sitting in the mossy grass that separated the stone path from the wall of the lowest terrace, Edith looked out over the sprawling darkness of unused land at night, and heaved a sigh. Then, allowing all the things she stifled during the day to bubble up, she let the sadness spread over her and the tears begin to fall. She usually tried to avoid self-pity where she could, but tonight, with nothing but a tedious weekend to look forward to and the recurring pain of the last several months at her heels, she opted to feel good and miserable.

"Do you need help?" came a man's voice, startling the breath from Edith's lungs. When he stepped closer, tall enough to catch some of the light from the house on his face, she felt a small surge of annoyance, and something else not completely unpleasant.

"No, I do not need help. I'm just out here 'fretting.' I didn't come to the darkest spot of the lower gardens for company. I'm sure everyone else is pouring highballs in the house if you're eager."

Anthony smiled thinly and nodded. "Of course. And everyone is, indeed, in the house. I was just going for a walk." There was an awkward silence, Edith feeling guilty for her rudeness and embarrassed for her crying, as Anthony stood, calm and unaffected, with his hands behind his back. He seemed to be observing her, and after a moment he said, "Well, this house is absurdly spacious. I can find another bit of land to tread."

He smiled kindly and turned to leave when Edith felt the overwhelming need to stop him. "Wait, I'm sorry. Please, please sit." He seemed undecided so she smiled as best she could and said, "I'm not nearly as mean as you probably think, I swear."

"I, uh, never thought you were," he stuttered, lowering himself to sit beside her. He settled against the wall, closer than she had expected, but he was at ease so she relaxed as well, slouching back again. "I'm sorry I offended you at dinner. I didn't mean to. I'm rubbish under pressure and Rosamund has taken delight in stumping me since we were your age."

"You didn't offend me," she said quickly, and he quirked his lips at her in disbelief. "I'm sorry I was short with you. It's nothing to do with you, I
promise."

There was a silent exchange of apologies accepted, and small, shy smiles. Finally Anthony asked, "Why were you crying?"

Edith stiffened, visibly she was sure, and shook her head. "I won't bother you with my whining," she said dismissively.

"It's only whining when you've got nothing real to upset you and find something to complain about anyway. Those tears did not seem frivolous." When Edith looked up Anthony suddenly glanced out to the yard. "But, I won't push, I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

"What do you know about me?" she asked, unsure what made her so curious.

"Well, your Rob's middle daughter. You read English at Oxford, for a time you were living in London, yes? And recently you've returned home to… do what? I'm hazy on that bit. And apparently you're just as fond of large dinners as I am."

After another lengthy silence, Edith said, "I've had nearly two bottles of wine to myself and not much food. It's bound to be a rambling, uncomfortably emotional diatribe."

"I've no immediate plans," he shrugged.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Only someone who's been treated poorly would ask that, which is a shame. I read English at Oxford as well, so I'm bound to find you interesting."

"No one finds me interesting."

"Well I'll do my best to fake it."

A night bird of some kind swooped by across the lawn, and in the distance frogs and crickets could be heard. It was a pleasant summer evening, ideal and picturesque. Edith heaved a sigh.

"After dinner I stumbled across Mary and Matthew going at it in the washroom and it put my off my meal. I think she might be evil, and while I'm well aware of my faults and my impending spinsterhood, she seems determined to see that I get there."

"Aren't you a little old to be crying in the garden about your mean sister?" he gibed softly, obviously trying to make her smile, but Edith just burst into tears.

"Yes, yes I am," she said quickly. "I'm also too old to be a perpetually single, utterly alone, directionless virgin, but what does that matter?"

Anthony's eyes went a fraction wider for a moment before he asked, "How old are you?"

"Old enough to be truly pathetic." At his narrow gaze Edith dropped her head and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. "I'm twenty-five."

To her surprise, and horror, Anthony laughed. "Twenty-five! You're practically a child. You have so much time!"

"I'm sure that's the thing to say, but it's not true. I, well I'm less than desirable and that's only going to get worse from here. And in this century to be completely inexperienced is just awful, like I'm broken and beyond repair. I've never been in a relationship, let alone been remotely physical with someone, and the older I get the more strange and awkward that becomes, and no one, no one, wants to tackle that. At twenty-five I'm expected to know certain things I don't, and it makes me unlovable."

Edith was sobbing again, having never admitted such a thing out loud in her life. She didn't even say those things to her diary, and here she was confessing her inner-most doubts to a practical stranger.

"You're far from unlovable," he said softly. "And despite what you think, it's never too late. I was about your age when I met my wife."

At the mention of his wife, Edith went a bit cold, though she couldn't say why. "Your wife? Where is she now?"

"She died. About five years ago."

"I'm sorry," Edith said, sniffling. "Was she a virgin when you met?"

"Oh god no," Anthony scoffed, wounding Edith a bit. He looked apologetic and serious. "But I truly wish she had been. It would have been…nice. Sweet."

Edith rolled her eyes, trying to save the last bit of her dignity. "Well, I'm utterly without hope for a future, and painfully aware of the fact like the rest of my family, so I'm out here moping. What's your excuse? Aren't you the guest of honor?"

Anthony chuckled and picked at some weeds between them. "I don't know about honorable guest, but I get a bit…flustered in gatherings like this. I'm terrible at small talk and completely dysfunctional socially. And between us friends, I find your Aunt Rosamund insufferable. Always have."

