Edith and Anthony continued to clear matters as they made their way to Downton. The more they discussed, the more their mutual tension eased.
"I think," Anthony offered, "All new parents likely go through this. Only we, so typically Edith and Anthony, are making everything much more difficult than it ought to be."
"Well, we have good intentions, darling. At least there's that."
"The road to hell…" he warned with a humorous grin.
"Leads to family dinner at Downton," Edith joked as the car pulled onto the oak-lined drive. The Abbey loomed in the distance, a beacon and a reminder of what they faced.
"I really don't believe it will be as difficult as you imagine," Anthony said.
"Neither do I believe it will be as easy as you imagine."
"Somewhere in the middle then?" he offered, as though they were negotiating.
"It's not just because of Sybil," Edith explained. "It's that they've never approved of anything that makes me happy. It's almost a standard. Does Edith like it? Oh, well then surely it must be awful."
"Is that really fair?"
"You, driving, farming, you again, London, writing, and then you part three. All major battles against my family's objections."
"But you eventually swayed them on each subject."
"Did I? Don't flatter yourself," she teased, kissing his cheek as the car pulled up in front of the great door. "All I mean to say is that I can only assume, given the long and tedious past, they will first present disapproval and later reluctant acceptance, and hopefully actual joy sometime around our child's tenth birthday."
"Well, glad to see you're staying optimistic, my love," Anthony muttered as Carson opened the door and Alfred took their coats.
"Happy Christmas, Carson," Edith sighed, pulling subconsciously on her navy dress. It was newly made, only a touch wider in the middle than her usual pattern, with no belt or sash. It fell just below the knee and had a lovely keyhole cutout in the back and a spray of delicate silk flowers of the same navy cascading down from her left shoulder. It was simple, indeed, but necessarily so, Edith felt. And when she caught Anthony's stare she was not just satisfied with her purchase, but immensely pleased.
"Wonderful job with the tree this year, Carson," Anthony said sincerely, admiring the great fir, trimmed in gold and silver and rose and red.
"Thank you, and happy Christmas, Milady. Sir Anthony," the old butler greeted, bowing slightly. "You'll find them in the drawing room."
Edith gave Anthony one final look of longing and dread before she trudged dramatically across the hall and beckoned, "Come Daniel, to the lions den." He smiled at her inside joke and followed dutifully.
"Good day, all," Edith called tiredly as they entered. The Strallans were greeted by the usual round of halloos and happy Christmases.
"Well, we wondered if you'd even make it," Granny said as Edith kissed her on the cheek. "Are you suddenly so busy?"
"How do you mean, Gran?" Edith asked, sitting carefully beside her. She nonchalantly took one of the throw cushions into her lap.
"Well, none of us have since you since the christening, really. What on earth could you be up to?"
"I've seen you plenty. And Mary too. And we had dinner with Tom just last week, didn't we Tom?"
Tom, who looked particularly keen not to get involved, simply nodded and set Maddie to play on the floor.
"And Anthony's been out with us loads of times," Matthew added.
"Anyway," Edith shrugged, changing the subject, "Has anyone heard from Aunt Rosamund? I thought she'd be here by now."
"She's decided not to come until the New Year's shoot. Apparently she's entertaining some new, modern friends at her London home," Cora said, taking a flute of champagne from Carson.
"I've been meaning to bring that up," Cousin Isobel interjected in her usual, polite way that always made Granny roll her eyes. "I was thinking, since there are now so many of us who don't shoot, perhaps we could gather for an afternoon of entertainment here. Bridge, perhaps, or Edith could play some music. Then we could all meet for the usual tea with the hunters. What do you say? Together in our loneliness?"
Edith glanced at Anthony, gaging his reaction given he was the most obvious member of the party who no longer went shooting. He gave her a subtle nod, allowing that he was amenable to it.
"That would be lovely," Edith said, turning back to Isobel. "Mary, which party will you be joining this year?"
Edith flinched slightly. Mary, who hadn't uttered a peep the whole time, was staring at her pointedly, face frozen and her eyes wide.
"Mary? Is everything alright?" Cora asked, looking between her daughters.
