Prologue

December 1890

Robert lumbered through the darkened rooms of the first floor, his arms and legs swinging freely like loosened tethers. Carson had already been through to snuff the lamps, and the hollow echo of his footsteps in the distance as he finished the job called out the lateness of the hour. Pulling himself up the stairs, Robert paused on the landing and leaned against the wall, the tapestry covering it tickling his palm. He closed his eyes waiting for the house to stop spinning around him, and he cursed Marmaduke and Shrimpy.

They had urged Robert on, daring him even, one drink after another being placed in front of him, his ability to refuse mystifyingly absent. The card game continued until well after the ladies had gone up. It hadn't been long until the pleasant, fizzy feeling that had begun in his belly had traveled to his head, and still not long after that when the pleasantness became tinged with a sour dizziness. By then it was too late to stop, prudence long forgotten, his hand unsteadily putting his glass to his lips.

Taking another steadying breath, Robert gripped the banister and used it as a crutch, propping his sagging body up the rest of the stairs. He bumped into the walls of the gallery like a billiard ball gone awry until he stood stupidly in front of his dressing room door. Even through his liquor soaked thoughts, Robert knew it was far too late to call his valet for help.

It was Christmas Eve, afterall.

Robert fumbled with the doorknob. It had become an enigma too complex for his muddled senses to figure out. Finally, mercifully, the metallic click of the lock disengaging from its apparatus filled the sleepiness of the gallery. Caught off guard by his sudden success, Robert continued to push his weight against the grain. The door swung away from him, crashing into the wall and Robert stumbled through the doorway after it, only just catching himself from falling to the floor.

Looking around, the blackness of the room clouded his eyes and Robert pulled at the edges of his dinner jacket, though there was no one to see him. Holding his breath, he strained to hear if the commotion had stirred anyone from their beds. Exhaling once it seemed he was still the only one awake, Robert walked further into the room, biting his lip hard when his shin struck the sitting chair by his bed. A slur of curses were whispered into the shadows and Robert hopped over to the wardrobe, fighting with his tie to loosen it.

"Robert?"

Robert froze, fingers clenched around the buttons of his vest, buttons that he had been fighting with for the better part of five minutes. The soft steps of Cora's slipper-clad feet crept closer so that Robert could feel the heat of her presence at his back. He hadn't meant to wake her. That was, in fact, the last thing he had wanted.

"Are you all right, Robert?"

Robert closed his eyes, swaying slightly to the sweet sound of her lowered voice. His eyelids snapped back open, blinking to clear the fog. He should be asking her that very question. When Robert turned around, Cora's face was close enough to feel the gentle puffs of her breath. She watched him curiously, a hint of concern tugging at the corners of her mouth. Robert's thumbs twitched to smooth over the skin there, the lines that formed as her frown deepened.

Teeth feeling numb and cumbersome in his dry mouth, Robert tried to form the words streaming through his mind. Cora hesitated a moment before taking one small step closer, her capable fingers making quick work of the buttons that had only moments before plagued him. Her nearness, the feather light grazes of her fingertips through the stiff cotton of his shirt, the faint hint of her lavender-scented lotion, it all worked together to torment him. Cora's touch reminded him cruelly of how much he missed her body, how much he wished to have her beneath him now, the maddening little noises she usually made teasing against his ear.

Without thinking, Robert stepped forward, leaning into Cora's space, closing the remaining distance between them. The persistent tingling that had surged with her touch was now an uncomfortable strain against his trousers. Robert inhaled, a deep and shaky breath that did little to cool the heat making his skin clammy. The smell of her hair tickling his nose tipped Robert off balance and he braced his weight by laying his hands on her shoulders. The rigid stones of her muscles shocked his senses sober and Robert knew she had felt it.

Had felt him.

"I'm sorry Cora," Robert's words tumbled over one another coming out in a hurried string.

Quickly he let his hands drop and he stepped back from her. Robert's eyes fell, unable to see the horror that he only guessed he would find on her face, and instead they settled on the one spot he had been avoiding for the last three weeks. Now that they finally rested on her belly, he couldn't tear them away. Swiftly, Robert felt as hollow and barren as the smallness of Cora's waist. There was barely any trace there of what once was. A slow, acidic burn cloyed at his throat, one that rose swiftly, stinging the space between his eyes. Robert blinked rapidly before looking back up at Cora's face.

Just as she had felt his desire, she had felt the burden of his gaze and her hands folded tightly in front of her abdomen. She lifted her head, sticking her chin higher, but it quivered and Robert made a move toward her. Cora took a step back and held fast to the door separating their rooms.

"If you are fine to finish, I'll say goodnight." Cora's words were tight, strained but so, so low. Robert almost thought he'd imagined them.

"Of course," Robert replied softly. "I'm sorry I woke you. You should be resting."

Cora's lips lifted slightly. "You didn't wake me."

They both stood there, letting the quiet envelop them. There were so many things there, so many words and feelings, in the quiet. Robert fought the impulse to take her and hold her. Cora hadn't wanted his comfort and he wondered if she didn't blame him for the loss of their child. Perhaps if he had taken better care of her, if he had shown more affection, everything would be different. Perhaps if he were the husband she deserved she would have let him be with her as she grieved. Instead, he had been made to listen to her cries from the loneliness of his tiny dressing room bed.

"Merry Christmas, Robert." The caress of Cora's voice shook him from his thoughts and Robert nodded at her.

"Happy Christmas, Cora." Robert replied as she retreated back into her room.