Edith laughed, truly laughed, and it felt like flexing a long-forgotten muscle. "I don't believe you're in the minority." When Anthony smiled at her, Edith wondered why she hadn't noticed before how striking his features were. He had a well-defined jaw, a proud nose, thin, handsome lips, straight teeth, and piercing blue eyes, all of which were enhanced by the low blue moonlight. "If you hate these things so much, why did you agree to come?"

"Well, I've known your parents a long time and they've been trying to get me out here for years. Cora, bless her, got it in her head that I needed to visit before the next semester and wouldn't take no for an answer. Now I find myself committed to three nights, the last of which, I've just been informed, will include a raucous party."

"Poor dear," Edith said, sniffing the last of her tears and running a hand through the hair at his neck. She froze immediately, quite unaware of where the gesture came from, and snapped her hand back to her lap like she'd been burnt. "So," she began, her voice too bright, trying to get past the unthinkable moment. "You live in London?"

"Mm-hmm," he nodded, and Edith wondered if he wasn't trying to sound cooler than he felt in that moment.

"I do as well. I've the most appallingly small flat in a terrible part of town with two gay flatmates who are forever stealing my moisturizer. I love it."

"Sounds much more pleasant than my empty, tidy place on the Park. I really do hate it sometimes, but the city serves as a nice distraction."

"From what?"

"From everything," he said and his voice was undeniably sad.

Hoping to make him flash that smile again, Edith said, "Well look out because I do believe Auntie Ros has her eyes on it, and I'm certain she's already picking out fabrics in her head."

Anthony laughed, filling Edith with a small sense of accomplishment. "I'm afraid she may be disappointed."

"And utterly shocked that you could possibly be anything but enamored, I'm sure."

Another pause. Edith noticed her shoulder had come to rest against his, a completely innocuous touch, but the first she'd had in a long time. "Do you want to know why I get so upset with Mary and Matthew?"

"I do."

"Because I knew him first. I mean, he's some sort of third cousin, twice removed or something, but we met at school and I brought him home to meet the family."

"Did you like him?"

"Not particularly. I," she hesitated, blushing, "Well I thought he was, that he would be the one to… I was willing, and I thought a weekend trip would be the perfect opportunity to…" She couldn't believe that as a grown woman she couldn't even say the words. Pressing on, because she was committed now, Edith said, "Well anyway, one look at Mary and he was done for. I became his frumpy little sister and Mary his goddess. Silly really."

"You brought home a sure thing and he went directly to Mary? And from what I can tell she doesn't even treat him that well. No wonder you're not crazy about her."

The relief Edith felt at his understanding was so immediate and immense it surprised her. "It's not me, Anthony. I mean that wasn't me at all. Trying to be seductive and alluring, it's not who I am. I don't do flirtatious and seductive. I can't. And I didn't like Matthew anyway. I mean I adore the boy, but I was never really attracted to him. Only certain…parts."

Anthony laughed again.

"I don't know if I'm more upset that he never wanted me, or that I'm the oldest living virgin in the whole of London, or that deep down I never would have gone through with it anyway because I didn't really want him either."

"Want my opinion?" Anthony asked, utterly unfazed by her strange and personal rambling. Before he continued he reached down and took her hand, a gesture meant only to be warm and friendly, Edith was sure. "I think that your desire to be wanted is wholly understandable, but that your self-worth is high, and deservedly so, and outweighs that desire, preventing your from throwing that part of yourself away on someone who can't appreciate you just because you feel a sort of expiration date has been placed on you by society."

Edith blinked several times and after a while said quietly, "I've never had someone sum me up so quickly, or so accurately. Including my family."

Anthony ran his thumb along her palm in a soothing motion. "It seems terribly unjust, Edith, that you feel so alone and misunderstood."

"I'm sorry too," she said, "That you're alone and that you feel like you have to distract yourself from the tedium of daily life."

"Well, let's wallow together for a bit then, hmm?"

They sat in silence for a while, hands still clasped between them, shoulders touching, until Edith broke the quiet. "I've never had this much contact with another person before," she admitted, feeling as though she were confessing something terrible.

"Truly?"

"Oh, when I was a child, sure, but not as an adult, and certainly not with someone outside my family." Tentatively, Edith pulled their hands into her lap and shifted to lay her head against his arm. She hadn't realized how tense the action had made her until he rested his head against hers and her shoulders relaxed.

"Do you have any idea at all what it's like?" she whispered, closing her eyes and inhaling the smell of laundry and shaving soap from his sweater. "To be completely deprived of contact and affection?"

"Yes," Anthony muttered. "Yes, I do."

"I wish I had self-worth, as you said. I like to think I have dignity and self-respect if nothing else. But sometimes I'm so lonely my whole body aches with it and I think I'll die without ever knowing a single person who will want me."

She could feel tears welling again, and was vaguely aware she should be mortified to confess such things to a man she barely knew, but she couldn't bring herself to feel shame.

"When Maude, my wife, when she died I thought part of me had died too. And maybe it had, some version of who I used to be. I tried to be someone I wasn't after, numb myself with meaningless flings with women I didn't care a modicum for. It always made me feel worse about myself, though. Disgusted, even."

Anthony looked down as Edith looked up, their faces close together, and he gave her hand another squeeze.

"I know what it is to be lonely, Edith, but there's nothing lonelier than losing your self respect."

"You might be the single wisest human being I have ever met," Edith said frankly. Anthony laughed at her, and she frowned in displeasure.

"I'm an old, daft fool, I promise you that, too afraid to face even a small party of people I've known most of my life."

"You're not a fool, and you're not afraid. You're just no good at pretending, or being less than you are. There's nothing wrong with that. And some of the people in that house can be vicious pit vipers anyway. And it'll only get worse come Saturday night."

