Chapter the Twelfth: In Which Olive Branches Are Extended and Sticks Are Brandished

Anthony Strallan, for once in his life, was rather contented. For one thing, it seemed that the tide of the war was finally turning in their favour; the latest intelligence from the Continent reported anti-war marches in Berlin, and the German army retreating across the Marne. For another, for every morning of the last three months, he had been seated across a breakfast table from his extremely attractive and charming wife.

It was only a shame that Edith didn't seem to share his contentment. Indeed, she had been chasing the same forkful of eggs around her plate for the last twenty minutes, staring rather abstractedly into space as she did so.

Anthony didn't like to interfere where he was not wanted, but it was so unlike Edith to be so quiet that really he felt he must. If it was something that he had done, that required an apology, well, then, better to investigate, drag it all out into the open and do penance.

Softly, he reached out and rested his fingertips over the hand not holding the fork - it lay flat and listless on the table between them, but when he touched her, Edith blinked and turned empty, unfocused eyes on him. "Is everything quite all right, m'dear?" he wondered.

The smile she gave him did absolutely nothing to banish that blankness from her gaze, and Anthony's stomach twisted at it. "Yes, why shouldn't it be?"

"No reason." He tried a smile of his own. "You looked a little… frustrated." To say the least. Please, God, Edith, if I have done something to upset you - He didn't think he could endure another marriage like this, full of guesswork and painful silences.

"It's nothing." Edith lifted her napkin from her lap and set it aside, before standing to come and kiss the top of his head, with more effort than he would have hoped it to need. "I just… had to arrange something I was hoping I wouldn't need this month."

"How maddening." He lifted his hand to squeeze her hip in sympathy. To his relief, she didn't shy away, but rather leaned into his touch, her hands straying to his shoulders to hold him closer. "I'm sorry, my dear."

"Yes. So am I." Edith swallowed, rawly, hoping that he wouldn't have heard her fighting back tears. God, Anthony, so am I.

"Any plans for the day?"

Edith inhaled firmly and released him. "Yes. Georgie's in Town - Adam's dragged her along on a business trip, or something - so I said we'd go around the British Museum and have tea afterwards."

"Well, I hope that it… blows the cobwebs away. Do give her my best regards."

Georgie was already waiting on the steps of the Museum when Edith arrived, trying to smile. Her friend had known her too long for such pretences to work, however.

"You look rather blue. Everything all right?"

"Yes, fine." She lowered her voice. "Just… my monthly started last night."

"Oh, bad luck."

"Mmm." As they stepped into the cool entrance hall, Edith let Georgie hook their arms together, before adding, aiming for tones of great casualness, "Especially given that I was… well, four days late. Stupid of me, but I'd rather started to think…"

Georgie stopped dead, a look of sympathy passing quickly across her expressive face. "Ah. Sorry. But you must admit… only three months after marriage would be efficient even for you, Edie." She squeezed Edith's arm. "These things take time."

"They hardly took any time at all with Michael!" Edith exclaimed, before she could stop the words escaping. "And he was trying desperately hard not to get me pregnant."

"Not hard enough, if you ask me." Georgie sounded thoroughly disgruntled, as she always did, at the mention of the late, unlamented Captain Gregson. "Still… Anthony's the complete opposite?"

"Yes, if you must know." Really, Edith had gone quite pink about the cheeks. She fanned herself with the Museum guidebook before adding, "And I keep wondering about the miscarriage, whether there was something wrong afterwards, that we didn't realise about." She swiped at a hot tear which was running, suddenly and unpredictably, down her cheek. "I'm not saying I think it's all my doing, or anything. I mean, he never had children with his first wife. Just a miscarriage during the first year. But she's got two now, with her second husband. Perhaps there's something wrong with both of us." Out it all poured, the fears which had kept her awake the previous night, long after she ought to have been asleep - certainly long after Anthony had started snoring peaceably next to her.

