Inheritance

by QuestionableRelevance

I've always been fascinated by the fandom theory that Edith Crawley is actually Lady Rosamund's illigitimate daughter. This is my take on that in my usual verbose, meandering style. Now Rated M, for Marriage (and the things married people do).

3. Chapter 3

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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"Mind if I join you?"

Train travel put Adelaide out like a light. She was currently sprawled out, taking up an entire seat in the compartment that Edith shared with her and Sybil. She was buried under both her own and Edith's coat, as Edith was content with just a thick shawl inside the train. Cora couldn't quite hold in a coo at the sight as she slipped into the compartment. It seemed like only yesterday her girls had been that age.

"Actually, I was just going to find Papa and Mary." Sybil stood quietly, her voice low. "Is Mary still sulking?"

"Yes, do you suppose you could…?"

"I'll try." Sybil offered and slipped out, leaving Cora alone with Edith and her sleeping sister.

Settling in beside Edith, Cora tried to think of what to say. It had always been so difficult with Edith. Not only because, at first, she'd had so many feelings to adjust to. Her own baby lost. The knowledge of the whole mess with Rosamund. Resentment that Rosamund had a healthy baby out of wedlock that she could just leave behind while Cora would have given anything for her little boy to have been born whole…

Then Edith had always been so different! Mary and Sybil were such outgoing children, and they just demanded attention. Edith had been quieter, shyer, and so damned independent. When Mary or Sybil skinned a knee, it was straight to their nurse or their mother for comfort. With Edith, she'd come in with her knees skinned and her frock torn and pretend it just hadn't happened. What did a parent do with a child that didn't need them?

"I like your coat, Aunt Cora." Edith ventured after an awkward moment. "Thank you, for taking me shopping. I haven't shopped like that in years. Daddy didn't approve of extravagant clothes and, well, I forgot how fun it was."

"Well, I certainly enjoyed myself and I'm glad you did too." Cora offered up a genuine smile and floundered for a moment. Usually there was nothing easier than small talk, but she'd done that with Edith for days.

"Aunt Cora, is something wrong?"

"I – yes, actually." Cora decided that, of all the times to be a blunt America, this was perhaps the best. "I was wondering if you were going to call me Aunt forever or – or if there was some specific thing that I need to do to become your mother again?"

Edith opened her mouth and her eyes jerked over to her sister. Cora looked as well, but the little girl was still sleeping. When Edith looked back, her eyes had tears in them, but she was blinking furiously to hold them back. Cora, helplessly, found herself doing the same.

"If – if you think in some way it's a betrayal of Mr. Kavanaugh, please don't. Love is a wonderful thing. It's not like arithmetic, where you only have so much to go around. It's – it's infinite."

"That's – that's not why."

"Then why not?"

There was a long pause, and when Edith spoke it was barely audible.

"It's easier to love you as an aunt who did her best, than a mother who didn't."

Cora froze, unsure what to say, and feeling a terrible emptiness expanding steadily inside her stomach.

"I know that you tried." Edith went on, her voice the kindest sort of punishment. "I know that you wanted to love me. Your letters… I could read between the lines. You never felt the same way about me that you did about Mary or Sybil, though."

"That's not – I was confused, and you were very different, Edith." Cora rushed to try and reassure her. "I always loved you."

"I know, just not as much."

Cora felt her throat close as words disdained her tongue.

"I'm not angry at you anymore. You or Uncle Robert." Her daughter explained, her tone sad. "It's just that it is different, and I understand that now. You did the best you could, and it was more than most ever get. I – I really appreciate it."

"Oh, Edith…"

Cora felt her daughter's arms slip around her in a hug. It was a better embrace than she'd gotten from Edith in years. Not since she was a tiny child had she squeeze Cora like that. Like she truly felt welcome, and she welcomed Cora just as much.

The pain was in the reality of it.

Cora had spent fifteen years hugging her niece and calling her "daughter", all while not feeling quite right about it. Now, desperate to have her daughter back, her niece embraced her more freely than her daughter ever had, and with more open affection. Once, Cora had lamented to her maid that she wished Edith wasn't so desperate for parental affection. That it was off-putting and made showing her that affection difficult and awkward. She'd wished for years that Edith would develop more poise and confidence in who she was and stop spatting with Mary over everything just because Mary's luck was so much better in ways nobody could help.

Papa, Cora thought as she composed herself and kissed Edith on the cheek, excusing herself from the compartment with every outward sign of happiness and a heart in bleeding pieces, always did tell me to be careful what I ask for.

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"This is where we're settling Miss Edith and her sister?"

"Yes, Lady Grantham thought it the best solution."

"After you suggested it."

"That is my job, Mr. Carson." Mrs. Hughes smiled up at the butler and watched him process that with almost hidden amusement as she turned and looked over the rooms with real satisfaction. "I had a talk with the girls before we came down here to make things ready. I think they'll be pleased, don't you?"

"Hm, I don't know if I like the rooms being at the very end of the family wing. It could send the wrong message."

"Or give the whole family some much needing breathing room." Elsie countered, not the least bit bothered, as she walked over to the sofa to plump up the pillows. "Besides, these rooms haven't been used for anything useful in a generation."

"Lord Grantham's uncle and his wife had them, I believe, before Mr. James was born and they set up their own establishment."

"Your memory is, as always, impeccable, Mr. Carson."

He rumbled at her and made another slow circuit to examine the room. For her part, Elsie was pleased and hoped Miss Edith and the bairn would be as well. Not that she should really be calling a ten-year-old girl such, but it had been too long since there were children in the Abbey.

The suite was a nice one. Two modestly sized bed chambers flanked a very comfortable sitting room with a particularly nice fireplace. Furnishing them had been both easy and difficult, as the girls had brought some furniture with them from America, just not all that they would need to fill their suite.

Lady Edith's room had been rather easy. She'd had a full bedroom set, and if it was modern enough to look a little out of place in the Abbey, it was still very well made. Elsie hadn't quite been able to resist running her fingertips over the golden wood, admiring the swirled pattern in the curly maple furniture. The smooth lines of the furniture were very nice, and the vanity table was beautiful in its simplicity. Bed linens had been purchased in London and the lovely peach counterpane looked very pretty with the warm tones of the room after Elsie had sent up the maids to find a rug that matched.

She inspected the wardrobe and dresser and clucked her tongue at their somewhat meager contents. Miss Edith had always liked nice clothing as a girl. She was surprised she hadn't become more of a clothes horse in America, what with the rumors now flying around the staff about her own monetary elevation in society. There was shopping from London arriving with them, though, from what she'd heard. That would add to the work, but keep up appearances.

"It's a bit of a hodgepodge in here, isn't it?"

"Yes, but the ladies were most particular about keeping the parlor furniture together, Mr. Carson." Mrs. Hughes smiled sadly. "Given the pieces, I imagine they were not chosen for fashion's sake."

"Hm?" His dark eyes scanned the room as his mobile eyebrows lowered in sympathy. "Of course, it's rather masculine, isn't it?"

"It rather is." Elsie agreed, taking in the brown leather sofa and the two low armchairs that went with it and their heavy, old fashioned, walnut frames. "I believe the set here came from the late Mr. Kavanaugh's study, and the bookshelves from those poor boys' room."

"A tragedy not soon to be forgotten." Carson agreed lowly and Elsie took a bracing breath.

That ship had taken too many. Not just Mr. James and Mr. Patrick, and they were sad enough. No, it had also decimated Miss Edith's family along with so many others. Mrs. Hughes hoped that the White Star Line was properly ashamed of itself. What would a speed record have gotten them anyway?

She watched as he wandered further around the room and slowly moved in his wake. A beautiful renaissance revival Wooten Desk filled with cubbies and secret compartments stood open near a comfortably padded swivel chair. It featured a beautifully decorated typewriter. A much simpler rolltop desk stood nearby, tucked away in a corner, and topped with a cinnabar vase currently empty of flowers. A desk suited to a child, or a petite lady was set near the fire, done in all the intricate marquetry of early 18th century France. What captured Carson's attention, however, were the photographs.

"She looks very happy, doesn't she?"

"Hm?" Carson started and the small woman seemed to tower oddly as she looked up from his elbow, nodding towards the various mismatched frames decorating the mantle.

"Miss Edith and the Kavanaughs."

"Hm."

"I have always admired, Mr. Carson, how much you can say without saying anything at all."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes, I have always admired your way of saying several things at once." The butler replied wryly but went on with a real vein of confusion in his tone. "I think the world of Lady Rosamund and have for years, but I was not brought up to think kindly of men who dally with the wives of other men."

"Nor I with women who take advantage of grieving widowers."

Elsie's words prompted a pained sideways nod from the butler, and she let out a breath as she studied what was clearly the oldest picture. A framed wedding photo stood of Mr. Kavanaugh, from sometimes in the mid-eighteen-eighties. The woman was wearing a surprisingly simple dress; some pale color sprigged lightly with tiny flowers and the very least of bustles. She wore a bonnet rather than a veil.

Her husband looked much the same in all the pictures. Mr. Zachary Kavanaugh was a tall, thin man with sharp dark eyes and a face that seemed to be made all of angles. He had the kind of profile that made one think of eagles, or hungry wolves, and the ready way he held himself matched it. Elsie couldn't help thinking she would not have enjoyed working for such a man; he had the look about him of someone with exacting standards and little patience.

And yet…

Elsie sighed and looked onward. That harsh, somber, face positively beamed in other photos. There were a couple scattered about of him with two young boys – mirror images of each other, but no others of the first wife. The second wife appeared when the boys were maybe six, and she was unquestionably a beauty.

"That's Miss Adelaide's mother." Elsie offered without being asked, nodding at a far fancier wedding photo. "She's a veritable Gibson Girl, isn't she, Mr. Carson?"

For his part, Carson startled her by reaching up and taking the picture down, bringing it to where he could see it with visible surprise.

"I've seen her before. I – she was an actress, I think, from Switzerland."

"Austro-Hungarian, from Salzburg." Mrs. Hughes corrected, amused. "But, yes, she was an actress."

"Miss Edith's mentioned it?"

"She played Ophelia in Hamlet on Broadway and was in several comedy reviews with someone named Bigelow." The Scotswoman smiled. "Don't be shocked when you find several advertisements hanging framed in Miss Adelaide's room."

Carson looked caught between amusement and offense but settled on a rueful chuckle. Instead, he reached up and took down a sleekly modern silver frame polished to a brilliant shine. On one side of the hinged double frame there was a shot of a broad beach pavilion with towels spread out over the sand and Mr. Kavanaugh sleeping with his hat over his face in the shade. Beside him, in bathing costumes, the strapping young men, with their dark hair and eyes, stood braced. One of the lads had Edith balanced on his shoulders, beaming. The other had Miss Adelaide on his, her arms full of hats.

