Even Edith's usual loose-fit tee and trousers couldn't hide the bump anymore. The last eight weeks had flown by, her sickness was entirely gone, she was no longer exhausted all the time, and Edith had never felt better. Perhaps less obvious to her was the adjustment to living with Anthony. It was seamless and easy, and someone who didn't know better would easily mistake Edith and Anthony as two people who had lived together all their lives.
Days were spent totally in synch with one another—Anthony making toast while Edith, never a morning person, scrambled to get ready, Edith sorting Anthony's lights and darks rather than him wasting money on laundry service. They would work, as usual, but they would come home and cook or order out and spent most nights either going for walks or curling up in the comfortable silence of the living room and reading.
Work too was going better than usual, and whenever Edith would receive a sidelong glance, someone studying her changing shape and new wardrobe, she would pretend not to notice and run a hand over her stomach to help them figure it out.
"I don't see why you don't just make an announcement," Daisy complained, catching one of these exchanges between Edith and George Murray's wife Barbara, who had come to take him for an early lunch.
"It's just awkward, I suppose," Edith shrugged. "I'm not really sure how to say it to people."
"I know, that's complicated," Daisy said in an especially airy voice. "I mean, you'd think people would know if you said, 'I'm pregnant' but I can see where that'd be confusing." Only then did Edith realize she was being sarcastic. "Definitely more confusing and awkward than everyone eyeing you around the office and wondering if you're just getting fat."
"Lovely, Daisy," Edith said flatly. "Thank you for your input."
"Daisy, morning," Anthony greeted, leaning against the assistant's desk. He was looking through a stack of mail and didn't glance up as he continued. "Tell me, the sarcasm, do I pay you for that or does it come extra?"
"Extra, of course, Boss. Only because I care."
Edith couldn't help but snort a laugh at the girl's gall.
"You do pay for my excellent organizational skills, however, so if you would kindly not fumble through my piles," she muttered, swatting Anthony's hand away.
"Were you this bossy before you got promoted?" Anthony asked, and he didn't seem to notice Daisy's raised eyebrow when he took a sip of Edith's tea as if it were a casual thing.
"Yes," Daisy said dimly, eyeing the two of them shrewdly. Anthony seemed to recognize his mistake and cleared his throat. Edith could feel his nerves tighten and was anticipating a stuttering exit before Miss Swire approached and saved them all.
"Miss Crawley?" she asked, still tentative after several weeks of working at A.S.
"Please call me Edith, Lavinia," Edith sighed warmly.
"Yeah, we're all very, very familiar around here," Daisy said pointedly before taking another stack of papers from Anthony's hands and shooing him away.
"Sorry, Edith," Lavinia said with a smile. "I was just, well I had some questions about this conference I'm supposed to go to. I'm not really feeling ready to, you know, represent the company or anything. Not on my own."
"You're not on your own, Mr. Crawley's going with you," Daisy said, looking at Lavinia as though she were clueless.
"Come on, we'll go over everything together and you can ask as many questions as you wish," Edith assured, leading Lavinia into her office and shutting the door.
"What on earth was that?" Daisy asked of Anthony.
"Well, I might be mistaken, but I believe Lavinia was asking Edith for some advice on how to handle questions and presentations at the Surrey conference next week."
"No, boss. I mean what was that," Daisy repeated, folded her arms over herself.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Anthony answered. "Anyway, I'm off. I've got a meeting up town."
"I know. I keep your schedule," she snipped. And then, as though she didn't really want to tell him but felt obliged, she said, "Mr. Gregson is coming for a meeting with Edith just before lunch, and she hates him, so you might consider taking her out for a bite after to soothe her nerves."
"Thanks, Dais," Anthony said warmly, sincerely glad for the girl. "I'll be back."
"Yes, boss," she muttered, getting back to her work.
Lavinia left Edith's office only when Michael Gregson arrived, twenty minutes late, for his appointment. Her patience already worn thin by poor Lavinia's litany of questions, Edith's tone was unapologetically curt.
"Look, Mr. Gregson, with the right edits I think the column could make a decent collection of essays. I imagine it would do better commercially than critically, if I'm being honest," Edith explained, removing her reading glasses and setting them atop the manuscript in question.
