Anthony Strallan had always been an early riser, a habit picked up from a lifetime of avoiding his home life. When he lived at Locksley, with his parents, he found it easer to avoid his father's exacting scrutiny if he was up and out the door before the rest of the household awoke.
With Maude, whom he appreciated and felt responsible for, but whom he never deeply loved, he used work as an excuse to be gone early and back late. He'd row before sunup and spend all day in classes and meeting with students and grading papers. Maude, dear that she was, never did mind, or at least never complained.
But it wasn't Maude on Anthony's mind when he woke that morning, far later than he was accustomed. Rather, he grinned like an idiot the moment he met consciousness, reaching for the pretty strawberry blonde he'd fallen asleep with.
The grin faded as his hands met nothing but bedding. Just as his eyes opened, finding his room wretchedly empty, there was a brief rap at the door. Without warning a kind-faced older woman bustled in, causing Anthony to scramble for the sheets to cover his nudity.
"Oh, apologies, Dr. Strallan," the woman said in a vaguely Scottish accent, wholly unshaken. "You're not the only one having a lie-in this morning."
"Oh, well, lots of drink last night," he mumbled, quite at a loss as the woman took the liberty of picking up the forgotten wine bucket and melted-down candles. When she bent to gather Edith's knickers and camisole, Anthony began a pathetic, stuttering protest.
"Dr. Strallan, my name is Mrs. Carson. I'm the house manager. Edith asked that I launder her things and your sheets… discreetly."
Anthony knew he must have turned an alarming shade of red because she smiled and turned around to face the wall, crossing her arms over her as she waited. "Breakfast is laid downstairs when you're ready. If you'd like to step into the bathroom, I'll just take the bedding and clear out."
"Ah, yes," he muttered, understanding her subtle instructions. "Thank you, Mrs. Carson." He skipped into the connected bath, avoiding any of the room's mirrors, feeling like a school boy caught in the girls' dormitories.
The shower felt good, his old body recovering slowly from the scotch and the surprise activities after.
"Just bringing fresh towels," Mrs. Carson said from the door, causing him to jump. He grunted some startled thanks before hearing the door click shut again. His surprise when the curtain was pulled back from the tub and a pair of small arms wrapped around him from behind was easier to temper.
"Mrs. Carson," he moaned, wrapping his arms around the firm body pressed against his back. "What will your husband think?"
Edith's laugh was musical. "I hope you don't mind my intrusion," she said, voice muffled against his shoulder blade. "No one else is up yet, but that can't last forever so I thought I'd pop in. Do you mind?"
Anthony turned in her arms, still surprised by her beauty, even after the previous night's intimacies. "Mind?" he laughed, clasping his hands at the top of her perfectly formed little bum. "I can't think of a scenario where I mind your presence."
"Really?" she asked, her smile masking the sheer disbelief in her question. Again Anthony felt true worry that he'd never convince Edith of her worth.
"Well," he sighed, pulling her flush against him, "It helps that you're naked."
Edith laughed again, stretching up to hug Anthony tightly against her. "Thank you," she breathed against his ear, "For everything. You're wonderful."
"You keep thanking me like I've done you some sort of favor. You know that I'm the one who should be groveling at your feet, don't you?" he asked, kissing her damp shoulder.
The spray from the shower had effectively soaked and warmed them both. After a moment Edith braced herself on Anthony's shoulders as she lifted her legs to wrap around his waist. His hands cupped her thighs automatically, supporting her weight and copping just a small feel.
"You're strong," Edith chuckled. "And stupidly tall. I just climbed on you like a jungle gym and you didn't even flinch.
"Did I mention it helps that you're naked?" he said dryly, happily accepting the affectionate kiss she gave him.
"We should be naked… all… the time," she said between kisses.
"I believe I suggested as much last night and you rolled your eyes at me."
"Oh?" she feigned confusion. "Well, I suppose I changed my mind."
"Excellent news," he muttered. After a great many more kisses he asked quietly, "How are you feeling? Are you up for this?"
"You certainly are," she laughed, bucking once against his hard length to prove her point.
"For you, always. But I'm serious. I don't want to hurt you."
"You never could," she promised.
Anthony kissed her again, wondering if he'd be able to keep up and hold her weight at the same time.
"Here," Edith said, wriggling out of his arms to stand on her feet again. "This will be easier." She kissed him once before turning around, pulling him against her and guiding his hands to her hips. She bent just slightly at the waist, bracing her hands on the wall and arching her back, effectively pushing her rear into his growing erection.
"Good god, where did you come from?" Anthony gasped, feeling himself get impossibly harder as she rubbed against his length. She pulled one of his hands from her hip to her center, showing him she was ready.
"Please don't make me wait too long, Dr. Strallan," she moaned.
The everlasting universe of things flows through the mind and rolls its rapid waves, Anthony began in his head, unwilling to disappoint his darling Edith. His hand moved slowly among her slick folds, while his other moved to her breast. She gasped, reaching between her lush thighs to guide him in.
