I cannot abandon
The person I used to be
So I carry her

Chapter 2 of 3

As predicted, The Sketch began getting an influx of subscribers writing in, calling in, and visiting the office – all to put in their say about the Lady Edith Crawley's bastard daughter. Some nights it was much easier just to spend the night than to brave the way home to her flat. On one occasion, when Edith really must return home, Laura had disguised herself in Edith's garb, pulling her hat low on her face and led away the crowd of gossipers and photographers while her editor slipped quietly into the night unnoticed.

Though shockingly, their subscribership had increased. And on more than one occasion, Audrey had introduced Edith to ladies who had similar experiences. Some with struggling marriages, some who have had affairs, and some who also had children out of wedlock. In no way did she think she was alone in her struggles, but to meet so many who did not judge but understood and sympathized and knew. Edith was gratified by this and optimistic, and the naysayers became like white noise in the distance, irrelevant.

A terrible weight was lifted.

There was a new responsibility, however, to have the admiration of so many and the scorn of others. There was a different kind of pressure on the magazine now. How can they cater to these new ideals and way of life? How can they keep the respect of the old-fashioned? Was it possible? They had to try.

'A juggling act,' Michael once told her.

Edith smiled fondly, understanding now. She sorted through some written captions set to accompany some photographs of romantic scenery in Mayfair, focusing on the arrangement. She was only half aware when Audrey called to her, peeking in from the door.

"Mr. Branson is here to see you, my Lady," she says.

Edith nodded her permission to receive her brother-in-law. Had she paid attention, she would've noted Audrey's curious tone and the questionable fact of Tom coming all the way to London to see her. She seemed to be missing a photograph, and she'll have to talk to Jack when he returned from his run to the shops. Still, there was too much blank canvas so they'll have to come up with some other content to fill it.

"Lady Edith."

In an instant, her heart stops. It's been weeks since she last heard his voice, and she couldn't take it if she were to turn and see that it wasn't actually him. It couldn't be him. Edith lays her hands flat on the table in front of her, steadying herself. She'd been careful to forget about him, cherishing her memories, but allowing herself to let go. To feel weak in the knees at the mere sound of his voice – it was clear how very little she was able to make peace with their goodbye.

He looks apologetic and shy once she willed herself to face him. His hands wring at his hat, and he reminds her of that uncertain gentleman that stopped her that day through the tunnel, asking her to meet for a drink.

"I'm sorry for the charade," Bertie – Lord Hexham – says. "I was afraid you wouldn't wish to see me. So I took a gamble."

Edith swallowed, looking here and there and back at him, to the rug, before schooling herself. Though her heart was thundering in her chest, she managed to find her voice. "I wouldn't have turned you away. I was raised to be more polite than that," she gives a nervous smile. "You look well."

"Well enough," is his response. "The magazine is booming, I see."

Edith nods, flushing. She had no doubt he had read her article, and wonders if she'd accidentally hurt him again – to tell the world when she didn't dare tell him herself. Thoughts of that morning at Downton came to mind, and there was a heavy awkwardness between them.

"Please, sit," she offers. She makes a beeline for the door. "I'll have Audrey get us some tea."

"She mentioned she'd fetch some when she brought me in actually," he replied, moving closer to the sofa but stood straight legged, no indication of sitting.

"Oh," Edith fumbles again, cursing her lost opportunity to get away and collect herself. She felt silly and small and she hates that onslaught of insecurity. Perhaps she would have sent him away if she'd known. She takes measured steps and sets herself on the end of the sofa, allowing a fair distance as Lord Hexham followed her lead. "How was your Cousin Peter's service? I wanted to write, but…"

"It went as any service would, I suppose. An empty casket as an unnecessary symbol, as I didn't feel it right to disturb him from a place he so dearly loved," he says. He seemed resigned to everything, and in a way, it was sadder to see. "In Tangiers, I met a great many people who so obviously loved Cousin Peter. Not as some grand Marquess of Hexham, but as the simple soul I knew him to be. I was glad to know that – that he surrounded himself with a second family."

