A/N: For Queen Lovett, to whom I hope this brings a smile. And thanks to to our favorite Baron for helping me talk through some ideas.

Chapter 1

Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone—we find it with another.—Thomas Merton

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The taxi whooshed along the unmarked, blue-grey roads of Whitecliff. From her perch in the back seat, Edith lazily admired a stunning seaside sunset and yawned happily. She was on holiday for the first time in almost a year. For a whole week it meant no deadlines, no parties, and no Michael. Just rest, relaxation and relief. Thank you, Anna.

Soon the road began to climb upward, and before long it ended; at the top of a hill in front of a charming white cottage. Edith stepped from the taxi, stretching her stiff limbs and breathing in the healing vapors of the salty autumn air. She couldn't help grinning as she surveyed her home for the next week. The antiquated Gull Cottage was like something out of a novel—with large windows bending into the wind, a wide door with compartment shutters, and even a widow's walk. These architectural features were further enhanced by a robust growth of ivy that sprawled over the front of the house, two orange crested trees clustered on its north side, and a slightly lopsided wooden gate at the end of the front walk.

Turning the old-fashioned skeleton key in the front door and pulling her bag inside, Edith found that the interiors of the house were equally enchanting. The entryway, flanked by two columns, opened onto a hallway from which rose a handsome, heavily-banistered staircase which led to the second floor. Further investigation revealed a cozy sitting room and library with a delightful bay window seat and an inviting fireplace; a snug, though modernized, kitchen, replete with cabinets and compartments which put one greatly in mind of a ship's galley; and a master bedroom which was divided between a beautifully carved bed, a wing-backed leather chair and hearth, and a set of windows opening onto the widow's walk which arced gracefully around a meticulously polished brass telescope. This fine instrument required further investigation. Edith couldn't resist bending to peer through it, squinting at the horizon where the last hints of sunlight were spilling onto the water. Suddenly, she was struck with the sensation of being examined herself, and she straightened, whirling around into the room to check that it was still empty. It was, and she chided herself as she moved to unpack her things.

An hour and a half later, showered and bundled and sipping a hot bowl of canned lobster chowder, Edith nestled herself into the large wing-backed chair before the bedroom fire and sighed happily. She'd felt an immediate sense of contentment wash over her the moment she stepped across the threshold at Gull Cottage—it felt so right to be here. So—homey and…healing. It was something she never felt in London, or at home at Downton; a sense of completeness she'd never known she'd lacked.

Edith tossed another log on the fire and blessed her luck for being able to spend such tranquil Friday night. Back in London, Michael would have dragged her to yet another party and she'd be forcing small talk with one of his potential clients or hiding miserable in a corner counting the hours until they could leave. Dear Michael, she sighed. If he did propose, as he had recently been hinting, there was no way she could keep up with his pace as his wife. He lived his life in such a bustle. This had intrigued her when they first met, but it was beginning to wear her out.

Now this…Whitecliff…I could get used to this, she thought, thanking Anna again as she succumbed to the soft lull of the crashing waves on the beach bellow and drifted into a deep peaceful sleep.

Edith was aware of a faint thumping. She wished it would go away so she could get back to the serene slumber she'd been enjoying; but even as she tried to ignore it, it seemed to get louder, inexorably dragging her from sleep into waking. She opened her eyes to see that the fire had dwindled into glowing embers before her; and the thudding, her groggy mind registered a few moments later, was coming from the window. She pushed herself up from the chair to find that one of the casement windows by the telescope had blown open and was now flapping into the room and bumping against the wall. She crossed to close it, thinking it strange that such a sturdy latch should have come open. Perhaps it wasn't latched before, she mused sleepily, pulling back the thick quilt on the bed and sliding beneath.

Edith rose late the next day, lazing about in the morning, but finally succumbing to hunger and cycling into the town centre around midday for lunch. After eating at the pub and stocking up at the market, she returned to the cottage for a few hours of a delightful mystery novel and a late afternoon walk along the beach.

