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).

23. Chapter 23

Author's Notes: Why can't we all just get along…?

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 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! Charlotte and Clara are also her amazing inventions!

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Late November 1913

Ramsey House was, as always, perfectly presented and impeccable when Tom pulled the motor to a stop outside the stone façade. Beside her, she heard her mother sigh.

"I know it's not so large as Grantham House, darling, but your new home is so very well situated." Cora Crawley sighed as well and turned, a smile on her face. "It reminds me of my brother's house in Manhattan, or the place your grandfather kept in Chicago. You're just so central to everything."

"Yes, Lawrence is ever in the middle of everything in London, and I'm looking forward to joining him there."

This was what she had been meant to have her entire life, and Mary was finally able to understand and accept it. She hated what Pamuk had done and the ensuing results were a humiliation and violation she was all too happy to erase from her life and memory. Mary was just the slightest bit grateful for having been introduced to reality, and for that she couldn't – and wouldn't – give Pamuk credit. It was that thought that prompted Mary to add, in what she felt was the greatest of charity:

"I really must thank Edith."

"Yes, her wedding did make such a difference in Lawrence pushing his suit, didn't it?"

Tom came around and opened the door and Mary got out, shaking her head lightly as they took the short flight of steps to the front door.

"No, I mean for introducing me to, well, to how thinks work when Papa's not standing over you with a cricket bat and his bird gun protecting you from the world."

Cora tilted her head slightly and raised one eyebrow delicately at the silly image that Mary had constructed, but mother and daughter shared a smile at the… somewhat plausible image nonetheless as Mary went on after a brief pause as Abrams himself opened the door. The tall, substantial butler reminded Mary of Carson and she had another brief pang at the idea that she was going to have to leave that comforting presence behind with her marriage.

"Abrams, I hope everything is well today?"

"Very well, Lady Mary, Lady Grantham. The household is merely making the last of the preparations for his lordship's stag night downstairs."

Mary nodded, happy enough to leave that in Lawrence's hands with everything else on her plate, and breezed into her favorite immaculate sitting room with her mother.

"Abrams, would you please ask Mrs. Gould if she has time to bring the tea up herself? Lady Grantham and I would like to discuss a few last minute things related to the wedding and preparations for Lord Holderness' and my own return from the honeymoon."

The man nodded his agreement and swept regally from the room as Cora sat forward, her expression curious.

"What precisely do you mean by 'how things work', Mary?"

"What I means is that Edith had her independence and I did not." Mary gestured. "She chose to stay in Downton, but could have set up a house elsewhere because she had funds. Likewise – and God alone knows why, but she did – she chose Strallan and because of her wealth she could and you and Papa could do absolutely nothing about it."

Cora was now frowning.

"I don't think anyone could deny that Anthony and Edith are good for each other now, darling."

"Oh, Mama, stop!" Mary smoothed her skirt with a flick of her fingers and smiled in sharp amusement. "You and Papa may ignore it now, but at least Granny's honest. The whole lot of you were sitting around discussing how to stop Sir Anthony's courtship at the very same time I came up to London with her. Had we not gone to France you know you would have gotten more aggressive about it."

"It wasn't anything personally against Sir Anthony." The Lady protested. "He's really a lovely man and he's been a neighbor and family friend for decades."

Mary hid a snicker behind her hand at the emphasis.

"Part of the point, Mama."

"Precisely." Cora was everything brisk as she smoothed her gloves over one knee. "Edith's wealth and youth meant she could have made a better match. Your father and I are proof positive that love grows in marriage and one need not rush down to the altar due to sentiment alone. We merely wanted Edith to have the best possible future."

"Yes, but that means that you get to ignore what she wants because you are older, wiser, and have the financial and social standing to do so."

"It's how the world works, darling, and I think time has proven parents do know best." Cora pointed out quietly. "Yourself included. Edith may be happy now but there's no telling what ten or twenty years shall say on that."

"Precisely," Mary echoed her mother, smiling. "That's what I mean, Mama. Edith showed me that she had the, well, power to ignore you – and let us hope it doesn't come back to haunt her - but I never will. Papa neither can nor will break the entail for me, and so if I want a proper future I must marry. I couldn't imagine a better or more proper future than one married to Lawrence, and so here we are – in complete agreement."

"Which is absolutely the best place to be!"

Mrs. Gould entered the front saloon, that the staff was quickly dubbing "Lady Mary's saloon" due to her favoring the room so strongly, pushing before her a nearly overloaded tea cart.

"Mrs. Gould, I do believe you are trying to make it impossible for me to fit into my wedding gown."

Mary's light protest drew a small, confident, smile from the woman and Mary had to admit that she did like her. Rebecca Gould, Lawrence's housekeeper, didn't quite remind her of Mrs. Hughes. For one, she and Mary were of about the same height. For another, Mrs. Hughes' confidence was quieter and more centered than the firm, almost militant, bustle she associated with Mrs. Gould.

Mary liked her anyway. Mrs. Gould gave off a no-nonsense feeling of simply getting things done. Mrs. Hughes was the soul of the downstairs, in a way, and Mary recognized it. She'd always had a way of looking at Mary when she was young, that none of the other staff did, that made Mary feel guilty for this or that transgression. It had, frankly, made a young Lady Mary angry more often than not.

Mrs. Gould, however, never gave off a single sign of caring what she was being asked to do in the sense of right or wrong. Merely, at every moment and with every task, she wanted to get the job done. When Mary had shamelessly suggested poaching staff from the home of a recently married social connection after Mrs. Gould had pointed out that they would need to hire more maids due to the fact that Ramsey House's social calendar would increase now that the lord was married? Well, Mary had anticipated resistance as Mrs. Hughes might once have shown. Mrs. Gould had cheerfully asked for details and told her that she'd 'be direct about it'. Two days later Ramsey House had acquired its three maids and Mary had tactfully arranged to be unavailable when that 'friend' called at Grantham House for tea.

"Lady Mary, Lady Grantham, I do hope you know I never have anything but your best interest in mind." The fading blonde offered sincerely, but her hazel eyes were playful. "It's Monsieur Fabre who's desire it is to see everyone at danger of harpooning when taking a beach holiday."

Mary listened to her mother's soft laugh at the sally and smiled herself as she accepted the tea tray and several tiered trays of nibbles upon the small table she and her mother were seated around.

"Would you have a seat with us, Mrs. Gould?" Mary took out the thick wedding binder's new companion – a sleek black leather appointment book with her new name, rank, and the Holderness arms upon it in gilt, that had been a gift from her husband to be. "I wanted to talk with you about the plans for my rooms here."

"Of course, my lady."

"Oh, I've never seen sweets quite like these. Where did you get them, they've lovely?"

Mary turned from her mother and blinked down at one of the tiered trays that had been set out. It was very attractive. Little sweets were made on the round, but then shaped further and colored so that they resembled fruit wrapped in leaves, flowers, or seashells.

"Marzipan?" Mary offered as her mother picked a cockle shell that faded from pink to white at the edges up and popped it into her mouth.

Lady Cora's eyes widened as she chewed, then she shook her head.

"They're actually some kind of special rice flour and sweetened bean paste, mostly, though I know there are other fillings. The crispier cakes are rice flour as well, mostly, though the filling is different because they're from China." Mrs. Gould smiled indulgently. "The little fiddly ones made by hand, rather than in a mold, are Japanese, you see."

All of Mary's good humor fled, but Mrs. Gould went on fondly, apparently oblivious to her future lady's unhappiness and missing the way that Lady Grantham's blue eyes hardened.

"Japanese?"

"Yes, you must understand that with Mrs. Chen up at the house so often to look after Lord Holderness' poor mother, he was often at odds and ends once his siblings had been lost – God bless their souls." The woman sighed and clasped her hands, though she did smile. "Mrs. Chen was very good for him, as well as his mother. She always took the young master aside and saw that he had a bit of, well, a bit of maternal influence that his mother wasn't well enough to give him. She made a special point of cooking for his Lordship and his mother. He's become fond of oriental cookery as a result. He asked Miss Midori to come in with some recipes and such for Monsieur Fabre, since he wasn't here to know her mother, and go over them for his stag shindig. She was good enough to give her entire morning over to it and this is some of the result."

Mary didn't bother to look at her mother and she didn't mince any more words with the kindly housekeeper. Instead, she set aside her teacup and stood.

"Is she still here?"

"Well, yes she was just writing up a few final notes-."

"Then I shall have to thank Miss Chen myself."

"Mary-."

Leaving her mother behind she was presented a momentary quandary when she realized she'd forgotten where the servant's stairs were, but only had took one wrong turn before finding her place. It gave her mother and Mrs. Gould time to catch up, sadly. In the end, she was down the stairs, past a white-tiled hallway, and into the equally plain and hygienic environment that was the house's newly remodeled and updated kitchen in the blink of an eye.

What she saw there annoyed her to no end.

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"What did you say?"

"Mary!"

"I would think that you'd been in England long enough to know what that word means!"

"For the last and only time, Lady Mary, I am not and I have never slept with your husband or any other man, and I will thank you not to dishonor me or yourself with any more accusations if you don't want to limp down the aisle in ten days!"

Lawrence Ramsey seldom admitted to outright miscalculation, but taking the steps down to his kitchen two at a time, coat still on and hat in the hands of the footman behind him… Lawrence could admit he'd overstepped this particular time. Your own fault, you don't know Mary as well as you know Midori.

The thing was, Lawrence knew Midori. Oh, he didn't see her quite as a little sister. Not the way she believed he did. He was too much of a man to do that, and there was the gulf between their ranks to consider. That said, he was deeply fond of her and did consider her and her mother great friends. Mainly because he knew that there was a difference in what made a friend, and that in the Chens' case their friendship contained the one vital ingredient that real power relied on.

Loyalty.

It was that quality that had meant Lawrence knew he could get away with continuing to pit the younger girl against his future wife. Midori would get angry at him. She might temporarily refuse to visit or even tell her mother and force him to grovel because even he knew that comparing Mrs. Chen to her daughter was like comparing steel to gold in terms of hardness as well as luster. What Midori wouldn't do was upset his plans in any way, and he could always wheedle his way back into her good graces and future assistance.

