II.
"…with all my worldly goods I thee endow…"
Edith stood outside a fine, if unremarkable, London town house and told herself to walk away. Only her feet wouldn't obey.
She had spent all afternoon thinking of things she wanted to say to Sir Anthony. No. That wasn't true. She had spent the last year thinking of things she wanted to say to him. The trouble being that very little of what she wanted to say left her pride in tact.
And that was why she should leave.
But she didn't.
It took perhaps another minute for Edith to realise that she was being watched, and at least that long again before she could do anything but simply stare up into the face of the man she ought to have married.
How very foolish- to have been so focused on the house that she had failed to notice its owner walking along the pavement towards her.
Remarkably, Sir Anthony was first to speak.
"Can I help you, Lady Edith?"
The simple question sounded as though it had been torn from his lips. She almost faltered, because she was sure, from the dark shadows in his painfully blue eyes, he had never wanted to see her again.
"No, you cannot help me." The hiss of her reply was barely louder than a whisper, but she saw the way his jaw clenched in response. She took a deep breath to steel her nerves before she continued, "But I should dearly like to know what right you think you have to leave me a small fortune on your death!"
If Sir Anthony was surprised she knew his plans he gave no visible sign. He was simply silent for several long moments, moments in which Edith forbid herself from drinking in the sight of him.
When he spoke at last, it was not to her, but to the top of her head.
"I know I have no right at all. But I shall do so nevertheless."
Edith tensed angrily. She balled her hands into fists by her sides. She wanted, she realised, to provoke something more than stilted civility from him.
"I won't accept it!"
"And I will not argue with you in the street."
"Why not?" she demanded, feeling reckless. "Aren't all of our personal affairs to be aired in public?"
Sir Anthony took a step closer. Too close, it gave Edith momentary pause. She was overwhelmed by the subtle masculine scent of him. It teased the remembrance of a dozen bittersweet moments from her memory.
His voice was low when he spoke.
"You have every right to be angry with me-"
"Yes! I do! I certainly-!"
And then his hand was on her arm. She could feel the strength of his fingers through the layers of fabric that separated them. Her heart stuttered.
"But I repeat, I will not argue with you in the street."
"Then you had best take me inside!"
He hesitated only a moment before he marched her up the steps to his front door- a front door that swung open on cue to reveal the concerned face of his butler.
As Edith had never in her life been marched anywhere by Sir Anthony Strallan, she was almost too shocked to note the stilted exchange that took place between the gentleman and his servant.
"Lady Edith and I will be in the study, Oakley."
"Very good, sir. Should I take the lady's coat, sir?"
Edith looked up just in time to see a denial forming on Sir Anthony's lips, but good manners prevented him from giving it voice.
"Of course."
Divested of the garment, she swept passed Sir Anthony and into the room she took to be his study. She waited restlessly for his butler to assist him out of his own coat. She thought this task took rather longer than was necessary. He wore no sling today. She had allowed herself to notice that much. He had simply been resting his hand in his pocket.
The study was a nondescript space, absent any human touches of character. She could not imagine him spending much time here. Did not want to imagine it. Instead, she nursed her anger, and tried to ignore the way her arm still tingled sweetly from where he had held her.
Bubbles of impatience were fizzing through her blood by the time he finally entered the room, but he spoke before she could launch an attack.
"You have something to say to me, Lady Edith?"
Lady Edith. Lady Edith. Not dearest, or darling, or sweet one.
But the tone of his voice was like sunset and she found her own voice sticking in her throat. It took a second or two before she was able to summon it. When she did, much of her fury had bled away.
"You won't be aware, but I've been working at Abrams and Howard for some time now."
Sir Anthony's gaze wavered. He strolled over to the window, and spoke quietly to the empty pane of glass, "I am perfectly aware of that, thank you."
"How?" Edith was startled. She had factored in Mr Howard's deception. She had considered nothing further. But Sir Anthony didn't answer and a frightening suspicion began to form in her mind. "Please tell me- please, you didn't-"
"There was something you wanted to say?" he persisted, but she barely heard him.
It had been her cousin's recommendation that had opened doors to the law firm. It had! Oh, he'd always been evasive to the point of ignorance when she'd offered her thanks, but that was because he was scared of Mary's wrath. Wasn't it? Edith realised she no longer knew.
"I thought- Matthew-"
Sir Anthony was frowning.
"I know."
"How is it you suddenly know so much?"
She wasn't sure if it was an accusation. She wasn't sure of anything anymore. Not now he was finally standing in front of her- looking so dear, and tortured, and real, when for so long he had existed only as a shadow in her mind. It didn't seem possible.
"You left me."
The words spilled over her defences.
Not you jilted me. Because today, now, she was realising that having been jilted was secondary to the gut-wrenching loss of having him gone from her life.
He didn't immediately try to explain, or apologise. He didn't say anything, but Edith would have sworn that when he looked across the room at her the pain in his eyes echoed through her soul.
"Where did you go?"
"I hardly know," he murmured, staring blindly out of the window again. "One place was much the same as another."
It hurt Edith to look at him. She tried to harden her heart. There was only one reason why she had come here tonight.
"I meant what I said, I won't accept the money. It should go to your sister."
"I've spoken to my sister."
"I won't take it!"
