She smiled all the way home. She smiled all through dinner, not noticing the smiles that other members of her family shared because they had seen how she smiled. She went to sleep smiling.

It had all been so very, very...sweet.

...

She moved towards him, unhurried and unyielding.

"You forget, sir, that we have been engaged for over four years. Two kisses in such a long time is surely the height of chastity and restraint."

She quirked an eyebrow to make him laugh and relax again, which he did.

"I suppose you are right."

Awkward and fumbling, Sir Anthony Strallan kissed his fiancée.

Her mouth collided with his chin, while his lips closed over her nose.

They had misjudged the difference in their heights.

"Sorry."

"I'm sorry."

Blushing, they tried again. It was very chaste, but very nice. Slowly she pressed her body closer to his. His breathing quickened, and she so wanted to put her hands around his neck, just to cuddle him, but she feared his reaction. Instead her hands massaged up the lapels of his tweed jacket and then eased their way underneath to the matching waistcoat. He pressed his mouth closer to hers. She opened her eyes. His eyes were shut, his brow tense with desire and something else that she realised was...control. She should have let the kiss come to its natural end there. That's what a lady would've done. She, however, had waited four years for this; four years when she didn't even know whether he was alive or dead. She opened her mouth to him. His arm, which had been lightly resting around her waist, pulled her to him and he let slip a muffled grunt. Although exciting, this wasn't what she had expected. She squeaked quietly, just from surprise, and he immediately released her, his eyes wide with concern and shock at his own actions.

"I'm sorry. I'm so terribly sorry. Please forgive me."

"Anthony…"

"Such disgraceful behaviour...I didn't mean to…"

"Anthony!"

He looked at her with such regret, as though he feared he'd ruined everything.

"I love you. And...and..." her voice dropped to an embarrassed whisper "...and I want you. It's just that I'm not...well, not very experienced. I wasn't sure if I'd got it wrong and that was why you…" She looked down.

He softened instantly and stepped to her again.

"Oh my darling, you couldn't possibly get" he gave a one-armed shrug in his awkwardness "...it...wrong. Oh my love."

He took her hand and kissed it. Before releasing his lips he had fallen to one knee.

"I should really try to do the thing properly...otherwise I'm going to be more at sea than I am already! My sweet one, will you marry me?"

Edith was in tears by now. She loved this man so much, for so many reasons, but right now because he had realised that she had felt totally lost and ashamed at having stepped outside the bounds of propriety, so he took it upon himself to accept the blame, and to bring them back to a point of behaviour where they would both feel safe.

"Yes" she said simply. He stood and kissed her again, chastely, and then again, and again, just the right side of chaste, kisses promising more when she felt comfortable with it.

.

Anthony's recall papers arrived the day after that tea. He was instructed that he would take up a position in three days assisting Major-General Maresfield. He couldn't say what he would be doing, but he would only be going as far as Whitehall...no further than London.

But that still complicated things. Getting married before he went was impossible, and waiting until the war was over was foolish: no one knew when that might be. So it was agreed (...well, the Dowager Countess decreed and she silently dared anyone to disagree…) that the happy couple would marry in Downton, the bride's parish, when the groom had enough leave to make it worthwhile. When challenged by Violet, he stuttered over a crumbling scone that he thought that that might be in about four months. Then, when he had to return to his duties with the Intelligence Corps after the wedding, they would live in Strallan House in London until such time as they could return to Locksley.

"Now all we have to do is to find enough food of sufficient quality for a proper wedding breakfast" said Violet over tea the next day, alone with her daughter-in-law.

"And an appropriate wedding dress" added Cora. "I really didn't believe that Edith would be the first to marry...of the three of them, I mean. She's never exhibited any of the usual accomplishments a single young lady would be expected to acquire which might have made her a catch."

"Let's face it, my dear, Sir Anthony Strallan is hardly a catch either, DSO or no DSO!"

"Then let's be grateful that they found each other!" retorted Cora. Then she added, more quietly "Do you think they'll be happy together, Mama?"