It was that same loyalty he wanted to build in Mary, but knew he didn't have the same time. In Mary's case, she wasn't the strictly and lovingly raised daughter of upper-middle-class immigrants. She was spoilt, she was difficult, and while he quite liked those things about her he also wanted to be sure he only benefited from them. That meant taking control of them, and jealousy was an excellent lever to move a girl like Lady Mary Crawley with.

"You wouldn't dare, and you presume that-."

"Mary, calm down!"

"You want to know what I would presume, Lady Mary, then take one more step forward."

"I'm not afraid of a useless oriental sl-."

You didn't know her well enough to understand that temper, though. Lawrence lamented silently as he took the final length of hallway and simultaneously heard Lady Grantham cry out in alarm, a piece of furniture overturn, and his future wife's scream of outrage and pain. He wasn't the least bit shocked to come into the kitchen and find the central table overturned, Lady Grantham struggling to get around it while his French chef – looking delighted at the drama, he might add – held her back… and Mary pressed face-first to the floor while Midori knelt on her back with both knees pressed between her shoulder blades, one hand immobilized beneath the painful pressure of those sharp knees, and Midori's other hand occupied in twisting his lady's ear painfully.

"Midori."

He said her name quietly, but as he knew, that was all that it took. Visibly furious, and all the more beautiful for it, Midori released his wife, took a graceful step back as she smoothed her skirt, and turned towards him without an ounce of forgiveness in her blue-green eyes. Groveling it is, old boy. She at least, knew that he'd arranged for Mary to find her here.

"When this marriage falls apart, I'm going to laugh at you."

Midori's words, which were poorly chosen and likely honest for all that, made him wince as she swept out of the room, asking for her coat and hat. More than groveling. You'll have to come up with a proper and genuine apology. Lawrence noted internally that his miscalculation was worse than he thought and promised himself he'd make it properly right, one little part of his mind already rapidly calculating what gesture would be grand enough without seeming condescending while the rest turned towards clawing victory out of defeat.

"Mary, are you alright?"

"Do I look alright?!"

"No, you do not." Lawrence helped his future wife up with some chagrin. "It hurts like the dickens when she does that."

Both his future wife and mother-in-law gave him incredulous looks that were mixed with more than a little suspicion, but Lawrence had more to consider. He caught his chef's eye, along with Mrs. Gould's and Abrams'. His staff acknowledged him with the barest silent nods.

Fabre, God bless him, had the French love of drama telling against his character but he was loyal. He had to be, given that Lawrence knew he was a homosexual. Lawrence didn't particularly care about the man's deviance, not when he was such an excellent chef, but it did mean that he would guard his employer's secrets. He owed him too much for his own silence, not to mention making that pesky charge his last employer had leveled at him vanish.

Lawrence tolerated no doubt as to the loyalties and obedience of those who worked for him. Mrs. Gould had been with the family for years and she'd helped him on all manner of occasions. She'd dutifully transcribed her conversations with Mrs. Hudson and passed on everything he'd told her that he'd wanted the Grantham's housekeeper to hear. Likewise, Mr. Abrams was as good as his own eyes and ears for keeping the household under control.

Lawrence hoped that the Anna girl that Mary wanted to bring along with her from her family's house proved equally obedient. He knew she had to be someone his wife trusted and that Mary didn't trust easily, which is why he'd encouraged her to ask. What he wouldn't tolerate was any misunderstanding by the woman as to who was king of the castle. Loyalty to him was loyalty to his wife. After all, once that ring was on her finger, they became one person, did they not? If Anna proved unreliable or her loyalties divided he'd have to manage a separation, though a slower one might be best given this new demonstration of temper…

Mama was right, marriage is a terrible lot of work.

"Are you not going to do anything about it?"

"She attacked your wife in your own home."

The overlapping comments from Lady Grantham and Mary were at least expected. Lawrence was happy that some things weren't surprising. He gently helped Mary up and ushered both ladies upstairs and towards his study; both for the sake of privacy and because he knew the room was just close and intimidating enough to serve his purposes.

Time for some damage mitigation. Lawrence Ramsey didn't believe in unsalvageable situations. There was always some way to profit, if you thought quickly enough.

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"Mary, I'm so sorry you are upset, but I don't know what to start with first. Why my future lady wife was using such appalling language." Mary was still shaking with anger when she convinced her mother to give her and Lawrence some space so that they could speak privately. "Or why it was being assigned to one of my oldest friends… Mary what happened?"

"What happened Lawrence is that you told me that I wouldn't have to tolerate that – that woman and I came into what is to be my home and I found her in my kitchen!"

Lawrence looked at Mary as if she was speaking in tongues and she felt both furious at it and rather unbalanced by the clear surprise in his expression.

"Mary, I told you that I would hardly require you to be friends with Midori, and I meant it. You're entirely different people from different lives and classes – I never promised to cut one of my oldest friends from my life because you feel threatened."

"I've been more than threatened-."

"Only after you called one of the kindest people I know a slut, for Christ's Sake! Mary, what in the world possessed you?"

"You think I don't look at a woman like that and know-."

"Mary, listen to yourself, you're beautiful and you don't hear me presuming you have loose morals, do you?"

A jolt of terror ran like lightning towards Mary's center. That terror she'd thought she'd finally put to rest after coming back from France, after Lawrence and society seemed to accept the idea that it was Edith's runaway romance that was behind it all, and that Mary's reputation would be permanently safe with her marriage to a man like the one sitting across from her and gesturing in helpless frustration with broad, open hands.

"And why should you, I am a lady!" Mary cut in. "My father is the Earl of Grantham, my mother's family among the first in the New World. Who exactly is Midori Chen next to that, I ask you?"

"The daughter of one of my father's oldest business acquaintances, whose contacts and faithful service helped us fully reestablish ourselves and our wealth."

"Pardon?"

"Mary, Isaru Chen couldn't have formed his import business without a partnership with my father, but we relied on him as a business manager in more than a single capacity." Her fiancée's voice was frustrated as he reached up and disarranged his hair with raking fingers. "He traveled extensively for us, all over the continent, and helped father and I establish the connections in immigrant communities that were the first stepping stones to reestablishing ourselves in our rightful place."

"Lawrence-."

"Midori's mother," He interrupted her firmly, his voice still quiet but his tone harsher, "was my mother's only comfort during the worst time in her life – and honestly, the worst time in mine. Do you know what it is like watching someone you love trapped inside their own decaying body?"

Mary could only shake her head mutely.

"Mary, I buried both of my siblings – including an older sister who I adored. Do you know who was there for me through that?" He pointed at the door. "Midori, who you may see as some kind of threat, but I see as a knobby-kneed cricket of a child, always hopping after me and insisting I find some happiness when I was a bundle of anger held together by an Eton tie."

"She might have been, then, but even you can see that she's – what she looks like now!" Mary protested. "Even if you've done nothing wrong, do you really trust her?"

"She wouldn't have me if I offered."

Mary scoffed, and then felt a sudden wave of trepidation.

"Have you, then?"

"Of course not!" Lawrence finally stood up and paced and Mary was surprised at the outward display of agitation. When his back was to her she was so focused on his body language, the tension in his shoulders, and the hand fisted against his hip, that she didn't notice him using the mirror over the mantle to briefly watch her face. His dark eyes were calculating in the image, before his expression returned to exasperated upset. "Mary, this is ridiculous! I can understand you being jealous of her youth and beauty-."

"Excuse me?"

"You're nearly twenty-four now, and Midori's only eighteen. It's only natural."

"Lawrence, I would wonder that we're not even married and you're already suggesting I'm some – some aged crone-."

"Mary, I'm suggesting the opposite!"

"And that is?"

"That you're so beautiful you've never learned how to deal with others who are also beautiful."

"Sybil's absolutely lovely and I've never had a problem with my sister-."

"No, but anyone who can have a five-minute chat with your friends know of your problems with Lady Strallan."

Mary flushed.

"Edith and I are on excellent terms now."

"Yes, now. You used to publicly mock her looks before she left for America, and the things you said about her afterward aren't precisely kind, either." He arched both his eyebrows. "We both know how long a memory London has for society gossip."

"And yet you're the one who insisted that everything tied up in Edith's wild match is a tempest in a teakettle and soon forgotten."

"A poor choice of words, then. You know society forgets nothing. They merely put it away until it is relevant." Lawrence rubbed a hand over his face. "Mary, I don't want to fight with you. We're to be married in less than a fortnight, for God's sake! I just – you have to understand what it's like to come into my home and hear someone calling – how would you feel if you walked downstairs at Grantham House and heard someone refer to Lady Sybil as a slut based on nothing but her appearance and the fact that she's so familiar with the servants? Because I can tell you, those little picnics and outings she's allowed to go on with your driver could be questioned."

"What? Branson's just driving her, he waits in the car as is proper."

"I can't picture your sister allowing anyone to sit hungry in a car while she eats."

Mary felt herself derailed by a sudden new worry.

"You have a point." She muttered, then turned. "I'll speak to Sybil directly. If Edith's little tour of the Continent with her fiancée taught the family nothing else, it's certainly taught us to be careful of our reputations."

"Perhaps not a bad idea, but we've gotten off topic." Lawrence looked at her severely. "Mary, this insecurity has to cease. Midori is an old friend, nothing more."

"Perhaps I – I overreacted, but do you honestly believe anyone is going to see a woman who looks like that slipping into and out of your house through the servant's entrance and not make the same assumptions? Should I have to put up with talk like that as your wife?"

"Never." Lawrence finally looked chagrinned. "Mary, I – I hadn't thought of it that way."

"Well, you should have."

"You're right. I can't and won't cut Midori or her mother out of my life, but I can certainly regulate things better."

"You could actually talk to your lady about it, for one."

"Of course, and I will." He paused. "While we're on the subject, shall we discuss your cousin as well?"

"My -."

"Matthew Crawley." Lawrence's lips turned up in a crooked smile. "Your erstwhile suitor and the future Earl of Grantham."

"I don't see what there is to discuss that we haven't already. He's family." Mary flushed at the expression on her future husband's face and waved an annoyed, dismissive hand at his raised eyebrow. "Yes, yes, I – I perhaps overreacted. I certainly shouldn't have flung around… inappropriate language, but you shouldn't be so blasé about someone laying hands on your wife!"

"Midori's mother and father took her ability to defend herself seriously." He shook his head. "Necessarily so since she traveled with her father when she got older. Midori could have done far worse."

"She shoved me to the floor!" Mary protested. "Lawrence, it hurt!"

"I know."

