AN: Thank you all for the lovely reviews for the last few chapters - you lot really do wonders for a lady's self-esteem! Wishing you all a happy and peaceful holiday season.
In the end, Sybil married Mr Branson at the registry office in York, a week later. She hadn't trusted Richard quite enough to go back to London with him without a ring on her finger, and with Sir Anthony's help, she had persuaded her brother-in-law that a quick, quiet marriage in the North would be better than returning to London still unmarried after there had been time for the scandalous story to leak around London.
Mama and Mary came up for the wedding, and Edith went along with Sir Anthony and Pip, too, with Richard giving the bride away.
Edith had never seen Sybil look more confident, or more radiant. Perhaps she and Mr Branson would be all right together.
Back at Locksley, Mrs Cox had provided a small wedding breakfast. Sybil and Tom were going straight back to London - Tom had been given three days off work, to settle his new bride into his flat, but money was going to be tight enough, without the added expense of a honeymoon too.
Around two o'clock in the afternoon, everyone started to depart. Quickly, Sybil bobbed up on her tiptoes and kissed Sir Anthony's cheek, so sweet and childlike. "Thank you so much, Sir Anthony. Tom told me how helpful you've been. It's easy to see why Edith admires you so much."
Her sister's employer blushed a little. "Well, one does what one can, you know."
Sybil turned and set eyes on Edith, talking quietly to their mother. "Darling," she said, taking Edith's hand, "I'm not going to bother throwing the bouquet, or anything - I'd just like you to have it." She handed over the bunch of fragrant lilies. "And," she added impishly, "We'll just hope that it has the same effect."
After that, Edith felt her life settling back into some sort of rhythm. She did her work efficiently and cheerfully, played with Pip, went to the motorcar club - and spent her evenings in Sir Anthony's company, playing the piano, or reading, or practising chess. It was peaceful and comforting and Edith found it very difficult to believe that her life could ever contain greater happiness than this, whatever Sybil might think.
There had been a letter from her, about a week after the wedding, that had made Edith smile and raise her eyebrows at the same time:
Darling Edith,
I'm all settled into my new home now, so thought I would drop you a line - my first as a married woman! We're very happy and snug, and I hope that that will set your mind at rest. (I know how you like to worry about me, darling Edith!)
Tom's landlady is a sweetheart, and she's been helping me to practise cooking and laundry and so forth. Tom thinks, with some careful accounting, that we might be able to afford a maid, in a few months' time. I don't really mind, though - it's all terribly good fun! But don't tell Mama or Mary that I said that - they'd be awfully shocked.
I must tell you, darling, there was one thing you were wrong about. Yes, it is nice - but it's earth-shattering too. One day, I hope you find a man of your own who makes you feel like that.
With my fondest love,
Sybil xx
It had been interesting, at least, that letter. Particularly that final paragraph. Edith had puzzled over it for some considerable time, before she reached the only possible conclusion: that her experiences with Michael had not, perhaps, been the only experience possible. Was it the case that, in the joining of two human bodies, there could be found something more than comfort and a vague sense of warmth? Sybil clearly thought so - and clearly thought that there was the possibility that one day Edith herself would be made intimately aware of it too.
And where that left her, she could not have said.
"Mrs Crawley… Mr Pelham is here to see you."
It was a scorching July day, and Edith was happy. The library windows were thrown wide open, there was a glass of Mrs Cox's homemade lemonade next to her, and the laugh she had let loose at something Sir Anthony had just said was still on her lips as her hands stilled on the keys of her typewriter and she turned shocked eyes on Mrs Dale.
"Who's here to what?" she whispered.
"Mr Pelham." Mrs Dale's face creased in sudden sympathy. "Waiting in the hall, my lamb."
"Oh." It was barely a sound at all. And then, louder: "Oh, God."
Sir Anthony looked across at her seriously, all traces of amusement dying from his face too. "Do you want me to send him on his way, my dear? I can, you know."
"Yes. No." She let out a breath and pinched the bridge of her nose briefly. "I don't know."
"I can tell him you're not at home." His voice was soft, not insisting, just offering. "It's no trouble. Whatever you wish."
"N-no," Edith stood and steadied herself against the desk for a moment. "I should go and see what he wants. Will you excuse me, sir?"
"Of course. Use the little library - and ring if you need someone."
She managed the tiniest of smiles. Oh, but today had been such a lovely day! "Thank you, sir."
"Hello, Bertie."
He started and turned around at the sound of her voice as she emerged into the hall. He looked as if he had been brushing a hand through his hair in frustration, several times, for it stuck up on end, like a hedgehog that had been dragged through the hedge backwards. "Edith." Her name sounded like an exhale of relief. "I wasn't sure you'd see me."
"Neither was I," she admitted coolly. "H-how are you?"