Violet looked at her daughter-in-law, torn between clawing at her with savage sarcasm, or being understanding of a mother contemplating the first wedding of one of her offspring. She remembered how determined Robert had been to do his duty and revive the family fortune, even though he did not love this strange, beautiful American who came with a quarter of a million pounds as a dowry. She remembered how much she regretted that her son could not enjoy the season, enjoy finding a sweet English girl to love and to marry. If common knowledge was to be believed, Edith would be marrying into a very prosperous estate and would not have to worry about such things for her children.

Violet's eyes softened, just a little.

"Yes, I think they have a much greater chance of being happier together than apart. There'll be less likelihood of them falling inwards on themselves."

"They both think too much, and expect too much of themselves, I agree."

Violet was still looking at Cora, but this time she was thinking that perhaps, just perhaps, she had underestimated her all these years, but wild horses would not drag an admission of this fact from her. She leaned over to put her hand on Cora's.

"Of course, they may need some support for the first few years, just to make sure that they don't lose their way. Promise me that, if I'm not here to do it, that you'll look out for them?"

"Yes. Of course, Mama" Cora answered in a shocked voice.

.

"I don't know why we're worrying. We're still at war. No one is going to expect us to put on a society wedding with all the trimmings, are they?!"

Sybil sat on Mary's bed, still in her nurse's uniform from her duty that evening, complaining about Mama's insistence that they should all have new dresses for Edith's wedding, even though no one knew exactly when that wedding might be.

Mary's voice was tired; drained from her own assistance with the officers that day, and weary from not having anything agreed with Matthew. And he would be sent back to the front soon. He'd been wounded once and posted missing once. She just hoped that three was lucky.

"I think Mama is just trying to keep up our morale. And she hopes it will cheer up the officers, and the staff...in fact everyone in the village."

"Mmm. She might have a point there. But I don't understand why we have to have new dresses. No one will notice if we just add a sash or a ruffle to something we already have."

"Sybil, sweetheart, why don't you insist on wearing your uniform, just as all the men will? Will that satisfy you?"

Sybil stood up to go to bed. "I think that's the most sensible idea I've heard in a long time. Sweet dreams!"

If Matthew goes back to France and doesn't return, I'll never have any sweet dreams ever again.

.

"Any news?"

"About what?"

"About when you will be sent back to France?"

Usually, his mother's ability to be blunt to the point of brusqueness was one of the things that Matthew loved about her. Becoming the mother of the heir apparent to the Earl of Grantham had not changed her, and wasn't that just wonderful?

But when talking about going back to…back to…there…

Well, perhaps he would appreciate her being a little less unflinching. He flinched. And he knew it. Every day he flinched at the thought of it. He had kept it to himself. It...the flinching, and the terrors... hadn't overtaken him yet. But he was beginning to suspect that he was a coward.

"Nothing yet, mother."

"It would be such a shame if you missed cousin Edith's wedding" stated Isobel.

"Yes. Yes, it would." His voice was flat.

"I've been thinking. Perhaps you'd feel a bit more useful, while you're still here, if you volunteered with the officers. You know, like Edith and Mary do, even for just an hour a day. You could offer an understanding that the girls can't, for all their virtues."

"I'm sure the officers don't want to talk to someone about to be sent back. Surely they want to forget all that."

"Why don't you talk to Major Clarkson, and let him be the judge of that?"

Matthew gave her a long-suffering look, but agreed.

.

"I am packing your mess uniform, sir. There are still some generals who still keep up the old formalities."

"Mmm?"

Anthony drew his attention back from staring at the trees at the edge of the lawns, and looked blankly at his man.

"I'm sorry, Stewart. What did you say?"

"I've packed your mess uniform, sir. You may need it."

"Yes, yes. Very good."

It's difficult enough trying to convince myself that I'm not stealing her life when she's here to help convince me herself. But in London?

"Are you sure you don't wish me to accompany you, sir?"

Anthony looked at Stewart, and they both knew that the butler wasn't worried about clothes.

"I think it would look rather odd, Stewart, to have a batman from another regiment, no matter the circumstances...or..."

He looked down.

"...whatever my own wishes might be." He took a deep breath and sighed. "And it would be a great worry lifted from me to know that Locksley was still in good and capable hands while I'm gone. I can never thank you enough for looking after her for all those years up until now."

