A/N: Well this is LATE. Not only did I start this fic a YEAR ago, it's long past Christmas by now. My apologies Spottedhorse and all. I've got some major life changes coming at me, which somewhat overshadowed Christmas this year and stifled my muse for a while. But never fear, this story (which, as planned has one final installment) will be finished, with luck before twelfth night. My apologies again for the delay.

This chapter is affectionately dedicated to all of you who have read and supported my work over the years, been patient with my absences, and offered numerous kind words when I was down; and especially to Spottedhorse whose Christmas present will hopefully be finished soon; Kyrandiana, who kindly nudged me more than once to finish this story; and Kymby67, whose Christmas season appears to have been far more stressful than her good soul deserves.

MERRY CHRISTMAS & HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL YOU LOVELIES!

Part VI: Hearts A-Humming

This one is simple (and a bit of cheat, as you'll see). Thirsk is hosting a Holiday Faire. I believe you and Miss Marigold will have a good time.

And I hope that you both have a very Merry Christmas.

X

X

X

Anthony took a savoring breath, inhaling crisp December, seasoned with chocolate and citrus, sweet batter and fried meat. Jangly carols echoed through the chill, and jolly colored lights beckoned from every tree and lamppost. Thirsk had turned its market square into a Christmas wonderland, crammed with stalls and tents, performance platforms, food vendors, a few rides-and a Father Christmas, of course. It was this worthy that Anthony was wending towards, threading through the faire's first arrivals and hoping that he'd beaten Edith and Marigold.

Through a candy cane archway beneath a festooned marquee atop a gilded throne sat the merry monarch of the season. As Anthony approached, the bewhiskered benefactor was smiling benignly as a mum snapped a photo of her two little boys, each perched on one red-velvet knee. The iphone clicked, the boys scurried off, and Anthony strode forward.

"A little old to be making requests of Father Christmas," the saint teased. "Besides, those stork legs of yours won't fit on my lap."

Anthony chuckled. He liked Albert Mason, the local fellow his company had sponsored to be Father Christmas for the faire. He was a Yorkshireman, born and bred, and full of the homey wisdom of the county.

"As a matter of fact, I've come to discuss a little lady that I'm certain is on your 'nice' list. Miss Marigold Crawley."

"Crawley?" Mr. Mason raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, Lady Edith's daughter."

"I see," was all the man said, but the casual utterance held a wealth of meaning.

"Yes, well. I was hoping we might make a deal, dear Santa. I'd be obliged if you'd pass along her Christmas wishes to a certain overgrown elf who'd like to see them granted."

"Ahhh? That's the way of things, is it?" Mr. Mason considered, and gave a little approving nod. "Come to think of it, makes perfect sense."

Anthony nodded, his lips twisted in a self-deprecating smile.

Mr. Mason chuckled.

"Don't worry. She'd be lucky to have you."

"Yes, well, er…" Anthony looked around for an escape, and looked gratefully into the impatient eyes of a young lady of about six. "I won't take up any more of your time, Santa."

Anthony ducked out of the tent. Now all he had to do was wait for Edith and Marigold. He felt a thrill of excitement bubble up in his chest and grinned. "On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me…" he sang under his breath, and plunged into the gathering crowd.

X

X

Edith and Marigold rumbled along towards Thirsk, bundled and brimming with excitement. Marigold was filled with anticipation at the delights that a country Christmas faire might hold, and Edith…she couldn't quite define what she was expecting. But instinct told her that something special was going to happen today, and set her blood skipping and dancing like a set of sugarplum fairies. Perhaps it was merely that she'd convinced herself that Anthony would be at the faire, and after the way he'd looked at her as they bid farewell at her car on Sunday…

She reminded her fluttering heart that there was good probability that Anthony would not be in Thirsk. But she couldn't help wondering if the faire held some clues to the identity of "true love." It hadn't escaped her notice that his (if indeed it was a he) last missive had seemed rather conclusive, or that, having referred to Marigold as "the little lady" he'd suddenly called her by name. She frowned thoughtfully.

"We're here!" Marigold announced from the back seat.

