AN: The long awaited sequel!
This is different to anything I've ever done in the fact that all upstairs characters have a clear plot line, it's not just Cobert, although, never fear they are very much the central piece.
The story will follow series 2, and hopes to show how little Edward William Crawley would have influenced the lives and choices of those around him. EVERY character's story line changes from that of canon at some point, for some you will have to wait longer than others though!
Updates will be weekly, on Saturdays, rather than twice weekly for the moment.
I really want to hear your thoughts because, well, much of this is new ground for me! Hope you enjoy.
November 1916.
Cora marvels, her eyes glassy, at the little boy standing proudly before her in the nursery, his father's army hat pressed upon his head dressed in his Sunday best, all ready to be page boy for that afternoons wedding.
Edward was a month away from being two. He was walking, just about, and had formed his first full sentence only a few moments before. Cora had raced down the stairs at a rate she didn't think was possible, bursting into the dining room and dragging Robert from his breakfast. She refused to tell him why, and now standing in the nursery, Robert by her side she marvels. He'd refused to repeat the sentence for Robert, a cheeky grin on his face, before he'd pointed at Robert's hat, a pout masking his features. Robert had obeyed, placing the cap on Edward's curls before calmly asking Edward to repeat the phrase that had electrified Cora.
"I love Mama." So, it wasn't a very long sentence but it was quite the sweetest thing that had ever been spoken in these four walls of the nursery room by a twenty-two month old.
She crouches down before him as he lowers himself to the ground, his fingers reaching for the wooden bricks upon the floor. He bangs them together as was his favourite custom before throwing them to Cora and laughing when she doesn't catch them. Robert stays behind her, kneeling, his knees pressing gently against her back. It comforts her, and she tilts her head, finding his gaze while Edward shuffles across the floor to find the next game to play.
It had been a habit of hers for months, coming to the nursery and sitting and playing with Edward, it took her mind off the war and the young lives being lost everyday. It allowed her to forget what thousands of women were feeling across the world, feelings she'd experienced when Robert had been fighting. She thanked heaven for Edward every day, not just because he was a miracle and Robert's heir but because he'd been born when he had; if he'd been born at anytime between the girls he would have had to fight and it was that more than anything that drove Cora to spending so much time with him.
"Mama, I love wo, but pway." The tears seem to slide onto her cheeks before she knows what's happening, it seemed little Edward had been keeping all the words he'd learnt saved up in a little bank for him to spill all at once. Robert flops down beside her, his lips grazing over her neck and ear. Edward watches seemingly bemused before tossing a brick at his parents again.
"Pway." They chuckle together at their delightful son before falling flat onto the floor before him. Robert leans on one elbow while Cora presses her stomach to the floor and crosses her ankles behind her.
"I will play Edward, if you give me a kiss." He leans forward and grabs her cheeks, as is always his custom when she asks for a kiss before pressing his lips to her forehead.
"Now, pway." Robert chuckles and Cora can't help but roll her eyes as her husband merrily exclaims that Edward is as stubborn as his mother.
They toss and turn the bricks between them, Edward enjoying the game of trying to build a tower as high as he can, he does exceptionally well before the tower topples to the floor.
It's in this moment of the tower toppling, the bricks crashing onto the floor, that Robert leans into his wife and whispers almost silently in her ear.
"Am I allowed to demand kisses from you, as you demand them from Edward?" A blush warms her cheeks almost immediately before she tilts her face to his, pressing her lips to his own. Even now, with four children and over twenty-six years of marriage the sensation of his lips on hers never fails to delight her, send shivers up her spine as though she was nineteen all over again.
"No kiss kiss. Pway." She breaks her lips from Robert's as Edward tugs at her hair, a Robert frown crinkling on his tiny forehead.
Matthew knows what she's trying to say, he can see it, but he couldn't, he absolutely couldn't put words into her mouth, ask if it was her love she was trying to express not with a decision already made, a wedding that afternoon. He reluctantly lets his mind wander back to that time on the station all those months ago when she had handed him the toy dog; her sincerity, even perhaps love radiating from her eyes too much to bear, he'd been relieved the train had pulled up and he'd been able to escape. He had to forget her, he absolutely had too. But her tall form is scratched into his mind forever to be remembered. And he knows he will remember it, that's been his problem, he just can't seem to forget it.