There were other pictures. One of Miss Edith dressed in some kind of academic robe, her face thin and tense but her smile blinding. A few more of the more formal, expected photographs that came about as children grew older. It was the beach photograph, however, that Carson put up with such obvious reluctance that it drew a worried frown from the housekeeper.

"Are you quite alright, Mr. Carson."

"Not… entirely." He sighed. "I have made no secret of my opinion of Mr. Kavanaugh exposing Lady Rosamund's scandal and dragging the Crawley name so low, as he did."

She waited.

"I… never had the joy of children myself." He went on quietly. "But looking at this picture, I wonder if I can stand here and judge a man who learned, fifteen years too late, that he'd missed most of his child's life."

"I think, perhaps, in this case as in most, judgement is best reserved for the ultimate source of such." She put her hand on Mr. Carson's wrist and allowed herself to squeeze briefly, before retrieving her appendage. "Besides, as you did say from the beginning, it's not our place."

The broad shoulders squared, and he nodded, that firmness she so admired about his nature coming back to him.

"Quite." He agreed and it was straight back to business. "Is there anything you and the maids need me or the footmen to do to smooth things over? Or should I send the man up for anymore heavy lifting?"

"Oh, the heavy lifting's behind us. Now it's all putting away the bits and bobs and watching as the ladies rearrange all our work to their satisfaction." She chuckled. "There are still a few they wanted to unpack themselves, and it can only mean more dusting. Did Lord Grantham discuss the girls' agent and whatever he's sending up?"

"Yes. In maybe a week or two there will be a safe coming up, with a quantity of jewelry that they didn't want to take with them alone on the ship and isn't going to be stored at the bank." He grew more serious. "There's also to be a selection of things from their brothers. They returned hastily from a European tour and apparently a good bit of luggage and gifts meant for the family were left behind when they took last minute passage on that unfortunate ship."

"Trust an Englishman to call something cursed 'unfortunate', Mr. Carson." She huffed and shook her head. "I'll have a word with her ladyship, then. That'll open a can of worms with those two girls, I don't doubt."

Glancing back at the pictures on the mantle, and the beaming image of the two dead twenty-three-year-old boys in the full flush of life, Carson nodded and held open the door for her to pass by.

"Of that, Mrs. Hughes, I do not think there can be any doubt at all."

Somehow, somehow, it always happened. Whenever Edith was at her lowest or her most nervous, Mary just slithered out of the woodwork to make it worse. It was a kind of universal truth.

Addie was doing better in the country. In two days, Edith thought she'd seen at least some improvement. Pharoah, thankfully, was as sweet and well-trained as all the Crawley family pets had always been and Addie was always happier in a house with animals. It was a shame that the doctors had advised not having dogs or cats about, lest the shedding bother Daddy's emphysema. It meant that Addie had been denied a pet when she'd needed the company the most.

Moreover, Edith had felt something unwind deep inside herself as Addie managed to relax around her Uncle Robert via the dog. Daddy had always cast him as the worst villain, and Addie had believed it. The result of that was that she'd feared there'd never be a proper truce and Downton would be impossible, but Edith had been proven wrong.

Some part of her was jealous of Addie. Cora went out of her way to be understanding and kind to the little girl. Robert Crawley was a strong advocate of dog ownership and puppies in general. His decision to openly join in Addie's wheedling to get her promised pet before Christmas was rapidly eroding his monster status. They were both actively interested and invested in being good to her sister. Sometimes it seemed, far more, than they'd been invested in Edith at that age.

They're doing better now, Edith reminded herself, they punished Mary for goodness sake! They didn't do that for fifteen years. If that's not improvement, what is? They're asking questions and trying to be respectful and helpful at once.

"Now we just have to see what Granny thinks."

"I doubt you'll have to wait long, we both know she's not one to hide her opinions." Mary's voice cut across where Edith was muttering to herself as she tugged at her hair in the hall mirror. She wasn't sure about the fancier way that Anna had put it up and Mary's flawless face and gleaming dark hair appearing behind her in the mirror didn't help. "Especially about irregularities within the family."

Edith's first instinct was to bite back, but she clenched her teeth against it. She wasn't fifteen anymore. She had a degree for goodness' sake! One she'd barely slept for two years in order to get before Daddy passed. She was responsible for Addie. She was nearly twenty. She wasn't a child anymore.

"Mary, do we have to do this?"

"I don't know, Edith, what are we doing?"

"Mary, you haven't seen or heard from me in nearly five years!" Edith couldn't hide her frustration. "Exactly how did I manage to bother you this much?"

"It's just a special talent, I imagine, you're innately annoying."

"Mary, for God's sake, at least tell me what I did?"

"You left!"

The fury in the brunette's tone sent Edith back a step in surprise, but old habits died hard and she stepped right back in Mary's space afterward. This prompted both girls to move several more steps down the hall without noticing. Now they were both visible, framed in front of one of the archways overlooking the Hall.

"You've wanted me gone since I was born! I thought you'd be delighted, Mary!"

"Maybe I would have been, if you hadn't dragged all of us down into the mud with you!" Mary bit back. "You just ran off to America, where your life was grand and rosy and rich, and I had to deal with everything."

"You-."

"Yes, me!" Mary flushed. "I debuted the year after you left, you know, and what was everyone talking about? Not me, I can tell you that."

"Oh?"

"Have you heard about Lady Mary Crawley? Oh, yes, and that dreadful mess with the bastard cousin. Oh, nobody can blame them for covering it up, but still – things like that all come out in the end." Mary threw out in a quavering falsetto, then dropped into an exaggerated bass. "They say Lady Rosamund was the toast of the town, too, and quite a looker. I wonder if her niece is as adventurous as she was!"

Edith gaped for a moment, then felt her face go red.

"You say that like you think I ever debuted."

Mary blinked at her.

"Mary, I'm a rich bastard, but I'm still a bastard and Daddy only ever cared about business connections!" She bit out. "He shrugged it off when nobody wanted me out in proper society. When there were no invitations he just – he just told me that sometimes you brazen things like this out and to hell with them! Well, that's easy for a man to say but I had plenty of my own trouble in America and you know how I dealt with it?"

"By brazening it out?"

"By being excluded and living with it, the way I always did when you slammed the door in my face." Edith shot back. "When I couldn't find a roommate in the dorms at Vassar – when I only got in because Daddy was happy to bribe the right people – Daddy just rented a house and let some of the scholarship girls live there and wrote it off as charity on his taxes."

"Yes, poor Edith, the richest little-."

"Mary, would you shut up!" Edith bit back harshly, surprising her sister for a moment. "You don't think I'd give all of that money up to have my family back? When will you understand that I don't want to take anything from you – I just want something for myself!"

"Like Patrick?"

Edith blinked, paling as something she'd hoped would never see the light of day began to rush like a tidal wave out from between Mary's perfect white teeth.

"What?"

"Patrick Crawley, our cousin, remember?" Mary replied, her voice dripping poison. "The boy you mooned over for most of our childhood. My fiancée, who just happened to rush off to New York because-."

"That is entirely enough, both of you!"

The rapping of a cane on the Hall's tile accompanied the imperious command and both girls turned at once, eyes widening dramatically as they looked down. There, in the middle of the Hall far beneath them, the Dowager Countess Grantham still managed to loom over the entire establishment. The disapproval she radiated could have felled trees for miles. Both Edith and Mary flinched and, briefly, were sisters again as they exchanged a nervous look.

"Now, both of you will kindly come down here, immediately, and sit at tea like civilized ladies and not air the family laundry at volume like fishwives at a market. Am I clear?"

Edith and Mary exchanged a look and, by mutual agreement, said the only thing that could be said.

"Yes, Granny."

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Despite maintaining a proper appearance of disapproval, Violet couldn't have been happier to have interrupted the fight between her granddaughters. It was, she decided, about time that the family had it out – once and for all – about Rosamund's poor decisions and the fallout. She might have wished to have had a slightly smaller crowd for it, but some things couldn't be avoided and – like it or most decidedly not – they were family now.

"It is nice to finally meet you, Miss Edith." Isobel Crawley, of course, inserted herself into the situation immediately.

Violet took a firm seat in the best armchair in the drawing room and had already directed both Mary and Edith onto opposite ends of the sofa across from her. It gave just the right atmosphere of a judge at trial. Settling Cora and Sybil slightly off to the side was easy, as neither wanted to sit between the girls when they were in full flight. Isobel, of course, had no such manners or good sense. The woman settled herself in the armchair nearest Edith and immediately began, as if Violet weren't entirely in charge of the conversation.

"I don't know if you know, but it was my husband who Lady Rosamund originally asked to take you in."

Violet paused in surprise as she assimilated the information that Isobel offered up so cheerfully, as if it was nothing at all. Yet another thing neither of her children felt she needed to know about the greatest scandal in her family history. Yet another thing about their lives they'd cut her out of. Though, to be fair – if she must – it was possible that Robert did not know. He'd certainly seemed surprised enough to find out he'd had a cousin who was a physician.

"I – you were?"

"Oh, yes." Isobel agreed and reached out and squeezed Edith's hand, a hint of shadow playing across her plain, cheerful face. "You see, I had a rather wretched time bringing Matthew into the world and afterward, well, there was no hope for more children. I'd always wanted a daughter and when Reginald told me that a distant relative had approached him about adopting a baby, we were both thrilled. It clearly wasn't meant to be, but I just thought it was nice to think that no matter what, we should have ended up as family."

Violet took in what had just been said. Then she noted the softening in Edith's rigid expression. She could allow that, perhaps, Isobel Crawley might have her uses. On very rare occasions. That didn't lessen her presumption one jot, of course.

"Family cannot help being together in the beginning and always comes together in the end, no matter how divided it grows in between." Violet agreed. "It's the nature of things, and only proper."

"And is adultery proper, Granny?"

"Don't be purposefully obtuse, Mary, that's your cousin's job."

Isobel's cup of tea paused on the way to her lips and Violet breezed on, fixing two of her granddaughters (Sybil opted to hide behind her biscuit) with a stern look.

"Mary, I entirely agree that Edith showed a deplorable lack of loyalty in how she abandoned her family to shame and ran off to America at the first opportunity."

Mary smirked and Edith tensed. Violet hated being rushed. That said, she prided herself on a certain noble practicality.

"Having said that, I can hardly blame her after finding out her parents had lied to her for the entire duration of her life, and the older sister whose duty it was to protect her, chose instead to consistently harm her for her own amusement."

Edith relaxed and Mary's mouth snapped shut.

"So, if both of you have anything more to say to each other, I suggest you start screeching it immediately." Violet very openly checked the pendant watch she had pinned to her blouse. "At my age, one doesn't have time for much nonsense, so I'll generously accord you twenty-five minutes to work this out before we all move on with our lives."

Mary and Edith gaped at her, and she could all but hear Cora grinding her teeth. The fact that her daughter-in-law kept her mouth shut, however, was extremely satisfying. She knew well enough that Violet was right after all. It wasn't like she'd handled the situation properly, now was it?