Anthony chuckled again. "I think you're over-generous with me, but thank you anyway."

"Anthony Strallan," Edith repeated to herself more than him. After a while she said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being kind to me. For taking a moment to talk to me. That doesn't happen very often."

Anthony shifted so that he was sitting up and away from the wall, facing Edith as she leant against it. "Edith, you are beautiful, and quite charming, and very bright. I can't understand why you think yourself anything less than remarkable, but if Matthew and any other young men can't see it, it's their loss. Someone would have to be blind, deaf, and mute to let you slip through his fingers, Sweetheart. Don't let anyone else convince you otherwise, because you deserve better."

"Oh, god," Edith groaned, crying again.

"Please don't cry," he pleaded, brushing tears from her cheekbones with his thumb.

"No one's ever said so many nice things to me," she blubbered. "I feel ridiculous, reacting this way. I'm sorry. It's just been such a terrible couple of months, and I'm not really myself."

"I meant every word," Anthony said.

Their eyes met again, and Edith suddenly understood the lightning metaphor people always used to discuss chemistry. Before she could consider or second-guess, she leaned up and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his lips. The voice that screamed Yes drowned out the one that told her to be embarrassed. When she opened her eyes, Anthony looked neither disgusted nor terribly insulted.

"And now," Anthony said, getting to his feet, "to prove it, I'm going to go."

"What?" Edith half-shrieked, following after, "You can't go, not now."

"Edith, Sweet," he said calmly, "I've had my weight in scotch and you said yourself you've had a fair amount of wine. I think you're marvelous, and I'm glad we both hid in the garden, but anything beyond bidding you goodnight right now I don't really trust myself with. We're both lonely, and drunk, and I can't stop myself from wanting to taste your skin, and that's a dangerous combination."

Edith was staggered. "You, you want me?" she gasped, turning beet red despite herself.

"You're surprised?" he returned, equally incredulous.

"No one ever wants me, especially with my sisters around."

"Either you're mistaken or the world is littered with fools," Anthony said, his tone direct and factual.

They watched one another for a while, as though trying to choose, or wait for the other to make a definitive move, but deep down Edith knew it was a decision already made.

"Will you," she began, faltered, then tried again. "Will you stay? With me?"

"You'd never know if I was simply pressing my advantage and I'd never know if I was just the first bloke you came across."

"I think we both know better, but if not, so what?" she reasoned. "We have the weekend Anthony. That's all, just this one weekend. Even if we're both miserable on Monday, we may as well enjoy what we can while we can, don't you think?"

Anthony looked at her sideways. "I'm very, very tempted Edith," he admitted in a pained whisper, "but it's wrong on many levels and I don't want to be another disappointment in your life."

"I know you're a gentleman and you'll treat me as such. I know too that I'm not…not ideal, and that I'm probably not your…idyllic…"

"Stop it," he said gently, "You're alarmingly beautiful, Edith. It's not…" Then, with something akin to a grown he said, "Are you really sure? Are you sure you want to lose that part of yourself on me?"

"It's perfect, and fortuitous, I'd say, that you're here. Anthony, it's fate," Edith declared with a smile.

"Fate?" he laughed skeptically.

"The two loneliest souls in London found each other in a garden in Yorkshire, with a long weekend stretched before them. Yes, Anthony, I think it's fate."

"You make a compelling argument, Lady Edith," he murmured, "But I won't be the thing you regret most in life."

"Then don't make me beg," she shrugged. Anthony seemed truly conflicted. They were standing now, close together, and he was half-bent over her, frowning. "Have you ever done a morally questionable thing in your life?" she teased.

"Many times. Just not with someone as beautiful and sweet and full of life as you. You're a wonder, Edith. You shouldn't want me."

Edith took a deep breath and stepped closer, closing the gap between them. "I'm giving myself to you, Anthony. Please, just accept it, please?"

"You promise you won't regret this in the morning?" He was whispering, as if anyone could here them all the way down in the lower gardens.

"I promise, I would never regret you."

"But we're practically strangers," he said, his voice strained as he seemed to grasp at the last straws of his reason.

"Then let's get to know each other," she smiled, though her voice trembled.

Edith couldn't be sure what did it. Even later, years later, she'd revisit the conversation and sift through the details and try to find the answer, but she would never know exactly what convinced him. She saw the moment he last the battle with his conscience, though. In an instant she was gathered in his arms, enveloped in the warm strength of him.

"This isn't why I came out here," he assured her.

"I know," she said, "But I'm so glad that you did."

With that, Anthony leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was soft, gentle, and chaste. Edith quite melted against him as he took his time, tasting her top and bottom lips in turn. His great hands moved to cradle her jaw as he coaxed her mouth open. He teased his tongue inside with gentlemanly reverence, as if expecting her to reject him at any moment. All of his movements were sure, but designed to be easily thwarted should she choose to.

Instead, Edith's hands moved from his chest to his shoulders as his arms moved to her waist. He lifted her off the ground as if she weighed nothing so he wouldn't have to bend as their kisses grew deeper and more urgent.

After several long, blissful moments, he broke aware from her swollen lips, resting his forehead to hers. "Are you still sure you want this?" he asked softly, "Still sure you want me?"

"More than ever," she nodded. Hanging from his neck as she was, it was hard to press much closer, but Edith managed it.

"I don't know what good I've done to deserve you," he muttered dryly, setting her back on her own unsteady feet.

"You and me both," she murmured, reaching up to kiss him again.