Georgie didn't reply until she had tugged Edith down a side corridor, into a deserted gallery. She clicked open her handbag and pulled out a handkerchief, mopping Edith's face, with careful attention to her make up, as if her friend were one of her own children. "Now blow." Edith obeyed, rather thickly. "Or," Georgie continued, rather severely, "perhaps his having no children with his witch of a first wife has rather more to do with being unhappily married in the first place, and at war for two years in the second." As Edith tilted her head in what might have been a nod, Georgie smiled with firm approval. "There, then. Darling, as your doctor? You were as fit as a flea after that miscarriage. As your friend? Edie, it's only been three months. Let's wait a while longer before we start to make gloomy predictions of childlessness, hmm?" Georgie tucked the handkerchief back inside her clutch and produced a small bag of boiled sweets and offered them to Edith, turning their backs so that they could avoid the hawk-eyes of the museum guide who had just poked his head around the corner. "Here, bit of sugar will do you the power of good. Have you mentioned any of this to Anthony?"

"No!" Edith exclaimed, nearly bolting her sweet. "Heavens, no! It would be… terribly awkward. I don't think he even knew what I was going on about this morning."

"This morning?"

Edith shrugged. "Oh, he noticed I seemed a bit down in the dumps, and asked me about it and I said… I just said that I'd had to get hold of something I was hoping not to need this month."

Georgie practically threw up her hands in exasperation. "Well, I defy any man to work out a hint as subtle as that, Edie! Throw the poor man a bone, for Heaven's sake. Surely he knows the timetable by now?"

"Well, no, not really." Edith flushed. "The first time after the wedding, he was away the whole week for work. Then the second time, we were at Locksley and there was no way either of us would have wanted anything of that sort under his parents' roof anyway, so…"

Georgie rolled her eyes. "In that case, you need to go home and instruct him on the facts of life."

When he returned from work that evening - horribly late, but when was he ever early? - Edith seemed much calmer and was reading in front of the fire. She smiled sleepily up at him as he kissed her forehead. "Hello. Sorry for being a bore this morning."

"Nonsense. I'm only concerned for - for your comfort." He sat down on the sofa next to her. "Have you dined already?"

Edith nodded. "I would have waited only - " Only I get so ravenous at this time of the month! "Only, that walk to the Museum quite wore me out and made me feel as if I could eat half a horse."

To her surprise, Anthony looked rather sheepish. "Jolly good. I can, in that case, confess to the purchase of a piece of cod and two penn'orth of chips, garnished with a truly criminal amount of vinegar, approximately an hour and a half ago." At Edith's half-outraged laugh, Anthony tried to excuse himself: "Well, I've a new Lieutenant - the lad's fresh from the trenches, his mother's in Dundee, and he needs feeding up."

"Then you should invite him here to dine, one night," Edith offered. "We could at least offer him something a little more refined than fish and chips - honestly, Anthony."

To her surprise, her husband's face - so open and mischievous only a moment before - seemed to close up and a chilly breeze seemed to sweep between them. "Yes, well, we'll see. The office is… rather swamped, at present." With visible effort, he forced the smile back onto his face. "Now, would you… care for an early night, my dear?"

"It's nearly ten o'clock!" Edith temporised.

Anthony's arm reeled her close and his mouth offered her a thorough, exploring kiss. "Well," he growled against her lips, "a late night, then."

There was nothing she would have liked better than to say 'yes'. Still, despite knowing what she would have to say instead, Edith nestled closer to him and rested her head on his chest, enjoying for a moment the mingled smell of ink and tobacco and cologne and chips that clung to his uniform jacket. "Yes, but… just to sleep though, I'm afraid." She chanced an apologetic glance up at Anthony, taking a deep breath before confessing, "I - um… certain regular biological occurrences would rather make anything else… well, a little unpleasant and messy this week."

Anthony paused while his brain worked that one out, and then his face cleared. "Ah. Your arrangements you were hoping not to have to make." His hand rubbed practically, reassuringly, up and down her arm. "Well, three months would be extraordinarily efficient."

Edith sniffed out a laugh. "That's what Georgie said. Still, I'm… sorry to disappoint."

