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).

13. Chapter 13

Author's Notes: I apologize, I lied. This one covers a few loose ends that required tying up first. NEXT chapter covers the wedding ceremony and I PROMISE that it will be angst-free and lovely!

General Warnings: Because this story is set during the early part of the 20th century, be prepared to occasionally run into period typical homophobia, 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. Be sure to drop by and read her work as it is considerably better than mine!

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Late-August 1913

"Mrs. Hughes, I won't tolerate it!"

The housekeeper at Loxley let out a slow breath, not quite a sigh, and resisted her urge to either embrace Downton Abbey's butler in sympathy or deliver a swift kick to his right shin. Turning towards the man, Mrs. Elsie Hughes tucked a stray bit of graying brown hair firmly behind her left ear and looked up at Charles Carson. The large man looked down at her, his expression demanding understanding and agreement. Well, you can have the first part to go on with, the second I've not the time nor inclination for.

"Mr. Carson, no-one here is happy to find out that Mr. Barrow is to be rewarded for his unfortunate behavior."

He rumbled sonorously and nodded firmly at this expected agreement. Cocking her head to the side like a kestrel contemplating the evisceration of a nice plump toad, Elsie stood at her full height and clasped her hands firmly in front of herself. It helped with the urge to reach up and acquire a firm grip on anyone's ear.

"However, it is not our place to dictate the staffing of Miss Edith's household, or of Loxley's in the future."

"But-," Shocked you, have I? "The man is a thief?"

"The man has stolen, yes, and deserves at least a swift kick in the trousers for a number of other behaviors."

"But?"

"Do not take that tone with me, Mr. Carson." Elsie'd had quite enough and reached up, pushing her index finger firmly into his waistcoat next to Carson's watch chain and making sure her look broadcast the concerning thinness of the ice that he was treading upon. "You have been allowed a new footman to replace Thomas. I have not been allowed to replace either Mabel or Alice."

The butler opened his mouth, but Elsie wasn't done and silenced Carson with a look.

"Furthermore, I don't expect I shall replace them, as acquiring a new lady's maid for her ladyship required greater financial incentive than Mrs. O'Brian was accustomed to."

Mr. Carson inhaled. We won't be having that, at all, sir…

"Added to which, this household is now expecting a significant influx of guests who shall all come with their own staff and concerns, as well as the considerable preparations required for Miss Edith's wedding. An event which I would recall to your attention as being less than a fortnight distant!"

"Yes, of course, Mrs. Hughes and I hadn't meant to imply that – or to misuse your valuable time." Carson rallied, flushed about the neck and ears as he cleared his throat and straightened his waistcoat with an appearance far more of the schoolyard than a man of his age and considerable dignity usually broadcast. "I was… I merely expected you to share my outrage at Barrow's part in the preparations and proceedings on bridal matters."

"Th-Barrow," Elsie amended his name to reflect the ex-footman, eternal troublemaker's new rank, and finally let the sigh she'd bene holding in out fully. "is Miss Edith's butler. He is also slated to serve as underbutler at Loxley as Mr. Kerr no doubt approaches a respectable future as a pensioner. Whatever else he's done, Miss Adelaide clearly still adores him."

Carson's mouth opened, then closed as Elsie raised her eyebrows commandingly.

"And he is clearly going nowhere."

Carson looked rather pained, but Elsie pressed onward.

"We are also all run ragged so it makes perfect sense that he would organize and receive Miss Edith's personal guests at Crawley House while we handle Mrs. and Mr. Levinson's arrival. Let us not make mountains out of mole hills over the arrivals of a few young ladies from the States."

"Yes, of course, but as they are especial guests of the wedding… Yes, quite." Carson's sigh could have knocked over houses of sticks and straw with wolfish ease. "You're entirely right, Mrs. Hughes, I just chaff at the man's unknowable reserves of gall sometimes."

"As anyone reasonable would, Mr. Carson." She patted his arm, warmed by his presence and noting that he did rather look terribly noble when he was put-upon by life. Smiling she looked around him and down the hallway. "Now, shall you need me for anything else, Mr. Carson?"

"Uh, no, not at the moment, Mrs. Hughes. Thank you for listening to my concerns."

"Always, Mr. Carson."

Parting from the man who shared the running of the Abbey with her, Elsie Hughes consulted one of the myriad lists that now ruled her life. Not that her life wasn't always filled with lists. It was merely that the wedding had led to an explosion of the Downton List Population, so to speak.

"Well, how would you like that, Mrs. Hughes!"

Sighing, Elsie redirected herself to the kitchen. She found it all aflutter with dinner preparations, but that was to be expected any night. Tonight was just slightly more important. Not to mention off schedule.

"I'm afraid that Miss Edith and her guests, as well as her Ladyship's family are still a good hour out from the house."

"They'll barely have time to dress for dinner, then!"

"What? We don't need to put it off, do we? Some of this don't keep right rewarmed or held-over on the stovetop!"

Daisy's outburst was like the lighting of a fuse and Elsie rushed to stamp out the spark before it ignited in the harried cook who'd already summoned her via yell three times in the course of this unfortunate afternoon.

"Dinner shan't be delayed, Daisy, you may calm down." In her plain black frock's capacious pocket, Elsie crossed her fingers and hoped. "Mrs. Patmore, what's the problem?" This time…

"Mrs. Hughes, her ladyship has asked especially that we should serve potage aux grenouilles et cresson for her brother's arrival and do you know what this one just said to me?"

"You'll have to pardon me, Mrs. Patmore, my French is not only insufficient, it's nonexistent."

"But we don't have enough frogs, William told me so!" Daisy wailed. "He said that they're not to be taken out of the pond on no account and it were Lord Grantham himself what said it!"

"What do you mean 'not enough frogs'? You're telling me a country damp as this one isn't drowning in them?"

"Loxley's got more'n us and it's put the Earl's nose out of joint and we're not to take them from the ponds. William said so!"

"Does William Mason presume himself in charge of this kitchen?!"

"What's this about?"

Mr. Carson, hearing the uproar, stepped into the doorway, frowning just as William appeared at the outer door bearing a brilliant grin and a basket.

"I've got the snails, Daisy!"

"Snails!"

William's warm, friendly face fell at Mrs. Patmore's outraged shriek and his stammered answer set the tone for the rest of the evening.

"Well, I – I mean, Lord Grantham said the frogs were to be left alone, so I figured if the soup needed something fancy and disgusting the French like snails too, don't they?"

Raising his eyebrows in eloquent confusion, his mouth half-opened around untold unanswered questions, Charles Carson once more turned to Elsie for sanity in the midst of their little world's usual bedlam. With all of the considerable dignity on which she could call upon, Elsie rose to the challenge.

"It appears there has been some miscommunication between his lordship and her ladyship regarding the procurement of frogs legs for tonight's soup, Mr. Carson."

Mr. Carson's expression of befuddlement was eloquence itself.

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"You seem to be holding up well, chap."

"I'm insulted that you seem to believe I should be falling to pieces."

"Well, the last time I-."

"Forty-five is a world different from twenty-six, and Maud was going to pieces with nerves herself with her mother worked up as she was. Stop looking at me like that, Archie, that sort of thing is infectious. This time is entirely different."

Archie raised both his eyebrows at his brother-in-law, but Anthony smiled back with perfect aplomb and returned his attention to the journal in his hands. Steam versus diesel in agricultural and industrial equipment was still an ongoing debate and he preferred to have all possible information. Anthony and his brother were enjoying a bit of peace amidst the wedding hubbub. Diana had taken the boys shopping in York for a few things before his elder nephew returned to school, and out of necessity because the younger of the pair had outgrown the suit that had been his original intended wedding garb.

As such, Loxley was calm. Anthony adored the chaos and joy of his nephews' visits, and Addie was always a delight. He was equal parts hopeful and afraid to hope for children with Edith, for he could imagine nothing more marvelous. All that said, he did enjoy occasional bouts of peace and quiet.

"Speaking of the fact that you're less than a month away from your forty-sixth birthday and your lovely wife is a full twenty-five years your junior, and then some, are you feeling your age by any chance, old boy? What with Edith's boundless energy and those long walks you keep slipping away for with your intended."

Anthony narrowed his eyes and looked up from his reading.

"On the contrary, I've never felt more rejuvenated than in Edith's presence."

Archie's smirk was as good as a as a novel on the subject of where his thoughts lay, and the baronet felt his neck and ears burn.

"Get your mind out of the gutter if you please!"

"If I please!" The shorter man hooted with laughter. "This from the man who loaned me his copy of Autobiography of a flea!"

"The bookseller told me I'd find it interesting; he didn't tell me why!"

"Likely story! I suppose he just slipped it between your other morally upright and proper purchases and you, in complete innocence, just happened upon the vice it contained!"

"I-."

"Which doesn't quite explain why you went on and loaned it out!"

"That isn't-."

"Not to mention the erotic oriental poetry I know is rattling about this archive you call a house."

"Some of that is nearly two-hundred years old, if not more, and I won't be held responsible for its purchase."

"So that's your excuse? A pack rat from a family thereof!"

"Who can abide letting go of a perfectly good book?" Anthony agreed, finally allowing himself a grin before he rubbed a hand along the back of his neck and let himself laugh. "This conversation is absurd. Why do I even bother with you?"

"Because having me about means you don't have to carry the full weight of your sister's boredom when she decides to mean well about something."

"A hit!" Anthony laughed outright and stretched his legs out fully, shamelessly shoving Archie's feet off of the ottoman and claiming it for himself as they sat in mirrored armchairs before the coals glowing on the grate.

Outside a persistent rain pattered against the windowpanes. As to be expected, late August in Yorkshire had given everything it had to being warm and summery for precisely no time at all. The afternoon was damp, unseasonably chill, and Anthony silently hoped that his wedding day dawned a touch warmer for the comfort of the ladies of the wedding party; who would not be wearing their coats for the ceremony.

