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).

30. Chapter 29

Author's Notes: And the struggle begins…

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.

CONTINUAL 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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November 1916

"MISS KAVANAUGH?!"

Adelaide Kavanaugh jumped, her foot slipping off of the piano pedal and her fingers pressing down in a discordant jangle of notes that had nothing to do with the song she'd been so absorbed in a moment before. Pressing a hand to her chest, she turned and looked at where the balding man who'd shouted was standing awkwardly next to the music room door.

"Is the house on fire, Mr. Moseley?"

"Er, Mrs. Lavinia Crawley and Mrs. Isobel Crawley?"

"Oh!" Addie nearly stumbled shoving her feet back into the shoes she'd abandoned when she'd begun her playing, standing up and then dropping her shawl, then recovering the wrap with a flaming face. "So sorry, I didn't hear you? Are – Lavinia, Mrs. Crawley!"

"Hello dear, Joplin again?"

Mrs. Crawley's cheerful question totally belayed the rudeness of her introduction to the room and Addie breathed a sigh of relief that it hadn't been Lady Grantham or the Dowager who'd made an appearance. Not that Lady Grantham wouldn't have been nice in her chiding, but Addie was feeling terribly self-conscious about deserving it. Instead, she walked over to accept a quick hug from Edith's cousin and turned to their butler to offer up a sheepish smile.

"Thank you, Mr. Moseley. Edith's not entirely wrong about my playing being a touch loud."

The awkward man offered a warm smile, shaking his head, and Addie relaxed further. No harm done with her rude reply, then. Extending a further olive branch, she cleared her throat.

"If you could see to some tea and snacks, Mr. Moseley, I would be very thankful."

"Of course, Miss Kavanaugh."

Addie seldom asked for the servants to fetch her anything. Mrs. Bernard didn't mind, and would chat with her while she did so. Given the house's lack of footmen and the more casual manner in which they were working to carry on during the war, she knew it worried the man a bit that he would become redundant. He had, after all, endured a period of real concern about his future employment when Matthew went off to war and he wasn't needed about the house. Edith bit her tongue against asking, redundantly, if there was any more post. There isn't, don't bother the man. Post isn't magic, it comes on a set schedule, and you've already gotten everything there is for today.

"How are you, Lavinia?"

"Much better now that you're calling me by my name." Lavinia offered up with a smile, but sighed and accepted both Addie and her mother-in-law's hands as she carefully lowered herself onto the sofa as all three quit the music room at Strallan House for the coziness of the library. "You're far too much a young lady now to call me Mrs. Crawley when we're all family. Especially as there already is a Mrs. Crawley about!"

"Indeed! I'm almost ready to acknowledge some sense in the "dowager" nonsense." Isobel added, her tone amused. "It does at least differentiate titles a touch, doesn't it?"

Addie's lips turned up in a smile and she nodded, suddenly unsure of what to say. Thankfully, she didn't have to. Both the ladies she was facing were the sort who could keep up a conversation and were blessedly able to speak clearly about what they wanted. Not an ounce of social scheming or nonsense was to be found in either Mrs. Crawley.

"I was just dropping by to check on things here, before we went up to Crawley House." Mrs. Crawley offered up a slightly smug smile as she turned to her daughter-in-law. "I've finally gotten certain parties to agree that it would be more healthful for the baby to be born in the country."

"The air will certainly be cleaner."

"Oh, as if the air in Manchester was any better!" Lavinia took it all in good spirits, as she almost always did, and rested one hand on her massively distended belly. "I was born and bred in London. It's taking me a bit to get used to the country. Which I think is reasonable given that Matthew and I bought a house here in town, don't you agree?"

"I don't think preferring a crowded city to a beautiful home in the country is remotely reasonable." Addie wrinkled her nose, but felt compelled to add, "Home is where one's family is, though, and with Matthew away Mr. Swire does stay in London."

"Yes, and it's been lovely of you to keep your Papa company, but as he agrees with me, I think we can consider it settled."

"Of course we can, Mama."

Addie smiled at the way both women visibly glowed with happiness at Lavinia's new name for Isobel. Addie felt only the slightest pangs as she noted that Lavinia had lost her mother at much the same age she'd lost her own, and now she had another. Addie had Edith after all, and Anthony, and was in no way short of family. It was nice that Isobel and Lavinia had come so close.

"We did hope to visit your sister, however, is she not in?"

"Oh, no, Edith's visiting her publisher."

"Is there to be another book, then?"

Addie couldn't help radiating smug pride as she nodded.

"Well, that's quite impressive. It hasn't been quite a year since the last, has it?"

"Nine months, but Edith says that the mysteries really write themselves." Addie looked up as Moseley entered and nodded in polite thanks as she began to pour for the other ladies, as Edith had taught her to, and she'd learned at an endless series of luncheons and teas by practicing on Thomas. "As my lessons have yet to write themselves, I think she's fibbing."

There was general amusement expressed over that and Addie moved on.

"Sir Andreas Corbyn's adventures continue, however, and I can't wait to read the next one. Edith only ever shares them with Anthony and Sybil when she's writing them." Addie grumbled a bit, sipping her tea as she passed Lavinia a small plate with a piece of cake and two biscuits on it, and a lighter plate to Mrs. Crawley. "I wish she didn't have to use a pen name, though. She shouldn't have to."

"Men are more comfortable reading something written by a man, though."

"Yes, Lavinia-dear, but the point is that it shouldn't be necessary. It's hardly essential to have masculine anatomy to write."

"Not unless one's holding the pen very oddly."

"Adelaide Kavanaugh…"

While Isobel Crawley merely raised her cup up primly to cover her lips, Lavinia gently admonished Addie. The younger girl wasn't fooled. Lavinia was laughing with her eyes. Offering up an utterly insincere apology, Addie wasn't surprised when Lavinia changed the subject.

"Well, it will be a pity to miss her, but I'm always happy to speak to you. How are your studies going?"

"Very well." Addie perked up. "We're doing statistical analysis now, which is ever so much better than geometry and algebra was, what I had to do of it. This will be fare more useful given what I'm doing in university. Well, that and fractions for medication and the like, but I'm actually good at factions."

"How's your writing?"

"Highly legible, if boring and unartistic."

"Well, God forbid a lady's handwriting be unartistic and legible."

Addie shared a smile with the older woman at that sharp-tongued and sarcastic response even as Lavinia pretended they were all being utterly pleasant and focused on her cake.

"Sybil said the same thing. How is Sybil? We haven't seen her in ages."

"She just back from nursing school, actually."

"How are things going at Downton?"

"It should be ready to begin service as a Convalescent Home in just a few weeks." Isobel practically radiated pride. "Of course, I'll be rather too busy at the hospital to be much-involved, but I am sure Lady Grantham shall do very well."