"I am very happy that I was able to help, sir."

Stewart frowned with worry as he returned to packing.

.

"Granny? Do you think the war will go on for very much longer?"

The Dowager Countess stopped in the middle of raising a cup of tea to her lips.

"You're worried about Anthony?"

Edith nodded.

Violet took Edith's arm and patted it maternally.

"Your fiancé is that rare thing: a complex man. Foxes and farming just won't be enough for him at the best of times. When required to do so, he will always put his country and his honour first, for as long as is needed. But now, it's worse, because he's been through so much, so very much. It's probably made him so complex that he doesn't even understand himself."

"You know, Granny, you are so good at taking modern scientific theories and expressing them in such insulting terms that they bow down in shame."

"Good" she said defiantly. Then, in less defiant tones she asked "Which theory have I kowtowed this time?"

"The theories about what happens to men afflicted with shell shock."

"Really? Sometimes I wonder why we continue to fund the universities."

"I agree" Edith smiled "the army should just consult you."

"Don't tell him that you're worried, will you dear? He doesn't need any more guilt heaped upon his shoulders."

Edith nodded.

"Yes, I know, Granny."

Violet leant forward and put her hand on her granddaughter's hand, in exactly the same way as she had with her daughter-in-law the day before.

"Keep telling him how proud you are of him, and how much you love him. That's what he needs. And if you do that, he'll reassure you too."

"Is it so obvious that I need reassurance?"

"Just call it Granny wisdom, Edith dear. It'll come to you when you're a Granny" she smiled warmly.

.

They stood on Downton Station, just as they had over four years earlier. Anthony was tall, handsome, and in uniform. However, this time his right arm lay lifeless in a khaki sling, and a DSO ribbon was emblazoned on his chest. These were the only outward signs of what he had endured in the service of his country. Edith was no longer a teenager. She was a woman who had seen in the space of four years what a normal lady in her position would've seen only in several lifetimes, if at all. She no longer had time for silly things.

"Write to me, won't you? If you get time."

"Of course, my sweet one. And I hope you will reciprocate."

"At least I know where to address them this time round. You won't get lost again, will you?" she added suddenly worried.

"In London? It is a big place with many back streets, but I think I'll be able to find my way back to barracks."

She leaned towards him and instinctively he bent down to her level.

"I love you, my darling."

"And I love you. Please keep reminding me."

"I will. It'll be a bit difficult for a while, but once we are married, well…" she looked up at him coyly, "...it'll be easier."

"Try not to get swept off your feet by some dashing, young officer while I'm away."

"Impossible, because I've been swept off my feet by a dashing, experienced officer already." He gave her a doubtful look. "An officer who really knows what he's doing." She gave him a sly, encouraging smile.

He stood back and swallowed heavily as the train pulled into the station. Then he stepped forward.

"Sometimes" he said firmly, "it's a good thing when history repeats itself."

Then, he kissed her.

She had noticed in the last few days, that each time he kissed her, he did so with greater confidence. It was a good sign. And it was meltingly wonderful.

"I'll see you very soon" he called from the moving carriage.

"I love you" she waved back.

.

Anthony thought that, in the four years since he had last seen him, Maresfield's moustache had become even more magnificent. The Major-General's uniform suited him, and he wielded his swagger stick with more panache than was strictly necessary.

Anthony heartily approved.

"So, do you understand what's needed?" Maresfield finished.

"I think it's fairly straightforward. German lines of communication need to be discovered and monitored so that we can cut off the most important ones. That way the war can be brought to a swift end come winter with the minimum of casualties."

"I can always count on you, Anthony, to boil a problem down to its bare bones. That's absolutely what we want. How many men do you need?"

Anthony looked at the map again, and calculated.

"I could do it with twenty five. With thirty five I could do it by the end of the month."

"It would be good to get it over and done with by October. That gives the regular chaps a coupla' weeks of good weather to work in. Right ho! Thirty five it is. We'll have to reposition some of them, of course, but that shouldn't take more'n a day or two. All right! You will have an assistant, lad by the name of Cartwright. You'll start tomorrow. Carry on, Lieutenant-Colonel."

Anthony's head shot up.

"What?"