"What, how? You're a man!"

"And her mother didn't survive the Boxer rebellion by being a delicate flower." He laughed ruefully and, against her will, Mary smiled slightly as he rubbed his own ear. "I was an intemperate young man in my adolescence. More than once Mrs. Chen gave me a direct physical lesson in good manners – and I can say now that I deserved it."

"Are you saying I deserved it?"

"No, but I am saying that anyone who goes throwing insults around and expects no response is being foolish." Lawrence's expression grew grave. "Be thankful that Midori was channeling her less illustrious forebears. Being shoved to the ground once is a lot less dangerous than making an political or social enemy, Mary."

"I know that." Mary huffed. "You should have spoken to me before you had her come over. It's to be my home too, and – and I might have prepared myself for it and avoided all of this embarrassment."

"Of course, you're right – but Mary, you have to see that you caused this by not listening."

"Excuse me!?"

"Really, Mary, we've talked this to death and I want to make an end of it. You either trust me or you don't!" He gestured. "The same is true in reverse. Your cousin is one day going to be an important man. Not simply when he inherits your father's title. Do you know how his barrister training is going?"

"I am more interested in our marriage than my cousin's career."

"Good, but the fact remains that Matthew Crawley is apparently a fine solicitor and is going to be an excellent barrister. Given his connections to your father and the title, he's going to the bar and the bench beyond that in time."

"It's decided then?" Mary was more than a little annoyed.

She had to marry and consider every political angle, constantly fight for her social position, but all Matthew had to do was show up and attend a few speeches or whatever it was one did to become a barrister, and now they were talking about his illustrious future.

"Assuming he does nothing foolish and scandalous, yes." Lawrence. "The point is, he's a good connection – should I refuse to allow you anywhere near him because he once fancied you for a wife and your parents agreed?"

"Of course not!" Mary crossed her arms. "And I do see your point, but Matthew at least would never lay hands on a lady."

"Well, Midori is a friend, but she's hardly of our class." He considered. "Which is an excellent reason to stay within our class, darling. A display of temper like that is fine among our sort, but the lower classes accept violence more readily."

Mary rubbed at her forearm, which had been twisted savagely behind her. She was dreadfully embarrassed that her mother and their servants had witnessed the scene, but seeing that woman just standing there in what should be Mary's home had taken her temper entirely out of her control. She'd let her mouth run away with her, just wanting to hurt Midori. Just wanting to make the wretched girl leave.

Instead the girl had the gall to tell Mary to stop being a spoiled brat and that Lawrence had invited her. Worse, she'd said that if Mary thought the house belonged to anyone but Lawrence, she had some hard lessons to learn. Mary had seen red and… used language she normally would never use. Then, the next thing she knew, she was being challenged and she couldn't bear that so she'd responded…

She still wasn't sure how it had happened. She'd been distracted by the sound of the table going over and her mother yelling – and Cora never yelled- and she'd reached for the annoying chit. The next thing she'd known her wrist was being twisted and her ankles had been kicked, then the breath had been knocked out of her as she hit the floor and the woman was kneeling on her shoulders and…

Really, it was embarrassing!

"That is readily apparent." Mary muttered and looked at her future husband. "Shall you not take up my part at all?"

"Oh, Midori is going to hear about laying hands on you, darling, but you have to see that you started this."

Mary flushed and wanted to argue but she was tired, and Lawrence always seemed to have a dozen answers and each one made her feel less sure of herself, and more embarrassed, than the last. Besides… he wasn't wrong. She was a lady. She should be above getting into screaming matches with the lower classes in the kitchen.

And, really… Lawrence… was entitled to be close to his servants and their families. She liked that he cared more for them than others in their class did. Mary was always close to Carson, after all, and she wanted her children to feel that safety one day as well.

"I… should have kept my temper."

"And I should have taken greater care of your feelings. Mary, darling, I am sorry."

And Mary relaxed as he scooted her chair closer and pressed a soft, dry kiss to her cheek. Then, Lawrence shocked her, by placing another, more lingering kiss on her mouth. For a moment, she felt a flash of what might have been fear. Her last kiss a pain press of Pamuk's lips and the intrusion of his tongue… but Lawrence was wholly calm and almost sweet in his touch. The perfect gentleman.

"That was rather more like what I expect from a husband in the way of comfort."

"Well, you may certainly have that whenever you like, darling wife." Lawrence's tone was soft, low, and teasing in a way that sent a wave of relief through Mary along with attraction. His dark eyes avid, but unusually soft. "Let's call this miserable fight over with."

"Almost," Mary countered, "why were you late. Something from the Lords?"

"Just a tiresome meeting about relations with the Ottomans." He waved a hand and glanced towards the door. "Now… shouldn't we go see to your mother and – what was it you wanted to talk about?"
"Oh, I wanted to ask if you'd already put the orders for my rooms. I know I'd given you my selections, but I've changed my mind on a few things…"

Mary was more than gratified at her future husband's soft laugh and promise that, no, he hadn't put in any orders they couldn't rearrange yet. Soothed as he listened happily to her discuss their future life together, she didn't notice how neatly he'd gotten her to come around to his way of thinking without achieving anything concrete in terms of promises on his end.

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Midori was well and truly annoyed. She was relieved that her Ama was off looking at property in Cornwall. Well, in truth she knew her mother was on a holiday but couldn't bring herself to call it that. Why shouldn't her mother, who had always been so sensible and practical her whole life, get to enjoy something? Losing her husband had crushed Suyin Chen, but she wasn't the kind of woman to let it show. She's soldiered on and finished raising her daughter, seen Midori in university, and carried on as the undisputed matriarch of her little family.

As far as Midori was concerned, they could afford a bit of a holiday. If Midori was still at home minding things, why shouldn't she be? She had class and she had Lawrence to mind now and then – not that she'd be doing that for a while – and they had friends. So if her mother wanted to take a tour of the British Isles to see where in the country she wanted to settle, so what?

Midori, however, couldn't settle. She was genuinely angry at Lawrence. For all that he was like an older brother to her in some ways, in others he would never be. The differences in their rank and their lives were too vast. Lawrence's own estimation of his importance was another issue.

So, Midori worked. Her mother would no doubt be beaming with pride later, and that thought did a lot to soften her ill temper as she got out a range of pots and pans and settled them over the large coal range in their basement kitchen. Tins and glass jars and tightly sealed wooden boxes were neatly arranged along the two tables in her kitchen, along with a plethora of small empty ceramic jars and other decorate containment options. Frequent trips to the red lacquered apothecary cabinet had her slippers hushing along the floor until the sound of the bell drew her back upstairs.

"Lady Grantham."

Midori could only have been less happy to see one other person on her doorstep. She took a moment to note that it had been hours, and the woman was now wearing another fashionable walking suit. This one, however, was darker and more severe in cut, being a deep maroon rather than the gentle dusty green of the morning.

"Miss Chen, may I come in?"

"I think it is best if you do not."

Lady Grantham was also not alone. Standing beside her looking brooding and awkward was a tall man of somewhere between sixty and seventy years old. Broad, going slightly portly with age, with thick gray hair and a nose to rival a sea eagle's beak, he was dressed like an upper servant. Isn't this lovely?

"Miss Chen, I am sorry that you were so upset earlier, but I think it important that we speak. I'm only asking for some of your time – and the chance to apologize."

Midori's first impulse, which was to shut the door, warred against a lifetime of ingrained manners and social calculation. Her father had raised her to always be aware that one had to play within the rules of the ruling classes' games. To do otherwise was to take great risks. Her mother, however, had raised her to respect herself, her own pride, and to be aware of where good manners extended to being trodden upon.

Unfortunately, both were in agreement. Midori knew she never should have laid a hand on Lawrence's future wife and was… honestly a bit afraid of charges being pressed. She knew nobody would listen to her. If Lawrence didn't calm everyone down – and she thought, he would – or speak up for her – and she hoped he would – she'd be in terrible trouble. Beyond that, she'd been rude and acted beneath herself and her own manners when Lady Mary had ambushed her and called her such names.

"Please, Lady Grantham, come in. Your companion?"

"Our butler, Mr. Carson."

The entryway of their home had been altered just a bit. The brown brick building was, as most of the houses in Mayfair, tall and narrow with a central hallway and stairs. Her father and mother had made sure that the entryway reflected at least some of their culture, however. A second door stood behind her, and the initial flooring was a step lower and covered in gray slate tiles. Beside it, a polished pine getabako stood. It currently held all three of her different boots. Beside it, a basket of slippers waited guests.

"If you do not mind?"

"Of course not."

Lady Grantham was apparently more cultured than most. Without protest, she sat on the bench opposite the getabako and removed her own highly fashionable footwear with no fuss. The butler looked decidedly awkward but did the same. Midori let herself get lost in good manners and fetched the largest pair of slippers they had for the butler and a nicer pair of her mother's for the countess. The woman had considerably more grace than her daughter, as she showed when she assented to tea and complimented the light green blend that Midori brought up along with the simple tea set it was delivered in. Midori waited in silence and was both disappointed and… not.

"Miss Chen, I want to apologize for my daughter's behavior. She was overwrought and she referred to you in a manner she was not raised to address others."

That was unexpected.

"I was hoping that we could come to an agreement where you were compensated for your upset… and we could prevent future upset from occurring."

"An agreement…?"

"I believe my lady means a compensatory agreement." The butler rumbled, everything about him radiating distaste for the situation and for herself.

That was much as she'd expected.

Midori carefully put down her teacup and folded her hands in her lap.

"Lady Grantham. I am not and have never been Lawrence's lover. I was never his lover or anyone else's. If you are here to bribe me to stop being something I am not, or to insult my character, I will have to ask you to leave."

The butler had too much self-control to scoff, but his eyebrows made his opinion clear. She looked back at him, meeting his gaze directly. He put his chin up and looked down on her. Who was surprised?

"I wouldn't infer that you were."

"Your choice to appear at my home and offer me a bribe implies otherwise my lady."

"Perhaps it seems to, but I think this is all a terrible misunderstanding."

"How so?"

"My eldest daughter may not appear to be, but she is an extraordinarily sensitive girl." The titled lady sitting in her parlor launched into an earnest explanation and Midori had to admit that she was approaching her more politely, and more directly than anyone else had when making this sort of accusation. Perhaps it was the American accent, or simply the origins of it. "Even if something isn't true, once she's upset it's hard for her to calm down and believe that all those feelings she's fighting with are wrong. I want her to have a happy marriage – don't you want the same for your friend? For I do believe you are legitimately Lord Holderness' friend."

