Chapter The Ninth: In Which The Strallans Begin Married Life

A marriage is announced between Lady Edith Crawley, second daughter of the Earl of Grantham, and Major Anthony Strallan, son and heir of Sir Phillip Strallan, Bt., of Locksley, Yorkshire. The couple, who met last month through Major Strallan's parents, married quietly at Chelsea Town Hall yesterday morning and plan to honeymoon in Cornwall at a property owned by the Major's mother. Major Strallan, who serves in the War Office, drew press attention two years' ago for his much-publicised divorce from his first wife, Maude, daughter of Sir Edward Gould…

Edith lowered her copy of The Daily Herald and sighed. Anthony, seated across from her in the train compartment reading some documents from a War Office file, raised his eyebrows. "Everything all right?" he wondered.

"Yes," Edith shrugged and passed him the newspaper. "Just… the papers can't help mentioning the divorce, but that's only to be expected, I suppose."

"Ah." Anthony scanned the page, teeth faintly gritted. "I'm sorry. It's hardly… ideal."

"Nonsense. I only mean that I wish the press could be less interested in other people's lives." Before Anthony could reply, she'd lifted herself from her seat, plumped herself down next to him, seized the paper and tossed it on to the floor. "Never think that I mind it, my dear - I'm only cross that they're still so beastly to you." Her eyes scanned down over what Anthony was reading, briefly. "Time for a cup of tea in the restaurant car, or are you frightfully busy here?"

Anthony snapped the file shut and reached for his locked briefcase. "Cup of tea sounds delightful."

As afternoon bled into evening, things became less delightful, however. They disembarked at Truro station in driving rain and had to dash for the St Agnes train, tumbling into an empty first class compartment just as the station master blew his whistle.

Edith's hat was sadly dampened by the weather, and raindrops clung to her curls, and her stockings were splashed with mud - but before he could say something apologetic and reassuring, she looked up at him and began to laugh breathlessly. "Oh, my dear, wouldn't Stewart flinch if he could see the pair of us just now!"

Rather to Anthony's surprise, Edith had insisted on an introduction to his valet the very afternoon they'd become engaged, and the pair had struck up a firm friendship. Anthony wasn't entirely sure whether this boded well for his future married life or not, but he couldn't help but agree with his - Heavens! - his wife's assertion. Fortunately, Stewart was to arrive in Cornwall tomorrow, giving Anthony and Edith a night alone first to - well, to manage things between them.

"Perhaps the rain will have died off by the time we get to St Agnes?" Anthony hoped, albeit without conviction. "And at least there'll be a warm car to take us to the farm."

Edith leant forwards conspiratorially. "Yes, do tell me about this friend of your mother's. She was so mysterious about him - what's his name? Lord - ?"

"Inglebury. Yes, they're sort of… childhood playmates, I suppose, raised in the same parish. And then when they grew up, Mama was companion to his mother, oh, for about five years, before she married Papa, and they've… kept up the connection, I suppose. Christmas cards and so forth - and he's always willing to help, if any of the family are visiting Norcote." Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Best not mention him in front of Papa, though. He's not a jealous man, but… there's something about Inglebury - about him having known Mama for so long - that just…"

"Rankles?" Edith suggested lightly. "I think it's rather sweet that after nearly fifty years of marriage, he still adores her enough to be jealous at all."

"Yes, perhaps." Anthony peered out of the rain-lashed windows. "Ah, here we are. Have you got everything?"

Lord Inglebury's chauffeur was, to Edith's surprise, a young woman with bobbed red hair. "Major Strallan?" she chirped as they hovered outside the station. "Hello, Lord Inglebury's sent me to collect you. And I've been instructed to tell you that there's a hamper from Lady Strallan in the boot."

"See?" Edith smiled up at Anthony. "We're going to have a wonderful time."

Fifteen minutes later, Anthony was convinced that his wife had jinxed things.

Inglebury's car drew up outside the familiar, long, low farmhouse, the rain still pelting down around them, and they stumbled out with their luggage. "I'm to wait until you've made sure that everything's in order, Major," the chauffeur - a Miss Bright, as Edith had found out - explained cheerfully.

