Robert paced the library.
It was a habit picked up from childhood, something his mother often did when in a state of angst. He looked around at the freshly dusted novels lining the walls, their deep red leather covers and worn-yellow pages all a comforting reminder of the familiar place he found himself in. Light shone through the windows, a reminder of the unusually bright afternoon weather, and glistened through the freshly washed glass. The library was otherwise silent, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards under his pacing feet.
He was not sure exactly what brought on this particular bout of unease, though it had plagued him with near-constant regularity over the last month or so. His mind, it seemed, was doomed to silent chaos as he and the rest of the family set about the task of moving forward. When he returned, returned to find his wife already back at Downton, he thought his life had been made. But then for no discernable reason other than the cruel twists and fortunes of life, tragedy struck once more and left him with a grieving daughter, a baby for an heir, and a family once more submerged in grief.
The dull grey mist that clouded his mind threatened to drive him mad, his thoughts were so unclear. If only he could make sense of it all, then perhaps they really all could move forward. But what had once been so certain now hung in the balance of fate—a most unwelcome prospect for Robert, whose fate was still on precarious footing.
The month had not started on a particularly bad note, considering. Baby George, only two months old, often woke everyone in the house with alarmingly strong cries, but his nanny seemed adept at calming the poor little chap. And Mary, well, she seemed less fragile, her expression vacillating between blank and something almost like a readable emotion. He and Cora, though—they had seemed better. Or so he thought. But then February arrived and as the days slipped past she grew quieter, her expressions—like Mary's—unreadable. She still made polite conversation over dinner, seemed willing to stroll occasionally with him in the gardens, and let him hold her at night before they slept, often letting him do much more than simply hold her before sleep claimed them.
But she had grown quiet and it frightened him.
Flashes of months earlier, of them silently pacing the halls, not speaking but wanting to scream, bubbled up like angry, burning bile. He would catch her eyeing him in the afternoons, a passive smile drawn over her lips. He wanted to drop to his knees and simply beg her to unburden herself, to trust that he could take care of it all. He would do anything to keep her happy, to keep her at Downton by his side.
But she insisted nothing was wrong.
When she began spending her afternoons upstairs instead of ensconced in the library by his side, she said she was tired. When she bypassed their walks in favor of going to see George, or speak to Mrs. Hughes, she explained how busy her days were. And at night, late, when he would whisper quiet endearments against her skin and ask her if she was alright, she would simply turn and cover his lips with hers, in the way she always did when she sought to distract him.
But he was tired of being distracted.
And so, with the slam of a door, Robert marched up the stairs and toward the bedroom, rapping sharply on the door when, upon turning the handle, he found it locked.
Cora was startled out of her reverie by a loud knock against the bedroom door. Frowning, as she was quite certain she told Baxter she was to be left in peace, she called out "yes?" before continuing the task before her.
The room was covered in shades of red. Swatches of silks and tulles, all terribly expensive and imported from Paris, were draped over the chaise and laid out neatly on their bed. Bits of paper dyed a delicate shade of rose were scattered about near her feet where she sat cross-legged on the floor. None of this would have mattered, though, if not for the voice that was decidedly more masculine calling to her through the door.
"Cora—why is the door locked?" Robert repeated, his voice low and muffled.
Standing up, haphazardly kicking all the paraphernalia under the bed, Cora replied with a non-committal hum and reached the door a moment later, unlocking and opening it just enough to peer out at her husband, whose face was contorted into a rather oddly unreadable expression.
"Yes?" She asked softly, raising her brows.
He frowned, looking rather uncomfortable to be hunched in the doorway, and nodded over her shoulder, "might we speak inside?"
Cora shook her head. "Darling, I was taking a nap," she explained, rolling her shoulders back into a stretch for effect. "Can it wait until later?"
She hated lying to him, especially when she knew how he was as of late. Ever since their return from Newport, their relationship in the precarious stages of reconciliation, Robert had been on his very best behavior. He had done absolutely everything she asked of him without question. Apologies were given freely to his children, mother and sister. He set about hiring back the staff that had been dismissed and made sure everything was in working order. The drinks cabinet—that once would have been a sore point—remained largely untouched by him, without even a request from her—and he tried each and every day to fulfill the promises he made to her. The last of which included a trip to Liverpool and a rather long conversation with their son in law, the result of which added two members to their household and another fragile relationship to the mix. Robert was never going to be Tom's biggest supporter, but with Matthew gone he seemed to provide her husband with a strange sort of support. And she was ever so grateful for that and for her Robert, who really had returned to the man she loved.
