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).

14. Chapter 14

Author's Notes: Now, the wedding.

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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Early September 1913

Rose MacClare was not used to being awoken before the sun rose. A string of poorly paid, often replaced, nurses and then a governess her mother had harassed to the point of total apathy during her brief stint with the family, had seen to that. At both schools Rose had attended grace, deportment, and appearance were emphasized. This included getting enough rest. As such, the girls were not awoken until seven o'clock in the morning. As such, she was unprepared to be rudely awoken at five-fifteen in a pitch-dark room by having a lanky German Shepherd puppy dropped on her chest.

It was absolutely wonderful.

"Addie!"

Rose woke up giggling and trying to fight off the pink doggy tongue happily digging into her left nostril, then her right ear as the eleven-year-old girl rolled onto her side and scrunched up into a tiny blonde ball of mirth.

"Addie, Polly, stop it!"

"C'mere…"

Still giggling, Addie retrieved her puppy and set her upon the floor.

"Sit, down."

Rose, grinning and huffing for breath past her mirth, watched as Addie held her hand out and issued firm instructions to the puppy. With her overlarge ears quivering, the brown and black pup sat itself down upon the floor, lowered itself to lay, and waited eagerly with its tail fanning the carpet.

"She's such a good puppy!" Rose enthused.

"She is, but I need to take her outside to relieve herself." Addie explained, putting enough emphasis on the final two words that Rose guessed some grown up had corrected her over it in the past.

Rose MacClure knew that feeling. Yawning, she rubbed at her eyes. Sitting up, she tugged at her nightgown and looked around her. The guest room that she was sharing with Addie at Crawley House was still perfectly nice. She'd been pleased when she found out she wouldn't have to stay with nursery at Downton, while all the various children were having supper together there. Mrs. Crawley had been very nice and welcoming when she'd come up to check on them before bed. She'd brought warm milk and biscuits.

"Is that why we're up so early?"

"No, you don't have to walk Polly. She's my responsibility." Addie assured her, hesitated, and jittered her left foot as she answered. "Before Edith wakes up and gets ready, I'm going to Loxley. I have a present for Sir Anthony for the wedding and I forgot to give it to him yesterday because we were playing. Mr. Branson's going to drive me there and I didn't know if you wanted to come?"

"This early?"

"Sir Anthony gets up early."

"But…" Rose closed her mouth after realizing it was open and made sure she was whispering; the rest of the house had to be asleep. "You really can't visit this early. There are rules."

"For weddings, the rule is that everyone has to be ready on time."

"Well… that does make sense."

Rose perked up as she considered that she was about to get to go visit a new house.

"Sir Anthony is ever so nice, isn't he? Daddy only takes tea in the nursery maybe once every other week – though he is very busy with his work."

If Addie noticed that Rose didn't comment on her mother, she was too polite to say anything. She rose considerably in the taller girl's esteem for this.

"We won't get there before six." Addie promised, turning to look at where her puppy was now wriggling a little forward on her belly. "I have to take Polly out – I'm sorry, Polly. Meet you in the kitchen? Mrs. Bird will fix us breakfast early!"

Rose was going through something of a growth spurt. One that had mostly been acknowledged at this point by complaints regarding the expense of dressing her. Her mother was also at pains to remind her to eat in a ladylike manner. The idea of an early breakfast, perhaps with a second breakfast once it was laid out for everyone else, was very appealing. Looking at the simple striped frock and stockings that her new friend was wearing, Rose came to a decision.

"I'll be down in a bit, let me get out of my nightgown."

Addie nodded, called her puppy to her, and was out the door at a rapid, quiet, patter. Dressing quickly, Rose held her black patent slippers in her hands and padded silently down the main stairs, and then the servant's stairs and into the basement. She had a moment of confusion at the bottom, Crawley House's basement being unfamiliar. Then she heard voices offering a direction.

The kitchen was a bustling, warm, place with a heavyset, graying woman presiding over it with considerable firmness. Three maids were assisting her, and there were two men sitting at a table pushed back from the action with tea in front of them. One was tall and balding, with a nervous manner, the other was an inch or two taller, with sleep black hair. Both were wearing their best livery (though it didn't match). Rose flushed as she noticed how very handsome the taller fellow was.

"Here now, you must be Lady Rose who Mrs. Crawley said was visiting us."

"Y-yes, ma'am?" Rose offered her broadest smile as she jumped at the sudden address and got an equal smile right back.

"I'm Mrs. Bird. Would you like to eat down here in the warm, since it seems Miss Addie's put paid to your beauty sleep or would you like a tray?"

Rose turned and looked nervously at the two male servants and the busy maids. There was quite a bit going on, and there were quite a few guests in Crawley house…

"I don't want to be a bother…"

"You're no such thing, and neither is Miss Addie."

"The Moppet is made of trouble and botheration." The black-haired man replied dryly, but turned and offered up a cheeky grin as he did so, bowing as he stood along with the other fellow. "Lady Rose, would you do us the honor of joining us?"

Rose flushed and grinned and was saved from coming up with a response that was proper (which she didn't wish to do anyway) when Addie clattered back into the kitchen, Polly at her heel.

"Good morning, Mrs. Bird, Good morning Mr. Moseley!" Addie stood by the door, hopping slightly as she pushed off her wellies and shoved her feet into her own pair of plain patent slippers. "Thomas, this is my friend, Rose. Rose! This is my friend, Thomas Barrow, who I told you about."

"He's going to be the underbutler at Loxley." Rose repeated dutifully as her smile widened as she began to feel daring as well. "How do you do, Mr. Barrow? May I call you Thomas as well, or would that be rude?"

While there was a sharpness in the gray eyes looking down at her that might have otherwise given someone as hyperaware of the adults around her as Rose some pause, the clear fondness in his expression and the ease of his posture set her at ease without her realizing it. To her delight, the servant offered up a wink.

"Probably best to stick to Barrow upstairs, but hardly necessary over breakfast, I would think."

Rose allowed herself to be shepherded to the table. There she quickly employed all of the sunshine in her nature and learned that Mr. Moseley (the thin balding fellow) was Mr. Crawley's valet. She also learned the names of both of the Crawley House's maids and was working on finding out their favorite breakfast foods as she let Thomas help her into a seat and watched Rose fetch a glazed bowl full of off-cuts of meat and chicken feet to put before her puppy. Hand washed, Addie plonked herself into a seat opposite Rose with complete abandon.

"Thank you, Mrs. Bird!"

The girl's chorus greeted the addition of more foodstuffs to the table. A large stack of toasted bread was sat down, as well as a larger bowl of porridge. Several small jam pots, honey, and a warmed cups of cambric tea made their way to the table.

"Miss Addie, are you not feeling like oatmeal?"

"Your oatmeal is very good, Mrs. Bird, but I don't think I should have dairy before the wedding. Just in case."

"Beef tea, perhaps, to go with your toast?"

"Yes, ma'am, please?"

Realizing quickly that no-one was paying the least bit of regard to her eating with Addie there, Rose gleefully topped up her bowl of porridge with far more honey than she would normally have been permitted and slathered two pieces of toast in both butter and orange marmalade.

"Thomas, are you coming to Loxley with us?"

Mr. Barrow swallowed his own thoroughly amended toast and washed it down with tea.

"No, Moppet, I'm needed here for when your sister and her guests start waking up. It'll be bedlam."

"Weddings generally are, but aren't they a lovely change in atmosphere?" Mr. Moseley offered, his expression sunny and just a bit unaware of the annoyance hovering in the taller man's eyebrows. "I mean, you get so much that's dour in service. It's nice to really enjoy a celebration."

"You mean enjoying the work while others celebrate?"

"You're welcome to come to the wedding, if you like. There's plenty of room at the back of the church."

"Anyone can come into a church. It's the law." Rose added quickly, wanting everyone to get along as she was already having a very lovely breakfast and hated to see it ruined with quarreling.

"A-and we might step out for it, at that. If there's time." Mr. Moseley offered, then sucked his tea down the wrong way and coughed, rising as a bell rang. "My, he's up early today."

"Probably couldn't sleep with dreams of the titles Lady Mary's chasing haunting him."

"Barrow, now wait a min-."

"He could stand to do with more than a minut-."

"Thomas."

Rose would have sworn that, when Mrs. Bird and Mr. Moseley looked like they were about to quarrel, a tiny smirk had flickered playfully across Mr. Barrow's lips. As if Thomas were anticipating some fun game, and not a quarrel. It vanished, however, at Addie's disappointed whine.

"Edith's getting married today." The little girl with her dark auburn hair stamped her foot as she stood up, stuffing the last bit of her toast into her mouth and washing it down with the last of her beef tea. "There's not any unpleasantness allowed."

Now the smirk was obvious.