"Then I shall expect an introduction to this sister of yours, Edith. Where is she?"

"It was discovered over breakfast that Adelaide didn't know what cricket was, Granny." Sybil dimpled naughtily. "Papa took one of the footmen out with him and they're attempting to convince her of its great superiority to baseball."

"I don't see the appeal of either, but I would think the superiority naturally apparent in any event." She sniffed. "One is played in Brooklyn. The other is played at Oxford. Twenty-one minutes, girls."

Silence stretched for a moment, then Edith breathed out and spoke, her tone hesitant but her words steady and mature. Violet took a moment to mourn that the child had grown up so much away from her family. Cora's rebukes, delivered frequently and fiercely after Edith left, hovered uncomfortably in the back of her mind. It is the way we were raised, child, and the way our parents were raised and so on for centuries. If it's done damage, well, who doesn't do their children harm trying to do right by them? Life is one long lesson in surviving failure. Usually, those failures are your own.

"Mary… if it will really harm you and Sybil – you chance of marriage, I mean – then I can let a house out with Addie elsewhere." Edith offered. "I won't just vanish from the family to make your life easier, but I'm not out to do you any specific harm-."

"Now." Mary cut in and Edith paused, and then offered up through gritted teeth.

"Now, yes. Once I would have loved watching boys ignore you to pay me attention."

"Not that long ago, I would imagine." Mary looked furiously at Violet, startling her. "Did you know why Patrick and Cousin James were on that rotten boat?"

"They got on the Titanic because my father was dying!" Edith burst out and stood up suddenly stalking over to the fireplace and turning back and forth, pacing in a gesture so reminiscent of Robert at his most upset and temperamental that it made Violet blink in shock. "Is that what you want me to say, Mary?"

"What do you mean?" Mary looked at the blonde suspiciously. "Everyone here just loved to remind me that I was spoken for, my life decided, but at the first sign of a richer bride in the family, Patrick started sniffing around your skirts, didn't he?"

Edith winced and Mary pounced.

"And you always wanted him, didn't you? Well, you spent years mooning after him, and when you had your chance, I bet you laughed at thinking of taking the Abbey-."

"Yes, alright! I did!" Edith cut in, looking miserable. "You want me to say it, then I will!"

"Edith, what are you talking about?" Cora, shocked and horrified, tried to stand. Violet reached out and took her arm, wondering when she'd lost control of this conversation.

"Not long after I left, Cousin James apparently looked into Daddy's business and figured out how much Daddy was really worth."

"And then he went over and immediately made over Kavanaugh and Edith!" Mary interjected. "Because what did it matter which girl he took? He just wanted the best possible deal out of it, and bastard or not, you'd become a better deal, hadn't you?"

"Daddy all but had him run out of Baltimore on a rail! He didn't want anything to do with anything named Crawley!" Edith bit out, clearly frustrated and upset. "Mary, I admit it! I loved Patrick. I thought he was the best thing in the world. I thought you were the luckiest to be born with beauty and grace and you – you just got everything, and I was Poor Edith!"

"And then-."

"And then I realized Patrick didn't give a damn about either of us." Edith shouted Mary down, visibly surprising her sister. "You didn't even care if he lived or died, and I loved him, and it didn't matter! He may have been the first, but he's hardly been the last man to come up to me and cheerfully tell me he'll generously overlook my lack of beauty and shameful birth if I'll just hand over my father's money and shut up and be grateful to let him be my personal dictator!"

For a moment silence fell, and then Mary spoke again, her voice strange.

"So you – you finally see it, don't you?"

"That they just want my money and you're nothing but a pretty bedwarmer and social hostess? That we're things?" Edith bit back, wiping her eyes roughly with her hand. "Yes, Mary, I see it."

Both Cora and Isobel looked properly appalled. Violet found herself smiling. She tapped her cane once, firmly, to draw the girls' attention back to where it belonged.

"Seven minutes to spare. Well-done, but please watch your language, Edith. Thankfully your accent is intact, but you've picked up some appalling vocabulary in the States, haven't you?"

Everyone stared at her. Violet held her head as high as always and went on.

"It's nice to see I have such intelligent grandchildren. You came a bit late to an important realization about life as a woman at our level of society, but it's pleasant to see you both have finally arrived at it. Now all that remains is teaching you how to run the world around their foolish assumptions." Violet went on, frowning down at the table. "William, see that Mrs. Patmore sends up some fresh scones and another pot of tea. This one's gone dreadfully cold."

"Y-yes, my lady."

The poor boy fled. At least he had some sense. Hopefully it would serve him well in life.

"Now, that you've gotten that over with, perhaps on your own you can both grow up enough to realize that as sisters you are all uniquely situated to help each other in this dreadfully unfriendly world we all must survive in." Violet went on briskly. "I refuse to have any more of this soul baring nonsense at tea, however. It's dreadful for the digestion. Cora said that you'd bought a few things in London, Edith, but I want to hear more about your planned wardrobe. The mourning is only proper for at least a month or two more, and I approve. However, you're home now and part of this family – those dreadful frocks the Americans call fashion won't do here."

Noting that everyone looked properly uncomfortable, and Isobel was, again, rallying to say something dense, middle-class, and shocking, Violet redirected her attention to putting the heir's mother back in her place. Edith and Mary were old enough to work the rest of it out for themselves, now that she'd gotten them started.

Her only regret was that she hadn't stepped in years ago.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Miss Edith!"

Edith turned and squeaked, fumbling, as a baseball impacted with her shoulder, and she had to scramble to catch it.

"Sir Anthony!" Addie's happy greeting beat her own as her sister scampered forward towards where a gorgeous new Rolls Royce had stopped in the drive.

They were quite a way from the house, near the drive, on one of the sunnier patches of lawn. A rare bright day had dawned in March and Edith was intent on making the most of it outside with her sister. Yorkshire spring weather was some of the most capricious in England. Edith would accept it was merely feigning summer and be prepared for the inevitable chilly downpour that would follow, but while it lasted, she would enjoy it.

"Hello, did you finish all your business in London!"

"I did, though it ran dreadfully long, and then there was everything to manage at Loxley after my return." The tall man bent down to shake the small hand the girl thrust out at him solemnly, his light blue eyes twinkling. "I hope you can forgive me for my neglect?"

"That's alright. Your sister's loads of fun." Adelaide answered earnestly. "We're playing baseball, only we're just really playing catch and we must do it far from the house because windows, want to join us?"

"The baseball bat was lost somewhere in transit." Edith explained, trying not to look complicit. "Also, my sister's right. Her batting skills are not to be trusted within sight of any building."

Edith's sister pouted at her, but Sir Anthony's lopsided grin more than made up for it and she felt a flush that wasn't from activity spreading up her neck and over her face.

"It only happened-."

Edith raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, it happened three times, and I paid for the windows out of my allowance!"

"The windows here are considerably more expensive." Edith replied. "So, no."

"You know," Sir Anthony Strallan's eyes glinted with the true passion of an avid sportsman as he went on amicably, "in England we have a sport a little like baseball. It's called Cricket and it's really sup-."

"Nononono!"

Sir Anthony watched, boggled, as Adelaide promptly pulled her glove off, shoved the leather thing over her face like a mask, put her hands over her ears, and ran off to hide behind a large oak tree. He turned to Edith, but she couldn't offer him any help as she was bent double with helpless laughter. She attempted to explain, but between collapsing onto the ground with mirth and her sister's muffled exclamations in German from behind the tree… well, it wasn't quite as intelligible as she'd hoped. It certainly wasn't the elegance she'd sometimes daydreamed of showing off the next time she saw the kind baronet.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Given how the elder of the two could barely speak through her laughter and the younger was speaking through a thick leather glove, it was not a surprise that Anthony was utterly boggled by the response his innocent comment had produced. That said, he was entirely willing to be the subject to such confusion and mirth. He took a great deal of guilty pleasure in helping Miss Edith back to her feet.

Chivying her little sister into the car as well, just produced the most adorably suspicious look on her face. By the time they'd driven up to the Abbey, he'd been distracted by Lady Edith's curiosity about the car and his own enjoyment of the subject. He let their chauffer take the new Rolls back around and was considering how to best tease the source of the humor out of Miss Edith as he was shown into the drawing room where Lady Grantham was already waiting. Adelaide scampered off to change into a clean frock; hers having gathered some twigs and a large grass stain.

"Sir Anthony, how kind of you to visit today!"

"Thank you, Lady Grantham, it's very good of you to receive me without notice like this. I trust everything is well?"

"Other than Addie's newfound phobia of the sport of cricket, yes!"

Boggled, he turned to look at Edith in amusement.

"Afraid of… cricket?"

"Oh dear…." Lady Grantham sighed, heavily and Edith began giggling.

It was entirely charming, and Anthony couldn't help smiling lopsidedly at the delightful noise as he looked about in confusion. Lady Grantham went on and manners demanded he pay her proper attention. Besides, the laughter in her blue eyes promised an amusing story. He settled in with the tea Edith served him and accepted a plate of ginger biscuits.

"Yes, two days ago my husband realized that the poor thing had no idea what cricket was."

"That is a shame."

"Yes, but confusing a ten-year-old girl with the rules of cricket all while staging an impromptu game that featured half the staff was probably not the best way to give her a fondness for it." Edith snickered behind her hand and Anthony felt his eyebrows climb up.

"I feel there's more of a story here… though I don't mean to pry."

"Oh, no, they all deserve for everyone to repeat this." Cora assured him.

"They do!" Edith laughed. "It started off with just the Earl and Thomas – Addie's favorite footman. Then Cousin Matthew saw and decided to help."

"He and Robert got into a lively debate about historical rules versus current rules."

"A fascinating subject, Lady Grantham." Anthony, as an avid cricket fan, saw nothing wrong with that. "I played at Cambridge years ago."

"I remember you mentioning it before. Didn't you break Robert's nose in the match against Oxford?"

"Before he takes offense at where my elbow landed, I suggest you ask him where he put his knee on the previous play. I was very relieved for my brother-in-law's sake when my first nephew was born."

The words worked their way out of his mouth without active intention, prompted by devotion to the game and longstanding rivalry and Anthony colored at Lady Edith's wide-eyed response. Hastily, he moved on.

"That was a very long time ago, however. I – erm – I take it that things progressed somewhat away from historical matters after Mr. Crawley joined?"

"It was decided that there must be a practical demonstration, only there were now only three gentlemen to make it. Two was acceptable, three was not, and no-one was willing to sit out." Edith explained. "So, they called in our new driver, Branson."

"Only, he's Irish, and far more attached to football than cricket." Cora explained with twitching lips. "It was decided his lackluster devotion was the reason that the young lady was still insisting baseball was easier to understand. He was also demonstrating an intolerable lack of loyalty by distracting her with talk of football when that wasn't the subject at hand."