Anthony held achingly still, partially to savor the moment and partially to focus on not coming right away.
When he started rocking within her, Anthony was forced to accept the painful, obvious truth that nothing in the remainder of his long and tedious life would feel as right as being with Edith Crawley. Anthony was glad, in a way, that she was facing away from him when they finished, together, because it meant she couldn't see the embarrassing tears that fell down his well-lined face.
When Edith finally made it to the dining room, hair wet and body sated, she found the majority of her family present. Sybil and Ros were still in their robes but everyone else had at least managed to get dressed. They were all nursing various shades of hangover and Edith just barely hid her glee from them. It was quite strange indeed, feeling so totally transformed and yet looking exactly the same as she always had done.
"Stop looking so chipper," Mary groused, dropping a lump of sugar into her tea. "You went to bed hours before the rest of us. Being boring shouldn't be rewarded. Where have you been, anyway?"
Edith had half a mind to speak the words that were at the tip of her tongue, to look her sister calmly in the eye and say, Why, I was upstairs having the climax of the century, or Excuse my being chipper, I've had mind-blowing sex three times in the last twelve hours, but being a lady she refrained.
"I've been sleeping, Mary. Was there something you needed?"
"Mama asked me to take old Strallan for a ride to show him the grounds, but Matthew and I are touring the churches. You'll have to do it instead," Mary said with a caustic roll of her eyes.
"Why must you all shout?" Sybil asked with a groan, sipping gingerly at some sort of smoothie.
Edith sat down with a larger-than-usual breakfast and shrugged in non-committal consent. She looked over to Cora, who took the heat pack from her eyes long enough for Edith to nod confirmation.
"Good morning," came Anthony's glorious voice, soft and certain as it always was. He managed to look casual as he poured himself a coffee and took the seat beside Edith. She just stared at her bowl of fruit and focused on separating the grapes from the melon.
"Anthony, my good man," Robert greeted, wincing at the sound of his own voice, "How'd you sleep?"
"Alright, though it took me a while to doze off," Anthony said, offering a passing smile to Edith at the seemingly innocuous comment. He was most certainly winning this little game, and Edith was beginning to feel competitive.
"I'm glad you're rested," Cora offered, ever the well-trained hostess. "Our Edith is going to take you on a horseback tour of the grounds this morning, if you're interested." She smiled at Anthony, then pushed her scrambled eggs away as if they had offended her.
Anthony raised a lackadaisical eyebrow at the offer as Mary said, "I'm so sorry, I would do it but I'm afraid I'm a bit tied up."
Edith was still astonished, after a lifetime of being her sister, that Mary Crawley had such confidence in her own allure as to apologize in advance for her general absence.
"Edith?" Anthony said, buttering a bagel, "Couldn't ask for a better tour guide, I'm sure. Tell me, Lady Edith, do you have much experience with, erm, riding?"
They made eye contact for the first time since his entrance and Edith's poor heart almost couldn't take it. His teasing helped contain her, as she wasn't one to be outdone so easily. "Oh yes," she assured, forcing herself to sound neutral. "I do enjoy riding, though I haven't had much opportunity of late."
"Oh?" Anthony asked, and she was just itching to touch him.
"Not much, I'm afraid, though I have a feeling I'll be riding quite a lot this weekend."
"I do enjoy a good ride," Anthony agreed, nudging Edith under the table with his knee. "Whether it be of the slow, leisurely variety…"
"Or a quick, hard sprint to get your heart racing," Edith finished, smiling at him in a challenging way that she knew would be missed by everyone else. Anthony, to her delight, smiled and clinked his cup against hers in cheers, a gesture Edith knew meant touché.
"Oh for god's sake," Mary growled under her breath. "I can't take the tedium. I'm going to take a shower."
As Mary stood, Edith tipped her head and said, "I hope you enjoy your shower. A perfectly invigorating way to start your day."
Mary just rolled her eyes and swept away failing, as everyone but Edith did, to notice Anthony choke on his coffee. The rest of breakfast passed largely in silence, though Edith and Anthony were quite interested in each other's meals.
"This is Hallam, and this handsome man is Tennyson," Edith introduced, gesturing to a chestnut Quarterhorse and a blonde Clydesdale respectively.
"Hallam and Tennyson, eh?" Anthony asked.
"Yes, well, I went through a phase." Edith and Anthony were standing between the two horses, both of which were saddled and ready to go. Anthony was wearing dark pants and some well-worn boots, a fisherman sweater and a corduroy jack. Edith couldn't stop staring, distinguished as he was in the late-morning light. She ran her hands fondly down Hallam's neck to keep from touching him.
"I hold it true, whate'r befall, I feel it when I sorrow most. Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."