"None at all?"

"None."

"Well, that's told me." The tall man sniffed and reached out to ruffle the girl's hair, the sharpness in him visibly softening. Rose started when he turned those nearly colorless gray eyes on her next. "Do you have anything to scold me for this morning, Lady Rose?"

"Oh, no, I've never liked scolding!"

Especially being scolded.

"We'll get on fine, then." The tall man straightened his coat and tugged on a loose liver-colored curl, prompting an outraged noise from Addie. "Off with you, then. I hear Branson and I've too much work to chase after you today. So, mind you behave!"

"I won't do anything you wouldn't, Thomas!"

"That's not reassuring, child!"

Mrs. Bird's exasperated comment sent Rose into a cascade of giggles. Uncle Robert's driver arrived, and Rose's morning got better as Branson partaking of a cup of tea allowed her the time to fully finish her breakfast as Barrow fussed over their need for coats and hats before they would be permitted outside.

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Sir Anthony Strallan woke up early, despite a later night than he would have liked.

"Stewart, next time my old university chums decide that the only proper way to properly send me off is to pour excesses of whiskey into me, do remind me of the effects in the morning."

"Of course, sir."

There was no more trace of amusement in his stone-faced valet than Anthony had been expecting, but he appreciated the discretion nearly as much as he appreciated the vile concoction that his man handed him. Drinking the hangover cure down, Anthony reflected that it wasn't so bad. He only had a bit of lingering tightness and an ache behind his eyes. He couldn't imagine some of the others would fare so well.

With what few wedding jitters he had manifesting as nervous energy, he noted that he had sufficient time before he needed to dress to enjoy a bit of a ramble. Dressing against the damp morning chill, and tossing a passing scowl at the barometer in the foyer, he went out to wander in the orchard as the sun rose. As always the beauty of his home filled him with a mix of humility and pride as he looked at the red brick of Loxley glowing ethereally in the dim red light that filtered through the clouds.

In a man who was both bridegroom and widower, it was of no surprise that thoughts were tangled up with reminiscences about his first marriage. The thoughts were fleeting. He had gone to the churchyard two days before and shed his tears and had something of a talk with his first wife. He'd contemplated a mix of hope, fear, and regret tied up in the name inscribed beneath hers on the stone; of the son who'd barely had a chance to breathe, let alone live. I think you'd have liked her Maud. I know you would have. Perhaps, had you made it, we might have all been friends. Addie and Phillip might have played together…

No matter the age of a man, it should be little surprise that he thought of his parents before his wedding. As thoughts of what he'd lost faded, he thought of what he might find. Anthony had always felt closest to his father out on the grounds of Loxley. In memory, the house rang with his mother's laughter and her music. In the fields and the orchard and so many other places, though, uncountable footsteps rang with memory of Sir Phillip Strallan's quiet, staid, voice offering up instruction, advice, and the quiet guidance that had so defined him. Leaning with his palm against the trunk of a mature pear tree he could recall planting together with his father in his childhood, Anthony sighed and looked up at the clouds through the branches overhead, weighty with slowly ripening pears.

"I wish you'd known her, Papa." Anthony mused softly, before one side of his mouth ticked up. "You'd have adored her, and she'd have loved you. I think you'd have understood each other so very well."

A splash and a croak from the pond, as if in answer, brought the other side of his mouth up to match the first.

"I can only imagine your reaction to the amphibian survey. Only, it includes reptiles now so I suppose we should call it the ectotherm survey."

A whisper of wind moved through the trees and the leaves swayed. Feeling a touch less foolish than he normally would, given that he seldom indulged these conversations with his ghosts aloud, Anthony went on.

"I don't know whether you'd have spoiled her as badly as you did Diana – and don't deny it, because we all spoiled her terribly – or you'd have a better handle on that child than Archie assumes I ever will. Which, by the way, Papa, is rubbish. Addie's not wayward, she's just bored and needs a bit of direction. It'll turn out, just like you always said, and your daughter's husband will have to eat his words!"

Anthony swallowed at the musical onslaught a nearby thrush offered the dawn and looked away. He couldn't quite say aloud how he missed his father. It felt too ridiculous at his age and after so long. Contemplating his mother's absence was too poignant to approach. The sudden onslaught of melancholy, unexpected and very out of place, was derailed as he noticed a familiar car coming up the drive.

"Oh for the-… What have you done now?"

Anthony's muttered words were directly specifically at Lady Rosamund Painswick, but more broadly at the entire little cabal of unhappy females who had brought about the harassment of his intended the day before. It proved unnecessary. As he watched, Tom Branson stepped out and got the door for his passenger's. Two small figures scurried past the chauffer's uniformed presence, and Thomas Barrow's unmistakable profile followed.

Anthony's lips rose in greeting along with his hand as he waved at the small figures. The taller of which sported a cascade of blonde curls beneath her woolen hat spotted him as she looked about curiously. Addie was, of course, ready to scramble towards Loxley's front door already. She was halted by a grab for her sleeve, turned at her new friend's behest, and soon both girls were pelting towards him with Polly scampering alongside. Barrow offered him a nod and then headed for the servant's entrance as Branson leaned against the car to wait.

"Sir Anthony!"

"Well, good morning, Addie! Aren't you here rather early?"

"I wanted to come before Edith woke up!" Addie offered, coming to a stop and then looking down at her muddy and damp stockings and black patent slippers. "Oh. We should have just worn our wellies."

"I didn't bring mine. I've got another pair of shoes, though!"

"That's good, Rose."

"Good morning, Lady Rose." Anthony offered his hand and bowed over the little girl's, just to watch her courtesy and smile at the excessive gallantry. "You are look very nice. Is that a new frock."

He'd quite agreed with Edith's assessment the day before that her younger cousin could use a bit of attention. Goodness knew that her mother was a fright, as ungentlemanly as it was for him to think such things. A little extra attention, to see the girl smile, was so little to ask. How her parents could be so blessed and remain blind to it was appalling.

"No, but the lace is new!" Rose's enthusiasm was intense. "Did you know Cousin Edith and Addie gave me lace from Paris for the dress I'm going to wear to the wedding, and I'm to be allowed to be an attendant?!"

"Yes, and you arrived just in the nick of time as well." Anthony kept his voice serious and his thanks sincere. "Now that you're here, Lady Rose, to help Addie hold her sister's train, things shall be nicely balanced."

"And when you're done, remember that you're to sit beside Aunt Cora in the front row and not go back to your Mama because you'd have to squeeze through the pews and it would look odd."

"I'll remember!"

"Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, hm?"

As Anthony watched, amused, Rose and Addie exchanged a knowing look. Silent communication passed between them and Rose turned.

"Polly! Come here, Polly!"

The puppy, who'd been snuffling about fallen leaves and the bases of the trees, came scampering back eagerly.

"Who'd a good dog?"

The puppy's energetic barking was a very strong affirmative.

"Yes, you are!" Rose agreed as she found a stick and promptly ran a ways off tossing it as she went for the puppy.

When Anthony looked back down at Addie, she looked both hopeful and nervous. Anthony immediately sense that there was, perhaps, more tied up in this trip than originally apparent. With only the barest thought to his trousers (they were just old tweeds and not wedding finery, after all), he knelt down to be more at Addie's level. The gratitude in her expression was considerable as she rifled in her coat pocket and brought a small black velvet box out, holding it firmly in both her hands against her chest.

"Sir Anthony, I – I wanted to bring you a present."

"That is very kind of you, Addie, but your presence is more than gift enough."

The child's expression just grew more grave and her eyes, the same shade of steel that was gathering in the thickening clouds, so very earnest.

"It's not really from me, Sir Anthony."

He waited patiently and after a moment's fidgeting as she looked off to her puppy and her friend, she held the box out towards him. Very carefully he accepted it.

"You can open it."

He did and felt his eyebrows raise in appreciation. Nestled into the velvet interior of the box were two pins suitable for tie or cravat. One featured a diamond of a little more than a single carrat, cut round, and set in platinum. Surrounding the diamond, cut into various geometric shapes to fill the kite-shaped outline, were small sapphires of a very intense, deep blue. The other pin was gold and featured a cabochon emerald the size of a chickpea surrounded by an alternating pattern of tiny diamonds and rubies interwoven into a thick golden braid.

"These are very fine, Addie."

"Daddy gave Adrian and James each one of the sapphire ones when they were accepted in university."

"Did he, now?"

"Yes, but James was horrid at keeping track of little fiddly things even when they were terribly expensive." Her lip wobbled slightly as she smiled at the memory. "He lost his playing rugby but knew Daddy would have tanned his hide so he and Adrian always wore different pins so that they could swap the blue one around and Daddy wouldn't know James had lost it."

"Really?"