"Thank you, ah, Bright," Anthony managed, and followed Edith up the worn stone steps to the front door. By the time he joined her there, Edith was already on her tiptoes, fumbling across the top of the lintel for the doorkey.

"Here it is," she beamed, waving it in front of his face. "Just where your mama said the caretaker would have left it."

Inside, the cottage was dry, and seemed well-aired, but as they entered the kitchen and Anthony tried the electric light switch… nothing happened. "Oh good Lord!" he groaned. "I - I had no idea it was going to be like this."

Edith slid past him to set down the hamper on the kitchen table. "It's all right. Quite probably the storm has just knocked out the electricity, or damaged the generator. Your mama did say everything had been put in in such a hurry. We can have a proper look in the morning."

Anthony grimaced. Well, Mama, Granny will be sitting up there with the saints right now, wearing that 'I told you so' expression of hers, and wondering why you ever thought electricity would be more reliable than gas. Personally, Anthony was feeling something very similar. Even Papa had thought it a ridiculous project of his mother's, to have the old farmhouse fitted with electric lights at the same time as they'd had them installed at Locksley - not that he'd ever have said so. And now Anthony himself was going to bear the cost of her decision. Anthony squeezed his eyes tight shut with frustration - and trepidation. Shortly, the recriminations would start, unless he could find a solution. Fast.

"I know it's late, but we could drive back in to Truro?" he suggested. "Find an hotel? Inglebury's car's still outside - he wouldn't mind his chauffeur making an additional journey." Anthony looked down at the injured arm. "I knew I shouldn't have agreed to Stewart coming down tomorrow instead of - "

"Dear, have you got a lighter? Matches?" Edith's muffled voice interrupted from the depths of the nearest cupboard, as if she hadn't heard him at all.

"Yes, but - "

"Jolly good." Now she had turned to rummage in his pockets, tiny hands lightly frisking him until she found what she wanted, and turned to light a candle, holding the small circle of light high above their heads so that they could look around. "Anthony, must we go?" Edith frowned. "We have food, and candles and a fire, and a warm bed. It'll be fun - like camping."

"Camping?" Anthony echoed. Whatever reaction he'd been expecting to this whole fiasco, it certainly wasn't this. This cheerful insistence on treating chaos like an adventure. What on Earth was going on?

"Yes." She blushed. "When I was at university, a group of us spent a week hiking in the Welsh Borders. It was lovely."

The image of Edith in hiking gear, flushed and messy from exercise, made Anthony catch his breath. And you could have something alike for a week, yourself… "And what did your father think of that?" Anthony chuckled.

"Oh, I didn't tell him!" Edith set the candle down on the table in its holder. "Darling, have a look and see if you can find another box of candles, can you? I don't think this one will last long enough for us to eat." As she spoke, she started to unpack the hamper. "He thought I was staying at the house of a friend's very proper par - Heavens, your mother's sent a feast!" Edith beamed up at him, a paper packet of wedding cake in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other. In the soft glow of candlelight, Anthony didn't think he'd ever seen anything more sweetly enticing. "Please let's stay?"

"Very well." Anthony reached for the tin box of candles his grandmother had always kept at the back of the cupboard and then paused. "In fact, there should be some oil lamps around here somewhere. As long as you're sure you don't mind."

"Perfectly sure, thank you." Edith was opening and closing cupboard doors, collecting plates and wine glasses and forks. "Now, for goodness' sake, go and let Miss Bright get home to her bed."

Anthony obeyed, still not entirely convinced of the wisdom of the decision, and returned to the sight and sound of Edith rinsing glasses by candlelight under the cold tap.

Anthony stared at her bustling around, until Edith caught him watching, and lifted an inquiring brow. Anthony shrugged. "You're… astonishing."

Slowly, Edith put the cutlery and glasses down on the scrubbed kitchen table. "Is that… a good thing or a bad thing?"

"It's an excellent thing." Anthony bent his head towards her, and then paused. "Do you like kisses? Or does that fall under the heading of 'romance and silliness'?"

Edith gave him a soft smile, and let her hands twine themselves lightly around his neck. "Oh, I think one kiss is probably allowable."