Edith was taken aback. She dropped her hands from Hallam's neck and turned to face an oblivious looking Anthony. "No one who has come here has understood why I chose the names Hallam and Tennyson."
"Well, who can ask for a better friend than one who would write over 130 cantos of the most precise poetry in human history out of grief over your death?" Anthony shrugged.
"Bet you can't guess my favorite canto," Edith challenged, reminding herself to breathe.
Anthony frowned, shifting his weight to his back foot as he thought. When he spoke he was only mildly hesitant. "The mystic glory swims away, from off my bed the moonlight dies, and closing eaves of wearied eyes, I sleep till dusk is dipped in gray…"
"… And then I know the mist is drawn, a lucid veil from coast to coast, and in the dark church like a ghost thy tablet glimmers to the dawn," Edith finished.
"Well remembered," Anthony whispered, leaning closer to her.
It seemed absolutely absurd to Edith that such a conversation should be happening in the stables between her two childhood ponies. Her soul seemed to sing with the sound of his voice and the seaglass color of his eyes, and the only thing she could think clearly was More.
"Canto sixty-seven," she muttered. "How on earth did you know?"
"I didn't. I just picked my favorite and figured it stood a fair chance."
Taking a quick glance around to make sure they were very much alone, Edith pulled Anthony to her by the collar of his shirt and kissed him soundly on the lips. When she tilted her head so he might better access her mouth, he smiled and stepped back.
"Perhaps we better get going," Anthony suggested, "I don't trust myself with you here much longer."
"Very well," Edith sighed dramatically. "You take Hallam, I'll take Sonny," and with that they mounted, waving to the boy William as they left the yard.
Anthony was no expert horseman, though he had taken the requisite classes all boys of affluence did. He was glad that Edith had planned an easy ride for them. The trail they followed moved west along the property, following some fencing until it reached the orchards. Cutting through the orchards, Anthony knew the smell of apples would be forever after associated with the sun glancing off of Edith's shiny hair, and the image of her slender body rocking with the horse's steps. They rode in silence, though occasionally she'd look over her shoulder, her skin and eyes matching the colors of late summer fading into fall—brown and blush and gold.
From the orchard, the pair emerged at a small stream, which they crossed, finding a hidden trial through the woods on the other side.
"Is this the part of our story where you lead me into the forest and chop me into a thousand pieces?" Anthony asked, enjoying his view of Edith's rear in her tight riding pants.
"A little nervous?" she asked, glancing back with a cheeky grin.
"Not at all, Lovely. Merely curious."
Edith laughed. "I don't yet know where our story ends, Dr. Strallan, but I assure you it does not involve an axe murder in these woods.
Anthony chose not to reply, torn as he was between saying something witty and telling her he wished their story had no end.
It was a beautiful ride to be sure. The narrow trail they followed was flanked by tall, leafy oaks whose branches met overhead, dappling their way with sunlight. Being late summer, fat, happy birds sounded all around, and judging from the burble of water, Anthony figured they were following the stream.
Frankly, he didn't care where she led him or what it looked like because he knew that, after eighteen hours, he would follow Edith Crawley anywhere she asked, and he'd enjoy doing it too.
Anthony was still brewing over that unsettling bit of self-awareness when they finally reached their destination. A tiny, ideal white cottage stood in the middle of a clearing, an overgrown garden fenced off in front and a sloping yard to the left that led to the creek Anthony had been hearing.
"This is like a bloody storybook," Anthony said, following Edith's cue and dismounting the sturdy Hallam.
"You like it?" she beamed in that giddy, hopeful voice he was growing so fond of.
"Are you kidding? It's perfect. What's it doing all the way out here?" he asked, gesturing to the overgrowth around it, the vines covering its right side. "No drive, no garage, surrounded by forest."
"This used to be one of the tenant cottages back when this was all farmland. When necessity lost out to industry, this little place was basically forgotten."
"Shame," Anthony said, automatically reaching for Edith's hand as she moved them toward the little house with green shutters. "It's in remarkably good shape, considering."
"Well when I got home from my first year at boarding school I was a bit stir crazy, and lonely, and hated being in that huge, cold house while my sisters ran around and did awful things like dating and shopping with friends. I was out pretending to run away one day, and I came across this place. I ran all the way home and begged Papa to let me fix it up. He finally relented because, believe it or not, I can be quite persistent."
"You?" Anthony teased, kissing her knuckles quickly as they made their way up the paved walk.
"Yes, well," Edith continued, "It was all mine so long as I did the work. And it's been mine ever since. No power or running water, but I love it anyway."
Edith fished a key from her pocket for the front door, mumbling something about shamefully neglecting the garden this year. When she pulled Anthony inside after her, he was left totally speechless.
It was a small, but open space. There was a little unused kitchen to the left with a dinette set that looked to be at least a hundred years old. An ancient velvet sofa sat against the far right wall, and large French shutters protected the windows. The wide-plank floors were covered with threadbare rugs in haphazard patterns.
