A/N: Hello there! I've had this story in mind for a few weeks now, churning and stewing while I should have been focusing on studying (lol) and I've decided that it's finally time to get it one paper! And it's not Modern A/U…crazy for me, I know ;)
The plot will be set in the canon time period, but other than that (apart from character histories and such), that's the only bit of canon I plan to use. Basically, instead of Anthony and Robert being distant friends/neighbors, they'll be very good friends, best friends even, being both neighbors and classmates since they were young boys. As such, Anthony is never seen as a suitor for any of the Crawley girls, not even Mary.
Edith, on the other hand, will undergo that sort of rebellious independence streak that we saw in S4, but she'll do so out of order, prior to the Great War. She has not spent much of her childhood at Downton Abbey, as she was sent away to a boarding school down south and is currently contemplating whether to attend university in the States at one of the Seven Sisters.
As such, though their lives have been intermingling at the Abbey for years, Edith and Anthony have seen very little of each other, apart from a fleeting glimpse or a random story told about the other at dinner. I won't give away too much, as you'll just have to read to find out!
I hope you all enjoy this one!
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Over a hundred years ago, in the first class cabin on a train bound for Ripon, sat a nobleman's daughter, her lips pursed tightly and her heart heavy. It was early May, the air just fragrant enough and the earth just warm enough to remind oneself that winter had come and gone and that it wouldn't be back to bother the English for quite some time.
The young woman, should you be so curious to know, was of a youthful age, freshly nineteen, not quite a child, but not yet an adult by many standards. Her hair, strawberry blonde with a fashionable curl to it, was pinned in such a way so as to keep it from her face in the most practical manner; though on certain days, today included, one could see a pencil peaking out from the bun in the back, as this particular young woman spent much of her time writing and scribbling notes in the many books she read. Her clothes, too, were similar to what many ladies of her class wore: fine frocks to emphasize her figure to gentlemen she might meet along the way, but never more than demurely, of course.
Her name was Edith Crawley, the middle daughter of the Earl of Grantham, and for the first time in many months, she was on her way home. As a young child, she exhibited an innate intellect and interest in learning, far surpassing that of her elder and younger sisters and even exceeding the competency of her beloved governess. Miss Clara, the governess, pleaded with the earl and countess, explaining that someone like their middle daughter would fare much better at a place with the greatest instructors, with a standard of education that Miss Clara simply couldn't provide for Edith.
So, despite their reservations, Lord and Lady Grantham agreed to send their middle daughter to an all-girls boarding school where she might be challenged and where she could hone her intellect in ways she couldn't at their country estate, Downton Abbey. Within the month, the ten-year-old girl was sent away from Yorkshire on a train to the Cheltenham Ladies' College in Gloucestershire, one of the primer institutions of learning for daughters of the upper classes.
Young Edith had no objections to this, as she was rather looking forward to a fabulous adventure away from the Abbey. She had never quite fit in with her family anyway: she was introverted where they were ebullient, bookish where they were sociable, reserved where they were gregarious. The opportunity to spend her days away from her sisters and parents, to spend months upon months learning and soaking up knowledge, well, it seemed almost too good to be true.
But of course, it wasn't too good to be true. Her time at Cheltenham was everything Edith had hoped and dreamed it would be. The classes were riveting and she always earned top marks; her teachers and her peers were enamoured by her way with words, by her zeal for learning that made her magnetic to the intellectuals at the school; she even enjoyed the recreation time, devoting such moments to poetry and sketching and, when the mood struck her, to wandering off alone to a distant field or faraway stream to think and commune with God's beautiful earth.
Life was precious to Edith when she spent it at Cheltenham, so much so that she seldom left. Only during Christmas and Easter did she make her way back to Yorkshire for her unavoidable family obligations, and she often loathed every moment that she was away from her beloved Gloucestershire. She even found excuses to stay during the summer recess, varying from taking additional courses to working on projects for faculty members, anything to stay away from Downton. There was even talk among her professors about recommending her to attend one of the Seven Sisters, a collection of prestigious women's colleges in America, where advanced education for women was more progressive than in her home country at the time. Edith had written to her grandmother Martha, an American living in Rhode Island and New York, about what she should do, to which the elderly woman firmly replied that to abandon her education would be nothing short of a travesty. No, Edith would go on to do great things, her education being one of them; Martha Levinson would see to that.
