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).

6. Chapter 6

Author's Notes: The story carries on and Edith and Anthon finally have a good talk. Things are revealed that were secret, and logic is given a little exercise.

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.

SPECIAL THANKS go to the Classicist, who has built a wonderful fanon family for Anthony. Diana, her husband and children, as well as Anthony's parents belong entirely to her.

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"Canapés should make up the entirety of dinner." Addie suggested uncomfortably into the tension at the table as the entrée made its appearance.

It was something to do with pheasants, sauce, and herbs on the fine porcelain.

"Oh?" Sir Anthony smiled at her and Addie poked unhappily at the fowl before her with her fork before squaring her shoulders at her sister's look.

She had promised to try and eat a little something of everything that came out. Ignoring it would not only be the height of rudeness to the kitchen staff, and you never wanted to offend your kitchen staff since they could put things in your food or spit in it if they were mad at you! It was also, as Edith had rightly pointed out, neither mature nor decent behavior. Addie wasn't a huge fan of propriety. Her Daddy and Mama had not raised her to be indecent, inappreciative, or wasteful, however, and she wasn't going to start now. Though it was awfully tempting…

"Aren't you enjoying your first real dinner, Addie?"

"The company, is first rate, Edie, but… isn't it a bit much?"

Addie lowered her voice and looked at both of the grownups at the table, then took a second, bite of the pheasant. It took a lot of effort, but she had promised. Daddy always said you must abide by your word, or you weren't worth anything. She was already feeling all bloated and full and the sauces and rich meat just tasted greasy even though she knew they had to be very good… Addie took another bite, then another. She had promised. That was all there was to it.

Besides, for once, food wasn't the most difficult challenge she was facing at the table. She thought that big fancy dinners must be incredible fun. If not, why would the adults insist on them all the time? Instead, she was rapidly realizing that they could be their own kind of ordeal. Things were not as they should be.

"Hm, well, at Loxley we do generally save the full ten courses for special occasions."

"And this is a wonderfully special occasion, isn't it?" Edie added, smiling at her.

Addie noted, worried, that it didn't reach her eyes. Her sister also kept smoothing her skirt and fiddling with her napkin. Edith had beautiful table manners. They were even better than Mama's had been, which was why Mama had jokingly put Edie in charge of making Addie and the boys "behave" at meals after she'd come to live with them. Addie didn't remember all of it that clearly; she'd been quite little. She did recall more than enough to know that, after some initial hesitancy, Edith had gained plenty of confidence in that regard. Her sister had never hesitated to correct Addie's etiquette at the table, and she'd gotten very good at twisting one of the twins' ears if they decided to forget their manners.

So, it was significant that her sister was fidgeting even the tiniest bit. Addie had never known anyone, until she'd met the other Crawleys and Sir Anthony, who seemed to have such rigid control over everything they did in certain situations. Not at all times. Sir Anthony was a bit nervous and fidgety himself, sometimes, and it made her like him all the more. Likewise, she'd seen the Earl lose his temper, listened to Edith's grandmother say the rudest things as if she was somehow above basic courtesy, and Lady Mary was forever acting like a cross barn cat, unless she wanted something. Addie knew she could be a bit spoiled at times, but she thought Lady Mary took the cake (and ate it, too). Really, out of the lot of them, only Sybil and Lady Grantham really acted like ladies most of the time…

All of that was beside the point. The point was that Sir Anthony was actually so totally normal that Addie felt a little off about it. Not because he wasn't acting the way that he always was, or that anything about the nice old fellow felt wrong, but because Edith's behavior cast it in an entirely different light. One moment her sister was coming over all in her blushes and smiles like she normally did for her beau, the next moment she was nervous and upset and trying to hide it behind a fake smile. No, something wasn't right, at all…

"It's not my first trip to the continent, Edith. We were here just a few months before you came home." Addie pointed while trying to act as if everything was alright even as she cut an uncertain look back and forth between the two adults.

"It is your first trip to Paris, though, hm?"

"Yes, Sir Anthony. Last time we came up through Italy."

"Ah, and did you enjoy that?"

"I liked Venice."

Addie decided not to admit she didn't remember much of the trip. Not beyond Omma and Onkle Klaus and playing in the snow. She had been awfully young.

"What was your favorite thing about it?"

"The canals."

That was also the only thing she remembered about the city. Well, not quite.

"Daddy got Mama a gold bracelet with little charms on it shaped like seashells at this shop that was under a bridge between a church and a kind of little palace. I have it, now." Addie added, noting in relief that Edith relaxed a little as she kept talking. She flailed around for something else to say. "Edith's only ever been to England and France, not counting the States, I mean. Have you been to Venice?"

"I have! And Milan and Rome and many other places in Italy as well. The art and culture is really amazing, though it's best if you can arrange a native guide. Always remember, Addie, that it's nothing but hubris to think anyone knows more about a place than the person who calls it home."

"Daddy always said that people think Texas is one big desert, but they're silly because it's such a big state and they don't appreciate all the mountains in the northern part, or the long hills where Daddy was from, or the coast. Mama liked the coast a lot, but Daddy disliked the mosquitos and the alligators."

"I agreed with Katherine about the alligators." Edie shuddered and held both her hands up, her tension seeping away as she smiled and demonstrated. "They could get positively monstrous. There was this one that had to be fifteen feet long living in the swamp that the rental house we stayed at during my first visit. Its head was this wide."

"Jaime and I named him Mortimer."

"You wouldn't think it of a reptile, but alligators are tremendously noisy."

Addie felt the need to defend Mortimer and his species.

"That was only because it was mating season!"

Addie dimly heard some gentleman behind them stifle a laugh but recalled her manners enough not to turn about to look for the source of the noise.

"Adelaide!"

"What?"

"What have we said about appropriate dinner conversation where zoology is concerned?"

"But you were talking about gross or odd biology." Addie protested the unfairness of Edith's scolding. "This isn't anatomy or dissection. It's an entirely different thing!"

"I would imagine crocodilian reproduction is, but let's not discuss it at dinner, hm?"

"Well, I mean, if you don't want to, of course." Addie looked over at Sir Anthony and then back at Edith. "I just, if it's not allowed, it should be on the list."

"There's a list?"

"Yes, Sir Anthony, there is a list." Edith's tone said everything Addie needed to know about grownups being ridiculous.

Why sound tart about something as sensible as a list of things one should or shouldn't do? She'd shown Thomas the list. He thought it was a fine idea! Besides, lists were excellent ways to keep track of things. Addie knew both her sister and the baronet liked lists in general. Why this one was a source of humor, she could neither say nor wished to.

There was a pause as the entrée was disposed of by the polite waiter in his immaculately pressed white waistcoat and white gloves swept away their plates. Addie had cleared nearly half of the food from her plate. She shot Edie a look, hoping to have the effort acknowledged, but Edie was back to looking at Sir Anthony and trying to pretend she wasn't.

The sorbet, which was just a single little football shaped morsel of icy, lemony, goodness was far better than the pheasant had been. After eating it her stomach felt a little less queasy. She concentrated on the food, for once, and waited to see if now Edith was going to go back to acting like herself again; maybe it was all nerves for wearing a fancy new dress around her beau?

"How have you enjoyed Paris so far, Miss Edith?"

"Oh, well, we've seen the zoo and I took Addie through some of the better parks." Edith smiled in a thin way that didn't reach her eyes and left Addie uncertain enough that she decided against finishing the sorbet despite enjoying the tart bite of the icy palate cleanser. "We're hoping to get to the opera house for the ballet, maybe a concert, but mainly we'll spend the week at the museums or shopping. It's mainly for the shopping we've come, and we'll only be staying a week."

"Before going on to Austria?"

"Yes, of course."

It was then that several things occurred to Adelaide Kavanaugh at once.

First, Sir Anthony didn't seem the least bit surprised that they hadn't rushed straight to Salzburg.

Second, he wasn't surprised that Lady Mary wasn't with them.

Third, there was no way he should have known either of those things. Not when Edith had written him a letter explaining things a bit more that he couldn't possibly have gotten yet back in England. Not when Lady Mary's everything was a big secret because if it wasn't they'd treat her even worse than some people treated Edith. Certainly, not when Addie knew for a fact that the last time Edith had talked to her beau the tall blond man had been told that Omma had been hurt and they had to go straight to see her.

Had Adelaide Kavanaugh been older she probably would have joined her sister and the baronet in slightly awkward pretense. Ten-year-old children raised in happy families weren't known for their ability to dissemble. Social pretense was not a skill that Adelaide had cultivated, nor would it ever be the strong suit that it was with those members of the British Aristocracy she'd fallen in with. As such, age and prior conditioning led the first thought in her head to popping cheerfully out of her mouth without proper filtration.

"Sir Anthony, Edith didn't know you were going to be here tonight, did she?"

Addie watched, her heart sinking, as the tall man who had been her own and Edith's first friend – and then far more than that to her sister – paused and set his sorbet spoon down with the slightest hitch in his movements, his expression concerned.

"Is something wrong, Addie?"

Addie turned and looked desperately at her sister, the same question hovering over her features as she sought reassurance. At that moment the waiter arrived with one of his fellows to flourish away their sorbets and present a great silver platter upon which a rack of lamb had been turned into a steaming crown. Stuffed with something savory and surrounded by a bed of roasted root vegetables in a gleaming brown sauce, the scent of the meal roast course hit Addie like a kick to the stomach.

"Miss Adelaide, are you quite alright?"

Addie swallowed roughly and looked up into a pair of concerned blue eyes. Then over at her sister. Edith's expression and attention twisted back to her and before she could say anything, Edith had a white-gloved hand pressed to Addie's cheek.

"Sweetheart, you're awfully pale."

The waiter, who was carving the dinner and distributing it upon plates with such panache, paused and looked momentarily unsure of himself as both adults turned their attention from him to Addie. Miserable and embarrassed, she tried to muster up a smile. Unfortunately, despite the room being cool, Addie was mortified to realize she'd started to sweat.

"I – I'm alright. We can go on. It's fine!"