More appealing was the abundant evidence of Edith that littered the space between: a six-foot easel sat near a window, an old bar stool before it and a small shelf that looked handmade stuffed with brushes and paints and other tools. Not far from that a drawing horse waited with charcoals and pencils and a sketchpad in place. Finished canvases were stacked against the baseboards and select drawings were tacked over the walls. Great bookshelves were built in under the stairs immediately to the right of the door and they held novels, school texts, and dozens of old notebooks and moleskeine journals.
It was Edith, all of it, and Anthony felt like he was looking at the pretty, cluttered corners of her very soul.
"It's not much, I realize. And if it weren't for the wood stove in the kitchen I'd freeze in here seven months out of the year, but it's mine," she said, making a little circle as she gestured to the room.
"It's absolutely perfect," Anthony said quickly. "May I?" he asked, gesturing toward the paintings on the floor.
"Of course," she allowed, though she blushed. "Only don't judge too harshly. I'm no artist, and some of these date back ages. I started coming out here when I was twelve."
"These are very good," Anthony said, hoping she knew how utterly sincere he was. There were landscapes and still-lifes and the occasional portrait or domestic scene. "You've a great talent. Did you study art at all?"
Edith scoffed, catching Anthony's attention. "No, but you're sweet to think so."
"I can't believe your parents never said," he continued, sad when he found a particularly unflattering self-portrait she'd done. Edith had no clue at all how beautiful she was.
"They've never seen them," she said, finally crossing the room to join him. Apparently uncomfortable with his continuing exploration of her paintings, she distracted him by taking both his hands and wrapping them around her.
"Never? Don't they come out here?"
"I've never taken anyone here before," she confessed softly.
Failing to muster a proper response, Anthony opted instead to kiss her. After several long, delicious kisses and a too-brief taste of her tongue, Anthony asked, "What are the notebooks? School?"
"Ha," she said derisively. "No, those are the sad evidence of Edith's Crawley's attempt at writing."
"Anything you'll let me read?"
"I'd sooner walk naked through Piccadilly," Edith answered, pulling Anthony back outside.
He was there, in her most secret place, and Edith could only think of how right it felt to share it with him. She had never brought anyone here, nor shown anyone her paintings. She'd also never told anyone of her love for writing. Perhaps she felt he was safe because she'd likely never see him again. Or maybe it was that he was inherently non-judgmental. Whatever the reason, Edith knew she would tell this man anything, could show him anything, lay her soul bare before him, and never had she felt safer.
"I, I packed a picnic," she finally said, pulling him from her sanctuary into the bright midday sun. "Let's eat down by the creek, yes?"
The gorgeous man with the remarkably blue eyes nodded his assent as she pulled their lunch from Tennyson's saddlebag. They used the saddle blankets to save their clothes from the damp bank grass and left the horses to graze in the garden. "Far easier than weeding," Anthony cleverly observed.
Lunch was simple fare—cold chicken and rye bread, some cheeses and a fruit salad. Edith took the risk of packing ginger beer over white wine or lager, which Anthony approved. "A veritable feast," he said.
They ate mostly in silence, and Edith hoped she hadn't pushed him too far, hadn't revealed too much of herself or made him otherwise uncomfortable or bored. She can't imagine anyone finding much pleasure of such a simple thing, but if anyone could appreciate it, Edith figured it was Anthony.
Just as they were finishing up their meal, Anthony finally eased her worry. "So, you're an Oxford graduate, you paint, you write, you're independent from your lovely, albeit… oppressive family, you're staggeringly beautiful and have, I feel confident in my assessment, the most flawless breasts in history."
Edith blushed profusely, although she had no desire to appear like she was acting coy or demure. "I'm not a painter or a writer, Anthony, not at all. I just fiddle around with that stuff because I enjoy it and it helps relax me. I may have my degree, but I haven't done anything useful with it and you don't…" She paused, tossing the remnants of her sandwich into the brush and shaking her head.
"Don't what?"
"You don't have to tell me I'm pretty. It's alright, I've never cared as much as Mary or Sybil about how I look. I don't mind that I'm plain."
"You're so wrong, Edith, that I don't know how to begin convincing you otherwise," he said matter-of-factly.
Edith just shrugged and went about repacking the picnic basket. Anthony, after studying her for a moment, began to help without asking. There weren't many men like Anthony, Edith decided. Granted, her knowledge of men was limited, but she knew he was special.
How long had they known each other? Twenty hours? Twenty-two maybe? She shook her head at herself and the way her lungs constricted whenever their hands inadvertently brushed while packing the basket. She tried too to ignore the seeping sadness at the thought of having only two nights left with him.
"What's wrong, Sweet?" Anthony asked, and Edith wondered if she really looked that pathetic or if he was really just that perceptive.
Working hard to brighten her expression and her thoughts she said, "Not a thing in the world."
