"I just can't believe that Granny actually did the whole Debutante thing! I mean, curtseying before the King and Queen and that. It's practically Medieval,"

"Victorian, actually, or Regency" Bertie corrected her with a grin, "And it's not like what your parents have lined up for you is that less antiquated,"

Edith grimaced. Ever since witnessing the uproar that had preceded Mary's eighteenth birthday; which had done double duty as a coming out Ball for her, Edith had been in terror of her parents doing the same. Or not doing the same. It really depended on what mood she was in. But then it was discovered that she had surprisingly scraped all A's in her A levels, had been accepted onto Cardiff University's Journalism course and won a prize for a young author's creative writing competition. After that how could they not throw Edith a coming out Ball? Not when she was suddenly perfect Debutante material.

Not that she currently looked like perfect Debutante material. Dressed as she was in a tatty pair of joggers, one of Bertie's hoodies and tomato sauce smeared round her mouth. They were celebrating both their A level results and university acceptances with pizza and 'Game of Thrones'. It was before heading off to Bertie's flat from Grantham House that Lord and Lady Grantham had revealed to her their plans for a grander celebration.

On one hand, Edith had been flattered. No one had really mentioned throwing Edith a large party like they did for Mary when she turned eighteen, and she could not deny feeling a tad resentful. On the other hand, she was terrible at parties. She hadn't really done the Season yet, her parents being the traditional types and insisting she and her sisters wait until they were eighteen. But she had been to a couple of evening dos at their neighbours' houses, as well as the annual Christmas dinner and Mary's Ball. Those experiences had been enough to teach her that parties were simply all night torture sessions. In evening wear. For her at least.

Making conversation was the worst. She'd either go tongue tied or else babble endlessly in her attempts to seem polite and engaged. Either way, utter humiliation.

DA

The worst instance was at Mary's Ball. She had been dreading the event for months. The thought of spending the evening watching people fawn over her delightful sisters whilst shooting her side glances and wondering how on Earth a family of dark haired beauties could produce a specimen as pathetic as herself sent shivers down her spine. She spent the first half of the evening drinking champagne, wishing desperately to be up in bed and watching Netflix.

Her sisters on the other hand, were enjoying themselves immensely. Sybil was in her element, having cornered the Minister of Education and interrogating him. Mary meanwhile, was utterly radiant. She glowed all evening, basking in the adoration of others. She even did the whole grand entrance on the staircase thing, where everyone turned to look at her in slow motion and gasped in delight.

But then, they could hardly have been more hopeless than Edith. Which Core had helpfully reminded Mary when the latter was suffering from an uncharacteristic bout of nerves.

"Just don't pull an Edith and it will all be fine," Cora said, not aware that Edith had been in earshot. If she had, then maybe she would have said it in a slightly jokier and less disappointed tone.

Edith wondered if her parents knew how it hurt to have her name used as an insult.

As a result, Edith's attempts at making conversation became even more desperate than usual. When introduced to a Professor of History at Cambridge, she had politely noted that she enjoyed history greatly. Which of course was a nice, pleasant reply.

Then she was asked what her favourite topic was.

In hindsight, she recognised that she should have lied. Said something clever like Medicine or Religion. But no, she just had to tell the truth. She watched in horror as the words flew out of her mouth and smacked straight into the Professor's face.

"I like looking up ancient torture methods," she said.

Not having two sisters, the Professor was unaware of why that was a perfectly acceptable answer. Of course, Edith couldn't just leave it at that. Oh no. She had to keep on talking, describing with far too much enthusiasm how they would string men upside down and slowly saw them in half. After that she decided to give up any attempts at small talk and instead snuck off to hide in the Ladies' Room. She ended up spending the evening surfing the web on her phone and occasionally returning back to the Great Hall to stash up on Hors d'oeuvres.

DA

She wouldn't be able to do the same at her own party. Of course, she could spend the evening with Bertie. Dancing and chatting. She and Bertie had met at Ascot. Edith had first attended Ascot when she was sixteen, and on her very first trip a horse fell and broke his leg. She could still remember the white screens. The next time she went, she watched all of the first race through her fingers. As though she was watching a horror film.

Dad had spotted her and forced her hands away before any of the Paps saw. All Edith could do was sit still and stare at her clenched fists. By the third race she felt so sick that she had to excuse herself and hide behind a tree.

It was then she spotted Bertie. Or Lord Hexham, as she knew him then. Just turned eighteen and having only recently inherited his title after his third cousin who died on Safari, Edith recognised his face from the papers. She offered him a polite, shaky grin and muttered a soft hello.

"First time at Ascot?" he asked, after they had exchanged greetings.

"Second, you?" she replied.

"I've been here a couple of times. My Cousin sponsored me. And this is the first time anyone bothered to remember my name," he admitted, smiling ruefully.

