Author's Note: This is a sequel and companion to my stories "Perfectly Wonderful" and "Letters to Brancaster." I recommend you read at least the first one before this story. "Letters" will be incorporated or referenced within the text.
Edith and Bertie are the main characters and have POVs about every other chapter, or so. There are also POVs from nearly every major character in the series. Mostly fluff, with a little angst down the road, and should be suitable for teens.
This is a work in progress; I have about 10 chapters written, and have an outline for around 30. I will post on Tuesdays and Fridays. Please forgive any historical or grammatical errors.
And your reviews mean so much to me, I love reading all of them.
CHAPTER ONE: Newlyweds
January 1, 1926
London, England
Edith Pelham, nee Crawley, Marchioness of Hexham woke on the first morning of her marriage to find her husband gazing at her.
"Darling, whatever are you doing?" she asked sleepily, reaching over to caress his cheek. "What time is it?"
Bertie turned his head to kiss her palm. "It's seven o'clock, and I was watching my wife sleep."
"Can that be so interesting?" she asked.
"It is to me. It's a novel experience to see you wake up. I didn't want to miss it."
Edith laughed, and took in the sight of her new husband. His hair was mussed in an adorable fashion, and the sheet had slipped to show his muscled bare chest. He was naked — she was still naked, too, from the evening before.
The memory made her blush. After Bertie's ardent declaration of love, they'd begun kissing, and their embraces quickly turned heated. A shiver ran through her at the memory of the whisper of his fingers against her neck as he'd unzipped her dress, and the intense look in his blue eyes as he'd removed the pins in her hair.
Their lovemaking had been very tender, with only a few awkward moments of knocked knees and bumped heads. They had many days ahead to learn how to love each other, and Edith suspected there was a deep reservoir of passion in Bertie that she could look forward to discovering.
As if he'd read her thoughts, Bertie leaned over to give her a long, lingering kiss. Her skin tingled as he pressed against her. "I also would like to experience what my wife looks like when I make love to her in the morning," he murmured, his lips moving down to her neck and collarbone.
Edith reveled in the thrilling sensations he was producing up and down her body. "My dear husband, did I not vow to honor and obey?"
January 5, 1926
Paris, France
Their journey was not arduous, and they arrived in Paris eager to begin their honeymoon. Bertie had arranged a suite at the new, very fashionable Hotel Le Bristol, and for the first several days, they walked along the Seine, visited museums and galleries, ate decadent dinners, and enjoyed each other's undiluted company.
On their fourth night, they went to a jazz club recommended by an Army friend of Bertie's, and it proved to be a most memorable evening.
It started when Edith emerged from her dressing closet in a gown that made Bertie's jaw go slack. "Well?" she said, striking a pose. "Will I do?"
The neckline of the beaded navy dress cut very deep, exposing Edith's creamy cleavage in a way that made his heart race. The back also swooped low, and he was already imagining running his fingers up her spine … pushing the straps off her shoulders … palming her pert breasts …
His throat went dry and his mind struggled to grasp at words. "You look incredible," he managed to choke out. "I shall have to fend off all the men of Paris tonight."
At dinner, he noticed how the waiters couldn't tear their eyes away from his wife — he could hardly blame them. At the jazz club, he saw every man eyeing Edith with a hungry gaze, and he wondered if he would be able to keep their hands off her.
He couldn't. After the third dance, a gentleman asked to cut in, and Edith gamely agreed. Bertie could only stand by and watch as they trotted around the dance floor. She was smiling and laughing, her eyes sparkling with delight.
Feeling sour, Bertie hovered on the edge until the song was done, then swooped in to take his wife in his arms again.
"Are you alright, darling?" Edith asked, her cheeks pink from exertion.
"Every man here wants to carry you off," Bertie grumbled.
Edith laughed. "I'm not the sort of woman that men pine for. That was always Mary, and Sybil when she was with us."
He shook his head. Edith still didn't see herself as the beautiful, captivating woman she was. In a way, that made her even more alluring to men. She wasn't an unapproachable ice queen like Mary; Edith was open and warm and inviting. Bertie sighed, and tried to rally himself into a better mood.
But the night only got worse, for him. More men asked Edith to dance, and she could not very well turn them all down. When the evening wound down, and they returned to the hotel, a black cloud hung over Bertie's head.
As they entered their room, Edith leveled a frown at him. "I'm sorry you didn't have a good time. I thought you were looking forward to going."
Bertie tried to rein in his pique. "I just did not enjoy the sight of other men with their hands all over my wife," he muttered, knowing full well he sounded like a whinging child.
