"Come with me – no, this way, this way… Careful not to bump into the furniture."
"How do you expect me to be careful when I can't see a damn thing?" he laughed.
Edith was blindfolding Anthony with her hands, and trying to guide him into the library. It was a somewhat difficult business, given he was so tall and leggy, and she was about ten inches shorter than him.
"Where are you taking me?" he chuckled again. "Edith? Where are we going?"
"Just one moment – no peeking, no peeking!" she clumsily steered him into the room, her arms outstretched, her hands over his eyes.
"There" she said uncovering his eyes and smiling excitedly. "What do you think?"
The tree glimmered warmly in front of them, all green and red and silver, magnificent with its blinking lights and its glimmering tinsel.
"Oh!" Anthony blinked a few times and looked around the room, surprised. Edith scrutinized his face, attentively looking for a sign of approval or displeasure, but the expression in his eyes was hard to read.
"What a change!" He took a few steps towards the tree. "I must say, this tree is quite impressive!"
"It's over ten feet tall. It took three men to bring it in there."
"I can imagine." He took a step towards it, then he turned back to her with one of his half-smiles. "But, tell me - whatever happened to the sofa?" he said with a chuckle.
Her smile faded to an anxious expression. "I had it moved into the drawing room. It's only temporary, of course" she said quickly. Then, when he didn't respond, she added, somewhat tentatively: "You're not – upset, are you? That I have done all this without checking with you first?"
Anthony turned to face her: she was looking at him with an intent, apprehensive expression on her face. "Upset - why on Earth would I be upset?" He blinked in surprise; for reasons that were beyond him, his wife was prone to think of herself as a constant disappointment – she was always on edge, always ready to apologize. He smiled reassuringly at her. "My darling - it's the best surprise I've had in years! It is marvelous to come home to such a jolly display of holiday cheer!"
"Really?" He saw her nervous expression relax into a gratified one and he marveled once more at how little his wife required to be content. He remembered telling Robert how he meant to do his level best to keep Edith happy, but it was turning out to be an easier task than he expected it to be: all he had to do was acknowledge her efforts, appreciate what she did, encourage her.
"Of course!" He took a step towards her and took her hand in his. "How could you ever think I would be anything other than happy about it?"
Edith squeezed his hand and offered him an apologetic smile. "I don't know… I thought" she shrugged. "I thought maybe you don't like changes. Maybe you'd rather keep things as they have always been."
He smiled again. "Oh, my dearest." He said, fondly, and he kissed her on her forehead. "This house has been in dire needs of change for years… and there's nobody I'd rather ask to make those changes than you. Now, let's get a better look at this tree!"
…
"Well? What do you think of it?"
He touched a glass ornament lightly. "I remember this one." He said, pensively. "And this one, too. And this –" He turned to her, half-smiling. "The Christmas ornaments of my childhood. Where did you find those?"
"In the attic. Stewart had two footmen bring them down. You don't mind, do you?"
"Of course not." His slow smirk turned into a smile while he played absent-mindedly with a painted bauble. "I haven't seen them in – oh, well over thirty years! I had half-forgotten they even existed. Maud put them away when she bought the crystal baubles in Bavaria, but I've always liked them better. Call me sentimental, but – as worn and faded as they might be, they hold a special meaning to me."
He turned to Edith. "That tree reminds me so much of my childhood Christmases." he smiled fondly at the memory. "I loved the holidays, you know. I so looked forward to them: they meant being back from school - back at home, with Papa and Mama and Eleanor… exchanging gifts, singing together, playing games..."
Edith knew (he had told her one night) he had never been much happy at school. His father, Sir Phillip (a well-meaning, but unimaginative country gentleman) had sent eight-year-old Anthony - a shy, sensible child with a love of books and music - to a brutal boarding school in Scotland, in order to toughen him up. And it had worked – up to a point. By the time he went to Eton College, Anthony had grown into a resolute, broad-shouldered young man with a military distinction about him. But he never really got over his bashfulness, and he always suffered from acute homesickness whenever he was away from Yorkshire: he had always been happier at Loxley than anywhere else. Edith stepped forward to hug him from behind, her arms coming around him, her head resting against his shoulder. He covered her hands with his.
Sometimes she was still, somewhat, amazed at the easy, pleasant intimacy that had formed between the two of them; it was so different from the gawky formality of their courtship – in a good way. It reminded Edith of her parents' marriage – the affectionate little looks and gestures they exchanged, the casual yet deliberate fashion in which they brushed each other's arm or shoulder in passing. She had envied them, envied Sybil and Tom, Mary and Matthew. But now, Edith felt that the time of envy, the time of jealousy, had come to an end. She finally had everything she had ever hoped for – not only a husband, a house of her own and a position, but a partner in life, someone who understood her and appreciated her, and someone she understood and appreciated in return.
"When we were children - me and Mary and Sybil – we used to sneak out of the nursery to peek at the tree." She said, her face buried into the back of his jacket.
He smiled: she couldn't see his face, but she felt it in the way his shoulder blades shifted slightly. "We did that, too - Eleanor and me. We would wait for Mama and Papa to go to bed, then we would crawl out of our beds to come downstairs and sit under it, enchanted by its beauty. It was quite magical."