Edith had her heart set on Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, New York, an excellent school not far from her grandmother's home in Newport. She had even procured the requisite application packet and had multiple faculty members clamoring to write her letters of recommendation.
All was lining up for Edith to attend university, a notion that thrilled her and made her swell with pride. That is, until she received a letter from her parents just a few weeks prior to her graduation from Cheltenham.
As per the customs of her class, Edith was to be presented to the King at her first London Season in a matter of weeks. The goal was that, within a year or so, the earl's middle daughter would find herself a suitable husband and produce an heir. It was women of the upper classes had been doing for generations and what was expected of Edith, as well. There was no escape, no conceivable alternative. Edith's education in science and math and literature would end soon, replaced only by an education of martial duties and motherhood. Vassar was out of the question, and it made Edith sick to her stomach.
And so that was how Lady Edith Crawley found herself aboard this wretched train bound for Ripon. She had finished her coursework with the highest marks, but had to forfeit the right to attend her graduation ceremony so that she could return to Downton to prepare for her upcoming Season. Gown fittings, remedial etiquette lessons, and gossip about the eligible bachelors who would be in attendance at some of the balls were going to be all that consumed Edith's life for the next few weeks until she made the journey to London with her family to be presented.
Edith missed her books and her studies already, her friends and professors at Cheltenham occupying a spot in her heart that she wasn't sure would ever be filled. Nothing but duty awaited her at home; obligation, boredom, and endless drivel…that was to be her life.
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Sir Anthony Strallan inhaled the cool, May morning air, his wispy blond hair flowing in the lavender breeze. The rolling hills of Downton's estate stretched in front of him, the lazy sun meandering its way across the Yorkshire sky, and the baronet's sapphire eyes scanned the river for signs of excessive movement.
His companion and best friend, Robert Crawley, the Earl of Grantham, was about fifty yards upstream, whipping his fishing line along his side until it plunked in the stream searching for its prey. This had been their usual springtime, weekend excursion for as long as Anthony could remember. He could think of no better way to spend a Saturday morning than fishing with his dear pal.
They were an odd pair, both so different from one another; but it seemed what one lacked, the other possessed. The earl, a little more than a year or so older than his friend, was headstrong, traditional, and quite capable of (and rather enjoyed) throwing lavish and frequent soirees. The baronet, on the other hand, was far more reserved than his trusted companion, keen to spend his days in the fields and his nights with a book. He had lost his wife and son only a few years prior, so he mostly kept to himself when he wasn't socializing with Robert and the earl's massive circle of companions, Anthony's heartache sometimes proving too much to bear when in the company of happy people.
As young boys, both Robert and Anthony had acquainted themselves first as neighbors, their fathers' estates being adjacent to one another, and soon after, the two heirs grew into friends. Their friendship continued at Eton College, where both boys gained notice on their house crew teams and in the classroom, among their peers and instructors. Robert and Anthony drifted some when they both married their respective wives and began reproducing and raising little ones. Though they saw little of each other during those years, their letters remained constant, their friendship never waning. It wasn't until Anthony's wife, Maud, and his newborn son, Henry, passed in childbirth that the men became reacquainted in a more permanent sense. Robert was there for his friend, comforting and consoling as any gentleman would, but especially as a true friend would. Little by little, the two noblemen renewed their bond, the earl inviting the baronet to more social engagements, and the latter only declining every so often.
Now, four years since Anthony lost his wife and child, the two men were as close as they ever were. They hunted and fished often, when weather permitted and even when it didn't; they exchanged ideas about their estates over brandy after dinner on a regular basis; and Anthony was often a guest of the Crawleys at Downton for parties and luncheons.
It was almost noon when the bounty of fish in the river grew wise to Robert and Anthony's game and moved onto safer waters. As the fishing lines went untouched, the two men decided to cut their losses and trek back to Downton for luncheon. So, they grabbed their rods, swung their baskets brimming with fresh catches over their shoulders, and began the long hike.
"Lady Edith is coming home this afternoon," Robert spoke aloud almost absentmindedly, more of a reminder to himself than an announcement.
"Is she?" Anthony replied genially. "That's wonderful! I'm sure you're glad to have all of your children home under one roof." The man racked his brain trying to remember what his friend's middle daughter was like; it had to have been at least eight or nine years since he had last seen her. While he was familiar with Ladies Mary and Sybil, Lady Edith had always seemed more of a mystery, an enigma of a young woman. She was seldom home, always away at Cheltenham studying, and on the rare occasion when she happened to be home, his path and hers never seemed to cross.
