Early January 1890
Robert stared at his wife as she stood by the window gazing out into the darkness. A tender smile pulled at the edges of her crimson lips, her countenance full of mirth. The sight caused a flood of warmth to surge through his chest, and he exhaled audibly. Despite what some might think – she, in particular – her happiness was of utmost importance to him. The day he proposed to her, he promised to make her happy. It was a silent promise he made to her and to himself. He knew then how she felt about him, how much she was giving up. Cora may have come to England in search of a title, but she accepted his proposal because she loved him. She walked away from all she had ever known to make a new life with him, handing over her fortune and her heart.
As much as he needed her money to save his beloved Downton, he was plagued by guilt, and it weighed heavily on his conscious. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was robbing her of a better life and a greater purpose. Cora loved with heartbreaking intensity, and Robert thought himself underserving of her admiration. He cared deeply for her, but he knew it wasn't romantic love he felt. At least, he didn't think so, although he could hardly make sense of his own thoughts anymore. He had read countless works of prose and verse, the characters and the authors expressing feelings of love and longing, but his understanding of their emotions didn't align with the way he felt about his wife.
The two shared a great friendship, talking easily about their lives, together and apart, their mutual interests, and their hopes for the future. In fact, Robert often thought, if left to their own devices, they could talk for hours without noticing the passage of time. Intelligent, well read and terribly witty, his wife was a great conversationalist, captivating him with her insightful questions and frequently leaving him in stiches with her amusing (and sometimes, downright wicked) remarks. But their lighthearted banter failed to come as easily anymore, and this didn't escape Robert's attention.
They also shared great physical passion for one another. Robert knew of so many men and women who took lovers early in their unhappy marriages, but he couldn't fathom desiring anyone else as much as he did his wife. Her luscious curls spilling down her back, her pillowy lips parting in a sigh, her bright eyes darkening with lust – she filled his mind and his senses even when they were apart. Perhaps especially then. There were days when he was walking the estate that he surprised himself by arriving unscathed at his intended destination because he was so distracted by his incessant fantasies.
But their nights together, as wonderful as they were, only added to his guilt. Every evening, to fulfill his unrelenting physical desires and their duty to Downton, he laid claim to her body, taking pieces of her that she could never get back. She offered up her fortune, her body, and her heart, and he took and took and took.
"Robert!" Rosamund hissed, knocking him out of his reverie. "What on earth has you so preoccupied?"
"I'm sorry, sister dear. It's nothing in particular. My mind was just wandering," he replied softly, rubbing the nape of his neck and glancing quickly at Rosamund before returning his eyes to his wife.
She smiled knowingly. "Cora looks breathtaking tonight. And it's good to see her in such high spirits."
"Yes, it is. I've been rather concerned about her the past few days. Spending Christmas away from her family for the first time must have been trying. And, of course, the way Mama belittles her doesn't help."
"Days?" Rosamund queried, her brow furrowed. "Robert, she's been gloomy for weeks, hardly the effervescent girl you proposed to last year."
Looking down at the floor, his shoulders slumping, Robert sighed. "I know, Rosamund. I know. But what am I to do? I can't very well send her back to America." There was no anger in his tone, only defeat. It would be easy for him to get defensive, but there was no denying the truth in her words. Sighing again, Robert crossed his arms over his chest and turned his eyes up to Rosamund's face to find her shaking her head back and forth incredulously.
"Robert, don't pretend to be a child because it suits you. Cora is your wife. Take some responsibility for her happiness."
Robert gaped at her. "But I care a great deal about her happiness!"
Pleased by his sudden show of emotion, Rosamund did her level best to contain her smirk. "Then show her, brother."
"But how?" Robert asked eagerly, moving a pace closer to her.
Rosamund rolled her eyes but worked to amend her insolence by gently gripping Robert's hand. "Give her your attention. Papa has been keeping you so busy lately I expect you rarely see her away from the dinner table. You can start by joining her and finding out the source of that silly grin on her face."