"Well that's fantastic," Gregson smiled, leaning back in his chair in a manner too casual to be professional. "And tell me, would you be my editor?"
"I would oversee the process, but one of the junior copy editors would be handling the majority of the work. And when I go on leave at the end of July my work will be handed to Ms. Swire."
"That's a shame. My plan to get to know you over work is being thwarted. Perhaps I could take you to dinner instead?"
Edith frowned blatantly, mouth slightly slack in a mixture of confusion and disgust. "I'm sorry," she huffed, almost laughing. "Are you hitting on me, Mr. Gregson?"
He tried to look bashful and even maybe humble, but Edith saw it all as a bit practiced. "I'm afraid I am, Miss Crawley. I'm rather smitten, you see, embarrassing as it may be for a man my age to admit it."
Edith was not remotely flattered. She raised her eyebrows, aware that her lip was curling of its own volition. When Anthony was self-deprecating it was endearing. When this man did it, Edith's skin crawled. "Mr. Gregson, I'm your potential editor, and I'm twenty weeks pregnant."
"You're single though, aren't you?" When Edith just stared blankly he sputtered quickly, "Because you see, I've always been fond of children. And you won't always be pregnant. I'm really not bothered by it."
Edith sighed, exaggerating her pregnant belly, small though it was still, as she stood, and made her way to the door. "Unfortunately, Mr. Gregson, I'm bothered by it in the extreme."
"You shouldn't have to give up your life just because you're having a baby."
"Oh, not to worry," she dismissed. "Now, if you'll please. I'll be sending your manuscript to Mr. Barrow."
"Oh dear," Gregson laughed, completely unfazed. "Passing me off to another editor? I should warn you, Miss Crawley. I'm rather tenacious when it comes to getting what I want, and I'm afraid I don't give up very easily." He didn't sound menacing, only politely obstinate and more than a little conceited.
"I wish you would," Edith sighed. "I don't mean to be rude, Mr. Gregson, but I'm really and truly not interested." Edith raised one unimpressed and unaffected eyebrow as she gestured to the open door of her office.
He laughed under his breath, wagged his eyebrows at her, and sauntered off saying coolly, "I very much look forward to hearing from you Miss Crawley."
Daisy stood from her desk to watch him leave, then turned back to Edith with a skeptical sort of grimace. "What was that?"
"That? That was the single most arrogant human being to walk the earth," was Edith's reply.
An hour later, Edith and Anthony were sitting outside her favorite ice cream shop, Edith enjoying a lunch time cup of pistachio ice cream while Anthony sipped at some sparkling lemonade. The sun was out, and the street was busy, and Edith couldn't help but sigh contentedly.
As a couple walked past, it occurred to Edith that—she with her belly and Anthony across from her—they probably looked like a couple as well. She observed him with interest; the way his blue eyes darted around, the curve of his thin lips, the course blonde hair on his arms exposed by his rolled sleeves, his long, firm legs and the grain of his shaved jaw.
Damn, she thought, angry at herself for letting her mind wander. But she couldn't stop the train now. His nails were clean and short, hands large, knuckles square. His hair was light, slightly wispy in the breeze, and the relaxed rise and fall of his chest seemed to mock the pounding of her heart. And then her eyes settled on his lips again, and her whole body went rather gummy.
Oh dear, oh dear, she repeated to herself, feeling the flush warming her cheeks and creeping down her neck. This could not be allowed. To think of Anthony in this capacity was dangerous and far too risky. They had lived so harmoniously these last several months, Edith didn't dare upset the balance. Any time with Anthony, any home with him, was better than none at all. Even if it did leave her aching most nights with longing and girlish visions.
"Are you getting too warm?" Anthony asked. "You look a little flushed. Should I get some water?"
"No, no, I'm perfectly alright. Thank you," she said, willing her mind to travel away from lingering thoughts about his anatomy. "Mr. Gregson and I had a meeting this morning."
"Yes, I know. I was conveniently unavailable. Sorry."
