Lavinia Swire sat in her bed, well it wasn't her bed and felt strange to her—all the same she had a feeling that she was going to die here. She had heard that Lady Grantham was not well, bleeding out of her brain. Lavinia was doing comparably well to the lady of the house. She was feeling quite well, only felt terribly weak. It didn't help that she had seen Matthew, dancing and kissing Mary. He had come to visit earlier, she had told him how natural Mary and he had looked together and how right. She didn't hate him; she rather admired him for sticking by her side and saying that what happened was nothing to him. But Lavinia, knew it was something and that it wouldn't go away. She couldn't shove him off from trying to be gallant, knowing what she had done for him during the time when he could not walk or have children, when she was willing to marry him all the same. She held his hand tightly before he left the room, she knew she was going to die. She couldn't put it into words—it was a gut feeling.

She walked over to the desk in the room, getting a piece of parchment and a pen. She had to write to her father on the night she was going to die. She had to explain to him what had happened with Matthew—that he was the picture of good behavior, though he felt for another woman, he promised to devote himself to her. Lavinia loved him so dearly, but she was not willing to make him unhappy because he felt that he had to be with her out of guilt. And after she was gone, which she shortly would be, she did not want him to riddle himself with pain and refuse to be happy ever again. Though it took her a lot, she began writing that letter. The door opened suddenly, "Oh, I'm sorry m'lady, I didn't know anyone was in here. I just have to change the fires that's all."

She was a slight girl that Lavinia remembered seeing around the house, "Oh it's quite alright, I was just writing a letter. Would you mind terribly putting it in the box for me?"

"No, miss, not at all," Daisy rushed and put it in the box in the hallway. She was back in the room quickly to do the fires. Lavinia watched her and realized she was very nervous and seemed upset. "You needn't hurry and rush and do that, I see you're upset."

"I am, my lady, it's just that William. He died just a while ago."

"Oh yes, of course. He saved Matthew's life. You married him on his death bed, didn't you?"

"Yes, that's just it," she wiped at her eyes, "I loved him, but not like everyone says, not like a wife."

"I love Matthew, but I'm never to be his wife, I will die tonight."

"Don't say that," Daisy said in her thick accent. "I can't bear anymore death, not now."

Lavinia beckoned her over to the bed, Daisy sat on the edge of it. "Death permeates life more than anyone is willing to admit. Things have to die, whether literally or figuratively, so other things can live. It's sick."

Daisy nodded, Lavinia continued, "Can you do one thing for me? Never be unhappy, or afraid to say you loved William."

"But I didn't-"

"You did, maybe not as truly as a proper wife, but you loved him more because you were willing to marry him for his own sake and not for yours, or because you wanted to. You and Matthew are the same in that respect."

"I saw Mr. Matthew kissing Lady Mary in the hall."

"Then you know," Lavinia said with tears in her eyes. "If I lived tonight, he would marry me when I recovered. It's not right for him."

"Then why is it right for me?"

"I can't explain it, Daisy?," Daisy nodded and confirmed, "I've written to my father, he will think no less of Matthew for breaking our engagement—he might love him better because what I've written. Just as I'm sure, Mr. Mason loves you for marrying his son. And all of that, seems right to me."

"Maybe, but I don't deserve it. I married him for the wrong reasons."

"Daisy," she said taking her hand in hers. "Wives are said to be the greatest lovers of the men they marry, but sometimes there is a deeper love. The love that doesn't get talked about in romance novels and they certainly aren't any songs written about us. But we are there, guaranteeing their happiness, while sometimes greatly sparing ours. With the few hours, I have left I know I have loved Matthew with all my heart, but I must let him go. Sometimes practical lovers like us, are more pragmatic and more true. You will get there, Daisy."

"Thank you, m'lady. I better go light the fire," Daisy said and hurried over to the fire. She rearranged the fire and got quite the fire going, Lavinia was thankful as she was feeling rather chilly. The fire burned deeply, like Mary and Matthew. Daisy stared into it, forgetting for a minute that she was not to stay a minute past the time that her job was done, she knew Lavinia didn't mind, so she stayed. She looked into the fire, she wished she had felt for William what he had for her, but it couldn't be. A small ember fell out and cracked, "See that's us," Lavinia said from the bed.

"What?" Daisy said.

"That little ember, we are an off shoot of true love, but we are no less important. We make a small sound in their lives for awhile, then we disappear. But we always there, always a reminder of our great selflessness. They will remember us fondly."

Later in the night, Daisy heard that Lavinia had died. She cried silently in her room. Many downstairs were not close to her, nor did they like her because they thought that Lavinia had stolen Lady Mary's lover away from her. She went to the kitchen, lighting a candle. Everyone was in bed, she stared into the embers. Daisy swore she could see Lavinia's hazel eyes and her fiery hair, smiling at her in the flame. She had burned on, more brightly now. Daisy looked into it for several minutes, then blew it out. "I will remember you fondly as well," she whispered before walking through the darkness back to her room.