Returning from her walk, pleasantly chilled and windswept and terribly hungry, Edith heard a noise coming from the library. Probably some kind of rodent, she assured , she stopped to listen for a moment, hearing another muffled clomp coming through the half-open library door. Slowly easing herself out of her shoes, she crept a little closer and listened again. This time, she heard what she could have sworn were footsteps. Rodents don't make that much noise, her mind warned. Holding her breath, Edith strained her ears and tried to imagine who might be in the library. She hadn't seen a car out front—Anna hadn't said there was a maid—but maybe she'd forgotten to mention it. Another clomp and a cough. Rodents certainly did NOT cough. Edith slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out her mobile. A moment later she slid it back, cursing Whitecliff for the first time—its only failing being that it had terrible service. There was a phone in the kitchen, if only she could get to it without the person in the library discovering her. She was lucky they had missed her coming through the front door.

Edith took a few tentative footsteps towards the kitchen at the back of the house, her pulse racing, trying hard to silence her breathing, her ears fixated on what was happening just beyond the library door. She paused when she reached the large wooden door which led into the room, trying to make out a figure though the crack at the hinges. Where was whoever it was? Were they, too, waiting on the other side of the door, ready to pounce? Edith hesitated for several long minutes. Then finally she crept around the edge of the door, ready to bolt for the kitchen. But as she came round into the half-open doorway, she couldn't avoid locking horrified eyes with the figure standing among the shelves. Giving a yelp, she made for the kitchen, her stockinged feet tripping over one of the raised floors that she had thought so picturesque only a day before.

It all happened in an instant. She felt herself falling, was aware that she reached out a hand to catch herself, that the figure from the library was hovering over her…Her mind screeched words of danger and warning—but she felt herself helpless to do anything. She landed, pain shooting through her wrist to her elbow. She curled around her arm, panting, as involuntary tears of pain escaped her eyes and a curse escaped her lips. She pulled herself to sitting, trembling, trying to gather herself to face whatever her intruder might have next in store for her.

But rather than shouting demands, he was addressing her in a polite, concerned, even remorseful voice. "Miss, are you quite alright? I'm so terribly sorry I startled you."

Edith took a calming breath and looked up at the man. He was tall and long-limbed, with one arm crooked into a sling and his head cocked to one side as he gazed solicitously at her. He had a wide mouth and a strong jaw, a long slightly hooked nose, and a set of striking blue eyes. It was the kindness in those bright eyes that made Edith relax, something in them putting her instantly at ease.

"Uh…yes…I think so…" she murmured. "Though I think my arm is..." Edith pushed herself rather ungracefully to her feet, just missing the gentleman's attempt to assist her, "…Well , I'm no doctor, but it bloody hurts," she winced.

"Ah yes, we'd better get that taken care of," he frowned down at her arm, before joking, "You wouldn't want it to end up like mine."

Edith laughed, shocked at his candor. He chuckled along, glad to have made her laugh. As his smile lit up his face, Edith felt her stomach give a tiny somersault. I hadn't realized before, but he is terribly handsome. As her companion ushered her into the library and down onto a couch, Edith continued her silent admiration. He's also—exactly what you'd call 'debonair' she opined inwardly. As he bustled off to the kitchen for some ice, she noted that his movements were confident and refined, and that his slim figure sported quite a pleasant bottom. There was something peculiar about him—something she couldn't quite name—but, just like the house he seemed to come from another world—one so very separate from her own, and yet familiar.

He returned a moment later holding a dishcloth clacking with ice.

"Now then, may I have your arm?" He entreated, not a hint of command in his soft, courteous voice.

She held out her swollen wrist. He took it, tenderly cradling her slender limb between his long fingers. Edith felt a shiver break over her at his touch—but noted that it was not at all disagreeable. After a few moments examination he made a disapproving sound and relinquished the ice to her.

"Fortunately the doctor around here still makes house calls," he remarked, moving to the telephone in the corner. It was an old style candlestick rotary, and Edith watched as he expertly dialed with his good hand and explained the situation to the good doctor.

"He'll be here in about 15 minutes," he smiled apologetically as he hung up. "Once again, let me offer my apologies. I…had no idea…anyone was in the house."

"Yes, I'm staying here for the week. Are you a friend of the Bates'?" She asked, not unkindly, but trying to make it clear in her tone that unwelcome visitors lurking in her library were not part of the bargain she'd struck with her landlords.

"I…do," he uttered vaguely. "I know the Bates' very well. And…they let me drop in from time to time. I like to keep an eye on the house. And the library," he gave a small lopsided smile.

