"Well, that was… rather lovely," Anthony breathed, his mouth a scant eighth of an inch away from her lips. As he spoke, his hands drifted up and took Edith's, drawing back to lift them to his mouth and kiss those too.
Edith's shaky, breathless laugh made him look up. Her mouth was red from his kisses, and her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled. Shyly, she whispered, "You don't think me… horribly forward?"
"Not at all." He leant in and murmured, mischievously, "I always think it's such a shame when we let these old traditions die out."
Edith squeezed his fingers gently and then withdrew them. "And on that note, sir, I think I ought to retire. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, my dearest."
"Papa? Papa?"
Anthony shook himself and blinked at Pip. "Yes, my boy?"
"Are you all right?" Pip frowned.
"Of course I am." Lifting his cup of tea, Anthony took a sip and grimaced: it had gone cold.
"So can I?" Pip pressed around a mouthful of toast.
"Can you what?"
"Go out with Andrew today. Sledging."
"Oh. Oh, ye - " The breakfast room door opening distracted him; a demure vision in a blush pink blouse had just slid into the room. Anthony rose to his feet, stumbling a little.
"Umm… good morning, Mrs Crawley."
She flashed him a shy smile. "Good morning, sir." Her smile for Pip was much wider and more confident. "Good morning, Pip, my darling."
"Morning, Mrs C. Papa, I said I'd meet Andrew at the top of Hincks' Lane at ten o'clock. It's almost half past nine now. So can I?"
Anthony huffed out a laugh. "Well, it seems your plans are all settled." Pip jumped for joy, bumped a sticky kiss against Edith's cheek, and dashed for the door. "Be back before it gets dark, though!" Anthony called after him.
He and Edith shared a look full of fondness - then the moment died and Anthony lowered himself slowly back into his chair. "Mrs Crawley - Edith… about last night… I…" Words failed him and he was left staring quite helplessly at her.
Edith took pity and poured him a fresh cup of tea. "Please, don't apologise." Her eyes flickered up at him as their fingers brushed. "I… enjoyed every moment of last night - k-kiss included - but I want you to know that… I'm not about to hold you to anything." She took a breath. "In fact… I think it would be much the wiser decision if we were to… just set it all aside for now."
"O-oh?"
"Yes." With a brisk flick of her wrist, Edith spread her napkin over her lap and reached for the toast. "We… we have responsibilities, you and I. Pip, for one. He's had such an - an unsettling year - thanks in the main to my silliness - and I'd much rather not… risk upsetting him again. Our attention should all be focused on him, just now, not on - on getting involved in - in a romantic… entanglement with each other." A troubled, sad little frown crossed her face. "Added to which… I was my employer's mistress once before, and it's a situation I've no wish to repeat. Do you understand?"
"I do - and I agree with you, I suppose." His lips quirked. "Sadly. But… you don't think me a cad?"
"When I made advances towards you? Hardly." She shook her head. "I won't say that I don't - don't care for you, because… that would be a lie." Her lip trembled. "I hope you know how much of a lie. It's just… it's a perfectly impossible situation." Her voice broke and her eyes were filled with regret as she looked up at him again. "I'm sorry."
"And I'm sorry that, last night, I wasn't as sensible as you are now." Softly, he reached out and squeezed her hand. "Friends?"
Edith's face melted. "Always friends, sir."
"Jolly good." He set aside his napkin and his expression hardened somewhat. "And now, unfortunately, I must go and deal with the odious Mr Everington."
"Would you like me to be there?" Edith asked, forcing herself to turn her attention back to the practical and sensible.
"No, no, my dear." Sighing, he rose. "I don't want him within five miles of you, let alone in the same room. Do excuse me."
And with that, he was gone.
Edith finished her breakfast alone, and then went out into the hall, heading for the archive; Lady Strallan had written the previous day, asking about some photographs of Sir Anthony and his sister Diana when they were children. Now would be a perfect opportunity to look them out.
"So you've got your way, then," a sneering voice asked behind her as she opened the door.
Turning on her heel, she saw Mr Everington, his face red with anger and his hair in some considerable disarray. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr Everington," Edith replied coolly.
He snorted, advancing on Edith. "Shame that not all of us can spread our legs to get what we want from the master, isn't it? You women are all the same, manipulative little bitches."
