This one is a long chapter, for me anyway. But Edith and Anthony took over and my fingers became their instruments of expression. Do drop me a line. It feeds the little bunnies that the muse loves so much.

Oh, and on a different note- there are lots of stories sitting out there that require endings. I know we are all busy, but being absorbed in reading a wonderful story only to have it dropped is very disappointing. Let's all review our old stories and make sure we have finished them or get busy trying to finish them. And yes, I know I have 3 floating adrift looking for port right now. But if we all get back to those adrift stories, wouldn't that be a wonderful lead up to the holidays?


Edith's attention was the only thing Anthony lived for. It wasn't as if there was anyone or any thing else in his life for him to focus on. But as much pleasure as he took in her company, her attentions worried him as well. He felt as if her feelings for him were growing, that she was feeling more for him each day. He knew his feelings for her had grown. Of course, in the beginning she had only been a picture in his pocket, a way to escape his miserable existence. The real version of the young woman was so much better than any of his imaginings, he mused one afternoon as he sat outside in a lawn chair. He watched her as she moved among the men, offering help here and there, covering one with a blanket, sitting to read a letter from home to another who's eyes had been burned by mustard gas, writing a letter home for a man who had lost his arm. With his attention so focused on Edith, he did not see that the attention of someone else was focused on him.

Edith's attentiveness to one particular patient did not escape Richard Clarkson. It worried him, in fact. And that patient's focus on her worried him as well. Even without the memory loss, Sir Anthony's recovery would not be an easy one, Dr. Clarkson knew. So many of his patients came to him as new acquaintances but not so with Sir Anthony. Clarkson had known the man or years, seen him and his late wife through several of her miscarriages, and of course, the final one. Dr. Clarkson knew Sir Anthony to be a man of deep feelings, but also a strong sense of duty; a man who had one foot into the modern world of innovation and one firmly rooted in the ideals of his Victorian roots. As he observed Anthony Strallan watching Lady Edith, Dr. Clarkson understood that although Sir Anthony had no memory of his past self, he was acting very much within his sense of honor. As much as the man craved her attention, he was not encouraging it; no, it was she who was insisting. He worried for Lady Edith but he worried even more for Sir Anthony. He was unsure how much more disappointment and hurt the man could survive.

Dr. Clarkson requested and received a copy of Sir Anthony's record because he thought there might be answers to what caused the memory loss. As he sat one afternoon in his office reading through the pages, he became frustrated that so much had been marked out. Clearly Sir Anthony had been involved in several secret operations which were kept in secret still. The place names that jumped from the pages sent chills through the doctor. Sir Anthony had begun the war in Belgium in places like Dinant and Leuven where he had witnessed German atrocities, no doubt. Clarkson remembered the reports in the newspapers from the first few months of the war about civilians gunned down in the streets for no apparent reason beyond terrorizing the population. Old men and infants alike were victims. There were reports of rapes, even nuns, and mass executions. Some faced firing squads, some were burned alive. If Sir Anthony had witnessed that…. Well, it was no wonder that the man wanted to forget. Apparently, he met up with the British Expeditionary Force at Ypres, where he no doubt witnessed the atrocities there, including the torching of the cathedral. The Germans had been brutal, barbaric even and Clarkson remembered one article that had referred to the German river of blood in Belgium.

Sir Anthony went from there to various places where his intelligence work was needed but he only stayed briefly until Verdun, where he wintered and remained until early Spring of '16. From what little that was in the report that hadn't been marked through, Clarkson surmised that Sir Anthony had been involved in much of the early intelligence gathering for the Battle of the Somme. From there, he was sent back to Ypres, was at Messines in early summer of '17 and went missing from Passchendaele sometime in the late summer. He was found by the Americans near Cambrai near the end of the year. He had no memory of anything that happened before October, when he was moved by the Germans to the house where he'd been found. He could remember talk among his captors of the Battle of Broodseinde, which was early that month.

As Richard Clarkson closed the file, he shook his head sadly. Sir Anthony had certainly seen and perhaps done more than should be required of any one man. The doctor thought perhaps that Anthony Stallan could be counted among the most wounded of any of the soldiers returning from the war. Contemplating the obvious attraction between Sir Anthony and Lady Edith, he thought Sir Anthony could benefit from that relationship if all went well, but if it didn't the man might be destroyed by it. His concern for Lady Edith weighed in his mind also. Caring for someone as wounded as Sir Anthony would take a toll. Was she strong enough? It was a situation that would need watching.

The following day, the good doctor was gratified to see Sir Anthony making the effort to move about more, encouraged by Lady Edith no doubt. It was a beautiful day and she was leading the baronet across the lawn toward on of the follies on the property, taking him further from the house than he'd ventured before. Judging by his strides, Sir Anthony was getting his strength back. Clarkson smiled at the scene briefly before returning his attention to the new patient, a burn victim who was from Canada.

"Where are you taking me?" Anthony asked Edith as they made their way across the garden.

"Jack Dawe's Castle," she replied as she pointed toward their destination.

