The next few days passed very quickly indeed. In the weeks that followed, only two moments stood out clearly in Edith's mind. The first was explaining what their new situation would be to Elinor. Five year olds have quite a natural tendency to assume that all marriages are made for love - it was at least the assumption that Elinor made. Edith opened her mouth to correct her, and found that she did not have the heart. Her daughter was so very excited at the prospect of having Sir Anthony as her new papa - and, in any case, how could she hope to make Elinor understand the wider reasons for her sudden decision to marry? Better that she think everything was rosy in the garden, than be disabused of that wonderful innocence of which she was still possessed.

The second was her wedding ceremony. She and Anthony had decided to marry very quietly, with only a few guests in attendance. Helen, Tom and Sybbie, Signora Rossi and Elinor were present, in addition to Hugh Jervis, whom Anthony had chosen as his best man, and his wife, Lady Jervis. Archie and Diana were there in the front row, alongside Edith's little 'family', watching the proceedings with quiet approval. David was off at a house party somewhere with college friends, but he had sent Edith a short letter which arrived the day before the wedding.

Dear (Aunt) Edith,

Sorry I won't be able to see you marry Uncle Anthony tomorrow, but I imagine that he'll be breathing a sigh of relief that he won't have yours truly there to embarrass him! I haven't got his flair with the written word, so this will be a rather rambling note - but here goes anyway.

Uncle Anthony's a very decent chap, and I'm glad that he's marrying someone who sees that too. I'm too young to remember Aunt Maude, but my mother says that Uncle Anthony was devastated when she died. I know it isn't quite the same with you, but I think he'd still take it badly if anything happened to make you go away.

What I suppose I'm trying to say, in my clumsy way, is: Please look after him.

My best wishes to both of you (but especially to you, Aunt!)

David

Edith had rolled her eyes a little and smiled fondly while reading his missive. She did not share its contents with Anthony; they would only have embarrassed him, and put him in a mood to scold his young nephew, and Edith did not want her marriage to start with needless quarrels. Instead, she had replaced the letter in its envelope and locked it away in her bureau. Along with several other items of furniture from the Bloomsbury flat, it had been moved to Anthony's Belgravia house the night before the wedding. That had been a very strange evening, to sit in her nearly empty living room with Helen and Tom, with Elinor tucked up in bed next door, and reflect on what was, to all intents and purposes, the end of an era.

The next morning had been even stranger. The ceremony had been set for eleven o'clock. Anthony had offered to send a car, but Tom had put his foot down at that. "If I'm giving you away," he had said firmly, "I'll damn well drive you there as well." Edith hadn't even bothered protesting; secretly she was rather glad that she would not be left alone in a car with a stranger for the journey. Instead, Helen, Signora Rossi and Elinor enjoyed the novelty of travelling in Sir Anthony's Rolls.

When Tom had pulled up outside the registry office, he had sat very still for a few moments and then had turned to Edith, an anxious frown playing across his face. "You know, it isn't too late to decide against all this," he had remarked quietly.

Edith had shaken her head. "Not a chance of it, I'm afraid, Tom. I've made my decision, and that's that."

Suddenly, Tom reached over and pulled her into a fierce hug. "Stubborn woman!" Pulling back, but retaining a firm grip on her upper arms, he had added seriously, "You know you have a home with us, don't you? You and Elinor, whenever and for however long you need one?"

Tears pricked Edith's eyes and she had nodded. "Yes. Of course. I know that I can always rely on my darling brother for that."

Tom, embarrassed as he always was by female tears, had released her and looked away until she had got herself under control. Then, they had gone inside.

She had felt a few pangs at speaking her vows in the full knowledge of her own dishonesty, but then she had looked up to see Anthony smiling benignly down at her, and she had felt somehow comforted. It was almost impossible to be anxious when he was looking at her like that. After the ceremony was finished, and they had been pronounced man and wife, everyone decamped to Diana and Archie's home for a quiet meal. Edith had not wanted a party, had even had to be persuaded into allowing the glasses of champagne which all the adults were drinking, but Diana had wheedled and pleaded until she had finally agreed to the presence of a few of Anthony's oldest and dearest friends.