Addie nodded, having heard that Isobel had stepped back into active nursing and that she was acting as Matron at the cottage hospital and running the nurses there with clockwork efficiency. She'd found out at the same time that she'd found out that Lord Grantham's letters about the injuries and horrific gas attacks and the like had prompted Lady Grantham to search for her own way to assist, and that the Earl had approved.

"Aunt Cora is actually in London right now."

"Oh? I didn't know she was coming."

"She's staying at Ramsey House." Addie offered. "It's a little less crowded."

"Where is Mrs. Chetwood? I would have dearly loved a chance to visit before we went North again. She's been so wonderfully helpful to me since she and her husband returned last month."

"Aunt Diana's doing something with the Women's Volunteer Reserve. I'm not entirely sure what, but my current theory is that she's plotting to take it over." Assuming that a list of the current occupants of the house was unasked for, but desired, Addie rattled off the pertinent facts. "Uncle Archie's at the Home Office. Anthony is at his office, wherever that is. Christopher's being a dear and walking Polly for me."

"Where are the boys?"

"Phillip is at the park with Christopher. Midori went with them."

"Well, that's very kind of her."

"It was. I just didn't want to go out into the sleet… Could I convince you to stay for dinner?" Addie offered, pleased she was now grown enough to extend such invitations… to family, at least. "I'm sure Edith and Aunt Diana would be delighted to have you."

"We would be delighted."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"How are things at home, truly?" Archie Chetworth shot his brother-in-law a severe look as he settled in opposite him in the familiar leather seats of their club's dining room. They'd chosen the most isolated of the back tables in the largely deserted room. "I shall not be put off with the distraction of any number of nephews – no matter how cherubic their cheeks or charming their rendition of Christmas Carols, Major Strallan."

Anthony winced and sighed, sinking gratefully into the leather upholstery even as he tugged slightly on the collar of his uniform. Considering his answer carefully, he again thanked God for the herculean patience of the man across from him. Not only was it likely the only thing to guard his sanity against his chosen wife, but it also made Archie the best of listeners.

"Honestly? As expected…"

"A bit more elucidation is required, old chap."

"Well, you know that Addie was terribly upset to lose her correspondence with her mother's kin back in 'fourteen."

"She couldn't have expected to maintain it, not when we're at war with Austria and her uncle is…?"

"A Lieutenant." Anthony murmured, sighing. "Beyond that, not much can be said, as there's been no communication…"

"How could there be, with your position?"

Not entirely true, old thing. You're well-aware of what Klaus Bauer is doing. All too aware. You can't say a thing about it, though, so why linger on it? Hopefully one day the man will live to explain it to his niece herself. Hopefully he'll still be the kind of man who you'll allow around your girl to do so…

"Still, Addie couldat least understand the security requirements of what I am doing, and the fact that her uncle is on the opposite side of this war. Even if she disagrees with the war itself, she does understand what it entails."

"But?"

"She was devastated in March when her grandmother died."

Archie's expression softened with shared sympathy.

"How did that information get passed along?"

"Professor Bauer sent the post to Martha Levinson in New York, and she passed the news on to us by telegram."

"That was when you had all that trouble with the girl wanting to move back to the States."

It wasn't a question, but Anthony nodded tiredly.

"She didn't truly want to leave, it was just… all too much, I think. She couldn't write to her only living family – besides Edith – and Barrow was called up and I've told you how close she is to the man – really, she must have sent him five hundred socks in the last year. Then losing her grandmother and having Remington requisitioned-."

"Remington being her pony?"

Anthony's lips turned up.

"You remember all of this, don't you?"

"Every word from your letters."

"Then, why on Earth-."

"Because I'm willing to bet you a bottle of excellent whisky that you desperately need to talk about it, and to someone who isn't as close to the whole mess and as tied up in it as you are. So, out with it. How are you?"

"Bloody exhausted." Anthony muttered, falling silent as their drinks were delivered and the man wandered off with instructions to bring them their usual standing order from the club's kitchen. "Yet, how can I complain? Archie, really, I've got the safest-."

"Excuse me, but I do recall that last year you were sent to the Front-."

"I was sent to observe and return with direct analysis-."

"And came back injured with a Distinguished Service Order, mentioned in dispatches, and would have gotten the Victoria's Cross if the real mess behind it all wasn't so hush-hush."

Archie laid out the final words with a flourish, his dark eyes bright and certain.

"So, perhaps you'd like to rethink your misplaced guilt about taking on a highly essential role here at headquarters and everything else you've done?"

Anthony chewed his lip and couldn't quite help muttering:

"The whole thing was a matter of chance, Archie, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Anyone would have done the same."

Not that most could have impersonated a German Officer, issued conflicting orders, and liberated fifty of our troops from captivity…

Anthony looked down at the table as he recalled the frankly embarrassing interview he'd endured after all of the purely military hubbub had died down. The truth he couldn't offer up was that the whole thing had been an utter cock-up. The worst sort of orders had been offered up by one of their Generals and had sent an utterly horrifying number of their boys over the top to face the machine guns of their fortified enemy over the razor-wire and mire of No Man's Land. And, really, for what purpose? To make a show of proper spirit? The charge had been a futile gesture in collective suicide… though, perhaps better to call it murder since the general and staff issuing those orders hadn't been over the top themselves… In the end, he'd been given the medal as much to never speak of the gross incompetence behind that dreadful day as much as in recognition of any supposed valor on his part.

"I sincerely doubt they could have, Anthony." Archie's tone was kind, but resolute. "How's the arm?"

"I don't know that it will ever be back to what it was." Anthony flexed his right elbow and wriggled his fingers. "Though, in truth, I'm lucky. Had it struck me just an inch off where it did it would have done more damage."

"Diana said you'd broken your shoulder?"

"Oh, I did." Anthony pulled a frustrated face and lifted his arm slightly to the side, showing the limited rotation and wincing at the pain despite the wound having been taken nearly a year prior. "The bullet lodged in the joint and made an awful mess of me. The surgeon I saw in London said I was lucky to have been shot precisely where I was."

"Why? You'd think he'd have preferred a location not in the middle of a complex joint."

"No, no, I mean the location I was in, not the bullet. I was shot nearer one of the better field hospitals and had the good luck to have the initial surgery under a skilled hand. The thing still slips out of joint all too often, but the man left the nerves intact and more could be done once I was back in London. Had a less skilled surgeon removed the bullet, I could have lost use of the arm entirely."

"Well, that's good news. Not… too shaken up?"

Anthony shook his head, and the lines around his mouth and eyes deepened.

"Honestly, as bad as the injury was, it was worse to see the conditions there, Archie. I'm not made for the Army, my old friend, and… God help the boys, truly."

"Something I think everyone can agree upon. Even your littlest sister?"

"Things are going better, there." Anthony insisted. "After I was injured, well…"

Archie's eyebrows were pure expectation and, blushing, Anthony mumbled.

