Please accept my apologies for the delay in updating this little story.
Anthony, after arriving in London and opening up Strallan house, gathered his courage and called upon Rosamund Painswick who agreed, albeit reluctantly, to speak with him. No, she'd not seen or heard from the young woman and had no idea where she might have disappeared to. Edith's aunt then proceeded to give the older gentleman a piece of her mind concerning his treatment of her favorite niece. She ranted and raved, calling him a cad and a coward as well as possibly the biggest fool she'd ever known because only a fool could not have seen that Edith genuinely loved him. It was not, as others had accused, a love borne of desperation. No, desperation, she informed him, more accurately described Edith's involvement with Gregson. The jilting had left the young woman so insecure, so hopeless of finding anyone to return her affections that she was willing to accept love from any possible source, including an already married man.
And, oddly enough, after she'd given the baronet a thorough dressing down, Lady Painswick handed him the spare key she held to Edith's flat and wrote down the telephone number to the young lady's American grandmother in New York.
"Why are you helping me" a baffled Anthony asked.
"I've always liked you Sir Anthony and Edith loves you and I love Edith and want her to be happy. I think if my niece were to contact anyone it would be either Martha Levinson or myself, she trusts us. She trusted you Sir Anthony. Edith has trusted only a few people in her life, me, Martha Levinson, and once upon a time you. But then you broke that trust along with her heart in the worst possible way."
The baronet closed his eyes in an effort to hold back the tears that threatened to fall, "Rosamund, I swear" he began, failing to notice he'd addressed the lady informally, "I was only trying to do what I thought was best for her."
"I'm sure you were" she replied "but that's the problem. Everyone seems to think they know better than Edith what's best for her. She's a very intelligent young woman who's capable of making responsible decisions. I would have thought Anthony, that you, of all people, would have known that."
"Running off like she has isn't very responsible" the older gentleman huffed.
"This isn't the young woman you left at the altar. This Edith is lost, a shell of her former self. That's why I have one small request. Please, don't go popping back into her life if you're only planning to take off once you've found her. Edith needs stability. Her world was shattered when you walked away the first time. I can only imagine how devastated she would be should it happen again."
After leaving Lady Painswick, Anthony went straight to Edith's flat and began conducting a thorough search which, in the end, provided no clues whatsoever. In fact, it appeared as if the young woman had only just stepped out and might return at any moment. In the kitchen, he found the cupboards stocked. A half empty cup of tea had been left on the counter. The wardrobe in her bedroom seemed to be missing very few, if any, items of clothing.
As he entered library, the tall blonde was overcome by a sudden feeling that the room seemed eerily familiar, as though he'd been here before. Pull yourself together, he mentally chided, as he glanced through an unfinished article that lay sprawled across the mahogany desk. It must be the books, he told himself, books always make you think of Edith. As does music, art, intelligent conversation...the baronet gave a weary sigh.
Rifling through Edith's journals, ledgers, notepads, and calendars without finding so much as a hint as to where the strawberry blonde might have gone, an exhausted Anthony finally sat down to rest. Leaning back, he ran his fingers softly over the well worn fabric of the sofa imagining the many hours Edith had spent curled up here reading or writing. Taking in the volumes of books stacked on nearly every table and the sweaters that were scattered and tossed onto sofas and chairs throughout, Anthony was very much reminded of the state of his own library at Locksley.
He paused for a moment remembering how Edith had declared with each visit how much at home she'd felt within those gingerbread walls, the library in particular. At the time, he'd thought she was only being polite. What a fool he'd been. Glancing about the room now, he saw a sort of testimonial as to how well they'd suited each other, the books, the furnishings, the color scheme...Anthony sat bolt upright as it suddenly dawned on him that the room was an exact replica of it's counterpart at Locksley!