Anthony stopped her when she moved to fold the blankets, asking, "Are we in very much of a hurry?"
"Of course not, we can do whatever you like."
Pulling her close as he was, Edith had a fair idea what Anthony had in mind, and was fully on board. But then instead of nibbling her neck or feeling for the buttons of her blouse, he kissed her innocently and laid them down. His great arms were cradling her against his side, her head beneath his chin, her knees coming to rest against his leg. He didn't say anything, just got them both comfortable and sighed.
"This is really what you want?" she asked, finding it hard to accept that he would spend so much time with her for the sake of some cuddling.
"Yes," he said simply, pressing a few kisses into her hair. "Now shut up."
They were shaded by an ancient apple tree, close enough to the creek that their feet were slightly downhill from their heads. The summer birds were still going, and Edith could hear Anthony's steady breath move in and out of his lungs. It took no time at all to fall asleep.
By the time Edith and Anthony woke from their little nap, it was too late to really take advantage of their solitude, much as Anthony was tempted. But he also wanted Edith to know that time with her wasn't simply a means to his own pleasure. They chatted happily as they made their way back to the stables, and after a change of clothes, sat down to a game of chess in the drawing room.
"Edith, don't you think Dr. Strallan would like to visit with Mama and Papa?" Mary asked from the door, interrupting a story Edith had been telling about her flatmates, Tommy and Jimmy. Her presence was an intrusion in an otherwise secluded world. Anthony didn't relish the reminder that he wasn't alone on the planet with Edith.
"I, well, they asked that I," Edith stammered, effectively breaking Anthony's heart. It was a tough call, swooping in and telling Mary off seemed the thing to do, but it would surely give them away, and he didn't wish to embarrass Edith. Still, to stand by and let her suffer so seemed unthinkable.
"I assure you, it's been time well spent," Anthony said, consciously resisting the urge to touch Edith's knee or tug a lock of her hair affectionately.
"You really are too kind, Dr. Strallan," Mary said, shaking her head as she expertly cut Edith down with the comment.
"I assure you, I'm not," Anthony replied through a clinched jaw. He felt in the simple, seemingly polite interaction, Edith's frustration and hurt. Frankly he wanted to throttle Mary's skinny neck and shake the smirk from her face.
"Well, dinner is ready if you'd like to rejoin the party. Granny and Isobel have joined us for the evening," Mary said with a tight smile before sweeping away.
"She always knows just what to say," Edith said, standing and walking out before Anthony had time to stop her.
Dinner was made much more tedious by comparison to his day alone with Edith. Rosamund seemed intent on questioning him regarding anything and everything personal, which was awkward on several levels. He didn't relish lying, nor was he good at being salacious, and her questions made it that much harder to avoid mooning over Edith in front of everyone.
Robert wanted to relive the 'glory days' which Anthony remembered as being decidedly less 'glorious'. Mary was busy flirting with Matthew, a fine feat considering poor Edith was seated between them. But Edith, brave and lovely creature that she was, simply smiled affably and ignored all of them.
Anthony, aside from observing said goings-on, was rather stuck on one revolving train of thought.
His hesitation to defend Edith was nagging at him. It wasn't just that he wished he had been more adamant she was all manner of wonderful. No, it was more the other bit—that he had held back lest someone suspect anything.
Surely a tryst with the daughter of a school friend half his age would be ill-received, especially by Robert. It made sense also to save Edith the trauma of having to reject him in front of her family.
Why, then, did Anthony thrill so at the idea of declaring himself to god and everybody? She was beautiful yes, and he'd be immeasurably proud to have her on his arm, so to speak. But no, Anthony knew there was more to it than that.
He sipped at his dinner wine as the din of conversation fell away around him and his mind turned fully to the puzzle. He didn't just want bragging rights, he wasn't the sort. No, there was something about declarations, about public showings, acknowledgment of belonging. Anthony's heart raced as he realized where the train of thought was headed.
Anthony didn't want to simply enjoy Edith for the weekend and move on. What he was feeling was immense, bigger than him, more than he could contain. It swelled in his chest and ached in his heart. It felt an awful lot like—
"Anthony, old boy, are you alright?" Robert laughed, reaching over to sock Anthony lightly on the shoulder. "You look like you've just swallowed your knife."
The table grew quiet and Anthony blushed.
"He's fine, Robert. Don't be such a cad," Cora scolded teasingly. Everyone went back to their conversations except Anthony. When he finally risked a glance at Edith they made pointed eye contact.
His heart seized right up, the blood drained from his head, and he smiled daftly despite himself. Bugger, he thought. Bugger, shit, damn, bugger.
Edith frowned, asking without words if everything was alright. Anthony hardly knew. He shrugged and tried to look unaffected, wishing like hell he could stop thinking for one damn minute. That one, absurd, nagging thought, once it had popped in his head, wouldn't go away.