"I feared that my service, that her being here and locked in the midst of it all, divided by both sides of her family… that I might have done Addie harm in drawing her into, well, into our family to begin with. Then there's Edith…"

"Surely you can't regret-."

"No, but some days I think she should." Anthony huffed and shook his head helplessly. "Archie, she's less than half my age and so – so beautiful and intelligent. Now, she's a published author and the world's finally appreciating her wit and – and everything as I do. What did I give her in return but strife and a ridiculous workload?"

"Two beautiful sons and a husband who loves her madly."

"Er-."

"Someone willing to love and raise her sister, even when it was bloody difficult, if you'll pardon my language."

Anthony's lips finally turned up and, as their food arrived, felt his spirits rally. Looking out the window he pulled a face.

"Ah, ignore me-."

"I think not. It directly interferes with my attempts to find out how you are… and you are well, though, despite all that?"

"Yes, actually." Anthony huffed out a weak laugh and shook his head. "I'm about where all of us are, I think? Worn out with the reality of it… but glad to have the ability to fight on. Addie is getting better, as I said. Since I came back she's been stuck like glue to me and she and Edith patched things up on their own. She's been a godsend with Pip and William."

"As it should be."

"So, the home front is improving-."

"It's far better than the weather."

Both men observed the freezing rain pattering the window with properly British philosophical disgust, and then carried on their conversation.

"And it never was anything like bad-."

"Obviously, as I have another nephew."

"I mean I know how lucky, I am, Archie." Anthony shot his brother-in-law a severe look. "And do get your mind out of the gutter."

"Can't. Given the weather it's gone to its summer home."

"You're not funny."

"No, I'm hilarious."

"No wonder you're a diplomat."

"It's always satisfied to have your talents recognized." Archie waved idly at his brother's uniform. "And in terms of…"

"I can be satisfied I'm doing my bit." Anthony answered, for that was basically all one could say when one worked in Intelligence as he did. Archie, of course, knew this and accepted it with a nod after carefully scanning his face. Both men knew well enough that Anthony's work was exhausting and incredibly tense. How could it not be when so many lives depended on proper analysis? Still, Anthony knew how lucky he was to have a relatively safe posting; luck driven home to him by his brief two months of service in France itself.

"Speaking of the home front, however, I have to warn you about the other war you've wandered into."

"Oh. Dear."

Anthony offered up a crooked half-smile and tilted his head to the side, his teeth bared in reluctant embarrassment.

"This wouldn't have something to do with the Lady Holderness, would it?"

"Ah, you've… heard?"

"Diana said there are rumors about town. She hasn't had time to sort them out yet…"

Anthony took an enormous bite of his onion, leek, and lamb pie to preclude further conversation while he considered his words carefully. In the end, he gratefully accepted the masculine serenity (and safety) of his club's confidentiality and just said precisely what he meant. There were, after all, no feminine ears to overhear him and report it anywhere he didn't want it repeated.

"Well, you'll see for yourself at dinner tonight." Anthony checked his watch. "We'd best go."

Archie did the same and both proceeded back to where they were due. Archie, of course, went to the famous address where a diplomat of his caliber might do the expected work. Anthony went to a far less noticeable set of offices in the War Office. He found his batman, and occasional sniper, sitting at the small secretary desk pushed into the corner of his cramped office. The sight of Stewart momentarily frozen with a pair of chopsticks halfway to his mouth as he held a compact, lozenge-shaped wooden lunch box in his other hand put a smile on Anthony's face.

"At ease, Sergeant, don't let me disturb your meal."

"Thank you, sir."

"It's not every day a man's sweetheart packs him lunch…"

Anthony made the tongue-in-cheek comment in amusement, hoping to get a blush or at least a flicker of one of his stoic friend's eyelids. The younger man didn't even blink, however, as he offered up his return volley.

"No, sir. Lady Strallan had me send up some cookies for you, as well, and Miss Addie included a bag of candy. A small bag, of course, given the situation but I believe she's managed to procure some peppermints."

Anthony found the blush he'd been looking for on his own face and cleared his throat.

"Ye-es, thank you, Stewart."

He'd just gotten settled at his desk, peppermint tucked in one cheek against his teeth so he didn't open his fool mouth again, and unlocked the document safe when a sharp rap on the door prompted Stewart to put down his food and preform his duties. Anthony relocked the safe carefully and firmly.

"Lieutenant Finch-Fletchley, Major."

Anthony stood and preformed the usual exchange of salutes. Now if only the shoulder wouldn't pain me every time, I did the bloody maneuver…

"Major, sir, the Colonel would like to see you."

Anthony nodded once, and offered the man a piece of candy before he saw the young Lieutenant out the door and on with his other duties. Quietly, he went about his own way until he entered the office four doors down. Larger than his own, it was far more cramped with file cabinets, a table covered in charts and maps, and cork board of dispatches, and a young secretary with fire in his brown eyes that slipped silently out of the room when Anthony arrived.

"Sir, I was told you needed me?"

"Yes, come in Strallan." The man sighed. "There's no way to say this easily and I'm sorry to put it on you to break the news, but we thought it would be kinder coming from family."

Anthony stiffened as a list of everyone he knew in uniform, currently at great peril, flashed through his mind. It settled-.

"Lord Grantham has been severely injured."

There.

"You'd said that Lady Grantham was staying with you in London right now?"

"My mother-in-law is actually staying at Ramsey House." Anthony clarified. "But she'll be over at dinner tonight and I can break the news then."

Dear, God, how many times must I do this for some poor acquaintance or neighbor? Anthony's mind flashed back towards the five other occasions when his Colonel or someone else had asked him to pass on news. Because his reputation as a kind man. Because he knew whoever was involved, no matter how distantly. Because it was better than a telegram. How could anything be better with such news?"

"May I ask how bad it is, sir?"

"You may."

And Anthony sat back, trying to think of any way to improve the news, as the colonel fulfilled his request.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Lord Holderness, you do understand that I came here specifically to help, don't you?"

"I do and I'm grateful for it, Lady Grantham."

Given the last two years, the quiet intensity in the response was a wonderful relief. Given his posting in the Admiralty, she'd seen almost nothing of her younger son-in-law during the last few months. Going North to visit Mary meant nothing in terms of seeing her husband, especially when the couple were at odds. Something that had begun to happen increasingly over the last year.

More than that, Cora, be honest. Her mother's voice whispered in her mind and Cora resisted the urge to sigh. It would be unladylike. It would also be taken badly.

"Really, Lady Grantham, I know it must seem that I do not, but I've never wanted anything but success from my marriage with Mary. You can't say I haven't compromised."

"I am not trying to say that, and I hope no-one else is."

"Please tell that to your daughter."

Cora suppressed another sigh, but pressed onward.

"You must admit not all of the mistakes are my daughter's."

"No, but many of my worst mistakes have been directly linked to Mary's refusal to speak to me when she's angry."