"Are you travelling for the honeymoon?"

Anthony's lips twisted and he shook his head as he brandished the journal he'd been attempting to read.

"I may as well put this up, then?"

Archie smiled with the endlessly patient obnoxiousness of a trained diplomat who'd gotten his way. Snorting in an entirely ungentlemanly manner Anthony put his reading aside his reading.

"Edith and I did discuss it."

"And?"

"We've had enough travelling to get on with. I mean, we had quite a bit of sightseeing as a family in France and Switzerland as we came back from Salzburg." Gosh, it felt good to say that. As a family… lovely phrase. "We've also Addie to consider. She's had so much upheaval in her life, and she's to start school just days after the wedding. It wouldn't do to uproot her again or to be absent from her life for months at a time. We can always travel later, after we all settle in a bit."

Archie pulled a face.

"Assuming tensions on the continent soften slightly?"

Anthony angled his head in acknowledgement.

"They're not altogether so bad. It feels like the usual agitation you get from the Hapsburgs and German and so on. Embarrassment over the size of their empires and juvenile rot like that, don't you agree?"

"Yes, the usual, I'm just concerned at some of the ministers currently in possession of the Kings' ears in Germany and Vienna… but then again, we always are. Assuming disaster doesn't strike in some improbable manner, things will likely enough carry on as they have been."

Anthony felt the barest frisson of unease at that and rapped his knuckles on the table by his elbow. His brother-in-law offered him a wry smile of agreement. Then, shaking his head, Archie shook his head.

"Enough of diplomacy, though. I didn't take a sabbatical so that I could bend your ear with that mess. You're both unbothered with only making a passing nod at a honeymoon?"

"Yes. Five days at the Grand, in York, and then back home to Loxley for now, but I'm thinking of surprising her with a holiday in Cornwall over Christmas, depending on how Adelaide does in school."

Anthony was looking forward to all of it deeply. He'd already had a taste of what it was like to be married to Edith. Not in any prurient way, but simply in terms of being a family unit. While traveling with Edith and her sister Anthony had easily stepped into the role of husband. He'd offered advice and made travel arrangements, he and Edith had shared parenting duties with regards to Adelaide, and they already confided in each other. He was incredibly proud and humbled to know that, before he'd even worked himself up to making a proper offer, she'd given him such trust.

"Did Diana forget to tell me that we'll be watching your newest sister during your pitiful excuse for a honeymoon?"

Anthony resisted the urge to squirm at being reminded that he was acquiring a sister who was as good as in the nursery, at his age. Instead, he shook his head.

"She and Mrs. Crawley are having a lovely time, so we took her up on the offer to watch Addie. You and Diana don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all. We'll be needed back in London after wedding, as is, and David's off to school himself. You do realize you're going to have quite a job ahead of you there, don't you?"

"Pardon?"

Stretching his legs and crossing his ankles, Archibald Chetwood raised his eyebrows and gave every appearance of a man settling in to impart hard-earned wisdom of some sort.

"With Miss Adelaide."

"What do you mean?" Anthony actually laughed at that, surprised. "Addie is a delightful child."

"Delightful, yes, but you could hardly claim that she's particularly well discipined."

"If you're about to offer me some biblical quote about rods and the sparing of them, Archie, then shame on you! I would also direct you and all of your incredible hypocrisy towards your own two sons. Specifically, the eldest and yesterday's little incident with the rotten duck eggs, the slingshot, and the irate badger. Which, I would add, my sister was the one called upon to deal out punishment for while you were off your feet laughing at the whole thing!"

"Pax!" Archie laughed and held up his hands. "I'm not insulting the child or telling you to hire some martinet of a governess, Anthony, for goodness' sake! I do know my boys are running wild a. That's what boyhood is for."

"If you're implying that childhood's freedoms are sex-dependent, I'm telling Diana."

The slightly older man had the good grace to look alarmed.

"That isn't what I'm saying at all."

"Then what are you saying?"

"What I'm saying is that my boys cause ungodly mischief, but they've already learned how to – how shall I say it? Tailor their levels and methods of mayhem to our expectations. My boys know where the limits are, Anthony."

"And you think Addie doesn't? She's older than Christopher and only a little over a year younger than David!" Anthony shook his head. "Besides, what great problems do you think she'll cause?"

When he saw the other man opening his mouth, Anthony forestalled him with a raised hand and withdrew his feet from the stool to lean forward and sit up straight.

"No, really, Archie, I'm serious."

"So am I, old thing."

"Addie's greatest joys are in going about the countryside and reading about animals. She's boyish and studious in equal measures, she loves her puppy and her sister and, for all that she's outspoken, is polite and caring." Anthony went on, his tone nettled and his manner more defensive than he realized. "Really now, I can't imagine her getting into any greater trouble than bringing home injured animals or inviting a friend or two from school over without thinking to ask."

"And that lack of imagination is precisely what is going to get you into trouble."

"Pish and tosh."

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you." Archie's good nature compelled a chuckle from the man as the clock struck the hour and he frowned. "Four… When are we due over at the Abbey again?"

"Seven o'clock precisely. I do hope Diana and the boys make it back soon."

"Oh, they won't be long. She's thoroughly looking forward to watching you squirm under the collective curiosity of your child bride's friends and family from the States."

Anthony heard the steady tread of one of his two footmen and stood up to get the door before the servants managed it. Pushing the heavily carved oak pocket door aside to let the boy in, he waved a hand at the lad to set the tray on the table and left the door open as he resumed his seat. Spreading jam generously on a scone, he let Archie pour for them both as he scoffed at the teasing.

"I don't know what in the world you think I should be intimidated by, Archie. These are Edith's friends and nothing more than – than a few bright young women! Really, I think it will be just lovely how they're likely to brighten the place up while they stay."

Archie's smirk was concerning.

"They're staying at Grantham's place, though, yes?"

"Well, yes, I – Archie, for God's sake, would you stop laughing!"

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While she had already considered five different ways to remonstrate her daughter-in-law for failures in decoration and deportment, the Dowager Countess had to admit to being deeply pleased with her family, for the first time in several years.

"But I'm sure it won't last." She drawled as she turned to the woman sitting beside her on the settee in Downton's library.

Isobel Crawley was, as usual, too common, too forward, and entirely too pleased with her own opinions. She was, at least, English. As such, she made far better company than Cora's egregious mother – who was welcome to think herself holding court on the opposite side of the room if she liked.

"You're a veritable ray of sunshine, my lady." Isobel replied, her arched eyebrows and pursed lips saying everything that needed saying… and utterly drowned out by the laughter in the younger woman's eyes. "I can't think of a single thing that anyone could say negatively about this evening."

"Oh dear, would you like to consult my list."

"I'm quite serious!"

"As am I. One can never be too organized in their approach to a wedding."

Isobel looked away, stifling a laugh, and Violet notched another success in her evening. She was in too good a mood to spat anyway. As long as the woman behaved herself, at least.

"Just look at how happy everyone is. Can you see a single long face in this room?"

"Beyond those averages set by Saxon physiology, I presume?"

"Honestly, just look."

Violet did, sipping the champagne that had gone around before dinner. The evening had started out on shaky ground, with the American contingent barely arriving with time to dress. However, it had bounced back nicely given those guests already in residence and thanks to the congeniality of the affair in general.

"I say, the Viscount Purbeck has intentions, doesn't he?"

"Yes, and they're entirely honorable and most welcome."

"If something better doesn't come along."

"What a wonderful demonstration of common sense, Mrs. Crawley, I applaud you."

"When you demonstrate common decency, your ladyship, I shall return the favor."

Violet shot the woman a sharp look, but silently admitted it was a good return shot. She added it to the column on her list for things about the evening that were enjoyable. Life was so dull with no-one to properly fight with. What else was society for?

"What can you tell me about the viscount? I'm afraid I've missed all the details given all the time I've spent with Addie to help Edith."

Violet took a moment to be smugly proud of her second born granddaughter. It really had been a stroke of genius to remove Isobel's grasping fingers from the wedding planning by offering up another responsibility to feel self-important over. One that could have been handled by any half-competent nanny or sloughed off on Barrow. And that particularly harsh opinion has nothing to do with the fact that the child still dislikes me.

"Roger Villiers' family fell on a bit of hard fortune due to his father's financial choices, but a cousin's intervention has quite lifted them up."

"You mean the unfortunate man's death."

"Alive or dead, his money is certainly more useful to us now than it was before."

"I'm sure he's thrilled in heaven."

"I'm sure you're presuming entirely too much of the decency of any man who owned and ran a colonial diamond mine." Violet scoffed softly and leant on her cane, gripping the silver handle and lowering her voice slightly as Isobel leaned in to better hear. "He's far better with funds than his father, so there's no fear of a repetition of the losses. Hevingworth is a charming Tudor house and newly renovated. It – and he – would do nicely."

"Oh, I'm sure, though I understand that there's an earl who might do one better?"

"Possibly, but I favor Villiers." Violet lowered her voice. "His title is one of the few not entailed against the female line."

Isobel paused, then nodded her head in frank agreement.

"And the earl?"

"Holderness."

Violet pursed her lips as she took in the other man bookending Mary, this one standing tall and proud with belt elbow resting upon the great fireplace mantle. Beside her Isobel made a soft, considering sound and turned to look at her. After a moment, Violet voiced what they both were thinking.

"Perhaps the more decorative option."

"Not perhaps as handsome as some of our sons, but certainly no hardship to look at."

"I'm sure Robert shall be pleased to hear you say that, given his age and waistline." The Dowager drawled but, well, felt poorly enough to lower her voice and lean to the side. "Though I do admit that, everything considered, she treated Matthew… rather shabbily. Your is a fine young man."