She hurt him, my she hurt him so very much, but the joy of being with her was hard to surpass. It was a joy that seemed to resurrect itself in dreams and in the worst moments on the field, when surrounded by dead men and rotting flesh that was the image that came to mind; Downton and Mary, and then only through a surge of guilt did Lavinia appear. And that hurt him more than anything, that he couldn't forget her when she had clearly moved passed that moment. He'd thought by making Lavinia a part of his life, the future, his future, that might change, but it hadn't, he'd just ended up feeling more guilty, dragging another desirable, sensible, lovely woman into his clutches.
"Matthew, I am sorry for what happened." He doesn't look at her, he can't, he absolutely can't accept her apology.
"I'm not sure it makes much difference now. None of us could have wanted Edward not to exist, he's a dear dear boy."
"This isn't about Edward anymore Matthew. Don't you see? This is about us, you and I." He can hear the tears and he looks up to see them just before she shakes them away.
"Mary, this is a little late. Far too late in fact, I don't know what got this idea into your head. But I'm not a free man anymore. I'm engaged to be married this afternoon. That's the long and the short of it."
"Not if you love me." And just like that he has to close his eyes, fight against is own anger. The pain he knows he's just about to cause. But it was the only way, a clean break.
"That wasn't enough for you two years ago though, was it?" He turns before he can see her face, before he takes her in his arms to stem the streaming tears. She pretends to be strong but he knows she's weak particularly in matters such as these.
He enters the house and brushes straight passed his mother and upstairs desperate for an hour to himself, an hour to try and finally, finally drown Mary from his thoughts.
Edith sprung down from the tractor, eager for the next job Mr Drake had for her to do. For the first time in years, in fact, ever, she felt wanted, needed and not like the spare part in a great household.
"Shouldn't you be getting back milady. Wedding to attend an' all." Edith swallows, the last weeks final wedding preparations swirling in her mind. Matthew might not be the heir any longer but the wedding was going to be a grand affair, even in the middle of war. Some things had been cut, the guest list for example was very small: everyone at Downton and Lavinia's father were the only attendees, the servants had been given an open ended invitation, they didn't have to come. Somewhat surprisingly Carson had said he would, rather a shock seeing as he was an avid Mary supporter and couldn't be glad at the thought of the love of Mary's life marrying another woman. Edith couldn't help but think he was going as moral support for Mary.
"I suppose I should, what time would you like me to come in the morning?"
"Well, I mean as early as possible really. But won't people start talking milady."
"Call me Edith please. And quite honestly I don't care if they start talking." She stares intently at Mr Drake and she's not sure if it's the alcohol swirling in her bloodstream, or just the thought of a life that isn't Downton, but she finds herself leaning in towards him and even more surprising he's willing. His lips press to hers in a way that Edith imagined looked like how she had seen her father kiss her mother when he thought nobody was looking. It all ends too quickly and before she knows what's happening she's back on her bicycle, Mr Drake waving her off.
She's mechanical as she stands in the church and turns her head to see the bride entering the church, she tries desperately to keep her eyes fixed on Lavinia, on all the things she knows about the dress she's wearing: the yards of fabric, detail of the jewels, who they are all from but she can't. She'd spent months planning Matthew's wedding while he'd been at war, but it had been bitter sweet. It was Matthew's wedding but not hers. Not theirs. Her head slips back around to the front of the church, just where she didn't want it to be. He stands proudly, his back to his bride. His blonde hair lays combed on his head but not so combed it doesn't look natural. He'd spent the morning at Eryholme, the house on the border of Downton's land had been gifted by her mother, an exchange that had taken place back when Edward was born. Now, it was to be Matthew and Lavinia's home. Mary had spent a few days there, touring the rooms and discussing with Lavinia the best ways to have them done up. It was stupid really, Lavinia was the loveliest person she'd ever met, and she deserves her happiness but Mary is selfish, she knows she is, she was fully content for Lavinia to find happiness as long as it wasn't with Matthew.
But, well, here she was second row from the front with a bright smile on her face watching as the groom finally turned to look at his bride. Except it wasn't on Lavinia that Matthew's eyes first fall as he turns, they fall on her. She gives what she hopes is a reassuring smile and dips her head, her silent apology for the morning, the only one she can give. It wasn't her choice, it was theirs, they were here now and if there was one thing that needed to be avoided it was a scandal, she had seen enough of those already. It feels like an age before his eyes drop from hers, her heart rate doesn't slow until the point in the service when the vicar asks for any objections. At that moment it begins to do a canter.
Her grandmother's face steals into her vision, her lips prim, eyes questioning, her stick gesturing forwards, towards the waiting couple. Mary shakes her head and the elderly vicar seemingly notes this.
