A/N: Sorry for the delay, I feel like it's been a while since I updated. This chapter is more from Anthony's perspective, and it's also relatively long. Hope you don't mind. :) (And there may be a clear bias here against a certain Editor. I can't help myself, I just don't care for the man!)
Thanks so much for continuing to read, and for the lovely reviews. They make my day every time and I am just thrilled someone else can enjoy my little obsession. Happy reading!
Anthony stood at the car, staring out over the yards of Locksley. The sprawling greens fell away in all directions, leading to hill and orchard and farm depending on which course you followed. When he was a boy the drive had two deep grooves in it from the carriages, long gone with the invention of the motor, but it held the same shape, curving slightly as it always had.
He smiled fondly at the old oak in the near distance that he'd fallen from as a child and broken his ankle, sending his neurotic mother into a fit that lasted far longer than the actual injury. The birds nesting in it were the descendants of the same birds that lived during his father's childhood. He'd watched them come and go for hours when Maud had died, not so much out of grief but out of a complete lack of companionship. She was a good friend, and as her face floated back to him on the breeze he glanced down in remembrance.
But when Anthony looked around Locksley he did not see Maud, or even his childhood. He never had. It had always just been the great house he came to between travels and business ventures. Now, though - now it was different; it was teeming with life and color. The brick seemed redder, the fields greener, the wings of those birds more emerald-black than ever before.
And when he walked the halls and the grounds, he did not see emptiness or the ghosts of his past. Instead, he saw Edith in every book, stone, chair, and lamp. Walking the orchards he saw her mischievous smirk, in the library the fan of her eyelashes against her porcelain cheek as she read, in the dining room the shape of her mouth darkened with merlot.
The rose fabric of the drawing room settee was the shade of her cheek when she blushed, the mahogany desk of his study reminiscent of her deep and lovely eyes, though nothing could capture the fire in them. And in their bedroom - their bedroom was a visceral deluge of sounds, and images, and tastes, and textures and a thousand moments of overwhelming love.
Edith was the breath and the heartbeat of this old place. And, he thought to himself, of this old man too.
"I'm sorry to keep you. I tried to dress appropriately for the shoot, though I know we're not actually going. I just feel so obviously pregnant that anything I put on almost feels silly," Edith was muttering as she came down the front steps.
Edwards followed, alarmed that she'd opened the front door for herself, but Edith didn't seem to notice. She was wearing a cream satin blouse, cut high and straight at the collarbone, with a brown tweed skirt and a long, belted cardigan in navy tied above her belly. It was the new casual fashion, but Edith didn't see it as daring so much as practical. Simple enough, surely, but Anthony froze as she came to a stop in front of him.
"Oh gosh, is it too informal? Mary said she might even wear slacks for the shoot if she could get them cut in time. I think she's bored and trying to get a rise out of Mama," she rambled. Edith stopped and looked at Anthony sideways when his expression didn't change. "What is it, darling?"
"I just," Anthony began, shaking his head. Then, with a shrug he asked, "Do you realize how pretty you are? You are desirable, of course. But you are also so very pretty. Do you know? It takes me by surprise sometimes, is all."
Edith, trying not to get too sentimental, just said, "You dear man." They grinned at each other for a moment before she added, "We both look like fools. Come, husband, let's go fulfill our familial obligations so I can get you back home as soon as possible."
"I adore the way you think," he muttered, helping her into the motor.
"I adore everything about you. Say, we should get married."
"Maybe have a child. Can you imagine what he would be like?"
"Oh, she would be an absolute dream I'm sure."
"Well let's consider it, shall we?"
"Sure, we'll think it over for a few days," she said with a giggle, folding her hands under her belly.
Anthony's lips were on hers, enthusiastically and with a zeal that set her heart racing. "Careful, we won't make it to the shoot if you keep that up, and then we'll have to make calls individually."
"Lord, what a point," he sighed.
Edith kissed his shoulder with a sympathetic laugh. "My poor Anthony. Went and married a fellow reluctant title. At least now we can commiserate."
