Chapter the Seventh: In Which Edith and Anthony Make A Decision

London, April 1918

"Lady Edith? Lady Edith, hello!"

The voice caught her entirely unawares; Edith scanned the park for a moment before she noticed the familiar uniform, tall stature and blonde hair of Major Strallan. The smile she felt breaking out over her face came as rather a surprise, after a morning spent in heated discussion with Michael's former solicitor. Not for the first time, Edith regretted keeping the man on to manage the investments Michael had left her in his will; Mr Dixon was a very sensible, careful man, but as a result, he was not inclined to acquiesce readily to the wishes of a mere female, no matter how well-educated or informed she might be. Certainly not on financial matters, at least.

"Major Strallan, hello!" She lifted her hand in friendly greeting, and he broke into a light jog to meet her. "How do you do?"

"Very well, thank you. And you?" Rather obviously, he added, "You're in London." His face flamed as soon as the words were out, and Edith ducked her head to avoid embarrassing him further with a grin.

"Yes," she agreed. "Some business concerning - concerning my late fiancé's finances." She couldn't help a touch of frustration bleeding into her voice as she mentioned it. The buying and selling of some minor shares ought not, she thought, to be such a struggle.

Major Strallan frowned. "Nothing to worry over, I hope?"

"No, just a few minor knots to be undone with my solicitor, but I preferred to do the untangling myself." She wouldn't burden him with her complaints. Instead, Edith turned the subject. "And it gives me the opportunity to dine with your parents tonight - again!" She laughed. "I'm afraid it must seem to you that I'm perpetually begging scraps from them."

There it is again, Anthony thought. He'd noticed it before, at Christmas, when they'd been in company together so often: that insistence Lady Edith had on - on making herself little and unremarkable. On encouraging others to believe that she was in the way all the time. Hastily, he assured her, "Not at all. I know how much they enjoy your company. Papa especially."

"Well, I hope I can cheer him up. He really does hate Town, doesn't he?"

"Despises it." We have something in common there, at least. "And Mama's only dragged him up here for the museums and galleries, really." On impulse, Anthony added, "As - as it happens, I'm dining there tonight myself. It will be lovely to - to hear all your news."

"And I yours." Lady Edith looked him in the eye at that, shy and sweet and sincere. "Now, whatever you may say, I feel as if I stole a rather shocking amount of hospitality from your parents over Christmas - you all must come to Grantham House next week. My mother's holding a dinner - she won't mind my inviting you." Her smile became wry. "She'll be glad, I think - I'm participating in few enough of her engagements while I'm here."

"And what about your father?" Awkwardly, Anthony adjusted his tie. "I can't imagine that… well, that I'm approved of."

"I can't honestly say that I've asked him," Lady Edith replied, firm and unconcerned. "Let's just say that… well, that it might be nice for me to have a No-Man's Land, too, occasionally - and you do owe me that particular favour." Lady Edith's grin was positively impish now. "Wouldn't it be a terrible stain on the honour of the British Army for you to renege on it now?"

"In that case, I can't possibly refuse, can I?"

"Major Strallan, my lady." Atwell, in his grave way, announced the son of the house to his mother at Strallan House's drawing room door. Anthony passed him a little awkwardly. Atwell hadn't come to them until Anthony himself had been a man grown, and as a result, Anthony hadn't ever felt comfortable in the man's presence. Jamieson, their butler from his childhood, had retired a few short years' before Anthony's divorce - thank God and all his saints for that! - once he'd started to forget where the spoons were kept, but as Diana had once pointed out, even if Atwell knew where all the silverware was, he gave one the constant impression of disapproving of one.

Thankfully, the lady of the house did not share her butler's feelings. As the door shut behind Anthony, she rose to her feet and came towards him with both hands outstretched. "Anthony, darling, what a nice surprise! Have you time for a spot of luncheon?"

"Hello, Mama." Obediently, Anthony bent and kissed his mother's cheek. "Only a flying visit, I'm afraid. But would I - would I be de trop if I came to dinner this evening?"

"Of course not. We'd be delighted." His mother smiled, a little conspiratorially. "Edith's coming too - she's in Town on business for a few days."

"Is she really? How nice."

Cora Crawley's continued good looks, her middle daughter mused, really did bode well for one's own future. The raven hair was hardly troubled by even the merest hint of silver, the creamy skin was unblemished by wrinkle or looseness, and her figure was one of which a woman even fifteen years her junior might be proud. Just at this moment, her mother was engrossed in writing a letter - perfect for Edith's purposes. "Mama?"

