Author's Notes: Hi all! I went through my past story file and found this. It's not completed, but there are well-over 100 pages of it, so I decided that before I went back to the Cantata series. I thought I would finish this one. I've always found the idea that Edith is secretly Lady Rosamund's bastard child interesting, so this is my take on it.

General Warnings: Because this story is set during the early part of the 20th century, be prepared to occasionally run into period typical ableism, racism, sexism, lack of good mental health care or the concept thereof, common childcare concepts we find appalling, classism, and victim blaming. Not to mention different concepts of things like consent. I will try and post specific warnings per chapter!

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and plot in this work belongs to the BBC, Julian Fellows, the wonderful actors, and actresses who brought Downton Abbey to life, and a number of other people. This work is produced for entertainment only and no profit is made.

Specific Warnings: Original Child Characters & Crawley Family Dynamics.

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The Mauritania lived up to its reputation for luxury and speed, Edith reflected as she kept a firm grip on her sister's hand on the windy promenade. February was no fit time to travel from New York to England. First, there was the understandable reluctance she felt about a sea voyage in general, but the weather was more compelling. The wind was blustery, cold, predictably damp, and miserable.

Yes, but there's always the chance that you could die horribly, why not look on the bright side?

Edith had neither seen nor spoken to Mary Crawley in four years, but the older girl who was most definitively not her sister still somehow managed to creep into her mind and insult her whenever she stood still for two long. It was as if, with every decent person she lost in her life, Mary's shade gained strength. The idea was appalling and seemed all the truer for it, so Edith tried to redirect her thoughts. Considering the illustrated copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula beside the cabin bed at least cheered Edith a bit. One of the titular vampire's brides happened to be rendered with a startling similarity to the brunette in question.

"Edie, how long will it take to get to London?"

"Six days to Liverpool, Addie."

"Oh, and…"

"We're not rushing, not like the Titanic was. It will be fine." Edith said with an absolute surety of tone her feelings didn't quite match and rallied enough to smile down at her half-sister.

Adelaide looked up at her, steel blue eyes meeting brandy-brown, and Edith felt a wave of relief when the younger girl smiled. It was a weak smile, but then again, neither of them had had much to smile about in the last year. Just because she'd never been meant to have responsibility for the ten-year-old didn't mean she was going to shirk her duties.

"God damn anyone who thinks you can't do it, too."

The tired voice, deep as bellows crackled weaky in her memory and Edith quashed it as quickly as she could. Tears rose to her eyes anyway. She blinked frantically to keep them from falling. Thankfully, Adelaide had turned back to look over the railing again, wrapped well against the cold in her fur-collared and lined coat and with a good hat and knitted scarf about her neck. Edith wasn't taking any chances.

"Miss Kavanaugh!"

A bright masculine tenor – full of cheerful youth, confident, and annoying - burst through the quiet surrounding the two and Edith bit back the urge to stamp her foot and scream in frustration. Not that she'd ever done that. Mary was the one who threw fits and got placated in the nursery. She got a whipping. Sometimes Mary got to give her the whipping after the nurses figured out Mary called down if she was given control over something.

Then again, who was surprised? Pa- Lord Grantham had forbidden their nannies from spanking Mary. He'd never bothered to do the same with Edith. He'd once said it was because Mary was delicately high-strung, like a thoroughbred. Edith had assumed he was comparing her to a plough horse. Now, well, she knew why, didn't she?

I suppose the family bastard needed correction from birth.

While Edith scrambled to think of a way to avoid the coming encounter, her sister acted. Adelaide was ten years old and hadn't been trained from birth in the same perfect social manners that her elder sister had. The little girl sucked in a breath at the sound of the familiar voice and promptly tugged hard at Edith's arm. Her sister yielded control of their situation with a small smile as she was towed quickly away, around a lifeboat… and right into a tall wall of black wool.

"Oh, I say!"

"Excuse me!"

"Edith, shhh!"

Three voices, two with the cut glass accents of the English aristocracy and one with an American twang banged together in tense whispers. Edith's surprised squeak overlapped a man's muffled yelp as Edith was literally shoved into his back, then hemmed in place, unable to turn as her sister hissed up at her and held firmly onto both her legs.

It seemed that Adelaide's hiding place was occupied.

Edith managed to crane her neck up, pushing the broad black brim of her hat out of the way. Turning her eyes upward as the man she'd plowed into turned around, she was shocked to see a somewhat familiar face. In turn, she was startled and caught as a pair of intensely blue eyes lit on her with recognition.

"Lady Edith?"

"Shhh!" Adelaide scolded, peeking around Edith's legs and leaving both adults further discombobulated by the experience, at least until another voice washed over them.

"Miss Kavanaugh? Miss Adelaide?"

Edith winced despite herself as she heard Houghton's annoyed tone washing over them. He repeated her name twice more on the other side the lifeboat. Then he asked two passersby if they'd noticed, "A rather plain lady with a little girl? Both have reddish hair and are wearing mourning." Not receiving an affirmative answer, Houghton's footsteps carried him away over the decking and Edith relaxed, only then realizing in horror she'd put a hand up against the tweet lapel near her cheek and that the gentleman she'd been run into had a hand resting on her waist.

Sir Anthony Strallan had retreated behind a lifeboat secured on the promenade decking of the ship specifically to gain a little peace. He'd spent the last three months in the United States. Ostensibly, his trip had been to learn more about the agricultural mechanization that was doing so much to expand production in that broad young country; not that late winter was the best time for that. Unfortunately, he hadn't chosen the time of his trip. He'd managed to gain a credible amount of information to use back on his own estate, but that hadn't been the true purpose of the trip. The last five weeks of his trip had been spent in Washington D.C. at the request of the diplomatic corps and had weighed considerably on his good nature.

Feeling out of sorts and irritable after so many nonproductive meetings that could have been had without his input, not to mention the excessive gladhanding involved, Anthony had been further annoyed by the press of people on the ship. Add in a selection of boisterous college-age lads in first class who seemed to be everywhere at once and with fewer manners than they should... Anthony's usually genial disposition had taken enough of a beating that he'd found himself having to choose between his need for isolation and his need for fresh air. In the end, secreting himself in a nook between lifeboat and rail had seemed like a fine way to gain the fresh air and the isolation he desired.

He certainly hadn't expected his hiding place to suffer an invasion.

The child who'd towed her minder into his space was somberly dressed in a mourning. Thick liver-red curls dangled down the girl's back beneath her black hat and a pair of big steel blue eyes looked out from a thin, pale face. Despite the almost unhealthy delicacy of the child, she'd moved with real purpose as she'd dragged her larger companion into concealment. Then shoved said companion directly into his person. Anthony had only turned around to see the invaders after the impact, and then found himself looking down at the brim of a lady's broad black hat as it tipped up, rather dramatically revealing a pair of striking golden-brown eyes dominating a porcelain face. Recognition dawned and along with it, surprise.

"Lady Edith?"

It was hardly the most eloquent way to reintroduce oneself to a lady, but in his defense Anthony hadn't seen the young lady herself since she was in the nursery and some rather shocking things had happened to her since he'd last seen her tucked away in a corner of Downton's library with a book. As the smaller girl shoved her elder further into the limited space and closer to him, he couldn't help noticing that Lady Edith Crawley most certainly did not belong in the nursery any longer as she stumbled against him, her heavy fur-collared coat pressing into the thick wool of his own.

"Shhh!" The little girl admonished them and then Anthony heard a voice calling out, and reacquaintance took a back seat to silence. He held his post, awkward as it was when the elder of the two unconsciously put her hand on his chest for balance. Eventually the threat – a rather tiresome young man named Houghton that Anthony was unfortunate enough to share an acquaintance with - passed, and Anthony realized that he'd curled his hand around the young woman's waist to further support her when she'd stumbled into him. Quickly, he retrieved the wayward limb. He also hoped the blush he was now wearing might be attributed to the cold wind.

Honestly, at your age!

"Sir Anthony!" He felt absurdly complimented that she recognized him, as she stepped back from him, looking frazzled and blushing violently. "I'm so sorry. Adelaide, what do we say?"

"I'm sorry we ran into you, Sir Anthony. Are you hiding from someone unpleasant too?"

He couldn't help it, his lips curled up into a crooked smile as he took in the earnest way that the little girl asked her entirely tactless question. The look of utter exasperation on the elder of the two ladies' faces was also hard not to be amused by.

"As a matter of fact, I was." He answered quickly, before the elder of the two could scold the girl. "Think nothing of it. Emergencies do happen, after all. Lady Edith, it is nice to see you again."

"I – thank you, Sir Anthony, and for your understanding, but – you see, I had thought you'd have heard but - I am not Lady Edith. I am Miss Kavanaugh."

"Yes, I had heard." Anthony flushed.

Of course, he recalled. Who in the county hadn't heard the full tale whether they wanted to or not? His sister had dug into the whole thing with great feeling when she'd spent Christmas with them that year. Then again, Diana had never cared for the Crawleys. His father had been fond enough of the late earl, but Lady Anne Strallan's feelings on the Dowager Countess were best not expressed in public…

Still, it was hardly this young lady's fault, now, was it?

"You will excuse me for my impertinence, I cannot think of how a change in title effects the fact that you most clearly are a lady, quite apart from your rank, I mean."

Miss Edith Kavanaugh's face had lost its earlier blush, but it regained an even more becoming hue at his words and Anthony felt a sense of accomplishment at having brought it back with the honest compliment. He had been complacently lonely for too long to quite recognize the danger of that pleasure immediately.