"It's not a disappointment. We're enjoying ourselves, aren't we?" His mouth quirked at the corner, dryly. "Well, I am, anyway, and I hope you are - "

"I am, so very much - " Edith hastened to reassure him. True enough, that; her married life so far had been rather an education in that regard, however well-informed she had thought herself beforehand. Behind Anthony's proper and respectable facade, there was someone much darker, more wicked… the sort of man who could delight in inviting his wife to straddle him, or who would prop her on the edge of their bed and wrap her thighs around his shoulders, or who would wake her with a thousand nuzzling, tender kisses to her shoulders, and neck… Yes, it was no mere reassurance to say that she was enjoying herself very much indeed.

"There, then. No harm done." Anthony drew back, looking down at her in concern. "You're not uncomfortable or sore? All that walking, today - "

"- only did me good," Edith finished for him. "I'm no more uncomfortable than usual, at such times. It's just… I'd hoped to give you some nice news, that's all."

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. "And some day or other you will, I'm sure of it."

"What if… what if I don't, though?" It felt like uttering the very deepest secret of her heart. "Or… or can't?"

"Edith…"

"It's a possibility." Firmly, she swallowed away an urge to sob. "Let's neither of us pretend that children weren't something we both wanted from each other. As I recall, it formed rather a large part of the b-bargain." A cold word, for what they'd begun to form, over the past months, perhaps, but if she talked of friendship or passion - or even something deeper, as yet unnamed and unformed - she knew she would utterly lose her grasp on the already fraying threads of her self-control.

"It's true," Anthony admitted, at length. "I would like children, one day. But Edith, no one can predict if and when these things will happen. We just have to… wait and see what will be." Carefully, he kissed her.

"But if - "

Anthony spread his hand between them, palm up, in a helpless gesture of acceptance. "Then, if it doesn't happen, we'll carry on as we are. I'm more than modern enough to believe that bearing children is not the sole purpose of a wife, no matter that that wife might have been acquired in a rather horridly… businesslike fashion." He looked up at her, rather apologetically. "I wonder… did we… rush headlong into this? Ought we to have waited? I didn't ever want you to feel… as if there were a purpose for you to fulfil, and that that was the only reason - "

Edith shook her head. "No. Neither of us was searching for a grand passion, after all. Just a sensible, practical arrangement. And it's worked very well, so far." For some reason, Anthony's face seemed to drop a little at that, goodness knows why. Wasn't that exactly what he would want to hear from her? You don't need to fuss or coddle or sugar-coat anything for me, Anthony. After all, a convenient, contented marriage is much better than an unhappy one that started out with love…

"Y-yes. Very well, indeed."

"There, then." She stood. "And on that note, let's go to bed."

As she turned away, Anthony caught her wrist, holding her in place. He had risen to his feet - gentleman that he was - and was staring down at her with that serious, furrowed-brow expression that Edith found she liked best of all. "Edith," he insisted, quietly, "I would never reproach you for something that can't be helped, and which could very well be my own fault, anyway. I'm certainly not going to start worrying over it three months into our marriage." He sighed. "Please believe me. Please trust me."

"I do. If nothing else, I know you would never lie to me."

Letter from Lady Strallan to Mrs Anthony Strallan, July 30th 1918

…I'm sorry that you aren't taking Strallan House, of course, but glad that you and Anthony are putting up a united front about it. Really, Phillip can be the most awful nag when he can't get his own way first time. Honestly, though, dearest, when you move into this new house, promise me one thing: that you'll take Anthony's Ridiculous Bed* with you. He'll know what I'm talking about…

Letter from Lady Sybil Crawley to Mrs Anthony Strallan, 4th August 1918

…Can you believe it's been four years since the War started? And yet sometimes it feels like it's passed in the blink of an eye. All those men dead and injured… But I don't need to tell you about that, do I, dearest? How's Anthony? I sometimes wonder what it's like for those who survived to tell the tale. I'm sure you know how to manage him best, though. I'm looking forward to seeing just how well when I visit you: bags I first resident in the guest room, just as soon as I've had my birthday. Only two months to go, and after that, Papa won't be able to say a word against it…

Letter from Mrs Anthony Strallan to Dr Georgina Stone, 10th August 1918

…Thank you so much for the lovely house-warming gift, darling - we've hung it above the fireplace in the study. Anthony needed a bit of convincing about the merits of Modernist art, but this is the man who wrinkled his nose at 'The Love-Song of J. Alfred Prufrock', so give it some time…