Something possessed her in that moment: perhaps it was the familiarity at seeing his face again. Seeing the quiet, sweet gestures of the man she was going to marry. Seeing all the curves and lines of his face, the small changes in his expression as he spoke so sadly but so fondly of the former Lord Hexham. Edith found herself reaching out and taking his hand in hers. In comfort, she tells herself. But she doesn't miss the way his breath hitches, and how his focus is solely on their hands.

Slowly, she feels his thumb brush ever so slightly against her fingers and they fall into the familiar ease they experienced in each other's company. "I must confess," he begins. "My visit here is entirely for selfish reasons. I've missed you terribly, and however many times I focus my attentions on something – anything else – , my mind always seems to wander back to you. At first I thought what a fool I've been, to think we had something special and true. That we trusted each other, that we loved each other."

"But we did. I did love you, agonizingly so."

"Yet you did not tell me – from the start you should have told me." Bertie takes both her hands in his, drawing himself closer. "I reacted poorly when your sister told me. And I believe my hurt prevented me from properly seeking an explanation. Whatever your secret, you were still the kindest, most beautiful, most interesting woman I've ever met, and I should've listened more closely to you." She flushes.

"I didn't know how to tell you, not for lacking of trying. There was always something that stopped me." Edith admits.

Bertie sighs, understanding. "And my proposal, how I pushed it. I shouldn't've pressured you. You never even said a proper yes."

"I wanted to," she looks down at their hands. "How badly I wanted to. Though I knew I couldn't without telling you about Marigold first. The thing is," she pauses. "I have a confession as well."

"Another one?" Bertie teases.

Edith's heart swells. A laugh escapes her and she's reminded of how she loves him so. "I have to confess I had resolved to tell you. But then the news of your Cousin Peter came…"

"I was afraid of that," he nods. "Poor conduct on my part, I am sorry."

Edith smiles away the needless apology. "I was determined on being invisible, forgotten Edith for the rest of my days. I was very content with the idea of marrying Mr. Bertie Pelham, the agent. Keeping Marigold in that simple life would've been wonderful, and I would've wanted you to know the truth of course. And then Cousin Peter died, and that meant you weren't a simple land agent anymore. Which meant the truth of Marigold … means much more now. I didn't want to create hardship for you … and your mother."

"The greatest hardship that I've been through was losing Peter and you all in one go," he says, eyes resolute. Edith believes him, for all that her heart could let her hope. She could not think that Bertie would take her back, but to know that he still cared – she felt better about them than when they parted weeks ago.

"As for my mother…" Bertie clears his throat. "You mustn't pay too much mind. I love my mother, but I also know all her eccentricities. I can stand up to her, you know."

Edith looks down at her hands, gripping at her skirt. Bertie notices those tell-tale signs of unease. Ones he's seen many times before, ones he's learned to pay attention to now. "That was part of it, too, wasn't it? Talk of my mother. I've spoken harshly of her and frightened you."

"Yes," Lady Edith concedes. No more omissions, denials. The truth.

The Marquess laughs, a sound filled with both mirth and anguish. "It seems we've both made a mess of things."

"I daresay my part contributed more."

They jump as the door to the office opens – Audrey bustling in with the tray of tea, throwing Edith a look to say 'give me a sign and I'll have him out in an instant'. After Edith offers her a satisfied smile, Audrey leaves them. As Edith fixes up a cup, Bertie tells her of another surprise.

"Your sister, Mary, came to see me in Northumberland," he watches her freeze in an instant, her back to him. "Gave me a shock too. Said she and Henry Talbot were 'driving through' on their honeymoon. Only Mr. Talbot had some other matters that day, and she made the trip herself."

"I hope she didn't do anything too terrible," she swirls around to find Bertie slipping closer to her. Edith's heart thuds wildly in her chest, the sound in her ears distracting her from hearing much else. The edge of the desk is solid against her backside and she grips the edge like it was a lifeline.

"She didn't. In fact, she was quite pleasant I thought. Lady Mary apologized for her behavior during my last visit to Downton."

Edith scoffs, "That doesn't very much sound like her."

"Nevertheless she did apologize, and she seemed rather contrite. Or… as contrite as Lady Mary can be." He conveys.

"You don't know Mary like I do," Edith scowls, tilting her head. "It's complicated between us. It's too little to say we just don't get on. Sybil was the only one to really comprehend, I think."