"They brought in William to replace Branson, but two of the stable lads had seen, so now there were really six of them altogether, not counting Branson, who was told to referee as his loyalties were not to be trusted. Matthew remains unsure if he took it as a compliment, coming from an Englishman." Edith picked up the narrative. "And we're not entirely sure how, but somehow this mess carried on for over two hours. We're currently down a footman with a sprained ankle, a stable hand with a good knock on the head, and Cousin Matthew is telling everyone he got the black eye scoring the winning goal."

"While my husband maintains that it was a tie, that move was illegal in his day so it's illegal now and is insisting he didn't do his back a mischief while pretending he was twenty again. It should be noted the Earl is currently pretending to work in his study while lying flat on the floor with a heavy book on the small of his back."

"Cora, I am not! For the last time, my back's fine – Sir Anthony!" Lord Grantham strode into the room with the slightest of hitch to his step, accompanied by his canine shadow and coloring a bit when he spotted his neighbor. "Good of you to drop in, old man, how are things at Loxley?"

"Very well." Anthony put on his most blithely friendly and oblivious expression and went on, unable to resist the opportunity. "Though I'm sorry to have missed the excitement."

"Excitement?"

"I hear you had the staff out practicing for the county match early this year?"

Behind him, he heard Edith trying to stifle her giggles again and felt a flare of triumph that carried him through the usual small talk before the hoped-for invitation to dinner.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Does Edith seem rather fond of Sir Anthony?"

"Hm?"

Cora rubbed cream into her hands as she sat at her dressing table, and Robert looked up from his book as he settled under the covers of their bed. His wife repeated the question and he set the book aside.

"Well, she's just…" Robert pulled a face, struggled, and made himself say it. "She's just lost her father and was rather overwhelmed. It makes sense that she'd… latch onto a decent fellow of a certain age who helped her as he did. Doesn't it?"

"So, you think that's what this is?"

"Do you think it's something else?" Robert blinked, confused, and tried to think over dinner.

Examining the evening seemed to taint it a bit. It had been the least tense family meal he'd enjoyed since Edith had returned. It had quite possibly been the most pleasant had in his family since Edith had left to begin with. If, and he wasn't inclined to, he examined it closely Robert Crawley may have had to admit that it was one of the better dinners for conversation and general conviviality that he'd enjoyed in his lifetime.

Some strange watchful truce seemed to have developed between Edith and Mary. Robert was too grateful for its existence to examine it. While his eldest was still having moments of… harsh behavior, they were noticeably less than some of her past struggles. More like what he'd come to expect during the calm year they'd had after Dr. Foster had ceased his visits, but after Robert had reluctantly bowed to Cora about implementing some of his suggestions with the girls. The year before Edith had returned but after the worst of the scandal had passed.

Either way, Edith and Mary weren't at each other's throats. Instead, they were being carefully civil. Robert would take it, thank you, and be grateful to God for his generosity. Sybil was brighter and sweeter than she'd ever been, though he could live without her social notions. Still, at least Edith tempered them a little, being more moderate in her own views when it came to acceptable methods of protest. He'd have preferred no protest at all, but with the younger generation he supposed you had to take what you could get.

"Cora?"

"It was a very nice dinner, wasn't it?" His wife finally asked, wistfully, as she slid into bed and kissed him on the cheek, settling in against is shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her. "I don't want to spoil it by picking at it."

"Then don't." Robert advised his wife. "It was a nice dinner. We may find him a bit tiresome, but Edith clearly enjoys Sir Anthony's conversation, and it did save us from more of her and Sybil conspiring about suffrage. Mama kept her swipes directed at Isobel. Matthew is growing into his role as heir more every day, and – if Mary would give him a chance – seems to like her more every day."

"Yes, but she's set her mind against him, Robert. I think it's far wiser to look towards Evelyn Napier. He is a nice young man as well, and entirely comfortable."

"Hm, well, I'll leave the plotting to you and mother. We both know how Mary feels about others making decisions for her." Robert huffed out a laugh. "She and Edith actually had a civil conversation; can you believe it?"

"I never thought I'd hear Mary asking about university life."

Robert shuddered a little in bewilderment but was grateful for at least one truth.

"She was as boggled as I was."

"Mary was, but Sybil looked wistful."

"Sybil's never been an academic at heart."

"No, thank goodness… I am proud of Edith, though."

"I – yes… she's grown up well. I just… wish I'd had more to do with it."

Cora sighed deeply and then he felt her shake her head against his shoulder.

"She's happy. We're happy. Let's not linger on the past. Your mother says that there's been some… nastiness about Edith at a few of the usual parties."

"We talked earlier. Edith said not to bother trying to get her an invitation if it's not offered. Or offered just to stir up gossip and trouble." Robert huffed, his temper rising before he pushed it away. He refused to get in a temper while holding his wife in bed. "Which is entirely sensible. Sybil would likely say she doesn't want to go where her sister isn't welcome…"

"But Mary would say that she wants to go where she rightfully belongs with or without her cousin."

They fell into a comfortable silence, just holding each other in the golden light of the single bedside lamp still lit. Robert reached over and turned it off, but neither slept. He could feel that there was something that his wife needed to say. Demonstrating a patience, he'd never found easy with anyone else, he held her and waited.

"I think… I think what hurts the most is that when she calls me 'aunt' she sounds happy. Whenever she called me 'mama', it was like Edith was begging me for something and I didn't know what it was."

Robert bit his lip and swallowed hard.

"I… I know precisely what you mean, darling."

His wife shifted in the dark and he felt her press her face into his neck. He held her tighter.

"What shall we do about it?"

Robert had never found finding words difficult. He'd never stumbled overmuch in speech. The problem, Robert had always admitted, was finding the right words. He tended to use them incautiously, like a man who never taught to use a rifle relied on a repeater instead of teaching himself better aim. This time, he chose his words wisely and, for all their pain, didn't feel he'd let anyone down with them.

"A very long time ago a wise king suggested a horrible thing to two mothers claiming the same baby, Cora." He breathed out against his wife's hair, smelling lavender and honey. "I think… I think not much has changed."

Cora's voice was thick with tears, but his neck stayed dry as she spoke.

"If we really love her, we'll give her up?"

"Perhaps just accept what she can give us and be grateful."

Cora shifted and her breath tickled his neck, then his chest as she curled back into his shoulder.

"I think you're right, darling, but that will be very difficult."

"Well," Robert pressed a kiss to her forehead in the safety and warmth of the darkness and their marital bed. "Perhaps it's just… recompense."

"Recompense?"

"Payment." He winced as his verbal wisdom deserted him. "For having not put the effort and pain in when the girls were younger, and it was easier to let the nurses handle it."

"You're likely right, but being right doesn't make it less painful."

"Dr. Foster was a very smart man, but he could have stood to be a little more polite."

"I never liked him."

Robert boggled at her.

"But – you insisted-."

"I said I didn't like him." She replied with a hint of sad humor. "It's a mother's and a wife's job, sometimes, to make sure what needs to happen, happens, even if it might be unpleasant."

"Oh... One of his?"
"Unfortunately."

"I didn't like him either."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thomas tried to keep his frustration in check as he tapped the football back towards Addie with his foot. After the disastrous cricket afternoon nobody was speaking of, Branson had introduced her to football. It turned out the girl was slightly familiar with it, it didn't start any great debates about American versus English sports, and Lady Edith gleefully embraced it as the afternoon exercise of choice for her sister. It was, after all, less dangerous towards windows than baseball had been.

Thomas wasn't complaining about that. It was hardly a bad thing to spend an hour or so running around and having a kickabout and getting paid for it. He was all for that kind of duty, especially since Lady Edith still viewed his time with Edith as supplementary to his duties and offered him extra pay on top of it. William could seethe over it all he wanted, and Thomas would enjoy the idiot's annoyance that he was doing extra duties while the First Footman played nursemaid.

What was frustrating him was the lack of progress for his plan. Both the Kavanaugh women were farther, rather than closer to leaving the Abbey and establishing their own place. It had been decided that Lady Edith would continue to assign her sister her daily lessons according to the curriculum she's already established, and Miss Adelaide would begin school in September.

Miss Edith was also looking for a lady's maid. To avoid ill-feeling, Anna had been raised up as Lady Mary's lady's maid and gotten a pay raise commensurate with it, along with the understanding she'd still help Lady Sybil until she was Out and a maid was found for her specifically. Meanwhile, Miss Edith had put in an advertisement and was holding – mostly unsuccessful given the scandal tied up with her name – interviews.

There wasn't so much as a peep about a greater or more extensive household. Such as, say, a butler. This even though there was now a new rack of silver added to the safe room that needed polishing for when Miss Edith entertained. Not that she'd done much beyond have Sir Anthony Strallan over to tea twice in one week.

"Thomas?"

He jerked his head up from the brown study he'd fallen into and found the ball sitting on top of his feet.

"Sorry about that, Miss Adelaide." He threw her a conspiratorial smile. "I was distracted by Lady Mary's top-hat."

The little girl snorted both loudly and rudely and Thomas complimented himself on one complete success. Miss Edith may have come to some understanding with her cousin, but he'd kept the rancor the little girl felt for the eldest Crawley daughter fresh. She wasn't so quick to forgive the countless little slights Miss Edith had been too young to realize she shouldn't have shared with the girl in the first place.

"That riding get-up is silly. Girls in America wear pants and jackets now, just like the men." She huffed and intercepted the ball as he kicked it back. "If that long skirt falls wrong, it'll trip the horse and she'll break her neck. Worse, it could hurt the horse!"

That's not quite how riding habits work, but why correct something that was in his favor?

"She doesn't even like the poor fellow. What's his name?"

"Evelyn Napier."

"Like I said, she can't love him." Adelaide went on, kicking the ball in a tight little circle as she went. Thomas leaned against a tree and lit a gasper. "I mean, she doesn't act like she loves him. You shouldn't marry someone if you don't love them, don't you think? It's mercenary."

"Hm, probably for the best. Not that common in the nobility, though, moppet."

She wrinkled her nose at his nickname for her but didn't say anything. Smug at having gotten away with it, Thomas went on carefully.

"Then again, not everyone can inherit a fortune."

She visibly slumped.

"I know, and it's not fair to judge." She huffed. "But still, she could have gone to school and gotten a job. Girls can become all kinds of things now if they want to. I'm going to be a veterinarian."

"Can't say what it's like not to have a job. I've had one since I was younger than Lady Sybil."

"Really?"

"Really."
"Do you like your job, Thomas?"

Thomas grinned. He couldn't have asked for a better opening than that, could he.

"It's one of the better one's I've had, though I don't know anyone that likes everything about their job." He blew a smoke ring. "Can't say I like having to listen to Mr. Carson when he gets longwinded about propriety."

He got a bright grin in response to his cheek. His other success had been stirring the uneasiness the girl felt around the butler. As comfortable as she was around Thomas, who was only a breath shorter, and Sir Anthony, who was taller, the girl had been skittish around Carson from the beginning. He could tell it was starting to hurt the old man's feelings. Thomas encouraged it with everything he had.