"Edith," he said, stopping her. Edith's blood ran cold, certain she couldn't take another rejection, another dismissal. She knew too that should Anthony let her down it would be a particularly painful blow. Her hands began to shake.

"I can't, I won't, do this in the garden, Sweetheart. Do you want to go to your room, or mine?"

Edith laughed in extreme relief. "Let's go to yours. No one will bother you because you're a guest. Mary and Mama are apt to burst into my room at any given moment with requests."

"Mine it is, then," he agreed, kissing her just below the ear. "Do you know which it is?"

"Give me a color."

"Everything in it is navy."

"Yes, I know which room. Met you there in ten?"

"The others really won't notice you're gone?"

"I've been in the garden for the past hour. Besides, it's only eleven. They have at least another two hours of drinking and card games ahead of them. They're used to me going to bed early."

"How could anyone not regret your absence?" he wondered aloud, running a hand across her cheek.

"Anthony, you're the exception to many rules, and you're about to add one to the list," she smiled.

"Lucky me," he muttered against her lips, kissing her once more before turning her around and pushing her away down the path. "Ten minutes, then, Sweet."

Edith made her way through the great hall, making sure her mother saw her pluck a book from the library before yawning and walking slowly up the stairs. "If only a book could offer her marriage and security," she heard her Aunt Ros quip. Any other day and the joke might have stung, but tonight Edith was going to learn what it meant to be wanted and desired.

The few attempts Edith had made with other young men failed, and Edith knew it was because her heart had never truly been in it, not really. Matthew, for example, she hadn't even found attractive, except that he was male and single. But Anthony, oh Anthony was so handsome it made her knees go gummy and he was interested in her, yes, but he was also smart and kind and gentle.

Suddenly, as she made her way to her room to change, Edith was immensely glad she'd never been with anyone else.

Edith made quick work of brushing her teeth and combing her short, bobbed hair. She regretted for a minute that she wasn't wearing more makeup, but figured it'd be silly to put some on now. Pulling on her most alluring sleepwear, which was still just a satin camisole and matching shorts, she examined herself in the mirror. Fair skin, dark eyes, Ros' red hair—she didn't dwell much on her appearance because there was little she could do now to change it.

Instead, she took a moment to evaluate the situation. She had been eager to lose her virginity, in a way, feeling that society cast her as the prude or spinster otherwise. She always knew that she couldn't just 'get it over with' though. It would have to be with someone she could respect.

"Is this really what you want?" she asked her reflection, noting her gooseflesh and trembling hands. But then the image of Anthony came to her—his sincerity and disbelief, the kind words he'd spoken to her, and the way his lips had felt against hers.

Even if she was guaranteed this wasn't her last chance, which she very much felt it was, Edith was certain she wanted this man, this Anthony Strallan, to be the one. He would be patient, take care of her. He was the first man she'd ever trusted to do as much, and she refused to risk that he might be the last.

Decision made (again), Edith pulled her cotton robe on and discreetly made her way to the navy guestroom.

When Edith was fourteen, and hopelessly infatuated with her cousin Patrick, he and Mary and Larry Gray tricked her. Thinking that Patrick would meet her, Edith waited in the red guestroom for hours, all giddy anticipation for a promiscuous rendezvous. It was only when she heard cars leaving and looked at the window that she realized he'd gone. When she returned downstairs, Larry and Mary were in a fit of laughter, and Edith had been crushed.

For the briefest moment, Edith wondered if this was much the same. Perhaps Anthony, unable to shake her in the garden, had given her the wrong room. For half a second the same shattering disappointment and humiliation rushed over her, until the door opened and Anthony's warm, sweet face appeared in the crack.

"I have to ask you," he said quietly, his tone grave, "For my own conscience—is this really what you want?"

Edith smiled. "I just asked myself that very thing not three minutes ago."

"And what was your reply?" he asked, though he'd caught her grin.

"Absolutely and without doubt."

"Good," he chirped, pulling her into his room by her wrist and shutting the door behind her.

The minute Edith looked around she was sure she'd made the right decision. Anthony had scrounged together a few candles and a bottle of white was chilling in a bucket on the window seat. His iPod was playing soft classical music, and a fire had been lit in the hearth.

"I smuggled some wine from the caterers if you wanted, just in case." He stammered slightly, but the hand he placed on Edith's back was firm and warm and steady.

"Thank you, for all of this," she managed, "It's lovely."

"I hope you don't find me an old-fashioned bore. I just, well I am terribly fond of you. I wanted it to be nice. And I didn't want you to regret too much come morning. Or Monday. Or whatever."

With that Edith turned to face him. They had made their way to the center of the room. Edith's bare feet registering the soft, plush rug beneath them. Anthony was barefoot too, she noticed, and wearing just his trousers and button-down, sans tie and sweater. As Edith took him in, Anthony's hands traveled to her elbows and waited for her cue.

"Edith," he said softly. "If at any point you change your mind, don't be afraid to…"

"I'm not afraid," she interrupted, stepping into him.

"I just mean… Well I don't make a habit of…" the poor man tried, and Edith brushed her fingertips over his lips to shush him.

"I can't say why, specifically, but this feels right," she whispered, worried she might come across too needy and scare him away. "If you really want me, Anthony, then please have me."

"I do want you." His voice was hoarse, as though he were confessing some long-hidden sin. "I want you like I haven't wanted someone in a very, very long time."

"Really?" she asked, finally tearing her gaze from his shirt to his eyes, which were earnest and stormy and striking.