"Hmm, darling?" Lady Grantham did not look up from her pen and paper, but her voice was light and vaguely affectionate. It was a perfect illustration, in fact, of her general attitude towards her middle daughter.

"If I invited… some friends… to dinner next week, you wouldn't mind, would you?" Edith kept her fingers very firmly crossed in her pocket. Dinner at Strallan House last night had decided her: Sir Phillip and Lady Strallan really did deserve some return for their unending, generous hospitality, and as for the Major… well, three months of separation hadn't done a jot in terms of making him less easy or enjoyable to converse with. And why shouldn't she have friends to dinner? It wasn't illegal, after all.

"No, of course not, darling." Finally, Cora looked up from her letter. "It'll be nice to have you join us for a proper dinner." Cora gestured to her letter. "Just speak to Mrs Bute about it, will you, darling? She has all the place settings, anyway, and I really must finish this to your cousin Susan."

"Of course. Thank you, Mama."

"What do you mean, Anthony Strallan is coming for dinner?" Robert Crawley thundered in an undertone. The collected Crawley family waited in the drawing room of Grantham House for their remaining guests to arrive. Around them, those guests who had been officially invited by their hostess were already enjoying their pre-dinner sherries and looking forward to a good feed.

His wife gave an exasperated sigh. "Edith asked to invite some friends, and I'm afraid I didn't ask precisely whom - behaviour which was very naughty of her, and which we will discuss later," she added out of the corner of her mouth, shooting Edith a rather stern look as she did so.

"And it's not just him, Papa," Sybil intervened comfortingly, squeezing Edith's hand. "His parents, too - and they've been such darlings to Edith. It's only polite."

Lord Grantham gritted his teeth, loud enough for Lady Grantham to give him a rather alarmed look.

Sir Richard - close enough to the wedding that he practically counted as one of the family these days - leant into Mary's side and murmured, "Is Edith trying to catch the Major?"

A less ladylike woman than Mary Crawley might have choked on her sherry. Mary only lifted a disinterested eyebrow, and wondered, "What makes you think that?"

"Nothing." Richard shrugged. "Call it… journalist's intuition." That cynical, logical brain of his could well understand such a motivation, after all. Edith had always been out of step with everyone around her, with her degree and her writing and her unconventional friendships. And if she wanted marriage, then who better than a man who was equally out of step and unconventional? It might even be useful for a newspaperman to have a family connection in the military. Certainly, Richard wouldn't object to someone more amenable than Captain Crawley.

But then, Mary's family were different. Mary was different. She shrugged fluidly, pale shoulders glowing in the lamplight, and Richard resisted the very uncharacteristic urge to kiss one of them. "Well, I gave up trying to understand Edith before we were out of our cradles," Mary admitted. "Why are you so interested?"

"It's an odd choice, on her part. Divorced and wounded?" Richard allowed his thumb to hover against her cheek. "Your parents would say you've been much more sensible."

"I always am, darling." At least, I hope so…

It was, to say the least, an ominous beginning - soon to be succeeded by an even more ominous sequel. The drawing room door opened and "Sir Phillip and Lady Strallan, and Major Anthony Strallan," Carson announced.

An uncomfortable silence, broken only by the shocked whispers of a few old matrons, fell with the rough impact and velocity of a meteor from space. Edith pushed past her father to hurry to greet them. "Hello, Anne. Sir Phillip. Major. Do - do come and say hello to my parents."

As Edith brought her guests to the collected Crawley group, she noticed her mother nudge her father subtly in the ribs. Apparently, Mama felt that being known for inviting scandalous guests to one's parties was less of a social faux pas than appearing disunited as a family in front of said guests.

"Major Strallan." Lord Grantham nodded his head at Anthony and shook hands with enough politeness to pass muster. "And what are you doing, these days?"

"I work for the War Office, Lord Grantham, in a - ah - confidential capacity."

Edith's father raised an eyebrow. "Goodness. Quite a coup for you, there, I'd imagine." The slight was clear, and everyone knew it. Of course, when a man proved himself apparently 'unreliable' in his private life - whatever the provocation - few would consider him worth trusting in his public affairs.

Sir Phillip took a step forward. "Not at all. The War Office requires intelligent, responsible people - my son was an obvious choice."

"Yes, we're terribly proud," Anne agreed. Her smile could have cut throats.

"Of course." Edith's voice was quiet but steady as she added, "I'm sure the Major is quite the asset."

