This is the result of a crazy idea that's been in my head since Evelyn Napier first appeared in Season 1, Episode 3. I like to think of this as an Edith self-discovery story, more so than an Edith Oh-my-God-I-have-a-man romance. I appreciate all feedback, positive and negative.
July, 1917.
"Who's that from?" Edith asked, as she walked down the long flight of stairs to the library.
Her sister Mary stood on the landing, leaning on the oak banister and frowning occasionally at a letter in her hand. She looked up at Edith, "I'm sorry. What?"
"That," Edith motioned towards the letter in Mary's hand.
"Oh. It's from Evelyn Napier. You remember him, don't you?" Mary replied casually.
"Yes, I do," Edith said, her thoughts churning rapidly back to the hunting party back in 1912.
"Well," Mary continued, "He's been wounded, and he's being treated at a hospital up in Middlesborough. He wants to come here to convalesce once he's released."
"That's odd. I didn't know he joined the army. Besides, I thought he'd rather had enough of us."
"You don't dislike him, do you?"
"No. I wouldn't say that."
Mary grasped the brass handle on the library door, pulling it open to the sound of agitated voices speaking and overlapping one another. She turned to Edith before entering. "Anyways, I'm going to ask Mama if he can come and stay."
To Edith, the name "Evelyn Napier" was yet another reminder of how inferior she sometimes felt in Mary's wake, not that she remembered much about the man in particular. He was merely "EN", the forgettable nobleman's son who was good-looking in his own right, but lusterless beside the beguiling Mr Pamuk. That he still wished to come to Downton after his last visit was beyond her comprehension. He must either be a fool or a lunatic. To Edith, Evelyn was the fish that slipped her sister's hook, but who was naive enough to return, risking recapture. He would fall within Mary's trap again, like a fly into a spider's web, and he would never recover, while Mary feigned ignorance at his obvious infatuation. Though she would never admit it, Edith envied Mary for this ability to make men fall in love with her left and right.
As stray thoughts spun themselves into a maze of musings, Edith saw Mary exit the library door, a look of glee on her face. "What's so funny?" she asked.
"Thank God Granny isn't here!" cried Mary, glancing around and chuckling. "Though I rather wish she were…You should have seen the look on Cousin Isobel's face."
"Heavens. I'm not sure if I ought to have asked." Edith raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"Nevermind. Mama and Papa are quite wonderful; they'll have Evelyn Napier come and stay if it kills them, to make a point, you know, if for nothing else."
Edith tried to piece together Mary's hilarity and the unheard argument in the library. "So, I take it they argued with Cousin Isobel then?"
"And Doctor Clarkson. Papa actually told him to move the beds and patients out if he doesn't stop ordering everyone around."
"Papa wouldn't really do that…"
Mary rolled her eyes. "No, of course he wouldn't. He knows you enjoy being Florence Nightingale much more than you care to say." With that, she sauntered away.
The thing about Mary was how she always managed to make the most piercing observations, though she rarely cared to express her opinions kindly. Edith seethed over her sister's lack of compassion, but could not help admiring her daring nature, even in things as minute as an ironic witticism. They were so wildly different. Edith knew that Mary would have her way with poor Evelyn Napier and leave him as broken-hearted as she left Matthew; then she would go off, unrepentant, to court vile Sir Richard. Wryly, Edith comforted herself that at least one thing hadn't changed since the war.
On a bright morning only two weeks later, Mary did have her way, as she always did. Branson was to meet "The Honorable Captain Evelyn Napier" when he got off the train at half past two. He was able to walk, though no one at Downton had yet heard the details of his injury; he needed only a porter or two to carry his luggage off the station. When he arrived at Downton, he was met by Lord and Lady Grantham, Mary, and Edith.
As the car door opened, Edith carefully appraised the man who alighted. He was still the same, mystery-clouded E.N. they all looked forward to meeting in 1912, though a bit less fresh-faced and much more somber. That was accounted for by a resolute, unwavering look in his eye, which spoke for the horrors of war. He now struggled down from the car, using only his left arm, as his right was slung in a tightly wrapped cast. He had assumed the soldier's habit of standing extremely upright and carrying himself with a marked rigidity. Yet the most remarkable change was his clothing: a green captain's uniform and a few badges replaced the silk lapels and starched shirtfronts from before the war.
"Lady Grantham," Evelyn called, as he advanced toward the front door, where everyone stood. "I can't tell you how grateful I am for this."
Taking his awkwardly extended left hand, Cora smiled. "It's so good of you to come. We're awfully glad to see an old face, aren't we, Mary?"
"Yes, of course," Mary beamed, as she watched Evelyn exchange greetings with Robert. No one had the heart to ask of his injury; since Downton became a convalescent home, they had seen a fair amount of war wounds. His was hardly traumatic enough to comment on.
"Lady Mary." Evelyn's voice was confident; this was a statement, an acknowledgement, and nothing more or less. "You look very well. How are you?"