"Really," he assured. Then, with a grin that made a marked change from shy to seductive, he said, "And against my better judgment, I'm going to kiss you senseless right now."

Before Edith could comment, his mouth was on hers, moving slowly but with confidence. She opened for him immediately, eager to feel the smooth muscle of his tongue against hers.

Edith's arms found their way around his neck as Anthony's hands roamed her back and shoulders. When his right hand slipped beneath her camisole to the bare skin of her back Edith gasped, renewing the vigor of their kiss and bowing into his body.

Purely out of a wish to know how it tasted, Edith ran the tip of her tongue inside Anthony's upper lip. To her immense satisfaction and surprise, the action elicited a guttural groan from the man. The sound went straight to the core of her, stoking the fire that had been growing since he first took her hand in the entryway.

"Good lord you feel nice," she breathed, nearly overwhelmed by his hair through her fingers and his muscles beneath her arms and the body heat rolling off of him. How she could have ever considered doing this with someone else was a complete mystery to her by that point. There was only Anthony. Her only fear, lingering at the back of her mind, was that she would like him too much, that she was in over her head, and there would be no recovering. There would only ever be Anthony for her, and what would she do come Monday?

Anthony, for his part, as still trying to come to grips with the fact that the single most beautiful woman he'd ever spoken to was there, in his arms, letting him explore every bit of her perfect, perfect mouth.

Edith Crawley was special—a treasure, or a gift, or a goddess. She was, at the very least, far more than the unwanted spinster she'd described herself as, and she certainly deserved far better than an aging, dull, widower with a bland teaching career and nothing but of life of books and papers and old age ahead of him. Anthony pulled back to tell her as much, but Edith—flushed cheeks and fiery eyes—was already pulling him to the bed.

"I almost didn't come this weekend," Anthony mused, stretching out beside Edith on the thick navy duvet.

"Why?" she wondered, pulling his shirt tails from his trousers and taking her time with the buttons.

"Lots of reasons. I don't do well at parties, I haven't seen your father or anyone due Saturday since before Maude died, and she used to do all the talking."

He paused then to kiss Edith's bare shoulder as she pushed his shirt off and down his arms. For the life of him he couldn't reconcile what was happening, how on earth he found this striking young woman in his bed.

"You said lots of reasons," she prompted, and he was oddly touched that she was still interested in conversation on some level.

"I'm shy, but knowing your mother I figured the chances of her trying to set me up with someone were pretty good. I didn't relish the thought of fighting off some random woman. Or, as I'm beginning to realize, your dearly tenacious Aunt Rosamund."

Edith laughed at that, pulling his face down to her for a sweet kiss. "And are you trying to fight me off, Dr. Strallan? Because you're terrible at it."

He felt the breath of her laughter brush against his neck as she nuzzled against him, her hands stroking the hair at his nape in a way he found equally soothing and erogenous. "Oh no, Sweet, you are quit the revelation. Very unexpected, and even though I probably should, I have no intention of letting you go."

"For the next several days at least," she amended, and the inexplicable sadness he felt at that bit of reality surprised the hell out of him.

"Indeed," he muttered, allowing the bow of her collarbone to distract him. Edith Crawley was perfection. Her skin tasted like butter, save hints of lavender from her soap, presumably. Her hair was soft, her body round and firm. All of that womanly beauty was undermined slightly by her trembling and fumbling.

He had to take it slowly, let her adjust, and the arrogant part of Anthony was glad he would be the one to show her this, if only to guarantee it wouldn't be traumatic for her. He was rationalizing, he knew. It was so out of the norm for him to take a young woman, a daughter of a friend no less, throwing caution to the wind. But there was something about her, or his own sorry life, that made him need her too fiercely to turn away.

"Where'd you go?" she hummed, resting back against the pillows.

"I just," he sighed, kneeling so he could take her in. He ran his hands over her hips and shook his head.

"Stop trying to feel guilty about this," she commanded gently. He looked down to hide his blushing, unused as he was to anyone seeing through him as she just had. "Oh please, you're not so very mysterious," she laughed, running a hand over his forearm. "Now if you're all done wrestling with yourself, I'd rather like to get your trousers off of you."

"You're remarkable, you know that?" Anthony asked, pulling his undershirt over his head as Edith went to task on his belt.

"You don't need to flatter me, Dr. Strallan," she muttered, and the fact that she really didn't believe him was almost infuriating.

Anthony opened his mouth to say as much, but Edith stopped him. "No more, Anthony. We've come all this way, let's enjoy it, hmm?"

Anthony braced his weight on his hands on either side of her, trousers and belt agape and hanging from his waist. "Just once more and I promise I won't ask again. Edith, are you sure?"

She sighed and smiled like a patient, sympathetic mother at a child. Instead of answering again, Edith pushed him onto his side, and Anthony thought she might have finally seen reason. Only instead of leaving, she took his hand.

"Anthony," she cooed softly, rolling to face him. Edith kissed his knuckles before guiding his hand tremulously to her silk shorts. She was nervous, he could see in her eyes, but determined. Despite the intense blush that she had bloomed from head to sternum, Edith looked him in the eye as she led his fingers beneath the thin fabric to the wet, warm center of her. And it was wet, so much so that Anthony couldn't help but be a little flattered.

Edith released his hand, allowing him to explore or escape as he deemed fit, and returned her grasp to his neck. "Still wondering if I want this? Or are you convinced?" she asked, her tone deceptively business-like.