Another of those uncomfortable silences - Heavens, Edith thought, was the evening going to be full of them? - and then the door opened again. "Dinner is ready, my lady," announced Carson.

Cora's smile was nervous and relieved, all at once. "Thank goodness. Shall we all go through?"

Later, Anthony would look back over the evening, and curse his own naiveté in believing that things could only get better, after such an unpromising beginning.

"Really, I ought to be grateful to you and your wife, Strallan," Lord Grantham was opining to Anthony's papa over the cheese. "You've been rather useful in guiding Edith towards sensible behaviour. Of course, she's always been ridiculously wilful," Robert observed. "We can only thank Heaven that nothing truly awful has resulted from it."

"Papa - !" Sybil exclaimed.

"And now Captain Gregson is dead…" Lord Grantham continued, as if his youngest daughter hadn't spoken at all, "Well, it isn't likely that Edith will find another man so willing to accept her… well, her little oddities."

Anthony saw his father open his mouth to object, and then, next to him, Lady Edith's hand settled firmly on his sleeve and squeezed. Sir Phillip looked sideways at her, Lady Edith shook her head once, and he subsided with a grimace. Anthony looked opposite, to his mother, and saw from her expression that she had heard it all too. What was worse, much worse, was that it didn't seem to be all that surprising to her.

The grape in Anthony's mouth seemed to have turned to ash, and he swallowed it only with great difficulty. He had known - intellectually - that Edith didn't get along with her family. Plenty of people didn't; he knew that well enough from his own experience. Foolishly, he'd made the assumption that her relationship with her own parents was something like his and Papa's: disagreements, petty little irritations, an occasional inability to speak the truth of things to one another. But underneath all of his and Papa's troubles, Anthony had never doubted that his father cared for, loved, him. Sir Phillip had made that clear enough, over the years - in deed, if not always in word.

He had seen nothing tonight to reassure him that Edith's situation was in any way similar to that. Quite the contrary.

As they exited the dining room - the men bound for the billiards room, the women to the drawing room - Edith's tiny hand caught at Anthony's sleeve, and tugged him into the shadows of the staircase, unseen by the others. In the hall's faint candlelight, her eyes glittered with apologetic tears. "I'm so sorry for my father's behaviour," she whispered. "He's been utterly beastly this evening."

Anthony shook his head. "He was beastly - but more to you than to me, I think." His good hand hovered in the air between them, and then, firmly, purposefully, settled on her arm, on the gap between glove and sleeve. "Will you be all right?"

Edith nodded, quick and firm. She didn't ask him to remove his hand, didn't blush or flinch at the contact. "If I say I'm used to it, you must promise faithfully not to feel sorry for me." From any other woman, such a request would have sounded transparently false. Anthony realised, with a sickening thud in his stomach, that Edith was being genuine.

"I don't. I think you're well able to defend yourself." I just don't think you should have to. God willing, in future, you won't.

She beamed up at him, sudden as the sun coming out from behind a cloud. "Heavens, what a modern compliment! Th-thank you, Anthony."

"A pleasant evening, sir?" Stewart wondered as he helped Anthony to remove his cufflinks.

"Hmm? Oh, in some ways." Anthony shrugged off his braces and unbuttoned his shirt before continuing. "Nice to see Lady Edith again. But her family…"

"Ah." Stewart's mouth, as he hung up his master's dress jacket, had tightened noticeably, and when their eyes met in the dressing room looking-glass, Anthony could see the understanding in his valet's face. "Yes, sir."

"It's… no secret, then? The way she's treated by them?"

"Not a very well-kept one, at least, sir, no." Stewart flushed. "Mrs Cox is a very good woman, sir, but… she does like to gossip, and she likes Lady Edith, too, so… well, she isn't inclined to - to refrain from expressing her disapproval of people who appear to be unkind to those of whom she approves."

Anthony gave his valet a wry smile. "Yes, Stewart, I well remember. And… she believes the Granthams are unkind to Lady Edith?"

"Yes, sir. At Christmas, she did make… some mention of that fact." An understatement, perhaps. Stewart stepped into the connecting bathroom for a moment, and Anthony heard him laying a fresh, folded towel over the rail. "Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes, thank you, Stewart. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sir."

After Stewart had gone, Anthony paced. What he was planning was… well, impossible. Impetuous. Insane.

On the other hand, it didn't appear as if he really had any other choice…

Really, how on Earth was she going to get this body out of that well?

Edith set her pen down with a frustrated sigh, twisting her head to try to get the kinks out of her neck.