"They did it with cufflinks, too. Daddy always got them matched sets but they wouldn't wear them at the same time and said it was because they didn't want to confuse people, but they liked playing tricks they were just – just making sure Daddy didn't know James hadn't been careful of his nice things."

"Well, having had a sister… I can relate somewhat." Anthony prompted with all the gentleness of his nature, seeing the rapid fluttering of the girl's rusty lashes. "And the other?"

"Papa h-had picked them out as a p-present for when the boys got back from Europe before he got dreadfully sick." Addie swallowed so hard her throat clicked. "Edith's keeping one for when I get married, even though I don't know why I would. I wanted you to have these thought and – and if it's not too much trouble, and you're not wearing one of your Papa's or something like that, maybe you could wear one to the wedding?"

"I happen to be wearing my father's favorite cufflinks." Anthony replied, touched beyond all reason by the enormous gesture. "But, Addie, you do know you don't have to give me-."

"I want to!" She went up on her toes as she spoke, her hands coming out for his shoulders to balance herself. "Adrian would want you to have it. He'd have liked you ever so much and James would have too, though he though he was funny so he'd probably have been a skunk too, but they'd have liked you ever so much and been so happy for loving Edith."

How could a man be expected to take such a thing stoically? Reaching out he carefully wound the girl into a hug. Her wiry arms wrapped painfully tight around his neck and he held on, drawing her towards him and rubbing one hand over her back. From fingertips to the heel of his hand, he covered quite a bit of her coat and couldn't help a hint of fretting over the chill clinging to the outside of the wool.

"You American girls are quite hard on a proper British chap's stoicism; I hope you know that."

"It's good for you!"

Anthony huffed out a soundless chuckle at that firm proclamation and permitted himself to press a gentle kiss to her brow as he stood. His rifling for a handkerchief, however, produced a strong glare.

"I'm not crying."

Mission aborted, he nodded firmly and carefully slid the precious box into his coat pocket.

"Of course not, Addie, however this morning damp can play havoc with the sinuses."

She accepted the excuse readily along with the handkerchief on second offer. Rose, who had scampered back towards the, lingering hesitantly a bit away while Polly growled, tugging a branch along the ground roughly the size of a broom handle and making steady, if slow, progress towards her small person.

"Should I wear one in particular?"

"You should wear the sapphire."

"Any particular reason?"

"It's a surprise." Addie leaned down as the puppy and her significant stick advanced towards their shins. "Leave it, Polly!"

As expected with a puppy, it took a few repetitions to get the command across. When Polly had accepted a belly rub, and then returned to a rather wandering heel, Anthony led both Rose and Addie back to the car. There he was rewarded by another hug from his future sister-in-law, an unexpected hug from Edith's affectionate younger cousin, and found himself waving them off from the drive. Taking a deep breath, he sent one repressive look towards the clouds, reached up to reassuringly touch his pocket, and then opened the front door to his own home.

He had a lot to prepare for, Anthony noted, muttering to himself for a final time that morning.

"Jolly good."

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"You didn't really, did you?"

Cora was a little concerned for Sybil's enthusiasm for some of Edith's American friends. She was also rather helplessly amused by it. The next time her husband referred to her as 'a bit wild' in her youth, she was going to point out what these modern college girls were really like!

"And why wouldn't I?" Eva demanded as she carefully inspected the lace of Edith's wedding dress as it hung upon a folding screen in Cora's boudoir.

Cora hadn't been able to stand the idea of any of her girls preparing for their weddings anywhere but their home. Robert had backed her up, Edith had required almost no coaxing, and Cora had happily foisted both her mother-in-law and mother off onto Isobel. Thus, freed from the usual trammels, she had been able to take gleeful maternal control over the proceedings.

"Because he's your husband?"

"Husband or not, Eddie chose to be rude, so he chose the consequences. I hardly had a thing to do with it." The tiny brunette observed, sighing as she gently twitched the dress' skirt out. "Edith, this lace is divine."

"I think what shocks Lady Sybil isn't that you locked your husband outside for the night, it's that you did it in Minnesota in February, Eva."

"The man's Norwegian, he was fine." Eva sniffed in annoyance. "Besides, the rotten man climbed back in the bedroom window anyway."

"Actually, all of it shocks me!" Sybil clarified cheerfully. "Wasn't he mad?"

"He hasn't got the disposition for it, and it's just as well, since I'm not about to change."

"The twin joys of family money and a father in law enforcement." Delia laughed softly as she stood behind Edith, tugging on her corset strings one last time. "I think this does it, Edith."

Cora cast a careful eye at her daughter, who took a careful breath, one hand on her belly, and then released it.

"Yes, I think so. Mama?"
Cora, who'd been carefully arranging the long cathedral veil over the bed, drifted over to examine her daughter. Edith, she noticed, cast her a careful sort of look. Not suspicious, but not quite trusting. Cora shoved any feeling of self-recrimination down into the depths of herself. Things were fine now. They'd certainly handled things badly years ago, but now? Now her family was finally whole and healthy again. She wasn't going to waste time constantly second-guessing everything she did. Tugging her daughter's laces just once, Cora Crawley smiled brilliantly.

"Just perfect, darling, you look wonderful Edith."

Edith's expression positively glowed at the compliment.

"You're lovely, Edith, just as Sir Anthony always tells you." Sybil chimed in, warmth itself in her tone, as she stood off to the side helping Addie shimmy into her own frock.

Cora cast a glance around the room, assessing the progress of the various figures around the room. By the grace of children's fashion, Rose had already had a proper dress. Made of thin muslin with a skirt made of flounced layers and a plentitude of lace, the white dress was not so very different from Addie's. One difference that couldn't be escaped had been the pale blue satin sash that tied around Addie's waist, was secured in a sizable bow at her back, and had the tailored tails of the ribbon draped down at her knees near her skirt.

Thankfully, Anna's resourcefulness was proven again. She'd suggested splitting the sash, as it was doubled over for extra thickness, and making another. Now, both the maid and Elaine sat in chairs, quickly sewing what were now two slightly less weighty sashes onto the girls' dresses.

"I think it's better!" Rose, catching Cora's eye, spoke quickly. "You had the best idea, Anna, because now we both have a sash."

"And the bows are so silly-big."

"That too."

"I think you're right, Addie, they're much more elegant with the extra volume taken out." Cora agreed peacefully and stood up. "Let's get you into your gown, Edith."

It was a maneuver that took no less than four people, all tripping over each other slightly. Cora, however, waved the others off. Making full use of the happy informality that the young women from America brought into the room, and how Edith related to it, Cora took advantage to step forward and begin to fasten the long line of tiny pearl buttons that ran up the gown's back from low on Edith's hips to between her shoulders.

"I'd thought the hobble skirt a touch old-fashioned, but you were right, Delia."

"It makes her legs look wonderfully long."

"Sir Anthony doesn't have any complaints of the heart, does he?"

"Hush, my husband is in perfect health!" Edith shot back over the teasing, which Sybil gleefully got in on.

"Not quite your husband yet, Edith-dearest." Cora chuckled softly as she reached for the fine satin gloves on the vanity.

A few moments of teasing later and the gloves were in place. Edith fastened the sleeves over the gloves and stepped back. The rest of the room's occupants moved with her, all looking with on with the same replete sigh of feminine satisfaction on the vision before them.

"So, will I do?"

"You're the most beautiful ever."

Addie's response was echoed by Rose's enthusiastic nodding and Sybil stepping forward to touch where Edith's hair was only partially done up, with the back carefully twined into a swirling copper-gold knot, but the front was wrapped up in a strip of rag, waiting to be braided around her bridal tiara.

"You're just perfect, Edith. Where's your jewelry?"

Cora was surprised when, at that point, a signal seemed to pass amongst Edith's friends.

"I think I should go make sure the ushers and such are ready at the church." Elaine declared and, a moment behind her, Eva was nodding as well.

"Actually, we should all go. Rose too, if she'd like to come with us. We're meeting there for the processional anyway. It won't do any harm to do a final check over the organist and the flowers and such."

"If there's a problem with the flowers, we'd already have heard, trust me." Sybil laughed. "Granny was in charge of that."

"Then we'll go there and save any poor florists of insufficient talent from her wrath."

"Why would we do that?"

"Eva!"

"I'm simply saying that if they're insufficient then…"

Anna slipped out with the others, dismissed by Cora's nod. She found herself standing in the room with only her two younger daughters and Edith's little sister. After the morning they'd had preparing, it was deafeningly quiet until her youngest spoke.

"It really doesn't feel quite right not to have Mary here. Edith are you sure everything is alright between you?"

Edith shook her head, but her smile was so unencumbered that Cora's slight concern washed away with it.