Anthony ran a finger through her folds, seeking the first sign that he had her attention. When he elicited a gasp from her perfect mouth, he smiled. "I'm convinced," he ceded, continuing his ministrations in a lazy fashion as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Each moan, each shaky laugh and bit lip and crooked smile, spurred Anthony further. They were so close together that he could barely move, but he wouldn't have put space between them now for anything.

"Never," she panted suddenly, his lips twitching as one finger found her entrance, and then another, his thumb still dutifully working the bundle of nerves. "I've never, oooh, been this… this," she struggled.

"Tell me, Sweet," he whispered, unsure where the sudden need to hear her every thought came from.

"I've never been so wet before, or so… ah! so, so…" She was tensing, her hips now rocking in rhythm with his hand.

"So what, Darling?" What do you need?"

And with that she came on his hand, her arms snatching around his shoulders, lips on his in a searing kiss, short though it was.

"You, Anthony. I need you, I want you," she said, "And I think I always have done."

The analytical part of Anthony's mind wanted to pause and analyze that last bit, but unfortunately the majority of his blood, boiling as it was, had traveled further south. Suddenly, Edith was wearing far too much clothing. His hand left her shorts, moving down to her knee and back up, running a finger along the band of her knickers before moving flat against her tummy to push her camisole up.

Anthony felt Edith tense beneath him, felt her stomach muscles clench under his hand, and then she was pulling her top back down with both hands.

"I want to see you," Anthony murmured, stroking her stomach to try and coax her hands away.

"It's just, I have scars," Edith said, sighing. She looked upset with herself as she covered her forehead with a hand, her body going somewhat limp beneath him.

Anthony frowned, pressing his lips together as he looked back to her stomach. He put his weight on his elbows at either side of her hips, his hands slowly rolling up her camisole to just under her breasts. His fingers traced patterns on her sides, soothing her as his eyes found the small pink, puckered incision marks.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You won't want to hear, not now," she tried, but he just waited intently. Chewing a lip and staring at the bedside lamp, she said, "Emergency surgery. They, uh, well they took an ovary and removed some cysts. It was in May, that's why I came home for a while, to get better."

"Here?" he asked, directing his attention back to the small scars, feathering touches over them.

Edith nodded, their positioning and the topic feeling strangely intimate, but not uncomfortable. "Four incisions," she said, pointing to the three scars spread like Orion's Belt across her abdomen.

Anthony mumbled apologies, feeling truly worried and sad for the woman and cursing anything that caused her pain. He slowly kissed each one before frowning again. "Where's the fourth?"

"Bellybutton," Edith croaked, a trembling hand reaching to run through his hair.

"You're alright, yes? Healed?" Anthony asked, turning his head to kiss the inside of her palm.

"All healed," Edith said, though he knew she meant only from the surgery and not the emotional implications of such a thing. There was something in her expression that told him much of the damage had no hope of healing.

"Good," he said brightly, looking back to her. He wanted to get them both undressed, to fumble past this hurdle, and the next, and the next, until he was inside her.

Be slow, he reminded himself. Be slow, and easy, and talk to her. Kneeling up, Anthony helped Edith remove her knickers, sliding them down her perfect, smooth legs and flicking them aside, muttering nonsensical truths about her beauty all the while. When they pulled her camisole over her head together, Anthony grew legitimately worried he may suffer cardiac arrest right there.

"Anthony?" came her lovely voice through the thrumming of his own pulse. When he didn't answer immediately she folded her arms across her chest. "Anthony, you've stopped breathing."

Anthony guided her hands away and smiled, lecherous old beast that he was. "You have utterly perfect breasts, Edith. Shame you have to wear clothes at all."

To his delight, Edith flushed a brilliant pink from her face down. It raveled past her collarbone and Anthony just couldn't help himself. He leant down and tasted her long, elegant neck, and then her shoulder, her clavicle, the skin of her sternum, and finally her round, pert breasts.

"You're mad," Edith grumbled, her embarrassment and her self-doubt coming so naturally, even with Anthony face-deep in her bosom.

He looked up, hoping she would see the truth and conviction in his eyes. "Edith you are perfection, honestly, every inch of you, and if I go mad from it then c'est la vie."

She rolled her eyes at him, still not believing, and he felt a trickle of panic at the idea he may never convince her. "Look," he said, deciding it was a conversation best saved for another time, "You're perfect and in this matter I'm the presiding expert between the two of us, yes?"

She nodded weakly, grinning.

"Glad we're agreed, now where was I?" he said in his most academic air, kissing back down her stomach and earning a giggle when he tongued her bellybutton.

When his kisses reached the top of her curls, Edith closed her knees together, and when he murmured how heavenly she smelled, she shrieked, "Anthony!"

He had never enjoyed that particular act before, but with Edith he longed to taste her so desperately his whole body ached for it. Another time, perhaps, he thought, not willing to push her. Not tonight, it being her first time. She'd already given him so much, he wouldn't demand more than what she wanted.

Anthony kissed each of her knees in a consolatory gesture.

"Now, Anthony, please. Please," she whispered, and he knew that whatever lay before him in the remainder of his existence, he would be this woman's slave, give her anything she asked come hell or high water.

He took his time, removing his trousers and boxers, giving her a chance to deny him and make her leave. Instead she watched him intently, without a hint of embarrassment, hands resting on her stomach in a most relaxed posture.

Anthony tried not to be self-conscious, but couldn't help himself. "I'm not a young man, I realize," he whispered, hoping she saw that his body was still lean, at least, and his muscles still reasonably strong.

"You're beautiful," she purred.

"Now who's mad?" he laughed, climbing back onto the bed and leaning down to kiss her, effectively moving between her legs.