"He doesn't like my accent." Addie complained. "He's always making faces when I say something."

Truth was, Carson was trying not to smile openly in company when Addie did something cute. The old man had a soft spot for kids and always had. Not that Thomas was going to explain the fact that butlers and other help were supposed to be utterly stone faced when going about their duties. Why should he when it got in his way?

"I'm afraid that he shares the Dowager's opinion of America."

Adelaide Kavanaugh scowled.

Thomas considered his one current real success as having driven a wedge in between Miss Edith's grandmother and her little sister. The Dowager clearly hadn't intended to upset and offend the little girl upon first meeting. It had been a dig at Cora and part of a longstanding game that had started it. Thomas had just cheerfully kept it going when Addie had taken it personally. It was beginning to rile Edith as the Dowager took offense and started picking at her to 'bring the girl in line'.

"Their loss, hm?"

"I don't know if you'd like Maryland, but you'd probably like New York. I never cared for it. I think you'd melt in Texas, though I think it's lovely fun." Addie offered before perking up. "I asked Addie if you could come to France with us this summer, and she said we'd have to wait and see, but that usually means yes if I keep at her."

Thomas couldn't quite keep himself from smiling at that. France had a lot to offer. He did note the change, though.

"Not Paris?"

"Sir Anthony says it's loud and the air's bad and it's more expensive than its worth." She explained avidly, her face lighting up. "He said we should go to Gascony because nobody goes but it's lovely, and that there's a town on the coast called Île de Ré that he liked too, and he said La Rochelle is very pretty. Onkle and Omma are working out where they want to meet us, now. Omma's being a little difficult because she doesn't like to travel, and she really likes to argue with Onkle Klaus."

"Sir Anthony Strallan's an expert travel guide, now?"

Thomas was suitably doubtful. The man wasn't called the most boring in Yorkshire for nothing. What he was trying to work out was why a child sensible enough to like him was so enamored of the old man.

"Sir Anthony is wizard."

Thomas gave her his most skeptical eyebrow and she huffed at him, and then immediately made her case.

"His German is perfect."

"Hm."

"He speaks a bunch of other languages too, and he and Edith like to talk in French. I've learned a few words too now, but not enough to know." She went on, now kicking the ball gently towards him and carefully intercepting it, only missing the catch now and again. "He's been all over the place. He even went to Russia once, though he didn't like it much."

"Was it winter?"

"He's not Napoleon."

Thomas nearly inhaled his cigarette and laughingly put what little was left of it out with the heel of his shoe on a bare spot of ground near a tree.

"Too tall."

"He said that they don't treat their people right." Thomas raised his eyebrows at her serious expression. "That the factories are dirty and there's not enough food and when people disagree with the government they get shot or sent away to horrible places in Siberia."

"He said that to you?"

"Sir Anthony," The serious expression continued, and Thomas found himself listening as her tone suggested she was conveying something of great importance, "always listens. When I ask him a question, he explains."

"That's good." Thomas could give grudging approval for that. The man had never been rude to the staff, either. His valet, Stewart, thought too much of himself in Thomas' opinion but that was neither here nor there. "So, he explained about Russia?"

"He explains a lot of things. Like how tractors work – though Edith already told me that even though I asked her to stop – and lambing cycles and things."

"Good to know."

Adelaide stopped and picked up the ball, fiddling with it for a moment before Thomas found himself surprised and caught by the sad caution in her blue-gray eyes.

"He reminds me of Adrian, a little, but not a lot."

"I thought I reminded you of Adrian."

"You do, but a little of James too. Sir Anthony's not much like James. He was more like Matthew is." His charge kept turning the football over in her hands. "James was kind, but he liked being right and he liked arguing. He went to Harvard for business. Cousin Matthew's like that."

"And Adrian went to be a doctor." Thomas prompted and watched as she nodded, then turned to look out over the sculpted landscaping around the Abbey.

"Adrian fought hardest to keep me alive when I was born. He always wanted to take care of everyone, but – but he had a way of kind of watching too. Like he was afraid of what people were really thinking and had to get ahead of it. He got more like that when he got older, but he didn't hide things from me."

Thomas felt a pang, something between regret and jealousy. He didn't think of his father. His sister, well, he hadn't heard from her in three years. He supposed he was due for a Christmas card or something.

"Must be a nice thing, having a brother like that."

"It was." She swallowed. "Jamie was the best, too. He'd always help – but he thought he knew better. Sometimes Edith does that. Adrian was – was good at listening. You're good at it too and – and thank you, Thomas."

"What for?"

"For being my friend." Her earnest words left him wrongfooted. "I know we pay you, but I think of you as my friend, first, even though you're old."

"Older."

He corrected automatically and the moment, whatever it had been, passed. She laughed and kicked the ball towards him. He intentionally kicked it over her head, so she'd have to chase it. Then, thankfully, he checked his watch, and it was time to take her back up.

He'd specifically taken her, at Edith's request, out of the way of the hunting party currently tearing around the countryside. Being fascinated with the horses and taking them carrots and such was fine. Learning to ride was possible if she gained a bit of muscle. During a hunt it was plain dangerous. Now it was time to turn her back over to her sister and prepare himself for the dinner service.

Pushing whatever tiny cinder of guilt was trying to burn inside himself, Thomas Barrow reminded himself there was plenty to look forward to. He was the Turkish Envoy's valet of the moment, and everyone knew what Orientals were like. Pamuk was a handsome man. He was sure there'd be plenty of entertainment to be had for the evening, for all involved.

Edith was cursing herself for a fool as Sir Anthony carefully helped her into the house.

"I'm so sorry, Sir Anthony. You shouldn't have to miss the hunt-."

"Nonsense! Lady Edith-."

"Edith, oh my goodness. Are you alright? What happened?"

Edith winced as Cora rushed into the room and shot her aunt a pained and embarrassed look. She was leaning heavily on the baronet, and he had an arm braced around her waist as she kept her right foot off the ground. It was bare, her riding boot long gone, and a handkerchief was wrapped around the instep, thickly marked with blood.

"My horse threw a shoe and when I stopped to check on it, I managed to step on the nail." Edith offered her best apologetic smile. "Don't worry, though, the horse is fine. Anders came out and got it directly and-."

"Edith, I'm sure the horse shall be well-looked after. It's you we're worried about." Cora huffed and moved forward to take her from her current support. "Thank you so much, but I'd hate to see you spoil your hunt."

"Not at all." Sir Anthony insisted, his tone awkward as he seemed reluctant to give up the grip he had on Edith. Or, well, she hoped that was it. "What I mean is, surely any gentleman would do the same. Shouldn't we get Lady Edith upstairs to her room?"

"Oh, yes, and we'll call Dr. Clarkson."

"Really, it just needs to be cleaned out-."

"This is not up for debate, Edith." Cora huffed, looked at the stairs, and bit her lip as she turned towards the butler who'd just arrived on the scene, adding to Edith's mortification as he took in her rumpled clothing and bloody bare foot. "Carson, call Thomas, he can carry Edith upstairs."

"No need, Lady Grantham."

Edith had a bare moment of realizing she was moving and then she was farther up in the air than she should be. There may have been squeaking. Either way, feeling unbalanced, she threw her arms around the nearest support. It just happened to be Sir Anthony's neck. Turning, she found herself nose-to-nose with the baronet, pressed against his chest as he held her.

Anthony Strallan was a big man. When he kissed her hand or held it, his hand swamped her own. When she looked him in the eye, Edith had to crane her neck a little. Now, wrapped in his arms and held like she weighed nothing? She felt herself flush and her heart race and she was desperately confused as he trundled up to the stairs with her aunt fussing gently over her and Carson trailing awkwardly behind them before he recalled his instructions to call the doctor.

Either way, she felt a deep pang of regret as she slid from his arms into her bed, and Edith realized that her fondness for Sir Anthony Strallan had certainly progressed further than friendship.

"I'll excuse myself to change as well, if you'll forgive me, Lady Grantham. Would it be forward to join the ladies in the drawing room?"

"Oh, certainly not. I'm sure Sybil and my mother-in-law shall be happy to host you." Cora replied. "Thank you very much."

"Yes, you – you always seem to be looking after me." Edith found she had to say something as he began to retreat. "I must be a terrible nuisance."

As she watched, his eyes fixed on hers and he flushed, that awkward, sweet half-smile of his pulling up one corner of his mouth.

"If so, you're currently the dearest nuisance of my acquaintance, Miss Edith."

Blushing and studying the black material of her skirt, noting with irritation that she didn't even like riding or riding habits, Edith utterly missed the sharp look that Cora directed first at her, and then the retreating back of the Baronet.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sir Anthony Strallan was disappointed when Miss Edith didn't come back down for dinner. Evelyn Napier was a decent enough chap, but he was young and largely interested in attempting to romance Lady Mary. Likewise, Lady Mary was more interested in having a blatant flirtation with the Turkish fellow than she was with the future Viscount mooning for her.

Given where he was seated, Sir Anthony had little chance for conversation. Thankfully, the food was excellent. He could, at least, speak with Lady Sybil and she was everything charming, if barely out of the nursery.

Makes you feel like even more of a cradle robber, doesn't it, old man?

Anthony tried not to pay attention to that little voice in his head, but he did feel a bit wrongfooted now. His intentions had originally just been to look into Miss Edith's welfare. He'd been afraid she'd be stifled and unhappy in Downton. He'd been afraid she'd be crushed by her reception in society – or rather, her lack thereof. He was worried about her little sister's health.

Instead, he found the Crawleys making a sincere effort for their prodigal daughter. Even Addie was slowly warming to most aspects of her new life. It was an immense relief, and he should have drifted quietly back to his books and his farm and his quiet life in Loxley.

The only problem was that he didn't want to. He wanted a wife. Something he'd known before, that had teased at the back of his mind when he admitted to himself that he was lonely. Still, Edith was young enough to be his daughter. Surely, he should be looking elsewhere. Diana was enthused about her, however, and he was hardly upset she'd befriended the girl when she needed friends and he'd asked his sister to in the first place, but…

You want her old man. You like her. She makes you feel.

The truth was a bitter pill sometimes. Anthony looked in the mirror every day and found a man with a slightly receding hairline that was progressively more washed out a shade of blond every year. What did he have to offer a young woman of Miss Edith Kavanaugh's resources, brilliance, and beauty?

Anthony, stop being ridiculous. It's not a man's job to decide what a woman wants. His mother's voice intruded on and quickly chided his demons into full retreat. It was that cherished and well-remembered logic that had left him hopeful. If Lady Edith liked his company, well, who was he to argue with it? He could just… put himself in her way and let her decide, couldn't he? She'd certainly been happy enough to see him on the ship, and then just as much in Downton. She'd invited him to tea twice independently of her relations. Both times he'd joined her and her little sister for a lovely interlude of conversation and laughter in the afternoon.