Robert said nothing for a moment, lost in a thought. "Hmm? Oh, yes. Cora is beside herself with Edith's arrival. She's rather preoccupied and consumed with preparing for Edith's first Season. New frocks, guest lists, the works."
"It's Lady Edith's first Season?" Anthony asked with surprised. Was she really old enough to be presented to society already? Surely she was still a little girl with those same messy copper curls and button nose, wasn't she?
"I know, I can hardly believe it either," Robert chuckled, somewhat out of breath as he tried to keep up with Anthony's excessively long strides. "But she's already nineteen, if you can believe it. Soon, with any luck, she'll be married off to a good young man. That's what Cora and I are hoping for, at least."
Downton appeared in the distance and both men could feel their stomachs groan with hunger.
"Wasn't she rather committed to her education at Cheltenham?" the baronet asked, quickening his pace with the hope that he would get to luncheon sooner.
Robert rolled his eyes. "Edith will be best served by marrying well and producing an heir. She's bright, but pursuing more of an education than she already has is a waste of time for her. What she needs to focus on is finding a suitable match, not spending her days in a classroom."
Though he and Robert were close in many ways, Anthony disagreed with the man and their class as a whole on this point. If a person, male or female, demonstrated a skill and passion for learning, who was he, or anyone for that matter, to prohibit such a person from pursuing the object of their mind's desire? Far be it from him to tell a woman that she must marry at such a young age rather than educate herself.
Maud was more educated than most women of their class and he always found that to be her most attractive asset. They could engage in long, deep conversations, Maud being able to spar with him better than most men. And they were able to share interests together, from reading to conversing in foreign languages, that most married couples in the aristocracy could never fathom sharing with their spouse. God, how he missed her.
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The last hour of the train ride seemed to pass at a glacial pace as the reality of Edith's sentence becoming all the more apparent. Her life was to exist to be a breeding mare, to allow a man to tell her what her opinions would be, what her destiny would be. The freedom and independence she had known at Cheltenham was no more, and it would likely never come again.
Finally, after arriving in Ripon, a handsome Irish chauffer of the house met her at the station and after loading her many trunks of clothes and books into the motorcar they departed for Downton. The Abbey appeared at the top of the long, gravel drive, and Edith could decipher a small greeting party gathered near the front entrance.
Although this place had technically been her home, it wasn't really. Everything seemed foreign to her, from the servants in their crisp livery to her father's dog; even her own sisters seemed unfamiliar. Her mother, Mary, and Sybil all greeted her with polite hugs and kisses to the cheek, but no one was exceptionally affectionate, as Edith had all but spent the better part of nine years away from them in Gloucestershire.
After pleasantries were exchanged, the Crawley women retired to the drawing room for tea, and at Cora's insistence, to catch up together. After all, it had been months since Edith had seen her relations, and longer since they had spent more than a few days together.
"Are you excited for the Season, Edie?" Sybil asked. The youngest Crawley daughter's blue eyes were wide with her quintessential enthusiasm, as she tried to live vicariously through her older sisters in matters such as these.
Edith opened her mouth to reply honestly, to tell her family that she detested that fact that she was yanked away from her life and her goals to participate in this archaic ritual, but when she caught her mother's penetrating gaze, she bit her tongue and instead replied, "Of course, Sybil. It'll be wonderful to experience London in the summertime."
The mother Crawley was pleased enough with this answer. "Mary adored her first Season: all the gallantry, the balls, and the tradition. It's the most exciting fun!"
When Edith caught sight of Mary, of the way her elder sister seemed to be delighting in a memory of Seasons past, she almost rolled her eyes. Was this to be the highlight of her life? Pageants and ball gowns and making calls?
As Edith focused her attentions on the steaming cup of tea meeting her lips and warming her throat, she heard a clatter in the nearby corridor. Voices exchanging muffled words, followed by her father opening the door to the drawing room, still clad in fishing attire.
"My darling girl!" Robert chimed, extending his arms out amiably to hug his daughter. Edith reluctantly set her tea down and embraced her father, kissing him lightly on each cheek, and quickly returning to her seat and her beloved tea thereafter.