Mary seemed to shake off whatever was on her mind and smiled cooly. "Of course, Mama. Why wouldn't it be. I think I'll join the hunt." Looking back to Edith with one eyebrow raised she added, "I'm feeling rather sharp this year."
The footmen brought up their meal before long and per custom, the Crawleys helped themselves. Standing over a the beet salad, Edith felt another movement, perhaps a roll or something. Her hand traveled instinctively to her belly, but she dropped it immediately, fighting the smile on her face.
"Edith, are you feeling well?" Mary asked, surprisingly close behind her. Edith jumped.
"Quite, thank you."
Mary dropped her voice. "Oh? And exactly how long have you been feeling 'quite well'?"
Edith ignored her for a moment, but it occurred to her that it may be easier telling them one at a time. She scanned the room and quickly found what she was looking for-Anthony's warm and bolstering gaze. He lifted his chin subtly at her, offering an affirming smile.
With a sigh, Edith set down her plate and turned to Mary. "Seventeen or eighteen weeks."
Mary's expression was unreadable. She stared blankly into Edith's eyes for a moment, her face white and still. With little more than a blink Mary turned on her heel and began to walk out of the drawing room.
"Mary?" Matthew asked after her, but his wife ignored him.
When Matthew moved to follow Edith quickly said, "No, I'll go," and rushed after her sister.
"Mary, please," Edith pleaded, following her sister up the stairs. Mary walked stiffly, hands clenched at her sides, but made no move to evade Edith. When they reached Mary's dressing room she left the door open for Edith, who shut it gently and waited.
They were quiet for a long time, Mary refusing to look at her sister. She folded into the chair before her vanity as though she could no longer stand. When she finally turned to Edith, her eyes were wide, and to Edith's surprise, incredibly sad.
"You're having a baby?"
Edith nodded apologetically and sank to the foot of the bed.
"You must have known when Sybil... that night."
"Actually, I found out that night."
Mary released a breath that she appeared to have been holding, and with it came unbidden tears.
"I'm so terribly sorry, Mary. I should have told all of you sooner, I just didn't know how. Between poor Sybil and Papa and Matthew fighting, and with how badly you've wanted this, I just-it never seemed to be the right time."
Mary shook her head. "Have I wanted it?" she asked, her voice smaller and more raw than Edith had ever heard it.
"I don't understand," Edith said, tearing up herself at Mary's unusual display of vulnerability.
"You and Anthony, you are so in love. I can tell, just by the way you move, the way you look for him in the room, like he's the north to your compass."
"Yes," Edith affirmed hesitantly, unsure of where it was leading.
"I married Matthew because I loved him, because I do love him, but also because it was the right and least complicated thing to do. Edith, I don't need him the way you and Anthony need each other. I'm not reliant, I don't feel so desperately drawn to him. And worse, I don't know that I want to have children." Mary winced at her own words, as though her confession made them true. "It's always been this understanding, this unspoken agreement. Of course we would have children. It's what married people do. Especially married people who need an heir. But-" her voice failed her as she sobbed.
Edith, alarmed and unsure of this new Mary, moved to her, kneeling at her feeing and taking Mary's hands in hers.
"What if," Mary asked gravely, looking down at Edith with sincere worry and guilt in her eyes, "What if I haven't gotten pregnant because I don't want it badly enough? Because I don't love my husband well enough?" Mary's thin frame curved over, her head falling against her sister's shoulder as Edith held her defenselessly.
"I know how much you love Matthew. Anyone who knows you knows how right you are for each other."
"We bicker constantly. We're forever squabbling over the most ridiculous things," Mary cried, her voice muffled against Edith's dress.
"That doesn't mean anything. Mary, you live for bickering. You're too good at it to have a husband who won't fight with you. It's no wonder you married a solicitor."
To that Mary laughed lightly, her sobs ebbing into sniffing and stuttering breaths as she leaned back up. "You have a point," she said with a thin smile.
"And Mary, I promise you, you've done nothing wrong. Please, please don't blame yourself for not having children yet. There's no need to blame anyone. It'll happen if and when the time is right. You'll see."