Letter from Mrs Archie Chetwood to Major Strallan, 15th August 1918

…Four years of war, my dear - I can hardly believe it. I hope you're holding up all right, and that the new house suits, and that that pretty young bride of yours is taking good care of you. I'm sure she is, though - if Papa picked her, she must be a positive angel. At this point, I'm crossing my fingers for an Armistice just so that I can sail across the Atlantic and meet her without having to worry about dodging U-boats all the damned way…

London, 31st August, 1918

Kensington Gardens were lovely, even on a Saturday when one's husband had been called into the office unexpectedly and had had to leave one's bed at an unseasonably early hour that morning. Edith tilted her head back to the last golden, dying rays of the sun, filtering under the brim of her hat. Really, the last few weeks had been some of the busiest of her life. They'd interviewed a small contingent of staff, signed endless documents regarding the lease over the new house, and arranged for the removal of all their shared possessions - including Anthony's Ridiculous Bed.

A faint smile passed over her face as the thought crossed her mind. 'Ridiculous' had been the right word for it, quite frankly. When she'd read Anne's letter out to Anthony, he'd rubbed the back of his head somewhat sheepishly and said, "I think you need to see it before you commit, darling," so they'd made a weekend trip to Locksley. When she'd first laid eyes on the thing, all Edith had been able to say in reply was, "You're joking."

Apparently, no one was.

The Ridiculous Bed could, at a conservative estimate, have held at least four couples: it was a good ten feet by eleven feet, constructed of thick, dark posts of carved oak. Lions and satyrs climbed up the headboard, and as Edith looked closer, she noticed faded red wax seals and carved initials. "No wonder your mother wants it out of the house," Edith muttered.

Anthony chewed his lip. "I… bought it when I was a student. Saved it from being burned as lumber." He ran a hand down one of the posts. "Of course, when I brought it home, Papa laughed himself sick." There was a faintly wistful look in his eye. "And, really, it would bed nice to have a bed that I fit properly in. But I'll leave it to you to decide."

She hadn't really been able to refuse. Quite apart from anything else, once it had had some new hangings on it, and a fresh mattress, she thought that it would be a rather luxurious way to spend a night.

And so it had been. Anthony had proved that to her repeatedly - the last time being only last night. Edith shifted at the spark of heat that had flickered to life in her belly at the memory.

"Lady Edith!"

The name was so unfamiliar to her these days - like a distant memory from someone else's past life - and the voice which hailed her so incongruous to its setting, that it took Edith a moment and a second shout before she realised that she was being addressed. She swivelled on the bench, shading her eyes from the sun to face…

"Sir Richard! Hello." She managed a smile and stood to shake hands. "How are you? I never think of Kensington Gardens as being a favoured haunt of journalists."

He tilted his head in silent, amused acknowledgement. "Perhaps not. No more than for mystery novelists, anyway."

Edith flushed a little, and they sat down again together. "It's kind of you to remember. Although I'm sure Mary only told you for devilment." She bit her lip. "How - how is she? And the rest of the family, of course?" It was only polite to ask, of course, even if it might sound odd, given the particular family situation - of which Richard, no doubt, would be aware.

"As they ever were." His eyes were sharp as he added, "I take it none of them have been in contact since the wedding?"

"Sybil writes - but she's twenty years old, with work and a life of her own. And of course, Papa wouldn't countenance her coming to visit me here." At Richard's understanding nod, Edith added hastily, "Although… please don't say anything to him. There's a certain amount of subterfuge involved in our communications at present, and he wouldn't approve."

Richard shrugged. "Oh, I've no interest in supporting the prolongation of these little family squabbles, I assure you. Quite the opposite." He withdrew his cigarette case and selected one, before offering it to Edith. Hesitantly, she accepted and they smoked for a moment in companionable silence, before Richard added, "I publish scandal about other people's families, Lady Edith - I've no wish for my own relatives to be gossiped about, not even those by marriage."

"How… generous of you. And… please, I'm going by Mrs Strallan these days." For obvious reasons. "But as the man who'll be my brother-in-law eventually, I think you can probably just call me Edith."