Edith's expression, unsure or downright falsely cheerful all evening, cemented itself into one that Addie knew very well. A familiar stubbornness lit those honey-brown eyes and her sister removed her napkin from her lap. Like a white flag going up after a lost battle, the signal was duly received.

"Please do forgive us, but my sister is not feeling well." Addie turned to the waiter. "We will be returning to our suite now."

"Here, allow me to walk you up." Sir Anthony was already rising even as the waiter abandoned the roast and plates to pull out Edith's chair.

"No, please, stay and finish your dinner and forgive us for being horrible guests, Sir Anthony."

"I couldn't possibly."

"We-."

"Edith."

Addie had stood up on her own and the queasy feeling was worse. She really did want to get back to their rooms. A sudden horrible thought occurred to her and she clamped her jaw and swallowed firmly. She wouldn't throw up in front of everyone dressed so nicely in this great fancy hotel dining room. She simply couldn't.

"We're going, darling, come here."

Gratefully, Addie let her sister rest her hands on her shoulder and walk with her out of the room. Sir Anthony rose as well and slipped onto Addie's other side, his presence blocking out a great deal of people staring at them. Addie felt even worse. Her very first chance to have a proper grownup dinner with Edith in Paris of all places, and look how she'd ruined it!

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Mary's days were awash in the paraphernalia and systematic organization of all things medicinal. The first thing that had happened when she'd arrived at the private clinic had been a relief. The facility did indeed take privacy seriously.

The facility had once been a small convent but had been renovated and converted into the clinic some decade before. Mary's "suite" featured a single room with an attached bathroom featuring a white enameled tub, a toilet, and a porcelain sink. There was absolutely no ornamentation to be found as everything in the room was to be scrubbed in scalding water and the harshest abrasives as soon as one patient was exchanged for another. The flooring was white tile, the walls were white tile to Mary's waist, and above that they were white plaster that could be whitewashing equally regularly. There were not paintings or pictures hung and only a single mirror secured firmly to the bathroom wall.

The double bed – for comfort was important in some things – was brass so that it might be scalded as well. The bedside table was a heavily varnished wood that showed signs of frequent aggressive scrubbing. It matched the equally plain chest of drawers tucked against the wall opposite the door, in which Mary's civilian clothing was to be deposited after it had been scalded and put through some special steam treatment by the facility. Well, most of her clothing. All of her underthings, corsets included, had been burnt. Mary wondered if that was really necessary for hygiene or part of the rigorous effort put into maintaining the specialized physician's circus this all seemed to be part of. A veritable medical stage production, really.

Still, it was… reassuring. Cynically Mary might consider that the whole point, but she couldn't help feeling better anyway. The shapeless frock and utterly plain knickers she'd been given to wear were the least feminine things she'd ever owned. The cotton garments served their purpose, however, and it wasn't as if she was allowed to leave the room. She was supposed to be resting in bed and often that was all that she felt like doing.

Every three hours a nurse showed up with an enameled tray and a glass of water. A sandwood tablet was produced and Mary swallowed it while a notation was made on the chart hanging at the end of her bed. That was the least unpleasant aspect of her treatment and the little pills induced a kind of helpless, persistent nausea in her.

Mary was gaining quite the medical vocabulary. Potassium permanganate, Protargol, gold chloride, zinc sulphate, and silver nitrate – she was becoming familiar with them all! Why shouldn't she be when they kept injecting them into her body's most private recesses? Currently Mary was lying back in bed, propped up against a sufficient number of pillows, reading an insufficient French novel in a language she truly hadn't applied herself to learning as well as she ought to have in the schoolroom, and praying that the four-week treatment regime that she'd been sentenced to would both provide the cure she'd been promised and not go on a moment longer than it had to.

"Come in."

Mary was almost pleased by the knock on her door. It wasn't, as far as she knew, time for any medical intervention. That meant that it might be one of the other options she had for filling her hours beyond poor reading material. The clinic, while focusing on the medicinal, was run with the elite in mind. As such, Mary did have the option to seek out some beauty treatments while she was there. It was about the time she'd scheduled a manicure, and she found herself embarrassingly eager for the distraction.

Mary didn't recognize the woman at first. She was a petite blond in the normal gray dress and white skirt of the non-medical servants at the clinic. Then she set her book aside and the woman turned around to face her. Mary's gasp cut the air, leaving the tattered edges of panic to flutter in the fresh air coming in from the open window and its mosquito netting curtains.

"Anna, what are you-."

"I had to come warn you, Lady Mary, and apologize. I'm so very sorry."

"So sorry about – Anna, what has happened? What have you done?"

"Nothing! Or, as little as I could. What I mean is, I am sorry!" The maid, who had done so much to help Mary since that terrible mess with Pamuk, walked over hesitantly and then twisted her hands together, her sharply pretty face twisted in upset. "Lady Mary, did the woman I sent you to not help you? Did something go wrong? Are you alright?"

"I think I should be the one asking the questions here, Anna, what are you doing in France?"

"Sir Anthony sent your father a message."

"Wh-wu?"

Mary couldn't even properly articulate the word through her strangled horror. Anna had tears in her blue eyes as she nodded back helplessly. The maid, however, rallied and went on in a low, urgent voice.

"Sir Anthony called Lady-Miss Edith's solicitor; you see. The one who brought her the fancy car her brothers got her; God rest their souls. He told Sir Anthony that he hadn't told Miss Edith about Miss Adelaide's grandmother being hurt and he knew nothing of it, but he did know that she'd taken a good bit of money out. Apparently so did Miss Adelaide, and now everyone at Downton thinks you're being blackmailed!"

Mary didn't even hear the book sliding from her limp hands to the bunched covers folded at her waist. She didn't register as it dropped to the floor. She blinked in surprise and stared when Anna bent to pick it up, then held it out to her. As Mary failed to respond Anna put the book on the small bedside table and stepped forward, hesitating and then deciding not to take Mary's limp hands in her own. It would have been too great a breach across the great gulf in rank between them.

"Are you, Lady Mary?"

"Am I what?"

"Being blackmailed."

Mary shook her head and managed to clear some of the horror at Anna's fearful whisper.

"No!"

"Is Miss Edith?"

"No, Anna, no-one is being blackmailed. Is – do Papa and Mama think that's why I left?" Mary felt a wave of hope build and crest in her breast as she leant forward towards the blond. "They don't think it has anything to do with me?"

Anna bit her lower lip and shook her head.

"They think someone found out about Mr. Pamuk and that's what the blackmail is. Lady Grantham, she – she told your father, you see."

The wave crashed down and destroyed everything in its path, flattening all hope.

"No, she… no, Anna, tell me she didn't."

"I can't, Lady Mary." Anna looked miserable. "I wasn't even there when it happened. I'd taken my half-day and got back just as – well. I got back in time to find out that we weren't as stealthy as we'd hoped, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Daisy saw us carrying him back when she went up to tend the fires. You, Lady Grantham, and me, I mean."

"Oh, dear God, did she tell anyone?"

"Mr. Carson, Mrs. Patmore, and Mrs. Hughes."

Mary covered her face with her hands in horror. Her father knew. He knew her shame, he knew all of the dirty, sordid details. What was worse even, in a way, was the idea that their butler knew. It had been Mr. Carson who'd calmed her in her tantrums as a child and played hide and seek amidst the state rooms with Mary. His immense dignity happily abandoned to play games with Mary when she was lonely or upset and the father and mother she adored were as distant as any parents of their class were expected to be.

"I know it seems bad, Lady Mary, but we none of us will think worse of you for it. I know what men are like. We all do."

Mary stared and just shook her head, refusing to speak and unable to in her horror. Anna was going on quickly, anyway.

"My lady, I must tell you all of it quickly."

"There's more? Anna, how could it possibly get worse?"

Anna stared at her with quiet misery, and Mary had to strain to hear her answer.

"What?"

"I said that Lord and Lady Grantham were afraid that if they followed you suddenly people would – would talk. If they complain about you and Lady Edith leaving like it's just youthful high spirits and how girls act now and all, well, that maybe people wouldn't think it was something worse."

"So, they sent you to spy on me?" Mary glared furiously at the servant she'd trusted with so much. "Did you tell them about it?"

"No! I didn't mention your particular discomforts, Lady Mary, I swear it!" Anna shook her head violently and her hands was clasped in front of her apron in a white-knuckled grip. "You've got my word, my lady, that I never did any such thing. They didn't even want me along, but I badgered Mr. Crawley into taking me so that-."

"Mr. Crawley?"

Mary's anguished whisper wasn't so much strangled as suffocated. She couldn't get any air into or out of her lunges in horror. Anna looked at her with her head bowed and her shoulders slumped, a picture of misery.

"He convinced Lord Grantham to send him, Lady Mary, since he's least likely to be missed being a solicitor and not so social yet."

"Then he knows?"

"About Mr. Pamuk, not that you're… Lady Mary did – did you have to…?"

Mary sat back, the rollercoaster of emotions coming to a stop in a fog of numbness. She shook her head dumbly. Faintly, she heard herself answering in a calm voice.

"I was never pregnant. Pamuk infected me."

"Oh, no."

"Quite… thankfully it can be cured, as horrible as it is."." Mary swallowed roughly and sent breathed roughly, turning and putting her feet upon the floor as she stood from the bed to take Anna's hands. "Anna, please, please tell me that he's not here. How – how did you find me, anyway?!"

"Sir Anthony found out, Lady Mary."

"What?"

"He found out, ma'am, and told your father. You know how they have a telephone at Loxley already? Well, he called home from Portsmouth and Mrs. Walsh delivered a letter to your father the very night you left."

"How?"

"What do you mean?"

"Sir Anthony is – is – he's the most boring man in Yorkshire!" Mary burst out, starting to limp about the room in an uncomfortable sort of pacing as she wrung her hands, her voice now slightly raised in agitation. She needn't worry about being heard, after all, the walls were immensely thick stone, and the doors had a layer of cork sandwiched between hardwood boards. "All the man does is fuss about with his estate, go to the occasional concert, and dote on Edith and that brad. And he's only been doing that the last few months! He's never done an interesting thing in his life and blunders through what he does do! How could he possibly… Anna!"

