A/N: The Anthony Strallan I am seeing is about 43 years old. I know in the series he looks older but if he is too old their pairing wouldn't be right. I also do not see Sir Anthony as a defeated man. Injured yes, but before the war this man was vibrant and looking toward the future. The war has just sidelined him a bit. The person I am writing about isn't going to be defined by his injury nor let it determine his future. He just has to move at his own pace to get where he wants to be. And Edith is moving with him as well. Life is a dance and these two are headed toward the dance floor. They just have to wait for the music to begin.
It was about 1:00 in the afternoon when she pulled into Sir Anthony Strallan's driveway. His house was beautiful . Four stories, red brick with white accent stone. He loved this place she knew because he had told her about it so many times. It had been in his family for generations and while he could afford to build another home on the estate, he chose to stay here, at Strallan Park. She parked the car and headed for the front door. She had just finished smoothing her jacket when Mr. Harris the butler opened the door.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Harris" she said smiling. "Is Sir Anthony home?"
Harris escorted her down the hall to the drawing room which was at the back of the house. This is a beautiful house, she thought. No, not a house – a home. Downton is a house; large, cold and unfeeling.
She noticed how cozy the house was – large yes, but something about it was peaceful. It was bright; light streamed into the hall from the windows in the rooms that opened off it and from the large window on the staircase landing. The carpets shown like jewels on the polished wooden floors. She smiled to herself thinking what a happy place this was and how joyful it must be to live here.
"Please wait here, Milady. I will tell Sir Anthony you are here."
Suddenly her hands were clamy and her heart started to race. Thinking about this venture at home and while she was sketching earlier was one thing – doing it was another.
Please God, she thought. Let me get this right and not make a fool of myself.
Sir Anthony Strallan sat at his desk going over ledgers. Looking at the clock he realized he had been at it three hours and still had not made much headway. His estate had not suffered much during his absence, but it needed attention now if it was going to be as profitable as it had been before the war. Part of his problem, and he was sure that of other land owners, was helping many of his tenants find replacement workers. So many had died or were so severely injured that they could never do manual labor again.
However, he was having trouble consentrating. Somehow his mind drifted back to Lady Edith Crawley. Seeing her days ago at her grandmothers had unnerved him more than he realized. He always enjoyed Lady Grantham's company – she was the most out spoken woman he knew. But seeing Edith again stirred feelings in him that had laid dormant for four years. He had not forgotten the last time he had seen her. He had replayed that day at the garden party many times over and each time came up with a different answer. Did Edith really feel that way about him or was Mary deliberately trying to cause a rift? And if so why? Mary had made it clear that she wasn't interested in him when she dismissed him so callously the day he came by to take her for a ride in his new car. Edith had asked him if he would take her for a ride instead, and being the gentleman that he was, he took her to be kind. But to his surprise that ride turned into a day he didn't want to end. He had even prolonged the ride so that he could take her to tea at the Grantham Inn. All of the times they spent together after that were wonderful for him, and he felt that Edith enjoyed his company as well. She was easy to talk to and asked him many questions about the estate, machinery, the tenants, what he liked to do for fun, and even asked him questions about his late wife, Maud. She made him feel that it was okay to miss her and talk about her. They had never run out of things to talk about he remembered, and he enjoyed her quirky sense of humor, she was funny but she was also smart. She was interested in current events and asked him many questions about was happening in Europe. He smiled as he thought of all these things.
Could he have been so wrong about her? It had been a long time since he had courted a girl and he had forgotten the games they could play. But Edith wasn't a game player. She was honest and forthright. Had he been in over his head thinking that this lovely young girl could perhaps care for him? Seventeen years age difference was a lot – but not if you truly loved each other, he thought.
Well, it didn't matter now anyway, even if he had thought about maybe asking her to take up with him again, he knew he couldn't because of his arm and that other thing that weighed on his mind constantly. He could still move his arm and Dr. Clarkson as well as Dr. Nelson in Ripon had given him exercises to do to help him regain strength in it. His main goal was to get his fingers working again. He never appreciated those five little digits until they wouldn't move, and without their use he felt helpless. But what if his arm didn't get better – could he ever expect a woman to want to be with him if he could only use one arm? Also, there was the fact that he had lost confidence in himself and his ability to make right decisions. The war had inflicted physical injury yes, but he had let it creep into his soul as well. He ran his good hand through his hair trying to make some sense about how he felt. Damn, why does everything have to be so hard, he thought.
He got up and walked into his drawing room. He had just started to look at the latest farm catalog when Harris came through the door and said, "Lady Edith Crawley, sir." As he rose to greet her, his face registered shock. The lovely young girl he had seen a few days earlier had disappeared. In her place was someone completely new, different. The person coming into the room was a woman he had never seen before. She walked into the room with authority and confidence and My God, she was wearing trousers. He couldn't take his eyes off of the way her clothes fit close to her body, or her bright face, her hair and especially her smile; that smile had always pierced his soul. Something had happened to her in seven days. The war had injured him, but hadn't killed him. He appreciated a pretty woman as much as the next man, and this was the prettiest woman he had seen in a long time. Anxiety and fear overtook him and he felt as if the world was going to fall out from under him – again.