Then he remembered himself and repeated "ahem...sorry, what sir?"

"I have a feeling that a bit of authority might be needed for some of what you're going to do, orderin' people around all over the continent and what not. That's all. Nothing to do with your exemplary service or anythin'."

Anthony couldn't see the smile, but Maresfield's moustache twitched mischievously. He patted Anthony on the shoulder. "Good to have you back, old man."

"It's good to be back, sir."

.

The next morning, Anthony was poring over reports when a young man of about twenty two presented himself.

"Lieutenant-Colonel Strallan? Lieutenant Cartwright, reporting for duty, sir!"

Cartwright didn't seem to be able to stand to attention, even though he tried. There was a scholar's stoop, even at his young age, and a slight lean to the right. Anthony noticed that one of the buttons on his uniform was missing, and there were ink stains on his right cuff. There was also a tell-tale vagueness about the eyes.

"Please do feel free to wear your spectacles when you're on duty with me, Cartwright, and please sit down" before your trousers fall down without the belt you forgot to put on this morning Anthony added in his head.

"How...how did you know, sir?"

"You can't focus your eyes...it gives your shortsightedness away."

"Gosh! Major-General Maresfield said I would learn a lot from you, sir, and I see that I shall!"

Anthony cast his eyes upwards in quiet exasperation of his superior officer's recommendations.

"Let's see just how bad at this sort of thing I can be, then, shall we?"

He paused a moment, watching the boy.

"King's College, Cambridge. Read Mathematics and Philosophy I should think. Not yet taken your finals. You won a scholarship, but didn't actually need it because you come from a scientific family, doctors or scientists I can't quite tell. Not married. Refused active service because of your eyesight, but referred to the Intelligence Corps. How'd I do?"

"Great Scott, sir! Mr Holmes could not have done better. My father is a doctor by profession but he's the Chairman of the local Literary and Scientific. How can you tell all that?"

"Easy when you know how. The eyesight you already know. I know you're not married because a wife would've got you sorted out with your posture and clothes and so forth even if the army didn't! Your spectacles are not standard issue but made to a very definite design. Perhaps you have one ear higher than the other? Yes, I thought so. A poorer man would not have been able to afford something like that, and you would need contacts in a scientific community to get them made at all. Everything else was a guess. You have the kindly, frighteningly clever but unpolished manners of a King's man, and Maths/Phil undergrads are usually considered the most intelligent of their kind. And if you had taken your finals, you would most certainly have got a first and you would have progressed beyond being a mere Lieutenant by now. All clear?"

Cartwright nodded, struck dumb in admiration of his new CO.

"Good. Now, let's get cracking on these lines of supply."

Three hours later, it was Anthony's turn to be in awe of Cartwright. He was naturally gifted, using a mixture of mathematical modelling and an astute understanding of the psychology of the German army to identify areas for investigation.

"And if Captain Conrad and Major Besser could reconnaissance the area between St. Quentin and Cambrai, that would cover the last part of the Western Front that we don't have intell for."

"Well done, Cartwright. Jolly good. Write all that up into a report for Maresfield for us, and I think then we can begin on the detailed orders for each officer. But before that, I think we are due a cup of something, don't you think?"

Cartwright's face beamed with pride. "Certainly, sir. How do you take it?"

"White, no sugar. Thank you" he hesitated just a moment "Captain."

Cartwright reacted worse than Anthony had done the previous night, due to his youth and inexperience. He almost tripped over his own feet, and his mouth opened and shut but nothing came out until he squeaked "sir?"

Anthony smiled.

"Well, there's no fun in being promoted if you can't spread that fun around a little bit. Just wait until Maresfield hears. After what I've seen this morning, you deserve it, and he'll agree. Now, you offered me a cup of tea, Captain?"

.

Please accept my apologies for the fact that this chapter did not contain a wedding. As usual, this story has run away with me, and I was taking far too long to figure out how to reach Downton Church when GUEST sent me a PM, an incredibly sweet PM, saying something about how much they liked my stories and they were rereading When I Say Run, and when was I going to get back to this one. Thank you GUEST!

So blame GUEST, to whom I dedicate this chapter for making me weep with appreciation.