"I don't know, Lady Mary, but he did."

Mary grappled with confused anger for a moment before fear took over and sharpened her focus. The knife came down on what served as calm. She swallowed and sent a tremulous look at Anna, who tried to be quietly encouraging.

"If it means anything, my lady, Sir Anthony did say he'd helped. I don't know what, but apparently he did something to… muddle up whatever paper trail or whatever you and Miss Edith left behind, so that nobody could track you again the way that he did."

"Thank you for warning me. At least I'll know what I'm going back to face at home now, but – but you said you came with Mr. Crawley? Is – is he with you now?"

"No, but he will be shortly." Anna looked guilty. "You see, the spa wouldn't tell him anything – that's where we looked first – but when I went in and pretended to be your lady's maid, they spoke to me."

Mary vowed to write the most scathing possible letter to the manager of that spa when this was all over.

"I see."

"But I didn't tell Mr. Crawley." Anna winced. "Or I tried not to, my lady. He's really a very smart man."

"Yet another reason he's unsuited to hold a title!"

Anna let out a strangled, half-formed noise that might have thought of becoming a laugh once in its brief life. Mary just sat down and fisted her hands in the bedding beneath her as Anna went on.

"I know I should have given him the wrong name for this place, but I didn't think of it. I did tell him the wrong station and then left him on the train when I got out at this one. He'll probably be right behind me, though."

"Oh, God."

"I'm so sorry, my lady. I know it's not enough, but I did my best."

Mary put both of her hands over her face and just breathed. After a moment, she rallied enough to swallow the tears she refused to shed and meet Anna's anguished gaze. That's hardly fair, after all she's done for you…

"Anna, you've done nothing wrong. If this is anyone's fault, it's mine."

"I would think Mr. Pamuk deserves more credit than that, my lady."

Anna's pert tone and sharp judgement prompted a rough laugh from Mary before she shook her head.

"Don't speak ill of the dead. In fact, let's never mention him ever again."

"Happy to, my lady."

"As for Mr. Crawley." Mary reached for the room's bell and pressed the little enameled button on the wall. "Well, we'll… we'll think of something. Goodness knows he's not getting past the front desk without an invitation!"

"That's very good, my lady."

Silence fell as the brunette and blonde stared awkwardly at each other for a moment. Then Anna cleared her throat.

"I saw your brush on the sink, ma'am, would you like me to see to your hair? I've got some pins here with me in my pocket. I always carry a few, just in case."

Mary, who'd been forced to wear her hair in a utilitarian plait since arriving blinked and felt, for a second, just a bit more like herself despite the shapeless shift she was wearing and the terrible medicinal odor emanating from her own body.

"Yes, Anna, I think you should."

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"I'm sorry, Edith…"

"Shh, not another word. You didn't do anything wrong."

Edith soothed her sister as she knelt in her fine evening gown beside the toilet in the marble tiled water closet just off of their suite's sumptuous bathroom. She'd stripped off her white gloves and had curled one arm underneath her sister's shoulders, across her chest, and was supporting her weight. With her other hand, she held the dark auburn masses of hair out of her sister's face as Adelaide sweated and shook, vomiting up the unusually large portion of dinner she'd put away earlier.

"This is my fault. I shouldn't have made your first grownup dinner public like this. The food is so rich – we should have tested it first in privacy. I'm sorry, Addie."

"No, I thought I'd – I didn't think… it's not your fault."

"Shh, it will be fine. I'm not angry."

Heaving, Addie sniffled loudly and carried on until she was spitting up bile. Edith, so focused on her sister, had barely noticed when Anthony had followed her into their suite. She'd been too preoccupied at first, calling for Barrow and trying to get Addie into the bathroom in time. She'd failed at the latter.

She'd been surprised and disappointed on the first front, as the butler was nowhere to be seen. She'd dismissed him for the duration of their dinner, however, so she couldn't be angry. Well, not with Barrow. With herself, certainly. She should have known better.

"No one is angry with you, Miss Adelaide."

Edith almost started at the sound of the baronet's voice and looked up, surprised, to see that he'd doffed his black coat at some point and his tie and cufflinks were missing. They had to be, as he'd rolled his sleeves up well-past his elbows. For a moment, despite Addie's suffering, Edith was utterly occupied by her first sight of the muscles corded up Sir Anthony Strallan's forearms, and the thick dusting of golden hair covering it all.

"But I ruined everything." Addie whined weakly and Anthony tutted at her.

"Pish and tosh, young lady."

In his black trousers, white waistcoat, and crisp white shirt, Sir Anthony knelt on the bathroom floor. In one hand, he held a one of the crystal glasses that went with the brandy decanter that stood on the suite's liqueur cabinet. Edith saw that Sir Anthony had filled the glass with water as he set upon the floor. In his other hand was a wet flannel. As Edith held her sister's hair, Sir Anthony tenderly wiped her sister's face.

"There we go, my dear girl, doesn't that feel better?"

"Y-yes."

"Let's try to have a drink, hm?"

When Addie shook her head at his coaxing, Edith jumped in.

"Just rinse your mouth out, then, Addie."

Showing an exquisite gentleness that contrasted with the sheer size of his hands, Sir Anthony supported Addie's forehead as he held the glass to her lips. She managed to rinse her mouth out and Edith coaxed her into taking a couple of cautious sips of water. When that stayed down, Edith gently helped her sister stand. Addie immediately began listing slightly.

"Here, I've got her."

Edith might have refused, but she didn't have time. She found herself holding the glass as Sir Anthony swept her sister slowly up into his arms, making sure Addie was alright as he did so. Her sister wrapped her arms around the tall baronet's neck and, suddenly, Edith was fighting back tears as a memory of her brothers assaulted her.

Adrian and Jamie were back from university and Katherine had just died. They had Addie, so miserable, mourning her mother, and even more difficult to keep fed than usual. On top of that, poor Daddy overcome by grief… Edith remembered so many times when, just like this, she'd found herself and Adrian thrown together taking care of Adelaide while James, ever the most outgoing and brash of Zachary Kavanaugh's children, had worked with all he had to keep his father from collapsing into despair as he buried his second wife.

"We're sharing a room." Edith immediately led the baronet through, too focused on necessity and her sister's misery to think of propriety. "This way."

The room was everything a very nice suite at the Ritz Paris could be expected to be. The wallpaper was exquisite. The rugs were Aubusson. The bedding was the finest Irish linen and silk-encased eiderdown. Edith ignored all of that as she turned down the covers and her sister was lowered back against the pillows. It was as she reached for her sister's shoes that some measure of propriety reasserted itself.

"I need to get her changed, Sir Anthony. I – thank you very much, but I think it's best if I handled things from here."

"I hate to leave either of you right now. Are you sure that we shouldn't call a doctor?"

"No doctors!"

Addie, who'd seemed half-asleep with listlessness, rallied enough to show some hoarse outrage and Edith, for once, agreed with her.

"No, I don't think a physician unfamiliar with her history would do us any good here."

Edith had been frightened and confused by Anthony's sudden appearance. Through the meal, however, other emotions had intruded. Distress and embarrassment were predominant, but they were not all she felt. She was confused at how he'd managed to find them. She was more than a little angry that he had followed him.

In that moment, however, it was hard to feel anything but a rush of compassion and affection at the worry lines that had deepened around his eyes and mouth. Not for herself, but for his genuine concern for her little sister. From the first moment they'd met he'd cared, not only about Edith, but about Addie. So many men ignored children and discounted women, yet she'd never felt ignored, belittled, or as if she didn't matter to the baronet. Moreover, around him she never felt alone, and she had felt so terribly alone since that ship had swept her whole family away.

"Really, there has to be something I can do? You speak of history. Is this common?"

"M'right here." Addie complained and Anthony paused, and then turned and took her little sister's hand. His knees cracked as he knelt by the bed to address her at her own level.

"I'm very sorry, Miss Adelaide. That was terribly rude of me."

"S'alright. I'm sorry I ruined dinner."

"You did no such thing, and I don't want to have to say it again, Miss Adelaide, so let's not hear that again, hm?"

"But-."

"Not another word about that, young lady, or I shall be cross with you. It's no-one's fault that they're taken sick."

"I'm not sick, it just happens." Addie protested, sniffling. "It's my fault. I should have stopped when it smelled bad."

Anthony shot her a concerned look and Edith shook her head and reached down to smooth her sister's hair.

"Well, you needn't worry about it, Addie. We'll get you changed, you can rest, and you'll feel better in the morning."

Reluctantly, the baronet accepted this as the dismissal it was, and he rose, but not before patting Addie's small hand between his own.

"Miss Adelaide, you and your sister were lovely company this evening and I am looking forward to many dinners together in the future. So, I hope that you won't worry one moment about that."

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Sir Anthony paused, lowered his voice, and nodded towards the sitting room. "I'll be waiting."

Edith nodded, distracted, and as soon as the door closed behind him applied herself to getting Adelaide into her nightgown, reassuring her that she truly wasn't upset, and then tucking her in properly. As often happened when a meal took her badly, her sister curled up tightly on her side. As was also common, Adelaide fell into exhausted slumber immediately.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anthony Strallan was pacing worriedly in the sitting room of Edith's suite when she finally emerged from the bedroom. Still wearing her gorgeous dinner dress but rumpled past her earlier immaculate loveliness. His heart clenched as he watched the single compressed line of worry pressed between her brows and the way she flattened her sweet lips in unhappiness. He was crossing the room to meet her halfway before he consciously thought of moving.

"How is she?"

"Sleeping. We'll keep her on broths and thin gruel tomorrow and she'll be herself by the day after."

"So, this has happened before?"

"Yes, but not in months. Oh, what was I thinking?" Edith balled both her fists up in the overskirt of her dress and then flung it away from her, pacing away from him to pull aside the curtain and stare angrily out the window. "I know how she is and it's my job to take care of her! What do I do? I drag her across a continent with no warning, spend a day running hither and yonder, and then stuff her full of a ridiculously rich meal just on the principle that she's been doing so well lately everything will be fine! As if that ever works out in life!"