"May I beg an introduction, Miss Kavanaugh?" He cleared his throat, nodding down at the little girl, who had retreated partially behind Edith.

"Of course, and please, call me Miss Edith. It sounds a bit Austen, but I've found it the most practical thing with two of us about." he watched as the little girl was chivied out again, her expression cautiously curious, "Sir Anthony, allow me to introduce my little sister, Miss Adelaide Kavanaugh."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Anthony." The girl offered by rote, then added quickly. "How do you know Edith?"

"I am very fortunate to have been one of your sister's neighbors for many years."

"Oh, you're from Yorkshire!" The little girl perked up. "We're maybe going there after London. But we're really going to Salzburg to visit Oma and Onkle Klaus. Or maybe Paris. Onkle Klaus hasn't decided yet."

Anthony felt his lips turn up as the flat American accent, dragging slightly over the vowels and twanging sharply at the odd consonant, promptly shifted. Unable to help himself, he offered up a conspiratorial smile and leaned down slightly towards the child.

"Salzburg ist eine sehr schöne Stadt. Die Berge gefallen mir am besten."

Blue eyes several shades darker than his own widened dramatically and then she was off. First, she was intent on agreeing with him about Salzburg's fine qualities. Not to mention its clear superiority to Vienna. Then informing him of her own love of the mountains, how the clear lakes were the best for swimming in the summer, and the superior quality of snowmen that could be built in the Alps compared to the western shore of Maryland.

"Langsamer, Adelaide!" Lady Edith finally cut in, her expression warm and the sudden smile she shot Anthony over the little girl's head full of gratitude even as she stumbled slightly over the pronunciation of the single German word. "Not all of us are as fluent as you and Sir Anthony seem to be."

"I'm sorry Edith."

"As am I." Anthony added and found himself stepping out of their small sanctuary behind the lifeboat with the ladies. "Terribly rude of us."

"Well, we literally ran into you… so I think we may call it even." The young woman allowed with a laugh and then hesitated before plowing on. "Would you care to come have tea with us, Sir Anthony? I write my younger si – I write Lady Sybil, but I'd love to hear more news from home, if you don't mind."

"I would be delighted."

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Edith had honestly offered up tea with Sir Anthony as thanks for the fact that he'd wrung a real smile out of Addie. Her sister… it had hit them both hard, but all the death was that much worse for her sister. She was so young and her whole world had been reordered in the worst possible way. She already didn't eat enough, and Edith had spent weeks worried as the already picky eater barely nibbled at her food. Adelaide couldn't afford to lose any weight and they were traveling at such a miserable time of year. Something that added to Edith's worries. She was barely twenty and now she was responsible for an entire human life…

So, Edith was all too happy to use Sir Anthony Strallan's excellent manners and good nature to obligate him to tea in the First-Class Lounge. Comfortably situated in their chairs and having called for a tray, Edith's mind turned to strategy. She hoped that she could get Adelaide to eat something. Her sister had barely touched her breakfast. Luncheon had been soundly rejected. At this point, even sweets were food. If she got news from back home, well, then that was just another prize at the fair.

Instead, she found herself just… enjoying it all.

" – Did you really?" Adelaide demanded and Sir Anthony cast a look at the mostly complete piece of fruitcake sitting on her plate and Edith watched her little sister take a large bite to try and encourage the story to continue.

"I'm very much afraid I did." The baronet went on with a rather theatrical sigh. "There really was nothing else for it, after all. Not much a fellow can do about a Lion in the kitchen but get it out of the kitchen, hm?"

Edith was as enamored of the story as her little sister. How could she be otherwise? She only regretted that Sybil wasn't here to hear it. Her sister would have found it as hilarious as she did. Only, well, she wondered if Sybil also find it as terribly brave as she did or think it a bit foolish?

"You could lock it in the pantry!"

"Well, yes, but think of the mess Miss Adelaide."

"Oh, you're right." Addie's eyes widened as she considered that. "It's a bit big for the kitchen cat's litter pan."

"Indeed, hate to think of the size of litter pan a lion would need. Perhaps we could inquire at the zoo?"

And another giggle, out of a child that hadn't laughed in what seemed like ages. Edith herself grinned at the mental image of the solemn baronet leading her little sister on to ask some zookeeper about the work it took to tidy up after his charges. She had no doubt Adelaide would do it, but Sir Anthony? Somehow, despite it seeming so alien that a stern English gentleman should be so good with a child or engage in any silliness whatsoever… Edith found that she could picture Anthony Strallan doing just that to make her sister laugh. Not to mention the way he'd managed to turn her sister's desire to hear the story into a way to get her to eat. Several more starts and stops followed, significant looks leading the slow demolition of the cake.

"Perhaps, if there's time, we'll go to the zoo in London." Edith offered and got that breath of childish excitement, which she'd thought extinct, from her sister.

"Really?"

"The London Zoo is not to be missed. Though perhaps it is not at its best this time of year." Sir Anthony's eyes, which were just so exceptionally blue, twinkled down at them both. "My nephews consider it quite a treat. Or at least, the younger of them does. The older is becoming terribly high and mighty since he went off to Eton. Don't know what I'll do with the lad. You'd think he'd never ripped the seat of his pants climbing a tree at this rate."

"How old are your nephews?"

"Edith the lion is still in the kitchen!" Adelaide whined and Edith let out a laugh of her own, holding her hands up and pretending to button her lip as Sir Anthony resumed the story.

The story carried them right on through two biscuits and a second cup of tea before Adelaide began to visibly flag. Not that it mattered; her sister had eaten something. Neither of them was getting much sleep and Edith snatched the chance to put her down for a nap she was entirely too old for. Not the least because it meant she might enjoy the same before dinner. Not that she did much for dinner; it was just a tray in their cabin. Better that than some of the company on the ship, and Adelaide was too young for dinner with the adults…

"So, you see, it really was quite a young lion, and it would have been a pity to shoot it. So, after Sergeant Myers and I got the rope around its neck and got it properly secured in the crate, the whole thing was quite pleasantly resolved."

"Even for the lion?"

"He went on to live a long and proud life as King of the Jungle, I'm sure, and grew a very fine mane for all of his many children to admire."

"What about the general's wife's favorite tea set?"

"That I'm afraid, along with my best uniform, was one of our three casualties."

"What was the other casualty?"

"The kitchen rug."

"Oh, well, I bet the lion was very upset, not being grown and having two soldiers drag him about by a rope around his neck."

"Indeed, Miss Adelaide, in retrospect one cannot blame the poor fellow. He just got turned around, shall we say?"

"We shall." Edith agreed and folded her napkin as she watched Adelaide hide a yawn. "But I think it's time for lessons to start – or past time, rather."

"Will there be mathematics?" Adelaide asked suspiciously and Sir Anthony covered his mouth.

"There will always be mathematics." Edith assured her sister, who pulled a face, and then prompted. "Addie, isn't there something we should say?"

"Thank you for the company and the story, Sir Anthony!"

"Think nothing of it. If anything, I should thank both you ladies for the most pleasant afternoon tea I've had in far too long. Thank you for keeping an old codger like me company."

"Oh, you're hardly that-."

"You're welcome!"

Adelaide's happy chirp drowned out the denial that instantly tripped off Edith's tongue and she hid a smile behind her hand as the older man visibly restrained his laughter at her little sister's instant agreement.

"Anyway, thank-."

"There you are, Miss Kavanaugh – and Miss Adelaide too, and what do you know, she's actually eaten something! Good show, we'll be able to tell the captain to put off the force feeding, hm?"

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Anthony hadn't enjoyed himself at tea so much since the last time his sister's family had been at Loxley. Not that there weren't a few differences. First, his nephews had heard the Lion in the Kitchen story so many times they could tell it better than he did. Second, any tea involving David and Christopher resulted in the quick disappearance of anything resembling food. If you had a desire to have any yourself, it could be something of an unseemly scrum. Well, not if you were a responsible adult present to remind them of their manners as their mother said, but still. Two growing boys and a pile of cakes and sandwiches was an uneven fight and Anthony was man enough to admit his own part in the slaughter.

Miss Adelaide Kavanaugh was another story entirely. While both of his nephews had inherited the Strallan height, Miss Adelaide was small for her age in every way. He'd assumed her to be perhaps eight, but he'd found out that the girl was ten. Small, pale, and thin Anthony found himself worrying – and Diana would no doubt laugh heartily at him for doing so over a child he'd barely met. A sea voyage and a trip to the continent in Winter seemed a bit much for the child, thin and tired and in mourning wear. Then there was how little she seemed to care for the plate of cake in front of her.

Coaxing her into eating had simply come naturally. He'd already been doing it before he'd realized what he was doing, and then worried about stepping on Lady – Miss Edith's toes. Instead, he'd been rewarded by the gratitude sparkling in her on honeyed eyes as she finished her own fruit cake and tea. Moreover, she'd been as engaged in his silly stories of his brief time in the Army as her half-sister. Not that they were particularly harrowing stories about the Boer War; he'd hardly share any of those.

It was just jolly pleasant, is all. Sitting with a pair of lovely young ladies, one a charming child and the other a positively sparkling example of a young woman. Really, the new generation of ladies was something else in his mind. Oh, he missed Maud and he always would, but there was something about the forthrightness and confidence in the younger generation that the Baronet admired, and Miss Edith was a brilliant balance of the demure shyness he'd been raised to expect and the brashness and intelligence that was shining through in her own generation. Just because he was too old for it to matter much didn't mean he couldn't enjoy her company, did it?

