Author's Notes: The honeymoon, and perhaps some overdue drama and discussion between another pair of siblings. I FINALLY FOUND SOME TIME TO WRITE, GUYS! HAVE A CHAPTER. Next chapter will give us a glimpse at family life at Loxley and begin to introduce the next drama/antagonist arc as Edith and Anthony learn to be married to each other and we see the difficulty of getting a 10 year old child settled into any new home environment.
General Warnings: Because this story is set during the early part of the 20th century, be prepared to occasionally run into period typical homophobia, ableism, racism, sexism, lack of good mental health care or the concept thereof, common childcare concepts we find appalling, classism, and victim blaming. Not to mention different concepts of things like consent. I will try and post specific warnings per chapter!
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and plot in this work belongs to the BBC, Julian Fellows, the wonderful actors, and actresses who brought Downton Abbey to life, and a number of other people. This work is produced for entertainment only and no profit is made.
Specific Warnings: Original Child Characters & Crawley Family Dynamics.
SPECIAL THANKS go to the Classicist, who has built a wonderful fanon family for Anthony. Diana, her husband and children, as well as Anthony's parents belong entirely to her. Be sure to drop by and read her work as it is considerably better than mine!
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Early September 1913
Lawrence Ramsey was a very well-favored man. Handsome was the perfect word for him, and while a little voice at the back of Mary's mind wanted to compare the man's darkness to Matthew's lightness, Mary was very good at quashing such voices when she wished to. In this case, she did it through the simple expediency of truth. She was dark, and so while Matthew's lightness was exotic, it was certainly no more or less the thing where handsomeness was concerned than darkness. She was dark of hair and eye, wasn't she?
Besides, he wasn't swarthy or anything like that. Looking at him didn't put Mary to mind of anything unfortunate. In fact, looking at him at that moment was incredibly satisfying.
"Your sister shall be down in a moment or two, I think. You're not going up to see her dressed for the off?"
Mary waved one hand and let her lips twist into a graceful moue.
"Oh, heavens no."
"Oh? You're hardly a year apart. I'd think you'd be closer despite the unfortunate implications of Lady Strallan's origins."
"Oh, well, I'd hardly bother about that now. She did more than well-enough for herself in the states."
Ramsey wasn't crass enough to comment directly on Edith's fortune, Mary noticed with pleasure, but the smirk he hid behind his champagne coup spoke volumes. She found she rather liked that about him. Mary wasn't known for subtlety herself, but the man certainly projected it very effectively.
Matthew had a bit of that, Mary admitted. The way he could calmly argue a point. The way he could command a room without rudeness or being gauche.
It was much more polished in the young Earl. There was no hint of Matthew's occasionally apparent middle-class origins in Lawrence Ramsey's manners. No, Mary thought as she watched the calm mastery the man exhibited, Holderness was very much a man of his rank and station. He wasn't learning who he was; he'd been born into it.
"All the more reason to see her off, then?"
The man gestured very lightly with his glass, not at all rudely, and nodded towards the grand staircase as they stood near the great fireplace's mantle and chatted. He'd seen her furnished with champagne and a tiny plate of her favorite dainties and continued to play court to her after he'd outmaneuvered her other suitors. Another point in his favor, really. Mary respected the deft maneuvering of social status, contacts, and simple manipulation that went into commanding a room like that without actually commanding too much attention. He'd placed everyone where he'd wanted, she noticed, without stepping once on her Mama or Papa's toes despite their place as host and hostess. He'd even managed to make perfectly friendly small talk while he got the others out of the way. Mary wasn't done testing him by any means, however, so she gave him her haughtiest look and raised both her eyebrows as she sipped at her own drink.
"And what reason would that be?"
"Sir Anthony Strallan is a man of modest rank, but he's got a fine fortune, will only likely increase it, is respected in diplomatic circles, and has the sort of contacts that are quiet but effective."
Mary listened.
"Even if you've no interest or use for him personally – he can be a terrible wet-rag once he gets on about agriculture or something else pedantic, like linguistics – his contacts are just the sort to be useful to someone with a political bent. His sister in particular has no shortage of weight in society just beneath the first circles."
"And if I never intend to leave the first circles?"
"Then it's best to have a solid foundation in the second so they'll prop you up when someone wants to push you down."
That had Mary fighting a smile. She scoffed slightly instead, but the soft frankness? Holderness spoke to her like, well, a colleague almost. There was respect there. There was a direct honesty that held none of Pamuk's dangerous and forbidden passion. It was similar to Matthew's innate honesty, for her cousin had never spoken down to her, but there was… there was something else there. Something deeper that Mary simply wasn't ready to face after her flight to France and everything that went into forcing her there. Matthew Crawley challenged his distant cousin and that challenge to be a better version of herself confused her and felt all too threatening to a young woman whose world, body, and health had so recently spiraled out of her control.
When the Earl of Holderness spoke to Lady Mary he did it in a way that she didn't recognize. It was certainly filled with attraction, but it held none of the romance or hints of chivalry that her other suitors leaned deeply into with their approaches. Had Mary spoken to her Maternal Grandmother, or taken time to refer to her Uncle Harold at that point, both would have advised a certain caution.
Mary Crawley was the daughter of the Earl of Grantham. As such, while she'd been surrounded by wealth all of her life, she'd never possessed any herself. Her rank, her sex, and the times she lived in meant that Mary had never been pursued for business. As such, she didn't recognize the layers of flirtation and even seduction that went into a good honest sales pitch. Quite apart from the fact that Holderness really was masterful at it, that ignorance leant more weight to the man's wooing.
"You believe Edith would prop me up?"
"I believe she's useful, and she's reasonable enough when paired with her husband. What better reason than usefulness and wealth is there to keep up a good connection?"
"Well, you make it awfully hard to argue with you, don't you, Lord Holderness?"
"I don't want to argue with anyone." Again that playful smirk. "I'll leave that to the solicitors and keep up a nice open political dialog instead."
"Because you're all for politics?"
"I am, and I would hope any lady interested in being my wife would feel the same."
"A wife?" Mary deliberately widened her eyes and stepped back a little, as if startled. "Well, you are direct. Are you sure you're ready for politics with an attitude like that?"
