April 1922
Dower House
Lady Violet Crawley's drawing room is spacious and bright, trimmed in mint green and pale lavender, with cut flowers on the table and afternoon sunshine filtering in through lace valences. But it suddenly feels very close, near the size of a snuff box, and Anthony has the oddest impulse to ask Edith if she might rather speak outside.
But he doesn't get the chance. As soon as the Dowager Countess leaves them, Edith is already on her feet, pacing the room restlessly.
"I'm sorry about that," she apologizes, still without looking at him directly. Her eyes dart here and there, failing to settle. "I didn't know—I swear, I didn't know she was planning any of this. I only just told her. I have no idea what she was thinking," Edith's voice goes very small, as she mutters, "It's all so absurd…"
She repeats the last word under her breath and her fingers are tangling together anxiously. Her features betray a morning spent in tears but he wonders if she might not start crying again now. Her eyes have gone weepy and she looks near to it. He reaches into his jacket pocket to find a clean handkerchief—as hers seems to have reached its limits.
On her next pass across the room, he reaches out and offers it to her. Which only makes the tears come faster. And then she's standing there before him, dabbing the corners of her eyes, and cutting the most forlorn figure he's ever seen.
"Are you all right, Edith?" he asks, very plainly. She looks terribly pale and like she hasn't slept in days. All his fears for her have been proven right and it brings him no comfort.
"No, I'm not," she replies, in God's honest truth. The lively and winsome girl he once knew so well, with all her sweet smiles and sparkling brown eyes, is nowhere to be found. Life has had its way with her and left her shattered and terribly, terribly unhappy.
She asks, "You heard what Granny said?"
He nods, his expression as grave as hers. But not in judgment. No, never that. He has no right to judge her. And never would, no matter what she's done.
Besides, where's the sin here? She's just a woman who reached for happiness and was handed a bouquet of thorns instead.
Her eyes fill with tears again, though she attempts to hold them back, admirably. She still avoids his gaze. But with nothing left to hide, she admits freely, "I—I was in love with him. I know that sounds very foolish to you, but I was—I am in love with him."
"I understand," he assures her. He recognizes a very deep grief in those tears, mixed with the rest of it. She wears no black but she's in mourning just the same.
"Do you?" She turns on him, seeking out his countenance. The fierceness of the way she finally meets his gaze takes him aback. There's accusation there, a sudden hardness to her expression. And anger, that he should endeavor to understand anything about her.
He recognizes it clearly, but doesn't shy away, knowing that he deserves all her anger. So he doesn't reply, just waits on her to continue, if she will.
And within only a few moments, that sudden anger melts away, or her tears dilute it. And she's speaking in that small voice again, confiding, "I never meant for this to happen…"
"I know," he says, again, very softly.
"I loved him and I couldn't let him go without showing him how much but…a baby? I don't think I can…" she hiccups on a choked sob, one hand covering her mouth, the other falling to her waist and the place where her child grows, even now.
She looks so very alone in this moment—her lover lost to her, her former life swept away by a riptide, leaving her behind, stranded on a deserted beach, unable to confide in anyone but the man who betrayed her most deeply. She is utterly alone.
Except for him.
Anthony's heart aches that this should be so. It aches for her. He even takes a step towards Edith, reaching out by instinct, his hand lightly brushing her forearm before taking it back, knowing that she won't want his touch. It's all bitter salt rubbed across an eternally open wound.
His shame is magnified under the glare of her grief. And perhaps, deep down, he thinks she must wish for him to go, the consequences of throwing away her only chance to fix this mess be damned.
Perhaps she's working up the courage to do it. To push him away with both hands and tell him to get out and never look upon her face again.
He sees the flicker of indecision crossing her features and steels himself for it, willing to do whatever she asks.
But until she sends him away, he will not leave her. Not this time.
Edith has always deserved someone in her corner. To defend her, not the family credit, not the bloody estate. Just her. Edith Crawley. A woman who deserves to love and be loved, honestly and truly, without it all falling down around her in a shambles, time and time again.
There's a tense silence building between them but she can't make herself speak the words to send him away. And he wonders if she doesn't hate herself for it. He watches as she covers her face with her hands, her voice muffled behind them, "I keep thinking that I will wake up, and this is all some terrible dream, and things might go back to the way they were before."
"Edith…"
"No, I know. It's all my fault. I have no one else to blame. I should've known better, I should've taken better care—I just didn't think that life would be so cruel to me…again."
Her hands have come down from her face. She looks at him squarely, no hesitation now, when she says this last part and there's no question to what she's referring to. What sorry events are meant by the again.
And Anthony is brought to mind of another scene where she had tears in her eyes and was asking him in a desperate manner, reaching for him, needing him: What's happening? Anthony, what's happening?
That time, he failed to answer her. With stupid and stubborn resolve that he's regretted every single day since. Worse than that, he walked away from her. He didn't even have the decency to look back, lest he goback and tell her that it was all such a dreadful mistake.
I thought I was doing right by you, by letting you go. I thought…
He's keeping his eyes on her this time. He's not looking away, and won't. This is a second chance, and he won't let it play out the same way as before. Not when she needs him.
"What your Granny said…," he begins, gallantly skipping a repetition of the details. Instead, he just repeats his promise, "I'm willing, Edith, if you are."
She doesn't believe a word of it, a cynical half-smirk working its way through her tears. "No, you're not," she chides him, with no faith in him whatsoever.