"Good show, we'll be able to tell the captain to put off the force-feeding, hm?"

Anthony had met Mr. Charles Houghton earlier in the smoking room. It had been his misfortune to be introduced to the younger man a year before in London. Mr. Edward Houghton was an old friend of Anthony's from Cambridge. The second son of a third son, the man's father was several steps removed from inheritance. Instead of relying on family influence and money, Edward had made a successful career as a Barrister. His elder son, Richard, had made a good showing of himself in the Navy.

The younger son was not following in their footsteps. After some undisclosed trouble at Eton, it had been decided that the boy would attend university on the American west coast. The university itself was new, small, and unremarkable but Anthony knew Edward had hoped that time, distance, and a new situation would improve his son's lack of work ethic. Charles Houghton had managed to get his degree, but his marks had not been good and there seemed little chance he'd pick up appropriate employment at an architectural firm given his modest talents. He was being called home so that a position could be found for him there.

In the smoking room the day before, not long after they set sail, Anthony had found himself in the company of several young American men making the first leg of their European tour. It had been pleasant enough. He was admittedly well-traveled and happy to share his observations about where they might consider traveling. Everyone paid so much attention to the great cities, they forgot the treasures of art and nature to be found in the European countryside, after all, and if he could direct a few young minds towards them, it was a pleasure.

Then Houghton had joined them. On his way home, the young man lamented his own troubles happily to his peers. His father was restricting his allowance. He was to get a job forthwith. At only twenty-five his days of adventure were to be done and he was to be shackled to a desk; assuming his father could find him one. Anthony, who had been running Loxley since he was two-years-younger than the little weasel, found himself sympathizing with the boy's father, instead.

"I've found myself a lifeline, however!" Houghton's words from the smoking room stuck in Anthony's memory like flies on jam. "She's a bastard, but she was raised properly in an Earl's household and her father's left her at least a quarter-million pounds! Maybe more, since both the man's sons died on the Titanic, and he's just kicked off himself. They'd have to reevaluate the estate then, wouldn't they? Dour little thing and a bastard besides, so she'll be happy with any man who'll take her. I'm sure I can get her on the hook before we make port."

Seeing the odious man's greasy smile spread across his face as he sat down at their table uninvited, sent a wave of bristling offense up Anthony's spine.

"Mr. Houghton, we were just leaving so you really must excuse us."

Anthony stood up along with the two girls as frost raced through the air at Miss Edith's tone. The Dowager Countess Graham, old dragon that she was, couldn't have put more disdain in the words.

"And what if I don't?" The greasy smile turned into smirk and Anthony, as awkward as he knew himself to be, was absolutely appalled that he thought that was passible flirtation.

"Let's find out!" The little girl muttered from behind her sister.

Houghton stared in shock, went red about the face, and then went to stand.

"Here, I'll-."

"Miss Edith, allow me to escort you back to your quarters." Anthony stepped forward, using his size to neatly trap the smaller man in his chair, half-risen awkwardly and then forced to sit heavily as he was crowded. Anthony offered up both his elbows. "And Miss Adelaide, of course."

"Yes!"

Anthony watched as the little redhead scrambled out from behind her sister and reached up, seizing his arm with both of her small hands. Miss Edith stepped forward and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow far more gracefully. That settled, Anthony looked down at Houghton and nodded once, perhaps a touch smugly, and then firmly saw both ladies out of the dining salon.

"Thank you for that." Edith turned to him, her voice quiet as they got into the corridors of the ship and made steady progress towards the First-Class cabins.

"Happy to assist. I hope he hasn't been making a nuisance of himself?"

"People don't walk the plank anymore, do they?" Adelaide interrupted the adults as children will.

"Unfortunately, they do not, little sister. Besides, I doubt the White Star Line wants to refund his ticket, if nothing else."

"Pity." Anthony offered cheerfully and was rewarded by a set of nearly identical, surprised smiles on two otherwise rather different faces. "I do know the boy's father. It won't do much good directly, but if you'd like, I can have a word with him once we've made landfall. Perhaps a telegram now, if the system will allow?"

"Oh, don't bother. If he won't listen to me outright telling him to leave us be, he's not going to listen to anyone else." Edith made a face and shook her head. "None of them ever do. It's positively annoying."

"Yes, I imagine a young lady as lovely as yourself is positively tripping over suitors."

"Say rather that my father's money has had a great many admirers."

"Houghton told me, he bet I'd be almost pretty in a few years if I ate more, and even if I wasn't then I was still well-set up enough in other ways to make up for it." Adelaide added with all the indignity a ten-year-old girl could muster.

"That, Miss Adelaide, is a ghoulish to thing to say." He assured her. "You are a very lovely young lady."

"Boys are annoying."

"Quite true, Miss Adelaide."

"You're alright, though."

"Thank you very much, I'm very glad to hear it!"

"You should come to tea with us tomorrow, too!"

"Addie." Miss Edith jumped in to chide her. "You're more than welcome, Sir Anthony, but we don't want to bother him, do we Adelaide?"

"No bother at all." Anthony replied firmly, his smile lopsided but genuine. "In truth, you'd be saving me from a great deal of unfortunate conversation and entirely too much time alone with my pipe should you be amenable to tea tomorrow."

As he basked in the smiles he was rewarded with, Anthony found his mouth going on entirely without his permission.

"Perhaps you're free for dinner as well, Miss Edith?"

She blinked at him once, and he was prepared to marshal and deploy an apology, even as his tongue stumbled with the words, only to be cut off.

"I would be very pleased, Sir Anthony, but you see I don't have-."

"I'm not a baby, Edith, I don't need a nurse!" Adelaide cut in, firmly offended. "I can look after myself just fine!"

Edith shot her sister a look of exasperated concern. Her little sister stared back obstinately. Then the younger girl tugged her sister's hand and added, at what Anthony was sure she presumed to be a confidential whisper.

"You never get to have any fun anymore, either. Please? I'd feel better if you got to have fun."

Anthony had been on the verge of reminding the little girl that she could certainly come as well. After all, it might not have been his original intention, but he hardly wanted to exclude the child. He was surprised, though, at the lack of childcare. Surely, they weren't traveling truly alone, without even a servant. Were they? Concern began to nibble at the edges of his amusement at the new company he'd fallen into. If he recalled correctly, Miss Edith couldn't be more than twenty…

"Well… I still haven't caught up on the Yorkshire gossip." Lady Edith finally unbent and turned towards him, smiling shyly. "I suppose we can't have that, can we?"

"And he can chase Mr. Houghton away if he keeps bothering you!"

Edith blushed most becomingly, he noted once more as he turned his laughter into a cough.

"Miss Adelaide, I would be happy to assist."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Did – did you want to wear the blue dress, Edith?"

Edith paused in the midst of opening her vanity case. It was an extravagant thing, and not at all the sort of gift that Zachary Kavanaugh usually gave his children. In a family that prided itself on its humble roots, however, there were a few exceptions.

One was the necessaire pour dames that the girls of the family were gifted with in adolescence. It had begun many years before with her great-grandfather scrimping and saving to buy his only daughter an ivory hairbrush and mirror set when she was thirteen. It culminated in Edith having a beautiful, polished walnut case, inlaid with an extravagant pattern of flowering wreaths in lighter wood, presented to her by a solicitor as she set off on the nerve-wracking journey to America after it all came out. The first gift from a new family.

Edith ran her hand lovingly over the burled surface of the case and looked inside. A top tray of the same wood, lined in rich green velvet compartments, held the intricately cast silver hand-mirror engraved with her initials. Then there were brushes for her hair and clothing, a button hook, tiny scissors, three combs, a beautiful little silver box for her pins and more. Beneath the first tray was a similarly lined set of compartments holding crystal bottles of assorted lotions, perfumes, shampoos and other matters of necessity for a lady's toilette.

Adelaide's hand snaked around, and Edith passed her the brush. Their quarters weren't extravagant, as some of the first-class cabins were, but they were very nice. The small room featured a single double bed that she and Addie were sharing. It also featured a wash basin and a lovely little compact vanity. Then, outside that, there was a small sitting room with a little sofa and two dainty chairs around a low table. An exceedingly narrow sideboard stood off against one wall.

Edith held still while her sister unwound the loose plait, she'd put her hair into when they'd laid down for their brief nap. Addie had incredibly deft hands for a girl her age, and Edith smiled as her hair was brushed. Adelaide didn't tug or pull, but she did move with a certain briskness that made her smile. Why shouldn't she? It was nice to have a sister with whom she shared mannerisms. It was nice to have a sister with whom she shared anything. Efficiency over grace seemed to be a Kavanaugh family trait.

"I wouldn't be mad."

"I know you wouldn't." Edith agreed, catching her sister's eyes in the mirror over her shoulder. "Neither would Daddy or Adrian and Jamie if you-."

"So, you could wear the blue dress if you wanted. It looks very pretty with your hair." Adelaide interrupted. "You could wear mama's sapphires with it, too."