Edith felt that smile melt into her. Perhaps not so unwelcome a visitor, she thought.

"Oh, well I'm a friend of Anna's from university. Her parents are letting me stay for the week. I was in dire need of holiday," she explained.

He nodded.

"I'm Edith, by the way. Edith Crawley. I'd shake your hand but…" she adjusted the icebag against her wrist.

He gave another small chuckle. Edith thought to herself that it was quickly becoming one of her favorite sounds. "No need. I'm Anthony Strallan," he nodded slightly at her. "Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner." He seemed genuinely struck at his lapse.

"Well if you insist, I suppose I'll have to," Edith sighed, in mock exasperation. "Thank you for taking care of me."

His smile was replaced by a faintly anguished look. "I'm sorry that you got hurt in the first place. It was my fault. I was being thoughtless. You must have been scared silly to find a strange man in your house."

Edith heard the practiced note of self-criticism in his voice and was seized with the desire to banish that anguished look. "I was quite frightened, to tell the truth," she admitted. "But you turned out to be not quite as strange as I had feared," she teased.

He laughed again, surprised by her levity. "In that case, I'm delighted that you find me only slightly bizarre."

"Well, perhaps once I get to know you," Edith retorted in kind.

He grinned at her then, and she couldn't help but feel proud that she had inspired the pleasure in his glinting blue eyes. She smiled back, feeling her cheeks flush and her heart flutter as she willingly lost herself in his gaze.

The sound of a car pulling up outside shattered the moment. He jumped.

"I'll bid you farewell now, Miss Crawley. The doctor will be sure to patch you up," he said quickly, hastening to the door.

"Oh but—I was hoping—" she blushed again, "Would you like to have dinner with me?"

He hesitated, his eyes flicking nervously towards the sound of the doctor's footsteps crunching along the front path.

"Well you see, I'm not—"

"I'd really love you to stay," Edith said softly, wondering at her own honesty.

He returned his eyes to hers then, his own panicked ones softening. "How about tomorrow evening, Miss Crawley? Would that suit?"

"Okay," Edith conceded, "Tomorrow at six. And this time, don't creep up on me. I can't afford a broken leg as well as a broken wrist," she joked, and the last thing she heard as he slipped out the door was his surprised chuckle.

This was followed closely by the trill of the old-fashioned doorbell.

After a trip into town to get her fractured arm set into a cast and dinner with the kindly doctor and his wife—also friends of the Bates'-Edith returned to the library. She settled down next to the old-fashioned telephone, and pulling out her cell phone for reference, dialed.

"Hello?" the voice on the other end of the line queried uncertainly.

"Anna? It's me, Edith."

"Oh hi! I didn't recognize the cottage number," Anna explained apologetically.

"Sorry, mobile service is a bit dodgy around here."

"Ah yes, I remember," Anna said, her tone hinting at some rather isolated summer holidays there during her teen years. "So, how are you liking the old place?"

"Oh, it's darling. And it's so nice to be out of London. It's so peaceful here. I feel brand new already."

"Great! When are you coming back to civilization?" Anna teased.

"Never! I think I'll simply retire here."

"Then what happens to Michael?"

"I dunno—you can have him," Edith suggested unenthusiastically.

"No thanks—I'm a married woman. But what's that supposed to mean? Are you and Michael having trouble?"

"No," Edith said in a voice that was far from decided.

"Well, that sounds convincing," Anna observed sarcastically.

"Hey, I met one of your neighbors, by the way," Edith changed the subject.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, well a few actually—Dr. Clarkson and his wife—"

"Aren't they darling? I used to love going over to their house when I was younger. Do they still have that enormous dog?"

"Tilly? Yep. I also met Anthony Strallan. Do you remember him? He said he knew your parents."

Anna was silent.

"Sir Anthony Strallan?" she asked at last, her voice small and breathless.

"Is he a Sir? He didn't mention it," Edith said, thinking that the modesty was just like him.

"Edith—Sir Anthony Strallan used to own the cottage. He left it to my family—" Anna's voice warned.

"Okay…"

"To my great grandfather," Anna emphasized.

"Anna, what are you talking about?"

"Edith, the only Sir Anthony Strallan I know of died almost seventy years ago."