"Oh, my dear girl," The affectionate words tripped off his tongue without thought even as he smoothed his hands in an awkward fidget over the thighs of his trousers, trying to work the need to fidget and move and reach for her out. "you shouldn't speak of yourself that way. You've been a wonderful guardian to your sister, and she adores you."

"Yet she's laying in that bed, miserable, all because of something I did!"

"Has she never eaten that much as a sitting before?" Anthony frowned and tried to think about how much he'd seen the girl eating, and then shook his head. "No, I know she has. That may have been a great deal for her to eat, but I've seen her eat as much or nearly so. Recall the picnic we had in April in my orchard? She put away a good bit then, and we both know she's gained weight since you've brought her home to Yorkshire. You can't blame yourself for a fluke occurrence."

"That's more to Mrs. Patmore's credit than mine. She's who cooks everything-."

"And who has tirelessly worked to find out what your sister can and will eat? No, Edith, I won't have you castigating yourself like this. I know for a fact you sit down with your family's cook every day to plan meals for your sister, just as your mother does for every other meal, and you've gone to a great deal of trouble to stay informed via Thomas. Which includes recruiting the footman in the first place."

"Yes, but… Anthony, she's hurting!"

Anthony realized, with a jolt, that just as he'd forgotten himself and addressed her by her Christian name with no "miss" attached, she'd done the same to him and left his rank behind. He wasn't sure how to respond. Was he heartened and hopeful at the sign of attachment and intimacy? Or was he concerned at how upset she was? Well, of course you're concerned. You're always concerned, but…

Edith seemed to remember herself then as she turned from the window, dropping the curtain, to face him. Her lovely golden-brown eyes fixed upon his bare forearms. Anthony felt himself flush as he realized he had forgotten to put his jacket back on or roll down his sleeves. He reached up to amend the mistake, but before he could stammer out an apology, Edith was speaking again, her voice low and tone tight with agitation.

"Anthony – why are you here? What you doing here and – you can't have gotten my letter so quickly?"

"Erm – I'm afraid not, no."

"Did you follow us?"

"Not… precisely."

"Excuse me?"

Anthony Strallan had been raised in a family that was, in some ways, very much like every Victorian family of his rank and station. His father had been very much the lord of the manor, who had supported and protected everyone within. Likewise, his mother had been a source of warmth and affection, the very heart of Loxley and its environs.

Lady Anne Strallan had also been an undisputed spitfire. A curate's daughter, she'd supported herself before marriage as a lady's companion. Her education, if not the most expensive, had been excellent and grown more so with a lifetime of extensive reading. She'd had a passionate interest in politics and increasing the equality and rights of women when it came to their position in the world.

While Anthony's Mama had adored her sometimes dour, controlled, and very Victorian husband she had been not a whit afraid to twit, tease, and even argue with her lord and husband by turns. While Edith's personality had, occasionally, reminded him of his Mama over their courtship they didn't have enough in common to make him feel uncomfortably oedipal about it, or to provide any particularly vivid reminders. At least until that moment.

While the way that Lady Edith stood up that much straighter and her thoughtful frown were entirely different from his mother's poster, her tone was spot-on. That was exactly the phrase and precisely the intonation that had served as a warning claxon in his childhood in Loxley. A sure sign that tall, intimidating Sir Phillip Strallan was about to get his verbal pants seat thoroughly whipped by his bubbly, vivacious, blonde wife.

In other words, Sir Anthony Strallan was in trouble, and knew it. Now was a time when his diplomatic experience and a bit of cool-headed quiet would have been helpful. So, of course, he channeled his Mama and babbled.

"What I mean is – to say – Edith – Miss Edith, I was terribly worried so I – I followed you a few hours later."

"You followed Mary and I to Portsmouth?" Edith looked at him in open-mouthed outrage.

"Er - Yes."

"But…" Edith clamped her mouth shut.

In for a pence, in for a pound, old thing.

"Edith, I – may we sit down?" Anthony asked hoping to get her to sit beside him on the sofa, where he could perhaps take her hands and soothe her clearly ruffled feathers a bit.

"Thank you, Sir Anthony, but I quite prefer to stand."

"Yes, of course."

The younger woman ignored his wince and her hands, which had been fidgeting with the filmy black beaded overlayer of her gown crossed in front of her chest, did not reach for his. Anthony, who had enough problems, quickly wrenched his eyes up out of her cleavage. He accidentally met Edith's eyes in the process and they both flushed in realization at what he'd been caught doing.

"Perhaps – I mean, we coul-should sit?"

Edith flustered out an offer that was more of a question and a moment later Anthony was occupying one of the sitting room's comfortable armchairs and Edith was occupying the other. He'd hoped to sit on the sofa, of course, together, and now found the table between them awkward. What else could he do, however? He leant forward slightly and cleared his throat.

"Miss Edith, perhaps I should just tell you precisely what happened after you left Diana's?"

"I think that would be an excellent idea."

"Yes, right, of course." Anthony swallowed and then cleared his throat. Recalling it again, he reached for where his dinner jacket was draped over the arm of the sofa, then realized it was pointless and he'd have to rise to put it back on, and simply left it where it lay. He did roll down his sleeves. If nothing else, it gave him two unsecured cuffs to fidget with.

"I was terribly concerned when you left, Edith. It was patently obvious that the tale about Mrs. Bauer falling was just that: a tale."

She said nothing and Anthony braced himself to go on.

"I was horrendously worried, Edith, that you were in trouble or danger brought your way by Lady Mary. It isn't, after all, as if she's shown you any affection or kindness. Her choosing to come to London without warning, to stay with my sister – with whom she has no acquaintance – and impose herself in Lady Sybil's place, was suspicious."

Anthony noted unhappily, but without surprise, that Edith was looking more disturbed and guilty with every word.

"You will forgive me, I hope, for I know I overstepped… but I called Mr. Branagh."

"You called my solicitor?"

"I called one of the estate agents who assists in your sister's care, your own funds, and who you had said had informed you of Mrs. Branagh's injury." Anthony rushed onward, leaning forward. "Edith, I give you my word that if he'd told me that he'd spoken to you about Mrs. Bauer I would be delivering you the most abject letter of apology possible now, but that isn't the case."

"You have no right to – to insert yourself in such a high-handed and totalitarian way into my private affairs!"

Edith had taken to her feet at that, her hands balled in fists at her side, and her face and chest flushed prettily in anger. There's that wonderful passionate temper, Anthony noted, feeling more than a little ashamed of himself at the flare of desire that sparked at the image, and yet not the least bit repentant for his actions.

"No, I do not. I would, however, do it again without hesitation." Anthony did not stand, having no wish to loom, but he couldn't quite resist reaching out and offering his hands to hers, palm out and open in supplication. "Edith, I know that Lady Mary got herself into some very uncomfortable trouble. You didn't obscure your arrangements with the spa or the clinic as well as you might."

Edith's anger faded into open-mouthed horror at the realization of just how much he knew. Anthony couldn't take it any longer. He rose and took her hands gently into his own, smoothing his thumb over her clenched knuckles.

"You needn't worry about some reporters sniffing about them, not now. I took care of matters."

"How? How would you even know how to go about it?" Edith demanded. "I took every precaution. I made sure other names were written down, not our own, and I had Thomas make most of the arrangements."

"Yes, but Mr. Barrow is a man of rather distinctive looks and mannerisms. His presence isn't the kind soon to be forgotten. Nor are fake names the best choice when obscuring such a thing. An entirely assumed name cannot often be traced back to an individual, making it an obvious ruse and all the more attractive to investigate for that." Anthony cleared his throat. "And it's best to avoid literary references. Those things are easily recognized by journalists."

"Anthony, how on earth would you even know that?"

"I've told you that sometimes I, well, take on a bit of this or that for the Diplomatic Corps." Anthony cleared his throated awkwardly. "Usually, it's simply a matter of my language skills being convenient, but sometimes it's because something needs to be said or, well, to someone or something must travel unobtrusively."

She was looking at him in a sort of surprise that was rapidly sliding towards calculated intelligence and Anthony smiled crookedly, hoping that realization wasn't the death-knell of all his hopes.

"It isn't, after all, as if I'm considered by most to be exceptional, memorable, or of any great consequence."

"Your short military career and the diplomacy you complain about Mr. Chetwood dragging you into… You were in Intelligence, weren't you?"

Anthony sighed and then looked down, his heart thudding against his ribs with pained relief as her fists unwound and she curled her fingers through his. When he took a step to the side and sank down on the sofa, she went willingly with him. Perhaps there is hope yet, old boy!

"For one dreadful year-and-three-quarters, yes, I was in military intelligence. They… called me up due to my language skills and a bit of mathematical work I'd done during my university days." Anthony pulled a face. "It was a matter of duty that. Sadly, it still drags me in occasionally. I assure you that I do not enjoy it, and it's not nearly so romantic as it seems. Usually, it's just a great deal of circuitous talk with politicians that comes to nothing or me wandering about with envelopes I never read, passing them onto more men who don't read them, so very powerful men can send each other painfully polite letters full of rude things."

"It sounds dreadful."

"Oh, it is… though it's a fine way to get the government to pay for one's travel expenses."

Edith huffed out a laugh and Anthony risked squeezing her fingers. He shouldn't have. She took her hands back and folded them demurely in her lap. He found himself staring at the crown of her head and the soft, sparkling little golden diadem worked into her hair. She smells of lilac…

"So… you know about Mary."

"Mr. Pamuk and she were not subtle during the hunt, and he was well-known for his promiscuity." Anthon cleared his throat. "I… trust the complaint is treatable?"

"Yes."

"I'm relieved for her sake."

Silence fell then and Anthony felt his nerves ratchet tighter. Finally, Edith looked up.

"That still gives you no excuse for following me all the way to Paris! Anthony, surely you realize why we've done this?"

"Yes!" Anthony leapt into the conversational opening and seized her hands again, sliding closer to her and startling her, but ignoring it as he took his chance. "Edie, Sweet One," the endearment slipped off his lips without thought as he stared down into her precious face, terrified he would never be so close to her again, "you had no reason to travel onward once you got Mary on your way. Yet out of nowhere you promoted a very young man to an unnecessary place in your household, took a Continental trip utterly out of character for yourself, and did it all after removing a great deal of money from the bank not only on your own, but through your sister."