"Oh," Edith blushed and glanced away. "During the first race last year a horse died," she explained quickly, "I was so shocked I spent the rest of the day in a terror filled haze,"

"I remember that. I thought it was a great pity. I haven't been unable to properly enjoy the Races ever since then,"

"Oh, me two! In fact I've spent the last hour feeling as though I am about to projectile vomit all over their Majesties!"

Clearly this was going to be one of those 'babble mindlessly' moments. Funnily enough, Lord Hexham didn't seem to mind. Instead, he laughed.

"Well, that will certainly get you into the Papers," he remarked. He was smiling at her. Edith quite liked his smile.

"And it will be something to add onto my Wikipedia page, something other than 'This page is a Stub',"

His smile grew even larger. It really was a very nice smile.

"You're the Earl of Grantham's daughter, aren't you?"

"That's right, Edith,"

She had dropped the title. Was that too forward? Well, it wasn't the 1800's anymore, but still! Mary would have insisted on using her title and every man she met seemed to fall for her. They adored her 'Playing hard to get' routine. Although if Edith tried that she would just seem snobby.

Of course, Sybil never used her title and people loved her for her general down to Earth and bouncy nature. But then, if Edith attempted to emulate Sybil then she would come across as needy. So, title or no title?

"Bertie, Bertie Pelham," he said, reaching out his hand. Taking it, Edith noted that his handshake was strong, but not too tight. Crikey, his eyes were very blue. Neither spoke for a moment.

"Are you enjoying Ascot?" she asked eventually, thankful that the words that she had intended came out of her mouth, and she had not accidentally spewed out a sonnet about how his eyes reminded her of sapphires and his hand fitted perfectly over hers like a missing jigsaw piece. That would have been extremely awkward.

Especially as his eyes were not remotely close to the colour of sapphires. She only thought of sapphires because they were blue and pretty.

They were lighter, but still dark. Like a late evening sky that engulfed the world and made it blue, before the sun set completely and the world was plunged into darkness. Soft and gentle, with a warmth to them that made her feel safe and cared for.

"...I'm glad you like them,"

Crap! She had said that last part. And indeed, it had been extremely awkward. Edith felt her mouth go dry as she waited for him to speak.

"No, I'm afraid that I am not really enjoying Ascot. It's always been a bit stuffy for my liking. And it's even worse now that Peter's gone,"

He had changed the subject. What a gentleman.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," she said instantly, "My Cousin Patrick, he died quite recetnly in a yachting accident so I know what you are going through. At least, with losing your cousin,"

"I'm sorry for your loss as well,"

"Can I ask you, what's it like inheriting all of a sudden?" she asked curiously after a moments hesitation. "To go from a Commoner to one of the grandest men in Britain, to be thrust so suddenly into the limelight,"

"Embarrassing!" Bertie admitted, "My face was all over the papers and everyone at College was laughing at me. Begging for my autograph, calling me my Lord and asking if I was going to have them beheaded,"

"You should have told them that you were going to have them hung, drawn and quartered instead,"

He had laughed at that. What a gorgeous laugh. "Or boiled alive, for poisoning my learning environment. Look," he suggested, "Why don't we do a runner? There is a McDonalds within walking distance and I am craving some real food, none of this fancy stuff. Some proper wholesome grease and fat,"

"What? Go to McDonalds in morning dress?" she laughed.

"Well, I was planning on ditching the hat and coat. But if you want we could keep them on and make an impression,"

Edith blushed shyly, but agreed. She ran back to her parents to let them know she felt ill and was heading back home, before re-joining Bertie. Two Big Macs and a large portion of fries later, Edith had a boyfriend.

DA

Edith and Bertie had been dating for over a year, and Edith had still not introduced Bertie to her family. They were not even aware he existed. Neither were particularly sociable and they spent most of their time at Bertie's place. Should they go out together, they avoided the star studded events where the Paps lurked in wait. As a result, Edith's relationship of Bertie was almost entirely secret. But that could no longer be the case if she wanted Bertie at her Ball. She picked pepperoni off her pizza whilst absentmindedly watching Stannis Baratheon burn his daughter at the stake. She chewed her lip, snuggling up against Bertie and glancing into his face.

"I think you should meet my parents," she admitted finally. With the Season practically over, they were leaving London for Downton in a few days. This would be her last chance to introduce Bertie to her family without him being forced to travel all the way to Yorkshire.

"Alright," he said. He did not particularly mind. After all, Edith had met his mother and she adored Edith.

Realising Bertie had not quite gathered the magnitude of the situation, she added "I am warning you, they can be a tiny bit..." she trailed off, unable to quite put into words what her family were exactly.

Bertie caught her face and laughed. "Well whatever your parents are, they can't be that bad," he said, pointing at the screen.