"No, Sybil, Mary and I talked about it days ago. She's not bothered that I didn't ask her to be an attendant, and she's happy to play gracious hostess at the church. This way she gets more time with her various admirers, and we all know how Mary enjoys being admired!"

"Edith."

"Sorry, Mama."

Cora barely meant the chide anyway, and brushed it away with a graceful sway of a slender hand as she watched Edith turn towards the vanity and gesture towards a red large leather box there.

"It's not secret, it's tradition."

"Oh?"

"Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a sixpence in her shoe." Addie chirped, bouncing on her ruthlessly shined patent leather slippers.

"Exactly!" Edith gestured to her gown. "My gown is new."

Cora sighed a little, helpless with pleasure at it. While she hadn't had quite as much say in the dress as she'd wanted to, she was endlessly satisfied with the results. The dress itself was a tube of dupion silk. It had been explained that the fabric was shot silk, but it was nearly impossible to tell. One color was a silver-white so nearly colorless that it looked like the reflection off palladium. The other color of thread was an equally pale, golden-ivory. As such, whenever Edith moved the dress glistened as the two almost-indistinguishable colors melded into each others; one cool, one warm, both so gently metallic the viewer was barely aware of it beyond the glow.

The bodice was incredibly tight, fitted precisely to Edith's corseted figure. More of the same fabric had been overlapped to fit each shoulder and provide a square neckline, but it was obscured by carefully overlapped flat planes of the finest Alencon lace. Lace that crept down over the three-quarter length sleeves, into which her white gloves were tucked. The shirt allowed just enough movement for her to walk but followed the shape of her leg to just past her knees where it flared out into a short train.

"And I'm providing something old." Cora allowed, smiling as she moved forward to pick up her contribution.

"Why am I just hearing about this now?"

"Because you slipped out the back of the dress shop so you could yell at the police while we were in London." Addie offered up helpfully and Cora raised her eyebrows and shot Sybil a sharp look.

Sybil looked appropriately nervous.

"We've already discussed the incident. I think it best we let past mistakes stay in the past, Adelaide."

"Yes, Aunt Cora."

Opening the faded pink velvet box, Cora's lips turned up as she carefully withdrew a beautiful three strand pearl necklace. Edith's eyes widened to see it. Cora applauded herself for thinking of it.

"Great-grandmama's necklace?"

"Yes." Cora turned and caught Addie's curious expression as the little girl look between the older girls, clearly wondering if there was a story she didn't know. "You see, Addie, when I married Robert most of the family jewelry was held by the current countess."

Addie wrinkled her nose and Edith reached out with a single finger to poke at the appendage in a silent, weightless, scold.

"Granny was loathe to part with it?"

"You could say that, Sybil."

Cora could have admitted then that Violet had something of a point about holding onto the jewels that would have been traditionally turned over to the heir's new wife. A few important pieces had already been sold for the estate's sake before she married Robert, and Violet did have both her pride and her position to maintain. Given how salty Violet had been about it at the time, however, Cora felt no need to defend her mother-in-law. Why ruin such a happy moment by being fair? Violet certainly wouldn't have!

"So, Sybil and Edith's grandpapa gave me this necklace as a gift for the wedding." Cora finished explaining as she fastened the necklace into place. "It was his mother's personal possession, so it was his to gift it to who he chose. He chose me, and I hope to see all of my girls married in it."

"Thank you, Mama."

"You're welcome, dears."

"Edith's borrowing her something blue from me." Addie added. "So that's two."

Cora watched as the girl began to open the box's rather complicated lid with great care from someone whose movements were usually best described with adjectives such as scamper and scramble. She wasn't quite sure what was in it, either, and exchanged a curious glance with Sybil. Her youngest daughter drew a sharp breath, and Cora pressed her fingers to her sternum in surprise as the contents were revealed. Once the high top of the jewelry case was opened, two side drawers swung out. There, laid out on three levels, was one of the finest parures Cora Crawley had ever seen.

"Daddy got it for his and Mama's tenth anniversary." Adelaide explained, her voice quiet and reverent as her small, thin hands reached out to gently touch the jewels. "His jeweler had gotten it from somebody who had to leave Russia because they made the tzar before this one mad."

"Well, I feel very unfortunate for the gentleman who upset his tzar, but your father had excellent taste."

"As did your mother." Cora agreed, gently touching Sybil's shoulder as they leaned forward to better examine the display.

The parure was complete. It held two bracelets, each worked with a series of interlocking teardrop shaped sapphires accented with interlocking circles and sharp points of diamonds. It also held two small broches, an extraordinary stomacher with a central oval sapphire the size of a quail egg nestled in a thick diamond ring filled with a lattice of diamonds set in platinum, and three faceted briolette sapphire beads of nearly equal size. Matching earrings which featured intricate diamond posts and dangling sapphire briolettes to match the brooch.

Far and away the most spellbinding thing was the tiara, however. A lattice of platinum formed several interlocking circles of diamonds intertwined with chevrons of the same. Hanging in the open center of each of these intermeshed diamond shapes was a sapphire briolette bead. The teardrop shaped sapphires were strung the length of the tiara; there were thirteen in total. The largest was centered in the front, the smallest were tucked at the back.

"And you're sure you don't mind me wearing it, Addie." Edith had turned and reached to rest her hands on her little sister's shoulders, her expression very sure and very gentle. "I know how important this is to you. It was your Mama's favorite."

"Yes, but this way it's like Mama and Papa are – are here a little." The girl blinked rapidly and swallowed loudly. "Mama would want you to wear it. I want you to wear it."

Cora smiled down at the solemn expression on the child's face as Addie turned towards her, and the way Sybil melted. Her sweet, compassionate, daughter could hardly be expected to do otherwise. Of all of them, she was the one who most often reminded Cora to go gently with Edith and her sister. Cora might never manage to be happy Edith had gone away and had another family, but she certainly owed her nothing but kindness for having lost them.

"Aunt Cora, I can put it on Edith, if you'll fix her hair?"

"Well, it has been some years since I fixed anyone's hair – even my own." Cora teased gently, as if she hadn't hoped all along to use the circumstances to take as much a part in this wedding as possible. "But I think I can braid a tiara in. Most of the work is already done! Sybil, will you hand me Edith's veil?"

Edith's light golden-brown eyes were warm and damp with unshed tears as she bent down so her little sister could fully settle the tiara in place. Cora worked to carefully plait it, binding the veil to the tiara as she did with a length of embroidery floss just the color of Edith's bright hair. As her mother worked, Sybil planted her hands on her hips and let out an exasperated sound, shattering the somber atmosphere in the room.

"Well, this is all the loveliest thing I could imagine, but there's one problem?"

Edith's eyes widened and she bit her bottom lip.

"What?"

"Well, Addie and Mama have both had their say in getting you ready, but what's left for me?"

Cora's cheeks hurt from smiling.

"I do believe she still needs a six-pence for her shoe, baby."

Sybil's expression turned thoughtful, as if she was poised between possibly taking offense and another reaction altogether. Finally, her eyes widened and she grinned.

"Let me get my purse!"

"Take Addie with you, dear!" Cora instructed as Sybil turned towards the door. She watched her daughter pause, take Addie's hand, and lead the girl giggling form the room. The little redhead tossed a final instruction over her shoulder.

"I'll be back to put the rest in the safe in a minute."

"Well, gracious, that doesn't leave us much time, does it, Edith?"

Her daughter, who had turned to check her hair – which looked lovely if Cora did say so herself – in the mirror and reach for a little pot of rouge on the vanity, paused to look at the woman who had raised her in confusion.

"For what, Mama? We aren't running la-."

"No, darling, right-on time." Cora raised her eyebrows and put her hands primly in her lap, letting her expression turn knowing and playful. "You are going to be a married woman in a very short while, Edith, and I am your mother…"

"Oh!"

Watching her fair daughter color deeply was delightful. To her surprise, however, there was as much amusement as there was mortification in Edith's expression.

"I, well, em – I don't. I mean, that is I don't have any direct questions. Not that I can think of…"

"Not one?"

Cora had rather tried to ask her mother a few, but while Martha Levinson prided herself on modernity now, she'd been far less helpful twenty-plus years before.

"Well, you see, Katherine… well, she… we rather had a chat about it not long after I got to America."

Cora felt a moment of surprise and a sudden pang of jealousy she worked to keep out of her expression.

"When you were fifteen?"

Edith's haste in answering told her she might not have been as successful as she hoped.

"Yes, you see, I – I hadn't quite realized that there wouldn't be a debut, and there were… one or two boys in Annapolis who were friends of the twins who paid me a bit of mind." Her daughter no longer needed rouge at all. "Katherine was a good woman, but she'd been an actress, you see. So – Mama – she, well, she felt that what I didn't know would be more dangerous than what I didn't."

"Oh."

