Sir Anthony Strallan was in trouble.
In deep trouble.
He was sitting at table in Downton Abbey, next to Lady Mary Crawley, the first daughter of the Earl of Grantham. She seemed to be utterly bored. Try as he may to bring up interesting subjects, all he got from the young lady was silent stares and not-to-well-disguised sighs. At the very best a quick phrase and a polite smile that didn't reach her eyes.
She didn't contribute anything at all to the conversation herself. It was very frustrating. He thought the girl very dull, not having a single thing to talk about. Perhaps she wasn't very bright.
When Lady Grantham had invited him to this dinner, she had hinted in a very obvious way that she wanted him to court and preferably marry her eldest daughter. Not that she had said that in so many words, of course not, but Lady Grantham had a way to say things between the lines. A way that made you feel you had better obey her. Or at least try to.
He had heard some gossip about Lady Mary in London, something about her not being virtuous, and that was probably the reason Lady Grantham wanted her married off as fast as possible. But that gossip, even if it was true, was not what he minded about her. He just found her so utterly boring. And frankly he even had difficulties believing that rumour, since he found it hard to understand how any man in his right senses could have felt tempted to sleep with an ice queen like her.
The thought of meeting Lady Mary's cold smile or her cold eyes across the breakfast table every morning of his life made him shiver. Taking her to bed would be an impossible undertaking. He was used to laughs and smiles and affection and fondling in his married life, the life that was so sadly ended when his wife Maud and their newborn son died seven years ago.
He wondered how he would be able to get out of this without offending Lady Grantham. He hadn't considered remarrying at all after Maud's death. And he had naturally never thought of any of the Grantham girls as a wife. They were only children, he had seen them play in the grounds over the years, the tall Lady Mary and the two small ones, Lady Sybil and Lady Edith. Even Lady Mary was quite a bit too young for him, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years his younger.
If he should ever remarry, he would rather have someone a little more mature, maybe a young widow. That had worked out well with Maud after all.
He suddenly heard a clear voice from across the table. It was the Crawley's youngest daughter, Lady Edith, talking to him. How old could she be? Fourteen, maybe fifteen. He wondered why they even let her sit in at dinner. Not being a father himself, except for those few hours with his newborn son, he didn't take much interest in children and had difficulties in deciding their ages.
The little girl made some very intelligent remarks about farm mechanisation, though. She seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. So he answered her in a friendly tone, trying not to sound too condescending.
This little girl was much more well-behaved than her older sister. And remarkably clever. But only a little child, of course.
Well, no reason not to enjoy the food, he knew they had an excellent cook at Downton. Very nice dessert it seemed to be, raspberry meringue. He choose some raspberries with plenty of sugar on, he had something of a sweet tooth.
He had quite an unpleasant surprise when he put the first spoonful in his mouth. Good God! He spit it out. That wasn't sugar, it was salt! He thought he heard Lady Mary giggle, but he wasn't sure.
He apologised to Lady Grantham. She tasted her own dessert, then had it all sent away, and some fruit brought in instead.
"You must find us terribly disorganised," said Lady Edith with her clear voice.
He wondered where this little girl had got all her good manners from, when her older sister obviously had none.
...
When they joined the ladies again after dinner was over, he was planning to sit talking a while to Lady Grantham and then excuse himself and be on his way home again. But Lady Mary gave him a broad smile, and came fetching him over to show him a book.
It was obvious that her mother had told her to make an effort, so he guessed he had to make an effort as well, not to offend any of them.
The book Lady Mary had found was really interesting, so she was not quite as stupid as he had thought. While he was reading it Sir Anthony felt at home for the first time that evening. He hardly noticed anything more in that room until he heard Lady Grantham ask him if he wanted to borrow that book. When he looked up everybody else was gone. He made a quick excuse, put the book down, and then he was on his way.
...
He had managed to be very rude, he realised on his way back home. He hadn't even noticed when Lady Mary went away. He had to return someday and ask her out, or Lady Grantham would resent him for slighting her daughter. More complications!
He put off asking Lady Mary out for as long as he could possibly do. He postponed it and postponed it. It was not until after his trip to the continent and after he had bought the Rolls Royce that he finally managed to persuade himself to go and invite her out. He was really going to make an effort to be friendly, he told himself.
He was waiting in the parlour with Lady Grantham while she sent a maid to fetch Lady Mary. Lady Edith was in the parlour too, and he had quite a nice time while he told the two ladies about his travel. Just like last time he was there, that little girl seemed remarkably well-informed for her age.
Then Lady Mary came in, dressed in riding clothes. She seemed friendlier than last time, but in the end she turned his invitation down. To his relief, really, now he had done what could be expected of him. He sat down again, planning to leave as soon as it would be polite to do so.
Then he heard that little clear voice again: "I don't suppose you'd take me?"
How could he say no to that, hurting the little girl? And offending Lady Grantham, who smiled like she thought her youngest daughter's behaviour was sweet but a little awkward.
So now he was driving around the countryside with a fifteen-year old girl. And worse still, he was really enjoying it. Very, very much.
The contrast with that awkward dinner conversation with her elder sister half a year earlier couldn't be greater. This girl had an intelligent answer to almost all the things he said. She brought up interesting topics herself, talked about books she was reading, music she enjoyed. She was informed of what happened in the world, she obviously read the papers, and understood what she read. And she was very funny. A poet in need of an empire, what a lovely description!
Beside that she was very sweet and beautiful. She had all those lovely blond tresses. He longed to put his hand through them, but of course he couldn't. It was wrong of him even to be thinking a thing like that. She was so definitely too young for him. Just a little girl, he had to remind himself.
He realised he was beginning to fall in love with a fifteen-year-old. Lord and Lady Grantham's fifteen year old daughter.
He was indeed in trouble.
Very deep in trouble.
...
A/N: I noticed Sir Anthony actually spoke to Edith like she was a sweet and clever child in that dinner-table scene. So I let him muddle up the order between the two youngest sisters. And Edith's age, since he knows somehow that Sybil is 17 or 18.