"Lady Mary, Lady Grantham do either of you have something you wish to say?" All eyes swivel in their direction but Mary holds her gaze, the only way she knows to not appear to be lying.
"Why would we possibly have anything to say Mr Travis? My stick was merely caught on my dress and I was signalling for Lady Mary to reach down and remove it." Mary smiles affectionately at the gazes, her heart plummeting briefly as her mother turns and gives that look she gives to little baby Edward. She narrows her eyes, hating the pity, hating the looks, the whispers. It made her want to sink into the earth, or spend all her time with Lavinia, she might be the chosen one, but she didn't pity Mary, they'd become firm friends. Mary knew in her own heart that she would have gone to Matthew earlier than that morning if the woman he'd chosen had been anyone but Lavinia. But she knows that they are well suited and Matthew loves Lavinia. He might love her too, but he did also love Lavinia. So, she'd held back, only following up Anna's advice from months ago that morning, and even then she hadn't said the words, she hadn't admitted she loved him. It was her own loss, her own failure. Time had closed around them and now she must move on.
She stood staring at the man before her, two days after Matthew's wedding and Mary's heartbreak she was now about to break another's heart just as Matthew had Mary's. Despite her warning he'd said it anyway. Her baggage in hand he'd said it. Always the loyal servant, too loyal in fact, at least to her, and he'd said it. It wasn't really that it changed anything, she'd known already, she'd known for some time. But somehow, with him saying it out loud it changed everything, if he was called up to fight she'd know without a shadow of a doubt that it was her that was getting him through and if something happened to him she knew she'd blame herself for not being able to return that affection and thus was putting him in danger or even ending his life.
"Branson, Tom I think..."
"It's alright. I understand, I'll leave."
"No, no. It's only I'm not-"
"In love with me. I know."
"It's not even that really, I'm just not quite ready yet, for the real world, I've been hidden away and protected, and I am aware of that. Perhaps after this training I'll be more in tune with what I want from life?" She stares at him, his eyes close and reopen as he seemingly reassesses his situation.
"You won't tell your father?"
"No, I wouldn't want for you to lose your job because of feelings out of your control." He seems to smile at that, or at least slightly. The corners of his mouth twitch up, heading towards the trademark grin the Branson she liked so much always wore.
"At least you believe them to be out of my control, I'm sure your father would believe it is possible for me to have feelings for someone so above my station in life." Sybil laughs at that, her face tilted so she may peer more easily at him from beneath her hat, she wouldn't deny that he was far more attractive than any other man she'd ever met, but then he had the toned muscles of a man that worked, not one that flounced around all day with servants to do his work.
"He once thought it wasn't possible to fall in love with an American, being English. And look where that got him."
"Yes, but I would say that was a one in a million chance."
"And who says you can't be my one in a million? As my mother was my father's?" She doesn't even realise the words have left her mouth but staring up at him, her last link with home she can't help but realise how much she'll miss their political discussions, or the stories Anna tells her that 'Mr Branson has been telling us.' It wasn't just her parents and her siblings she was leaving behind, it was the familiarity, the gossip and included in that were the servants, they were part of an almost extended family.
Lavinia was more than pleased the wedding was over and she and Matthew were finally alone in their own house and had miraculously avoided visitors for two days. When she'd decided to have the wedding at the Abbey it had seemed like a marvellous idea, and indeed it had been very beautiful but that moment in the church wouldn't quite leave her mind even now; Matthew having uttered his love to her at least a dozen times. She splashes some more water on her face before returning to the bedroom expecting her maid. What she instead finds is Matthew sitting upon the bed, still in his pyjamas with a breakfast tray beside him.
"I thought we could have breakfast up here, together." She wanders over to him and standing before him rests her hands against his shoulders. Studying his face, trying once more to remember every line. Not that she needed to, she knew it already.
"Do you really have to go back tomorrow?"
"I do. I know it's a short honeymoon. But when the war finishes I promise we will go away." She leans forward to kiss him, her knee sliding onto the bed by his leg, but he stops her, kissing her forehead gently and pushing her leg back to the floor. "I've brought breakfast. I'd rather it didn't get cold as it's the best food I'll have in months."