"Lord Holderness used to give me rides on his shoulders when he was fifteen and I was five, ma'am. He used to play tag with me in exchange for sweets my mother made, or for me to teach him obscenities in Cantonese and Japanese." Midori couldn't quite help the exasperated tone that crept into her voice, despite trying to hold onto her temper. "I think I can be forgiven for being upset myself at your daughter's continued accusations about someone who used to bandage my skinned knees."

The butler finally looked genuinely regretful, she noted, and his discomfort visibly increased. Midori immediately turned to face him.

"Mr. Carson, Lawrence has spoken of Lady Mary's fondness for you for much the same reasons. How would you feel if someone began to accuse you of behaving or feeling inappropriately towards her?"

"I would be outraged, Miss Chen." He cleared his throat, looking as if he wanted to go on before deflating slightly and cutting his eyes towards the countess. "Pardon me for the interruption."

"You're here to help, Carson, and that was no interruption. You have every right to speak here as well. That's why I asked you along."

Midori felt it was more likely the address that had prompted the escort, but picked her tea back up instead of responding. She didn't see Lady Grantham's blue eyes, so hard a few moments before, soften as she looked at the way Midori's eyes tracked towards her feet. She had no way of knowing that this woman, at least, had an idea of what it was like to raise beautiful daughters and wonder and fear for them… or fear that she'd raised them wrong.

"Miss Chen, allow me to offer you a proper apology. I am dreadfully sorry that today, and before, you've been exposed to my family's censure for something you clearly have not done. Mary never should have addressed you the way that she did, and while I am very upset that you struck my daughter-."

"I didn't strike her," Midori felt this was an important distinction, "I put her in a hold so that she couldn't strike me or anyone else."

"Was the ear twisting necessary?"

"No, and for that I apologize."

Not sincerely, but I should so I might as well…

"Well… now that we've apologized, let's just talk shall we? Honestly?"

"You want me to vanish from Lawrence's life and act as if we've never met. You want me to not answer his calls, and – if possible – not inform him of where I live. Preferably after moving, the further away the better." Midori caught the woman's narrowing eyes and found herself suddenly tired, rather than angry. "Lady Grantham, you are the fifth woman to come to me and try and – and do this in the last five years."

"Surely not. You can't be a day over nineteen."

"The first time it happened I was thirteen." Midori couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice. "I wasn't even sure what I was being accused of so I asked my father."

"Thirteen…" The butler rumbled, clearly shocked.

"We were doing business in Brussels and the wife of one of the men my father was working with came over, crying, with a bag of money." Midori looked tiredly at the both of them. "You see, her husband had told her the night before that he was leaving her and had bought two train tickets, and steamer tickets to America – because we were in love. Which came as quite a shock to me as my greatest concern at the time was convincing my father that I should be allowed to keep a stray kitten I'd found as a pet and I'd yet to spend more than ten minutes alone with the man – during which I might add we discussed the weather."

Midori raised her hand and ticked things off on her fingers.

"The next two happened when I was fifteen. I'd made a police complaint about one of the men – a local university student – who kept showing up at our house. Not that they did anything. Either way, his mother came by to call me names and demand I leave her son alone as he was bound for a nice English girl of some sort and not a terrible foreign floozy like myself. The second was Lawrence's valet at the time – Lawrence sent him off without a reference after he tried to pull me into a closet while we were up at Leathe House, though I do feel badly for his wife."

"There was another last year." Midori put her hands down. "One of my professors. He was actually totally innocent. Unfortunately, his wife was also sensitive and insecure. So… please, Lady Grantham. I assure you that I'd be just as happy to never see your daughter again… can we not do this?"

The countess was looking at her with an unfathomable expression that, eventually, faded to a maternal gentleness that hurt worse than further insults would have. Midori looked away and then went about refreshing everyone's tea.

"Miss Chen, I am sorry." The woman's soft voice failed to bring Midori's eyes back up to meet her face, but the butler's distressed rumble did. "I just wish I knew how Lady Mary became so certain…"

Sadly, tested loyalty stretched a little at the corners. While Midori couldn't bring herself to betray Lawrence… she didn't feel the need to be utterly devoted to silence, either.

"Oh, that I can answer."

"How so?"

"Lawrence…" Midori struggled and cleared her throat. "he likes to test people."

"Test people how?"

"He's a politician, Lady Grantham, he lies." She explained. "He expects others to do the same."

"What does he think my daughter could possibly be lying to him about?"

"I don't know, likely something to do with your daughters both ending up in France under odd circumstances." Midori cleared her throat and decided to be honest. "I don't know that I believe all the stories floating around, honestly, but it's also not my place to care. Lawrence is my oldest friend and I cook for him now and then, embroider his handkerchiefs occasionally, and I tease him about things from when we were children. I don't have any involvement in his daily life as such."

"But he trusted you when his private secretary quit and disordered his paperwork." Lady Grantham pointed out.

"I helped my father with his filing and I know how Lawrence likes things ordered."

"And that's all?"

"I think this marriage is a terrible idea." Midori finally blurted out. "I also think he's trying to prove me wrong."

The butler puffed up in indignation but the countess merely frowned.

"Why precisely do you think it's a terrible idea."

"I don't know your daughter, but I don't think she knows Lawrence, either."

The woman's smile was maternal again, and a little patronizing.

"Marriages at our level of society are a little different, Miss Chen."

"Lady Grantham, where my parents are from arranged marriages are expected." My parents' wasn't, but you don't need to know that. "I'm aware of the idea that a marriage is grown into, and that it works."

"But?"

"But." Midori emphasized. "Everyone has to want the same thing."

"And you don't think my daughter and Lord Holderness do?"

"I think Lady Mary doesn't realize that Lawrence is going to expect her to put everything in her life second to his ambitions. That when he says they're in a partnership he means the same kind of partnership that a farmer has with his team of plough horses – and Lawrence will always have the reins."

Midori shook her head.

"Lady Gratham, none of that matters. If you came here to make sure nothing like today happens again – you didn't need to. I don't plan on ever stepping foot in that house again as long as Lawrence is married to your daughter. If he wants to talk he can write me a letter or he can come here. You – you don't have to worry about anymore displays or embarrassment, I promise, as long as you stay away from me. I can't imagine anything that would draw us all together, can you?"

The woman finally rose, gracefully.

"No, I cannot. I'm glad we had a chance to talk, and sorry that it was distressing. Let's not think on it again, Miss Chen."

"Thank you."

Midori saw them out and sagged against the door. Then, after a brief tidy in the kitchen, she got her coat and hat and shoes and decided to call on the Swires. It was a bit late, but she hoped Lavinia would understand. She just needed one sane person to talk to.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The point of crisis came, as they often do, in the dead of the night. Her fever had peaked during the day and the mucous in her sinuses had begun to drain aggressively. Both presented problems.

The fever was a problem in and of itself. The sinus draining was a problem that compounded others. Anthony Strallan watched as Addie's delicate stomach rebelled against its unwanted contents and the drainage triggered her gag reflex.

"Here we are, Addie, can you keep a little water down? You have to try."

Anthony Strallan knelt on what had been his own childhood bed. Stripped to his vest and trousers, his braces digging into his shoulders, Anthony held his young sister-in-law. Bracing the palms of his hands and spread fingers over the center of her chest and belly, he suspended her over the cone of the inhalator. It seemed that the smell of eucalyptus and friar's balsam had seeped into his very pores.

Addie didn't even bother to respond. Whining weakly, she tilted her head away from the cup that her sister attempted to hold towards her lips. Several hours before she'd stopped even attempting to hold herself upright over the cone of the device. Sitting beside the bed, the half-grown German Shepherd raised a paw to the edge of the blue and white coverlet and shined in return.

"Come now, Addie, you're going to get better." Anthony promised against her hair, his voice thick with emotion.

The little girl didn't even bother to look up. Edith shot her husband a tormented look and reached out to delicately brush a strand of her sister's hair back. Sweat and dampness from the constant inhalator use had darkened her liver red hair until it looked nearly black. Edith had braided the thick mass of hair back from her face and pinned it up about her head in a crown the night before.

"Addie, darling, you have to drink something." Edith insisted.

This time Addie didn't bother to whine. She just hung there and, when Edith pressed the glass to her lips again, held her lips together all the tighter.

"Addie."

"M'tired."

"I know, my girl, I know." Anthony soothed, adjusting his hold on her and Edith's heart lurched as she watched how tenderly he held her.

Despite the electric lamps keeping the interior of Loxley brightly lit, it was two o'clock in the morning. Since just after nine the night before they had held Addie suspended. In turns Anthony, Barrow, and Stewart had all held the girl aloft over the steaming device, trying to help her labored breathing. None had taken a longer shift than Edith's husband, but despite the fact that his back and arms had to be on fire from the constant strain of supporting the child, he still handled his burden as if she was precious.

"You've got to drink something to keep your strength up, Addie. You've got to get better."

"I'm never getting better."

Edith's words of encouragement, so often repeated, died on her tongue and she shot a frantic look at her husband. Whatever she'd expected to see, it wasn't the stricken horror that briefly flashed across his beloved face. It was replaced, to her surprise, but an expression sterner than any she'd seen on her sweet natured husband's friendly visage.

"What kind of talk is that?"

"M'always sick. I never get better."

"You will-."

"I don't! I never get better, I'm always sick!"

Suddenly animated, Addie flailed slightly, twisting to look up into her sister's face. The exhaustion and hurt Edith saw there gutted her. Yet, what was she even supposed to say?

Edith had known her baby sister since she was five years old. In that time she'd watched as everyone in the family worked to keep their youngest member healthy. Winters were never spent in the colder climates north of the Chesapeake Bay. Addie was continuously encouraged to exercise to build her strength, and swim to strengthen her lungs – advice from none other than the 26th President himself. Their father paid – foolishly in the end – for the opinions of countless expert physicians when it came to Addie's poor eating habits.

Edith could say a million things about her little sister. She could tell you every annoying habit. She could tell you endless funny story about a child being a child. She could laugh at the endless need to be outside and her love for animals. She could not, honestly, say that Addie had ever been entirely healthy.

"What kind of talk is that?"

