VII.

"…with my body I thee worship…"

Edith was at odds with her entire family. But as this was not a completely unfamiliar state of affairs, she was doing a remarkably good job of not letting it trouble her. Still, their demands had been made perfectly clear to Edith from the first moment of her arrival at Downton. And those demands had been repeated with tiresome frequency ever since.

She was to give up her writing.

She was to give up her independence.

She was certainly to give up Sir Anthony!

But Edith was not of a mind to give up anything. She had matured in London. She had discovered her own worth. And she had rediscovered his… She touched her pocket, where Anthony's letter lay, and smiled until her cheeks ached. He had followed her. She hadn't chased him, swayed him, plagued him. He had followed her.

And he loved her.

She had always believed that to be true, but hearing those three precious words spoken aloud had calmed all of her fears. Everything would be fine. She knew it. His love had given her courage that she hadn't known she possessed.

A tap at her bedroom door forced Edith to wipe the smile from her face. She barely had time to call 'come in' however, before Mary marched into the room.

Few visitors could have been less welcome than her sister. Dinner that evening had been an awkward affair. Again. Matthew alone seemed able to carry on as though nothing had happened. As though Edith hadn't been arrested. As though she didn't have every intention of renewing a relationship with the man who had jilted her at the altar.

"You have a letter," Mary said, closing the door behind her. "Not from Sir Anthony," she added sharply.

Edith had rather lit up at the prospect, but she was quick to put her disappointment aside. She took the envelope from her sister's hand. Mary watched her as she read.

"The man who left it said he was in the area 'covering a story', and had been asked to drop it off on his way to York. It's from your newspaper editor, isn't it?"

"It is, yes," Edith said slowly.

She was having a little trouble understanding exactly what she was reading, but a smile was once again fighting for purchase on her lips. She handed the letter over to Mary, once she had finished a second reread. There was just the slightest hint of smugness in her manner.

Mary accepted the correspondence with a frown. She read quickly. Edith bit the inside of her lip in an effort to keep from positively beaming, as her sister's frown grew more pronounced the more she read. Mary's mouth was pinched in a thin line of displeasure by the time she had finished.

"I don't understand. What does it mean?" she demanded, looking up, her intelligent eyes probing. "What photograph is he talking about?"

"It was taken when I was leaving the police station in London. I did wonder why it hadn't been featured in any of the newspapers," Edith said, fingers touching her pocket lightly.

The stories had been quite damaging enough. A photograph would have been positively damning. That didn't matter to Edith. What mattered to her was what the absence of the photograph represented.

Mary was still studying the letter in her hands, as though trying to reconcile two contrary facts.

She didn't appear to be succeeding.

"Are you telling me, Sir Anthony Strallan had the foresight- not to mention the means- of purchasing this photograph before anyone from the press?"

"I'm not telling you anything, but that does appear to be what the editor of The Times is intimating," Edith said sweetly.

She cast her mind back to that momentous night, such a short time ago, to the image of Anthony sitting at his desk, exhausted and dishevelled, and working tirelessly to salvage the mess that she had made of her reputation. She simply could not stop smiling.

Mary did not appear to share her delight, "And this bit?" she demanded, quoting the letter directly. "'Having finally accepted your happiness is not reliant upon me, I wish you every possible joy for the future.' What does that mean?"

"Nothing, really," Edith said, rather dismissively. "He's an incorrigible flirt that's all. I think I upset his ego terribly by not falling in love with him."

"Oh splendid!" Mary snapped. "And that was in compliment to Sir Anthony too, no doubt?"

"No." Edith looked rather puzzled for a moment. "After all, I hadn't seen Sir Anthony since he- that is, for almost a year. I'd put him out of my mind."

"Yes, I can see that!" Mary said sharply. She took a breath and curbed the irritation in her voice. "Edith, please help me to understand."

"To understand what?"

"Why you persist in making a fool of yourself over that man!"

Edith sat down on the edge of her bed and stared at her hands. What could she say? Nothing that would make sense to Mary. But she settled on the truth. A truth that had slowly been revealing itself to her from the first moment that she had heard his voice in the offices of Abrams and Howard.

"Because I love him," she said quietly. "I will always love him. And my love is an awful lot stronger than my pride."

Mary smiled, an odd smile, not exactly warm, but somehow strangely satisfied, and then, curiously, she folded Edith's letter neatly in half and kept it safely in her hand.

"Don't let Granny hear you say anything against the Crawley pride," she said tartly, and then, "He hurt you."

"I know. But I know he was hurt too. He needs me," Edith sighed wistfully. "Oh, not like everyone supposes," she added quickly, "Although, I shouldn't mind that either, but he needs me to remind him of what a wonderful man he is when he forgets. And- and I need him too."

"I suppose you have made up your mind to have him, in spite of everything?"

"I don't think my mind was ever unmade."

"Matthew thought as much," Mary nodded. There was a decided look about her that Edith recognised very well from their years growing up together. "Which is why we must act quickly."