"Oh, jolly good." His mouth was soft against hers, gentle and exploratory, and it was with relief that he heard Edith hum happily in response. "Well, Lady Edith Strallan. Happy wedding day."

"Ah." Edith drew back. "I wanted to talk to you about that." At the fall of Anthony's face, she added hastily, "Not the wedding. The 'Lady Edith' bit."

"Oh?"

"Mmm." Her fingers, almost unconsciously, were stroking through the curls at the back of his neck. "Would you mind it terribly if I dropped the title? It's only a courtesy one from Papa and… and after today, I don't want it."

"I… see. So what are you suggesting?"

"'Mrs Anthony Strallan.'" Edith was chewing her lip. "Would you hate it?"

I'd love it. "No. Not if you don't." Thoughtfully, he reminded her, "You'll have to be a lady again one day though, you know."

"I know." Edith stepped in closer, until her head was resting on his chest. "But 'Lady Strallan' will be so different from 'Lady Edith', somehow. I can't explain it."

Anthony let his good arm curve around her shoulders, holding her in place. "Well, Mrs Strallan, I don't object at all. It's your name, do what you like with it."

"Thank you. I shall." She stepped back, and Anthony felt the loss of her warmth almost immediately. "Now, let's have something to eat. Would you like wedding cake or - " She turned and rummaged through the hamper " - ham and mustard sandwiches? Or we could be really greedy, and have both?"

"Ah… both, I think. Shall I… get the fire lit for us? If the log shed hasn't collapsed in on itself."

"Yes, it is getting a bit chilly." As she passed him to get back to the table, she squeezed his arm. "Put your coat on if you're going back out there again, though, won't you? That rain's positively Biblical."

By the time Anthony returned to the kitchen, basket of logs hooked over his arm, Edith had lit enough candles that the whole room glowed warmly. The table was laden with food, and full wine glasses, and Edith was beaming up at him.

Despite the rain outside, despite the lack of electricity, despite… well, despite everything, really, a sense of contentment descended on him.

Perhaps everything would be all right.

By the time they'd finished eating, Edith was hiding yawns behind a polite hand. "I'm so sorry," she smiled sheepishly. "That journey was clearly more exhausting than I thought." She rose from the table, carrying their plates to the sink as she did so.

Despite himself, Anthony felt a sinking sense of disappointment in his stomach. Well, there you have it, old boy. A gentle brush-off if ever I heard one. "Of course," he said, aloud. "You take the master bedroom - first on your right up the stairs. I… shan't disturb you."

Edith turned and to his surprise, there was a tiny, flirtatious smile playing about her lips. "Oh dear," she murmured. "And here I was, hoping you'd help me with my corset."

Anthony choked on the last dregs of his wine. When he surfaced from the ensuing coughing fit, Edith was kneeling at his elbow with a glass of water, eyes wide and alarmed. "I'm so sorry," she repeated. "But I don't suppose there was ever going to be an easy way to open that conversation, was there?"

With a shaking hand, Anthony accepted the water and sipped. Carefully. "N-no," he reassured her, at last. "I'm sorry. I assumed that - well, you are tired." Rather primly, he added, "I wouldn't want you to think me a boor."

Edith's hand stroked down his forearm. "I don't. Far from it." As she rose to her feet, Anthony could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, and from her eyes, fixed on the top of his head. "Anthony… shall we just… go upstairs, and see where we end up? No expectations, no pressure, just… getting to know one another a little better?"

Make sure she enjoys herself, Papa had said. You can't afford to spoil another chance.

Anthony exhaled and rose to his feet too. "I think that sounds like a very good idea, indeed."

Edith led the way up the stairs, surreptitiously wiping her damp hands on the skirt of her dress. Tonight, she would have to tread a very careful line. Clearly, Anthony was anxious - had been anxious ever since they'd left Strallan House that afternoon - and it seemed that things had only been getting steadily worse and worse. If she misstepped again as she had downstairs, she might risk losing him altogether.

So when she lifted the latch to the bedroom door and held up the candle to illuminate the room, she turned and smiled at Anthony. "Well, I think we can be quite comfortable here." She wasn't lying - the caretaker Anthony's mama employed had at least ensured that the bed were well-aired, and a bright patchwork quilt spread over it. Alongside the gentle patter of rain against the windows, it all served to make the room rather cosy.