"Oh for god's sake," he mumbled to himself. Then in the most genial tone he could muster he said, "So sorry, Robert. I do believe the wine has gone to my head."
"Anthony? Are you ill?" Granny asked, looking less than interested in his answer.
"Should we call for a doctor?" Isobel offered.
"Oh heavens no," Anthony stammered, feeling the attention of the whole table turn to him. He paled under the scrutiny, and seeing Edith's sweet face looking so confused only made it worse.
"Anthony, you look quite unwell, Dear," Rosamund observed.
"No, no, no. Just a bit bushed is all," Anthony said, standing and dropping his linen napkin to the floor. He struggled to pick it up, his fingers not really doing what he wanted, as he said, "Think I might turn in."
"But the night's still young!" Robert argued, spreading his arms over the table like a king before a feast.
"It is, yes. Hate to be a damp towel over such an evening. Think I'll just go to bed, leave you all to it, and I'll, em, join you in the morning, yes?"
Before anyone else could protest Anthony hurried from the room, scrambling to reserve what little dignity he had left. He stumbled once on the stairs, cursed himself, and practically ran to his room. With a groan he flopped face-first onto the bed, so hung-up on Edith he didn't have time to regret his hapless exit.
"Twenty-four hours. You old, daft, bloody fool beggar," he mumbled into the duvet.
Bugger. Bugger. Bugger.
"What on earth was that?" Ros asked, breaking the brief silence after Anthony's departure.
"Poor chap's always been a bit skittish like that," Robert shrugged, not the least bit perturbed. "Never really one for parties, though most of the people coming tomorrow he's met before. Can hold his liquor like no one I've ever seen, though. Man's practically immune to the stuff."
Edith had to bite her cheek to keep from smiling at that bit of information. Because of course it meant his 'belly full of scotch' had absolutely nothing to do with the previous night.
"Well why on earth did you invite him?" Mary whined, "I'd rather watch paint dry."
"I invited him because he's one of my oldest friends," Robert reminded her with a small hint of warning.
"Well I think he's boring," she huffed.
"I find him quite interesting, actually," Sybil tried, always the diplomat. "He's knows an awful lot of things."
"Oh, Anthony is incredibly smart," Cora agreed. "But not at all arrogant about it."
Edith all the while kept her lips tightly pressed together. One word about Anthony and she was sure to give herself away. As much as she longed to tell her family how funny and kind and delicious he was, she knew he probably wouldn't appreciate it. Anthony was hers for the weekend only, and no more.
"Edith," Cora said in her what-else-have-you-got-to-do? voice. "Will you please go check on Anthony and make sure he has everything he needs?"
"Yes, Mama."
"And Edith? We're just about done here. Feel free to return to your book when you're done, or join us in the game room if you want."
"I'll probably just go to bed," Edith said neutrally, kissing her Granny on the cheek and looking as begrudged as possible as she left.
Edith didn't knock when she reached Anthony's room, unwilling to risk his turning her away. She heard him grumbling something about "old, daft, bloody, fool, beggar" into his mattress when she entered.
"Anthony, it's me," she said. He jumped up immediately, moving close to shut the door behind her.
"Hallo, come to turn down the bed?"
"I've come to mess it up," she amended.
Looking quite stern, Anthony bent close and whispered, "Were you followed?"
Edith swallowed a giggle. "No, Sir. Sent from behind enemy lines to see if you're alright. And I've been discharged for the evening, so I won't be missed."
Anthony gave her a cheeky, approving grin before closing the distance between them, kissing her softly with warm, dry lips.
"Are you alright?" Edith asked, running a hand through his hair and down his neck.
"Quite, Sweet one."
"You left in a bit of a hurry."
"Well if I'd stayed, one of three things was bound to happen."
"Do tell," Edith prompted, hooking her fingers through his belt loops and resting her head against the door.
"I was either going to drink myself into a coma, throw the roast at Mary, or stand up and have my wicked way with you right there against the sideboard in front of your whole family."
"The first would have put a damper on things, but the other two are absolutely inspired."
"Perhaps tomorrow night," he said. He was so close to her face that his nose bumped against hers and she could feel his breath on her lips.
"In the meantime, let's work with what we've got, yes?"
"Were you really sent here?" he checked, and Edith wondered how disgraced he'd be to get caught with her of all people.
"Really. They wanted me to check on you. They're almost making it too easy."
"Doesn't spoil it for you, does it?"
"Hardly," she scoffed, launching herself into his arms. It had been roughly four hours since their last kiss, which was decidedly too long for Edith. She wanted to devour him, to taste every corner of his mouth and reacquaint herself with the firm muscles and taut lines of his body. She would gladly drown in him, or at the very least in his eyes.
They undressed each other in record time. Anthony practically threw Edith onto the bed with his great hands at her sides. She was all embarrassing moans and mewling as he kissed her from ear to stomach. When he moved himself lower on the bed, bringing his face against her bent knee, she tensed.