Cora though she had, but Edith's response surprised her. Not only in the firm defense present in her tone, but in the quiet, rational way she spoke.

"Addie's mother wasn't the sort to be fallen, Mama, but she'd had to defend her honor a few times from actors and producers and the like. Sometimes that meant hitting someone with a book or putting a hat pin somewhere unpleasant but most of the time, she said, it meant not being tricked by dishonorable men."

Cora did recall no few times when earnest-seeming fellows had tried to lead her out of a drawing or ballroom to look at this sculpture or that painting. Reluctantly, she nodded.

"Yes, I suppose that sort of thing would be much worse in entertainment."

Edith lowered her voice further and leaned forward, Cora mirroring her.

"She said the worst was when she'd just left home, at sixteen. A singing instructor from Munich tried to convince her that he'd heard of this new exercise to tone a lady's figure. She just had to straddle his lap to start."

Cora's lips twisted in revulsion.

"What happened?"

"She was almost convinced – she said they can be very convincing – but her piano instructor came in then, and he shook the man by his collar and took her home." Edith sat back a little. "And his wife gave her the talk she gave me. So, I, er, know how it all… fits together."

"Well," Cora's voice was a little too perfectly level and reassuring. "I feel a little extraneous."

"Don't I mean – I…"

Cora felt there was one thing she could share with her daughter, that no strange woman, no actress, who'd barely known her would think to mention.

"Did Mrs. Kavanaugh think to mention that it can be the most terrific fun?"

"Yes, she said it was…" Edith was now approximately the color of a well-boiled lobster. "It was like flying must be only just… if you did it right."

Edith leaned very close, her voice a tense, miserable, whisper.

"Mama, how do you do it right? Is – is there a trick to it?"

Cora's jealousy vanished like fog under the sun. Reaching out, careful of both of their finery, she wrapped her arms around her daughter and gave her a gentle hug.

"Do you love Sir Anthony, Edith?"

"Yes, Mama, so much I don't know what to do with myself."

"Don't worry, darling, that's his job."

"Mama!"

"No, truly." Cora squeezed her hands as she leant back. "The only trick is to never be afraid to talk about it. If he loves you and you love him, then just… tell him what you like and make sure he does the same. Then I'm sure everything shall be all that you could want it to be."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Why the long face, my lad?"

Anthony had been looking specifically for his nephew. Both were dressed in their wedding finery, and Stewart had made a point to take the boy aside after he was done with Anthony just to refine his costume. He had every faith in his valet's ability to make it a professional sort of visit. Anthony had hoped it would bring the boy's spirits up, as he knew the weight being treated like a man grown could have with a twelve-year-old boy.

David Chetwood turned and looked at his uncle, his shoes and trousers thankfully unmarked by the dust present in Loxley's capacious attic. An attic that was admitted a bit stuffed with the detritus of generations. It was, at least, free of rodents and other signs of disaster. Lowering himself to sit next to David on the trunk, Anthony rested a hand on his shoulder.

"David?"

Looking up at him with brown eyes wide with embarrassed hurt, his nephew sniffed, loudly. Then, like a damn bursting, words came out.

"I'm sorry I've been a right berk, Uncle Anthony! I'm just – I mean – it's not fair!"

Surprise and relief in equal measure came over Anthony.

"What isn't fair?"

David Chetwood was a troublesome lad, but he was also a good boy generally. He was charming to a fault and, if he was into everything, he did it with the kind of guilty smile that got him off the hook far more than was probably good for him. Watching his usually bright, mischievous, nephew behave sullen and spoiled for the last few days had been boggling.

"You – you were supposed to be here with us this summer, but you spent almost all of it on the continent, then you came back and they were always underfoot!" David complained, then looked down, ashamed. "And I know I'm being awful and a – a baby about it and Miss Edith's perfectly nice and I have – I shouldn't, but-."

"David?"

"I've got to got to school in a week and you're going to be gone and we didn't get to go camping and you didn't take us out to show us the barns or – or all the things we normally do at Loxley."

His nephew's face crumbled and he swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. Anthony's heart twisted in his chest. He walked fully into his own guilt like a brick wall.

"Oh, my boy, I am sorry. You're right, I've been horrible to you and Christopher."

His nephew looked up, his expression shifting instantly from upset to denial.

"You're not horrible, Uncle Anthony, you're the best uncle anyone could ask for! It's just that they're here and – I mean, it wouldn't be so bad if it were just Miss Edith because she at least talks and things, but she's always underfoot and she's going to live here with you and – and – it feels like you don't even need us anymore."

"David, I will always need you, as I need all of my family. Nothing will change that." Anthony wound his arms around the lad's shoulders and pulled his lanky frame against him, tucking him underneath his chin. "Don't think for a moment, no matter how many cousins you gain, that you and your brother aren't precious to me."

"I know, I'm being stupid-."

"Pish and tosh, not another word of that, my dear boy."

"No, I mean it. Mama was right and I am being selfish. You've got a right to be happy and if I don't want you to be then I'm-."

"You're completely normal."

David looked up at him and Anthony sat back a bit, loosening his hold, and smiling.

"David, my boy, it's normal to be a bit upset when things change. It's also normal to be angry when you're slighted and you're not wrong. I haven't made the time for you this summer that I promised, or that I should have, and I am deeply sorry."

"Why'd you have to go follow them all the way to Austria, anyway?"

Anthony obviously couldn't tell his twelve-year-old nephew, or anyone else, the full truth of his and Edith's trip to Europe. What he could do was tell him some of the truth.

"While it's a fine thing to be a man grown, or a woman, and be in charge of your life… it can be difficult, David."

"What do you mean, Uncle?"

"When you're young and things are unfair or they're frightening, your parents and family are there to protect you." Anthony considered his words carefully. "If you're lucky, that is."

David, who so often didn't care for sitting still or being silent, watched him closely. Anthony threaded his hands together and leaned forward to speak. He had no real idea of the significance that the respect and honest of that sort of gesture, or conversation, had to a twelve-year-old's heart and mind. He merely did what he thought his father would have done. He did what he believed was right. Knowing this, David Chetwood paid close attention. Genuine honesty was of great value to any child.

"I know your Mama told you that Edith and Addie had lost a lot of their family recently, but I don't think she gave you any details, did she?"

"You know Mama hates talking about things like that. She thinks it's rude to pry."

"It is, David, but sometimes it's better to know." Anthony sighed. "When the Titanic sunk, Edith and Addie lost both their older brothers, and their father died of throat cancer just days after finding out about the tragedy. Just a little more than two years before, Miss Addie's mother had died unexpectedly."

David bit his lip.

"When you're young, well, you can just… sort of grieve naturally, David. When you're a grown-up and you're in charge of everything… there's a lot that someone has to do, and all that fell to your Aunt Edith." His nephew sat, his expression uncertain and unreadable. Anthony rested a hand on his shoulder. "I hope it is a very great, long time before you ever know how difficult it is to settle someone's estate, but it's very hard. You just… rather want to be sad over losing someone you love, but you've got to talk to lawyers, and servants, and tenants, and business partners, and while you just miss someone terribly everyone else is mostly worried about how it will effect them. So they can be… rather callous at times."

"Did that happen to you when Grandpapa died?"

"It did." Anthony sighed and squeezed David's shoulder. "It was much worse for Edith, however, because she was much younger and because she was a lady. Some men do not take women and their opinions seriously, David."

"They've clearly not met Mama."

"Clearly not. Nor are they worth her time. The point is that being adult is complex and difficult and when Edith came here to live in England she got away from the worst of it, but there was still quite a bit she had to work through, and quite a bit of sadness left to feel that she hadn't quite gotten a chance to with how busy she was."

"Is that why she went to the Continent? Because she was sad and just… kind of did?" David cocked his head to the side, clearly grasping for understanding.

"It's why she went so quickly I believe." Anthony cleared his throat. "Something upsetting happened, and Lady Mary had her own things to be upset about and wanted to get away from them, and so it wasn't hard for her to convince Edith that going to Austria would help. Not the least for Addie."

David squirmed in his seat and hesitated, then the words flowed out.

"I'm sorry I wasn't nice to her, not properly, when she tried to make friends, but she was everywhere! I mean, she's into everything. Can't she sit still for ten minutes?"

Anthony raised both his eyebrows and waited. David, not being a dull anything, immediately grasped the significance.

"Oh… right. Maybe I, er… could have…" Turning bright red, the boy stuttered, then rubbed the back of his neck. Anthony raised his eyebrows as far as they would go and David crumbled, looking at his feet and muttering. "I'm jealous and I've been awful. How can you stand me, Uncle Anthony? You must be terribly embarrassed."

"Not terribly, David." Anthony cocked his head to the side. "Though you do realize that you're going to pay for those socks."