Anthony's voice, low and soft and gruffly firm in a way that was most unlike him, surprised her. She watched as her husband gently turned Addie in his arms so that he could look into her face. Addie blinked blearily up at him.

"Now, Addie, I won't hear any more of that. You are not always sick. If you were sick, would I ever let you outside to go on surveys with me? Or to help about the home farm?"

Addie coughed again, her entire body shaking, and Anthony turned her sideways in his arms, supporting her as Addie watched her little sister suddenly coil up in pain, her arms clutching around her ribs.

"Addie, darling, you will be better, listen to me." Edith stepped forward, quickly getting her hands up to gently brace her sister's face. "Your fever has been down for two days. It's just this cough we have to take care of, but you must drink something."

Beside the bed, Polly barked and whined, butting her muzzle against Addie's hip and knee through the material of her nightgown and both the dressing gowns they're wrapped around her as her temperature dropped from worrying high, to worryingly low. They'd rung the hospital the day before, intending to take her in out of desperation only to be told by a strained Dr. Clarkson that he advised against it.

A factory fire in Ripon had filled both the wards in that town's hospital, and three surrounding village hospital's, Cottage hospital included. The doctor had asked them to send a driver in for stronger medication, but had said that there were no beds to be had, and no peace for the child in a hospital filled with burn victims.

"I-," Addie's voice raised, climbing above the hoarse whisper with a strange mix of exhaustion and anger, as the girl twisted to look up at her sister, "I never get better. I ca-can't eat. I don't want to. I can't play. I can't eve-even go to school. I can't!"

Edith watched in helpless misery as her sister's outburst triggered a coughing fit worse than the last. One of the worst, in fact, that they'd watched her endure. Despite Anthony's best efforts to keep her over the steam, Addie ended up curled into a fetal ball in his arms. Worse yet, she started crying, which compounded the coughing. Setting the glass of water aside, Edith quickly reached up and stroked her sister's face. Sitting upon the bed beside her sister and husband, Edith carefully wrapped her arms around them both, trying to soothe her sister.

Eventually the coughing and crying jag came to a close, but they did so with Addie's breath falling into the fast, shallow pattern it had slowly been evolving for the last three days. A quick knock at the door and not even a pause as it opened. Edith didn't bother to offer up any attention to the now-familiar pattern as Thomas Barrow's head popped into the room.

"Did you get through to Dr. Burton?"

"No, sir, I used the book Stewart gave me, but the man's wife said he's visiting family in Derbyshire."

Another tread, lighter than Barrow's but heavier than usual, was heard up the stairs and Stewart appeared in Edith's view, still in his hat and coat.

"Did you get through Yates?"

"The doctor wasn't in, sir."

Edith all but screamed. Addie was clearly losing the battle against the coughing wracking her body. If they couldn't get her to drink something, she'd keep losing strength. Edith desperately met her husband's eyes, seeing in the pale blue a terrible denial of what they both knew.

Stewart wasn't done speaking.

"I hope I haven't overstepped, sir, but I've improvised."

"What do you-." Barrow turned to demand, but was cut off by the sudden bustling appearance of a familiar figure.

Isobel Crawley, who Edith had thought visiting her son in London, came into view tying a broad white apron over her simple brown traveling dress as she moved.

"I do hope I'm not intruding." Isobel said in that tone that implied she didn't care a whit. "Do you have my case, Mr. Stewart?"

"Right here, ma'am."

"Good, Mr. Barrow, could I trouble you to go get the second case from the boot of the car? If Mr. Waters hasn't already brought it in."

"I've got it right here, ma'am!"

Their chauffer, who was perhaps less employed at his job than most given both Sir Anthony and Lady Strallan, appeared and Barrow all but rushed out to take the small crate of large glass bottles from his arms.

"Excellent, thank you!" Isobel walked over and crouched down, petting at Polly as she did so. "My, how big you've grown. Addie, I see you've been taking prodigiously good care of her!"

Addie's eyes, bloodshot from exhaustion and illness, rolled reluctantly to look at the interloper. Temperament, however, and pride forced her to roughly swallow.

"P-polly's a good dog."

"So, she is. Let's see about getting you better so you can play with her again, hm?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

If you'd asked Anthony before what he thought of Edith's distant cousin he would have said that Isobel Crawley was a very nice woman. That she was passionate and intelligent. He would have also admitted that she thought her more than a bit of a busybody. There would have been a hint of humor there at the woman's occasional medical presumption, along with fondness at the woman's kindness towards his wife and her little sister. That slight hint of condensation towards the former nurse was utterly gone now.

"I do believe that the intravenous fluids have helped, don't you, Sir Anthony?"

"Tremendously, and Anthony, please."

"Yes, thank you so very much, cousin." Edith leaned forward to grip the other woman's hands. "I just – we could have. It felt like we were so close-."

"Think nothing of it, dear, we're family." Isobel assured her, squeezing his wife's hands. "We should be here for each other, shouldn't we? And you shouldn't worry so, right now. Not in your condition."

Anthony felt himself flush, and his eyes widen… but his own concerns were too closely aligned to let the opportunity pass.

"Yes, sweet one, you've exhausted yourself."

"And you haven't?"

"I think Anthony's point would be that he's in a better condition to bear it, Edith dear."

Edith looked back at the other woman, and then at her husband.

"I know, but I could hardly leave Addie when she was so terribly ill."

"Yes, but she's much improved now, isn't she?"

Anthony felt his own knees threaten to give way just saying those words. The relief of their truth was like a hot knife applied to his tendons; it spoke of instant collapse. Beside him, Edith leaned that much more heavily into his side and Anthony tightened his arm around his wife.

Both of them were, well, less well-presented than Anthony thought he had ever been before a guest in the home of his forefathers. Neither he nor Edith had bathed in three days. His own hair was lank with sweat and felt greasy and Edith's thick curls were a murky sandy color as a result rather than their normal coppery blonde. He was embarrassingly dressed in only a vest and trousers, without even a proper shirt. Likewise, his wife was wearing a blouse over camisole and a skirt… but no corset beneath.

What else could they do? They'd been fighting a battle for the very life of a child in their care. A battle that Anthony wanted to weep with relief at having apparently won. Thanks, of course, to Stewart's quick thinking and some unlooked-for reinforcements.

"I should have thought of intravenous fluids days ago." Anthony blurted out, his voice soft but filled with recrimination. "The mucous was overloading her stomach and she couldn't keep anything down. Of course we would need to find some other way to keep her dehydrated."

"Don't torture yourself, Anthony, I didn't think of it, either, and I've been taking care of my sister for years."

"It really is entirely reasonable to overlook the possibility. The treatment isn't nearly as regularized as it should be." Isobel agreed. "If you don't introduce people to the treatment, and spread the knowledge, how is anyone to be aware of the fact that they can rely upon it?"

Anthony shook his head, still torn between anger at himself that the poor child's illness had ever progressed so far, and the sort of relief that numbed the entire body.

"That said, Edith, you do feel well, don't you?"

Anthony turned his head immediately, looking down at his wife. Edith reached out and squeezed his hand.

"Yes, I'm fine. No bleeding or cramping at all. I'm just... inexpressibly tired."

"Well, then I see no reason why both of you shouldn't be off to bed."

"I think-."

"One of us should-."

Anthony protested at the same moment his wife did, and then paused. Edith did the same, looking up at him with an expression of identical bleary exhaustion. Isobel, with the long practice of someone who'd likely done this to worried parental figures before, cheerfully butted in.

"Mr. Barrow was all too happy to sit with Miss Addie now that we've gotten her to sleep."

Anthony might have mentioned it as another miracle, but he was too grateful to question it. Addie had not liked having the heavy needle and tube inserted into her arm, and then firmly secured there with strips of cloth. She'd been too tired and weak to resist the treatment, however, and the results had been staggering.

Twelve hours had passed since the line had gone in. A large glass bottle/bowl of odd configuration stood upon Addie's cleared beside table atop a stack of books to further elevate it. In that time Addie's cough had remained troublesome, but color had returned to her cheeks and the increasing opposition she'd displayed to any kind of treatment or help had faded.

While she still required support to sit bent over the inhalator, they'd even managed to get a very small cup of light vegetable broth down her sister without it making a reappearance. Now she was laying, propped up on a small mountain of pillows, with Barrow seated beside her in a chair and every evidence said that the man was settling in for a while. Part of Anthony wanted to take offense at that, as it was his place to watch over any child in his household…

The rest was just too exhausted.

"I think that your cousin has a point, sweet one." Anthony offered up. "A few hours of rest and we'll both be better able to take care of your sister."

And I won't be half out of my mind for you or the child you're carrying.

Edith's resistance, already weak, crumbled. With Isobel quietly insisting that she'd be waiting with Barrow and watching over Addie personally, Anthony managed to get his wife back into their room. Both should have likely bathed… but neither could bring themselves to care. Anthony stripped down without bothering to ring for Stewart, deposited his dirty clothes in a somewhat neat pile on the small chair in the dressing room, and then pulled on a pair of randomly selected pajamas before staggering into his room.

Upon pulling up the covers his discovered two things. The first was that Edith had left her own clothing draped over the foot of the bed, not bothering to disrobe in her dressing room as was proper. The second was that his wife had crawled into bed in the altogether; not a stitch of clothing on her. Under normal circumstances Anthony would have been deeply interest in such a development. As it was?

"Jolly good." Anthony muttered into his wife's hair as he gathered her against him and immediately dropped off to sleep. Edith, already sleeping with the depth of true exhaustion, responded with a slight snuffle, threw one leg over his thighs, and carried on with her justly earned rest.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Addie woke up coughing. That wasn't unusual, not lately and -honestly – not generally. At least not in winter. The difference was how much it hurt.

"Here now, moppet, let's sit up…"

"Thomas?"

"Who else did you expect? The King of Siam?"

Addie bit her tongue, not wanting to say she'd had another of the stupid sinking dreams. Only this time it had been the Mauretania and she'd been in the water too, and Anthony and Edith had been there, and Thomas and even Polly. They'd all been stiff and cold and dead, and Addie knew what that looked like. She'd been there when her Daddy died.

With a whine, Polly stuck her muzzle beneath Addie's hand and, gratefully, Addie reached out to pet at her dog's head. Her hand was so stupidly heavy. She leaned into Thomas' hands as he helped her sit up.