He really is handsome, Mary admired the way that his dark brown eyes sparked softly at her underneath his thick brows. His hair was very nearly black and softly wavy. As if it was naturally curly and he took care to tame it somewhat. Cut short and properly, he was clean shaven and neatly presented without being foppish about it. Yes, he's what I picture as a husband. Can he handle the rest?
Mary had spent a great deal of time at the clinic thinking of and listing everything she wanted in a husband. It made her feel rather secure in dealing with her suitors this time around. Before, Mary thought, she'd been a girl; innocent, naive, and foolish. Now, she felt she knew better. Marriage was a necessity if she wanted to maintain her rank and social position. It was just a matter of finding a husband who gave her everything she wanted to maintain those things and who she wouldn't mind all the other things that came with being a wife.
"I've nothing to gain from being indirect, do I, my lady?"
"You're awfully free with possessive pronouns tonight, aren't you?"
"Only the deniable ones." He shrugged lightly and flicked his eyes towards the stairs again. "Still, to get back to the original point. Despite the embarrassment of her origins, in fact because of them to some extent, your 'sister' has become a very useful connection. She is quite wealthy, she has custody of an equally wealthy younger sister whose future marriage may be equally useful if not more so, she's made a marriage that will bring your family more connections. Fondness and good manners aside, I did expect someone as canny as yourself to be more proactive."
"Edith and I are very different, but we are sisters in thew ways that matter." Edith has already proven that. After years of knowing she'd no more help me than I would help her, she came through for me. That does matter and I appreciate it… "We're just happier not under each other's feet."
Mary waved a hand languidly.
"Let her have her little moment in the sun with Mama, Sybil, the Kavanaugh girl and her little university friends. She'll be happier to be the center of attention and I'll be happier down here with the actual party while she's preparing for her future as an old farmer's wife. Albeit a well-connected one."
He laughed at her sally and Mary couldn't quite resist adding:
"Really, it's just as well she's got Adelaide following her around. I can't picture it as the sort of marriage that shall produce many children, if, well…"
Mary shrugged, her voice low and her lips guarded by her glass as her companion shook his head at the cutting remark. Mary didn't feel it was unwarranted. She didn't wish any lack on Edith. She'd done her the best of turns, after all. If Edith wanted children, she hoped Sir Anthony managed one or two. It was just that given his age, well… it would be as absurd as Mama and Papa finding themselves in the family way!
"Ah, I wish them well. Loxley's a fine estate and it deserves an heir of the main line." To her surprise, Holderness' expression shifted and a hint of the polished mask slipped, revealing a touch of longing. "I'm the last of the male line my own title can draw on. Children are a… a vital consideration to me. It's one of the reasons I don't wish to dally about marriage. I've spent enough time doing so, and with Mama gone as well… it's time."
Mary herself had no particular feelings about motherhood. It was an expected part of her life. That said, the implication that a man of wealth, rank, and standing such as Holderness wished her for the mother of his heirs pleased her ego. It helped that he turned his dark eyes on her with such clear interest as he spoke.
"But I do go on, Lady Mary. I think that's the bride now."
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The drive to York was surprisingly quiet, and in the space given by the silence Edith found a few nerves she hadn't been expecting. Absent through the wedding, uninvited as they were, they made their appearance rather suddenly as Edith found herself gently awoken from a most unexpected nap.
"Sweet one?"
Edith had changed into her traveling clothing after the wedding breakfast. It had been simply wonderful. Despite the embarrassment of getting a bit damp coming out of the church, despite Anthony's putting his foot in his mouth and suggesting, well, that she'd be better out of her clothes than in them with that comment about her corset, despite the following embarrassment on both their parts adding up to him losing his hat in the mud and Edith losing a shoe when they arrived at Downton… it really had been the most perfect day of her life.
"Hm?"
Edith blinked heavily, her cheek warm where she realized it had been pressed against the lapel of Anthony's dark gray travelling suit. Blinking, she looked up to take in the warm smile on his face and felt herself blush as she struggled to sit up. The long arm wrapped around her back steadied her, adding to her embarrassment.
"I am sorry, Anthony. What you must think of me, falling asleep on you and it's not even two in the afternoon!"
"I would think we've both had a jolly-good day, if a bit wearing. I dozed off as well."
"I strongly suspect, Sir Anthony, that you are saying that to make your wife feel better."
"Nothing of the sort. I was certainly asleep for some of the drive. Wasn't I, Waters?"
"Snoring away, sir!"
Anthony opened and shut his mouth, his cheeks pinking up in response to his driver's cheerful agreement. It had not, perhaps, taken the form he would have anticipated had the man in the front seat been his valet. As it was, Edith pressed a hand to her lips as her husband cleared his throat.
Anthony did snore, just a little. She knew as he'd drifted off several times on the various trains taken back from Austria. He was hardly loud, though, and Edith found it rather charming. If nothing else it was wonderful proof that he was breathing, if she had the sort of nightmare that sometimes plagued her.
"Erm, right." Anthony cleared his throat as the car slowed to a stop near the curb in front of the stolidly English decorativeness of their hotel's façade.
Then it all proceeded so, well, quickly.
Edith had been a girl that morning. Unwed and looking forward to marriage. Now she found her husband handing her out of the car and tucking her against his side as they walked into the hotel. On her husband's arm she was now Lady Strallan as the porter led them upstairs; their luggage having proceeded them up that morning. Then, quite before she knew it, she found herself squeaking as Anthony lifted her into his arms.
It was there that the second bit of trouble arrived. Edith's traveling suit was a lovely thing. Being autumn, she'd chosen a peacock velvet skirt and jacket combination with silk satin lapels that looked lovely with her coloring. The fine linen and lace blouse beneath it was restrained and the higher collar that her mother and grandmother had insisted on had finally been explained as the Dowager Countess gifted her granddaughter a lovely carved lapis brooch bound by seed pearls.
The hat had been the only contribution that Mary had made. Edith was actually perfectly happy with Mary, for once in her life. Her older sister/cousin hadn't butted into her wedding or attempted to take center stage. She hadn't ignored or slighted it – or Edith – either, choosing instead to get on with her own life and offer up help only when asked and in a useful manner. So, when Mary had responded to Edith's suggestion that Mary freely take over hostess duties and use her time as she wished it where the marriageable male guests were concerned, Edith had been pleased with the present of the hat.