Lavinia can't help but feel slightly rejected. Yes, he was fighting a war that he was returning to the following day, but she thought he'd have a more pleasant reaction to her attentions and would certainly prefer them above food. Her mind briefly wonders if he would have turned Mary down but she turns it away. She was his wife, not Mary. Besides the woman was kind enough and Matthew had readily assured her that whatever might have happened before Edward was born was long buried. For Mary at least she knew that was true but the way Matthew had glanced at her during the wedding ceremony hadn't gone unnoticed by Lavinia, nor had the feeling in her gut that told her Matthew wasn't enjoying being married as much as he should. She passed it off as the war eating away at his mind, and indeed he rarely slept without a nightmare but she did wonder if that wasn't all he thought of, she was sure that perhaps Mary ate away at his thoughts just as much, or the pain of rejection did anyway. Matthew loved her, but the question was whether she would be able to make him forget the heartbreak he'd received at the hands of Mary. As for Mary herself Lavinia rather liked her and she'd been an excellent help with the house and wedding. It was their differences in personality that made them get on so well and Lavinia hoped they would become firm friends if nothing else.
"Do I displease you, in bed?" She voices the question no more above a whisper her eyes resting on his shirt. Too embarrassed really to keep her gaze on his. She had found the whole experience rather pleasant, in fact, she craved it, but she wasn't sure Matthew did. He seemed far away sometimes when they had been together and like a lot of things in the last few days, that made her feel uneasy about herself and their future.
"Why on earth would you say that?" He tilts her chin up to face him.
"Well, because I'm never sure if you're enjoying it."
"And I imagine I only look like that because I'm worrying I'm never going to be good enough for you." He kisses her gently on the nose before pulling her down to sit on his lap. He seems as though he's about to kiss her when his thoughts wander once more to the food and he turns his head that way.
Robert had half dragged Cora into the rose garden. He'd sat them in their favourite seat beneath the rose she'd asked to be planted when the girls were still very small, it was her favourite and Robert had since placed a bench before them. He blinks a few times as she stares up at him, the letter in his pocket seemingly burning a hole. He reluctantly lifts his hand there and pulls the letter from where it had sat since breakfast. He had quickly slipped it away earlier turning instead to enjoy the cake Sybil had baked for her last morning at home- yes, his youngest daughter had been taking cooking lessons and deep down he was awfully proud of her. But it hadn't changed the letter that was scorching a hole in his pocket, the letter he thought he'd never see. The letter that will rip Cora's life in two. He'd wanted to wait and tell her the following day, but he knew he couldn't.
Yet, sitting next to her, her small hand resting on his thigh he debates the situation yet again. He is shaking slightly from the nerves and he can't help wondering if he can turn that feeling into anything else. Edward he knew was his only hope for the coming months, he would be the only thing that would allow Cora to get through this.
"I had a letter this morning." He uncurls the already crumpled page and smooths it on his knee. He doesn't dare look at her instead he just stares at the loops of lettering on the page, the words scribed diligently in black ink. Words that sealed his fate. "From the war office. It's all been arranged by Haig."
"What has been arranged darling, they can't, I mean they said..." He hears the tears, he doesn't need to look up, he can hear them, picture them; the glassy shade, a single tear threatening at the corners.
"It seems they do. Want me that is...after all, they changed their mind." Her hand drops from his lap and he finally looks up, taking her hand slowly in his. She stares at her lap now, to hide her tears. She'd never done that the first time, when he'd gone to war before, they'd both expected it and she'd been so terribly brave even though he knew, and she had told him since, that the whole thing had almost torn her apart. But not this time, her refusal to be brave told him all he needed to know. He might leave and never come back, it was all down to luck, fate, but the Cora he knew was never really to return- him being gone was going to be enough to tear her to shreds.
"How can they just change their minds like that? How is that fa-" He cuts her off with a finger to her lips before pressing his own there, pulling her to him. Talking, discussing something they can't change isn't going to get them anywhere, he knows that. Even if, goodness knows he wishes it wasn't happening. He'd been so relieved back when Edward was born to sit around and admire his little baby boy, knowing he'd get to see all of his childhood, but, that had been taken away just as it had been with the girls, particularly Sybil and that was why he didn't know her, understand her quite as well as Edith and Mary. He didn't want that happening with Edward, not his one and only son; the tiny boy who was to be the next earl. But alas, his card had been drawn. His fate sealed.
He returns his attention to Cora, and gently stroking her cheek leans into kiss her once more. It's time to embrace the time they have left together, the last few weeks. Cora doesn't hesitate, Robert knew she wouldn't that's why they had to be away from Edward. Her fingers curl into his hair, rubbing at his scalp; her tongue seems to lash violently, desperately, and as he always does he loses himself there, with her.