As usual, many thanks to my beta granthamfan!
Sometimes, like now, the pain in his hand is so intense that it prevents him from doing simple moves- like closing the buttons of his waistcoat. So he remains stiff while Bates helps him silently. The pain pills Bates had brought to him remain on his nightstand, untouched. He doesn't want anything to stop him from thinking clearly. He has already spent too much time lost in the mist. And besides, no pain is bigger than the one inside his chest now.
He has a vague notion that Bates mumbles something, but he doesn't see him leaving, as his gaze fixed on the tips of his shoes. A long moment passes between the dry click of the door closing behind Bates until he finds the courage to face his own poor reflection in the mirror. Tired eyes challenge his determination to go downstairs for the cocktail party, which now seems like the stupidest idea he's ever had. And he has so many other reasons to feel stupid lately.
As he slowly descends the stairs, an unknown feeling seizes him and he needs to stop for a minute to take a deep breath before reaching the great hall. But then, taking advantage of the fact that his presence is as yet unnoticed, he makes a detour to the library to allow himself a last moment of solitude before he can face the night; before he can face her.
He has managed to avoid her the entire day, but now he knows that it is inevitable. And he knows that he is not ready for it. Not even a glass of whiskey, which burns down his throat, is able to soothe his nerves while the scenes from the night before repeat themselves incessantly in his mind. So, when after a second glass, Carson's voice yanks him from his painful reverie, he follows the butler to the great hall to join his family, and once more that strange feeling shows up in the pit of his stomach.
And there she is. So incredibly beautiful. So incredibly sad. He is not fooled by the smile that is so carefully placed on her lips as she talks with Tom and Rose, a smile that never reaches her eyes. He knows it too well, and he hates it.
Her gaze searches for him, but he averts his eyes; unable to face the truth that is written in the pale blue of hers. Then, when the time comes, he silently takes his place at the door, next to her, and plays the role that is expected from him at that moment, as the succession of arriving guests seems to pass infinitely in front of him. Her delicate attempts to make small talk, to make him smile, provoke mixed feelings in him. But in the end, it is his anger that wins out. His heart is still in a place too dark to talk, to understand, to forgive; even knowing that he is the one who needs forgiveness.
But, it is hard to control his emotions. The sweet scent of her perfume, the warmth of the gentle touch of her fingers on his arm- which he can feel even over the fabric of his coat- the brush of her arm on his each time she leans over to talk to him, her sweet breath on his ear. Little things like that are now almost more than he can bear. So as soon as he is allowed, he walks away from her. Her nearness evokes feelings he is not prepared to handle. Not yet.
He keeps himself at a distance and tries to focus his attention on their guests, expecting that this can distract his mind from the undeniable attraction that her presence exerts over him. But his eyes keep betraying him, and whenever she is not looking, they painfully search for her.
And then unexpected eye contact steals the air from his lungs and brings back that odd feeling in his stomach once more. In that brief second, before he averts his gaze, he wishes to be a stronger man, a better man, able to forget everything and walk up to her, take her in his arms and show her how much he loves her. But, he can't. Not yet.
After everyone departs and silence slowly starts to descend upon the house, he escapes to the garden. The starry sky over his head evokes lost memories of times when they had been happy. And then, he finally recognizes that odd feeling that plagues his soul. Fear. Because behind all his anger, his wounded pride, behind the proud Earl and the stiff Lord Lieutenant, before the father, the grandfather and even before the husband, there is only a man. A man who has to live under the weight of his own mistakes. But, a man who still loves her. Deeply. Hopelessly. A man who is completely afraid of looking into the eyes of the woman he loves and seeing an unthinkable truth: that she maybe doesn't love him anymore.
"Robert?" The soft and musical tone of her voice pronouncing his name startles him and before he can move or do anything, the warmth of her fingers gently touching his wounded hand paralyzes him.
"Is it any better?" she asks quietly, holding his hand carefully between hers. He still is not able to look at her and keeps his gaze intently locked on some distant point in the dark night.
"No," he whispers after a moment. "It hurts like hell," he adds, not sure if they are talking about his hand or their own shattered hearts. He then gently removes his hand from hers, unable to bear the contact any longer. Not because he doesn't like it, but simply because he desires it too much.
He then starts to walk slowly towards the house, and her heavy and low sigh breaks his heart once more.
"It was a long day. I'm going to sleep," he mumbles, his eyes fixed on his shoes. "Good night, Cora."
He takes another couple of steps before her sad voice sounds behind him.
"Can I walk with you?"
He closes his eyes for a moment before he finally turns to face her. Silently, he offers her his arm, his eyes searching for hers for the first time that night; still afraid, still uncertain. They look at each other for a long moment before she gently slides her hand into the crook of his arm. Slowly, they walk arm in arm back into their home, the fragile contact established between them enough to relieve the tension for a moment.
He feels the gentle pressure of her fingers on his arm as she needs balance to climb each one of the steps that lead them upstairs. In a strange way, this simplest of gestures calms his fears a bit.
They stop in front of her bedroom door and suddenly it is so embarrassing to be there, just like in the first days of their marriage. Except that now there are pain and frustration.
She gently removes her hand from his arm and, lowering his eyes slightly, she whispers to him a good night with a small, coy smile before closing the door behind her. In one second of insanity, he duels against his desire to follow her. But, he is not prepared to talk. Not now. Not yet.