"Considering how some of those exchanges have gone, do you not think her silence is justified."

"Perhaps, but equally I think you must acknowledge that a person has a right to scream back when someone is hurling insults at them at strident volume." Lawrence Ramsey's tone, strained and earnest a moment before, hardened. "I've never spoken to Mary with less than complete control unless she resorted to physical means of expressing her displeasure. Something I would point out that I do not resort to myself."

Cora couldn't quite resist looking away at that. What was she supposed to think when she heard from Mary's own mouth that she'd slapped her husband? Or that the reason was that the man could and would maintain perfect calm while quarreling with her for hours?

"I would point out that, perhaps, locking one's wife in a room with one's self when she was horrendously distressed to the point of screaming is neither the most gentlemanly or the most reasonable of actions – though I do not absolve my daughter of responsibility for the wrongness of her own actions."

"I don't know what else to do that this point." The young man stood up and paced. "Lady Grantham, my lady wife bolts North like a startled doe every time we fight. When we started this marriage we could at least speak and resolve things, but you cannot pretend that Mary's tried to resolve anything in the last year."

"No, but perhaps the best course towards resolution would have involved giving more consequence towards her opinions." Cora countered and raised her eyebrows expectantly when he stopped to look at her. Hardening her tone, she went on. "You sold Leathe House, your primary estate, without gaining our wife's agreement."

"Most of my income comes from Continental Trade, Lady Grantham." The man shook his head. "Did Mary tell you that? Or that we spoke of it for more than a month before I made the sale?"

"I -," Cora had not heard that. "I didn't know that, no. Are you in any financial distress?"

"No, but only because I acted quickly. The coal deposits on the land are considerable, the auction of the pictures, furniture, and decorations that we didn't wish to keep offset our losses in terms of five years income." The man gestured helplessly. "It was enough to reinvest elsewhere so I can maintain my lifestyle and Mary's as well as our family's future fortune. Nor is it as though I left her with no country properties. Pleasance House is not the grandest residence, but it's beautifully located within two hours of London and the grounds and house are charming."

Cora could neither agree nor disagree with that statement. Her daughter frankly refused to go anywhere near the smaller estate her husband had kept when he'd sold the grand country house she'd once anticipated holding court in.

"Perhaps it was the correct thing to do, but was it the right thing to do without first gaining Mary's agreement?"
"If Mary's needs lead us into disaster, then, yes. It is the correct thing to do to protect everyone who depends on the success of my title." The man broke that perfectly controlled exterior and tugged at his ear in an oddly endearing gesture before coming to sit down across from her. "Lady Grantham, I agreed to use my influence to take a post here rather than the Front to preserve Mary from loss."

Cora refrained from noting that he benefited from such a choice as well.

"I have cut back on many of my political activities, as much as this war allows, and tried to spend time with my lady wife."

"Yes, you have." Cora couldn't deny that and felt herself softening.

"All of which means nothing if Mary continues to run away every time we disagree."

"Yes, I-."

"Or she continues to lie to me."

"What?" Cora frowned. "Lord Holderness-."

"We've been married for nearly three years and there hasn't been the slightest sign of a pregnancy. Not even a loss or a suspicion of such." Holderness went on, his voice dropping. "Imagine my upset when, three months ago, I learned that Mary had never actually seen a specialist in regards to our situation, despite telling me otherwise."

"What? Lord Holderness, I am sure-."

To Cora's surprise, the man simply stood up. Behind her she heard her eldest daughter's voice in the foyer and the soft, resonate tones of the house's butler. Looking up at the uniformed man in front of her, she watched him pick up his cap and settle it upon his head, straightening his dark blue coat.

"If you don't believe me, ask your daughter – or perhaps your mother-in-law. Good day."

Cora rose from her seat to stare after the man and finally allowed herself to sigh. Alone in the house, as her daughter was off at a Very Important Tea, she glanced at the clock. Time for her meeting.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lady Edith Strallan smiled down into the pram she was pushing and watched as her son smiled readily back at her. Wrapped well in a knitted hat over a flannel cap, and beneath that a darling little coat over his gown, and then two blankets over that, she was certain he would be comfortable even in the chill weather. Not that there weren't further precautions. Anthony had insisted on getting a cover for the pram made of a fascinating clear plasticine material, hang the cost. Now they could both take their son out for air in the rain and enjoy his smiles all the easier.

Keeping a firm grip on her umbrella with her fret hand, she guided the heavy pram the short distance from her editor's office to the sweet little vegetarian restaurant that Diana had introduced her to during the first days of their acquaintance. It had since become a favorite of all of the ladies in the family. Less because of its considerable connections to the suffragette community and more because of the pleasure of sitting down to a meal in an establishment that was almost entirely patronized by ladies. For Edith, personally, it helped that the clientele and owners were so welcoming to children…

She found her mother already there, waiting for her, and blinked to see the particularly resolute expression on her mother's face.

"Is everything alright, Mama?"

"What? Oh, yes, dear, it shall be."

Edith settled in and handed her son over to her mother, who promptly settled the nine-month old infant into her lap and began to cheerfully work to snuggle some fresh babbles out of him. To her intense pleasure, she noted that William's stocky body settling onto the Lady Grantham's lap was all it took to generate a blinding maternal smile.

"Aren't you just a darling?"

William smiled gummily up at his grandmother.

"And look at all your pretty teeth! You have six now, don't you?"

"He certainly told the world as the last two were breaking through. I'm shocked you don't know. Whether we were at Loxley or here at Strallan House, I would have sworn he was loud enough to hear from three miles away easily…"

"No child on earth shall ever be as loud as your sister was while teething."

"Why am I not surprised to hear Mary let the world know of her displeasure?"

Cora shot her a wry look and raised her eyebrows.

"I was speaking of Sybil. Your little sister was the sweetest baby, but goodness, she hated to cut her teeth!"

Edith felt a touch of color rise to her face.

"Not everything is your sister's fault, my dear."

Edith sighed and put off a response until the waitress had come and gone, leaving them both with fresh cool glasses of water and taking their orders. Seeing that her mother was waiting for a response, she gave in.

"I know, Mama, but I just can't stand how she's been acting for the last year. You can't reasonably expect me to tolerate it silently."

"I thought we were all doing better."

"Meaning that Mary and I can be civil over dinner again? Yes, certainly. That doesn't mean we are close or want to be."

"I believe your sister may have."

"If so, someone should tell her that giving backhanded compliments, or insulting the person you wish to befriend isn't effective."

"I do believe she meant well with the-."

"Ladies health and fitness magazines, comments about my waistline, and then all those delightful comments about having a German spy in the household?"

"The latter there was no excuse for, especially given Addie's age. I will remind you that Mary did apologize for that."

"After you all but forced her to and she spent months pretending she'd done nothing wrong."

"She spent months banned from your house, Edith! That makes it very difficult to apologize."