And, glancing back at her husband, Edith was relieved to see that he was smiling too. "Goodness," he murmured, moving towards the bed and its quilt, "I can't believe this is still here. My grandmother made it - when I was small, before Diana was born, she'd let me have it over my bed, when we stayed here in the summer."

Edith joined him and they sat together on top of it. "That's lovely. I'm glad we decided to come here for the week, rather than staying in London. Much quieter." She slid closer. "And I don't think I'd have liked to do this within five miles of your parents…"

"Do wh - ?" Anthony began, and then Edith's hands on his shoulders, and the way she was leaning closer to him made the question utterly redundant.

This kiss was different, so different from any of the others they'd shared so far: quick, chaste pecks on the cheek or forehead or hands; or even that brief, soft exploration downstairs in the kitchen earlier.

Edith tasted of wedding cake and wine as her tongue swept lightly over his bottom lip, and Anthony couldn't help responding - returning like for like until they were clinging to each other, drinking from each other's mouths like thirsty travellers at an oasis. Only the necessity of breathing drew them apart, and Anthony was relieved to see that Edith was looking bright-eyed and flushed and as thoroughly aroused as he felt.

"Well," Edith whispered, "that's a relief."

Anthony felt his mouth tipping up in a wry smile. "Isn't it just?"

Edith reached for the buttons on her dress and began sliding herself out of it. "Would you mind helping?"

"Not at all." His voice was low and throaty, and his hand was warm and shaking as he reached to help her unlace the corset beneath.

Edith exhaled as his fingers brushed her chemise and he paused, ducking his head to check her expression for signs of distress. "All right?"

"Y-yes." Her smile was an apologetic, fluttering bird of a thing, but her hand on his cheek was warm and reassuring. "Sorry. I - over-lace, sometimes." All the time. "Your mother's always telling me I shouldn't."

Anthony's mouth met her shoulder. As if the whole world and his wife hasn't seen those awful drawings of women's insides, when they decide they're going to squeeze their waists down to single figures! "She's absolutely right." Taking a chance, he added, "You can expect me to be telling you the same thing. You're not hurt?"

"N-no." She turned her head a little and looked up at him, smiling shyly. "You - you don't need to stop. Your hand… feels rather nice."

"We can… do as much or as little as you like," Anthony murmured, wishing so much that she hadn't said that. It made him focus far too much on how warm and soft her skin felt through the flimsy layer of her underwear, on how her still-damp hair smelt of fresh rain and something light and flowery, on how he could still taste the wine he'd supped from her mouth. "For as long as you wish." His voice cracked on that, and he had to clear his throat before continuing. "There's - there's no pressure."

"I - I didn't think there would be." Edith nestled closer on the bed. "Of course, that goes for you, too. I wouldn't want to pressure you, either."

"Thank you." Carefully, Anthony began to undo his tie. After all, it didn't seem fair for Edith to be sat there in just her underthings, while he was fully clothed. Only a certain type of man enjoyed that sort of caper, and he was most certainly not a gentleman. "Besides," he confessed quietly as he worked the knot free with slow laborious pinches of his fingers, "we may need to do some… manoeuvring. Because of the arm. Hardly ideal, I know - "

"Not at all." Edith's slender hands reached up to his throat, holding the tie steady so he could fish the blade out through the knot. If Anthony hadn't known better, he might have thought she were avoiding his eye as she continued, "I… I thought that might be the case. Um, I hope you don't mind, but… I have a university friend who's a doctor, and I went to have lunch with her a couple of weeks ago to… pick her brains."

Anthony couldn't help it. His mouth dropped open. "Oh. Oh good Lord."

Edith winced. "You're cross. I'm sorry. I - I wanted to avoid embarrassment and it only seems that I've caused it. Anthony, I - "

He caught her hand before she could move any further away. "I'm not embarrassed." At Edith's anxious, half-disbelieving look, he added, emphatically, "Or cross. I'm… surprised."

"Unpleasantly."