As they made their way to the Abbey, Anthony was tensing by the minute and Edith knew very well what he wasn't saying. The last time they had attended a real party was the night before their first attempt. All of their old acquaintances had spent a year scorning him, and six months gossiping about them both. Poor Anthony, Edith thought, always doing what he thinks is best and forever being misunderstood for it.
Edith looked up at her husband, at the worry in his eyes as they darted back and forth over the landscape without seeing it, at the nervous, downward curve of his beautiful lips, the boyish curl of his graying hair. Lord how she loved him, this good and decent and adoring man. How they could be so anxious over a group of soulless, gutless, social vipers was suddenly a mystery.
"I love you, you know. We'll make our appearances for Mama and Papa's sake, and if we're miserable we will go. They're none of them worth this dread."
"I love you, my dearest," he said fervently, giving her knee a squeeze.
They were silent the rest of the drive and when they pulled up to the big house, it seemed swarming with activity. Samson pulled the motor behind three others that were being unloaded-friends of Papa's Edith didn't entirely recognize. Mama and Papa were greeting the guests and the receiving line was down to just Carson and Mrs. Hughes, as the rest of the staff was busy preparing others for the shoot. Edith and Anthony took a bracing breath together before stepping out.
"Anthony, good man! I'm so glad you could make it," Robert exclaimed, genuinely pleased to see the gentlemen. Though technically his son-in-law, Edith knew very well Papa would never see him as such, but was thrilled that they were instead friends, and peers.
"Robert, excellent day for a shoot. I only wish I could join the rest of you," Anthony said, leaning to kiss Cora on the cheek.
"Well we're very lucky to have you accompany our group in the alternative," Cora said sincerely. "We're only waiting on just a few more. Please go in and we'll join shortly."
Stopping just for a moment before entering, Edith turned to Anthony and said, "I'm proud to be here, on your arm, to be carrying your child. I just want you to know that." And then she pushed open the door.
The Jarvises were there, and several of Papa's old acquaintances from London. The Lesters had come as well, with whom Matthew was standing. The first and last time Edith had seen the Lesters had turned out to be the most momentous night of her life. Anthony seemed to have the same thought as he nodded at them and pulled Edith tighter.
As Mary came toward Edith and Anthony, a certain arch of her eyebrow offered a look of warning.
"Trouble already?" Edith muttered as Mary stopped before them. Mary greeted Anthony with a kiss on the cheek, something Edith did not take for granted.
"Aunt Rosamund has been eagerly anticipating your arrival. Mr. Gregson was not far ahead of you and she seems to be waiting for some sort of drama unfold."
"She'll be disappointed, I'm afraid," Anthony said with a certainty that set Edith immediately at ease. He was not one to play social games, and Edith was comforted by the knowledge he was above Aunt Rosamund's prodding.
"I just thought I'd apologize in advance, Anthony," Mary said, warmly for her, before turning to join the rest of the party.
It did not go unnoticed by Edith or Anthony that they were on the receiving end of many a sideways look as they mingled with the other guests. But somehow, standing together, none of it seemed to matter. And once they made it across the room, and were settled happily into a corner with their tea, chatting with Cousin Isobel, the others seemed to lose interest.
Except, of course, for Aunt Rosamund. She came bounding towards them with the enthusiasm of a child at Christmas, Mr. Gregson in toe. "Edith, darling, I wondered if you'd make it. How wonderful to see you, it's been too long, really. And Mother told me of your news, of course. I suppose I must say congratulations," the pernicious woman rattled off. Edith shifted her weight into Anthony, looking for his assurance. "And this is Michael Gregson, of course."
"Rosamund, it has been a long while," Anthony greeted. His tone was just jovial enough that Edith knew it was an effort, but she adored him for making it when she was incapable. "And it is a pleasure, Mr. Gregson," he continued. "Forgive me for not shaking hands. I'm Sir Strallan."
Michael Gregson was not a tall man, and that he stood a whole head and a shoulder under Anthony pleased Edith to no end. He was nearly ten years younger than Anthony, but his pinched features and general lack of friendliness made him look trollish juxtaposed to Anthony's handsome good humor. His pompous and self-adoring nature made him seem ridiculous in comparison to Anthony's placid and kindly humility.
Gregson nodded stiffly to Anthony before turning to Edith. "Edith, how good to see you," the man greeted, offering his hand.