"There are these things called letters, Mama, and if she was feeling short, a telegram would have sufficed."

William, picking up the tension, began to fuss. Seeing the way her mother's perfectly formed lips pressed tightly together and the pinched look around her clear blue eyes Edith felt a pang. You didn't come here to quarrel with Mama… and you agreed to invite everyone to dinner.

"Mama, I'm sorry. I'm just a bit, well, testy."

"Did you meeting not go well?"

"No, it went well. I like my editor." She huffed. "But his boss tried to step in and wanted me to 'shave a few years' off of Sir Andreas' age. Oh, and maybe 'kill the fiancée off, a man likes to read about a lady's man' and something about conquests. Which is when I suggested that he write his own novels and drink a bit less scotch. Ladies appreciate a man who doesn't smell like he rolls in stale horse sweat and cheap liquor."

"Oh, Edith."

"Yes, I know, America ruined my manners." Edith smiled.

"Actually, I was going to say that you sounded rather like your Granny."

"I'm not sure that that is a compliment." Edith reached out and took her son, who was now reaching for her as he grizzled and squirmed, and settled him into her lap. William, ever a little limpet with those he loved, latched on and cuddled into his mother. Then he socked a thumb into his mouth and turned those bright blue Strallan eyes on the room at large with unmistakable curiosity.

"Neither am I, darling."

"Mama."

Cora just smiled as the waitress brought out Edith's pie - which was a lovely mix of potatoes, mushrooms, leeks, onions, and carrots – and Cora's French onion soup.

"This smells heavenly, but I do hope you have some mints for I didn't think to bring any."

Edith, who had adopted some new habits with motherhood, reached into her capacious handbag and set a tin on the table between them.

"There, now we're both set. Tell me how your meeting went."

Cora hesitated and then, after looking about and seeing the only other two ladies in the room were much absorbed in their own conversation, leaned forward. Edith was quite startled by the sudden change in her mother's manner.

"I may have done something that your father will be cross about when he returns."

"What did you do?"

Large expenditures flittered through Edith's head, but the response made her blink in surprise.

"I spoke to the agents and rearranged our investments somewhat, in accordance with their advice."

"I fail to see how that would upset Papa. Isn't that why he gave you financial control in his absence?"

Finally, Edith did not say. For her father had, from what she could see, tried to maintain his control over both the estate and family finances via letters from the front for over a year before giving in and turning over proper power of attorney to his lady wife.

"You did follow the agents' advice, didn't you?"

"Yes – that's what your Papa may be unhappy about." Cora swallowed. "You see he… your father wasn't."

Edith blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"I hadn't… realized how much of the fortune I'd brought into the marriage has gone into keeping Downton fully operational. Or how, well, how little money the estate is generating. You know I leave all that to your father."

"I, yes?" Edith was surprised. She knew that Downton wasn't as successful as Loxley, and that her father wasn't particularly gifted with money. She hadn't thought there was anything wrong, however. "You're not… there's no danger is there?"

"No, no, at our current level our income is sufficient, if not extravagant." Cora was quick to reassure her. "It's just… several of the investment decisions your father made were… not… they were…"

"Mama?"

"Stupendously precarious." The words fell like icicles shaking loose from the eves. Cora looked shaken just to have said them. "I would love your father without a penny to his name, you do know that, I hope."

"Mama, I think you proved that when you married him the first time."

Cora smiled, amused and gentle and relieved all at once.

"Thank you, Edith dear, but the point is that I know your father will be dreadfully happy that I used the authority he gave me to see his will done to circumvent that will."

"He will, but if it works out he'll see his way to it in the end." Edith insisted, though she did think there was a certain risk of how dramatically unhappy – and loud – her father might be before Lord Grantham reached the point of equilibrium. "May I ask what the unfortunate investments were?"

"He sank an ungodly amount of money into the Grand Trunk Railway, in Canada. Have you heard of it?"

"Yes, and while it's not a bad investment in general they're considered rather overleveraged and committed to too much work in the west."

At Cora's surprised look Edith smiled.

"I do work extensively with Mr. Branagh to manage my trusts, Mama, and have to keep an eye on Addie's as well."

"Of course, you do." Cora looked incredibly relieved. "So you understand why I chose to allow our agents to decentralize the investment? To, well, spread things out and look for better opportunities."

"Entirely, Mama." Edith was relieved. "Was that all you were worried about?"

"Oh, no, I'm very concerned for your sister's marriage." Cora fixed her eyes on her daughter and there was a plea there that had Edith tightening her grip on her son. "But I think we both know you're not overly interested in Mary's unhappiness."

Taking a deep breath, Edith reminded herself to stand firm.

"No, Mama, I'm not."

"Edith…"

"Mama, I want her to be happy, truly I do." Edith countered. "I'm just not willing to become overly involved in however she arranges it. I think we've both seen that she can't resist being cruel to me when she's unhappy."

"You-."

"And I won't stand there and quietly accept it when she does. If this means I'm cruel as well, Mary should recall the reciprocal nature of 'do onto others' and how well it applies in life."

"I just want my children to be happy and treat each other well, is that so wrong?"

Edith buried her nose in William's hair and thought of the night before, when Addie had been reading sprawled upon the rug before the library fire, with Polly's head resting upon her legs, Pip sprawled atop the dog, and William tucked against his brother's side.

"No, Mama, I understand… that's why I made a point to invite Mary. That's why I accepted her apology and she accepted mine and we're being very polite to each other."

Cora looked away and Edith wished there was something she could say. She wished she could reassure her by pointing out that Sybil got along with both of them. That the fact that she and Mary would never be close didn't mean that all of Cora's children didn't love her terribly. Instead she joggled her son in her arms and offered up her best peace offering.

"Anthony's offered to have a word with Lord Holderness, if it might help? Man to man, I mean."

Cora smiled in genuine relief.

"Has he?"

"Yes, and Archie as well. When we leave the gentlemen over their port at dinner."

"Oh, that's wonderful of him. I shall have to thank him."

Edith just smiled and changed the subject to Sybil's future role as a nurse, grateful that the worst of the tension was past.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"He has someone following me, doesn't he?"

"Mary, darling, please talk to me."

"I am." Mary paced back and forth across the lavishly decorated boudoir that was the larger of the two rooms that now made up her quarters in Ramsey house.

The bedroom was just as lavish, but the room was smaller. She'd decorated both in the full glittering glory of France's baroque period half to annoy her husband with the expenditure and half because the overstated, old fashioned, glamor of it had briefly refreshed her sagging spirits. What was a woman supposed to say when it was both a relief and a wrench to move herself out of the rooms she'd shared with a husband of less than three years?

"Mary, I am not here to blame you, I am here to help you. Please sit down."

"Mama, I can't."