Sitting up made her cough some more, but at least this time she could stop. Before it had just seemed to go on and on forever, and the only way to stop coughing – and stop hurting – was to breathe as little as possible. Tentatively, Addie tried to take a slightly deeper breath.

It hurt, but not too terribly. She moderated and only coughed once, weakly. Manageable.

"Addie?"

Addie looked up at Thomas and his gray eyes, lighter than hers and without the added blue. Reaching out she winced and stopped the motion as there was a painful, sharp, tug in her forearm.

"Ouch!"

"Her now, watch it!"

"What's that?"

"You don't remember?"

Addie shot him a sharp look and Thomas rewarded her by carefully settling her back up against the pillows, heaping them up a bit higher as he guided her.

"That's your intravenous line. It's getting water and medicine in you without you having to drink anything."

"Oh." Addie considered the pain that had started to explode in her chest with throwing up. It had been worse than coughing. "That's good."

She didn't like the line – and did she remember it being put in? She wasn't sure. Maybe she remembered Anthony holding her and Edith holding her arm. That could just be her imagining things. Still… the line was better than throwing up. Curiously she looked at it.

"What's in it."

"Medicine and saline."

"… salt water?"

"Don't ask me, moppet." He reached out and straightened her blankets, scratching at Polly's ears as he did so. "How're you feeling?"

"Better."

Well, not quite. Addie probably wouldn't have said anything to her sister or Anthony. They tended to take things very very seriously when she mentioned them, and it could be quite annoying. Thomas, however…

"My ribs hurt."

He frowned instantly.

"Your ribs?"

"From the coughing. It made them hurt."

And, because nature had to prove its point, she had another coughing fit. This one wasn't so bad, though. It only last a little while and she uncurled almost on her own. Thomas just helped a little, getting her settled back against the pillows.

"Did Mrs. Hart get fired?"

"The whole lot of them are out of a job. The school's closing down."

Polly had scooted up to lay right at Addie's side, and Addie was enjoying carding her fingers through the thick fur at her pet's neck. The dog radiated warmth against her, and it felt nice. Her eyes were half-closed and Addie had been drifting back to sleep, but at Thomas' words her eyes flew open again.

"What?"

She shouldn't have raised her voice. It triggered a longer coughing fit, and by the time this one was done there were tears in her eyes from the pain in her ribs. She ignored them and held tightly onto Thomas' wrist with the hand that didn't have a needle stuck into it.

"What?"

"Addie, calm down! We're just getting you sorted out. What you need is another rest and to try and eat something. I'll go down to the kitchen and get you some broth-."

"Don't be like that. What happened?" Addie asked, upset. "Did they close the school because of me? What about all the other girls?"

They were going to hate her, she just knew it. As she looked up, Addie felt a wave of relief as she saw understanding light in those gray eyes. Edith and Anthony would have tried to make her feel better. They'd have tried to get her to go back to sleep. Thomas reached out and gently tugged the covers up around her and made her lay back against the pillows, but he answered.

"I don't know about the other girls, but they'd not have had that school to go to for much longer." Thomas explained. "Mrs. Weingarten had no idea how to run the place and had cut out a lot of classes and other things that the parents had been promised to save money. She also kept on Mrs. Hart despite other complaints about her behavior in the past, and not all of her other teachers were trained properly."

"I could have told you that."

"Oh?"

"Yes." Addie nodded sleepily against the pillows. "The classes were never what Edith told me they'd be, and one of the girls overheard Mrs. Wright telling Mrs. Everly that she didn't like her job – she just couldn't get another one."

"Well, there's something you want to say around a student."

Addie hummed, smiling a little at Thomas' sharp tone. Then her smile fell off.

"Miss Everly was nice. Did she lose her job, too?"

"Not something for you to worry about, moppet. I'm going to ring for some broth, if you'll eat it."

Addie frowned up at him.

"I can worry if I want to. She doesn't deserve not to have a job. She won't have a house, Thomas."

Thomas stared down at her for a minute, then sat down.

"If I were you, I'd be happy about that, moppet."

"She was-."

"If she was that nice, I think our Miss Everly would have done something about Mrs. Hart herself."

"That's like you doing something about Mr. Carson when he said dumb things about America." Addie huffed, almost coughing but managing to swallow it. "You couldn't before. You worked for him. Mrs. Hart had been there longer."

The cough got out and Addie ended up rubbing her face on her pillow. She wasn't crying.

"Here now, don't get upset. I'll ask Sir Anthony about it. Bleeding heart that he is, I doubt he'd let anyone out on the street."

Addie blinked in surprise at his tone.

"Why are you mad at Anthony?"

Thomas looked at her for a moment and then shook his head, tucking her in harder.

"I'm going to get that broth."

It was hard, but Addie reached out and got a good grip on his jacket's sleeve. She noticed then that it was creased, and Thomas never wore wrinkled clothes. A closer look showed there was a food stain on his shirt, too. It looked like soup. Addie tried to remember if she'd spilled something – or worse, thrown up – on Thomas. Then she decided she didn't want to and just looked up at him.

"Don't be mad."

For a moment, some kind of internal fight went on behind Thomas Barrow's eyes, and then he knelt down.

"Addie, you nearly died because he sent you to that school. You're not better yet, moppet. If that's not worth a bit of temper, I don't know what is."

"I could have told them sooner."

Addie didn't like admitting that, but she disliked the idea that Thomas was angry at her family more.

"They're supposed to take care of you."

"So was Daddy, but he died. He couldn't help it, it just happened." Addie sniffed and then coughed, but she kept a grip on his sleeve. "A-Adrian and Jamie were supposed to take care of us, but they died too. Edie sent the telegram telling them to come home. Is it her fault they got tickets on that ship?"

Addie wanted to whisper it harshly. Maybe yell it a bit. She wanted to tug on Thomas' coat and tell him to stop being dumb. Sometimes it was only proper to yell a bit at family when they were dumb. It happened.

"That was an accident."

"This was too. Only Mrs. Hart did it on purpose and the police got her." Addie paused and considered it. "She's in jail?"

She sounded hopeful and didn't even care if it wasn't nice.

"No, but she'll probably be in the madhouse for a bit, and then she won't have a place to stay because everyone who helped her is good and done with her."

"Good." Addie felt satisfied with that. It may not have been nice, but neither was locking her outside in the rain. Maybe being outside for a bit would teach Mrs. Hart not to do that. She let her eyes close again. She was tired. "Leave Anthony and Edith alone."

"Oh?"

"S'not their fault." Addie looked up and frowned. "Not your either. Go take a bath, your hair's dirty."

"Well, how's that for a thank you? You're none too clean yourself, moppet!"

Addie managed a giggle at the sincere offense at his tone, then she fell back to sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Edith woke feeling better than she had in days. Then she recalled that she wasn't asleep naked tucked against her husband because of amorous activities. She was asleep in such a state because she'd been too exhausted to bother with a proper nightie after Addie had finally shown enough improvement that she felt she could rest.

Slipping out of bed with Anthony was difficult. Her husband was a very light sleeper. Thankfully, exhaustion had overruled his usual nature and her husband didn't so much as twitch as she gently repositioned the arm he had thrown over her and slipped from their oversized bed. Procuring a night gown and her dressing gown over it, Edith ignored the wretched state of her hair and immediately went to check on her sister.

She found Isobel sitting with the chair pulled flush against the side of Addie's bed, one hand idly scratching beneath Polly's chin as he bent over to look at some illustration in the book that was currently spread across her sister's lap.

"Is it true you wouldn't let Matthew have a puppy?"

"We couldn't afford one at the time, dear."

"Oh, that's different. But," Addie coughed lightly, wincing heavily as she did so, but actually getting it under control. "But wombats?"

"I can't see anything objectionable about a wombat, unless they can't be house trained."

"Addie, what have I said about plotting to acquire a zoo?"

"Not until I'm twenty-one?"

"That is what Barrow says." Edith's face burst into the broadest smile as she took in the tray set aside with an empty bowl upon it and a distinct smell of beef tea. Gliding forward she pressed a kiss against her sister's brow and could have wept with relief to find it neither hot nor cold against her lips. "And I somehow don't see him going about armed with a broom and a shovel. You do look much better this morning, Addie. How are you?"

"Tired, and I'm sore all over and it hurts to cough, but it's not as bad as it was." Addie looked up at her, and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, her little sister's expression was properly cagey. "I can still have a pony for Christmas, can't I? Even if I'm sick, I mean."

Unable to help herself, Edith burst into gales of helpless, relieved, laughter. After a few moments, she calmed down, Addie let her tuck her further into bed, Polly stopped getting in everyone's way, and Stewart wandered in to take his shift sitting next to the patient.

"I'll be happy to relieve you in just a few moments, Stewart, after I have a word with Lady Strallan."

"Don't rush, ma'am." Stewart replied, completely straight faced. "I've got a lot to learn still about Australian flora and fauna."

Edith covered her mouth with her hand to hide the smile that ensued, but she led her cousin to her boudoir and soon they were both comfortably seated in front of the fresh fire crackling merrily on the grate.

"Isobel, I can't thank you enough-."

"Pish and tosh, I'm happy I came." Isobel couldn't quite resist adding. "Whyever didn't you call me sooner?"

"To be honest, I'd – I just hadn't thought of it. We always took care of her ourselves, you see and…" Edith flushed. How did one admit you'd grown too used to being on your own?

"Well, I hope you'll remember that you have a lot of family willing to help now. Is Mrs. Chetwood already out of the country?"

"They left for her husband's new posting in Kenya." Edith rubbed a hand over her face as memory kicked back in after days of her entire reality revolving around keeping her sister alive. "Oh, she's going to be worried sick when she gets my telegram!"

"Then send another and she can have the bad news and the good together."

"I shall, directly."

"Good." Isobel patted her hand and Edith bit her lip.

"What in the world did you give her that she improved so quickly?"

"Nothing magical, really. Just a saline solution and two medications to help with the cough." Isobel added, more seriously. "Dehydration can set in very quickly with children, especially one as slim as Addie."

"I know, we tried to hard to keep her drinking."

"But it wouldn't have done a bit of good once she began vomiting uncontrollably." Isobel sighed and petted at Edith's hands, and the warm, motherly touch brought tears to her eyes. Edith suddenly felt an embarrassing tangle of hurt and resentment that her mother hadn't even bothered to telephone her in days. Not even knowing that Addie was ill. "You did everything right. Don't think for a moment you did not. The aspirin you'd given her had already broken her fever. The inhalations was reducing the inflammation in her lungs."

