Edith almost immediately dismissed her maid when she reached her room, then she drew aside the curtains and threw open the windows. The garden and the river beyond were flooded with moonlight. The lawn was deserted now, and Edith looked down upon the terrace where she had stood a few moments ago trying vainly to win back a man's love.

But she meant to win his heart again and then she would never let him go. She was utterly certain that there was no longer any happiness possible for her without that one man's love.

The most contradictory thoughts and emotions rushed madly through her mind. Absorbed in them, sat looking out over the gardens, and tired out from a long, exhausting night, she closed her eyes and sank into a troubled sleep. She was abruptly roused by the noise of footsteps and hushed, subdued voices outside her door. She looked up at the clock; it was half-past five: too early for any of the upstairs household to be already up and about.

She went to the door and opened it. There was no one there and no sound, but at her feet was a letter addressed to her in her husband's neat, business-like hand. What could he have to say to her in the middle of the night which could not be put off until the morning?

She tore open the envelope and read:

"A most unforeseen circumstance forces me to leave for the North immediately, so I beg your ladyship's pardon if I do not avail myself of the honour of bidding you goodbye. My business may keep me employed for about a week. I remain your ladyship's most humble and most obedient servant,

ANTHONY STRALLAN"

No! He had said that he would help, that he would speak to Matthew and Andrew! Sir Anthony owned considerable property in the North, certainly, more than just the estate around Loxley, and he had often gone there alone and stayed away a week at a time; but it seemed so very strange that circumstances should have arisen between returning from the Prince's ball and early this morning that compelled him to start in this extreme hurry.

She tried to shake off a feeling of dread, but she was trembling from head to foot. She had to see her husband again, at once, if he had not already started.

Forgetting the fact that she was now only very lightly clad in a morning wrap, and that her hair lay loosely about her shoulders, she flew down the stairs, right through the hall towards the front door.

It was barred and bolted as usual, but she heard the sound of voices and the pawing of a horse's hoof against the flagstones.

With trembling fingers Edith undid the bolts with difficulty, for the locks were heavy and stiff. She shook with anxiety at the very thought that she might be too late and that he might have gone without her seeing him.

At last, she turned the key and threw open the door. Her ears had not deceived her. One of Sir Anthony's fastest carriages harnessed with six horses stood close by with Stewart sitting on the box holding the reins. Then Anthony himself appeared round the corner of the house and came quickly towards them. He had changed and was once again wearing good, plain, hard-wearing tweeds, travelling cloak, and boots.

He looked up and saw her. A slight frown appeared between his eyes, and her heart broke a little.

"You really are going? Why?"

"My lady" he doffed his hat "as I have had the honour of informing your ladyship, urgent, most unexpected business calls me to the North this morning," he said, in his most matter-of-fact manner.

"But surely you might have delayed your journey … at least until you had spoken with Mr Crawley and Sir Andrew? … and you said nothing about it just now."

"My business is as unexpected as it is urgent. I have to leave for Loxley with all speed: I have just received word concerning some damage to the field drainage system in the recent rains which are threatening the crops, and, more importantly, the tenants' cottages. But I have sent word to Matthew and Andrew, as I promised, dearest."

"Thank you. I should have worried otherwise. I hope the business will not keep you away too long."

He hesitated then replied very quietly "I hope that too." It was the most truthful thing he could say. He tried and failed to fight the regret that surged through him at the tiny note of nervous, hopeful affection in her eyes.

"Edith, your sister, Mrs Branson, has spoken with me. I have to say … to tell you …" He took a deep breath, stepped closer to her and tried again.

"My sweet one, I beg you, never … never doubt that I love you. I have adored you since the very first time I saw you. I'm just not very brave in expressing it. Forgive me?"

The transformation in her was astounding and immediate. With her whole face melting with love and relief she replied "Always. Oh Anthony!"

He desperately wanted to kiss her. After all, he didn't know if he would ever see her again. It was agony to let her go: she was Life and he might be leaving her.

Stewart coughed discreetly.

"Sir, we must make haste."

"Goodbye, my dearest darling, and may God bless you. Always."

He took her hand, kissed it hard with burning lips, then tore himself away.