"Trouble?" Sybil wondered. Edith could tell from her muffled voice and distracted tone that her younger sister hadn't even bothered lifting her head from her book. Edith turned on her chair, leaning over the back and propping her head on her hands.

"Yes. Syb, if you had to get a body out of a well, how would you do it?"

Now Sybil did look up. Fighting a smile, she offered, "With a sturdy rope, and a peg on my nose?"

Into the ensuing fit of joint giggles, Mr Carson intervened with a small, polite cough.

"There's a telephone call for you, Lady Edith, from Strallan House," he announced at Edith's shoulder. Not for the first time, Edith was glad for the absence of the majority of her family: she could only imagine what either of her parents would have said to that, after the scene they'd had once everyone had gone home last night.

Sybil smiled at Edith. "And I wonder who that could be?"

Edith could feel herself blushing. "Th-thank you, Carson. I'll come straight away."

As Carson bowed and turned for the door, Edith stood and kissed Sybil on the top of the head. "Don't be a pill, Sybil, there's a dear."

In the hall, Edith picked up the telephone, and leant against the table. Perhaps it was Anne, telephoning to invite her to luncheon. Sir Phillip, giving his thoughts on her latest scribblings. "Hello, Edith Crawley speaking."

"Hello, Edith?"

"Oh, Anthony!" His Christian name slipped out in her surprise. That was all it was, she was sure. Still, Edith looked around her to double check that the hall was still empty. "H-hello."

"I shan't keep you long," he reassured her, in that warm voice of his. "I just wondered if you'd like to come for a walk with me today. I'd… like to talk."

Heavens. That sounds awfully serious. Aloud, she replied, "I'd love to." Clearly, her writing was going nowhere today. Perhaps a walk would blow away the cobwebs. "Give me half an hour and I'll be with you. Shall we… meet at Hyde Park? That's roughly halfway between us, isn't it?"

"Yes, jolly good idea. I'll… see you soon."

It was rather odd to see Major Strallan in civilian dress, but Edith thought that even the War Office must stop on Sundays. Today, he was in comfortable tweeds, a jumper of rich, deep plum and a knitted tie that he kept touching with anxious fingers. "I'm sorry to call you out so early," he apologised as they found seats side-by-side on a bench.

"Oh, don't worry. This is rather nice." Edith chewed her lip, wondering how much to confess, and then admitted, "I needed something to… clear the bad taste out of my mouth, after last night."

"You and me both."

"What must you think of us?" Edith tutted. "That we can't even avoid airing our dirty laundry in front of company…! Hardly the done thing, is it?"

"I don't care about any of that." His hand found hers across the stretch of the bench, and settled over it. Just as his touch had done last night, it… settled her, somehow. "As long as you're all right."

"Perfectly all right. As I said last night, I'm used to it." She paused. "Anthony… you're looking… odd. Is everything quite all right?"

"Yes. Perfectly." And then, turning to face her properly, he took a deep breath and launched on: "Look here, are you… still of the mind that… that some sort of - of closer connection between us could be a - well, a not entirely unwise idea? Of course, you might have utterly changed your mind and I'd completely understand - "

"Marriage," Edith interrupted quietly. "You're talking about marriage."

He swallowed. "Yes."

There was a long, pregnant pause. "I see," Edith murmured. "In - in that case, no, Major, I haven't changed my mind at all. In fact, I've only grown more certain. I think it could be a very good idea indeed."

Anthony exhaled. "My dear… with my age and the arm… I wish I knew why you were even entertaining this. I don't have a choice about marriage, but you do."

"Yes, I do," Edith agreed. "And I've made it. Might I be very mercenary for a moment, Anthony?"

Silently he nodded, and Edith pressed on bravely.

"The way I see it, it… would be very advantageous for me. This war has already killed off most of the eligible young men, and it's not over yet. I was never going to be many men's first choice in any case, and now…" She shrugged. "My chances of matrimony are vanishingly slim. And I'd like to be married, as old-fashioned as that sounds. To be independent, to have children and a family. I like Locksley, I like your parents - " She nudged him gently, smiling half-cheekily up at him, before adding, "I like you, hang it all. So… you see, I think we could suit each other very well."

"And… you wouldn't rather wait, and marry someone you're in love with?"

She looked out over the blooming flowerbeds in front of them somewhat critically. "Your papa told me that you married your first wife for love."

Anthony exhaled. Papa had clearly been very talkative. "I did, yes."

"But it didn't stop you from divorcing."

"No, it certainly didn't." His voice was suddenly hard. "Apparently, 'love' is no inoculation against adultery."