Despite her words, Mary let her mother take her hands and lead her back to the delicately embroidered silk of the settee. Looking down at her mother's hands she swallowed. Idly she traced one of the thin white scars there with her thumb. Her mother covered Mary's hand with her other and Mary noted that it was only the left that was scarred.

"How do you feel, Mama? I know that this weather doesn't do your leg any favors."

"On the contrary, I'm not the most accurate weather predictor in Britain. What's not to love about that?"

"Mama…"

"It aches like a bad tooth."

Cora smiled at her daughter and Mary relaxed further even as her heart hurt to see the way her mother had chosen a particularly high-necked blouse to go beneath the blue lines of the gown she was wearing with it. Her mother's wardrobe was now chosen as much to hide the deep scar that crept over her collarbone and shoulder as it was to compliment her figure. Mary wanted to tell her mother that it didn't matter. That her beauty wasn't the least bit marred by her survival, but she didn't have the words. Mary wouldn't have wanted anyone to see her scars, either.

"But my wounds are all healed, darling, deep as they were. What I'm worried about now is you. Please let me help?"

Staring into her mother's face and the concern radiating from those blue eyes, Mary swallowed.

"Mama, I made the most dreadful mistake."

Cora's eyes widened and she reached out.

"Mary, I know your marriage is unhappy right now, but-."

"I'm not having an affair, Mama. I mean marrying Lawrence to begin with." Mary let out a weak laugh. "I thought it would be perfect, spending the rest of my life with someone I'm so very much like, but I was wrong. Neither of us can compromise for anything at all, and even when we do we hold it over the other's head and – and I've ruined everything."

"No, Mary, certainly not. Lawrence agreed to have me here, didn't he? He so much as told me that he wants to-."

"He wants children, Mama."

"And?"

"And I'm not pregnant!" Mary stood up again, pacing roughly. "It – it was alright at first. It wasn't my fault, then. Lawrence saw Sir Phillip Tapsell back when this dreadful war was starting and Sir Phillip told him that he couldn't expect to have children if he didn't take the time to father them."

"I do recall that, Mary. I had thought you'd settled that."

"We did and things were lovely." Mary sniffed angrily and turned to stare out the window at the perfectly decorated back garden of house. The generations of children playing before her eyes there, ghosts from the portrait gallery, mocked her. "For six months at least."

"And then?"

"And nothing had happened!"

Months and months, years, of pressure had finally built to a breaking point in the young woman. Mary reached up and covered her face.

"We made love often. He stopped scheduling it and we just – we did and it was usually enjoyable, almost never painful-."

"He hurt you? Mary-."

"No, you don't understand. He wasn't why…" Mary gritted her teeth and looked back at her mother's face, seeing only concern in her eyes.

"Mary?"

Clamping a hand over her mouth and clenching one fist, she slowly raised and then rested it against the intricate marble mantle around the fireplace. The fire crackled merrily below, burning wood away as the flames danced and laughed at her misery.

"Mary," Cora had risen and come over, her approach and her tone cautious. "Your husband said something about your Granny…"

What's the point of it anymore?

"La-awrence wanted me to visit Sir Phillip, but I said I couldn't stand to have a man I might have dinner with one day see me like that. When I invited Granny up and she came to London it was supposedly for emotional support because she'd had problems having children."

"I didn't know that?"

"It's not true. Her and Grandpapa decided on two and that was that." Mary couldn't keep the mockery out of her voice. "Isn't that funny? That she could just decide like that. She actually said it that way too. 'A daughter first, because I needed the company with your Grandpapa about, and then a son to secure the title'. Only Granny!"

"Considering your Granny insists that she thought your aunt was going to be a boy and your father a girl, I think you can take that proclamation of perfect planning with a grain of salt."

"What does it matter when she actually had children?" Mary swallowed and looked over at her mother. "Mama, I – I did lie to Granny. I never went to that kind of specialist."

"Mary-."

"It's not that I didn't try, Mama." Mary went on quickly, desperately needing her to understand. "I've tried so many things."

Going over she opened a delicately wrought Louis XIV ormolu cabinet, covered in gilt bronze motifs and marquetry. It looked like it was filled with folded linen. Kneeling, she reached up and unclipped the top of the curtain, folding it downward and revealing a great collection of bottles and tins.

"Mary, what in the world."

"I had Anna make it for me." Mary swallowed. "I can't keep anything locked. Lawrence figured out I was lying about where I was when Granny was here and – and accused me of having an affair."

"Oh, Mary."

"After that he had a locksmith in and made copies of everything." Mary reached up and rubbed a hand over her face. "The terrible thing is he's never that bad, but it's all the more awful for it! He won't scream at me or fight with me, but he won't let me leave, either. He wants to talk and make things better, and so do I, but he doesn't understand that I can't because I'm trying to give him what he wants but there-."

Mary found herself wrapped in her mother's arms and finally broke down into tears.

"Mama, nothing is working."

"Mary, who's given you all of this stuff?"

Cora reached out and picked up one of the bottles.

"Oh Anna and I – we find it." Mary sniffed and reached for the stack of medical journals and magazines kept in the cabinet as well, behind the clever curtain that mimicked folded sheets, curtains, and lace accents. "There are so many advertisements, or suggestions in the Lancet. Things a woman can try to – to get in the family way. I've tried it all, Mama."

"You have?"

"Special diets, only making love on certain days of the month, every day of the month, herbs, chemicals – I even broke down and sent Anna to that Chinese Apothecary that Mrs. Chen uses and Lawrence buys that noxious tea he takes for his migraines."

Cora looked both anguished and slightly fascinated.

"What did he send?"

"More noxious tea."

"Oh, darling…"

"I'm… I don't know what to do, Mama." Mary finally admitted. "It's just terrible and for the last six months Lawrence has been utterly convinced that I've been having an affair."

"Because your grandmother was lying for you."

"Did you know she had lovers, Mama?"

Her mother's sigh said everything she needed to know, but Mary leaned into the embrace when her mother petted at her hair.

"I know that not every marriage is as happy as your Papa and I, but I certainly wouldn't wish for a similar arrangement for any of my daughters."

"He thinks it started when – when we were arguing, and I kept going home last year." Mary bit her lip. "I wasn't, Mama, I swear. I just – I wanted it to work out like it had before. Where he came to me and we worked things out. Where he apologized to me."

"Sometimes you have to apologize too, darling."

"You don't think he owes me an apology? For treating me as if I'm inherently untrustworthy? For taking my keys and having me followed?"

"Mary, I think it may be time for a certain amount of honesty in order to reestablish trust. On both sides." Cora's words drew a shocked look from her daughter, but before Mary could respond, Cora had put a hand up and squeezed Mary's fingers with her other hand. "Mary, I am on your side. However, I think it's apparent that your marriage has reached a point where you both need help. Lawrence needs to learn how to show you the proper respect that a wife deserves. You need to be honest with your husband."

"How? Do you have any idea what he would do if he knew-."