This act was all well and good in theory, when Mary bragged about it to Sybil or Edith read about it in one of Mama's romances or what have you, but it was quite different in the flesh, as it were.
Anthony, patient and calm, ran his fingertips up and down her legs, knee to hip, in soothing patterns. He looked up at Edith with an honest, open expression so pure it startled her. "Please, Sweet? I want to taste you. Please?"
Edith felt her entire body turn red and she bit her lip, torn.
"Trust me, Sweetheart. And if you tell me to stop I will. Please, trust me?"
Well that did it, because of course she did trust him. She was his, there was no going back. "I trust you," she nodded frantically, forcing herself to breathe and staring up at the ceiling.
Her eyes shut of their own volition when she felt his lips suck and kiss up her inner thighs—left, then right, then left—coaxing her knees further apart all the while. He bit at her hipbone, kissed just above her curls, and then he was there.
Oh my, she thought, ashamed by her own body and his proximity to her wet, pulsating core. She gasped when she felt his nose nudge the very top just there. And when his tongue made one, slow sweep between her lips, she just about died.
Her body jerked of its own volition at the sensation and her eyes snapped open. Anthony glanced up from between her legs and asked, "Alright?"
"Ye-yes," she whispered, and then most speech was beyond her.
He worked slowly at first, tasting, savoring what he could. The flat of his tongue moved over her in broad strokes until she was simpering for more in a voice she barely recognized as her own. And then, the studious and shy Dr. Strallan used his hand to part her folds and flexed his tongue, pushing harder as he fished out her nub, working it well.
Edith should have been mortified, she knew, but she couldn't. Not even when he moved lower, burying his whole face in her so he could push the tensed muscle inside, thrusting several times, just enough to leave her breathless.
She risked a glance down, certain he couldn't be enjoying this half as much as she was. But as he pulled back to nibble lightly on her outer lips, she saw nothing but euphoric serenity in his features. The man looked practically relaxed.
"Anthony," Edith said firmly, earning his eye contact. Apparently something in her expression was all the permission needed.
Smiling like a boy at Christmas, he resituated, his great hands jerking her hips toward him, moving her legs over his shoulders and scooping beneath her backside to lift her up to his face.
That clever, knowing tongue of his plunged and licked and teased a stream of hissed exclamations from Edith as he brought her close but never quite there over and over. Just when she thought it couldn't get much better, he nibbled—nibbled—on her clit, pulling a yelp from her. Out of nowhere a finger was inside her, slowly moving in and out, teasing her where she wanted pressure most. Then a second finger, curling to find that spot they'd discovered together the night before.
"Oh, oh Anthony," she whined, her hips bucking greedily into his ministrations. "Ohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease."
And then Anthony Strallan hummed, and Edith exploded. Her body went rigid, her back arched violently off the mattress, and the cry that cracked from her own throat was inhuman.
"That's my darling," she heard him muttering, stroking her lightly to ease her through the end of her orgasm. She was still breathless and dizzy when he gently set her legs down and rejoined her against the pillows.
"Yes?" he asked, as if her ridiculous display wasn't enough. She looked at him with a watery laugh, and couldn't even be self-conscious when he wiped a hand over his glistening chin. How could she? With anyone else, maybe, but not with Anthony. Never with Anthony.
"I will never doubt you again," she said, her voice hoarse. She had meant to be sarcastic, but was entirely serious by mistake.
"I won't give you cause to," he answered, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze as he leaned in for a kiss. Edith felt a sort of wonder at tasting herself on his lips, because it was a kind of togetherness she'd never known to long for, hadn't thought to expect. He had claimed her, in so many ways, and she was entirely his.
Rain, and maybe a touch of honey. That's how Edith Crawley tasted, and Anthony was addicted. He realized, with some true alarm, that he would gladly do that over and over for the rest of his life if his reward was her groans of pleasure.
Before he could even tell himself he was an idiot, Anthony had pictured it: a quiet life together, setting up a home near the university with a studio in the attic or an outbuilding where she could do anything she liked. On holidays he would take her anywhere she'd want, go romping about the world together.
He could almost see her rocking a baby, but the idea was too painful on several levels, so he pushed it aside with a shiver. But the rest was just close enough to possible to be ignored. He couldn't convince his damned heart to stop hoping.
Possible perhaps in theory, but impossible. Edith deserved far more than the quiet life he could provide and the occasional weekend adventure. No, he would savor this weekend and set his little fish back into the pond.
"You look like you're making some fairly depressing decisions," Edith said, pulling Anthony back to the present.
"Not even remotely," he lied. He suspected she saw right through him, but obliging girl that she was, Edith didn't push it.
"Good," she chirped. "I want you at least twice before we go to sleep."
Anthony felt a pang of regret. "Sweet, I don't want to disappoint you. I'm not—"
"A young man," she finished. "I know." She dropped her head, whether in annoyance or mocking he couldn't say. Then, snapping her eyes to his she asked, "Anthony, how old are you?"