Though she would never say it, not when Mary was finally showing proper enthusiasm and practicality in security her future place in society, Violet did regret the loss of that marriage. Matthew Crawley was entirely too modern and far too middle class to ever be intrinsically good enough for her beautiful, poised, granddaughter. That said, what man was intrinsically anything but a savage one step removed from the discovery of fire and warfare via pointy-stick?

It took a woman's influence and society's polish to make a man a gentleman. For all her sharp commentary, Violet could see the truly fine young man that Isobel Crawley had raised. Honorable without being foolish, and with a well of intelligence beneath his affable exterior that Violet was practical enough to admit her own son could not equal, Matthew Crawley wasn't raw clay for a woman to work with: he was porcelain. She'd hoped to see Downton stay in her bloodline and she'd hoped to see Mary be the one to refine the young man into something excellent with time.

"Thank you, he is." Isobel agreed and surprised Violet by responding in an equally low volume. "That said, perhaps it is for the best."

"Oh?"

"I like Lady Mary, but I've also been watching her for the last two years. I think we both know that if she goes into a marriage with even a single doubt about it being her choice, she will make that marriage a trial for all involved."

Violet pursed her lips but couldn't disagree. If anything, she was hopeful that Mary's firm control and motivation this time would prevent that sort of thing. She'd certainly striven with everything she had to avoid the other classic mistake of marriages in their class.

She'd gone into her own marriage knowing only the qualifications her own dear husband had socially. She knew of his rank, his estate, and his good nature. All things that she'd been taught would make for a fine husband for any lady of her breeding. Violet hadn't considered the terrible effect boredom and incompatibility could have over time, just as insidious as cruelty or profligacy in their own ways. This time, Violet swore, it wouldn't happen. She and Cora had discussed it and put as much thought into the natures of the men being considered as their status, wealth, and connections.

"You… aren't wrong." Violet agreed. "Matthew is coming down for the wedding?"

"Oh, yes, but only the day before."

"Probably for the best."

Isobel nodded and the Dowager, her mind already on her previous concerns for Mary's ability to live with the men they were considering as her future husband, returned to their previous subject.

"I favor Villiers because his title can defer to daughters, but also because he's interesting without being masterful."

"How so?"

"I believe Mary will do well with a man who isn't devoid of ambition, but who she can direct. Villiers held a seat in the commons before, though he's not bothered to run since inheriting. He was also very involved in social issues during his youth, though he's let that lapse. A wife with ambition could remind him of his previous passions, and he's a very intelligent man. I don't believe Mary would be either bored or overwhelmed as his wife."

"And Holderness?"
"Extremely ambitious and quite driven on his own."

"Do you think he'd be a bit much for Mary to handle?"

"My granddaughter? Of course not!"

Isobel smiled and Violet narrowed her eyes as she realized the woman was baiting her.

"He's just a bit younger. Villier's is more settled into who he is and more likely to take a wife's advice to heart rather than treating her as some dumb animal sharing his yoke."

"Wasn't age your previous complaint regarding Sir Anthony?"
"On the contrary, his age was far less of a concern than the fact that Edith's wealth could have bought her at least a Marquess, not to mention a far more active social presence than she'll ever have at Loxley."

Violet waved her hand and turned, looking over at where Sir Anthony looked a bit dazed to be surrounded by no less than five glittering young women, all chattering away at the speed of a runaway locomotive. Occasionally his long face was decorated by a brilliant blush, and there was notable stammering. Violet's lips turned up as she watched her blushing granddaughter flap a hand at one of her young friends, threading her free hand with one of her fiancée's, and no doubt coming to his defense from the barrage of curiosity.

Martha Levinson and Cora had joined that group, along with Sir Anthony's sister. A bit to the left, the young Norwegian fellow that Edith's friend was married to was deep in conversation with Harold Levinson and Archibald Chetwood. Robert, who was speaking with Baron Merton and his two sons, was in no immediate danger of embarrassment. It was perfectly safe to turn back to Isobel as Carson stepped into the room to announce that dinner was finally ready.

"Either will do in my opinion." Violet leaned heavily on her cane as she rose. "As you say, it's Mary who must make the decision."

"And you trust her choices?"

"Trusting one's children is like trusting gravity, cousin. We all know it will do us mischief, but as we have no choice we might as well go on with our pride intact."

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"The ultimate force in politics is firearms, Mr. Grey, not aristocratic outrage. If you believe you must possess masculine anatomy to operate a trigger, I shudder to think the injury you're setting yourself up for."

"Cora, I laughed with you and everyone else, but please do not allow our youngest daughter to embroider that on a decorative pillow."

Quite against her intentions and the dignity of her years, Cora burst into a fit of giggles and let herself fall back against the pillows of her marriage bed, beaming happily up at where her husband was easing into bed beside her, smiling just as broadly as she was.

"Oh, my goodness, dinner turned out well, didn't it, darling?"

"Smashingly." Robert, now under the covers, rolled over and pressed a hard, quick, kiss to his wife's mouth and then laid back himself with a replete sigh. "Not a single hitch, for once, by God!"

Cora hummed in pride, basking in the accomplishment.

"Edith and Mary got on so well."

"All of our girls were just sparkling at dinner; brighter than the diamonds – just like their mother, of course."

"I'm more amazed that our mothers managed to keep things civil."

"I never imagined what a help it could be to have some more young women to balance my mother out." Cora marveled. "Between Sybil, Edith, and her friends, they kept Mama utterly occupied with talk of suffrage, legal reform, and everything else. She was so intent on letting all of them have a piece of her considerable modern wisdom that she didn't have time to inflict it on the rest of us!"

"Yes!" Robert chuckled, yawned, but proved as unwilling to let sleep sweep away the jubilation of success as she was. "I'd have never thought to host an accountant at my table, honestly, but Beck's a solid chap and he's got some interesting ideas. Kept your brother occupied and let the rest of us have some peace."

Cora hummed her agreement and turned onto her side to better face her husband.

"It's just as well he's such a strapping young man, to handle his new wife!"

"That is a great deal of woman to be packed into such a miniscule package."

Cora tittered helplessly at her husband's observation. Edith's three friends were quite a diverse little group. Composed of young women she'd shared a rented house with at Kavanaugh's instigation, they were a broad selection of American society.

Eva-Mae Beck, née Sinclair, was the daughter of a wealthy Minnesotan who owned several businesses centering around the dockside aspects of great lakes shipping. An only child, the young woman was fiercely opinionated and the source of the quote that had left Larry Grey the focus of the table's laughter at dinner.

Her husband, Edvard Beck, was indeed an accountant. He was also a Norwegian immigrant who'd arrived in the United States and attended Yale on a rowing scholarship. Robert's height, the blonde fellow and his luxuriant mustache the young man had a lovely sense of humor and was clearly devoted to the tiny dictator he'd wed.

"She really is. What was her husband talking about that kept Harold so fascinated?"

"How to get around taxes. Apparently, he's making a career in finding loopholes in the American system." Robert mused. "Wonder if he'd be interested in coming across the pond and looking into Estate taxes."

"Oh, don't even mention that. I refuse to think of about unpleasantness right now." Cora burrowed into Robert's side, resting her head on his shoulder. "I did like Miss Peabody."

"Yes, she and Mary got on rather well, didn't they? I can't recall her Christian name, though…"
"Edith says that Delia can get along with anyone. A good thing too. Such a pity her father's gambling cost the family so much. I've heard of her people."

"Yes, maybe she'll find a nice English chap at the wedding. I can say that an American wife is to be highly recommended…"

"Oh, Robert…"

Cora found herself turned in her husband's arms as his lips came down to press against hers and his hands began to migrate from her waist.

"Oh, Robert…"

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"While the vote is important, true enfranchisement hinges on contraception, Lady Sybil."

"Oh, please, just call me Sybil."

"Then please, call me Elaine."

Edith felt like she was back in University, during that first golden year when her Daddy's health had been perfect, and she'd gotten frequent visits from her father and brothers and Addie at the little brick rental house in Poughkeepsie.

"I don't see why you always want to put Edith's hair in rags, she's already got curls."

"She's got waves, and the rags make them more controllable."

Edith was sitting upon the rug in front of the fire in her room at the Abbey. Eva had told Edvard to shift for himself for the night, and all of them had gleefully converged upon a room Edith knew would very shortly vanish; broken up into parts and melded into Loxley and all of its history. Eva-Mae was kneeling behind her, having already brushed her hair out, and was now winding, rolling, and folding it up into a neat mass of rag-curls to set overnight. Eva's black hair, which was cut short above the shoulder in the most modern fashion, had already been given similar treatment.

"I wouldn't know. I couldn't get my hair to curl with hot irons and the threat of a Catholic Inquisition!" Delia laughed softly, her own dark brown hair braided and hanging down the back of her dressing gown as she sat on the bed.

"Perhaps Anna might think of something?" Mary offered as she sat on the bed beside the Bostonian. "The lady's maid that Sybil and I share is a wonder."

"Oh, that's very nice, but don't add more work for her. She'll be busy enough with the wedding."

"Besides, I'm having too much fun playing maid myself!"

Edith grinned and looked at where Sybil and Elaine sat just beside them on the rug. Elaine Jennings had the softest, warmest Southern Drawl imaginable. With fair skin and luminous gray eyes under a wealth of auburn hair, she was an extremely lovely young woman. Like Delia, Elaine was twenty-one. Unlike Delia, her ladylike exterior hid an iron will. In a family destroyed by the Civil War, she'd freed herself from genteel poverty via a college scholarship and was supporting herself ably via her skills at portraiture thanks to the connections she'd made as a student. They were both sharing a flat in Manhattan, with Delia having secured a teaching position. Now, however, Elaine was happily participating in the discussion that had overtaken the room while Sybil brushed out her hair.