And indeed they were. Just ahead was a cluster of white tents, the whirling crown of a carousel glowing behind them. Edith followed the signs for parking, presented their tickets (courtesy of "true love") at the entrance, and attempted to peruse the program of events as Marigold tugged her along. As she did so, she understood what true love had meant by cheating. He was hitting all the final days of the carol in one go. There was a presentation from the York School of Dance of "The Twelve Dancing Princesses" –that would be ladies dancing and lords a-leaping, creamery icecream and homemade eggnog-both of which could pass for maids a-milking, and a parade of lights which featured a pipe and drum corps for eleven and twelve. Now where was swans a-swimming…? But when she looked up, it was staring her in the face. Six glittering winter swans (each festooned with a red and green plaid neck bow) glided and spun at the ends of large mechanical arms. Inside each, giggling and shrieking children lurched and rotated with glee. Marigold had led her straight into the queue for the ride. She grinned.

XXX

Anthony rambled around a corner, idly surveying the crowd. His gaze caught on a shimmer of golden blonde…and there she was, smiling and waving at someone on the "Winter Swanderland" ride. Her eyes found his, and her smile changed, brightened, curved around a secret…and utterly beguiled him.

"Hello," he greeted, feeling slightly breathless as he reached her.

"I rather hoped you'd be here," she said, sounding a little airy herself.

Just at that moment, Marigold came trotting over.

"Hello, Anthony!"

"Miss Marigold," Anthony said, dragging his eyes from Edith's shining ones, and proffering his elbow towards her daughter, "I was hoping you might consent to let me escort you around the faire. What do you say?"

"Ok!" Marigold readily agreed, disdaining the elbow and hurrying ahead.

"Wait for us dear," Edith called gaily, hooking her arm into Anthony's as they gave chase.

The next hours were utter heaven, Edith thought. While she, Anthony, and Marigold engaged in seemingly mundane activities—wandering from booth to booth, exploring wares, sampling cookies; riding the carousel, and the bumper cars, and a ride called "Santa's Flight"-Edith felt her heart floating high above. To have a partner—someone to help entertain and protect Marigold as they moved through the crowds, to support her and make her feel secure, important, special…filled Edith with a glow that could rival even the brightest Christmas lights.

As they strolled, her eyes kept finding Anthony's—clear blue, sparkling with merriment, and admiration, and something more… She felt that something set her heart to humming, sending out heady waves of hope, an irresistible voice that whispered that this time things would be different. This time it could be happy ever after.

After lunch, they took in the performances, including the "Twelve Dancing Princesses" ballet. Edith couldn't help but smile at the way Marigold squirmed excitedly, straining to see every detail from their seat in the fourth row. Festive families hemmed them in on both sides, and for the second time in so many days, she was seated practically on top of Anthony. She was keenly aware of the length of his arm and thigh against her own, and when she inhaled she caught hints of a smooth clean scent, skin-heated and distinctly masculine. As youthful dancers leapt and twirled on the stage, Edith imagined nuzzling into that scent, tasting it in the hollow of his throat, the shadow of his jaw, across his broad chest…

Edith gave herself a little shake, taking a slow breath of sharp cold air, and willing herself to get a grip. He noticed the gesture, and perhaps taking it as a sign of dismay, placed his hand on hers with gentle, reassuring pressure. His brow rose in silent question: You okay?

I'm just fine, thanks, her small smile answered, and she looked back to the spectacle before them, willing her apparently raging libido to calm down. But that seemed impossible when his fingers stayed atop hers. She didn't even try to quash the instinct that made her curl her own around them. His hands were large and warm; his clasp gentle yet strong: I've got you, it seemed to say.

His thumb began to move along the back of her hand, sweeping slow sensual arcs from her wrist to her knuckles. Funny how a simple touch could have so many meanings, how the slightest adjustment in pressure could make the difference between indifference and desire. This one Edith could read perfectly: it bathed her in adoration. Every slow pass of his thumb, fingertip touching mere centimeters of skin, said "this is beautiful, this is of worth, this I want." Ripples of heat and hope echoed out from that small point of contact, encompassing her whole being. "This is beautiful, this I want..." And her heart and body obediently replied, "yes please."

The clamor of applause drew Edith from her reverie. With reluctant slowness, Anthony disentangled his fingers. Edith turned to Marigold.

"Did you enjoy the show?" she asked in a voice that sounded distant to her lust-clogged ears.

Marigold voiced her enthusiastic approval and they began to collect their things.

"How about a treat?" Anthony suggested. "I hear one can get a smashing cup of eggnog around here."

"Oh, I don't know," Edith hesitated, her brow furrowing with worry. "Marigold and dairy… I'm not sure, eggnog might still be too rich."

"Why then we'll have to have some wassail instead!" Anthony trumpeted, undeterred. "There's a restaurant just around the corner that's selling quite the brew."

"You certainly know your way around the fair," Edith commented, grinning.