That was the other exception. Their father had disdained households with more than five or six servants. He'd disliked huge mansions and the gay whirl of the large cities. He was fine with business meetings, clubs, and the trappings of powerful men, but home was supposed to feel homely, and Zachary Kavanaugh had strong feelings about that. Somehow that all went out the window when it came to buying the women in his life shiny things. Then again, he'd also told Edith that it was a husband's job to manage his wife, and a father's job to make that nearly impossible…

"I could, and that's very kind of you, but – I don't think I'm ready for the blue dress yet, Addie." Edith turned around and tugged her sister into a hug. "Are you ready for your normal frocks?"

"No."

"There you have it, then." Edith dropped a kiss into the auburn hair at her sister's crown.

Her sister nodded, tugging her hair and Edith turned around again and watched as her little sister played maid. A professional would have, no doubt, done a better job. Adelaide did better than Edith could have done for herself, though. She'd simply never gotten the hang of dressing her own hair. Soon her hair was up in a perfectly serviceable twist with a jet comb holding it in place, however, and Edith wouldn't have exchanged the proud look on her sister's face for anything.

They both mustered a bit of laughter getting Edith into her corset. It wasn't an easy job, Addie wasn't nearly as tall or strong as a grown maid. Edith's day corset was made so a woman could get in and out of it easily by herself. The evening dress, however, required a more complex foundation. Working together they got the strings drawn snug and tied. Then there was some laughter and a bit of chair-climbing to get the black dress on. If it was the, well, prettiest of the dresses, Edith was just glad to see her little sister care. She wasn't quite ready to admit she wanted to look her best for the kind older gentleman who'd come to their rescue after being so rudely intruded upon on deck.

"You're sure you'll be alright alone?"

"Eeeeedieeeee…"

Edith laughed as she settled her sister, already in her night clothes, on the bed. Addie wasn't that young; she didn't need to be tucked in… but Edith needed to do it. Her sister didn't protest anyway as Edith pressed a kiss to her cheek. Adelaide did the opposite of protesting when Edith pulled a weighty object from beneath the bed.

"This is not to be read all night. It is not to be produced tomorrow during lessons when my back is turned. If there are any disgusting anatomical details in it, they are not to be discussed over meals. Clear?"

"But non-anatomical details are alright?"

"No disgusting details of any kind at mealtimes, Addie!"

Edith raised both her eyebrows and held the Encyclopedia of Australian Fauna (Illustrated addition) just out of Adelaide's reach. Her sister's hands reached up for it while she grinned happily. In some families, it was candy. In others it was the newest and shiniest of toys. Among the Kavanaugh family? You wanted to bribe the children; you went to a book shop.

"Yes!"

Edith surrendered the book.

"And what aren't you doing?"

"Leaving the cabin or opening the door for anyone but the crew, and only then if there's fire or some other horrible thing."

The thick volume was already open, and her sister's nose was firmly buried in it.

Smiling, Edith headed out to dinner. If she checked herself one more time in the vanity mirror? That had nothing to do with how very blue her dinner companion's eyes were.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Perhaps the other, hm?"

Anthony wasn't particularly fussy in his dress, preferring homely tweeds and jumpers to the elaborate dress other peers enjoyed. Stewart, as his man, was more particular than he was, just as it should be. So as soon as the unexpected words left Anthony's mouth, he was subject to the expected scrutiny of his valet.

Stewart, who was taking out his employer's second-best eveningwear paused just noticeably. Then, with the barest flourish, he returned it to the wardrobe and produced the other set. This black dinner jacket and trousers (and tie and the whole lot really), was rather identical to the other to the unstudied eye. On Anthony, however, this particular white-tie turn-out was rather more closely and precisely tailored.

"Very good, sir, perhaps a step-up in other matters as well?"

A quick gesture to the case containing his watches, fobs, and cufflinks.

"Well… in for a penny..."

Stewart reached for a set of gold cufflinks set with lapis rather than his employer's usual engraved silver.

"May I ask after your consideration forthis evening, sir?"

"Oh, nothing, just…"

Damn and blast. Anthony should not have just said it was nothing. Stewart would be all over that. Not that he was going to fuss the man for interference or some other nonsense, but… oh, why not?

"I met a pair of charming young ladies earlier today and am dining with one."

"Very good, sir, Mrs. Chetwood shall certainly be pleased."

"Stewart, my sister is an interfering bossy-boots and the less said of this to her the better." He argued, though it was half-hearted, and Anthony was sure his man knew it. "It's – It's a matter of gentlemanly conduct. Namely that Houghton cad's lack of it."

"Oh?" And Stewart was now frowning, and it was a relief to meet understanding. "The young lady that the Houghton fellow was speaking of so crassly over cigarettes."

"Precisely, it's Lady Edith Crawley, believe it or not."

Stewart's eyebrows hit the ceiling and Anthony shrugged.

"Well, Miss Edith Kavanaugh now, thanks to that whole sorry business." Anthony brushed aside one of the largest scandals to hit Yorkshire in the last half-century with one sentence and carried on. "I think anyone with a jot of decency can admit that if anyone's innocent in the mess it's Miss Edith. No-one has much choice regarding the circumstances of their birth."

"None at all, sir. If they did, I imagine everyone would be a king."

"Having been to America, I can safely say that in a land where every man is king, no man is King, Stewart."

"If I may be so bold, sir, I believe that is the point." The valet cleared his throat. "I fear you may find a certain lack of kindness in the First-Class dining room regarding assessment of Miss Kavanaugh's fault in the matter. At least among the ladies if they're aware of Miss Kavanaugh's origins."

"No 'may' about it." He huffed. "Houghton's already flung her illegitimacy around as if – anyway, I've no excuse for rudeness. She's a lovely young woman and her sister – half-sister I presume, but that's of no relevance – anyway, she's now got custody of her ten-year-old sister and looks about half-underwater with it all. It wouldn't be proper to leave her on her own in hostile territory, would it?"

"No, sir."

"We had tea together. Houghton was bothering them, and it led to a dinner invitation. I doubt Miss Edith gets out much, you see.

"Very good, sir."

"No matter what Diana would smirk about it, I'm sure, which is preposterous."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I mean, I'm – and she – look, Stewart, we just won't mention it to my sister, hm?"

"Very good, sir."

"Stewart, stop that."

"Of course, sir."

Anthony shot his valet an old-fashioned look and got the blankly phlegmatic response he was anticipating as he took his watch from the man and got it situated. He ignored him as he shot his cuffs and checked his tie. Not that it was needed, given Stewart had already given him the once-over twice. Still, what on earth was he nervous for? He was just doing a nice young lady – a neighbor quite young enough to be his daughter – a favor. There was nothing more to it than that, right?

Of course, old man, what else could there be?

Anthony's equanimity lasted until he reached the top of the grand staircase down into the First Class' Dining Lounge. At which point he found himself waiting for perhaps five minutes before he met her at the agreed upon location. Anthony's heart, which had been cheerfully uninvolved, happily lurched into his throat and rolled over with the kind of happy flounder usually reserved for particularly geriatric thoroughbreds. Either that or exceedingly well-fed mastiffs.

"Sir Anthony." She beamed up at him, the golden lighting in the room bringing out the copper and amber hues in her blonde hair and throwing gold sparks into her brown eyes. "Am I late?"

"No, my dear, you're lovely."

Well, at least you're supposed diplomatic skills haven't entirely failed you, old boy! She colored prettily at his compliment, looking away and then looking back with a smile.

"And you are a flatterer, Sir Anthony."

"On the contrary, I'm being entirely honest." He offered up his arm and smiled as she slid one small hand into the crook of his elbow. "How's Miss Adelaide this evening?"

"Settled in her pajamas with a new book. I even managed to get nearly half of a respectable dinner into her, so I am considering this a banner day as a guardian!"

"I'm glad to hear it but – forgive my prying – but is it normal for her to be so off of her food?" Anthony asked without thought, frowning automatically. "I know you've had, well, you've obviously had a difficult time of it recently."

The happy expression slid off her face and he cursed himself for reminding her.

"I am sorry, that was-."

"No, it's alright. Can't blame someone for observing the obvious." She hesitated, then blazed on, surprising him with her honesty as he led her down the stairs.

The sweeping wooden staircase was the central focus of the room anyway but given the unlikely pairing they made and Miss Edith's past and the gossip therearound, Anthony wasn't shocked when they became the focus of everyone's stares. Wryly, he admitted to himself that a washed-up old chap like himself walking arm in arm with a beautiful young woman would have gathered stares anyway. He ignored the prying eyes and led her to a quiet table off to the side, drawing her chair out for her and settling her in against the wall before firmly putting himself between her and the room. One benefit of his height and shoulders; he made an excellent wall.

"Daddy," Edith surprised him by not changing the subject, her tone quiet and her face composed around sad eyes. "Mr. Kavanaugh, I mean. He – last year early he was diagnosed with cancer of the lungs. His doctors had thought it was just his emphysema acting up before that and we were worried, but not too badly since he carried on so steadily… After they determined what it really was, he took a bad turn and – and my brothers rushed to come home. You see, they'd been on a tour of the Continent... They booked last minute passage on the Titanic."

"I am sorry." Anthony managed, not knowing what else he could possibly say, and – though he should not – he rested his hand over hers on the table, curling his fingers around hers in a squeeze of support.

"My stepmother died nearly three years ago. Losing the boys kind of… swept Daddy away so quickly. It was… a great deal to handle, with the estate and all, and then Adelaide didn't take it well."

"I would expect not! No-one is required to take a loss like that well, I hope you were not entirely alone?"