"None of you know me well enough to understand this, but I do hate to sound like the obligatory wet blanket. However… isn't that a rather inflammatory statement?" Mary drawled and Edith wondered, for a moment, how much of that was sarcasm and how much of it was a woman who'd just gone through what Mary had needing to hear more.

"I hate to inflate Elaine's head any further."

"Because it steals room from your own."

"Exactly!" Eva laughed, but then turned serious as she tied up the last of Edith's curls. "The fact is that she's right. It doesn't matter how often a woman votes if she can't have her own checking account, her husband can steal her wages or prevent her from working within the bounds of the law, and she's forever tied to either caring for a fleet of children or being inflated with the latest to the determent of her health. A woman can run away even if she's broke, but she can't go anywhere if she's got children to feed and nothing to feed them with."

"What does Mr. Beck think of your opinions?"

"Who do you think went with me when I got my cervical cap?"

Mary spluttered and Edith let out a helpless laugh and toppled over to the side as Sybil clapped her hands together, dropping the brush, and Elaine threw back her head and clapped.

"That's our Eva!"

"And this from the Catholic!" Delia spread her hands as if finishing a sermon and Eva flapped a hand at her, standing from her place and rearranging her feet to push them towards the fire.

"My Eddie and I are going to have precisely as many children as we choose. God didn't give us a mind to invent these things just to ignore them."

"Thank you!" Sybil crowed. "I've never, well, really thought of…" The younger woman lowered her voice, "Contraception as a social issue related that much to Suffrage, but you're right, and Diana and Edith and I had already talked about the need to protect a woman's wages from her male relatives."

"I'm hardly a radical, but even I have to agree with that." Mary allowed, leaning forward, her dark eyes shining. "I don't know how it's possible in this day and age that a woman might make her own income and not even be able to open a bank account. I'd never even thought of it until I realized I couldn't. I mean, Edith certainly has her own."

"Yes, but I'm not married yet and they were set up by men when Daddy died, in order to execute a man's will." Edith pointed out, flushing as four expectant, humorous expressions turned towards her. "What?"

"And how does Sir Anthony take all of this?"

"Now, stop that! You don't know how – how wonderfully dear Anthony was about all the paperwork and legalese and fiddly bother that went into our wedding papers because of my inheritance! Legally he could have tried to exert all manner of control and Cartwright would have been all too happy to help him, but Anthony wouldn't take a tuppence!"

"Really?" Delia blinked and Edith nodded, her lips curving up into a proud smile.

"Yes, it was rather funny truth be told. There we were with Branagh and four other solicitors – even poor Cousin Matthew came," Edith missed the temporary look of discomfort that shadowed Mary's face, "and Anthony's trying to argue with me about the allowance he's giving me, and I'm insisting I don't need it and he has to agree to take something of my income to invest into the estate! It went on for ages."

"How did it end, though?" Eva sat back, crossing her arms over her bosom, which was far more ample than her compact frame first suggested. "Let me guess; you finally persuaded him and he reluctantly agreed to take just a bit?"

"We compromised." Edith smiled. "I agreed to take the full allowance he said honor required he furnish his wife, as a gentleman, and he agreed that I may contribute an equal amount to be invested in Loxley yearly, with individual negotiations to occur regarding future purchases of equipment and the like as needed. Likewise, he shall pay for Addie's clothing and basic upkeep, but I'll pay for her education, and she may pay for her pets and hobbies from her own income."

"Well, that's equitable!" Sybil picked the brush back up and handed it to Elaine, who carried on with her own hair as Edith grinned. "No, truly, I like that. I hope that when I find a husband I can, well, talk to him the way that you do Anthony."

"Really, because I don't recall you being so enthused about our geriatric future brother three months ago, Sybil."

Edith covered her mouth, unbothered by the reminder in the face of so much support. Besides, watching Sybil and Mary spat was entertaining. Five years ago, Edith would have waded in and they'd have all ended up so furious they were near tears. Now?

"As if you weren't being utterly horrid at the time!" Sybil complained. "Mary, you can just take your opinion and – and do something untoward with it!"

"Oh, child," Eva-Mae looked at Sybil from the great wise gap of six years. "we've got to teach you something of the less polished aspects of the English language."

"Pardon?"

"Cussing." Elaine patted her hand. "Honey, if you can tell anyone to shove it up their ass, you can tell your sister to."

Out in the hallway Mr. Carson was making his final pass, just to check. Knowing as he did of what had happened the last time that they had unmarried male guests in the house, playing court to Lady Mary, he'd determined to take no chances with her safety. As he passed by the door to Lady Edith's room, however, the sound of feminine laughter tumbled from beneath the door like the clear water at a falls.

The butler smiled to himself. Turning to go find his own bed, he reflected on the wholesomeness of a group of young ladies gathered to shepherd one of their number into the state of blessed matrimony with indulgent relief.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"The Marquees of Flintshire, Lady Flintshire, and Lady Rose, your Lordship."

"Shrimpie, you made it!"

Hugh MacClare, Marquess of Flintshire, Earl of Newtonmore, Laird of Duneagle was a large, bluff man with the distinction of being the Earl of Grantham's second cousin on his father's side. His place was further cemented by his marriage to Robert's maternal first cousin, many years prior. Rooted thusly in the family tree, it was inevitable that he, his wife, and any of their three children who desired were guaranteed an invitation to Edith's wedding.

"Oh, Cousin Shrimpie!"

Edith looked away from where she, Delia, and Granny were discussing the wedding flowers with such marked surprise she knew instantly she'd made a mistake. It was one thing to know that Cousin Susan, Shrimpie's wife, had spread any number of nasty rumors about her exit from the family and the reasons behind it. It was another to look in total shock over the fact that relatives that you had invited to your wedding had actually shown up.

There was no avoiding it, though, as Edith's cousins were undeniably standing in the doorway to Downton's library. As Carson stood to the side, his announcement made, Edith worked to get her expression under control. Unfortunately she caught the Lady Flintshire's eyes briefly as she did so and saw, immediately, by the woman's narrow-eyed expression, that her shock had been too evident.

Well, if something had to go wrong with the wedding, at least it's something minor. Edith's philosophical reaction could largely be attributed to the fact that in twenty-four hours she would become Lady Stallan and that, so far, everything had been perfect. So perfect, in fact, that she'd begun to feel a smidgen of concern in the depths of her sarcastic English soul.

"Robert, yes, we did!" Hugh MacClare reached out and clasped his cousin's hand, allowing Robert to draw him into a rough greeting that was just shy of an embrace and involved a great deal of harumphing and manly back-patting. "I apologize that we did not get here sooner. We were – that is, there were some unanticipated delays in our departing London."

"Well, we're just very glad that you could make it."

"Cora, you grow more beautiful as the years pass."

"Oh, Hugh, still a terrible flatterer."

Edith had risen beside her mother and, despite the fact that Susan MacClure's beady gaze on her back had the hair on the back of her neck elevated, smiled sincerely. Of all of her relatives, growing up, she'd found Cousin Hugh one of the most pleasant. While not overly involved with any of the children, as one expected of a man of his rank and age, he'd been nothing but friendly. More importantly to Edith's mind, he'd never paid her any more or less attention than he had Mary and Sybil. As it was, she received a kiss on the cheek from him with grace and meant it when she said:

"I am glad that you made it. I would hate to get married without as much of my family there as I can manage."

"And I would hate to miss seeing any of you girls properly wed." The man replied and, to her surprise, lowered his voice to add, "And I must apologize for not writing when you went to America. It was lazy of me, and we all should have at the very least made sure that all was well with things there after you left. I hope you can forgive me? There were… complications."

Edith didn't have to see Shrimpie cut his eyes towards his wife to know precisely what these complications had been, but the fact that she did was solid confirmation.

"Well, that's all in the past."

Edith's weak reply was directly met by the other adult relative present, who had just turned from exchanging greetings with Lord and Lady Grantham.

"Cousin Edith, to think that you and your sisters are already so grown up. Where does the time go?"

"Cousin Susan, you're looking very well!"

The older woman offered her up an expression that suggested she was smiling through an urge to scowl. Edith tried not to take it personally. She had known Susan MacClure for the entire length of her life, but had yet to see her looking truly happy. While she didn't want to think poorly about her, she'd always known the woman to be the sort who'd find the way to tarnish even the happiest cloud's silver lining.

She'd been utterly unsurprised when one of Lady Grantham's first letters to arrive to her in America had included a reference to Lady Flintshire speaking excessively on the subject of her origins. Once, Edith had felt a certain sympathy for her cousin, and a certain understanding. She had spent a great deal of her life viewed as ill-favored and less pleasant than her sisters, and she'd also craved attention. Perhaps, had she been forced to linger for years longer in Mary's shadow and with the general disregard of the parents raising her, she might have even been driven to petty cruelty by the constant pressure and misery of being a living disappointment.

Edith had not been forced to linger. So, it was with a certain brittle quality in her smile that she returned the older woman's greetings. It was hard to be entirely welcoming to someone you knew had used your bastardy to dine out in London by acting as a source of gossip.

"Thank you, Edith." Susan MacClare reached up to touch the unusually neat and elegant coiffure brown hair had been swept up into. "I have a new maid, and she works wonders."

"I'm glad to hear that. I'm still not sure whether I want to find a maid myself, or where to start looking."

"If you do start looking, darling, let Granny and I help you." Cora stepped in smoothly, inserting herself further into the limited space that Susan had left when she stepped up to Edith, and Edith felt a wave of gratitude towards her mother.

"Yes, Edith, I'm sure that you'll need all manner of assistance with the servants." Susan's smile was tense. "You missed so many crucial years of your mother's advice in America. When it comes to running a household as a lady, I mean."

"Susan!" Granny's imperious voice raised about the soft hush of conversation in the crowded library. "Do come here, dear, it's been too long."