Mary nodded weakly and looked away. They were quiet for a long while, Edith holding Mary, and Mary letting her. It was a rare and remarkable first for both of them. When Mary had calmed and taken a handkerchief from the vanity to wipe her eyes she looked back at her sister. She seemed lighter, refreshed.
"I've never told anyone that. I suppose I needed it," Mary murmured Edith offered a sympathetic smile, unsure if it would be appropriate to say I'm glad it was me. "Do I look alright? " Mary confirmed after a moment.
"When in our entire sodded lives have you ever not looked alright?" Edith asked with a wry smile, standing with a groan. She stretched her back and Mary, eye level with her sister's belly, reached for it out of the blue.
"And how are you feeling?" Mary asked softly, her thumbs running circles over the small protrusion.
"Oh, tired, but the sickness has passed for the most part, and-" Edith explained, but Mary shushed her.
"I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to the baby."
Edith couldn't suppress her grin as Mary laid her eartenderly against the belly.
"She kicks when Anthony speaks to her. Maybe she will for you as well."
"Oh, you'll have plenty of time to talk with your Auntie Mary when you're older. It's alright if you're a little shy now," Mary said softly. With a final affectionate pat she stood, offering Edith her hand. "Thank you for this."
"Thank you for letting me be your sister," Edith replied as they left.
"Unusual territory, isn't it?"
They were just reaching the top of the stairs when Anthony surprised them. "Oh, so sorry. I was sent on a scouting mission."
Without another word, Mary threw her arms around Anthony's neck and planted an affectionate kiss on his cheek. She stepped back just as quickly, and no passerby could have said which of the three was more shocked. After a moment Mary said, "I believe congratulations are in order, no?"
"Indeed, thank you very much Mary," Anthony said nervously.
"Shall we tell the others?" Edith asked, taking both of them in arm as they headed back down the stairs.
"Forgive me, darling, but I already have," Anthony confessed. Edith stopped walking and balked at him. "You see, I know how terribly you were dreading it, and there was no real way of explaining without just telling them outright. Do you mind?"
"Mind?" Edith scoffed, dropping her shoulders. "I'm so grateful to you I could cry."
"For heaven's sake, we've had enough of that for one night," Mary muttered, pulling Edith down the stairs. "Come, Mama. Let's go face your public."
Entering the drawing room, Edith was relieved to find nothing but well wishes and happy tears. She suspected, though no one would have admitted it, that Anthony had given them a fair if not stern warning. There was no fear, no regret to be found on anyone's faces, no interminable sadness in their eyes. Even Papa, who was unfailingly queasy about such things, gave Edith a proud and congratulatory hug.
As the evening carried on, and the children were sent to bed, and the traditional games began, Edith and Mary were both filled with a blitheness neither had felt in quite a long while. They shared several knowing glances that filled Edith with an indescribable emotion she hadn't quite experienced before. It occurred to her it must be that elusive sisterly bond, which she had never quite known in her twenty-seven years.
Sitting beside Granny on one of the sofas, Edith laughed as Tom tried to act out her clue of "Lady Windermere's Fan," chosen especially for its Irish author.
"You know something?" Granny asked quietly, wrapping her paper thin fingers around Edith's arm.
"What's that, Gran?" Edith wondered distractedly.
"I've never been one to get sentimental, as I'm sure you recognize. But I find myself growing rather fond of that husband of yours."
Edith raised her eyebrows at her grandmother, unable or unwilling to hide her astonishment. "I'm rather fond of him myself."
"I'm not ignorant of what he's done for you, or for my son, or for Mr. Branson. And," she seemed to struggle with herself before she said, almost irritably, "I'm glad you fought for yourself. For your marriage."
Edith kissed her Granny then, utterly unable to thank her verbally.
"Yes, dear, alright. Let's not make fools of ourselves," the Dowager Countess huffed, patting Edith's hand and leaning away, a feigned expression of boredom on her face.
"Lady Windermere's Fan!" Anthony shouted suddenly, causing Edith to jump. And as the rest of the Crawleys applauded, Edith put her hand against that wonderful bomp-bomp-bomp-her child reacting happily to its father's voice.