A/N: You're all absolute darlings-thank you for all the lovely reviews of Part I. Now, the thrilling conclusion!


Y – You and I & You and I (Reprise)

Music by: Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus

Lyrics by: Tim Rice

From the musical Chess as sung by Idina Menzel and Josh Groban (among others).

PART II

Anthony completed another circuit around the perimeter of Loxley's open lawn, stopping and stretching, trying to take calming breaths. The activity was an outlet for his nerves, a hoard of butterflies that, not content to remain confined in his stomach, flitted to his fingers and toes so that he couldn't seem to stand still.

For today was the day that Edith and Marigold came for tea.

He desperately wanted Marigold to have a good time, and the more he thought about it, the more his anxiety nagged him. It pointed out, repeatedly, that he hadn't spent more than a few moments in the presence of a child under the age of ten in as many years and that he hadn't exactly been the paternal type before that. But the prospect of Marigold being bored or uncomfortable currently seemed the worst fate imaginable. He knew this was important to Edith, and wanted it to be everything she was hoping for. Whatever that might be.

At last it was three o-clock. Anthony paced more in the entryway until he heard the sound of a car in the drive. Then he fairly leapt down the front steps to meet them.

Edith climbed out first, and then turned to hand down a small curly-haired girl in a butter-yellow gown. The child peeked up at him with large brown eyes that shone with curiosity and uncertainty in equal measure. Looking down into those eyes he felt a reassuring grin rise involuntarily to his lips. As he watched, a hesitant smile blossomed on the petite mouth in response. Anthony beamed more brightly. His chest was filled with a buoyant warmth, and he was certain he might walk the length of the roof if that would make Marigold happy. So this was what it was like to have a child about-one wanted to spoil them at first sight.

They went into the library, where Anthony had piled a table with picture-books and a few well-loved toys and stuffed animals. Edith came forward and fingered a stuffed bunny just bigger than her palm.

"This is terribly thoughtful of you," she said softly, her voice full.

Then her eyes met his, in a moment of such tenderness that Anthony felt the floor list beneath his feet before it righted.

"Mummy Edith, look!" Marigold hailed her, and with a merry grin Edith bent down to exclaim over a toy knight in scratched red armor riding a dingy white charger.

Anthony watched them a moment, debating with himself. And then, somewhat gracelessly, he folded his long legs beneath him to join them on the floor. Before long the three of them were enacting a dashing adventure featuring Sir Klopp and his bunny companion and an attacking tickle-spider (played by Mummy Edith's hand of course), and Marigold was hailing the master of Loxley as "Seranony," bidding him to "watz me" (watch me)" or "hep" (help).

Anthony stretched and gave a small, but not unhappy, groan.

"How about some tea?" he asked, leaning on the mantelpiece to steady himself as he got to his feet.

"Why don't we have our tea outside? It's a beautiful day," Edith suggested, her voice musical with serene pleasure.

"What do you say to that, Miss Marigold?" Anthony addressed the girl, who nodded eagerly, making her curls dance.

From their seat in the back lawn, the discussion turned to the cherry orchard, and there was nothing to do but go see it. And once there, they simply had to pick some for Marigold and Edith to take home. Anthony felt a pang that he couldn't lift Marigold up into the branches, but as it happened she had half of her fun climbing up and down the ladder, and collecting fallen cherries in her skirts. A great deal of them ended up popping into her mouth, and soon she was sticky-cheeked and in a rather giddy mood. Anthony mastered the trick of making her laugh by placing cherries on the crown of his head and pulling faces as they fell across his nose and into his hand, a feat which he repeatedly performed to peals of Marigold's gleeful giggles. Anthony fairly soared at the sound. There was something so purely joyful about a child's giggle—a sound he'd thought he might never hear at Loxley…

His face hurt from grinning, but he couldn't help it. Edith was here, Edith was happy, and unexpectedly, he was having the time of his life with Marigold. He hoped Edith would continue to let him see her. It was clear that she had come to love her little ward, latched on to her as balm for all the heartaches of her past.

Anthony felt Edith's palm on his back, pressing just between his shoulder blades. The intimacy of the touch made him lose focus, and this time the cherry tumbled past his ear and thwacked dully on the ground. While Marigold scrambled to pick it up, he turned to meet Edith's glowing gaze.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Anthony found his heart too full to respond, but he hoped his eyes said everything he couldn't articulate.

"We'd better get these cherries inside," she said at last, turning to Marigold who was playing a kind of golf with fallen cherries and part of a branch. "Come along, darling," she said, extending a hand.

