Chapter 1: The Ritz

"The only thing I'm not ready for is a life without you."

After those words, uttered so earnestly by Bertie, Edith's eyes filled with tears. So did his, again, and they gazed at each other — with love, passion, heartache, hope — until the waiter interrupted them.

"Milord, milady, may I take your orders?"

Bertie collected himself and looked up. "We shall require a few more minutes, thank you."

"Certainly, milord."

As the waiter departed, Bertie took a deep, shaky breath. "There is so much I want to say, so much to explain. But shall we order? If you want to leave, I will understand."

He looked nervous — like he had when he asked her to dance at Brancaster, or when he called to her on the street in London, or when he'd kissed her in the flat. "I thought I might be pushing my luck," he'd said then. And remembering those moments made Edith's heart ache. She loved him so very much.

Oh, her feelings had never abated after he'd walked away from her at Downton. But she had been learning to set them aside, in a corner of her mind. She had convinced herself it was time to move on, to think of herself as a spinster, to accept that she'd never have love in her life again.

Yet here was Bertie, asking for another chance. Could she give it to him? Did she dare allow herself to hope? Perhaps, but only if he could answer the multitude of questions in her heart.

"I'll stay," Edith declared. "We should order. And we should talk."

At this, Bertie looked immensely relieved, and signaled the waiter. They placed their orders, then resumed silently staring at each other, unsure of how to begin.

Bertie had been playing this scenario in his head for weeks — what to say to earn Edith's forgiveness. He'd told the truth when he said he'd been doing a bad job of living without her. He hadn't been sleeping well. He could barely eat. He'd hardly said a word to his mother or to anyone else unless it was absolutely required. He no longer enjoyed long walks on the Brancaster estate. He hadn't read a word of his book on the train down.

But now, sitting here in front of the woman he so desperately loved, but had treated so badly, he was at a loss for words.

It was Edith who gathered her courage.

"Bertie, you say you can't live without me, that you want me back, but I need to understand what's happened to change your mind," she said.

He nodded, and a faraway look came to his eyes. "It started almost the instant I left you at Downton, actually. I was on the train, and then on the plane to Tangiers to settle Peter's affairs, and all I could think about was you. Even as I was walking away from you, I was berating myself for doing it."

"But you did." Edith couldn't keep the tremor out of her voice.

"Yes," he agreed, as guilt washed over him. "I must beg your forgiveness for that, and for many other things — which I'll get to in a moment. It's not much of an excuse, but I didn't cope well with all of it. Peter's death, inheriting his title, learning about Marigold. And that it came from Mary, and not from you … "

Edith interjected. "I am ever so sorry about that. I blame myself entirely for it. You were right at Downton — I should have trusted you."

"Yes, you should have, but you were afraid. You'd kept this secret for so long, and you'd been taught all your life that having a child out of wedlock was shameful. I understand why you worried it might ruin things," Bertie replied. "But what I blame myself for the most is not really listening to you. At Downton, you said you weren't sure if you would've married me in a lie. But I think you would've told me. I just never gave you the chance."

Edith shook her head, in wonder. Would she have told him the truth eventually? She would like to think so. She'd felt so close to it that last night in the hallway at Downton. But her courage had failed her then, and perhaps it would've continued to fail her.

The waiters appeared with their food, and for some minutes, their conversation had to cease. As soon as they left, though, Edith could not contain her curiosity any longer. "But how can you be so sure that I would've spoken up?"

Bertie gave her a half-smile. He could never understand how beautiful, clever, independent Edith could think so ill of herself. To him, she was so fiercely strong. Much stronger than him.

"Because I believe in your character. I think you were struggling with it, but that you would've told me before accepting me, truly," he said. "That's also what I blame myself for — I pushed you. You never said yes, not truly. I told Mary I mustn't jump the gun, yet that is exactly what I did. It was quite selfish of me."

"Bertie, you haven't a selfish bone in your body," Edith responded, smiling at him. He had broken her heart, but she still believed him to be the best man she'd ever known. That he thought so well of her, warmed her heart.

"I acted very selfishly. I wanted you as my wife, and I rushed you into it," he said, shaking his head. "I think you were on the precipice of telling me, but you just wanted time. The change in my circumstance did not help, I'm sure."

The moment Bertie had opened the telegram, he'd felt the earth slide away from under his feet. He'd wanted to grab hold of her — she who was so strong and confident — to keep from falling into the abyss.

Edith had to agree. "Yes, it's true. As the wife of an agent, the potential gossip would not have been so bad," she said. "But as the wife of a marquess … "

"My situation has changed, but I am still who I've always been. I'm still the man who fell in love with you. I realized something in Tangiers, as I was settling Peter's affairs," Bertie said. "Not everyone understood his … way of life, but he enjoyed it. He was very content, I think. He had no regrets. And I realized, if I didn't win you back, it would be the biggest regret of my life."

Again, tears pooled in Edith's eyes, and this time, they began to spill over her cheeks. Bertie looked alarmed and started to rise out of his chair.

"No, no, I'm fine," she gasped, waving him to sit. She wiped her tears discreetly with the napkin.

Bertie opened his mouth, then closed it again. Once again, he could not find the words. But he must — he had to find the courage, as Edith had. Finally, he did get up, and went to one knee beside her chair. The diners at nearby tables gawked at them. And for once, Bertie didn't care if he was the center of unwanted attention. The world faded away, and only Edith remained.

"My dearest, darling Edith. I'll answer a thousand more questions if you have them. And I want to answer thousands more for the rest of our lives, together. Please, please, I beg you — forgive me. Marry me."

At that, the tears overflowed again, but Edith had no more questions, at least for now. "Oh, Bertie, I love you," she whispered, taking his hand. "Yes, I will marry you."