"Sir Anthony?"

He was jarred from his thoughts just as he took a sip of water and was forced to cough into his napkin when he inhaled rather than swallowed. Once that embarrassment was over and he was back in order he shot an apologetic look at his hostess and cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, Lady Grantham, I was lost in thought for a moment. Please forgive me."

"Entirely." She smiled with all the grace she oozed wherever she went. "I was just thanking you again for taking care of Edith when she had her little accident."

"What happened to Edith?" Lady Mary finally tore herself away from her flirtation to ask. "I told her not to ride today. God alone knows when the last time she was on a horse was."

Lady Grantham frowned and Lady Mary went on in a slightly less mocking tone.

"What I mean is, she could have asked for a few lessons first. Did she fall off?"

"Her horse threw a shoe, Lady Mary." Anthony felt the need to defend her as more eyes and ears turned to the conversation – and the young lady's absence. "Miss Edith hopped down quite ably to check on the animal but had the misfortune of stepping on a nail."

"Poor Edith."

"Yes, Mary, it must have hurt to have that cleaned." Sybil shot her sister a look and Mary shot one back that seemed to indicate that there was less sarcasm and more effort to be kind in the exchange than Sir Anthony could hear.

Uncharitably, he noted that Lady Mary Crawley wasn't well known for kindness, so it likely was taking her some effort to muster it up. If it didn't come off on the first try, well, he probably shouldn't blame her. Probably.

"That is most unfortunate, but it's one blossom lost from the multitudes of Babylon." Pamuk commented smoothly, his eyes lingering on Lady Mary. "I must complement your household, Lord Grantham, on the beauty of its inhabitants. You are a lucky man to constantly find yourself surrounded by so many lovely women."

"Ah, well, we must all adjust ourselves to our lot in life." Robert offered up, though he immediately followed with a joke that made the part of Anthony's mind that normally handled unwanted diplomatic tasks cringe. "Then again, you're from an empire of harems, aren't you? Can't be all that unfamiliar with the concept of a house full of lovely women."

Perhaps to the rest of the table, Kamal Pamuk's laughter and easy smile was nothing but charming. His riposte was perfectly calculated to amuse a British audience. The young Turk followed it up with several clearly false stories of life in Istanbul that were well-plotted to engage and enthrall a European audience while assuring them of their superiority. Anthony wondered if they'd been written out by a diplomatic team before the young man had left, or if he had a natural gift for lying and ingratiating himself with others.

"Ah, Robert, could I have a word with you before I go?"

After dinner and drinks and mingling, Anthony had a headache. He'd spent too long trying to socialize with too large a group of people with whom he had nothing in common. Now, he just wanted an escape. He'd even let Stewart drive them home.

"Ah, is it about that fence? Because you can come by any time to sort that out. It's rather late now."

"Yes, I agree, too late for fencing."

"Very good, I'll see you soon then. Day after tomorrow? Thank you again for helping with Edith. She does get herself into scrapes."

"Well, that could have happened to anyone." Anthony tried to get things back on track. "Have I mentioned my brother-in-law, Archie, before?"

"Hm, Chetwood? From cricket all those years ago. Sybil's mad about your sister, you know. I'm half-cross you introduced them. She's been sending Sybil more suffrage papers – as if we need more of that in the house."

"What? Well, Diana's something of a force of nature. You know how sisters are."

Lord Grantham let out a deep breath and nodded emphatically, and Anthony went on, hoping he hadn't hit too close to home with that one.

"Still, I do apologize for anyone my baby sister flattens in her enthusiasm, but Archie's in the diplomatic corps."

"I remember you mentioning something about that once."

Anthony could have cheered. He could move this along.

"Yes, well, when Lady Crawley invited me to join the hunt, I put that new telephone I got to use, and he passed on some news about Mr. Pamuk."

"Did he now?"

Anthony finally smiled as the earl's blue eyes sharpened a bit, and the baronet lowered his voice as he cast his eyes across the hall at where other members of the party showed no indication of going to bed soon.

"He's something of a lothario, and a rather indiscriminate one, I gather. It might be best to… keep a close eye on his quarters and their placement. If you take my meaning."

It was a bit old-fashioned, true enough, and Diana would huff at it to some extent. That said? The communication that passed between Sir Anthony Strallan and the Earl of Grantham in that moment was perfect in its understanding. Clapping the taller man on the shoulder, the higher ranking of the two lowered his voice and smiled with just a hint of teeth.

"Message received, Strallan, and my thanks."

Nodding his head and clapping his hat back on it, he walked down the steps and sank into the back seat with a grateful nod to his valet.

"Home, Stewart, and neither of us shall need to be up before nine."

"Very good, sir."

Closing his eyes and leaning his head back, Anthony hoped his headache would be resolved as easily as the Turkish Envoy had been handled.

"Carson?"

"Yes, my lord?"

Robert Crawley met the serious gaze of his butler and once again thought how good it was to have loyal help. There was a reason the world was ordered as it was. Change as things seemed to, some things needed to remain the same, surely. Loyalty had to be one of them.

"Who've we got acting as Mr. Pamuk's valet and where did my lady settle him?"

"Thomas, my lord, and in the third room in the bachelor's wing."

Well, that was fortuitous. You'd all but need a map to find your way from the family wing to the bachelor's wing in the dead of night if you weren't intimately familiar with Downton.

"Very good. Tell Thomas that if he can keep a closer eye on his charge than normal tonight, he can have an extra half-day this month."

Carson cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I'm sure that Thomas will be happy to handle that request, sir."

"We'll consider it settled, then."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Edith, Edith, wake up!"

"Hm?"

"Edith, somebody died!"

Edith's brain was a little fuzzy. Dr. Clarkson had given her something for the pain and to help her sleep the night before. Now, at Adelaide's terrible pronouncement, Edith jolted awake. Shoving the eiderdown away and erupting from the pillows, she turned frantically towards her sister.

"What, who?"

Edith swung her legs around as Addie scooted back down off the bed, her flannel nightgown rustling around her. She didn't have her dressing gown on or her slippers. The part of Edith's mind that was getting used to fussing for that automatically took note.

"Mr. Pamuk!" Addie was bouncing on her toes, high strung with the excitement and upset of it all. "I went out to find out why everyone was rushing around, and O'Brian told me to stay in here and was rude about it."

"Probably because you weren't properly dressed, Addie. That's very important here." Edith reminded her, and very gingerly put her foot down.

"Dr. Clarkson said to stay off your foot at least until tomorrow."

Edith huffed but dragged herself back onto the bed. Then, after a moment's thought, dragged Addie with her.

"I want to know what's going on!"

"I do too, but I'm stuck here and nobody's going to tell you anything."

"Thomas would tell me."

"He probably would." Edith allowed, not even trying not to be charmed by the friendship her sister had ended up developing with the prickly footman. It was almost as cute as the fact that she kept calling Sir Anthony wizard. "He's also likely busy right now and it's not fair to give him more work."

Addie acknowledged that with a small, frustrated noise.

"Sybil, however, will talk to both of us." Edith tapped her sister's nose. "However, you can't go running about the halls to find her until you've washed up and dressed. Come in here after and I'll fix your hair."

Her sister was off like a shot, leaving Edith to fret.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anthony called on Downton Abbey the next day to find it in a state of descending chaos. Clearly the chaos had reached its peak somewhere in the morning hours. In the early afternoon it was slowly returning to normal.

"Here to discuss the fence?"

"Actually, I called to see how Lady Edith is doing."

"Oh, fit and fine, but Clarkson's ordered her to keep the foot elevated for a day or two. No sign of infection or anything like that, Thank God, and the nail was brand new so no worries about tetanus. Don't know how it ended up where it did." Robert neatly brushed off the injury while listing all the ways it could be horrendously serious, causing Anthony to frown. "That said, Matthew's here and I'd like to show him how gentleman handle things like border fencing. Frankly, I'd be delighted just to have a normal problem like border fencing even if he wasn't here. You don't mind?"

"Of course not."

Anthony did. He hadn't come to help give lessons to Robert's heir or to set the man's mind at ease. That said, it would be churlish to refuse. He agreed and lost an hour plus going over property lines, the history of said fence, who was responsible for it, labor costs, and so on. In the end Robert agreed that the fencing was his responsibility. Knowing the value of compromise and that the Crawley family's wealth was more modest than many assumed, Anthony offered up some extra fencing materials he already had on hand to reduce the cost, and they shook on it.

"May I ask what happened last night that has the place in an uproar?"

Anthony's primary fear, that infection or worse had set in from the nail in Edith's foot, had been alleyed already. He was, however, curious. Edith did live in Downton. They were neighbors and this was his county as well. He'd hear the gossip whether he wanted to or not. Diana would be miffed if he didn't ask and get it for her when the opportunity presented itself.

"Yes, I suppose you'll hear about it anyway. Dreadful business." Robert rubbed a hand over his face. "That Turkish fellow you warned me about made a nuisance of himself without ever leaving his room."

"How?"

"He died in his bed."

Anthony felt his eyebrows climb and Matthew Crawley let out a derisive snort.

"Well, he had a little help doing it." At Anthony's startled expression, the young man added. "Napier and Dr. Clarkson looked through his things. They found cocaine and some opiate in his luggage, and it looked like he used both right before he turned in."

"Found dead of a massive heart attack at twenty-five, brought on by an overdose complicated by alcohol and settling in for a night of… self-abuse." Robert reddened and wrinkled his nose. "Not only does my house now have to deal with a dead foreign diplomat connected to some sheik but the man was found naked as the day he was born!"

Anthony bit his tongue to keep himself from correcting Robert. The ottoman empire did not use the rank "sheik" as far as he knew. That was hardly material.

"You have my deepest sympathies, Robert. A terrible way to repay your hospitality." Anthony meant it. "How are the ladies holding up?"

"Mary's beside herself." Robert winced and Matthew Crawley found his cufflinks deeply fascinating in a manner that required both close investigation and furious scowling. "Though, for her sake, I'm glad he's gone before any damage could be done to her reputation. I hadn't noticed until you mentioned it, but the flirtation was out of line."

"They've taken him off, though?"

"Yes, yes, the body's been handled. He's at the undertaker's and someone from their embassy is coming down as well." Robert grumbled. "Now all we can do is sit back and wait for the latest scandal to blow over. Sybil isn't even out yet."

"Perhaps when she debuts, they'll find a dead Russian hanging from the chandelier like a penny dreadful."

"Matthew."

Anthony held in a huff of laughter but caught the younger man's eye enough to effectively disrupt any potential mitigation of Mr. Crawley's humor.

"Well, I won't disrupt the ladies further." Anthony stood with regret. "I imagine they're distressed enough as is."

"Oh, they'd probably welcome the visit as a distraction." Robert laughed ruefully. "If they don't, I do. Last time I left Edith was doing the necessary research via periodical to remake her wardrobe, and her poor sister has effectively become a dolly to dress up. I fear for the family finances if my wife and other two daughters are left to their own devices with all this fashion-talk."