Anthony stuck close by her all afternoon, looking somewhat out of place in his formal morning suit, next to Edith's simple pale green day dress. Helen had tried to encourage her to choose something a little finer, but she had refused. The day had been hard enough, without just another reminder of what this marriage was not. And, of course, she was no longer qualified to wear white. It hadn't all been bad, however. In fact, looking back dispassionately, it could have been a lot worse. For one thing, the groom had stayed the course this time - his voice hadn't even quavered, and his hand had been perfectly steady when he had slipped the ring onto her finger.

Now, her husband was attempting to make small talk - chatter about the Belgravia house, about Locksley, about what the next few weeks would hold. They had decided against a honeymoon; it did not seem appropriate in the circumstances, and besides, Edith wanted to be in London for when the inevitable letter from Michael's solicitor arrived. "But you must make whatever changes you wish to the house," Anthony murmured. "God knows, it's rather been left to stagnate since Maude…" He trailed off, looking as if he felt himself to have misspoken.

Edith smiled softly. "I don't mind you talking about Maude, you know," she replied, equally quietly. "I never did."

He closed his eyes briefly, exasperated - with her or himself, she could not tell - and then explained, "I don't wish to make you uncomfortable."

She opened her mouth to interrupt, but he held her off with a raised hand. "No, Edith. This marriage will be whatever you need it to be - we can be as close or as distant as you choose." He paused, framing his next thought. "You will always have your own life, your own work. I don't want you to feel as if you're being… pushed into a role you don't want."

Edith ducked her head shyly. "Anthony, you've been good enough to marry me. I - I want to be a proper wife to you. A hostess, a… a support, if you like. I'll run your house, and so forth. Do whatever it is that married women are supposed to do."

He gave her arm, linked with his, a fond squeeze. "Very well. If you'd like to. But promise me one thing?"

She looked up at him curiously. "Of course. Anything." The knowledge of her implicit trust in him sent a warm glow from his heart down to his belly and up to his head. She truly believed that he would never ask her anything to which she would find it impossible to acquiesce. Gently, he murmured, "Promise me that you won't give up your writing? I want to see this manuscript of yours on every bookshelf in London."

Edith nodded firmly, swallowing back tears of gratitude. "I promise. I don't think I could stop now, even if I wanted to. I just sit down, and it seems to pour out of me, somehow. I - "

But whatever she was going to say was cut off at that moment by Diana's voice calling across the room. "Edith, there's someone I'd very much like you to meet." Edith shared a comical eye-roll with Anthony.

"Duty calls," she smiled ironically and hurried off.

It was somewhat of a relief to get back to Anthony's Belgravia house that evening. The party had gone on for much longer than either had expected, and indeed, probably still was. Anthony had made their excuses on account of Elinor, falling asleep on one of the sofas, at ten o'clock, and sent someone to bring the car round. He had driven them home himself, with Edith sitting in the back, Elinor curled up on her lap. It was nice to be taken care of, for once, to feel one could doze off without danger in the back of a car.

When Anthony arrived at their house, Waters was already waiting on the front step, ready to drive the Rolls round to Anthony's private garage. He must have telephoned home before they left, to ensure that everything was in perfect readiness for their arrival, because when Edith herself got out of the vehicle, having first passed a still-sleeping Elinor over to her new stepfather, she saw Figgins waiting at the doorstep, too.

It was a little intimidating to walk up the steps to the house thus, with Anthony a step behind her, and Figgins staring impassively down at her from the doorway. Edith stepped inside the hall's welcoming warmth and Figgins extended his arms to help her off with her coat. "Good evening, my lady. I trust you have had a pleasant evening?"

Anthony stepped past her and through the open drawing room door; a moment later, Edith saw the electric lamp being switched on, and then Anthony returned, having deposited Elinor on the sofa. "A very pleasant evening, thank you, Figgins," he replied cheerfully, but in hushed tones. "I think we shall have supper in half an hour, in the library. And someone ought to show Lady Strallan where the nursery has been arranged."

"Very good, sir. If you would like to follow me, my lady."