Richard frowned a little at that. "'Eventually' being the operative word, I think you'll find. Perhaps we'll even manage it before you and Anthony celebrate your tin anniversary."

Edith gave him a sympathetic smile. No one could accuse Mary of being swept away by romantic feelings, anyway. But then again, the same could be said of Edith herself. "Mary just wants to… keep you keen through suspense," she tried, although she wasn't sure if she believed it or not. Mary had always been… impenetrable, to say the least.

"Perhaps." Richard finished his cigarette and crushed it out under his heel with more vigour than Edith felt was strictly necessary. "We're holding a party next week, in fact - a sort of belated engagement affair, for the family and for some of my business associates. You and Major Strallan should come. Let's see if we can't all… bury the hatchet, hmm?"

Richard as the family peacemaker? Heavens. Does Mary realise what she's taking on? "Well, I can't promise anything, but… send us an invitation and I'll discuss it with Anthony. I'd like a truce, Richard, but I won't shoulder all the blame to get it."

"That doesn't sound unreasonable." He rose to his feet, tipping his hat to Edith as he did so. "In any case, I'll let you get along - and I hope to see you again soon."

"Yes. Goodbye, Richard."

"Are you sure you want to do this, my dear?" Anthony sighed, as Stewart finished tying his bowtie for him.

Edith, slipping her shoes on from where she was perched on the ottoman at the foot of the Ridiculous Bed, looked up at him. "Dinner with my husband and two of my dearest friends? Yes, thank you." Of course, that wasn't what he was talking about, and Edith knew it. But given that they'd been having this 'polite little marital discussion' on and off (and at varying volumes) for the past four days, ever since Richard's invitation had arrived, she wasn't particularly inclined to carry it on.

Anthony shot her an old-fashioned look over his man's shoulder. "Thank you, Stewart - that will be all."

"I'll go and ask Mrs Skelvey about dinner, sir, madam." It was no exaggeration to say that the valet fled. Edith couldn't blame him: Stewart had heard more than his fair share of this argument.

"I was actually talking about this jolly little family party on Friday," Anthony murmured as he lowered himself down to sit on the edge of the bed with her.

"I know." Edith shrugged. "We haven't done anything wrong, though, and I don't want to carry on… skulking away… as if we have, as if I should be ashamed of you. That's all."

Anthony tweaked the sling straight over the sleeve of his tailcoat. "There are plenty of people who think you should be ashamed, though."

Edith sat straight up, suddenly going very still. "Do you think I should be ashamed?"

For a moment, Anthony was silent. She watched him as his throat worked, Adam's apple bobbing thickly, before he answered, quietly, "I… think you might have done better for yourself, if you'd chosen."

"Well, I happen to think that I chose very well indeed." I only wish I could convince you of that. A losing battle, perhaps. "But if you'd prefer not to come with me, then… I understand."

What sort of man sends his wife into a den of sharks on her own? Papa's voice wondered sharply in his head. Anthony gritted his teeth. "Of course I'll come - if you really want me."

Edith leant into him and gave him a soft, sweet kiss. "Always. Thank you."

Anthony smiled reluctantly against her mouth. "Thank me later." When we've got through an evening without your father punching me on the nose. Equally reluctantly, he drew back. "Now, let's not keep Georgie and Adam waiting."

"Or Mrs Skelvey," Edith pointed out. The new cook was terrifyingly efficient - and also just plain terrifying.

"No," Anthony agreed, "she does have the look of a woman who'd punish us with hard potatoes and cold tea for a week for disobedience…"

6th September 1918

Richard's flat, with its sweeping views over the river and sleek modern decor, was not the sort of place Edith could imagine Mary being contented. Her older sister always seemed to conjure images of rolling hills interrupted by stolid Palladian mansions. Still, the touch of modernity was enough to boost Edith's confidence as Richard's manservant took her fur wrap and Anthony's overcoat. This place, like her marriage was the future; the Granthams and their ilk, the past.

Plenty of guests were already there, and Edith was glad for it: there was enough of a crowd that they could slip away into it and avoid notice, if they wished. But first…

"Edith. Well." Lord Grantham didn't seem to know how to greet his middle daughter. His hand hovered momentarily at his side, as if he were going to attempt a handshake, and then stilled again. "How are you?"

