The inevitable happened quite unexpectedly the following May. The Crawleys were in town for the season opening, calling on and being called on as was custom. Edith couldn't stand any of it, but she managed her best behavior. Despite nearly a year passing, there was still the occasional whisper or titter about her botched wedding, but she was impervious to such minor things now. She followed, silently and dutifully, as her parents and Matthew and Mary smiled and graced and charmed. Everyone they visited was used to Edith fading into the wallpaper, as she had done since she was a child, so it was easy enough for her to get by.
One day, however, Matthew announced an invitation to visit an old college chum of his, a Mr. Lester. "It seems," he said over luncheon, "He has recently been married and they're living in on the East side of Eden Park. He's running his own firm now, doing estate law I believe. He's invited all of us to dinner tomorrow evening, if you're amenable."
Lord Grantham seemed less than thrilled but decided, "perhaps it couldn't hurt to speak with a man who knows estate business." And so the next night Edith found herself once again ushered into a motor with Matthew and Mary, following behind Mama and Papa in their own, being dragged to another 'pleasant' dinner with people she had no interest in.
"Do try to say at least one thing, Edith. You might find you like the Lesters. They're our age, not at all stuffy like Papa's friends," Mary said. She wasn't being critical, but rather almost encouraging. Ever since Edith's accusing speech that day at breakfast, Mary had been trying to make amends. She knew, deep down, that she really did share a large hand in Edith's misery, and that she'd spend her life trying to make up for it. It was easier being generous with Edith now that Mary had her own husband and her happiness was secured.
"I don't mind stuffy, really. I'm just no good at light conversation," Edith sighed, watching the street pass outside her window. Realizing how dejected she sounded, she turned to her sister and managed a small smile. "I'm sorry I'm so dull, really I am. I promise I'll make an effort." Inside, Edith was already exhausted by the whole thing, and longing for her bed and a heavy book.
She was already searching the library, mentally perusing the shelves for the thickest and most tedious novel she could find, when they were welcomed into the foyer of the Lester house by an unusually rotund butler. She was contemplating Dickens and Tolstoy and Melville as they were led into the study, and so was not listening as the introductions were made.
Mary's frantic but subtle grip on her wrist finally brought Edith to attention. Her head snapped up just as Mr. Lester was saying, "And this is Sir Anthony Strallan. In fact you may know each other. I believe you're from the same county."
Edith's gaze, as though all time slowed to practically nothing, traveled from her family's pale, stoic faces, to the Lesters' unknowing, jovial smiles, to the other guests who were paying no mind, and finally to poor Anthony. He was standing near the great mantle in the back of the room, next to Mrs. Lester, holding a glass of brandy. His face did nothing to hide the shock and remorse and embarrassment he felt. His mouth was slightly open and frowning, his eyes wide in horror.
Edith's heart seemed to have stopped beating altogether as the reality of the situation sank in, and her mind struggled to comprehend. But when her eyes finally, excruciatingly, met Anthony's, her heart nearly burst as it started madly all at once. She was afraid it might be audible to the entire party as it thrummed painfully against her ribs. The memory of that moment when he turned to her, there at the church, destroying at once the only true happiness she'd known, it all came flooding back now. Anthony's eyes bore the exact expression they had that day at the altar.
And in that instant, there in the salon at the Lesters' with her family standing in astonishment, Edith was more certain than ever that she loved him. Every bit of turmoil and anger simply fell away—anger towards Anthony and her family, towards herself, every ounce of self-loathing. None of it mattered.
It seemed as though the entire room took a collective breath, and Anthony finally offered half an embarrassed smile. "Are you acquainted?" Mrs. Lester asked. Edith was relieved, as with everyone in her party, to find that the exchange went relatively unnoticed by those who were not involved.
"Indeed," Sir Anthony finally spoke, though Edith recognized the panic in his pitch and volume. "We are, em, acquainted, yes."
"Sir Strallan is my newest client," Mr. Lester said by way of introduction. "His account was what allowed me to go into business for myself. We're very grateful to him."
"Is that so?" Lord Grantham finally said, gracefully trying to ease the tension and move the evening forward.
Mary, who was still holding onto Edith, was not so quick to put on airs. She did not mask her incredulity well. "We're all grateful to Sir Anthony for many fond memories, aren't we?"