Edith had a strong feeling that Figgins disapproved of his master's actions with regards to her, so she was determined to be especially polite and enthusiastic in response to every little help he gave her in the coming days. But even without this personal promise, it would have been impossible to be anything less than effusive in her praise of the nursery; someone had had the large airy room painted in a warm yellow shade, and furnished all in caramel-brown wood. Looking inside the wardrobe and chest of drawers, Edith saw that all of Elinor's clothes had already been put away. On the bed, Edward Teddington was tucked down underneath a patchwork quilt of red, orange and yellow squares. A nightgown lay neatly folded at the foot of the bed, and Edith's eye followed it down to the red-topped ottoman that rested on the deep-pile yellow carpet. Thick velvety orange drapes covered the windows, blocking out any draughts, and a little fire burned merrily in the fireplace. One wall had been devoted to bookshelves, none taller than Elinor herself could reach, with plenty of space left for the worlds that the room's occupant would soon discover. Edith turned, hand over her mouth in delight, and then she saw it: the big, dappled rocking horse, with its shiny leather tack and splendid black mane, that sat in the corner. She was positively entranced.

"Figgins, whoever am I to thank for this lovely room? Miss Elinor will be so very pleased!"

Figgins' hitherto stony face softened fractionally. "The maids were glad to arrange Miss Elinor's possessions, my lady, but the decorations were decided upon by Sir Anthony."

"I see. Well, please pass on my thanks to the staff - to have this all arranged in so short a period of time must have taken an extraordinary amount of effort and upheaval. I'm very grateful."

Figgins bowed and opened the door. "Very good, my lady."

Elinor was tired out from the excitement of the day - too tired to even open her eyes more than a fraction when Edith lifted her into her arms to carry her to bed. After kissing her new step-papa, she half fell back to sleep. Edith tucked her in under the covers in her new room and kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, my darling. Sleep well."

"'Night, Mummy," Elinor murmured, arm stretching out to hug Edward Teddington to her side.

Edith had reached the door, and switched the light off, before Elinor's voice sounded out again, sounding slightly more awake this time. "Mummy?"

"Yes, sweet one?" Edith asked, keeping her voice low and soothing.

"I'm glad you married Sir Anthony."

Edith bit back sudden tears. "Mmm. Sweet dreams, my darling."

Downstairs in the library, Anthony was pouring himself a small tumbler of whisky. Edith shut the door behind her quietly and went to sit at the small table upon which a light supper had been arranged. "The nursery is beautiful, Anthony," she smiled

He turned back towards the table, ducking his head to hide his blushes. "Well, it's the first time she has moved houses. The least I could do was to make the move as painless as possible."

Edith chuckled. "We'll never part her from that rocking horse," she warned lightly. Then, more seriously, she added, "It was a truly lovely thought."

Anthony looked absurdly embarrassed at the compliment, as he always did in such situations, and turned the subject. "Well, I'm glad it will be appreciated." He held up a bottle of white wine and Edith nodded, beginning to chase a forkful of game pie around her plate.

"What are you planning to do tomorrow, my dear?" Anthony asked. "I was perhaps thinking we might sit down and make arrangements - you must pick a study, of course, and I'm not entirely sure how you wish to raise Elinor…"

Edith took a sip of her wine and nodded again. "Of course. Whatever you wish. I - I'm not entirely sure, about Elinor. I know it's usual to engage a governess, but… considering our circumstances, it would have to be someone exceptional, wouldn't it? Someone particularly broad-minded?"

Anthony set down his own knife and fork. "I imagine so. But don't feel that you must decide immediately. The next few weeks are going to be a rather big adjustment, for both of you. You must just take everything slowly - you know that I don't expect anything of you."

Again, Edith nodded. But she was preoccupied, and Anthony, who had been desperately trying to carry on as normal, finally decided to investigate what had gone wrong. "Did Elinor settle all right?" he asked quietly.

Edith, staring deep into her wine glass, shook herself and looked up at him a wan smile. "Oh, yes, thank you. She was exhausted."

Anthony half-smiled anxiously. "It's been a busy day, for all of us."

"Yes," she repeated. She had eaten very little, he noticed, and her face was paler than it had been when they had arrived home. Had one of the servants been uncivil to her, he wondered? Not Figgins, surely? Well, if that was the case, there was only one thing to be done…

"Are you all right?" he prodded.

Edith jerked, apparently unaware that she had been daydreaming and blinked at him. "What? Oh, yes." She paused, and took a sip of wine, before admitting, "It's just… when I tucked her in tonight, Elinor said that she was glad I'd married you."

Anthony's face clouded with concern. "I see."

Edith ran a hand, slightly exasperated, through her short hair. "She doesn't understand," she sighed. "She thinks… she thinks that we've married for… the usual reasons."