The words, delivered as an order, pulled Lady Flintshire away like a rope and Edith sent a grateful look towards her grandmother as she noted that Delia had risen and drifted over to join a knot of conversation made up of three of Mama's carefully chosen guests. Edith felt herself smiling, as she'd found herself doing nearly constantly for days as she watched her friend's dark good looks draw a smile from Lady Breckinridge and her unmarried son.

"They came hoping for Mary, but as Daniel can't hope to inherit she wasn't interested." Cora, who'd drifted over to stand with her daughter whispered into her ear as they stood, momentarily insulated from the rest of the company packed into the house. "I do hope you don't mind how the guest list turned out?"

"If I did, Mama, I would have said something. At least you did keep our side of things to thirty-five guests… even if thirteen of those are related to someone else's wedding rather than mine."

"Don't be cheeky, Edith."

Cora's words didn't match the laughter in her eyes and Edith shook her head.

"No, Mama, I do understand."

While there were a fair number of unattached young men of standing at the wedding, most were escorting their mothers. This was convenient for matchmaking, but also convenient for Edith. These older women were the very mavens of society who had invited Susan MacClare into their dining and drawing rooms for the singular joy of casting aspersions on Lady Rosamund's past and character and degrading Edith as a bastard. Now, however, forced by the joint realities of Edith's inheritance and access to Lord Grantham's two unmarried daughters… they fell apart like pasteboard in the rain.

"It's been rather… satisfying." Edith confessed. "Having so many of them simper in here, wanting my friendship."

"Properly applied, kindness makes a fine murder weapon."

Edith laughed at the countess' play on words and looked one more time around the room. In twenty-one hours she was marrying Anthony. She was surrounded by friends and family and people she cared about. If there was also a smidgen of society cast in, well, she'd been raised to expect that. Reaching out, she squeezed Cora's hand as the older woman turned to drift away.

"Thank you, Mama." Edith bit her lip. "For giving me the wedding, I've always dreamed of."

Edith pretended not to see the tears in the clear blue eyes of the only mother she'd ever known as Cora beamed back.

"It's nothing less than you should have always had from us, darling."

Deciding that it was best to retreat before she became a watering pot, Edith cleared her throat and spoke at a regular volume.

"Mama, would you mind if I stepped out a bit? I'd like to check on Addie, then stop in at the post office to see if Anthony's present is going to make it in time for the wedding."

Edith didn't absolutely need to go into the village. They had no shortage of servants and, strictly speaking, she was rather the center of attention given it was her wedding on the morrow. Cora's eyes acknowledged Edith's need for a break, however, and she smiled graciously.

"Of course, darling, but do be back in time for tea."

"Are you going back into the village, Edith?"

"I – yes?"

Edith blinked, surprised to find that Cousin Susan had somehow managed to disentangle herself from Granny and had made her way back to Edith and Cora's elbows without being noticed. The woman smiled, surprisingly broadly.

"And you intend to drive? Aunt Violet did say that you were driving yourself, didn't she?"

"I – well, yes, I'd intended to."

"Well, could I come along? I promise not to be a bother." Susan lowered her voice. "I just need to step into the apothocary's for just a moment. I was going to send my maid, but if you're going…"

"I, well, if you tell me whatever you need I can pick it up for you?"

"Oh, no, it's rather personal. You'll understand when you're older."

Edith shot her mother a brief look, but Robert Crawley was already calling for his wife's attention and Edith could see Mrs. Hughes waiting to speak to her mother as well. Looking at the clock, Edith decided that, after all her family had done to make her wedding wonderful, she could stand Susan's company for a half-hour or so.

"Of course, Cousin Susan." Edith turned, catching sight of a footman who'd just arrived with a silver tray loaded with letters. "Lyall, would you be so kind as to have Branson bring the Renault around?"

Downton's new footman was a blank slate to Edith, but he was obviously a capable young man. Unlike Thomas, he also had clearly been chosen to match William, as footmen often were. His hair was a lighter brown, and he was of a height with the newly elevated first footman. Nodding, he offered the post to Lady Grantham and then stepped quickly off to take care of his next task.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In less than a day Edith was going to be married and Addie was bored. Not that she didn't have things she wouldn't like to do, but it was very hard to do anything when you were entertaining company. Addie was beginning to think Daddy was right: If they're not going to make you money, company is overrated.

Everyone was visiting Downton, even Mrs. Crawley, so Addie had to be there as well. There were so many people around that she couldn't bring Polly. Though her puppy was growing very nicely and had gotten lanky, with the most adorable ears that fell together into a teepee atop her head and huge feet, she was still young enough to be underfoot. Adelaide had agreed with Mrs. Crawley that it was better if she didn't risk being stepped on, and so Polly was at spending the day with Mrs. Bird.

Even Thomas was busy, as old Mr. Kerr had asked for his help. Addie wasn't sure what Loxley's butler needed him for, but she presumed that it had to do with him becoming underbutler there once they moved. Addie had been afraid he'd be upset since he wasn't in charge, but he'd said it was alright since he'd be paid the same and Mr. Kerr was old and needed help.

"I bet you don't even know what Treasure Island is."

Company, Addie amended, was awful. Much worse than overrated.

Addie had been working, but that hardly mattered to David Chetwood. How anyone as decent, nice, and overall good company as Sir Anthony had ended up with a nephew as rotten as David, Addie did not know. The boy acted as if just being a boy made him special. And so, what if he was two years older than her? Addie hardly thought age alone was a good argument for being in charge of anything.

Addie refused to look up from where she was carefully adjusting the hooks on the mechanism in front of her.

"It's a historically inaccurate book about pirates."

David's noise of outrage was entirely satisfying.

"How would you know if it's historically accurate?" He put a great deal of disdain into the two words, which Addie had admittedly repeated after hearing Edith say the same about the book the year before when they'd read it together. "You're younger than I am!"

"There are a lot of rocks around here older than me, too, I don't ask them for their opinion, either."

Addie couldn't quite help looking up then, and if she stuck her nose up in the air a bit and wasn't nice, well… she'd say she was sorry when she said her prayers tonight. Or she'd tell Mrs. Chetwood she was worry, or Edith, if they asked. Only because she'd promised to try and tolerate the rotten boy, though!

Chris, who was a perfectly nice little boy with manners, looked up from where he and the son of one of the other wedding guests were playing with a selection of tin soldiers. Addie was more than a little insulted that Edith had asked her to go up to Downton's nursery. She wasn't a baby and didn't need minding, now did she? She was allowed to spend plenty of time alone, work on her lessons alone, and all manner of things. She only even needed to ask Thomas to go with her places if she was out of sight of the house!

It was Edith's wedding, though. Mrs. Crawley had made a very good point about that. Addie didn't want to cause trouble and she was eager to play her own role in the ceremony the next day and excited to live at Loxley with Sir Anthony and have a proper home again. One where they belonged and weren't extended guests. Because no matter how nice Aunt Cora and Uncle Robert were about things, Addie knew that that's basically what they'd always been at Downton. Home had a feeling after all, and while the big old house was very beautiful, it had never had that.

"Well, at least I don't have rocks for brains."

"I'm sorry you don't even have that."

Over his tin soldiers, Christopher Chetwood snickered.

"Good one."

"Thank you, Chris."

"Yes, well, at least I'm not a girl."

"What's wrong with girls?!"

Addie looked up from her knitting again, surprised, at the introduction of another female voice. So far, the only other girls in residence were either grown up, like Edith, old, like Lady Grantham, or really terribly old, like Edith's Granny. The nursery had, up until that moment, contained five children.

There was David, who had been so salty about having to go to the nursery at all that his mama had taken him out into the hallway had had a word with him, leaving him to come back in and sit in the window seat with a book, pouting as he read. Then there were Chris and Phillip, who were about the same age and the latter of which was the grandson some baron or the other. Finally, there was Samuel, whose father was in shipping and was only a baby. His nurse was currently sitting by the freshly scrubbed and dusted cradle, rocking it, and watching over the room along with Chris' nurse, who had far less to do and spent most of her time knitting.

Now, however, there was a new arrival. Addie looked at the girl in surprise. She wasn't that much taller than Addie, and Addie perked up a little to see that she was also rather skinny. If one more guest at this wedding asked after her health, she was going to scream. If one more old lady told Edith they knew, "just what to do to handle a picky eater", and then went on about how sturdy their own granddaughter were, Addie was going to… figure out something more dramatic than screaming.

"Who're you?" David Chetwood seemed quite betrayed by the sudden addition of another female into the mix.

"I am Lady Rose MacClare, and you are?"

Addie recognized the name and promptly interrupted.

"You're Edith's cousin!"

"I am!" The other girl turned and faced Addie as she stood in the nursery's open doorway, her head cocking to the side like a curious beagle's. "Oh, you're Edith's other sister!"

Addie had already heard no few whispers about her relationship with her sister. While everyone at the wedding was being scrupulously polite about how Edith had been born, Addie had the vast benefit of small size and the weird way that the nobility seemed to ignore children. She had overheard no few conversations she hadn't been meant to, and been no few places that she shouldn't have been to hear them over the last few days. (Which, incidentally, was why she'd been asked to stay in the nursery.)

So, when those words left the other girl's mouth Addie was quite ready to take offense. In fact, it had been that riled sense of justice, the deep affection she had for her older sister calling for action, that led her to step away from her knitting and stand up. Her outrage, however, went out as abruptly as electric lights when a switch was flipped.

Lady Rose MacClare was altogether too fancy a way to introduce yourself until you were all grown up, in Addie's mind. However, there wasn't a hint of arrogance in the sudden smile that lit up the other girl's lovely face. Her dark eyes shined beneath the golden ringlets falling around her shoulders. She bounced up on her toes and beamed. Addie froze, not at all sure how to respond.

