"At least they were being nice," Sybil pointed out, "The articles are all quite complimentary. And they all mention your A levels and short story,"
"And that I spent the entirety of Mary's ball talking about Medieval torture methods to a Cambridge professor," Edith pointed out.
She didn't know how the press heard about that story, but she suspected the professor had something to do with it. She wasn't sure why he would tell that story to the press, but shortly after she made her escape she overheard a retching sound from the Men's bathroom and saw the professor make his way out of the stalls looking rather green. As a result she guessed he may have been trying to get his revenge on her for traumatising him.
"The papers all think it's funny. It's not so bad. They're painting you as this charming, hapless but lovable romantic heroine. I'd say that you are currently the Paps' darling,"
"But what about the comments?" Edith whined.
"Oh! You didn't read the comments did you? You never read the comments,"
Edith had read the comments. Of course she had. She had looked at them as though she was watching a horse race. A large quantity of the comments were calling her ugly, another section was dedicated to calling her pretty and a final group were chastising the first two groups for talking about her looks and intruding into her private life.
But the only comments Edith really cared about were the ones saying Bertie was punching above his weight. Those ones set her teeth on edge. But Bertie himself didn't seem to mind. He just kissed Edith on the forehead and told her that they weren't saying something he didn't already know.
No one else in her family really seemed to see why the press finding out about Edith and Bertie was the worst thing ever. Forget ISIS! Forget global warming! And forget the NHS! It was clearly the fact Lady Edith Crawley had managed to get a love life was what signalled the end of civilisation as they knew it!
Actually, Mary did seem to understand that. The only person more terrified that Edith had a boyfriend was... well, Edith. Especially as the Paps had somehow managed to get a picture of her stepping outside of McDonalds stuffing herself with a Double Quarter Pounder with cheese. The last thing Edith needed was her face splashed on the front of every Gossip magazine with her mouth open and half a dead chewed up cow inside.
"Well," was her mother's sympathetic reply, "You shouldn't have been talking with your mouth full,"
Edith tried to explain away her lack of manners. But Cora never thought that talking with your mouth full was acceptable. Not even to explain why Brienne and Jaime were the perfect Beauty and the Beast type pairing and that they simply had to reunite in Series 6 or else Edith would die.
"I don't care how made for each other Brian and Janey are, fictional couples simply aren't a reasonable excuse for talking with your mouth full!" Cora informed Edith.
"Brienne and Jaime," Edith muttered under her breath. She huffed in frustration. "Oh, you don't understand me,"
"Darling, it would take a Psychologist to understand you," Mary said.
For some reason nobody else in her family were quite able to gather why TV shows were so important. But Bertie did. Bertie understood her. He knew that it was the best way to connect with people emotionally without having to actually spend time with them.
The only person she could talk to and socialise with without feeling like a blathering idiot with was Bertie. Not because she wasn't a blathering idiot with him, but because when she was he liked her for it. He actually liked hearing her go on long, rambling speeches about why this scene made her cry and why that character deserved death.
And that was what really hurt about the Press finding out. And why she kept Bertie a secret from her family for so long. Their relationship had always been about them. Not like their titles or invitations to charity events. Not even like their education and accomplishments and everything else that made a Wikipedia page look good. It had been theirs, private and intimate.
And now it was for all the world to see. Now their privacy had been ripped from them like clothing and they had been shoved into the limelight stark naked. Their time together had gone from being a special thing for them to share into a bit of light entertainment for the world to enjoy.
Edith wondered how much a picture of her naked post cloitus with Bertie would go for. She hoped to never find out.
She had admitted all this to Bertie, curled up next to him on his sofa in front of the TV. He nodded sympathetically, handed her a large bowl of Green and Blacks chocolate ice cream and suggested they binge watch series four to make her feel better. And yet not even the sight of Joffrey choking to death could coax a smile onto her face.
DA
"It will all die down eventually," Cora had said.
Well Cora was a filthy liar! Even safely tucked away in Yorkshire, the Paps were still on about her and Bertie's relationship. Every dinner or public appearance her family made, the press were there desperately trying to get a glimpse of Edith and Bertie together. In the end it became so unmanageable that Edith had to decline her offer to go to Cardiff University, as she knew that she wouldn't be able to study with all the fuss going on. She would have to try to get onto the course again next year. Bertie had done the same, although Edith suspected it was more out of moral support than Bertie actually caring about the Press.
She had tried to convince him otherwise, but he insisted on doing so anyway.
