Okay, I know I need to be working on "The Game". I have about half the nest chapter written but the muse keeps saying no, write this... So I started writing this. I hesitate to post it because that will mean I have three stories in progress but one must do as the muse says do, right?

Anyway, I wish everyone a Merry Christmas! Hopefully I'll be able to post more by Wednesday. But honestly, I'm not sure what the muse is up to these days.

AEAEAEAEAEA

This one is set in more recent times, as I'm sure you'll get as you read. But it being the Crawleys and Sir Anthony, there are some of the "old ways" that show up from time to time. And so, here we go...

"He's back," Thomas Barrow whispered to Lady Edith Crawley as he served her tea that sunny December afternoon. Her eyes widened as she digested the information but remembering who else was present, she restrained her temptation to ask Thomas for details and merely nodded that she understood. Her mind began to churn however, as the chatter of her mother and sisters faded into the background while she began to make plans.

After turning several possible scenarios through her mind, she finally settled on the most important question. How could she possibly arrange to meet him? It had to seem like a casual encounter, accidental even. And then she had to make it last more than a moment or two.

She'd no more than asked herself those questions when her father strode in looking angry. "Robert?" Cora Crawley asked when she saw his mood.

"I've just had word that he's back. Here to tempt Rosamund, no doubt. He knows she'll be here for the holiday. Why couldn't he just stay in London or wherever he's been this time? He has no interest in her, no real interest anyway. He simply moves from one place to another, one woman to another as casually as I change my socks."

"Oh Robert, if it's Anthony Strallan you're speaking of, then you know he hasn't been able to settle since his family was killed in that awful incident. And I seriously doubt he is here for Rosamund. If you'll recall, she is the one who usually seeks him out. And as I do recall, he usually flees the moment she begins to shower him with her attention. I'd say it is your sister that is the problem, not him."

Edith noticed Mary's smirk and Sybil's roll of the eyes. But Edith understood her aunt's fascination with the gentleman from Locksley. After all, Edith suffered the same fascination.

Edith remembered him from when she was young, well younger than she was now. She'd watched him dote on his wife and small son and wished her family would dote on her like that. And as she grew older, she hoped that one day, a man would dote on her as Anthony had his wife, that she would make a special man's eyes sparkle as Anthony's did whenever he looked at his wife.

She well remembered the day they heard about the incident that had taken Lady Strallan and young Phillip and put Sir Anthony in the hospital. When he returned to Locksley after a long recovery, his arm was in a sling and the man looked years older. There'd been a sadness about him that seemed to threaten to swallow him. His clear blue eyes no longer sparkled and his shy, awkward smile was nowhere to be found.

Everyone was very careful around him. Mama had tried to invite him to Downton and even Granny had made attempts at tea, but he usually declined and if he did show up, he seemed lost and far away. Edith had felt sorry for him but that's not when her fascination began.

Her fascination began the summer after her sixteenth birthday. Mama had invited him to their garden party and he'd accepted. It shocked everyone when Sir Anthony appeared with a beautiful young woman on his arm, a young woman not much older than Edith. And she hung on his every look, his every word. He'd met her in York a few weeks before. They flirted all afternoon, much to Granny's consternation. That evening at the dinner table, all Granny and Mary seemed to want to talk about was what could the young woman possibly see in him and then it turned to how she seemed to throw herself at him and he soaked it up. Mama had expressed her thought that perhaps it was time he began to think of his future again and find someone. Papa had merely grunted and given Mama an enigmatic smile. Talk about flirting, Edith had thought. Mama and Papa made eyes at one another for the rest of the evening!

It was Sybil who returned home three days later after a walk to the village to share that Sir Anthony and that young woman had boarded the morning train for London. Her family was irate and her father had followed on the next train. They heard a week later that the father returned with the girl saying all sorts of awful things about Anthony. The baronet disappeared for months. When he did return a string of rumors came with him, rumors of various escapades across Europe that involved women. It seemed shy Sir Anthony had become quite a Casanova.

