No one really thought that I wouldn't write a small moment...or two for this ship, did they? Really?

"Conviction brings a silent, indefinable beauty into faces made of the commonest human clay; the devout worshiper at any shrine reflects something of its golden glow, even as the glory of a noble love shines like a sort of light from a woman's face"

Honore de Balzac

He stepped into the drawing room, a last minute addition to the guest list for a grand dinner of some sort the Earl and Countess of Grantham were hosting. He had dined with them on other occasions, of course but that had been before…

Of course the first person he saw was her…Lady Edith. He'd had hopes of her becoming lady Edith Strallan once but that had been many summers ago, before…

Lady Mary was there as well, talking to young Matthew Crawley. The last time he had seen the two together they seemed to be quarreling. Time heals all wounds, he supposed. But for Anthony Strallan…Sir Anthony Strallan of Locksley, there was one wound that would not heal. When the invitation to dinner had arrived, he'd thought perhaps the occasion might help him mend.

But as he stood, watching her across the room, his wound was ripped open and his heart was bleeding. He'd seen her briefly that day at the Dowager Lady Grantham's house. They'd exchanged a few words, the usual pleasantries. He'd been forced to explain his arm, seen the despair in her eyes, and as quickly as was polite had made his exit. She had not looked at him that day as she had before….

Tonight she was wearing a green dress in a shade that complimented her coloring perfectly. And in the lighting of the drawing room she cast a golden glow that, at least in his eyes, shone like the golden glow of morning. He stood frozen, drinking in the sight of her and silently screaming at whatever force it was that made him fall so irreparably in love with her. He would have gladly groveled at her feet, worshipping her for the rest of his days if she would have him. But her feelings had been made quite clear to him that day at the garden party before the war took over their lives. It wasn't anything she said, not him directly anyway. But it was made clear…

Much to his surprise, she was moving toward him. Probably just being polite, his mind warned him. But the glow of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes made his heart leap, just as it had before….

"Sir Anthony, I'm so glad you are here…"

That made polite talk until dinner was announced. Lady Grantham had him seated at the far end of the table from Lady Edith, so he could only content himself with glances her way. He was astonished to realize that she was glancing his way as well and seemingly with a twinkle in her eyes. His bleeding heart performed somersaults in his chest as the meal progressed.

After dinner, after the drinks with the other men, after the polite chatter when the men joined the ladies, after all of that, she approached him again. This time she pulled him aside, away from listening ears. "I was hoping to get a chance to speak with you tonight," she said, "alone."

He couldn't imagine why. Still, he waited, holding his breath to hear what she had to say.

"There's something I need to explain….and apologize. I know you were hurt at the garden party…what Mary said to you. She was angry with me you see, and hurt you to get back at me. But those things she told you I said about you….I never said them, never thought them. I wanted to tell you as soon as I realized what she had done but by then, you had already left for the war. You were going to ask me a question that day…you said you were anyway. And just so you know, my answer would have been yes." She looked at him with such a glow in her countenance that it took his breath away.

"Lady Edith…I…." he couldn't form words in his mind, let alone in his mouth. But he must, he knew he must. "I would have been honored by your answer. And you say Lady Mary's words were untrue and I accept that…" he tilted his head in acquiescence. "But perhaps it is best I never asked," he admitted.

Her eyes dulled and then she blinked and she stared deeply into his. "But why?" He had obviously and very unintentionally hurt her.

Shrugging, he swallowed uncomfortably. "Well, I'm so much older, you see…and there is this," he said as pointed to his arm in the black sling that seemed to be his constant companion.

"Your age never mattered to me. In fact, I think it is part of what drew me to you; most men my age bore me... always have. And as for your injury…while I'm certainly not happy that it happened to you, I'm quite sure it bothers you more than it does me. It does not make you less of a man," she implored. "In fact, I think you were quite brave to go to war. You didn't have to and no one expected it of you, I'm sure."

"Thank you for that," he bowed his head slightly. "But it has changed me, you see. I'm not the same man and…"

She laid her hand over his arm, his left one and the sensation was electric. He could see that she felt it as well. "Anthony, the war changed us all. But I know that you are, at your very core, the same man."

Laughter sounded from close by and they both looked up, realizing they had become far too absorbed in their own conversation for this setting. Then she looked back at him. "This isn't the place to discuss this. Why don't we go for a drive tomorrow, like we did before the war?"

"I would like that," he conceded. "But I don't drive any longer…my arm, you see."

Edith smiled at him warmly. "Then what time shall I pick you up at Locksley?"

Intrigued by her directness and enchanted by the golden glow of her that evening, he agreed to the ride. And as he let his eyes drink in more of her, from her reddish-golden hair, to her glowing face, to the creamy white skin that graced her neck and shoulders…and the hint of bosom her dress allowed, he realized that while he might be a changed man, he was still very much a man in love with Edith Crawley.