The hat was still a little more fashionable and dramatic than Edith might have chosen on her own. Conforming as it did to shifting aesthetics in lady's dress, it wasn't as dramatic as it might have been a year before. The brim didn't project too far past the sides of Edith's head, the dark blue felt was comfortable, and the roached peacock velvet band matched her outfit perfectly. Mary had even taken a moment to affix a bundle of freshly cut hothouse flowers.
It was the flowers that did it. Anthony hadn't attempted to carry a woman over a threshold in many years and while he took great care with his new lady head, his attention on the projecting floral arrangement distracted him from her feet.
"Ouch!"
Edith's ankle cracked on the doorframe.
"Oh, darling, I'm sorry-."
Anthony stepped back and turned, his entire attention on getting Edith through the door without hitting her again.
"Sir, watch ou-!"
The porter's warning only served as an extra distraction as the baronet's feet contacted a stray footstool; gilt and silk, fiddly to proper period standards, and uselessly decorative. It made an exquisite tripping hazard.
"Eee!"
Edith squeaked in alarm and clutched at her husband's shoulders as he stumbled, listing dramatically forward.
"Bloody-!"
They were saved, despite the dire prediction in the porter's hastily uttered obscenity, by a conveniently placed sofa. The little stand with the silver ice bucket and champagne was a casualty, but only in terms of tipping over. Nothing shattered or bent, though ice skittered over the polished wooden floor of the suite loudly.
Married just a few hours, Lady Edith Strallan found herself sprawled backwards on the sofa in full view of the helpful porter with her husband's shoulder stifling her breath nearly as much as the full weight of the man himself as he lay where he fell; atop her on the sofa.
"I – I'll just, erm, maid'll be up for this mess in a minute, gov'ner!"
The doughty porter abandoned them with an awkward tug of his forelock, shutting the door behind himself and leaving the couple to try and regain their breath. Only a handful of seconds passed, but it certainly felt like longer as Anthony struggled to his feet, his expression one of red-faced mortification. Distantly, Edith hoped she wasn't as pink as her husband was.
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Anthony Strallan had drifted off on the drive, as he'd told his wife. He could have lived without his snoring being commented upon, but he supposed that Edith was likely enough to get used to it. At least he hoped that she did. Maud had never minded; the occasional embarrassing joke aside.
Waking up, however, had been a treat. He'd had just a moment of panic when he'd woken up with a warm armful of Edith. His brain had foggily retreated and he'd thought himself a terrible cad; letting her sleep on him as she obviously had. If Addie had seen, well, what kind of example was he setting for the girl? One didn't allow a fiancé such liberties, especially on public trains on the Continent…
But they were back from Austria and Edith was not his fiancée. She was his wife. There was no better place for her to nap than his arms, now was there?
Thus had begun Anthony's dilemma. The baronet knew that others thought him boring and staid, but he knew himself to at least be a good, honest, decent man. Beneath his proper exterior, however, Anthony knew he was perhaps a bit oversexed.
His gaff about her corset aside, Anthony was deeply looking forward to his wedding night. He was too decent and private a man to spread his favors around, but in marriage he felt free to enjoy himself and share that enjoyment with the woman he loved. It had been… entirely too long a time since he'd had a warm and willing wife and he had every reason to believe Edith shared his desires.
As such, by the time that he'd swept Edith up into his arms, Anthony had rather thought himself into a corner. That warm armful of woman had worked her way beneath his skin, and he was aroused and fighting it. He knew that a young wife, so inexperienced as Edith was, would need time and consideration. Both things that certain parts of his anatomy weren't giving him, and the clash between physical and emotional necessity was making him nervous.
So, you dropped your wife and fell atop her like some great lumbering oaf. Yes. Perfect! Precisely the introduction you wished to make in regards to the physical aspects of marriage. Couldn't have handled it better, old boy!
Were it possible to kick yourself in the behind, Anthony Strallan would have done so.
"Edith, sweet one, forgive me!"
Anthony scrambled onto his feet, his hands brushing restlessly over his wife's body as the porter retreated and closed the door to the suite.
"Are you alright? Did I hurt you?"
"No!" The denial was instant, but particularly breathless.
"Did I?"
"No, no, I'm fine. J-just let me get my breath back."
Anthony grimaced. First time alone properly as a married couple and you crush the breath out of her! Oh, fine start!
"I am, here, let's get you sitting up, let's – where is that porter?" Anthony stepped back, coaxing his wife to sit up as he did so, and his luck carried on.
Stepping on the scattered ice, he almost lost his footing and fell a second time. Fortunately he managed to keep his feet, if it involved a bit of mortifying slipping and shuffling. Finally, in frustration, Anthony kicked the ice into a neat pile and bent down to scoop it back into the fallen ice bucket. Champagne retrieved, Anthony found himself standing in the bridal suite holding a chilled bottle of champagne in one hand, a bucket of dirty ice in the other, and immediately put his foot in it again.
"Wherever is your left shoe?"
Edith, who'd sat back up and was looking at him with an indecipherable expression paused, looked down at her stocking-clad foot, looked about the room and pursed her lips.
"I… actually haven't the foggiest."
"Ah…"
Anthony cleared his throat and set the bucket and champagne down.
"Perhaps, I could – I mean…"
Anthony had no idea what to say and an awkward silence fell as he stared down at his seated spouse and his new wife stared up at the gulf that existed between her sitting and his standing height. Then, because she was simply amazing, Edith saved both of them.
"Anthony?"
"Yes, sweet one?"
Her expression utterly serious, she carefully rose. As she had one leather pump on – she'd eschewed boots for once – and nothing on her other foot she wobbled a bit. He reached out and carefully braced her arms. His hands looked positively enormous against the soft material of her velvet jacket, but she just smiled up at him; her lips barely curling up at all.
"I think this is a very dangerous room."
"I – would you prefer another suite? I can-."
"Too much distance." She shook her head, her expression suddenly resolving itself into mock seriousness. "Far too dangerous."
