Robert could feel his steps slowing as he approached the house. It wasn't a conscious action, rather a sub-conscious response to the unpleasantness he had felt in his home since their return from London. His surprise had failed, backfired, gone awry and since their return to Downton things had been … strained. At first he had been frustrated, it wasn't his fault really. It had not been he who had been out to dinner with another woman after all. To him he had been perfectly justified in being upset. Mr. Bricker … idiot of a man … had taken his wife out, alone, at night … the absolute nerve. Yet Cora had said the whole thing was completely innocent. He knew it had been, at least to her. He could see it on her face the moment she had walked through the door at Rosamund's. He knew she would never do anything as ill bred as cheat. He knew she loved him as he did her. That was not the problem. Just as he knew Cora would never stray he also knew that Mr. Bricker was not merely interested in discussing art with Cora … and that is where the trouble had started. In hindsight he could have chosen his words with more care, but he had been upset. Ok, he had been mad. Mad at Bricker and mad at Cora's complete lack of understanding … she truly believed Bricker was interested in her opinions on art. The naivety of it was maddening. She had absolutely no thought that he was interested in her, in her delicate face, in her porcelain skin and her lithe body. Maybe Bricker did find her art opinions of interest, perhaps he did enjoy talking to her, but he also wanted to take her to his bed and Robert knew that without a doubt. Maybe if he had worded his response in a different way … but he hadn't and he couldn't go back and change it now. It wasn't as if they had fought since they had been back and there lay the problem. They hadn't fought over it. Things had gone on as usual, just with a strained air about it and he could feel Cora's unhappiness suffocating him. It was almost as if she had given up. She told him he didn't value her opinions and he had tried to apologize for his response and that had been it. They spoke, they had dinner together, they slept in the same bed, and yet he could feel the sadness and disappointment rolling off her in waves and he couldn't make it better. It had been nearly 2 weeks of a constant black cloud; he had almost begun to envy Tom with his office away from the house wishing he too had a convenient excuse to leave. He wondered, not for the first time if Mary knew, because he couldn't continue to live this way and had to figure out a way to change things.

"Mi'Lord." Carson's voice interrupted his thoughts as he walked through the front doors of his hone and felt the air thicken around him.

"Hello Carson" He responded out of habit and kept walking towards the stairs. He had walked rather longer than usual and he was not sure of the time. Turning at the stairs he called out to his faithful butler.

"Carson, where is Lady Mary?"

"I believe she is in the library My'Lord. Nanny has just bought the children down."

"Yes of course she has. Thank you Carson."

Cora would be with the children, she always made herself available when the children were out of the nursery. He didn't want to see her quite yet, he didn't much feel like being greeted by the smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, or suffer through another conversation where she avoided eye contact with him and spoke little. He couldn't do it. He would simply have to seek Mary out at another time. Without hesitating he turned and climbed the stairs to his room in much the same state as he had been since that awful trip to London …alone.

"What kept you darling? You missed the children." Cora asked Edith casually as she pulled the dead flowers out of the vase in the foyer and handed them to the young maid at her side. "That will be all. Thank you." She said to the young girl … Emma? No, Emily … yes it was Emily. Fairly new to the house and a pretty young thing. Probably no more than 20 and still scared to death of having to talk to the family, which caused Cora to be extra gentle with the poor girl;, and keep her away from Violet at all costs.

"I was out Mama." Edith's tone was clipped and she kept walking at a swift pace towards the stairs. There was something troubling Edith, had been for quite some tine and for the life of her Cora could not figure it out. At first she had assumed it was Michael Gregson … presumed dead, but now she wasn't sure. Now this commitment with the Drewe's little girl was border line obsessive. She worried. Reaching out her hand she placed it gently around Edith forearm squeezing comfortingly.

"Darling are you alright? What is the matter?" Cora could see it on her daughter's face that things were not ok and her heart hurt for her. Poor Edith, so unlucky in love and so much to give.

Edith shook her mothers hand off her arm and hurried to the stairs."I don't want to discuss it Mama. It's nothing to concern yourself over."

And just like that she was gone, up the stairs and out of sight.