"Why don't you use your free time to work on your writing? At least until after your Ball," Bertie suggested.
But Edith couldn't think of anything to write. When other young folks her age were studying or travelling, she was at home curled up in her duvet and watching boxset after boxset on netflix.
"We could go travelling," Bertie pointed out. "We could make plans now and head off after Christmas. Do the Grand European tour. Or find a charity to work for,"
Edith knew this to be a good idea. The sad fact was she was an utter coward and the thought of venturing as far as Scotland to visit her cousins at Duneagle filled her with dread. Although that may have been more due to the presence of Aunt Susan than anything else.
"You need to think of something to do to," Aunt Rosamund pointed out over the telephone. "They may be cooing over you now, but soon they will be searching for a new angle and then they will criticise you non-stop for being a rich lay-about. The press will always find something to harass you for. Even if it is doing nothing,"
"But it's their fault I'm doing nothing," Edith complained, "It's not fair,"
"Darling, you were practically born in a Castle, grew up having servants cleaning up after you and you have a home cinema system in your bedroom. You have a trust fund amounting to three million pounds and will never be stuck in a boring dead end job you despise in order to put food on the table. Never mind that you and your family are healthy. You are not the one to be complaining about life being unfair,"
Edith sighed. "I know," she admitted. "I'm just so tired of all the fuss,"
"Well, however you feel now after a while it will all go away and you can laugh about it,"
"Yes, but that's then. This is now! Did you know that two weeks ago the Press did a shocking expose of the time I went out with greasy hair and no make up? I was only going to the corner shop for some Jaffa cakes! Who goes to the corner shop perfectly made up?"
"Young women being hounded by the press, that's who," Rosamund replied, "Look dear, I know it's tiresome but the only thing you can do for now is not give them any more ammunition,"
"How?"
"Well, by being flawless,"
"Oh, it's that easy," Edith said sarcastically.
"Now don't be sharp. I'm only trying to help. Look, the reason they're making such a big deal of things now is because they want to keep the public's interest alive for your ball. They can do a big, fairy tale type story for that and then they will go find someone else to latch onto,"
Edith had already been dreading her ball, although she made sure not to say so in front of her parents. They were putting in so much effort that Edith could not help feeling touched. And although the guarantee of Bertie's presence did help somewhat, she could not deny that the media attention paid to the ball made her feel queasy. She hated having her photo taken and being forced to make small talk. And this time there would be no opportunity to escape. If she slid off somewhere with Bertie the Press would condemn her for abandoning her guests.
But still, she was beginning to look at her Ball as her Final Battle. The last fight of a long and bloody war. And it was a victory she knew that could be achieved. And so she threw herself into full warrior mode. She spent hours every day agonising over seating plans and table decorations. She tried menu after menu until she finally found one that tasted like real food.
Her battle armour was prepared. A seemingly simple gown but deceptively ornate. Mermaid tale and shell pink very sparkly. Very princessy. Edith had decided that if the Press wanted fairy tale, then they were getting fairy tale. She chose natural, gentle flower displays instead of the gargantuan, stately ones favoured by her granny. She opted to light the room with candlelight to create a romantic atmosphere and she had personally picked the songs the band was to play. Initially her mother had protested, but seeing Edith up and about was such a relief. She did not even raise an eyebrow over the excess amount of Disney that had made its way onto Edith's song list. Although she might had drawn the line at 'Rains of Castamere' if she knew what it was.
If the press had decided to paint her as a goofy, quirky princess then Edith was happy to play along.
Granny approved. Glad that Edith was finally taking business into her own hands and commended her for creating an image for herself.
"Very savvy dear, and the Press are always more forgiving for the crazy ones. The ruthless attacks tend to be more on the fond and affectionate side of things,"
As a result, Edith actually enjoyed the run up to the ball. She had forgotten how good it felt to be busy and doing something. She missed having her mind work and going to bed feeling as though she had accomplished something. Even if it only was planning a party.
The feeling of satisfaction had also lead Edith to google different charities she might join to fill her time. She had found several really rather appealing ones, including volunteering at a stables for retired horses that was quite close to home. She hoped that looking after sick and feeble horses might help to ease her guilty conscience over the one she watched died.
Finally, they reached November and they once more packed up there things for Grantham house. The next two weeks the family avoided the ballroom as decoraters and florists charged about, making everything ship shape. The band and the caterers were setting up and the battle lines were drawn.
D-day had arrived.