"Oh, it's so nice to meet you!" Rose, however, had none of Addie's shyness or lack of social experience. Naturally warm and bubbly, the other girl raced forward and seized the little redhead's hand. "Daddy said that you came all the way across the Atlantic and have been to New York?"

"Yes?"

"Oh, what's it like?"

"The city or the state?"

"Oh, either!"

Addie, who'd been quite shocked by the excitement of the other girl's greeting, and the unalloyed happiness in her face, tentatively smiled back when she saw no signs of disaster or rejection oncoming.

"Well, it's all very cold in winter, but it's not damp and chilly all the time like England sometimes is. Summers can get very hot, especially in Manhattan. Which smells awful, but has a lot of shopping? London's got prettier buildings, though, but I like Oyster Bay a lot."

"That's wizard, I like London too. Have you been anywhere else?"

"Texas and Maryland and Delaware and Georgia, once – and I spent a whole day at Brighton, a few months ago." Addie subconsciously mirrored the way that her new companion was bouncing on her own toes. "They had the very best rides!"

"Oh, I'd love to go to Brighton, but Mummy says it's for the help."

"Well, I guess since there's another girl here then you don't have any use for our company."

Both of the girls, who had actually forgotten entirely about the boys, paused in their discussion. They turned, synchronized, to look at David Chetwood's mulish expression. A look was exchanged between blue-gray and brown eyes. Then, with the complete understanding born of age, gender, and the disputes inherent to both, a pair of dainty noses lifted into the air in clear feminine disdain.

"Entirely." Rose tossed her curls.

"Congratulations," Addie did her very best to sound like Lady Grantham did when the Dowager Lady Grantham was being horrid, "you're right. I bet it's the first time. If you ask nicely, maybe someone will have a ribbon!"

The older boy turned, outraged, to where the nurse his family employed (likely for only a year longer) for his brother sat with her needles. The older woman looked up, her expression wry.

"One sleeps in the bed one makes, young man."

Rose giggled beside her, and Addie had a brilliant idea. Grabbing Rose's hand up from where she'd dropped it, she turned towards the nurse with her most earnest expression.

"Ma'am, Edith said something about needing Rose, but then we didn't think she'd come, and now she's here. May I go and find my sister and find out what we needed her for?"

The nurse shot her a highly skeptical look and Addie put on her most embarrassed face.

"It was weeks ago. I don't remember what it was, but it was something for the wedding…"

One nurse looked at another and the lady with the baby in her arms shrugged. Addie held very still and did her best to look like she was a terribly honest, wonderfully polite, good child. After a moment, the woman sighed and carried on with her knitting.

"As you would then, miss, but don't get underfoot!"

"Thank you!"

Addie dragged Rose out of the room to the sound of David's outrage at the fact that he was older and he wasn't allowed to find his mama or anyone else to ask them questions, so why should anyone else be allowed out of the nursery? Addie's smugness over her victory would turn rather sour when she found that her abandoned stack of socks had all been unraveled, undoing several hours of work when she opened her bag of knitting back at Crawley House that evening. For the moment, she quickly tugged the other girl into the servant's staircase and began to pull her downstairs with her.

"Can I really be in the wedding?"

"I don't know." Addie shrugged, turning to look at the other girl and surprised to see she looked so hopeful. Feeling rather bad, she shifted on from one foot to another on the landing, keeping near the wall so she wasn't in the way of the servants' movement. "I just wanted to get out…"

"Oh, that's okay too. I hate having to stay with the babies. As if I'm not old enough to go to school all by myself."

"Oh, I know." Addie made a face and snickered when the other girl made it back as she realized what she's forgotten earlier and stuck her hand out properly. "I'm Miss Adelaide Kavanagh, but everyone calls me Addie. Do you want me to call you Lady Rose?"

"Oh, just call me Rose!" The blonde beamed. "All my friends do!"

Addie was struck quite silent in the realization that she'd made a friend. Rose, who made them quite easily, missed the expression entirely. That said, it did nothing to change the sincerity behind her words.

"What were you playing with in the nursery? It looked like a machine."

"It is!" Addie beamed. "It's a circular knitting machine. It was a present, and if you don't lose count of the stitches and once you learn to make them the same size you can make socks on it wonderfully fast."

"Really?"

"Yes, and I'm going to sell them for two-pence-six-shillings at the dry goods store in town." Addie frowned. "Uncle Robert said that she wasn't sure that was dignified, but her brother, Mr. Levinson, said that it was just fine and called him an old bore, but that doesn't matter because Edith and Sir Anthony said I could."

"And you get to keep the money?"

"Yes!"

"I wish I could do something like that. Mama keeps saying I can't have pocket money if I get letters home from school, but none of my teachers say they've sent any so I don't know whose sending them, and it's not fair." Rose complained and Addie nodded in solidarity, if not understanding. Rose went on anyway, now curious. "If we're not going to find Cousin Edith, what are we doing?"

"We'll find my sister." Addie recovered, very conscious of the servants around them as she led Rose further down the stairs and dropped her voice. "But first we'll borrow Mr. Branson's football for a bit. Nobody ever looks behind the garage and I'm so tired of playing inside."

"It was raining when we got here."

"He's got a checkerboard too. If we bring him some cookies, I bet he'll even play with us!"

"Cookies?"

"Oh, biscuits. We called the cookies back home."

"Wizard! Did you have the same kinds?"

And, with an unusual display of interest given her ambivalence towards food, Addie described an array of American sweets. Securing their own supply from Mrs. Patmore proved easy enough, as she was always very free with food on the nearly unheard of occasions when Addie came looking for a snack. When Addie offered up her own ration of gingersnaps to Rose, their friendship was cemented over a game of checkers as an amused Tom Branson slipped away to let the house know where the girls were hiding, just so nobody would worry.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Edith was instantly relieved to hear from the postal clerk that the gift, which she had ordered in Paris, had finally arrived. Packed in hay in a narrow crate, she nervously stared at the object and wondered if she dared open it now, to check on its quality, or if she should instead just send it up to Downton. Anthony hadn't come for a morning visit, and he was hosting his own guests at Loxley for dinner, but he'd promised to come by for tea. She did want to give it to him then…

Behind her, the bell rang, signaling someone else entering. Edith turned, anticipating Susan, who'd excused herself to cross the street to the apothecary. Instead, she found herself facing the last person she'd expected to turn up at her wedding.

"Hello, Edith."

Lady Rosamund Painswick stood quietly in the shop, resplendent in a fantastic walking suit and hat. The rich violet hues of her ensemble and the fashionable sweep of her hat dominated the small room. For a moment Edith felt the most terrible tearing split within herself. Somewhere, in the depths of her, was a little girl delighted to see the auntie who always seemed to care more about her than her own parents did. Every other part of her being, however, recoiled from the memory of an almost blasé rejection and years of silence.

"That is what you want to say to me?" Edith demanded, surprised at how quiet her voice was and nearly wincing at how weak it sounded.

Daddy would be appalled. He'd tell me to yell or scream… or just leave.

"I should leave."

"No, I should leave, and I will, but I thought – I…"

To Edith's utter surprise, the woman who'd faced her down with barley any expression when she was at her worst, and who'd acted as if the most dreadful realization of her life was nothing more than a casual secret that needed to be hushed up, looked at her with actual regret dawning on her features as her voice died. Then, as should be expected of a woman of her nature, Lady Rosamund rallied and carried on.

"Edith, I came because you once tried to ask me questions and I refused to answer. I was wrong. I owe you those answers and I thought – I thought it might be best if you had those answers before you made any mistakes, as I did, when I was not much older than yourself."

"Considering I am the mistake you made, Aunt Rosamund, perhaps it's best if we didn't say anything else to each other."

"If that's what you want, dearest."

Oh, she wanted to rage. She wanted top pick up one of the weights on the counter and hurl it at that perfectly fashionable, overlarge hat. Edith finally, finally understood how Mary must have spent a great deal of their nursery years feeling, given the way she acted, and all she could think at that moment was that it was awful. The only two things that stopped her were the frank knowledge that a postal weight to the head could kill (criminal charges would interfere with her wedding and put a damper on her marriage that would be intolerable) and the fact that the postal clerk was watching avidly.

And, perhaps, a tiny part of herself… wanted to ask those questions.

"I refuse to be the subject of any more tawdry conversation than I already am."

"I had my maid take a room at the Grantham Arms. We may use it to speak."

Edith jerked a harsh not and opened the door with more force than was strictly required. She forced herself to stop grinding her teeth. As they made the short walk and single turn required to get to the public house and inn, she caught sight of Susan MacClure standing and watching avidly from a nearby corner. Shooting her cousin a murderous look, she at least had the satisfaction of watching the older woman turn and scurry away. She can walk back to the abbey, if she doesn't run!

The trip up the back staircase was unobserved and unremarkable. Soon Edith found herself in a very typical inn room, standing across from a woman she hadn't believed would ever even try to approach her in her lifetime.

"Considering how hard it is to pretend that someone doesn't exist while conversing with them, Auntie, precisely why are you here? I thought my existence was uncomfortable for you?"

She finally got a response. Lady Rosamund's river blue eyes flashed unhappily at her and her lips pursed.

"Edith, I came here to help you."

"A few years too late, but they do say the thought is what counts."

"Edith."

"Don't Edith me! All you've ever done is abandon me."

Silence reigned for a moment and the older woman sighed and Edith found herself surprised as she watched her aunt reach up and remove a long pin, taking her hat and setting it aside rather than hiding behind the brim as she'd expected her to do. A moment later, the older woman stood in front of Edith. They were precisely of a height, and as the woman who was not Edith's mother looked her in the face, she was struck with the uncomfortable realization that her habit of looking directly into people's faces, awkwardness be damned, might have a source other than herself.

"That's true, Edith, and I regret everything about our meeting five years ago. Th-that is largely why I haven't approached you since. It may do me no good to say it, and I doubt you want to hear it, but I am sorry for that."

