Thank you for being so kind with this new experiment of mine. I'm not really following the story of Cyrano closely enough for this to be called a crossover; not really. But certain plot lines are 'borrowed' (merci, M. Rostand!). What I have done is lifted plenty of Cyrano's dialogue. I apologise to Cyrano, Edmond, and to you, my dear readers, for having to juxtapose his exquisite poetry with my dreadful prose. I hope you'll all forgive me.


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Tea with Archie was stiff and rather trying. Most of the talking was done by Cora and Sybil asking questions of Archie and Edith in turn, trying to get them to talk to each other. But Edith, despite being polite and showing an interest in what Archie had to say, was as shy and embarrassed as Archie was bombastic and inept. He said things that were silly and bordering on the rude, such as when they discussed the ladies' hairstyles of the day.

"I rather like the new styles" stated Archie.

"So do I. I think it looks neat and tidy. I might even have my hair cut at some point" said Edith trying to make an effort.

"Oh, your hair would look good if you had a new bob. Even I might like it if you wore it like that…"

Even Sybil, often critical of the English insistence on formal manners in society and forgiving of people who couldn't do it, seemed to consider Archie slightly offensive. He was handsome, yes, but lord! Did he know it! Sybil was sure that Archie thought that when he smiled, which he did often, the sunlight glinted off his teeth.

"Will you be attending the Gervas' Garden Party this Saturday, Mr Campbell?" Cora asked, hoping he wouldn't be and praying that Edith wasn't serious about this buffoon.

"Oh yes. It's quite the scene isn't it? I mean, to be seen at… 'scene'/'seen' " Archie waggled his eyebrows at his feeble joke. Cora laughed politely. Sybil stared, appalled. Edith, blushing and squirming for the poor man who seemed so ignorant of what an ass he was, was even more convinced that he could not have written those lovely letters.


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My dearest, darling Edith,

How I wish I had the words to write the letter I have written a hundred times in my heart. Here, in black ink and white paper, I can be a disembodied spirit free of age and weariness. Here, I can pretend that you might love me for who I am, ignoring what I am. In these letters I can be what you would like me to be, and what I would love to be in reality for you. But some things cannot be changed. Time cannot be turned back, or even halted, not even for all the beautiful words in a poet's pen. If I cannot be younger, I wish I were more eloquent. I want to charm my imperfections into seeming insignificant, that you might focus on what little is good in me so that you might care for me, if only a little, and only for a little while.

What is good in me? Why, only those things that you have brought out in me. Your youth teaches me how to feel joy once again which I had forgot. Your wit urges me to hope rather than to despair. You make me reckless, to believe my love might be welcome, that my words may delight you, when I know full well I am an insufficiency that seeks to clothe itself in a sunset of merely pretty words pretending to be what I am not. I feel brave enough to challenge the world's prejudices only because I hear your laughter on an evening's breeze. I can face even the possibility – the probability – of making a complete ass of myself for your sake, because you whisper Titania's endearments into my donkey's ears. When this madness is over, when Puck opens your eyes once more, I will treasure your presence in my life as the most charmed time I was ever granted, no matter how it ends. Because it will end, it will end soon, and probably badly because of my audacity. I pray that you do not suffer too much because I have been a selfish coward. I didn't mean you become fond of me, only to realise that you are lovely.

I hope to see you at the Gervas' Garden Party. I hope I will have the courage to speak to you then. I pray you, please be gentle with me when I tell you the truth for you are so far above me that one cruel word dropped from that height would surely kill me.

I love you.

Your loving admirer


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The Gervas' Garden Party was really a sort of annual village show in aid of the local church. As such it brought out the best and worst in people. Competitive classes in agricultural and horticultural endeavours sometimes became little more than a battlefield on which to fight generations-old family feuds. At the same time local traders who'd had a good year, or landowners who had reason for gratitude made large donations anonymously via Lord Gervas to help with the church roof and the vicar's ministrations to those less fortunate. The noble and the petty sat down hand in hand on the Gervas' immaculate lawn.

