Happiest of happy birthdays to my best friend, AllAboutTheAbbey! I hope you enjoy this! I know how much you love young!cobert. This is pre-series, so there are no spoilers.
"Goodnight, Cora," Robert spoke as he rose from her bed, donning his robe and heading for his dressing room door.
"Goodnight, Robert," she answered softly, pulling the covers more securely around her. As she watched him once again retreat to his own room, Cora closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to fall. Too many were the nights that she had cried herself to sleep, left empty and cold in the wake of performing what she inwardly referred to as her 'wifely duty'. It consisted of little more than lying there, wishing desperately that she were somewhere—anywhere—else. She wanted to enjoy what they were doing, but every time she dared to look into the face of her husband, she was once again reminded of what was missing from the situation: love. Not love on her part, for she was hopelessly in love with Robert Crawley. But she knew that the sentiment was not reciprocated.
It wasn't that she and Robert didn't get along; quite the contrary. Over the eight months since their wedding day, the two had developed a comfortable friendship. They often sought each other's company; asked each other for opinions and advice. But, each and every time she had dared to express her true feelings to her husband, she was met with the same guilty stare. She didn't want Robert to feel guilty for not feeling for her as she did for him. And there were times that she wished that she didn't love him. Maybe it would be easier that way.
But tonight—for a brief moment, at least—things had seemed different. Normally, after recovering from their exertions, Robert would give her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek before bidding her goodnight and retreating to his own room. This evening, however, he had lingered longer than normal and out of the corner her eye, she had noticed him watching her; staring at her. She had turned her head, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion.
"What?"
Robert shook his head slightly, as if clearing it of some faraway thought. "Nothing. I just…" His thought went unfinished as he reached up to brush a few stray locks of hair from her face, his hand making its way into her hair before running his thumb lightly across her cheekbone. Before Cora had the opportunity to inquire about his sudden odd behavior, his lips had descended upon hers. She had closed her eyes, too caught up in the sensation of her usually stoic husband's impetuous behavior to object. But as quickly as it began, it was over. And just like every night before, he had gathered his things and bade her goodnight.
As she lay there in the dark, the bedside candles having finally burned out, Cora sighed heavily and turned onto her side, away from the door that joined her room to that of her husband. She needed no further reminder of the distance between them.
Robert sat on the bed in his dressing room, his and Cora's official wedding photograph in his hands. He had had it framed and placed on his bedside table months before. Every night he would look at it, contemplating his relationship with his wife of eight months. In the beginning, when asked if he loved her, he had been quick to say 'no'. Because he didn't; at least, he didn't think he did. He was very, very fond of her. And as he thought about it, who wouldn't be? She was charming and kind, funny and smart, and unimaginably beautiful. He enjoyed spending time with her. He enjoyed their almost nightly encounters. He enjoyed making her smile or hearing her laugh. But, he wasn't in love with her…was he?
He couldn't wait to see her after having his breakfast in the morning; to tell of his plans for the day, and to hear of hers. He found himself disappointed when she was out paying calls and unable to have luncheon or tea with him. And he was suddenly finding it increasingly difficult to leave her at night. Her bedroom was always so warm and invited, while his own had become cold and dismal. He had never felt truly guilty for leaving after being intimate with her. After all, it wasn't considered proper to share a bed with one's wife. But, tonight, something had shifted. He saw her differently somehow.
And all at once, he was hit with an overwhelming realization. He loved her. He had fallen in love with Cora. Suddenly, he could no longer bear to be apart from her. Robert rose from the bed, his feet carrying him to the dividing door that separated the two bedrooms. He paused as his hand reached for the doorknob. What if his months of seeming indifference had changed her feelings for him? He had known since before their wedding that she loved him. The thought had, at the time, made his stomach clench uncomfortably. He was constantly flooded with guilt that he had not returned her feelings. What would he do if the tables were now turned? How would he handle her rejection?
Deciding that the risk was worth taking, he pushed the door open and stepped once more into her room. The light from the candle he had taken from his own bedside table provided the only light, and he could just make out Cora's sleeping form. He crept quietly toward the bed, careful to not make any noise for fear of waking her. It occurred to Robert that he had never seen Cora when she was asleep and, as he lowered himself slowly onto the bed, his breath hitched slightly to note how truly beautiful she was even when deep in slumber. He sat there for a moment, torn between the need to wake her and tell her of his newly-discovered feeling and his reluctance to wake her when she looked so very peaceful. Deciding that it could wait until morning, he slipped beneath the covers and draped his arm loosely across her waist. Smiling to himself at this new feeling, he was asleep within minutes.
Cora awoke a short time later, her mind at once fully alert as she felt an unfamiliar weight at her waist. She turned slight, unable to stifle a sharp intake of breath at the sight of her husband asleep behind her. She wondered momentarily if she was still dreaming, her mind and heart unable to fully comprehend how one of her dearest wishes had suddenly come true. She had dreamt of this since her wedding night, but had long given up on it ever coming to pass. And now that he was here, and in spite of her guarded joy, she could help but wonder what had brought him there. She shook Robert's shoulder slightly, offering a small smile as he blinked open his eyes. "What are you doing here?" she couldn't help but whisper.
"I…" Robert began, trying with all his might not to lose his nerve as he searched for the words he wanted to say. "I wanted to tell you something, but I didn't want to wake you." He worried he was too late. "I can go if you'd rather."
"No!" Cora answered quickly, grasping his arm. "No, I want you to stay. I've…I've always wanted you to stay."
"You have?" Robert wondered. She'd never told him that.
"Of course I have. You're my husband, and I love you." Oh, Cora, she thought as the words left her mouth. Why did you have to say that? But as she searched his face for the all too familiar look of guilt, she found another look entirely. A soft smile wreathed his lips, and he once again reached up to stroke her cheek.
"I love you, too" he whispered, his smile becoming wider as he uttered the words.
"You…do?" Cora wasn't convinced that this was actually happening. Surely she was still in the midst of some wonderful dream.
"I do. Cora, I love you. I think I've loved you for much, much longer than I realized." Tears spilled down her face as Cora processed his words. "And I'm sorry for all of the time I've wasted."
Cora shook her head as she smiled through her tears. "It's not important now. None of that matters now." She placed her hand on top of her husband's, her heart leaping in her chest as he leaned over to capture her lips with his. The empty space within her that had once threatened to swallow her heart whole was now filled to overflowing as she reveled in the love of her husband, and she knew her words to be true. What came before didn't matter at all. She had all she'd ever need right in front of her.