Edith put her hands on his shoulders, looking up at him with a tender smile. "Jealous, darling?" she asked. "Think of this: They may have gotten to dance with me, but you're the only to take me home. You're the only one to take me to bed. I'm yours, 'til death do us part."
He pushed her against the door, his body covering hers, and Edith's eyes widened. "You are mine," he growled. And then he did what he'd wanted to do all night — tear off that godforsaken dress. In a moment, it lay in a pool of fabric at Edith's feet.
"I am yours," Edith agreed breathlessly, before his lips crashed down on hers.
Lord and Lady Hexham were strolling down the Champs de Elysee, when they encountered an acquaintance — the former Adela Graham. She curtsied properly, then introduced her new husband, Sir Randolph Palmer. The couple had just begun their own honeymoon.
"Lady Palmer was a cousin of Peter's, through his mother," Bertie explained to Edith.
Ah, she thought – the one Peter was to marry, though Edith didn't think it would've ever taken place, even had he lived.
Lady Palmer's cool blue eyes were surveying her quite critically. She was very beautiful, lithe and tall, with honey blonde hair curled underneath a fetching hat.
"Lady Hexham, I understand that you own a magazine. How very unusual," Lady Palmer declared rather haughtily, considering Edith outranked her now and before they were married.
Edith straightened and met her icy gaze. "Yes, I do. The Sketch. Have you read it?"
"I am afraid I do not have the time to read all the tittle-tattle in print these days."
At that, Bertie looked quite annoyed, and began to make their excuses. "Lovely to see you again, Lady Palmer. Sir Randolph," he said, touching his hat.
"I say, why not join us for dinner tonight?" blustered Sir Randolph, a rather stupid, but seemingly good-natured man. "We can dine at the Crillon. Come, join us! You must! Unless you have other plans."
Edith and Bertie looked at each other. They had no specific engagements to use as an excuse. With a barely perceptible sigh, Bertie agreed and they set the time for eight o'clock.
Later, as they dressed, Bertie grumbled about the invitation as Edith looked over her jewelry. She wanted to rub it in a bit, so she decided to wear the rather opulent emerald necklace and earring set Bertie had given her from the Hexham jewel collection.
At the Crillon, Sir Randolph and Lady Palmer awaited them at a table, a bottle of champagne already chilling in a bucket.
"A toast to newlyweds," Sir Randolph boomed, as they raised their glasses. "Isn't marriage grand?"
Edith didn't miss Lady Palmer eyeing her jewelry, nor the slight eye rolls she made when her husband chortled loudly enough to make other diners stare. Theirs was clearly not a love match.
"Lady Hexham, your sister is also lately married, is she not?" Lady Palmer asked, after placing her dinner order.
"She is, these past five months." Edith sipped delicately at her champagne. Bertie looked bored to death as Sir Randolph began talking to him of Parisian cigarettes.
Lady Palmer made a show of removing her gloves. "Lady Mary Crawley. Oh, but her married name is now Talbot. I understand her new husband owns a shop."
Edith silently ground her teeth, but smiled brilliantly. "Indeed. He was a racing driver, but he's retired to sell cars. We expect the business to be a phenomenal success, don't we, Bertie, dearest?"
Lady Palmer pursed her lips at this public display of intimacy.
"Indeed, we do, my love," Bertie replied. "One of his cars will be waiting for us when we return home to Brancaster Castle. I dare say Edith will take me on some very interesting rides."
With that, Bertie winked at her and delivered a rather roguish grin, and Edith nearly giggled. Lady Palmer looked as though she'd sucked on a lemon.
That night, lying entangled in bed, after another rousing lovemaking session, Edith indulged her curiosity.
"When is the last time you saw Lady Palmer?"
"I believe it was September, at Peter's memorial service."
"I wonder that her family didn't try to keep the marriage arrangements, substituting you for Peter."
Bertie shrugged. "Come to think of it, she was very friendly at the memorial, when she'd never given me the time of day before."
His forehead wrinkled at the memory. "Perhaps they did try to put her in my path. But my mind was too full of Peter's death, and my new duties, and most of all, you."
Edith could not let the statement go by without a deep kiss, and Bertie could not let her kiss go by without reciprocation, and some minutes passed before he spoke again.
"Being around her and all the other snobs who hardly tolerated Peter, or acknowledged me at all when I was just the agent, made me realize even more what I stood to lose in you," Bertie mused. "I determined to try to win you back, somehow. And then Mary telephoned."
Edith burrowed deeper into his embrace. "I suppose then we must be grateful to Lady Palmer, in a way."
"In a way. But not in every way," Bertie laughed, then kissed her in such a way that left no room for further conversation for some time.