"Fine." He sighed. "Can we talk somewhere private, just for a moment?"
"Alright." She gestured hesitantly across the hall. "Come through to the little library."
They had barely stepped into the room and shut the door behind them, however, when Bertie seized her hand. "Please, Edith." His voice shook - with nerves or passion, she was not sure. "I'm still in love with you. I - I've realised that I can't imagine my life without you. Hang the scandal of it. Please say that you'll consider becoming my wife. Please."
Edith opened her mouth and then closed it again.
A good man wouldn't have cared about your answer… He did not deserve you.
Sir Anthony's voice echoed in her head, and if she had not known before what her answer would be, suddenly she did.
She shrugged helplessly and when she opened her mouth again, her answer slipped out as easily as she had been draining glasses of Mrs Cox's lemonade all day. "I'm sorry, Bertie. I can't."
"But - but I'm in love with you," he repeated. "And it took these awful months without you to make me see that I - I'm not ready for the idea of a life without you. And your cousin and Lady Fyfe suggested that it might be worth my asking again - "
Edith nodded, her hand sliding from his. "I see." She closed her eyes briefly, and then pressed on: "I - I know that you think you know your own mind, Bertie, but - if - if you had loved me - really loved me - then you wouldn't have cared when I told you about Mr Gregson."
Bertie's face drained of colour. "That's unfair. There's not one man in a hundred who wouldn't have - have looked askance at it, Edith." He leaned forwards earnestly, taking her hands again. "My dear, you do realise, don't you, that it's unlikely you'll ever find a man who won't be shocked by this?"
Gently but firmly, Edith pulled herself free. "Perhaps," she agreed. "But… I'm not quite ready to give up on that dream just yet. Not at all." She took a deep breath. "And even if I don't… even if I never find someone… then being alone is still better than marrying without love. I don't - Bertie, I don't feel as you do. I - once, I thought that it didn't matter, that we could make some sort of life together anyway, but - it wouldn't be at all fair on you, you know." She gave a tight little smile. "Or on me."
"But - "
She shrugged. "You'd never be able to forget it, you know. Every time you looked at me across the breakfast table, every time I gave you a child, every time you came to my bed… you'd remember. You'd remember Mr Gregson and the child I lost and the fact that I was willing to risk losing everything for the sake of - " She stopped. "You'd never be able to forget it. But one day, Bertie, you're going to meet a girl whom you love so much that nothing she can say or do will shake your feelings. She'll be terribly lucky. But - I'm not that girl."
"Edith - " he whispered, tears in his eyes.
With quiet dignity, Edith turned for the door. "Bertie, I think very highly of you. I really do. But… I don't think we should suit, as husband and wife. Thank you, very much, for your proposal… but I can't accept." She swallowed. "Goodbye."
The door of the main library opened very quietly, Edith entered, the door shut and she returned to her desk. "What did Mr Pelham want?" Anthony found himself asking. As if you don't already know. Maybe he isn't as much of a cad as you thought him.
Edith looked up at him, speechless for a moment. "You won't believe this," she murmured eventually, "but… he offered to marry me again. He said… that he'd thought about it, and that he could bear the scandal."
"A-and what did you tell him?" Please say you refused him. Please. He doesn't deserve you. You must see that. Please.
She was already typing again, but her fingers paused briefly to reply, "I told him that… that I didn't think it would be a terribly good idea."
"You… you refused him?" Sir Anthony's voice was quiet and almost… disbelieving?
Edith shot him a shy smile. "Yes. I did."
"Why? I would have thought… well…"
She shrugged. "I… I've had a lot of time to think about it and… well, I'm content, as I am, where I am." She let out a little huff of laughter. "I don't think I want to be anyone's wife. Not yet, anyway. And… if he could be so shaky here, if he could falter so much… it would always have been hanging over us. It would have overshadowed anything we might have had. And… well, it wouldn't have made him a good husband." She took a breath and admitted, "Not - not the sort of husband that I deserve, anyway." She laughed, lightly. "Gosh. I'm not sure where that came from. How conceited I sound!"
"On the contrary." Sir Anthony was positively beaming. "My dear, you've no idea how happy that makes me - to hear you… valuing yourself, as you should be valued."
Edith lay in bed that night, the light breeze brushing through the curtains, her hands crossed over her stomach, thinking.
Bertie's words kept revolving in her head. "…it's unlikely you'll ever find a man who won't be shocked by this…"
It was odd, really, wasn't it? Because, in a way, she already had. Sir Anthony… well, he had been shocked, but not in the way that Bertie had expected. Not in a way that had made him cruel or…
His shock had only made him kinder, gentler, sweeter, more concerned for her welfare. It was shock that she had been hurt, not that she had behaved badly.
Faintly, Edith smiled.