"Ah yes, well, my company is one of the corporate sponsors," he admitted.

Edith nodded, his pronouncement adding to the chorus of facts tumbling through her brain, scraping to find a way to make Anthony the romantic benefactor she wanted him to be. But as she watched him take Margiold's hand to steer her around a cart selling roasted nuts, a tender warmth blossomed in her chest. He was that knight in shining armor. Without any special gifts.

And yet…

They reached the restaurant, which was selling steaming cups of delicious smelling liquid out of a small tent at their storefront. Anthony released the small gloved hand as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"Three cups of wassail, and one of your large gingerbreads, please," he ordered.

He felt more than saw Edith appear at his shoulder.

"You don't have to do that," Edith chided mildly, a refrain she'd been practicing all day, as Anthony insisted on paying for nearly everything Marigold wanted to do.

He shrugged. "It's Christmas. And I don't have anyone else to treat. Besides, Marigold is not just any young lady," he said, encompassing the younger Miss Crawley in his statement. She looked up from where she had been watching a handbell choir performing a few yards away.

"What?" the girl asked, bewildered.

Anthony grinned. "Nothing," he said fondly. Then to Edith he said, still grinning. "You see? Remarkable powers of concentration. "

Edith ducked her head and smiled, and Anthony turned to jot his signature on the receipt.

Beside him, Edith made a faint gasping noise.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Oh, uh, yes," she replied, though she seemed a trifle dazed.

As they sat and sipped their cider, she said little, but rarely took her eyes from him. He felt her gaze like a physical touch; it prickled on his skin and stirred the flames which crackled between them. She only half attended to what Marigold was saying, and her mind seemed to be a million miles away. He couldn't say he blamed her. Charming as Marigold was, the lure of Edith's closeness, her warmth and conviviality, had been dragging him into a realm of daydreams all day. One where her lips tasted of the same sweet vanilla sugar that teased his senses each time she came close; where she looked up at him with those beautiful brown eyes and called him hers.

"Alright, one more ride. But then we have to go find a place for the parade or we'll miss it," Edith was saying to her daughter.

So they walked once again to the swan ride. As they stood in line, he watched the impatient squirm of Edith's shoulders. He got the sense that she wanted to say something, and that she didn't want Marigold around to hear it. After several minutes the line moved forward, and she deposited Marigold on the ride, then retreated purposely to a bench under a tree a few feet away. He followed, loving the way determination made her nose wrinkle just slightly. He had a feeling he was going to receive a mild lecture on the amount of money he had spent on the two Crawley ladies today. He followed her and stood contritely, awaiting his due.

She rounded on him, but she didn't start scolding. Her keen eyes searched his face, then fell briefly to his lips, before locking with his own. She stepped forward slowly, and perhaps he did too, drawn to her sweetness like a bee to honey. Her gaze became soft, deep, purposeful; and his blood responded by racing insistently through his veins. Her hands came to his forearms, and his heart drummed a heady cadence in response. A dozen images flashed through his brain, potent and fleeting as lightning: Edith's hands on him, Edith's body cradled against him, Edith's lips…

"May I try something?" she said calmly.

"Yes," he said on a rush of breath, hoping he'd managed to keep it from sounding like a plea.

And then, as if in answer to his silent, fervent prayer, she was kissing him.

Anthony could still remember how his mother would bake cookies at Christmastime. He'd come home for the Christmas holiday, walk through the front door, and be greeted by the enticing aromas of sugar and chocolate and spice wafting through the house. He'd follow their lure into the kitchens, where he'd be met with a bright smile, a crushing hug, and finally the soul-kindling goodness of a fresh baked cookie. He felt something similar now, Edith's sweetness washing over him, urging him to seek deeper, longer, to discover the elusive source of her delectable, palpable, intoxicating goodness.

And what was more, she kissed him back with an answering hunger, a confident caress of lips that told him in no uncertain terms that she wanted him. He brought his arms around her waist, pulling her close, delighting in the feel of her slender curves pressed against his chest. He felt at once protective, predatory, and complete, as if this was what his arms had been created for: to hold Edith Crawley.

All too soon, Edith pulled away, giving a shy smile before sending a fleeting glance over her shoulder to check that Marigold was still safely ensconced on her ride. Then she turned back to him, nuzzling into his shoulder.

"It was you," she sighed, "I still can't fully believe it, but…it's you. You're true love."

"What?" Anthony murmured, fixated on the simple pleasure of having her head tucked under his chin, where it fit perfectly.