"Well, in that case, perhaps a quick visit."

"Good show, man, and thank you." Robert settled back at his desk. "Matthew and I have a few more things to look over, but Carson can show you up to the girls' sitting room. Edith couldn't manage the stairs and didn't want one of the footmen to carry her down."

Anthony excused himself carefully then, taking heart from the fact that the earl made no comment of his carrying Edith to her room the day before.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Edith had no idea what was going on, but something clearly was. Mary was back in the worst sort of mood, had been picking at everyone that morning. She'd even tried to set her claws into Addie before Edith let her know in no uncertain terms that wasn't happening. Thankfully she'd had Sybil as backup, so it hadn't turned into a row; just Mary stomping off furiously.

"You know, I normally like dogs of all genders, but Lady Mary is testing me."

Sybil, who'd taken just a second to work out what was being said, burst into laughter.

"Adelaide Katherine Kavanaugh!"

Addie winced and shot a look at her sister as Edith let out a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Edith, that was rude."

"Yes, dreadfully."

Edith knew she shouldn't, that she had to stop letting Addie get away with disrespecting Mary the way she kept doing. Normally it didn't matter because Addie and Mary barely saw each other, but it was wrong. Until this morning, Mary had been making something like an effort. The problem was that Edith felt like the worst type of hypocrite when she did! After all, most of the insults Addie was repeating were ones that a younger Edith had cheerfully used to describe Mary Crawley to the impressionable young girl for years.

"Addie, you do understand that Mary and I both did things to hurt each other. That it's wrong to keep going at it like this when we don't have to, don't you?"

"Yes, Edith."

"So, what are we going to do?"

"Not do it again."

Edith wished she believed that, but she didn't know what to say when Addie was so contrite. It left her with a bitter taste in her mouth. Not to mention the feeling she owed Aunt Cora an apology. As if summoned by thought, the countess swept into the room carrying several more magazines.

"Here we are girls, O'Brian had these and I thought we could talk hair and – where's Mary?"

"She got her nose out of joint and left, Mama." Sybil replied and hovered half-out of her seat. "Should I go find her? She's been upset and I can't blame her. She was obviously sweet on Mr. Pamuk and now he's dead."

"Yes, it's dreadful, but I think Mary would probably appreciate some time alone to work through it." Cora replied smoothly and Edith was pleased enough by Addie's comfort with her aunt not to notice the tension behind it. "You know how your sister likes her privacy."

"When she doesn't absolutely need every eye in the whole world on her, yes." Sybil agreed and Edith decided it was time for a subject change.

"I think I need to consider that I'll be spending a good portion of the summer somewhere on the French coast, Mama."

"Oh, right, the visit!" Cora enthused. "You're making me jealous. It's been ages since your father and I traveled."

A rap on the door distracted them all.

"Sir Anthony Strallan." Carson announced with just a hint of disapproval at having brought the gentleman up to a private ladies' sitting room on the second floor.

"Your Ladyship, Lady Sybil, Miss Edith." He greeted them all with perfect, if awkward, civility, warming visibly when Addie hopped off the sofa to come over and claim his hand in an enthusiastic childish shake. "Miss Adelaide, how do you do?"

"I want to go outside, but Thomas is busy, and Edith can't."

"I'd love a walk too, if you don't mind, Mama? I could take her out."

"Of course, Sybil."

Edith felt a rush of relief even as she felt suddenly nervous sitting in her chair wearing one of her simplest day dresses and with her hair loosely pinned at her nape. She had no idea, of course, that the gentleman was admiring the way the simple cut of the dress emphasized her figure or the way her hair formed soft wavelets and framed her face when it wasn't rigidly controlled.

"Sir Anthony-."

"Would be happy to take a turn around the grounds later but did come to see if your sister was well."

"Oh, yes." Addie blinked as he neatly filled in her sentence for her and, to Edith's mystification seemed… very satisfied with that. "Good. Come on, Sybil, you need your hat and I have to find the football."

"You need a hat and your coat too, Addie!" Edith called automatically, then blushed as she thought of what an old nag she had to sound like. When she looked up, however, that crooked smile was directed at her again. "Won't you sit down?"

"I'll ring for tea." Cora rose gracefully from the sofa and Edith smiled as the tall baronet settled into the chair opposite her in front of the fire.

"I do hope it's not too painful?"

"Oh, the cleaning of it was dreadful, now it's more like a toothache." Edith complained, embarrassed, then went on before he could look more bothered by it. "Not that it's bad, really, just annoying. I'm terribly embarrassed by it. You should have just left me there to limp back. I ruined the hunt for you."

"Truth be told, Miss Edith, I'm not overly fond of hunting. At least not riding."

She looked at him in surprise and he smiled back.

"The company, however, was – well, it was worth the indignity of it."

Edith found herself coloring happily and wondered if she hadn't been imagining things. Sir Anthony was so much older than her. He'd seen the world. His family wasn't as highly placed as the Granthams, but it wasn't like she was actually a Lady, was it? She'd already seen on two continents what being a bastard meant. If the money her father left her saved her from the worst if it, it didn't save her from all of it, and the way he'd just… just hadn't cared from the beginning had seemed too good to be true. The idea that he could be so much older, so much more experienced, and still see her as anything but a foolish girl… well… she hated to hope.

"So have you decided where you're going to spend your time in France this summer, Miss Edith?"

"Oh, right now we're back and forth and probably will be until the very last moment, but Île de Ré looks like the most promising venue we can get Mrs. Bauer to agree to."

"Yes, Sir Anthony suggested it, didn't he?" Cora rejoined them gracefully as tea was brought in and they settled in place.

"I was fortunate enough to travel quite a bit in my youth."

"Yes, I hadn't known you were in the Army?"

"Very briefly, Lady Grantham, nothing like your husband's service." Anthony demurred. "And it was a rather awkward thing. I volunteered to do my bit to help with a diplomatic matter then found myself, well, requisitioned. Maud and I were just married, and it was quite difficult to be separated like that. Especially as I was already master at Loxley."

"Really?" Edith was surprised. "I thought you were quite young during the Boer War?"

"Well, erm, no, actually." Now he looked embarrassed. "I was closer to thirty than not and my… well, my entry into the Army was a bit sideways."

Eager to rescue him from Cora's very polite inquisition, Edith changed the subject.

"Still, whatever the reason, it seems you're always rescuing me from either bad company or myself."

"It's entirely my pleasure." He joined in changing the subject. "I believe you'll love France, however. Especially when you get outside of Paris. As many subjects of fascination as the city has, there are entire worlds to explore in the countryside that most people never see."

"I know, you said such lovely things about Gascony."

"Honestly, the first thing I'll always think about regarding that region is the food." The older man laughed. "I gained twenty pounds traveling through there, and I'm not young enough to lose it as easily as I did then."

"All the more reason to take Addie there!"

"You've done wonders for her." Sir Anthony's praise washed over her like warm water at the beach; a gentle wave, purely refreshing. "Am I wrong, or has she gained weight? I know she's not nearly as pale as she was on the ship."

"She's gained nearly eight pounds in the last month." Edith bragged in a rush of relief. "Though I can't take credit. Mrs. Patmore's been a godsend in figuring out things to suit her taste. Not to mention sending a little of this and a little of that up almost randomly. It turns out she'll eat more if you don't try and make her eat much at a time. Though I should give Thomas credit for that discovery – though he's certainly benefitted from it!"

"Thomas?"

"One of our footmen." Lady Cora interjected with obvious approval. "I'm not quite sure who's taken who under their wing, but he's doting on her like Carson used to do for Mary."

Edith swallowed that old jealousy and told it to leave her alone.

"He's really wonderful with her and doesn't mind the extra duties or rambling about the grounds with her and carrying about biscuits and ginger candy to tempt her with at odd times." Edith snickered. "I do have my suspicions of how the food ends up divided as he never brings anything back."

"Ah well, a grown man in a demanding job like that, he likely works up the appetite." Sir Anthony was equally amused. "Though, if you don't mind me asking further about your plans…"

And another half-hour was spent in lovely conversation about the shaky travel plans for the summer. Edith was waiting on Addie's grandmother to make up her mind. Klaus Bauer was a professor of Chemistry at the University of Salzburg, the first in his family to graduate university institution. He was perhaps five years younger than Sir Anthony and a tall, lean, man with Addie's coloring.

His mother was a baker's daughter and a devout Catholic. She wasn't enthusiastic about travel. She was still refusing to discuss her late daughter's career in the theater. She did, however, care for her children and single grandchild. Not well-lettered, she seldom wrote, but all her son's letters included some additional advice his mother had asked him to tack on. She occasionally shipped socks or scarves she knitted to both Addie and Edith, and she'd been described by everyone who knew her as a quiet, gentle woman. Edith was as curious about her as about Onkle Klaus and his often-hilarious letters regarding his students' hijinks.

Finally, Sir Anthony excused himself and Edith sat in the warmth of the fire and was sorry to see him go.

"So, you seem very fond of Sir Anthony."

Cora's words brought blood rushing into Edith's face, but it was the caution in her expression that surprised Edith.

"He's a lovely man, Aunt Cora."

"He is," Cora Crawley's cautious, caring, condescending tone immediately sent a frisson of unhappiness up Edith's spine. It was quickly followed by the finely tuned knee-jerk outrage of a child who never has her parents' approval. "However, he is very nearly your father's age."

"I had plenty of attention from young men in University, M- Aunt Cora." Edith replied, struggling to keep her tone level and only ending up sounding prim. "It's not got much to recommend it."

Cora pounced.

"Yes, well, boys sewing their wild oats and being rowdy at university is one thing. A young man with prospects and responsibilities a few years older is something else. Look at Cousin Matthew or Mr. Napier."

"Neither looked at me once, so I don't see why I should."

"Edith, they're hardly the only options."

"I'm not interested in exploring my options, and if I was, I can explore them capably on my own." Edith's temper was getting the better of her. "And I don't see much point in this conversation."

"Well, then, we'll finish it later when you're not so out of sorts." Cora wasn't backing down and smoothly stood up and pressed a kiss to Edith's cheek before she could move. "I just worry for you, you know, you're young."

Edith was left sitting on the sofa, seething, before she decided to hobble over to her desk and at least get some work done. Waspishly she noted that she had more to do than plan tea parties and arrange flowers. She had a degree and Mary was right about one thing; she wasn't using it. Getting out a sheet of paper she composed a letter to her man of business and another to the solicitors. There was still a lot to organize for the trip, after all, and it was only four months away, and she and Sybil had been talking about that magazine article last week…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"We could use the waif."

Thomas Barrow was halfway through his complaint about not being able to get to the bottom of what happened to Pamuk and Daisy's bloody recalcitrant behavior with him when O'Brian cut him off. The impatient look that followed was not pleasant. He scowled back.