"Are you glad to be home?" he asked her as Cora poured him a cup of tea.
The young woman could feel the four sets of eyes staring at her, pressuring her for an affirmation. "Absolutely, Papa. I missed Yorkshire immensely," she fibbed. In fact, quite the opposite was true.
Robert had just started to get cozy, leaning back in his chair and engaging his wife and eldest daughter in conversation when another man cautiously entered the drawing room.
"Sorry, Robert, my wellies were a bit muddy and a footman had to hose me off, or I would've left track marks through your home. Must've stepped in a ruddy puddle or some nonsense without realizing it," he rambled absentmindedly as he walked through the doorway, picking a leaf off his jacket and not bothering to look up.
But when he finally did and saw a room full of Crawleys, not just Robert, his demeanor immediately shifted from one of ease and comfort to one of intense embarrassment. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry for intruding. I'll just…just be leaving." His body had already turned to leave through the door he had just come through.
The man was exceptionally tall, with windblown blond hair and the bluest eyes Edith had ever seen. More peculiar, though, was his ensemble, for although it matched her father's with the same forest green rubber wading trousers and fishing cap, this man's looked rather funny. His rubber trousers hung loosely on him, as though he had recently lost some weight, and his tie was crooked, as though he generally didn't care too much for his appearance.
Despite this, Edith found him to be rather handsome, from his bashful, lopsided grin as he entered the room, to the thin blond moustache above his nervous lips. He seemed familiar, though, but Edith couldn't quite remember where she had seen him before.
"Nonsense, Anthony, old boy! Come sit and have some tea," Robert insisted as he gestured for his friend to take the seat nearest to him. "Lady Edith has just arrived."
It was then that Anthony sensed an unfamiliar presence in the room, one he was not used to among the drawing room of Downton Abbey. His eyes scanned the room of dark-haired, fair-eyed Crawleys and settled on the lone strawberry blonde, her dark eyes staring back at him, catching him quite off guard.
Was this really Edith? She was certainly not as the baronet had remembered. Or rather, she was in that she had the same coloring as she did when he had seen her last, nearly a decade prior when she was still a little girl. But she was immensely different now; she was a woman. Her body was longer, leaner, but she had developed the womanliest curves, from her hips to her breasts and every delicious morsel in between; she was most certainly not a child any longer. And she seemed to have acquired a sense of social refinement, from the manner in which she sat to the manner in which she held her tea, so femininely. Her eyes, too, were bright, alert, and intelligent, following Anthony and inspecting him, sizing him up.
"You remember Sir Anthony, don't you, Edie?" Cora asked, trying desperately to fill the long silence that had settled in the room as her daughter and her husband's best friend stared at each other.
Her mother's words brought Edith back to the moment, her world suddenly and unfortunately filled with more people than this interesting male specimen in front of her.
"Oh, yes, of course, Mama. I remember Sir Anthony. It's so good to see you again," Edith replied with practiced geniality. In truth, she could barely remember the man, for she was sure that she would've remembered those eyes if she had seen them before. But then again, Edith hardly remembered anything from her life at Downton apart from the constant feeling that she didn't belong.
Anthony finally gathered his wits about him and crossed the room to shake the lady's hand. He bowed slightly as he took Edith's hand in his own; her skin was impossibly soft. Were women's hands always this way? "It's a pleasure to see you again, Lady Edith," he told her warmly. Anthony had almost forgotten that there were four other people in the room.
"The pleasure is all mine, Sir Anthony," Edith responded, adding a courtesy for good measure under her mother's watchful eye.
"Let me express regret for my attire," he apologized as he glanced down at his green wading trousers. "If I had known that I was to meet a lady this afternoon, ladies I mean," he corrected, hoping not to cause offense to the other three women in the room, "I would have been dressed far more appropriately."
"Nonsense," Robert interjected, standing up and patting his friend's shoulder. Anthony and Edith, unbeknownst to them, were still hold each other's hand and the earl thought it high time that this charade be put to an end; it was uncomfortable to watch. "I'm dressed in the same attire, Anthony."
The moment Robert's hand touched his shoulder, Anthony immediately released Edith's, much to the former's satisfaction and surprisingly, even to herself, to the latter's disappointment. "Even still," Anthony continued. "I should get going. Wouldn't want to intrude on Lady Edith's homecoming."
"You wouldn't be intruding. Please do join us for tea, Sir Anthony," Cora pleaded.