Edith stepped forwards and gave him a brief, perfunctory kiss on the cheek. "Very well, thank you, Papa. And you?"

"Yes. Well enough." Well, at least they'd got through all that - that first awkward meeting since before the wedding. Edith stepped back to watch her father and her husband greet each other. Frostily, Papa bit out, "Hello, Strallan."

Anthony extended his hand and, after a pause, his father-in-law shook it. "Lord Grantham."

"Papa, must you be so stiff and unwelcoming?" Sybil pouted, and embraced Edith warmly. "Hello, darling." Turning to Anthony, she came up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Hello, Anthony. It's so lovely to see you both."

"Good evening, Lady Sybil."

"Darling Anthony, I'm your sister. Just call me Sybil."

Edith smiled at Anthony's blushes. "Excuse us. We really ought to go and say hello to Mama."

As they walked away, Anthony murmured, "Remind me never to introduce your sister to mine. They'd be terrors together."

"My dear, I'll take that as a compliment." And then, approaching her mother, who sat on a sofa nearby in conversation with another lady who looked so much like Richard that she could only be a female relation of his, Edith's hand tightened on Anthony's as she said, "Hello, Mama. You remember Anthony."

"Of course I do." Cora rose to peck her daughter's cheek and shake hands with Anthony. "You've moved house, I hear. How are you finding it?"

It was… surreal. That could be the only word for it. As if everything were perfectly normal, as if everyone hadn't spent the last three months pretending she were dead - or as good as. "We're very comfortable, Lady Grantham." She was delighted that Anthony had spoken for them; Edith wasn't sure she could have done. "Thank you."

Cora reached for Edith's hand and led her closer to the sofa. "Now, darling, come and sit down and tell me everything about the wedding and the honeymoon."

"I'll fetch you a drink," Anthony smiled, encouragingly, and Edith nodded, releasing his hand to sit down next to her mother.

They talked about the house, to start with. The servants. The furnishings (although there was no way Edith was going to tell her mother about the Ridiculous Bed). The locale. All very gentle, and light - and impersonal. Somewhere in the middle of it, Anthony brought her a drink, and left again with a brief squeeze of her hand and a kiss to the top of her head.

"So you're happy?" Cora leaned her head into Edith as she asked the question. "I'm so glad. I've worried so about you, since the engagement and… all the unpleasantness with Papa."

"Really?" Edith took a sip of her drink, ignoring her mother's scandalised eyebrows: Anthony had brought her a whisky, for which she was very thankful. She didn't believe in drinking away one's problems, in the general way of things, but there were some problems which could only be handled after several stiff drinks.

This was one of them.

"Why, of course, darling. You're my daughter."

Edith set the glass down on the nearby occasional table with a firm clink. "You didn't seem awfully concerned about that when I left home. Certainly not concerned enough to attend the wedding yourself."

"Would you have wanted me there, if I'd tried?" Cora protested.

"Would I have - ?" Edith stopped, gaping in disbelief, and then, as a young blonde crossing the room turned and looked oddly at them, lowered her voice as she continued, "Would I have wanted my mother at my wedding? Yes. Yes, I would have, funnily enough."

"We'd parted on such bad terms, darling - "

"No." Edith heard her own voice as if from very far away. "I was tired of being told I was wrong and foolish every time I sat down to a meal with you. I w-wanted you to acknowledge that I was an adult with the right to make my own choices." Her voice caught in her throat. "I didn't ask to be cut off and ignored."

Cora sat in silence, absorbing that for a moment. When she finally found her voice again, Edith was fully expecting there to be a lecture on 'flying off the handle,' or 'disrespecting one's elders', or 'exaggerating.' It wouldn't be the first time, after all.

She was wrong.

"I see." Cora met Edith's eyes steadily. "Marriage has been… good for you, hasn't it?"

Edith finished her drink. "Yes. It has." She rose to her feet and pecked her mother on the cheek. It felt as if a pressure on her chest had suddenly lifted. "Will you excuse me? I should go and make sure that Anthony's all right - I don't know how many people he knows."