"You want me to buy socks I unraveled?"

"No, I mean that Addie's got a vengeful streak and she's acquired an accomplice." Anthony grinned. "In total fairness, I believe you quite deserve to be left at their mercy, don't you?"

David looked potentially alarmed, then cheered up.

"Well, they'll be staying at Crawley House and I have to leave soon. One good thing about school is that they can hardly play some nasty prank on me at Eton, right?"

A month later David would discovery otherwise when, courtesy of Thomas Barrow's encouragement and suggestion, he would receive a care package that smelled of cinnamon. Assuming biscuits, he opened it in front of his friends with the intention of sharing. Inside he found a sachet of spices and four pairs of underpants amended with lace and delicate (if slightly crooked) embroidery.

"That's the spirit!" Anthony chuckled and sat back, growing more serious. "Might this also have something to do with the likelihood that your father shall receive a foreign assignment soon?"

David looked away.

"I hope you know, David, that my getting married shall change nothing about that situation?" Anthony reached down and gently turned his nephew's chin to look at him. "You will be coming here for every single holiday. You will not be staying over at school, my boy, not while Loxley stands."

Relief unfurled across his nephew's lanky features and Anthony congratulated himself grimly. He'd been a lout and a failure for not seeing sooner how neglected his eldest nephew felt. Christopher he'd worried for and checked on, only to find that his younger nephew remained perfectly content with gaining a pretty new aunt and further relations. David, who hid his sensitivity behind his brashness and the delicate pride of his age, had not felt free to ask if Anthony still needed him as his brother had, nor to accept any affirmation and move on with a child's ease of spirit.

Well, at least we've got that sorted. I'll have a talk with Addie later and, hopefully, they'll work themselves out when his next holiday comes around. For now…

"David?"

"Yes, Uncle?"

"You're not leaving for university for seven days and I shall be back in five. What do you say that I take you up to Eton myself, just you and I? Come back after you're settled."

David's beaming smile was the only answer he needed. Standing up and brushing a few flecks of dust from his hat, Anthony settled it on his head and passed David his own.

"Now, what do you say you go and see your favorite uncle safely married?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"His age doesn't give you pause?"

"Strallan has more than proven himself and his affections, Shrimpie." Robert frowned at his cousin as he straightened his morning suit's coat unnecessarily as they shared a very conservative sip of brandy in his study.

"Ah, well, I'm likely… sensitive to the topic of compatibility." His cousin's mobile features twisted in embarrassment. "Think nothing of it. As long as you're sure."

"They are sure, and we did make it clear that Edith had other options. She wouldn't entertain them."

"Well, that is hopeful."

"It's certainly different."

"This generation shall have it better. We did promise ourselves that, did we not?"

Robert's lips twisted into something too wry to be a smile and he nodded his head crookedly.

"I remember that summer."

It was two years before he married Cora. The entire Grantham extended family had met at Downton. It should have been as idyllic as anything.

"I was more grateful then that you listened to me whinge about my life then. You know if you ever need a friendly ear…"

The older man waved a hand and smiled, shaking his head.

"I know, I know, but just… days like this are good for reminiscing. Remember how you dreaded marrying?"

"My father had just told me that the estate was nearly underwater, Hugh, and I was to marry as soon as I could to right it or we would lose everything. I think I was entitled to a little ennui!"

"Without a doubt!"

Robert, in remembering the tumult, missed the rather telling way his cousin looked away to glance out of Downton's window.

"Meanwhile, Susan and I were wed largely because neither of us could think of anything else to do. We really did set ourselves a bit of a low-bar promising our children better."

"Makes it easier to get over the thing." Robert teased lightly, then grew more somber.

The entire family remember Susan and Hugh's courtship. Shrimpie had been engaged to a charming young woman with a good dowry whose grandfather was in banking and father was a colonel serving in India. Due to circumstances, it had become a long courtship. After a great deal of maneuvering, however, Shrimpie had received his first service post in India. He'd arrived on the subcontinent, they'd made their arrangements, and three weeks before the wedding was set to arrive she'd been consigned to a slow death by a rabid dog bite.

Four years later Hugh's only sibling and younger brother, Ian, had collapsed. They'd never determined the cause of the fatal seizure that had killed the otherwise healthy young man a week before his twenty-third birthday. A review of the family tree was ordered and it became blindingly apparent that, for the MacClare line to continue, Shrimpie must wed.

Susan's debut and ensuing three seasons had gone poorly. She was desperate. The entire family had looked about and seen an excellent solution in the both of them. Shrimpie needed a lady wife to manage his household and children. Susan needed a husband to provide the fulfillment of children and to take care of her. It had seemed perfect, until time had revealed it was not.

"I only ask out of concern, you know. There's ten years between Susan and I and sometimes it seems like a chasm rather than a simple gap."

"Yes, well…" For a moment, Robert's worries reasserted themselves.

Only a moment, however. Strallan had selflessly worked to clean up the loose ends of Mary and Edith's hasty flight to Paris. He'd saved Mary's reputation utterly by making sure that none would track their movements and discover why Mary had to seek such specialized medical treatment. He'd intervened and negotiated, calming Branagh down and getting that horrid man to stop interfering so openly in Robert's family concerns. He'd proven himself loyal to and unphased by Edith's sorry origins. While Robert still doubted the intelligence of the match, he didn't doubt the debt that they all owed the man. Anything but a full welcome into the family would have been dishonorable.

"You and Susan are very different people, Shrimpie." Robert set his empty crystal tumbler aside and gestured out the window. "Age aside, I'm often surprised how much Edith and Strallan have in common."

"Oh?"

"They're both horrid intellectuals in the worst way."

Shrimpie, who'd been far more studious in school than his cousin, laughed at Robert's exaggeration and gestured for him to go on.

"Strallan may be a proper country chap, and he's involved enough in his estate to bore me to tears over dinner conversation, but he's always been interested in modernization and mechanization and all of that. Edith's wild for machines in general and seating them together means that not only do they enjoy each other's conversation, but they save the rest of the table a great deal of hassle!"

"Always good to have a strategy for that. Didn't I hear Edith and that gaggle of shocking American girls she's invited over talking with your youngest about writing?"

Robert groaned and cast his eyes towards the intricate plaster detailing on his study ceiling.

"God help us, yes. I told you that Kavanaugh sent her off to University?"

"You mentioned it in several letters."

"Well, Edith got a degree in writing and now wants to send things into papers. I thought I'd managed to put her off and Strallan would be a help with that, but now I find out he's encouraging her!"

"Well," Shrimpie's belly was shaking with laughter as he clapped his cousin on the shoulder. "look at it this way. Once she's married it'll be his problem, and if he's made his bed himself you can tell him that you warned him all the better."

"Yes, there is that."

"At least it will make them happy, Robert. There's a great deal to be said for that." MacClare's response was pensive but encouraging. "Remember how your courtship went?"

"I wish I didn't, I'm thoroughly ashamed of myself now."

"You should be. Cora's an angel."

"She is." Robert agreed, pushing away memories of throwing himself into charming Cora by night and evenings at parties, and then going to his club to whine to Hugh about how American and strange she was and how he shouldn't have had to bare the burden of it all to save his legacy. "I was a lout, but I've since more than learned my lesson."

Both men glanced at the clock as it struck nine. Hugh nodded once and smiled, offering his cousin a warm handshake that Robert quickly accepted.

"Well, you're on duty it seemed. Before you go allow me to apologize once more. For Susan's plotting with Rosamund and for bringing that maid up here."

"Shall you let her go?"

Shrimpie reddened beneath his beard and cleared his throat.

"Honestly, between the economy of it and how difficult it is to keep a maid for Susan at all… Would you mind if I kept her on for a while? She'll probably leave in a few months; they usually do."

Robert hesitated and cleared his throat.

"Perhaps it would be best. You could keep an eye on her for us, in case she tried to cause some trouble or scandal? The woman's got a taste for revenge, according to Carson."

"I'll have my staff on guard for just that."

As his cousin left him to get to the church, Robert paused and looked at himself in a conveniently placed wall mirror. Convex as it was, it distorted his image utterly. It allowed him a moment, however, which was what he needed. Going down the stairs to the great hall, where he was to meet his daughter, he found it empty. He was just about to check his pocket watch, when Edith's voice caused him to fumble with the chain, jangling it.

"Finally! I was beginning to worry I'd have to get myself to the church!"

Robert turned and reality hit him with all the gracious kindness of a drunken Irish boxer.

"I – my dear, you look beautiful."

The words came out without thought and Robert watched as equal parts surprise and delight played over his daughter's face. Memory, treacherous thing that it was, chose to hurl a piece of the past at him. Edith, seven or eight, standing before him in a new frock and beaming up at him for approval beside Mary, dressed in new finery as well.