Edith bit her lip, her expression filled with distress that, it took Anthony a moment to realise, was all for him. "I'm sorry - do you mind my mentioning it?"

"No, of course not." Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose, head tilted back as he framed his next words. "I think that if we were to marry, Edith, then we would have to agree on absolute honesty and openness, from the beginning."

"I quite agree." If that were the case, she'd have quite a few things to confess, herself. Plenty of time for that in a moment, though. "There, then. I - I know that your parents had a love match, but mine… My parents married because my mother's fortune would save Downton. But that doesn't mean that they haven't been terribly happy together." She folded her coat around herself against a sudden, cold April breeze. "All this to say… I'm not sure whether a husband and wife need to be in love, for their marriage to be a successful one." Edith looked at him directly for perhaps the first time all morning, her chocolate brown eyes clear and honest. "I'm much more practical than that. I'd like to be good friends and partners with my husband, I'd like respect and honesty… but I don't believe I need romance or - or silliness." She'd tried that once before, after all, and only look where it had got her!

"I see."

Her face grew uncertain and her gaze flickered away from his. "You probably think that's rather… unattractively cold-hearted," she murmured, flushing.

"No, not at all," Anthony hastened to reassure her. "Your way of doing things sounds… rather peaceful, in fact."

"I think that's all I want, after the… chaos of the last few years. Only peace, Anthony." He was surprised to realise that she sounded thoroughly exhausted. Even more of a surprise was realising that he wanted to offer her a place to rest.

"You aren't the only one," he admitted.

"Yes, but… for me, it's more than that." He saw the fine, swan-like column of her throat bob as she swallowed. "Anthony, I'd like to be honest with you, more than anything, but - but some of things that I have to tell you w-won't be very pleasant. And, if at all possible, if you don't like what you hear - if this changes your opinion on marriage with me - I'd appreciate it… if you could keep it to yourself. Please?"

Anthony's hand squeezed on her fingers, reassuringly. "Of course." His smile was comforting, encouraging. "I am rather good at keeping secrets, you understand."

"Y-yes. I ought to have known." Edith cleared her throat. "When everyone speaks about Michael, you know, they assume that - that we were soulmates. You know that wasn't the case."

"It's not uncommon."

"No. Not uncommon at all…"

It was exciting at first, you know. After the life I'd led at Downton - so restrictive, so… prim-and-proper - it was… liberating. I could make my own rules, my own life, and Michael was part of that.

He was a little older. Very handsome and charming. He… seemed to listen to me, take me seriously, care about my opinions.

Falling in love with him, being with him, was like… falling out of the sky. Exhilarating, until you remember the ground. And I didn't, until there was a baby to consider as well. Michael had to be convinced that a proposal would be a sensible idea. I ought to have known then, but… even then, I was still so in love with him that it didn't matter.

Of course, it did matter to him when I miscarried. No lasting damage to me, but… it let Michael off the hook, and he broke off the engagement. I - I didn't tell anyone - not even your parents, can you imagine your father's face? - but in the event, a German shell saved me the trouble. But he'd left me everything - the house, his money, a share in his magazine. I don't know if that was on purpose, or - or just because he'd forgotten to change his will back. He was… oddly neglectful, like that. Disorganised.

So you know everything, Anthony. The honesty you wanted. Whatever will you do now?

She had stopped speaking, and still Anthony's hand stayed on hers. He hadn't moved a muscle, hadn't interrupted, hadn't even made a noise while she had emptied her heart out to him. It had almost been as if he had been frozen in ice.

Now, the ice cracked. He shifted, cleared his throat - and then lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingertips. "You're all right?" he murmured. "After the little one?"

Edith slid closer along the bench, letting her other hand settle on his sleeve. "Y-yes. All - all healed. And - my doctor doesn't think that it would be any barrier to - to further… well, you know. If - if you were curious."

Anthony winced. "I wouldn't ask for - for selfish reasons." Only for you, dear girl. "But I'm sure your doctor is correct." At Edith's questioning look, he explained, "Maude… lost a child, once, near the start of our marriage. She has two, now, with - with her husband. A boy and a girl. All present and correct, I'm told."

"Ah." Edith nodded. "There, then. In any case… I want to make it clear that I'm not at all opposed to marriage with you. Quite the opposite." But you might be, Anthony, now that you know everything there is to know.

"I see." You ought to tell her. Rather irritating, for Papa to be the voice of his conscience inside his head, as well as outside, wasn't it? About Neuve Chapelle, about your wound, about the shell-shock, about everything. You did promise absolute honesty.

