A/N I'm sorry this is so long, but I didn't want to break this chapter up. No fluff, lots of angst – sorry! And just to clarify: this takes place after Edith brings Marigold to the Drews, but before she receives word of Michael's death. Thank you again for reading and reviewing!

Edith felt her world begin to crumble. How did he know? How could he possibly know? She realized instinctively that to try and deny it would be useless. Anthony would never have said anything if he thought it was just a rumor. Her mind was in a whirlpool, trying to grab onto anything that would help to steady and anchor her. Ironic, then, that the man responsible would be the one to throw her a lifeline.

Anthony was alarmed by how quickly Edith went from righteous indignation (thoroughly justified, he knew) to deathly quiet, all the color draining from her face. He needed to make this right, quickly. "Edith, Edith, please…no one told me. This is not some gossip that I'm using to…to…hurt or manipulate you. I just need to make you see what you would not have with me. I shouldn't have said it like that. It's just that I…I… Edith, it's going to be alright. Please believe me."

More out of shock than then anything else, Edith nodded, still unable to say anything. Her whole being had gone numb.

Anthony closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer to whatever deity was listening. Please, give me the words. Help me get this right. I don't want to hurt her again.

Deep breath. "Alistair Jervas saw you with Mr Gregson at the Criterion, over a year ago. He mentioned it to me in passing; I believe he thought that I would want to know. That you looked so happy, that you appeared to have moved on. And that Mr Gregson seemed to be as happy in your company as you were in his. Allistair didn't know Mr Gregson personally, but someone in his party recognized him.

I was glad to hear of it, although not without some pain, I admit. I had been reading your pieces in The Sketch, and it seemed you had found your voice, were building a life for yourself. Please understand I was not spying on you, not keeping tabs on your whereabouts or your company."

Edith nodded, letting him know she was listening.

"You know that, although I am no longer in the army, I am still…involved, shall we say, with some of the workings of Whitechapel. There are a number of us who were, and still are, very concerned with the situation in Germany. A report reached us of some trouble in Munich, and that an English journalist had gone missing. I didn't pay too close attention at first, but when I learned who it was, I began investigating on my own. I honestly don't know what I thought I would do with the information, but I felt I had to look into it further."

"Do you know where Michael is?"

"No, I don't. But when and if I do, I will let you know, I promise. If that is what you want."

Edith nodded again. "But that still doesn't explain how you know about Marigold."

"Yes. As I said, I wasn't spying on you, but several weeks later I heard that you went to Switzerland, rather suddenly, with your Aunt Rosamund, for an indefinite period of time. And that Rosamund had dismissed her lady's maid prior to the journey, but not before finding her another position in a wealthy household." This earned him a questioning look from Edith. "Have you ever known your aunt to travel without her maid?"

"But that doesn't mean anything…"

"Not to most people, I admit. But I've known Rosamund for fifty years, and women like her don't depart for the continent for an indefinite period without a maid to sort out the porter and baggage and laundry and everything else. It's a minor detail with significant implications to someone in my line of work."

Anthony felt her eyes upon him, knew she was hanging on his every word. "Something wasn't right, and I was concerned about you. I was afraid you were in some kind of trouble, that perhaps your health was frail and you were going to a sanatorium in the Alps – "

Edith cut him off. "Don't lie to me, Anthony, not now." It was Anthony's turn to look confused. "You know quite well that if we were going to some health spa in the mountains, that Rosamund would still have brought her maid if she had to drag her along. Or she would have engaged another one at once." He had the good grace to look slightly ashamed at his attempted deception. She really was brilliant.

"I…forgive me…this is not easy." At that, a dozen different retorts stood ready on Edith's tongue, each more cutting than the next, but she remained silent. He really was trying, and she knew the kind of man he was. She knew that, in this at least, he did not want to hurt or embarrass her any more than necessary.

"It's alright, Anthony. Go on. It's not as if I don't know how the story ends." Edith smiled ruefully. Anthony took that as encouragement.