"I, yes," Anthony fumbled to agree, his own sense of humor rallying. "A lot to trip on between here and another suite."
Edith bit her lip and Anthony's eagerness, which had fled at his clumsiness' onslaught, began to peek around the corner of his subconscious at the coquettish expression.
"Far too much risk."
Anthony swallowed hard.
"P-perhaps we'd best decamp to the safety of the bed chamber?"
"I quite agree." Edith's cheeks were a delightful shade of pink. "Straight to bed?"
"Oh, yes."
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They'd shared a shy kiss, far more hesitant than a number of kisses that they'd shared since becoming engaged, and split up. Edith had thought they might prepare together, but she'd run out of courage. The suite was by no means immense, but it did feature a sitting room, a bedroom with an en suite, and two small dressing rooms.
In the cramped dressing room Edith divested herself of the overtight corset and her underthings. She hadn't asked for the excessive advice Eva had given her, but she'd accepted it as good sense. There was no point wearing underwear on one's wedding night. She'd accepted her mama's advice about a pretty nightgown and shivered despite the room only being slightly chilly as she slithered into the slim sleeve of ivory silk that she'd chosen. It was really quite modern, with only the thinnest straps at her shoulders and almost no lace. Just a tube of silk, clinging to every angle of her body in a way that had Edith reaching very quickly for the warm comfort of a dressing gown.
Should I have chosen a more fetching one? Edith worried profusely even as she wrapped herself firmly in the article of clothing. It was new as well, but it wasn't the sort of thing one chose for a seduction. Edith had gotten it because it was pretty and functional and she'd liked it, before the nighty was purchased, while thinking more of using it as a married woman and less of how she'd use it as a married woman. The peach silk was quilted and it covered rather than draped to accentuate.
In the end Edith ran a brush through her hair, hoped that the curls weren't too disarranged as the strawberry blond waves fell about her shoulders and back, and bucked up her courage. She'd forgotten her slippers at home. She was looking forward to marriage and had been ever so curious about this and sharing it with him. What was she doing hiding in a dressing room anyway? Courage gathered, Edith quit the closet and found her husband waiting for her, already tucked beneath the covers.
Well, more accurately, her husband was sitting up in bed. Propped against the empire style headboard with its gilding and silk upholstery, her husband had heaped several pillows behind him. His glasses were perched on his nose, and open across his lap was a newspaper. It was such an entirely domestic scene that Edith couldn't decide if she was nonplussed or relieved by the lack of romance.
She was immediately reassured by the way that he looked at her. With his glasses slid down his long nose Anthony looked oh-so very endearing, and she rather liked the look of him when he wore the spectacles. More than that, those painfully blue eyes were fixed on her as if she were the only thing in the room. Besides, having finally noted the title of the paper, Edith realized that it was a rather lacking periodical out of Manchester that her husband didn't subscribe to and there were slight crease marks where he'd held it quite tightly.
"I say, you are – you look beautiful, Edith. Wil- won't you come to bed?"
A prop, Edith thought to herself, her lips curling up, chosen to make me more comfortable. Absentminded though he seemed, and could be about some things,Anthony Strallan was a man of habitual observation. He knew she was nervous. He knew that his more pedantic personality traits were incredibly non-threatening. After their rather difficult entry into newlywed status, what could be better than a little reassurance?
Not bothering to respond aloud, Edith crossed over to the bed and drew her dressing robe off. Laying it across the chair where his dark red woolen robe already rested, Edith slipped under the sheets that he held aloft for her. He'd disposed of the paper. Later a maid would find it underneath the bed along with two other newspapers, both apparently ripped due to nerves and hidden there previously.
"Oh, sweet one…" Anthony's words were more breathed them spoken and Edith flushed prettily as his eyes slid avidly over her body, outlined as it was by the thin gown. "You are ever-so beautiful."
"I really am not."
"Shush, I'm incredibly lucky and would like appreciate my good fortune without comment, darling girl."
Settling into the bed was a touch awkward, as Edith rested her head on the heaped pillows and found herself on her side. Being horizontal equalized their heights rather well, for all that her toes were brushing his shins as they faced one another. She could feel the hair on his legs and spent a moment wondering if he'd find the modern affection lady's had for shaving theirs odd. Then his hands began to gently skirt over her body, petting over her hip and into the dip of her waist through the thin silk of her gown, and thinking became a bit much.
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When Anthony slid into bed he was nervous enough that matters "downstairs" were rather worrying. While Anthony had never had any problems in that department – other than occasionally needing a plant, hat, or longer jacket to hide the unsuitable directions his thoughts sometimes took – he was still a middle aged man wedding a beautiful young lady twenty-five years his junior. It was only natural he have some performance anxiety, or that such anxieties worked to repress certain natural functions.
He'd been worryingly soft a moment ago, but as Anthony turned to face his wife – his wife, oh how lovely that sounded! – all such issues vanished. The cotton of his pajama trousers felt unaccountably rough as his erection pressed against the material covering his groin. He ignored it in favor of stroking a hand over his wife's hip, petting at her through the silk of her thin gown. His other arm he curled around her shoulders, tugging her closer against him as he leaned down for a kiss.
It was absolute perfection.
Petal soft lips beneath his own, at first shy and then opening beneath the brush of his tongue. They'd been mostly proper during their relatively short engagement, but slipping away for a few kisses was hardly roughish and they had indulged. All the better. Kissing was now a warm, familiar thing and Anthony relaxed into it as he felt Edith do the same. A sigh rattled his chest as she reached up, brushing her hand firmly from his collarbone to his diaphragm through the cotton of his pajama shirt. He moved one of his hands up into her hair to cradle her head, carding his fingers wonderingly through the waist-length fall of light and color.
"You are the very first day of spring after a long winter, aren't you?"
"Knowing English spring weather, you're probably not wrong."
"Tch," Anthony pulled back from another warm kiss, the urgency of their tongues sliding over each other not enough to trick him into complacency. He narrowed his eyes at his wife. "Nonsense."
"Anthony, I know – I know how you feel about me, you don't-."
