Prompts: Ice Cream, and Edith's family makes her feel worthless (which I kinda departed from).

Thanks to QueenLovett and LadyStrallan.

Ice Cream Sunday

Edith slumped back against her pillows, trying to ignore the slight aching in her back and the feeling of exhaustion that was threatening to drag her into yet another nap. She felt as though she had done nothing but sleep lately. And eat. And go to the bathroom every twenty minutes. And submit to Dr. Clarkson's daily checkup. After Sybil, she couldn't blame the good doctor, Anthony, or her parents—though in their case she couldn't help thinking they were more concerned with a healthy grandchild than for her.

She sighed and reached for her book. She had just cracked it open when her husband's cheerful, if somewhat weary, face appeared in the doorway.

"Good afternoon, my darling," he greeted her, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning to kiss her. "And how are you two this afternoon?"

Edith yawned. "Oh we are just fine. And how is papa?"

"He has had enough of mortgages and mold for one day," he sighed.

Anthony spied the rather large and milky bowl on her bed stand and chuckled.

"More ice cream my dear?" he teased.

She grinned sheepishly. "I know. I just can't seem to get enough of the stuff. Mary's been a real dear about that," she added sarcastically.

"Oh, nevermind Mary," Anthony countered.

"I suppose some things are destined. Mary was a stunning mother to be—and I've got feet the size of hams and am shaping up to be the prize hog myself,"

"My darling," Anthony soothed, placing a hand on her swollen belly. His eyes assumed a familiar glazed adoration—something between exultation and tears—a look that had appeared just as soon as she'd told him she was expecting a little Strallan and that was now shed upon her daily. "You are truly beautiful," his voice was full. "If you only knew….To think that, in there right now…"

"But it's not like I have anything to do with that. All I have to do is get fat. The rest takes care of itself," Edith stated matter-of-factly.

He gave a small laugh, kissing her again, his touch growing gradually more sensual. For along with adoration of her motherhood came inevitably a desire to create yet another little stranger.

"My dear, I'm sorry but I simply couldn't. Besides, you know what the doctor said," Edith demurred, apologetically.

Anthony groaned. "I know." He fell back on the bed with an air of melodrama, "I think I'll get some ice cream myself."

Edith laughed and snuggled down against him. "How about a nap, instead?" she suggested, yawning again.

"Well, I suppose that'll do," he agreed lovingly.

It didn't take long for sleep to overcome father and mother, yet before Edith slipped from consciousness she thought to herself that she would never let her family push this baby aside as they had her. She would spare her child all that pain and fight for it as she had never quite fought for herself. She would be cherished, and valued, and loved.

XXXXX

"Margaret!" Edith called, sweeping her torch through the carefully trimmed hedge, her eyes scanning for a small shoe or a telltale glimpse of a golden curl.

On the other side of garden, Anthony's tall form stooped, looking under benches and around coiffed trees, "Margaret!" He repeated her entreaty.

And then he heard it. A stifled sob coming from behind the large statue of Athena which formed the corner of Locksley's stately garden.

He edged himself around the corner of the statue to spy his daughter, hands clenched around her knees, her head bowed and sobbing.

"Hey sweetheart," he said lightly, his body flooding with relief. "Won't you come out and tell me what's wrong?"

Margaret snuffed loudly and gave a few more sobs.

"You mother and I have been worried about you. And your dinner has gone cold, I'm afraid."

The girl had stopped crying, but she didn't look up. Gently, Anthony gathered his gangly seven year old in his long arms and carried her to a nearby bench. Edith ceased her searching and came to join them, throwing her arms around her daughter and kissing her fiercely.

"Oh Margaret! You had me so worried! Why would you run off and hide like that?"

Margaret buried her heard in her mother's bosom and murmured mournfully. "He said I should run away. He said you would be happier if I were gone."

Edith, heartbroken that her daughter could ever think such a thing, gave Anthony a stricken look.

"Margaret sweetheart, who said?" he asked the woeful child, also struggling against his taut heartstrings.

"George," she wailed into her mother's chest.

Edith scowled. Of course it was George. George, who was four years older than Margaret, and who had been over to visit after church with his mother—had turned into a chip off the old block. A chip off his mother's-that was. A fine looking boy with Mary's dark locks Matthew's wide smile, he could be perfectly charming when he wanted to be; which lately was when he wanted to get his own way. He was realizing what his charisma would let him get away with, both with the girls at school and at home. As Mary's only son and the heir of Downton, he was, as the Dowager Countess colorfully but accurately put it "getting more self-important than a peacock in pajamas."

He was particularly superior with his cousins.

"What else did cousin George say?" Edith asked, a familiar pained fury tightening her words.

"He said that I didn't behave like a lady and that I was always untidy and spent too much time reading and that if I didn't shape up I wouldn't have any friends once I moved to upper school. He said that you and Daddy were ashamed of me and that you told Aunt Mary that I was driving you mad and that I should just run away to save you the trouble of bothering with me and-and- that—" the heartbroken sobs were violently overwhelming her speech by now, "you'd be much happier without me."

Margaret then surrendered to great wailing sobs as Edith clung to her and kissed her and both parents tried to assure her that what her cousin had said couldn't be further from the truth.

Finally, Margaret cried herself out, quieting to sniffles and hiccups.

"My darling girl," Edith looked into her daughter's eyes—expressive blue pools which she had inherited from her father—"you are the most precious thing in my life. I couldn't bear losing you. And your father and I are very proud of you. You just worry about being you, and we will always love you for it."

"And don't pay any attention to the horrid things your cousin George says," added Anthony.

Margaret nodded and crawled into her father's lap to hug him. He wrapped his arms around her and stood up. "That's my girl," he said fondly, as the little head settled comfortably on his shoulder.

"You know, "Anthony started as they moved to the house, "all your dinner got quite cold while you were out there hiding. But it won't matter that your dessert is cold."

Margaret jerked head from her father's shoulder so she could look him in his twinkling eyes. "Ice cream!" she gasped excitedly, "what kind?"

"Raspberry!" Edith announced, in the same hushed tones.

"Oh Daddy," Margaret began, the sorrow leaving her face as her mouth curved into a sly smile, "since my dinner is already cold, don't you think I might as well skip straight to dessert for tonight?"

And both Edith and Anthony laughed heartily as the family passed from the dim night into the warm light of the drawing room.

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