"She may be a child, but she's part of the Family and Daisy never even sees them." O'Brian explained as if to a simpleton. "Miss Edith would be the best choice, but she's just avoiding Lady Mary. They're not really quarreling, despite the cold one's best effort. You've done a fine job making the girl hate Lady Mary. She's perfect for this."

For the barest second Thomas considered it. It would be easy. Miss Edith still hadn't found a maid and the moppet wasn't in school yet. He spent at least a couple hours a day with the girl, and she considered him a friend. It would put the Lady Mary in a bad position, so it was good odds that Addie would do it even if it wasn't a favor to him.

"Are you really fine, Thomas?"

A pair or big gray-blue eyes, almost the same color as his, looking up into his in the morning after Pamuk's death. Using her allowance to get peppermint candy when she rode into Grantham with Branson on errands later that day, even though she didn't like it, but knowing he did. Thomas Barrow was working towards an advantage with the Kavanaugh girls, but at the end of the day?

"No."

He wasn't going to repay kindness like that. Lady Edith was one thing. She was fine, but she never went out of the way to treat him like he mattered. The extra pay was just business. Lady Mary was as bad as any of them; she deserved what she got. The rest of the Granthams, so high and mighty and better than them, who cared? The girl, though?

"Why not?"

"Because I'm working towards something bigger than whatever's went on with the Turk." Barrow huffed. "Carson still scares the moppet."

"And whose fault is that?"

Thomas smiled, but O'Brian wasn't so easily distracted.

"I notice you've got a pet name for her, too. Anyone tell you lately that she's not your sister? I wonder how fast you'd be told not to get near that child if they knew everything there was to know."

Thomas froze and glared. O'Brian might have guessed about his proclivities. That meant nothing. There was no proof.

Then again, who cared about proof? Lady Edith was wretchedly protective of the girl. Her household was also his chance, finally, to move up from a lifetime spent as a footman. If anyone could spend a lifetime as a footman. They were supposed to be young and decorative. How much longer did he have? He should have been a valet years ago. He'd earned it.

"And I wonder how fast you'd be back to Ireland if anyone heard you speculating on when she'd expire?" Thomas replied and got a sharp look and then a falsely nonchalant shrug in return. "Leave it. We'll find another way to lean on Daisy. If worse comes to worse, there's always his Lordship himself."

"That could not possibly end well." O'Brian muttered but looked speculative before snuffing out her gasper and heading back into the house with him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What is that?" Addie was the first to ask aloud as they all looked at the smoothly gleaming piece of automotive machinery sitting in front of Downton Abbey.

Mr. Edward Branagh of Branagh, Murdock, Fythe, and Long, got out of the auto and smiled up at those gathered on the steps. He opened his mouth to answer but was beaten to it by the reverent voice of the Crawley's Chauffer.

"That is the Bugatti Type 22. Three-seater, vinet body." Branson's accent thickened with appreciation as he spoke. "Top speed eighty miles per hour, though with proper tuning it can do better, and it's handling is considered some of the best there is."

"Entirely right and utterly wasted on me. I drive like someone's aging grandmama."

The man's crisp vowels were rather at odds with his plain way of speaking, but the solicitor had a way about him that set you at ease. It was exceedingly useful in financial negotiations. Which, of course, were ninety percent or more of this particular solicitor's job.

"Miss Edith, I hope you're well."

"Where on earth did you get that and – and why, Mr. Branagh?"

The short, stocky attorney was dressed in a modestly expensive and very nicely cut suit that did nothing to hide that he needed to lose about sixty pounds. Bright brown eyes looked out of a slightly florid complexion and his upturned nose gave him a slightly porcine look. Despite that, his broad smile was welcoming and even gentle as he walked up to kiss Edith's hand and gently ruffle her little sister's hair.

"A last gift from your brothers. Purchased in France just before they went home."

Edith's throat closed, and it was Addie who blurted out the truth of the matter.

"But they were supposed to get you something nice at Cartier in Paris! Daddy said so when he wired them the money!"

"Oh, he's going to kill them." Edith muttered automatically at the thought of their collective father's reaction to that kind of money spent on a motor car.

The silence that followed started as tears and ended as laughter, with Edith and her sister sitting on the steps, handkerchiefs clutched to their noses and eyes, as they laughed and cried at the thought of this last gift and how much trouble it would have caused everyone. Silently, Carson directed the truck that had followed the car to unload the two large steamer trunks and eight solidly built crates that had come with them. Cora gently ushered Mr. Branagh into Downton with a promise of tea, keeping a careful eye on the girls as she closed the door. She was wise enough to know when not to intrude and Edith was more grateful for that than she could say.

After more tears, Edith took the car around herself. It was early in the morning and damp, and it was an open top vehicle. She was also simply not ready to really face the joy and the pain of it yet. Mr. Branagh, bless him, got right to business.

Sitting on the sofa in the library with the ladies arrayed across from him and the Lord and Lady Grantham sitting in, the solicitor made quick work of the matter.

"I don't have an inventory of either of their trunks, as it didn't seem my place to disturb them, and they arrived with their original locks intact after being held by a reputable agent." He explained as he removed a neatly typewritten sheet from his case. "However, I do have a full inventory of the crates."

Edith took it and read over it, Addie looking over her arm, but the solicitor made a loose verbal inventory as he spoke.

"One of the seven crates is some excellent wine and spirits. Two are art collected on the continent. The first is paintings, the other is small decorative items. Mostly gathered for resale in the States, I believe."

"Jamie." Addie whispered softly, sniffling. "He bet Daddy he could make money off his year abroad."

"He did." Edith swallowed hard.

"The other four are mostly gifts." Branagh's face softened further. "There's a great deal of French silk and lace. Russian furs. The bulk, however, are books. A few of some antiquity that your brother James found in Italy."

"Probably meant to be part of the bequest." Edith explained to the room without thought. "Father left most of his library to one of Carnegie's projects. We took our private books with us, but father had collected some beautiful medieval manuscripts and early printed works."

"Well, I'm not sure precisely, but if anything fails to match that sheet of paper, send word to the office immediately and I shall raise all kinds of very warm difficulty in France, if you take my meaning."

"Thank you, Mr. Branagh." Addie remembered her manners before Edith did and she echoed her sister.

"Yes, you've been very kind to work as hard as you did to help Edith get her brothers' things back." Robert Crawley rose and extended a hand. "Are you sure you won't stay for dinner?"

"An invitation I'm more than honored by, Lord Grantham, but I have a train to catch." He offered another smile. "Since I was coming North anyway, I decided to have a fishing holiday in Scotland. It's been ages since I've managed to go, and I felt it was about time. Once the summer term starts the house will be full of six rowdy boys and I'll be up to my ears just managing them. God knows my wife would be committing perfectly justifiable homicide if I abandoned her at that point."

"Six sons?"

Edith ignored it as the earl gaped and the solicitor shrugged.

"My wife kept wanting to try for a girl." He offered a sheepish smile. "I have been officially declared a disappointment as breeding stock. We're left to hope for granddaughters."

"Well, gracious, when it rains it pours?" Cora laughed slightly and the solicitors accepted her gentle dismissal and saw himself out, accepting a ride to the train station courtesy of the Crawleys.

"Edith?"

Edith jarred from the gray space her thoughts had dropped her in, looking up from the list in her hand and at where her sister was kneeling on the library sofa beside her. Like this, Addie could look her in the eye.

"Yes, Addie?"

"You're not alright."

"No. You?"

Addie shook her head, sniffled and then bit her lip.

"You can tell me, Addie. You know I won't be mad."

"Can I look through their trunks first, by myself."

Edith felt her chest tighten, but it wasn't jealousy. Her twin elder brothers had accepted her completely and instantly. She'd never felt like less than their sister. She'd never had less than their love.

However, there was a special bond between the twins and her little sister. Adelaide was only alive because her father and two teenage boys had thrown themselves into keeping her that way. A bond forged by months of intensive care and agonized fear wasn't something that could be replicated no matter how deep the affection. If they'd doted on Edith because they could, they'd been like a second set of parents to Adelaide.

"Of course. I only ask that you don't take anything out except any of your letters or their letters to you until I've looked too, okay?"

"Can we look together, I mean, when you look?"

"I'd like that." And Edith would. The idea of going through her brothers' things alone was horrifying. "Are you sure you want to do it now? Are you sure you need to?"

Addie nodded, leaned over to kiss Edith on the cheek, and Edith drew her into a tight embrace. As Addie slid down from the sofa, a thought struck her. It felt right.

"Addie, you wouldn't mind if I went and took a drive alone for a while, would you?"

"No. I think they'd like it that way." Addie turned and looked up at her, her blue eyes earnest. "I want to be alone. Is that alright?"

"Entirely. Remember, I love you and if you need anything I'll be back soon."

Edith kissed her sister on the cheek again and turned to follow her sister up the stairs. Addie could wait to look in the trunks now situated in their sitting room for a few moments. Edith would need to change for the kind of drive she wanted to take.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sir Anthony Strallan did not expect to take a turn through the orchard to clear his head only to find the subject of his thoughts on his front drive as he walked back to the house. There she was, however. Edith Kavanaugh, wearing a long black skirt underneath a black jacket and a bright green silk scarf tied firmly over her hair, was just sliding from the interior of a gleaming black torpedo of a car. Three bright red leather seats and a bright red leather wheel gleamed under the weak Yorkshire sun, but it was nowhere near as bright as the brittle smile that she offered him when she turned towards the sound of his shoes on the gravel drive.

"Sir Anthony, forgive me for dropping by unannounced."

"Nonsense, all the best surprises are unannounced. However, I can't help but thinking that's not the practical family automobile you were discussing the purchase of a few days ago."

She let out a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh and groped in her coat for a handkerchief. Alarmed, he lengthened his strides.

"I say, are you alright, Miss Edith?"

"I'm fine, better than really, just…" She let out another watery laugh and dabbed her eyes. "They bought it for me, you see."

"They?"

"My brothers. The twins. Daddy wired them an ungodly amount of money to buy me some terribly expensive parure in Paris and instead they bought me this. It – it just came over from France with their other things and our solicitor dropped it off this morning."

It was well into the afternoon.

"And you just felt up to taking it out now."

"No, I've been out for ages. I had to stop at the petrol station and barely made it, though it's all topped up now." She looked up at him and through the unshed tears in her eyes, the brandy brown of them looked incredibly vulnerable. "I know we were talking about you taking me out motoring in your new Rolls, but I thought that. Well, what I mean is I rather found myself here and thought I'd offer to take you instead?"

It was all terribly unorthodox. They didn't have any kind of chaperone. This wasn't a closed situation, such as the ship, where he would be looking after her. She had come to get him atop all of that, and she was clearly distressed.

Anthony Strallan had never been delivered so meaningful a compliment in his life.

"Let me get my coat and hat."

"You might want to hold onto that hat. This thing goes a terrific lick."