It took no time at all for Edith and Anthony to settle into things back home. Everything seemed just as they left it. The village gossipmongers had their fill of opinions, of course, but when Lady Willa Alexander ran away with a Spanish oil man, Edith and Anthony were largely forgotten. Mary and Matthew were living at Downton, much to Edith's surprise. It turns out Mary felt at home only there, and Matthew was essentially running the entire estate. Mary gave no indication of the tension this caused. Sybil had returned to Dublin with Tom and Madeline.
"With the caveat," Mary explained as she and Edith walked through Downton's garden, "that should she have another baby, they would move back here."
"Really?" Edith asked, surprised.
"Yes. Apparently Tom's family is less than supportive, given Sybil's title and English accent. She's done everything short of dying her hair red and changing her name to Bernadette, but they won't accept her."
"That's awful. They seemed less than pleasant at her wedding but I had hoped they'd make strides, as we've done."
"Yes, despite myself I find I like Tom very much indeed. I might even adore the man, but don't tell him that, and certainly don't tell Papa."
The sisters giggled, Mary making note of Edith's lightness. "You're so much more pleasant when you're happy, did you know? If I'd thought Sir Anthony could make me like you I'd have never doubted him."
"I'll let him know," Edith said sarcastically. "And I am happy. Irrepressibly so. And you?"
"Oh, we're alright. You know me, I have everything I could want so naturally I'm restless and melancholy," Mary said wryly, trying to make a joke of the sadness Edith detected.
"What is it?"
"Matthew is under the impression that we're never going to have children. We've been married well over a year now, and he thinks there's something wrong. He wants me to go to Dr. Clarkson. We fought over it."
"I'm so sorry, Mary. What do you think?"
"I think that we'll have children when we stop thinking about not having children. But Matthew isn't satisfied. I think what really worries him is the prospect of another conflict with the entail."
"I can understand that, I suppose. Still, it's a great deal of pressure on you both."
"And you?" Mary asked, clearly uncomfortable with the deeply personal focus. Even while cultivating their newfound friendship, Mary had to take it gradually and incrementally. The new Edith, finally brought into the world by her marriage to Anthony, was much more willing and open.
"Oh, I don't know. Certainly no news yet, but it could happen. It could not. Either way I'll be glad to spend my days with Anthony. We're doing so well just the two of us, I think it would be enough."
"You don't sound very sure."
Edith closed her eyes and tilted her head back, feeling the full August sun warm her cheeks. She was thinking, and let out a great sigh before answering. "You and I, we were never very maternal, were we? Sybil has always needed to heal things and nurture things. From rescuing the pigeons when we were children to taking that maid girl under her wing, to nursing. And now she's a mother, and she's a wonderful mother."
"We were always too busy trying to scratch each other's eyes out, I suppose." Edith opened her eyes to laugh at Mary's wry, but truthful, response.
"Yes, but that's just it. I never thought of having children, never once did I care. It was just this distant thing I accepted would also happen to me one day. But then I met Anthony," Edith said, gesturing for them to sit on one of the stone benches along the hedge. "I met Anthony and he made me feel so capable and loved, and out of the blue I'm bursting to share that love with the next generation. Every time he smiles, or does one of his little gestures, I can just imagine three or four little ones bobbing about his feet doing the exact same things. And I long to feel a baby inside me, strange as it sounds; to foster a tangible little being from the love I have for that dear, bewildered man. I just—"
Realizing she was rambling, Edith stopped mid-sentence. She was embarrassed at the absolute giddiness of her speech, and the deeply obvious sincerity behind it. Edith had never spoken those words to anyone, even Anthony, but she'd been feeling them so strongly she couldn't stop herself when Mary asked the right question.
Mary, in the mean time, looked a strange combination of puzzled and empathetic.
"I'm sorry," Edith murmured, "I didn't mean to get carried away."
"When in the world did you get like this?"
"Like what?" Edith asked, suddenly feeling all the insecurity of her youth groping it's way through her sister's black eyes.
"Happy, and fulfilled, and outright lovely." Edith grinned, flustered, and looked to the ground with a shrug. "I think I owe Anthony yet another 'thank you, I'm sorry'," Mary laughed. After a few moments of contemplative silence, she plucked a geranium from the bush beside them, sniffed it delicately, and tossed it into Edith's lap.
"What's this for?" Edith asked.
"Geraniums. Symbolize love, protection, and fertility. Best of luck." Mary's face was serious only a few moments before both of them burst into laughter.
When the sun moved overhead and stole away the shade Edith and Mary had been enjoying, they wandered back into the house to search for their respective husbands. To Edith's horror and Mary's surprise, they followed the sound of raised voices to Papa's study. Inside, Anthony, Matthew, and Robert were all standing over a table of papers. Edith was shamefully relieved to find Anthony had nothing to do with the conflict.
"The Gunners have farmed that land for a hundred years, I'm not about to tell them they must suddenly change their crops or get out," Robert barked, either not noticing or not caring the women entered.
"I'm not suggesting that. Surely you must see the need for crop rotations, though. And this land here," Matthew pointed fiercely to one of the maps, "It's far better suited for grazing. They've been trying to cultivate it for years with no results. If we just redistribute—"
"I will not take their land!" Robert snapped. Matthew's head dropped, his hands in fists, far apart on the table. Mary looked absolutely heartbroken, though neither of the gentlemen seemed to take heed.