Sir Anthony nodded quickly, apologetically, and turned to Mrs. Lester. "I'm so sorry, Margaret. I'm afraid I've spoiled your evening. Please, do forgive me, but I must run."
"Oh, no, Sir Anthony you mustn't," Mr. Lester tried, but Anthony was already half-way to the door.
"Afraid something's just occurred to me. Must dash. I'm terribly sorry," he muttered as he swept across the room. In order to leave he had to brush past the Crawleys, still standing in the entrance, Edith closest to the door.
He paused, so briefly it was nearly imperceptible, as he passed her. He avoided her eyes, but took a stuttering breath only Edith heard as he rushed out into the hall.
"What on earth came over the poor chap?" Lester mused. Lord and Lady Grantham stepped forward, initiating polite conversation in hopes of moving on and changing the subject, but Matthew and Mary watched Edith, waiting for her to crumble.
"Excuse me," Edith said, surprising herself with her placidity. She didn't offer any ill-conceived reasons for her departure, nor did she run from the room in hysterics. She simply broke Mary's grip, looked her pointedly in the eye to ensure she wouldn't be followed, turned on her heel, and left.
The moment she was free from view, however, she broke into a full run, passing through the great hall without caution and startling the waiting footmen. He barely had time to enquire after her coat before she'd opened the door for herself and burst out into the evening.
She'd hoped he would be waiting for his car to come around, but he must've known she would follow. Looking left, and then right, he was nowhere to be seen. A renewed loss overwhelmed her, the first tears she'd shed in months coming all too quickly. And then she saw him, across the street in the park, briefly illuminated by a street lamp as he rushed in the opposite direction.
She smiled, out of relief that she might still catch him, and out of affection for his above-average height. She might never have spotted a lesser man. She was about to take off after him when a hand seized her by the shoulder.
"Please, Edith, don't do this to yourself," Robert hissed. She turned to him, conveying in the briefest glance both pleading and withering astonishment. Then she shook free, almost violently, and took off running.
Of all the million things going through her mind as she followed after Anthony, the strangest was her delight that she'd recently given up on high-heeled footwear, failing to see the point of it anymore. Her satin slippers were not ideal, of course, but it could have been much worse. Vaguely aware that her father was keeping pace behind her, she widened her stride.
And as she caught up with Sir Anthony her world shrank to the paved walk of the deserted park, awash in light from the bright moon and the periodic lamps. He turned when he heard her footfall and waited, knowing full well she'd follow him across the whole of London until she spoke with him.
When she came to a stop several feet before him, she was breathless and adrenaline surged through her. "What, what" she tried, gasping for air.
"I am so deeply and irretrievably sorry," he said preemptively. "I have avoided every invitation I've received this season, but Lester would not accept my refusal, and I believed you had no connection. Had I any clue at all there was the slightest chance of this happening, I would never have come. I would never disrespect you or your family that way, I hope you understand that."
"Do you know," she said between deep breaths, "how tired I am of watching you walk away?" He did not respond, but did look incredibly sorry as he waited for her to catch her breath. He didn't dare speak another word.
Neither of them seemed to notice or care when Robert came to a stop in the near distance. He had no intention of leaving Edith to fight this out on her own, and he had half a mind to strike Anthony after it was all out anyway.
"Have you read my letters?" Edith asked.
Anthony shook his head shamefully. "No, I couldn't bear it. I have them all, three-hundred-and-thirty-seven, but they are unopened."
"Why?"
"Because if they were angry, nothing in them could be worse than what I felt about myself, and if they were kind it would be so incredibly undeserved. And because I am a coward." His good hand swung into the air in front of him in a clutching, desperate gesture as he growled through clenched teeth, "I am a coward!"
"No," Edith said softly. "You have been afraid, you are not a coward."
"Don't; please don't be generous with me. I haven't earned it." He voice changed from authoritative to pleading. "How will I ever explain?"
"You'll never have to," she said more boldly, risking another step closer to him.
"No, please Edith, you have to know that I, that everything I've done… I was wrong to behave the way I did, but it was for you. It was all for you."
"I know, Anthony. Of course I know that, and I'm not angry. Not at all."
"I have no right at all to ask your forgiveness, and I never would."
"I forgave you the moment you walked out of the church," she interrupted, her voice raised in passion. She even smiled at him.
