A/N: Happy New Year, dear friends! I've had this little story floating around in my brain for a few months and thought I'd put it to paper now that I'm on break! So far, I have it slated for just a few chapters, nothing too strenuous, and it will basically be all fluff!

In this story, Edith and Anthony are both single parents to their seven-year-old children. This first chapter will be an introduction, with Edith and Anthony playing a more prominent role in future chapters. I really enjoy writing Rowan in my other story, Now and Then, and thought that I would likewise enjoy writing a whole story about little kiddos even more!

Anyway, I hope you like it! I'd love to hear from you about it :D

In a humble, gingerbread manor nestled deep in the heart of Yorkshire lived a pair of lanky, blond-haired, blue-eyed gentlemen, father and son, as the story would have it. They lived alone, undisturbed by much, and got along as thickly as thieves. It was just the two of them facing this scary, cruel world on their own, but they had each other and that counted for a whole lot.

"Vincent, come down here and eat your breakfast!" Anthony Strallan hollered after his son as he scrambled some eggs over the stove, a dishtowel draped casually over his shoulder. "Your toast is going cold, young man!"

In a frenzied whirlwind, Vincent Strallan, aged 7, rushed down the stairs and tumbled into Locksley Manor's massive kitchen. His blond hair, as wavy and unruly as his father's, still hadn't been brushed and his school uniform was in disarray: a missing sock here, an undone tie there.

"Good morning, Papa!" Vincent chirped as his father scooped some scrambled eggs from the frying pan and set them on his plate. He munched happily on toast and eggs, dribbling some orange juice on his grey and green school sweater, completely oblivious to the mess he made. "I'm so hungry, I could eat a gazillion eggs!"

"A gazillion? Really? Well, I'm not sure we'll be able to honor your request, Master Vincent," Anthony teased, tousling the boy's already messy locks.

Vincent stopped chewing his eggs for a moment and pondered, titling his head for the full effect. "Hmm, okay, Papa. Maybe just a bazillion, then!"

Anthony chuckled as he sat down to eat his own breakfast. "I'm not sure if that's more or less, really. Regardless, we're going to have to do something about that mop on your head and that uniform of yours. I thought we talked about looking nice for your first day of school, sprout."

Vincent groaned. He was not fond of his school uniform and even less fond of brushing his hair. He much preferred running through Locksley's endless grounds with a tee shirt and shorts and his green Hunter boots while he and his father surveyed the estate, the latter doing far more actual work than the former, who mostly tried to catch bugs and got mud on his clothes. In fact, if today wasn't his first day of school, that's precisely what they would be doing, as it had been what the two of them had done all summer long.

Accepting the silence that followed as a small victory, Anthony sipped some tea and glanced up from his morning edition of the London Times to watch his son eat his breakfast. Vincent looked just like Anthony did when he was his age, all limbs and untameable blond hair and the same charming, crooked smile. But their personalities were worlds apart. Anthony, mild-mannered as he was, was far more bookish and calm than his son, seldom quick to excitement and always finding prolonged social engagement to be uncomfortable. Vincent, on the other hand, was the tamest version of feral Anthony could think of. His son was rambunctious, always pulling pranks on his father, or on his Aunt Jane and his cousins when they came to visit from the States. He was squirrelly, too, often running around Locksley's grounds with abandon and getting into mischief. But he was a sweetheart, too, and quite bright; too bright, at times, with a wit as sharp as his father's.

It had been just the two of them, these two Strallans, for as long as Vincent could remember. He knew of no other world than the one he and his father inhabited at Locksley Manor.

Anthony, however, remembered exactly how long it had been just him and Vincent. He remembered it with particularity.

Before Vincent was born, Anthony had been married to his wife, Maud, for eight years. In the beginning, their marriage was easy and uncomplicated. He worked on his estate and at the agricultural equipment factory he had inherited from his grandfather, she organized charity events that were all the rave in Yorkshire, and the two married Strallans were rather content with their busy lives. But as their anniversaries grew in number, both Anthony and Maud felt that there was something missing in their lives.

