The muse is still with me! I hope you enjoy the results.

Many thanks to all reviewers. Quite a few are leaving comments as guests, so this is my only way to let you know just how appreciated your remarks are.


As the Strallans had left Downton, the Crawleys all glanced at one another. "Well, don't look at me. I hardly said anything and certainly didn't do anything to upset them," Mary finally blurted. Cora gave her eldest daughter a wane smile. "Quite," was all she said though. Sybil looked across at her parents and her grandmother. "I can't believe how you treated him. I know you don't approve of their marriage but … honestly," she huffed. "He's a hero and a wounded one at that and you subjected him, and Edith, to snipping and sniping the whole time. I just don't understand. Edith is clearly happy with him and shouldn't that be a good thing? Or would you rather she still be miserable and alone? Really, Papa…must you always be so….so …..insensitive? And Granny; why did you feel you needed to speak to him like that, digging at his injuries…implying that the marriage is invalid? Hasn't Anthony been hurt enough? We all saw his condition when he first arrived and isn't he so much better? Edith has had a lot to do with that and shouldn't we be proud of her for that? But instead, you just…just ganged up on him like an unruly mob and…and…"

"Sybil, that's enough," Cora interrupted.

"As if you were any better, Mama, just sitting there and letting it all happen. I'll be surprised if we see either of them again this year!"

Robert swallowed and then spoke softly. "Edith did say they would see us for Christmas."

"And for how long?" Sybil asked. "Why would they want to spend more than two minutes in our company after the way you've treated him?"

"Yes, I think when they do return for Christmas, it would be good to speak more kindly to Anthony," Mary said.

The Dowager looked at her speculatively. "Since when have you cared about Sir Anthony or your sister's happiness?"

Mary sighed. "I doubt Edith and I will ever truly get along. But it is easy to see that she is finally happy. Whether she actually loves Anthony or merely finds a purpose with him and whether we like the situation or not, what can be gained by constantly picking at them? It will only cause misery."

Both Robert and the Dowager looked at her curiously. Cora seemed to be thinking and then finally, tilting her head, responded. "I think Mary is right. No matter how we feel about their marriage or about Anthony's … situation, we'll lose Edith if we continue in this way. And I'll not be separated from any of my children, or potentially grandchildren, by any lingering pettiness."

"Grandchildren!" Robert looked aghast. "Do you think he could possibly be up to the task?"

"Oh, from the expression on Edith's face when she looked at him, there would seem to be no doubt that he is quite capable. She was wearing that same moony expression that Cora wore for years after your wedding." Cora blushed demurely as a small smile crept over her mouth. "In fact, I still see that moony eyed look on her at times, although I can't understand why after so many years," the Dowager continued. Robert's features settled into a soft happiness as he looked across at Cora. His eyes twinkled as his own smile tilted at his lips. "And that expression, Robert, is very similar to the one Anthony was wearing earlier. So yes, the girls are right. If we do not wish to lose Edith, we must make peace with the marriage."

"It is settled then, " Cora said firmly. "And I believe we must begin by each of us finding a way to apologize to Anthony."

"Apologize?" Violet Crawley was sitting straight in her chair, rigid in her posture. "I have nothing to apologize for. I was only testing the strength of their bond and now I am satisfied. And I think I will take my leave now as it is getting late and all of this has tired me. We'll speak no more on the subject." Imperiously, she rose from her chair and with her cane, made a quick departure.

"I think I'll just go jot a note to Edith and Anthony," Cora said as she too left the room. Robert looked at his two remaining daughters who stared after their mother. "Do you think an apology is really necessary?" he asked.

"Do you want to see your middle child again?" Mary asked in return.

With a sigh, he crossed to his desk in the corner and sat in the chair. "I suppose a note from me would be in order as well, it seems."

At Locksley that evening, Anthony felt Edith's extra attention, her almost constant fretting over his comfort and the like. He knew the source, her anger and frustration over the way her family had behaved at tea earlier. "Really Sweet One, I am alright. Your family did upset me but I'm fine now," he said in an effort to get her to stop fussing about.

She sighed mid pillow fluff and sat unceremoniously down on the divan. "I know. I'm overreacting to them but it just makes me so angry that they are so…. so…."

"Obtuse?" He offered.

"Exactly," she replied with a sad smile. "I just don't understand why they can't let us enjoy this time before you must go."

"I can," he said. "In their eyes, you've married quite below your potential and mentally, I agree with them."

"Anthony, I do wish you would stop that."

"Well, I can't deny the truth of things, can I? You're a very dear, sweet young thing and you've tied yourself to an older, crippled, mentally deficient, boring codger." A lopsided smile crept into his expression. "All that said, I intend to do everything in my power to mitigate all that because in my heart, I know that I simply couldn't do without you. You breathe life into me, my sweet, and your family is just going to have to accept that I won't let you go; I'm quite dependent on you, see."

"I think we are dependent on one another, darling man. I was not a very happy person until you came along. If I am dear and sweet, it is only because of you. I am just so blissfully happy when I am with you. No one has ever been as supportive as you are, nor as adoring, and it just makes feel if I am living a dream here with you, a very beautiful dream, one in which I am walking on clouds on a sunny day."

Looking sappily at his wife, Anthony responded. "A dream and a feeling we share then, my darling."

"Would you mind terribly if we skipped dinner? I'm not feeling terribly hungry right now, at least not for food," Edith said.

"Splendid idea. I'll just let Cook know, shall I? And then join you upstairs?"

"You are the most perceptive man I have ever known."

Anthony gazed back at his wife who was gazing at him with bright, sparkling eyes. "All a part of my mitigation plans," he said lightly as he stood to find the bell pull. "I'll be up in a moment."

Edith, smiling now, left the room. She knew he would want Stewart to inform Cook and then meet him upstairs to prepare for bed. But their evening was far from over.

Late that night with Edith snuggled beside him, Anthony lay awake contemplating the day's events and the miracle of the woman in his bed. Edith had insisted that they follow her own parent's example and not sleep in separate rooms, an idea that had delighted Anthony upon hearing it. Maude had insisted on her own room and Anthony had respected her wishes, returning to his room once the marital act had been completed. But Edith… after finishing, she insisted upon canoodling and cuddling after a brief respite to recover their senses and sometimes that lead to, well… more exercise for the both of them. But today had been too emotional and tiring for anything further than some post coital cuddles and kisses and Edith had fallen asleep rather quickly. Anthony wasn't disappointed, however; not in the least. His bright young wife was tucked in beside him, her hand on his arm as if she couldn't bear to lose contact. He was finding this reassuring; this constant need to touch one another. It seemed to indicate a depth of feeling that many marriages never experienced, he thought. Or perhaps it was because it was all so new to the both of them. He really didn't care why; he simply reveled in it.

Soon, sleep overtook him. And that night, despite the trouble earlier, Anthony did not dream; or if he did, his dreams were good ones filled with happiness.