"No, not all done cherries yet," Marigold protested, with a pout.

Edith's eyebrows rose disapprovingly, but her wrath was undercut by Anthony's chipper suggestion,

"I'll tell you what, if Mummy Edith doesn't object, we'll let her take her basket inside and then we'll come along in a few minutes."

"Alright," Edith conceded. "Five minutes. We need to be home for dinner."

Anthony smiled amusedly. He liked "Mummy" Edith. It suited her.

Her affectionate glare passed over Anthony as she turned to go, and he had the impulse to catch her arm and pull her close enough to plant a kiss on her cheek. Instead, he watched her go, blue coat fluttering around her as she grew smaller and smaller.

"Come on Seranony, we get more cherries," Marigold said in a businesslike tone and began to climb the nearest ladder.

It had been more than ten minutes when Anthony finally convinced Marigold to return to the house, plodding dutifully beside him, releasing a few wide yawns. They walked for several moments in silence, then Marigold observed abruptly:

"You have TWO arms."

Anthony started.

"One, two," the girl counted, sounding pleased with herself. "Good arm, sick arm," she pointed them out.

Anthony said nothing. He felt rather like he had just caught a brick with his stomach. Fortunately, Marigold's learned dialogue continued, requiring no input from him.

"Mummy Edith said you hero in-a war. Are you hero, Seranony?"

Anthony opened his mouth. What could he say? He'd done his duty during the war. He'd seen some combat, looked out for his men. He had killed Germans. The intelligence he had gathered had probably slaughtered more men than it had saved. He closed his mouth.

"Mummy Edith said you hero an' you let go things to hep people. Mummy Edith said you sad to let go things, but you give 'em 'way." She scrunched up her nose. "Sac-if-iez." She pronounced authoritatively.

Sacrifice. Anthony swallowed against the lump in his throat. His wounded shoulder tingled with the ghost of an old pain and his chest felt uncomfortably tight. This was what Edith had told Marigold about him?

"You 'kay Seranony?"

Anthony produced a smile.

Then, with forced lightness he said, "You love your Mummy Edith very much don't you?"

"Yes." The plump face was suffused with pure affection. "I love Mummy Edith." Then in a mumbled repetition, as if she were playing with the sounds of the words, "I love Mummy. Mummymummy."

The tightness in Anthony's chest pressed harder and he felt his head spin in response. He blinked down at the thoughtful face of a little girl who had the same determined nose and reddish blonde hair as her mother.

XXX

I'd give the world to stay just as we are,

It's better by far,

Not to be to wise,

Not to realize

Where there's truth there will be lies.

XXX

He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe it.

His mind restated the facts again, as if to convince himself. Convince himself of the awful truth that Edith had had an affair. With a married man. And had borne his…child. Somehow Anthony couldn't bring himself to brand Marigold a bastard. The word was too ugly for such a sweet innocent being.

He felt as though he had just drunk vinegar and it was curdling his stomach. He told himself he ought not to let this disturb him, that he was overreacting, that it was Edith's life and that he had left her to such a decision.

But it did disturb him.

It bothered him because Edith had lied to him about it. It bothered him because Edith's reputation hung by a precarious thread. It bothered him because—well because it was wrong damn it! You just weren't supposed to! No matter how much you wanted to. It was instinctive, ingrained by his upringing—the do's and don't's of society. And no matter how he tried, he couldn't stay his feelings of distaste.

Of course, if she hadn't gotten pregnant it wouldn't have been so bad.

He made a growling noise in his throat. How could he think such a thing?! Why couldn't he just accept this? Edith was still Edith. And this sort of thing had been happening since the beginning of time. Hell, how many Strallans had fathered children, as they said, "on the wrong side of the blanket?" How many of his old friends had had extra-marital affairs? But somehow Edith was supposed to be different, better.

He growled again and tunneled his hands into his hair. If only he had married her. Then she wouldn't have run into the arms of her editor. She wouldn't have let herself be hurt, be compromised…

Anthony imagined Edith in another man's bed, a young, handsome man who leered at her like a cinema villain. And yet in his mind's eye Edith was perfectly happy to be there, naked beneath him…

This time he practically roared.

Damn the man! Damn her! Damn it all!

And damn him for being such a damned bloody fool! Again and again and again.

XXX

"Sir Anthony Strallan," Carson muttered, with just the slightest undertone of disapproval, before Anthony emerged from behind the carved wooden door to meet five astonished, but determinedly civil faces.