"Hopefully he would understand. Mary, it was not your fault."

"I know that, but I deceived-."

"That's in the past. We must work on building your future." Cora looked at the clock. "Mary, let's take smaller steps."

"What?"

"Right now you're worried about generational problems. Something I quite understand as I was not so fortunate as to give your father a living son."

"Mama."

"No, I can talk about it, dear. It hurts, but life goes on. One can't live forever in the past, or in one's misery. It devours the mind, darling, and I won't sacrifice myself or a single one of my children to that kind of melancholy. Everything is fixable." Cora's smile was like the sun coming from behind clouds must feel to sailors weathering a hurricane. "I know because your Grandmama told me so."

"Well, God above help anyone who proclaims Grandmama less than all knowing."

"Precisely what your Grandpapa said in return. Now, let's ring Anna and she can get us both ready for dinner."

"You'll stay?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Cora, here, please sit down."

"Anthony, you're beginning to frighten me."

Anthony tried and failed to hold in a wince at his mother-in-law's words as he settled his neighbor's wife into a comfortable chair in the privacy of the study at Strallan House. By mutual agreement, after sharing the news with and comforting his wife, they'd decided he would take her mother aside and she would break the news to the rest of the women in the family. Archie, God bless him, was distracting Holderness. He'd be told, but he need not be informed with the ladies given the tense state of his marriage.

"I'm sorry that I have to." Anthony settled beside her, kneeling and taking her hand and, fumbling, said what Edith had once told him she wished the first words spoken to her when she was informed of his injury might have been. "First, before all else, Robert is alive."

"Oh, thank God. He's hurt then? How badly? Anthony!"

"He's lost a leg and may lose the other." Anthony stated, his throat thick. "However, he has no other significant wounds-."

"That isn't enough?!"

"It's more than, Cora, and I am so sorry, but I want you to know that you won't be – won't be contending with the fear of future complications." Anthony rushed onward, stumbling over his words and clutching her hands tightly as her nails dug into the skin of his palms and ground his knuckles with the severity of her own grip. "I was assured that the doctors have him – have him stable enough or transport. That he is awake and speaking and knows where he is and what is happening."

"Is that supposed to be better? That he should know he's-."

"That he's alive and he has a family here who shall love him and support him utterly."

Anthony's words finally seemed to have an effect but increasing the torture he'd just inflicted upon the poor woman. Cora released his hands and reached down, clenching her left so tightly in her skirt that she left crush marks deeply embedded in the maroon velvet. Her right came up to cover her mouth and nose as she breathed noisily against her palm. The tears he'd feared began to descend.

Quickly scrambling for his handkerchief, he passed it over, cursing the exacting fit of his mess dress as he wobbled in standing and then drawing another chair to sit beside her and taking up her hand again.

"Where is he?"

"Right now, he should be on a boat crossing the Channel. Tomorrow he shall arrive in Dover, and the day after will be transferred to the Queen Alexandra Military Hospital for Officers."

"I have to go to him. He shouldn't be alone when he returns."

"And he won't be, because you are here in London waiting for him."

"Anthony, do not-."

"I'm not telling you not to go to him because you shouldn't, Cora, I promise that." Anthony kept his voice quiet and let all of his honest compassion bleed through. "I'm telling you because there are so many thousands of injured men arriving now that finding him amidst the scrum would be nearly impossible even with all of our connections. When my commanding officers informed me of this so that I might tell you even he didn't know which ship he was on, and could only estimate Dover given the field hospital he was initially treated at. It's possible he might arrive at Portsmouth or elsewhere. If that happens, then he would arrive in London and you wouldn't be there."

Cora sucked in a great breath and sobbed. Anthony closed his eyes and looked away, granting her a moment of privacy to compose herself.

"E-Edith knows?"

"I told her just before you arrived. I only got in myself."

"Y-yes, Edith said you're often late for dinner."

Anthony nodded, acknowledging the comment and its normalcy for the anchor it no doubt was.

"Is she telling everyone else?"

"Save for Lord Holderness. My brother-in-law is handling that."

"Good. I don't know if he and Mary shall ever be at a place where they can comfort each other properly." Standing, he watched as the lady collected herself and neatly folded his handkerchief, passing the square of neat linen back. "Thank you, Anthony. It was very kind of you to try so hard to – to soften the blow. I doubt anything could, but – you're correct. We shall overcome this… and now my daughters shall need me."

"So they shall." Anthony offered her his arm. "My lady?"

If she continued to tremble as he led her back to the salon, Anthony said nothing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Oh, how dreadful. I'm so sorry. Is there anything I could possibly do?"

"I don't know, have you a way of turning back time with your good nature? Or possibly spontaneously regrowing a man's limbs?"

"Mary!"

Mary regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, flushing darkly. She expected some sharp retort from Edith. Her sister-in-name-only who had, after so long, not only learned to speak up for herself but… apparently… no longer felt the need to care that she had to in Mary's presence.

It both rankled and honestly frightened her that she'd been reduced to an annoyance in Edith's eyes. That's what she was, though, wasn't she? A petty annoyance. One to be put in their place at dinner or banished from her life if she offended.

"No, Edith, it's alright." Lavinia, who Mary had responded to so sharply, intervened. Her voice, just as it had been a moment before, all but dripped concern and caring. Despite it being quite a monumental task given the sheer girth she was contending with, Matthew's wife heaved herself up and moved to sit beside Mary on the settee. "Mary has every reason to be angry. Whether it's at me, the Germans, or the world. I yelled at Papa constantly after we lost Mama. If Mary wants to point out that I can't help, then that's her right. It doesn't change the fact that I wish I could."

"No," Mary bit out through a haze of fear and jealousy. "no, you're correct. You do want to help and you're being kind. Forgive me."

"Already done."

Mary marveled and wondered how anyone could be so gently good as Lavinia. It always left her in a strange place. As she looked at the mildly pretty blonde who would one day be Lady Grantham, she couldn't quite fathom the girl married to Matthew. This despite attending his small, unpretentious little wedding at Crawley House.

On one hand, Mary wanted to mock her. That almost homely prettiness with her dull strawberry blonde hair that was more sandy than red-gold, and those gray blue eyes and that upturned nose… she truly looked like one of those tacky little Irish Shepherdess statuettes that middle class ladies Granny's age all apparently had several of. She knew her social manners but was often laughing naive in applying them. In short, she behaved precisely the way that all the girls had who Mary had once made fun of at balls when she was newly out and looking to mock anyone else before someone brought up Edith.

At the same time? Lavinia was as stupidly happy as Edith. She loved Matthew and hesitated in stating it. They'd married after courting for a few months and she'd fallen pregnant almost as quickly as Edith had.

Is it because she's kind? Is it because she's good? What is it that they've done that God gives them children and I get none?