Robert looked over at Cora and back at his sister, his own grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Chuckling softly, Rosamund squeezed his hand and tilted her head in Cora's direction. "Now, go!"
"You are wise beyond your years, Rosamund." Leaning in, Robert brushed a kiss across his sister's cheek and whispered his thanks in her ear, then turned quickly to make his way across the room.
"Hopeless..." Rosamund huffed. "Thank goodness he has me." Quite proud of her work, she motioned for the footman to bring her another glass of champagne.
"Cora?" Robert questioned quietly as he took his place next to her. She radiated serenity, exuded a lightheartedness he hadn't felt around her in so long, that he hated to disturb her.
"I'm sorry, Robert – I didn't notice you there," she answered with surprise, her cheeks flushing a flattering shade of pink. The warm light of the room cloaked her features in a heavenly glow, and Robert briefly wondered if he was looking at a work of art created by Vermeer himself.
"I was admiring the grounds," she explained as she took a step closer to him and motioned out the window. "They look so enchanting after a fresh snowfall, don't they? A veritable winter fairyland."
While Orion stood on guard above, Robert marveled at the crystalline fields below. Trees bedecked in ice swayed in the gentle breeze, their boughs sparkling like chandeliers, and moonbeams danced across the downy snow. The ground glittered, a blanket of diamonds over the frozen earth. Awestruck by the cold, isolating beauty of Downton's landscape, Robert's mouth dropped open, and his eyes grew wide with wonder.
"Lovely, isn't it?" Cora whispered.
"It's...remarkable," he replied softly. He had passed dozens of windows that night, but he had been so consumed by his thoughts he had failed to notice the splendor occupying the other side of the glass.
"It reminds me of winter in Central Park and the late night walks I used to take there with my father," Cora spoke, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. "We'd bundle up in our thick capes and gloves, and as we made our way along the icy paths, he'd tell me stories of fairies that lived on the falling snowflakes. Of course, my mother thought it foolish. And perhaps it was, but those memories are very dear to me."
Fingering the snowflake brooch affixed to her royal blue gown, Cora smiled to herself. "This pin was a gift from him, in fact. A reminder of the precious moments we shared on those cold winter nights, ambling through the park, just the two of us..."
As Cora trailed off happily, a comfortable silence fell over the couple, and together they studied the frigid landscape side-by-side – Cora likely reliving the memories of her youth and Robert mulling over his sister's advice, unsure of what to do or say next. He knew he was overthinking things. What had happened to the natural conversation that used to flow so easily between them?
Lost in thought, Robert was startled when Cora suddenly gripped his arm, her eyes beaming and full of excitement. "Robert, I know it's late, but might we go for a short stroll around the grounds tonight?"
Even if Robert hadn't thought of suggesting just that, he would have immediately agreed. Her joy at this simple prospect filled the air between them, and he breathed it in, allowing himself to feel the same. With an enthusiastic nod, he answered, "Of course, darling," and Cora's impossibly large smile grew even wider.
She motioned for a footman before leaning up on her toes and placing a light kiss on his cheek. "I'll meet you at the front door shortly."
"Yes, milady?" the footman inquired as he approached the pair.
"Joseph, could you please tell Carson and Evans to meet us in our rooms? Lord Downton and I are taking a short walk around the estate."
Obediently hiding his surprise from the young American mistress, he replied, "Of course, Lady Downton," and headed towards the library door to fulfill her request.
Cora followed him, a few steps behind, but stopped briefly and looked over her shoulder, flashing Robert an alluring smile. Her irresistible charm put motion in his feet, and he hurried after her.
Robert could feel his mother's eyes burning into his back as he exited the room, but to his own amazement, he found he didn't care. In that moment, he cared only about his wife's happiness. It was at least partly his responsibility she feel content at Downton, and perhaps indulging her wishes would help her rediscover the girl that enchanted him during the London season less than a year ago. Moreover, he would do anything to prologue the playful glint in her eyes and that contagious smile.
