A few days later, Stewart and Anthony sat in the stalls of York's cinema. At Stewart's suggestion, they were watching a silent film called The Sheik starring someone named Rudolph Valentino. Half-way through the film Anthony turned to Stewart and whispered incredulously "Are you sure that women like this sort of thing?"

"Look around you, Sir" Stewart shrugged.

A brief glance confirmed what Anthony had suspected ever since they had arrived: they were the only two men in the audience. Anthony was far out of his depth, and felt as though he was sinking ever further. Around them ladies of all ages were glued to the screen, some sighing, a few weeping, all of them utterly spellbound by the Italian actor's smouldering, flashing eyes and ardent love-making.

"Hmm" said Anthony, disconcerted.

…

The next day Anthony's new book arrived. He withdrew to the Library, as usual, smiling nervously at his wife, who smiled sadly back as she climbed the stairs to her room.

At lunch, though, Anthony was a changed man. He asked courteously, but with real interest, what Edith had done that morning.

"Oh, nothing much." She looked down at her plate and her cheeks reddened a couple of shades.

"I'm sure that's not true, my dearest. You have so many interests, and you are an expert in the majority of them. It is always a pleasure to hear you talk of them."

Edith gave him a watery smile but at least it was an honest one. He felt the pride of achieving a bit of progress however minor.

"If you do not wish to discuss it, that it your prerogative, my love. But if you ever do want to tell me about your activities, please know that I would be very interested…and privileged. Indeed, at some time this week, could I ask you to look over the crop plans for next year? I would value your opinion."

She nodded, and went back to her food. He smiled to himself. In fact he couldn't stop smiling. Perhaps this new book really was right. He couldn't wait to get back to it after luncheon.

…

Edith had been staring over her desk, out the window, towards the fields around Locksley, for far too long distracted from her endeavours. The pieces of paper, covered in her small, neat handwriting were spread all over the desk, the chairs around her, and covered most of the floor of her day room, and she would have written a lot more by now if she had concentrated instead of pondering Anthony's words at lunch. They shouldn't have surprised her. He'd asked her advice before on occasion. He'd asked after her pastimes as well. But he'd never taken that extra step, the additional bit of effort to say that he really wanted to know. It was so lovely. But she would need a little time to get used to it, just as she had needed time to adjust to his sweet endearments, and his delicacy in lovemaking when they were first married. She had been so unused to anyone considering her feelings or desires.

The realisation hit her that perhaps she might have been complicit in letting the marriage falter. Anthony was a very gentle, loving man, she knew, but he was also plagued by a lack of confidence, unsure of himself. He may have taken her withdrawal in recent weeks as a rejection of him as a husband…as a man. I've been feeling sorry for myself and ignoring his needs. Well, not any more!

She gathered up the sheets of paper and began dressing for dinner.

…

Meanwhile, in Anthony's dressing room, Stewart was beginning to wonder who would snap first, him or Sir Anthony.

"Please, Sir, just relax your left arm, and then I'm sure I will be able to manoeuvre the right arm into the correct position."

"This is ridiculous, Stewart. She's just going to laugh at me. I'm laughing at me! If you weren't so good at your job, I expect you'd be laughing at me. What an idiot I was to imagine that this would work."

"You're getting uptight again, Sir. These sorts of clothes don't just sit upon the body: they adorn it. You have to feel comfortable in them for them to look right."

"Well that's just not going to happen, is it?"

Stewart's look of despondent failure forced Anthony to admit that he was letting his nerves get in the way.

"Look, Stewart, let's go back to white tie for dinner, and we'll try again before retiring, when I'm relaxed again. Would that suit you?"

"I'm sure you will find the clothes effective in pursuit of your aim, Sir, and the little extra exertion worthwhile."

"Thank you, Stewart. You're a good man."

"I do my best to give satisfaction, Sir Anthony."

…

Dinner was remarkably convivial. Anthony was attentive and appreciative of his wife. Edith gave him all the encouragement that her small experience allowed. She felt like she must be overstepping the mark and behaving in a less than ladylike manner, but Anthony gave her no indication that he thought that the case, and gradually moved up a gear himself. When the meal was finished he pulled her chair out for her, as he always did, but then caught her hand and kissed it, causing her to gasp. Coffee in the library spilled over into the promised discussion concerning next year's crop rotation.

It was Anthony who suggested going up to bed a little earlier than usual. Meaningful glances were exchanged when parting at the top of the stairs to go to their respective dressing rooms. Edith hurried, eager to see if Anthony meant to…if he meant to. She was sitting on the bed in a flurry of silly nerves and anticipation when the door was flung open.

There, on the threshold, stood Sir Anthony Strallan dressed as a highwayman: white silk shirt with a lace jabot, long embroidered waistcoat, velvet frock coat, tight black breeches, stockings, patent leather shoes with silver buckles, and a tricorn hat upon his head.

He looked really, really embarrassed.