"What?"

"Edith, whoever is blackmailing you, please don't try to carry on with this alone. I know it seems hopeless and you are trying to protect your family's reputation and your own via the connection, but this is dangerous! Desperate, despicable men such as this can't have anything put past them. Please, Sweet One, I love you. You must let me protect you!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Anthony, what in the world are you talking about?"

Edith was in a veritable tornado of emotions, and she wasn't sure what to do with half of them, let alone the full measure. Anthony's eyes had always beguiled her. She just could never think when falling into those gleaming blue pools. It was as if they bewitched her and she wanted to sink into him, like floating into cool water on a hot day. Being subsumed was your hope rather than your fear.

He loves me!

A little voice inside herself kept crying out in triumph. Cassandra, unrecognized beneath her curse, finally heard. He loves you! He loves you! He loves you! The battle cry of some triumphant pagan huntress having caught her quarry. Or, perhaps, a temple priestess to whom a cold golden statue had finally spoken with living breath.

Oh, but that didn't make her less confused!

"I want to protect you, Edith."

"Anthony, I'm not being blackmailed."

"What?"

Now he looked confused. Oh, well, even the playing field a bit.

"But, Edith, you came to Paris and – you don't even like crowded cities." Anthony was staring at her, his face pulled into a frown. "Well, I know you like London well enough, but you've always said the air isn't good for Addie's health. You agreed that Paris was overpriced and you're not one for extravagance. So – and you're trying to travel quietly."

"No, Mary needs to travel quietly." Edith shook her head, knowing her tone sounded a bit exasperated. "If I'm here, it makes for a good distraction, Anthony."

The baronet looked at her, chagrinned.

"Edith, you and Mary left together. If people are asking questions about you, then it only makes sense that they will lead back to her."

"Well, yes, but we've explained that. She's taking time at a health spa. It's very luxurious and will fit Mary's image perfectly."

"If Mary were a few years older, married, and recovering from some known upset or health issues, certainly, but Mary is unmarried, in perfect health, and has no reason to attend such a spa, Edith."

"Well, yes, but we needed something as a – a distraction." Edith felt herself getting flustered as Anthony, his tone kind, began to poke holes in what had seemed a perfectly good plan when she and Mary came up with it. "Besides, I'm young and every young woman wants to come to Paris for the shopping."

"Well, that's true enough, but why not take Mary with you?"

"Because I don't like her?"

"But you like her well-enough to send her to a health spa?"

"I don't know – Papa and Mama badgered me into dropping her off!"

"Your father and mother are taking the tack that you and Mary left without permission on a 'youthful adventure', Edith." Anthony now looked as exasperated as she sounded. "At least, publicly, that's their plan. To make light of it as youthful high spirits."

"But, why?" Edith stared at Anthony, taking her hands back. "Papa would skin himself alive before risking scandal. The quietest approach would be to insist that it's all according to plan!"

Anthony's expression softened and he reclaimed her hands, gently kneading them between his own, and warming them. Edith shivered. His hands utterly engulfed hers, were a bit calloused, and sitting so close she was very aware of his sandalwood cologne and the soft smell of peppermints and pipe smoke he always carried with him. It struck her, suddenly, how very substantial he was. How, for all his unassuming and gentle nature, he was… simply quite masculine in every way. She had no idea what to do with this knowledge, other than thread her fingers through his again.

"I think, Sweet One, that Lord Grantham has finally learned that there are more important aspects of family than reputation may encompass."

"A day late and a dollar short." Edith muttered, her one father's words tripping off her tongue to bitterly describe another and she flushed, looking away before she set her jaw and looked back. "Mary was dead-set against anyone knowing, especially Lord and Lady Grantham, and for once I agreed with her."

"And yet, without telling them, how could they possibly assist in your plans? Edith, if you are in trouble, you needn't try and protect me or them. I'm here to help you."

"Anthony, for the last time, I'm not being blackmailed! Perhaps it wasn't the best plan, but everything was going according to it until you showed up!" Edith huffed and stood, though she didn't pull away from him as he rushed to do the same. Glaring up at him, she squared her shoulders. "I sent you a letter explaining – not everything for most of this is assuredly Mary's business and nobody else's - and I apologized for not telling you the truth. If you'd just stayed home, you'd have it by now and would know that I'm not in any trouble!"

"Then why did you take so much money out of your surplus allowance account? Mr. Branagh was worried sick."

"Because I have no idea what it costs to send someone to a clinic for – for that!" Edith released Anthony's hands to throw up her own, then put them on her hips and clicked her teeth together in annoyance. "I put the excess back in the local branch here and it's worked just fine, and…"

Realization hit her as a detail she'd missed in wrangling with the man she was now glaring up occurred to her with a sudden chill.

"Anthony, did you say Addie had taken out a sum of money?"

"She badgered Mr. Branagh into giving her three-hundred pounds with the excuse of buying yourself, her grandmother, and her uncle expensive gifts."

Edith stared in shock as a horrifying thought occurred to her and visibly registered as a grim expression on Anthony's face at the same time. What if Edith wasn't the one being blackmailed?

"Oh, God, I'll wake her up immediately."

"No, just – just go check on her. I'll call a doctor."

"But she's-." Edith couldn't breathe. "You don't' think someone could have-."

"It's best to check."

Edith nodded and was halfway to the door, speaking over the pounding of her heart, barely able to hear her own words, let alone his.

"Yes, of course. The hotel should know someone."

"No, I have an acquaintance in the city. Edith, she will be fine, I promise you that."

Edith turned and rushed across the room, gripped by horror at the thought. What if her sister was hurt? Poisoned? Literally anything could be happening, right under her nose, and in that moment, Edith had never felt more of a failure, or more frightened than she did as she rushed through that door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anthony rang the bell and, in fewer than ten minutes, had secured the services of a telephone. While there were no doubt numerous doctors attached by some relationship to the hotel, Anthony had his own connections. Which, thankfully, included no few in Paris for all that it wasn't his favorite city. A quick exercise of his French later and he was back in the room, forgetting propriety as he strode into the bedroom and found Edith sitting with her sister.

"How are you feeling, Addie?"

"Sick and sleepy."

The little girl looked up at him plaintively, but with visibly less distress than she'd been in when she'd been put to bed forty-five minutes before. Anthony felt a wave of relief but didn't allow himself to become too prematurely convinced. Any number of nefarious things could have gone into her illness; not all biological sabotage was permanent in its effects. Thank goodness.

"Sir Anthony, Edie, I'm fine. I just ate too much and threw up. I've done it before. Lots." The girl made a face and rubbed a hand across her mouth. "I don't need a doctor."

"But this is a friend of Sir Anthony's, Addie."

Anthony saw she wasn't convinced and leant forward with a crooked smile he hoped would convince the girl to at least not attempt her usual subversive medical tactics. Not that he thought they'd be entirely effective in this case. Still, he'd watched her be obstinate and contrary with Clarkson, and the Crawley's usual physician was an entirely pleasant and sensible man. A child was more entitled to a bit of unreasonable behavior than most; especially those with bad past experiences.

"Quite, Miss Addie, and he's not a doctor in the normal sense. More of a scientist, really."

Addie perked up and Anthony rushed to capitalize on it with a significant look at Edith. She responded beautifully to the prompting.

"Really? You'd mentioned something about that, but I couldn't quite remember what it was."

"Oh, just that he works with medicines, you understand." Anthony went on blithely, using his habit of rambling to its full advantage. "You see, Claude is a doctor of quite a bit of skill, but he mainly concentrates on chemistry. He develops medicines you see."

"But I'm not taking any." Addie frowned. "And I'm not going to. Paregoric is horrible and it gave me headaches and made my digestion worse."

"Of course, you won't, Addie, or any of the other things that didn't work." Edie agreed instantly. "But you could at least talk to Sir Anthony's friend, couldn't you?"

"If nothing else, you might help him in his research, hm?"

"Well, yes, I suppose – what's your friend's name?"

"Dr. Claude Mercier." Anthony carefully smiled and was relieved to watch a touch more of the defensiveness drain out of the girl as her curiosity took hold. He shot a look sideways at Edith, who leant forward.

"Addie, I'm going to ask you a question. I want you to know I'm not angry and you're not in trouble, but I need you to answer me right now, alright?"

The comfort fell away and Addie sent her sister a concerned look from where she sat beneath the covers of the big, lavish, bed in her plain white cotton nightgown.

"Yes… Edie, what's wrong? Did something happen?"

"Addie, why did you ask Mr. Branagh for so much money to buy presents?"

The little girl's slender face fell into panicked lines immediately. She also, very definitively, said nothing. Instead, she just sat there, her expression of drawn panic fixed rigidly in place.

"Addie," Anthony pitched his voice as quietly and as gently as he could, "did Barrow ask you for the money?"

"Barrow?"

Edith's shock left Anthony with the distinct urge to use the kind of language his father would have given him a good thrashing for. Idiot, forgot to tell her, didn't you? He'd just had to get so caught up in the softness of Edith's hands and your own fear that you'd ruined her regard that you failed to pass on the single most important piece of information…

"Thomas is my friend!" Addie interjected, her voice alarmed and outraged.

"Mr. Barrow has, perhaps, not been entirely honest with you, Addie."

"That's not true!"

Anthony looked at Edith for assistance and found exasperation in its place. He knelt beside the bed. He found himself on the receiving end of an extremely distressed pair of steel blue eyes.

"Thomas wouldn't do anything to hurt me. We're friends and we trust each other." The little girl insisted. "I'm sure this is all just a terrible misunderstanding. Edith, tell Sir Anthony it's just all wrong. There must have been a mistake."

"I'm sure there has been, darling." Edith's tone was conciliatory, but her eyes were sharp. "If we don't listen, we'll never clear it up, though, will we?"

Two sets of expectant eyes turned towards him, and Anthony silently strung a series of words together across four languages that should have turned the air around his head blue by thought alone. Still, there was no clear way out of it.

"Mr. Barrow has a record with the police."