"No, my grandmama Martha – you see, Lady Grantham's mother was wonderful." And the smile returned, though pain nibbled at the edges. "Martha Levinson said she hadn't had me as a granddaughter for fifteen years to just throw me away – only she was much less polite about it! Then there was Uncle Harold – he's, well, not that much use but he is very kind in the strangest moments. After Daddy died, they helped me so much with the solicitors and getting everything settled."

"I'm glad to hear you were not alone."

"Very much so, and Uncle Harold was set to escort us on the voyage, but he had a ridiculous polo accident."

"I'm sorry to hear that, shall he be alright?"

"If he survives Grandmama's nursing."

Anthony stifled a chuckle and cleared his throat.

"Does that mean you are travelling quite alone?"

"Other than Adelaide, yes. I'm afraid the servants weren't interested in leaving the country." That was a delightful and worryingly stubborn look. "However, I've got things entirely under control, so you needn't worry. In a few days I'll be back on English soil and see about hiring some more help there, and deciding where our new residence will be."

"Well, that's jolly good to hear, Britain shall be richer for it."

"Literally."

"That," He scolded the arched eyebrow, "was not meant literally."

They paused as drinks arrived, and then Anthony watched his dinner guest breeze onward.

"But enough about me and everything dreary. I can't tell you how nice it is just to hear a familiar accent. Daddy was from Texas, and we visited not long after I arrived. I couldn't understand a thing being said to me for weeks and then it was onto Maryland and an entirely new accent! I mean, Britain doesn't lack of accents, either, but at least I can identify those!"

Anthony chuckled and Miss Edith went on breezily.

"Now, Sybil and I always end up writing each other about politics and fashion and social issues and that's wonderful, but I have no idea what's happening back home."

"Well, if you want Yorkshire gossip, I do believe I can provide it." Anthony smiled, settling in as the Hors d'Oeuvres arrived. "Where shall we begin?"

"Oh, I have no idea – is the Dowager Countess still winning the flower show every year?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Oh, he didn't!" Edith giggled helplessly behind her hand as Sir Anthony smiled at her over the entrée.

"Oh, he most assuredly did, and what was Mr. Travers to do?"

"Oh, I'm sure he didn't have to do anything, not if Granny was there!" Edith laughed, forgetting for a moment to watch what she called the Crawleys. "It's hardly the first time Papa's drifted off at church, but Mama usually there to wake him up and he almost never snores. Was it after the – the wreck happened? I know she was distressed about losing Cousin James and Patrick."

"I believe it was mostly the, erm, upheaval with the entail that distressed her, but this happened rather before then."

"Really?"

"I don't make it a habit to pry, but I understand there was some… disquiet in Downton following your departure. Your mother was not seen in church for several weeks."

Edith felt her stomach twist a little and cleared her throat.

"Well, I'm glad that he escaped Granny's wrath. My uncle, Lord Grantham, I mean. He did, didn't he?"

"He did, your younger sister stepped on his foot before the Dowager noticed the snoring."

"Cousin – really. I – I do apologize, I keep forgetting-."

"I don't believe it is up to the bulk of society to decide on what labels an individual refers to their family by." Sir Anthony replied quietly. "I am sorry, though, I don't intend to-."

"Oh, no, you didn't make me uncomfortable. I just rather forgot to watch myself."

"Do you feel it necessary?"

"I – I rather do." Edith felt a way of annoyance at the way that she'd suddenly turned the evening. It had been going swimmingly a moment before.

Sir Anthony really was a wonderful dinner companion. He was just – he was enthusiastic in a way that she just wasn't used to. Too many men she knew, of all ages, wanted to act either like they were a sage or despot. Sir Anthony was forever asking questions, finding answers, and happy to share them. It reminded her of Adrian. Perhaps Mary might have found all the, well, information tiresome, but Edith had always enjoyed learning new things.

"But enough about that. You came to America to look at farming technology so you must be doing something with it back at Loxley, mustn't you?"

"I'm afraid I must, but I doubt a young lady wants to hear all about that."

"Do not underestimate this young lady." Edith shook her head. "I love mechanical things. I have a driver's license, you know."

"Really?"

"My brothers taught me. I can change my tires and oil and everything, like a proper modern woman, no less!"

"Well, that's jolly good!"

She felt herself blush at the sudden attention of those brilliant blue eyes and the smile that said he meant it. There was no mockery in this man, older and English and titled, that she expected even from some of the more progressive amongst Uncle Harold's friends. Instead, he seemed genuinely enthused by her accomplishments.

As their dishes were swept away, roast pheasant and ginger glazed winter vegetables demolished, and an apricot sorbet swept out to cleanse their palates. A wave of courage hit her, buoyed up by the genuine admiration in those eyes and on that handsome, open face. Leaning forward, she dared to tease a little.

"Sir Anthony, I've even driven a tractor."

"Oh, come now."

"I did!" Edith laughed. "The hired man took ill at just the wrong time and there I was!"

"Oh, I would like to see that."

"Well, provide the field and the tractor and I'll shock the entire county with my Levi's!"

"Do be careful Miss Edith or I shall take you up on it."

"Be careful or I will take that as a dare, Sir Anthony." Edith couldn't help the smile painting her features again.

"Well," Oh, those blue eyes were so bright… "I'm not quite the sporting man I was in my youth, but I might not be able to let that stand. We'll put it aside for now, though. You said you went to university?"

"Oh, yes, it was wonderful." Edith sighed, her face falling. "Daddy so wanted to see me graduate, so I went summers and got permission to rush through the last few months via correspondence… I barely remember most of it. Just the papers and the stress… but the first two years were just – just everything I could hope, before everything got tangled up in – in rushing."

"I'm glad. I remember my years at Cambridge with nothing but fondness."

"Oh?" Edith felt she'd smiled more in the last few hours than she had in the last six months, mentally picturing the wonderfully proper, funny, gentleman before her years younger and finding the mental image just as charming as he'd been so far.

She'd only known Sir Anthony Strallan in passing despite him being a neighbor for most of her life. He was certainly a fixture in the Yorkshire community around Downton, but he just wasn't quite the same kind of fixture as the Crawley family. It had taken nearly five years away from Downton to understand why, and… it rather made her like him more. She'd never quite fit in, either, and now she knew why, but… it was still a feelings he could quite sympathize.

"I'm sure you were a perfect student." Edith teased and got a crooked smile in return that left her heart doing something unlikely and painful in her chest.

"Oh, well," He flushed and chuckled, "I did well enough, with all the usual scrapes a lad gets into I suppose. I'm sure you were far more virtuous, Miss Edith."

"Oh, I was. Horrendously boring, that is. Mary would say it was perfectly in character." She made a face at herself and missed the way his brows drew down at her habitual negative response to compliments. "I suppose that's one of the differences between boys and girls? I mean, everyone spends all their time trying to keep a proper young gentleman inside the schoolroom, but they put inordinate effort into keeping a girl out."

"And you were one of those who'd rather have stayed in?"

"Oh, yes!" Edith laughed. "I used to ask if I could go away to an actual school back at Downton– all our governess taught us was just the most useless things. All the flower arranging and deportment you could desire and then mediocre French. As if that was supposed to satisfy a person on the matter of education! I whined about it to my par- Lord and Lady Grantham, until they were quite done with me."

"I can only imagine Lord Grantham's response to that. He's a good man, but not terribly, well, progressive."

"Regressive, perhaps. It drives Sybil mad." She wrinkled her nose, but shook her head, refusing all unpleasantness on such a fine evening. "Anyway, it – well, it ceased to be a problem when I left."

"Yes," And just like that his expression sobered, "I will admit that there was some gossip there."

"Only some?"

"Well, yes, that." He pulled a face, but then leaned forward and she was caught by how genuine he seemed; he was truly concerned. "Those of us who cared less about the gossip and more about the content, however, were concerned. You were very young, and you left under such unusual circumstances and your uncle was so angry. I – I am incredibly relieved to see you came through it alright."

Edith looked away, feeling her face darken even as she felt a rush of affection for the man. She had grown more used to attention and kindness than she'd been in Downton. She understood what it was like to have people deeply interested in your happiness, who would commit themselves to helping you achieve the things you wanted for yourself and encourage you while you did it. Edith never thought she'd reach a point where she expected it, however, or where it felt ordinary. Perhaps that explained how the next sentence eked quietly out from between her lips.

"It's nice to find out that someone wondered – beside Sybil, I mean." She confessed. "Lady Grantham didn't write for more than a year and when she did it was – it was just like getting a nice letter from someone who'd, well, who'd always been my aunt and never anything more. Then, well, Lord Grantham didn't write until – until Daddy died and it was a very kind letter, but… I'm afraid I don't even know what to say. It's nice to know I'm welcome back, but…"

"But you wonder what that welcome will be."

She looked up into those blue eyes and had to look away, feeling burned by the compassion in them.

"Yes, but now look at us. We've gotten quite serious again." She brushed imaginary crumbs from the tablecloth with her fingers and turned, grateful as the waiter returned with fresh wine and the next course. "I think now it's my turn for a story, Sir Anthony."

"Oh?"

"Quite." She shot him her brightest smile and, to her surprise, really felt it. "You must tell me a story from Cambridge. Then I'll tell you one from Vassar."

"Shall it involve a lion?"