So, they started trying for a little one. But what should have been simple turned out to be anything but simple. The Strallans had trouble conceiving, and after countless doctors visits and injections and intimacy schedules, they had almost given up hope. Soon, their fertility woes became almost all that they talked about and certainly all that they argued about. Their once happy and effortless marriage seemed unsalvageable.

Until one day, while Anthony was busily working on some ledgers for the estate, Maud came into the library and set a positive pregnancy test on his desk. They were both overjoyed. Perhaps this would be the change that their marriage so desperately needed.

But their joy did not last much longer. Their relationship had been damaged during those long, stressful years of infertility. The two once happily married Strallans had grown apart and despite the little one growing in Maud's womb, there was very little that connected them anymore.

Then, on a warm day in late July, Maud gave birth to a son, Vincent Philip, giving Anthony the child and heir he never thought he would have. But the distance between the new parents was still a great chasm, one that grew as their little one did and Maud began to feel that motherhood was not what she had envisioned it to be during those long, seemingly unending years of infertility.

One night, as Anthony awoke to the sounds of his two-month-old son crying out for his nightly feeding, he found a note on Maud's side of the bed. She had left him. She had left them. She simply couldn't do it any longer.

From that night on, it was just Anthony and Vincent.

But now, seven years later, on this the day that Vincent was to start Year 2 at Ripon Primary, Anthony couldn't envision any other life for himself. Maud was but a distant memory, one that was overshadowed by the closeness he shared with his son.

And as he watched Vincent spill another rather large amount of orange juice on his grey uniform sweater, Anthony chuckled to himself and offered his hand to the little boy. "Come on, little sprout, let's get you all cleaned up for your first day of school," he offered warmly, fetching a napkin to wipe the boy's mouth and dab at the wet, woolly sweater.

"Papa, do I have to go to school?" Vincent groaned as he reached for his father's hand and they walked through Locksley's grand entryway up towards his bedroom. "I want to stay here with you. We can run and play in the fields like we did all summer. Pretty, pretty please?"

Anthony silently shook his head, amused at how his son still wanted to spend all his time with him; it wouldn't be long now that Vincent would begin to approach those ghastly teenage years and want nothing to do with his stuffy old papa. "Now, Vincent, where's this sudden dislike of school coming from? I thought you loved going to school and learning from your teachers."

They made their way into Vincent's bedroom, all cluttered with toys and books, and looking as though a swirling dervish had made a right mess of the place. Anthony went to the dresser and fished out a clean sweater, pulling the orange juice-soaked one over Vincent's head.

"Because I like staying here with you, Papa. I don't like anyone at school," the little boy replied in a soft tone that Anthony didn't often hear; it took him by surprise and their blue eyes caught each other. Vincent was an energetic sort, one that almost never seemed calm or timid. But that voice, it seemed almost…sad.

"You don't like anyone? Why not?" Anthony asked as he crouched down to Vincent's level and began tying his green and yellow school tie.

"Because…because they don't like me," Vincent whispered, looking away from his father as if in shame.

Stunned, Anthony ceased his work on the tie and grabbed each of his son's hands into his own. It seemed that Vincent, just like his father, was cursed with that Strallan awkwardness that had plagued Anthony for years. While good-natured and kind, they were often just a touch out of step with the rest of the world, far too engrossed in books or nature to appeal to others in any deep or long-lasting way. Throughout his childhood, Anthony's friends had been few in number, though good in substance, and he had almost no standing with women in any sort of way. It was a miracle that Maud had even given him a second look.

Now, it seemed that his son was destined to be as awkward as he. Anthony pulled Vincent into his embrace, tucking the little boy's head underneath his chin while he rubbed his back. "Sometimes, people can't appreciate what's right in front of them, little sprout. But it's their loss. I, for one, happen to like you very much. In fact, I love you like mad!"

"More than the moon?" Vincent asked as he came out from under his father's chin, that crooked smile of his in full view. He and his father always played this sort of teasing, verbal game, asking each other if they loved one another more than something, often something wondrous and impressive. They both knew the answer already.