Last year he'd reappeared during the holidays and Aunt Rosamund had happened upon him in the village. At first he hardly seemed aware of her but she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Edith watched their exchanges with interest. And just as Aunt Rosamund had been drawn into his charm, so was she, even to the point of following her aunt to Locksley one afternoon and peeking in through one of the windows.

Edith knew their difference in age should be a barrier but she found that she didn't care. Each time he returned to Locksley over the past year, she found a way to cross his path. He was always cordial and polite but seemed to have no interest in her at all, much to her chagrin. And now he was back for the holidays and would most likely remain for a fortnight, much longer than his usual two or three day stopover.

Her thoughts turned to the incident. She knew her Mama was trying to be kind about the whole thing and not upset anyone more than necessary, but setting off a bomb in a subway was something far more serious that just an incident, in Edith's mind. On one of his few visits to Downton after the loss of his family, she had overheard Anthony telling Papa that it was an open wound that the bomber had blown himself up in the bombing. "I wish I could show him what he did, show him pictures of the lives he destroyed, before I tore him limb from limb." Papa had grunted and said he wasn't certain he'd have the patience to show the bastard much of anything before tearing the man apart.

Granny had said once that people who are grieving act strangely at times and we must be tolerant. Edith supposed Anthony's travelling and many flirtations were a part of his grieving, although she couldn't understand just how.

Rosamund arrived that evening, already armed with the knowledge that Sir Anthony was in residence. Edith chuckled inwardly at the older woman's excitement at the prospect of seeing him again.

"And just how do you propose to meet up with him?" Papa had asked his sister.

"Certainly he'll appear in the village or perhaps I'll just call on him at his home," she'd replied with glittering eyes.

Edith went to bed that night with thoughts of Anthony. Perhaps her aunt had the right idea; perhaps she should just call on the man. But what would her reason be?

She'd fallen asleep full of courage about visiting Locksley but the next morning she awoke full of trepidation. What if he didn't recognize her? What if he sent her away or ignored her? What if... Her mind conjured all sorts of possibilities that kept her preoccupied even at the breakfast table with the family gathered around.

Thomas served her morning tea and leaned over to whisper quietly. "He'll be at the rail station just after noon. His sister is coming in from the South."

Edith wasn't sure how Thomas always seemed to know so much but it was rare that his information was wrong, so she took note. Her thoughts paused only long enough to wonder how Thomas knew of her fascination with the baronet. Then quickly they resumed pondering a meeting with said baronet.

Her opportunity came just a few minutes later when her mother said something about getting some cards to the post. "I'll take them into the village," Edith offered. Mary looked at her suspiciously but Edith chose to concentrate on her mother's smile.

An hour later she was off to the village. She posted her mother's cards and settled on the tea shop as a good place to pass the time until Anthony would appear in the village. Edith watched the comings and goings of the villagers, some shopping and others on other errands. Children played in the small green across from the inn while their parents bustled about.

Her breath caught when she saw the vintage Mercedes move past the window. Edith quickly settled her bill and hurried out to walk to the station. She was surprised to see the car parked across the road from the church. She walked in that direction, debating with herself about she should approach him or not.

As she approached the church, she saw the tall man standing at the small monument that marked the graves of his wife and child. She remembered her father's comment as they'd ridden home from the service that it was mostly just formality since there was little left of either to bury. Her heart ached for the lonely looking man who stood staring at the piece of marble.

She walked the path toward her grandfather's grave. It would take her near to Sir Anthony without seeming intentional, she thought. The path led her to the Crawley section of the cemetery that was next to the Strallan family plot. She stopped in a spot where she could watch the baronet out of the corner of her eye.

She stood quietly and stared at a headstone, hoping she didn't appear obvious. Sir Anthony finished whatever inner conversation he was having and looked up with a sigh as if to tell himself to get on with it. It was then he noticed Edith standing in the section across the path. He gave her a sad nod and turned to move away.

Giving the grave a quick nod, she turned onto the path as well but was still a few steps behind her prey. Just then a large dog ran from between the headstones and into Sir Anthony's path. He stopped abruptly and Edith, her mind lost in thoughts about a way to start a conversation, ran right into the back of him.