Moreover, Lavinia was kind. Mary only experienced kindness from Sybil or Anna or Mama now. Granny was helpful and Mary adored her, but she went to her grandmother for strength. Sybil… Mary couldn't bear the shadow of 'I told you so" in her little sister's eyes. Mama… oh the disappointment.

Lavinia, however, carried no such stigma. If Mary was having a horrible day she often found herself going to the modest brick home that Mr. Swire had purchased for his daughter and son-in-law as a wedding gift. There Lavinia would serve her biscuits she helped bake and tea out of a second-class tea set, and she would be kind. Mary could sit there in that little room that smelled of Matthew's favorite cigarettes and look at the pictures of him that adorned the little house, and even ask after her cousin's letters and Lavinia would talk only about things in her life or things that didn't remind Mary of her failures. Lavinia even thought they were friends.

"I'm just as afraid for Papa as you are." Edith whispered and Mary swallowed a retort and managed a proper response.

"Of course, you are. We all must… not fight, but come together to help him. Has anyone wired Granny, or telephoned?"

"I thought I would tell her in person." Edith explained. "I need to go back to Loxley anyway, and there are hospital preparations Mama was going to return to Downton for."

"Obviously she cannot now." Isobel, who'd remained mercifully silent, leant forward. "Allow me to help with the convalescent hospital, Edith."

"Oh, but you're so busy with-."

"Any help you give will be appreciated, Cousin," Edith's firm tone was kind even as she patted Lavinia's hand. "But we're not alone."

"Not in the slightest."

Mary blinked as Mrs. Chetwood reappeared and sat down, her straight backed posture and bright eyes seeming to fill the room even as she took Edith's hand supportively.

"You'll come with us?"

"Of course. Christopher would do well for a bit of time out of the city and with your two boys having Christopher's nurse around shall help you get more done as well."

"Thank you, I'll personally supplement her pay for anything we ask of her while organizing this."

"You'll do no such thing, until you go behind my back and do it anyway as Anthony always does, or so I assume."

Mary gritted her teeth, torn between the natural response to the woman's humor and irritation that somewhere, somehow, she'd… traded lives with Edith. How did she get her happily ever after and I did not?

"Which leaves Isobel with her normal duties, Diana to help me with Mama's, Mary to help Mama here, and Sybil to help everyone as she always does."

"And I-."

"Will be having a baby very shortly, my dear girl, so concentrate on that." Isobel finished for her and suddenly Mary found the air stifling.

My father is crippled and I'm surrounded by mothers and I'm not one and I've failed at the only thing I was ever trained to be and I have to tell Papa that it's all coming apart and he's so hurt and how can I…

Standing up and exiting the room, she stepped into the foyer and sucked in a great lungful of air. Just as she did so, she heard a familiar tread upon the marble tiles and jerked her head around to see her husband approaching. As usual, he watched her with a certain wary uncertainty. Unlike usual, Mary's pride was less potent than her desperation.

"La-lawrence?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"I – take me home, please."

To her surprise he reached out and, with gentle hands, drew her to him.

"Of course, pet. Home and straight to bed."

Feeling an overwhelming tide of relief swamping her, Lady Mary held her husband and cried, allowing him to comfort her for the first time in months.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N:

The War – The next chapter will feature how Robert got into this condition and will explore the full impact of his time in the trenches. Robert's glory days were the Boer War, which was very different from what he has found in France. We'll also hear from Matthew, Thomas, and a few others…

Anthony's service is different here. In truth, given his age and rank he wouldn't have been asked to serve to begin with. He would have volunteered, and as a widower been sent to the front lines if he had the skills, which he obviously did in canon, no matter how badly the war affected him. Here, newly married, with a young wife and baby, nobody was going to send him over when he's also just as valuable for intelligence analysis in London.

However, I still think an important part of his character development is exposing him to the realities of the war. His language skills are also valuable enough that it's reasonable he'd be sent over to serve closer to the action or to bring back intelligence. That's how he got injured here. He was sent over to a "relatively safe" position in the trenches, but not quite on the front lines, and was gathering intel from other more forward intelligence officers when he happened across a situation where punishingly bad orders had caused a disaster. Being Anthony he did his best to manage and mitigate this and accidentally ended up being heroic – largely by confusing the heck out of the Germans when one took a look at a filthy giant so covered in mud you couldn't tell what sort of uniform he was wearing, but who spoke flawless German… and mistook him for his Commanding Officer. Anthony took full advantage, turned part of the German lines around, and also ordered a group of British prisoners turned over to him and his equally filthy (and oddly silent) men for questioning… which turned into a mad scramble back to THEIR lines, a bullet to the shoulder, and a DSO. Anthony will forever maintain that they should have given the medal to the young German who mistook an English mud monster ™ for a German Colonel.

Mary/Lawrence – This is just frankly the tragic point in their marriage. Lawrence was more grown as he was in his later mid-twenties when he wed and Mary was anything but a child at twenty-one, but both were fairly sheltered in some ways. Lawrence genuinely believes that you can will a good marriage into happening through determination and constant manipulation and adjustment. He views everything in the lens of the efforts he puts into his political career and his fortune. He thought marrying someone like him was brilliant. Mary thought the same thing and NEITHER considered that a month's courtship is nothing at all and they neither knew nor truly understood one another.

Lawrence has tried to reach out to Mary but he gets frustrated when his compromises don't yield results. He sees relationships transactionally. Mary sees love as coddling and enabling because that's how her parents expressed their love to her growing up. Between Mary's testing and Lawrence's attempts to control everything things are bad. Add in the desperate need for an heir, Mary's trauma-related refusal to see a fertility specialist, and Lawrence's mistaken assumption that Mary's testing behavior (running off to Downton and lying with Violet's help) indicate an affair… and you have a disaster in progress.

Anthony/Edith – Still going strong! Really, I love writing these two in a happy, stable marriage. They can be the sane center in the drama.

Addie – is firmly Anti-War. Which has led to difficulties and awkwardness. As has losing her grandmother and becoming estranged from her Uncle Klaus. She's spent most of her life receiving weekly letters from them but, with Anthony's position and everything else, it's hardly shocking that all communication has ceased. They're coming out of a VERY difficult year.

Lavinia/Matthew – with Mary already wed Matthew saw no reason to wait. He married Lavinia in early 1916 and she's pregnant with their first child. Lavinia, being sweet, is befriending Mary as she tries to befriend everyone. This… may not turn out well.

Babies – EVERYWHERE. Yup, pretty much. -grins- William cheerfully decided to make his appearance slightly earlier here due to his mother and father marrying slightly earlier than in Cantata. Edith and Anthony's second son was born in February of 1916. Just like in canon, William is a beloved 'oops' as they didn't intend to get pregnant again so soon. Blame it on the low quality of condoms at the time. I have a feeling that Edith made a blushing visit to Charlotte (Perhaps with Anthony along this time!) to collect a diaphragm after she recovered from her second child's birth.