Her doubt stings, doubly so as he knows it's his own broken promises that have done it.
"Yes, I am," he promises, ardently.
"I'm pregnant with another man's child," she reminds him, as blunt as her grandmother. With his handkerchief still clutched in her left hand, she raises her palms upwards, as if questioning his senses. "Do you understand what you're agreeing to?"
That fierceness is returning to her features. That hint of accusation hangs in the air between them like a heavy fog.
He treads lightly, but is resolute in his decision, "It's not a perfect solution, but you would be able to keep the child. You will not be separated. You will have the protection of my name and my house. There may be talk, but it's only talk. There will be nothing in it."
"And what happens if Michael returns?" she asks, almost as a challenge. Her chin has risen just a hair, in that same defiant manner he saw at Goldman's. She wants him to know that she's in love with someone else. That she doesn'tlove him, and couldn't. Not ever. Not after what he did to her.
He swallows hard.
If she thinks he's expecting something like love from this marriage, he's not. He knows he had his chance for happiness. He knows that time has gone and cannot come again. He buries any regrets on that score, and any pain that comes with it, choosing to focus on Edith and her baby.
On the fact that, in doing this for her, he might start to make amends. He'd never demand anything from her in return, least of all her love.
Which, he knows, belongs to another.
Without really thinking about it, he makes her a vow, "Should Mr. Gregson return, and I hope he does—Edith, I truly do," he dares to reach down and take up her hand for a moment, if only to better pledge what he's about to say. Her fingers are warm and smooth and small, just as he remembers. The way they fit in his is familiar to both, in a way that has Edith's lips parting slightly, a look of uncertainty in her eyes that he can't quite read. He promises, "I'll let you divorce me quietly and you can return to him without any scandal or stain on your character."
Edith gives a breathy huff at this, doubting again, but then she sees he's serious and her expression changes dramatically, snagging somewhere between gratitude and utter disbelief.
But what about you? She doesn't say it aloud, but he reads the question in her features anyway. They both know how such an uncoupling might be received by the bluebloods of Yorkshire. Perhaps she'd escape rather unscathed in such a scenario, but what about him? They would call him a doddering old fool unable to keep his young wife happy, and that would the kindest of the gossip.
"I would not stand in your way," he tells her.
"But my child will have your name," she argues. She has yet to pull her hand from his. And he has yet to let her go. She presses, "In the eyes of the law, you would have every right to…to…"
You would have every right to keep the child and throw me out. And expose the whole ghastly truth at the same time.
"I would never hurt you, Edith," he swears, his voice gone raw.
This makes her smile again, but in a wry and terrible way that breaks his heart. That smile shines through her tears as she reminds him, not in anger, not in cruelty, just plain truth, "You already have."
And he can't deny it, so he just doesn't say anything at all.
Their gaze remains locked another few seconds as she squeezes his palm lightly before slipping that hand away, breaking the touch between them. She turns from him and takes a few steps towards the window, sighing softly as she mulls it all over. He stands there, holding the brim of his hat tight enough he might tear it, his gaze falling to his shoes.
He waits upon her decision, silently. And she stares out at Lady Violet's gardens, just as silently. They remain in the drawing room at Dower House like this for some time, unspeaking.
When they finally emerge, Edith tells her grandmother that she'll be accompanying Sir Anthony to Edinburgh on a matter of sufficient urgency and asks her to make excuses with the family at Downton.
Two days later, there are already rumors blazing through Yorkshire that will soon have the whole countryside wagging their tongues. And that same morning, the 7th Earl of Grantham looks up from his newspaper to remark in shock, "Good God, Carson, what did you say?"
The telegram in Carson's hand confirms it in plain, neat letters. Sir Anthony Strallan and Edith Crawley have eloped.
A/N:
#Married (if with a few lingering issues to work out XD):
JustaGuest123: Lol Granny is Granny. And she knows they don't have time to tip-toe around hard truths. Hope you enjoy the E&A convo in this chapter :)
lifeissgoodz: Hiiiii! And no worries. A fanfic reader is never late, nor early. They arrive exactly when they need to. Mwah! Glad to have you aboard and hope you enjoy the rest :)
spottedhorse: I always love background characters (I feel like they give a story flavor) so expect more servant observations in the future ;) I love Violet but I always thought she took a little too much pleasure in her cutting remarks sometimes too. But then she'd show herself to be the softest. It really depended on the day XD But yeah, Anthony is not interested in anyone giving Edith grief right now. Because he's Anthony. And he loveeeees her.
Guest #1: Thank you! Granny is having one of her bitchier days lol XD But yes, happiness is on the horizon (eventually).
Baron Munchausen: Haha we can't have Granny listening in on everything ;) So glad you enjoyed this chapter! I'm having so much fun with the angst – but I promise there will be fluff to balance it out at some point.
Guest #2: "But do they already know that Michael is dead?" - No, my dear Guest, they do not ;) And my lips are sealed on this matter except to say that great minds think alike and I like the way you're thinking, so stay tuned…
Guest #3: Mwah! Thank you!
theclassicist: I think Violet was enjoying the awkwardness a little too much tbh. Luckily, she has enough grace to know when she's no longer needed. And oh yes, Edith has quite a bit of unresolved anger/frustration with Anthony that will not go unacknowledged. More tension to come (because it's delicious and is my fave meal to serve before the eventual fluff ;)).