"I'd like to," he says, now only inches in front of her. "Rather, I'd like to better understand your relationship. I'll spend the rest of my life trying if I have to."

"What are you saying?"

"That Mary asked that I give you a second chance," he offers his trademark uncertain smile. "The problem is, I was hoping more that you give me a second chance."

Edith couldn't decide what was more astonishing to hear. That Mary had sought to get Bertie Pelham back on her behalf, on her honeymoon no less, or that he wanted her forgiveness. She couldn't think over the hammering of her own heart, the sudden swarm of butterflies fluttering in her stomach. This was an impossibility. They had wished each other well – parted ways – that morning at Downton. Be that as it may, Bertie Pelham came to see her today and asked to have her back. Please, Lord, let this not be some other trickery, Edith silently prays. She slips past him to set herself in a nearby chair, bracing a knee with one hand. Bertie watched her with great anticipation, hardly daring to breathe.

"I've upset you," Bertie frowns, kneeling before her.

"No, no," replies Edith. "I just—" she grapples at the words through the whirlwind of her thoughts. "Why would you ever want me again after what I did?"

"Because after reading what you wrote in your issue, I understand now. The Edith I knew and the Edith you are were never really the same. But I see you now. The Edith you are. You once said you aren't as simple as you used to be. Well," he says, eyes shining – deploring her to believe him. "I am not as simple as I used to be. But however simple our life would have been or how complicated it's bound to be now… I can't imagine living it without you by my side."

She places a hand to her lips and closes her eyes, trying to tame the hope surging from within. "Oh, Bertie," she captures his eager eyes with hers. "Surely your mother would be against us. You must have told her of Marigold."

"I did," says the marquess. "And while she has… protested, I wouldn't cede. She'd preferred if I married Adele since she was already set to marry Peter. I said I wouldn't, because although Cousin Peter had other… tendencies, I genuinely love someone else. I said: I want no one but Edith Crawley, middle daughter of the Lord and Lady Grantham – the one they call 'Poor Edith'." His tone is teasing again, and she laughs through her tears, feeling utterly touched by his attention to detail.

It's true, no one did know her like Bertie does. Everything he has done has shown that he delights in knowing the true Edith. The newly unburdened Edith.

"And your Marigold," he grows serious. "I have seen how you love her so, with good reason. Marigold is a part of you, and therefore – if you allow me the honor – I hope she can be a part of me too. I shall love and care for her, and call her my own."

It was then that tears escaped her unbidden, her ability to control herself nonexistent. She manages to clutch both his hands in one of hers, while the other hastily wiping at her eyes. After several moments, Edith cradles his warm cheeks in both of her still damp hands which shook from her own disbelief and unbridled yearning. "I am wholly undeserving of you."

"I won't accept that sort of talk from you any further," he chastises. "You loved me as a small land agent with no real prospects. You were steadfast by my side in the wake of Cousin Peter's passing. Least of all, you are the daughter of the Earl of Grantham. Loyalty and good standing; even my mother could not argue against those qualities.

"Lady Edith Crawley – owner of The Sketch, daughter of the Sixth Earl of Grantham, mother of Marigold – please honor me by being my wife," Bertie Pelham grandly proposes. "And I shall wait for a proper yes this time. Though if the answer is no, and I can say I'm not a terribly prideful man, but even I couldn't bear the—"

He isn't able to finish, as Edith had silenced him with a kiss. She pushed all thoughts of titles and inheritances and secrets and potentially frightening mother-in-laws out of her mind. Edith thought only of one thing: of that dear man she met while out on the shoot at Brancaster, of the nervous gentleman who asked her for drinks, of the quiet support during the hectic night to meet the print deadline, of every soft kiss stolen in private.

Bertie Pelham was a good and kind and honest man, as forthcoming about his life as an open book. He had dug in and helped at Downton's open house. Jumped in by a burning racecar to reassure her sister that Henry Talbot was not the one aflame. Edith had faith in his every vow, knew his promises and his intentions to be true.

She pulls back after giving him one last peck, her thumb brushing his cheek just so as she peered straight into his anxious gaze. Nothing held her back now.

"Yes."