Anthony eventually acquiesced and took a seat next to Robert. The conversation picked up right where it had left off prior to his awkward interruption: discussion of Edith's upcoming Season, the weather, local politics and the like were the hot topics amongst the gathered group.
Such fare would usually delight Anthony, as he often enjoyed partaking in such conversations, even if all he did was listen. Today, however, was rather different. Anthony found that he could scarcely pay attention to his own tea and biscuits, let alone the discussion at hand, which made for some tense moments when the exchange was directed towards him for a response and he had to mumble something incoherent, praying that they would spare him and move on.
Instead, the baronet was wholly preoccupied with the strawberry blonde sipping her tea in the corner, feigning interest in the chitchat of her family, even when such topics concerned her and her Season. Once or twice, miraculously, Edith glanced in Anthony's direction, her eyes meeting his just over her teacup. He couldn't tell if she smiled or not when their eyes met, for the cup blocked the view of her mouth, but he instantly chastised himself for the thought. Edith was his best friend's daughter, barely twenty while he was rounding forty-five. Whatever was stirring him at the mere sight of her was atrocious and must be stopped immediately.
When the conversation lulled, Anthony jumped at the opportunity to excuse himself. He needed to put as much distance between himself and Downton, and the delicious strawberry blonde inside of it, as he could.
"I really must be going, Robert; I have some work to do on my ledgers this evening," Anthony explained as he stood up and readied himself to depart. "Lady Grantham, please accept my thanks for the lovely tea and biscuits."
"You're welcome here anytime, Sir Anthony," Cora offered with a smile as she shook hands with the baronet. "In fact, why not come over for dinner the day after tomorrow? It'll be a great homecoming feast for our Edith."
Anthony internally groaned. He needed to stay far way from this place for a while, at least until the Crawleys left for the Season in London in a few weeks. Instead, he did what all gentlemen must when invited to dinner by the lady of the house in person. "Of course, Lady Grantham. I would like that very much," he responded. Much more than I probably ought to.
Mary and Sybil also stood up to say goodbye to their father's friend, and lastly, Edith did as well. She extended her hand to the baronet and after glancing at it for a moment, Anthony took it in his own.
"It was so good to see you again, Sir Anthony," Edith told him, her eyes gleaming. "Perhaps we can all catch up more formally in a few days."
Anthony Strallan, though a regular conversationalist, and a witty one at that, was dumbstruck in front of this woman. He opened his mouth and closed it multiple times in quick succession, trying to find the right words. He settled on some pathetic, almost incoherent rambling. "Ahhh, yes, that should be delightful, Lady Edith. Delightful, indeed."
Embarrassed at making a fool of himself in front of his best friend and his exquisite daughter, Anthony hastily released Edith's hand, turned on his heal, and departed for the safer confines of his own ancestral home of Locksley Estate.
The rest of the Crawley clan had taken their seats again and resumed their conversation as though Anthony had not been a part of it (though for all intents and purposes, he really hadn't, as his time was spent staring at Edith rather than contributing to the talk). Edith, however, stood where she was, and only after Anthony's tall frame had departed from view did she sit back down again.
Her tea had gone cold, though she sipped it anyway if it meant that her mouth was preoccupied and she wouldn't be asked prodding questions. As Edith nibbled on some biscuits to keep up the act, Sybil leaned over to her and whispered, "I don't think I've ever seen Sir Anthony so flustered. I wonder what's gotten into him. He's usually always so proper and reserved."
As her younger sister leaned away, Edith could have sworn that she saw a flicker of mischief in the girl's eyes. Sybil, of course, had had much more regular contact with Sir Anthony than Edith ever had, so perhaps she was a trustworthy source in the matter.
Edith tried to ignore Sybil's inference, but it chewed at her mind, sat down in her brain and stifled any other thought that wanted to be expressed. Drowning out the inane conversation and staring out at Downton's vast landscapes through the window, the young woman replayed the encounter in her head over and over. Though she had known him for little under a half an hour, for the first time in her entire life, Edith felt the desire to learn more about this person. Often enough, solitude was preferred to the company of people, books and lessons offering far more companionship to Edith than any individual ever could.
But there was something about Anthony Strallan, something Edith couldn't quite decipher or put her finger on that made her want to know everything about the man.
Dinner in two days' time seemed an eternity away…