"More than the stars," Anthony whispered as he placed a kiss on the top of Vincent's messy blond hair. "And who knows, sprout, maybe there'll be a new student in your class this year who will become your very best friend!"

"Eloise, where on earth are your new school shoes? I thought I put them in the mudroom…" Edith Crawley asked her seven-year-old daughter. They were due at school in less than half an hour and she had yet to get her daughter properly dressed for her first day. The little girl, however, was completely unfazed by her mother's frantic search for her shiny, new Mary Jane shoes, as she was currently sitting in their living room glued to The Tale of Peter Rabbit, reading it for at least the third or fourth time this year.

Eloise sat cross-legged in her favorite reading chair nestled near the fireplace of their new cottage, biting her lower lip as Peter tried to escape from Mr. McGregor's garden. She knew what would happen, of course she did, but she was engrossed all the same.

"Eloise, come help me look for your shoes, or I'll pour chamomile tea on your head!" Edith hollered, hoping to tear her daughter away from Ms. Potter's words. It was an unlikely prospect, however; Eloise, even at seven, was as voracious of a reader as Edith was. But the little girl was starting her first day at Ripon Primary this morning as a Year 2 student and her mother wouldn't allow her to be late. First impressions were rather important in her book.

The two Crawley ladies had moved from London to Yorkshire over the summer, finding a quaint little cottage just outside of Ripon and only a fifteen minute drive to Edith's parents' grade estate of Downton Abbey. Many years ago, after graduating from Cambridge with a degree in literature, Edith moved to London to pursue a career as a book editor, hoping to take Big Smoke by storm. But not too long after getting settled in London, Edith started an affair with the senior editor at her publishing house, a dashing married man named Michael Gregson. It was exciting and scandalous and wrong, even if Edith never wanted to admit it to herself.

A night with too much tequila and not enough protection resulted in a pregnancy, and nine months later, Eloise Josephine Crawley entered the world, all blonde hair with just a hint of strawberry red and just a few weeks later, with eyes as dark as the earth, as dark as her mother's.

Michael wanted little to do with Edith after he learned of her pregnancy; it was too much of a threat to his reputation and to his marriage. And so Edith and Eloise were on their own.

Even without Michael, they made a good go of it, this mother and daughter pair. They were immensely close, both in outward appearance and in temperament, each Crawley adoring books and drawing and tickle fights to no end. On any given weekend, Edith and Eloise could both be found still in their pajamas, snuggling under the covers together, each with a good, well-worn book, and perfectly content to spend lazy days in lazy ways.

Over the summer, Edith made the decision to move back to her native Yorkshire, hoping to get away from the hustle and bustle of London for a quieter, simpler, country life so she could focus on the children's book series she had been fiddling with for years. They'd also be closer to her family, but whether that was a blessing or a curse had yet to be known.

"Eloise, please get up and help me search for your shoes. We're going to be late if we can't find them," Edith urged with motherly sternness as she walked into the living room, just about ready to take the book away when she noticed that Eloise already had her Mary Jane shoes on her little feet.

"Oh, these, Mummy? I had them on ages ago," Eloise replied as though it was so obvious that she had been wearing them all along. Typical of the littlest Crawley, she had been far too enthralled with her book to notice much of anything going on around her, even her mother's frantic search for her shoes, a trait she picked up from Edith and developed tenfold. It annoyed many others, and often made it hard for Eloise to make friends, but it was something that Edith cherished. Except, of course, on days when they were running late.

"Brilliant! Now, fetch your satchel. We've got to get a move on!"

Eloise nodded, rushed to the mudroom where her bag was waiting, reverently placed her Peter Rabbit book inside of it (just a bit of light reading for later), and toddled out to the car. Mother and daughter zipped along the winding roads of Ripon, whizzing past lush green meadows and fields full of grazing cows. It was so picturesque, so pleasant, the air so very warm and the sky so very blue.