"For what? Telling me that I'd find no mother other than Cora Crawley or that you turned me away when I was alone and terrified and my entire life was a lie?"

"The latter."

"But not the former?"

"Cora is your mother, Edi-."

"Yes, she is!" Edith all but spat the words. "She may not have been perfect, but at least she admitted she was wrong. At least she loves me enough to do everything she can for my happiness now! At least she gives a single damn about me, which is more than you ever gave!"

"Yes, Edith it is."

"Stop agreeing with me!" Edith glared. "What do you even want from me?"

"Nothing!" Rosamund shook her head violently.

"Then why are you here?"

"To answer questions like that. Edith, I know-."

"Why, then tell me why?"

Silence fell and Edith was suddenly terribly aware that her face was damp and her chest heaving. The boning in her corset dug into her ribs. She fumbled in her handbag for her handkerchief. Thanks to Addie, she always had a few. Finding one, she mopped at her face, and turned to find that Lady Rosamund had turned away from her to do the same. While those tears, which seemed so false, might have outraged her, she was brought up short by the way that the other woman's hands shook within their perfectly fitted kid gloves. Then she found Rosamund facing her again and simply stood there, waiting.

"I was a dreadfully spoilt, stupid girl despite being older than you are now. Your Uncle Duke was equally spoiled and, as both of us had been taught that merely having been born into such wealth and privilege as we had been made us fundamentally flawless. So, the first time our lives weren't perfect, we fell apart."

"You mean you both committed adultery and you ended up pregnant."

"Yes."

"And that was all?" Edith waved her hand across the room, as if gesturing for guests to take in the grandeur of a carefully decorated ballroom. "Oops, that was foolish, best fob the little bastard off on my brother? His wife's pregnant, we'll make it work!"

"No, God, no!" Rosamund took a step towards her, her normally handsome features twisted. "When it really sunk in what I had done I was beside myself with panic. I went to Robert to – to try and chart some course."

Edith froze, just listening, as her aunt went on, her expression flowing from panic to grief to shame and back again in a jangled circuit.

"I couldn't bear the thought of going to Switzerland and Robert was too good to make me. We talked about… about Zachary and that he would run away to America and we could marry there after a divorce, but Robert was appalled by the infamy I would bring down on all of my family and I realized that I'd been selfish enough."

"You had…"

"Yes." Tired blue eyes met brown again. "I didn't love Zachary, good man that he was, and I never would. He didn't love me because I'd never been genuine to him; seduction seldom is. Even if I did marry him after some Mexican divorce only good on another continent, I would have done untold damage to you're the reputations of everyone else in our family. Your father's place in politics, his influence, your grandmother's connections, even our cousins would be branded by it. I know I'm a selfish woman, Edith, but I couldn't ruin our entire family simply because Duke and I chose the worst possible method of quarreling imaginable."

Edith's mind was reeling, but in the middle of it was one other question.

"Did you ever regret it?"

"Yes."

"Do you regret it now?"

"I don't regret choosing my husband over you. I suppose that shows, more than anything else, that I – I never was meant to be a mother." Rosamund hesitated and Edith began to shake her head, but the other woman raised a hand and spoke again, her voice somewhat calmer. "I regret like nothing else that I didn't help you when you asked. That, when you came to me five years ago, I didn't stand up and offer you whatever help you needed. That I didn't assure that, even if I'll never be your mother in anything but an animal sense, I would always be the aunt who'd loved you and you never had to fear being left alone and without resources. I will always regret that."

Silence's merciless reign reasserted itself. The cheap brass mantle clock ticked threateningly.

"Will you go back to London?"

"Do you want me to, Edith."

"Yes."

"Then I shall." The woman reached for her hat, then turned it in her hands, looking up at her. "I – I also came because I was worried. He's very much older than you, darling. Even if you love him, you know what that eventually must mean, don't you?"

"Aunt Rosamund," Edith didn't say the title with kindness, but she found she could say the words again. "one thing you will never have a right to do, is comment on my life and my choices."

"Yes, you're right. Do be careful, though." The hat went back into place. The pin settled in to hold it. The perfect composure began to settle uneasily back onto Lady Rosamund's features. "You may not believe it, Edith, but I do pray to God that you're happy."

Edith swallowed and let her get the last word in as the door closed. Walking into the tiny washroom attached to the room, she didn't find a toilet – you'd have to go down the hall for that – but she did find a pitcher and basin on a shaving stand. Looking into the tiny mirror hung above it, she and used the wrinkled and torn handkerchief to wash her face. Then she went back to the Post Office, had the clerk help her load Anthony's gift, and drove home.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Sure, you don't need a chaperone, old boy?"

"I'm sure there will be a plethora of nosy old women to do your duty for you, Archie, and your wife and children besides." Anthony checked his pocket watch with a frown. "Now, for the last time, I will be back with time to spare for dinner, we shan't be going anywhere this evening, I have no desire for some kind of stag-do we're all far too old for anyway, and you can tell all of the other miscreants gathered for dinner that they may just put it from their heads now!"

"You know, Hugh and Paul are maintaining that you were far more interesting in University than this, but it seems quite characteristically dull of you in accordance with my memories."

"Thank you ever so much."

"You're welcome. Don't forget my wife or my children at the Abbey in all your calf-eyed staring at your future wife."

"Don't fall down a deep well."

"So you wish me to fall down a shallow well?"

"Not too shallow." Anthony smiled crookedly, inclined his head with the sort of typical good cheer that only someone who knew him as well as his brother-in-law would see for the mockery it contained, and then strode out to his garage.

He could have asked for the Rolls to be brought around. He might have even done so, if his house wasn't crawling with laughing friends from his younger years. As it was, this would be his last chance to steal a few moments with his darling before their wedding the next day. He didn't want to risk some well-meaning (or not so well-meaning) humorist amongst his friends tagging along.

As he approached the garage, a familiar car pulled into the drive. The driver hesitated slightly, apparently seeing him and choosing to go to him rather than stop in front of Loxley's front door. Anthony frowned in surprise when he saw the driver.

"Edith, is something wrong? I thought I was coming to – Edith?!"

Alarm filled him as his fiancée stepped out of the car abruptly. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her hair disarranged beneath her hat.

"Sweet one, you've been crying. What's wrong? Is Addie alright?"

Then he had an armful of warm, sniffling, woman. There was nothing else to do but oblige. Enfolding her in his arms as his mind ran in a thousand directions, coming up with a million potential disasters as he gently nudged her into the garage and away from any prying eyes that might look on from some of his home's windows. Catching Waters' eye, he jerked his head towards the door and his chauffeur quickly quit the garage, giving them some privacy.

"Edith, my love, you're worrying me."

"It's not – everyone's fine. Addie's made friends with my cousin, Rose."

Anthony's elephantine memory spat out the pertinent facts.

"Lord Flintshire's youngest. So he did make it?"

"Oh, he did, and even Cousin Susan came, despite the fact that she was appalled to find out her cousin was hiding Lady Rosamund's bastard for all those years and had to tell all of London about it!" Edith let out a small, bitter laugh, burying it and her face against the lapel of his second best gray day suit. "Speaking of, guess who she lured me out to meet?"

Anthony hissed through his teeth.

"Lady Rosamund."

"Yes."

"Oh, my darling girl, I am so sorry." Distress overtook him. You couldn't even get through the wedding before you already failed her. Is this what you call protecting your wife? "Edith, forgive me, I should have realized-."

"Anthony," That did the trick and he found Edith looking up at him, her expression actually softly amused and her golden-brown eyes overflowing with fondness as much as tears. "I love you terribly, but even with all your fretting you can't pretend you anticipating a woman whose ignored me for years showing up the day before our wedding to – to – I don't even know!"

"What did she say to you?"

"Nothing, everything."

Now matter what her take on his failure to protect her, Anthony's stupid inability to see her vulnerability to this situation and plan a way to insulate her from such harassment was apparent. It was also apparent that it was too late to correct that. All that was left was comforting her, and Anthony did just that. Humming softly against her hair, he kept her wrapped in his arms. Had anyone entered the garage, they would have found Anthony Strallan bowed over the woman in his arms, his shoulders hunched and his body turned until she was nearly invisible in the cocoon of his embrace. Eventually, when she was ready, she went on.

"I think that later – much later – I may be grateful she came. That she showed up and answered my questions and left when I bloody well told her to- oh, Anthony, I'm sorry! Forgive-."

Anthony chuckled when her face turned up towards him, her eyes wide at having used such harsh language in front of a gentleman. Not that, in Paris, they hadn't spoken to each other with raw honesty. The poor darling has had such a day. He smiled at her, crooked and with love that was achingly apparent.

"While I know neither of us favor harsh language, sweet one, I do believe that I agree that Lady Rosamund could have bloody well managed better timing."

He silently applauded himself when she managed another weak laugh.

"What did she have to say for herself?"

"Nothing good."

"She made no excuses."

"Not really just…"

"Just?"

Anthony could see the pain gathering and wanted to give it no time to fester. He hadn't kept her safe as he should. She had still come to him for comfort. She'd come to him to talk. He wouldn't fail her in drawing the poison out, word by rotten word.

"It would have been nice if there were some reason. Some grand excuse that explained it all. So that it made sense. Does that sound mad, Anthony?"

"Of course not, Edie."

Closing his eyes as his own decades of regret chewed upon his nerves, he granted himself the comfort of resting his cheek against her curls. He'd pulled her hat away ages ago and set it aside, and only later would they both discover he'd misplaced the pin.

"Sweet one, you have no idea how I railed against the heavens when I lost Maud and – and our son. When we lost the other children before they even had a chance to be born properly." Anthony's eyes stung. "I desperately wanted to understand. For there to be some – some simple mechanical error I could just fix somehow. Everyone wants that kind of clarity; it's part of the human condition and age, or race, or gender play no part in it."