"Don't I look pretty too, Papa?"

"You look fine, Edith, but try and stand up straight like your sister. Did you pick out your ribbons yourself, Mary?"

Edith's hair was blonder, where Rosamund's had always been coppery-red. Her skin was just as fair, though, and her cheekbones and nose very much the same. In short, Edith looked like her mother. Those few features that didn't mesh came from Kavanagh and could be traced now simply by looking at Adelaide's face. Then? How many years did you lose looking at your daughter and seeing your sister? No wonder she left and never looked back!

"Sure you don't want to… wait a bit… and see if you can't scare up a Marquis?"

"Papa!"

"Just suggesting!" Robert held up both of his hands, palm out, and smiled sheepishly at his daughter as he advanced towards where she stood in front of the fireplace. Backlit by the glowing coals in the great heart, she was a glowing vision in white, glittering with a halo of gems. "That's a very fine tiara. You, erm…"

Robert had come to terms with keeping his mouth shut about his resentment of Kavanaugh. He could do Edith that small kindness. Cora and he could commiserate on the reality of never being free of his influence later.

"It's Addie's. Or, was her mother's, rather." Edith reached up with the arm that didn't have loops of her long veil draped over it to gently touch one of the hanging sapphires, setting the blue gem swinging. "She insisted and, well… it's rather nice to have it."

Robert gently took his daughter's gloved hand and tucked it into the corner of his arm.

"If it makes you happy, it makes me happy."

She beamed up at him and Robert reflected that his father had given him at least one piece of good advice his mother would never have bent to; not with the value she placed on honesty. As long as it's her version and suitably convenient.

"Sometimes, Robert, we lie to our children to protect them. If it's a sin, I think we can expect our heavenly father will understand. He has a son himself, you know."

"Well, Branson's waiting with the car." Robert squared his shoulders. "Shall we get you married?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"And you have your list?"

"Memorized it last night, your Ladyship." Harold Levinson smiled at the Dowager Countess more widely than he ever had before and tapped his top hat with something approaching gallantry. "Happy to be of service."

"Well, it is a task that suits you."

Instead of offense at Violet's sarcasm, the man's smile grew wider… and just a touch malicious. Satisfied, Violet leaned on her cane and nodded once as she settled into her seat at the church. Martha Levinson, just behind her, straightened her son's coat and pressed a kiss into the air next to his cheek.

"I've every confidence in you, son, now go off and make that woman miserable."

Armed with a list of every single conversational topic that would reduce Susan MacClare into a state of silent, ashen faced shame, Harold Levinson went to employ a weapon that Violet had long suspected was better utilized than she could ever prove: social obliviousness.

"Fine change to make to the seating chart."

"Yes, well, Susan's done enough damage and it will be easier for Rose to sit next to us after the procession."

"Oh, I entirely agree with you."

"I had already accepted that rain was likely, shall I prepare for a hail of trout?"

"With English weather, one never knows, does one?" Martha Levinson shot back, equally well-armed in any contest of wits. It was one of the things Violet cared for least about the woman.

Today, however, Violet found she couldn't really be vexed by Cora's unfortunate relations. It had been Martha who suggested that they be allowed to run interference with Susan. Cora had merely refined the plan, knowing that her niece's well-trained propriety might fail by their standards, but that it would only grow more entrenched if repeatedly assaulted by Harold Levinson's total blindness to what he was saying.

Finding that the man was aware of this, if not always able to counter it, just made it more useful. His anger over Edith's upset over Rosamund's appearance had been surprisingly acute and genuine. It did put Violet into one unfortunate position, but never say she wasn't aware of the responsibilities of her class.

"I have to thank you and your son."

"Oh, no, leaving that woman constantly on the verge of a mental breakdown is going to be fun."

Violet let that go.

"For taking care of Edith while she was in the States. You are aware that you're not actually related?"

Showing her class, Martha Levinson scoffed aloud.

"And how many fine English families do you think will find out that they're not who they think they are in short order? They can already trace blood types. Who's to say how long it will be before science has produced a concrete heredity test that verifies parentage?" The red-haired harpy smiled. "I just hope I live long enough to see the chaos it's going to create in your aristocracy!"

"Charming as always."

"We both only have three grandchildren, Violet. You can't expect me to give up any of that paltry number without a fight."

You did. It went without saying, but it was clearly implied. Violet ignored it and the rudeness of the woman leaving off her title. She was used to it and bringing attention to it would have just pleased the woman. She did… almost everything for the joy of watching someone else react, after all.

"Yes, well, either way I want you to know I'm grateful." Violet pressed her lips together. "What did you say to get Kavanaugh to allow you more than letters?"

"The truth."

"Oh, really? How novel."

"You should try it sometime."

To Violet's surprise she listened as the woman lowered her voice to the level of actual discretion and looked about the church. It had grown crowded. Sir Anthony was standing at the front, looking equal parts nervous, delighted, and anxious – as one was to expect. He'd looked much the same at his last wedding; no concern there. The ushers were doing their job. The organist had settled into place. All was in order. What a nice change!

"What I mean is that the man was never going to forgive Robert for hiding things, but he could be moved by sincerity. I hadn't done anything wrong and neither had my son. He could see Edith was hurting from how your son rejected her. In time, he even softened on Cora."

"Enough to send her letters back if they didn't meet his standards."

"I never said he was kind, I said he was fair. If you woke up tomorrow and found out that the midwife had swapped your son for hers, how would you deal with it?"

"It would have been impossible, so it's hardly worth managing."

"You're claiming you were that close to your children? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you had a wetnurse and I seem to recall you saying something about checking in on the babies once a week until they were out of nappies?"

"I checked more often if they were will." Violet sniffed, glaring. "But what I meant was that no normal child could have been substituted for my son. His head was punishingly enormous as a baby. Thank God he grew into it by the time he was two. I'd feared some form of gigantism, honestly."

Martha Levinson was shaking with silent laughter as the processional began.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The ceremony was a complete and total blur to the groom. Anthony could barely remember Edith walking down the aisle towards him on her father's arm. He knew that Addie and Rose had carried the ends of her long veil so that she didn't risk stumbling on it. He was aware that Addie had broken tradition by standing with her sister as she made her vows, just behind her, in the American fashion. In memory, however, it was all a shining, gleaming, brilliant blur of happiness centered around Edith's gleaming eyes and brilliant smile as he held her hands, slipped the ring upon her finger, and made her his wife.

Edith couldn't help laughing slightly as Addie jumped when thunder pealed overhead, and the sky opened in a torrential downpour. The rain clattered heavily on the church's roof, rattled the stained-glass windows, and produced the usual murmuring sarcasm that the English responded to their famed weather with. Nothing could have lowered her mood, however.

"Well, how do you like that? I told you we should have stayed in the kitchen, William!"

Due to the acoustics of the great church, as Anthony led Edith back down the aisle she caught her parents' scullery maid's tense whisper towards the footman standing at her side perfectly, just as did both of the guests. His response was just as audible.

"Now, Daisy, you can't possibly blame me for the weather?"

"Oh, I can't, can I?"

"Besides, it's a wedding? Who doesn't like a wedding?"

"Mrs. Patmore's going to tan my hide if I'm not back in five minutes. I'm going to be soaked through!"

"I've got an umbrella."

"What, then you'll be soaked through?"

William the footman produced a second umbrella with a grin and he and the young servant girl raced off, oblivious to the fact that everyone around them was overcome with amusement at the exchange. Likewise, Edith glanced to the side and saw Addie and Rose, once again joined at the hip, both greeting Thomas Barrow. She still sometimes had her doubts about that decision but… it was hard to hold onto them while she watched the man visibly warm in the company of the children.

"Are you happy, my sweet one?"

"I'm so happy I don't know how I can breathe for it." Edith paused, then let out a little stifled squeak of laughter. "Though that could be the corset."

"We'll have to get you out of it as soon as possible, then."

Both realized what had been said at the same time and turned the same shade of brilliant scarlet. Which was how they came to make their exit from the church under a column of umbrellas red faced, awkward, and embarrassed enough that Anthony lost his hat in a puddle as he fumbled to duck into the Rolls.

It was still absolutely perfect.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Every surface in the scullery was heaped with dishes. The sheer number of silver in need of cleaning and polishing was staggering. Several extra guests had to be found overnight accommodation for due to excessive drunkenness. Everyone downstairs was utterly exhausted.

"Oh, but wasn't it romantic?" Anna beamed at Gwen as they all finally settled down into the servant's hall for an exceedingly late dinner.

"It was wonderful! There wasn't a single disaster, and nothing went wrong. I'm in shock."

The redhead's response produced nearly as much amusement as Mr. Moseley hastily knocking on the wooden table.

"Just in case!"