"Pardon?"

It was Edith's turn to frown.

"You must pack a bag," Mary continued brusquely. "As you can drive there will be no difficulty in getting to him." Edith stared at her sister in absolute shock, and more than a little wonder. This was why Mary always got her own way. "It's far easier to ask forgiveness than permission," she said simply, as though Edith were a simpleton. "Papa will not be able to do a thing once you've married the man."

Edith could only continue to stare at her sister for several long seconds, "Why are you doing this?"

"Guilt, mostly. And also, I simply cannot bear to have you moping around the house again."

Edith smiled tightly, "Thank you, I think."

"Then it's decided." Mary nodded. "If you slip out now no one will miss you until breakfast. I can make sure no one tries to disturb you before then."

"You would really do that?" Edith marvelled, heart beginning to race with excitement, every fibre of her being yearning to seize this chance. "For me?"

"Shocking, isn't it?"

Edith thought it prudent not to reply. But she did wonder if she should be ashamed by how easily she was persuaded. She was becoming more liberal by the day.

But after all, Anthony had come to Yorkshire. It was only right to meet him halfway, Edith reasoned, as she and Mary sorted through the bare minimum of what she might need. He had proven many things to her over the past few days. She was not above proving to him that she still wanted him far more than propriety dictated was proper.

Minutes later, the two sisters crept downstairs, carrying the bag that they had hastily prepared between them. They managed to avoid the servants and the family, and slipped out one of the back doors of the house, whereupon Edith found herself forced to thank Mary again.

It was disconcerting to say the least.

"You needn't sound so perturbed," Mary said, apparently reading Edith's tone correctly. "We are sisters after all, and I must say, I've found it infinitely easier to get along with you these last few months."

"I've been in London these last few months."

"I know."

Edith rolled her eyes and bit her tongue, but goodbyes were said, good luck was wished, and hugs were, awkwardly, given, before she found herself walking away from Downton Abbey.

She felt a momentary pang in the region of her heart. Downton had been her home for almost all her life. She should feel guilty, but all she felt was relief- relief and a sense of freedom that almost made her cry. The future lay on the road before her, and she had taken the first step towards it.

She did not follow Mary's advice to the letter, however. She didn't take one of her father's cars. It was not an insurmountable walk to Anthony's house, and Edith thought it quite likely that someone would hear a car driving away. She was also not entirely sure that her father wouldn't prosecute her for theft- given the mood he was liable to be in when he found her gone.

Besides, the long walk helped to settle Edith's nerves. It was a mild night, lit by stars, and it all seemed rather like a dream. She was almost embarrassed that she had needed Mary's prompting to set her on this course of action. She was not naïve enough to think that Anthony wouldn't be troubled when he saw her. She couldn't imagine that he had imagined she would turn up on his doorstep in the middle of the night, but she was confident she could soothe away his worries.

Edith needed all of that confidence when it came to knocking on Anthony's front door. She was somewhat relieved to be greeted by a familiar face.

"Mr Oakley! You came up from London too?" she smiled at the butler, who was staring back at her with a look of amazement. "Is Sir Anthony about?"

"He's in the library, Lady Edith."

"Is he? Excellent. I know the way. Might I trouble you to take this?" she asked, handing him her bag before he could say anything else.

Wearing her newfound confidence like a suit of armour, Edith walked the familiar path to Anthony's library. The door was standing slightly ajar, a shaft of light illuminating the corridor. She hesitated only a moment before slipping inside.

Anthony must have heard the light tread of her footsteps for he looked up from the book that he was reading almost immediately. A myriad of emotions played across his face, far too quickly for Edith to decipher them all.

"What's wrong?" he asked, rising from the chair in which he had been sitting, the only one in the room that was lacking a dust sheet, Edith noted absently.

"Nothing," she laughed shakily. "Not exactly. Not unless you count leaving Downton as wrong?"

She would not say running away. She wasn't running away. She was running to something. Someone. Him.

"Edith," he sighed her name. She adored the way he made it sound as though it belonged to him. "I thought we were going to do this properly?"

"We tried properly before. It didn't work out too well for us." He was just starting to make her nervous. She babbled on, "I thought we might see how we faired with improperly."

"Improperly?"

There was something about the way he said the word, and the way he looked at her as he spoke, that made Edith's pulse pick up a beat.

"Mary says it's better to ask forgiveness than permission."

"Your sister Mary?" Anthony did not sound pleased. The warm light in his eyes flickered and died.

"She has a point."

Anthony didn't immediately answer. He walked over to his desk and picked up a thick white envelope. He stared at it seriously for a moment.

"I know about the photograph!" Edith blurted, to fill the tense silence.

Anthony looked up abruptly.

"How-!" and then he frowned, his expression shuttered. "I suppose your gentleman from the newspaper told you?"

Understanding came quickly to Edith. Sweet and swift was the realisation of what troubled her beloved. She shouldn't take pleasure in his jealousy, but it was hard not to feel a little appeased.