"What – but how?" Edith's eyes widened and her mouth formed a pink 'o' of surprise. "He's been at Downton for years and Carson would have seen him sacked in a blind second if he got whiff of anything to do with the police."

"Maybe he was innocent, and the police made a mistake?"

Anthony cleared his throat and cut his eyes towards Edith. She narrowed her gaze in return. He tried to think of some way to soften and obscure things for the child.

"I'm afraid that's very unlikely, Addie."

"But why not? Everyone makes mistakes!"

"Yes, but not this time."

"But why? What are they saying Thomas did?"

"I would like to know that myself."

Anthony shot Edith a pained look, but went on with it. He could hardly get out of it now. You definitely should have opened with this without the child in the room, old man…

"There was an old complaint from a school he attended on scholarship when he was a laid. Apparently, an older boy had a watch and a few others small valuables stolen. He was dismissed from the school and went into service at the previous Duke of Crowborough's household." Anthony cleared his throat. "When Michael Villiers died and Phillip Villiers became the new Duke, well, he promoted Mr. Barrow very quickly."

"Well, Thomas is ambitious."

"Very, Miss Adelaide."

"That's not a bad thing! Initiative is good, or at least it is in America. Tell him, Edith!" Addie, to Anthony's distress, was growing more rather than less agitated. Edith, looking grim, sat beside her sister and put an arm around her thin shoulders. "And all that happened a long time ago. Even if he did make mistakes when he was in school, it wasn't like he was even grown up or anything. People do really stupid things sometimes."

"They do." Edith agreed. "And it was a long time ago."

"Sadly, there were some… reports of a more recent nature." Anthony cleared his throat and went on as delicately as he could, catching Edith's eye to convey the significance of the matter. "There was a report of -."

A hurried knock on the door into the suite, followed immediately by someone opening it and multiple sets of feet stepping into the room was just the icing on a particularly unfortunate cake as Anthony found his attempt to speak utterly derailed.

"Miss Edith, Miss Adelaide? Mr. Stewart told me that there was a doctor sent for. Is ought amiss?"

"Speak of the devil." Anthony muttered.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Stewart had spent the evening growing more and more sure that there was something sinister afoot with Thomas Barrow. Mainly because he'd spent the evening tailing the man and he'd never seen someone act more perfectly as if they had something to hide than the younger man was acting. His every action was suspicious.

Thomas Barrow had been given an evening of leisure by his young employers. One that had Stewart more than a little exasperated. Not because it wasn't Miss Edith's right to handle her servants as she chose, but rather because of the general chaos that seemed to permeate the situation. It was entirely appropriate, not to mention more considerate than was normal among the upper classes, to dismiss a servant to enjoy themselves when one was abroad and had no immediate work for said servant. The ladies were occupied with dinner and then their evening routines did not require their butler. Why not release him?

Perhaps because there yet remains a great deal of planning and preparation for the upcoming trip to Salzburg that Barrow could be handling?

Stewart himself would have been insanely occupied – indeed, he had been – in looking into appropriate travel arrangements. Sir Anthony, after all, had not been originally sure as to what Lady Edith's travel plans were going to be once she reached France. Paris had not originally been anticipated.

However, now that they were there, Stewart had assumed that – knowing of his deficit in connections – Barrow would hit the ground running and attempt to disentangle himself from the valet's services and interests. It only made sense, after all, not to be beholden to another. Barrow was an ambitious and independent man. His resentment of needing Stewart's help, and the clear way Stewart had managed him, had been clear.

"So why on Earth are you faffing about Paris after dark?" Nicholas Stewart muttered to himself as he kept to the shadows and trailed distantly after the taller man.

There were no few advantages to being of middling height and build. Lost in the masses of Paris in a nondescript suit, Stewart had found out long ago that he could blend in anywhere. In Paris, that metropolitan center of Europe, he truly did vanish even more effectively than in London. Here, his bronze skin and black hair could be passed off as a fellow from Marseilles, traveler or immigrant from Morocco, visitor from the Balkans, or even a wandering Ottoman. When he did need to blend in, well, speaking with a workman's Quebecois French had its advantages. The locals may have disdained it, but it was as far from his normal carefully polished public-school English as possible.

What he couldn't make heads nor tails of was what Barrow was up to. He'd quit the hotel, leaving Stewart to stretch his legs to keep up. Then, his first stop had been a book shop. One where he'd bought several items and slipped another into the inner pocket of his jacket. Stewart took careful note of that. It could be payoff or some form of instruction from a co-conspirator in the blackmail, if that was indeed what they were facing. Stewart personally agreed with Sir Anthony that, had there not been something of that sort going on, well, it seemed unlikely that either Lady Mary or Miss Edith would have left England in such a tearing hurry.

From the small bookshop they went to a bar. Nondescript and plain, Stewart adopted a position at the back while Barrow fidgeted at the bar, looking both excited and rather nervous. After an hour or so, however, the pleasant nerves the man seemed to be in the grip of faded to real annoyance. A tense exchange with the bartender later and Stewart was left wondering precisely Barrow had said that left the footman-turned-butler red-faced with embarrassment as he scowled his way out of the establishment and the bartender's mustache bristling with offense as he sent the Englishman on his way.

At that point, to his annoyance, Stewart's luck ran out. A lady of the evening approached him as Barrow continued his ramble through Paris' evening life and while Stewart struggled to send the determined working girl on her way the gray-eyed bastard gave him the slip. After a pointless hour of searching the nearby environs, he went back to the Ritz with the hopes that Sir Anthony's evening had been more fruitful than his own.

By sheer coincidence he began to make the journey up the servant's stairs and back to Sir Anthony's suite just in time to catch the edge of an exchange happening a level above him.

"-what now?"

Barrow's voice immediately brought Stewart to a standstill, and he stood carefully, one hand upon the rail, and frozen in place to listen.

"- the girl was sick." An irritable male voice that Stewart identified as a low-ranking concierge with the hotel spoke again. His French accent was thick, and he spoke English with the exaggerated slowness of a man who assumes everyone he speaks to is an idiot. "They are in their room. You should attend them."

"Right, thank you. Can you tell me what-."

"No."

Barrow muttered something insulting beneath his breath as Stewart listened to the Frenchman open a side door and tracked his retreating steps down another upstairs hallway in the massive hotel. For his part, Barrow's footsteps turning into a running flurry of movement. Muttering imprecations against the younger man's longer legs, Stewart followed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thomas was half-beside himself in anger and worry when he got into the suite. Say what you will about the old biddy, Thomas decided, but Mrs. Hughes knew what she was on about when she said you can't leave the quality on their own for a minute. He'd wanted one evening, just one, to really explore Paris before he put his nose to the grindstone and arranged their travel without that piece of Canadian rubbish, Stewart, sticking his nose in.

What did he get in return? A bloody Frenchman with a sense of humor. He'd figured that the bellhop who'd been chatting him up was good for a tip or two. People like them were supposed to have the good life in France, weren't they? Paris was the place they'd always talked of, on the rare occasions when someone like-minded happened into Thomas' life, and… what was wrong with that? Sure, the bellhop wasn't someone he wanted to take a tumble with; the man was built like a toad! But Thomas had figured that a polite refusal wasn't a problem, was it? They were all in the same boat, why not just tell him where he could go to meet another bloke for a nice evening? Thomas wasn't even entirely out for something carnal; just a place to talk and not be afraid was novel enough or him.

Instead, he'd been made the butt of the bloody bellhop's joke! The bookshop had things for them behind the counter, just like the man had said, and Thomas had spent a little of his "bonus" from the trip to Hastings getting a thin novel. Not that it was exactly highbrow literature and he'd never dare to take the thing and its graphic etchings back to England, but he could enjoy it privately for a while, couldn't he? He'd picked up a couple of books for the moppet while he was at it; he knew Miss Edith would reimburse him.

After that, though, he'd gone to the bar that Jean Paul had told him was a surefire place to find another gent looking inward. Instead? He'd sat there in the flea-bitten place for a good hour until impatience had overtaken his pride and he'd asked the bartender what gives. Nice thing, finding out you were in a normal bar and getting threatened with a damned board with nails in it. Sure, the bartender had left the thing under the bar, but he'd showed it to Thomas while telling him to get on his way.

Perverted Englishmen my ass, Thomas thought viciously, you're French. You've got entire venereal diseases named after your culture! That's forgetting that it's legal here. What right do you have to judge me?

He'd get the little toad back, that was for sure. Maybe he'd specially request that Jean Paul help haul the ladies' luggage down at the end of the week. Then, just for good measure, fail to tip the wretched bugger. Forget the clothes, the sheer number of books the girls might buy in Paris would put the idiot's back out.

None of his anger did the one thing he wanted it to do; silence his worry. He'd seen Addie turned off food in the time that the Kavanaugh girls had come to Downton. Thomas had also seen and done his bit to get her to eat properly. In all the months she'd been there, however, he hadn't seen her be really sick and the news that she was twisted painfully in his chest.

There was nothing wrong with him!

Adelaide Kavanaugh's passioned defense of her dead brother had become something of a mantra in the back of his head. A ringing echo of the original meaning. Like Narcissus and his cursed nymph. It followed Thomas around and beguiled him and angered him in equal measure, but one thing it had accomplished?

Thomas Barrow had always liked the moppet. When she'd first tripped downstairs at Grantham House in London, looking for hot water and ginger, he'd figured he could get something out of Miss Edith's return and her little sister's naiveite. He hadn't been wrong about that, either.

In the end, however, that's not why he was rushing hell bent for leather for the girls' suite. He wasn't frightened of his job being at risk when he'd just gotten his step up properly and all his scheming had paid off. He was dead-frightened, instead, for a child who he'd come to genuinely care about – one human being to another. Gaining the door he reached for the key that, as their butler, he'd been given upon checking them in. Opening it even as he knocked, he stepped into the sitting room.

"Miss Edith, Miss Adelaide? Mr. Stewart told me that there was a doctor sent for. Is ought amiss?"

"Mr. Barrow, you have prescient timing."

"Sir Anthony?"