"I'm not one to approve of superstition, but in this case you have my complete agreement." Mrs. Hughes smiled tiredly as Carson got her seat for her. "Thank you, Mr. Carson."

"Of course, Mrs. Hughes." The butler sat as well, lowering himself with less grace than usual as he looked over the collection of servant's fair and some leftovers from the upper table that had made their way down to them. He blinked at one particular addition. "Mrs. Patmore?"

Sitting in pride of place was a two layer cake, decorated in white frosting and sugar flowers. The cook glared at the thing as if it had done her personal harm. Anna covered her hand with her mouth and her eyes instantly found those of Mr. Bates. The valet grinned, cleared his throat, and then answered.

"A gift from Loxley House's servants, given our efforts here, Mr. Carson. Along with several other dishes."

"Well," Carson looked pleased, "that was most generous of Sir Anthony."

"And Mrs. Bernard." Mrs. Hughes added, a touch of mischief in her blue eyes. "Especially given the guests at that house, and her efforts with the groom's cake."

It was all Anna could do not to burst into stifled giggles along with Gwen. The redhead quickly "retrieved" her "accidentally" dropped fork from the floor to avoid their own cook's furious glare. Daisy, oblivious as always, added to the problem.

"I know!" The young girl enthused. "Have you ever seen anything so fine? It was nearly a foot taller than ours and chocolate! I thought wedding cakes had to be fruitcake!"

"They do!"

"But it was so good!"

There was no hope of arguing with Daisy's excitement. Though no-one else at the table was aware of it, save for William, the girl was on a sugar rush of the kind she'd never experienced in her life. Mrs. Patmore's already delicate temper collapsed further as she sat up to her full, if rather inconsiderable, height.

"They absolutely do. Tradition states that wedding cakes are always fruitcake – bride or groom."

"Of cour-."

"Thank you Mr. Carson! Besides, I want to know what exactly anyone here thinks is wrong with my fruitcake?"

"Your fruitcake is the best!" Daisy protested, then ruined it by adding, "It's just that Mrs. Bernard's cake was chocolate!"

While the younger servants mostly disengaged and gleefully loaded their plates, their elders provided entertainment as Mrs. Patmore continued to take offense at the warm reception her rival's baking had received. Mrs. Carson and Mrs. Hughes swapped off eating their own supper with calming the temperamental cook down. When it was all over, Anna slipped out for "a brief walk" and was very pleased to find Mr. Bates waiting for her.

"Good evening, Anna."

"Good evening, Mr. Bates." Anna smiled and accepted his arm, looking up. "It's a wonder to see the stars after today. That was quite a storm."

"A tremendous downpour." He agreed, smiling in his soft, restrained way as they took a careful walk, just around the well-graveled paths of the kitchen garden. "If the Strallans wanted luck and a long marriage, it seems that they'll have both."

"God willing." Anna agreed, and took a deep breath. "It still smells like rain."

"The barometer upstairs agrees with you. I wouldn't be surprised if we get more rain overnight and into tomorrow."

"Not that we English don't expect that."

Both chuckled as they recalled some of the American guests' complaints. Then, after a moment, Bates' humor couldn't be restrained.

"What has gotten into Daisy today?"

"Three pieces of cake and a terrifying amount of candy."

"Pardon?"

Anna began to laugh.

"It's all William's fault."

"This is sounding better and better, tell me."

"Well, you know Miss Adelaide's on a special diet now?"

"I do."

"She's not fond of sweets in general, but eating too much gets her sick." Anna gestured back to the house. "But none of the guests knew that and all of them wanted to be so very kind to the little orphan."

"Who's worth a fortune and shall be looking for a husband in a few years."

Anna nodded, amused by the number of old noblewomen who'd mentioned they had a nice grandson just her age.

"Well, a whole mess of the guests kept handing Addie these bags of candy. The thing is, her dress didn't have pockets!"

"And she didn't want it anyway, and his lordship has banned her usual coconspirator." Bates had a sudden understanding and Anna's hair bobbed she nodded so fast in return.

"Yes! She had no place to put it. I mean, the first two or three bags went into Lady Rose's pockets, and then into the smaller Chetwood boy's hands – I think even his elder brother got one or two off of him."

"Then?"

"Then there were no more pockets to be had so she handed them to William."

"Who quickly passed them to Daisy, as he's desperate to make her his sweetheart." Bates realized with a bark of laughter. "And Daisy devours candy as soon as she gets it!"

"I'm sure some of that is from growing up in an orphanage as she did." Anna gentled the other's humor. "I doubt treats were safe, given how few they must have been… but, yes. She must have eaten a pound of sweets, and then the cake came out and Miss Adelaide had to be seen with a piece of both the bride and groom's cakes."

"That still doesn't explain how Daisy got three pieces of cake when there were only two cakes and she wasn't meant to have any."

"Oh, it does."

He gentle jostled her arm, looking down at her with such fondness that Anna's voice temporarily caught in her throat.

"Enlighten me, Miss Smith."

"Well," Anna blushed and smiled at her feet, "Miss Adelaide handed off the first two pieces a touch too quickly and it was thought she hadn't had any, so they handed her two more."

"And she ate one out of the three?"

"I think Lady Rose had most of it, but the fact is that William was passed three pieces of cake with only one bite taken out of them…"

"… and Daisy received his largesse." Bates shook his head. "Oh, that poor child. When all that sugar's done its job she's going to collapse like a puppet with its strings cut."

"Hopefully she'll finish the washing up, first!"

Silence fell and they turned back towards the house, but not before Bates grew more serious. Anna was grateful for the question.

"You've had to escort O'Brian through the house to wait on Lady Flintshire. I hope it hasn't been too horrid?"

"It's been slightly horrid, but not too awful."

"Has she tired anything?"

"Not that I can tell, yet." Anna sighed. "She began by trying to ease something in for sympathy. About how it was all Thomas' fault and she shouldn't have been fired."

"I'd say enough of it was his fault that he's damned lucky to still have a situation." Bates huffed but squeezed her arm when she frowned. "What?"

"I can't disagree that he treated you horribly, and he deserved to be let go for lifting the wine. You can't deny that he changed after Miss Edi – excuse me, Lady Strallan and her sister were here for a few weeks."

Bates frowned but she tugged at his arm and made him give her his attention again.

"He cared more and you know it. He also left you well-alone."

"He did." As she'd know, he was too honest to say otherwise. "I don't know whether to be suspicious that he'd just found someone easier to take advantage of in terms of employment, given Sir Anthony and Lady Strallan's natures, or accept that it was all genuine. He truly does seem to care about the girl."

"Thomas has always seemed rather defined by his friends."

"Hm?"

"I've known him longer than you have." Anna went on. "He's always been sharp and always will be rather awful, I think, but if you treat him kindly he's seldom outright mean. It's just… people seldom treat him kindly."

"Do you think he deserves it?"

"I hope everyone deserves kindness, Mr. Bates."

"You're too good for this world, Anna."

She looked away, embarrassed, and stayed with the topic at hand.

"What I mean to say is that Mrs. O'Brian's always stirred up trouble. She likes to see people being cruel to each other, but she's not brave enough to risk her own hide. I think, without her, you'd have seen a different Thomas Barrow."

"Well, if you're right, maybe we'll all see him now." Bates considered, and then smirked. "But, thankfully, not often."

Anna jostled him as they approached the door and retrieved her arm, pausing.

"I do think O'Brian's going to try and cause trouble, though. She's not one to let a slight go and she's got her place with Lady Flintshire now to work from – and that woman's not exactly kind herself."

"I agree with you."

"Will you talk to Lord Grantham about it?"

"If I get a chance, but I trust he'll probably ask me himself." Bates gave a careful look around, and lowered his voice. "Ever since Lady Mary and Lady Strallan took their trip to the continent he's kept a close eye on things downstairs. I trust it will continue."

Anna sighed, smiled, and bid him goodnight. Settling into her room with Gwen that evening, she rested her head on her pillow.

"It was a beautiful wedding, wasn't it, Anna?"

"Yes, Gwen, it was."

"Do you think either of us could have one like that one day?" The redhead asked, the quickly amended. "Not nearly so fine, I mean, but maybe something nice?"

"We will, Gwen. Go to sleep, we're not getting a holiday tomorrow."

"Right. Goodnight, Anna."

"Goodnight, Gwen."

With her eyes closed, Anna dreamt of the simplest of white dresses and a bouquet of wildflowers. Nothing grand, but the stuff of dreams anyway.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

More Notes: There you have the wedding! I hope it meets your expectations, and if not I apologize. The next chapter will be the wedding night, will likely bump this up to an M-rating, and probably won't be available until late September.

Thank you all for your endless support and for reading this thing! I hope you're enjoying the last bit of summer!