What are you doing here? Go and read That Old Familiar Feeling by Genevievey instead. It's much better.
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The Dinner Party
Larry Grey put the pill into the cocktail and swirled the glass to dissolve it. Oh, this is going to be fun. I'll teach that jumped up little chauffeur, he thought. He took the drugged glass and his own and turned to find Tom Branson.
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Anthony was trying to talk to Isobel Crawley who was a perfectly nice woman, high-minded and all that. Her heart was in the right place, and he thoroughly approved of her charitable work, he really did. But right now he couldn't concentrate on what she was saying because Edith, beautiful Edith, was in the room. She was welcoming guests with a lightly worn grace, doing her duty as a daughter of the House, but with a sweet sincerity that made him admire her all the more. Whoever managed to win her would win not only the loveliest woman in the world but a hostess in a million to boot. And it won't be you, you old idiot, he thought. You are beyond all that.
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Edith finished welcoming the last of the guests and hastened over to Isobel and Anthony, yet she couldn't just butt in. Finding the first excuse she could she noticed that Anthony did not yet have a drink, and there were no footmen anywhere. But Larry Grey was walking past her with two drinks.
"Larry! You're not drinking both of those, I hope?! You won't mind if I take one?" Not waiting for an answer, Edith took the glass that Larry wasn't drinking.
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"Sir Anthony, would you care for a cocktail?" she smiled.
"Lady Edith, how kind. Thank you." Anthony replied, not letting his face betray how glad he was that she was near.
"How is your arm these days, Sir Anthony?" enquired Isobel, politely.
"The arm's dead, worse luck; the shoulder still complains now and then but I can't moan, not really."
Edith continued for him. "He copes amazingly well. He won't let me do a thing for him."
"Will we see you at Matthew and Mary's wedding?"
Anthony looked uncertainly at both women.
"Yes, of course" said Edith.
"If you really want me."
"I do. I really do."
He couldn't help it. She'd said it so definitely and yet with a charming shyness, glancing down at her glass. He positively beamed at her.
"You're very kind." To stop himself gazing at her like a lovesick puppy, he drained his glass. Dutch courage, he thought. And I'll probably need more than that to get through this evening.
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Edith was thrilled to find that she'd been placed next to Sir Anthony at dinner. He was scared stiff. To think of her lovely soft brown eyes on him all evening. How would he cope? How was he going to avoid making a complete and utter fool of himself, and embarrass this gorgeous girl? But strangely he found that, by the middle of the hors d'oeuvres, he was relaxing and really rather enjoying himself. He'd asked all about what she was doing, both in relation to, and away from, the upcoming Crawley nuptials. He'd told her a couple of self-deprecating stories of his experiences travelling around Europe.
"And this poor chap, bald as a coot, said 'Mein Herr...Mein Herr...I've lost Mein Herr!"* And she'd actually laughed! At his rather weak jokes and feeble anecdotes! It was wonderful! He didn't forget to turn to talk to the person on his other side (who happened to be the Dowager) after the fish course, as manners dictated he should. He just didn't want to.
He'd played by the rules all his life and where had it got him? To be considered by everyone as an honourable, crippled, boring old codger. Just this once he was going to do what he wanted. He felt unaccountably happy and carefree, spending a delicious evening with the most incredibly beautiful woman who made his heart sing. He knew he was most likely looking and sounding ridiculous, but she made him feel quite breathless with love, and he found he didn't care.
Edith was surprised and delighted. It seemed that she could bring Sir Anthony out of himself, and he was absolutely charming when he was a bit more relaxed and confident. She had been so blissfully happy gazing into his bright blue eyes like lapis lazuli, and basking in his smile. Oh she did love it when he smiled. She loved to think that she could make him smile. She thought he was more handsome with each passing minute. And he hadn't even turned during dinner but talked to her all the time! She felt both hollow and utterly fulfilled at the same time. If only this evening didn't have to end and I could sit here with you forever.
During a very short pause in their conversation, when Anthony was just looking at Edith with an immense love in his eyes that he didn't bother to disguise, Violet put her hand on his arm.
"What are you planning for your 50th birthday celebrations, Sir Anthony? Obviously it can't be anything too tiring or physical at your age, and with your arm in that condition."
Anthony was stunned at the viciousness of her sudden warning attack. He looked back at Edith and saw the shock in her eyes. She was embarrassed for him, and ashamed at her grandmother's rudeness. Between the two of them it almost…almost…jolted him back to his senses. But a little devil in his head said "Why? Why listen to the Dowager? Why not listen to the woman you love? Why not listen to your heart?"