"I'm hardy the only one to think you beautiful, Edie." Anthony pointed out, reaching up to gently stroke at her cheek with his thumb, sliding his hand around the curve of her jaw and neck. She mirrored the gesture and he turned to kiss her fingers. "Come now, you saw the looks those young fellows were giving me. I was the envy of the county."
"It's just the inher-."
"Nonsense. The callow boys may be too stupid to have seen you before, but they did see you today." Anthony maintained. "You are beautiful, and anyone who'd say otherwise can answer to me."
Edith laughed softly, clearly pleased as she smiled up at him and shook her head a bit. He took a moment to stroke her hair again and was thrilled when she leaned into the caress.
"I'm serious!"
"I'll hide the dueling pistols, then. As soon as I find them."
"Already locked up in my study." Anthony couldn't resist offering. "I do know your sister."
Edith giggled helplessly and Anthony leaned in. The kiss he pressed on her started at as wonderfully warm. The nervousness of earlier sliding into comfort. As he pulled her against him, chest to chest, and dared to tug the hem of her nighty up to stroke at her bare knee and thigh beneath the covers Edith shuddered and pressed her tongue more deeply into his mouth.
What followed was hastier than Anthony had intended. Hours, he'd told himself. He'd spent hours preparing her, if that's what she needed. He wasn't young anymore. He'd gained patience. He could take all the time he wished to show her what the pleasure of the flesh were like. He could tease and toy with her until he'd driven her over the edge so many times she barely felt an iota of pain when he made her his.
That wasn't quite what happened.
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Edith might have been a Kavanagh legally but in her upbringing and all the maternal component of her being she was a Crawley, and they were not known for patience. She wasn't entirely sure how she'd gotten her husband's shirt off so fast, but one moment they were petting at each other through their clothes and the next she was carding her fingers through the surprisingly soft, thick, thatch of hair on her husband's chest. It was…
Well, everything she'd never known she needed.
Mama had said it could be terrific fun. Katherine likened it to flying. Eva said that, if the man was competent, it was a 'real treat'. Edith had been looking forward to making love to Anthony, but she'd had no idea how delightful and exciting the process itself would be.
His hands were rough, but not too rough as they petted at her. The silk of her gown slipped over her, exciting in its own way, until it was just in the way. Then Edith didn't even think before pulling the gown over her head, barely assisted by her willing husband, and casting it back off the bed.
They'd both ceased talking save for the occasional mumbled request or order. Edith gasped and ran her fingers through Anthony's hair as she discovered that it felt like nothing else on earth to have him suck and lick at her nipples – but that she most definitely did not like them pinched. Anthony, on the other hand, liked to have his tugged at, if gently. Doing so produced the most amazing noises and the occasional muffled declaration that she was "a terribly naughty girl". Which, really, shouldn't have excited her so much to be addressed as, should it?
Given that there was still a great deal of light flooding through the sheer drapes Edith might have felt more hesitant were it not for the covers. As it was, everything waist-down was kept quite modest as their bodies rubbed together. Freed to explore everything above that, Edith was very happily occupied with the line of his neck, tracing the contours there and at his jaw with her lips and tongue and teeth, and mapping his shoulders with her hands.
She was utterly unprepared for the feeling of his fingers combing through the damp curls at the apex of her legs.
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"Oh, yes, my sweet one, just like that…" Anthony mumbled against his wife's lips as she clutched at his shoulders and he watched – triumphant – as she threw her head back and her mouth fell open. "Christ, Edith, you – you're soaked!"
All he got in response was a happy, shocked, sort of whimper. It was the opposite of off-putting. Gleefully, Anthony traced his fingers along the lips of his wife's folds, feeling the sodden curls there and how her lower lips were as swollen as his kisses had left those on her mouth. Stealing another kiss he explored further, carefully spreading her beneath the covers while keeping his eyes fixed on her face.
Edith whimpered and shuddered as he stroked a finger upwards, searching and finding the little pearl secreted in her folds. Carefully stroking around the nub and brushing the lightest touch over it he found his suspicions confirmed as her next whimper was less sure.
"Shh, sweet one. My dearest darling, I see now."
"It's -oh… Anthony."
"Too much and you're tender, I know." Anthony breathed out, carefully applying gentle pressure just around her bud. "Like this?"
Edith's helpless moan was perfect confirmation and he played with her a moment more, dipping his head to suckle at her breasts while she patted and clutched at his shoulders in helpless pleasure.
"I never – I never thought… Anthony!"
He slipped his longest finger inside her and she was so wet it felt as if she were drawing him in, rather than he breaching her. Plans disintegrated and he tucked her further beneath his body, sliding his knees between hers and spreading them further. Applying continuous pressure, stroking her still, he began to maneuver them into the appropriate position. There would be future opportunities for the thought caution required. Waiting could, well, wait.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Edith Strallan's defloration began with a slow, stretching slide and absolutely no warning. One moment she was floating on a sea of sensation, utterly unsure of what her husband was doing to her beyond the fact that she very much hoped he never stopped. The next moment there was something very large and unexpected inside her and she wasn't entirely sure how it happened, what it was, or what she thought of it.
There was a brief sting, but Edith was so startled that she barely registered the transient pain. It was forgotten as soon as it arrived, though she would be a bit sore in the morning.
"Oh!"
Edith opened her eyes and turned her head, looking up into her husband's face. She was struck, for an instant, by the fear he was in pain. His face certainly was screwed up enough for it with his mouth open and his teeth bared. His brilliant blue eyes were clenched shut.
"Oh!"
Edith squeaked again, surprised as more of it began to push into her and… it just seemed to keep going. Above her Anthony's quiet nature seemed to have reasserted itself. His heavy breathing and two soft grunts were the only sounds he made as his manhood made its inexorable progress into her. Without thought, she wrapped her legs around his waist, canting her hips to adjust as the considerable intrusion became uncomfortable.
Edith felt her eyes go wider yet as the tiny adjustment proved to be something advantageous. Anthony groaned and she felt him slide further in and suddenly something else, no doubt more of her husband, was pressing against her lower folds and his pubis pressed and rubbed against her own. With that moment the fulness expanded past shock and into another feeling entirely. The pressure left her own folds stroking her just there, at that place that Anthony had fondled to drive her wild. Edith rocked her hips up instantly, seeking more of the fireworks it made explode at the edges of her vision.