Their kisses then were languid, sweet. Anthony cradled her head in his hands, her shoulders resting on his forearms, taking a moment to relax them both, and to savor the feeling of skin against skin. He wanted to thank her, or bless her, or ask again if she was certain, but when Anthony looked down into her eyes, his worrying mind and his niggling doubts all went quiet.

Something profound and wordless passed between them then.

Another kiss, a nod.

Anthony took a deep breath, his right hand clasping one of Edith's while his left positioned him at her entrance before reaching for her other hand. Their fingers laced, eyes locked, he finally moved.

It wasn't a completely smooth motion as he pushed inside her, paused, waited for her to adjust to the intrusion. He could see it in her face, discomfort and even perhaps pain, and he wished it didn't have to be so.

"Relax, Sweetheart, breathe," he urged her, wanting her to feel safe and comfortable. She nodded, and after a few moments, lifted her hips to sheathe him completely.

Anthony had to recite Shelley's Mont Blanc in his head to keep from disgracing himself right then, so unexpected was her forwardness. Edith was tight, and hot, and felt like heaven on earth. Being inside her, Anthony realized with some alarm, felt like finding home.

Pushing the thought aside, he focused on Edith, whose eyes were still boldly locked with his. He felt with some combination of fear and elation that she could probably read his every thought.

Coming to his senses, as much as was possible at the moment, Anthony pulled out a little before slowly moving back in. "Alright?" he asked.

She nodded, lifting her hips to meet his slow, steady thrusts. They found a rhythm, Anthony reminding himself that the agonizing pace was for Edith, and he outright refused to alarm or hurt her.

"Oh, Anthony," she moaned, lifting her legs and wrapping them around his waist. The new angle left them both muttering little fits of pleasure, and when Edith pressed her ankles into his backside to pull him in, Anthony had to return to Shelley.

"Edith," he practically whined, a sound that would have shamed him under any other circumstances.

"Anthony, yes," she cooed, releasing his hands so she could pull herself tightly against his chest.

Anthony knew he couldn't possibly last much longer in that position, entirely surrounded by Edith as he was, her breasts brushing against him with each rocking motion. Reaching between them, he worked her center as best he could until he felt that rare fluttering of her inner-walls around him.

"Oh, Anth-!" she yelped, sucking his earlobe into her mouth and biting with just a bit of force.

That did it. One, two, three more thrusts and he was spilling himself inside her—little bursts that seemed to last forever as she continued to pulse around him, drawing it out for both of them through five, six, seven more thrusts that grew weaker each time. They collapsed back against the pillows, Edith still holding desperately to his shoulders. He was afraid his weight on her might be too much but he wouldn't have been able to pull away from her if he tried.

Several minutes of grateful, languorous kisses, and Anthony finally pulled out of her with no small amount of regret and loss.

"Are you alright?" he managed, dropping to the bed beside her, trying not to let her see how labored his breathing was.

"Yes," was all she said quietly, rolling to her stomach with her hands beneath her shoulders. Anthony felt a cold fear pierce through him as he arranged the crumpled top sheet over the both of them. He knew it was only a matter of time before she grew to regret this, but he had hoped it wouldn't be so soon.

Anthony couldn't explain the ache in his heart as he laid there, trying to sort his scrambled thoughts. Then it hit him, a sharp and sure blow to his chest—they hadn't been screwing around, they'd been making love. And worse, he wanted to do it again.

Risking a glance over at her, Anthony found she was watching him. "You sure you're alright?" he asked, her expression unreadable.

To his immense relief, a smile grew on her gorgeous face and she extended the hand closest to him to rest on his chest. "I'm far better than 'alright,' Anthony," she assured, moving to kiss and nuzzle his shoulder before laying her head next to his on the same pillow.

Anthony's body begged his for sleep, but his mind (and admittedly his heart) refused to waste a moment with Edith beside him.

"That was… incredible," she murmured."

"You've nothing to compare. It could have been total rubbish and you'd have no idea."

She didn't laugh, or take the bait. Her eyes were huge and deep and watery. "It was special. I may be inexperienced, but I'm not naive and I didn't grow up under a rock."

Sighing in concession, Anthony ran a hand over the arm that rested on his chest, drawing patterns on her milky skin. "You are incredible," he granted, his mind absently enjoying her proximity as it wandered through the complexities of what had just passed between them, knowing only that he had unwittingly gotten himself into something he wouldn't soon recover from.

Edith's whole body was exhausted, but it was a wonderful, strange kind of exhaustion. She and Anthony had been laying in sated silence for some time, his fingers on her arm, hers in his chest hair. She could tell, watching his face as she was, that he was thinking—well, over-thinking. How she knew after roughly eight hours' acquaintance what he was thinking she couldn't say, but then she wondered if perhaps this whole thing wasn't a big lesson in accepting the seemingly impossible.

Hoping to break the worry that was clouding his eyes by the minute, she lifted her head suddenly, capturing his attention. "How do I look?" she asked with her best flirtatious grin, "Different?"

"Mmm, thoroughly debauched," he said with a cheeky smile, reaching up to flatten her wild curls affectionately. She blushed and leaned in for a quick kiss, squirming a little to get closer to him. But when she pulled back he still looked too serious for her liking.

"I hate asking such a banal question," she prefaced, scrunching her nose. "But what are you thinking?" Wary of being the annoying, needy post-coital woman, she immediately said, "Sorry, you don't need to say. I'm sorry."

Anthony frowned softly as she laid her head back down, hiding a bit against his shoulder. "Why would you apologize?" he asked, rubbing her cheek affectionately. Edith shrugged, but Anthony didn't answer her question either.