"The packages—the gifts—the Christmas tree, the night out at The Blue Finch. It was all you- "

"I don't…" Anthony began half-heartedly.

"Don't you play dumb with me, Anthony Strallan," she lifted her head to look him squarely in the eyes, "somehow you found out what a pathetic Christmas Marigold and I had planned and decided to spoil us instead. And Thomas Barrow had something to do with it."

"Thomas is a friend of mine…" he replied elliptically.

"You crazy man," she said, grinning all the while, "why ever would you do something so, so…"

He brought his hand up to cup her chin between one long thumb and forefinger.

"Perhaps because your happiness is important to me. I didn't realize how much until this week, but," he drew his thumb along her bottom lip, "I wouldn't mind continuing to make it a priority."

Part of him wanted to hear her response to his rather clumsy gambit. The rest of him wanted to taste the sweet smile on her oh so close lips…

"The ride's stopped," she whispered as his mouth was about to descend upon hers. He saw regret flash in her eyes as she turned to collect Marigold.

"Hello!" the girl chirruped as she took her mother's outstretched hand and fell into step.

"I think that was the best ride all day!" she pronounced as they strolled toward the parade ground.

"Better than the three other times you've ridden it today?" Edith remarked, amused.

"Yep," Marigold said, disdaining to explain her reasoning. "Why were you kissing Mister Anthony?"

Edith's steps faltered. She blushed clear to her crown and exchanged a glance with Anthony, whose eyes gleamed with silent laughter.

"Um…" she managed. How to explain it all to Marigold? Because he is the most wonderful man and I'm absolutely head over heels in love with him.

Instead, Anthony came to her rescue.

"Where shall we stand?" he asked Marigold, pointing out a few choice spots to view the parade.

Edith exhaled, feeling her heart threatening to swell clear out of her chest. Anthony was her 'true love.' Anthony was her true love. She loved him. And this time, she wasn't going to let him get away.

Edith stood beside the two people she loved most in the world and watched an exceptional pipe and drum demonstration. As the parade ended, Marigold yawned, and Edith's mother instincts took over.

"I think it's time we headed home, sweetheart," she said, angling her daughter toward the exit.

"Oh, but we've almost forgot!" Anthony insisted, "we've got to go see Santa."

"Ohhh, yes!" Marigold agreed. "Mummy, please?"

"Well of course we've got to see Santa!" Edith agreed.

And off they went.

XXX

"And what do you want for Christmas this year, lass?" said the most Yorkshire Santa Claus there ever was.

Marigold, perched upon his knee, leaned forward her face growing serious.

Edith chuckled as she watched her daughter. She wasn't sure how she'd manage to deliver of what Santa promised, but she knew she'd figure it out. The way she felt right now, she could do anything. She looked over her shoulder at the source of such empowering happiness. He looked so handsome, a crooked smile playing on his lips, those stunning blue eyes glowing with happiness.

"Thank you, by the way," she said softly.

He looked at her, his smile growing sheepish.

"I didn't do it because I wanted anything from you, you know. It wasn't until after that I…"

"I know. I never thought you had."

His brow crinkled slightly.

"How did you know it was me? What gave me away?"

"Well, I had my suspicions when you showed up at the observatory."

He chuckled. "Yes, that was rather obvious."

"But I knew just now when you signed your name. I've read those notes a dozen times. I'd know "true love's" handwriting anywhere."

He laughed now.

"I see I shall have to cover my tracks more carefully in the future."

"Anthony, don't feel like you have to—"

But Edith was interrupted when a woman beside them addressed her.

"Why don't you two get in the photo with your daughter?" she remarked cheerily. "I'd be happy to take your photo."

Edith beamed at Anthony. "Why not?"

She stood, crouching a little behind Santa's green velvet throne; Marigold on Santa's lap, Anthony leaning over the other side of the chair. As the camerawoman adjusted her frame, Anthony turned to look at her with a smile that turned her insides to molten sugar. His clear blue eyes sparkled with tender admiration, promising so much more than just twelve days of Christmas. She reached out a hand to him and he took it, just as their photographer bid them "look at the camera." They looked forward together, hands clasped, two hearts against the world, overflowing with happiness and love.

XXX

A/N: Forgive me for a spot of administrative business. You're all cordially invited come join the forum Andith Tea Party here on if you'd like to be in on chatter, prompts, and Andith Fest! While you're there take the poll in the post "POLL: Andith Story Exchange Winter/Spring 2019?" and let me know if you'd like to join a forthcoming story exchange since I didn't get a Secret Santa together this year. Thanks! You're all darlings!