"It's Lady Strallan now," she corrected, swiftly placing her hand on Anthony's chest to avoid Gregson's kissing it.
"Of course. Your letter of resignation was quite a disappointment, I must say. But I am so pleased to see you. Everything is good, I trust?"
"I couldn't be happier," Edith said with a smile. That she meant it was obvious, too. Anthony's left hand moved from Edith's shoulder to her lower back, and his thumb made soothing circles, letting her know she wasn't alone.
"And how is The Sketch? Frightfully exciting, the newspaper business, is it not?" Rosamund asked Gregson, though she was watching Edith.
"Well, I suppose there's always news to be told. We just ran a piece about the American prohibition and the underground bootlegging economy. Quite interesting. Did you happen to see it, Sir Strallan? It's just the sort of thing your lovely wife used to jump at."
"Don't get The Sketch, I'm afraid," he said simply, cutting Gregson's conversation short without leaving room for further discussion.
Rosamund seemed ready to try another route when the shoot was announced. Nearly everyone was participating. Those left behind gathered in the drawing room. Isobel, Rosamund, Cora, and Mrs. Jarvis were playing bridge, leaving Anthony and Edith to themselves for most of the afternoon. It wasn't until much later, after luncheon, that Edith found herself cornered by Gregson in the back hall. She had been returning from the washroom when he stepped out from an alcove and startled her.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you," he said quickly.
"I find that hard to believe indeed," Edith said, instinctively tightening her sweater over herself.
"I only wanted a moment to see how you're really doing. You know, give you a chance to talk. I can't imagine what you've been putting up with."
"What on earth are you on about?" she asked indignantly.
"Well, I suppose I don't see your reason for marrying the old codger. You were successful, free. Now the man won't even let you write. And all the while I was there."
"Let me write? I no longer write because I am fulfilled. It was a job to pass the time. I may take it up again, should the mood strike, but it would be with the support of my husband. And I certainly wouldn't be writing for you, regardless."
"You can't really be happy, can you? With a man of his age, only one arm, who once jilted you at the altar no less?"
Edith balked for a moment, lining up her reasons for marrying Anthony, all the ways he was wonderful and good. But as she stared into the dark, beady eyes of the man before her she suddenly realized it didn't matter. "I would lay out all the reasons that Sir Strallan is a far superior man to you, Michael, but there's just not enough time. If you'll excuse me," she said, moving past him. She could practically hear Anthony's voice saying, That's it, darling. He's not worth the breath.
Gregson caught Edith by the arm, pulling her to a stop. He opened his mouth to say something more, but suddenly Edith did hear Anthony's voice. Close-by too, and far more authoritative than she'd ever experienced before.
"Edith, darling. Would you mind if I had a word with Mr. Gregson? Just us gents?" He was not looking at her but at the rather unashamed man beside her. His voice was steady, but his face was stern and his eyes were alit with ire. Edith, having never seen her husband in such a state, said nothing. She hurried off to find Mary, looking back just as Anthony gripped Michael on the shoulder and pushed him down the hall and toward the front door.
"Alright, no need to shove," Gregson said cooly as he stumbled slightly into the frigid dusk.
"You will leave at once," Anthony said quietly.
"What is it you've got an issue with exactly? That I was talking to your wife, or that I was right about her being unhappy?"
"What I take issue with, Gregson, is married men who proposition young women, then show up, uninvited and unwelcome, to criticize their lives."
"You should get your facts straight," Gregson spat.
"My facts are my wife's, and therefore all that I need. You're the newspaper man. Perhaps it is you who should sort your own story. Now, if you'll wait here, I'll have Mr. Carson bring your things and your driver."
Gregson, infuriated by Anthony's collected confidence, took several angry steps forward.
Then three things happened at once: Matthew, Mary, and Edith came through the front door to see what was going on; Gregson pulled Anthony's shoulder with one hand as his other wound up to strike; and Anthony spun around, hitting Gregson solidly on the cheek with his own fist in an expertly swift blow.
Edith shrieked once in surprise, as Matthew bolted forward to offer his support. It was, however, totally unnecessary. Gregson was scrambling from the ground, holding his face as he growled curses at Anthony.