But abusing his incessantly good nature, even for good reason, stirred up a bit of guilt in the pit of her stomach. She knew, no matter what she asked or told him, that he would agree and would do so with a cloyingly sweet smile that attempted to cover his bafflement or annoyance that he tried so hard to push deep down inside him and shield her from. She admired his restraint at times, but often wished for a bit of his boyish stubbornness to shine through, to prove to her that he was not simply placating her, and that they really were back to the way things once were.
He interrupted her thoughts with a soft sigh, and the hum of a clearing throat, and nodded. "I'll see you after the gong, then," he answered, turning too quickly for her to reach out and press a kiss to his cheek.
"Alright," She answered, in a brighter tone, and watched as he continued down the hall and disappeared down the stairs.
As soon as she was quite sure he wouldn't return, Cora shut the door once more and turned the lock, settling back down at her place on the floor. A rough outline of a valentine lay before her, the heart only just cut from the paper sent up from London. It was still in its early stages, but it was at least a discernable heart. It had taken three tries and a rather inconvenient paper cut, but nevertheless it was a work in progress.
She wanted their Valentine's Day to be lovely. It stirred up memories from years long past, when they were too young to know quite what to say and so instead roamed the halls, wanting to say anything and everything but instead settled for blushes and meaningful looks. It reminded her of youthful infatuation, of the desire for her husband that she held closest to her heart—desire for the man who claimed her heart so many years ago. Cora knew that the house had been rather steeped in gloom—befitting the tragedy that was so terribly senseless and painful. But that was the nature of tragedies, she supposed, and they all needed to move forward and pick up the pieces together.
Valentine's Day seemed a rather good place to begin.
It had never been their favorite holiday, not at all. Cora preferred celebrating the New Year and Robert would be hard pressed to name anything he loved more than Christmas dinner with his family. But they celebrated St. Valentine's Day dutifully each year, with smirks and gifts passed and kisses stolen, just as they liked. She wanted this year to be extra special, though, to remind them both of what they had together, of how precious their love truly was.
So she had devised a plan. Telling Mary and Tom about her intentions seemed unnecessarily cruel, as the hint of anything romantic darkened their eyes, and so each afternoon Cora would remove herself from the busyness of the house and seek out the solace of her bedroom, scribbling little notes and making small preparations each day, hoping that Robert would be too engrossed in estate business to notice her absence.
At first it hadn't been a problem. Surreptitiously sending Baxter to order samples of fabrics for new gowns and nightdresses had been easy, as had stowing the boxes in her wardrobe. Robert cared little for fashion and had seen enough dress boxes in the house to know not to question the contents, lest he be treated to an impromptu fashion display. But then the pamphlets began coming in from London, all advertising romantic getaways in far off places like Vevey and Rome, and those were harder to keep hidden. Though she had elected instead to use the recently vacant Eryholme as the site of her grand surprise, as opposed to one of the more exotic localities, it had still grown increasingly difficult to keep it all a secret from her husband.
She was nearly caught after instructing Carson to send two footmen and two maids up to the house to give it a thorough cleaning one quiet Saturday afternoon. Soon after they were dispatched, though, Robert thought it a good idea to have the furniture in the library moved around. He was more than slightly perturbed when Carson explained—with an uncomfortable frown—that the staff simply could not do it that afternoon. And then two weeks later, when discussing what foods she wanted sent up to the house with them with Mrs. Patmore, Robert—rather like an apparition—appeared in the kitchens, with Isis in tow. Apparently Isis had gotten too vigorous with a rabbit on her walk and Robert had decided to bring it to the kitchens himself. Her own presence in the kitchen was explained away easily enough, but she could tell by the tightening of his brow that he doubted he was being told the whole truth.
He asked her several times if she was alright, and each time she promised that she was, attempting to distract him with any means possible—usually a rather easy task. But she could tell he was growing restless, and it only increased the fervor with which she hid away any trace of her Valentine surprise.
After a subdued dinner, once more, Robert paced.
This time it was the carpets in his dressing room treated to the privilege, though, and his quick methodical steps made a soothingly rhythmic brushing each time he walked back and forth between the window and the dressing table.
He knew it was ridiculous to cogitate on such a bizarrely minuscule detail, but in that moment—and in the moments spanning much of his afternoon—it did not feel minuscule at all. He felt now, more than ever, that a conversation with his wife was of the utmost importance. They had moved swiftly from cordiality to her locking doors and spending afternoons alone? It made little sense, other than to scare the wits out of him. And he refused to let it go on any longer.
Mimicking his gesture from earlier in the day, Robert knocked on the solid wooden door that separated his dressing room and their bedroom. At Cora's "Robert?" he opened the door and let himself into the room.
She was already perched up upon the bed, a vision in white as she rubbed lotion into her palms. She looked up at him curiously, cocked her head to one side, and repeated, "Robert?"