…

Edith slowly walked back to her rooms. She was torn between elation that Anthony had said that he loved her, and kissed her hand with such feeling (oh, how wonderful that had been!), and a nervous anxiety concerning his travels. The circumstances that he had outlined sounded perfectly believable. So why was she so very sure that he was not telling the truth? But after many months of heartache and doubt, she was ecstatic to have heard him confess his love. She had not been taken in, or played with. Anthony's courtship of her had been genuine. So what had made him so reticent since the time of their engagement?

These and similar thoughts bothered her until, once more, she fell into a troubled sleep haunted by half-heard words and strange voices, and the startlingly blue eyes of a tall, gallant man in uniform seen in a dark place.

…

At two o'clock that afternoon, Edith was still gnawing at the mystery of where she had encountered eyes as arresting as her husband's, when she was roused from her worries by the announcement of a visitor.

"Sybil! I am so very pleased to see you."

"I just couldn't wait any longer to hear."

Sybil just wasn't herself, nervous but forcing her jollity. Edith looked perplexed at her sister. "Hear what?"

"How you and Anthony reconciled, of course!"

"Er, I'm not sure I know what you are talking about" Edith said guardedly.

Sybil sat, taking her gloves off. "Last night, at the ball, Anthony told me that he was going to atone for being distant from you. I merely want all the romantic details! I need a distraction from worrying about Tom."

Edith felt all the blood drain from her face. "Tom?" she whispered. Sybil's mask dropped and her tears began to fall.

"Oh Edith, that idiotic man has got himself into a terrible fix. He carried on working with the Scarlet Pimpernel even after we married. Now, he's been arrested in France, but Anthony said that he and the League are going to rescue him. But I'm so worried, Edith!"

Edith threw her arms around her sister, even as her mind whirled. "I'm sure Tom will be safe, Sybbie. They've never failed yet, have they? They rescued us! You've got to take care of Baby Branson, you know. Tom will want to come home to a healthy wife and child."

Sybil cried her worries out, until at last Edith quietly said "But you know that Anthony is not a member of the League?"

"Well, he told me that he was."

My Anthony? A member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel?

…

Edith took care of her sister until Sybil felt strong enough to return home. Then Lady Strallan did something that she had never done before: she went to look at her husband's study, a place that she had always left entirely to him as a sanctuary.

I am Sir Anthony's wife. I am not sneaking; I have a right to be anywhere in my own house.

Despite the words in her head, Edith still felt as though somehow she were trespassing. When she reached the door to Anthony's study she took a deep breath and went to turn the doorknob.

It was locked.

It doesn't mean anything. He might not want the servants cleaning in there. Or… or he might lock it out of habit after being in India all those years. Or … well, any number of reasons.

She was still fighting down the feeling of dread.

If he's a member of the League, why didn't he tell me?

Oh God, I know why, don't I? He doesn't think he can trust me! That's why he's been asking about my actions with the Austrians. How did he phrase it? 'Why did I betray my sister to the French?'

Just as she was giving in to self-accusation once more, she reminded herself that Anthony had told her, only that morning, that he loved her.

But he couldn't be a member of the League, because the League were on their way South to rescue Tom, and Anthony was on his way North … wasn't he?

She closed her eyes.

"I've been so stupid" she said to herself. All those trips up to his Northern estates; they were all missions in France, weren't they? And all the time, he didn't feel he could take me into his confidence, so he had to hide everything from his wife as well as the French.

"What an idiot I am!"

At least she had had the courage to tell Anthony about what had happened last night, and made sure that messages were sent to Matthew and Andrew.

But, no, no, no! Matthew has been with Papa and the family all the time since he married Mary. And I know that he's a member of the League: he was there in Calais. But each time Anthony has been away, so has Andrew. I don't understand! For heaven's sake, Edith, keep calm. Think! She took a deep breath.

What do I remember about our rescue? Tom was there, and Matthew. I don't remember seeing Andrew, but I didn't know him very well then…

Suddenly, like a dagger of lightning, Edith saw the dark prison where she had been held with her family. She had forced the painful memories deep within her, but now they came rushing back. She remembered walking behind her sisters to the carriage that they all believed would take them to the Bastille and death. She remembered her family's accusations and the sensation of emotional shutdown as she felt overwhelmed by failure on all sides. But most of all she recalled the tall, gallant officer sent to fetch them that stormy night, ordering the French gaolers around with overwhelming command, guiding his own men with such natural leadership, and bowing to her as she left the prison, and his eyes as blue as the ocean.

Oh Anthony! Oh dear God, Anthony! You … you are the Pimpernel! What have I done?!