As Robert and Cora stepped into the limpid black night, the crisp air stung their exposed cheeks and shocked their lungs. Puffy clouds of warm breath trailed behind them, and their boots crunched along the shoveled path, announcing their arrival to the wonderland laid out before their feet.
Entranced by the ethereal beauty of his young wife, Robert snuck glances at her while he pointed out the constellations and regaled her with tales of Roman mythology. The way the moonlight caressed her creamy skin and brightened her blue eyes left him breathless. Her lovely smile from earlier remained firmly affixed to her face, and he found he couldn't resist stopping to tell her how pleased he was to see its return after many long weeks without it.
Turning to halt their progress, he reached up and affectionately cupped her cheek. Cora closed her eyes with a breathy sigh and leaned into his hand, while he took a moment to cherish her contented visage.
"A sight to gladden my heart," he whispered.
But much to his disappointment, her face fell at his statement, and she drew away from his hand, her mouth twisting in exasperation.
"Is it?" she asked curiously.
"Of course," he replied with conviction, his forehead creasing. Why would she doubt his sincerity? "Of course, it is, Cora. Your beautiful smile has been absent from this house for far too long."
Her eyes softened at his compliment, and she tilted her head to the side as the harsh wind circled around them.
"Robert," she began, "may I speak plainly with you?"
"Yes, you can always be frank with me, Cora," he answered, cupping her cheek once again. "In fact, it's one of the things I admire most about you – your candor, your openness."
She smiled sweetly in response and then pulled him towards a bench a few yards away. As they sat down on the frosty wood, Robert gripped her hands between both of his, hoping to keep her slender fingers warm – and to reassure her. He wanted her to be honest with him. What plagued her, this deep sadness, was an ominous dark cloud that followed her wherever she went, and he longed to see the sun again, to see her blazing with that passion he adored.
"I'd like to apologize for my behavior. Christmas was obviously challenging for me, being away from my family for the first time, but the reason I've been melancholy... Well, it has to do with something else entirely, and I feel I must explain myself."
She paused and looked down at her feet, hesitant to continue, so Robert squeezed her hand in encouragement. She needed to unburden herself, and doing so away from prying eyes and ears offered them both protection. Cora's armor was thick, but after so many repeated attacks, he feared it would crumble along with her resolve.
She swallowed thickly before chancing a glimpse at him, tears threatening to spill from her reddened eyes.
"When I confessed my love for you, Robert, I changed everything. I said those words aloud, and then I couldn't take them back," she choked. "But I foolishly hoped for a great love affair. I believed with time and persistence I could make you love me. I believed it wholeheartedly."
"Perhaps I'd read too many Jane Austen novels," she added with a sardonic laugh.
Retrieving a handkerchief from inside his coat, Robert tried to dry her eyes, to soothe her. He hated to see her cry, but her tears fell unguardedly now, rolling in weighty droplets over her smooth cheeks.
"I know that you care about me, Robert. We've formed a strong friendship for which I'm incredibly thankful. Although our marriage won't be the stuff of novels, a great friendship is a far better than what some men and women share with their spouses," she reasoned.
Robert flinched at her use of the word "friendship," and his chest tightened with the affirmation that his guilt was not unfounded. He had failed her. Cora had lost her faith in romance, settling for his companionship because she believed it was all she could ever have. A martyr for unrequited love, she was poised to sacrifice her own heart and conscious, forsaking everything for him, and it broke his heart.
Robert had been led to believe love in the aristocracy was elusive – and unnecessary for a successful marriage. When he chose Cora, he did so because not only could her fortune save Downton but, also, he felt differently about her than any other woman he had met over the Season. She was smart and interesting and attractive. He genuinely enjoyed her company and could see her by his side when he took his place as Earl of Grantham. But never had he considered love. Always ruled by duty, governed by that notorious English reserve, he had unknowingly conspired against himself and his own happiness.