Surprised Sir Anthony turned with an annoyed expression on his face. Edith was mortified! "Oh, I am sorry," she exclaimed. "I... I was ... well, I wasn't paying very close attention... my mind on my grandfather ... and I didn't notice... I'm sorry," she stammered while blushing furiously. You idiot...

His expression changed from annoyance to curiosity. "You're one of the Grantham girls, the middle one."

"Oh, yes... Edith. I'm surprised you remember me, Sir Anthony."

"Yes, of course. You're the polite one... but you're inquisitive too, as I recall. "

"The polite one, as in not Mary?" she blurted without thinking.

His lips turned, almost into a small smile. "Mary, ah... yes. The oldest isn't she? A bit aloof?"

"That's putting it kindly," Edith said flippantly.

One corner of his mouth did quirk up at that. "And the youngest... sweet girl but a bit frivolous as I recall."

"Sybil. Yes, she used to be. But she's taking a nurse's course now and I think you'd be surprised at her now. She's involved in politics too. Much more serious."

An eyebrow lifted almost imperceptibly. "You... you read a lot. Do you still?"

"I do; far too bookish," she replied as she basked in the fact that he remembered her at all.

"Never," he responded. "One can never read too much. " His eyes lifted over her shoulder toward his wife's grave. "Maude and I ... we used to..." He swallowed and shook his head. "No, I shouldn't bore you."

"Not at all. Boring, I mean. She read a lot?"

He seemed to warm a little at her interest. "Yes, both of us. We'd spend our evenings in the library with a fire and each with a book in hand. It was quiet and most would think it boring but... " His expression took on a faraway look.

"It wasn't for you though, was it? Boring."

"What? Erm, no... It was... well, I was quite content. Sometimes we'd discuss what we'd read but many evenings were spend mostly in silence. I... " He took a deep breath. "I shouldn't..." The sadness had returned to his expression.

"No, please... what were you going to say?"

"Well, it's just... well, I do miss those evenings. I um... well, after..." His eyes closed as if he was in pain. "After she died," he said as if it was being forced from him, "I couldn't... still can't really... sit in the library and read. Nearly drove me insane."

"I think I can understand how it must have felt, still must feel," she said awkwardly.

He frowned and looked down at her. "Oh no, my dear. No. I hope you never understand. You are young and deserve a happy life filled with promise. No, no one deserves to have the life ripped away from them as mine was ripped from me. "

Edith bit her lip as she tried to think of a response. "I... yes, you're right of course. No one deserves that. You must still miss them very much. "

"I do," he whispered hoarsely. "Maude understood me in ways no one else ever has and my son," his voice broke. "My son was our future. Everything was for him. Now there is... nothing."

"But surely you could..."

"What? Start over? No. I... I'm not willing to risk it again; not when some lunatic can come along and take it all away in an instant."

"But..."

He shook his head. "No, I prefer things the way they are, seeking company when I need it and moving on when I don't. No doubt my reputation has made its way back here?"

"Well, honestly... yes. But I find it hard to believe you have treated women so callously. I remember you as a kind, gentle man."

His chuckle was dark and filled with self loathing. "Oh, I don't keep company with women who would want anything beyond a dalliance. I've at least got that much sense. Don't want to leave a string of broken hearts in my path. Don't want that responsibility."

Edith felt a sudden thud in the pit of her stomach. He really was not looking for anything with strings, did not want it in a relationship. N wonder he avoided Aunt Rosamund.

"Well, I must go," he said, his mood suddenly becoming lighter. "My sister is arriving on the train and I won't hear the end of it if I'm late to collect her."

"Yes, of course. It was good to see you again, Sir Anthony. I hope we see more of you while you are home?"

"Perhaps," he replied. And as he turned to make his way along the path, he called out over his shoulder, "Oh and next time you wish to visit your grandfather you might recall he is buried on the other side of the section. I believe you were paying homage to his younger brother, Henry earlier."

Edith watched him saunter down the path, her mouth agape at her faux- paus. And now he thinks I'm a childish little idiot...