"No lions, I'm afraid, what about a particularly cheeky opossum?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anthony wasn't… quite sure how it had happened, but they were a day out of Liverpool, and he'd spent some time – a great deal of time – with the little Kavanaugh family every day since that first meeting behind the lifeboat. Houghton had been put off the day after the dinner with a few judicious words in the smoking room. Anthony was sure he was overstepping but couldn't quite bring himself to care; it kept the lout away from the girls, after all. That done, his conscience should have been clear, and he certainly shouldn't have monopolized the attention and time of a girl a full twenty-five-years his junior.

The ladies themselves hadn't agreed with this determination. The day after the dinner both of the Miss Kavanaughs had insisted that they take him to lunch, and he was entirely outnumbered and at their mercy. Anthony found, that he enjoyed the situation immensely.

Reciprocation became a pattern. Luncheon and tea were had with Miss Edith and her little sister, where he found himself applied to for stories of Cambridge, his brief time in South Africa, Loxley, Yorkshire, conversation in German, and anything else their minds might wander to. Not that he gave up the information without extracting payment in kind. Over the days he began to construct more and more of a picture of what had happened in Edith Kavanaugh's life since it had come crashing into public knowledge that Lord Grantham's second daughter was his niece.

Dinner was well… Anthony didn't have quite the talent for self-deception it would take to pretend it was anything other than what it was. He'd had dinner with Miss Edith every night, save one, since that first time and he hadn't regretted it. Who would?

"The better question is why a beautiful young woman would want to spend time with an old codger like yourself." Anthony muttered to his shaving mirror, never having preferred to delegate the activity despite Stewart's skills.

"I couldn't say, sir, not having the good fortune of attracting a beautiful young heiress."

Utterly unphased by the voice materializing unexpectedly out of nowhere, Anthony continued to scrape the pale graying blonde stubble off his neck with the cutthroat razor.

"Stewart, there are easier ways to apply for a new position than accidental homicide."

"So, I've heard, sir. Have the ladies had any resolution on their immediate travel plans?"

"They have not." Anthony cleaned the razor and set it aside with a click as sharp as his irritation. "Tell me, Stewart, is there something particularly difficult about returning a telegram? Especially after it was your correspondence that precipitated the unescorted journey of a young lady and child across an entire ocean."

"Well, there could be any number of technical difficulties, I am sure."

"You are?"

The stone-faced valet's lips twitched just slightly.

"Then, of course, there are personal difficulties."

"Quite right." Anthony accepted his waistcoat, and then his jacket, buttoning them with brisk movements. "How would you feel about placing a bet on the subject of Lord Grantham's having some kind of conniption?"

"From what I have observed that would be a foolish bet."

"You know I like the man, or I try to, but he's such a – there is a limit for even English inflexibility. Family should always come first, you know, and-." Anthony let out a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to summon up a better humor. "You'd think Lady Rosamund would have jumped at the chance."

"You've known her longer, Sir."

Anthony frowned at his valet and sighed as he continued to dress for dinner. Stewart wasn't wrong. He was one year Lord Grantham's junior and some five years Lady Rosamund's senior. He did know her fairly well as they'd often been thrown together. Before he'd courted Maud, he'd given some thought to casting his hat in Lady Rosamund's circle, but his father hadn't approved. In retrospect, he could quite see why.

Lady Rosamund Crawley had been a sparkling, vivaciously social creature in their youth. That much had not changed. It had surprised no-one when she'd married the wealthy young Marmaduke Painswick. The man's money was new, but he was as dynamic as his bride. Their early marriage was characterized by passionate displays of affection and equally passionate and inappropriate public spats. Four or five years into their marriage they'd grown visibly closer after a brief separation. Lady Rosamund had a health scare that sent her into seclusion in the country for treatment, and her husband had been incredibly attentive.

Now, in retrospect, it was quite clear what those long months spent in Downton were about, and why the initial separation from Painswick had occurred. Anthony had heard about the dancer that the husband was carrying on with in the months before, but there hadn't been a breath about Lady Rosamund's retaliatory affair with the American, Kavanaugh. The Crawley family had smothered every trace of the mess quite effectively. They'd even passed off the resultant offspring as another daughter for the earl and his wife.

At least until they hadn't.

"I have, Stewart, and I cannot say I'm surprised. Lady Rosamund isn't – she isn't a bad woman, but she is not the most dependable." He finally sighed and shook his head, straightening his dinner jacket and then his tie unnecessarily. "Well, anyway, I'll ask after Miss Edith's plans again. If they're not settled, I'll lean on Diana."

That decided Anthony found his new morning routine repeated. Breakfast had already been had, dressing was accomplished, and it was time to review his notes from the more diplomatic side of his trip. He'd already put them in order, but until ten in the morning he had little to do. When his pocket watch finally agreed with his inclination, he rose, donned his gloves, retrieved his hat and overcoat, and headed out with a distinct spring in his step.

Unfortunately, it turned out that a steady, cold, rain was falling on the decks of the ship. One which was not being greeted with happiness by the Kavanaugh household.

"But why?!" Miss Adelaide's voice came out in a distinct whine.

"Because it's cold and we'll get soaked, Addie. The deck will be slippery and that's dangerous."

"But I don't want to stay inside all day!"

"Addie, we'll be in England by this time tomorrow and then we won't be cooped up anymore. We'll have a lot of space to go outside-"

"But that's then. Why can't we go out now? It's just water."

"Adelaide, you know what Dr. Foster said-."

It had never been his blessing to be a father, but more than forty years on God's Earth and experience as both an older brother and an uncle told him immediately that a mistake had been made. While Adelaide Kavanaugh had been whining a moment before, now she was mad. The ten-year-old literally threw her hands up and waved them at her sister.

"Dr. Foster's an idiot!"

"Addie!"

"He says I can't play in the rain? He said I'd be dumb and blind and told Daddy he shouldn't even try because I was just going to die anyway!"

Miss Edith had clearly realized her own error because she was leaning down and reaching for her sister, obviously intending to calm her down. It didn't work.

"No! He told Adrian and Jamie I was – he told them to let them take me away!" The little girl wrenched away from the attempted embrace and angrily shoved back at her older sister's seeking hands, her voice rapidly rising along with her upset. "He said Daddy was going to get better!"

"Adelaide Katherine Elizabeth Kavanaugh lower your voice!"

"No!"

Anthony watched as the girl dodged under her sister's hands and sprinted off. Luckily, directly towards him. Knowing all too well just how dangerous it would be for the little one to scramble her way around the ship's endless-seeming corridors unescorted or – God forbid – go out onto the deck to play despite the rain, he did the only reasonable thing. Reaching out, he caught the fleeing child under her arms and swung her up into his own. Their disparate sizes make the action easy.

"Here now, Miss Adelaide, what seems to be the trouble?"

An incomprehensible wail followed as the little girl dissolved into a sobbing mess against the lapels of his coat.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I am so, so sorry, Sir Anthony." Edith wrung her hands and apologized for what she was sure was the fifth time in the last ten minutes.

She'd been waiting for the breakdown for weeks. Adelaide had been acting altogether to, well, together for how upset her sister knew she was. There had been breakdowns before, tantrums and tears, but not for a while. It was to be expected of a girl who'd lost her entire family one after another in the first decade of her life. The fact that she'd lost most of them in the last six months just made it that much more understandable.

What horrified Edith were the circumstances! If it had just happened anywhere else, in the cabin or the library or, well, anywhere private she wouldn't have felt so wretched. Useless, perhaps, but Edith was almost used to that. She knew she was over her head, she acknowledged it!

"You shouldn't have had to see that, let alone – I wish-."

"Miss Edith, I do hope you're not trying to apologize to me for grieving."

Edith looked up at the tall baronet, feeling utterly helpless in the face of the very old-fashioned look he was giving her and the kindness in those blue eyes.

"Not that, but-."

"Nor should you be apologizing on behalf of a child who has been through entirely too much in the last year. I mean, honestly, English weather has been known to produce a tantrum in grown men, let alone children who've been through what she has."

"Sir Anthony, I'm apologizing because you – you shouldn't have to step up because I've failed my sister, not because of Addie's conduct!" Edith managed to get out, her face flaming in mortification but honesty pushing her forward. "It's not your fault I don't know what I'm doing. I should be the one who – who can comfort her, so this doesn't happen."

To Edith's horror she felt tears well in her own eyes and fumbled for a handkerchief. There, she'd said it. She was failing Addie. They'd all welcomed her – James, Adrian, and her father – and what had she to show for it? What had she done for them as they sent her to college and taught her to drive and supported her every decision?

"Oh, my dear lady." His voice was low and soft, and she jumped slightly as she looked past the hand, she'd clamped over her face to find him fumbling in his jacket and withdrawing a plain white square of linen and pressing it into her hand before she could retrieve her own. "You have by no means failed that child."

"You don't understand. They – Daddy, my brothers, and even Katherine - they just – they loved me. They didn't ask for anything and I had no claim on them and they just – just – they took me in like some lost treasure they'd rediscovered and the only thing he ever asked from me was to look after Addie. I can't even comfort her properly!"

"That's absolute rot, Miss Edith."

She looked up in surprise at the feel of a pair of large hands swamping her shoulders as he rested them on either side of her, framing her. Suddenly she found herself caught by that clear, bright blue stare. It was like sinking into deep warm water and her breath hitched as she clutched at his handkerchief. He was not done speaking.

"You are doing wonderfully with that little girl. You think you cannot comfort her? I would point out that you were the one she reached for once she'd calmed down and wanted someone she knew. I was just conveniently placed to grab her as she made her escape. You, my dear, were who calmed her down and got her put to bed and who she offered up her apologies to."