Anthony, all the while, was standing between the two of them, his hand resting on his chest in a most perplexed gesture, but his face was wise and patient. He seemed almost sad for the two of them, whilst also loathing that he bore witness to any of it. When he looked up and saw his wife and sister-in-law, he snapped to.
"Ah, ladies, good afternoon. Enjoy your walk?" he tried, moving around the table to meet Edith's hands.
"Papa, Matthew, what's going on?" Mary asked.
Matthew tried to ease the situation and her worrying, explaining, "Nothing, just talking business and all, no need to bother you with the details." Mary, too smart to be mollified, turned to Papa.
"It seems all those years in law school have taught your husband how to run a very large, very complicated estate and farm lands, and I am a fool for thinking I have some say in the matter," Robert spat bitterly, folding up some of the papers before storming out the other door.
"Matthew?" Mary urged, but he seemed too angry to speak. Instead he shook his head, his thin lips wound up in frustration, and went out the opposite direction of Papa.
Alone in the study in a stunned silence, Edith and Anthony waited for Mary to speak. Her icy façade was cracking slightly. Though her porcelain face was still and beautiful as ever, her eyes were undeniably sad. Something in her general manner suggested she'd lived this argument many times over during the recent months.
"The two most important men in my life, and the only two people I've ever been truly loyal to, and they're killing each other. And I'm forever being dismissed like a child or left in the dark," she finally said weakly, letting her hands fall to her sides in a gesture of futility.
Anthony surprised Edith by speaking up, his voice firm and steady. Even in that moment it sent a small thrill through her. "Mary, they both want what's best for the estate. Eventually, whatever that entails will become clear and they can start working together at it."
"Is Matthew right? About the crops and the sheep I mean. Is the land getting misused?" She asked, Anthony having restored a very small shred of hope to her.
"I believe so, yes. Not irreparably, but it could be greatly improved with some minimal adjustments. But what you have to understand is that Robert is not just a manager of his land. He feels it and breathes it, from the hay and the barley right down to every Ewe out in those fields. For Matthew, right now, it is a business endeavor. For your father it is a responsibility and a way of life. Both of them have the best of intentions; they're just not understanding one another."
Mary nodded numbly, but the deep breath she released seemed one of acknowledgment. She looked Anthony in the eye—something that rarely happened—and said, "Thank you, Sir Anthony. I don't know that I can say really how you've helped us all."
Anthony just smiled, humbly dismissive of her acclaim. She looked at Edith and said, "I think I'll go find Matthew. Do you mind if we continue our visit to another day?"
"Of course. We'll be heading home. But do come for luncheon tomorrow."
"I will. I'll bring Mama as well, if that's alright."
"Of course. You're welcome any time."
With another awkward exchange of nods, Mary swept out of the study. Edith rang for Carson and turned back to Anthony, her dear heroic Wiseman. "I'm so proud to call you my husband."
"What on earth for?" he asked, not really taking her seriously.
"Because you are inherently good, and kind, and I don't think you realize what you've just done for my sister."
"I only told her what I thought."
"You gave her insight which she would never have come to on her own. And you gave her hope. And you were kind to her despite her years of coldness."
"Edith," he asked, changing his tone, "do you love your sister?"
"Mary? Oh, I suppose I do, yes. She's my sister. We haven't always been friends, but we're getting there."
"Then if you love her, I love her. I'd do anything in my power to help any of your family because they're mine now too. Because, Edith, if you hurt I hurt. Do you see what I'm getting at?"
Edith found herself fighting tears. After all they'd been through he still surprised her with the extent of his devotion. "Thank you," was her simple reply, but her expression said much more, as did the kiss she gave him.
She was pressed between her husband and the back of the sofa when Carson cleared his throat, clearly displeased.
"Carson, would you kindly have Samson bring the car around? Sir Anthony and I will be leaving."
"Milady," he horned like a great, stuffy toad. Edith shook her head as he left. "Oh dear, I'm afraid Carson and I will never be friends."
"Not to worry, darling. If you can make Mary befriend anyone, surely lesser miracles are well within reach, hmm?"
Edith laughed, watching her husband as they collected their things from the footman and eventually climbed into the car. It was such a strange thing, being so entirely in awe of another human being. Especially one who led you by the small of your back and, when no one was looking, allowed his hand to slip just a bit lower than decorum allowed. Anthony was spot-on, as usual. It was' miraculous,' their love. Ridiculous as she felt for the thought, she knew it to be true.
"What's going on in the pretty head of yours?" Anthony asked on the way home. Edith hadn't realized he'd been watching her as well.
"We're very lucky, is all."
"Indeed," he agreed, running his hand under her chin.
"And you're utterly brilliant."
"Goes without saying."
"And the second we get home I plan on taking one of those excursions to the orchards we talked about. Remember?"
Anthony thought back to that first morning they had together, to Edith's allusion to more enjoyable outdoor activities than simply a leisurely stroll. And suddenly his heart began to race.
Edith had a way-with a slight shifting of her hips, a roll of her shoulders, and a certain seriousness to her smirk-of conveying exactly what was on her mind. It was the exact expression she was giving him now.
"Samson," Anthony said coolly, leaning forward and addressing his oblivious chauffeur. "Would you be so kind as to drop us at the gate? We're going to take a turn through the orchards before we change for dinner."
Samson nodded once in confirmation and Anthony settled back in the seat, pulling Edith close to him and kissing the corner of her mouth. Miraculous indeed, she thought, turning her head so he might do a proper job of it.