Anthony had volunteered to help organise the marquees and had been there since early morning both supervising the workmen and physically helping to put the tents up himself. After lunch he'd gratefully taken Lady Gervas' offer of a wash in the house and changed into his party clothes. When he emerged activities were in full swing and most of the guests had arrived. He stood on the veranda a few feet above the lawn below, looking out for one very specific attendee. When he saw her, he was both bowled over by her loveliness – she was dressed in a white linen dress trimmed with lace that emphasised the colouring of her hair which was covered by a flattering hat – and dismayed because she was deep in conversation with Archibald Campbell. He was being very earnest and although Anthony couldn't quite see Edith's reaction because she was standing in profile, Anthony knew she would be listening to the daft young man at the very least politely, and probably with much more interest than that. Was he proposing? The thought struck his heart like a dagger.


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Edith took her chance during a long, uncomfortable silence to ask her most important question, a question she had been crafting for days previously.

"Do you write poetry, Mr Campbell?"

"Good grief, no! What an odd question! Do you?"

"I write, but not poetry, no" said Edith, giving nothing away.

"I don't see the point in all that guff myself. But I like a good dance! Do you dance Edith?"

"Yes, I do as a matter of fact, as you know from the Callendar Becketts' Ball."

"Oh, yes, of course!" If he realised he'd made a prize idiot of himself in not remembering their dance, he didn't show it. Well that clinched it. Archie was not the letter-writer, Edith thought to herself with relieved satisfaction.


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Anthony continued to watch Edith and Archie talk, lost in growing dejection. What could he offer her that Archie could not trump? Or any other man under his age for that matter. He, a man of forty with awkward social skills, few friends, and no grasp of modern popular culture.

But Archie? Why Archie? Edith, his lovely Edith, deserved so much more than him. What he did have was youth and money. But youth would fade and quickly at that, Anthony mused bitterly. What would happen then? What would his darling, clever Edith do with a husband who was so boring, who had so little character and less brain?

Maybe, in comparison to Archie, Anthony did hold some of the winning cards after all. I have money, he thought, and I truly love her. I would do anything for her. After an eternity Campbell moved away from Edith and joined some other young men. Anthony took his chance, walking swiftly to the refreshment tent to collect a couple of glasses of fruit cup and then making his way to where Edith was half-heartedly watching the judging of the Prettiest Cow competition. To get to her he had to pass by Archie's group, and as he drew level with them he overheard a conversation that changed everything for him.

"You keen on that Crawley girl, Archie?" asked one of his friends. "I wouldn't have thought she was your type."

"She isn't, not really, but she's nice enough, quiet and obedient, and her father's an earl" answered Archie.

"I had an idea you were chasing after Sarah Cavendish" said another.

"Oh, she's wonderful and her father's a duke. I think she's the bee's knees and I'd marry her like a shot, but she isn't so keen for some reason. And my pater is going to cut off my allowance if I don't go and get married and produce an heir for him soon. So like it or not, unless Sarah gets a move on, I'm going to have to settle for the Crawley mouse." Archie grimaced.

"Better you than me, old man" said the first man. "She looks a right wet fish."

"She is, believe me, she is. It's a life sentence."

Anthony nearly exploded with fury. He kept walking as steadily as he could, resisting all his instincts to drop the drinks, turn around, and thump Archie right in his pretty, stupid face. He was more determined than ever that he would speak to Edith today. Even if Edith refused him, Anthony knew he had to warn her about Archie's intentions and his lack of affection for her.

. . . .

When she saw him approaching, Edith's face lit up. That in itself was enough to inspire the courage and fire in his chest that he needed to carry him over the first few difficult words concerning Archie. But he began as mildly as he could.

"My lady" he smiled.

"Sir Anthony. I do believe you would have us bow and curtsey to each other in the Georgian fashion?"

