Paris
The elegant curve of the spiral staircase stretched out ahead of them, their footsteps hushed on the thick, luxurious carpet as they began their ascent. Edith ran her hand lightly along the bannister, its wooden surface smooth against her fingertips, but the steps were too shallow for her to be in real need of support from it. She was conscious of her husband at her elbow, his continuing to maintain a respectable distance. But the energy and excitement between them was palpable, so much so that she was sure the porter himself would blush had he not been several steps behind, their suitcases expertly transported in his arms. She was only mildly aware of the crystal chandeliers adorning the ceiling, their fragmented light scattered across the pale walls, their impact heightened by the darkness brought about by the heavy curtains drawn across the tall windows. They'd achieved their goal at least, of keeping the cold wind at bay from which they'd just escaped as they'd darted from the car to the hotel lobby.
They'd left Downton late in the afternoon, the sun already set, such was the time of year. It had been a joyous departure of familial kisses and good wishes for their voyage ahead, her Mama's eyes shining as she'd whispered in her ear hurried advice that she should squeeze every ounce from this next adventure.
"Delight in every moment, my darling. You deserve it," she'd said, her voice cracking slightly as she'd pushed down her own sense of loss that Edith was finally and so wonderfully settled.
The rooms of the hotel were set off from the staircase, their doors with their singular numbers and accompanying brass furniture the only clue that this wasn't the most sophiscated of Parisien town houses. They'd already passed several but eventually it seemed that theirs was close, the hotel manager slowed ahead of them and a jangling of keys signified their arrival. Butterflies fluttered through her stomach, her anticipation of finally being alone with him very nearly realised.
"Your suite, Monsieur. Madame," the manager offered with a sweeping gesture of his arm before stepping back from the now open door, allowing them to go ahead to explore the space unabated.
Bertie led the way, nodding his approval as he surveyed the small drawing room, the bedroom and then the bathroom beyond. He listened attentively as the manager now explained various mechanisms concerning their room, the porter hustling with luggage and placing it as directed. Edith hovered. She'd stayed in hotels many times of course but usually alone and never as a newlywed. There had, of course, been last night but that barely counted, she'd decided. It had been a stopover of practical necessity, not a real wedding night. That was this night, in this place.
Did the two accidental companions who'd accompanied them on this last leg of their journey wonder as to what would happen once they closed the door behind them? She speculated that this was likely a daily occurrence for them, for all hotel employees, and took comfort from it. The embarrassment might be too much otherwise.
The short exchange between the three men completed, the manager bowed and exited, clicking his tongue as the porter lingered a moment too long so as to indicate his displeasure at his staff member. As the door clicked shut and silence pervaded the room, Edith felt her shoulders drop. She hadn't realised how much tension she'd be holding there and lifted a hand to rub her neck hoping to alleviate the ache. She moved towards the high windows, pushing aside the sheer fabric hanging there and surveyed the street below. The view extended across the white and grey rooftops of the city, a glimpse of the Seine just visible as it meandered its silky path between its high banks, and then, turning her head just slightly, she started at the sight of the rising steel of the Eiffel Tower.
"Will it do, Lady Pelham?" Bertie asked, moving close to her, his hand grazing her back on its way to settling gently on her hip.
She leant back towards him, letting him take her weight slightly, rejoicing at the contact between them. The journey from Yorkshire had afforded them some privacy, the taxi they'd taken from Kings Cross to their London hotel the previous evening gloriously anonymous so that their New Year kisses were unobserved. But this was intimacy itself.
"Yes, Lord Pelham," she replied, her voice a whispered sigh, "It will do very nicely."
Dinner trays pushed to one side, their shoes kicked off, her feet curled up underneath her and his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, they shared a feeling of blissful contentment. She lifted her head from his chest, arching it back to look at the face of her husband. Feeling her shift he responded in kind and imagined for a moment that he could read her thoughts.
Last night hadn't been the wedding night he'd planned. They'd been too tired, too overwhelmed by the day's events. It had been lovely to just hold her in his arms of course, and then watch from the corner of his eye as she'd removed her outer layers of clothing. But then she'd moved to the bathroom to complete the task and he'd regretted his shyness at not asking her to stay. She'd returned in a grey silk nightdress clinging to her frame, revelling freckles he'd yet to discover across her decolletage. She'd blushed as he'd gazed upon her in awe that by a miracle she'd consented to become his wife. But somehow the promised dream hadn't been fulfilled. There'd been kisses, so many of those, and sensuous caresses but fatigue and nerves conspired that they'd fallen asleep tangled in one another's arms but not yet joined.
He leant down and captured her lips with his, softly at first and then with increasing urgency. He rejoiced as she turned towards him, her slender arms sliding up over his chest and to wrap themselves around his neck, her body pressed up against his. He moved his attention towards her neck, his longing for her growing as a soft moan escaped from her lips.
"Darling?" he said, his voice low as he continued his path downwards until he found it halted by fabric. "May I... I mean, um, please can we..."
She giggled gently, finding his awkwardness sweet and charming. She was hardly virginal, after all, and he'd certainly never shied away from kissing her, quite passionately as it happened. But clearly this was a step beyond and perhaps, she considered now, her experience was a problem. Biting her bottom lip, she wondered how she could turn it to her advantage, using her knowledge of what was going to happen next to bolster her own confidence which she'd found so disappointingly lacking the previous night.
Removing herself gently from his arms, she stood and moved the short distance to stand in front of the gilded dressing table, her back to him. She reached up to her hair and began to remove pin after pin, her blonde waves falling as they were freed. She knew he'd be memorised by it. He'd spoken once of how he dreamed of seeing it down around her shoulders, how he'd imagined it would soften her appearance in a way that only he would get to rejoice in. If she hadn't already felt his eyes on her, detected the slight change in his breath, then the view of him reflected in the mirror in front of her was confirmation enough. With all the pins now removed, she took her hand and swept it across the back of her head gathering her hair as she did so, revealing not only the pale skin of her neck but drawing attention to the back of her dress.
"Can you help me with this, darling?" she enquired lightly, her head turning so she could capture his gaze.
The spark in her eyes was all he needed to act, three footsteps and he was behind her, his fingers twitching as he began to loosen whatever he could find, clasps unclipped and straps encouraged from shoulders, pools of clothing gathered at their feet until before too long he could begin his joyful exploration of her body in earnest.