He looked ahead to what appeared to be a miniature castle sitting atop a slope. "One castle wasn't enough?" he chuckled as he glanced back at Downton.

"The first Earl, or maybe it was the second, I'm not sure…. Anyway, one of the Earls before my grandfather's time, brought in the premier English landscaper of the time to design the gardens. He had several follies designed and built as features for the gardens. This one is closest to the house. And when I was younger, I would come here to get away. Before the war, when we were keeping company, I came here sometimes just to … to think about you, about us, what being married to you might be like." Edith blushed at her confession.

Anthony stopped walking and stared after her. Sensing he was no longer moving, Edith turned and walked back to him. "Is something wrong?" His incredulous expression worried her.

"You… you thought…. We were… I knew, from what you've said before that we were spending time together, that… that… there was something. But… married? We were to be married?"

"Well, you never actually got around to asking, but…"

Anthony's brow furrowed. "Yes, you said something when I first arrived. Your sister intervened somehow… But I suppose I never realized… Why would you consider me as a suitable match, even then?"

"Yes, Mary did intervene. You had told me a few days earlier that you had a very important question to ask me at the garden party, that I should think carefully about my answer. And I did, very carefully. And I knew that my answer would be yes. Because you see, we were so perfectly suited, I thought. I was very young and you were very patient with me, with my… naiveté. I really was young and quite artless, still am, artless, I mean. The war has taken away all that youthful innocence, I think." She paused a moment and then seeing that he was still trying to grasp why she might have been interested in him, she decided to try again. "You saw me, Anthony, saw things in me that I didn't even realize were there. And you brought me out of myself, gave me confidence. I was always over looked here at Downton, the middle daughter, the helpful one, never the pretty one or the talented one or the smart one… just dutiful. You saw me as so much more than that and I loved you for it, still love you for it. And you were so very handsome and kind… gentle. And we have similar interests, both quiet, a bit shy, bookish even. I was always so happy in your company. I felt I had finally found me, who I was, and I could be that person with you. I still feel all that when I am with you."

He looked at her mystified. "How could they not see how special you are?" His question was almost a whisper.

"Anthony, you are the only person who has seen me as special. How could I not love you, want to spend my life with you, when you are the only person who has even come close to understanding me?"

"But…"

She reached for his hand and turned. "Come on, I think I am overwhelming you. Enough for now. Let's keep going …" she said as she set off for the folly again. All Anthony could do was follow.

The distance of the walk and the pace she set after their conversation had winded Anthony. "Please, can we sit?" he asked as they reached her destination.

"Yes, here," she replied as she sat on a step and leaned against a pillar, watching him as he did the same across from her.

Glancing inside the structure, he let his mind rest as well as his body. Being with Edith stirred so many things within him and had he not been made breathless by their walk, he suspected that the emotions and myriad of thoughts that churned within him would have created the same effect. He could feel her watching him and fought the temptation to look at her. Temptation seemed to be her greatest influence on him.

He still couldn't quite grasp that she felt so overlooked, that her family did not recognize the gem that she truly was. And why she didn't have swarms of young bucks at her feet was a mystery to him. God, what he would give to be worthy of her. But of course, he wasn't. He was far too old, although from what she said, that hadn't worried anyone before the war. Perhaps that alone might have been managed. But now, his wounds and his lack of memory…. Well, a battered old man simply would not do for someone as lovely and vivacious as Lady Edith Crawley.

He felt her look change from simple observation to curiosity and he chanced a glance in her direction. "What?"

"I'm wondering what you are thinking. You look so… forlorn."

"Not much really. Just wondering where the battalions of young men are who should be groveling before you, begging your attention."

Edith laughed; it was a sad laugh but it was laughter. "No one has ever groveled before me and certainly never begged my attention, unless it was Mama asking me to help or Mary wishing my full attention while she berated me."

"I'm afraid I cannot understand," he said softly. "Has everyone gone blind and lost their senses?"

"You're doing it again," she smiled.

"What am I doing?"

"Making me feel less worthless, more confident. You've always done that for me."

He shook his head in disbelief. "I wish…"

"What do you wish?"

"I wish I had married you before the war." His declaration was honest and forceful.

"I have wished that since that day you left the garden party. I keep thinking that if we had married, you wouldn't have gone to war. But then I remember that you were already being sent to the continent before the war on fact finding missions. I suspect you would have either volunteered or been drafted into service anyway."

Anthony grappled with that idea. "I cannot answer that question since I have no idea what I might have been thinking then. But if I had volunteered after marrying you, I do know that would have been rather foolish of me."

"Why do you say that," she asked as her head tilted.

"Only a very foolish man would leave you to go to war."

"There you are again, feeding my feelings of self-worth."

"I think I must have felt like a giant among men when I was with you," he said softly, almost breathlessly.

"Anthony, you are a giant among men, if only because of your height," she tittered.

He smiled at that. "Yes, well…" As he watched her face, her amusement evident, his eyes settled on her mouth, her lips. "Did we…. When we were together on those rides you have described or… or perhaps the night of that concert, did we ever…." He sighed, unable to voice his question.