Anthony was lurking in a corner, with Sybil, who beamed up at Edith as she approached. "Oh, hello, darling! Don't worry, I didn't let them eat him alive." She kissed Anthony's cheek again, apparently not noticing the pink flush spreading across his cheekbones, and smiled at him, "I'll see you soon, Anthony - remember, telephone when the coast's clear."

And she hurried off. "What was all that about?" Edith wondered.

Anthony adjusted his tie, where Sybil's exuberant farewell had knocked it off-balance. "Just reminding us that she's to be the absolute first person we invite to stay, after her birthday." He smiled up at her faintly. "Not that I'd mind - out of all your family, she's the one I find it easiest to like."

"Mmm, me too." She hesitated. "As long as we keep the door to the master bedroom firmly locked all the time she's staying, and leave it off the grand tour. If she catches even a single glimpse of That Bed, she'll have come up with at least ten lurid fantasies before I've even had a chance to explain."

"Only ten?" Anthony grinned in a thoroughly ungentlemanlike fashion. In any other man, in fact, that grin would have been termed a leer. All the room - the noise, the people, her family - seemed to fade away and Edith sank down onto the sofa next to him. "Clearly she isn't the Crawley sister with the imagination…"

"Oh, you…" Edith batted at him through her laughter - he caught her fingers and kissed them, still grinning.

"Well, it's good to see you smiling, anyway." Still holding her hand, he wondered lightly, "How was your Mama?"

Edith hesitated. Eventually, she settled for, "Interesting. A little more willing to listen to me than Papa, anyway." She glanced across the room; her parents were sat together now, and Mama caught her eye and smiled. Hesitantly, Edith smiled back. "I think we could make progress, slowly," she added to Anthony. "Thank you for agreeing to do this."

"Always more than willing." His thumb touched the corner of her mouth gently, affectionately. "Marriage bought you a permanent No-Man's-Land, too, you know."

"Well… shall we say, one more drink and then let ourselves escape?"

"What an excellent idea…"

Carlisle had had a bar set up in his ridiculously large living room, of all the nonsensical things. Did Lady Mary really know what she was letting herself in for? Anthony shook his head inwardly and collected a small tray with two whiskeys on it from the smartly dressed waiter staffing the thing. He'd run the risk of looking foolish, but with his arm, it was the only way he was going to get two drinks back across the room to Edith.

As he turned away, he caught the tail-end of something said by a pretty brunette to her red-headed friend. "…Strallan. You know, she used to be Lady Edith Crawley. There he is, over there."

Anthony flushed, scanning the crowd for Edith. The room was so crushed, and he'd been in the queue for so long, that he'd quite forgotten where she was sitting. Added to which…

"He's rather fascinating, isn't he?" the redhead giggled back, not troubling to lower her voice. "And not at all what I was expecting from a divorcé."

"No - perfectly normal, in fact. And terribly attractive too!" Good God, had Edith vanished off the face of the Earth? Anthony was quite ready for the ground to open up and swallow him. "And his wife is absolutely the most charming woman in the room." Well, they have that right, at least, he thought - and, with some relief, finally spotted Edith's coppery curls.

From behind a tall potted plant, Lady Mary Crawley seethed.

The most charming woman in the room, hmm? Mary thought. Well, I can soon teach you a lesson, little sister…

"I'm so glad you're here with me," Anthony murmured to Edith that night, in bed.

Edith stretched her toes down under the eiderdown and rubbed her foot comfortingly along Anthony's shin. "Nowhere else I'd rather be." It was true. It was a Ridiculous Bed, but it was also ridiculously comfortable. And that just for starters…

"No, you don't understand," Anthony pressed. "Before you… Oh, how does Eliot have it? 'I have measured out my life in coffee spoons'?"

"You don't like that poem," Edith whispered into his collar.

"No, I don't, "Anthony agreed. "Perhaps because… certain elements rang a little too close to home. Or used to, certainly. And now… well, now you're here, my dear, and everything is so much brighter…"

AN:

* Anthony's Ridiculous Bed owes its origins entirely to QuestionableRelevance - according to her, we should all be using the Great Bed of Ware as our mental image for it. Thanks, QuestionableRelevance, for letting me borrow it!