They arrived outside of Ripon Primary, hundreds of schoolchildren running about just before classes were to commence. There was a flurry of activity, one that overwhelmed young Eloise.

Edith crouched down and fiddled with her daughter's new school uniform, all grey and green and yellow. She looked very proper with her skirt and tie, reminding her mother of her childhood all those years ago. But she was still such little girl, with that toothy grin and that messy hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Edith couldn't quite believe that she was already in Year 2.

"I'm going to miss you, little rabbit," she cooed quietly, squeezing her daughter's hands and rubbing them with her thumbs. "It might be a little difficult being the new girl at school, but just keep your head up high and be kind and know that I'll be here in just a few short hours to pick you up."

Eloise blinked away what looked to be the start of hot tears. "Mummy, I'm scared. What if no one likes me?" she asked in a shaky voice.

"Who could not like you? You're Eloise! In fact, I'm sure there's someone in there right now hoping that they'll meet someone like you, little rabbit."

Her dark eyes, so like her mother's, widened and the tears were tentatively put at bay. "Really? Do you think so?"

"They'd be silly not to. And if you feel down, I snuck a little someone in your satchel," Edith explained warmly, nudging her head down towards the bag near Eloise's feet.

The little girl bent down, unzipped it, and within an instant, she recognized her very best friend.

"Peter Rabbit!" she exclaimed. Edith was quite aware of her daughter's near obsession with the mischievous rodent and for Eloise's birthday this past year, she gave her a stuffed Peter Rabbit doll, with the same light blue jacket and long carrot. Needless to say, Eloise carried it with her at all hours of the day.

But as she looked around at the scores of excited children running about before school, her mood shifted. "Mummy, I can't bring Peter to school with me. All the other kids will think I'm a baby for bringing my bunny."

Edith was rather surprised to hear this from her little one: Eloise and Peter were nearly inseparable. And Eloise was never one to care what others thought of her.

"Well, don't let Peter hear that. I'm sure he'd be very upset!" Edith teased, tickling Eloise in the tummy, the girl giggling until her whole face lit up. "How about we keep him in your bag and you can visit him when no one's looking, okay?"

"Like a secret?"

Edith smiled and pecked a kiss on her daughter's cheek. "Oh, yes. We won't tell a soul. Just between you, me, and this silly rabbit!"

The school bell rang and all the youngsters filed into Ripon Primary to start their first day of school. It was supremely noisy, all of the children catching up with friends they hadn't seen all summer long, and teachers hollering after them to make their way to their respective classrooms.

Vincent Strallan, however, was far from glad to be back at school. Oh, he loved learning, make no mistake; some of his favorite moments were those spent on his father's lap as they read all sorts of books, and those when his father took him to the family factory and explained the machines and how they worked to him. But Vincent loathed coming to school, away from his papa, away from those who understood and cared for him the most.

He slumped down at his table and pulled out his new pencil bag, fully equipped with two-dozen colored pencils and erasers and crayons, and laid them out on the table, counting them lazily.

So preoccupied was he in his task that Vincent hardly noticed more students shuffling into the classroom, and certainly did not notice an unfamiliar girl sit next to him at the table. He just kept his blue eyes focused on his pencils, his head slumped along the heel of his hand.

Eventually, however, his teacher, one Mrs. Anna Bates, came up to the table and introduced herself to the little girl sitting next to Vincent.

"Hi, there, Eloise. I'm Mrs. Bates, your new teacher. I understand you just moved here with your mum all the way from London, isn't that right?" she asked with such sweetness.

Eloise nodded, barely making eye contact with anyone around her. She was awfully nervous in this new and strange place.

Mrs. Bates smiled at the shy girl, even if she didn't see it. Sometimes it was enough to hear the smile in a person's voice. "Good. Well, we want you to feel at home here, Eloise, so if you have any questions, you can ask me, all right?"

Again, Eloise nodded.