"No." As if to emphasise the fact, he began to unbutton his shirt too, careful not to let it fall open and reveal the wounded shoulder. Baby steps, after all. "Delightedly, my dear. I… just didn't imagine that you'd… want to bother about all of that."

Edith huffed. "We did decide on children, didn't we?"

"Well… yes." Seeking something to do, Anthony stood, folded the tie and draped it over the back of the dressing table chair.

"Then how on Earth did you think we were going to manage - " (in the mirror, Edith's reflection gestured wildly, as if it could encompass all known terms - polite and impolite - for such an act) " - that unless we… discussed it first?"

"Honestly?" Anthony turned and sank down on to the bed next to her, chewing his cheek. "I was just going to try… muddling through. The blasted thing can hold me up for a couple of minutes, at least, if I'm careful." It was more than half a lie, that. If he braced himself on his good arm, and draped the injured one over a headboard, he could just about manage it, listing to one side all the time as he did so.

"Well, I can't imagine that that's very pleasant for you afterwards," Edith shot back crisply.

"It's - "

Edith's raised eyebrows halted him before he could finish the lie. "Honestly?" she interrupted, in stern tones that she could only have learned from his father.

"Hurts like the blazes." His helpless, sheepish grin only made her expression grow more lovingly stern.

"There, then. Anthony…" And then she stopped, frowning down at their knees, side-by-side with each other on the bed, as if she were searching for a way to continue. At length, she sighed and shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

It was the defeated voice of someone who was very rarely listened to, and Anthony promised himself, there and then, that Edith would have no use for such a voice from now on.

"No, go on. What were you about to say?"

Edith's eyes scanned over his face, appraising him carefully, before she replied. "Sometimes, in this… arrangement, you're going to want to do things one way, and I'm going to have different ideas and - very occasionally - you're going to have to accept that I have the right of it."

"I see." There was a reassuringly good deal of amusement in his voice, and that spurred Edith on.

"Yes. So, please, if you're planning on this being a marriage where you put yourself through all sorts of discomfort out of some mistaken idea that you're sparing me, or any rot like that… put the very idea of it out of your mind this instant."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really." Edith's hands went to her hips as she insisted, "You've married a fully-paid-up feminist, Anthony, and that means equality. In everything, at all times."

There was a long moment of silence, and as it dragged on, Edith asked, in apparent contradiction of her last, strident declaration: "So… do you think that'll be all right?"

"My dear, I think that will be quite all right." She didn't know what she was offering of course, and he wouldn't rely on it, but it was nice that she'd said it, all the same. Maude had never -

But no. He wouldn't spoil what was looking to be a very nice evening with unpleasant thoughts.

"Good." Edith sounded rather relieved. "So, to return to the original topic of discussion… Georgie doesn't think that… that the orthodox way of doing things will quite suit us."

"What does Dr Stone advise, then?"

"C-can I show you? At least one of her ideas?"

Oh Lord. "All - all right."

"Good." Edith rose from the bed. "Just… stay as you are? And tell me if I do anything you don't like?"

"Of course." Anthony swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, and he caught her wrist as she moved past him. "Only… do you think we could… blow out the candle?" He gestured to the injured shoulder. "It's… rather unpleasant, you see, and I - I don't think I'm ready to show anyone else, yet. Sorry."

Edith bent and kissed the top of his head. "Not at all. That might be a rather good idea, actually. Less… pressure all round."

Anthony turned and pinched the candle out, plunging them into utter darkness. There was a rustling sound, as of fabric being removed. A waft of fragrant perfume met Anthony's nostrils, there was the padding sound of soft footsteps returning to him, and then, quite suddenly, Anthony found himself with a lapful of… Edith. Edith, soft and warm and absolutely naked.

"All right there?" she wondered softly against his cheek and Anthony nodded.

"P-perfect."

He felt her lips turn up into a smile against his nose. "So," she explained, very sensibly, "Georgie says that if I put my knees like this - " (a pause as she rearranged herself so that she was wrapped around him in a way that did shockingly enjoyable things to Anthony's anatomy) - "then everything should be relatively easy to manage. What do you think?"

"Y-yes," Anthony managed. "Yes, this seems… very sensible indeed…"