"If that's the case-."

"Dehydration, Edith dear, can do terrible things and one of the worst is magnifying everything else. You saved her life, dear, you and Anthony. All I did was give her access to a medical treatment you didn't have at home." Isobel tutted. "And you should have been able to take her to the hospital, if not for that dreadful fire."

"Yes, how – how are things there?"

"Very difficult." Isobel confessed. "Poor Dr. Clarkson is run off his feet and he's still losing patients."

"Was the fire terrible, then? We've not even cracked a newspaper in days."

"It wasn't as bad as some." Isobel allowed, looking exasperated. "Newspapers only want to write the most sensational things. Oh, if a hundred people had burned to death and they could print something as horrible as that every paper on the continent would be running it along with the London press. As it is, a half-dozen people badly burned and a hundred suffering from the smoke just isn't interesting."

"The smoke?"

"It is so hot that it sears the inside of the lungs, dear, or coats them so that they can't function." Isobel's expression hardened. "It can be a dreadful, slow way to die… but in a way it's almost a blessing."

"How?"

"The medication I brought for Addie was already prepared because Dr. Clarkson and I thought it might help our smoke inhalation patients. We almost never have call or have the resources to give intravenous fluids at the cottage hospital. It's too small. However, the hospital in Ripon and York sent supplies over along with the overflow of patients. Once you called, he and I put together a kit as fast as possible, and I brought it directly here, as we thought the treatments would be mutually beneficial. Bronchitis is just another sort of lung inflammation after all."

"I shall have to thank him as well, as soon as I'm able." Edith hit on a delightful idea. "I shall have to have you both over for dinner. Granny can't complain I don't entertain if I start to, now can she?"

"Certainly not, though I doubt I or Dr. Clarkson are the sort she intends for you to be sociable with!" Isobel laughed. "But, really, you've got more to take care of than yourself now. You mustn't run yourself off your feet again so soon after so much strain, dear."

Edith felt her face flame. She hadn't mentioned the pregnancy to anyone outside of her closest family. Then again…

"Did Granny mention that I – I'm in the family way?"

"No, Matthew did, actually." Isobel reached out and squeezed her hands. "And I am sorry about those dreadful rumors."

"What rumors?"

Isobel looked at her, those kind brown eyes widening, and Edith's own brown gaze narrowing in return.

"Edith, sweet one?"

Edith turned, and before she could speak, noticed the door between her boudoir and their bedchamber opening. Ever attuned to her husband, just as he knew her well enough not to have evidenced any shock at finding her naked in their bed last night, Edith's mind jumped from suspicion to automatic warning.

"Cousin Isobel is sitting with me!"

"Right then!"

The door to the bedroom shut quickly again and Edith congratulated herself on saving her husband from wandering out into her boudoir in his pajamas. He'd have been mortified. She turned back to her cousin to find Isobel halfway risen from her chair.

"Let me leave you and Anthony to finish your morning routine. Abby will be fine." Isobel's tone was nothing if it wasn't brisk and utterly transparent in its desire for escape. "You should have a proper bath and proper breakfast, dear. You need to keep your strength up and you've had a terribly difficult time of it for the last few days, haven't you?"

"I'd have an easier day of it if I knew what was being said about me." Edith countered. "Cousin Isobel, what rumors?"

Mrs. Walsh's firm scratch upon the door broke into the conversation.

"Yes? Come in, Mrs. Walsh."

Her housekeeper looked inside, her expression curious and in all ways speaking of homely efficiency.

"Mr. Spratt has telephoned from the dower house. Your grandmother is up from town and wants to know if you are available at eleven o'clock for brunch?"

"At the Dower House? Surely she knows Addie is ill!" Edith's annoyance turned to exasperation at Mrs. Walsh's wry, and rather confirming, eyebrow in return.

"The implication is that Loxley would be hosting, ma'am."

"At eleven? Granny doesn't even leave the house noon."

"Perhaps some problem with your sister's wedding?"

"Botheration." Edith muttered, and raised a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, beside her, Isobel – who'd risen from her seat and retreated towards the door – paused.

"Did you forget?"

"Yes, apparently, I am the only person in Britain who has forgotten about the social event of the century. Amazing, when fighting for the life of a sister I adore I misplaced something regarding a cousin I tolerate." Edith's temper was severely fraying but… it must be important if it had Granny out and about before noon, mustn't it? "Mrs. Walsh, tell Granny I'm happy to host her. Cousin Isobel-."

"Don't worry, Edith, Mrs. Walsh will send someone up to help you bathe and dress directly while I check in on Addie."

And the door shut leaving Edith to turn and stare at the clock upon her mantle. The hands mockingly informed her it was just past ten in the morning. Looking at the state of herself she decided that there was no way she could face the dowager without a bath and at least some help in salvaging her dress.

"Granny, at least, will know whatever gossip is going around now." Edith muttered to herself as she stood up and moved to the bathroom attached to their suite.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You know it's not your fault, don't you?"

Anthony stared down at his diminutive sister-in-law in surprise as the first hoarse words out of her mouth weren't a greeting. Bathed, shaved, and having had the benefit of Stewart's most insistent care, Anthony felt more like the proper gentleman that he was than he had in days. An excellent feeling that could not even be compared to the relief that came from walking into Addie's room and finding her in much the same state.

"Pardon?"

"That I got sick." Addie finished. "I get sick, and it was Mrs. Hart who locked me out in the rain."

"No, but I did send-."

"Don't repeat the mean things Thomas says when he's mad, it gives him a big head."

A slightly outraged sound came from the hallway and Anthony turned, exasperated, as he realized that the man was eavesdropping. The underbutler appeared, however, looking rather red about the ears at having been caught. He didn't, however, apologize. Instead he entered, proceeded by Polly, and cleared his throat.

"Mistress Polly has had a proper walk around the orchard. I threw a stick for her for half-hour, as requested, and then I washed her feet and brushed her."

"Thank you, Thomas."

Anthony abandoned the glare he'd been directing at the younger man to step forward as Addie started coughing. The cough, however, was a far weaker and less wearying one than the terrible wracking coughs she'd suffered so recently. He was still very worried to see her bent over double and moved to support her, his hands automatically coming around her back and front, though she swatted at him for it.

"Mind her ribs."

Anthony turned again towards Barrow, who looked back with a sort of mixed defiance and chagrin.

"Mrs. Crawley said I have bruised ribs."

"She said you've coughed so hard they're bruised, maybe a couple cracked, moppet. You're to keep them quiet."

Anthony's irritation derailed in horror.

"Pardon?"

"I coughed so hard I bruised my ribs." Addie offered, then patted his hand as if he was in need of consolation. "It's alright. I feel loads better, even if I don't like the needle thing."

"You won't need it in another day or so, Addie, dear, once we're sure your stomach has calmed down. You just need to drink plenty of fluids." Isobel herself appeared and offered Anthony a slightly too broad grin. "Sir Anthony, did Edith get a chance to speak to you?"

"What? No, she just told me that her grandmother should be arriving soon, and she'd like to speak before…"

Anthony's attempt to answer was compounded by the sound of Mr. Kerr somberly answering the door, and the dulcet tones of the Dowager Lady herself in his hallway. He checked his watch and nearly groaned. He'd thought he had more time – what in the world had driven the woman to pay a call so early for the first time in her life?

"If she asks how I am, tell her I died."

Anthony looked down at Addie for a moment, then put a hand over his mouth to hide an entirely inappropriate smile even as Barrow tried and failed to turn a laugh into a credible cough.

"Now you have to stick needles in Thomas too. He's coughing."

"What?"

"Oh, dear, but where shall we put it?"

Anthony would have far rather stayed in Addie's room and listened to her and Isobel Crawley's increasingly silly speculation on where to stick needles in Thomas Barrow. Frankly, he'd have been happy to help in the execution of some of their theories. Unfortunately duty called, not to mention his complete unwillingness to leave his pregnant wife at her own grandmother's questionable mercy.

"Be good, get plenty of rest, and ring if you need anything. Your sister and I shall be up as soon as we may." Anthony kissed Addie's cheek and was delighted when she slid her arms around his neck and returned the gesture. Then he offered Mrs. Crawley his arm.

"Oh, gracious, don't bother." Her smile was slightly strained and he wondered if there'd been another tiff that had recently erupted between the two matrons. "I've just seen Violet a few days ago in London. I've no need to intrude on her visit. I'm sure it is important."

"Don't leave Edie alone with her, she's mean." Addie offered up her own opinion, and in a gesture of pure sisterly affection, patted at the side of the bed and murmured a command to the dog who she'd been cuddling with just a moment before. "Take Polly with you!"

Flanked by the young shepherd, Anthony left the room very relieved, slightly mystified, and in with a growing suspicion something was wrong and he should very well know what it was… but didn't. Edith met him at the head of the stairs, and he felt a wave of relief as he took in the bloom of color at her cheeks, the dark circles having finally vanished from around her eyes.

"Sweet one, how are you?"

"Much better, and far less tired." She bobbed up and pressed a quick, hard kiss to his mouth and Anthony accepted it with a grateful sigh. Then she was back out of reach and smiling up at him wanly even as she gently pulled one of his hands against the flat plane of her belly… and he realized with a jolt that there was just the tiniest curve apparent there now beneath a corset with hardly any boning in it. "All of us are feeling just fine, so you may stop worrying for now."

"I might, but I likely can't." He replied, pulling her against him briefly. "Edith-."

"Anthony, do you know if there are some sort of rumors going about regarding us? Cousin Isobel said something, but then we were interrupted and now Granny's here at this hour."

Anthony froze as words from a half-dozen languages that he would never say in the presence of a lady began to flitter across the back of his mind.

"Do you think it has to do with Mary's wedding?" Edith went on, turning him. "That's the only thing I can think of. Or that Mama or someone has decided to tell everyone we're in the family way even though that is our prerogative."

"I – Edith, we should-."

"There you both are."

They'd made their way down the stairs, and were standing in the beautifully paneled entry hall. Zachary Kavanaugh's highly questionable hat stand had been moved from its place at the front of the hall, again, and would no doubt be found tucked into a less frequented corner or corridor of the house later. As such, only the bust of Cicero was watching over the Master of Loxley and his lady as the Dowager appeared at the doorway to the library, an expression on her face suggesting she'd been kept waiting hours, rather than five minutes.