After a few minutes he said, "I, uh, I didn't even think to… to use," and Edith, who never used to be tolerant of indecision in speech, found it quite endearing.

"Anthony, it's alright," she sighed.

"Protection," he finally blurted, and Edith would have laughed if it weren't for the painful knowledge she knew she'd have to share.

She smiled, a sad, rueful sort of thing. "I can't, um, get pregnant, Anthony." She cursed the way her eyes watered at the acknowledgement. No matter how many times she said it aloud, no matter how many months she'd known, it still hurt. "Just one more way I'm damaged goods," she said with a self-loathing little laugh.

To her immense surprise, Anthony pulled her tightly against him and kissed her hair. "You're not damaged," he said definitively. Then, kissing her again, he muttered, "I'm sorry Sweetheart. Did you want kids?"

"Yeah," she mused, "Not until I was told I never would, of course." She laughed again to hide her sadness and relaxed further into his hold, breathing in the scent of his skin.

"My wife lost a baby," he said, his tone conversational. "I told her it would be alright, that there was plenty of time."

"Oh?" she mumbled against his chest.

"I lied. I mean, I had no right to be so calm about it, because of course there wasn't time. She died within the year."

"How?"

"Stroke. Made possible by the hormones she was taking to try and conceive."

"I'm sorry, Anthony."

"So am I. I think that if my heart had really been in it I would have gotten her pregnant. As it was, I wasn't sure she was really ready so I made it all her endeavor, put it all on her."

Edith knew words wouldn't comfort him, so she just reached for his free hand and laced their fingers together.

"It wasn't until she died that I knew I wanted children."

"You were ready then?"

"I was always ready. It was Maude I doubted. She was fragile, fell apart easily, had a temper."

"And now?"

"Now I know I missed my chance, and that's that."

They sulked in a mutual silence for a bit before Edith shook her head. "No more," she demanded. "I've never had a conversation with another person while we're both stark naked, but I'm fairly certain it's not supposed to be depressing."

Anthony surprised her with his strength, suddenly pulling her on top of him and sitting them both up in one motion. He was leaning against the headboard with Edith sitting on his thighs while her legs wrapped around him.

She smiled, beamed really, without actually meaning to. She couldn't stop thinking that it was Thursday night, and Anthony was, as he'd said, 'committed to the long weekend." Two more days, two more nights, damn the consequences.

Kissing him now was different, but no less intoxicating. She hummed into his mouth, feeling that coil of need tightening low in her belly as she rocked once against him.

"Edith," he began, his tone wary. Out of nowhere the familiar rejection struck her. It had been an awful assumption on her part, to presume he would want her around for days on end. "Sweetheart, I'm not as young as I once was," he continued, nibbling her shoulder and, she noticed, avoiding her gaze.

"No one is," she shrugged.

"Yes, astute observation, Darling. What I mean is, that I may not be… ready again… for a while."

Edith smiled and hugged him, gathering his broad frame in her arms. "Anthony, if all I did for the rest of the night was kiss you, I'd be quite satisfied."

She meant it too, and was just as pleasantly surprised as he was when, a few minutes later, his concerns were abated. Edith arched a triumphant eyebrow as his length pressed against her belly.

"Yes, yes," he grumbled in mock annoyance. "You're right, I'm wrong. Don't get used to it."

Edith laughed in delight as she tentatively reached between them to take him in hand. She'd never touched a man before, and she blushed despite herself. "It's… smooth," she observed quietly, unable to be shy or embarrassed with him, like this.

"You aren't sore?" he asked, kissing the very tip of her nose.

"A bit, I suppose," she admitted, looking into his blue, blue eyes. "But don't let that stop you." When he gave her a lopsided grin, hands roaming her bare hips and rear, her heart stuttered a bit.

"My god, you're lovely," he said suddenly, his voice reverberating through her.

"I was just thinking the same thing," she replied, leaning up so he could ease himself in.

"I know I'm not exactly handsome, Edith," he replied, his voice light.

"You know nothing, then," she said, kissing him softly as she clasped her hands behind his neck. He groaned some sort of protest as his arms pulled her closer, and Edith happily curled into him allowing the kindly, tall man to guide her amateur movements and set their pace.

It was nearly four in the morning when Anthony began losing the battle against sleep. They'd only come off twice. They spent the rest of their time talking and laughing. They were lying together now, facing each other, legs tangled and arms locked.

He watched as Edith's eyes began drifting shut and her breathing steadied. Anthony was just trying to remember the last time he'd had the privilege of falling asleep next to such a remarkable woman when her eyes flew open and her head snapped up.

"Can I stay?" she asked suddenly, looking truly concerned.

"Stay?" Anthony repeated, quite lost, though some silly part of him hoped she meant forever.

"The night?" she asked, her voice small. "I'd like to stay, but I can go back to my room if you want. If you think it's best."

Anthony, as of ten hours ago, would never have believed it possible, but his heart swelled and burst at once within his chest. "Edith, Sweet, what in the world has happened to you that makes you expect me to kick you out of here?" he asked, alarmed that such a darling creature as she could be so used to ill-treatment.

"I don't know," she muttered, nearly crying.

"Oh, Sweetheart. I'd like nothing more than to have you stay with me," he whispered into her hair as he pulled her closer to him. "I want you to stay."

Anthony kissed the tears from her cheeks before settling against the pillows. Sleep overcame both of them quite quickly then, knotted together under the soft linens of the Navy Room at Downton Abbey.