Dammit! Thomas had thought he had at least a couple of days to get around the damned Baronet and his annoying burr of a valet. Yes, he knew they were following them. It was hard to avoid that knowledge when he'd had to eat his pride and rely on the latter's help just to get the ladies' travel arrangements properly made. However, last that he knew he'd left them behind and had the Canadian bastard convinced they were staying at a lesser hotel on the other side of town!

"Thomas?"

Addie's worried voice came from the bedroom and Thomas twitched in that direction. Frantically, he tried to think of what to say.

"Barrow, Sir Anthony, would you come in here for a moment?"

Miss Edith's voice joined as well, her tone firm and motherly in a way that Thomas unfortunately recognized from the few times that Addie had gotten herself into the sort of trouble that required parental – or in this case, sisterly – punishment.

What else can I do?

"Of course, Miss Edith."

Thomas turned towards the door, letting his eyes narrow as they took in Sir Anthony's lack of a coat and unfastened cuffs. The older man met his eyes levelly and Barrow felt a flare of annoyance that the baronet was tall enough to look down at him. Behind him a quiet knock sounded on the door. Before Thomas could do his duty, Sir Anthony turned and silently let his valet into the room. Barrow met the shorter man's bland expression with a glare, and then did the only thing he could do.

Thomas Barrow walked awkwardly into the bedroom that the two ladies were using and stood at attention with two other men, neither anything resembling friendly, at his unprotected back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Thomas, tell Sir Anthony that there's been a mistake!"

Adelaide Kavanaugh was having a bad evening. Her first attempt at a proper, grown-up, fancy dinner had gone terribly sideways. Then, to her mortification, she'd been wretchedly sick not just in front of Edith – who was at least her sister and required to help with things like that – but also Sir Anthony. He was grownup, a boy, and a friend. His seeing her like that was terribly embarrassing and she hadn't liked it a bit.

This, however, was horrifying. Addie had promised Adrian that she wouldn't tell a living soul about his friend. She'd broken that when she'd told Thomas, but she'd needed his help and she'd thought Adrian would understand how important it was to get his beau the money for school. In the end, that had worked out, though. They'd gone to Hastings, given Mr. Ulverston the money, and even if she was upset that he hadn't been good enough for her brother, they'd done the right thing.

Now, though? Addie's careful plans to keep it secret had fallen apart. So, for that matter, had Edith's plans for the whole mess with Lady Mary to be a secret. Sir Anthony was here and now he was saying that Thomas was a criminal of some kind and Edith was demanding she tell her about the money! So, Adelaide did what seemed most sensible: she looked for help.

"I'm sure there has been, Miss Adelaide, but first I have to know what the mistake is."

"Sir Anthony said that you got in trouble for stealing at school, and something happened with the police when you were working for that really rude Duke that Lord Grantham calls a penniless popinjay."

Addie interrupted, going on before any of the other adults could speak. She caught Mr. Stewart's raised eyebrows as she did so but ignored them. Mr. Stewart was alright, anyway, and funny besides. When grownups gave her candy that she didn't want she usually slipped it to Sir Anthony, since he had such a sweet tooth and was almost as good at taking it from her without anyone seeing as Thomas was. Sometimes, though, Sir Anthony's valet would intercept it and make a joke about dentists that got him a glare from the baronet that was downright funny.

"You didn't do anything wrong, though, did you, Thomas?"

As Addie watched, eagerly waiting for Thomas' stern denial, she saw something she hadn't anticipated. Her stomach twisted painfully at the sight of the blood draining from Thomas Barrow's face. But he was her friend. Surely, he hadn't done anything horrible…

"Indeed, Mr. Barrow." Sir Anthony offered, his tone kind and moderated and somehow all the more dangerous for the utter civility of it. "I was hoping you could clear the matter up… as well as anything you might know about Miss Adelaide's recent banking transaction."

"I'm afraid that would be family business, Sir Anthony." Barrow answered with smooth haunter but Edith, who had been sitting on the coverlet beside Addie and holding her hand, stood up.

"I realize it is, but you have my full permission to speak on the subject, Barrow."

Silence reigned for a moment and then the young butler gritted his teeth and offered up a smile that would have made any wolf proud.

"I was accused of stealing in school to cover up the conduct of an older, richer boy, Miss Edith. I didn't steal a thing then." His voice was sharp. "I was a scholarship boy and knew how delicate my position was, if you take my meaning."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I do, retroactively if not in the moment." Edith replied to Barrow's sharp comment, frowning as his hard gray eyes cut towards her own and he frowned back.

"Begging your pardon, ma'am?"

"Lady Edith was the charitable invention of my aunt and uncle, Barrow." Edith explained simply, ignoring the way that Sir Anthony winced at her words. "I thought I was a least-favored child. In reality I was the most favored niece. I'm aware of the… fragility of charity and just how far it does and doesn't stretch."

"I'm also aware of the difference between charity and family." Edith gently laid her hand on one of her sister's thin shoulders, and when Addie looked up at her, she offered her little sister a small smile. Then she looked up at Barrow and offered him a smile of his own. "So, I hope you will take that as encouragement to be entirely honest with me. You've been nothing but good to Addie and I, Barrow, please carry on."

Not that she couldn't be. Edith knew herself well enough to know that, if crossed, she could get downright mean. She'd had a few nasty run ins with girls her age in university. One at least had gone entirely too far and ended in tears for everyone. Edith was still ashamed to think of how it had all turned out and grateful it hadn't been any worse.

That said… Edith didn't want to believe that Barrow was blackmailing them or had somehow taken advantage of her sister. Trusting him hadn't been easy. Edith had spent the first few weeks at Downton on tenterhooks, sure everything was going to go wrong. Watching Addie make a real friend amidst the servants and having a servant who'd listen to her before anyone else in the house had given her a lot of confidence. She valued that kind of loyalty, and he'd been incredibly helpful in getting Addie settled.

She also wasn't an idiot. They were vulnerable. Addie was particularly vulnerable due to her age and health. Just the idea that Barrow might have betrayed them… she hoped to God that Sir Anthony was wrong and yet on some level wanted him to be right just so that she didn't need to be angry with him. It was dreadfully confusing to feel that way as she watched the man's Adam's apple bob up and down slowly as the gray eyes cast about for some distraction or ruse.

Something must have happened…

"Thomas?"

The quiver in Addie's voice was heartbreaking.

"The older boy'd been… bothering me. He bothered a lot of the younger boys like that, if you take my meaning. I blacked his eye over it and he hid some of his things and ran to the headmaster." Thomas Barrow didn't so much speak the words as spit them. "The bas-headmaster knew very well what was going on, but didn't want to piss off a title so he sent me on my way."

"That's horrible!" Addie turned to look at Edith and Edith squeezed her shoulder as the little girl turned back towards Anthony. "See, Sir Anthony, it wasn't Thomas' fault!"

"I do see, and I'm relieved to hear it, Barrow, but I'll have to ask after your arrest record as well." The baronet cleared his throat. "I believe the crime listed was public indecency."

Barrow flushed, but was beaten to the question by Addie.

"Were you skinny dipping? Because that's apparently alright in some places in England and not alright in others. Edith warned me about that before we moved. It doesn't really matter so much in the United States, though boys are awful about coming to the girls' bend in the creek or your part of the cove to peek at you. It's best to have a lookout and some good rocks."

Edith felt her face flare red and, despite herself, covered her mouth to muffle a squeak of laughter.

"Rocks?" Sir Anthony inquired.

"For throwing, I presume, sir."

"Ah, thank you, Stewart."

"America is an excellent place for cultural exchange." Edith couldn't resist muttering, briefly catching Sir Anthony's eyes and was amused to find his face as pink as hers felt.

Suddenly, the tension in the air wasn't quite as bad. She looked at Barrow and how tight his shoulders were. She looked over to her sister to see the strain on her face and Edith Kavanaugh decided she'd had quite enough.

"Well, I'm sure all of this tension would make for a lovely novel, but I'm not in a literary sort of mood, so let's move things along."

The words that popped out of her mouth had surely come from her brain, but the cheerfully acerbic tone was something new. She didn't question the sudden wave of confidence she felt. She just rode it like a wave taking you in from a warm summer's swim.

"Barrow, this isn't an inquisition – it's a mess and I'd like to clean it up. Please sit down. You said you were going to go out this evening and I imagine your feet are tired. Did you have a nice time?"

"I – erm, not entirely, ma'am."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Edith turned towards the two other men in the room and noted that propriety was clearly out the window anyway. "If you'd like to sit, there are chairs in the sitting room that Stewart can bring in. If not, I'm sure this won't take long."

"Er – no, Edith, we're fine…"

Edith turned away from her beau and back to her butler.

"Barrow, did whatever trouble you got into with the police start with the Duke of Crowborough being a rotten bore with no regard for others?"

Barrow closed his mouth with a click, his lips twitching, and then he mastered his expression into one appropriately mild contrition.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you harm anyone in the process?"

"No, ma'am."

"Did he?"

"Only me."

The cloaked bitterness in his tone said enough. The Crawleys had always been good to their servants, even if the pay wasn't very good and the work was more than it should be. Likewise, the Kavanaugh family had had fewer servants to whom they'd showed less loyalty, but they'd paid them better and worked them less. Edith had seen both methods and felt a middle ground would be happiest for everyone: there was no reason why good pay had to buy disposability and loyalty had to come at the expense of comfort.

"Alright then." Edith grew more serious and turned to her sister. "Addie, I need you to tell me about that money. You're ten-years-old and, until you grow up, I'm in charge just like Daddy said I was."

Silence stretched out and Edith moved slightly, preventing her sister from looking towards their butler and feeling a flash of worry that she had been wrong about Barrow at the tiny gesture. Finally, her sister looked up and Edith felt her own expression fall at the tears in her sister's eyes.

"It was for Adrian's friend."

"Pardon?"

"His friend. A-Adrian had a friend and was paying for his university. He only had a year to go so – so I got him the money. So, Adrian could keep his promise." Addie looked up and the tears that were in her eyes tumbled off her rusty lashes and her sister angrily dashed them away with the ruffled cuff of her nightgown.