"Sir Anthony, I can reliably state that you are old enough, and were raised by at least a father with strict enough standards, not to keep a lady waiting. Edith, come through, there are things we need to discuss and I have a limited time in which to do so."

As Edith followed her grandmother, Anthony spared a moment to look for some sympathy as he realized just what was about to happen, and had no idea how to either prevent it, or at least manage it as he ought to. His eyes cough Polly and the female dog's expression was passingly sympathetic before she joined the others of her sex in the library, leaving Anthony to awkwardly follow.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Your Aunt Rosamund and I have taken your Cousin Susan in hand."

"What?"

"Shrimpy's wife, Edith, do keep up." Violet frowned.

She had so very much to do and wanted to do none of it, but wasn't that the story of her life? Ah well, if all you have is duty at least you understand it… and you haven't failed Mary or Sybil. Violet could hold onto that idea well enough, and it gave her strength. She hadn't spared Edith a childhood of being looked down upon, nor even acknowledged it was wrong. She hadn't managed to earn enough of her children's trust that they'd even told her of Rosamund's disastrous mistakes and pregnancy. She hadn't been able to stop Edith from leaving for America when she was fifteen, or school Robert in how to avoid the break in the first place.

But this she could do.

"As I was saying, we've taken her in hand." Violet gestured with the hand holding her cane, vaguely in the direction of Susan's current abode. "She is currently living with her daughter, supposedly to help care for her new grandchild, but we've taken measures to make sure she fully understands that this is not a period of recovery for her. She is being punished."

"For interfering at my wedding?"

"Well, and the rumors, of course." Violet huffed. "How my niece could be so wretchedly foolish, I do not know. She must have gotten it from her father. My sister was rarely kind, but she was never stupid. Either way, I wanted to visit you to assure you that the family has the matter in hand, and to apologize for it having gotten out of hand in the first place."

Edith opened her mouth to ask something, but Violet was in a hurry and didn't have time to coddle Edith's feelings with a discussion on the particulars.

"The current plan is to actually try and help Susan retrieve her marriage. To do that she must manage herself, so Rosamund and I will be taking her for some therapeutic mental treatment in France. It seems a great deal of that same modern claptrap your mother was so invested in after you went to America, Edith, but your Aunt Rosamund thinks it may help. I believe a few months isolation from society may at least remind her of how much she depends on her family for literally everything she has. We shall see whose treatment is more effective."

"However, as I must miss Mary's wedding I wanted to make sure that you and Sir Anthony would be there to support her properly. It's important we present a united front as a family, especially as these rumors pertain to you and could possibly risk exposing your sister, if not handled with care."

"Granny!"

"Edith, we are not at some cattle yard in the wild west. Do moderate-."

"Granny, I have no idea what rumors you're talking about?"

"Edie, darling, I think we need to speak for a moment-."

"I'm referring to the rumors that your pregnancy predates your marriage."

"What?"

Violet blinked at her granddaughter's stricken expression. It took her a full fifteen seconds to grasp the meaning behind it, and when she did, she turned an irritated expression upon the tall blond man sitting beside her granddaughter.

"Don't tell me you've had more than a fortnight and you somehow haven't found the time to tell your own wife that Susan has half of London gossiping about the fact that you seduced her before marriage!"

"Lady Grantham, would you give Edith and I a moment alone?"

"Oh, more than a moment." Violet stood, glancing at the mantle clock. "I have a heath scare to fake, a nervous collapse to preform for Clarkson's benefit, and a trip to the South of France to plan. I'm afraid my schedule is far too full to accommodate your marital woes, Sir Anthony. You may call on me later tomorrow, Edith."

Stepping past the dog, Violet paused as a thought struck her.

"The child is well, isn't she?"

Edith's expression was altogether too harsh for such a simple question.

"Yes, Granny, is now."

"Oh, very good."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Edith, darling, I am sorry I just-."

"Just what?!"

Anthony had always admired his wife's spirit. When Edith got her heart set on something, when she set her teeth in a thing and just threw her whole soul at it, she lit up like a sun. You could just bask in the warmth of her enthusiasm, and of her passion.

Anthony and Edith had endured a few minor disagreements, but he'd yet to see her genuinely angry at him. As his wife turned to face him, the hurt and anger in her eyes was utterly apparent. Frantically, he tried to think of what to say – the truth, of course, was what he offered her. He had been raised to offer his wife nothing less.

"Edith, you're with child." Anthony protested. "And you – I love you so well, and we were so worried or Addie. I couldn't bear the thought of risking your health or our child's by upsetting you further?"

"Upsetting me?"

"You're-."

"Anthony, for God's sake I know Maud had her problems but there are children being born all over Britain despite their mother's drinking noxious poisons, throwing them down stairs, or scalding themselves in hot baths!" Edith's eyes blinked rapidly even as she clenched her teeth in anger. "I know because I was likely one of them!"

"Edith-."

"Don't you Edith me, Anthony Strallan!" She took a step forward and Anthony retreated, nearly tripping over Polly, who quickly slinked out of the way, as he was backed towards the wall. "This is what was going on in London, wasn't it? When we went up and saw Charlotte and – you knew this whole time!"

"I was going to speak to you-."

"Then why didn't you!"

"I was waiting for a better time!"

"What?"

"Well, you were – the first months are more fragile, Edith and I wanted – Edith I need you and the baby and Addie to be safe." Reaching out he tried to rest his hands on her shoulder. "Edith, we nearly lost her! What would – I don't know how I'd survive if I lost you or – or another child. I swore to myself it would never happen again."

"Anthony-."

"No!" He gestured. "Edith, let me finish. It is my duty to protect you, as your husband, and that includes from this sort of vicious claptrap and petty infighting."

"Protect me how, by keeping me blind, deaf, and dumb?" Edith paused and her face went from pink to pallid to red again and she covered her face with her hands. "Oh, God, Isobel knows!"

"What?"

"She congratulated me on the baby, and I wondered how. I thought Mama told her or Granny but they didn't. She was in London. The rumors have reached everyone, even our solicitor cousin for goodness' sake!"

Anthony flushed at the realization as well, even as his heart lurched to see the pain and embarrassment painting itself across his wife's beautiful features. Aching to see her hurt, he reached out, just wanting to take her into his arms.

"My darling girl-."

"Girl is it, is that all you see me as?"

Blindsided, he blinked at her in shock.

"Edith, what are you talking about?"

To his horror, her lips began to tremble as his wife blinked rapidly at him, her beautiful golden-brown eyes filling with tears.

"As – as a girl. Barely more than a child an-and clearly not worthy of the respect or equality that one should show a spouse."

Anthony gaped and his horror increased a thousand fold at the thought.

"No, Edith, never-."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you!"

"Edith, I love you. Of course I respect-."

"If you respected me you would have told me, rather than trying to protect me from reality."

"My lady, is everything well?"

Anthony turned, very ready to give Thomas Barrow the sharp side of his tongue as the man had the gall to open the library door without knocking and step inside. Typical to Barrow's behavior, however, he went on before anyone else could get a word in edgewise.

"Miss Addie can hear you shouting, and she's worried."

Polly took the chance to fully escape the library then, heading up the stairs, and Edith turned once to shoot a watery glare in his direction. Then, head held high, his wife made for the door.

"It's entirely fine, Barrow. I'll go see to my sister. Please tell Mrs. Walsh to send a tray up. Addie and I shall have luncheon together today in her room."

"How many for, ma'am?"

"Two."

And, without so much as a backwards glance at the master of the house, Barrow stepped back out of the door, closing the door and leaving Anthony to stand there in dismay.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

AN: Aaaahhhh drama…

Midori – here, Midori is both more confident and rather more jaded even than in Cantata. Here, her father's business was more successful thanks to the Holderness' investment. However, her father also travelled a lot and took her with him… which meant she was exposed that much more to men who lusted after her from a young age and women who blamed her for such behavior.

One result of this is that this Midori is more versed in her mother's martial arts lessons. Not because she has a greater love of them, but because she was more exposed than when she was constantly at home under her mother's guard and her father's job stayed in a single London office and didn't move about. Both her father and mother had to work harder to teach her to protect herself.

I'm aware that Midori striking a white noblewoman is VERY dangerous here and she could have gotten in terrible trouble. Midori is as well, and rather frightened of it, but also confident Lawrence will hush it up. Which she isn't wrong about in terms of thinking Lawrence set the whole situation up and might have even wanted her to behave as she did.

Lawrence – because he's a manipulative bastard. Let's not forget that a large number of CEOs and very effective politicians weigh in with some sociopathic tendencies. Lawrence isn't without loyalty or kindness, but he's 100% dedicated to his goals… to the exclusion of a lot of human caring and decent behavior. The problem here is he thinks that Mary is just like he is and that he's just showing her how to succeed in getting what they both want.

Mary – is being manipulated just as she manipulates others and while a part of me may say it's just-desserts? It won't turn out well. Mary has trouble controlling her emotions in a way that suggests she isn't free of mental health issues herself and having a husband who is going to play puppet master isn't going to help with her own control issues one bit. She just thinks HE wants what SHE wants… because she doesn't recognize the difference between a society marriage and a political marriage.

Cora – is just going to start feeling the first strains of doubt about the Grand Marriage Plan. Oops…

Violet – human hand grenade.

Addie – is recovering. While she does have bronchitis and it will bother her off and on through winter her biggest problem was that the sinus drainage associated with taking that chill *ended up in her stomach*. Once that happened it started triggering cycles of uncontrollable vomiting. Which, in turn, aggravated her coughing until she couldn't keep water down. As thin as Addie is and as young, dehydration can set in fast and is dangerous. While IVs were available from the mid-1800s onward in theory, in practice they were rarely used. Isobel loves modern medicine, however, and Clarkson is willing to listen so I went out on a limb and decided they would provide precisely the treatment Addie needed.

*** Note, there was no historical factory fire at the time in Yorkshire. I just wanted an excuse to keep Clarkson so busy he couldn't take the time to help an important local title. That meant something substantial so Isobel could save the day.

Edith & Anthony – every couple needs to learn how to fight, in order to learn how to talk. This, like all relationships, is a work in progress. Plus, the age gap does mean that they will need exceptionally good communication in regard to equality and understanding.

Thank you for reading!