Married with Complications

Author's Note: This goes along with my other Edith/Anthony story, "Least Shall Be Loved." You needn't read the other, I suppose. But I did go back and improve that a bit, and it is not overly long. So, I'd like to think you'll read/re-read "Least..." too. Are you picking up on the guilt? I'm a mother, I have years of practice at this.

I think of this as its own story, a companion piece to the other. But you can also see it as snugging in between chapters 4 and 5 of "Least..."

I do not know if anyone has told all of you lately, but you folks (the readers and writers here in Downton Abbey Land) are a wonderful lot. I truly love being here amongst you. Really, we need a virtual/real pub where we can all meet.

"Edith, dear," her husband said gently. He stood behind her now where she gazed out the window. "You've been refusing all the invitations from your parents."

"You understand," she told him with a quiet shrug.

"Well, somewhat, yes. You are different from your sisters. You didn't feel like you fit in at home?"

"I was the ugly ducking."

"No, Edith," Anthony insisted.

"They may be my family, but I am nothing like them. I'm glad to be away. I belong with you," she said as resolutely as she could. She turned half toward him and just for a moment. Just long enough to take his hand and draw it around her. They had not been married long, only a month. But she had already learned that he seemed to like to have his arm about her just so.

"Yes. You do belong with me. But exclusively?" he asked. "Are we never to see anyone else?" He pulled her a little tighter then and kissed her once on the back of her neck.

"I don't know that I'd mind that," she said with a teasing smile in her voice.

"The quarrel with your sister Mary. Is that something you still worry about? Why don't you at least put that behind you?"

"I can't," she admitted.

"You are still angry with her?"

"No. It's that I know she's still angry with me. I'm afraid to face her, frankly."

"Oh, Edith."

"You don't know what I did to her," his wife said lowly.

"You told me how horribly sorry you are for whatever happened. That was all I needed to hear. Perhaps, it would help if you told her..."

"If you think anything I could say would help, then you must not know Mary," Edith said quite matter of factly.

"It might help you. It is you I am concerned with."

The young woman turned to put her arms around him. She could not believe her luck sometimes - at times like these, especially. This is what it was like to have a champion. A supporter, she realized, as she looked up at his dear blue eyes.

… … ...

They lay in bed later, and in the dark she turned and confessed to him. "I'm frightened to face Mary. Because I let out a secret. Something she did."

"She goaded you, she was cruel toward you, and you over reacted," he said, sympathetically. "And then she came between us in response. She is not blameless here."

"Will you go with me... when I apologize?"

"Shhh, of course," he whispered. "Now. Come closer and I can hold you ...if you want."

They were still shy lovers. She inched closer and cast her arm around his waist. Settled her head at his chest. And wondered.

… … ...

She had over heard a sly comment once that a wife should welcome her husband's attentions... more often than not. That still left a lot of 'not', and it said nothing at all about a wife who had wants of her own.

Edith had refused Anthony only a few times. She had had her monthly once, a horrifying prospect to even hint at. And had been just exhausted after a social engagement on another occasion. There had been other times when he did not ask, and she had wanted him. On those nights she had only kissed him 'good night' and pulled in tighter to the blankets to avoid embarrassing herself.

Edith had no confidence in these things. Even now that she felt she knew how she truly felt about the man, she still didn't know how she should act. So, she waited.

Anthony would approach her slowly, even now after a month of being married. But then in that month they had only managed the act 8 times. She had kept count and even replayed each time in her head.

The first night had been marked by apologies. Hers for the jittery way she responded to each new sensation. His were for the sting she felt.

When was it, she wondered, that she had fallen in love with him? It had been sometime after they were married, she had to admit. Sometime soon after that first evening.

Was it a moment when it had occurred?

Had it come as a gradual realization?

Did she fall in love with him because he had come to her room for their first night together packed as if they were going on a picnic? Was it because he had made her laugh and had kissed her gently as they had lain in that bed.

Or was it because he had woken up and come to find her after? He had stood outside the door to the wash room and waited for her.

.

"Do you hate me?" he had worried with his head to her shoulder.

"No!"

"Was it awful?"

"You know it wasn't," she had whispered. "Not for me, at least."

She knew she had called out as sensation had overwhelmed her, loud enough that he certainly should remember. Her voice had seemed strange to her, guttural and full of feeling as he had tended to her. He had touched her so intently.

.

Had she fallen in love with him because of the remainder of that night?

There had been the boyish look to him with his hair all pulled astray. The way he had sat by her feet in bed. Or the way he had poured her a glass of wine or fed her from the picnic basket.

.

"Merlot has dozens of medicinal properties," he said only half jokingly.

"There is nothing wrong with me," she insisted. But she leaned back against the propped up pillows and took the offered glass.

"It gets better. I swear," he told her, awkwardly.

She blushed.

They settled in to sleep after that bit of wine and conversation.

"If I make you feel claustrophobic. You need only tell me," he told her.

She rolled away from him to settle on her side, and he rested his hand on her hip.

Now his touch felt warm and reassuring to her. No longer new and odd. She meant to remark on the change, but she was quickly lost to sleep.

.

Did she love him because of the way he had whispered and placed a kiss to the back of her neck come morning?

Was it the day light that had made everything seemed changed?

.

He was curled lightly behind her. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry," he said.

"No. I just woke, is all." They carried on talking like this. Him behind her. His hand was flat against her stomach now making her tingle oddly.

"Will you let me make love to you again? I want you to know how much better it can be."

"You mean now?" She wouldn't tell him, but she found the notion that they would make love by day light much more alarming than the idea of engaging in such acts twice in only a few hours.

"Yes. Now..."

"But it's morning already." She was afraid she sounded both appalled and frightened.

"No one will disturb us. We have no schedule to keep... But we won't," he promised. "I won't push you."

He kissed her once, just quickly, and she heard herself sigh.

He prompted her to roll to her back, and he smiled at her. His fingers traced circles on her stomach. And loops down to her hipbones.

"Shhh," he said to reassure her. "I won't. But, it's better already, do you see?" he asked.

She nodded. "Last night I jumped when you touched me like that."

He leaned in and kissed her then. Her neck. Her collar bone. He kissed her through the thin fabric. Her breast bone and her shoulder. She tugged on his pajama shirt, pulling him up so she could put her arms around him. She smiled then. Laughed and kissed him.

And if she was in charge of such things, she fell in love with him then.

... ... ...

She pressed herself tighter against him tonight and waited. The most recent time he had approached her had been only the night before last night, and she was sure the dear man was either keeping himself to some sort of schedule in the hopes of not overwhelming her. Or worse, that he did not welcome making love to her more frequently.

They kissed, and she answered him, her lips parted. Her fingers were at his waist pulling gently.

When he stopped as if to look at her despite the dark, she felt the need well up in her. She let loose a low noise. Tonight was different, could he tell?

All the talk of her family had left her hurt and confused, and she needed him tonight. She needed his kisses and his touch as much as his understanding. She wanted to be all his. To forget the things that troubled her, to lose herself in his attentions. And she wanted him to be so completely hers.

"Edith?" he questioned softly. He did not seem sure about what he sensed from her.

She wanted to tell him how she felt. That she loved him. Needed him. Wanted him inside her. But she was sure she shouldn't or couldn't. "Yes," she merely clarified. "If you want?" she pretended to hedge.

/