"No need to apologize. But I think I'll hand him over to Thomas. Lavinia isn't ready yet and technically his book is non-fiction."
"Is it the project you find distasteful, or the man?"
"Yes," Edith said sardonically, closing her eyes and turning her face to the sun.
"Want me to kill the project altogether? Send him packing?"
"Yes," Edith said, matching her earlier tone. Then, peeking sidelong at Anthony, she couldn't help but smile. "But I don't suppose it makes practical business to send everyone unlikeable packing."
"I don't suppose so. Or half our staff would be out on their asses," Anthony joked. Edith liked it when he cursed. It was so rare, she felt it was intimate, like knowing that his toothbrush was blue or that he preferred orange marmalade on his toast.
"Speaking of the many miscreants we work with," he sighed, dropping some bills onto the table. "They're probably having a field day in our absence. Shall we?"
"If we must," Edith muttered, trying not to take too much delight in feeling his hand at her elbow as he helped her up.
Something was wrong, like the world was spinning in the wrong direction. Edith couldn't help but feel dread and terror, and she was alone. As she ran her hands protectively over her belly, she began to shake. Nothing. Her tummy was flat. Where had her baby gone? And where was Anthony? Standing alone in the office, all was dark, and there was a strange, unearthly glow coming from the windows. "Anthony?" she called in a panic. "Anthony?!" Desperate, she began throwing open office doors. Each room was larger and more vacant than the last, and finally, reaching what should have been his office, Edith opened the door to find nothing but a gaping black darkness. "Anthony, please, I need you!" she cried, walking into the dark unknown. She felt something akin to loss personified grip her by the wrist and pull, and then she was falling, falling into the dark.
Edith shot up with a gasp, her legs tangled in the sheets and her body drenched with sweat. She tried to remember her room, her things, but sobs wracked through her as her shaking hands checked her stomach. The baby was there, kicking even, and she tried to calm her breathing. Unable to shake the fear, irrational as it may have been, Edith stood on shaking legs and made her way to Anthony's room.
She knocked lightly at first, so much so that it made almost no noise at all. When he didn't answer she thought about turning back, but her legs were shaking and she knew she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep until she at least saw him.
Edith took a steadying breath and opened the door, peeking only her head in. Anthony was there, of course, asleep. He was on his back, head all the way to the right, his left hand over his broad chest. One of his knees came up out of the blanket as he shifted slightly, and Edith found it fascinating that he moved in his sleep. Of course he moved, he was human, but that was just it—something about seeing him like this made him more tangible than ever before.
Willing her heart to slow, and running a hand over the small protrusion under her nightgown, Edith turned. The door was nearly closed when she heard his voice call softly, "Edith, is that you? What is it, old girl?"
"Nightmare," she answered, letting the door swing open again.
"You're alright?"
"Just a little shaken."
"Would you like to lay down here?"
"Really?" She tried desperately not to sound so…well, desperate.
"Of course," he answered, still half asleep. He flipped the covers down and Edith climbed into the bed opposite him.
Anthony's sheets smelled different from hers, like detergent but also something warmer and softer. They smelled like him, she realized, and she couldn't get enough. She pulled the sheets up to her shoulders and settled in, watching him carefully. Anthony's eyes never even opened, and she wondered if he'd be alarmed when he woke beside her in the morning.
Just as Edith was drifting off, content to be in the same room with him, let alone the same bed, she felt the weight in the mattress change. Before she could look, Anthony had rolled into her, pushing one arm under her pillow while the other draped across her belly. Edith smiled broadly in the dark and hoped to god he wasn't awake enough to remember her fingers lacing through his as the drifted off together.
"The nightmare, was it about Gregson?" Anthony asked suddenly, scaring the breath out of Edith's lungs as her eyes popped open. She looked over her shoulder at him. His face was so close, but his eyes were still closed and his muscles relaxed.
Settling back against her pillow, accepting whatever it was that was happening, she sighed. "No, if it had been I'd far more inconsolable."
"Good girl," Anthony whispered, and Edith thought he might even have kissed her shoulder, but it was so light she couldn't tell, and before she had time to overthink it, she had fallen asleep.