"So… do you like this one? Does it look like the Christmas trees of your childhood?"
He turned, took one of Edith's hands in his, brought it to his mouth and kissed her fingers.
"I feel as if I have gone back in time – to some warm, safe place I used to know. I adore it." He looked up at the huge tree, all lit up, with tinsel and garlands and baubles hanging from its branches, a sparkling emblem of Christmas magic; then he looked down at her. "And, now that I think of it, the tree is not the only thing in this room that I adore." He pulled her closer. "Come on, give your husband a kiss."
Edith was happy to oblige, and they kissed under the glimmering tree – a greeting-card-perfect picture of domestic bliss. "Oh, but wait!" Edith broke away from him and rummaged in her pocket. "I almost forgot: I have something for you!"
"Here." She opened her hand to reveal the tin toy soldier of Anthony's childhood. "I saved it so you could hang it on the tree yourself."
"Oh, look at that!" Anthony smiled - the wide, warm smile of a child. "The little soldier! Me and Eleanor used to fight over the privilege to hang it." He chuckled fondly at the memory and he looked at his wife. She could tell he was touched by her small gesture. "My sweet one. How did you know it was my favorite?"
"Stewart told me."
Anthony shook his head. "I'm rather surprised he remembers."
"You shouldn't be; he remembers a lot of things." She smiled. "He's very devoted to you, you know."
"I do, and I must say I'm very fond of him, too. He can be a tad stiff, poor chap, but he has a heart of gold. I hope one day you'll see it, too."
Edith grinned. "I think I am already starting to."
…
They went to bed early, right after dinner: Anthony was tired from the long journey back from London.
"Are you nervous for tomorrow night?" he asked as he slipped in bed with her. At the beginning of their marriage, he had been cautious about the idea of sleeping in the same bed with his wife – Maud and him had slept in separate rooms for their whole married life, and it seemed odd to him to do otherwise – but Edith had been adamant about keeping up with her parents' tradition.
He ended up liking it much more than he had expected. In the comfortable darkness of their shared room, with Edith's warm soft frame snuggled against his body, he found himself able to talk about things he would have never approached in the broad daylight of a living room. His face buried in her hair, he found out he could talk about his war memories and childhood dreams, about Maud's illness and the endless string of stillborn children that she had delivered. She, in return, had told him in a quiet voice about the Canadian soldier who claimed to be Patrick Crawley, about the maimed oficiers she had nursed when Downton served as a convalescent home, about her struggle to adapt to post-war life.
Edith let out a short, tense laugh. "A little. You'd be nervous, too, if you knew my family the way I do."
"I know them well enough" he said, and there was the subtlest hint of bitterness in his voice. The relationship between Anthony and his in-laws had improved quite a bit lately (largely due to Cora's benevolent efforts), but there was still some simmering tension between them. "But don't fret, my dearest. It's just a dinner. It'll be all right."
"I hope so." she fiddled with the ribbon on the neckline of her nightgown. "I'd hate to disappoint them." she raised her eyebrow. "Especially Granny – she's surely looking forward to pinpoint my every mistake. Her greatest pleasure in life is telling people what they're doing wrong with their lives, you know."
He let out a sigh. "Is she still upset about the wedding?" The Dowager's disapproval was still a sore point for him.
"It's not that, exactly" Edith snuggled closer to him and placed a hand on his chest. "Please, Anthony, stop beating yourself up about this. She doesn't hold anything against you, truly." She lifted her head to look at him. "It's just that she can't stand it when she doesn't have it all her own way."
He kissed the top of her head. "I know. I just wish she would relent and leave us be."
"She will... eventually. I assure you. She welcomed Tom in the family, in the end, so there's no reason she won't come around on you, too. But it might take a while." she sighed. "She's a tough one."
He laughed, a humorless little snort. "You could say that."
She turned on her back and stared at him. "You understand why it's so important to me, don't you? The dinner, I mean. It's the perfect chance to show them I know what I'm doing, and I can manage perfectly well without them meddling, thank you very much."
"That's the spirit." he chuckled and brushed a stray lock of her hair from her forehead. "You'll show them what you're made of."
She looked at him sideways, with a grin. "We'll show them, you mean. I have no intention to face my family all on my own" She raised her eyebrows. "We're in this together, my dear - you'll have to pull your weight and make sure we put on a hell of a show."
"All right." His shoulders shook with stifled laughter. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage, for the first time here at Loxley House, The Strallan Duo - hosts extraordinaire!"
"The Strallan Duo!" she laughed. "I like the sound of that!" she glanced at him again. "We'll give them the best double act since Gallagher and Shean." she crinkled her nose. "We shall leave the audience breathless, tomorrow."
"What about tonight?" He raised an eyebrow and turned his face to her. "Shall we have a dress rehearsal – or better yet, an undress rehearsal?"
Edith raised herself on her elbows and gave him a look of mock indignation. "Sir Anthony Strallan! I though you said you were tired from the journey!"
"Did I?" he said, with a devilish grin.