CHAPTER FOUR: Mad About You
January 23, 1926
Brancaster Castle, Northumberland
"Good morning!" Edith declared cheerfully as she came into the breakfast room. Bertie stood to kiss his wife.
Margaret Pelham returned the greeting, though she raised an eyebrow at the kiss. In the days since her son and his wife had returned to Brancaster, she'd found they were quite … demonstrative in their affections.
She never would have thought her quiet, unassuming son to be such a romantic. But had he not kissed Edith soundly on the night of their engagement party — in front of herself and Lord and Lady Grantham, no less? Had she not espied them locked in an embrace, for anyone to see, in the far corner of the Downton library the day before Christmas?
And since their arrival, she'd witnessed dozens of little gestures — Bertie caressing Edith's back as they walked up the stairs, Edith throwing a flirtatious look at him over their teacups, Bertie winking at her in full view of the servants.
She also knew, from her maid's report of downstairs gossip, that they shared a room every night. His bed remained completely untouched.
Bertie was in love, and as a mother, she was delighted to see her son so content. Still, it wasn't proper for a marquess to be canoodling with his wife for all the world to see.
"What have you got to do today?" she asked Edith, who had decreed the first morning back that she would not breakfast in bed, as was her prerogative.
"I am paying a call at the hospital to meet the new doctor — Dr. Morris," Edith replied, buttering her toast. "And I still have some thank you notes to write from the wedding. I think I'm down to the last dozen. I'll be relieved when that task is complete!"
Margaret nodded. "And you, Bertie?"
"I am going to Brookfield Farm, to judge what state it's in," he replied. "I'm considering selling it."
She pursed her lips. "Is that wise? I thought the idea of breaking up the estate was abhorrent to you."
Bertie sighed. "It is, Mother, but this may be the only way to save the estate. I do not want to deplete the coffers completely in paying the tax. Brookfield has been faring poorly for years now, and it might not make sense to try to turn it around. There is a wealthy manufacturer in Newcastle who wants to settle down in the country, but close enough to monitor his factories."
Margaret could see that Edith already knew this information, as she was gazing at Bertie in sympathy, but not surprise. She felt a little put out, not to be Bertie's first confidante any longer. It was right, she supposed, that it be his wife, but it still stung.
Edith glanced at her, and likely saw a slightly sour look on her face, for she said, "After my visit to the hospital, perhaps you could join me in the south wing, again, Mother Margaret? I had an idea for updating those guest rooms, and would like your advice."
Margaret nodded and resumed eating, feeling a slight mollified. And not for the first time, she was rather glad Bertie had married Edith. Some other woman would've looked down at her, for who was she but the daughter of minor gentry, the wife of a gentleman with little more than good connections to his name? No doubt The Honourable Miss Adela Graham, for one, would've chucked her out the instant the vows had been said.
Edith was kind, truly kind. Yes, she'd come into this marriage damaged goods, but Margaret could see how much she did for Bertie. Her son was different now — more assured, more confident, more resolute. It was what she had wanted for him all these years, wasn't it?
Perhaps she should thank her lucky stars for Edith.
January 29, 1926
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire
"I'm going down to Yew Tree Farm, do you want to walk with me?" Andy asked as he came into the kitchen.
Daisy looked up from the potatoes she was peeling, and glanced at Mrs. Patmore, who was sitting at the desk examining receipts. "Can I, Mrs. Patmore?"
"Yes, go on with you," the cook said, with a wave of her hand. "Give my best to Mr. Mason. Be back by tea time."
Daisy grinned in delight, and removed her apron. "Let me fetch my coat!"
A few minutes later, they were walking down the lane that would lead them to the farm. When they were out of sight of the courtyard, Andy grabbed hold of her hand, and Daisy's heart gave a little flip.
They had been courting for less than a month, but Daisy thought she was already half in love. Andy was so sweet and gentle, so caring and kind. And he had such strong, muscled arms, and she wondered what it would feel like to be nestled in them against his bare chest. She blushed at the thought.
"Do you like living at the farm full-time now?" Andy said, pulling her closer to him.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Mason is so kind, and he's so encouraging about my education. Though living there means I see a little less of you," she replied shyly. She peeked up at him through her lashes to see that his cheeks had gone pink at her flirtatious remark.