"Still, it never should have gotten this bad, and you're not giving yourself enough credit-."

"Nonsense, grief doesn't follow rules my dear, and it can get on top of anyone no matter the age."

"I'm afraid my Granny would not agree with that. Her standards for behavior, even in children-."

"Would be far more impressive if she'd bothered raising them herself."

She looked up in shock and found one of those crooked smiles looking down at her, twisting oddly in her belly.

"You're forgetting, Miss Edith, I know the Dowager Lady Grantham and have for a long time." Sir Anthony went on, his tone growing brisk. "And while your grandmother is an intelligent, fearsome lady for whom I have a great deal of respect, I am also quite pleased not to be her son."

Edith let out a watery laugh and wiped at her face further. His hands, still bracing her shoulders, began to gently massage her and Edith felt her the skin down her arms and across her back break into gooseflesh. It felt… it felt rather nice. He was still speaking, however, his expression gentle but as firm as his tone.

"You are not relying on others to care for and care about your sister. You are raising her yourself. If you have staff to help you, they will be people you rely upon for assistance rather than, well, tenants to whom you've farmed out your children as you do your land. I assume it was the same with Mr. Kavanaugh?"

"Oh, yes, it – it was so different when I got to America." Edith found the words tumbling out of her mouth. "You see, Mama and Papa always had us with them a few times a day, but it was – it was as if you were visiting your parents, or they'd visit you in the nursery. Babies on parade! Daddy and his wife, Katherine, didn't keep a nurse and neither did his first wife from what he's said. I mean, we were expected to help in the kitchen unless there was a dinner party, and we were needed to entertain! It was so jarring but so – so wonderful? I just, I walked through that door expecting more shame and anger and instead Daddy's wife was teaching me to cook, and my brothers threw me into the Chesapeake Bay my second day there!"

"Really?"

"Yes, and Adelaide was just so underfoot." Edith smiled. "All my life I had been told, "Children are meant to be seen and not heard!" Then I go to a house owned by a man with more money than my grandfather Levinson and there's a five-year-old girl following everyone around demanding they read her a story and asking so many questions and they all feel it's totally normal."

"And you were happy there."

"Oh very, I missed – I missed home, but I felt like I belonged there and now it's gone."

Just like that Edith found herself sobbing every bit as hard as her sister, now asleep in their cabin, had been. She pressed her face into the handkerchief. Shame at the display battled with the sudden overwhelmed hurt and then, to her shock, a warm arm wrapped around her shoulders, and she found herself pressing into a wonderfully solid, if slightly damp, tweed-wrapped shoulder.

"There you are, now." He murmured somewhere near the crown of her head. "There you are. Let it out, Miss Edith."

The storm raged for a while, then blew itself out leaving Edith with an embarrassingly red nose and sore eyes and Sir Anthony's thoroughly soaked handkerchief. Looking up at him helplessly she found him deploying another of his crooked smiles, this one unfamiliar as he nudged her into one of the little sitting room's chairs. Soft and sad and understanding he moved back from her, clearing his throat awkwardly as he settled once more onto the armchair opposite the sofa.

"I do hope you're feeling better?"

"Yes, I – I am, but you shouldn't-."

"I'm quite embarrassingly close to fifty years old, Miss Edith, so I think I can say with some authority what I should and should not do and comforting a delightful young woman and her sister in very reasonable distress is certainly something any gentleman with his salt should be doing if they have the opportunity."

"I'm too tired to argue." Edith sniffled and brushed a disarranged curl behind her ears. "I am grateful though. Thank you."

"Oh," He reddened now, his cheekbones flushing brightly. "there's no need for-."

Impulsively, she reached out and curled both her hands around his, smiling a little breathlessly at how his hand was so much larger than both of hers.

"I have a great deal to thank you for. Sir Anthony, you've been nothing but wonderful – a wonderful friend – since the first moment Adelaide literally shoved me into you. I can't thank you enough for catching her today before she got herself into trouble, then staying here and comforting her and now me. I – I don't know what to say except thank you, save how very glad I am that we happened to be on this ship together."

For a man who'd been completely comfortable holding a sobbing child and comforting her through her own grief, he promptly turned red and became adorably awkward in the face of a heartfelt compliment. Edith watched, charmed, as the older gentleman straightened his waistcoat and checked his watch to give himself something to do, and then fumbled with his response.

"Well, that's just – you have to understand I was only trying – what I mean is, surely anyone-."

"You're welcome?" Edith prompted, teasing even as she sniffled into the damp handkerchief.

"Very and always." He agreed, chuckling slightly, and leaning forward as his expression grew a tad more serious. "However, I am glad you consider us such friends. If you do, will you permit me to ask a question?"

"Of course."

"When I picked up Adelaide, well, I could feel her ribs. Surely, she's not been that off her food?"

Edith sighed and nodded, rubbing a hand over her face. If anyone else had asked she would have firmly told them it was not their business. Adelaide herself was so sensitive about it, and occasionally combative. Edith truly should have known better than to mention Dr. Foster…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"It's rather a long explanation."

"I'm entirely at your disposal." Anthony found he'd never meant the rote words quite as much as he did while sitting there opposite the distressed young lady he was speaking to.

It had torn at his heart having his arms full of sobbing child, but at least he'd been able to do something. Adelaide's distress was entirely reasonable and if some would judge her for it, Anthony respected them less for the idea. A ten-year-old child whose entire world had been turned upside down had a right to deal with that however they could. If that meant that, occasionally, they suffered loudly from it? Children were loud. You reminded them of their manners, you loved them, you taught them, and you did this by example.

So, it had been entirely natural to sweep the girl up into his arms. She was upset. She needed to calm down. So, he held her and was calm for her and, sure enough, it worked. He'd carried her back to the suite she shared with her sister and handed her off to Miss Edith while offering what assistance he could. Who, despite her own opinions on the subject, had done a jolly good job of comforting her sister? Moving from one continent to another was never a small thing, doing it because your entire family had died? Most would weep for less.

And as for Edith herself! The poor woman wasn't even twenty. She was only a year older than Maud when they'd married and was clearly exhausted. In the last year she'd had to get so much done. She'd had so many to bury. She'd an estate to settle, one complicated by the deaths of two of the beneficiaries. She'd had a father and two brothers to bury, and on top of that she had the responsibility and comfort of a child half her age to look after. She'd done spectacularly well, and he'd wanted her to know that even as she, very reasonably, found herself overwhelmed.

"I didn't meet my sister until she was five-years-old, but I certainly heard everything else when I arrived." Edith explained. "You see, Addie was born prematurely – nearly two months so."

Anthony felt as though he'd taken a strong punch to the solar plexus. All the air left his lungs. Memory took its turn to assault him now. All he could see were the tiniest fingers for a moment.

"She was born at seven months gone – and she lived? Her mother lived?" He demanded; his voice hoarse even to himself.

"Yes, I could barely believe it myself. Apparently, she had a twin sister as well, who didn't, and there was something wrong in the – the birthing process. Katherine barely made it and was bedridden for months afterward, but it was Adelaide who was considered the miracle."

"She very much is."

What did they do that I did not?

"Sir Anthony?"

"I'm sorry, I just…" Anthony winced at how his voice croaked but found himself speaking anyway. "I lost my wife, Maud, in – in just such a circumstance and – and a son."

"Lady Strallan? I remember – oh!"

Anthony found himself looking down into those brown eyes, bloodshot from tears, and was caught in the sympathy and understanding in the honey-colored gaze. It wasn't empty, either. Though she had never lost a wife or a child, so fresh off other griefs… the small hands that wrapped around his own right hand again were nothing but comforting as they squeezed his fingers.

"I am sorry. I won't go on if-."

"No, I wish to know." He shook his head. "Please, how – how did she survive, if I may ask?"

"Well, not for any help from Dr. Foster."

Anthony watched her rub a hand over her face and squeezed the one he still found himself holding. He really should have let her go. Being alone so much of the morning was not appropriate. That said… he couldn't quite bring himself to move. He was riveted in place by the need to know.

"Dr. Foster was – anyway, that's not important. He did come around, even if he was wrong about the cancer. Otherwise, he was a very good doctor and Daddy's friend... Anyway, it was Daddy and the twins who kept her alive. They got these two tin file boxes and lined them with hot bricks and kept her in them all the time, moving her back and forth between the boxes depending on which was properly warm."

"Did they?" Anthony said weakly, watching her nod.

"It was Adrian's idea. Daddy said that it was grueling. Too hot and it would kill her, too cold and she'd die anyway. They had to use an eyedropper to feed her. When she did survive, well, most of the doctors consulted though Addie would have various difficulties." The young woman laughed weakly. "She takes an inordinate amount of pride in proving everyone wrong."

"She should." Anthony replied with more force than he intended and then, to his horror, his voice cracked, and his heart pushed his tongue onward without the least input from his mind. "I – I hadn't thought of a box or warmed bricks."

Her brown eyes widened and suddenly Anthony rose, unable to look at the understanding eyes as he raised a hand to cover his own. Heated bricks in a confined space. They call me a bloody genius, why didn't I think of that? Phillip, my boy, my poor son, forgive me…

A small hand squeezed his shoulder and he looked down and found himself staring at a delicate square of white cloth edged in fine lace.

"Allow me to return the favor?"

He let out a soft huff of breath and accepted the handkerchief, and when she went on, the words came out less like poison from a wound than water from a clean spring.

"What was his name?"