"And how about we get one of the other kids who have been here before to show you around?" she asked, looking around at the small table of little ones. Though Mrs. Bates didn't know any of her students yet, she had a keen eye for children's dispositions. The twin boys across the table were already jostling, even at this early hour, and the little girl next to Eloise had smeared glue on her hands, however she had managed to get a hold of that already. It was going to be a very long year. But the blond boy sitting next to her, silently counting his colored pencils, seemed docile enough.

"How about you…" she paused to read the name tag taped to his desk. "Vincent? Would you mind showing Eloise here around the school today during lunch and recess?"

Vincent looked up at his new teacher and at this new girl sitting next to him. "Oh, ummm, yes, Mrs. Bates," he stammered. She smiled at him with appreciation and walked off to prepare for her lessons, leaving Vincent and Eloise alone at this table full of rascals.

He fidgeted with a red colored pencil in his little hands, thinking of what to say. After a time, he managed, "Hi, I'm Vincent Strallan, but you can just call me Vincent. Or Sprout, but only my papa calls me that…"

Eloise looked up at him, biting her lip and wishing very much that she had her Peter Rabbit with her right now. "I'm Eloise Crawley," she told him.

"That's Hannah," he explained, pointing to the girl smearing glue on her hands. "And they're Oliver and Jack. I know them because we were in Year 1 together."

Eloise watched the other three children at her table; they seemed very wild and she was not too keen on wild things. She preferred the quiet of her books.

"Are they your friends?" she asked Vincent, pulling her sweater around her body, somewhat hoping that he wasn't friends with these crazy children. That might mean he was wild, too.

He shook his head. "No, I don't have a lot of friends at school. My papa is my best friend, though!"

Not well versed in socializing, Eloise didn't quite know what to say to Vincent anymore, and after a long silence, she pulled out The Tale of Peter Rabbit from her satchel and began reading, zoning out the rest of the world along with this blond boy sitting next to her.

Vincent, cursed with Strallan awkwardness, furrowed his brow at this sequence of events. He thought he had been really nice to Eloise, and that maybe she would want to be his friend. But maybe he was too strange for anyone other than his dear papa. In a huff, he scooped up his colored pencils, dropped them in his new pencil bag, and slumped his head on his palm yet again, waiting for their first lesson to begin.

Their morning lessons seemed to drag on, first maths and then reading, all things Vincent usually enjoyed learning when his papa taught them to him. But here, it all felt horrid. Finally, around mid-morning, the recess bell rang and after a reminder from Mrs. Bates, Vincent escorted Eloise onto the playground and showed her where the best attractions were: foursquare was always in demand, and the teeter-totter always had a line. Best bet was the tire swing or the jungle gym.

"Thank you for showing me the playground, Vincent," Eloise told him as she held onto her book with both arms, the cool Yorkshire breeze blowing through loose hairs from her ponytail.

He offered her a crooked grin in return. "Want to come play with me?" he asked, desperate for a friend. "We can play whatever you want…"

Much to his despair, Eloise shook her head. "No, thanks. I just want to read my book," she told him before skipping off to a corner of the playground to plop down with her Peter Rabbit book.

Vincent, needless to say, was crushed. He had rather taken a shine to Miss Eloise Crawley in the morning he had known her; for the most part, she seemed like a nice girl; quiet, but kind. And he liked looking at her messy strawberry curls: they reminded him of berry picking on Locksley's grounds. She was new and had no idea of his squirrelly behavior or of his difficulty making friends, so there was at least a small possibility that she'd want to befriend him. But it appeared that Eloise, like almost everyone else in his class, wanted little to do with him.

He kicked some dirt and turned on his heel to head for the jungle gym, making a straight shot for the monkey bars, his specialty. It was one of those things he could do on his own, one that didn't require a friend. On his seventh or eighth go-around across the bars, Vincent heard a shriek come from the other end of the playground.

Against the side of the school, around a corner and far from the watchful eyes of their teachers, Vincent saw a group of older children circle around Eloise, trying to yank something from her grasp. He barely had time to think before he jumped from the monkey bars and sprinted towards her, running as fast as his lanky limbs would take him.

