A/N: I've been feeing rather blue lately and so my mom, who is lovely and wonderful, took me to see the Downton costume exhibit at The Biltmore last weekend. I had so many shippy feels when I got to Edith's peach dress that I had to filter it into a fic. Enjoy!
The Exhibit
Seemingly oblivious to the throng of chatting, wine-bearing socialites around him, a tall blonde gentleman strolled through the gallery at the Carson Museum of History. He paid more attention to the carefully researched placards and artistically lit artefacts than many of the museum's gala guests, specially invited to the opening of the new exhibit commemorating the 100th anniversary of the Great War. The exhibit was laid out chronologically, with one large room dedicated to the pre-war period, three rooms dedicated to the war itself, two smaller rooms dedicated to the post-war changes, and one final room which spanned all three periods showcasing vehicles. Which was why Sir Anthony Strallan had received an invitation to this event. He had allowed his 1913 open Rolls-Royce to be displayed beside a Royal Engineers dispatch motorbike, an Austin armoured car, an ambulance wagon, a scale model of Sopwith fighter, and a 1920's AC.
Not that he couldn't have merited an invitation otherwise. If his title weren't enough, he was the CEO of a company dedicated to developing green energy and its offshoot charity working to help underdeveloped communities around the world profit from solar energy harvesting. He was often invited to charity events and social happenings, though he was attending less and less of them lately. He'd accepted this invitation because he had some good friends on the museum board and was actually quite interested in the subject matter. He continued to scrutinize the displays of weaponry, medical supplies, soldiers' memorabilia, uniforms. Then, emerging into the first of the post-war rooms, he saw it.
A light peach gown circa 1920, hanging on a mannequin, fairly glowing in the light of the spot that was directed upon it. In a daze, he moved closer, his eye trailing from the glittering beaded neckline to the gently falling silk overdress and curling asymmetrical sash. He continued to stare at it, taking in every soft fold and familiar line. Upon an impulse, he reached his good arm forward and caught a bit of the smooth silk between his fingers, almost gasping at the force of the memory that engulfed him.
He saw the same dress, clinging to the lithe form of Edith Crawley, fluttering as she walked across the festooned lawn, the lantern light dancing in and out of the shimmering folds and glinting off its beaded flowers. It was May, only a week or so after he and Edith had admitted that their relationship was something more than just a mere friendship. Not that any words had passed between them. Edith had simply turned one of their lingering goodnight looks into a trepidatious kiss on his cheek. That simple gesture had opened up a new world for Anthony, finally allowing him to acknowledge what some part of him had known all along: that he loved her desperately.
Up until that point their relationship had been one of mutual contentment; having known each other through Edith's father for years, recently reconnected, and fallen into an easy and open friendship, dining together when the opportunity arose, partnering each other to various social and work events, and never bothering to hide their mutual pleasure in each other's company. The disparity in their ages seemed a perfect bar to any romantic entanglement. Yet Edith had noticed it first, the disappointment the first time a work commitment had prevented her from one of Anthony's casual offers to grab dinner at the pub. The severity of it had made her consider the situation, only to realize that she didn't just like to share a meal or a dance or her aspirations and opinions with Anthony, but that she wanted to share her life with Anthony. Whether he returned her feelings or not, she had fallen in love with him.
Soon after, she had been confirmed in his affections, when, at that May soiree, he had proposed. He hadn't meant to. He'd picked her up in his Rolls, suited to the vintage-themed party they were attending and danced her around in that peach gown for a couple of hours before she'd taken his hand and led him across the lawn to the shelter of a semi-secluded tree. They'd kicked off their shoes to feel the cool grass between their toes and opened a purloined bottle of wine to share.
"I don't know if I've told you how beautiful you look," he'd said, admiring the way the light from the party was painting her face.
She'd smiled and blushed. "I hoped you'd like the dress. You look very handsome yourself," she complimented, with the guileless honesty which they always shared.
"Edith, I hope you know how much I enjoy our time together," he'd said gently.
"As do I," she'd agreed, warmly.
"And I couldn't bear for that to end. I couldn't bear to lose you."
He'd let this linger, watching her face for any signs that he had overstepped. But all he saw was her affectionate smile.
"Edith, I love you," he'd stated, calmly, though his heart had been fluttering fit to burst. This was the moment of truth. If he had overstepped he would know it, and would have ruined everything.
But her smile simply broadened as she said, "I'm glad, Anthony. Because I love you, too."
He'd felt the most intoxicating sense of elation then. "In that case, do you think you might like to marry me?" He'd breathed impulsively.
She'd laughed happily. "Yes, I expect I would."
He'd ventured forward with one introductory kiss. Which had led to another, and another, each becoming more confident and more reverent. They'd become acquainted with one another all over again that night, sharing new amorous secrets amid frequent kisses. They'd nuzzled together on the grass, holding one another until they'd fallen asleep. Anthony could still recall the feel of Edith's head beneath his chin, her body tucked against him, his fingers sliding lazily over the peach clad curve of her spine…
"Excuse me," a perturbed voice hailed him, wrenching him back to the present. He fixed his eyes upon an anxious looking young woman whose patterned scarf and logoed name badge proclaimed her a docent. "Sir, please don't touch the exhibits. Thank you," she said with an apologetic smile as he released the gown.