"Is that everything you wished to say to me, Mr Everington?" Edith wondered, her hand scrabbling for the door handle behind her. Without pausing for his reply, she opened the archive door, stepped smoothly through, and shut it behind her with a snap. After a moment, she turned the key quickly in the lock, withdrew it - and then sank down in the desk chair, breathing heavily and shaking all over.
Well, there it was - proof, if proof were needed, that she had made absolutely the correct decision as regards she and Sir Anthony. She was supposed to be sensible, wasn't she? Well, she had shown precious little of that last night. Goodness only knew what had got into her! All that nonsense about mistletoe and old traditions and bad luck! She was only fortunate that he was such a kind, forgiving, honourable gentleman, that he wouldn't take this as an opportunity to press any of his own advances on her.
What else could she have said? What else could they have done, apart from agree, very courteously, to put aside whatever there was between them, for the greater good? She was perfectly right in that respect, she knew - that they both had far too many people relying on them for them to decide on anything other than that. Added to which…
Mr Everington had a nasty little mind, of that she was convinced, but if even he, with only a week's knowledge of she and Sir Anthony together, could start to make assumptions and sneering little comments… well, Mrs Cox and Mrs Dale were both highly intelligent women - and in a place like this, gossip (no matter how innocent) travelled on winged feet. She couldn't bear the irreparable damage that would be done to Sir Anthony's reputation if anyone ever thought that he were the sort of man to - to take advantage of his employees like that.
No, she had really made a very sensible decision.
At the end of that week, Mrs Dale was finally discharged from hospital and brought home in an ambulance. Edith was waiting eagerly in the hallway with Pip as Sir Anthony wheeled her in. "Mrs Dale - it's so lovely to have you back home," she smiled as she bent to kiss her cheek.
Mrs Dale patted her cheek fondly. "And lovely for me to be back, my lamb." Looking around her, she added, "Not as I was worried about the house, mind, knowing I'd someone sensible running things for me."
"We'll get you settled in the parlour, shall we, and then I can fill you in?" Edith asked.
"Wonderful," Sir Anthony agreed. "But don't get tiring yourself out, Mrs Dale."
"Nonsense, I've had enough rest to kill me. Master Pip - have you grown, or have I shrunk?"
Over the following days, however, the invalid, as this homecoming might have told any experienced observer of old ladies, proved rather troublesome. "How is she?" Sir Anthony asked Edith as she came into the library and flopped down at her desk chair.
His secretary let out a rather harassed sigh. "You know they say the best nurses make the worst patients?" Sir Anthony clucked sympathetically as Edith continued: "I'm sorely tempted to post an armed guard on her door - she's been out of bed at least three times this morning already." She shook her head. "She's testing Pip on his Latin vocabulary list just now, but there's only so long I can ask the poor boy to stay inside for, especially on a Saturday. The trouble is, with Christmas so soon, she feels as if she has to oversee all the organising…"
"Thank you. You've done a marvellous job," Sir Anthony soothed. "Perhaps take some more books up to her later?"
"And her knitting bag, too?" Edith added thoughtfully. "From something I overheard Mr Nicholls say the other day, I think his wife may be expecting again - "
" - and there's hardly a baby in the parish who hasn't something in their wardrobe knitted by our Mrs Dale," Sir Anthony finished with a smile. "An excellent idea, my dear." He sighed as he flicked through the paperwork Edith had left on his desk. "Really, it's the Summer Fete that's concerning me, now. Mrs Dale usually arranges everything, but with her still on the sick list, we'll just have to cancel it, I'm afraid."
Mrs Crawley frowned out of the window. "Oh, that would be awful! The parish council would never find somewhere else half as nice as here, would they? And the whole village looks forward to it so much." Almost hesitantly, she asked, "Perhaps I could take over the organising? Just for this year?"
Sir Anthony looked up, blue eyes startled. "Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that! You're busy enough as it is!"
Mrs Crawley smiled. "But you aren't asking, sir - I'm offering!" Almost pleadingly, she pointed out, "And I know it would reassure Mrs Dale, to know that everything was running smoothly, and as usual. She'd feel so guilty if we had to disappoint everyone." Shrugging, she added, "If we all pulled together, I think we could manage it. Couldn't we?"
His face split into a wide smile and he gave her a flourishing, seated bow, making her chuckle. "My dear Mrs Crawley, I am at your command."