"While I may not be a 'man of the world' in some respects, I am considerably older than you and not entirely naïve. The world is most definitely changing, but there are some things – especially among our set – that remain the same as ever. Women of your age and station do not take sudden, extended trips to remote parts of the continent with their widowed aunts, leaving behind a burgeoning career as a columnist, to 'improve their French'. And even if they did, it is usually to secure a husband, or at least a fiancé, and they return to England a bride. At the very least, the lady in question does not come back home looking more tired than when she left, if local gossip is to be credited.

"Your return to Switzerland a short time later, coupled with your interest in the newly adopted baby girl at the Drew farm…it wasn't difficult for me to put the pieces together. I've known for several months now." Anthony did not add that he found it incredulous that no one else seemed to have worked it out. Did they still think of Edith as the plain, boring middle sister, incapable of attracting a lover? What fools.

Edith's voice was barely audible, and she found she could not look at him. "I could not leave her there. Rosamund was beside herself; she said I was risking everything. But Marigold is my child, and I could not just walk away and leave her. I could not survive it. I couldn't." She looked up at Anthony with fear and anguish and pleading etched in every plane of her face. "Do you think…how many…has anyone else figured it out?" Please say no, even if it is a lie. Let me have a moment more of this fantasy I've constructed, at least until I figure out what to do.

He saw the battle wage inside her and regretted that he was the cause of it. He reached across and gently grasped her hand in his. "No, I do not think anyone in the village, or among our mutual acquaintances, knows the truth. I have been making very discrete inquiries, and have been listening very carefully since I first suspected anything. I believe your secret is safe." He didn't add the "for now", but they both knew it could not last indefinitely. "I understand why you're taking this risk and, for what it's worth, I believe you're doing the right thing. If not for your reputation, then for your soul." He raised his hand to her cheek and brushed away the tear that had escaped from her eye. "A child belongs with her mother."

This was why she had loved him, perhaps loved him still, if only just a little. Even after all this time, he knew her better than anyone else. Not even Michael understood Edith as well as Anthony did. If things had been different…Edith was suddenly reminded of what had begun the conversation.

"You said that if you hadn't left me, if we had married, that I wouldn't have Marigold," she abruptly said. Edith was glad to move on to a new subject, even if it was only a little less disheartening. She hesitated, searching for the least embarrassing way to continue. "Do you mean that your injury…from the war…that it wasn't just your shoulder?"

Anthony seemed relieved, also, that they seemed to have exhausted the previous subject, and he hoped he was able to ease her mind, if only a little. However, he couldn't say that he was happy to discuss the next one. But he wanted to put the whole matter behind him once and for all, to let Edith know the whole truth. He owed her that.

He let go of her hand (he wasn't aware that he was still holding it) and sat back in his seat, staring out of the window at the rain beating against the glass, gathering his courage and his words. It was best just to get to the point.

"No, Edith. The damage to my shoulder is confined to my shoulder. My inability to father children started decades before that." Despite not being able to look at her, Anthony felt Edith's scrutiny. He knew she was listening to his every word. "Maud and I were married for almost twenty-five years. Twenty-five years, and not so much as a hint of a baby." This was more difficult than he thought.

"When a couple remains childless, more often than not, it is thought that the wife is to blame, that she is the one who has the problem. Even today, but especially before the war. A man – a gentleman, no less – would rarely believe that he could be the one with the problem. I am ashamed to admit that I thought no differently, that I just assumed that Maud's failure to conceive was because of some defect she had. I very magnanimously told her that it didn't matter when, of course, it mattered very much, to both of us. We…"

Here Edith interrupted. A long-forgotten memory had pushed itself to the surface, some servants' gossip from years ago. What was it that Anthony had said? A minor detail with significant implications…

"No, that can't be right. I remember when I was about 12 or 13 years old, I overheard some of our servants talking. They said that Lady Strallan had lost a baby. How it was so cruel, after years of disappointment, to have that happen."

Anthony winced at the memory, startled by the pain it evoked, even after all these years. "Yes, you remember correctly. And yes, it was unfair. Maud did get pregnant, and she did lose the baby. But Edith, the child was not mine.

