"Something interesting in the morning post, my love?" Anthony asked, sucking some jam from the end of his thumb. Edith tossed the letter in her hand onto the table and slouched back in her chair with an indignant huff.

"Aunt Rosamund has invited Michael Gregson to the New Year's shoot," she complained.

"Gregson. Your editor?"

"My former editor," she corrected.

"I should think you'd like to see some of your old London friends."

"My 'London friends' were Anna and Mrs. Bass. Michael Gregson is no friend."

Anthony looked perplexed. "I was under the impression you were quite fond of him."

"I wish Aunt Rosamund would have the courtesy to ask before handing out invitations to my associations," she carped.

Anthony, recognizing the evasion and the edge in her voice, set his piece of toast down, crossed his legs, and leant back in his chair. He watched Edith and waited tolerantly for her inevitable explanation.

Edith rolled her eyes and finally met Anthony's gaze with a piqued but yielding expression. "Very well. It really is terribly insignificant."

"Clearly," he replied, his patient humor relaxing her.

"Michael Gregson was my editor, and frankly the most tedious flirt that I've ever met. He did take my writing seriously, and he was good at his job I grant you, but the man failed at nearly everything else. Several times he tried to kiss me right there in his office, and I was admittedly flattered, but I never could bring myself to let him. It seems I couldn't quite bring myself to give up on you."

Edith reached under the corner of the table to squeeze the hand that rested on his knee and smiled sweetly at him.

"I'm glad," Anthony said with a thin smile, but Edith could see in his eyes it was not entirely true. The old insecurities, the question of this other life he'd always envisioned for her, seemed to be creeping back into their world momentarily.

Edith wouldn't have it. "I should also mention," she said gently, moving from her seat into his lap with a demure grace, "that he is also less than attractive, roughly your age, incredibly arrogant, and decidedly married."

Anthony patted her knee and released a nervous laugh. "I'm sorry I'm such a mope. I just loathe the idea of somehow keeping you behind, you see?"

Edith kissed him chastely. "You've kept me from nothing."

"I suppose it's too late for you now, regardless," he muttered with a sad grin, moving his hand to her tummy.

Edith laughed, looking down at the strange wonder of her growing middle. But she could feel him thinking, feel her husband turning over those endless battles he had with himself, even now, torn between selflessness and happiness.

"Come," Edith demanded brightly, hopping up and pulling him after her. "Come with me, we've got to look at something."

Anthony followed dutifully, trusting his wife's determination far more than his own thoughts at the moment.

In their room she pulled a small oak box from her vanity as he slumped into a chair near the window. The box had a delicate leaf pattern etched around the sides and two birds painted on the top. Anthony had not seen it before.

Edith took Anthony's lap again and presented the box to him. Inside were the letters she had kept the last day of their honeymoon. "Read," she commanded, slipping one from its envelope and handing it to him. "Out loud, if you please."

She laid back, fitting easily in the crook of his arm while he held the letter in front of them both. Anthony allowed his head to rest against hers as he began to speak her words.

My Anthony,

September has arrived and brings with it cold and dubious weather. I don't mind, of course, because I rarely leave the house except when work demands it. Anna is gone for the afternoon to see her Mr. Bates and Mrs. Bass has taken three days to visit her son in Cornwall. He runs a hotel and pub there, and she's awfully proud of him.

I suppose most exciting of all is that I received a letter today from dear Sybil. She had the baby; a girl, called Madeline Frances (she is an Irishman's child, after all).

I wonder what this child will become, what she will endeavor to accomplish and who, god help her, she will fall in love with. Somewhere on this earth a boy is going about his day, utterly unaware that his great love has just entered it. Rather odd to think of, because from this moment forward their lives will propel them toward one another until that fated day, ten or twenty years from now, when they will first meet. And they will speak to us, the weary and the aged, of love's power as though they were the first to discover it.

I suppose it sounds frightfully silly to you, practical and pragmatic love that you are, but I know it is possible. I know it because I have felt that draw, that inherent need. I've never been so certain of a thing in all my life as this: I was put on this earth to love you. It's strange. I think some people, like Mary perhaps, can love with only part of themselves, can keep some of themselves hidden from it. I am not so lucky. I love you with everything I am, trite as it may sound. (If the women who read my column were to find this letter I would be publicly flogged.)

I know that you believe I should live another life, one that you feel is somehow superior or more appropriate. But this is the life I was given, Anthony. And it is yours forever whether you accept it or not.

I will stop now I think, before the emptiness of this damnable house and the aching in my heart become too much.

I hope, as ever, that you will come to your senses, that you are taking care of yourself, that you are being gentle with yourself, and that we will meet again soon. I hope, because it is all I can do, because no matter what the future holds, I am yours and no one else's.

I love you.
Edith.

Finished, Anthony let his arm rest on Edith's thigh and they both sat in silence for a moment. "Thank you," he finally said, "Thank you again, for reminding me. I am sorry I'm such a cad."

"Quite the opposite," she whispered, plucking the note from his hand and slipping carefully back into its little box. She snapped the brass clasp and exhaled a sigh of relief.

"I love you."

"And?" she demanded.

"And I know you love me. And we are ridiculously happy."

"Remarkably happy."

"Resplendently."

"Radiantly."

"Ravishingly."

"Romantically."

"That one doesn't count, it's not in the same category," he teased. And Edith knew her dear, boyishly carefree Anthony had returned to her.