Edith felt her heart twist.

"Oh, Addie, why would you hide that?" She reached out and drew her stiff, resisting sister in a hug. "Did you think I'd be angry?"

Addie looked up at her, and then her face crumpled.

"He didn't want you to know. He made me promise not to tell."

Edith felt a moment's blank confusion. She'd adored her twin brothers as much as she'd at first been boggled by them. Both James and Adrian were only three years her senior, and not quite that. They'd been as boisterous as she was quiet, and they'd been such trouble. Adrian, who was always the sensitive one, forever tending to others around him, slightly less so than Jamie. The idea that Adrian had wanted to keep something so simple and kind from her hurt.

"I think…" Sir Anthony clearing his throat started her and she turned to look at the older man, his expression now gentle. "That Miss Adelaide is saying that this young man was perhaps… particularly dear to your brother. Is that right, Miss Addie?"

It took the barest moment for the realization to click in Edith's mind. When it did her jaw dropped. Yet… a thousand tiny things she noticed suddenly made complete sense.

"Well, I suppose-."

"There was nothing wrong with Adrian!"

"No, there wasn't!" Edith agreed instantly with Addie's muffled wail and, before her sister could pull away from her, reached out to wrap an arm around her sister's shoulders and pull her against her side. "Not a thing. What I was going to say, if you had let me Adelaide, was that I suppose that explains why Adrian never stepped out with any girls."

Edith couldn't quite bring herself to look at Sir Anthony. Not when, inside, she was reeling.

"You're not angry?"

"Addie, darling…" Edith swallowed past her own tears and dropped a kiss on her sister's forehead. "I miss Adrian entirely too much to care. How long have you been keeping this secret? Jamie had to know…"

"I – I lied to you. I too-took things out of Adrian's trunk. Letters and pictures of them so th-that Adrian's friend could have them."

"And we'll talk about that later, and there will have to be something done about the lying, Addie, but I understand why you did it and I'm not angry and I don't love you or Adrian one bit less than I always have. Is that clear?"

And then Edith had an armful of sister, crying against her shoulder, and she risked looking up. Standing as he was near the doorway, Sir Anthony towered over the room. However, whatever fear of censure or rejection she'd had evaporated at the kindness radiating from his expression. Edith weighed a thousand possibilities in a split second and discarded them all. All that was left was honesty.

"A-Adrian didn't want Daddy to know."

Her sister's words were muffled in the chiffon and heavy silk of her shoulder, but Edith just held on tighter and leaned down to speak into her sister's rumbled auburn curls.

"Daddy was a wonderful man and I loved him dearly, but everyone can make mistakes. As far as I'm concerned, if a person isn't doing anyone else harm, what they feel is absolutely nobody's business but their own." Edith swallowed and took a dreadful risk. "What do you think, Sir Anthony?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I rather find myself of the same mind."

Anthony Strallan stood there in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves and decided that he was a fool and life was a comedy. Turning to his valet he offered a wry, crooked grin and received an infinitesimal shrug in agreement.

"What do you think, Stewart?"

"I would think that the world would be a much finer place if people were more respectful of others' privacy, sir."

"Quite."

Looking around the room at where Edith was now comforting her sister, Mr. Barrow had risen to stand at awkward attention, and Paris' lights were just glowing through the room's fine curtains, Anthony spent a bare moment rather glad that his father wasn't alive right now to give him a piece of his mind. While he had no doubt that Phillip Strallan would have utterly supported his rushing off to save a lady from blackmail, he had a feeling his father would have been considerably exasperated by the truth that had been underneath it all. Anthony's mother, of course, would have laughed herself silly.

"That's that, then." Miss Edith rose and briefly reached for a pocket her fine evening gown did not have. Anthony accepted a handkerchief from his valet and passed it to Edith so she could gently wipe her sister's tears away. "Thank you."

"You're entirely welcome."

"I'm glad." Edith's tone had become brisk. "Barrow, would you sit up for Addie for a bit while I have a word with Sir Anthony? You might also send down for some vegetable broth and tea and digestive biscuits, if you don't mind."

"Not at all, Miss Edith."

"Thank you."

Anthony cleared his throat.

"Stewart, if you'd be so good as to make the usual evening preparations?"

"Of course, sir."

With all of that, the drama of the evening ended with him in the suite's sitting room, standing beside Edith in front of the great picture windows.

"Well, I suppose that's that, then." Anthony offered up after a few moments of silence, unsure of what to say or where he even stood. The inscrutable look on Edith's lovely face did not help.

"Yes, it rather is."

"Anthony," Edith broke into the silence, her expression falling into one of hesitance. "did you mean what you said about my brother?"

"I, yes, quite."

"Then you – you aren't bothered, courting me, knowing that my family… I mean, Heaven above, my cousin-sometimes-sister has a social disease, I'm the family bastard, and my brother had Greek tendencies. You – you do know that if… I mean, it's utterly scandalous and entirely mad, isn't it?"

"Isn't love always?"

In that moment, Anthony Strallan was absolutely sure he was going to be kissed. Those beautiful brandy-brown eyes, honey-gold, looked up at him so softly as he said it. Her beautiful face, so proud and expressive, shifted with the depth of feelings he'd so longed to see returned. She even reached up, briefly, and brushed her fingertips along his cheeks. Anthony had just started to lean to lean down to press his lips to hers whent, with an exasperated noise, Edith stepped back. Then she set both her hands upon her hips and glared up at him from the ten inches gap between their heights. She didn't go as far as to tap her toes, but Anthony suddenly had a vivid recollection of his schoolroom days.

"Anthony, what on earth am I going to do with you?!"

"You could kiss me?"

"I should kick you in the shins is what I should do!" Edith countered, and Anthony was suddenly fighting an entirely inappropriate smile as the sight of her with her strawberry blonde curls rumpled about her head, that little golden diadem winking with diamonds, and her rather exposed bosom heaving most becomingly with emotion simply… well, delighted him as a man.

"Edith, you know that I had every reason to fear for you!"

Pride demanded some self-defense, however.

"Well, it strikes me that the current greatest risk to my reputation is standing across from me!"

"Beg pardon?" Anthony demanded, flummoxed.

"Anthony, you make jokes about how boring your reputation is. If people are going to ask questions about why Mary and I – two young and flighty girls with money and time – ran off to have a Continental holiday, what in the world are they going to start saying about you chasing after me?!"

Anthony clicked is jaw shut as, for the first time he really pondered that.

"Everyone saw us at dinner together with Addie."

"Yes, well, if you were being blackmailed I felt it best to – well, to let anyone watching know you were properly protected."

"But I'm not being blackmailed!" Edith huffed. "And I know precisely what you were implying about Barrow and it seems that the worst thing he did was end up getting caught with his trousers down with that lout, Crowborough."

"Yes, I mean, that seems to fit now, but at the time it was rather disturbing. Especially as Crowborough is lacking in funds and has been caught up in unseemly situations before."

"Yes, well, that just emphasizes how bad a situation Barrow was in. He was younger than I am now at the time, wasn't he?"

Anthony couldn't do much besides agree to that and feel like a bit of a heel. He was rather pleased that Edith wasn't a particularly judgmental person in that regard. Anthony himself felt that such matters were best left to individuals. Indeed, he had a dear friend who was of similar persuasion. Maud had never had an unkind bone in her body, but she'd never quite been comfortable with the concept herself. Perhaps it was having gone to university, or maybe having a stepmother from the theater, who had such an effect on Edith's outlook on such things.

Anthony was entirely able to imagine that Barrow, untrustworthy as he seemed, might well have simply been hiding another dangerous secret. The sort that, frankly, should not be a danger to anyone. It would explain quite a bit, especially his loyalty and helpfulness to Miss Adelaide on her little mission. One that also explained neatly why a child that age had acquired such funds.

Likewise, Edith's explanation that she'd simply overthought and overreacted in dealing with Lady Mary's situation made perfect sense. Neither Lady Mary nor Edith had enough experience to have known how to go about hiding Lady Mary's illness perfectly. If his passing along after them had tidied things up, he was glad for that, but it did explain away his assumptions of blackmail and reduce the threat to nonexistence.

"Even if Barrow's no threat and there's no blackmail, Sweet One, you can't deny that there are risks." Anthony insisted. "You've only got Barrow with you and you're traveling to Austria. That is no short or easy journey and you and your sister would normally be accompanied by at least three others servants."

"Yes, but not having enough servants can be seen as being eccentric – as you well know." Edith huffed and flourished a hand in his direction, encompassing his entire presence. "Having a gentleman stripped to his shirt sleeves in your suite at the Ritz for several hours, alone, and summoning a doctor with him is something else entirely!"

Anthony opened and shut his mouth as Edith's statement sank in and he realized she… really was quite right. A public dinner. Hours alone with Edith with only a ten-year-old girl as chaperone and no servants about…

"Oh, dear, it… really is… rather suspicious, isn't it?"

The look Edith gave him really did say it all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Notes: Thank everyone who reads for having done so! To summarize where we are now.

Thomas Barrow: has had some of his past revealed and is shocked to find that Edith isn't particularly concerned with it, nor is Sir Anthony. While his grave secret isn't quite totally out… he's in company where it's not so grave, either. Next chapter we'll see more of him processing this.

Addie: Finally came clean with her great secret and it didn't overturn her life. She still has a lot of processing to do, given everything she and Edith have lost and it will take time. Fortunately she has Thomas to hang out with, Anthony is going to get a chance to step in and Dad a bit, and Edith is finally coming into her own as a parental figure as well as a sister.

Edith & Anthony: Heh, heh, heh… well, we've had confessions of feelings! There have been meaningful looks exchanged! Anthony got to white knight it a bit… unfortunately that didn't turn out the way he thought. Now he and Edith are going to have to deal with the situation that's caused. :D

Mary: She's still stuck getting painful treatments, but she will be alright. She's got Anna to back her up. Unfortunately, Matthew is about to crash into the situation. We'll see how that pans out.

Next up, Paris in the Spring, Managing Scandal, and information hitting everyone back in Yorkshire. Chaos, panic, and disorder as usual, I suppose… thank you again for reading!