"Being childless…it takes a toll on a marriage, especially when there is a title to hand down, and no heirs to pass it on to. Maude and I became estranged, each of us pursuing different interests, maintaining a polite distance. I buried myself in the estate, in my library, with my contacts in Westminster. Maude found…another interest…"

Anthony paused, unsure if he could continue. Edith gently said the words he couldn't bring himself to say:

"She had an affair."

Anthony nodded, oddly grateful for Edith's interruption. It was so long ago. Why was he finding this so hard now?

"Anthony, you don't have to continue. I understand."

He managed a grim smile. "Thank you, sweet one, but I need to tell you." Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose, gathering his thoughts. "When I learned of the pregnancy, well, simple math told me that I couldn't be the father. I was angry and humiliated and wanted to divorce her. But before I had a chance to decide what to do, Maude had lost the baby.

"It's strange, though. Rather than tear us apart, the whole thing brought us closer together. Not immediately, of course. We had some terrible rows, and there were times when we were both ready to 'pack it in', as they say, but eventually, little by little, things got better. I just accepted that the baronetcy would end with me. Unfortunate, yes, but not the end of the world.

"And then, Maude died. I had lost my best friend." It was getting easier now. "And then, I found myself behind the wheel of a brand-new automobile with a very lovely, very young woman by my side."

Edith smiled. "You made me feel like I wasn't invisible. Like I wasn't second-best."

"You are second to no one, Edith. Don't ever forget that.

"And after the war, when we…when we took up where we left off, and I began to actually believe that we might have a future together, I also began to think about my first marriage, about Maude and everything else. After that night at Downton, after I had proposed to you in the dining room, I knew I had to find out if…if our marriage would be without children."

The train began to slow, signaling the approach to the Downton station. Anthony knew he needed to finish his story.

"Shortly after that night, I made an appointment with a doctor in London. The results were waiting for me when I got back from the picnic at Downton Place. It confirmed what I had long suspected: my second marriage would be as childless as my first.

"I should have told you. I should have gone to you immediately but…I thought…I hoped…" Anthony couldn't finish. He still didn't know exactly why he waited. Fear of rejection, perhaps? Trying to avoid a scene? It all boiled down to the same thing: his cowardice had resulted in his humiliating the woman he loved. She deserved so much better from him.

Edith had remained silent through all this, not wanting to interrupt him. She spoke up now. "You were afraid that if you married me, that I would eventually be unfaithful? Because of your infertility?" Put that way, it sounded so harsh.

He leaned forward. "Partly, yes. But I thought more about what would happen when I was gone, and you were left with nothing. Yes, you'd have the house and the estate, but there would be no children to comfort you. And in all likelihood I would die before you, Edith. Not immediately, but probably when you were too old to remarry and start a family with someone new. You would be alone, and I was afraid you would resent me for that, knowing it was my fault, my selfishness, that led to it. I wanted to give you so much, but am utterly incapable of giving you the most precious thing of all. What I did that morning in the church was unforgiveable, but I hope that now you at least understand why I did it." Anthony sat back in his seat, suddenly exhausted. It was done now, for better or for worse.

A hundred thoughts ran through Edith's mind, but she focused on only one: what would her life be like without her daughter? Even without being able to acknowledge her and be a real mother to her, Edith knew that her life without Marigold would be empty. She wanted to be a mother. Anthony was right. He did the wrong thing, but for the right reasons. And they both had to live with that.

As the train pulled into the station Anthony spied Stewart- his valet and butler and chauffeur- waiting on the platform. "May I offer you a ride home?" Formality began to take its place once again.

"No, thank you. Someone will have left the car for me to drive back." She hesitated. "I appreciate your telling me all this, Anthony. But I honestly am not certain what to make of it just now."

"I understand. But one more thing," he lightly grasped her arm, forcing her to look at him, not caring who might be watching on the platform. "If you should ever need me, for anything at all, I want you to know that you can come to me. I will never, ever turn my back on you." He let go of her sleeve.

"Never again. I promise."

There was nothing left to say.

Note: I was never happy with what I perceived to be the ginormous holes in Edith's story-line, so I'm using this fic to make everything work according to my satisfaction. I've taken a slightly different route with their story, and I hope you think it's feasible. Thank you again for all your lovely reviews and encouragement!