"How?" He managed, though his voice cracked and his shoulders sank.
"Because," she said with a shrug. "Because I love you. I always have done and I always will do. Because you are the only person in the world I rely on. Because I know you to be the best and most noble man to walk the earth."
Earl Grantham took a step forward, ready to intervene, anger burning inside him. How could Edith be so shameless, so utterly lacking in dignity and self-respect? In that moment he never felt more separate from her, more foreign to everything about his middle daughter.
But Anthony beat him to the punch. "Edith, you are so wrong. I am an old and selfish man, and a fool."
"Being foolish and being a fool are not the same thing," she countered. "You have acted foolishly, no doubt, but you are no fool. And nothing you say or do will change my mind about you."
"I would never, could never deserve you."
"Could you at least try?" she begged, her voice small and honest. "I hate to beg, Anthony, but I'm not a proud person nor terribly resilient. Please, I ask that you consider having me because there is no one else and there never will be."
Earl Grantham was absolutely blown. After all the misery she'd suffered the past year, to watch her beg for this old man's attention, well it was almost sickening. "I don't believe this," he muttered. Anthony's expression of shock seemed to match his own as they both tried to argue with Edith. But she wasn't having it.
"No. I want you to hear this," she declared. Turning to her father she said pointedly, "Both of you." And both gentlemen waited while she took a reaffirming breath. "I want to be understood. I have paid my dues. I have bided my time. For the past year, I have kept busy and been social and acquiescent. I have been exposed to all manner of man, nearly anyone under the age of forty Mother and Granny could scrounge up. I have played fairly.
"And still I love Anthony with every part of myself. More than ever, really, because I have had every suitor in London to compare him to, and none know me or appreciate me so well as he. I have forgiven you, all of you.
"I'm not angry or bitter. But I am certain, absolutely certain that a life without Anthony is a half-life, one that will be manageable but unfulfilled. There will never be another for me so long as I live, and I hope this is clear now, after the past year. I hope you will all trust and accept this as fact and stop waiting for me to move on to something better, because I don't know how else to prove to you that there is nothing better for me."
She turned squarely to Anthony now, addressing him directly. "There is no one better than you, Anthony. No one. Not for me."
Her speech finally over, Edith was nearly spent. She finally allowed herself to shed some of the tears she'd been fighting in fear of losing her resolve. Anthony, likewise, did not mask the welling in his eyes as they stood, staring at each other in silence. What neither of them noticed, or cared to notice, was that the Earl, in a very rare moment of utter sensibility, was tearing up himself.
"And what," Anthony finally said after a long moment, "do you propose we do? I have destroyed everything. We can't go back, we can't undo the scandal, the mess I've made of things."
"Of course we can't. But time moves on, and so will we."
"But the gossip, the talk, everyone at the wedding," he stuttered.
"Blast them all," Edith said with a laugh, feeling brave for her cursing. "I don't give a rip what anyone thinks. We will be together, we'll face them all together, we'll forget all about our lost year, and in time so will everyone else."
"What can I ever do to deserve you?"
"For God's sake, stop asking yourself that question and simply trust that you do."
"And how can I ever make it up to you? What I did, well it's unforgiveable."
"Nothing you could do is unforgiveable, my dear, dear man. And if you want to make it up to me, you'll take me and kiss me now. Because the only thing in the world my happiness depends on is being with you."
And so, making the easiest decision of his life, Anthony Strallan strode forward, hooked Edith around her waist with his left arm, lifted her off her feet, and kissed her. It was an important kiss, monumentally so. It was deep, fervent, desperate, but most of all, it conveyed a year's worth of longing, of loss, and a lifetime of promise.
The Earl of Grantham watched as his middle daughter, his poor jilted Edith, laced her arms around the neck of the man she loved. He watched as their lips eventually parted and their foreheads met and they both laughed and cried and whispered fervent promises to one another.
"We've lost so much time," Anthony said regrettably.
"Anthony, darling, I was practically a child when we first met. I'm only twenty-seven. We have a lifetime ahead of us. And even if we didn't, one minute with you with the promise of more would almost be enough."
"I love you, my dearest darling. I love you very, very much. I'm sorry I didn't have more faith in you," he said. And he kissed her again, softly and gently, and again, and again.