Money had never been what she'd wanted from him. Even in the days of her stupid impetuous youth. It had always been about so much more than that. She was insulted he would even suggest otherwise.
"I hope, given time, you will change your mind."
Edith shook her head, although Sir Anthony was obviously finding it hard to meet her gaze.
"It doesn't put right what you've done."
"That's not what it's for…"
"What then?" she demanded.
He finally looked back at her. His troubles clear in the lines on his face.
"I don't think-"
"At the very least you owe me an answer."
"Of course, you're quite right." He was staring blankly out of the window yet again. His voice was haunted when he next spoke. "It's simply that you are the dearest creature in the world to me. It was natural to leave you everything."
Edith held her breath for a second. Held all her hurt in stasis. She was determined to stay strong, although she felt wounded to her core.
"How can your words be so kind and your actions so cruel?" she asked, watching him flinch. "And I was never to know? Until- until-" she couldn't bring herself to say it.
"I had hoped, by then, you might see it in a different light. It is not so very much, after all."
"Anthony, it's a fortune," Edith whispered, forgetting herself, sighing his name like an endearment. She bit her lip. There was more. "And please, you mustn't sell your house!"
He finally registered surprise.
"You know about that too?"
"It's not Mr Howard's fault." Edith was quick to assure him. "I- I happened upon the information."
Sir Anthony was silent for a moment.
"It's my fault," he decided. "I knew I ran a risk every time I met with him."
"The risk of seeing me?" Edith stuttered. "How can you say that?"
"Because I knew I could not trust myself to see you," he said to himself, as he braced his good hand against the windowsill.
"Is that why you left Yorkshire?"
"Not entirely."
He lifted his hand, and dragged it across his face. He looked just about as tired as Edith felt. In spite of all her misery, she hated this, seeing him in pain, seeing him displaced. He was supposed to live in that gorgeous red brick house with its splendid library and all of its modest charm.
Everything was such a hopeless mess.
"You should go back. It's your home."
"I wonder about that…"
"Is it-" Edith stopped and tried again. "Is it because you're worried about what people will say? Because truly, nobody cares about me that much-"
"I care about you that much."
Edith had rarely heard such intensity in his voice, and yet she could not contain the bitter little laugh that escaped her. He was doing it again, tormenting her with such beautiful words.
"Forgive me if I find that hard to believe."
"You gave me back my life. Was I supposed to take yours from you?"
"Yes!" Edith cried, willing back her tears. "Yes, that is exactly what you were supposed to do! You were supposed to take my life and my love and you were supposed to make me your wife!"
Sir Anthony was pale, but there was a determination about him that scared Edith.
"I will forever regret my timing, and I will never forgive myself for causing you a moment's pain, but you must see it was for the best."
"I don't see that- I will never see that."
He closed his eyes against her words.
"Given time-"
"How much time?" she demanded, taking an involuntary step towards him. "You have already stolen a year of my life!"
"In a year you have become a successful, independent, political activist." The force of his reply surprised Edith. "How much more will you achieve in two years- five years- ten?"
"How much more could I have achieved with your support?"
"You will always have my support," he breathed difficultly.
"It doesn't count if you are simply working in the shadows smoothing the wrinkles out of my life!"
"That is all I have left myself the right to do."
"Stop it. Your misplaced sense of honour has already ruined my life once."
He looked wretched. She didn't mean to keep hurting him, but then she didn't believe he meant to keep hurting her either. The words simply ignited between them.
"Edith, your entire family knew it would have been wrong of me to marry you," he said quietly.
"My entire family has always thought anything that makes me happy is wrong!"
"I cannot believe that."
"How can you doubt it, when I know they have been just as beastly to you?"
"But they would not treat you with such-" he stopped himself. Edith watched him do it. Could see how carefully he chose his next words. "They would treat you infinitely better than me."
She stared at him. Just stared. Until she was confident that she was in full mastery of her voice.
"You think that because you don't know them. Not really. I am rather like the cuckoo in their nest," she said with a wry smile. "In all my life, Anthony, there has been only you who has taken the time to understand me."
He looked at her, properly, for the first time that evening. She felt it almost as strongly as she would have felt a physical caress. There was an expression of longing in his eyes that left her breathless.
"I wish you had told me this a year ago."
He reached for her hand. Edith didn't think he realised what he had done, and she was determined not to break the spell.
"I do not understand how you could not see," she said, bewildered. She felt the subtle flex of his fingers as she watched him grimace.
"It was as much as I could do to get through each day. I fear there was much I didn't see."
"What do you mean?" she whispered, tightening her grip, but he pulled away, looking shaken.
"I- I cannot- forgive me, my dear, you deserve the truth more than anyone, but tonight I cannot-"
"Then when?"
He looked up, his face ashen, she thought he would refuse to answer, but then his eyes focused on her face. She didn't know what he saw, but something in his expression changed.
"Tomorrow. Join me for dinner."
He suggested a restaurant that Edith knew well, if only by reputation. But he was leaving in the morning, wasn't he? Could she dare hope that he would stay? For her. Could she take that risk?
The real question, of course, was could she live with herself if she didn't?
"I will never forgive you if you aren't there," she warned him gravely.
A weary sigh escaped him.
"You should never forgive me anyway."