Lady Mary's wasn't so much civil as supercilious, Mr. Branson's mouth was set in a guarded pout, Robert's brow was furrowing ever deeper by the moment, and Cora's eyes, large and expressive as all her daughters, clearly showed concern behind their gleam of genteel hospitality. And Edith…Edith was staring at him with large, wary, damnably beautiful eyes.

"Good afternoon," Anthony said with almost painful correctness. "You'll forgive me, I need to speak with Edith…if I may." This last was said with slight hesitation, making it clear that the request was merely good manners added to what was an obvious demand.

There was a shimmer of unspoken opinions, but the room was silent, as if everyone were holding their breath to see what might happen next. Robert and Cora exchanged glances, and Mr. Branson threw a warning look at his eldest sister in law.

Edith examined Anthony, reading with dread the taut lines of his face, the steel that had settled in his bright blue eyes. She'd seen Anthony irritated, exasperated, annoyed; she'd never seen him angry before.

Well, that was untrue. He'd been angry the other afternoon when he'd returned to the house with Marigold. Though he'd excused himself as "unwell" and hurried them out the door with swift civility. That had been two days ago, and she hadn't heard a word. Clearly he'd been brooding over whatever it was and she was now to receive a scold. Well, she'd be damned to that. She hadn't done anything wrong. She'd recently ended the childhood practice of assuming the blame and punishment for Mary's bad moods and she was bloody well not going to do the same for Anthony, no matter how much she cared for him.

She stood and crossed the room to him, the family watching her as if she had taken the few steps on tightrope.

"Let's go outside," she said stiffly, and brushed past him towards the entryway.

They made their way across the lawn, lips clamped into firm lines, legs growing in momentum until they were almost running. There was an unspoken understanding that they must get out of sight of the house; that this be a conversation between the two of them only—away from not only the ears—but also the eyes-of anyone else. Edith took the path beyond the lower garden that led to the temple—a columned haven that had been her escape since childhood.

Once she had reached it, she placed a hand on its familiar weathered surface and said,

"Ok, out with it. What is it I've done that's got you in such a state?" she couldn't keep her tone civil.

And neither did Anthony. He scoffed.

"I think a great many people would be upset by this, if they knew the truth," he huffed.

"The truth about what?" she sputtered. But she already knew. It was the one big secret in her life, the one that would follow her to her grave.

"The truth about Marigold." He pronounced grimly. "About her father—and her mother."

Edith gave a scornful laugh. "You sound like the villain in a melodrama. It's not like my having a child out of wedlock is the end of the world." She refused to tell him she regretted it; to admit to any wrong. She'd cared for Michael and she'd dealt with the consequences. And she could never regret Marigold.

"It is pretty near the end of it where we come from," Anthony registered the patronizing disdain in his voice, but he couldn't stop it. "That you could…with a married man no less…"

"Anthony!" she erupted, "when are you going to acknowledge that I know my own mind?! That I can make my own decisions, make my own life! That I am the only one who can determine what is best for me! Not Michael, and not you!"

He gaped at her, and through her anger and hurt Edith had the conflicting desire to catch him up and kiss the tension from his face.

Anthony felt her chastisement like an electric shock. Was that it? That the disgust and anger and jealousy all stemmed from the same root; his own guilt. He'd had her life all planned—she couldn't marry him, it wasn't good enough for her, no matter what she wanted, he knew better. So he'd freed her. But not to have an extramarital affair—to find a husband who would cherish her and make her happy—to find a perfect marriage of equals, and passion and… She hadn't followed the plan—his plan for her life, which was the only thing that had made the pain of giving her up worthwhile.

And yet it wasn't up to him. It had never been about him. It was about them both. What they both wanted. And Edith had decided that she wanted to disregard society's rules and reach for happiness in any way she could find it. Which couldn't be wrong. And Marigold…Marigold wasn't wrong, or bad, or tainted. She was sweet and pure and loved.

"You're right," he said at last, his voice gruff and low. "I've been a complete ass. What right do I have to judge you? To tell you anything, when I'm the one—" his voice became choked with emotion and tears glimmered at his lashes.

Damnit, he was done with being angry or guilty or lonely. He wanted to be happy.

Edith's anger evaporated as well, replaced with a bitter sorrow and remorse. Tears began to roll down her cheeks. Through trembling lips she said,

"I'll admit it's not how I meant to live my life. But—" a tremor of anguish temporarily halted her words, "nothing in my life has turned out the way it was supposed to. No husband, and a daughter that I can't acknowledge to the world. I can't even…tell her I'm her mother, her real mother…"

Heartbreak overtook her and she turned her face away, bowing into her hand as she shook with sobs.

