Memories of her wedding night, exactly one year ago, flitted through Edith's mind as she took a cigarette from her silver-plated case and placed it between her lips. Michael leaned forward to light it for her.
"I won't be coming down to London next month."
"Oh?"
"Sybbie's turning three."
"There's the day before; or the day after."
Edith moved to the window and stared down at the autos rolling past.
"Sometimes even I miss the gentle clicking of a horse's hooves," she murmured, letting the curtain drop and turning to face Michael. "Maisie is getting married. She's the only nanny Sybbie's known. I'll have to remain at Downton until we can find a replacement."
"Tom will be pleased."
"This pettiness of yours regarding Tom is rather tiresome. Of all people, you know the truth."
"Not sharing your bed doesn't stop him from wanting you to not share mine. Or from voicing his low opinion of me."
She grimaced, hoping he'd let the subject drop. If he didn't, she would have to sharply dismiss it. She was far too tired for this ridiculous round and round argument that never got them anywhere.
"I'm going to wash," she announced.
"Phillipa Cavendish saw you," he spat out just as she'd pulled on a nightgown to cover her nudity. "Two days ago. You only called to say you were in London this morning."
She took another puff from her cigarette before carefully extinguishing it into an ashtray. One year ago she would have been so eager to tell Michael why she was in London early. Now, it seemed, all the characters in her life had their role to play, and Michael was to be the jealous lover.
"What a difference a year makes," she said. Then, she turned and headed for the hotel bathroom.