"Forty-eight."
"So, you're not a hundred?"
Her attitude was so innocent and sincere he simply said, "No."
"Oh," she smiled, leaning toward him with a sweet kiss. "Good. Think maybe you can stop acting like it then?" Her smile transformed into a mischievous little smirk and she bit her lip.
"You think you're quite clever, don't you?"
"Yes," she giggled, wriggling out of his hold to scoot to the far side of the bed. "I found you, after all."
"I thought I found you," Anthony said, easily capturing her with his long arms.
"I only let you think that."
"And the wine-induced tears? All fake?" He was trying to still her hands, using force but not really. They were half-wrestling by that point, all limbs and skin, each trying to pin the other to the bed.
"Oh no, those were real tears. I was miserable."
"And now?"
Edith stilled, her face growing serious as she shook her head. They were all tangled, lying close and facing each other on their sides. An odd position, but it would have to do, because if he wasn't inside her that instant Anthony thought he might die.
It was a quick, frantic coupling, the angle allowing Anthony's hands to roam and his length to move in shallow but effective drives. Edith was clinging to him like a life source, her knee hitched up over his hip, and the innately animal part of Anthony savored the notion that he was her strength and protection, at least in this.
It didn't take long for her inner walls to flutter and tighten around him. "Oh god, Edith," he gasped, his hand gripping her hip to steady her. "You feel so good, so tight and warm."
"Because I'm yours," she whimpered, pressing her forehead to his, holding onto his bicep with her trembling, bony little hand. "I've only ever been yours."
He came then, so hard it almost knocked the wind out of him. His movements grew weaker and more erratic as his release spilled, Edith tightening around him, milking him until he was spent.
Winded and more than a little dazed, Anthony's head fell to Edith's breastbone. She cooed and pet his hair and back in circuitous motions. He'd gone soft inside her long before they finally separated.
As Anthony leant over her legs to capture the duvet, he saw some of himself trickling down her thigh, and he couldn't deny the profundity of such a sight. There was something elemental in that, in joining her, in feeling and hearing and seeing each other, of leaving something of himself in her.
He was trembling when he laid back again, and he was glad Edith was already half asleep as she draped herself over him.
Bugger.
"I fell asleep before I got my way," Edith pouted when they woke in the early hours of the next day. Well, she had woken, then forced Anthony out of sleep by kissing his jaw and shoulder and ear and lips. He looked rather handsome in the predawn light, hair all mussed.
"Mmm, not my fault," he groaned, frowning as he tried not to wake. "And if you're going to keep abusing my body like this I'm going to need my rest."
"You can rest when we're done. As it is, I have to sneak back to my room shortly and I won't go until I've 'had my wicked way with you,' as you put it."
Anthony finally opened his eyes, and Edith felt her heart stumble a bit.
"I'll do all the work," she bargained, shifting her naked self over him. When she reached to take him in hand she couldn't help but feel a bit proud. "Anthony," she scolded, "You're already hard. Rather undermines your protest, wouldn't you say?"
"Greedy thing doesn't know what's best for him," Anthony grumbled, though he couldn't hide his contentment or the fact that his breathing had quickened. He smiled that crooked, perfect smile at her, eyes bright and sleepy.
Edith couldn't stifle her satisfied whine when she sank down on his girth. They moved with that slow lassitude of morning, taking their time, both largely silent and contained. It was so different from the other times, their eyes searching each other out, their rhythm unhurried.
Anthony reached up, ghosting his fingertips along the underside of her breasts thoughtfully before looking back up to her eyes. "You're so beautiful," he muttered, lifting his hips to meet Edith's lazy, rolling movements.
The absolute conviction in his eyes as he said it was so foreign to her that at first Edith didn't know what to think. The reality of the situation seemed to catch up with her all at once and the consuming terror that struck her suddenly was inexplicable but sharp and extreme. It forced her to look away as it wracked through her body.
"Look at me," Anthony asked gently. Edith put her hands on his chest, raking her nails over him to distract him, as she pressed her chin to her shoulder. She quickened her pace, relentless and determined.
"Edith," he said, "Honey, I won't last."
"I know," she snapped. "I want you to."
Anthony spasmed fitfully within her, and Edith barely let him finish before rolling off his lap and climbing off the bed.
"Edith, what?" he asked, confused and trying to gather his wits. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said, hurrying for her clothes where they were scattered over the room. "I just, um, I just need to get to my room before anyone else wakes up."
She heard Anthony stand but refused to look at him. She couldn't begin to explain the fear that was coursing through her like ice, but she knew she couldn't stay.
"Edith, slow down," Anthony tried, but Edith was already out the door.
"I'll see you at breakfast," she managed before shutting the door behind her and rushing to her room, willing herself not to fall apart the whole way down the hall.