"Is that so, Sir Strallan?" she asked coyly, twisting on his lap so she might face him properly. When he looked down at her, those eyes like deep glass, she caught his face in her hands and pulled his lips to hers.

"Who was the tenacious flirt?" He had a glint in his eye that sent a delicious shock through Edith, no matter how many times she'd seen it before.

"I didn't say tenacious, I said tedious," she corrected, slightly breathless and flushed. Though she sometimes appeared to be the dominant half of their marriage, Anthony exposed a weakness in Edith that only he was privy to. He had an affect on her that never failed, and never dulled. And he knew it.

Anthony kissed his wife again. Gentle, patient, all of those things that were so characteristically him. His thin lips, which were so often pulled into the uneven smile Edith adored, were soft and warm. While she had little to compare, Edith was fairly certain her Anthony was an impeccable kisser. His mouth opened to steal the most innocent taste of her bottom lip. His control, she thought as her body was set to flame, was maddening.

She tried to be as calm and moderate as her husband, tried to slow her pulse and the thrumming in her chest. Anthony seemed onto her game, and began to trace his nose along the arch of her neck, and the bowing curve of her collarbone. His arm, wrapped as it was around her back, served to pull her toward him in a move that was just forceful enough to kindle the growing want in her. Pressed closer together, Anthony allowed their kisses to deepen, but only just so. Edith writhed against him, hands in his hair, but he pulled back slightly.

"You're taunting me," she muttered.

"Am I?" He cocked his head slightly, trying not to smile.

"Oh, you are so clever," she gibed, "But you won't win."

"I think I win at this game regardless," he mused, frowning as though they were arguing philosophy.

Edith, unwilling at the moment to do battle with him verbally, leaned and kissed his cheek, and his jaw, and pulled his earlobe between her lips. And when she finally felt his hand traveling her side greedily, she kissed him again, slipping her tongue primly along his lip. When she felt his reaction against her leg she leaned back with a smug expression, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes, alright," he growled irritably, though he was fighting that grin of his. "You win."

"I think we both win at this game," she repeated.

"Well go on, then," he snapped in joking haste.

Edith stood, feeling the ache of separation only for a moment before she had her hands under his shirt and in his chest hair. They fumbled with their clothes, both huffing and laughing and muttering frustrations.

"Ridiculous," she griped between hungry kisses, "It's nine in the morning. I only put these things on an hour ago and now I'll have to change." Anthony smiled his agreement, distracted with the loop buttons on her blouse. Unable to wait much longer she whined, "Oh, rip the damn thing!"

And so he did. Her underthings, far more delicate and made of lace, she removed herself. She was ready to throw him to the bed when she caught his expression. It was not entirely readable, and she paused.

"What?" she asked nervously. Everything about her was more round, she knew. Her breasts were a bit larger, though she hadn't been buxom to begin with. Her hips were fuller, her curves exaggerated by the little protrusion that she was suddenly very conscious of. "Anthony, I'm going to put all my things back on if you don't say something."

"You are," he said, eyes shamelessly wandering over her, "without a doubt, the most beautiful being I've laid eyes on."

Edith, never one to take a compliment well despite the many her gave her, blushed. "Seen a lot of naked pregnant women?" she deflected.

Anthony stepped toward her, proud and possessive. His hand slid over her stomach, along her side, and came to rest above her backside. He peered down at her for a long while before asking, "Are you going to be flip or are you going to get into that bed?"

His voice, somewhere between playful and wanton, the feel of his arm around her and the strength of his chest beneath her hands, left little room for choice. Edith clasped her arms around his neck and sighed dramatically. "Oh, very well."

Anyone wandering the second floor hall at eleven that morning would have heard nothing but the happy laughter and sweet murmurs of two expectant parents. That the sweet couple was naked and quite in disarray was not so obvious. Inside their pleasant room, now filled with gold late-morning sun, Edith and Anthony were lounging together on the floor in a tangle of sheets, leaning against the foot of their bed, legs overlapping as they stretched in front of them. They were both giddy, giggling like school children, as they talked.

"I don't know, I just do," Edith shrugged. "I know she's a girl. I can't explain it."

"Well I'll bet on the losing horse for the sake of sport and say it's a boy," Anthony declared, his hand resting on her stomach.

"I suppose one of us has to be right, then," she sighed. "Or something has gone terribly wrong." They had another fit of laughter.

"And what shall we bet? If it's a boy, and I'm right, what is my prize?"

"You can pick the name."

"And if it's a girl?"

"I choose."

"That's not fair. I'm betting on the losing horse, remember? Odds are in your favor."

"It's a risk you'll have to take."

"If you're going to be like that, I think I may leave you alone with Michael Gregson tomorrow and see how you fare."

"Do it and I'll tell Rosamund you're just itching to hear all the gossip from her trip to Scotland."

"I'm not a young man, Edith, I don't think I have that kind of time."

Edith stretched and wrapped her arms around her husband as they burst into another fit of laughter. "Oh, don't leave me for a moment. As terrible as we both are at parties, we must stick together," she managed.

"I'll never leave you for as long as I live, my darling. Your life is mine, remember? And mine is yours," Anthony muttered fervently into her ear, until the closeness of their bodies silenced them once more.

A/N: Hallo dear readers. I hope you enjoyed this little chapter half as much as I've enjoyed your reviews! You're very kind and I couldn't be more grateful. (Am I the only one holding out hope Anthony will show up in the Christmas Special and save Edith from this Gregson character?) Happy reading, and thanks always for staying with me on this little jaunt!