Mary smiled again. "I'm so happy to see you safe and sound."
He now approached Edith with an uncertain look, and she wondered if he remembered her name.
"Lady Edith—" Evelyn ventured cautiously, letting out a sigh of relief upon receiving a sure smile from her. "We met the last time I was at Downton." He said this without a wince, as the memories of trenches far outweighed any of a disastrous hunting party five years ago.
Edith raised the corners of her lips in a tepid smile. "Yes, I remember." And what else was she supposed to say? I'm so sorry that Mr Pamuk had died. How did you hurt your arm? Why are you here at Downton, of all places? Naturally, silence was the better option.
Cora placed a hand on Evelyn's left arm and started to lead everyone inside. "You'll find Downton quite changed, I'm afraid," she explained, "But you don't need to worry about anything. You can rest now if you'd like. I'll have one of the maids take care of your cases."
"How kind of you, Lady Grantham. But I assure you, I'd rather see the house and talk to some of the men before resting up," Evelyn said. "And I hope I won't be a burden on the convalescent arrangements, since this is a regional home."
"Don't worry about all that," said Robert, "Major Clarkson, who heads the local hospital, insisted that we couldn't have you come as a convalescing soldier, strictly speaking, so you'll be staying in one of the family guest rooms."
Seeing the surprised look on his face, Edith hastened to add, "They're much more comfortable, and quieter, too."
"You'll eat with us, of course," said Mary, "So you're really staying as our guest and not a convalescent patient."
Evelyn still looked uncomfortable. "But won't I be a strain on your household staff, Lady Grantham?"
"No, not at all," was Cora's firm answer.
"Well, you're only one person," said Mary, "Besides, Edith helps with the convalescing officers, and she's not household staff."
Evevlyn let out a hesitant laugh, a lightness pervading his person for the first time since he arrived. "I suppose not," he smiled, glancing at Edith.
By teatime, Evelyn had settled into his new room, which overlooked the gardens. He gazed out onto the rows of gardenias and roses, leaning his left shoulder against the windowsill. "I was wondering if you might show me the gardens before I go." That was what he said last time to Mary, or at least, something to that effect. He could now chuckle at his childish attempt with good-natured self-deprecation, and marvel that he even committed such a fatuous remark to memory. Meeting Mary for the first time since before the war, Evelyn knew at once that everything had settled to a lukewarm friendship between them. This was exactly what he had hoped for: no awkward looks and certainly no reminisces of that hunting party. Coming to Downton would be a transition to his life before the war; he would be around military men as well as the Grantham family, who, to him, were safeguards of the "old ways".
As he let his mind wander into a past that no longer gave him grief, Evelyn did not notice the light patter of footsteps that stopped at his door. Edith was "doing her round", as Mary and Sybil called it, distributing books and stationary to the men. Though Evelyn wasn't part of the convalescent home, she decided to look in and see how he fared.
The door was a third open, and Edith could see the outline of the man who stood erect at the window, oblivious that a comfortable sofa rested just to his right. She had never stopped to study the face of "Mary's suitor" before. He was, simply stated, very handsome. His chiseled nose and pale profile exuded a soft, melancholy nature that was altered from the slightly affected, aristocratic mien that she remembered from 1912. The change was not at all unfitting. Gathering herself, Edith knocked lightly on the gaping door.
Evelyn started from his reverie and turned around, almost vigilantly.
"It's Edith. May I come in?"
"Yes, of course," he said, emerging from his mind into the guest room on the third floor of Downton Abbey.
Edith pushed open the door and took a few hesitant steps inside. "It's a cozy room you have up here. I think it's the first time I've seen it." She glanced around, until she could glance no more and had to look at him. "Anyways, I just wanted to see if you were settled in, and if there's anything I can get you. Anything at all."
"That's very kind of you. I'm settling in just fine. I'm quite enjoying the view of the gardens from here." Evelyn was slightly flustered; it was nearly three years since he last encountered "his set" in society. He scanned the room for a subject of conversation and set his eyes on the books in Edith's arms. "So you're the librarian then?"
"I suppose you could say that," Edith replied, relieved to be saying something to unburden the silence. "Is there anything you'd like to read?"
"I haven't read much of anything since the war, I'm afraid," he said, "Except reports and that sort of thing. What have you got there?"
Edith lifted the books up. "Let's see then. 'Barchester Towers,' 'Howard's End,' and a book of Bernard Shaw."
Evelyn smiled fondly at "Barchester Towers" but nearly flinched at "Bernard Shaw". "Sir Anthony Trollope," he sighed, "There's a name one doesn't think of in the trenches."
"Quite right, when you put it that way." Edith handed him the book.
He set it on the chair beside the window and looked back at her.
"I'm just going now," said Edith. "I'll see you at dinner." She turned around and started to walk out.
"Thank you, Lady Edith."
She glanced back at him. "Please, just Edith."
"Edith."