"Did we ever…what?" Since he was staring at her lips, Edith thought she knew what he wanted to ask. "Did we ever kiss? Is that what you mean?"

"Er, yes. I …. I know I'm being quite … improper." His eyes drifted away, towards a tree near the structure. He was clearly embarrassed by the question.

"We didn't. I wish we had. I dreamed of it every night.

Anthony's eyes darted back to her. "You…. You dreamed of it?"

"Yes, I did," she said with a small smile. "I still do."

"But… why?" His eyes were on her lips again.

"I …. Well, I haven't been kissed but twice and I think a kiss from you would be so much better than either of my previous ones."

His eyes met hers. "Kissed twice? By whom?"

"The first was my cousin, Patrick. I think he was just trying to perfect his kissing but I was quite taken by it. The second was one of Papa's tenants. It was quite improper and he was married but I liked it. Still, I think being kissed by you would so much nicer."

"A married man kissed you?" Anthony was appalled. "He should be punished. Does your father know?"

"Heavens no. Papa shouldn't lose a perfectly good tenant because I threw myself at the man."

Anthony frowned. "You… you threw yourself at him?"

"Well, not exactly. I was a bit naive, actually. But when I realized, I didn't balk. I wanted him to kiss me. Just as I want you to kiss me, now."

"Edith," he sighed. She wanted to kiss him. How could she? But then another thought took hold. Glancing back down the slope to the house, he stood up. "Let's, mmm, let's see what inside this structure." To Edith he sounded nervous and a little more than intrigued.

She followed him beyond the pillars to a corner at the far end. He stood looking out at the other side of the garden, seeming to study the plants there. "Are you certain?"

She smiled, knowing what would come next. "Very."

He turned, smiling down at her timidly. "I can't remember if I'm even any good at it," he said meekly. "But I would like very much to find out."

"So would I," she said as she took a step toward him.

Anthony lifted his hand to her face, cradling her cheek. "You are so lovely," he whispered. "You must be the loveliest thing I've ever seen."

"Says the man who has no memory," Edith chuckled.

"Yes, no memory. But I do have feelings and it is what I feel."

Edith beamed. "I have feelings too, Anthony. And right now, all of my feelings are begging to be kissed."

"Yes, well, isn't that a coincidence. Everything within me is begging to kiss you." He leaned down to her, moving slowly, hovering almost, over her lips, his eyes half closed and his expression one of savoring a rare morsel. And then finally, his lips met hers. The kiss was tentative at first. But then he settled into it. And as she reciprocated, he began to relish this new connection. What began as timid and shy soon took on a life of its own and Anthony Strallan was soon in the throes of passion. Galloping right along with him was Edith, who was having some of her fondest dreams realized.

They stood there, kissing, first one and then another, followed by others for several minutes until Anthony felt his heart pounding in his chest and his breath stolen from him. Pulling away, only just enough to take in her visage, he let all the sensations of their kisses flow through him and as he saw his own feeling reflected back at him in her eyes, he began to shake.

Edith saw it before he even realized the panic that was overtaking him. "Come Anthony," she said as she grabbed his hand, "come sit." She led to a step on the backside of the structure and motioned for him to sit. He did without comment or even seeming to comprehend. He sat and he shook. "Anthony?" He turned to look at her briefly, a blank expression in his eyes, and then he seemed to withdraw into himself as he continued to shake. Edith did the only thing she could think of that might help. She embraced him as fully as she could with her small frame and whispered that he was safe, he was alright, he was safe. It became a mantra that she repeated until her words permeated his mind and it became his internal mantra. He was safe, he was alright…. Slowly his panic abated and he began to come back to himself. He became aware that he was being held, that she, his lovely Edith was holding him, and soothing him with her voice.

As the panic abated another emotion took hold, shame. He felt the sting in his eyes as the shame of his situation gripped him. He was weak, coming undone in that way with her, all because of what, a few kisses? Yes, he was weak, broken… not worthy of her at all. What sort of man behaved like that, especially in the presence of the woman he loved. And yes, he knew that he loved her. But it didn't matter. She deserved so much better than anything he could offer. Once the shaking stopped, he took a deep breath and declared that they should go back to the house. He was tired and needed to rest. Realizing how very troubled he was by what just happened, Edith said nothing but merely stood to walk back with him.

As they approached the door Edith caught his left hand to get his attention. The sadness in his expression as he turned to look at her nearly shattered her. But she said what she needed to say anyway. "You are not to blame yourself, Anthony. And I won't allow you to think that you are less than you are because of what happened. You are still healing. I don't see you as weak or defective, simply that you are wounded and need time to find yourself again. I know you need to rest now. And I have others to tend to. But tonight, when all is quiet, I will lie awake and relive your kisses today, and I will relish each one. They were ever so much better than any of my dreams. "

She thought his eyes might pop right out of his head at her declaration, but he said nothing. As they crossed the threshold, he merely took her hand and placed the gentlest of kisses on her knuckles before he peeled off to go upstairs to his room. It was Edith's turn to shake as she watched him leave her; it felt as if someone had just walked over her grave.