"He is not my gentleman," Edith said firmly. She had followed Anthony across the room, just to be near him. "My gentleman is the dearest, kindest, cleverest man I know," she continued, gazing up at him. "Sometimes I fear I must be a continual nuisance to him."

"You could never be that," he said tenderly. The way he looked at her soothed her soul. "Edith, I presume all of this- Lady Mary's contribution- your arrival here tonight- is because of your father? My dear, I do not think he will give me his permission or forgiveness in this lifetime. However-" he finally handed her the envelope that he had been toying with "-I have made my peace with that fact. I have no intention of asking Lord Grantham for your hand."

"You aren't going to ask Papa if you can marry me?"

Edith's fingers trembled as she opened the envelope. But she had faith in him, faith that she had not been mistaken. Faith that was rewarded when she finished fumbling with the envelope and saw what it contained.

"No. I was going to ask you, my darling."

Edith looked between Anthony and the special marriage licence, signed and authenticated, and complete with their names. She looked up at Anthony again. He was wearing a slightly crooked, slightly uncertain smile. She laid the very important document down with the utmost care and tried not to smile too widely at him in return.

Not just yet.

"You were going to ask me?"

His own smile grew until it reached his eyes, and then he took her by the hand and led her to his chair. She sat down, which was just as well, her legs felt terribly weak.

Anthony dropped to one knee in front of her. She enjoyed the novel experience of looking straight into his face. Her fingers ached to trace the strong line of his jaw, but he didn't for a moment let go of her hand. She wondered if he could hear the way her heart was pounding in her chest?

"Edith, my sweet, whatever you say next, know that I will love you forever," Anthony began in earnest. "To know you has been the greatest blessing of my life. I have no right to ask, but please, I beg you, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

She was nodding before he had even finished speaking.

"Yes, oh yes!" she cried, and threw herself into his arms- arm, unbalancing them both.

They landed in a tangle on the floor. Edith didn't mind in the slightest, and, if the look of awe on his face was anything to judge by, Anthony may not have immediately registered her lack of decorum.

"You mean it?" he asked, touching her cheek, his voice cracking with emotion. "Even though I am old and crippled and have let you down in the worst possible way?"

"Yes," she said simply.

There was no argument in the world that she could have made more sincerely. She stared at him adoringly, without even attempting to disentangle herself from her position on his lap. In fact, she caught hold of his ruined hand, kissed it, and then tenderly placed his arm at his side, so that she might press her body flush against his and wrap her arms around his neck.

"I love you more than anything," she sighed warmly.

"So you persist in saying, though I cannot understand why."

There was a husky timbre to his voice that Edith hadn't heard before. It set off the most delicious ache inside her body. As did the fact that he could not seem to drag his eyes from her mouth. She moistened her lips instinctively.

"Anthony…"

The needy whisper of his name provoked him into action. Edith's eyes fell shut at the first gentle brush of his mouth. She had waited a lifetime to be kissed with such exquisite care. He did not rush and he did not take. He coaxed her need from her until she burned for him.

She clung to his shoulders as he deepened the kiss. The taste of him was intoxicating. She pressed herself closer, revelling in the hard, solid presence of him. There was no room in her head for anything other than her desire for this man.

She could never have waited a year, if he had kissed her like this before…

Her eyelids were heavy, her lips swollen, when he finally pulled back.

"Don't stop," she whimpered.

"I must-"

Though he did kiss her once more, a searing, hard buss that made her clench with need.

"I want you."

"I am not going to take you on the library floor," Anthony said with difficulty.

Well! She had thought they might have made it upstairs to a bed, but even though the notion should have shocked her, Edith found she was not opposed to being taken on the library floor. It sounded wonderfully wicked. Her voice was breathless when she spoke.

"I wouldn't mind."

"Edith."

She hadn't known he could growl. It made her want to kiss him again. And more. She didn't know why she'd never considered it before, but gentlemen really wore far too many clothes. Tie, jacket, shirt, waistcoat…

"Don't you want me?" she whispered, although she could feel that he did.

"I want you very much," he confessed, tone ragged, his eyes had never looked so blue, "but I truly would never be able to look Lord Grantham in the eye again if I made love to you tonight."

Edith sighed softly and leant her forehead against his. She hadn't known that it could be painful to want a man- this man- so much.

"I suppose you would not be you and I would not love you so desperately without your wretched sense of honour."

"I will make it up to you," he promised, his words heavy with intent.

"I know you will," Edith breathed. She eagerly looked forward to discovering exactly what that meant… "I suppose we should be leaving anyway," she murmured, stroking her fingers against the nape of his neck. "Mary has only promised to keep our secret until the morning. And I am quite desperate to make an honest man of you."

Anthony's throaty chuckle delighted her, as did the fact that he could not seem to stop touching her. The gentle caress of his fingertips stoked a dozen smouldering fires beneath her skin.

"Might I ask where we're going?" he enquired, making no immediate move to get up.

"Anywhere. I don't care. So long as I'm with you."