"Mia bela cara!" Her husband whispered desperately and Edith found her tongue utterly occupied, tangled up with his own, as he plundered her mouth with a desperate kiss. "Liebhaberin."
Edith did not speak Italian, but she knew German well enough to flush not only with passion, but delight, as he named her his lover.
"Anthony, you're – more?"
The dazed way he beamed at her before stealing another kiss was wonderful confirmation that she'd said precisely the right thing, despite not quite understanding what she was asking for. Thankfully, polyglot that he was, understanding was something her husband did quite well. As she clutched at his shoulders, helplessly nuzzling his neck and chest as he strained above her, Edith was in every way a wife and a happy wife as she discovered the fullness of what lovemaking offered. Slipping a hand between them, Anthony Strallan panted a litany of softly spoken, broken, endearments and Edith gasped and clung as they raced together over the edge of reason.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Your turn, Matthew!"
Matthew Crawley noted that the doting attention of two lovely girls was precisely what a broken heart needed, though his male pride would have likely conjured up two that were a bit older. As it was? It was hard to be too lovelorn given his position.
"You're making entirely too much work for poor Mr. Mosely, Matthew. Your trousers are going to be a fright."
Matthew Crawley turned and grinned up at his mother. Mrs. Crawley sat in a chair with a warm rug over her lap as she sipped her evening's coffee and smiled down at the proceedings going on in Crawley House's least formal sitting room.
"Mosely doesn't mind, do you?"
"Oh, certainly not, sir."
Matthew snickered as his mother turned and apologized, as she'd not realized that the Valet was in the room when she mentioned him. The fellow demurred with the skill of a servant of some years, neatly putting the tray of cake down and withdrawing as his mother took over.
"Would you like some cake Matthew? Girls?"
"Yes, please!"
"No, thank you, Mrs. Crawley." Adelaide replied and nudged Matthew with the toe of her slippers. "It's your turn, Matthew!"
Matthew was sprawled out on his belly on the carpet. One that was repurposed from a decorative item to the most stable surface for a rather sprawling game of marbles. Rose quit the game temporarily to claim her slice of cake, but Addie was predictably uninterested in food. Matthew smiled winningly at his mother, who cut him a generous piece, and turned his attention to the game.
His shot taken, he claimed two of Addie's marbles and one of Rose's.
"Good shot!"
"Nice to finally have one."
"Addie!"
"No, no, she's right, Rose!" Matthew laughed along with his mother and reached out, tugging on the laughing redhead's liver-colored plait as Addie rolled slightly away from him. "I'm dreadfully out of practice. I'll buy some more, however, and get my own back tomorrow!"
"Must you go back to London the day after? You're awfully fun."
Matthew felt the full weight of the compliment as Rose echoed it. He'd always liked children and regretted being an only child. It had been lonely.
When Edith came back to England he'd still been in an awkward place in the family. Knowing that Lady Rosamund's secret daughter had almost been adopted as his sister, back before Lord Grantham and Lady Rosamund had settled on hiding her closer to home, had made it stranger yet. It hadn't made for the easiest entry, or the best way to get to know his blonde cousin or her little sister. While he'd been friendly, the girl had been far more occupied in clinging to her favorite footman or "protecting" her elder sister by hovering at Edith's side whenever she could.
With Addie and Rose both staying with his mother until the Sir Anthony and Lady Strallan returned from their short honeymoon Matthew was enjoying the first occasion in his life where he had ready access to younger children. To his surprise he found he quite enjoyed their company. They were breathtakingly direct in a refreshing way, and their concerns were wonderfully simple. Beyond that?
They don't give a damn about who Mary's going to wed and they've not noticed your wounded pride. At the wedding and at no few parties in London all Matthew got from anything female was curious pity and occasional catty search for drama. With the girls?
"I'm sure you'll find someone lovely, Cousin Matthew, and she'll appreciate how nice you are." Rose's reassurance was delivered earnestly.
"Mary won't be of much use once she'd old and not pretty anyway. You should find someone who's nice because she likes you and not because she wants something!"
Addie was rather more direct, but his pride had appreciated that even as he knew better. He'd loved Mary's beauty, but it had been so many other things that kept drawing him in. Now?
Best leave it be.
Matthew Crawley's heart may have been broken, but he wasn't of the class where you threw away and bought new. He knew how to mend, and his pride rallied behind the idea.
"Well, mother, I've lost my marbles." Matthew offered up cheerfully as he tucked the six glass spheres remaining to his name into his pocket. "Or at least most of them."
"Oh, you. You'll just have to practice!" His mother chuckled and then leaned up to kiss his cheek before they both took a seat.
Matthew sighed out his thanks as Mosely, doing butler duty as he often did, arrived with a hot toddy for his mother and a tall glass of beer for himself. Taking the golden liquid gratefully he drank deeply and settled into the chair opposite his mother. He knew she'd have something to say if he waited…
"You are well, aren't you, Matthew? I don't mean to fret, but a mother does worry."
"I will be."
"I know today was difficult…"
"Honesty, mother?"
"Yes, please."
"I did enjoy the wedding." Matthew raised a hand even as he took another drink, forestalling his mother's response. "No, let me finish. Edith was just – she was grieving so much when she got here, but she was terribly happy today. I enjoyed seeing that. It's good to be reminded of how much happiness there is in the world."
"Yes, there is so much to be thankful for."
He shared his mother's smile and went on, warming up to the topic.
"And Edith was a genius to have you take care of the girls. Rose needs a real family environment, you can tell, and Addie desperately needs more friends her own age. It's good for both of them and you're just the one here to handle it."
"Oh, Cora would have done well-."
"Cousin Cora loves her children and is an amazing woman and countess, Mother, but she's always hired other people to raise her children. That's not what either of those girls need." Matthew countered. "And it's a perfect reminder of how fortunate my childhood was, and in ways I hadn't given enough thought before."
"Oh?"
"What kind of mother would one of these society girls be?"
Matthew did not mention Mary by name and rushed onward to prevent objection. His mother, perhaps predictably, offered none.
"I mean, think of it?"
"Of what, precisely?"