"Hey, you stop that!" Vincent hollered at the older kids, two boys in Year 5: notorious school bullies. All the little kids knew not to mess with them, or they'd end up with scraped hands and no lunch money. "Leave her alone!"

One of the boys, a whole head taller than Vincent, shoved him aside with his elbow. "Back off, tyke! Mind your own business."

Eloise was on the verge of tears, desperately clutching onto a stuffed rabbit as she watched the scene unfold. When the other boy, shorter and stouter than his compatriot, moved towards her to snatch the bunny out of her hands, Vincent's bright eyes widened and in a flash, he jumped on the boy's back, squirming and yelling and trying to steer him away from Eloise.

The taller of the two grabbed a handful of Vincent's sweater, pulled him off, and shoved him to the ground, causing the little boy to scrape his hands and tear a hole in his new school trousers. Vincent's big blue eyes welled up with tears, but he held it together, doing his level best not to appear weak in front of the school bullies. He began to stand up and wipe the dust and dirt from his trousers when he noticed that a crowd had gathered to watch Vincent's bravery and a few teachers, including Mrs. Bates, came, too. They grabbed the two older boys by the scruffs of their collars and dragged them off to Headmaster Carson's office, their tails dragging between their legs for the scolding they were about to endure from their imposing, large-nosed principal.

"You aren't bleeding, are you, Vincent?" Mrs. Bates asked as she grabbed his hands to inspect them, turning them over and back again with great haste.

"No, Mrs. Bates. It just stings a little," he replied, trying to sound tough like a big boy. His pride was certainly inflated just a touch after defeating the school bullies and protecting Eloise. He intended to continue on with it for as long as he could get away with it.

"That was very brave of you, Vincent, but next time, please come get me first. It could be dangerous for you," she told him, trying to hide the sparkle in her eyes. Although she would never admit it, she was rather proud of Vincent Strallan for standing up to the bullies for a girl he barely knew. She'd keep an eye on this one throughout the year; that was for certain.

When she departed, Vincent turned around and saw Eloise, still clutching onto her stuffed rabbit with all the strength she could muster.

"Are you okay, Eloise?" he asked kindly, imploring her dark eyes to look at him.

She sniffled and nodded her head. "Thank you, Vincent, for helping me," Eloise told him, the fear and shock evaporating from her in small increments. "Those mean boys were trying to take away my Peter Rabbit that my mummy gave me. I knew I shouldn't have snuck him from my bag before recess."

"They're just dumb bullies," Vincent explained, trying to appear cooler than he was, as though he took on the school bullies with regularity and sent them to the headmaster's office quite often. "Don't be scared of them at all. They're just a bunch of big oafs!"

Eloise giggled and smiled at him and now seemed completely at ease. "Do you want to read Peter Rabbit with me until recess ends?" she asked him, holding out the book to him as an offering of goodwill. It was just a simple question, one that required a simple answer, so she wasn't quite sure why Vincent looked so surprised by her offer.

What Eloise didn't know, however, was that this was the first time another child had wanted to play with Vincent in all his time at Ripon Primary, that the kids usually kept their distance from this strange and squirrelly boy, that he often spent recess alone. Most days he was content to play in his own little world, but it got lonely from time to time.

Now, it seemed as though he might have a friend after all.

He beamed up at Eloise, his smile no longer crooked but stretching across his whole face. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I love Peter Rabbit! My papa sometimes reads that to me before bedtime."

They settled against the brick schoolhouse wall, their legs folded and their shoulders touching as each took turns reading aloud from Ms. Potter's lovely tale. It was perhaps the best recess Vincent could ever remember, even if it took a pair of scraped palms and a hole in his trousers to bring about.

He didn't want it to end, not ever. Not when the recess bell rang or at lunch or when they went home for the day. Vincent Strallan rather enjoyed having a new friend in Eloise Crawley, in having a person he might play with and read with and do all the sorts of things children are supposed to do with one another.

Vincent enjoyed it all very much, much more than he probably ought to.