Anthony blushed, realizing his blunder and registering the dampness of tears around his eyes.
"Forgive me," he croaked. The young lady flashed him a final courteous smile and then was hailed by another patron.
Anthony remained there, his gaze boring into the dress, as if he might will himself back into that blissful time, to again feel that surging happiness of love and joy, and not the hollow ache that had replaced it. After Edith's family had gotten a hold of him and ended their engagement, when he had lost his bride and his dearest friend in one agonizing day, the promise of those years to come ripped away from him as he plunged into the abyss of solitary regret. With great effort he finally tore himself from the gown and tried to take an interest in the rest of the exhibit, willing the pain to recede with a well-honed tenacity.
It had lessened into a dull ache by the time he came into the large open room where the vehicles were displayed. Anthony blinked beneath the almost blinding lights gleaming off the polished fenders of the AC which met him first. He glanced across to the corner where his Rolls was and his blistered heart skipped a beat. There, standing to one side of the platform with his back to her, was Edith.
He stood gazing at her back for several long moments, his anguish reviving. How he ached to love her, and now he could not even befriend her. They were strangers, mere acquaintances. He couldn't help himself. He crossed the room.
After a few moments, she became aware of the presence behind her and turned.
"Edith," he said thickly, as she was suddenly facing him. There were tears glistening in her eyes too.
"Anthony," she sighed, reaching an impulsive hand towards him, but checking herself and turning it into a cordial handshake.
He hooked his own hand beneath hers and she clung to it, her wide eyes revealing the tumult of her emotions.
"I should have known you'd be here. Not many people around here have a car from the pre-war period," she commented, trying to appear light and conversational.
"I saw your dress," he said lamely.
"It was just…sitting in my closet. I couldn't-bring myself to wear it," she said with some difficulty.
He tightened his grip and lifted her hand to his lips, but even as he did so she was hailed by a young, attractive companion and he straightened, releasing her hand and giving a curt nod before moving swiftly to the nearest exit.
He burst out into the brisk evening, into a small courtyard with a weathered stone wall. He pressed his palms into the rough cold stone, giving vent to silent sobs. Oh Edith, Edith, Edith… All the self-loathing that had helped him make the worst decision of his life two years ago tumbled over him, every reproach, every failing, every reason that he didn't deserve her, all boiling down to one basic mantra. I'm not worth it. I'm not worth it. I'm not worth it.
"Anthony?" Edith called, and he gasped, trying to compose himself. He pressed his palms to his eyes and rubbed away the tears, and with a deep breath turned to face her. But the sight of her beloved face loosed two fresh tears. "Anthony," she said again, coming forward and reaching her hands up to brush the tears from his face, reaching up and folding her in his arms.
"Anthony darling, my sweet friend, please don't. I love you my darling," she murmured, stroking the nape of his neck comfortingly. "I've wanted to tell you, I realized what Granny and Papa did," she continued against his ear as his sobs quieted. "They tried to do the same to Sybil's fiancé. And if you still want me then—"
He stopped her here, catching her lips in a heavenly kiss, which he subsequently repeated, making up for two years of missed kisses and leaving her in no doubt of his affections. As Anthony's head buzzed in unexpected rapture, he became aware of a voice, which insisted that he disentangle himself from his beloved's arms and pay heed.
"Excuse me, sir, ma'm, but—" it was the harassed docent once again, whose smile became more strained as she recognized Anthony as her previous offender. "We ask that our visitors not sit on the wall."
Anthony realized that in his fervor he had boosted Edith onto the low wall. She flushed a radiant pink as he helped her down, this time noticing the discreet sign that said "Please, do not sit."
"I'm so sorry once again, miss," he said humbly as Edith stifled a giggle. "I didn't realize this was part of the collection."
The historian raised her eyebrows and pointed to a sign just in front of the small enclosure which he had missed in his hurried exit from the museum. "These foundations have been here since 1462. Though the rest of the building was lost to a fire in 1609," she explained.
"Ah," said Edith, raising dancing eyes to Anthony's. "But the foundation was solid enough to withstand the fire and survive for hundreds of years," she said meaningfully.
"Well, it has undergone some restoration," the docent corrected. "But yes."
"Fancy that," Anthony remarked, though he was not heeding the guide. He was far more interested in the proximity of Edith's lips.
The docent cleared her throat. "Yes, well, I'll just…," she said, smiling in spite of herself and beating a hasty retreat to the museum.
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A/N: If you're looking for the harassed but well-meaning docent, that's me. However, if I encountered Sir Anthony (or Robert Bathurst) in my museum, I'd become so much of a blushing fangirl that I might not have the wits to warn him off the artefacts, and if I found Edith and Anthony kissing….