"Let me present you an example." Matthew settled in, comfortably, to speak to his first and fiercest advocate.
"Please."
"Each of Lord Grantham's daughters is very different and each was raised very differently within the same house."
Matthew ticked points off on his fingers.
"Servants aren't stupid and know more than anyone wants them to. Edith wasn't favored and Lady Grantham didn't pay her much mind as an infant. They realized that and neglected Edith in the nursery."
Isobel Crawley nodded in acknowledgement, but added her own point.
"You can't blame the poor woman. To lose her own baby and then have to hide it… that must have been dreadfully difficult for her, especially with someone else's baby in the nursery."
"I agree, but it does add to my point. Edith wasn't favored and the servants saw that and transferred it to her, neglecting her and making her the nursery scapegoat."
Matthew raised a second finger.
"Lady Mary was the first, the favorite, and is a – a beautiful and charming woman who was the same as a child. She was treated as though she was special and above everyone and she internalized that along with a need to always appear perfect."
Matthew raised a third finger after he intercepted his mother's nod of agreement with knowing eyes.
"Sybil is just a darling. I mean it. She's endlessly sweet, caring, and deeply concerned with others. Which makes sense considering that her mother spent by far the most time with her, the servants saw that and worked to dote on her both because of her good nature and because she was the one with the most ability to tattle to mama if they put a toe out of line."
"Of all of them," Matthew went on, "only two show any maternal feeling. Sybil wants to take care of the entire world and would if she could manage it. According to everyone Edith showed no such inclinations before she went to America but now she's effectively parenting Addie and not doing a bad job of it."
"Well, she could likely offer up a bit more structure…"
"Sir Anthony can handle that." Matthew waved off the comment. "What I mean is that, well, I don't want my children raised by servants."
Isobel raised her eyebrows.
"I mean exclusively, but it's just… the most glaring thing." Matthew touched the nearly empty glass in his hand. "Could I enjoy an idle pint with Mary? Would she dart into a Lyons with me or need reservations somewhere better? Could she be happy as my wife if she's looking for a man like Holderness? One who is in the Lords right now-."
"You'll be in the Lords one day, son."
"Yes, but I wasn't raised to it and it's not a stepping stone to Prime Minister. It won't come with the title of being the social hostess of the season. I'll never supply my wife – title or not – with cachet just by walking into a room and I don't want to – unless it's filled with barristers, solicitors, and judges." Matthew went on doggedly, and if Isobel knew her son was working as hard to convince himself as he was her, she was too good a mother to say it. "If Mary and I had – had married I don't know that we'd have ever found our feet with each other. I'd have asked her for things she couldn't do and wouldn't enjoy – like nursing our children or changing their nappies or kissing their skinned knees – and she would have wanted me to be someone I don't wish to be. It – it's better this way, don't you think?"
"Yes, I do."
Matthew opened his mouth and closed it, surprised by the agreement. His mother had, after all, favored the tidiness of his marrying one of the Earl's daughters. Isobel leaned forward and squeezed his hand.
"Matthew, these things tend to sort themselves out in time. You're young yet. I may miss you, but you're enjoying your work in London and I know you'll be a spectacular barrister. You should focus on that and let love find you. I know it will."
"Do you, Mama?"
Matthew's murmur touched a nearly forgotten title and his mother reached up, smoothing back his blonde hair with a warm smile.
"I do."
A hint of suspicion touched his handsome features.
"You're not planning on setting me up with someone else already, are you?"
Isobel's laughter filled the room as she firmly claimed her innocence and Matthew, warmed by the alcohol, his mother's love, and a good fire… slept well for the first time in a while that night.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Come in, Robert, won't you sit down?"
"I prefer to stand. What were you thinking, Rosamund?!"
Robert didn't bother to mitigate his harsh tone or the angry demand he made as he loomed over his sister in her own sitting room. Painswick House was as lavish as ever and Robert didn't intend to come and sit before his sister like a supplicant before a queen. His authority was rather lacking, however, and she looked up at him with surprising kindness in her blue eyes.
"I was thinking that I had to know she would be alright, Robert, and that before anything else goes wrong we needed to settle things and talk."
"How can you possibly think that you could settle anything after what you've done?"
Rosamund rose to her feet and, though he did rather tower over her, Robert was reminded again that she was his older sister… and that he might have inherited the title, but he never had done very well in the nursery.
"Robert, I admit my failures with Edith and the fact I can't claim to be her mother after all I've done. Given that you swore on our father's grave that you would love her like your own and did not, I think it's best that we leave certain discussions off the table."
Robert resisted the urge to shiver and, after a moment, found his attempt to swallow his outrage left nothing but ashes in his mouth. His tone, loud and righteous a moment before, fell to something far more moderate as the crackling fire caressed his next words.
"I know what I did, Rosamund, but you can't compare our mistakes."
"I don't see why not? They're the same mistake aren't they?" Rosamund lowered herself back to her chair, smoothing her skirt and turning to look into the neat little fire burning in the marble hearth.
"And what would that be?"
"Failing to love our family more than our pride and our position."
Robert found he had nothing to say to that and opened and shut his mouth twice before looking back at the closed door. When his gaze returned to his sister he rallied.
"It was still dreadful timing."
"I know."
"And Susan?"
"She was my last option. Mama took great care to bar me other methods of communication or entry. Believe it or not, I think she had most of Yorkshire waiting to intercept me."
"I believe it. I would have done the same. I mean, her wedding?"
"I just had to know she loved him, that she was finally safe."
"From?"
"Us, of course." Rosamund's smile was more self-deprecating than any he'd seen her wear. "We Crawleys are a dreadful mess, you know."
"Papa would have been mortified if he'd known you'd fallen."
It was an old argument and an old wound. Robert knew that he'd been closer to his father, but he also wasn't unaware of the fact that he'd never quite been the favorite child. He'd had more in common with his father, they'd gotten on endlessly well, but it had been Rosamund that the previous Lord Grantham had been proud of.
It was his sister who was the intellect in the family. She'd been a sparkling beauty and wit, as well. All of London had been agog over her during her season and Marmaduke had only been the winner of the race; more had run in it than expected given her lack of dowry. Robert himself had never commanding such attention and knew just how lucky he'd been to gain Cora's hand given her person, not to mention her fortune.