Cora stood in the foyer her eyes at the stairs and her heart in her hands. Did no one in this house think she could offer an opinion on anything? Did no-one think she had any insight to offer? She expected it almost from her children, that was their job wasn't it, to challenge their parents and find their own way. But it was all too painful a reminder of the words Robert had spoken to her more than once "nothing to bother you with" … as if she was a child, or a moron, an idiot, someone not worth the time of the explanation. Then to follow up with that he had made his thoughts on her opinions abundantly clear that night in London. If accusing her of carrying on with Mr. Bricker wasn't enough he had told her that in no uncertain terms would Mr. Bricker be interested in her opinions.

She had been so disappointed it had kicked the stuffing out of her and she had felt it difficult to get back. She felt herself lost and apparently unwanted by her husband, by her children, even the staff didn't need her input while under Mrs. Hughes's watchful eye.

In the early years of her marriage there had been so much to learn, so many calls to make and committees in need of a young Viscountess with money and time. Then the children had come and she had been busy with the nannies and the social calendar of a young aristocratic family … and then Robert's father had died. They had become the Earl and Countess of the county and there had been so much to do, then the African war and with Robert gone she was busy with the house and the girls and the worrying as her constant companion. When he returned it was back to the business of raising their girls and the presentations at court and the season and the house … then the war, her miscarriage first and then the war – and she had been thrown into the running of Downton as a convalescent home and so much with the war effort and the support of the county and the girls kept busy and worrying all the time about the young men at the front and the girls and their tender hearts. Then it was over. Everyone was so happy and she had been too – then she was almost dead from the Spanish flu, and there were marriages and then Sybil died … and part of her too … and life was about healing and getting Tom and Sybbie settled and then Matthew … and life was about getting Mary back and little George … and then Michael Gregson disappeared and Edith was distraught. All the while there was the house to run and the Pamuk business, and Bates's trial, and the money lost, and the fire and Rose's presentation and O'Brien's abandonment and the dinners and her mother and Harold, and the letter and the Prince … and somehow, somehow she and Robert had always found themselves back in each others arms and making their way through things together. She had managed the house alone when he was gone, she had dealt with more issues with the girls than she could count, she had planned great events and headed committees and entertained the people he had wanted her to. She had worked with his mother to find a way around the entail and keep Downton in the hands of his own children, she had smoothed over arguments and conversed with politicians and kings and business men alike. Yet still, despite all this, despite all the years she had given him, all the years she had been there for him he could not bring himself to share with her items of business. Whether he thought her too feeble minded to understand it, or whether he just didn't care for her opinion she was not entirely sure. But she was sure that it hurt. It hurt her a great deal to know that her husband did not want to talk to her about anything of substance. He could lay her down and make to love to her all night long, touch her in the most intimate of ways, make her quiver beneath his fingertips and bite her lip to keep quiet, he could kiss her breathless and enter a room with her on his arm … and that was all there was. She felt like his prize. A possession to be displayed. She knew she was older now, knew she was not the great beauty she once was, but she thought she was aging well and held her years with dignity.

She had so much more to give if she just had something to give it too. She wanted to feel needed, to use her mind, to have a purpose again – was that so much to ask? She tried to tell Robert. Tried to give him the chance to help her and he had brushed it aside. Then when Mr. Bricker wanted to know about her opinions why would she not give them? Then Robert had to go and destroy even that. Not only did he insinuate that the dinner with Mr. Bricker was more than an innocent meal, but he had made it clear that in his opinion Mr. Bricker was only interested in an affair and not the things she had to say. That is what upset her the most. That not only did Robert care for her thoughts or opinions, but he believed no one else did either. If Robert was to be believed she was only useful as something pretty to look at and someone to tumble between the sheets. She had never felt as defeated as she had when she returned from London. It made her want to cry. It made her want to scream. It made her angry. It made her want to prove to Robert that he was wrong and that she was more than he thought.

Making up her mind Cora turned on her heal towards the front door. She stopped in front of the telephone and picking it up waited for the operator.

"Operator? Yes, Charles Blake please. London."