"For love," Anthony murmured. He hesitated and then stretched a hand out across the table and closed it around hers. She did not resist. "Love is a very wonderful thing, sweet one, and it appears in manifold ways. We may not think of each other as many married couples do, but that does not mean that we do not love each other, in our own way." He offered her a comforting smile, somewhat worried that he had said too much.

Edith nodded however, even though she didn't look convinced. There was silence for a moment, while she tried to formulate her thoughts, and he waited patiently. At last, she confessed, "I only worry that one day, she will realise what we did - what I did - and she will despise me for it."

Anthony let out a breath and picked up the hand that remained clasped in his. He gave a lop-sided smile. "I seem to have made you a lot of promises today, Edith, but allow me to make one more. I swear that I will do nothing to give you or Elinor cause to regret this marriage."

Edith closed her eyes, hiding the tears that had welled suddenly in her eyes. "Thank you."

"Now, please, try to relax. We have a lot of things to arrange, but you won't be alone, and we can't solve everything in one night."

Edith grinned and returned to her food with renewed enthusiasm. Afterwards, they retired to seats beside the fire and talked about nothing in particular. Anthony, seeking to distract her from her more serious musings, regaled her with humorous stories from his university days, which reduced Edith into fits of giggles. She had somehow never considered Anthony as a student before, but as she listened to him admit to falling into the Cam from a punt after an evening of over imbibing, she could suddenly picture him in her mind's eye, tall, fit, blond hair flopping into his eyes…

"You might well laugh, young lady, but I assure you I wasn't the next morning!" Anthony protested, with laughing indignation. "The Cam, despite being terribly pretty to look at, is not the nicest of things to fall into!"

Their laughter subsided and Edith suppressed a yawn. Anthony set aside his coffee cup and stood, extending a hand to pull her from her chair. "You must be very tired too. Let me take you to your bedroom."

They walked up the stairs hand in hand. Edith couldn't help the sense of anticipation rising in her chest; if Anthony had taken such care over Elinor's nursery, what efforts would he have gone to in her own chambers?

She was not disappointed. In fact, she could not suppress a gasp when Anthony opened the door and turned on the light. He had selected a room in the corner of the house for her, and had it painted with that beautiful shade of sea green that she favoured in her gowns. Curtains of dark green velvet covered windows that Edith knew from her mental map of the house would overlook the communal garden below in the daytime. One full wall had been devoted to bookshelves − casting her eye over the neat rows of volumes, Edith noted that Anthony had done his best to mimic her own shelving system. Several small landscape paintings from the Bloomsbury flat had been hung on the walls. There was a small dressing room, and attached bathroom too - a positive suite.

She turned around to thank him, and caught the anxious look on his face as he hovered on the threshold. Of course, he wouldn't want to intrude, not into her inner sanctum. "You must change anything you wish," he told her hastily. "I wasn't sure what you would like, but I could hardly leave the arrangements until you arrived - " Edith half-smiled. It was clear that he had considered it his duty to make a home for her, rather than it being the other way around. When they had been engaged the first time around, they had spent several happy afternoons examining wallpapers and paints - this time, it hadn't seemed important. Or, at least, not as important as the other arrangements, and the knowledge of what they were entering into.

Edith hurried over and, before he knew it, she had surprised him with a hug. "It's perfect," she murmured, reassuringly. "Really, you have quite thought of everything."

He accepted her thanks with a silent inclination of his head. "Your work things are in boxes in my study," he said at last. "I hope you'll go over the house sometime this week and find a room of your own that suits you."

The thought excited her - this sort of house had endless little chambers in which an author could make herself at home without difficulty. "Thank you. I will."

They hovered there for a moment, standing very close, smiling rather foolishly at each other - and then Anthony shook himself out of his reverie and stepped back. "Well, I'll leave you to get settled. Shall I leave orders with Mrs Cox for breakfast in bed tomorrow, or - ?" He left the question hanging. Edith shook her head. "Thank you, but I'd prefer to eat downstairs… with you. You don't mind? It's just that we haven't made arrangements for Elinor yet and I - "

He raised his hand, cutting off further explanations. "Of course. I'd be delighted. Shall we say half past eight?" He smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid that I'm an absurdly early riser."

"So am I," she replied, with an odd little smile, and then, "Goodnight, Anthony."

He paused, about to go, and then turned back to kiss her hand. "Goodnight, Edith."