I know, new story! But I'll still finish It Happened At Grassby's. Was totally heartbroken when Bertie broke it off with Edith. I'm still hoping that he'd come round-and soon! Meanwhile, here's something some of us hope would happen. Enjoy, and please let me know if you liked it or hated it!

After Mary's wedding

Summer, 1925

Edith didn't go home immediately after the wedding. She went to the graveyard and looked after three slightly feral children running about and playing tag.

Marigold, Sybbie and George looked so happy, that Edith didn't have the heart to put an end to the game. But thankfully, the children did become tired and hungry, and were clamouring to get home.

When she arrived home with the children, she decided to eat her luncheon with them in the nursery. For some reason, their presence comforted her, and their childish laughter gave cause for her to smile, if only a little while. Edith proposed a tea party for them, in the afternoon. Mary and Henry were going off to Italy for their honeymoon, and as happy as she is for her sister—yes, she could say that without the merest hint of jealousy—she just couldn't go down and send her off. The events of the past week drained her, and what she wanted—needed, rather, was a good sleep. She hadn't been sleeping properly since Bertie broke off with her.

Bertie. Edith sighed and shook her head. It was over for him, so what was the use of hoping he'd come round? Thankfully, she had The Sketch to keep her busy, and of course, Marigold. Her daughter, despite what had happened, was the best thing that ever happened in her life. Love, after all, came in different forms, and Edith knew what she would focus on—her family, her daughter Marigold. If I was able to rebuild my world after Michael's death, I could bloody well do this.

Except that it was difficult to carry out.

Wounds heal in time, don't they?

Edith thought of the men she helped look after during the war. Some of them lost a limb, lost a finger, lost a leg, lost a foot. Some lost their face. And with it, their confidence, the courage to face the world, to be able to make themselves whole after the war, which was evidenced by one of the officers she made friends with. There were some lucky ones. She kept an active correspondence with Captain Smiley, as did his bride, who was eternally grateful to Edith for looking after her Captain, left hand or no. They wrote, showing photographs of babies, their new home. Edith was genuinely happy for them.

Others didn't have happy endings, though. There was Lieutenant Ransome, who committed suicide in 1920. His devastated mother wrote to Edith of his death. Then there was Mrs. Shelbourne. For a time, she didn't know what to do about her husband's shell shock. A cousin of Major Shelbourne was an Anzac, and had shell shock too. He sought the treatment of an Albert Logue in Australia.

How did he recover? And for how long?

No matter how long it takes, I can do it. If they could, I can.

"Auntie Edith, where do you think Mummy's going to her nunnymoon with my new Daddy?" George asked Edith eagerly as they were having afternoon tea at the nursery. Mary and Henry were, by now, on the train to Liverpool, where they were boarding on a ship to Italy. Edith giggled a little at her nephew's mention of "nunnymoon". She stood up, and then walked to the bookcase from which she took a large atlas, and opened it to a page, showing the map of Italy. Henry was invited by some friends to stay in an estate near Lake Como, and decided that a honeymoon was the perfect occasion to visit Italy. The children talked about how far Italy was from Downton, and Edith told them that they would have to go on a ship.

Edith remembered a visit to that country with her family. She was turning sixteen, and it was the perfect summer. So perfect, that she produced an entire collection of watercolour paintings. She let Sybil go along with her as she drew and painted, as she was good at pointing out places that were perfect for sketching. Mary, on the other hand, was ambivalent, but when the drawings were produced, she admired, albeit grudgingly, Edith's work and thawed considerably when Edith mentioned Sybil's contribution. Surprisingly, that trip had occurred with nary a single instance of quarrelling.

Edith hoped that Mary would enjoy her stay in Lake Como. Michael loved that place, and he planned to take her, Edith, to Villa Carlotta, where he made friends with the owner. The pictures Michael showed her years ago were exquisite, and surpassed even Cornwall.

"Have you seen the place where Aunt Mary and Uncle Henry are going?" Sybbie asked Edith. She only shook her head.

The Dower House

A week later

Violet Crawley couldn't help but be impressed with the way Edith raised her daughter. Not that she found anything wanting with the way Mary raised George, or Tom with young Sybil, but Edith was pretty much involved, and refused to conform with tradition. Marigold seemed to have put a spell on her. The two year old girl made the least amount of fuss, but was smiling all the time at Violet.

"She's very well-behaved," Violet commented. Edith smiled. "Isn't she, Granny? She likes the company of Sybbie and George, but there are times that she keeps to herself. I know I shouldn't wrap her in cotton wool forever, but I don't want her making the same mistakes I made, even if she's only two."

Violet reached out for Edith's hand. "Give her time to be a little girl," she said gently. Her granddaughter took it, and said, "I will, Granny. She's all I have, Granny. Well, apart from Mama and Papa, by way of family."

Violet took a sip of her tea, and looked at the young woman sitting across from her. Much has happened to her granddaughter. Being jilted at the altar, the father of her great granddaughter dead, but Edith rose above her tribulations. Gone was the petulant woman who loved to complain, and in her place was a quiet, composed young mother and head of a magazine business. Violet would not fully say that Edith Crawley was very confident now, but she had grown up, and it gave her some sort of serenity.

"How are you?" Violet asked Edith, who smiled and shook her head, saying, "I'm getting there. I was thinking of all the convalescents we looked after during the war. Those who have lost a limb, or had their faces badly disfigured. They have scars, visible and invisible, and I don't know how long it would take for them to fully recover. My invisible scar will take time to heal. But I'm all right, Granny. I have darling Marigold and the magazine to occupy me, not to mention a niece and a nephew to spoil."

Violet grimaced. "Don't give too many of those Rowntree's sweets. Nanny Paulson complains that Sybbie and George tend to climb the walls, they get very rambunctious when they consume too much sugar."

Edith grinned and replied, "Oh Granny. I'm sure Nanny didn't mean it literally. All the same, I'll regulate, otherwise Mary would lop off my head if she returns finding that George no longer has any teeth."

Violet remembered something. Edith's young man—oh, the new Lord Hexham. She liked him, even when he was only Bertie Pelham. What a sad business it was, Edith losing him because of her secret. "Won't Lord Hexham come round? Is it really the end?"

Edith shook her head. "It is, for him." Violet heard the note of finality in her granddaughter's voice. Shaking her head, Violet said, "Then he's not the man I thought he is. However, I don't think this is final. He hasn't seen anything yet."

With an emotion akin to horror, Edith thought of the things her grandmother would do. Possibly—no, perish the thought, Edith inwardly flinched. Her grandmother, she thought, was a fiendishly clever woman. But she only smiled and said, "Don't do anything that I wouldn't, Granny." She stood up, and she scooped up Marigold, then set her down again. Pressing a kiss on her grandmother's forehead, she said her au revoir. "See you at dinner tonight."

Violet only raised her eyebrow. But she chuckled after her granddaughter left.