Anthony turned back to Violet and said "I'm so sorry, Lady Grantham, I'm not quite with you. I am still a year or two away from my 50th birthday, and I am still as active and healthy as I ever was, despite the arm. And, may I say, enjoying myself as much as ever." His voice trailed off as his eyes were drawn back to Edith, adoringly.
But Violet would not let it rest there. "Do you believe, Sir Anthony, that enjoying oneself at your age is really becoming?"
Poor Anthony lost the last shreds of his drugged self control at this goading.
"Why not? You do."
"I beg your pardon?" stuttered Violet.
"You please yourself in all your own dealings; and, I understand, in a lot of other people's business as well, whether they believe your opinions are in their best interests or not."
"I've not been spoken to like this since…"
"Since your poor late lamented husband died, I suspect, Lady Grantham. I always had a lot of sympathy for the old Lord Grantham."
"Well really!"
"Now, Sir Anthony, I hardly think…" Robert began, meandering (rather than leaping) to his mother's defence.
"That is common knowledge, Lord Grantham" said Anthony. "Rumour has it that you don't think at all if you can possibly help it."
Despite this being accurate and funny, Edith now knew that there was something seriously wrong.
"How dare you, Sir?!" started Robert.
But Anthony continued "And Lady Mary has inherited all the best traits of her father and grandmother, but with none of the manners. I don't know Lady Sybil very well but she married, for love, a man not considered her equal, and I admire and respect them both for that. In fact, of all the Crawleys I know there is one amongst you who is sweet-natured and kind, gentle in spirit and demeanour, forgiving and lovely in character, and ravishingly beautiful – Lady Edith." He addressed all of this directly to her. He took her hand, kissed it passionately, then dropped to one knee beside her chair.
"Lady Edith, I am an old fool ridiculously in love with you. I dare not hope for your affection but I know I cannot live a full life without it. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
Edith started to speak but was interrupted by her father.
"Edith, I forbid you to answer that man!"
"Much though I like him, your father is exhibiting his outstanding ability to be a first class ass once again. You are of age, Lady Edith. You can and may answer anyway you like, if you so wish."
"Sir Anthony, I will give you my answer tomorrow when you are sober, and if you still wish to ask me."
Anthony was horrified. "Lady Edith, I assure you I am not inebriated in the least. Truly! I have drunk only one cocktail and a glass of wine all evening."
The discrepancy between this and Sir Anthony's odd behaviour caused Edith to think back over the night's events.
"Yes, that is true. The wine you had with the meal, and the cocktail I got from…Larry…"
Edith turned to look at Larry Grey, followed by the rest of the table. He found himself under the gaze of everyone present.
"Don't blame me! I meant it for the chauffeur. But you took it and gave it to him!"
"What?!" said Edith, Larry's father, and Tom Branson all at once.
"Poor silly old buffer! Can't you take a joke?" whined Larry.
Grey Senior apologised to Sir Anthony. Robert and Violet calmed down, although in Violet's case not by much. Robert suggested that Edith accompany Sir Anthony outside for some fresh air while waiting for his car to take him home. Since Larry had admitted to spiking his drink, Anthony had begun to feel rather odd and tired. Edith was beside herself with remorse and frightened to death that Anthony wouldn't want anything to do with the Crawleys, or her, ever again.
"Sir Anthony, please believe me, I didn't know Larry had put something in that glass."
"Of course you didn't, you sweet girl."
"Do call in a day or two when you feel more yourself. Please."
He stopped walking and took her hand.
"I shan't change my mind about my proposal."
Edith smiled a hurt, hopeful little smile, touched that he rightly guessed that was what was worrying her. "I do hope you won't."
"Even if I am a stupid old fool on whom a cruel joke has been practiced."
"You are nothing of the kind."
She so wanted to prove to him that she didn't think he was an old fool, that to her he was the most wonderful man in the world, she laid her hand on his arm, and when he bent down to her, she kissed his cheek.
At that moment, Anthony felt he was in danger of feeling happily drugged for the rest of his life.
"I adore you…" he breathed unable to stop himself reaching towards her. And, oh God, she reached for him…
At that very moment the car arrived. With what little gallantry he still had left, Anthony stepped back, back from the cliff edge over which he would surely have fallen.
Edith spoke a few words to his chauffeur about driving slowly with no sudden movements, promised Anthony that she would phone to Locksley so they knew what had happened, and bade him a gentle, tender goodnight. Suddenly he was being driven away from her, the centre of his universe, the source of all lovely things in his life.
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* Actually this is one of Gerard Hoffnung's and I happily acknowledge the fact.