"That is either the most wonderful or the most discouraging thing you've ever said to me, darling."

"Do tell me when you decide which."

They stood there for a few more minutes in silence. Wrapped up in each other and in the comfort of their presence, neither felt the need to speak. Anthony fretted silently, that he hadn't said enough or the right thing, and began to make plans to have Stewart go into Downton and make bloody sure that Lady Rosamund Painswick was on a train off to somewhere else this very evening, if she wasn't already. He also promised himself to have a quiet word with the Marquess Flintshire and his Lady Wife before the evening was over, and without Edith knowing. His poor lovely girl had been through enough without having to worry another moment.

"Right." Edith huffed. "I'm not giving this another moment of my time."

Anthony felt one side of his mouth curl up in a crooked smile as her words mirrored his thoughts.

"Very good, sweet one."

"I'm deliriously happy and, this time tomorrow, I will be your wife and happier yet!"

"Jolly good to hear that."

"I brought you a present."

"Better and better!"

Edith laughed and shoved gently at his shoulder. Feeling daring, Anthony leant down and stole a kiss. She responded, and if it was a bit salty and she pulled back too soon to sniffle, he gave her his handkerchief and let her lead him out to Lord Grantham's car.

"You just can't fit anything in the Bugatti, so I borrowed Papa's car." Edith explained. "It's not that big, though."

Sure enough, there was small, flat, crate in the back. Anthony reached in and maneuvered it out.

"A painting?"

"Open it."

Retrieving a hefty screwdriver from the garage, Anthony pried a few nails loose and the top clattered off the crate. Reaching into the straw packed within, he lifted out an oil painting, perhaps two-feet-by-thirty-inches in a simple gilt frame. Looking down at it, he blinked in shock.

"Oh, I say!"

"We don't have to hang it, if you don't like it. I'd never seen anything like it in Loxley, and wasn't sure if you liked their style, since it's the sort of thing people either seem to love or hate." Edith babbled nervously. "But, when I saw it in Paris all I could just smell the flowers of the garden at Loxley."

"The Artists Family in the Garden." Anthony read the title card tucked into the back of the frame, holding out far from his face and squinting at it rather than pulling out his reading glasses. "Monet?"

"Papa thinks the Impressionists are intolerably messy, but doesn't it just make you think of our picnics?"

Physically, Anthony's eyes were roaming the small painting. They were stumbling over the mounded hills of color, the living tumult of brushstrokes, and the wonderful hues of green, pink, blue, violet, red, yellow, and everything else worked together to create the impression of a wonderful spring morning in a verdant, flower-strewn meadow. His heart, however, was watching Addie insist she could do a cartwheel as he and Edith reclined together on a checkered cloth and he marveled at her daring in taking him up on his bet about plowing a field, and how fine her legs looked in denim trousers.

"Come along."

"What?"

Taking the painting by the frame in one hand, he took Edith's right hand in his left and tugged her behind him.

"Anthony?"

"Through the kitchen, my guests are all dear and lovely friends, but let's not bother with them right now, sweet one." Anthony led his wife in through the kitchen entrance, offering up an apology to his staff along with a smile as he disrupted them and crossing his fingers that his servants remained so wonderfully discrete as they had been. "This way."

"Where are we going?"

Anthony made sure to thoroughly check the hallway for interlopers after they'd climbed the servant's stairs. Then he led her quickly across the hall and through a closed door. As he shut it behind them and turned the key, he heard Edith's happy intake of breath.

"Oh, you've all my things here!"

"It's to be your boudoir and dressing room." Anthony offered, flushing slightly as he watched her look around at the blue-green silk wallpaper that his mother had chosen and neither he nor Maud had ever bothered to replace, and the warm oak wainscoting. The pale pink marble fireplace that rather clashed with the wallpaper looked lovely with the golden sheen of Edith's maple furniture. "I had your things from Downton moved in here. I didn't know if you wanted to keep separate rooms, so I had it brought in as well. I wouldn't presume to know, nor – I mean, it was hardly appropriate to ask before we wed! You can move anything you want, however, and if it's too close – the master's chamber is right through that door-."

Edith's forefinger came up to rest gently against his lips. He looked down into the way she was smiling at him; as if his babbling with nerves was somehow the most charming thing she'd ever heard. While he still had not the slightest idea why, had he doubted that she loved him, this was powerful reassurance.

"Is this what you wanted to show me? Oh, darling man, you needn't have done that. I – I already knew that Loxley was my home."

"Jolly good." Anthony breathed, then turned to carefully lean his gift against the wall. "That isn't why I brought you here, though."

Turning, he finally pressed the switch to bring up the room's electric lighting. With only weak gray sunlight streaming through the windows, the furnishings of the room had been clear. With the lights on, what had been a dark shape over the mantle resolved itself.

"Oh!"

"The Poppy Field, also by Monet." Anthony moved to stand behind his wife as she rose onto her toes to better admire the field of red flowers and the shapes of the artist's wife and child wandering in the tall green grasses in the background. "Not nearly so popular, I'm afraid, when my Mama bought it for my Papa not long after I was born."

Edith turned, looking at him with wide eyes.

"You see," His hand moved up to brush a curl from out of her eyes of its own volition. He might have bought her an amber brooch, but those eyes would have outshone it. "it reminded her of home as well."

When they'd stopped kissing, Edith looked at him, those same eyes full of love, and said precisely what they both were thinking.

"We're going to have a wretched time sneaking out of here without everyone thinking we've been horrendously inappropriate, aren't we, darling?"

"Sweet one, I believe that ship sailed sometime after we were spotted in Paris."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What is she doing here?"

Charles Carson had no sooner stepped into the hallway when Elsie Hughes, with a force of personality far exceeding her physical mass, pulled him into the Housekeeper's sitting room to address the pink elephant in the room.

Or the red elephant at the servant's hall table…

"She won't be for long. Lord Grantham agrees, we're sending her straight to the inn."

"Mr. Carson, Sarah O'Brian was released from service with no reference for lying to the Master of this household, for lying to yourself, for lying to me, as well as for theft and stirring up all manner of trouble amongst our staff."

Charles went to agree and explain, but was cut off before he could begin.

"Do you honestly believe that a night at an inn is sufficient punishment for showing up here again?"

"No, unfortunately, as you reminded me this morning regarding Mr. Barrow, there is only so much one can do when it comes to matters of other households." Charles huffed, the back of his mind noting how much thicker and more musical her brogue got when she was angry.

He was further rewarded by how appalled she looked.

"You're telling me that one of the guests has hired that woman?"

"Lady Flintshire has retained O'Brain's services."

There was a moment of silence. No doubt in morning for common sense.

"Well, that honestly explains everything that needed explaining."

Carson's sigh was painful, echoing, and unavoidable despite his best efforts.

"Yes, I am afraid it does."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

More Notes: Argh! I swear that I intended to just go straight into their wedding. I STILL promise that the wedding is going to be angst free and lovely, as is the honeymoon. I couldn't resist introducing an antagonist who I now intend to keep on the fringes of things going forward!

Sarah O'Brian – yep, I accelerated things and had her begin working for Rose's mother early. I think it's safe to say that Susan Flintshaw is not intelligent enough, and is definitely petty and unhinged enough, to be ripe for O'Brian's style of manipulation. As we've already gone AU, we're going to keep going VERY AU through the war with MANY changes, and one of them is that the Flintshires are going to be appearing a little more. They won't be main characters or around frequently, but they'll be cropping up.

Rosamund – I honestly LIKE canon Rosamund. I don't agree with all of her choices, but I do like her and her relationship with Edith. I made a conscious decision with this fic, however, that I needed to have a clean break between Edith and the Crawleys when she went to the U.S. one that led to an estrangement that only really healed *in* this fic. That and other decisions led to Rosamund's behavior.

That said, I don't think she was evil. I do think that she was selfish and stupid and immature, as was her husband. I can't imagine that being coddled from birth, raised according to social Darwinism in the aristocracy, and raised by servants as they were created normal levels of emotional maturity in many people of Rosamund and Marmaduke's class.

I think that what followed was a trainwreck driven by that, and then exacerbated by sexual politics and expectation of the times. Rosamund does care about Edith, but she also gave her up for adoption and did the emotional dirty work of separating herself from the concept of being Edith's mother. That doesn't make any of her choices alright, but it does put a certain perspective on the whole thing.

As it is, she probably won't appear further in the story save for a very infrequent cameo.

Rose – Rose and Addie shall be friends! Which, on one hand, yay! On the other… they're going to be teenage girls together… we know what rose is like… Anthony, you really should have taken Archie's warning to heart!

Edith's University Friends – I'm going to be shamelessly honest here. I couldn't resist this 1) because Edith should have friends. 2) I wanted to give Sybil the joy of having a bunch of educated, modern young women to hang out with. 3) It gave me a chance to cast my great-grandmother (who was indeed precisely this age) in a role.

Eva Mae is essentially my grandmother, who was indeed a teeny tiny woman with absolutely no fear. The story Edith tells of her friend stabbing a man assaulting her in chapter 4 is a true story: my great-grandmother was only 15 in reality, however, and not in university when it happened. A school friend was groped outside and Ice Cream parlor and she buried a hat-in three inches deep into his rear-end. When he fell down, yelling, the four schoolgirls kicked him until he had to be hospitalized. They ran away and he told everyone he'd been attacked by a black bear and had to beat it off with a trashcan lid.

She lived to be over 90*, smoked, drank, and insisted cussing didn't count in private! She also got her birth certificate reissued when the archives in her town burnt down in 1932. She shaved several years off of her birthdate, so we have no idea of knowing *exactly* how old she really was! We strongly suspect she was actually over 100 when she finally passed away in 1996.