Moments he shared with Cora over the past several months flashed through his mind in quick succession, and as he sat with her now, taking in her features under the starlight – sapphire eyes full of devotion, rosy cheeks stained with tears, and luscious lips begging for his kiss – Robert realized a lifetime with only her friendship would never satisfy him. She occupied all the corners of his mind, permeated his senses, and it still wasn't enough. He wanted her, all of her – body, heart, and soul.
So this, he thought, staring at his wife, this...must be love. Love, he repeated again and shook his head in amazement. Joy quickly bubbled up inside him, and he felt drunk with the idea of it all. It was glorious prospect – a lifetime of love with the woman he married.
"I'm learning to be content with the way things are," she rambled on, staring at the ground. "I'm finding solace in our friendship, and I wanted to reassure you I won't let you down. I know we have a role to play, and I never want to disappoint you."
"But that's not what I want," Robert interjected staunchly, his pulse quickening.
Crestfallen, Cora whispered, "I don't understand."
"I don't want your friendship," he answered, and Cora jerked her hands away in shock and humiliation before he had time to amend his statement. The hurt in her expression sobered him, gave him clarity, and he shifted closer to her on the bench. "At least, that's not all I want."
"Robert, what do you mean?" Cora's forehead creased in confusion.
He removed his gloves and reached up to grip her face, gazing into her eyes and running his thumbs back and forth along her cheekbones. The connection fortified him and calmed the quivering fire inside his stomach.
"What I'm trying to say, rather badly, is that your friendship will never be enough because I want so much more."
"Oh, my goodness," she gasped as she tried to steady herself, her trembling visible.
"I want everything, all of you," he said in a soft voice. "I love you, Cora."
The utterance of those three little words instantly illuminated his world and altered his focus. Love was goodness and truth more profound than the wisdom of ancient philosophers, more beautiful than the carefully crafted words of gifted poets.
It was all so clear to him now – loving her had been the answer all along.
Tilting forward, he kissed her forehead, savoring the feel of her skin pressed against his lips, and he repeated that treasured phrase, "I love you."
She leaned back, her eyes wide with feeling, and then lunged to embrace him, and they tumbled from the bench to the snow-covered ground, laughing like children.
"Robert Crawley, do you have any idea how happy you've just made me?" she asked, shaking her head in disbelief, her face alight with her smile.
The urge to kiss her overwhelmed him, and he crashed his lips against hers, his zealous tongue seeking entry. They kissed feverishly, rolling around on the ground, until they were forced to stop for air and covered in white.
Cora's chest heaved with the effects of their exertions, and Robert looked down at her, twirling an errant curl around his index finger. He wanted to memorize this vision of her, lying in the snow beneath him, framed by the shimmer of the ice and stars.
Cora's eyes welled up with tears again as she whispered hoarsely, "Robert, is this a dream?"
"No, my dear." He chuckled. "If this were a dream, it wouldn't be nearly this cold."
"Then, say it again," she demanded gleefully, staring at his lips.
"I love you, Cora," he announced as she closed her eyes in reverence.
Opening them languidly, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks, she smiled. "And I love you, my darling. So very, very much."
With her proclamation, Robert kissed her again, a hungry kiss full of hope and promise. Cora clutched at him with shaky fingers, but whether it was from emotion or the bitter temperatures, he couldn't tell.
Although it took great effort, he managed to break their kiss and stand, extending his hand to her. "Let's go inside, my dear. This winter fairyland has been full of glorious surprises, but you must be getting cold."
Accepting his proffered hand, Cora pulled herself up and leaned against him, gripping the labels of his thick jacket. "I don't think I'll ever be cold again."
A/N: Better late than never, right? ;) Special thanks to my lovely betas GranthamGal and Settees-under-siege for their thoughtful review of my entry and for their encouraging words (which helped me find the nerve to actually post this)!