"It would be pleasant to do so, as long as you realise that it expresses my deep respect for you, and is not done for convention's sake." He gave her that lopsided smile that turned her tummy and made her feel giddy.

"And as long as you realise that it expresses my apologies for shrieking at your driving the other day!" He gave a deep chuckle.

"We did have fun, didn't we?!" he replied.

"I hope we might do so again, if I haven't so embarrassed you that you won't have me in your car ever again?!"

"I would be more than delighted, Lady Edith."

They took sips of their drinks as each considered what to say next. Anthony got there first, taking her to one side where they would not be overheard.

"Lady Edith, I'm not sure how to say this, but may I enquire if Campbell has…spoken to you yet?"

"You mean…?"

"Yes…to be blunt, has he proposed?"

"No. Why? Do you think he might?" Edith sounded worried rather than pleased, which reassured Anthony, but she did look awkward, as though Archie was not a subject she wished to discuss with him.

"I have reason to think that he will. If it happens, I want you to be in full command of the facts in order to make a decision that will be the best for you."

She looked at him with even more wonder and admiration. Here was a man only just younger than her father who was simply assuming that the power to make decisions that affected her life was hers and hers alone. Did he really believe women had rights, and believed it so deeply that he acted as if it were the truth and a perfectly natural fact of life? She stared at him as he continued.

"What I am about to impart to you may be seen as…tale-telling, but I believe you have a right to know. I have heard from his own lips that Mr Campbell does not love you, that you are his second choice after the Duke of Devonshire's daughter, Sarah. He confessed that he has to marry soon in order to produce an heir because that is the condition his father has laid down for him to receive a continued allowance. Even if he were the most accomplished young man in England, which I'm afraid to say he is not, those would not be good reasons for you to marry him. You are worth far more than that, Lady Edith. Even if you have feelings for him, I beg you please consider what you truly want before you make up your mind. You never need settle for being second-best, Lady Edith; never."

Edith was stunned.

"Thank you for telling me. I appreciate your candour…and your concern. I can set your mind at rest, because I too have been having serious doubts about Mr Campbell for some time. Besides, he is not the man who has captured my heart." She blushed with downcast eyes, not trusting herself to look at him for quite a while. When she did steal a glance Anthony was looking so…so lovingly at her. She thought Perhaps

"Sir Anthony, may I ask…do you write poetry?"

Anthony was taken aback by her question. What a very sudden change of subject! Then with a shock he realised what the question really meant: had he written the love letters? The time had come: time to declare his love for her. Bracing himself, he lowered his voice, leaned towards her, and stared into her eyes hoping he might find there the courage he needed.

"I believe you may have read some of my poetry already, Edith."

He watched her as her expression melted. She held her breath, her eyes not leaving his until she could hardly stand the happiness any more and her gaze dropped to his feet. Her breathing became ragged and she closed her eyes. The blue of the sky and the green of the grass changed places and she felt herself stagger into the dark. Anthony caught her and picked her up in his arms before carrying her into the house for some cool air and shade. Lady Gervas flustered around him, telling him to go into the morning room where it was coolest, and that she would fetch some smelling salts. Cora also saw Anthony carrying Edith across the lawn and followed.

Anthony gently laid Edith down on a chaise and offered his services to Lady Grantham.

"You've done so much already, thank you Sir Anthony. I cannot impose upon you further."

Lady Gervas assured him that she and Lady Grantham could care for Edith now, so there was nothing Anthony could do except make his excuses and back out of the room. He picked up his work clothes and made his way home.


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In answer to a couple of questions I've had: in canon Anthony has not lost his confidence in 1914. He plans to propose to Edith at the Downton Garden Party and believes he will be accepted and is very happy about it. Clearly that would not work for this story, so I had to explain why Anthony has so little self-belief, hence the defamation of Maud and the emphasis on his age although I personally don't think a man twice the age of the woman he woos is so bad – or vice versa – as long as they like each other. Many of you will know that my present wife was half my age when I met her. And we're still together.