"Yes?" He took another step into the room and placed both his hands against the back of the nearest chair, steadying himself.
She frowned again though, and placed the bottle down into her lap before answering, "I meant it rhetorically, darling. But, is anything wrong? You look rather glum."
"No—well, no. That is to say, I wondered if we might discuss a few things?"
He fidgeted again and stared at the bit of patterned rug nearest to his slipper. Then, taking a breath to shore himself up, returned his gaze to his wife who looked expectantly at him.
"Cora, I wonder if anything is the matter between us? I know I've asked, and you've said no, but I cannot help but think that perhaps something is. Especially after this afternoon, when you opened the bedroom door, I saw—"
Interrupting his drawn out question, Cora sat more upright and fixed her gaze back up and away from her lotion. "—Saw? What did you see?" She asked, now fidgeting slightly beneath the blankets as well.
Robert frowned and cleared his throat, confused by her tone.
"I only thought I saw something in your expression, that you might be upset with me," he explained, edging a bit closer to the bed, a concerned look painted over his features.
At this, Cora smiled and released a short exhale of relief. She could handle most any of her husband's moods, and most certainly could navigate even the worst of him, but he was utterly insufferable when he caught on to anything that was supposed to be a surprise. He fancied himself a detective at times—though if she were honest with herself she knew he would make quite a poor one—and nearly every year he sussed out his surprise birthday plans and holiday gifts before they were due. She was not about to let their Valentine's Day fall prey to his curiosity as well. Though she was not entirely sure if she was glad that he was simply—yet again—worried about whether or not she was upset with him.
"Darling," Cora paused, attempting to soften her voice. "Come sit?" She patted the place beside her, his place, and waited until he padded over and sat on the very edge. "Perhaps a bit closer?" She smiled at him, in the way she knew was always his undoing, and reached one hand over to adjust the lopsided collar of his pajama top.
Again, he frowned. And, quite like a little boy, pouted for a moment before replying "no, I don't think that I want to until we've discussed this properly."
"Haven't we, darling?" Cora replied gently, scooting closer and slipping fingers just below the fabric to ghost over his shoulder. He turned away from her but she could feel his resolve slipping in the way his muscles relaxed under her touch.
Kneading her fingers over the muscles corded across his back, massaging the skin lightly through his shirt, she only smiled to herself at his non-committal grunt, pleased that she seemed to have distracted him once more. And when he tried to interject, answering finally, "but, Cora…" she only pressed feather light kisses to his neck and just below his ear, pressing herself close against his back.
"There is nothing to worry about, my dear," she whispered, placing another kiss on the back of his neck as her fingers moved up and threaded through his hair, rubbing his scalp lightly. He hummed again, this time considerably less agitated, and leaned back into her touch.
"Now," she continued, "might we worry about more pressing matters?" And, playing on her own words, let her hands fall lazily down the front of his nightshirt until they found the drawstring of his trousers, feathering lightly over the fabric there.
"Cora—" Robert started, interrupting himself with his own groan, "—no," he managed after a brief pause, forcing his head up from the lolled state it'd fallen into.
"No?" Her voice was soft but had an air of incredulity to it. She removed her hands almost immediately, setting herself backward to rest on the mattress once more. "Robert, what on Earth?" she asked, now more than slightly perturbed.
He frowned, though, turning himself and ignoring the still rampant feeling of arousal coursing through his body. "Weak old fool," he thought bitterly, adjusting his pajamas before taking a breath and facing his wife. "I won't be distracted from the matter at hand again, Cora."
She raised a brow. "Robert, I think we're far past distracted from the matter at hand," she answered, flicking her eyes down to his prominent arousal.
"No!" He answered more sharply, this time standing from the bed. "Cora, I won't continue like this."
"Like what?" She was breathlessly exasperated, staring at him with a mix of wonder and utter confusion.
"You're upset with me and I won't have things go back to…" he paused again, not wanting to verbalize what he wanted so very badly to be part of their past. "…I'll have you tell me what is bothering you, please."
"Robert," Cora answered softly, crawling across the bed until she knelt on his side, nearly face to face with him. "Nothing is bothering me. Come to bed. Please?"
"I'm not tired," he replied softly with defeat. "I—I think I'll go down to the library for a nightcap." And at this he stepped backward, out of her reach. At her just perceptible nod, he turned fully, and walked out their bedroom door without another word.
Cora waited until he was gone, and the door shut, to flop backward onto the pillows. She was silent for a long moment before letting out a chuckle. "Men," she exclaimed, rolling her eyes and settling in for bed, thoughts of what she needed to do tomorrow with regard to their Valentine surprise already floating about her mind.