He glanced around, and suddenly pulled her behind a large tree. "Then, we'll have to make up for that lost time," Andy murmured, before leaning down to brush his lips against hers.
Daisy felt herself going warm all over, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach. "Our first kiss," she breathed as they separated.
"First of many, I hope."
When Miss Baxter emerged into the sunlight from the post office, Mr. Molesley was waiting for her.
"Hello, Miss Baxter," he greeted, doffing his cap.
"Mr. Molesley! How nice to see you!" she cried, a smile lighting up her face. Indeed, when she smiled, happiness infused her entire being. She was an angel, and Joseph Molesley trembled to think he might have a chance with her. If he could persuade her to accept him, that is.
"How is life at the Abbey?" he asked, as they began walking that way.
"Everything has settled down from Lady Hexham's wedding. Mr. and Mrs. Bates' son is just darling, and I peek in the nursery when I can. Mr. Barrow is doing very well — he's quite a changed man, really," she reported. "How are things at the school?"
"Quite good, actually. Quite good." Joseph shifted his hat from hand to hand. How was it that he'd been thinking about this for weeks, and yet still couldn't bring himself to ask?
They stopped in the lane, just before the turn to the Abbey, and Phyllis looked at him questioningly. Now was the time, Joseph told himself, to be of good courage.
"Miss Baxter, I … I wanted to ask, that is, I hoped that you … " he stuttered, not able to meet her eye. "I hoped, that is, you would consider — if you are not of a mind to do it, I would understand, of course, and I hope we can remain friends — so please, do not let that be a factor in your decision, that is, I would not want that to be a burden on your mind …"
Phyllis laid a hand on his forearm, and Joseph nearly jumped. "Mr. Molesley, what is it that you're asking?"
He cleared his throat and took a deep, tremulous breath. "I'm asking … I'm asking to court you."
Her eyes grew very round, as did her mouth. "Oh!" she exclaimed, her hand flying to her chest. "Oh, my!"
Joseph shifted uncomfortably, uncertain what her response meant. "I think the world of you, Miss Baxter, I think you know that. You are kind and gentle and caring, even to those who spurn your efforts, like Mr. Barrow once did," he said. With a little more confidence, he added, "I think you're one of the bravest women I've ever met, and I am quite … quite mad about you."
At that, Phyllis's expression transitioned from one of surprise to one of heartfelt happiness. "Mr. Molesley — Joseph — you are a wonderful, wonderful man. I am honored to call you friend, and I would be honored to have you court me," she said.
Joseph broke into a grin, his heart thudding in his chest. He offered her his arm. "Then, Phyllis, may I walk you back to the Abbey?"
February 5, 1926
To: Mr. Tom Branson
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire
From: Bertie Pelham, Marquess of Hexham
Brancaster Castle, Northumberland
Tom,
I must thank you and Henry again for the car. It's a glorious machine — it handles superbly. Sometimes, I fear for Edith's life, she drives at such a clip along the drive.
I'm also grateful for the information you sent about the pigs. I am still uncertain if they will fare as well up here as they do in Yorkshire. We do terrific business in sheep and dairy, but perhaps we might try a small experiment with pigs this summer.
I took your — or shall I say, Mary's — suggestion to talk to the tax people. We worked out a better solution, but the bill is still enormously high. I am selling the house in London to an industrialist for a whopping sum. It's almost unbelievable, but I think he takes great delight in buying the house of a marquess. The solicitors think we shall fetch a very good price on the Brighton house, as well.
I've also decided to sell Brookfield Farm, one of the outlying properties, which was a harder decision. I don't want to break up the estate, but there isn't much choice. If I am to save Brancaster for future generations, it must be done.
We are all healthy and happy here, though the snow is falling thick and fast. My darling wife is already conquering this little kingdom. Or shall I say, queendom? The new doctor quite worships her, for taking an interest in the hospital, and she has won over all the ladies who have called on her. Marigold asks after Sybbie almost every day. I do hope you shall come up in the spring. I could use your advice on a few matters.
Tell me, how does business get on? Give Henry my regards and tell him to expect a letter from me soon.
Sincerely,
Bertie