"We named him Phillip. He – My son only lived a few hours past his mother. I buried them together." He swallowed heavily and rallied. "So, Miss Adelaide should indeed take a great deal of pride in her survival. She did survive unscathed?"

"Mostly. She just never has had a proper appetite." The strawberry blonde sighed and shook her head as Anthony discretely wiped his eyes. "She's always been thin but these last six months every meal has been a battle. It's "nothing smells good" or "I'm not hungry" and she just pushes it all around her plate for ages without eating and nothing I do seems to make much of a difference."

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"Daddy took her to dozens over the years and she loathes them. All of them. As a profession, Sir Anthony, I can tell you that Adelaide Kavanaugh has met The Enemy and it is every doctor, nurse, and specialist on the East Coast of North America." Edith groaned. "What's worse, she lies to them!"

"Oh dear."

"It's a game now, where she sees what she can get them to believe. You can't imagine some of the nonsense she'd gotten these educated men to believe. Last year she had one convinced she was possessed."

Still reeling from his memories of his son and wife, Anthony let out a bark of laughter and gripped the reality of the situation in both hands. At least this was a concrete problem. Grief, while very real, was so damned hard to fix.

"Well, no offense to American physicians, but…"

Edith laughed, the sound quiet but softly ringing and when she turned her smile on him Anthony's heart nearly stopped at what was tangled up in it. He wasn't – he wouldn't dare name whatever emotion she was turning on him, but the pain that had been dredged up washed away at the overwhelming fondness present in it.

"But surely Britain has something better to offer? That's exactly my thought, though don't repeat it to Adelaide; she'll be quite offended!"

"I won't breathe a word, my dear, trust me."

"Sir Anthony, I do."

Not knowing what to say to that and feeling he'd blushed entirely too much for a man his age in the last hour, Anthony cleared his throat and checked his pocket watching.

"It's nearly time for luncheon, Miss Edith."

"It is and I hope you won't think it rude, but I think Adelaide and I will take our meals here in the cabin today. I know she was feeling boxed in, but she was so upset…"

"No, no, I think that's a fine idea." He rose. "I am sorry if I overstepped-."

"Not another word." She cautioned him, slightly teasing as she rose. "I'm the one who's ruined your handkerchief."

"Well, as you've replaced it, shall we call that even?" Anthony held up her own far lacier handkerchief and got a laugh in return.

"Please, keep it." Her eyes danced. "A favor for a proper knight in shining armor."

"Or rumpled tweed?"

His breath caught in his throat as she escorted him to the door and, with no warning, rose to her toes and gripped his shoulder to press a kiss to his cheek.

"What's the use of shining armor in this day and age anyway?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grantham House was open, in proper running order for whatever brief time they were here, and Charles Carson should have been able to take a moment and sit down to a cup of tea with the Grantham family's Housekeeper and savor some brief peace. They had gotten a late start due to Lady Mary's unfortunate distress over having the scandal of Lady – Miss Edith's birth brought up again. Carson himself sympathized with her. It would, undoubtedly, bring the whole sorry affair to mind having Miss Edith back. However, one had to make allowance for family and Miss Edith, for all her long absence, was very much a part of the family. Nor was it her fault it had all come out. That fault lay with that wretched American…

"Mr. Carson!"

Unfortunately, peace was not to be had.

"What is that Mr. Branson?"

"Telegram, Mr. Carson." The chauffer called out as he set his umbrella aside and came in through the lower servant's entrance and up from the garage where the old mews had been. "I met the boy out on the corner, he'd taken shelter under the awning and no telling how long he's been there."

The telegram itself was sopping wet and barely legible. Taking it and sighing he squinted down at the slip of paper. A moment later his thick, mobile eyebrows were climbing towards his hairline, and he was mentally cursing the difficulties that telegrams seemed to bring the Crawley family and the upheaval that arrived downstairs as a result.

"Mr. Carson?"

The soft burr of Mrs. Hudson's voice was soothing, but it just underlined that he did have assistance. It did not suggest that that situation was less complex. It did not suggest that Lord Grantham would be pleased. It did mean he was not alone.

"There seems to have been some miscommunication with Miss Edith, Mrs. Hudson, I must go and speak to the Earl directly. It would, perhaps, be best if you sent to Mrs. Cummings at Painswick House as well."

Lady Rosalind was, as far as he could tell, still doggedly trying to maintain the status quo. However, such things must be observed. Besides, Carson had known the family long enough to know the quiet pain behind the woman's stubborn façade.

"Has there been some accident? Is Miss Edith alright?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson. It… It seems she has chosen to engage rooms elsewhere."

Instant understanding lit the petite woman's eyes and she let out a deep breath before nodding once and heading off. He sent a silent prayer of thanks towards heaven for Mrs. Hughes' competence and dependability. He also braced his shoulders and went directly upstairs.

He'd found much of what he expected. The family was finishing luncheon in the breakfast room, just a sideboard and the simplest service and quite happy at the informality after an unfortunate slog of a journey south; the trains had been late and there had been a rather bloody incident involving a sheep upon the tracks. Now the family was at the stage of cake and biscuits and coffee. Carson at least took some relief from the fact that the family was not just sitting down as he passed the slip of paper to the earl.

"What the devil?"

"Robert?"

Carson stood back as Lady Grantham, who had been very cheerfully discussing a planned shopping excursion that was to include the Lady Edith and Lady Sybil, promptly assessed and stepped directly into the situation. He watched closely. Lady Grantham's reaction would determine a great deal.

"Sir Anthony Strallan just sent me a telegram informing me that he was escorting Edith to the Ritz." The Earl's tone was boggled and mildly offended.

"What?" Lady Grantham's expression slid into real upset. "The hotel? Why on earth would she be going there? You sent ahead to tell her she was to stay with us, didn't you?"

"Of course, I did!" The Earl defended himself. "I haven't been able to write her in years because of that blasted Yankee's solicitors. I'm not going to forget now that – I sent the telegram just yesterday."

"Did you get a reply?"

"Well, no but – you don't think she's snubbing us?" He looked down at the telegram in offense and hurt and Carson winced at how plain both were on the earl's face. "And what the devil does Anthony Strallan have to do with it?"

"Clearly like seeks like if, after university and scandal, Edith's still managed to attract the attention of the most boring old man of our acquaintance."

"Whatever else Sir Anthony is, he is a gentleman." Sybil cut in. "Edith's last letter said she was traveling with Adelaide and none of their servants wanted to come with them. Wasn't Sir Anthony going to America to investigate farm equipment or something similar? I remember hearing something about it from Granny."

"Ah, yes, he was. I wonder if he was on the Mauritania? He's the sort of fellow not to let a young lady wander about unescorted if he could offer help." Grantham's relief was clear at having found such a prosaic explanation, but he was still unhappy. "That doesn't explain why she's engaging a hotel."

"Perhaps she feels unwelcome."

Charles Carson had excellent self-control, but it was hard to restrain the wince he felt at those words and the tone they were delivered in. It had taken… a great deal for Lord and Lady Grantham to recover the easy affection and love present in their marriage after the scandal of Edith's origins had broken. Not only was the situation embarrassing and shameful for Lady Rosamund, but there was the reality of Lady Grantham's feelings to consider.

Cora Crawley had not considered Edith her favorite child and Carson hadn't it in him to blame her or her husband for that. It was good of them to take in and preserve the honor of Lady Rosamund's unfortunate child. Despite what a few others might say, he stood by the kindness in their actions. If they hadn't, perhaps, summoned up the same affection for the child they claimed as their daughter, he felt that they couldn't be blamed. They had loved Edith, if perhaps not as well as they might. It was simply another part of the shame tangled up in the whole affair that it had not worked out as well as it could have in the end.

"I would hardly be surprised." Lady Sybil instantly added her voice to her mother's. "You couldn't have written her before, Papa, we know that, but Mama could have written sooner."

"Perhaps we should remember who left and cast this family's reputation into the gutter."

"Perhaps if everyone here had treated her better, she'd have had more reason to stay."

"Girls." Cora's voice cut across the bickering and she looked sadly between her eldest and youngest, who were once so close. "There is no point in quarreling. Whatever Edith's reason for choosing to stay elsewhere, what matters is she is back in England, we are all speaking, and she needs our help."

"Exactly," Carson noted the Earl seemed to take some strength from his wife's statement and was relieved that whatever flare of tension had begun between them had passed. When Robert Crawley stepped up behind his wife's chair and rested his hand on her shoulder, Cora threaded her fingers through his. "Edith's entirely too young to be responsible for a child. She's all but a child herself. Then there are all of the matters with her inheritance – whatever he left her – and investments and such."

"Exactly." Cora added. "Edith will need us, and no-one here is going to fail our family in their time of need."

"Right, then. Well said, my dearest." The man nodded once and turned towards Carson. "It's time someone took control of the situation. I'm glad that Sir Anthony was there to help Edith, very good of the man, but her family is here and I'd best head there and sort this out. I thought the bloody ship was getting here tomorrow morning, Carson?"

"Ah, according to my last report it was, my lord." The butler cleared his throat, embarrassed at the oversight – though it was no doing of his own that the people at Cunard couldn't keep proper track of such things as schedules.

"Nothing for it, then. We'll meet them at the station."

"Papa, may I go with you?"

"I think we should all go." Cora stood up and the butler nodded as she went on. "Please have the car sent around, Carson, and do have Mrs. Hughes look over the rooms again."