Stepping in the library Edith felt as if she had taken a journey through time: for a second, she could almost believe she was twenty-eight again, still living in Downton, a ring on her finger and a wedding to prepare. She only had to glance over her shoulder for all those years to drop away, and she would see him behind her again: blonde-haired and smiling, the man she once almost got married to. The morning light poured in from the large windows, giving the room a frozen, precisely detailed look; everything in there looked strikingly, painfully familiar: the tall bookcase, the little round table in the corner, the dusty green sofa with its embroidered pillows; nothing had changed - not the furniture, not the books, not the lamps, not even the heavy fringed draperies. Even the smell of that room was familiar. Anthony's favorite armchair was still in the exact same place it had always been, its velvet cushion and backrest faded and worn out from use. There was a large book on the coffee table, open on the engraving of what looked like a Byzantine painting: a dark array of saints and martyrs and sinners.
Edith looked around and had a brief, clear flash of Anthony - tall and dignified and impeccably dressed - standing in front of the bookshelf with a book in his hand, smiling at her vigorous attempts to convince him he was still in his prime. She blinked; it was hard to reconcile the Anthony of her memories with the man that was standing right in front of her – grey, stooping in ill-fitting tweeds, a tired, defeated look about him.
He gestured to her to sit on the sofa. "Please," he said, scratching his nose briefly in a sign of nervousness. "Have a seat." Then he retreated behind the British solution to every single problem: "Would you like - ah - a cup of tea?"
"Thank you." Anthony rang for the tea and Edith took place on the edge of the sofa, her back straight, her hands folded in her lap. She, too, was nervous: she knew from the beginning it wouldn't be easy – but she was not prepared for the flood of emotions that overwhelmed her. The house was loaded with memories – pleasant memories, painful memories, memories of a time past. She patted her hand on the sofa, inviting him to sit down with her: he silently accepted and sat next to her, stiff and self-conscious, a formal, remote air on his face. He cleared his throat twice, obviously at a loss for words, and he looked at her with an expression that was at the same time apologetic and imploring.
Suddenly she felt the almost uncontrollable impulse to drag his head down on her shoulder, strike the graying hair and comfort him, reassure him, tell him everything was alright. Instead, she smiled faintly: "How about we skip the chit-chat and we get to he point?"
"Ah, yes." He blinked, both doubtful and relieved. "Yes, it's probably best."
There was a long moment of silence, then Edith spoke. "You see, Anthony, the reason why I'm here" she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, looking away. "Well, the point is -" She knew what she wanted to say, but her throat was suddenly tight and she struggled to say the words. Eventually, she looked at him again: he was looking down at his own shoes, desperately uncomfortable.
"Anthony, I think you need my forgiveness." Edith reached out her hand and put it lightly on his knee. "And I need yours even more."
"My forgiveness?" Anthony's back stiffened even more and his head snapped up, a bewildered look on his face.
She smiled sadly. "Yes, my dear friend. I need your forgiveness. I'm not sure I'm worthy of it, but I must at least ask for it."
Anthony opened and closed his mouth twice, like a fish out of water, but he could not make a sound: he looked so completely, utterly baffled it was almost comical to see. "What would you ever need my forgiveness for?" he blurted out when he finally found his voice. "For standing up for me? For giving me a chance to start over, for making me believe there was something to live for?" He looked away. "For believing I was a better man than I was?" he added in a bitter tone.
"No, dear." Edith waited until he looked at her again and then smiled. "For placing an awfully heavy burden on your shoulders," she said in a sweet, doleful voice.
There was a long moment of silence. "I don't understand" Anthony stared at her. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, Anthony" she smiled again and looked at him with candid sincerity. "You know what I mean: the wedding – it was a terrible mistake on my part."
Anthony let out an almost inaudible sigh and looked away again. "Yes. Yes, it most certainly was."
"Oh, no. No." Edith leaned in and impulsively put her hand on his cheek. He flinched, surprised, but did not pull away. "Please, do not misunderstand what I'm trying to say. What I mean is - I've put you into an impossible situation."
Anthony shifted uncomfortably in his place. "I don't think I understand."
"Oh, Anthony!" She shook her head. "Let's not pretend I am blameless in everything that happened. Actually, it was as much my fault as yours."
Anthony still looked puzzled. "What are you saying?"
Edith sighed. "Let's be honest. I've pushed you, I forced your hand, I rushed you into setting a date when you so clearly had reservations about the whole thing. I only realized much later how selfish I was in my impatience to be a wife. I was so eager to finally have my place in the world… Now, please don't get me wrong" she said quickly, noticing his forehead creasing slightly. "That's not, by any means, the main reason I wanted to marry you. I loved you, Anthony, truly, I - I adored you. You must never, ever doubt that."
For the first time since they sat down, a small, bashful smile appeared on Anthony's face.
"But I was so self-centered, and -" she blinked rapidly "and so blind to anything except my own happiness and my stupid, childish pride, that I didn't see how anxious and overwhelmed you were." She sighed and drew her hand back in her lap. "Well, what's even worse is - I did see all of that, and still I chose to ignore it; I buried my head in the sand. I knew that you had your doubts, I knew my family was giving you hell. I could have stopped it: I could have delayed the wedding, I could have given you more time, but I didn't. I was so ecstatic at the prospect of marrying, so impatient, that I brushed off the only opinion that really mattered – yours."
Now it was Anthony's turn to shake his head. "You can't blame yourself for my lack of a backbone. I had no right - "
"You had every right" she said heatedly. "I was so wrapped up in myself and so foolish, and I -"
"Do stop that now!" Anthony sprang to his feet, and she saw an intensity in his gaze that wasn't there before. Edith fell silent at the sudden energy of his voice. "I won't hear another word!"