"It would have killed him."
"I think you underestimate our father's capacity for understanding."
Vexed that the meeting wasn't going as intended and that, no matter what he did, Robert could never seem to win against his sister, he refused to let it go.
"Father would never have understand. He and Mother may not have been the closest, but they had a decent and honorable marriage."
Perhaps, under any other circumstances, things would have carried on as they always had. Both Robert and his sister had an appreciation for and a loyalty to the expectation of their birth. Unfortunately, time and tumult had taken their toll. Rosamund was doing her very best to simply understand and get on with her life. She was far better at accepting change and accepting terrible mistakes and evolving with them than her brother had ever been.
She also had the Crawley temper and in that moment temper and exhaustion won out. The scuffle was short lived. Honesty was the victor.
"Robert, grow up. You do realize that both Mama and Papa had affairs, don't you?"
"I won't sit here and listen to you try and pretend-."
"Robert-."
"Just so that you feel as if you weren't gravely-."
"Robert!"
"Wrong to shame-."
"We have a brother, for God's sake!"
Lord Grantham's rant tumbled to a stop like a lemming off a cliff. His mouth sagged open. His sister glared at him with a petulant uptilt to her chin, but it was their mother's eyes at their most vindictively bright that were sparking at him as she leaned forward in her chair.
"Well?"
"Rosamund…" Robert opened and shut his mouth. "I don't know why you'd… what do you even… I mean…"
"He's an electrical engineer of some sort in Sussex somewhere. I can look up precisely where on the coast he's settled if you like. My solicitor has all of the information locked away in a box somewhere in some bank."
"You're not serious."
Robert's denial was as weak as his sister's jaw was stubborn.
"I'm entirely serious. After you were born Papa took up with a tradesman's daughter he met when he offered her some sort of charity or another. When they were in London he kept her at that little row house that – you remember the one that was sold after he died? Near that pub he liked to take you to."
Robert's heart lurched in his chest at that detail. There was a little pub, more favored by solicitors and men of upper middling rank than their own sort. His father had introduced him to it, and he'd loved it as a university lad, and then a young officer. It was the sort of place a young man in the army could gather with friends whose pockets weren't quite so deep, and where you could be a lad without giving offense. He'd treasured the specialness of sharing such a casual, personal, thing with his father for years. Now?
"You are serious."
"Entirely. Her name was Mary Elizabeth. Why do you think he was so delighted when you named her that instead of Violet?" Rosamund huffed. "You may have thought he was pleased that your American wife didn't mind reusing grandmama's name instead of something more fashionable, but that's not why it put a smile on his face."
"But – mother, she-."
"Knows as well as I do, though she was shocked when I brought it up. She did think they'd hidden it so well."
"Mother… she?"
"One or two. No-one who lasted for more than a few months, I gather." Rosamund shrugged. "She was a married woman and a mother by then and worldly enough to take precautions so there was never any scandal. Both were enviably discrete."
Robert Crawley stared at his sister for several long moment, the fires mumbling imprecations off to the side. Finally, exhausted and upset, he said the only thing he could think of saying.
"You just… do you like hurting me?"
"No." To his shock, he saw a flash of the sister he'd loved for years and never been truly estranged from return as she sat up, her expression earnest as she reached for his hand. "God, no, Robert I am sorry that… blasted temper…"
"Yes, rather."
Silence fell again and Robert slowly took her hands in his.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Because it was hateful to learn it." She sighed. "Nobody wants to face the moment when their parents start to be people just like they are."
"I thought I'd already done that when father told me the money had run out." Robert laughed hollowly and shook his head, looking up. "A brother, really… an… electrician, you say?"
"Yes, he's doing quite well for himself, actually. Or was two years ago when I looked into things."
"Why did you? Did you, well, meet him?"
"A letter, just to ask if he was well."
"And he is?"
"Yes, and his mother hid his origins well. Everyone thinks his father died in a boiler accident… so he'd prefer we didn't risk scandal."
"Oh."
Robert had no idea what he thought of that. On the surface it was a terrible relief. He didn't know how he'd survive more family scandal after the last six years. On the other hand there was a sudden rush of unlooked for loss. He'd always wanted a brother.
"So, that's it, then? We're repeating old mistakes."
"It's terrible when you find out that your parents are better at everything, even being unfaithful, isn't it?"
"That is a contest I am happy to lose. I have never once strayed from Cora."
"Oh, really? Not even in Africa?"
"No."
At Rosamund's look Robert put his chin up, finally feeling like his feet were back underneath him. Oh, he'd need to talk to his mother when he got back to Yorkshire. (It would be dreadful.) He'd probably be less settled on the train and knew Bates would wonder what had gotten into him.
But I can still go home to my wife, who is all I could have ever dreamed of and never knew I needed, and I can tell her all of this and she will hold me and remind me that I don't have to be perfect, my parents lives are their own, and will love me for who I am not only despite of but because I am the man I am. God bless her, Cora even loves my griefs and recklessness and stupidities. They're part of me and that's enough.
"I know Cora and I did not start on the right foot. I'm sure you're referring to Luise."
"The dancer you knew before you married."
"Yes, and I did give her a settlement." Robert stood up and brushed his hands down his jacket. "There was no child. We hadn't known each other in such a way in nearly two years. I was merely doing what was right because another man had sent her off with nothing. What I gave her kept her off the streets, it was not payment for services rendered and I have been faithful to Cora since the day we married."
Rosamund raised an eyebrow but Robert just smiled.
"I know I didn't do right by Edith. That I've spoiled Mary and don't understand Sybil the way that I might. I know my failures, Rosamund, and I acknowledge them."
"As do I, Robert."
"No, there's a difference."
"And what is that?"
"I'm still trying to make it right. Not trying to tidy it up or settle it or make a reckoning of it. I may never be as bright or as clever as you are, Rosamund, but I am trying."
Quickly, before his words were no longer the last given, Robert Crawley quit Painswick House and went off to his club. Leaning on his cane outside the door, Bates met his master with that silent support he was so expert at offering.
"Your club, my lord?"
"Home, Bates, home."