After several moments she felt the warm comfort of Anthony's arm around her shoulders, his broad chest and soft brown waistcoat comforting against her cheek, and the smell of him…was like home; solace and happiness and desire in one dizzying bundle.

"Oh Anthony," she moaned into his chest, "this is all so stupid. I love you. I don't care if you don't love me, but I love you, and I'm sorry that Marigold upsets you so much, I'm sorry about a lot of things…" she trailed off, burrowing into his chest as though she could crawl into his coat pocket and remain with him that way.

"Oh Darling," he said in an exhalation that was part wail, part croon, "forgive me. I've been abominable. I don't resent Marigold—" his words tumbled into her hair as he clutched her to him "I adore her, and I think I could adore you both if you'd let me—because I love you too, my dearest darling, my dearest, dearest Edith."

From the cavern of his chest Edith gave a laughing sob. For several moments it was all the reaction she could muster beyond clinging to him.

At last she raised her head, reaching out a hand to smooth the divot of his temple, then let her palm rest against his cheek, streaked with tears.

"I'm afraid it won't be as easy as just saying the words," she said. "But I'm willing to try."

"Again." She added with an amused smile.

"They do say third time's a charm," he joked through a sniffle.

"Well, you've plenty of that," she replied affectionately.

He smiled; an ardent, adoring smile that made Edith's heart swell with utter joy.

Edith stretched on her toes and he bent to meet her.

The kiss was so profoundly sweet that she almost felt like crying again. Instead she sipped greedily at the sensation, chasing it deeper and deeper until it seemed as though she'd drunk it into her very veins, charging her whole body with a blissful sensuousness.

It seemed to Anthony that he couldn't press Edith close enough, he couldn't kiss her deeply enough, couldn't do justice to the intensity of his love for her. Reality became a blur of Edith's name rushing from his mouth in hushed, shallow breaths, her warm skin beneath his touch, and the aching thrill of her lips matching his own frenzied search for satisfaction, for possession, for an end to the endless hunger.

All the years of wanting, of love denied, converged upon them in one overwhelming torrent of need.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," she repeated again and again in an incoherent mantra as Anthony worked the neckline of her gown apart, steering her to the interior curving wall of the small shelter.

"My darling, oh, my dearest, I love you, my darling, my sweet…" he whispered in an equally mindless stream as she clawed through waist coat, shirt and tie to run a hand over his broad chest and around his back.

He growled with pleasure at her touch, rejoining with a devouring kiss at her mouth.

Perhaps he was just about to become self-conscious as he had not had time or awareness to do before. Perhaps he'd have continued on this liberating wave of adoration until Edith was thoroughly ravished right in her parent's back yard. But any intentions he may have had were squashed by a small, earnest voice calling,

"Mummy Edith? Seranony?"

Nanny's harassed tones followed.

"Marigold Irene, come back here. Leave your mother be."

Anthony was barely able to get his waistcoat buttoned and his shirt tucked in before Marigold's curious face appeared around the edge of the bushes. Her countenance lit with a grin as she spotted Anthony.

"Seranony!" she cried, hurrying to stop just short of colliding with his knees.

"You feeling better!" she chirruped.

"Yes, I'm feeling much better," he remarked, meeting Edith's gaze.

"You come to dinner-time?" Marigold asked.

"Oh, I…don't know…" Anthony turned a questioning face to Edith.

"I think that would be very nice."

She leaned down to speak directly to her daughter. "Sweetheart, we might be seeing a lot more of Sir Anthony from now on. Would you like that?"

"Oh, yes! I like Seranony!" Marigold said enthusiastically.

Edith laughed, her dancing eyes meeting Anthony's once again.

"So do I," she murmured, and Anthony felt his heart burst with happiness.

XXX

You and I

We've seen it all

Chasing our heart's desire

Yet I still think I'm certain…

XXX

Five weeks later, Mummy Edith and Marigold went to Locksley to have tea as usual. Seranony greeted them both in the library and they sat down on the comfy sofa. Seranony didn't sit in his usual seat, he sat on the sofa beside Mummy Edith. He held one of Mummy Edith's hands. His fingers were very long.

"Marigold," Mummy Edith began. "Sir Anthony and I have something to tell you."

XXX

This time it will be

My happy ending.

XXX


A/N: This got a lot more angsty than I intended! Hopefully I'll have another installment in the songbook soon. I've got about six ideas/stories brewing at the moment, but the one that's nagging me the most is a story idea based on that Betty Hutton classic, "Murder, He Says," so stay tuned… :D