It isn't a problem anymore, Anthony thought crossly. Hunter doesn't think I'm likely to relapse. Why worry her about all that horror, when it's past and done?

Why worry her, when she's probably the only woman in England mad enough to even consider marrying me?

"I - I think we could be rather good for each other. We certainly get on well, from what I've seen so far. Similar interests and values." Edith was babbling, and looking at him with growing anxiety. Anthony forced himself to pay attention. "Wh-what do you think?"

Anthony smiled at that. It was so rarely something asked of him, outside of the confines of the War Office. "Well, I agree with you."

"Good." The relief on her face was pitiful. "I w-was hoping you were going to say that."

"Well, then, what would you want out of the arrangement?" He'd made the mistake of not discussing such matters the first time around - of trusting to the future and fate, and being able to muddle along, and just look where it had got him!

Luckily, Edith didn't seem to think it odd or clinical, at all. Instead, she looked boldly at him. "Children."

"So would I." His smile was a little sheepish. "We've already discussed the, ah, heir issue."

"Of course. But I - I mean… beyond just that. Beyond j-just a son." It flashed before her eyes for a moment, an image of the library at Locksley, Anthony disappearing under the giggling embraces of a whole host of golden-haired little ones, little ones who eventually would look up and beam and call, 'Mama!' and run to hug her too, and make her feel a little less cold and alone inside.

The making of them might do that too, darling, Georgie's voice giggled in her head and Edith had to look away briefly to keep from blushing.

"Yes," Anthony agreed fairly. "I imagine growing up an only child would be rather lonely, for the poor little chap."

"Quite. Aside from that… I want a partnership with you. A life where I feel I'm doing some good for someone. Freedom to pursue my own interests where I'd like." Surely there was nothing objectionable there, was there? Anthony was a fair man, and if she played her part when he needed her - here in London and eventually at Locksley - surely he wouldn't mind, if she kept on fiddling with her writing, too? He wasn't Papa, after all - far from it.

"I think I can offer you those things, yes."

"I'm sure you could." An odd bubble of lightness was brewing up inside her - half-relief, half something else, shadowed and indefinable. "What would you want?"

"Me?" For some reason, Anthony looked surprised at the question, as if someone hadn't asked it of him in a long, long time.

Edith stared back at him. "Yes," she managed, eventually. "Only fair to ask, I think. So that we both k-know what we've signed up for?"

"Yes. Yes, of course. I - " Anthony didn't seem able to look her in the eye. "Other than the children, I don't want anything except not to divorce again. Hypocritical, I know, to place that burden on you, but - "

"No," Edith interrupted, clearly and firmly. "Not hypocritical at all. I quite understand." And then, her voice softening in a way that Anthony was quite unused to, she added, "It must have been dreadful for you."

"Yes," he murmured. "Yes, it was, rather. So I want you to know that I would do anything in my power to ensure the success of a second marriage."

"I'm quite sure that you would, Anthony."

"Well, in that case… Goodness, I don't know how to go about this…"

"It's all right." She gave him that odd, quirky little sideways smile that was starting to lighten his heart every time he saw it. "You don't have to kneel down or anything. We both know what you're going to ask, and how I'm going to answer."

"Still… I think the moment deserves some of the formalities." He stood and knelt at her feet, taking one of her hands in his uninjured one. A couple of passing VADs, out on a break, caught sight of him and Edith saw them share a smile and the sort of romantic, silly sighs common in young girls who hadn't lived long enough to understand the realities of the world. God prevent it for as long as possible, she prayed, and looked down into Anthony's sensible, sincere face instead. "Edith, will you marry me?"

"Yes, Anthony. Of course."

"Thank you." He sounded as if she'd just passed him the potatoes at luncheon. Still kneeling, his hand tightened on hers. "Heavens, I haven't even a ring. But," and here his voice became harder, almost, and more insistent, "I - I meant what I said, Edith. I'll make this a success. You won't - you won't regret it."

"Nor will you. Let that be the first promise I make to you, hmm?"

They walked back to Strallan House together. Goodness only knew it would be easier to break the news to his parents, rather than hers. Anthony briefly considered taking her hand, as he had done in the park, just to keep them together through the bustle in the streets - and then Edith reached out herself and slipped her fingers into the crook of his elbow, tucking herself into his side.

Anthony looked down at her in surprise, and Edith paused, a look of unease crossing her face. "I'm sorry. Is - is that all right?"

"Perfectly. Fiancée's privilege."