"Mr. Gregson was just leaving," Anthony said quietly to Matthew, straightening his waistcoat. "Perhaps you'd be so kind as to help him find his driver?"
"I'll go," Mary offered, though she was nearly laughing as she ducked back inside. Matthew, too, was fighting a sort of fond smile for the ever-surprising Anthony.
Anthony turned and walked casually back to a rather stunned Edith, as though he'd just arrived from an afternoon stroll, and offered her his arm.
Inside, Anthony went straight into the library and sunk into the nearest chair. "I'm so dreadfully sorry, Edith. I saw him grab you like that and I became so furious. I hope you can forgive me," he begged, dropping his head into his hand.
"Forgive you? I don't think I've ever loved you more," she said with a disbelieving little laugh. She planted herself in his lap and pulled his hand from his brow.
"I lost my temper. The man is, without a doubt, an unmitigated ass, but I shouldn't have struck him."
"Well I'm not sorry you did. I know you're far too noble for such things, but if ever a man deserved to be knocked to the ground it was him."
Anthony let out an exasperated laugh and looked up to meet his wife's gaze. "Our first party as a married couple ends in a juvenile fist fight. Brilliant."
"Darling, if all our parties ended like this I might be inclined to attend more than one a year." She kissed her hero, then, proudly and passionately.
"Well he's gone. What in God's name was that about?" Mary asked as she and Matthew came into the library, shutting the door behind them.
"Anthony was defending my honor," Edith said with a laugh.
"Well you did a first rate job of it," Matthew scoffed. "Were you a boxer?"
"He's not even naturally left-handed," Mary laughed, patting a blushing Anthony on the shoulder.
"I've behaved like a school boy," he muttered. "I only hope no one noticed."
"I don't think anyone suspects a thing," Matthew assured.
Mary added, "And you know he certainly won't be telling anyone."
The four of them burst out laughing, and proceeded to come up with increasingly wild stories he might tell to explain the bruise. They were all in quite a fit when Cora and Robert came in.
"We thought you'd left. You've missed the others," Robert said. Catching their expressions he asked, "What's gotten into you four?"
"Anthony was just telling us a funny story," Edith sighed, rising from her husband's lap. "But now, I'm rather tired and I think I'd like to go home."
Waiting for Samson to bring the car around, the Crawleys and the Strallans said their goodbyes.
"Thank you for coming, my darlings," Cora said, taking Edith and Anthony in each of her hands. "I know these gatherings aren't your favorite, but it means so much to us that you came."
"It was lovely, Cora," Anthony said, kissing her cheek. He patted Robert's shoulder and made arrangements to get together in the next several days for some outing or another. Edith wasn't paying attention. She was watching Matthew and Mary, and noting the sort of awe in the way they looked at her husband.
"See you soon," Edith called as Anthony helped her into the car and shut the door behind them. Turning to her dear husband, she finally released everything she'd been feeling.
"Oh, have I gone and made you cry? I'm sorry I upset you, dear one. I lost my temper, but I didn't mean to embarrass you," he apologized, cradling her against his chest.
"No, no," she blubbered, helping herself to the handkerchief in his breast pocket. "I'm not embarrassed. Far from it." When she gathered herself a bit, Edith looked up into his brilliant, worried eyes. "You said this morning that I take you by surprise sometimes."
"I meant it," he replied.
"Well I meant it when I said I was proud of you. And you still surprise me sometimes too. Every time I start to think I couldn't possibly love you more you go and do something that proves me wrong."
"I should come to blows with old suitors more often, eh?" he asked with a laugh.
"Do what you like, Anthony. I don't think anything could make me love you less."
"Well, I'm glad to hear it," he whispered, resting his chin atop her head as the car bounced down the road. "And I must admit, opposed as I am to violence, it felt rather satisfying knocking that rake to the ground."
"Not as satisfying as it was to watch. I think even Matthew fell in love with you a little at the sight."
"Well, maybe I went for the wrong Crawley," Anthony teased, pulling Edith tighter.
Edith laughed heartily. "It's too late for you, Anthony Strallan. You're mine and I'm never letting go."
And she didn't let go of him for the rest of the drive, and well into the small hours of morning.